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Dinner was going wonderful up until Sam’s phone rang and while he would’ve ignored it on any other occasion, the number and name on the Caller ID told him that wasn’t something he would be able to put off. “Sorry guys, I gotta take this.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened briefly as he realized the same, but quickly turned to distract the boys.
Sam pushed away from the table and walked outside onto the front porch before he answered the call, thankful that he’d worked through the worst of his anger and frustration. “There a reason you’re calling me during my vacation, Secretary Ross?”
“Apologies, Captain .” He said dryly and unapologetically, the sound of shuffling paper coming through before he continued, “Just thought you would like to know that Barnes’s old friends have resurfaced in Ukraine.”
Sam gritted his teeth, knowing the man was only trying to rile him up. “And?”
“You and your partner’s presence have been requested in D.C.”
Personally, Sam didn’t want Bucky anywhere near anything remotely connected to Hydra but after everything that had happened with Karli, he only had so much leeway in regards to what he could and could not refuse even being Captain America. He bit back a sigh, “When?”
“Six hours.”
“Understood.”
Sam ended the call and turned, tensing at the sight of Bucky leaned back against the house, arms folded across his chest and jaw flexing as he stared out at the night sky, pale eyes metallic in the porch light. “You get all that?”
“Yeah.” He straightened, “I did.”
Sam didn’t like how...distant Bucky suddenly seemed, like there were a million miles between them instead of mere feet, but he knew there was little he could do to breach that space now. “Got your go bag ready?”
Bucky nodded, going back inside, and Sam followed.
He caught Sarah’s eyes as Bucky strode past and she sighed.
“You need to go, don’t you?”
Sam ran a hand down his face, “Yes, I’m sorry.”
She glanced over at where Bucky had disappeared down the hall, her expression going from thoughtful to worried. While she didn’t know the gruesome details about what Bucky had endured during his decades with Hydra, she knew enough to understand that wherever was happening was already messing with his head. “You keep an eye on each other, alright?”
Sam forced a small smile, “Yes, Ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Uncle Sam!”
Sam turned to find both boys looking up at him, “Yeah?”
“Where are you and Bucky going?”
“Uh...” he glanced at Sarah, “We are gonna go fight some bad guys.”
Their eyes went wide, both speaking simultaneously, “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Hug for good luck?”
Both boys immediately ran over, Sam bending to kiss the top of their heads as a shadow moved behind him and Sam lifted his head to find Bucky with a backpack hanging off one shoulder, his face set in its stony mask.
Before Sam could stop them, the boys rushed to hug Bucky as well, Sam holding his breath as Bucky went completely rigid, left hand flexing involuntarily on the backpack strap as he stared down at AJ and Cass.
Sam caught the flash of pain in those steel-blue depths, chest aching at how, after all this time, he still wasn’t used to being touched with any sort of care. He stopped Sarah from moving forward, though, when he saw Bucky hesitantly wrap his right arm around them both, eyes slipping closed.
“You gonna kick the bad guys’ butts, Uncle Bucky?”
Sam had heard the boys refer to him as such with each other and with Sarah before and he could've sworn Buck had too but the heartbreakingly stunned look on his face said otherwise and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d think he saw his eyes glimmering with tears before he blinked them away. “What do ya say, Uncle Bucky? Gonna kick some bad guy butt?”
Bucky shook himself of his stupor, flashing that smile that no doubt had girls and guys alike swooning back in the day, eyes glinting mischievously, and not for the first time, Sam wondered if Steve hadn't been the only reckless one. “As if we were gonna do anything else.”
Sam chuckled, ignoring how his heart stuttered. “Go get the truck ready.”
He gave a mock salute, “Will do, Cap.”
“Let Bucky go, you two, help me clear off the table.”
Both grumbled but did as they were told.
Sarah cocked a brow as she ushered the boys into the kitchen, leaving Sam to hurry up to his room and grab his things before giving her a quick hug and jogging out to the running truck, putting everything in the back and went to slide into the driver’s seat to find Bucky already there, left forearm resting on the steering wheel.
“You don’t have to drive, Buck.”
“Yeah I do, gives me somethin’ else to focus on.” He shot Sam a smile that he was sure was supposed to be that same wicked grin as before but it never showed in his eyes, now dark with shadows. “I appreciate your concern, though.”
“I’m sure you do.” He muttered as he walked around the front of the truck and slipped into the passenger seat and shut the door, saying nothing until the ignition was turned on along with the radio, currently on the oldies station. “Feelin’ nostalgic, are we old man?”
“Fuck you.” He huffed out with little heat.
Sam was glad to see some of the darkness fading from his expression but didn’t push further, content to sit a somewhat comfortable silence until they reached the airport and boarded the government-issued Quinjet.
Bucky didn’t speak the entire flight, just staring at some distant point, the metal plates of his arm shifting in the only outward sight of the inner turmoil he was no doubt feeling the closer they got to D.C. and the details of their mission.
Sam sat in silence as well, sharing the occasional glance with the clearly unnerved pilot and shooting him a reassuring smile even though Bucky’s whole demeanor was disconcerting to even him, but before he could work up the nerve to ask what was running through his head, they were already landing and Bucky was walking out onto the tarmac like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
They were led into a conference room where Ross was waiting for them, the privacy shield sliding down over the windows and the door locked shut behind them. “Sergeant Barnes. Captain Wilson.”
Bucky’s fingers twitched at his side at the locked click shut but his face remained cool and detached, refusing to sit in any of the conference chairs, moving to stand behind Sam instead while never taking his eyes off the Secretary.
Sam did not like the way Ross was looking at Bucky, distrustful and wary of the super-soldier even now, but acknowledging it would do little more than piss him (and maybe even Bucky) off right before a mission so he only dipped his chin. “Secretary Ross.”
“Let’s get started.”
The lights dimmed, surveillance images being projected on the wall, and one man in particular stood out to Sam: salt and pepper hair, wide shoulders, and dark eyes that were cold and cruel. He glanced at the name in the corner: Doctor Stefan Pashchenko.
A high-pitched screech sounded and Sam turned to see that Bucky’s flesh fingers had gone white-knuckled on the back of the chair to Sam’s right, the metal ripping underneath the grip, blood trickling as it no doubt sliced into the meat of his palm but it was the look on his face that really had Sam worried.
He was angry in way Sam had only seen once with Zemo, jaw rigid and eyes blazing with a blue fire that was frightening to see if only because he knew what it took to spark it. Bucky, even with all he’d endured (or maybe even because of it) rarely lost his temper or his control over his super-soldier strength.
“I take it, you are well acquainted with the target?”
Sam tensed, recognizing the murderous glare he sent Ross, “Buck—”
Bucky closed his eyes, physically reining himself in as he released the chair and took a step back, pulling in a long, deep breath before opening them to reveal a gaze void of the shadows, void of anger, void of anything... “Yes.”
God, even his voice...
Sam almost preferred the anger.
“He worked for Hydra?”
“Yes.”
“In what capacity?”
Sam could’ve punched him for the inane, pointless questions that Ross clearly already had the answers for, the secretary purposefully antagonizing Bucky to prove some kind of point. “Maybe you can tell us, Ross, since you seem to already know the answers to—”
“It’s fine, Sam.”
Sam clenched his jaw at absolutely not fine it was, but bit his tongue.
“Doctor Pashchenko was responsible for the implementation of the trigger words.”
Sam’s hands curled into fists under the table and he saw the small flicker of something buried in the secretary's eyes as he watched Bucky but he couldn’t get a good read on it. Whatever it was, Sam didn’t like it one bit and it took everything in him to keep his voice free of any aggression as he spoke, “What it is you need us to do, Secretary Ross?”
“Your mission is to bring him in alive.”
Bucky’s right hand twitched, no doubt itching for a weapon.
Ross didn’t miss the movement, “Is that going to be a problem, Sergeant ?”
Sam loathed the pulling of rank, having always hated men who’d rather demand respect than earn it, and was mere moments from snapping back at him but the persistent voice in the back of his mind that sounded too much like Natasha was urging him to momentarily set aside his anger. To figure out what Ross’s motives were…
He’d basically demanded that Bucky come here, asked prodding questions that he already knew for the sake of seeing Bucky violently react, Bucky’s (more like the Soldier’s) connection with the doctor, the mission of extracting him alive , the reminder of his rank…
Bucky bristled, “Yes, Sir .”
“Good to know you can still follow orders, Soldier .”
Bucky went eerily still, looking more statue than man, and it clicked.
Ross wanted the information Pashchenko had. He wanted to know how the trigger words had been implanted, no doubt for some shady shit Sam did not want to think too much on. And the only way to trap Pashchenko was to offer up bait he wouldn’t be able to resist: the former Winter Soldier in the flesh.
“What do you want Pashchenko for?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Captain.”
“See it does concern me, considering you plan on using my partner as bait to draw him out into the open and recruit him to make your assets more…obedient.” He pushed himself up and out of the chair, “I thought the United States government would’ve learned from their mistakes of bringing in former Hydra affiliates—”
“Tread carefully, Captain.”
He went to move towards him, only stopped by a metal hand on his shoulder.
Ross turned around, like he hadn’t just riled them up.
Sam was distantly aware of the Ross clicking through the slideshow; more images of Pashchenko, his associates, last known whereabouts, places he frequented; too focused on the feeling of vibranium fingers pressing into his skin, a silent warning to not start a fight, but he got the gist of it.
Bucky didn’t release Sam until Ross had left the conference room. “You good?”
Sam looked over at Bucky and was frustrated to find him still wearing that damn inscrutable mask but, again, if he thought about it, he shouldn’t have really been surprised that Bucky seemed way too okay with being used as live bait. He’d been given worse orders by worse men, though, and to him, being bait was preferable to being used as a weapon.
His perception of what was considered preferable was greatly skewed by the previous decades and Sam tried to keep that thought in mind, but Sam couldn’t quite shake just how pissed he was about it all...He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “No, I'm not. You?”
Something flashed behind his eyes, “Let’s just get this over with.”
…
Three days of wandering across rooftops later, Sam was reminded of how much he hated the waiting part of these types of missions...or maybe it had something to do with the fact that he hated any plan that involved Bucky being dangled in front of the very men he’d worked so hard to free himself of.
He glanced down at Bucky who, with a baseball cap pulled low over his face, gloved hands stuffed deep into the pockets of a worn-jacket and his head on a constant swivel, reminded him so much of how he’d looked all those years ago in Bucharest...scared. Hunted.
It hurt to think too long on.
Sam knew if he brought up his concerns, Bucky would just say that there was nothing to worry about. That his whole demeanor was nothing more than an act to reel in their target and if Bucky had donned the Winter Soldier gear and played the part of the ruthless machine like he’d done in Madripoor, Sam might’ve had a better shot at (possibly) believing that.
Maybe Sam should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt, but sue him.
Something about this whole act seemed almost...genuine.
Or maybe he was just paranoid.
“I got something.” Bucky’s voice, still in that eerie monotone, snapped Sam out of his spiral, reminding him that he should really be paying more attention to Bucky’s surroundings rather than Bucky himself. “Tall blonde man. One dark-haired woman.”
It took a moment, but Sam was able to spot them, nearly a block back, not even trying to hide the fact that they were tailing him and that observation had dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. There was confidence in their stride that told Sam there were more men in the wings, more numbers capable of subduing Bucky.
While Sam was sure Bucky could handle it, he still resisted the urge to warn him of his own suspicions, even though Bucky was probably intimately familiar with how Hydra would try to secure their wayward Asset. Instead, he merely responded with, “I see them. What’s the plan here, Buck?”
“I’m going to lead them into a dead end.”
Sam nearly stubbled, “What?”
Bucky turned a corner sharply, forcing him to hurriedly jump to the next building with little warning, and continued explaining like Sam hadn’t even spoken. “Those two will probably attempt using the trigger words. I’ll act like they’ve worked so they’ll be able to take me straight to Pashchenko. You’ll have to stay out of sight and I’ll have to take out my earpiece so they don’t suspect anything, but I’ll activate the tracer in my arm when I find Pashchenko. Shuri says it’s linked directly to Redwing.”
“Buck, stop!” He snapped, “This is crazy!”
But Bucky had already removed his earpiece, Sam hearing the distinct sound of it hitting the ground followed by the crunching of gravel under combat boots and the urge to fly down and stop this insane plan was interrupted by Bucky’s voice, not nearly as flat as it had been just moments before.
“Who are you?”
“So, the rumors are true.” The woman spoke coolly, “Pashchenko will be pleased.”
Bucky said nothing.
Sam’s attention was diverted by the arrival of two vans, the numbers he’d suspected pouring out in the form of nearly two dozen heavily armed men that then moved into the opening of the alleyway. His suspicions and Bucky's predictions converging as they woman yelled at the men to shield her before she began speaking in the only Russian that Sam knew.
“ Zhelaniye. ”
“ Rzhavyy. ”
Bucky growled something in response before proceeding to attack.
“ Semnadtsat’ .”
Sam wanted nothing more than to swoop down and intervene, but the earlier mention of Pashchenko had him holding back and he knew there wouldn’t be another chance to grab him if he showed himself now. As much as he disliked the mission, he’d rather bring Pashchenko in than risk him wondering around God knows where doing God knows what but he hated even more that Bucky had forced him to be a bystander while he was being backed into a corner, forced into a role he no longer wanted to play.
The fight Bucky put up seemed entirely genuine, Sam hearing grunts and curses intermingled with the thud of fists (metal and flesh) striking weak points with brutal force and the occasional squelch of a knife sinking deep through skin and muscle or the muffled pop of a suppressed gun but the sounds began to diminish as the woman moved further down the list.
“ Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. ”
“Stop! No!” Bucky screamed as though the words themselves were causing him pain, as though he were back in that damn chair, something deep in Sam’s chest cracking at Bucky brokenly whispering, “ Please ...”
“ Odin. ”
“ Gruzovay vagon. ”
Bucky went silent, the only sound being the men groaning as they no doubt dragged themselves to their feet (if they could even walk), the woman (Sam thinks) moving forward and stopping in front of him.
“ Dobroye utro, Soldat. ”
Sam held his breath, even though he already knew what Bucky’s response would be.
“ Ya gotov otvechat. ”
Sam strained to listen to the audio as everyone got back into the vans, cursing as they drove off and he waited until they were far enough away before jumping of the rooftop and landing lightly in the alleyway, looking around at the destruction Bucky had wrought.
Crumbling, blood-splattered brick. Crumpled trash cans and dented dumpsters. Flattened bullets littering the ground. A tactical knife with a snapped off blade. Smears of red across the cracked asphalt. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d think Bucky got away.
Bucky...
“Damn it, Buck.” Sam gritted his teeth, “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
He let out another long breath, searching through the debris until he found the small earpiece, switching it off and tucking it into one the pockets in his suit and straightening, sparing one last glance around before launching himself into the air.
He flew in the direction he’d last seen the vans, frantically scanning with both his own eyes as well as Redwing, but in the time it took to grab the earpiece and take to the air, both vehicles had disappeared into the busy city, along with Bucky, and Sam audibly groaned as a call came in from Ross.
He landed on the nearest flat-roofed building, took a deep breath, and answered.
“Any updates on Pashchenko, Captain?”
“Barnes has a lead on his location.” His response was calm and clinical, his anger and frustration tampered down once more, Sam typing on a wordless command to Redwing to continue his search. “I’m waiting for confirmation before I move in.”
“Do you have eyes on Barnes?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You lost Barnes?”
Sam clenched his jaw, “No. We decided that my presence would tip Pashchenko or his men off and that Barnes would contact me when it was safe to do so.” He figured telling Ross that Bucky had essentially gone AWOL would not help, no doubt giving the man just one more reason to be wary of the super-soldier.
“And you trust him?”
Again, Sam found himself biting back his anger. “With my life.”
Ross just scoffed, “Call me when you have him.”
Then he hung up.
Before Sam even had time to be irritated, a ping sounded, his display overtaken by a digital map of Kiev, a blinking white wolf emblem appearing and Sam might’ve appreciated Shuri’s forethought in putting the contingency in place on any other day, but he was too relieved to know Bucky’s location to feel anything else.
He took off, pushing his wings to the limit until he reached a warehouse that had been “closed” for construction where he could the sound of a gunfight coming from within and he’d barely hit the ground before he broke out into a dead sprint, pulling out the shield just as one of the men spotted him.
The bullets bounced off the shield and he quickly angled it, ricocheting them back at the person that had fired them, and Sam spared a moment to listen as they struck home with a low grunt before they collapsed to the ground, moving further into the building, following the distinct sound of bullets off a vibranium arm into the fray, which Bucky was (unsurprisingly) in the center of.
Pashchenko was slumped unconscious against the wall with a dark bruise blossoming across a clearly broken jaw, no doubt from attempting to use any sort of trigger word or phrase on Bucky and Sam took a strange pride in that, plus the thought of handing him over to Ross unable to speak for at least the next two months was amusing.
Sam threw the shield, taking out two men as it returned to his hand.
“Nice of you to join the fight, Cap!”
He lifted one wing, protecting Bucky’s thick skull.
“I thought Steve was the one that picked fights?”
Bucky didn’t even look over as he took three more shots, three men falling nearly simultaneously with holes in their throats before throwing up his arm to block the barrage that followed, and responded with an oh so mature, “They started it!”
Sam huffed, “I’m sure they did.”
Bucky scowled, “I did try to be stealthy about the whole thing.”
“So, you weren’t gonna call me in until after you were already out?”
The man’s silence was all the answer he needed and Sam was struck with the urge to throttle the super-soldier for all the good it would actually do. He allowed himself a moment to feel the irritation before locking it out for the time being. He couldn’t afford to let any negative emotions run rampant while they were in the middle of a firefight.
Then an explosion sounded from below and Bucky cursed, “We need to move now .”
Before Sam could even ask what the hell was going on, the entire building rumbled and the ground beneath them suddenly grew unsteady and he look down to see large cracks forming in the cement. “What did you do? Rig explosives?”
“Not the time!”
“I thought you said you were trying to be stealthy?”
Bucky growled, slinging Pashchenko over his shoulder, “Move!”
Sam ran, aware of Bucky moving behind him and wondering why in the hell he wasn’t zooming past like Sam knew he could full well do, even with an unconscious man draped over his shoulder before realizing a split second later that he already knew the answer to that question.
Stupid, overprotective, stubborn…
An ominous crack sounded, dust and small bits falling from above and Sam didn’t need to look up to know that the ceiling was near-collapse and he pushed himself harder, praying that the building wasn’t going to come down on them, that they were going to make out of this stupid mission in one piece…
He made the mistake of glancing back, seeing the collapse creeping closer to them, not noticing the impending cave-in front of him until the undeniable force of a super-soldier slammed into his back, throwing him forward out the ajar door, along with Pashchenko.
Sam rolled back onto his feet and spun around, unable to do anything other than watch as the building collapsed, a wordless scream tearing itself from his throat as Bucky disappeared underneath tons of stone and metal, his knees going weak. “No…”
Not now.
Not again.
“Redwing…” He choked out, “Search for life-signs.”
The drone did just that, detaching from his back and beginning to search the smoking rubble, the pained groan drawing Sam’s attention long enough to remember that there was someone else there and he took a long, shaky voice, somehow managing to hold back all his emotions as he called Ross, giving him everything he needed to find them before abruptly ending the call when Redwing picked up something with his thermal imaging.
With Redwing’s help, he began to move away chunks of rubble, not caring how crazy he looked to the civilians as he dug into the rubble, calling Bucky’s name over and over again, straining for any sign that the man could respond to him.
He froze at the sight of black and gold vibranium fingers peeking out, gouging deep scores into the stone slab as if trying in vain to push it off and Sam immediately removed the shield and wedged it underneath, bracing his feet and engaging the thrusters on his wings to give him the added strength necessary to help him lift.
His shoulders strained with the immense weight, gritting his teeth as the burning and throbbing worsened, pulling with everything he had and, with a final pained scream, the stone was finally pushed off and his stomach dropped at the sight.
One piece of bent rebar protruded from Bucky’s right shoulder, one through the meat of his lift thigh, and a third through his chest, blood bubbling from the latter and Sam knew from both the placement and the wheezing breath that it had pierced his lung.
He was drowning in his own blood.
Bucky coughed, red dripping from his lips, “Must be bad if you’re lookin’ at me like that.”
Sam forced a smile, returning the shield to his back, “Not at all.”
Bucky tried for a reassuring smile back, but his features twisted into a pained grimace not a second later as he tried to move, to pull himself off the metal, pale eyes hazy in a way Sam had never seen. “Wanna give me a hand, sweetheart? I’d do it myself, but...”
“You shouldn’t move, Bucky.”
“I need to...” He gritted his teeth, head falling back, “My body can’t heal until they’re out.”
Sam looked to the metal in his shoulder and leg and chest, trying to approach this as the pararescue he’d been before he’d had to deal with super-soldiers and assassins who had no concept of what was considered a serious injury. “Serum aside, you ever heard of not removing something that’s sticking out of your chest? And even if I wanted to help, I can’t do anything when they’re that bent —”
Vibranium fingers reached up and, with the sound of metal rebar snapping , Bucky broke all three pieces as close to his flesh as possible, a pained sound escaping his throat as his skin went a shade paler. “Fuck...”
Sam inwardly cursed the idiotic super-soldier as he coughed up another mouthful of blood, forcing himself to take a deep breath so he didn’t fucking scream in frustration. He ran one more glance over the wounds, worried at the amount of blood still oozing the one in Bucky’s chest because, serum or not, there were too many vital organs in that region and the serum itself could only do so much... “Okay, how exactly do you propose I move you?”
“Grab onto my vest, open your wings, and fly up.”
Sam sighed, curling his fingers around one of the many weapon harnesses, knowing that if he refused to help, then Bucky would only try to do it himself. Sam preferred to keep the damage to a minimum, “Ready?”
“As...” he cleared his throat, then coughed, “As I’ll ever be. Go .”
Sam picked up the sound of approaching sirens, “Okay, one, two —”
His wings snapped open and with a single flap and a burst of his thrusters, Sam lifted off, and it took effort not to stop as Bucky screamed, to ignore the sickening sucking sound that the rebar made as his body was pulled off.
He ignored the burning in his arms, not releasing his hold until he could gently lay Bucky down on the ground, his grip uncurling from the vest to try and put pressure on the wounds or at least attempting to as Bucky easily pushed him off, dragging himself upright.
“M’fine, Sam.” He took two steps forward…
…then collapsed.
Sam rushed over, “Bucky!”
Bucky groaned, rolling onto his back, vibranium fingers pressed down on the hole in his leg, blood seeping through then much too fast from someone who’d been given the super-soldier serum, “Fuckin’ metal musta nicked ‘n artery or something.”
It was alarming and Sam fought the panic creeping in on him. “But you’ll be good?”
“Don’ know.” Bucky’s words were becoming more slurred, “No one ever got me there…”
“Seriously? Not one person in seventy years?”
“No one ever got that close,” He pressed down even harder, “‘less ya count the doctors.”
Sam had nothing to say to that, his own hands moving to Bucky’s chest and applying pressure while keeping more air from getting sucked into his chest cavity, unsure if a super soldier could get a pneumothorax but not willing to add that to his current injuries. “I called Ross and asked for medical. They’ll be here soon.”
“Stay with me. Don’ trust ‘im…” Bucky choked, “…wants the serum.”
Sam’s treacherous stomach fluttered at the first statement and he forced his body to relax. This was a simple matter of Bucky trusting him because of their friendship . Nothing more than that. “I don’t know if the doctors’ll allow it.”
“You’re fuckin’ Captain America.” He smiled weakly at Sam, trying again for reassuring but the blood-stained teeth and clammy skin ruined any effect it might’ve had. The blood loss had the Brooklyn thickening in his voice, “They ain’t gonna say no ta ya.”
Sam chuckled, “I’ll see what I can do, alright?”
Bucky hummed, but said nothing more as multiple black SUVs and an ambulance pulled up, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath and shadows fell over them not moments later, two paramedics rushing over and Sam reluctantly pulled back, moving to Bucky’s head while they began the process of removing the vest and cutting away the blood-soaked black t-shirt to reveal the sluggishly bleeding on the left side of his chest as well as what looked like a half-healed bullet wound just below the metal socket of his left arm that hadn’t been visible before (like he’d received it prior to putting his vest on) and bruises covering any of the remaining skin.
Sam found himself running his fingers through Bucky’s sweat-dampened hair, murmuring to him in Creole as the paramedics worked to stabilize him, feeling his tension around the two medics in his shoulders and trying to ease it as they spoke to him in Ukrainian (with Bucky responding in kind, albeit slightly slurred), and Sam prayed Bucky had yet to pick up on the language (as apparently, he had a knack for acquiring them), knowing that his words were laying his feelings bare.
He paused when he felt the raised skin around his temple with his fingertips, pushing away a few dark strands to examine the normally pale scars to find pink, aggravated skin, and everything in him went cold.
They’d had a Chair.
No wonder he blew the place to kingdom come.
“Captain?” Said a thickly accented voice of one of the paramedics.
Sam looked up, “Yes?”
“We need to move him.”
“Ah yes, sorry.” Sam stepped back as they moved him onto the back-board and slid him onto a gurney, but even he couldn’t get Bucky’s request out of his mind and not even the ingrained mindset of letting these guys just do their jobs could dissuade him. “Can I come in the ambulance with him?”
One of the paramedics, a young blonde woman with striking blue eyes, must’ve seen something in his expression when she glanced over at her partner, and older woman with grey-streaked black hair, who merely shrugged as if to say do you really want to say no to Captain America? She smiled warmly, “You can.”
Sam knew that expression quite well and while he normally hated anyone showing him leniency or doing him favors because of who he was, this was one of the few times that he would say nothing. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Captain Wilson!”
Sam clenched his jaw as Ross strode over, feeling metal fingers gently catch his wrist, and the touch was grounding, despite the blood being smeared over the white of his uniform. “Yes, Secretary Ross?”
“I need to speak with Sergeant Barnes.”
Sam glanced over at Bucky, who had become more delirious than he’d been just moments before; his eyes struggling to focus on anyone or anything, his words slurred and a garbled mess of languages (probably Ukranian if the paramedics’ concern was anything to go by) and Sam glanced at the bandages to find blooding seeping through all of them. “He’s lost a lot of blood, Secretary. In fact, he’s still bleeding. He needs a couple hours to rest and allow time for everything to heal.”
Ross narrowed his eyes, “I need his mission report. Now.”
Sam clenched his jaw, feeling Buck’s fingers tighten briefly at the targeted usage of the phrase. This was not an accidental slip. Nothing Ross said around Bucky was anything other than a deliberate jab at the Winter Soldier’s history, both paramedics glancing at each other when Bucky began to speak again in a voice that sounded much more...frantic and this time, even the older paramedic seemed concerned by what he was saying. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s...” The dark-haired woman frowned, “He’s apologizing...”
Ross turned his attention to the paramedic. “For what?”
“I...I don’t know. He just keeps saying don’t take me back. Don’t take me back to...the chair, I think?” She faced Sam, appearing both confused and saddened when she saw the anger flash across his face before her brow furrowed as he repeated another phrase, “Don’t make me forget. I don’t want to forget.”
Sam looked back to Ross, “He can tell you everything once he’s healed.”
The paramedics took their cue and moved towards the ambulance.
Ross clearly appeared skeptical of Bucky’s distress. “I’ll be checking in in three hours.”
Sam didn’t deign to respond, turning his back on the Secretary and following after the gurney, the panic he’d pushed aside bleeding back into him as he closed the distance and slid into the back of the ambulance, “How is he?”
“I understand he is...enhanced?”
“Yes. Some version of the super-soldier serum.”
“May I ask what caused these injuries?”
“A building fell on him. Rebar pierced him in the chest, shoulder, and thigh.”
She blinked, surprised by the answer. “And you...pulled him off?”
“Idiot would’ve done it by himself otherwise.” The blonde winced and Sam huffed out a dry laugh, pulling off his goggles and cowl, “My thoughts exactly. I pulled him off as gently as I could, but...” he motioned to already dirty bandages, “It only did so much.”
Bucky opened his eyes; slivers of pale, glassy blue, murmuring something not English.
Sam’s attention was immediately back down, giving him a small smile, “Hey, Buck.”
“M’sorry Sammy.” His grip loosened.
His heart lurched in his chest at the nickname and Sam wasn’t sure what his expression looked like in that moment but the older EMT appeared almost warmed by the exchange as she changed the gauze around his leg. Sam slid his fingers between the vibranium ones and squeezed, hoping he could really feel it. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“But I do. I do. They...they had a Chair and I couldn’t...” He swallowed thickly as he squeezed back; his face twisted with something that had nothing to do with the injuries caused by the rebar and concrete, his eyes shining wetly in the light of the ambulance. “They wanted me to kill you, Sammy. I couldn’t let them...I had to protect you. I needed to protect you...like I couldn’t protect Stevie.”
Sam reached up with the hand not holding his and cupped his jaw, fighting back his flinch at how cold and clammy his normally hot skin felt as he turned Buck’s face towards his and managed a small smile. “You protected us both, Buck, I promise you that. You did. Now rest, alright? I’ll be right here the whole time.”
He nodded, finally allowing himself to slip into unconsciousness.
Sam didn’t let go of his hand until he was wheeled into the OR.