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The quinjet touched down hard, its landing gear squealing as it met the tarmac. Inside, Steve Rogers sat still, one hand clutched over his abdomen, the other gripping the edge of the seat so tightly his knuckles had gone bone-white.
Bucky was the first to notice. He always did.
“You okay?” Bucky’s voice was low, trying to cut beneath the adrenaline-laced silence that had settled over the cabin.
Steve didn’t look up. “Just tired.”
That was lie number one.
Tony had already popped the hatch, striding down with his armor retracting into sleek panels around his arms. “Good work out there,” he called behind him, glancing back just long enough to raise an eyebrow. “Cap, you coming?”
Steve pushed himself to his feet, swaying for half a second before his balance caught up with him. He didn’t respond. Another lie.
Bucky followed him out, shadowing his movements. Something was wrong. Steve’s gait was off—too slow, too stiff. His left arm barely moved. Bucky’s stomach twisted. He’d seen that look before. The grim set of Steve’s jaw, the way he was holding himself together like a man stapled down the middle.
In the common area, the rest of the team had gathered—Natasha lounging with her boots up, Sam pacing, Wanda curled with a tablet in her lap. Thor was at the bar, pouring ale. Bruce appeared from the medical wing, wiping his hands.
Steve made it three steps into the room before he staggered. Just slightly. A stutter in his step.
Bucky grabbed his elbow, and Steve jerked away like it burned. “I said I’m fine.”
Then Steve’s eyes rolled back and he crumpled, hitting the ground like a sack of cement.
“Steve!” Bucky was on his knees in seconds, hands already on him, heart pounding.
There was blood. So much of it. It poured from beneath the suit, sticky and hot against Bucky’s fingers. The chest plate had cracked where a bullet had punched through the star. A crimson pool was spreading fast.
Bruce was shouting for medbay. Sam cursed and ran for the trauma kit. Natasha ripped open the suit and recoiled.
“Bullet wounds,” she hissed. “Multiple.”
“No exit wounds,” Bruce snapped. “We need him on the table now!”
They carried Steve together—Tony on one side, Bucky on the other. Every movement jostled more blood loose. By the time they got to the operating room, the gurney was soaked.
Bruce’s face went pale. “His healing factor is already trying to close everything. If we don’t get those bullets out, they’ll fester inside him. It’ll kill him.”
“Then get them out,” Bucky growled, standing over the table.
“Anesthesia!” Bruce barked. A nurse pressed a mask over Steve’s face. Bucky held Steve’s hand while the others prepped instruments.
But Steve didn’t go under.
His eyes shot open. He gasped like he was drowning.
“Jesus—he’s still awake!”
“He metabolized it already,” Bruce snapped. “Damn it, of course. It won’t hold.”
They didn’t have time to figure it out. The healing was closing one wound already. Bruce sliced it back open.
Steve screamed.
“Hold it open!” Bruce yelled.
Without thinking, Bucky drove two fingers into the wound.
Steve thrashed and cried out, and Bucky nearly lost his grip.
“Someone else—here, here!” Bruce tossed surgical gloves at the others.
Tony swallowed hard, pulled the gloves on, and stuck his fingers in the next wound. “This is insane,” he muttered.
One by one, the Avengers joined in. Natasha at Steve’s side, Sam across from her, Wanda holding his shoulder down with trembling fingers, Thor’s hand braced over the sternum.
The pain was beyond reason. Steve arched against the table, sweat pouring off him in rivers.
Bucky never let go of his hand.
“I’m here, punk,” he whispered, over and over. “I’ve got you.”
They cut him open. Steve screamed again.
Bruce worked fast, pulling out bullet fragments while the others held the wounds apart with bare hands. Blood soaked through gloves. No one flinched. No one stopped.
Then Steve’s heart monitor screamed.
Flatline.
“No, no, no—paddles!” Bruce roared. Tony moved. The first shock hit.
Steve jerked. Nothing.
Second shock. Still nothing.
Bucky’s voice cracked. “Steve, please—don’t you dare.”
The third shock.
The monitor beeped.
Shaky, weak, but there.
Steve gasped, his whole body shuddering.
“He’s back!” Wanda sobbed.
They kept going.
Bruce removed another bullet. Then another. One lodged dangerously close to the spine—Thor had to hold Steve down with all his strength while Bruce extracted it.
Then Steve flatlined again.
“Come on, Cap!” Sam yelled, pressing his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. “You’re not done!”
They shocked him again. Bruce was sweating. Natasha whispered something in Russian under her breath, over and over, like a prayer.
The monitor beeped.
Barely.
“Last one,” Bruce said. “I need it open—Bucky!”
“I’ve got it.” Bucky leaned down, pressing his fingers deep into the final wound. Steve’s blood coated his hand to the wrist. He could feel the warmth of it, the desperate pulse beneath skin.
“You stay with me, Steve,” he said, voice trembling. “Don’t you go anywhere, alright? I’m not ready—”
He bit the words back. Not now. Not like this.
Bruce pulled the final bullet. Wanda sealed the wound with her powers, Bruce stitched the rest. The bleeding slowed.
Steve stopped screaming.
He was unconscious. Breathing shallow. Heart steady—but faint.
They all stepped back, panting, shaking.
“He’s stable,” Bruce said at last, wiping his brow. “Barely.”
Everyone collapsed into chairs. Wanda curled against the wall, sobbing. Tony peeled off gloves and stared at his shaking hands. Sam sat silently, eyes closed.
But Bucky stayed at Steve’s side.
He brushed sweat-matted hair from Steve’s face. “You idiot,” he murmured, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you say something? You nearly died.”
Steve stirred. His lips moved, barely a whisper. “…sorry…”
Bucky bent closer. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
His hand found Steve’s again, squeezing tight.
“You scared the hell out of me, punk.”
No answer.
He sat like that for hours. The others filtered out one by one, exhausted.
When Steve finally blinked awake, the room was quiet.
“…Bucky?” he rasped.
“I’m here.”
Steve turned his head. “…how long?”
“You flatlined twice. Maybe three. We had to… hold you together. Literally.”
A faint smile ghosted across Steve’s lips. “Sounds gross.”
“It was,” Bucky choked out, laughing through tears.
Silence stretched between them.
“I thought I lost you,” Bucky said finally.
Steve’s hand tightened around his.
“I’m still here.”
Neither said the rest. They didn’t have to.
For now, this was enough.
They’d hold the line.
Together.