Coming Down ➢ Steve Rogers

ten

Chapter Ten;

Delaney coughed, gasping to draw air into her lungs. Everything around her was dark. She blinked, trying to see through the thick layer of dust in the air, but it was impossible. Everything was darkness and dust; at that moment, it was like those two things were all the world was made of. Even her nostrils filled with dust and the scent of burning when she inhaled.

Then the debris shifted, and there was light. Delaney gasped and sucked in a lungful of fresh air.

"Delaney!" She turned, blinking in the sudden light. Momentarily the world was a red blur; she squinted, and soon the world settled itself as she saw Steve's face hovering inches from her own against a backdrop of ruins and smoke and small fires. 

Steve pushed the rest of the debris covering them. He bent over her, searching her body worriedly for any sign of injury. "Lane, are you okay?"

"Mostly," she croaked. Her voice was raspy. She became aware of a dull throb in her head. She touched her cheek and bit her lip as her fingers came away, blood on them. Trying to distract herself she searched frantically for signs of Natasha. "How's Nat?"

"Knocked out. I got her."

Delaney bit her lip when she saw Natasha limp, but told herself not to worry. Steve hoisted Nat up as Delaney clambered to her feet. She knew they didn't have long – surely there'd be a search to see if they'd survived.

Delaney stumbled after Steve as they made their way through the debris. She swallowed as she saw lights flashing through the dark, and the hum of aircraft. They're serious about catching us.

"We have to hurry," Steve breathed. Delaney nodded and together, they moved as fast as they dared through the old camp and to the car, where they could speed once more to safety.

+++

The journey back started in silence. Steve drove while Delaney sat in the backseat, tending to Natasha. Her friend didn't appear to be terribly injured – the worst of her injury appeared to be her unconsciousness.

Delaney mopped up some of the blood with the sleeve of her jacket. She didn't particularly mind; she had a spare jumper in her bag if necessary. 

It was strange, Delaney thought, taking care of Natasha like this. Natasha had always been the one taking care of her. She and Clint had been like older siblings, showing her the ropes, training her, staying by her side as injuries from training healed. Reversing it felt like paying Natasha back for everything she'd done over the years. Delaney hoped she'd have more chances like it; she didn't always want to be the one protected. She wanted to protect her friends as well.

"How's Natasha?" Steve asked after a while.

Delaney smiled grimly. "She's tough. It would take more than this to get the better of her." She rested a hand on top of her friend's forehead and removed several strands of hair that were stuck to her forehead by sweat.

Though she knew Natasha would be fine, though she enjoyed the chance to look out for her friend, she hoped Natasha would wake up soon. It almost scared Delaney to see her friend like this: it was a sight she hadn't seen before.

Steve glanced back, taking his eyes for a brief second.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

"Me?" Delaney shrugged. "I'm fine. Bloody and tired, but okay." The worst injury appeared to be the scrape on her forehead; she suspected a small piece of debris was responsible for that. She'd already managed to staunch the bleeding.