Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

74 Dangerous

Steve still had that black eye when he met Bucky in front of the apartment at night to catch Fury’s trademark mysterious car to his undisclosed location. Bucky stood in the darkness behind a streetlight, shrugging his jacket up closer around his neck because it was beginning to grow cold while he waited. Steve stepped into the light of the streetlamp a few minutes later and Bucky spoke up from behind him.

“Hey,” he said scoldingly. “You think you’re in a spotlight?”

“Huh?” Steve said, turning. Bucky could almost see his breath in the air now.

“Step back here,” Bucky said from the darkness, nodding his head to gesture Steve beside him. “Have a little discretion.” Steve frowned and ducked out of the light, joining Bucky. Bucky stepped aside and let him, cupping his right hand over his mouth and blowing before shoving it back into his pocket. “Your face looks great, by the way. Black and blue’s a good color on you.” Bucky wasn’t looking, but he could hear Steve snort and he smiled a little.

“Yeah, good to see I put a real dent in you, too,” Steve replied and Bucky smirked.

“You did some serious damage here, Rogers,” he replied teasingly. “Took nearly a whole day for the bruises to go away. Bet you’re jealous.”

“Oh yeah, what’s not to be jealous of,” Steve replied and the thought was so ridiculous and the light-heartedness was so relieving that they both laughed out loud. Bucky smiled over at Steve and Steve was grinning back and Bucky was thinking about how nice it was to have such a relationship where understanding was an apology enough and about how nice it was to even be understood, if only for a little while and if only in portions. It was hopeful and happy and it was better still because sometimes, when you can’t love yourself, you’re endlessly grateful to have friends who can do it for you. But then, Bucky saw the bullet.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders and shoved him out of the way, pulling his own arms back just in time for his right jacket sleeve to be torn. He drew his handgun from his pocket inside his jacket rapidly and suddenly, he was all focus, ruthlessness in his eyes. He knew this game well. It was dark, but Bucky followed where he had seen the bullet from and caught a glimpse of something gleaming and that very second, without hesitation, he shot. There was the sound of someone muffling a cry, but Bucky wasn’t done. He was angry now, and although looking back on it, he would realize that his emotions felt muted with the adrenaline and familiarness of the moment, he, and especially Steve, absolutely would not be shot at.

The Winter Soldier found the sniper on the ground across the street with his bullet in his chest, but he was still trying to point a gun. The Winter Soldier kicked it away from him and then dug his heel into the man’s bullet-wound. His face was blank as the man groaned and he did not feel much.

The Winter Soldier switched his gun hand, since his left was too weak to do much lifting right now, and used his right to haul the man up to face him.

“Hydra?” He asked darkly, although, who else would it be? The man spat blood at him and the Winter Soldier frowned deeply. “That’s what I thought.” Another two bullets went through the man’s brain, the barrel pushed up against his temple, and the Winter Soldier flung his body aside. He surveyed the area quickly, scanning and poking around. He found one more sniper and shot him as well, and then he returned his gun to his jacket.

Steve, standing confused in the dark, heard only the gunshots and muttered words and he thought maybe it would have been prudent to bring his shield. He had no idea what Bucky could be doing out there in the dark.

When the Winter Soldier rejoined Steve minutes later, hating what he was and feeling sick as the shame began to sink in around the hollowness inside him, fitting itself into the cracks and the slivers, it was difficult now for him to believe that moments earlier, he had been happy.