Who Am I? » [Stucky]

118. Dark Horse

Now nothing was in their way they could learn their newly discovered surroundings. With a quick panoramic look around the basement of the base they were confronted with a tunnel with an unforeseeable end a few vehicles to take it.

"How long do you think the tunnel is?" Sam gasped out between stifled whiny breaths, clutching his shoulder. He raised his head and squinted at the dark dimly lit tunnel.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Bucky sighed, scooping back up Steve.

There were two armoured Cadillac escalades parked in the garage, painted up in mountain camouflage that consisted of dull greys and whites to blend with the white hued surroundings, splashed on in random splotches similar to the hide of a cow. They were bulky vehicles, fat and chunky and the armour only served to broaden their pudgy exterior. The wheels were made for harsh terrain, with deeper more intricate traction designs to grip the slippery surfaces that the icy setting was home to.

"You're gonna need to drive..." Sam suggested, blood filtering between his fingers as he grasped his wound.

"As long as you sit in the back and keep an eye on Steve's pulse for me," Bucky demanded.

~

The tunnel was a circular passage and the roar of the engine was amplified around them, intense. It rumbled the whole vehicle. It was like driving through a sewer, the road beneath them in the large pipe was damp and he was forever driving in puddles, splashing through the melted snow that had managed to seep into the base. Lights fixed to the wall flickered in the windows at exact intervals. Bucky had his foot down and determination painted across his face.

"I'm gonna assume you learned to break into a car during service... But I've never seen it done that fast before. Colour me impressed," Sam said conversationally from the back seat.

Sam sat strapped in, upright in the seat, with Steve's bent up body draped in his lap: head cushioned on his rump thighs, his long legs bent at the knee to fit them in the cabin. Sam's fingers were resting on Steve's pulse point, tracking the man's weakening heartbeat. The palpations of his beating heart were getting fewer and far between. The blood flow was slowly beginning to stem: but Sam accredited it to running out of blood rather than a clot in the wound. The brass bullet was just visible beneath his torn suit, rising and falling with his lungs where it was embellished in his flesh, coated with red dripping blood.

"Actually, Steve taught me... Nazi Germany... He always felt guilty about it, but y'know it was a necessity to get from place to place."

Bucky yearned to be in the back seat with Steve, clutching his dying body and whispering sweet nothings into his ear to ease him, he'd give his commiseration and pray for forgiveness. He longed for his touch, to be able to feel his heat and his lips and see his smile and his eyes. Steve's face was as pasty as paper and his lips looked slightly shrivelled and deflated and were a pale pink. He looked ill, but still looked comely: even with thin scratches drawn across his face, bruises staining his skin and drowning in his own blood.

Bucky knew that Steve was dancing upon the tightrope of life, teetering and wobbling, close to plunging into the void, condemned to eternal rest. He also knew he was the one who put him there. In his own mind, he'd made it his divine responsibility to save him. He resented the fate he had unwittingly thrust upon him; and he wasn't to forgive himself if Steve died.

"Sly dog, your boyfriend. As soon as you think you know him, there's always something new to discover about him..." Sam gave Steve an admirable smile, saddened by the broken state of the hero.

"Stevie was always a bit of a dark horse... Always surprising me with his resilience and his strength. He used to be the scrawniest kid in the neighbourhood... Five foot four and wouldn't back down from a fight. And it was a rough neighbourhood... Brooklyn hasn't changed much. He was ridiculous... He used to take on the biggest bullies in alleys and on street corners and I'd always be there to fish him out before they knocked him out or worse: normally snatching him by his collar and dragging him away kicking and screaming, still yelling insults and trying to throw punches. But, y'know... This isn't the first time I've seen him unconscious, or injured for that matter... It's just... I've never seen him in critical condition from a fight before..." Unnoticed to Sam, Bucky was wiping away tears that were dripping down his cheeks, reminiscing fondly about the love of his lonely life.