(Y/N) (L/N) woke up, startled and cold. He sat up straight immediately, his head colliding with a low metal ceiling. He winced at the pain, his fingers rubbing the spot through his thick (H/C) hair, his eyes quickly scanning the surroundings. A large man sat in the seat parallel to his make-shift bed, his hands resting on the steering wheel of what seemed to be a tank. Buttons flashed on the dashboard, radio screeches disturbed the silence. He closed his eyes, searching his mind for the last memories he had. The memories of using unspeakable powers to attack a man who had conducted his torture, and the corruption of his body, flooded into his mind.
'Dr (L/N),' the man driving the tank gasped, pushing down on the break with his foot and standing up. 'Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers will want to speak to you.'
'Captain...' he'd begun to query, but the man had already climbed out of the cabin.
(Y/N) looked at the jacket which had been placed over him in substitution of a blanket. It was thick and warm, and smelled awfully good. He picked it up, breathing in the scent before inspecting it. On the flap of the breast pocket read the name of his friend, 'Barnes'. Thinking he'd have a few more minutes alone, he lifted the jacket to his nose one more time, breathing in the aroma which clung to it. Just as he took a whiff though, the hatch opened, and James Buchanan Barnes slid down the ladder.
He caught (Y/N) in the act, but simply grinned, winking at his friend. (Y/N) quickly folded up the jacket and tried to hand it to Bucky. 'Keep it,' he smiled, unfolding the coat, 'you're shivering.' Then, he helped a sleepy (Y/N) back into it, patting his shoulders as soon as he'd zipped it up. 'Suits you,' Bucky complimented, taking note of (Y/N) in his jacket, a smirk appearing on his face just as Steve Rogers begun to descend the ladder.
'It's about three sizes too big for him,' Steve chuckled. He was taller, (Y/N) noticed, his figure full and strong.
'It's warm,' (Y/N) said, folding his arms inwards, hugging himself in an attempt to conserve warmth.
The two of them sat in the driver and passenger seats, staring at (Y/N) who looked tired and dishevelled. (Y/N)'s gaze danced between his two friends. If it weren't for his confusion, he might have hugged them both in relief.
Steve and Bucky made themselves comfortable; Steve sitting up straight whilst Bucky spread his legs and clasped his hands in front of him. They made eye contact for a moment, as though fighting over who would break the silence. Bucky lost.
'You've been out for almost three weeks,' he said, staring at his boots which were planted firmly on the floor.
'That's not possible,' (Y/N) stated, 'without fluids for that long I would have died.' He almost laughed at the prospect. It was impossible. A man would die after three days if he hadn't gotten water, and he'd seen no water canteens in the cockpit of the tank, and he had no drip connected to his wrist.
'We thought that too,' said Steve, 'but perhaps it's your thing which made it possible.'
'I have no th-thing,' (Y/N) stammered seriously, he begun to think of the skills his mother and grandmother had; although none of them could compare to the damage he caused that night of the escape. There was no red when they did it, no real damage; just floating pans, pain relief and moving cards.
'You have something,' Bucky said, 'they did something to you.'
'I don't want to talk about that,' replied (Y/N) coldly.
'But it could help...' tried Bucky.
'I said I don't want to talk about it!' (Y/N) spat. There was nobody he wanted to talk to about what had happened to him, the power he felt within him; nobody except maybe his mother, who might have some knowledge of what he'd been exposed to.
'Then we won't,' said Steve, glaring at Bucky, 'we won't speak of it until you're ready, but none of us can deny the strength you have (Y/N), the power you've been given.'
'I'd rather not speak about it,' said (Y/N), coldly, 'not now, not here.'
'Okay.'
All three of them looked worn and battered as the final stretch neared completion. Before their capture, the other men from the 107th had made fun of him for not being a 'real soldier' for riding in the back of any available vehicle a medical kit on his lap and a colt strapped to his belt which he could barely shoot. They hadn't been too kind to him. Not only was he 'just the doctor' but he wasn't from their country, and they'd ask him whether or not he was lost every other chance they got. (Y/N) ignored it, and they all thought it was hilarious.
Now, the men saluted him, respected him for returning. They knew he was the first to be taken away at the HYDRA base, and they honoured the fact that he'd returned, unlike so many others.
(Y/N) and Bucky walked on either side of Steve, a couple paces behind. Steve wore what seemed to be a blue spandex body suit beneath his leather jacket, which had been ripped to shreds. A dirty blue helmet balanced atop his head, a pair of parachuting goggles strapped to it.
Bucky looked the worst. He'd grown the same amount of hair (Y/N) had, he had bruises covering his whole face, his clothes were ripped, his skin dirty. Half-healed scars scattered his face and collar bones. (Y/N) stole glances at him, admiring how tough he looked; how handsome he looked now his beard had grown out; how his messy hair lay upon his head, and dirt splotched his face. If the girls back home could only see him now.
'How did you become a captain so quickly, anyway? I didn't even think they'd let you enlist,' (Y/N) asked, distracting himself from admiring James Barnes. Steve smiled, before going into depth about the scientist, who had used an experimental drug on him to fashion him into the perfect soldier he now was. His demeanour shifted when he talked about the scientist. 'Is he still in Brooklyn?' (Y/N) questioned.
Steve shook his head, 'HYDRA got to him only minutes after his success,' said Steve, 'and it just so happens that Schmidt has been given the same thing.'
'Then we kill him,' said (Y/N), seriously. 'I'll rip his bones out from under his skin, I don't reckon it'd be too hard.'
(Y/N) caught Bucky smirking, the lips beneath his beard practically grinning. Steve didn't seem so amused though. He turned back, looking at his friend grimly. 'You're not going on any mission alone; any of us,' he said, 'we're a team now. I'll make sure of it.'
'I don't need a team,' (Y/N) huffed, the palm of his right hand holding a ball of red mist. 'I could have Schmidt dead within the hour.' Bucky narrowed the gap between them, closing (Y/N)'s hand with both of his own. His blue eyes connecting with (Y/N)'s (E/C) ones.
'We'll meet you at the camp,' Bucky said to Steve calmly, 'it's only another five miles south of here.'
'Take care you two,' Steve said, nodding his head before continuing to lead the unit towards the encampment.
Bucky led him deep into the forest on side of the road, not leaving go of his hand until they were away from the sight of any other soldier. As soon as he stopped walking, (Y/N) snatched his hand away. 'Is there a problem?' he questionned.
'Steve's right,' he said, 'we need to work as a team, there's no you, or I, only us. You might be able to pull one over on Steve and run off on some revenge mission, but you're not leaving my sight.'
'I'm not a child,' (Y/N) bit his lip. He knew how petulant he sounded, but it didn't bother him all that much. 'I could end this war in an afternoon.'
'Don't be so ridiculous,' Bucky scoffed, 'you don't even know where Schmidt is, and even if you did, you'd probably faint before getting the first hit in.'
'I'm not being ridiculous,' he spat, his eyes beginning to glow red, a crimson fog producing itself in his hands as his whole body begun to levitate upwards. He'd only rose a foot off the air when Bucky pulled him back down by the shoulders. (Y/N) faltered slightly when his feet hit the earth. His eyes blinked tiredly, turning from a bright red to their usual (E/C).
'You need rest, come on,' Bucky instructed, resting an arm around (Y/N)'s shoulders, 'and you're not leaving my sight.'
The two of them made their way back onto the road, following it for a further five miles, catching up with the back end of the rescued unit. Every man (Y/N) could see looked exhausted, haggard. The majority of them would be in the medical tent when they returned, searching for him to suture shut their wounds, clean their scrapes, and provide the appropriate pain medications. Knowing the consultations would only prolong the time between diagnosis and treatment, (Y/N) (L/N) scanned the march. When he saw who his first patient would be, he walked ahead, followed quickly by Bucky.
'Where are you going?' Sergeant Barnes asked, his hand gripping (Y/N)'s shoulder to prevent him getting any further.
'To do my job,' growled (Y/N), 'have you got a problem with that, Barnes?' Bucky let go of his friend's shoulder and stiffened. He tensed, he clearly didn't mean to come across so protective, or condescending. (Y/N) let out a deep breath, he hadn't meant to sound so aggressive. 'Why don't you walk with me, you know these men better than I do.'
(Y/N) and Bucky went between the soldiers, talking to those who looked the most wounded. One in particular had a nasty gash on the lower left side of his ribcage. 'James,' (Y/N) said, he was the only other British soldier he'd met whilst being held in HYDRA's cells. Bucky shifted closer. 'You're hurt, show me – lift your shirt so I can see.' The soldier did as he was told, revealing a jagged, puss filled, cut which had sticky congealed blood pooling in the middle.
Bucky winced at the sight, (Y/N) (L/N) simply took a closer look as they carried on walking. 'An infection's setting in. You come straight to the medical tent when we get back. It'll need cleaning before I stitch it up, and then I'll prescribe you a dose of antibiotics to stop the infection spreading.'
'It doesn't hurt, honestly Dr (L/N)' the soldier tried to explain, thinking of his infected laceration as merely a scrape.
'It might not hurt now,' said (Y/N), 'but if it goes untreated there's a possibility septicaemia will set in.'
'What's that?' Bucky asked, his eyes widening.
'It doesn't matter what it is,' replied (Y/N), 'because you're not going to get it, are you Falsworth?' He turned to the soldier, who shook his head. 'Good, so when we get back, straight to my tent, have you got me?'
'Yes, thank you Doctor.'
'Not a problem.'
When the unit returned to the encampment, Bucky rushed onwards in search of Steve, (Y/N) hung back, searching for his first patient. He found him struggling to walk on, so, despite being almost a foot shorter than him, he slung an arm under his shoulders and helped him onwards into the camp.
'Let's hear it for Captain America!' Bucky Barnes yelled, commanding an orchestra of almost a thousand soldiers who hollered and cheered. (Y/N) would have liked to join in the celebration, but he had people to treat, lives to save.
'Lie down on that bed,' he instructed as soon as he'd entered the medical tent. A few medics had gathered around him, welcoming him back, but he had no time to listen to them. 'I need an IV drip with antibiotics, a suture kit, some saline, and a bowl of warm water and soap,' he said strictly, shaking off the jacket Bucky had given him and pulling on the closest white coat available. A nurse rolled over a table for him; on it, both a suture kit and a bowl of warm soapy water, which he scrubbed his hands in, before taking the bag of saline and roll of cotton wool from the clean hands of another nurse.
'Remove your shirt please, James,' (Y/N) told his patient, who pulled his torn, blood stained, sweater over his head and chucked it to the floor. 'I need that antibiotic drip,' he told the first nurse, upon noticing that the volume of puss gathered within the incision was greater than he had first believed. He returned with the antibiotic drip as well as a full bag of saline.
'I'm just going to clean the laceration first,' he told the soldier, he always found it effective to let his patient know what he was doing. James Falsworth breathed out deeply, most likely due to the cold liquid flushing out his wound. The second nurse prepped the antibiotic drip and once he had held out his arm, she inserted the needle into the vein; he flinched a bit at this, but (Y/N) tried his best to comfort him. 'That's going to prevent the sepsis,' he smiled, dabbing away at the cut with the cotton wool, cleaning it to the best of his best ability.
Once it was sufficiently cleaned, he threaded the suture material into a needle and got to work closing it. 'You might feel a little prick here,' he told James, 'Almost done though, just closing it up so no further infection gets in.' As soon as he was done, he stepped back, admiring his work. 'How do you feel?'
'A bit better,' Falsworth smiled tiredly, 'thank you.' (Y/N) could listen to him talk all day. It wasn't often he heard another Englishman speak; it reminded him of home.
'Get this gentleman a warm drink and something to eat,' he ordered anyone who'd listen to him, and then he got to work treating the multitude of men lining up outside his tent.
Most of them just needed their wounds cleaned and a bandage, or some pain relief. Some of them required a little more attention though; like the man who'd required staples in his skull to close the deep cut in the back of his head, and the man who needed a cast on his right leg to mend his broken fibula.
Come midnight, (Y/N) (L/N) had seen to every single one of his patients, and he was exhausted. He sat at his desk, scribbling down each of the medications he'd prescribed and the procedures he'd carried out; the colonel would want to read about what it was he'd done.
He looked at the clock as the hands struck one, and he set down his pen; the ink cartridge had run dry anyway. Dr (L/N) took a deep breath, he wished he had a beer to reward himself with.
'Busy?' a familiar voice carried through the almost deserted tent. The poorly men had been taken back to their sleeping quarters to rest, all but James Falsworth who remained sleeping a short distance away, his antibiotic drip almost half gone.
'Not anymore,' (Y/N) said, piling up his papers and turning to look at a slightly cleaner Bucky Barnes.
'You look tired,' stated Bucky, sitting on the desk.
'I'm knackered,' (Y/N) huffed, resting his weary head in his hands. Bucky chuckled, he was always amused by the slang his friend used.
'Fancy a drink?' he offered, pulling out a flask from the inner pocket of his coat.
'I think I need it,' responded (Y/N), taking the flask and downing a mouthful.
'What about a smoke?'
'Need it,' he replied, taking a cigarette from Bucky's palm, and sticking it between his lips. He let Bucky light it with his zippo, and then inhaled deeply. He hadn't had one in over a month, and as the smoke filled his lungs, and the nicotine entered his bloodstream he wondered how he'd ever coped.
Bucky took one for himself and breathed out a large plume of smoke. 'Septicaemia?' he asked simply, nodding towards Falsworth.
(Y/N) shook his head, 'not yet at least.' Bucky placed his left hand on the doctors shoulder, squeezing it slightly. 'How are you doing?' he asked him, 'I forgot to ask.'
'I'm fine,' Bucky answered, 'just a few scratches.'
'Let me see.'
'I'm fine, honestly,' he laughed, but (Y/N) was being serious, his furrowed eyebrows told Bucky this.
'Let me see, Barnes.'
He pulled up his shirt and showed him the bruises and scratches he'd obtained. They were nothing serious, nothing that required any medical attention, but (Y/N) couldn't deny he quite liked looking at Bucky Barnes's bare chest; it was firm, strong, a slight coating of hair covering it.
'Reckon I'll be alright?' Bucky smirked, looking down at the doctor. (Y/N) almost choked, switching his attention to Bucky's eyes rather than his torso.
'Yeah,' he laughed nervously, 'the peak of fitness.' (Y/N) slapped himself mentally, his heart race quickening.
Bucky bit his lip, the corners of them turning up into a sadistic smile. He clearly liked seeing him so nervous. 'The peak of fitness,' he chuckled.
(Y/N)'s eyes darted around the tent anxiously, 'you know what I mean,' he scoffed awkwardly.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and the cot which stood a few feet away from his desk looked awfully inviting.
'You should sleep,' Bucky said, 'you've been overworked.'
'I should sleep,' nodded (Y/N), getting up from his seat and slumping over to the cot, peeling back the covers, and going to get in.
'Let me take that,' Bucky offered, helping him out of the now blood-stained white coat he'd forgotten to take off. Then he unlaced his boots and removed his socks. (Y/N)'s feet were bruised with the walking, his ankles and heels blistered.
Once he was under the covers, Bucky helped shift the pillows under his head, although by this point, he was sound asleep. Bucky Barnes watched on, dimming the gas torches, and taking his seat at the desk. He lit another cigarette and took another swig from his flask.
(Y/N) (L/N) didn't know it, but Bucky Barnes was true to his word when he said he'd never let him out of his sight.