A/N: I'm back! I've been pondering over posting this for a while now, I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out, it's a long one but I'll continue based on the response I get.
Warnings: Slow Burn, angst, swearing, injuries and medical procedures are mentioned but not too graphic, I warned you.
"Fucking disaster. Absolute fucking disaster. Shit shit shit." A British accent rang out into the dead silent forest.
Her footsteps dragged through the snow in time to her muttered cursing. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, each breath frosted white in the cold air. She continued to curse as she cut a path through the snow.
She paused for a moment and looked up, eyes squinting against the bright winter sunlight, low in the sky now as the afternoon drew in. A sigh of relief. The half hidden roof of a cabin, just now fading into the shadow of the surrounding forest. She'd seen it on the map, what felt like days ago, but had no real trust it would still be here. But it had been something for her to aim for. Something for them to aim for.
She hitched the arm around her shoulder a little higher, her grip around the man's waist beside her tightening. She turned back slightly to see the trail of blood drops behind them, contrasting brightly against the pure, white snow. More than she'd hoped. They'd been walking a long time now and yet the blood was coming as fast as before. No time to waste. She moved forward again, muttering once more. The man beside her walked in time with her, barely aware that his feet were moving as he concentrated on staying awake, despite the sharp pain running through him, tempting his brain to shut down. If he fell, she wouldn't be able to lift him, so he had to keep walking.
They reached the cabin a short while later and she propped him against the porch while she looked, fruitlessly, for a key. Teeth gritted with frustration at yet another thing gone wrong and she lifted a leg, kicking the door repeatedly until the wood, long since untended, splintered and they could enter. The man was too far gone now to notice the way she gasped in pain as she had to lift her leg, and how it took her a moment, holding onto the door frame, before she was able to support him again and help him inside.
Out of the snow and light, she walked him over to a sagging couch and lowered him onto it as gently as she could, his weight causing her to half topple forward as he sat, disrupting the layer of dust that had settled there after ages of being unused. She looked around and saw a towel hanging on a rack by the cold fireplace. The towel was crisp with age and cold but she shook it out before folding it into a pad and pressing it against the man's leg, moving his hand on top of it.
"Can you press this down?" She peered into the man's face. He hadn't moved since she'd dropped him on the couch, lying in an uncomfortable position propped on an elbow, too exhausted to move. He nodded sharply, and she saw his fingers blanch as he put pressure on the wound. She took a breath, bone-weary herself but knowing that she had to go on.
"I need to get up, get our bearings, work out a plan…" Despite his wound, he still sounded commanding, he was used to being in charge. He started to move, attempting to sit up with little success.
"You need to sit down, Captain." Her voice was dripping sarcasm as she spoke his title. "I'm the mission medic and I'm telling you to let me do my job before you bleed out." She put a hand to his shoulder, pushing only lightly as he gave in.
Back outside she looked around before spotting a logpile, luckily left well stocked. The cabin was here as an emergency shelter, designed to be left ready for the next person by anyone who used it, and it seemed that the last occupant had taken this to heart. The wood was stacked well, dry and resin-scented, and she filled a nearby box with as much as she could normally carry. As she lifted it, her knees gave way and she sank down into the snow, hand pressed to her own side now. A grimace of pure agony shot across her face as she pushed herself up again, hand to knee, slowly. Time for weakness wasn't yet. She took half the wood out of the box and tried again, slowly lifting the box but favouring one side as she trudged back to the cabin.
The man had his eyes closed now, but she could see that he was still conscious enough to press on the wound. She didn't want to disturb it yet, so she set to laying a fire in the fireplace, hoping the chimney was clear. There was kindling nearby, matches in a metal tin on the mantelpiece, so it wasn't long until she was feeding wood into the flames, watching as the fire licked up the logs and she could start to feel the warmth spreading. She tried one of the doors leading off the room and found only stairs; at another she found a small kitchen. Opening random cupboards until she found a pan, she headed back outside to fill it with snow and set it on the fire to warm.
Her movements were slower now, and the desire to lay down and rest was unbearable, but the protocols that had been drilled into her for years upon years now were powerful, they kept her going when it was hard to make conscious decisions.
The cabin was small, and well insulated, so the warmth from the generous fire was spreading quickly despite the building being long empty. She stood again, holding onto the mantelpiece for support and eyed the man, and herself. Both were wearing winter uniforms, strong boots and good coats, but the damp had soaked through nonetheless. She dropped to her knees and started unlacing the man's boots, pulling off damp leather and socks. Somehow his bare feet, pinched white with cold, made him look vulnerable and she gave a small smile as she sat and pulled off her own boots.
She dragged a dusty blanket off the back of the couch, causing the man to stir, and then wrapped it around him. His eyes opened and he took in the fire, the pan of melting snow, wriggling his toes as they warmed.
"I'm going to have to get that bullet out now. It's going to hurt like a bitch." There was no point in beating around the bush, this was familiar territory for them both now, although this wound was deeper than they'd dealt with for a while, and they were usually in better conditions than this. He nodded.
She got herself ready, both exhaustion and a reluctance to act slowing her movements. Her uniform was stocked with the basics for first aid, along with a few extra additions she'd made, experience on missions teaching her what was useful and what was not.
The cabin was warm now, the dried logs burning fast and hot. She put a few more on the fire, glad to see the cold air outside was drawing the smoke up the chimney well. Anyone looking would see the smoke, yes, but without the fire they'd be dead long before any enemies could find them, so it was the only choice right now.
The water was boiling at last so she quickly unpacked needle, thread, all the equipment she could, and put it in the pan. It was a small gesture to sterilisation but it was all she could improvise. Bringing in another pan from the kitchen, after a few moments she wrapped her coat around her hands and hoisted the full pan off the fire, breath hissing at the weight, heat from the metal handle seeping through and burning her cold hands. She emptied the water from one pan to the other, leaving the equipment in the now empty pan to cool slightly as she assessed the man again. He was watching her, a frown etched into his otherwise caring features.
"You're hurt. You winced."
"I'm fine. Lie down." He frowned and stayed still. "I told you. Mission Medic. Right now, if you want to live, you do as I say. Lie. Down."
He laid back on the couch and she pushed a pillow under his head for comfort, and pulled the blanket away from his legs, wrapping it over his chest and arms for warmth. She pulled out a knife from a pocket on her uniform leg and, gently moving his hand holding the towel, started cutting the man's trousers. With a large hole cut, the extent of the wound was revealed. The wounds, plural. The man was covered in bruises and cuts, but this was nothing new. The wound in his thigh though, was worse than usual, and his reaction to it worried her.
"I wouldn't normally take the bullet out, but you're going to get an infection if I leave it in there so I'm going to have to try. Just hope it's not the only thing plugging up the veins…" She muttered, more to herself than to him. He was used to that by now, it was how she worked.
She tested the temperature of the water, cooler now, and then without warning, poured some over the wound.
"SHIT!" The man jerked to a sitting position as the water hit his injury.
"Sorry. I need to see what I'm doing, there was too much blood." She was worried, this was not a hygienic set up but it was all she had. She picked up some forceps, still hot against her cold hand, then put them down again. Searching through the wood pile she found a smooth piece of wood and gave it to him. He eyed her curiously.
"Like I said, this is going to hurt like a bitch. You might want to bite on that."
"I'm fine. It's OK." She sighed.
"I forgot, never show weakness, be a man… fine. Martyr yourself, just don't scream in my ear, ok?"
She picked up the forceps again, met his eye, and then started work.
It was neither a clean nor a pleasant process. The bullet had missed the main artery but there was damage and the flesh seemed to be reacting to the bullet in unusual ways. It had all happened a mere minutes ago, but for them, it felt a lot longer. The man stayed silent throughout, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. As she felt the forceps close around the bullet, she heard a sharp crack as the length of wood the man was holding snapped under his tightening grip. Bullet out, she dropped it onto the floor and took a sharp breath. The man's face was covered in a sheen of sweat, veins bulging in his forehead.
"It's out." The man's mouth opened and he let out a gasp followed by a string of swearwords, and she smiled. "Still have to stitch it up though." Despite the situation, her mouth quirked with amusement as the swearing intensified.
Rewashing the wound, unhappy with how she was having to clean it, she began stitching. She'd done this so often to this man in particular now, and she was known for her gentle hands. Pulling the last stitch and cutting off the thread with her knife she sat back on her heels and eyed her work. The bleeding had stopped, that was a start. Throwing the tools back in the pan, she patted her pockets until she found what she was looking for.
"Drink this. Just one mouthful." she said raising a small bottle filled with a clear liquid to his mouth and cupping the back of his head to help him.
"I can't get drunk, you know that." The man had sat himself up again now, swinging his leg carefully to rest on a stool, and spoke idly as he assessed her work, relieved now that the worst was over.
"It's not alcohol, you idiot." He looked up at the bottle she was holding. "Mix of antibiotics, painkillers, and a sedative. Designed for super-soldiers. This is all I have, rest's back at the jet. So just one mouthful for now."
He swallowed a mouthful obediently then laid his head back against the couch, allowing her to use tweezers and pull out the splinters that the wood left in his hand.
"Something off about that bullet. Shouldn't have affected me like that." She nodded agreement, picking the bullet up and eyeing it.
"I'm no expert, we'll take it back to Stark." Their eyes met as she spoke, both wondering if they'd ever actually get back to Stark, or anyone else. No comms, no trail, the chip embedded in the back of her neck most likely wasn't picking up a signal, either no-one would find them, or the wrong people would.
She saw the man's eyes start drifting shut, and pulled the blanket up to cover him further. Trusting that he was finally asleep, she let her head hang forward and her eyes shut for a moment, letting out a deep breath that she felt she'd been holding forever.
"Sleep well, Steve." She spoke quietly, to herself. Now, it was time to deal with her own wounds.