April 20th, 2016
Bucharest, Romania
"Come on, kid, we're so close. We're so close. Just a little bit more."
Kasey sucks in a deep, wavering breath, holding it in her lungs for a second. The gaping hole in her torso hurts less when she doesn't breathe. So would lying down, or sleeping, or any one of the number of things that is the exact opposite of trekking miles back to the apartment on foot in the dead of night.
But none of that really looks like an option at the moment.
She doesn't remember much of what happened. She remembers flashes, and what happened well before, but during the actual fight and the consequential act of Calloway shooting her in the stomach with the same gun that killed —
She lets the breath slowly, through her nose, an inch at a time.
They'd been hunting him for the past two months, ever since Kasey realized that Bucky didn't really plan on letting her out of his sight. It was going to be their last mission, one built completely on choice. They chose to do this — no one else made them. Freedom. Isn't that what they deserve?
Or maybe it's just due diligence.
Calloway had disappeared underground ever since Kasey's grand escape, but the two of them are trained hunters. It took over a month to find him. It took less than a week to head to Romania and stake him out.
They took up shop in Bucharest, because they needed a safe place to retreat to once they got him. She kinda regrets picking a place so far away now.
Kasey remembers pulling up to the crappy motel he had been living out of.
At the time, Kasey hadn't really thought past finding him, but now that she had, sitting in their stolen car with a fidgety and nervous Bucky sitting beside her, she knew what she wanted to do.
She was going to kill Dr. Calloway.
Kasey holds her next breath a little too long, and it comes out in a cough that leaves blood dripping down the corner of her mouth.
But it hadn't happened like that, had it?
After that, she doesn't remember much — she remembers there being more men than they expected, and they overwhelmed Kasey and Bucky. She remembers flying at Calloway with everything she had, but she remembers other people kept getting in the way, holding her back.
She remembers the gun in her waistband ending up in Calloway's hand. She remembers him grinning, giving another one of his fucking speeches, and shooting her in the stomach.
She remembers Bucky screaming her name as fifteen ex-Hydra agents held him back.
"I don't want you to go to waste," Calloway had said, giving her a soft look that made Kasey's stomach turn.
After that, nothing. She wakes up surrounded by trees with a worried Bucky standing over her. She doesn't even feel anything until she pressed a hand to her torso, wondering why it feels so warm — and it comes away covered in blood. Pain courses through her body and hasn't stopped, not even for a second, since.
Bucky meets her gaze. She remembers how much his gaze scared her when they first met. It was just so . . . stern. Angry. Terrifying. But now she can actually reach underneath it, and see the concern for her wellbeing lying underneath.
"We have to move soon," he'd said. "Calloway called for reinforcements before I — I offed him. The sun's going to set soon, and getting hunted in the dark is no joyride."
Alright. Kasey nods, and begins the slow process of getting to her feet. It's pure torture just to lift her head off of Bucky's jacket, and she only manages to get up on one elbow and bending one knee beneath her before Bucky's presses both hands into her shoulders. "Wait, wait, wait. What the hell, kid?"
She blinks. "Uh. Getting up?"
"Just — just stay there."
"Uh, no thanks," says Kasey. "What are you going to do, carry me?"
Bucky kneels down. "Kid, you can't walk."
Kasey narrow her eyes, even though it makes her head spin. "I can walk."
"Fine. I don't want you walking. You're bleeding out from both sides, Kase."
"Am I going to die?"
Bucky glances at her sharply. "Not if I can help it."
"Okay, then."
Kasey feels determination boil over like a pot that spent too long on the stove. She doesn't know where this irrational anger comes from, but it explodes out of her, and she forces herself to her feet. It takes far longer than she would've liked, and though it feels like she's climbing Mount Everest, she must actually look like she's a turtle trying to flip over from its back and by the time she's vertical, she has to grasp Bucky's arm for support. He watches her, face split down the middle between fury and amusement.
It takes a moment for her head to stop spinning. "Come on, stud," she says, patting Bucky's arm. Her other hand keeps the shirt in place, and she spares it a glance only after she's sure she can stomach it. "Oh. That's gnarly."
Bucky fetches his jacket from the ground, and loops Kasey's arm over his broad shoulders. "Gnarly?"
She tries to smile, but it comes off sloppy, barely pulling at one corner of her mouth.
He sighs. "I need a cigarette."
She coughs, and feels the acidic taste of blood hit her tongue. "Smoking causes cancer, Sarge."
"I'm a superhuman."
"That's fair."
For just a moment, seconds before they start walking, Kasey absolutely regrets saying she can walk. She sees the journey ahead in flashes, of them walking until they find a road, and then continuing on that road until they get back to Bucharest. It'll take several hours to walk the whole way. They don't have a car, and even if they did, Bucky hates driving, but there's no way he'll allow her behind the wheel now.
And it . . . it's the last thing she wants to do.
She wants to lie back down and suffer quietly.
Above all, she wants the pain to stop, because this isn't sore muscles or tiny cuts or bruises. That kind of pain is almost a distraction because it feels almost inversely good in some ways. But not this. Not . . . this. This is all-consuming.
But wanting the pain to stop is a stupid feeling, because it's not possible, and won't be for a long time. She needs to focus on practical things right now, like getting somewhere she can get stitched up.
I am in control. I am in control.
She sucks in a long, deep breath, and meets Bucky's eyes. She nods, and Bucky frowns. But then he pulls them forwards, starting through the patch of dirt they're on and into the much thicker forest.
Kasey doesn't ask where they're going. She tells herself it's because she doesn't have the energy to ask, but she knows the real reason. She trusts Bucky.
After that, it had been some of the hardest hours of Kasey's life. As soon as they get out of the woods, they tried to stay away from people, and instead stuck to deserted neighborhoods and side streets until they made it all the way back to Bucharest. Kasey had walked on her own, clutching one of Bucky's shirts to the bloody mess near her stomach, until she went down hard on her knees and hadn't been able to stand without her arm over Bucky's shoulders.
"Look, kid," says Bucky.
Kasey lifts her head up, ignoring the excruciating wave of pain that courses through her body at even the smallest of movements. The night is pitch-black, no stars, no moon, and only street lights every one hundred feet to light their way.
But up ahead, even through the darkness, Kasey can make out the shape of their apartment building.
She lets out a sigh, but she really can't bring herself to speak. Her head flops back onto Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky's arm tightens around her waist. She knows he's worried, but she can't bring herself to comfort him. "Kid?"
"Let's . . . go," she manages. Walking even another step feels like total hell, but they don't have many other options. Kasey would like to die in the place she's called home for the past few weeks, not on some street corner.
They stumble forwards again, and Kasey sucks in a deep breath — Bucky goes as slow as he can, but everything hurts. He can't do anything to prevent it.
Her feet move under her automatically, and Bucky moves as smoothly as he can, trying his best not to jostle her. He slung her arm around her his shoulders hours ago, back when Kasey could still walk on her own, but by that time she felt so tired she didn't even protest. Ever since then, they've moved together as one, until Kasey grows weak enough to the point that Bucky has to practically carry her.
It feels like hours pass, but soon enough, they're stumbling through the lobby. Kasey's whole body sags in relief, because they're so close, and she'll get to rest and sleep and lie somewhere safe and —
And all that relief drains out of her faster than came.
Bucky pulls her towards the staircase.
They reach the bottom, and Kasey can just picture the dozens of flights after, walking until she can't feel her feet anymore.
She won't make it up.
"I can't," she whispers, nearly pulling away from Bucky. "I can't, Sarge, I can't."
"Kasey — "
Her hand slips from his grip, and she stumbles away, her knees giving out from under her and she sinks to the floor. Her stomach spasms in pain, and she groans, feeling more bile crawl up her throat. She retches at the base of the stairs, muscles tensing and throbbing and screaming out in pain.
It's not bile. It's blood.
"Oh, God," she says.
Bucky lifts her off his feet and into his arms in one smooth motion, his arm hooked beneath her knees and the other cradling her back.
She buries her head into his chest.
"I got you," he says. "I got you."
She lets out a sob. She doesn't want to die. Not like this. Not over some petty fight that she got herself into. Not by the man that stole her life from her once already.
Her fist tightens into Bucky's shirt. "He's dead, right?" she croaks, glancing up to look at him. His face strains as he works his way up the stairs, and she reminds herself that her foolish plan got him injured, too. She gets hit with an overwhelming feeling that she can't place — it swells in her chest and makes her want to close her eyes and let Bucky deal with this.
It's trust.
She trusts him.
That was not part of the plan.
Bucky glances down at her, his expression soft. "Y-Yeah, kid, he's dead."
Calloway might be dead, but he'd gotten the last laugh — there seems to be a pretty good chance Kasey's going to follow him to the grave.
A lifetime later, Bucky sets her down on the couch of their apartment — which is so small her knees bend over the armrests — and the room tilts and sways like the world's worst roller coaster. Eventually, the dirty ceiling comes into focus, pain making the edges of her vision blurry and hard to focus on. She can only stare at the ceiling, feeling blood leak out of her as her stupid heart continues to beat.
You're dying.
Bucky disappears, and then comes back a moment later with blankets and their miserable first-aid kit.
"K — can you tell me your name?"
She swallows, and her throat feels like sandpaper. "Kasey." She almost says Eve, just out of habit, and it makes her dry throat feel exponentially worse.
"Full name."
"Kasey A-Angelica Barnes." She shifts, trying to get a good look at "Did — Did you . . . Is he dead?" she asks. Her vision begins to blur, and Bucky becomes two, then three, then four. She blinks, and all the Buckys snap back into one. The pain in her stomach continues to throb uncontrollably. She refuses to look down at the damage. She needs to stay conscious, and looking down at the blood seeping out of her body is probably the worst thing she could do.
Bucky glances up at her, brows furrowed, an emotions she doesn't have the brain power to decipher swell behind his eyes. "Yes."
Kasey feels her head relax against something soft, but it's not a pillow, nor the hard ground. She can't even begin to process — Calloway is dead. And she hadn't been the one to do it, but . . . he's dead.
He can't hurt anybody else.
He can't hurt her.
It doesn't feel satisfying, like something has finally shifted inside her. She doesn't feel proud, or relieved, or happy.
She feels the purpose she's clutched onto for the past year drain out through her ears and dribble onto the ground.
It leaves her feeling empty.
She looks back to Sarge, who is busying himself with a roll of gauze, but his hands seem to be shaking.
Kasey reaches out and grabs his hand. "I'm really tired," she says. She doesn't know if she means right now, or just with life in general. Probably both.
"Kid. No dying. Okay? No dying," says Bucky, and she finally recognizes that he sounds frustrated. "Here." The hand holding hers presses it into her stomach, and Kasey finds a wad of fabric. She realizes that Bucky is without his jacket and his outermost shirt. "Can you keep pressure on that?"
She nods, and complies, pressing lightly on the fabric. It sends all sorts of new pain through her system, and she feels her body buck slightly, trying to get away from her own hand, and her eyes squeeze shut.
"Whoa, whoa. Kasey. Kasey. Look at me."
Her hand doesn't let up, and after a minute of her body getting used to it and Bucky's gentle coaxing, she peels her eyes open again.
"Alright," says Bucky. "Can you feel everything?"
Kasey humors him, and wiggles all her fingers and toes one by one. "Uh-huh."
"Did you feel that?"
Just for a second, she panics. "N-No."
He nods. "Good."
"That's good?"
"Well, yeah, I didn't actually do anything, so."
She smirks, a small smile pulling at her lips, but she knows better than to laugh.
"You're a jerk."
"And you're a punk."
She can't leave Bucky alone. She can't. She doesn't know what he'll do.
So she has to live. For Bucky, if nothing else.
"Sarge," she says. "Is he dead?"
Bucharest, Romania
May 6th, 2016
Kasey steps into the apartment, feeling hyper aware of everything around her.
Her apartment never used to feel this way; in fact, after she boarded up all the windows with newspapers, it always felt like a little cave she could retreat to. But now, knowing that this will probably be the last time she ever sees it, she takes it in with fresh eyes.
The drywall has long, spider web-like cracks, the ceiling is yellow from years of chain smoking — not by them — and mystery stains paint the walls, floor, and ceiling, everywhere that probably predate Kasey's birth and will probably outlast her too. Their ratty couch they found on a curb sits in the center of the room beside a small lamp, and wood crates and cinder blocks stack high against the wall for storage. Her bedroom stands off to the right, door closed, pressed against the wall as if it could melt right into the wallpaper. The door has a dent around the handle where Kasey nearly ripped the knob off in a fit of anger.
Her and Sarge tried to make it feel homey. Neither of them have a home, and Kasey remembers the odd look in Bucky's eye when she begged for his help to bring up the ratty old couch she'd spotted on a curb. She did what she could, but she could only do so much with so little cash to spare. Only their kitchen is well-stocked with enough food for two super-serum pack rats who paper up their windows.
If this is a home, anybody would tell her it's been a miserable attempt.
Despite her reminiscing, Kasey notices one oddity in the room immediately: Captain freaking America stands in the center of their kitchen, one of Sarge's notebooks clutched in hand, full Avengers suit on, including his infamous shield strapped to his back. He faces away from Kasey with his head bent as he reads over the pages.
Bucky approaches from behind Kasey. He steps to her left, filling the space, silent as a ghost. She glances towards him, wondering if he feels the same way she does. Captain America being here feels . . . wrong. He doesn't belong here, surrounded by their stuff. As if he's reserved only for the TV and pictures in museums.
Kasey idly wonders if she should warn him about the exposed nail two inches away from his left foot.
Sarge doesn't seem too happy that Cap has his nose stuck in his journal. She doesn't have permission to read his journals, and she doesn't suspect Captain America gets a free pass either. The journal is for memory recollection, things that he remembers about himself so he can look back on it. Memories come in dreams when you least expect them, and fade twice as fast. Kasey has a similar one stuck into a slit in her mattress, and more stuffed into her backpack. Bucky hasn't read hers, either. They're personal, and they talk enough. Reading each other's journals would just be invasive.
So first he breaks into their apartment, then goes through their stuff?
Kasey already doesn't like this guy.
Sarge gestures with his hand, a quick wave that means stop, freeze, go still — he catches Kasey's eye and she pauses, holding her breath, waiting for the invader to notice them.
Oh, hi! Didn't see you there. Sorry, just interrupting you as you break into our apartment. Want a tour of the bathroom, while you're at it? Or did you already snoop through our toiletries?
"Understood," Captain America says. She jumps — she'd been focusing so hard on the silence in the room that the words practically smack her in the face. Kasey guesses that he's got backup. What she doesn't understand is where that backup is now. Why aren't they here? Did they send Cap in to . . . what? Observe them? Talk to them? Empathize with them on superhuman level?
She glances at Bucky once more.
We're hard to empathize with.
Kasey can feel her heartbeat pick up tempo, and her hands close into fists. Her Hydra-given instincts flood in like a tidal wave, overwhelming all her other senses and demanding she does what Eve thinks is best.
But Eve always tell her to cut Bucky and run. And Kasey can't do that.
Captain America shifts, his head turning sharply over his shoulder to glance at Kasey as if suddenly sensing another presence in the room. His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows twitching, but that's all Kasey manages to grasp before she focuses intently on the breastplate of his uniform. She senses Captain America's gaze shift over to Bucky a moment later.
"Do you know me?" he asks, turning fully, and it makes Kasey instinctively takes half a step back.
Bucky's face is unreadable. "You're Steve," he says. Then, like an explanation, "I read about you in a museum."
"I know you're nervous," Captain America replies, closing the notebook and placing it down on the counter slowly, as if it's a bomb. As if they are. "And you have plenty of reason to be. But you're lying."
"I wasn't in Vienna," Sarge insists, and his eyes downcast. Kasey hates to see Bucky absolutely shaken to his core, but that's always how he gets when Steve Rogers is brought up. "I don't do that anymore."
Captain America glances over to Kasey, who once again finds the star on his breastplate very interesting. He seems to questioning her presence, and she wonders what he thinks about her. His gaze draws back to Bucky. "Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive. Either of you."
"That's smart," says Bucky, glancing at Kasey pointedly. She feels her spine tighten and her posture straighten. She's ready. "Good strategy."
Loud thumps echo above their heads, slamming harshly against the concrete roof — footsteps. Bucky glances up at the ceiling. More footsteps echo out in the stairwell.
Run, her instincts whisper. Run, run, run.
Kasey reaches a hand into her hair, tugging on her roots, pleading the voice to go away, to leave just for a moment.
Bucky glances at her once more, a warning mixed with concern, and she nods. She can feel the crescendo coming. It's only a matter of seconds.
Steve glances between the two of them. "This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."
Buck. Kasey snorts.
Sarge's bag of plums thumps on the small table. "It always ends in a fight."
Kasey takes a deep breath, feeling both jittery and resigned at the same time. A wave of oh, here we go again, hits her straight in the gut. Bucky's right. No matter how hard they try, how deep they dig themselves, how well they hide, there always seems to be a fight waiting for them.
Her hand reaches out, fumbling along the drywall, feeling for the small incision she'd made to indicate where to put her hand. She finds it and rears back her fist, slamming into the wall. She doesn't miss Steve's look of surprise. Plaster crumples around her hand, and she pulls her backpack out from the rubble.
"You pulled me from the river," Captain America says, glancing urgently towards the windows. "Why?"
Bucky pulls off his gloves. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do," Steve insists, eyes searching Bucky's face for an answer.
Then everything goes to hell.
Kasey swears she hears a static voice yelling, "Breach! Breach! Breach!" seconds before a flash grenade breaks through the window closest to Cap. His instincts kick in automatically, swinging like he's swatting a fly, and his shield appears in his hand as if by magic. It explodes into the kitchen wall in a sharp burst of light. A second breaks through the window nearest to her and Sarge, and Bucky kicks it towards Captain America, who slams his shield down on top of it. Smoke and a sharp whine leak out from the sides.
Behind her, someone shouts orders in German. The feeble front door shakes as something slams into it.
It's not even locked, idiots! Kasey shouts in her brain. You think we'd lock ourselves in here with an Avenger?
Her brain yells back, You're the idiot if you don't do something right NOW!
Her vision sharpens and time seems to slow.
Right. Time to fight.
Kasey sees Bucky dive for his mattress, and kicks the end up for him just as another grenade flies through the window. She notices that they're only trying to disarm, not kill — nothing that could potentially injure the innocent people below them.
Seconds later, Bucky hefts their coffee table up and sends it flying down the hallway towards the front door, where it wedges between the wall and door frame, like a barricade. The door trembles again, but the table holds firm.
Kasey points her thumb towards the door. "Wasn't that our way out?"
"Don't sass me, kid."
"Just admit it — you're glad I came."
Bucky gives her a pointed glare.
Kasey notices movement out of the corner of her eye and turns just in time to intercept the armor-clad officer of the GSG 9. He swings through the window, shattering the rest of the glass — her and Bucky work as a team to rip the large gun from his hands and slam him into the far wall.
"They sent in the anti-terrorism guys. For us," she tells Bucky, who just kinda grunts in acknowledgement.
Captain America takes out the next officer that pops through the window with practiced ease.
Captain America can never say no to a fight, Kasey thinks. He's even fighting his own guys.
Unless . . . these aren't his guys?
But I thought — They're not — Is this Hydra?
Is Cap helping us here?
Kasey dismisses the thought as soon as it comes to her. Hydra wouldn't use flash grenades.
Another armor-clad officer rushes in through the balcony door, and Bucky charges him in a flurry of anger and rage, knocking him back out to the balcony.
"Buck, stop!"
Captain America's hand lands on Bucky's shoulder, halting him from following the man out. Kasey takes a half-step forward before freezing.
Bucky ducks under Cap's grip, turning until they face each other.
"You're going to kill somebody," Cap says, his voice softer but still reprimanding. Kasey almost finds it condescending, and it makes her want to punch the living daylights out of him. He obviously still thinks of Bucky as a loose cannon.
Any thought of trusting Steve goes out the window.
Then Bucky flips Cap to the ground. He lands with such a solid thud that the walls rattle. Seconds later, Sarge plunges his fist into the hardwood next to Cap's head.
"I'm not going to kill anyone," says Sarge, his voice low.
He pulls his backpack out from the below the floorboards, and motions to Kasey. Immediately, she tosses her backpack to him, and he throws both bags out the balcony door. They disappear over the side, stolen by gravity, but Kasey knows they'll land on the parking garage below, just as planned.
Unfortunately for Captain America, they prepared this escape the day they moved in.
Another flash of black catches Kasey's eye, and she leaps on the next armored officer to appear. He fires off a few rounds in Bucky's direction. Cap leaps in the pathway, shield raised, and the bullets ping off the metal, letting off little sparks.
Kasey grabs the officer's gun and yanks it to the side, swinging her other fist to clock the side of his head. She twists the gun from his grip and brings it down on the side of his knee, hard enough that she hears a pop. A cinderblock brushes by her hand and she scoops it up, swinging and striking him across the chest.
The man gets pushed through the bathroom door and collapses in a heap.
Behind her, Bucky quite literally throws Cap towards the other window, where he hits another soldier as he's trying to come through.
"Come on," Bucky says, brushing by her, and she follows him down the hallway to their front door.
She smirks. "Another change of plans?"
"Change of plans back to the original plans," Bucky says, trying to give her a reassuring smile.
Kasey resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
Three sharp gunshots ring out from the opposite side of the door, and small holes appear where the hinges used to be. Bucky wrenches the table out from its spot, and it breaks into two pieces from the stress.
From the way the holes look, Kasey determines that the man must be standing slightly to their left, out of the way of any rebounding wood. She taps a place on the wall, and Bucky drives his fist through it, connecting with the man on the other side.
Kasey grins at her work, thinks, You're an idiot, and shoves her shoulder into the front door with enough force to send it flying backwards and into another armored soldier. He goes down in an unconscious heap.
Beyond their apartment, several more armored men take up the entire first landing. Kasey counts eleven in her first sweep, and more coming up the stairs, guns raised. She sighs, and raises her fists. She glances over at Bucky, whose expression matches her own.
Kasey's not quite sure who these men are, but she discovers pretty quickly that there's no way in hell these guys are Hydra. They move with the work of trained men, but they lack any of the . . . stuff that makes Hydra guys ruthless. They come up the stairs one by one, and Kasey and Bucky take them out one by one, like shooting fish in a barrel. Hydra would never make that mistake — they'd have guys on all sides, overwhelming them until Bucky and Kasey were fighting twenty men each.
She surveys all the officers on the stairs, and thinks, They've underestimated us.
Kasey scoops up the small battering ram with one hand, her fingers sliding through the handles, and brings it upwards as if it weighs five pounds before swinging it straight into the officer nearest to her. She tosses it to Bucky, who clasps it with two hands like a bat and swings it into someone's helmet-covered head.
A man crashes through the skylight above the drop in the middle of the staircase, and Bucky uses the battering ram on him too before using the wire as a bungee cord down another flight of stairs.
Kasey follows, charging a man who turns to Bucky with his gun up, finger on the trigger of a Heckler & Koch.
He never sees her coming.
She rams into him with her shoulder just as he fires. The gun clatters to the floor. She lands a punch to his throat, barely feeling the feeble fist that connects with her side. She slams his head against the floor, and he's out cold.
A hand descends on her shoulder, saying, "Stop — !" and Kasey grabs it and flips the person over her shoulder, landing them hard on their back.
It's Captain America, his shield equal distance away from them.
She makes eye contact with him.
Kasey waits a beat, then explodes towards the shield, an evil idea in her head. Captain America lunges forwards too, but a second too late — her hand closes around the edge, and Kasey simply leans over and drops it over the side. She watches red and white and blue flip over and over until it hits the bottom, twenty stories below, with a satisfying clang.
"You're going to hurt somebody with that," she says.
Captain America gives her an Uncle Sam-worthy look as he gets to his feet.
Kasey feels a childish grin pull at her mouth. Fuck this guy. She turns, and rushes down the stairs to help Bucky as five of the officers approach him at once. She puts her hand on the railing and kicks out with her feet, and the impact knocks three of them back like bowling pins.
The two of them continue to fight their way through the fray, with barely tolerated help from Captain America — who, in all fairness, takes out a fair amount of men on his own, but also attempts to stop Bucky or Kasey whenever he thinks they're about to go too far. She can't tell if his lack of shield bothers him or not.
"C'mon, man," Cap says, his hand hooked into the bulletproof vest of a man Bucky tried to send down the middle of the winding stairwell, just like his shield moments earlier.
In response, Bucky slams his elbow into an officer's face, knocking him out cold.
They work their way down several more flights until they all begin to blur together and Kasey couldn't say whether she had dispatched fifteen officers or fifty. She and Bucky try to fight ahead of Cap, and end up making it several floors ahead of him as they duck past officers, leaving them conscious for poor ol' Captain America to take care of. Kasey spares a glance back just in time to notice when he slams his fist into a man that nearly blows Bucky's head off.
The two of them make eye contact from different floors.
Kasey looks away first.
"Go," Bucky says, pressing a hand to her back, and Kasey swings her legs over the railing without any more prompting, pushing off and letting herself fall. Wind whips through her clothes and hair and tries to burn her eyes. When she looks down, she can still see the shield at the bottom of the stairwell, just a flash of a white star.
Kasey descends at least seven floors before her brain says, That's enough! and she reaches out blindly, hooking a hand onto the nearest railing with both hands to stop her momentum. She grunts, her body jerks, and she feels her arm pop out of its socket with a sickening pop. A wave of pain radiates from her left shoulder and beyond, seeping until it connects with the constant pain in her stomach. The metal bends under her hands, nearly giving way, and she grits her teeth. Fuck.
Bucky hits the railing across from her with his metal hand — she'd never say, but it's the first time she's ever been envious of it — and the two pull themselves over the side. Kasey holds her arm close to her chest.
Sarge takes one look at her and sighs. "Kasey."
"I'm sorry," she mutters, and holds her arm out to him. Delicately as he can manage, Bucky rotates her arm until she hears another pop, and immediately, relief washes over her so powerfully that she actually sighs.
Bucky's worried gaze meets hers. "Good?"
She nods. "Good."
"This way," he says. Just behind him is a door, and Bucky wastes no time planting his foot into the handle and pushing it open. They follow it through to the hallway beyond, and it leads to the balcony outside. Directly below it — now significantly closer in height — sits the parking garage with their backpacks.
Bucky's face is tight as he begins stalking down the hallway. "Don't land on your arm," he instructs her over his shoulder. He feet pound into the concrete. "And watch your stomach!"
"Don't have a fucking cow," she grumbles. She waits impatiently for what must be only a few seconds, but feels like hours. Hearing the unmistakable sounds of fighting and light gunfire grow closer behind her is nothing short of unnerving. She watches Sarge until he disappears over the side, jacket flapping in the wind like a cape. Her feet begin to move before she even instructs them to.
Kasey bursts down the hallway like a bat out of hell.
I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.
Above her, she can hear Captain America getting closer, but he's too far behind to stop her now. She plants her foot into the concrete railing and pushes.
For a split second, she floats, and all the noise around her fades off into nothing.
Kasey's gaze wanders upwards.
The sky looks so blue.
She wonders, just for a millisecond, if she'll just continue on like this and fly forever — because if she could, she would. It's just so . . . peaceful up here.
