Bucky understood, more than understood, that he was going to hell. The things he'd done, the people he'd murdered, the lack of regret he'd felt with each death – it all came together to create a perfect one way ticket to the lowest level imaginable by man. He'd accepted that a long time ago, and when the time came, he'd embrace it with open arms. It's what he deserved.

Samara though? Samara didn't deserve that.

If anything, Samara deserved the pearly gates, the singing angels, the blaring trumpets – she deserved every ridiculous thing he'd heard growing up in a church and then some. Good people didn't burn.

Fuck, he should've known not to take her into the facility with them. He knew about the protocols, heard them chanted in the back of his head like some twisted prayer, but he thought he'd – he'd thought that even if she was safe outside, someone would still be there to end it. The team didn't know if anyone was hanging around, so what if he'd left her only for someone else to come along? What if he'd left her, died in this stupid place, and then the soldiers had gone to the surface and she'd been on her own against an army?

Bucky didn't want her dead but – but he was selfish enough, that if she did die, she'd do it with him.

Steve was yelling something reasonable, shouting for them to focus on the battle and not the fallen, but it hit his ears as idiotic. They still had five people to take down, did they? Bucky mocked the man in his head, growling loudly as he lifted a leg and threw his weight behind his next kick. The man he'd been fighting was vaulted across the room, body crashing into the glass planes of a containment unit and falling still.

Pausing for less than a second, only to make sure the bastard didn't find the strength to stand up, he turned sharply on his heel. "One down, four to go," he called, grinning with the words, all teeth and bad intentions. The prick with the metal pole in his hands, and the woman at his feet seemed to falter when the assassin gestured to him with his chin. "I'll get that one."

The training was painful, he remembered that much, but that motherfucker didn't know pain.

"Samara, darling, wake up please," Bucky drawled, clenching his fists and striding closer. If she didn't answer him soon, someone was going to die. "Sammy, wake up." The pole swung his way now, and he caught it in between silver fingers, crushing it without a single thought. "You better pray asshole, that she wakes up without so much as a fucking hair out of place."

The soldier only grunted in irritation, dropping the now useless tool and swinging out with his fists next. His first few punches went too wide, and Bucky dodged them easily enough, only needing to take a step or raise an arm to stop the blows. He was almost disappointed. He'd trained these guys until they were perfect, but they couldn't even land a single fucking hit? Goddamn disappointments.

Bucky caught the next fist, wrenching an arm to the side and listening to the satisfying crack. "Remember me?" he taunted, raising a brow when dead eyes landed on his face. There was no reply. He let out a sigh, pulling the arm further and hearing more than mere bone break.

Broken bone and skin could heal though, couldn't it? Bucky narrowed his eyes. He'd have to do more than just crush then, he'd need to –

The muted cough was both a sound from on high, and his worst distraction.

"Samara?" he realized, turning his head to watch the smaller body curl over in another hacking cough. "Samara, are you – " The first punch to break through hit his left side, sending his shoulder back and his breath from his lungs. It only took a few seconds for his own body to be coughing as much as the one at his feet, but he managed to stay upright, ducking another hook.

The soldier was relying on his left hand, the other hanging somewhat awkwardly at his side as he tried to gain some ground. It was a weakness, and Bucky wasn't sure why the man was still fighting. He should've pulled back, should've hung behind and let the others deal with the group. It was the smartest tactical move…

Using a silver forearm as his shield, Bucky stormed forward a few paces, forcing the man back against the wall and into the corner. He went like an animal; hissing and spitting as it was caged in but not smart enough to find a way out.

"You're a dog," Bucky scowled, tilting his head back when the man scrambled to claw at his eyes. "Trained and collared. You're disgusting."

Even as he held the man there, metal fingers pressing against his good shoulder, he could see his reflection staring back. He'd been no better less than a year ago. If it hadn't been for the doctor, he would've…

Samara let out another weak cough, the sound echoed by a pained groan.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "If someone had helped you," he muttered, watching the panic tear at whatever common sense the soldier had left. That wasn't him, not anymore. "If you'd had someone like her, maybe we could've helped you. I'm sorry."

The soldiers good hand ghosted along the length of his chin, the sensation pure agony as nails split the skin. Bucky started back with the pain, twisting his lips at the pathetic mess slumped against the wall, and feeling something wet – blood, his mind supplied – dribbling down his neck. Resisting the urge to wipe it away, he shifted the metal hand from the man's shoulder to instead cover his mouth and lower face. It only took one smooth movement, one clean shift of muscle, and he'd snapped the man's neck.

Bucky swallowed as the body hit the ground. "Sammy," he remembered suddenly, almost falling in his haste to face her body. "Samara, shit, Sammy."

His hands hovered uselessly for a few seconds, shaking in the air above her head before he carefully cupped her cheeks. Gold fluttered into being, tired and pained but still focused. "Oh, hey you," she whispered, coughing with the words and spitting out red. "God. I did not plan for this offensive."

The sarcasm did little to make him feel any better. "Where does it hurt?" he demanded, brushing dark bangs back. The thin trail of blood leaking from her lips made his gut churn uneasily, but he refused to let it show, staying resolute with a smile. If she knew he was scared… "Samara, baby, come on tell me where it hurts. Tell me and I can help you. It'll be okay."

Samara gave a small chuckle, wincing when her chest rocked. "Everywhere, Bucky fuck, he – um, he…" she whimpered, eyes squeezing shut and his stomach dropped with her lids. "Ribs. He b-broke my ribs."

Letting go of her features, he shifted down her body, peeling away the plain cotton of her shirt. Unlike the rest of them, she was clad in civilian clothing, and the soft material would've done nothing to protect her from the blow. Damn, why had he let her come? Bucky smoothed a hand over her side, babbling out an apology when she muffled a scream. "I'm sorry, sorry, so sorry," he whispered, taking in the already purplish stretch of skin. "What do I do?"

The sound of fighting was still behind him, grunts and the sound of skin and metal colliding loud, but it seemed like a lifetime away. It wasn't that he'd be caught unaware if someone came up behind him, but more that he didn't care for once about the fight. There was a battle and he wasn't involved.

It was a first.

Samara coughed again, every movement violent and provoking a pained expression. "This is gonna get old fast," she grumbled, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "B-broken ribs, they're painful but not…" Another coughing round, and another scream hidden by the material of her shirt. "… Dangerous, fuck, okay, just… just tell me that its water on my face, tell me I'm drooling and it's unattractive."

Not bothering to reply, Bucky carefully swiped a silver finger through the water; bringing it up to her eyes so she could see the sheen of crimson. The slight widening of her eyes was all the answer he needed. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"Coughing up blood, my chest and left shoulder hurt…" Samara squeezed her eyes shut. "Pneumothorax."

The word wasn't one he recognized, and not knowing made his nerves fry all the more. "I don't…" he shook his head. "Sammy, I don't know what that means. Small words for me remember? I'm not as smart as you, darling."

Samara only rolled her eyes at the compliment, lips tugging up before the smile was torn away by another vicious cough. "Shit, shit, shit, nope, I don't wanna play anymore. I'm calling it. Time of death is – I don't even have a watch on me," she rambled, lips stumbling over some words and teeth stained red. "Damn. Okay, fine, pneumothorax is when your lung collapses. It's uh, it's something I might be needing a doctor to help with."

"Darling," Bucky quirked up a brow, feeling something similar to wasps stinging around his chest. "You're the only doctor we got."

Golden eyes blinked. "Oh, oh shit right, I'm a doctor," she realized, brow coming together. "Um, there's a little… there's a little black creeping up on me here. Dizziness caused by… caused by um…"

Bucky hovered again, something burning at the corner of his eyes. "We bought a medical bag, what do you need?" he asked slowly, looking over his shoulder. The other man, the one with wings and a big mouth was back on his feet, but he wasn't fighting. He'd do. "Wilson? Wilson, how fast can you get back to the damn plane? We need the med-pack."

The man looked past him, goggled eyes landing on the woman gasping behind him before his head dropped in a firm nod. "Give me five minutes," he decided, shoulders straightening up. The wing pack was broken, that much was obvious by the missing metal, and he dropped it from his back – shaking out his right leg before breaking out into a quick lope.

"Birdboy is limping…" Samara whispered, and her eyes were starting to blur a little, knowing where he was but not entirely focusing. "Think he's okay? I don't know what that guy did to him before he threw him down."

Bucky chuckled. "He's fine, gorgeous," he promised. "You saved his ass, he should be grateful."

Samara smiled too, eyes closing and chest moving in a shallow breath. "He'll be writing poems and sonnets in my name soon," she murmured, one hand fluttering up to make her point. "Just you wait and see…"

The corners of her lips were turning purple, and he traced the color. "You feeling okay?"

"Dizzy, tired, sore…" Samara listed, cracking one eye open. "I can't breathe right. Feel like I need to sigh but… hurts too much. I need um, I need something to…" she took a slow breath in, wincing with the tugging weight but managing to only give a small cough. "Needle. Insert it into chest cavity. It will relieve the pressure on my lung, and let it expand again… But I don't know where…. I don't exactly have an imagery facility nearby."

Bucky gave the strongest smile he could manage. "Will you be okay until we can get you to the hospital? You're looking at a few hours, darling," he informed her carefully, sighing as he shifted her hair back from her eyes again.

Fingertips pressed against the cuts on his chin, tracing the lines with a worried reverence. He'd almost forgot about those. "I'll be okay once the pain medication gets here," she chuckled, automatically grunting when it pulled uncomfortably. "I got away lucky, didn't I? If he'd aimed for my head, or my leg... Broken femurs are a bitch, and I guess a caved in cranium would suck even more."

"Yeah, it would, but he didn't get your head, and he didn't get your leg," Bucky told them both, using silver as a cool pack and lightly touching it to the purple splotches on her side. Her chest hitched as she sucked in a breath, but she didn't argue the action. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

Samara slowly nodded, concentration lining her features. "Just gotta…" she whispered, chest moving. "Find the right breathing pattern."

Bucky let her work in silence for a few seconds, calming his racing heart by watching her chest expand and then deflate, watching her lips open a little wider to let in the air before her nostrils flared to breathe out. It was methodical, repetitive, and the cycle helped his own mind clear a little. "I thought you were…" he swallowed, managing a weak chuckle. "You didn't answer me when I called for you. That's bad manners."

Her head lolled to face him better, eyes clear and like the crystal still hanging from her neck. "Really? I got bludgeoned and you're pissed?" she questioned, perfecting the simple raised brow. "I've got broken ribs here, and you're annoyed because I didn't come at your beck and call?"

He shrugged uselessly. "I'm not pissed at you, darling," he drawled. "I'm pissed at the asshole who bludgeoned you. Clearly, he doesn't understand that whole this human is mine, don't touch thing, you know? I might need to just write my name on your forehead."

"Do it, and you'll wake up one morning with a tattoo of my face on your ass, I swear to god."

Bucky opened his mouth to both laugh and snark something back, but a solid body landed beside him, panting for oxygen. "Got the med-pack," Wilson announced, brandishing it with a wild wave. "Think I might've aggravated the broken leg, but you know how it is."

Samara was muttering something about said broken leg, her brow pinched, but he stopped her before she could even try to sit up. "No, you stay down – both of you," Bucky warned, looking them both in the eye before pushing to his feet. "The others need my help. Still a war to be won, and apparently, I'm a decent human being now so I better go. You," he growled, almost poking the darker skinned man in the eye. "Watch over her."

Wilson held up both his arms. "If she tried to so much as move, I'll sit on her," he swore.

"That's not gonna help anyone, birdbrain."

The man hurried to shake his head. "It'll help me," Wilson grinned, the edge a little tired, but it seemed genuine enough. "More accurately, it'll help my pride. Remember? That thing you stole from me a couple days ago?"

Samara made a small noise. "A couple days ago? You mean last night?"

Bucky sighed and checked over his shoulder again, walking backwards. The others needed him, he knew that, but it didn't feel right to walk away. He shook the emotion away, and turned around pointedly, leaving the doctor with his back and her squabbling companion.

Breathing had never been something she didn't want to do. It was built into the brain – breathe, keep your heart beating, survive – but now she was wishing the desire wasn't so strong. There was a nagging at the back of her mind, begging for a deeper breath because the room was darkening at the corners, because her head felt like it was floating. But if she followed the orders, it was agony.

Samara would stick to shallow breathing, thank you.

The man beside her let out a snort, hands digging around in the green pack. "I didn't need your help," he protested again, shrugging at her unimpressed look. "Yeah sure, it might've looked bad, but I had it under control."

"Under control?" she echoed, shaking her head with a small laugh. Who the hell did he think he was fooling? "So, that must be why you were on your back, and he was about three seconds away from giving you a free facial reconstruction, right? I mean, most times I'm in control, I'm on my back too."

Wilson pulled a face. "Didn't need to know about your sex life," he grumbled, gesturing to the fight behind him with his chin. "Or his, for that matter."

Samara snorted and followed the gesture, wincing as she watched the fight with heavy eyes. It would be over soon enough – three of the soldiers were down for the count, and the Avengers were kicking the asses of the last two. It was almost a little sad to watch, really. They were fighting back so hard, putting all their weight behind their swings only for a red and gold blur to catch the hit, or for silver to take it like it was nothing.

The panic was making them desperate…

"How's the leg?" she asked distractedly, watching a red gauntlet fire something blue and dangerous. "You said you broke it? Is that how he took you down? I didn't see what happened, only what…" Her smile was pained. "Only what was going to happen."

The man let out a small sigh, looking down to his leg and hesitantly rubbing it through the armor. "Hard to fly around in an enclosed space like this, but since I'm an idiot, I tried," he admitted, shoulders slumped a little. "Thought I could make some distance, didn't want the bastard too close to me. But he grabbed my leg, and redirected me. I hit the wall hard."

Samara winced in time with the story, almost forgetting about her own injuries as she cooed in sympathy. "That would've hurt," she allowed, wrinkling her nose at the abandoned pack on the ground. "Stark will fix it for you, I bet, he'll probably upgrade it or – hey, that little shit owes me ten bucks!"

Falcon gave an obedient chuckle, shaking his head. "That's what you'd be thinking about," he murmured, lifting a syringe for her appraisal. It was dropped when she murmured a quick no, before he began looking for another. "Not about how, oh I don't know, how you have a collapsed lung? Or about the bruise the size of your ego on your side? Nope. The ten bucks. Your priorities are in order."

"Well, excuse you, I am – "

A shouted cry made them both start to the side, eyes wide and shooting to the fight. Steve was on his knees, shield and arm twisted awkwardly behind his back as the female yelled out panicked orders in a language no one seemed to recognize. No one but the trained assassins. Bucky and Natasha shared a quick look, a thousand words said in a split second before they both erupted into movement.

Samara tried to follow it, but her mind was tired enough as it is. All she saw was that they were there and then… then they just weren't.

Natasha was darting to help with the last male, legs kicking up and surrounding his head, confusing him enough that she could bring her elbow down on his crown. Bucky however had disappeared to her eyes, nothing more than a black blur before he settled back into the picture with a silver bicep gleaming in the light. The female soldier shrieked and choked, habitually letting the blond go to grab at the arm around her neck.

"Captain?" Bucky's voice was distant, but the deeper tones carried along the empty room easily enough. There was expectation on his features, like he was awaiting an answer or – Brown locks shifted when the man suddenly nodded, bracing his legs.

The smooth planes of his arm twitched, like a muscle tightening.

Birdbrain thrust a random syringe at her, trying to block her vision with the clear medical grade plastic. "Is this the one? I hope so, I'm running outta options," he breathed hurriedly, his grin forced when she managed to look his way. "Also, running low on adrenaline, pain's kicking up a notch. Help me out?"

Samara took in a shallow, and practiced breath, movement kicking in the corner of her eye. The woman was fighting death. "Um, no that's not it, look just…" she sighed, wincing when her ribs stung sharply. It would take a while to get used to being unable to breathe. "Just pass them here already, and I'll find it. Honestly. It's like trying to work with a monkey."

"I'm not helping you sit up," Wilson warned, pushing the bag towards her and moving so he conveniently sat between her eyes and the fight. "I've already been warned against that, and I like all my limbs where they are."

The doctor rolled her eyes. "Uh huh, I bet it's not even broken…" she muttered. "Here, inject it straight into your leg. Might make you feel a little loopy, but it should do the trick. It doesn't hurt much now, but just wait until the excitement dies down. You'll be wanting me to get rid of it." As the man unwrapped the prepared syringe, she refused to wince, knowing her words applied to her own body as well. It hurt now, without a doubt, but it was only a taste of the pain to come. "Don't be a pussy, go on, it's like stabbing yourself."

"I'm not exactly well versed in stabbing myself!"

Samara tuttered. "Well then, you're not exactly much fun either then," she droned, watching the man play around with the needle. "If you don't stab yourself soon, I swear to god, I will. Hurry your ass up."

Wilson perked up at the words weirdly enough. "Hey, I'm used to other people stabbing me," he admitted, almost throwing the syringe her way. "There. Go nuts."

"I am not going to stab you and – " Samara emphasized the words by stabbing his thigh, " – okay I might've lied."

The man was groaning, doubled over and clutching the injured leg like she'd only just broke it. "Son of a bitch, I hate you," he moaned, shaking his head and straightening up. He was breathing through his nose, chest almost heaving. "What did I do to deserve friends like you? I'm a good man, I help people. If I'm not saving the world, I'm saving someone from their own head."

Samara threw the used needle to the side, not caring much where it landed. "Eh, you didn't do anything to deserve me because we're not friends," she announced dryly, curiously following the arcing syringe with her eyes. It hit the ground dangerously close to a wide, dead stare. Her breath hitched, aching through her chest and she started coughing again, crawling along the ground for more distance. The eyes almost seemed to follow her, and she choked on the blood dribbling from her lips. "Fuck, I'm never going to get used to that…" she wheezed.

Wilson tracked her stare, paling slightly. "Trust me…" he murmured, tucking her closer to his side. "You never do."

The doctor was tempted to ask – to question the man on how much he'd seen – but a shadow fell over them both. "I thought I said no moving," Bucky scolded, crouching next to her. "Why are you never good at listening?"

"Don't like taking orders," Samara snarked back, poking out a tongue. "Are uh, are you guys okay?"

Bucky gave a gentle smile. "Unlike you two, we can get in a fight and come out unscathed," he teased, reaching out to fix her hair again. It was a habit she'd picked up, and one she seemed to be rubbing onto him. "I thought we might keep one of them for questioning, but we just..." An awkward shrug. "Steve pointed out that with how much Hydra's fallen, there's nothing we really need to know anymore. I agreed it wasn't worth the risk."

Holding out a hand, Samara waited for him to pull her up, biting back a complaint when he took extreme care. "That's all nice and dandy," she allowed, reaching out to grip his shoulder. It was the only thing keeping her painfully upright. "But. I would love it if… if you could get me to a hospital right about now."

Bucky let out a tremendous sigh. "Wilson, is she – " Blue eyes blinked both in shock and amusement. "He's unconscious."

"He was complaining," Samara shrugged, hissing lightly at the shockwave of pain that followed. "Look, he shattered something in his leg, and then proceeded to try and run on it. He's going to be in a world of pain right now. It's better for everyone if he's not entirely aware of said agony."

The brunet hung his head, muttering something under his breath before he lifted his stare. "Steve!" he shouted over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact. "I need some help over here! And you," the words were directed her way, low and familiar, "You are going to stay conscious. I'm sorry if it hurts but it won't take long for us to get to help, and I won't have you falling asleep on me only to never wake up. Understood?"

Samara spread out both her arms, smiling softly when the man hefted her up with that same exaggerated care. "I'm not leaving you," she declared, resting her cheek against his chest and closing her eyes.

"What did I say about staying conscious?" Bucky reprimanded. "I don't care how you do it, but stay awake."

Groaning into the material, she forced her eyes back open. "But you're comfy," Samara argued, settling again and gritting her teeth against the growing agony. Adrenaline was fading, pain was a definite. She knew this. "Okay, stay awake, stay awake. I can do that," she murmured, looking around and quirking a brow at the blond and the body in his arms. "Hey Buck, you don't care how I do it right?"

Bucky snorted. "I'm going to regret this, but no I don't care," he narrowed his eyes. "It won't be for long though, I promise. Stark is wiping the system, and then we're sending Coulson and SHIELD in to finish the clean-up. We'll be wheels up in twenty."

The doctor pumped up a fist. "Awesome dude," she groaned. "Okay, so you don't care how? I'm going to start at triple digits, a very good place to start."

"You're going to start what?"

Samara took a shallow breath in, held it for a few seconds, and then started with; "Nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beers! Take one down and pass it around, nine hundred and ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall."

Hey you! I just got my first tattoo and guys…

guys…

guys…

its freaking awesome as shit

Yeah, so that's all I have to say this time around. Usually I have so much I wanna add and crap, but oh well, right? There was some swearing and darkness in this chapter but it didn't last long because I'm a sarcastic little bitch and can't help but write that. Hope you liked it?

Taila xx