Warning: Pretty graphic mentions of bodily injury and blood.

Chapter 21: Get By With A Little Help

Bucky liked to think that he was prepared for anything. Well, anything adverse at least. He was ready in the case of the government finding him, any of his past "employers" finding him, or anyone looking for revenge finding him. What he was not prepared for? Making friends.

It was one thing to make friends with Mika; after all, they lived next door to each other, and she was friendly to a fault. It had taken him these past nine months to realize that no, she wasn't just being nice to him, they were actually really friends. But the men from work? He had every intention to come in every night, do his job, and go back home. He didn't plan to learn their names, learn about their lives. But what could it hurt, he figured? Information was a valuable commodity in the dark underbelly of the world. He would just get to know them, for the sake of reconnaissance. That's for sure what it was.

What he hadn't counted on was reclaiming the part of himself that wanted to look out for people, protect people. He'd assumed pulling Steve from the river that day was an anomaly. Steve was someone from the past, someone that the Man held onto so dearly that he was able to briefly overcome the Soldier. Steve was supposed to be a one time save. A fluke. But then he'd stumbled on Mika that night, and saved her as well. He was, it seemed, someone who was concerned about others' well being.

And tonight, that trait was going to bite him in the ass. And the rest of his body.

It started off as a normal Wednesday night. He walked to work as the sun set, keeping his head low and his eyes down. He gave a brief greeting to his colleagues, changed to his heavier protective wear, and went to work. They shared their night meal around midnight, with the usual, casual conversation. The punched back in, and went back to work. Then, at roughly fourteen minutes past two in the morning, everything went to shit.

The smell of gas hit just before the explosion did. The whole group of them stood up straight like animals sensing a predator, and Rolando opened his mouth to yell for everyone to run just as the boom rattled through the building. Bucky hoped the fire would be contained to the corner where it started, but apparently most of the cargo that night was flammable, the fire spreading quickly. One of the containers started whistling as its contents expanded with the heat, sounding like a large, dangerous tea kettle. He could feel the pressure within it building. Without thinking, Bucky stepped between the container and his colleagues. The door of the container shot off with a loud bang, the metal plates and handles slamming into his back. He wasn't able to stay upright with the hit, but he was able to slow its momentum enough to keep it from sailing into the other men. He caught the floor with his metal arm, controlling the descent so that he didn't break his face on the concrete.

He could hear the immediate cry of alarm from his coworkers, but didn't pay them any mind. There was rebar between the muscles of his leg, and hot metal searing into his flesh. His left ankle was broken, and the ligaments of his knee on that same side were ruptured. He could still wiggle his toes, which was a good sign; at least he hadn't sustained a spinal cord injury. He did, however, get the wind knocked out of him, which was possibly the most annoying injury at that very moment. He wriggled his arms so that his hands were underneath his shoulders, pushing until there was enough space between him and the floor to lock out his elbows. He could hold that position for a while, if he needed. But he'd really rather not.

He couldn't stop the yell of pain from ripping from his throat as the container door suddenly lifted further. It was kind of his coworkers, really, to raise it off him. It was not their fault that they didn't know about the handle currently puncturing his lung. He let out a strangled gasp as blood started filling in where the metal previously was, the familiar taste of copper arising. He was surprised, honestly, that they'd stayed to help him, and pulled himself to his feet before they could endanger themselves further.

"Jones, you alright?" Hugo asked, helping Bucky further.

"Fine. Thanks." he said, nodding his head towards the discarded container door. Smoke was quickly filling the large warehouse, the heat slowly climbing towards stifling. Ronaldo moved toward him, pulling his arm over his shoulders. Another surprise.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." he said, helping Bucky limp towards the exit. Another yell echoed through the storehouse from somewhere behind them, but no one else seemed to hear it over the roar of the fire. Bucky stopped, taking a cursory glance at the people around him, counting them. Ronaldo looked at him, confused as to why their progress was halted in such a dire moment. "Jones, we gotta go."

"Ion's still back there." he replied, pulling his arm from the other man's shoulders.

"It's too late, we gotta get out." Hugo yelled. The fire was filling almost every crevice of the warehouse now. More containers were screaming and popping around them as the contents inside reached their pressure point.

"I'll go get him." Bucky shouted back, his strangled voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the flames and the blood in his chest cavity.

"Jones! You'll both die! Let's go!" Ronaldo angrily bellowed, reaching for him again. Bucky waved him off, turning to the back of the warehouse, where the fire had started. He reached one more time, but Bucky pushed him with his metal arm, using the strength to get his point across.

"I got him. You guys go." he said. Without another word, he started limping towards the back. He could hear Ronaldo still yelling after him, but Hugo must have convinced him to make their escape. Bucky was very aware that this was likely a suicidal mission. But he had been on many of those before, and always seemed to come out just fine.

He paused for a moment, removing the glove on his left hand so that he could tie his boot up tighter, trying to stabilize his ankle. It hurt like a bitch, but he knew it would heal. He always healed. With a little more support now, he continued his limp towards the back, listening for the sounds of the young man screeching for help. Ion's cries were desperate now, his words punctuated by coughing and sobbing. Bucky knew that sound in his voice; he was slowly accepting his death.

Well, Bucky had been around plenty of people who died. And he didn't plan to be around any more of them for a long time.

He finally found Ion, trapped under a canister door not unlike he was earlier. He hoped he didn't have the puncture wounds that were trying (and failing) to knit themselves back together currently. Given the fact that he could scream this loud, he believed that his lungs and heart were intact. His lower half, however, remained to be seen.

"Jones?" Ion asked as he walked up to him. He looked at him with awe and confusion. Bucky knew that look too; he wasn't sure if he was real, or if he was hallucinating.

"Can you feel your legs?" he responded with another question. The answer would determine his plan of action.

"Yes, unfortunately." he said, smiling through tears that were now more for hope than despair. Even on the verge of death, the guy was still a wisecrack.

"This will likely hurt." he said, putting the palm of his left hand under the metal trapping Ion. He knew it was likely burning, but the prosthesis didn't register it. He raised the heavy sheet, using the strength in his arm in a way that it hadn't been used in a long time. He couldn't hear the clicking and shifting of the plates, but he knew they were working. Ion grimaced as the weight was lifted, but otherwise kept a brave face. With enough room to move, he crawled partially out, accepting Bucky's right hand as he offered it to him. He tried to stand up, but immediately crumpled when trying to put weight through his leg. Bucky had a split second to decide what to do as he fell: drop him and risk more injury, or drop the container door and kill him. In the end, he decided on neither; as a result, he felt a sickening pop as his shoulder was pulled from its socket, and was unable to stop the yell of pain now blooming across his upper quarter.

"Oh my god, your arm!" Ion panicked as Bucky's arm hung there uselessly. It was a full dislocation; that was going to be a bitch to reduce.

"Crawl out." he said through gritted teeth. If they were to make it out of this fire alive, they needed to go. Now. Ion looked like he wanted to apologize, but did as Bucky said, and crawled until he was completely out from under the metal. He immediately dropped the door, limping to where the younger man was sitting. Ion had gone pale, and couldn't look away from the nauseating angle that his right lower leg was sustaining.

"I think it's broken." he gasped out, unable to catch his breath. He was starting to go into a panic, which was not what they needed right now. They needed to get him out. He would need surgery if he were to live, let alone keep his leg.

"Yep. Stand on the other one." he instructed, reaching out with his left hand again. His movements weren't as fluid as they had been of late, but Bucky figured now was not the time to worry about that. Ion pulled his left leg up, probably with every intention to stand. However, he promptly passed out. "Fuck." Bucky said to no one. He could barely breathe himself, and pain was covering every inch of his body. But he needed to keep going. He needed to try. He couldn't just give up and leave him here.

For the first time in a long time, he was grateful for the metal arm. That was the one body part he didn't have to worry about when dragging the man toward the exit. He went as fast as he could with his limitations, knowing that every second spent was a second closer to even more disaster. He didn't remember the warehouse being quite this long, the trip seeming to take ages. Every step hurt his ankle, and made his shoulder scream as it swung like a pendulum. But he was going to get the guy out, even if it killed him.

The first breath of fresh air felt cool and healing and sharp all at the same time. It made him cough, blood spilling onto the pavement. There were fire trucks and ambulances already there, trying to contain the situation. Boscoe was the first to spot him, getting up off the tail gate of an ambulance and moving towards them. He was yelling for someone, but Bucky couldn't quite understand what he was saying. The blood loss was starting to take its toll.

Ion started moving again, the smoke-free oxygen finally registering. Bucky looked down at him, trying to gauge his status. He was certainly still alive, but his face was still pale and his breathing was labored.

"Jones, you okay?" Boscoe asked. He was the first one to reach them, but the other guys were moving towards them as well. Hugo dropped down to the ground, helping Ion sit up so that Bucky could finally let go. Behind the emergency vehicles, he spotted a news van setting up their equipment. He couldn't afford for his face to get out, either in print or on television. He needed to leave the site immediately.

"I'm fine. See to Ion." he said, trying to push past them. Ronaldo, ever in charge, grabbed him by the arm. Since his shoulder was currently dislocated, the pain was startling enough to stop him. Momentarily.

"You need to get checked out. You have blood all over you." he said. There was genuine concern in his eyes, which Bucky didn't understand. They were just coworkers. Behind him, the news crew turned on their lights, a pretty woman in a blue blazer picking up a microphone. Time to go.

"I'm okay. I'll see you in a few days." he replied, walking away as fast as his broken ankle allowed him to. Ronaldo tried to keep up with him, but Ion chose that moment to lean over and vomit, providing just enough distraction for Bucky to duck into the crowd. His boot was not providing proper support for the ankle fracture and one of his lungs was definitely losing function, but he could make it home. At least, he hoped he could make it home.

The walk back to the apartment seemed much longer than usual. Granted, maybe it was because his injuries were starting to take a toll on him. He focused on the pavement just in front of him, willing himself to continue putting one foot in front of the other. This wasn't the worst bout of injuries he'd ever had, but it was the worst he'd had in a long while. If he could just make it back to his apartment, then he could collapse on the floor and heal. Or die. Whichever came first.

By the time he reached the building, his body felt nothing but pain, and his vision was blurry at best. He eyed the spiral tower of stairs in front of him, and for the first time he regretted choosing an apartment on the top floor. Step by agonizing step he made his way up the stairs, pausing at the landings to try and catch his breath. The lung that wasn't full of blood felt burned from the smoke inhalation, making the already trying trip even more difficult. He definitely hit more than a few walls on the way up, unable to keep his balance. Just make it to the top, he thought. I just have to make it to the top.

He made sure to have one last spectacular loss of balance right at the top of the stairs, his own little victory dance. The fall was loud, he knew. But it's not like he could do anything about it. It was late enough at night that no one would probably be awake. If he could just make it inside, he would be home free. He rested on his metal elbow on the top landing, his knees a couple steps below him. He could feel the charred wheezing in his chest, and the sharp throbs in his leg. The one good thing was that his arm had gone numb, likely due to impingement of his brachial plexus. No matter, at least he couldn't feel it. He tried to get up again, but once more his ankle gave out on him, leading to a second loud crash against the floor. Alright, another few minutes of rest. Then he would proceed into his apartment.

"Bucky?"

At the sound of a voice, Bucky immediately froze. He didn't think Mika would be up. In fact, he hadn't been thinking about Mika at all.

"Bucky, oh my god, what happened? Are you okay? How did you get all the way up here?" she asked, running over to him. She knelt next to him, holding her hands out as if to touch him. She hesitated, not sure where to put her hands. He was dangerously close to losing consciousness; he needed to move.

"I'm fine." he gasped out, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. Or perhaps that was because his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

"You are very obviously not fine." she said, trying to keep her voice low and not doing well. She pulled her phone from her shorts. "We have to call an ambulance, you have to go to the hospital."

He reached out, trying to push her phone away. "No, no hospital." he said. Hospitals kept records, and he couldn't have any records. He needed to remain a ghost. He misjudged the distance for her phone, as well as the pressure through his prosthetic hand. Her phone crumpled in his hand like a soda can, the crack dull due to the pressure in his ears. "Sorry, I'm sorry." he gasped out.

"No it's fine, it's fine." she assured him, her voice wavering from trying to silence her alarm. "But seriously Bucky, you're covered in blood. You need to go to the emergency room."

"Just need rest." he said, though his vision was getting dark. His entire body felt heavy. At this point he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to get into his apartment. He tried to pull his keys from his opposite pocket, his back burning as he tried to maintain his posture. He watched with abject horror as the keys slipped from his grasp, tumbling over the edge of the stairs. They clattered somewhere onto a floor below. "Fuck." he whispered, trying to figure out how he was going to make it back downstairs without blacking out.

"I'll get them, I'll get them." she assured him, finally putting her hands on his shoulders. "Please, at least come inside. We'll figure it out from there."

He didn't want to impose. He knew he was bleeding from multiple places, and had some serious injuries. She wasn't a medical professional of any sort. "Don't worry about me." he said, though he didn't think she'd heed him. He coughed again, blood splattering onto his sleeve.

"You're coughing up blood, Bucky. Come on, inside." she said, reaching for his right arm. He tried to bite back the low sound of pain at her hands on his shoulder, but he was unable to. She immediately let go, which led to him collapsing against the stairs again. He felt like his brain shook in his skull - which, likely, it did. Mika was apologizing profusely, but he couldn't quite understand her words. Unconsciousness was eminent.

"Mika," he whispered, getting her attention. Her face was fading in and out. He lost his train of thought, distracted by the concern in her eyes.

He didn't finish his statement, instead finally succumbing to the darkness.

Mika, for her part, thought she was doing very well not to completely dissolve into a sobbing, frenzied mess. She'd fallen asleep on her couch sometime before the late night infomercials started, only to be awoken by...she didn't know what. Then a loud thump had sounded from right outside her door, which instantly put her on high alert. She didn't expect to see anything when she looked out the peephole, but she was met with the sight of the bloody, broken mess that was her neighbor. She's not sure what she expected to do to help him, but she was going to find some way.

With her phone out of commission and Bucky currently out cold, her options were certainly limited. One thing she knew, though, was that she couldn't just leave him out here for anyone to find. She couldn't have been the only one to be woken up by the ruckus in the hallway. She tied her hair up, pushing up the sleeves of her oversized flannel and grabbing hold of his arm. Something was definitely wrong with the way it moved, which was likely why he'd shied away from her earlier. She didn't want to risk hurting him further by pulling on it. She hesitated for a long moment before grabbing hold of his prosthetic arm. It was hard to get him up the last few stairs, but once he was on the flat laminate landing, it was smooth sailing. She knew he'd rather be in his apartment, but considering his keys were however many floors below them, he would have to do with hers for now.

Speaking of which, she needed to retrieve the keys. Once he was situated on her floor with a couch pillow under his head, she scampered back out the door, her heart hammering and her eyes scanning the cement as she ran down the stairs. Of course the keys had made it all the way to the ground floor, but at least they were still sitting there by the time she made it down. Her adrenaline fueled her as she jogged back up to the top floor, her speed picking up as she suddenly realized there was a very real chance that Bucky was dying on her living room floor.

She tossed his keys on her kitchen island, falling to her knees next to him. He was still laying in the same position she'd left him, his chest rising and falling in short, raspy breaths. Now that he was under the bright lights of her kitchen, she could see there was much more blood on him then she originally thought. She checked his pulse on his neck, just to be double sure he was alive. His face was pale, so very pale. She eyed her phone, its dark, cracked screen refracting the light from the nearby lamp. Calling an ambulance was out of the question, and she definitely was not equipped to handle this.

Without warning, Bucky's eyes snapped open, eliciting a short scream from her before she clamped her hands over her mouth. She went to ask if he was okay (even if he very clearly wasn't), but was interrupted by him sputtering and coughing, blood dripping from his mouth. Out of instinct, she pushed him onto his left side; she didn't know if that was the right move, but it's what she did any time her friends from university drank too much and were vomiting at the end of the night. She kept him on his side by holding his back with both hands, looking away and closing her eyes so that she didn't see the waterfall of blood pouring from his mouth, or the red puddle that was forming underneath him. She felt it in the fabric of his shirt, red painting her palms and dribbling down the backs of her hands. Blood in itself didn't make her queasy, but this amount of blood did.

She honestly thought Bucky was going to pass out again after his coughing spell, but he somehow maintained consciousness. He pushed up onto his elbow, each breath shaky and gurgling. She kept her hands on his back, despite the fact that she probably could not catch him if he decided to faint again. The entire back of his shirt was soaked and dark, and her floor was turning increasingly red.

"Sorry." he whispered, though his voice was very strained. Sorry? That's what he had to say at a time like this? Mika would have laughed, if the situation wasn't so incredibly terrifying.

"Bucky. You need a hospital. You're seriously injured." she said sternly, trying to use a voice her mother would be proud of. He shook his head, the movement small and obviously painful.

"I'll be okay. I just need to lay down for a while." he replied. He tried to push himself up, but his right arm didn't move or support him. He would have fallen over, if it weren't for Mika pushing him back to a stable position.

"No. You need medical attention. You're bleeding from like, a hundred different places. Your arm doesn't work. And I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure your foot isn't supposed to be at that angle. I know you're stubborn and all, but I really, really don't want you to die in my apartment. I mean, I don't want you to die, period, but especially not in my place." she was nervous and rambling again. He tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. It seems a couple of ribs were broken too - he'd failed to notice that earlier.

"I'm not going to die." he said shortly, and he was so confident about it that she almost believed it.

"Yea, well, I can't take that chance." she said as he tried to stabilize himself. He reached for his shoe, untying it with a series of jerks. He tried to pull it off, but let out a hiss of pain from the odd angle. Mika had to look away for a moment, her stomach rolling at the odd way his bones shifted. He settled back down, his brows furrowed in concentration. But she couldn't tell what problem he was trying to solve.

"Could you please help me take off my shoe?" he asked quietly. Mika had never really known him to ask for help, but that didn't change the fact that her apartment was far from a sterile environment.

"Absolutely not. You need a real doctor, I do not have the skills to help you here." she said. She didn't understand why he didn't want real, professional help. He just shook his head again.

"You'll be fine. I'll be fine. I've lived through much worse. I just need to get back to my apartment." he replied, which made her roll her eyes.

"Now is not the time to brag about your badassery. You're literally dying, Bucky. Please. Please let me take you to the hospital." she said, her voice wavering as tears started prickling behind her eyes. Now that he was awake and talking to her, it left just enough room in the situation for her to start breaking down. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so scared. In fact, maybe this was the most scared she'd ever been. She tried to push back her tears; now was not the time to cry.

Bucky took that moment to turn and look at her, his face very serious. He no longer looked like he was about to drop, but she had the sneaking suspicion he still felt like it. Her breath caught as he said, "I won't die on you. I promise."

She stared at him for a long minute, trying to read his expression. He was actually holding himself up now, which was a good sign. But his right arm was still hanging there as if it were made of lead, and his face was still white as a sheet. She argued with herself, trying to decide the best course of action. He was obviously very injured, and she was obviously not a doctor. But he seemed to have confidence that they could take care of everything, and that he would be alright. He'd already displayed how stubborn he was, and somehow she knew she was not going to be able to convince him otherwise. It seemed her choices were to let him die alone in his apartment, or to die here with a friend.

"If you break this promise, I'll bring you back to life just I can kill you myself. Do you understand me?" she said, once again using her mothering tone. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Yes, ma'am." he said quietly, looking away from her. Now that they had that settled, his bravado was slipping. She could see him blinking, trying to focus his eyes. He kept swaying side to side, as if he couldn't quite find his balance. If she wanted to fix him up while he was still conscious, she needed to act fast.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, trying to steele her resolve even though her heart was pounding about a thousand beats per minute.

"My shoe. I need to reset the break so it heals properly." he said. His voice was still quiet, and she could still hear him wheezing with every breath. Her stomach turned again at his phrasing, but she swallowed down the nausea, moving and carefully loosening the laces of his boot. He let out a groan of pain and his posture wavered for a moment as she slowly slid it off his foot, but he held back any other expressions. Something white was poking out from his sock, and Mika immediately had to turn away from it as the realization hit her.

"Oh my god that's bone. Bucky, that's your bone. Oh my god. Oh my god." she stood up for a moment, foregoing her nurse duties so she could stand over the sink and try not to throw up. She could no longer differentiate the physiological feelings going on in her torso, everything was going haywire.

"Don't look." Bucky said, just loud enough that she could hear him. Of course, Mika then made the mistake of looking, right as he reached down with his metal arm and snapped his ankle back into proper alignment with a loud crack. She couldn't stop herself from vomiting at that point, leaning against the slim bit of counter in front of the sink. Once she was somewhat settled, she ran the water, trying to rinse away her shame at her weakness. He was the one dying on the floor, she could at least keep her shit together so that maybe he survived. She rinsed her mouth and stood up, deciding that now she was a new woman, a tough woman. A woman who didn't vomit at the sight and sound of someone snapping their bones back into place.

"Okay, what's next?" she asked, though her stomach was still uneasy at the situation. Bucky had the audacity to perk an eyebrow, but didn't comment on her episode at the sink. He waited for a second to let her compose herself before speaking again.

"I need to put my shoulder back into place." he said, eyeing his arm. The fingers were grey and motionless. Mika swallowed heavily, but nodded. "I'll likely lose consciousness again." he warned.

"Then should we take care of the wounds on your back first?" she asked. Her voice sounded much more sure than she felt. In reality, she was just trying to channel her favorite character from her favorite medical drama while really still freaking out on the inside. "We can't dress them if you're passed out."

He was still for a long time, and she could tell he wanted to say no, though she didn't understand why. Blood was dripping from the hem of his shirt, it had to be coming from somewhere. They needed to cover it, put pressure on it so that he wouldn't lose any more blood. "You're right." he finally said, after what felt like an hour of waiting.

"Okay, let me get my first aid kit. See if you can work on those buttons." she said, gesturing towards the front of his work shirt. He nodded, bringing his left hand up to his collar. She made sure he was stable without leaning against the support of his prosthetic arm before jogging across her apartment, digging into the cabinet under her sink to find the big first aid box her mom had bought her when she first moved to Bucharest. She had yet to open it, but now seemed as good a time as any. She pulled it out and carried it back into the living room, where Bucky still sat fully dressed.

"Buttons kept slipping." he said, waving his fingers. The metal of his prosthetic glinted in the light, and Mika had a sudden surge of compassion towards him. Even if she wasn't a lot of help, she still wasn't sure how he would have handled this all on his own.

"I've got it." she said, putting down the red kit and kneeling in front of him. It felt odd to be this close to him. Not bad, just different. She was usually very aware of his personal bubble, but he was letting her in tonight. She was glad for it; she didn't want to think about what could happen if he didn't. She tried to be clinical in her approach, unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as she could despite the shaking of her hands. She moved to his collar to pull it away, but he grasped her wrist as gently as he could with his hand, staying her movements.

"There's a lot of scars." he warned. For the first time, she heard something in his voice that sounded like sadness. It suddenly occurred to her how vulnerable he must feel, and how incredibly unnatural it seemed to be for someone to be helping him. Once again, her heart broke for him.

"That's okay. Come on, we need to put pressure. You're still bleeding." she said, her voice low and gentle. He let go of her wrist, the metal plates clicking and sliding as he put his arm down. She pulled his collar away, sliding the sleeve down so that he could remove his left arm from the shirt. He was right, there were definitely a lot of scars. They were raised and white, tracing around the outline of his prosthetic as if they'd used a hot glue gun to stick in on. Thin ropes of tissue spread like a spiderwebs under the skin from the metal, stretching and straining as he pulled his arm from the sleeve. Her nausea was gone for a moment, replaced by the deep desire to cry and hold him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd gone through to end up with an arm like this, and suddenly all those "been through worse" comments made sense. She felt bad for making light of it.

His shirt stuck to his back thanks to the blood, and it took a few moments of gentle tugging to loose it from the intact skin. She nearly threw up again at the sight of the hole in his back and the bruising around his ribs, but she held it together this time. She left the shirt hanging off his right arm, unzipping the first aid kit and rummaging through it until she found a big box of gauze. The little square would be good for patching him up, but she needed to clean him up first. She grabbed the first towel she found in her bathroom, wetting half of it under the sink and wringing the excess water out before going back to him. For as much pain as he had to be in, he held remarkably still as she carefully wiped away the red stains on his skin until all that was left was the gaping wound. Next came antiseptic spray, though he laughed at her use of it. He was still bleeding slightly, so she packed a little extra gauze around it before securing a big sheet of it with silk tape. She couldn't cover the burns on his upper back and neck, but she at least has some ointment to soothe them.

"Do you think you can get to the couch?" she asked once her wound care was done. He let out a slow breath, and maybe it was her imagination, but it didn't sound quite as gurgly or wheezy as before. She got up, grabbing every blanket within reach and spreading it over her sofa. It had to be much more comfortable than the floor. Plus, if he passed out, then he wouldn't fall back into all the blood he'd spilled earlier.

"I think so." he said, slowly trying to move onto his feet. Mika moved to his left arm, and he was too focused on his pain and his actions to hide his surprise. She helped pull him to his feet, ducking under the metal arm to support him. Normally he would move away if she was this close, but he was too light headed from standing up. She awkwardly moved her hand around his opposite side, trying to find a spot that wasn't on his wounds or his bruised ribs. She settled for his belt, grabbing onto the leather to give herself some leverage. He limped the few feet to the couch, his chest heaving by the time he sat down. Whatever color he'd regained in his skin was lost again.

"There, now if you pass out you'll at least be comfortable." she tried to lighten the situation. He gave her a look that said he wanted to acknowledge her humor, but physically could not. Besides the obvious pain, he looked incredibly exhausted. She didn't know how he was still awake. "Now, let's get this shoulder situated."

"Do you need a trash can nearby?" he asked, though his tease was cut by the strained tone of his voice. She wanted to smack his leg, but refrained.

"You're in no condition to be a smartass." she said, giving him a pointed look. "Now, tell me what to do about your shoulder."

"Hold my arm by the wrist, then pull as hard as you can and slowly move up. With any luck, it'll roll back into place." he explained, giving vague gestures with his left arm. Once again, she was momentarily distracted by the way the skin around his prosthetic moved. She shook her head, refocusing. She went to grab his arm, but stopped.

"Maybe you should lay down first? In case you pass out?" she asked. It was a fair question, but she also was just trying to stall the inevitable. He nodded, holding his ribs as he laid onto the pillows. Only then did she pick up his wrist, which felt unnatural. "Bucky, your arm is like, really cold. Should we be worried about that?"

"It'll be fine. Go ahead and pull it." he said, clenching his teeth in preparation. She took a deep breath, leaning back until his arm was straight. She tried to start moving it, but he let out a yelp of pain. She almost let go of his arm, remembering at the last minute that that would be the worst idea she'd had all night. "You need to pull harder. Harder than you think you do." he said, his breaths sharp and shaky as the pain rattled through him.

"Right, sorry." she said, clamping her mouth shut before she could start rambling. She straightened his arm again, leaning until she could feel the joint stretching. Bucky's previously pale face was now turning red as he held his breath, trying to stay still as she moved, trying to keep the pressure even. She must have been moving too slow for him, as he reached over with his left arm to grab his right, pulling and moving faster until the joint relocated with an audible clunk. Her stomach did spasm at the sound, but she pushed the feeling down. It was easy, since she was distracted by Bucky's eyes rolling back into his head and his whole body falling limp. She immediately checked his pulse again; it was faint, but it was there. She let out a sigh of relief, sitting down on her coffee table and holding her head in her hands as she continued to try and regulate her breathing.

Once the panic was gone, she looked up to survey the damage. It was nearing six in the morning, and half her laminate was covered in Bucky's blood. She needed to clean it while it was fresh, otherwise it would be much more difficult to take up. She checked on her friend once again, but he seemed to be blissfully unconscious, letting his body heal. With his face relaxed in sleep, he suddenly seemed much younger, which made her realize that she had no idea how old he actually was. She filed it away under questions for later, her exhaustion numbing her as she started gathering towels and scrubbing the floor. She paused periodically to check on Bucky, especially when he murmured in his sleep or if his muscles started twitching. But he never fully woke up again.

With a pile of red towels in her basket and fatigue soaked to her very bones, she finally sat down on her big comfy chair. It was one hell of a night, she figured. One last check on Bucky showed that everything was unchanged; she supposed that meant he was stable. She walked into her bedroom, considering going to sleep. Instead she grabbed her blankets from her bed, dragging them back into the living room. The bigger one she laid over her friend, whose skin was still pale and clammy. The smaller one she pulled over her lap as she curled onto the arm chair, positioning herself so she could keep an eye on Bucky. She didn't want to fall asleep, just in case he needed her. She grabbed her book from the end table, but the more she tried to concentrate on the words the more they jumbled together. Finally, when the dark night started to fade into the grey morning, she allowed herself to fall asleep.

She just hoped Bucky would still be alive when she woke up.

Hope you guys liked this chapter! It was a wee bit more dramatic than usual. Thank you to everyone who reads, faves, or follows this little story! And a special thank you to the wonderful people who leave a comment, I love love love hearing y'all's reactions!

-XM