TW: descriptions of violence, death, and blood and gore
The first indication that something is wrong is how hard the base is to take down.
Bucky and the Commandos spend days in a gritty back and forth with the heavily fortified Hydra base. Their strength lies in ambush and surprise attacks when working as a smaller unit but that isn't possible with the size and scale of this base. Instead they are paired with another unit in the area and attack it in a joint operation.
It takes six days of heavy fighting to finally crack the shell of the base. It is an ugly thing. Craters pocket the ground, smoke heavy in the air. The burned bodies of soldiers lie strewn about the Hydra bunker, their black uniforms scorched and melted to their skin.
Their side has fewer bodies to recover, their lost soldiers scattered to ash by Hydra tech.
The lull in fighting only heralds a new horror. Now that the base is captured, they need to sweep it, documenting and reporting Hydra's activities. That task is left to the Commandos. It is their mission, and it saves any confidential material from being exposed to dozens of everyday soldiers.
The bunker is dug into a hill, cement tunnels going down deceptively far. They had had to find the rear exit and attack from both ends before they could be sure the base was clear of hostiles. Hydra is notorious for fighting down to the last man, and it had been a long, bloody battle till the end.
Now the Commandos leave the secondary unit to recuperate while they go figure out what Hydra is hiding in the bowels of the earth. Steve splits them up efficiently and they spread out in groups of two or three to scout the rubble-filled halls.
Bucky keeps his gun at his side, shadowing Dugan as they peel off to search a file room. Morita, Dernier, and Gabe tackle the interrogation rooms, while Steve continues on with Monty deeper into the base.
Bucky knows from experience that the deeper they go, the more likely they are to find some of Hydra's more…twisted experiments.
He represses a shiver and focuses on helping Dugan sort through what remains of the filing cabinets. Most of the intel on Hydra experiments and war crimes they will leave for people higher up to deal with. What they really need is information on additional Hydra bases.
He is skimming through provision acquisition forms when he hears it. The hair on the back of his neck prickles as a deep boom resonates through the base. The very stone around them shifts, making him stumble as a shockwave rushes to meet them.
And then, just on the edge of his hearing range, a pain-torn cry.
His hand is on his radio before the dust begins to settle. It crackles on before he can raise it to his lips.
"Cap's down!" Monty's accent is thicker with panic, the urgency in his voice sending a flood of adrenaline surging through Bucky's veins. "There was a survivor. Hit him with some kind of blast."
Hit him with it? The blast that had shaken the foundations of the building?
All the air leaves Bucky's lungs, his fingers frozen on his radio. It's Dugan who speaks next, asking about Monty's status and hostile engagement. Bucky blinks hard and clenches his jaw so tight it creaks, forcing himself to listen.
He can't afford to succumb to shock. There isn't time for that.
The survivor who had shot Steve is dead and the area is clear as far as Monty can tell, making it safer for them to come in as back up.
"Tread softly," he warns as Bucky and the others exchange grim nods in the hall. "The blast did a lot of damage. I'm not sure how long the ceiling will hold."
It is Morita who asks the question Bucky hadn't been able to pose. "Is he alive?"
Monty's reply is plain and serious. "Alive? Yes. Safe? No."
It isn't hard to find the source of the blast. Whatever weapon the Hydra agent had fired left a trail of destruction in its wake that their attack hadn't been able to achieve. Dust hangs heavy in the air, broken stone and collapsed concrete piling up the closer they get to the site.
Bucky steps over a heap of crumbling plaster, scanning the warped metal walls with apprehension. He twitches at a sound from up ahead, but his hackles lower as Monty steps around the remains of a doorway.
The beta's clothes are covered in grey dust, his signature red cap missing. Instead, his hair is plastered crimson by a bleeding cut, nearly half his face awash in blood.
Head wounds bleed a lot, Bucky reminds himself forcibly. Monty looks battered but free of major injuries, so the wound on his head is probably no more than a small cut.
"Where's your first aid packet?" Morita calls sternly, eyeing Monty disapprovingly.
Monty sags against the wall and pulls out the metal case that holds his personal dressing and wound tablets. Training and reminders from Morita inform his movements as he opens the packet and pulls out the dressing, pressing it to his temple.
"Steve's in there," he croaks, voice rough with dust.
Bucky peers past him. Whatever room he and Steve had been searching is gone. In its place stand the remains of a few walls and piles of rubble. Something shifts against the rocks and his head darts up at the sound of a whimper.
Morita hears it too and he waves sharply at Gabe, pointing him to Monty with quick orders. "Keep away shock. Make sure he takes his wound tablets."
Monty taken care of, he looks back, his eyes narrowed as he surveys the devastation.
"I think he managed to duck," Monty rasps, accepting Gabe's help to sit against the wall. "The blast didn't hit 'im square on."
Bucky sweeps the room, mapping out the damage. He can see the twisted legs of a table in the upper corner. The body of the Hydra agent lies impaled on one of the metal legs, blown back by the blast of his own weapon.
The damage radiates from that point, obliterating nearly everything in its path. If Steve had been on the edge of the blast and had managed to leap to avoid most of it then he must be—
His head moves in time with Morita as they single out the source of the whimper.
The blast had wiped out the lower portion of the room. Only the top corner had managed to escape total annihilation. The chunks of broken concrete and dented metal plating are bigger and more robust. A half-solid cement barrier obscurers their view, bent rebar sticking out like rusted teeth.
From behind it, Bucky hears a slight movement and another muffled sound of pain.
"Rogers?" Morita calls.
They are met with the sound of rocks scrabbling against each other and ragged panting. Bucky's hands tighten on his gun, all the blood draining from his face. He walks forward with a jerk, only dimly aware of Morita, Dugan, and Dernier at his side.
They round the concrete barrier and catch sight of Steve.
He's hunched in the shadow of the rubble, his teeth bared. His face is streaked with blood and dirt, his shield arm tucked into his lap. His shield is still attached to his arm, the iconic paint barely visible under a coating of soot and ash. Dark blood drips onto the floor by his feet.
He sucks in a breath and shifts and Bucky catches a glimpse of his shoulder behind his shield.
His suit is burnt away, leaving his shoulder shiny with blood. The edges of his wound are blackened, rivulets of blood soaking the shredded remains of his uniform. The shield seems to have protected some of his arm and torso, but Bucky can see blood matted in his hair and a dark patch spreading out on his thigh.
Bucky's voice is no more than a gasp. "Steve."
Steve's eyes dart up, his lips peeling back in a snarl. He bristles at the sight of them, a deep rumble leaving from his throat.
Bucky can feel the unease of the Commandos at the hostility. An angry alpha—or, unbeknownst to them, omega—is a force to be reckoned with.
"He's feral," Dugan mumbles.
Dernier curses softly in French and Bucky closes his eyes briefly. Steve wouldn't be the first soldier to go feral after a surprise attack and horrific wounds, but it makes everything a lot harder. Steve's logical brain and rational thinking have taken a backseat, his instincts taking over to protect him from a perceived threat.
And they already know the sedatives normally reserved for this situation aren't going to work.
But they can't leave Steve for too long. The severity of his injuries is like a ticking time bomb, forcing them to act. Not to mention the building's looming instability.
He hears Morita pull in a fortifying breath before taking one small step towards Steve.
Steve's gaze jerks to him and his rumble rises into a low growl, his muscles radiating tension. Morita raises both hands in submission, keeping his gaze steady.
"Steve," he says softly. "It's Jim. I'm here to help you."
He reaches slowly for the medic pack on his hip, unclasping the buckles as quietly as possible. He crouches down, Steve's eyes following his every move.
His growl tapers off a little as Morita lowers, uncertainty and fear warring in his stance.
"We're here to help you," Morita murmurs, setting the bag in front of him. "No one here is going to hurt you."
Bucky thinks that Morita might have been able to talk him down, if it weren't for Steve's extensive history with doctors. Steve's eyes widen in alarm the instant Morita opens the pack, revealing the gauze and other equipment inside.
He pulls back, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. He snaps his teeth, hostility growing in his eyes as his growl thickens.
Morita's mouth pulls into a thin line and he squats down, keeping his eyes on Steve. "I need to help you," he tells him steadily. "You're hurt. I can make it better."
Bucky can sense the underlying tension in Morita's voice. They don't have a lot of time to convince Steve to let them help him. He needs attention fast.
Morita breathes in quietly and straightens his shoulders in resolve. He leans forward, inching closer. His pack drags along the rocky debris and Steve flinches backwards, flashing his teeth. His eyes dart between them all and his breathing picks up, his shoulders heaving as a deep, threatening growl rips out of him.
Bucky almost flinches. He's never heard Steve growl like that before. It builds the longer it goes on, the sound frantic and dangerous. His eyes jump across them again. Bucky follows the movement and the penny drops. His mouth falls open as he realises with a start why Steve is so wary.
He is a feral, injured omega basically surrounded by three alphas and a beta.
"Morita wait."
Steve twitches at the sound of his voice and Morita looks back, his brows pulling together. Bucky doesn't give him a chance to question him. They need to calm Steve down and they need to do it as quickly as possible.
"We're crowding him," he says, glancing between Morita, Dugan and Dernier. "You two, back up." He waves sharply at Dugan and Dernier and he's relieved when they don't hesitate.
Dugan looks grim as he steps back, he and Dernier pulling back to the crumbled remains of the wall.
Steve doesn't blink, his growl continuing as his head follows Dugan and Dernier's retreat. His body vibrates with tension, his nostrils flaring as he breathes. Air hisses between his teeth, the hand on his uninjured arm flexing in hooked claws.
This is worse than the first night after Stark. This is worse than Bucky has ever seen.
The strength of Steve's growl eases as Dugan and Dernier back off, although it doesn't disappear entirely as he glances back towards Bucky and Morita.
Bucky breathes out, suddenly aware of the beads of sweat dripping down his back. His teeth hurt and his muscles ache with how tight he's been holding himself.
He sees Morita glance at him and he swallows. "Let me see if I can get 'im to calm down."
Morita nods and eases back a few paces, giving Steve more space. His eyes glance worriedly over Steve's injuries and Bucky knows they don't have a lot of time. He chews on his lip and very carefully lifts his gun to slip off the shoulder strap.
Steve eyes him warily, snarling until Bucky places the gun on the ground. His growl tapers into a quieter rumble. Bucky gives him a hesitant smile and crouches down.
"Hey Stevie," he starts, wanting his first words to remind him who he is with. He's safe, Stark isn't here, and the alphas around him aren't going to hurt him.
Steve's eyes flash but he faces him, showing him he is listening.
Bucky lets out a breath, scooting a few inches closer. Steve's lips peel up but his growl doesn't get any louder. Bucky takes that as a good sign.
"It's okay," he says softly, his heart pounding in his throat. "I know you're hurtin'. It hurts a lot, doesn't it?"
Steve doesn't answer, but Bucky isn't asking him to. He settles on his knees, crawling forward again. He sees Steve's jaw flex and his growl rises in warning. Bucky's gaze skates over the red puddle by Steve's knee.
His wounds still ooze blood, but the pace has slowed, probably thanks to the serum.
Bucky eyes the distance between them, a piece of rock digging into his ankle. The few feet between him and Steve feel insurmountable. He racks his mind for something to calm Steve. They can't toe the line like this for much longer.
He needs to do something to make Steve feel safe, even in terrible pain, and in the presence of alphas. He blinks as a thought occurs to him.
He doesn't know if it will work, but he has an idea.
He moves slowly, letting Steve track his movements as he peels off his scent patches, two on his neck and one from each wrist. Approaching him without his scent isn't helping anything at all. He wrinkles his nose as the patches peel away. His scent is stale with worry, but better than nothing.
He tosses the patches before meeting Steve's eye and very deliberately baring his throat. He tilts his chin up, settling back on his heels. He hears one of the Commandos shift behind him, probably out of surprise. It isn't often one sees an alpha expose his throat in submission.
Submission is probably the least alpha thing he could do. Omegas submit. Betas when they need to. Alphas are supposed to be strong and in control. They are supposed to be the ones making decisions. It's why alphas are disproportionately represented in high positions. Alphas are supposed to be leaders. They're supposed to be in charge.
At least according to alphas.
Inherent alpha superiority had never been a selling point for Steve and it hadn't ever made much sense to Bucky. But it doesn't really matter what he thinks. All that matters is acting the opposite of what feral-Steve expects of him. An alpha ceding ground, especially to an omega, is bound to get his attention.
Most importantly, Howard Stark would never.
Bucky knows his plan is working when Steve's ever-present growl falls into a low mumble of confusion. Bucky keeps his muscles as relaxed as possible, breathing slowly. He can feel Steve's gaze on him, and he swallows before moving on to the next phase of his plan.
He whines.
Steve's growl cuts off entirely. He rocks back in surprise, his eyes wide as he stares at Bucky.
Bucky meets his eye before tilting his chin to show his throat again and keening once again. The sound is low and vulnerable, tugging on age-old protective instincts.
If he were in any other situation he would laugh at the people who claim alpha and omega actions and instincts are set in stone. Here he and Steve are doing the opposite of what would be expected for either of their designations and it is working just as well.
Steve's whole demeanour is calmer, his focus shifting from the danger to himself to concern for another person. His face is still pinched with pain, but he scans Bucky as if searching him for injuries, his guard lowering.
Bucky breathes out softly, dizzy with relief. His plan is working. He's getting through to him. His scent takes on a stronger earthy tone and he eases forward on his hands. Blood rushes to his toes and he meets Steve's gaze, keeping his chin turned in deference to him.
"Can I come over there?"
He keeps completely still as Steve's eyes dart over him and search the space around them. He can almost see his feral-logic taking hold. Here is someone vulnerable, looking to him for protection. The best way to offer that protection is to stay close.
Pack is protected. Pack is safe.
Steve raises his chin and nods at him, as if he could pull him closer. Bucky's hands shake as he crawls forward, relieved beyond measure that this is working. Steve shifts to give him space in the shelter of their concrete slab, and Bucky turns to sit next to his uninjured arm.
"Thank you," he says, letting his scent convey his sincerity.
Steve blinks rapidly and lets out a shaky breath before cautiously bumping shoulders.
Bucky has to blink sudden mist out of his eyes at the familiar scent marking. He presses back against Steve's good shoulder and forces himself to assess his injured side.
He can see more of the damage the shield had hidden, the upper part of Steve's arm burned and bloody. He swallows, light-headed. The pine in his scent grows stronger with stress and on the edge of his vision he can see Steve responding in kind, glancing at him worriedly.
Bucky breathes in, ignoring the smell of blood and smoke. He settles against Steve's side, reaching up to clasp his elbow with his left hand. Steve looks at his hand and then up at him, clearly aware something is upsetting him, but unsure what.
Idiot, Bucky wants to call him. Figures feral-Steve would act like himself, just more when it comes to personal concern.
"You're hurt," Bucky says roughly, and Steve's eyes dart to his gaping wounds as though remembering them again.
Bucky licks his lips. "We need to fix it. Please?" He nods back to where Morita is still kneeling. He pours all of his worry into his scent, making it clear that this is what's wrong. "We need to help you."
Steve shifts a little in his grip, uncertainty clouding his eyes. He is apprehensive, Bucky can tell, but he isn't as hostile as before. Bucky bites his lip, aware of his thready pulse. If he can't convince Steve now, then he doesn't know what to do.
"I'll stay here," he tells him, squeezing his arm. "Morita's a packmate, remember? He's a friend. He's going to help you."
Steve looks at him, and then back to Morita. His head lifts as he looks at Dugan and Dernier farther away. It takes a long second of indecision before Steve finally nods.
A sigh flows through Bucky's entire body and he leans his forehead against Steve's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers.
Relief flickers in Morita's eyes and Bucky watches as he pauses to peel off his own scent patches as well. He keeps his eyes lowered, approaching Steve slowly, stopping every few paces to let him adjust. He smells of prairie grass and salt spray, his beta scent as calming as possible despite the hint of worry under everything.
Steve is tense under Bucky's hand by the time Morita kneels by his left arm. His breath is quick and shallow, but he doesn't pull away. Bucky's throat feels tight at the amount of trust Steve is putting in them. He is trembling with nerves, but he doesn't even bare his teeth at Morita.
"Hi, Steve," Morita says gently, carefully placing his medic bag by their feet. "I need to look at your wounds." He lets out a resigned breath, looking regretful. "This is going to hurt. I wish I could make it so it wouldn't, but it's going to be painful fixing this up."
Bucky isn't surprised by Morita's upfront honesty. Lying to Steve or trying to sugar-coat things will damage his fledgling trust. There isn't much Morita can do to numb the pain for Steve, and it is better he knows that now, rather than find out later in a haze of pain and betrayal.
Bucky watches Steve's throat flex before he nods sharply, breathing unevenly through his nose. He leans more heavily into Bucky and rotates his good arm to grab Bucky's right hand. He clasps his wrist right over his scent gland, clinging to him.
Bucky lets him, resting his wrist on Steve's knee and adjusting his left hand up to his shoulder.
"I'll be as gentle as I can," Morita promises, before getting down to business.
It's grim work. Morita first has to lift Steve's arm to unclasp his shield. Steve's hand tightens around Bucky's wrist and his breath goes shallow, his eyes glazing over with pain.
His shield had protected his elbow and surrounding tissue. His upper arm only has a few scrapes, while the worst of the damage is in his shoulder and thigh, where the blast had crept around the shield. The shield had done its job though, and after some probing, Morita declares that Steve doesn't have any major injuries to his core.
"I'm going to clean this out," he warns as he feels around Steve's shoulder, his fingers coming away red with blood.
Steve doesn't respond, his gaze far away, his chest stuttering in harsh, even breaths. A thin whine crawls up his throat when Morita takes the scissors to the burn edges of his uniform. He stiffens, sweat beading up on his brow.
The pain is probably excruciating. Bucky digs his fingers into Steve's shoulder, hoping to ground him. "I've got you," he mutters. "You're okay. I know it hurts, but Morita's goin' ta make it go away. We'll be okay, Stevie. Safe as houses."
He's not sure how much of his mumbled reassurances Steve hears, but Steve squeezes once on his wrist, proving he's still aware.
Bucky glances at Morita. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, worry evident in the clench of his jaw and the thin press of his lips. He's cut away most of the uniform around Steve's shoulder, but Bucky can see some of it has melted on.
Bile rises in his throat and he shivers, looking away. He knows the instant Morita starts removing those bits, because Steve jerks, his hand gripping his wrist with a bruising force. A garbled howl of pain breaks out of him, trembling taking over his limbs.
He leans into Bucky, trying to cringe away from Morita, his breaths catching in ragged grunts of pain. Bucky realises his jaw is clenched shut, his tongue pressed painfully to the roof of his mouth.
He sucks in a breath through his nose and moves his hand from Steve's shoulder to the back of his neck.
Normally he would never try this on Steve. Grabbing the back of someone's neck is either extremely domineering or a soothing gesture from a parent to a child.
It is the second option he is aiming for.
Morita may not be able to give Steve any pain medication, but the pressure points on the back of his neck will release a flood of hormones into his system. In his feral state it will be even more effective and hopefully give him a little relief.
Steve's breath hitches at the touch, giving Bucky just enough time to remember that this is the kind of hold Stark may have very well abused. His surge of anxiety is unwarranted though, because Steve slumps into his grip, turning his head to push his nose into his collarbone.
Bucky holds absolutely still, breathing slow and shallow. He can feel Steve's gasps against his shirt, his shaking transfering to him. Morita does something on the other end and Steve whines, nosing upwards, very clearly taking comfort in his scent.
Bucky closes his eyes in exhausted relief. As much as their instincts can work against them, sometimes they can come in handy. Right now Steve's feral brain is trying to seek as much comfort and pain-relief as it can.
No doubt Bucky's scent is somewhere high up on that list. He'd grown up with Steve and has been helping him through pure horror. He is proven safe.
His scent and Steve's neck pressure points won't be able to erase the pain. Not even close. But at least they can take the edge off.
He keeps a steady grip on Steve's neck, praying that Morita will be finished soon. His attention pulls inward, focusing on keeping his scent calm, and keeping his hold on Steve firm but gentle. The crumbling base and the watching Commandos barely register, his instincts taking the reins.
At some point, Steve starts biting his collar, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Bucky notes it with a detached mentality. His brain feels on par with that of a soldier on his third solid day of marching. His thoughts are slow and basic, barely chugging along.
Bandaging, good, he thinks as Morita finally begins wrapping Steve's shoulder in white cloth. He isn't finished yet, he still has to examine his thigh, but the damage there is less severe.
Steve twitches in discomfort when Morita starts pulling and cutting away the lower half of his suit. A low growl rumbles in his throat, his teeth still clenched tight around Bucky's collar.
Morita's eyes flick up, but he doesn't stop. Bucky thinks he can guess why Steve doesn't want to be touched there and he massages the back of Steve's neck with his thumb, avoiding the scent glands.
"We're okay," he whispers, watching Morita start bandaging the gash on Steve's leg. "Just a little longer, Stevie."
He is correct in that assertion. Morita works quickly on the rest of Steve's injuries, finishing with the cut in his hairline. Steve doesn't move away from Bucky's shoulder and Morita doesn't try to make him. He leans over and does his best, looking back towards Dugan and Dernier as he tapes gauze in place.
"Call for evac," he tells them, careful to keep his voice down so as to not startle Steve. "We're going to need to take him to the hospital to properly treat this."
For some reason that makes Steve tense. His head darts up, leaving a damp patch on Bucky's collar as he lets out an alarmed snarl.
"No!" he barks, pulling away from Morita. His breathing speeds up, his panic growing again. "No, you can't!"
Bucky opens his mouth to try to reassure Steve. The hospital visit isn't going to be like when Steve was young.
But, as it turns out, that isn't what Steve is worried about.
"We just left," he babbles, whipping around to give Bucky a frantic look. "You can't— You can't take me back. We can't go to London. Not— not yet."
Bucky's stomach drops unpleasantly, his hands going clammy as he realises why Steve is panicking. He thinks—
"Don't take me back," Steve begs, his eyes clouded with fear and pain. "Not yet— You can't— Please. I— I won't forgive you if you take me back."
A keen builds in Bucky's throat and he has to resist pulling Steve into a hug, knowing that will only hurt him. Steve's hand shakes on his wrist, his grip painfully tight, his breaths thin and fast.
"We're not!"
The words burst out of Bucky, everything in him desperate to pull Steve's thoughts away from that. "We're not. I promise. We're— We just landed in France remember? There's an Allied hospital behind the front lines. We're goin' there."
Steve droops in relief and Bucky feels sick.
He isn't sure what the Commandos think of Steve's fear of London. He is in the midst of a feral episode and half out of his mind in pain, so he isn't exactly coherent, but that doesn't mean everything he says is meaningless. No doubt the longer the Commandos spend around Steve, the more obvious it is that something is going on.
They don't say anything though. Not when Steve's ordeal finally catches up with him, his relief at avoiding London pushing him over the edge into unconsciousness. All Morita has to say about it is that sleep is better for his wounds and pain-levels.
Dugan helps Dernier build a stretcher to carry Steve out of the destroyed base without mentioning a thing about what had happened, only praising Bucky gruffly for being able to calm Steve down in the first place.
They wait with Steve in the stretcher for their evacuation. The ambulance had already been dispatched for the unit they had been working with and Bucky finds himself shunted to the side as nurses pull the stretcher from them and Morita gets swept up in the tide of white caps and condition reports.
He and the rest of the Commandos follow the ambulance in another truck. Bucky slumps in his seat, his hands shaking idly as the truck bumps up and down on the worn track. Gabe hands him a canteen and a handkerchief and it is only then that he notices that his throat is parched and his hands are streaked with blood.
The rest of the evac is a blur. They arrive at the city eventually, and he and the Commandos get put on standby. He gives a report on the failed mission at some point, but he can't recall a word later, his mind elsewhere.
It is only when they are finally allowed into Steve's hospital room that things sharpen back into focus.
Steve lies asleep in the bed, a trio of glass containers hanging by him on an IV stand. A line goes into his good hand, his injured arm bandaged in fresh white linen. Bucky had heard from Morita that the hospital is pumping Steve full of drugs, trying to keep him under so he can heal. Normally the dosage wouldn't be safe, and it doesn't keep him down consistently, but Morita had only shrugged, his face lined with exhaustion.
"He needs to rest to heal," he said. "He can't be in pain to do that."
Bucky scans Steve's sleeping face. His forehead is still creased with discomfort, one of his brows covered by his head dressing.
This mission had been the worst injury the Commandos had ever dealt with. If Steve wasn't, well, Steve, then he would be automatically discharged. Sent back home to recover as best as possible.
He'll heal with the serum though. They don't have an exact timeline for when he'll be back on his feet, but he knows Steve will be expected to lead missions after this.
Let's just hope they don't send us back to London early, Bucky thinks, remembering Steve's fear at the thought of being sent back to Stark so soon.
Thankfully, that hadn't been true. But he knows they will have to go back eventually. And he knows what's waiting there.
He almost wishes Steve had been injured enough to be discharged.
AN: Poor Steve!
I wanted to show more how Steve's omega status and his trauma response would effect him outside of London. I feel like omega-Steve fics are less common so I enjoyed writing feral-Steve, with Bucky being the only one to know exactly why he is so anxious.
A/b/o dynamics add such an interesting element to injuries and scenes like this, so it was really fun to write.