"Damn it, Wilson! Can't you watch your own back for 5 minutes?" Bucky snapped over the comm. He emptied the last of his magazine into the Hydra agent that almost got close enough to damage the Falcon's wings. How many times had the ebony-skinned man forgotten to cover his 4 o'clock in the past 2 missions? Three, Bucky hissed to himself. That's three times that idiot would've gotten himself killed if I hadn't stepped in. "You know, at some point I oughta start charging you for my protective services," he continued, his gravelly voice straining to be heard over the din of the battle.
"Man, for supposedly being the deadliest assassin in history, you sure talk a lot," Sam shot back. Bucky gritted his teeth and started to retort before Steve reprimanded both teammates.
"Enough chatter on the comms. Sam, have you cleared the northwest quadrant? Nat's going to need time to copy those files," Steve's sentence ended with a huff as he sent his shield flying towards five Nazi bastards. "Buck, you need to get to Whitehall's office and see if there's anything-" he cut out for a few seconds to deal with a fresh wave, and Bucky took the opportunity to slip into the bunker that contained the Supreme Hydra's personal and business quarters. "-anything that could show us where more Hydra locations are. Anything of interest."
A lesser man might've swallowed uncomfortably at being in a room that was so reminiscent of his time as an unfeeling killing machine, but Bucky barely hesitated before rifling through the office. His eyes landed on a thick file on Whitehall's desk. It looked so nondescript, tucked away under other papers and folders, but in his experience Hydra used the most common files to store the most important information. As he started to flip through it, his lip curled at what he saw. "Steve, I found it."
"Good work. Nat, how much longer do you need?" Steve's voice sounded strained. Can't believe that's the same punk I used to have to stop from fighting guys twice his size, Bucky thought fondly before hearing movement in the hallway. He listened for a moment, then fired two bullets as someone appeared in the doorway, smirking slightly as the figure sidestepped just in time.
"You almost shot me!" Sam scowled at the faint amusement on Bucky's face. "C'mon, we gotta get out of here." He turned and ran back the way he came, without looking to see if the ex-assassin followed.
"I knew it was you-no one else stomps as heavy. 'Sides, killing you'd go against my job as your bodyguard," Bucky countered, easily keeping up with the other man. Before Sam could retaliate, Bucky touched his hand to his comm, "Steve, we're heading to the Quinjet. Are you almost done?"
As they burst out of the bunker, Bucky suddenly yanked Sam back by the arm. A blue and red shield flew past their noses, before ricocheting off the open bunker door and back into the apologetic Captain's hand. "Like I said," Bucky let go of the irate Falcon. "Bodyguard."
"Oh you-" Sam started before Steve interrupted him.
"Get to the Quin, I'm going back for Nat. She shouldn't be taking this long."
"I'll save you the trouble, Captain."
The three men whipped around to see the Supreme Hydra, Daniel Whitehall, standing in the middle of the dead enemy agents, gripping Natasha in a headlock with a gun to her head. He stared at them impassively as the redhead did her best to dislodge him. Bucky noticed with dismay that her head and leg gushed blood, and her attempts to free herself weakened by the second. The bullet wound didn't seem to have hit the femoral artery, although it looked close. Keep fighting Natasha, don't give in.
"Whitehall," Steve growled, taking a step toward him. "Let her go."
"You know, for an Avenger you aren't very smart. No matter what happens, you and your teammates will die today," The commander snarled. "Give me the file, Winter Soldier, and I'll personally see to it that you'll have a comfortable transition to your new handl-"
The crack of his Glock 17 lingered in the air, and Bucky could feel the shock pulsating from his teammates. Whitehall lay prostrate on the ground, blood leaking from the bullethole in his forehead. No one spoke, save for Sam's sharp inhale; Bucky momentarily observed that it literally took a bullet to silence the younger man. Natasha ended the moment when her eyes rolled back and her body collapsed. Steve moved quickly to scoop her up, pausing to look at the pair of men.
"More Hydra will be on the way. Let's go," Steve spoke clippedly, and his eyes pierced through Bucky. The team sprinted *cough* Sam flew *cough* to the outside of the base, where the Quinjet was camouflaged. Steve immediately started working on binding Natasha's leg with the gauze that the basic first aid kit shouting of enemy soldiers loudened as they drew closer, and Sam rushed to turn the engine on. Bucky watched a large group of men come into view and prepared to start shooting.
"Sam?"
"I know."
"They're getting closer."
"I know."
"I really don't feel like dyin' today."
"Bucky! Not. Helping," Panic colored Sam's voice as he cranked the ignition to no avail. "How the hell do you turn this thing on?!"
Steve called Bucky's name. "Get over here and keep pressure on this wound. Her blood's soaking through the gauze." He waited until Bucky knelt next to him, then ran to the cockpit. "Get rid of Hydra, we'll meet you in the sky," he ordered Sam, taking over the jet's controls. Bucky heard a slight woosh as the Falcon propelled himself out of the plane, into the sky, and toward the rapidly approaching soldiers. Bucky focused on keeping pressure on Natasha's leg with one hand, and used the other to tip her head to the side.
"Wouldn't want a pretty dame like you to vomit over yourself," Bucky didn't know where the words came from inside him. They sounded slightly familiar, as if he was used to saying them in another life. Briefly, he tried to remember if he had ever done this for his little sister, Rebecca.
"You think I'm pretty?" a wheeze came from the barely conscious Natasha, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite the obvious pain she must have been in.
"'Course I do," Bucky was surprised at how easily his voice slid into a crooning Brooklyn accent. "Not just pretty, but damn near the scariest woman I've had the pleasure of meeting too."
A wry look passed over her face before it contorted in pain again, "Bet I look real scary right now."
"Everyone needs a day off. Even superheroes," a conspiratorial look passed over his face-he didn't know where that came from either. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Just so long as you stay awake and keep talkin' to me, deal?"
"Deal," she huffed. Right then, Steve managed to get the Quinjet started, and whatever Natasha said next was drowned out by the roar of the engines. They lifted off the ground, and just as the ramp-like door was closing, Sam sailed in.
"Damn Stevie, you couldn'ta closed the doors any sooner? We picked up a stray bird."
"Well this stray just saved both of your asses, so I don't wanna hear it, Barnes," The stress Sam placed on Bucky's last name raised his hackles a little bit, and reminded him vaguely of some mostly-forgotten memory. Instead of replying, he looked back down to Natasha. She watched the pair with the slightest hint of amusement when an unexpected bounce of turbulence caused her to hiss.
"S'much 's I love th' quips, boys, 'fraid 'm gonna need medical 'ttention soon," another bounce caused her to gasp loudly. Bucky noted worriedly that her skin looked pale and her words began to sound heavily slurred.
"She doesn't have time to fly all the way back to the compound. She needs help now. Do either of you know a hospital nearby?"
"N-no.. hospitals…" Natasha heaved.
"She's right," Steve called from up front. "HYDRA will find us within an hour. We need somewhere else."
"I know a place," Sam said after a moment. His face was guarded and his posture defensive. What is he hiding?
"Where?" Bucky snapped.
"Someplace safe."
"We don't have time to be secretive, Sam. Give me the coordinates," Steve demanded.
"38.7033°N, -106.3461°W. It's about 30 minutes away, give or take some change."
"We'll make it there in 20."
Bucky narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the unusually quiet man. "You got a safehouse way out in the middle of Colorado?"
Sam's eyes focused on something far away, and his mouth turned down. "Something like that," he muttered.
-20 min. later-
"Steve, how far away is this place? Natasha can't hold on much longer."
The spy's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, and she exhaled in harsh, jagged-sounding pants. The tight grip she had kept on Bucky's wrist loosened as she lost the extra strength to keep it there. Sam paced worriedly around, which didn't help Bucky's already keyed up nerves either.
"Two minutes out. I'm not seeing anything yet," badly-hid doubt and anxiety revealed themselves in Steve's tone, and he called Sam up to help him land. "Are you sure it's here?"
"It's here," Sam sounded grim, and Bucky wondered what was so bad that even Mr. Therapy couldn't calm himself down. He first heard Steve softly inhale, then the quieting of the engines as the Quinjet finally touched down. The back of the jet opened up to a stunning view. A large field of long grass rippled around them, and an attractive ranch style home sat a little ways off. God there's so much space, Bucky thought uneasily. Anyone else would've likely appreciated the lack of buildings around, but all Bucky could focus on was how hard it would be to spot a sniper in the rolling grass. The open blue sky made him feel like prey, images of planes raining down hellfire behind his eyes. The warm sun beat down on the Avengers as they walked out of the jet and onto the dusty ground. So distracted and overwhelmed by all of the unfamiliar sensations, Bucky missed someone approaching them from the house. When the distinctive sound of a cocked shotgun stopped him in his tracks, he immediately drew his handgun and aimed at the threat. The sun shining directly into his eyes, Bucky could see the silhouette of a man standing in front of him, unafraid and sighting down his barrel.
"You best put that down, boy, before someone gets hurt," the man said coolly. "I asked you a question: what the hell are you doing on my property?"