*A/N - Thanks for all your kind comments and messages about my dad. I was traveling internationally and couldn't really respond or update here but I wanted to let you guys know how much I appreciate it. Thanks, having this community means a lot. 3
—
Back on the Mission
"Barnes." He growls into the radio. "Barnes!" Nothing. "Bucky, come in!" He coughs, gagging up some more blood as the gas tears at his ears, nose, and throat.
He'd watched Bucky get up from his sniper perch and stumble down off the other side of the sharp mountain face. He has no idea how steep the other side is. If it's a cliff like the side that's facing them…
No. He can't think about that now. His only hope is that Bucky was far enough away from the gas to not have lethal effects and that the slope is gradual. He will find Bucky alive. There is no option B.
But it's a massive trek to get there and they'll have to fight every step of the way or so he assumes. After he and Morita have managed to take cover, Steve grabs his walkie, hoping everyone else got the message about the masks.
Because the gas is— he coughs and spits.
He can feel the way it's trying to disintegrate his insides as his insides fight to stay whole.
Probably one of his least favorite feelings ever.
And fear and anger are the emotions vying for dominance. He turns to Morita who is watching him with a total expression of fear and disbelief.
"Steve—" he hears the hiss of Morita's voice through the filter, "you need to get out of here, you're bleeding." Steve wipes at his eyes. Blood— and he grimaces— something else on his gloves as he wipes it on his pants. His vision is off, like he's staring through murky water, but he can still see. Somewhat.
"We need to get to the others." He states firmly, spitting again.
He wipes under his nose and ignores the frantic look on Morita's face. If he's not dead yet… then he's probably going to be fine.
He'll have to thank Howard again.
They move to another grid section, trying to stay below the rock ledge to keep out of sight, and Steve keeps checking and radioing in the comms.
"Maybe we should try to—" he points to the shorter but more visible path. "We could find them quicker. We need to regroup."
"There's no way we make it without being seen—" Morita states calmly.
"Then we get ready for a fight." Steve grits out, "we can't just sit here. What if they didn't get their masks on?"
Morita's face behind the mask is a grimace, "then they're probably just bodies we need to collect."
—
James "Jim" Morita is 27.
He grew up in Fresno, California with both parents, an older sister and a little brother. As a middle child he's always tried to find his place. Never really fit in. Dad wanted him to go into law.
His dad's voice always echoes in his mind when he's in a mental battle.
"Jim-jim, you could be the person to ensure we're heard. That we're a part of this country. You could be the one to make a difference."
Then his mom's voice always follows. "Do what your heart tells you. How are you going to change the world my little word warrior."
The nickname was earned through his ability to get into fights he had no business being in and talking his opponents in circles till they ran off. He'd made a couple bullies cry even with his ability to poke at their deepest insecurities.
Hey. Hurt people hurt people. Jim was just of the 'hurt 'em back till they shut up or leave' category.
So when he noticed the state government was starting to mess with people's homes, their leases, property taxes and rental agreements. He wasn't going to sit idly by. He started learning code, hacking and creating. Bringing back original contracts or plastering the internet with the proof that contractors and the people making money from them were illegally trying to push people out of their homes.
His dad thought he was wasting his life away on his computer.
His ma always watched him with an ever observant eye.
And one day, a booming knock at their tiny apartment changed his life.
Frank Castle, who barely fit through the door, sat at his parent's dining room table, drinking tea his mother offered in her precious pot used only for the good company, and explained that he needed Jim.
Needed him.
Needed the wily little nobody from Fresno.
That had been 4 years ago. And getting their shit together had taken a while.
"Patience." Frank had reminded him when they were still fighting for government approval or… "government ignorance" and Frank called it.
They wanted the blind eye.
And it took almost three years but they got it. Picking up the others like dropped chess pieces along the way.
Now his parents had a house. His little brother was almost done with college. His older sister was the lawyer. They'd never want for anything again. Half due to his paycheck, half due to the fact that Jim knew just where to invest now. And he was pretending to work for a fake government so his parents didn't question it.
As for the team, Clint had been sort of a breath of fresh air when he'd joined. Morita could tell the guy didn't like bullies. Compared to Blaze and Logan's egos. And Clint would listen to orders as long as he liked those orders. Something that Frank appreciated even if it made him roll his eyes. Frank was pretty good at giving orders so they hadn't had too many problems. And Clint's sense of humor made Jim chuckle under his breath more times than he would admit.
So when Clint said he knew the two new recruits that Castle was going after, Jim had high hopes.
And then he'd met Steve.
Never had someone carried around an aura so strong and so buffeting as Steve.
The kid, because he was a kid, 8 years Jim's junior, faced every challenge like it was his last. Barnes and Barton seemed to be used to it, unbothered and perhaps not even aware at how everything about Steve just seemed so forceful.
Frank had been caught off guard in a way that he would never admit. Only in knowing Frank for years had Jim seen how off kilter Steve's direct rebuttals and strategy pointers made him.
Jim watched in fascination as Frank had to adjust. Not painlessly either. For a man who was used to being the smartest strategist in the room, having a rail of a kid show you up was not an easy pill to swallow.
And maybe it would have gone sideways if Steve wasn't so damn likable. And also right.
Even in his corrections he was kind. Even in his annoyance at Castle's unwillingness to see the better strategy, he didn't bully him or get mean, he just laid it out flat, cutting Castle to the quick and letting the man know just what he thinks of authority that won't listen.
And after reading Steve's file… Jim knew why.
Stark's files had been encrypted so many levels deep that his computer had fried from the heat of the effort before he got through. But then, after Steve had a strange comment to Blaze, he "borrowed" Howard Stark's identity, just briefly, and accessed the files.
He'd spent his 48 hours of brief leave reading every inch of Steve's unbelievable medical file.
And still he didn't believe it. What sort of idiot would believe you could bring someone back from the dead?
Until the night he found him and the other two on the ground freaking out.
"You think the procedure is failing?"
Hearing that phrase had been a lightbulb moment to Jim. Only further deepened by Steve crunching his metal bunk minutes after.
After that night he was sold. Steve was some sort of walking talking miracle and hell if he didn't deserve it. Barton and Barnes were still protective, which was funny because Steve kept growing and getting bigger and stronger and very clearly didn't need any sort of physical protection. But they cared all the same.
And he and Steve had become genuine friends.
It's hard not to like someone who is just genuinely good.
Which is only cemented in Jim's mind when his mask shatters and Steve doesn't even hesitate. Thrusting his own mask onto his face, forgoing one altogether. "Steve—" Jim had protested, "you need—" but the guy had glared at him and then the bullets had started flying and the conversation ended there.
Now they're in the thick of it. The deep shit. And yet… Jim is just watching Steve in awe. Half trying to get comms back up and half tearing through the grid like the guys are made of tissue paper.
Steve takes at least three bullets before they're back crawling behind a rock ledge under cover.
Steve—" his own voice is a hiss behind the mask. The man turns to him and Jim grimaces, "You need to get out of here, you're bleeding." He watches as the man wipes at his eyes, smearing the blood, sweat, and grim. Making him look even more a mess.
"We need to get to the others." Steve states firmly, spitting blood again.
Steve leads him along for a bit, and Jim has no idea how he's functioning. "Maybe we should try to get to their sections." Steve offers, pausing briefly, "we need to regroup."
"There's no way we make it without being seen—" Jim responds.
"Then we get ready for a fight." He hears the frustration in Steve's voice, "we can't just sit here. What if they didn't get their masks on?"
Jim hates the words as they leave his mouth, "then they're probably just bodies we need to collect."
Steve's whips back towards him, his agonized and enraged expression makes him draw back. The way the blood is still spewing from his eyes and nose make him look like a villain from a massacre horror movie, "that's not an option, Morita."
Word warrior. Finding everyone's weakness.
Looks like losing people is one of Steve's.
"I'm just trying to prepare you for the—"
"Don't." Steve snaps, "don't try to prepare me for shit that isn't going to happen. You understand?"
And for some strange reason, and against his usual tendencies, Jim doesn't argue.
They make it through three more grids before they're spotted. And this time at close range. Steve yanks him out of the way of a bullet but unfortunately into the butt of a rifle.
He's instantly dizzy from the force. And he stumbles, slamming into the course dry dirt.
Then there's a shout of his name and he's being launched, twisted and shoved into a crevice.
And he's not sure what happens after that, just that some indeterminate amount of time passes and then Steve's anxious face reappears. "Morita, Morita can you hear me?"
He wants to respond yes. But he can't seem to find his tongue.
"Jim, please—" and geez Steve sounds 19 when he begs, "come on, man, talk to me."
"Ugh—" is all he can manage, the groan more from the pain than from the plea but it does the trick. Steve's face lights up like he's had a prayer answered and he's lifting him. "Come on, we can't stay here."
Jim wants to ask why not. He'd very much like to stay there for a long time and take a nap.
But as he's hoisted over Steve's shoulders he sees the pile of at least 12 bodies and the smell of something burning and he doesn't ask.
—
"Jim!"
"Huh?"
"Stay awake, man. I need you conscious."
He groans, "why?"
"You're bleeding from your temple. Stay alert until we can get to Blaze. He has the big med-bag, right?"
"—'ink so." Is all he can manage to say. Steve nods and is rummaging through his bag. Jim follows him with his eyes only. He's still bleeding profusely but seems unphased. Or perhaps he's just ignoring it because what the hell is he supposed to do about it anyways.
"Gas?" Jim asks.
"Dissipating." Steve responds, fiddling with something in his hands, "but still present."
"How?"
"How can I tell?"
"Yeah—"
"I can still smell it." Steve answers as if that's normal. "But also could be that it burnt the hell out of the insides of my nose." He grimaces and points to Jim, "better safe than sorry. Keep that on."
Jim grins, probably a sloppy one since he still feels woozy, "yes, sir."
Steve's about to retort, his eyes half rolled when a gunshot splits the air.
And then Steve's gone.
Jim tries to sit up and follow but all that does is result in a glorious round of dry heaving. Never has he been so glad to be empty stomached. Vomiting into a mask would be a nightmare.
Again, time eludes him and he thinks he disobeys orders and dozes out for a minute. But then he's being hauled again and he hopes it by Steve.
The rough treatment tells him no.
He doesn't even have time to freak out, not that he's sure that's possible with how hazy his mind is, but then there's the most terrifying guttural roar that makes whoever is carrying him hesitate. He's dropped and being held as a human shield.
"Let him go."
Something in a language he definitely knows but can't process right now speaks back.
"You're holding my translator." Steve's voice is sure and calm, but the rage is barely bridled underneath it. "Let him go."
Another response. Said in biting angry tones makes Jim realize that the guy is basically saying 'no.'
He wonders what Steve will do.
But the piercing shot that nicks his neck but kills his captor is not what he expects.
He's falling, the weight of the man holding him going limp dragging him down. But then Steve's there, holding pressure at his neck.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Again. How can someone sound terrifying one minute and 19 years old and terrified the next? "I had to hit you to lay a kill shot. I'm so sorry."
"Ow."
"Shit, I know, I'm sorry, but we gotta move. There are more coming."
Jim does doze then. Blood loss and the blow to his head making it impossible to resist.
But when he wakes he feels clearer. The light has shifted.
Steve is wiring things together in a way that makes Jim's technical mind flash a red warning. He shifts his foot, knocking Steve, and getting his attention.
"You're awake!"
"What're you doing?" Jim rasps out, throat dry.
Steve's jaw sets to the side like he's deciding how much trouble he's going to get in. "I'm going to activate our trackers but then reverse the signal on it to track them instead."
Morita manages to sling his arm out and still Steve's hand. "'won't be able to track us."
Steve doesn't look him in the eyes, "I know. But it's more important to find them first. We can figure out the rest later. And as long as one has held onto their locator we can use that one."
Jim doesn't argue. Just watches as Steve fiddles with his own tracker and continually wipes blood and gunk from his face.
"Water."
"My canteen got shot." Steve responds, "is yours in your pack?"
"Don' know."
"I'll look." He must find it because it's being pressed to his lips soon after.
"No." Jim protests. "Not me. Wash your face. Might help."
Steve's brow furrows and he shakes his head, "drinking the water is more important than what I look like."
Jim musters up his 27 years and squints at him. "Your eyes hurt?"
Steve pauses and he looks away, "they're fine."
"Wors' liar in history." Jim grins sluggishly "Just wipe your face. Then I'll drink."
Steve hesitates again but Jim flips him off and then he's huffin' and he complies.
"That does feel better." Steve responds, "thanks. Now drink."
Jim does and the water helps soothe the dry ache in his throat. "You got shot."
"Yeah." Steve grumbles, "what the hell else is new."
"Find the others?"
Steve examines the tiny output screen. "It's looking."
Jim nods, "great. That's great."
"Hey… Jim?"
The use of his first name perks his hazy brain right up. "Yeah?"
And Steve's guilt-ridden eyes stare at him, as if waiting for judgment, "I'm real sorry I shot you."
Jim can't do anything but laugh, making Steve's brow furrow in confusion. "Steve—" Morita huffs, holding his temple as the laughter makes it ache, "Steve, you just killed how many bad guys to save me multiple times and are literally pulling all my weight right now and you're apologizing?"
"I shot you—"
"You nicked me! To save my life. I think I'm fine."
Steve looks ready to protest but the device in his hand beeps.
"Who?" Jim asks.
Steve takes a deep breath. "I've got two. Blaze, and then Bucky."
Jim nods, "go get 'em."
"I can't leave you here." Steve argues, "it's not safe. The last guy I saw was 15 minutes ago. They're still prowling."
"Even more reason to hurry." Steve glares at him but he just shrugs. "Time is ticking. How long has it been?"
Steve looks at his watch, courtesy of Stark Industries. "Since the intial gas attack? 88 minutes."
Jim blinks. It had felt like hours. "Only…?"
The glint in Steve's eye is angry, "I think you breathed in more gas than you remember."
Then he's being hauled up and his arm tossed over Steve's shoulder for support, "hold on. And maybe tell me if you see a hostile. Got it?"
Jim sighs and shifts, his feet stumbling for the few few steps. "Got it."
—-
They find Blaze first. Stuck down a wide crevice and unconscious.
"You have no idea how much weight that rock he's on can hold. It could crumble and fall any minute."
Steve shrugs, "don't have much of a choice."
Jim grimaces, "you ever see 127 hours?"
Steve looks up, "what? No. What's that?"
"Nevermind."
Steve deftly climbs down, showing more agility and strength than Morita's addled mind can process. And then he's beside Blaze, checking his pulse.
"Think he's okay. Just knocked out. The mask in on right and secure."
Jim is nodding and he watches in even more awe as Steve hauls Blaze's body up onto his shoulders and replicates the same course but now with an extra 200 lbs.
"You're really fucking strong." Is all that Jim can think of to say as Steve lays Blaze's body gently on the dirt.
"It's not me." Steve answers, "it's the serum. It's all Howard."
And maybe Jim's mind is more muddled than he realizes because that doesn't make any sense, but Steve doesn't give him time to argue because he's being hauled up, and Blaze's body over Steve's other shoulder and they're walking again.
—
Along the way Steve finds a cave. Jim watches as he sets Blaze up, checking for wounds and thankfully only finding some nasty bruises and a few scrapes. And then Jim realizes that he's about to be left.
"Nuh-uh." Is what Jim says as firmly as he can, his head now starting the rhythm of an oncoming migraine, "no way."
"I'll be right back—"
"You're not going alone—"
"I need to get Bucky—
"And you shouldn't go alone—"
"You're not going to be the most helpful, no offense."
"I want eyes on you. Just in case."
Steve glares at him, "just in case what?"
"In case you find Barnes' body. I'm not letting you do that alone."
"I won't—"
"As much as I believe in your willpower." Geez his head is throbbing, "and I hope that you're right. You can't know it for sure. Im going."
"Blaze—"
"Is a thick skulled stubborn bastard safe in this cave."
"But—"
"I'm older and higher ranking. Don't make me pull that shit."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Fine."
Jim grins, "good, let's go. We still got 3 more idiots to find".
"Three more alive idiots."
Jim's grin widens, "see, I knew you thought Castle was an idiot. Now I get to tell him so." Steve looks startled but Jim just laughs and holds out a hand, "help me up."
And speak of the idiot. They actually come across Castle by accident.
Steve's head had perked up and then he's gone wide eyed, gently dumping Jim and checking around a lower ridge.
"It's Castle!" Steve calls in an urgent whisper, "one— no two— shit! Three shots, one to the neck—"
The sound gets muffled and Jim stumbles to his feet, ignoring the painful pulsing behind his eyes. He finds Steve wrapping a wound and holding pressure on others.
"We have to get him back to the cave." Steve admits, sounding torn.
Jim doesn't argue.
—-
"I actually need you to stay."
Jim starts to protest but Steve crouches close to his face, "he's bleeding out. He needs pressure and monitoring. But I'm not leaving Clint and Bucky out there. So I need you, the one who can barely stand to stay here and watch them."
"Steve, maybe we should send a signal and wait for help—"
"My friends are out there—"
"And we will get them—"
"Not good enough—"
"Steve, there are still hostiles! And you have no idea what you'll find!"
Steve stands rifling through Blaze's medic bag and pulling out two vials. "They searched for me for days and pulled me out of a dumpster. It's the least I can do."
So starkly said makes Jim unable to find a response. "Use these if needed." He oils the vials close by. "Stay with him, radio me if you need." He grabs Blaze's walkie and places Castle's within reach.
Then he's gone.
—
Not 25 minutes later Steve comes limping into the cave, Clint in his arms.
He stumbles and rolls, avoiding crashing on top of Clint as he hits the rock.
Jim scrambles over and looks on with wide eyes. "What the hell happened to you!"
"Found Clint by accident. Came upon a few hostiles and had a fire fight before seeing Clint's rifle hidden in the brush. Didn't take long to find him but then we ran into trouble on the way back."
Jim eyes the way Steve's skin is blistered and burnt. "Was that trouble a fire breathing dragon?"
"Grenades."
"Shit!"
"Think I avoided Clint getting shrapnel. Can you check my side? I can feel something and I need to get back out of there."
He situates Clint, checking him again before removing his vest and turning and lifting his left arm, "can you see it?"
Jim peers closer and caches the glint of dying sunlight on metal.
"Sheesh." Jim mumbles, "you're like a porcupine."
"You got steady hands?"
"Hell no, I'm still shaking like a leaf."
"It'll have to do." Steve responds, "or maybe I should just go."
"You can't leave with shrapne—"
But an explosion in the distance makes them
Both pause and then Steve's grabbing his vest and clipping it back on, wincing, "stay here—"
"Steve—!"
But he's gone.
—
He doesn't hear Steve come back. He's asleep, a hand still pressed to Castle's neck as much as possible even in his slumber.
He wakes up to labored breathing and someone trying not to sound in pain.
Adrenaline sends him to Steve's side with a level of alertness he hasn't had for hours.
Barnes is there, unconscious, looking… kind of beat up but honestly fine. There's a bloody bandage around his arm and definite rash from gas exposure, but other than that…
He turns to Steve and a gasp escapes his lips. Gaunt and bleeding and burnt on his hands, arms, and ears. Jim would think he was dead if he wasn't leaning over Barnes' body. His uniform is covered in blood. So much blood. But Barnes isn't covered in blood. So whose is it?
"Steve? Steve, what the hell happened!"
Steve doesn't seem to have the energy to respond. He's slumping and looking wobbly. And that's when Jim sees it. The needle taped to Steve's arm and the thin tube connected to Barnes'.
"Shit!" Jim gasps out before grabbing Steve's chin. Burst blood vessels in his eyes and bruises under them, skin cold and eyes dazed. "You need to stop, now!"
Steve swats his hand away, looking back at Barnes. "'M fine. I'm O negative."
Jim scoffs in disbelief, "I'm not worried about you donating blood, Steve! I'm worried you're giving too much! How long?"
Steve squints, then he shakes his head , "can't remember."
Jim feels Barnes' neck. A strong pulse is there. He puts his hands under his nose. Air passes.
"He's fine." And before Steve can protest or stop him, he's yanking the needle from Steve's arm and putting pressure there. "What the actual hell, man."
He looks at the two, one who seems on the brink of death and the other who looks like he's sleeping, and not the way he expects, "what were you thinking? He's fine, he probably doesn't even need blood!"
But Steve doesn't respond. He just slowly sinks down, covering his eyes with his hands and Jim freezes in disbelief as he starts to cry. Silently and the only thing that gives it away is the way his body shakes.
Jim reaches over, "hey, hey, it's okay, you saved him. You saved—" he looks around, "geez you freaking saved all of us. It's going to be okay."
And what surprises him the most is that Steve reaches out one hand, eyes still covered with the other and waits for Jim to take it.
Without hesitating more than the second of initial shock, Jim places his hand in Steve's and grips it firmly. And Steve's shaky grip tightens around his and they just sit like that for a long time.
—-
Other than holding his hand and trying not to wince at the way his head is still pounding, he does and says nothing. Steve rests for maybe only 20 minutes before he's up and doing things. He checks on Blaze, dripping water into his mouth and redressing the few scrapes, putting antiseptic where needed.
Castle is a bit pale but the blood has coagulated and his pulse and heart beat are fine. Steve treats the rash from the gas and ensures, tries to get water in him, and he's redressed as well before moving to Clint. Jim might doze off, hey, he's not perfect. Until gentle hands are touching his face.
"Wha's wrong?" He asks groggily, blinking his eyes open.
"Just cleaning." Steve responds, gaunt and tired blue eyes staring at his forehead where the first scratch of a bullet had shattered his mask. He feels a replacement bandage and then his neck is being cleaned and rebandanged.
"Shrapnel?"
"'M fine."
"Steve—"
"Hold still."
He does as Steve retapes the bandage on his neck. Then he's getting his temple barely pressed and he hisses in pain.
"Think they might have actually cracked your skull." Steve whispers, "sorry, I didn't see 'em coming fast enough."
Jim grabs Steve's arm and he glares at the man. "I mean this with the kindest intentions, shut the hell up, man. You saved my ass like 6 times. I can deal."
"Yeah, but—"
"Yeah but you were bleeding out of your damn eyes, Rogers. I said shut the hell up with your apologies!"
Steve shuts the hell up.
"How's Barnes?"
Steve nods, "his pulse is steady and his breathing is regular."
"Why'd you hook him up?"
"What?"
"Blood. He seems to be better off than half of us. Why the transfusion."
"I don't want to talk about it."
And Jim has a realization. "Your blood." He starts slowly, watching as Steve stiffens, "it's special."
Steve stays quiet. But he looks queasy, groggy.
Jim's eyes widen, "oh shit. Oh shit is he going to be like you? Is that how it works!?"
"I don't know." Steve says harshly, but not towards Jim, towards himself. "He was…" Steve's eyes get haunted, "I promised her."
Jim frowns, "promised who?"
"I promised her I'd bring him home. That I would protect him. I had to. I had to."
Steve's looking paler and Jim steadies him, "when's the last time you ate? You need to eat."
"Don't have time. Need to ration."
"You just donated half your blood. I think we can spare some."
Steve seems to sag, dropping back and leaning his head against the cave wall. "Don't… worry 'bout me." He whispers out. "Just need to catch—" his throat hitches and Jim hears a funny gasping sound that sounds too wet, "—my breath."
Jim's about to yell when gunfire sounds off way too close. Steve's eyes snap open. "Steve- don't—"
"Stay here." He commands agin, and Jim watches as Steve shoves all pain and tiredness aside and grabs a few things before dashing out of the cave. Jim wants to tell in protest but the gunfire had sounded close. So he seethes quietly.
Maybe just under an hour later, Steve stumbles back into the cave and looks at Jim with a blank expression.
And Jim watches as Steve passes out before his very eyes.
A lot more cursing comes out of his mouth as he crawls forward, sliding Steve onto his back and checking to make sure he's still breathing.
Which… he is.., but it's off.
So Jim does his utmost to lay him down as flat as possible and start triaging. Thankfully adrenaline distracts him from his own aches and pains.
He starts with Steve's head. Singed hair, ears, and a few scratches. But no major open wounds. The bleeding has stopped but as he peels back Steve's eyelids, the bloody and burst vessels make him grimace.
The bruising underneath his eyes is unpleasant too, but not life threatening.
What is life threatening is the shrapnel sticking out of Steve's side and chest. And what looks like a sliver of sheet metal.
Is it new? Is it hours old? Jim doesn't know. But what he does know is that it's definitely puncturing a lung.
He grabs the med bag and starts pouring antiseptic on it briefly before ripping off a clean piece off wound dressing and looking at the biggest piece. "You better come out easy and without more damage you hear me?"
Carefully, he grasps the edge with the cloth and pulls it out as straight as he can manage. The slicing sluicing sound it makes is vomit worthy but he is once again thankful to have an empty stomach.
After he removes that, he grabs tools from the bag and starts trying to pry the shrapnel out.
And it's a sick sort of game as to what's old and what's new. The new stuff comes out of his skin pretty easily. The old stuff is already healing and more stuck.
After the first six bullets he stops counting.
Okay,
That's a lie.
After the 11th bullet, he finally thinks he's got them all.
More burns, more rash from the gas, and more scratches than Jim thinks is possible. But he keeps up a steady stream of antiseptic, bandages, and cursing for good measure.
Steve coughs, coming too suddenly and then vomiting without warning.
Jim scrambles back from the spray of blood and covers his face. The drops that do hit him sting like hell.
He gasps in pain as one particularly large drop hits his forearm and Steve gags. "Gas." The kid rasps out, "wipe it off."
Jim obeys and stares in wonder as Steve heaves and heaves and heaves.
Blood, bile, and damn if that doesn't look like pieces of lung.
When he's finished his eyes are burst again and for some reason he's laughing.
The weak, stilted laughter of either the incredibly exhausted or the criminally insane. Jim's on the fence for the moment.
Steve's laughter turns hysterical, even as it remains quiet and he turns to Jim, "just like old times."
Jim's mouth gapes open. "Excuse me?"
Steve's brow furrows and Jim has to give him some leeway since he's probably half empty of blood and therefore not able to think right, but he tilts his head, "thought you read my file."
"On…?"
"The autoimmune disease I had. All the times I used to vomit blood."
Jim thinks back and he can sorta maybe recall reading that but compared to the dumpster story and the dying it hadn't been a major draw. Until now. This moment where Steve is chuckling about puking up his guts. "Pretty sure Barnes would have a conniption if he heard you joking like that."
The mention of Barnes sobers him up. "I screwed up."
"Define screw up."
"Heoward's going to be mad. But I had to."
"Howard?" The name of the billionaire throws him, but he just blinks and waves his hand to get Steve's attention, "The only person allowed to be mad is none of us. Not Howard Stark and not even Castle. Not getting that information is going to set back our next two missions but oh-fucking-well."
Steve frowns, "flash drive… but…" he slowly reaches into his boot and pulls out a flash drive. "Oh."
Jim's eyes snap to the drive. "What the hell is that!"
Steve wipes at his chin and hands the flash drive to Jim before leaning back and closing his eyes. "The information. Thought I'd already given that to you."
"How in the hell did you get this!"
"That's where they'd taken Bucky."
Cold dread drips down his spine. "Where who had taken Bucky?"
"The people who had the flash drive." Steve states in a sense of groggy redundancy.
And Jim watches him slump into a doze not minutes after.
And he stares at the flash drive, drops of blood on the outside of it, like it's a cursed talisman.
—-
Another round of vomiting up blood and Jim swears it's chunks of lung or esophagus. But then Steve seems to be more alert. As if spewing all the last bit of gas he inhaled in his system meant his body could start to function properly again.
Jim watches in awe as he takes care of the rest of the team as if born to do it. Water dripped into mouths and food when they stir, wounds cleaned and bandages changed and fiddling with the solar battery and the trackers to boost the signal since they're outside their grid.
Blaze stirs first and mostly is alert after that. Castle next, then Clint but he doesn't last long, shivering for some reason and Steve figures a way to pack the bags around him to get him to warm up.
Last but not least Bucky stirs, making the tense set of Steve's shoulders drop several inches and a full relief comes over when their signal is picked up.
Blaze asks him what all happened. And the way Steve's shoulders tense again makes him lie.
"Clocked good. Don't remember much."
Castle asks Steve who just brushes it off and the strange gleam in Castle's eye gets brighter as Morita quietly hands over the flash drive.
—-
Tony is anxious as they wait. The kids are out with his mom and Sam and Sarah, but he and his dad are at the airport, waiting for the three of them to get there.
— all passengers for flight 649 headed to —
His fingers tap on his knee as they wait in the baggage claim area.
— Do not leave your luggage unattended at any time—-
"Any minute now." His dad says for the 13th time.
—Do not accept any items from people you do not know —
"There—" his dad says in a rush, "there's Clint!" Tony looks up to see the blonde man descending the escalator. Then Barnes is behind him, his arm is in a sling, but his face relaxed. Then Tony looks for Steve.
And holy hell does he find him.
Tony hears the choked sound of shock from his dad.
"Is that—?"
"Holy SHIT!" Tony shouts, causing a ton of people to look their way. Which causes more people to notice that 'oh yeah, billionaire Howard Stark and his genius son Tony are here'. The whispers and pointing starts but he ignores it, walking towards the descending escalator.
Clint's grinning now, like he knows something. And Barnes looks pretty amused too.
Steve, or the behemoth he assumes is Steve, looks decidedly not amused. And like he's been to hell and back.
"Steve?" He asks.
The man, now a solid foot taller than him, wide as a freaking redwood tree, and built like a tank, looks at him with wary eyes, "hey Tony."
The voice, while a lot deeper, is definitely Steve's. "Holy shit! You're a freaking mountain!"
His dad steps past him, stopping right in front of Steve and gaping at him, "when did this happen?"
"Pretty soon after you left I hit two really intense growth spurts." Steve says, "not too much time to report."
"Don't let him lie to you." Clint teases, "I told him to take pictures of himself and send them. But he was too shy."
Steve rolls his eyes, "how are you guys? How are the kids?"
Howard, still gaping at him, starts to nod slowly, "yeah, yeah they're great. They're loving London."
"Have you seen Nat yet?"
Howard gestures them forward, "no, no, not yet. We are going to surprise her at her show. Then spend a few days with her after."
"Peggy?" Steve asks.
"Her flight is due in tonight. Already have a car picking her up. She should be at the hotel before 1 am."
Tony sees Steve's acknowledgment of that. Like it's a relief to know he'll see her soon. Then Steve turns to him, "is Pepper coming?"
Tony winces, "uh.. we're kind sorta on a break."
Steve's eyes widen, "what? Why!?"
Tony shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and like it's no big deal. He turns, starting to lead everyone towards the exit. "Well, she's busy and she's got her own goals and stuff, and you know, I'm busy too and I want to start taking on more at the company… and our paths—" a hand grabs his shoulder, and turns him.
He finds Steve close to him, sort of in his face, "did you call this break? Or did she?"
Tony leans back, Steve's massive form actually giving him pause for a moment before he remembers it's Steve, "I mean, I did. But she understood—"
"You're an idiot." Steve says. Standing back up straight, looking at Tony in disbelief. "You're going to let a girl like Pepper go, because you're busy? Newsflash, Stark. Everyone's busy their whole lives. You wanna be busy and alone. No. Don't be stupid. Call her up, and beg her to take you back."
"Who are you? Where'd nice Steve go?" Tony pouts. Clint and Bucky share a look that Tony doesn't understand. "And you look like shit by the way." He adds just to make sure Steve is aware.
But Steve just shakes his head, "don't try to change the subject."
His dad does step forward then, "let's head back to the hotel. You can question Tony's life choices there." His eyes dart around to the growing myriad of people watching them.
The three soldiers nod and follow after them.
—-
Once they're finally in the car, Tony's face gets serious. "What happened?"
Clint looks at Steve, so does Bucky. Howard and Tony notice. Steve gets very flat faced. "It just didn't go as planned. We had to improvise—" Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes.
"What?" Howard asks, "what?"
"We didn't do anything." Clint answers, "Steve here on the other hand—"
"I really—" Steve starts, his voice sharp and flinty, "really don't want to talk about this. Okay? It was a shit mission. We're alive. End of story."
Clint feels his own eyes flick to Bucky who is narrowing his eyes at Steve. Howard and Tony are eyeing Steve with an unsure look before Tony's face morphs from confusion to annoyance.
"Oh good, you don't want to talk? We'll that's great? Because I fucking do. What the hell! You guys gave us a heart attack! We've made you practically indestructible cell phones and the only one who keeps it charged is Barnes? You guys can't be that irresponsible!" He points to Clint and Steve, "understood!? Charged! At all times!"
Clint blinks, "I don't even know where mine is. It wasn't in the cave when I woke up."
Howard leans forward, "cave?"
Clint nods, "yeah, when I came to, I was in a cave." He turns his face to Steve, "still don't know how I got there—"
"Clint." Steve snaps, looking more and more agitated, "don't."
"Because Steve's the only one who was conscious during the whole mission and he's not speaking about it. So that's just fucking fantastic."
All eyes turn to Steve as he stares out the window.
Howard reaches his hand out, "Steve, what happened."
The car starts to roll to a stop at a light and Steve's shaking his head, "I need some air." He opens the door and the driver looks back in surprise, "I'll meet you guys there."
Then he's gone, car door slammed shut.
Tony blinks, "what the hell?"
Bucky leans back, "shit. This is bad. Must be worse than we thought."
Howard tilts his head, trying to see Steve as he fades around the corner, "worse?"
Clint groans, and Bucky nods slowly, "much worse."
—
Steve smiles in relief as a tired, but still beautiful as ever, Peggy Carter appears on the escalator, suitcase in tow.
He's striding forward, a smile on his face but she walks right past him. Grief strikes his chest that he's that different she doesn't recognize him. Not that she'd really been looking . She's probably expecting Jarvis.
"Hey—" he calls, filling after her, "Peggy." She stops and turns. Her eyes barely even pause on him before they move on, and she looks confused before she's turning back to walk again. "Hey, Peggy, wait." He catches her then, just barely tugging at her wrist. She turns roughly, and he's thrown back to that train station all those years ago when she decked him. But her eyes trail up to his face and she freezes.
He grimaces, "yeah, it's me."
And his voice mixed with his face must be enough, "Steve?"
He doesn't give her time to stare, stepping forward and wrapping her up in his arms and hugging her tightly. She hugs him back, her hands flat against him as she holds him firmly.
Finally she steps back and just looks at him, "what…" she starts, seeming lost for words, "how?"
"Howard." Steve responds, "just the final stages of the change I think."
She raises an eyebrow, "final?"
He groans, "it better be! If I grow anymore I won't fit through door frames or my own damn bed!"
She purses her lips in amusement at his choice in language and then her expression softens, "oh, there you are, how I've missed you so."
He doesn't respond verbally, just kisses her fiercely and then holds her. Feeling so strange that her head barely reaches his collarbones.
"I didn't realize you were picking me up." She says tilting her head back, "Howard made it sound like you guys had been delayed." Her eyes are searching his face.
He nods, stepping back, "we were. Got in just this afternoon. But I couldn't wait to see you."
She smiles, "the feeling is mutual." She looks around, "did you bring a car?"
He grimaces, "I thought we'd walk. And I'll take that—" he deftly slides her suitcase away from her and then grabs her shoulder bag, "the hotel isn't that far."
Peggy eyes him and tilts her head, "what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" He asks, leading her towards the exit doors.
"Okay, I lied. Tony told me all about the delay. That your mission was botched. And yet, here you are, silent about it. And you look…" she winces, "like you've been in quite the fight. But more so than that… you look… I can see it in your eyes. Something weighs heavily on you."
His throat goes dry and he shakes his head, "I don't want to talk about it."
Her eyes show surprise, "even with me?"
"I—" he starts, as they step out into the open air, "I—" he tries to unclench his jaw but it's so tight. He aches with the weight of the situation.
"Hey—" her voice matches her touch, gentle. She pulls his face towards her, "Steve, Steve it's alright, as long as you're alive and safe, that's all that matters."
He looks off into the distance and then grasps her suitcase handle. "We should get to the hotel." And then he starts walking.
Peggy allows him this silence for almost the entire way. But as the hotel comes into view, she pulls him to the side. "Who are you worried about?"
"What?"
"If it was just about you, you'd be hiding it altogether. No one would even know something was wrong until it was too late or it got fixed. Which means it has to do with someone else." She looks at him observantly, "so… my advice to you is, just talk to that person. Your guilt will get you nowhere and to be completely honest and selfish—" she grins, "I'd like to actually be able to enjoy my time here at home with you, and not worry about you constantly." She fake pouts, "does that make me a terrible girlfriend?"
A small smile pulls onto his lips. She's right. He just needs to bite the bullet. He'll have to be honest at some point.
She leads him to the hotel and they find their way to the elevator.
On their hallway, he can hear all the kids and chittering and excitement from the whole group.
"I should see the kids." He whispers, "I haven't even seen Peter yet."
Peggy nods, "it's up to you. But wouldn't you rather see him when this weight is off your chest?"
He sighs and nods. "You're right."
Her smirk is gentle, "I usually am."
—
Bucky hears the door open softly and then close.
He sits up, "she get in alright?"
Steve nods, "yeah."
"How'd she react?"
Steve turns and walks to his bed, seeing his suitcase there and sighing, "she didn't recognize me."
Bucky grimaces, "yikes. Sorry."
"Can't blame her. I don't look like me."
"Yes." Bucky says, "you do. Just not in the most obvious ways." Steve doesn't seem convinced so he gestures towards Steve, "you gotta give her a break, she's just seeing you. If Clint and I hadn't watched the slow change we'd be in shock too."
"I know."
"She happy about it?"
Steve frowns, "I dunno, I didn't ask. Can't say I'd be thrilled if the answer was 'yes'."
"Why not?"
Steve doesn't respond. Just unzips his bag and pulls out pajama pants.
Even now Bucky is in disbelief at the way Steve's body looks. Massive muscles on sheer display on his now tall and filled out frame.
Steve turns his back to Bucky and the words are all but gone, just the barest trace of discoloration where they used to be. The bullet wound from school is more apparent but also fading. And only his newest wounds are present. Burns and scratches and Bucky's pretty sure those are recent shrapnel wounds but he doesn't ask.
"You show her?"
"I didn't take off my shirt at the airport, Buck."
"Hey, I'm just asking, yeesh."
Steve goes quiet. Looking like he wants to say something.
Bucky stands, "What is it, Steve? Really? What's got you all a mess. What did you do that's got you acting this way?" Steve goes rigid, "I bet it's not as bad as you're telling yourself it is." Steve turns to him and looks guilty. "You know Castle is going to force you. He's strict about debriefs."
Steve looks at him with a wary eye, "how do you feel, really?"
He knows Steve is changing the subject, but since his injury is part of the subject, he allows it. "Honestly? Fine. Like I should be much worse off, but I'm not."
Steve looks conflicted for a long moment before sighing, "don't tell Howard."
"About?"
"You were dying."
Bucky freezes, "what?"
"You were close. And I freaked out. I didn't know what else to do. It had worked for me.. and I figured…" Steve grimaces, "since you weren't actually dead, and you didn't have as far to go to heal as me that maybe it would be enough."
"What would?"
"My blood."
There's a long silence where Bucky waits for a punchline or a 'ha-ha got you' to join the conversation. But Steve just stares at him, a half pleading expression of guilt and resignation.
"What about your blood?" Bucky whispers out, but he's pretty sure he knows where this is going.
"I had to, Buck. You'd lost so much and the gas and I didn't have another choice."
"You…?"
Steve nods, answering the question he can't seem to verbalize "Yeah."
Bucky looks down at his arm. He'd assumed the pain meds were what was making it not hurt. And the doc who had checked him had been happy with how clean and simple the shot had been, "should heal in no time", the man had said cheerily.
Now his fingers slowly work their way up and he rips at the bandage. After a few tugs it comes loose and he stares where the bullet hit.
Pink tissue has almost completely covered the wound, making it look months old instead of days.
"Holy shit—"
"I'm sorry!" Steve responds, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know what else to do!"
Bucky looks up and realizes that Steve looks like a man facing jail time. "Steve, I—" he feels a chuckle of relief, "I'm fine! This is…" he tilts his head, his fingers inspecting the wound, "unexpected but…" he grins, "amazing. I can't believe that worked… why don't you want to tell Howard?"
Steve shakes his head and sits down on the bed, "He was very insistent that I never do what I just did."
"Save my life?"
"No… Let the bad guys know… about me."
Bucky's eyes narrow, "excuse me?"
Steve's eyes get faraway, "I had to."
"You had to what?"
Steve blinks slowly, looking at his hands, "It was my only option."
"To what?"
Steve looks up at him, "to save you."
—