make_it_hurt | (no subject)

It hurts. He hurts. Ste-- the target was there. A few feet away. But the Soldier can't even stand. He's curled on his side, gasping for air around the pain in his gut, his shoulder, his entire body.

But one of his handlers would come for him. This was where he was supposed to meet them, if something went wrong. They were supposed to be here, so all he had to do was wait.

But in the mean time, he was dying. The schedule had been burned into his body and mind - after too long out of the ice, he'd start to break down. He was already remembering. He <i>knew</i> the man still unconscious on the floor a ways away. He knew him in a way that made the soldier fear his handler's retribution. He flinched from a phantom slap, then shuddered out a breath into the concrete.

They gave him the shots, and the shots burned, but they made everything else... less. This is too much. His hands curl into fists, then open, then close again in a fistful of hair.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even injured like he was, and half-delirious, Steve knew better than to argue that point. Which wasn't to say that he wouldn't argue if it came to that, knowing better than to take Bucky anywhere that he might be seen, especially a crowded hospital, but for the time being, he just nodded, "Okay, okay fine."

He turned his head a little to catch Bucky's eyes again, "Bucky, Sam here's pararescue. Medic. He knows what he's doing, just, just let him take care of your arm, please. He's trying to help."