Chapter 3
"Oh," Bucky echoed, staring at the curve of Sam's jaw, the movement of his chest as he breathed in and out, the sweat standing out on his forehead and neck, the shadows of his lashes on his cheeks as his eyes drifted shut...wait.
"Bucky-" Sam whispered.
"Shit, you really need to get to the hospital," Bucky blurted out. As his anger with Sam lessened, it was becoming more and more apparent that Sam was not doing well. In fact, Bucky thought he was awfully close to going into shock.
"Yeah," Sam whispered, nodding a few times. His head bobbed forward onto his chest and stayed there.
Bucky stepped forward to help him up, at the last minute remembering that the shirt he'd worn to Sam's apartment was balled up in a pool of blood in the living room. He was pretty sure hospitals frowned on shirtless men wandering into emergency rooms, and besides, the metal arm was recognizable. Someone had tried to kill Sam. The last thing they needed to be doing was drawing attention to themselves.
Hurriedly, Bucky opened one of Sam's drawers and pulled on an old Air Force sweatshirt Sam wore for workouts. It was a bit tighter on him than on Sam, but it covered most of Bucky's arm and hid most of the blood Sam had left smeared across his chest. It did the job.
Bucky glanced back at Sam, who still hadn't managed to raise his head. A shirt probably wasn't in the cards. Bucky grabbed a spare blanket, making his way over to Sam and carefully wrapping it around his shoulders.
Finally, Sam blinked. His eyes tracked over to Bucky, and he frowned.
"Tha's my shirt."
"Yep," Bucky told him. "Come on. We're going to the hospital." As gently as he could, he pulled Sam upright, grateful for the super strength that meant Sam didn't have to do any of the work. He arranged Sam against him in the same way as he had before, one arm around Sam's waist, Sam's good arm over his shoulders. Sam gasped weakly as Bucky got him situated, but didn't protest apart from that.
"Looks good on you," Sam mumbled, words slurring slightly. His head tipped over onto Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky felt Sam's shallow breathing against his neck.
Bucky...didn't really know how to respond to that. As much as he'd spent the past few months daydreaming about Sam saying something similar, Bucky's ideal scenario did not involve shocky Sam or any bullet wounds. Bucky wasn't known for his ability to sort through complex feelings, especially not with any sort of speed, and trying to process the fact that Sam had asked him on a date and he'd accidentally turned him down while also trying to keep him from falling on his face was rather a lot to ask.
Sam liked him. Sam liked him, and had asked him out on a date. After months of being pretty sure but not completely sure, Bucky could finally breathe easy knowing they were on the same page.
That is, if he hadn't already messed things up too badly by turning Sam's date down in the first place. Surely Sam couldn't hold that against him, not when Bucky hadn't known it was happening. Surely….
Sam stumbled hard, and Bucky snapped back to attention. He grabbed Sam a little more securely, trying to keep his hands as light as possible. Bucky didn't always know his own strength, and he was a little worried about accidentally squeezing Sam too tightly, and hurting him by mistake.
"You're okay," Bucky whispered, anchoring Sam against his side. "You're okay."
Sam didn't say anything. His breathing was getting harsh, and it seemed like he was struggling hard to stay conscious. Bucky navigated him carefully through the living room, managed to open the door without shifting Sam too much, and guided Sam down the stairs.
"I'm taking your car," Bucky informed Sam.
"You don't...have the keys…."
Bucky slid his hand into Sam's pocket and lifted the car keys - he'd noticed where Sam kept them. "I do now."
Sam made a small huffing sound that Bucky hoped was laughter but thought just as likely could be pain. That was a little worrying - Sam was normally not the sort of guy who would let Bucky drive his car without protest. Bucky swallowed hard. As much as he didn't want to go somewhere public when there was someone unknown chasing Sam, it was becoming increasingly clear that they really had no choice. Sam needed medical assistance, and he needed it now.
Bucky unlocked Sam's car, and bundled Sam into the passenger seat. "Just hang on a little longer," he said. He knew his voice sounded strained, but there was nothing he could do about that.
Sam managed to lock eyes on Bucky and nod slightly. He was getting alarmingly pale, but Bucky supposed he could be grateful that he was still conscious.
Bucky carefully shut the passenger door, and Sam immediately slumped against it. Bucky got into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. He thought the hospital was usually about twenty minutes away, which meant they could be there in ten.
"Don't worry," Bucky told Sam as he slammed on the gas pedal. "I'm not gonna tear out your suspension this time."
Sam responded with another weak chuckle, which really had Bucky worried - usually, any reminder of the last time Bucky had driven Sam's car resulted in a fight.
"Just stay with me, okay?" Bucky said, accelerating a little faster.
Sam was having trouble focusing on anything but the pain now. He remembered being shot, he knew Bucky was with him, and he even remembered the sudden, mortifying realization that Bucky hadn't understood when Sam tried to ask him on a date. Sam also knew that something about that was very, very important, but everything felt dulled through the haze of pain and blood loss. And finally, Sam knew that meant that he was going into shock.
His forehead was resting against the car window, and it wasn't very comfortable. The glass was cold against his already-clammy skin, and every time Bucky went over a bump, or turned, or did anything erratic, the window rattled against his skull and made Sam feel dizzy and sick. After a few minutes of Bucky's driving, Sam was brutally nauseous. He thought about moving his head, but that proved to be too difficult. Hopefully, they would reach the hospital soon.
The hospital…. Sam frowned as something tried to make its way through his foggy mind.
"Hey," he mumbled, finally managing to raise his head and turn it towards Bucky. The soldier was glaring at the road ahead, his flesh hand white-knuckling the wheel. It looked like his metal hand was leaving dents in it, something that Sam thought he might be mad about later. Right now, he only had room in his head for one concern.
"What?" Bucky said quickly, turning his head towards Sam. The concentration in his face became concern, and Sam watched Bucky's worry lines rearrange for a few seconds before remembering why he'd tried to get Bucky's attention in the first place.
"Are you...you okay?" Sam asked, struggling to focus. Past missions were running through his mind - Bucky hiding injuries, snapping at him, white-faced and shaky…. "You...hate hospitals."
Bucky's eyes widened, softening into the achingly vulnerable look that always made Sam want to hold him and never let go. Sam blinked at him, wondering if he'd said something wrong. It was very possible - he was barely able to stay awake at this point.
"Don't worry about that," Bucky finally said.
"But-"
"Don't worry about that." His voice was soft, and just the tiniest bit shaky. Sam wasn't sure Bucky had really registered that they would actually be going to a hospital, but now he was sure he had.
Bucky was going to a hospital, and he didn't care. Because Sam needed it. Bucky was willing to be uncomfortable for Sam, scared for Sam.
If Sam had been a little less shot, it would have warmed his heart.
They didn't talk during the rest of the drive. Sam thought Bucky should probably concentrate on driving - after all, he was going at least fifteen miles above the speed limit, and weaving in and out of traffic on top of it. If he didn't focus, he was probably going to get them both killed. Sam was also in quite a bit of pain, and not talking was easier. He was getting the slightest bit worried that if he opened his mouth, he would throw up.
Bucky finally skidded to a stop in front of the emergency room. Sam opened the car door, but a sudden headrush told him that he shouldn't even try to stand up on his own - he would end up face planting on the concrete.
"Park it anywhere," Bucky said, throwing Sam's car keys at a tired-looking man who had just exited the hospital.
The man did not catch the keys, and they fell to the ground in front of him. "I don't-"
"Do you know who this is?" Bucky snarled.
If the man answered, Sam didn't catch it, and Bucky didn't explain. Normally, Sam knew that he would be very worried about the fact that Bucky had just given his car keys away to a random stranger, someone who didn't seem to be an employee of the hospital and did not in fact seen to know who he was, but right now, Sam was having a hard time bringing himself to be concerned about anything. He wasn't even really concerned about the hole in his shoulder. Everything felt very far away.
All of a sudden, Bucky was in front of him, one hand resting on Sam's knee. "Easy, easy," Bucky said, reaching across Sam to unbuckle his seatbelt. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen Bucky be this tender. "Can you walk?"
Sam wasn't sure how to answer - all he knew for sure was that he wouldn't be able to stand without help. Bucky eased him slowly out of the car, and Sam gasped as the world started to swirl around him. Bucky pulled him tightly against his side, and that had helped before but it wasn't helping now. Sam still felt wobbly and fragile, one moment away from passing out. Weakly, he reached his good hand up, clutching a handful of Bucky's shirt. Having a grip on something solid helped a little, making him feel more grounded. And Bucky didn't seem to mind - he just started walking, letting Sam sag against him and god he was strong, strong enough that Sam wasn't even sure if he was moving his feet or just letting Bucky drag him.
"Just a little longer, okay?" Bucky murmured in his ear, still in that bizarrely tender tone. "We're almost there."
Sam attempted a nod, realizing his head had fallen onto Bucky's shoulder. He tightened his grip on Bucky's shirt and settled for a long, slow, blink. He wondered if he was hallucinating this whole thing, this alien side to Bucky he'd never seen before.
It seemed possible, because of the blood loss, but Sam hoped he wasn't imagining it. Still, even if it wasn't real, it was making Sam feel better about the whole situation.
They reached the doors to the ER, and Sam had a half-second of dazed, horrified certainty that Bucky would try to kick them open before they slid apart automatically and Bucky dragged him inside. Sam stumbled along next to him, his head falling off of Bucky's shoulder and onto his chest. It didn't seem to want to move after that.
"We need a nurse over here," Bucky shouted, and Sam flinched at the sudden noise. His shoulder hurt so badly at this point that any unexpected or slightly unpleasant sensation was translated directly to pain, and Bucky's demand had been too loud and too close for him to handle.
Bucky must have noticed his reaction, because Sam felt Bucky's hand tighten on his waist. "Sorry," Bucky said quietly into his ear.
Sam wanted to tell him that it was okay, but all he could manage was a small moan. And then there was a flurry of sound and movement that he couldn't follow, and the feeling of sterile-gloved hands on his skin.
"He got shot," Bucky said grimly, presumably to the person or people who were currently poking and prodding at the makeshift bandage on Sam's shoulder. "Right outside his apartment, I-I didn't see it, but he told me the man just ran off, the bullet went straight through but he's lost a lot of blood-"
"Thank you," a female voice responded, presumably to Bucky. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
"Mmm," Sam managed, after realizing the voice had now switched to him. He dragged his eyes open, focusing dimly on a young nurse still hovering around his injured shoulder.
"Okay, we're going to get you looked at, and you're going to be just fine," she said warmly. Sam blinked, and all of a sudden he was lying on a gurney.
"Are you his next of kin?" someone else was saying. Sam's eyes slid over to Bucky, who was looking confused and alarmingly pale.
"I...no, I-"
"There may be some paperwork for you to fill out. Do you have information about his medical history?"
"I-"
Someone was moving Sam. The motion of the gurney being pushed, and Sam unable to see where it was going, exacerbated his nausea again. He groaned, eyes slipping closed.
"No, wait!" Bucky said from somewhere off to his left, sounding more panicked that Sam thought he'd ever heard him. "I'm going with him."
"Sir, he likely needs surgery, you can't go back with him right now-"
"I'm going with him!" Bucky shouted. "I can't...I won't-"
"We'll send someone out to fetch you as soon as you're able to see him. But right now, we need to give the doctors space to do their work."
"But-"
Sam wanted to tell Bucky it would be fine. But he was starting to not be 100% sure it would be, and anyways, he didn't have the strength to talk.
Sam stretched his good hand towards Bucky - it wavered unsteadily in the air for a moment before the Super Soldier took it.
"Sam…."
Sam gave Bucky's hand a little squeeze, which he meant to be comforting. He wasn't sure how well it worked.
Bucky squeezed back.
"Tell me as soon as I can see him," Bucky said. "Someone needs to come out and get me."
"We will, sir."
"He's Captain America."
"We...we know."
"So you need to do a good job."
The nurse probably responded. But Sam's hearing was starting to go, so it was difficult for him to be sure. Bucky let go of his hand, and then he was being moved again. Rolled somewhere else.
He let the world finally drift out around him.
Bucky was letting his hand be squeezed now, apparently. That was...that was new. Sam had grabbed his hand, in public, and squeezed it. To comfort Bucky. And Bucky had let it happen.
And the absolute worst part was that it had worked. Sam had comforted Bucky by squeezing his hand, and then Bucky had calmed down and allowed Sam to be led away. And it would have been fine, except that other people were there, and Sam had just been on a date with someone else, and if Bucky was really being honest with himself neither of those were problems at all. The problem was that with every passing second since he'd let Sam out of his sight, he was becoming more worried that he'd seen him for the last time.
No, Bucky refused to think about that. He would stay here, and he would...drink shitty coffee, and he would wait to be given the news that Sam was going to be fine and that Bucky could go and see him. And Sam would be fine, because Bucky was here and he knew that Sam's particular gunshot wound wasn't that bad, and if the man who'd caused it came back to finish the job then Bucky would snap his neck before letting him hurt Sam again.
Bucky sank into a chair, bouncing his leg nervously as he tried to calm down enough to let go of some of the adrenaline burning through his veins. But the tension wasn't leaving his body, and Bucky found himself fixating on the other people in the waiting room, wondering if they were acting suspicious or if he was just being paranoid. Every man in a sweatshirt or over-large jacket turned into a would-be assassin concealing a gun, everyone wearing sunglasses or a ball cap had something to hide. After only about ten minutes, Bucky had convinced himself that the man seated opposite him in a black hoodie had glanced back at the door to the operating rooms one too many times for a worried family member. Maybe he should say something, confront the guy….
Bucky mentally shook himself, closing his eyes for a moment and struggling to draw a deep breath. He recognized the signs well enough, he was on the edge of panicking. The hospital was setting him off, the disinfectant smell and the doctors and the fluorescent lights and all the beeping bringing him back to a dark place.
The hospital, and Sam. God, what if Bucky really never saw him again? What if something went wrong, or if the assassin got in some other way, or if the wound had been worse than Bucky thought? Bucky felt his breathing speed up again, and he knotted his hands together, metal fingers intertwined with flesh ones.
If he hadn't accidentally snubbed Sam when Sam had tried to ask him out, then Sam probably wouldn't have gone out with fucking Lillian. He'd have been with Bucky, and Bucky could have protected him, and now Bucky was going to lose Sam over fucking sushi.
Bucky couldn't bear being in the waiting room one second longer. He didn't know if it was Sam or the waiting room itself or some combination of the two, but the lights were burning his eyes and everyone's voices were too goddamn loud and he was absolutely furious at himself.
Bucky stood up quickly and exited the room as fast as he could without causing a scene. Thank god, the hallway outside had a stairwell exit, and Bucky slammed through the door.
For a few seconds, all he could do was breathe. He knew he was on the edge of a panic attack - he'd gone to therapy long enough to recognize the signs. He also knew that there were ways he had of talking himself out of a panic attack - calming himself down, easing his breathing, slowing his heart rate. His therapist had told him that if he was aware of a panic attack before it started, he would often be able to avoid a public meltdown.
The glaring problem was that this was much easier said than done. Right now, his mind was a swirl of racing thoughts. At the forefront was HOSPITAL and SAM, and those two things were so big and all-consuming that there wasn't much room for anything else. He knew somewhere in his brain was the key to calming himself down, but he would have had to be much calmer to actually find it.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in...his exhale ended on a shuddering gasp. What if they came out to tell him Sam was better, and he wasn't there and they couldn't find him? What if they came out to tell him Sam was dead? What if….?
Pain. Pain was grounding. That wasn't one he'd heard from his therapist. No, that was one he'd discovered on his own, all those years ago in Romania when he'd been hanging on by a thread. He was pretty sure there was something wrong with using pain, something about you shouldn't punish yourself for being afraid, but she just didn't understand. Pain wasn't a punishment.
And then his fist didn't quite seem connected to his body anymore, and then he was punching a wall.
For a second, he didn't feel the pain of the impact. That was scary in a detached sort of way. If he needed help during a panic attack, it was easy to get it, if a little embarrassing. But if he were to dissociate, it was very likely no one would notice anything was wrong. If he dissociated, he knew he could sit in this stairwell for hours, unable to quite muster the strength to leave on his own, and then he wouldn't be able to help Sam. He needed to...not be dissociating, but that was something he wasn't quite sure how to do.
And then the pain from his hand hit him.
It wasn't quite a conscious choice, but he had used his normal hand instead of the metal one. He sucked in a breath as the pain brought him back to himself. He was in the hospital, but Hydra didn't have him. Hydra would never have him again. He was completely safe, but Sam might not be. He had to stay present, so if the doctors needed any information about Sam, or needed him to answer any questions, he would be there. He needed to stay present, so if the man who had tried to kill Sam came back, he would be able to protect him.
Bucky looked down at his hand. It was bloody. Very bloody. He'd split all four knuckles in a row of neat little lines, and now blood was dripping down his fingers. His hand was already swelling up, getting stiff. His wrist throbbed. Bucky knew it would heal - it would probably be closing already by the time he left the stairwell. He flexed his fingers, hissing as the movement tugged at bruised knuckles and torn flesh.
The pain was certainly helping. Bucky's breathing was still shallow and shaky, but it was better than before, he just...he needed another minute.
Bucky tipped his head forward, resting his forehead on the wall. He flexed his hand again with each inhale, feeling the blood slow to a trickle, then an ooze.
After another minute or two, Bucky felt like he'd regained enough control to go back to the waiting room. He looked down at his hand again, wiping it off as best he could on Sam's sweatshirt. That was already pretty well soaked with Sam's blood, and a little more wouldn't make much of a difference. Bucky looked at his blood-streaked, swollen fingers and grimaced. He pulled the sleeve down as far as he could, trying to conceal his hand. If anyone noticed the injury, like a concerned doctor or nurse, Bucky knew that would be a bridge too far for him. More importantly, if he had to leave the waiting room, he couldn't properly protect Sam.
Bucky pulled himself together, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and glanced at the cinderblock stairwell wall as he left. There was a small dent in it, about the size of Bucky's fist, streaked with his blood. Well, there wasn't much he could do about that at this point.
Bucky made it back to the waiting room, sinking back into the seat he'd left vacant and automatically looking around to take in his surroundings. The man who'd been sitting across from him before was gone, and Bucky had a moment of irrational, paranoid fear before he saw him. He'd moved across the room, and Bucky narrowed his eyes. That seemed a little weird, but Bucky supposed that he didn't really know anything about modern hospital ettiquette. And then he noticed the guy's new sightline to the back of the hospital. His new seat was closer, while still offering a better vantage point to the door. Bucky frowned, becoming increasingly concerned as the man shot the back hallway another anxious glance.
If Sam were here, he'd probably tell Bucky that the man was just an ordinary civilian, and that it was perfectly reasonable for someone waiting to hear news of a loved one to be acting unusual. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't here, because he had been shot, and Bucky didn't care about giving people the benefit of the doubt. He cared about protecting Sam.
But as much as he might want to, Bucky couldn't just jump the guy right here, in front of everybody. That was a sure way to get himself tased by hospital security, and that would just open the opportunity for anyone trying to get to Sam.
The suspicious-looking man in the black hoodie got up. Every muscle in Bucky's body tensed, and he got up to follow the guy without even thinking about it.
He headed for the back of the hospital, past the nurse's desk, and Bucky followed, silent as a shadow.
"Excuse me? Sir? You can't go back there," the nurse on duty said sternly, but the man in the black hoodie ignored her and pushed past the double doors, deeper into the hospital.
"Call security," Bucky told her, ignoring her protests and following him.
"But-"
Bucky didn't hear if she did it.