Warped Steel
Steve needed fresh air. Waking up 70 years after he thought he was going to die, only to find out all his friends were dead was bad enough. Add that to the fact that they fought aliens, fucking aliens only last week, and you get one highly confused man in need of something at least a little familiar.
So, here he was. Wandering along a path in Central Park. It was surprisingly peaceful- the birds were out, and there were a few people here and there, walking dogs, or going on a run.
Steve was dressed in plain jeans and a dark leather jacket, a ball cap pulled low over his face. He could see people around him still trying to clean up, to salvage anything they could. He could hear construction, and machines, clearing the streets that haven’t been cleared already.
He was on his way to finishing his second lap of the park when he heard the police sirens. Normally, he wouldn’t bat an eye, but the sirens were coming from a place Steve had helped cleaned up himself, and he knew it was well on it’s way to being habitable again.
He burst into view of the street just in time to see a car, going much too fast, run a red light, a police car chasing behind it. Then he saw it. The car wasn’t stopping, Steve didn’t even think it could at this point even if it wanted to. The car wasn’t stopping, and it was headed straight for a motorcyclist.
Steve was close enough to the person that his enhanced eyesight could see how their eyes widened behind their helmet’s mask. Steve could do nothing but watch as the car collided with the person at full speed, the crunching of metal on metal ringing in Steve’s ears.
He ran, right towards the crash, the police sirens still wailing. He made it there just as the officer was climbing out of the car.
“Sir!” he yelled. “Sir, you can’t be here, you need to stay back!” Steve ignored him and ran towards the mass of mangled metal.
Everything was smoking, and he went first to the car. The person inside had more of a chance of being alive, so if they needed help, he didn’t want to waste time on someone who was probably dead.
The man inside the was was barely conscious, his eyes half lidded and blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. Even from where he was standing, Steve could smell the alcohol on his breath. Something inside Steve twisted in disgust. The man had probably killed a person because he was irresponsible. Steve quickly ripped the door off of the car, and saw that the drunken man was mostly unharmed.
He left the man there, the policeman could handle that idiot, and made his way to where the bike had ended up. It was launched backwards when it was hit, and the rider had gone with it.
The person was lying under their bike, their helmet visor cracked and blood pooling under them. Steve placed two fingers on his neck, not expecting anything, when he felt it.
A pulse.
Weak and faint, but there.
Steve quickly turned and called to the arriving ambulance.
“Hey! Over here!” he called, waving his arms. “This person’s still alive!” There was a mad rush of people as they rushed to get the person out and onto a stretcher.
“We have to get this bike off of them!” one medic yelled. “And get that helmet off of them!”
“I got it,” Steve pushed through the people that had crowded in front of him and grabbed the bike around the middle, then carefully lifted it off of the person, just as another medic wrestled the helmet off of them.
The group of people stared at Steve for a second as he awkwardly held the bike, nowhere to set it down with all the people around. The person- man- on the ground groaned, and that seemed to jolt people out of their shock and they quickly swarmed the now freed man.
“Male, early twenties, possible spinal damage, broken tibia in the left leg, cracked fibula in the left leg, possible broken femur in right leg,-” someone listed, fading off as they rushed the man to the ambulance. As it sped off to the hospital, Steve noticed someone scrutinizing him, and he felt a wave of weariness overcome him.
“Excuse me, sir, are you Captain America?” they asked. At that moment, Steve hated the press conference they had after the battle, where people had asked if he was, in fact, the real Captain America. He’d had no choice but to reveal his face and confirm that yes, he was from the 1940’s, no he wasn’t an imposter, and no, he didn’t die when the plane crashed. Steve had thought that that last one would have been pretty obvious, but people just couldn’t seem to think for themselves.
The person’s question seemed to grab the attention of everyone else, and before he knew it, he was surrounded. Everyone was asking a question, or begging for an autograph, and Steve wasn’t in the mood at all. There was a reason he had gone out when most people weren’t, and why he had picked a mostly secluded place to walk, and why he was wearing civilian clothes and a hat to hide his face.
He shouldered through the crowd, uncaring that it was rude. He had to get away, it was too overwhelming. When he was clear of people, he bolted. He just ran, not knowing where his feet were taking him, too stuck in his own head. When he finally pulled himself out of his thoughts, he realized that he was pretty close to the hospital. There wasn’t any harm in seeing how the guy was, was there?
He walked into the building, shivering a little at the sudden blast of air conditioning. When he approached the lady at the desk, she greeted him with a kind smile.
“Hi there! How can I help you?” she asked.
Steve froze for a moment, then responded. “Uh, I’m here for- there was a person- ,” He stopped and took a breath. “Um there was a person in a crash? He was on the motorcycle? I helped get him out, and I was wonderi- I was hoping I could see him? Or see how he was doing?” He looked at the woman hopefully.
She seemed to see that he was being truthful, or maybe she recognized him, because she checked her computer and pulled up a file.
“It seems like he just got out of surgery. You can go see him if you want?” She looked at him, and when he nodded uncertainly, she checked her computer again. “He’s in room 348.”
He made his way through the halls of the hospital until he got to room 348. There was a doctor closing the door behind him. He turned at the sound footsteps, and he smiled when he saw Steve. “You must be the person Clara was telling me about? The one who helped this young man out of the crash?” Steve nodded. “Excellent. His injuries weren’t as severe as we thought they were. Concussion, sprained wrist, broken tibia, cracked fibula, and a very bruised body. He’ll be fine. Would you like to see him? He should be awake by now.”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll see him if that’s okay,” Steve confirmed.
“Okay. Just make sure he doesn't move around too much, or try to remove anything. I’ve met this particular patient before, and it definitely won't be the last time I see him, whether in this bed or otherwise,” the doctor winked at him, then turned and walked down the halway.
Steve took a deep breath, then pushed open the door. When he caught sight of the man on the bed, his breath caught in his throat. He was beautiful. Even bruised to hell, the man was very handsome. Dark brown hair that went down to his shoulders, sharp cheekbones and jaw, lean but built figure, and striking grey-blue eyes. Eyes that were staring him down.
“Hi,” Steve said meekly, giving the guy a little wave.
“Hi?” the man replied, confusion evident in his voice.
“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, realizing that it was probably a little strange for the guy to have a random stranger come into his room. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. I helped with the crash- I mean, I pulled the bike away,-” he stopped with a huff. He just couldn’t get words out today. The man on the bed was grinning, and Steve cracked a small smile. “I’m glad you’re amused by my failure at the English language,” he snarked. The man smirked.
“Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Steve, and I came to see how you’re doing,” he said, not taking his eyes off the man.
“Hi, Steve. I’m James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. Now, you pulled me out of that crash?” Steve nodded. “Well you’re just a regular old hero, aren’t you?”
“Actually, you’re not that far off.”