𝐈𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭.
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The infamous Winter Soldier and Morana are assigned on a mission once more, but things don't go as planned for them this time. To survive, they confront emoti...
"Don't worry, I know where we can go to fix this," Steve reassures.
I look up at him, sceptically. He turns around, going back to the control and continues flying us away from the crumbling underground lair. I sit in the passenger seat beside him, not letting him get away from the upcoming conversation. He sighs beside me, predicting that I'm about to interrogate him.
"What do we do next, Steve? Every time we have a plan, it always goes awry." I argue.
"I know that, Bev." He says back, irritated. "I haven't had a second to think."
"Think now, Steve. Bucky's sat back there in pain and his arm detached from his body!" I stand from my seat, my voice raising.
"Don't you think I know that?"
"And my back is fucking killing me! I fell from like, what, three stories."
"I know." Steve sighs. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." I sigh too, calming down. "I'll be fine." I sit back in my seat. "I'm sorry for shouting."
"I'm sorry too." He smiles at me.
He continues flying the jet, occasionally looking over at me or Bucky, checking in on us. With a good distance from the building, Steve had some time to think over our next moves. He looks over at me after putting the jet into a different mode, one that lets it drive itself.
"Before we do anything, we need to get the others out."
"Of course, where are they?" I ask.
"The RAFT, a prison owned by the government. They were taken there after the airport."
"Okay, so we get them out. Then what?"
"I'm not sure yet. Why don't you two relax and I'll think of what we do after that." Steve suggests.
"Might have a little bit of difficulty with that," Bucky speaks up.
I stand from my seat and walk over to him. Steve does the same, and we both sit on either side of him on the bench. Bucky looks exhausted and the worst of all of us. His face is bruised and bloody, his hair stuck to his face by the dried sweat. He holds the place where his other arm once was, clearly in pain.
"How can we help?" I ask.
"I'm not sure." He shrugs.
"I mean, I have an idea, but you're not going to like it," Steve speaks up, nervously.
"What is it?" Bucky chirps.
"We put you under until you're okay to move," Steve suggests.
