Steel And Spider

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Mat emerged dressed in a pair of light grey joggers and a long-sleeve athletic shirt. James was waiting in the hallway, and Mat didn't miss the way the man's eye swept his form appreciatively. While Mat returned the feeling (James was hot as all hell, thank you.) he was also afraid of it. He didn't let people get close. If he did, they would be able to see the monster that was him, and they would run. It was inevitable.

He was also apprehensive because he knew what James had seen. Mat didn't know how to change the room's temperature yet, and so when he'd woken up in the night, sweaty and overheating, he'd just shed his shirt and kicked the blankets away. He knew James had seen his scars, and he also knew James would know that Mat gave as good as he got and it was likely most of the people who'd inflicted those wounds were six feet under. But James didn't say anything, just took the lead and let the journey down to the kitchen for breakfast soak in the early-morning quiet.

Steve had made them all smoothies, promising James pancakes when they returned. To Mat's surprise, the drink wasn't bad. It tasted like strawberries, banana, and vanilla, a combination he found he liked. Steve and James were engaged in conversation that often swooped more towards teasing than anything else, and Mat got the sense that the two men had known each other for a lot longer than it seemed at first. They shared a past, one that went beyond anything Mat had experienced, and they were close for it. Mat couldn't help but feel jealous.

Steve walked them to a park not too far from the tower, chatting happily along the way. James occasionally chimed in, but he mostly stuck closer to Mat. When they reached the park, Steve allowed them a few minutes to stretch out. "Don't feel bad, Mat, but Buck and I are super soldiers. We can run a lot faster than you can, so we'll probably lap you a few times."

"Steve." James muttered. Mat pursed his lips. James wouldn't be able to run as fast as he could, since he had to stay with Mat, who was not a super soldier and would be slow, comparatively.

And he was. In the beginning, at least. Until he got tired of hearing 'on your left' and tripped Steve, then took off like a shot, laughing as the captain spit out dirt, giving chase. Mat knew better than to try to slip away from his protectors, so he stuck to the pre-planned route thay had picked out, feet hardly touching the ground as he let the wind steal away his elated laugh.

It had been a long time since he had felt this free. Since he could just run because he wanted to, not because he was running from something or chasing a target. (Well, he was running from Steve, but that didn't count because Steve wasn't wielding a gun or trying to rip his lungs out.) Mat was so high on the sudden swell of emotion in his chest that he didn't notice who was holding a gun until just a moment too late.

Bang.

Mat didn't have to know what made the sound, his body reacted. He was still running, and the sudden change in velocity caused him to trip, practically tumbling head-over-heels off the path and into the brush along the side. He grunted as he rolled to the side, staying low, trying to cover as much as he could with the sparse bushes. His eyes scanned the park, before catching the glint of a sniper on one of the office buildings across the street before the figure was gone. Mat waited a few moments to make sure he really was gone, before he allowed himself to move, bringing a hand up to his neck, where the bullet had grazed. It had come down at an angle, and would've gone through his head if he hadn't fallen out of the way. As it was, it had ripped open the side of his neck, and blood oozed thickly into Mat's hand.

"Mat!" James came running around the corner, scanning the path for him. His eyes caught on the trampled foliage leading down to Mat's position and the blood splattered on the ground, and his face paled.

"I'm alright," Mat muttered, climbing to his feet, one hand clamped firmly to the side of his neck as he made his way to James, who had paled further upon seeing the severity of the wound. Neck wounds were dangerous. Mat knew that if the bullet had hit an artery, he'd be dead already. But he could still bleed out in a matter of minutes if he left the wound open.

"Here." James guided Mat to sit on the pathway, ripping up his shirt and using it to tie the wound as tight as he could without suffocating Mat. He kept adding new strips of fabric as they were bled through. When he ran out of shirt, he hoisted Mat to his feet, then swept his metal arm under Mat's knees and pulled him into a hasty bridal carry, starting a fast jog back towards the tower.

They ran into Steve on the way. The two soldiers had heard the shot go off, and both took off in opposite directions to find Mat. Now Steve ran ahead of James, who carried a glassy-eyed Mat in his arms. Mat had both his hands pressed against the side of his neck, knowing every moment counted and as long as he could stay awake and keep as much blood as he could inside his body, he had a good chance of making it. This wasn't his first rodeo.

-

Bucky was reluctant to hand Mat over to Bruce, but one look at the man's deathly pale face and fluttering eyelids, and he knew he had no choice. He trusted Bruce, even if the man wasn't really a doctor (and had made that fact known many times) he was the only person on sight who would have any idea what they were doing, and he didn't hesitate. Steve ushered Bucky out of the room, pulling him into the living space. Bucky sat down and put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.

He had failed. He had one job, and it was to keep Mat safe. And he had failed. He had let the man be shot- fucking shot while he was supposed to be under Bucky's- and Steve's for that matter- protection. A sniper- Bucky couldn't sit still. He was a sniper. He used to be, anyway. He probably still was. Has this ever happened to anyone he targeted? Did they have people who had anxiously paced their rooms because the only alternative was drowning in guilt? No. No, because Bucky had killed everyone he shot. It was always quick for them, a clean shot to the head, never bleeding out like this. There wouldn't have been any anxious pacing because the person would already be dead.

But Mat wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead, Bucky wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He's survived, and if he could survive Hydra wiping his memories like they had, if he could survive his waning night terrors then Mat could survive one stupid bullet wound. He would. He would, he would, he would, he would, he would, he would, he would–

"Buck." Steve's voice cut like glass through Bucky's inner monologue. "Calm down. Nothing you can do is going to change what happens, no matter how many times you walk across this room, okay?"

Bucky nodded. He was used to Steve's voice being to one to calm him down. It was Steve who'd first reached out when Bucky'd come out of cryosleep. It was Steve who was there to bring Bucky out of his memory-fuelled nightmares, and it was Steve now who brought Bucky out of his head again. "Okay. But I have to do something, Steve, I can't just wait around."

Steve nodded. He sat on the couch, gesturing for Bucky to sit beside him. "We should talk, actually. I noticed something about Mat when we were running."

Bucky thought back, but he couldn't remember anything that had been odd or suspicious about Mat's behaviour, so he grunted for Steve to continue.

"I...I couldn't catch him."

"What?"

"When he took off after he tripped me, I couldn't catch up to him. Bucky, he was faster than me. Do you know what that means?"

"Oh shit." Bucky did know what that meant. And it was something that could spell the downfall of Shield, the Avengers, the whole goddamn world. "Oh shit." 

Language! But yes indeed, this is not good! Anyone know why? 

also i didn't really like how this chapter turned out, but im falling alseep trying to write this for yall so cut me some slack, alright? Thanks! <3