Hell Bound

Six

I managed to slow most of the bleeding and got the wound sutured before I moved on to the other ones. Bucky had fallen unconscious before I finished. I knew this because he only made pained noises for the first five minutes before going completely silent and still. I wanted him to stay conscious, but neither of us could get him to respond, and if getting jabbed with a needle wasn't working, I didn't know what else would. Besides, it might be better for him to be out while I dug through the hole in his stomach with a pair of long metal tweezers.

He had another large piece of glass in his chest just below the area where his skin fused with metal. I was afraid to dig it out, just in case it affected his arm, but it didn't end up very deep at all. The bleeding was minimal compared to the other one. The rest of them were easier after that. The glass or chunks of metal and rocks were smaller and only required a few sutures here and there. Otherwise, I trusted his accelerated healing to take care of them quickly. Graham stayed by my side, offering towels and holding the flashlight as instructed.

I spent a good hour picking out every piece I could find. The ones in his head weren't very deep, thankfully, but head wounds bled a lot. And it took a long time to sort through his tangled brown hair to ensure nothing had fractured his skull.

He never woke up.

By the time I finished, he had a significant amount of stitches, and I was thankful to whatever gods that were listening that I'd stocked up on supplies. He had sutures ranging from just below his hip bone and all the way up to an area above his ear. The largest was the section on his abdomen, and the smallest were two spots on his cheek and chin. I wasn't sure how many I'd given him since I lost count.

Once I finished, I slid back onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table. I was too tired to clean him up. His metal hand was limp as it hung off the edge of the sofa. His fingers barely grazed the floor at my side. I lifted my knee and rested my hand on it. Both of them were covered in drying blood.

Graham was sitting on the coffee table at my side. He looked as exhausted as I felt. Though I wasn't sure if it was physical or emotional. He probably didn't expect to see anything like that again.

"Thank you for your help," I said after a long silence. I dropped my head back, resting it on Bucky's immobile thigh.

"I don't really know what to say to that," Graham replied. His voice was quiet and hollow. He was looking down at his hands now, still shaky.

"I'm sorry you had to see all of that. I wouldn't have asked you to stay if I thought it was possible."

"Who is this guy anyway? I mean—you said he was a sergeant, but he has a metal arm. He won't go to the hospital. You called him 'baby.'" I pinched my eyes shut, wishing I could rub them.

"It slipped out."

"Stark said the last guy you dated put a bullet in your shoulder."

"You know you're a little observant. Or nosy."

"You're not the first person to say that." I sighed and lifted my head again.

"It's complicated. We never dated. He was never my boyfriend. But he was something. It just didn't last long enough to become real."

"And he shot you?" I shook my head.

"He saved my life. If he didn't shoot me, I'd be dead."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm too tired to explain it. Like I said, it's complicated. He bought me time on a technicality. That's all there is to it. He saved my life, but yeah, I got shot in the process."

"And you love him?" I didn't answer. I studied the blood caked to my fingernails instead. "You don't have to answer that. It was rude."

"No, it's fine," I assured him. "It's just that—I don't know how to answer. I didn't know him long enough to love him."

"It's not about time, man. It's about an emotional bond. My parents only knew each other for two weeks when they got married," he told me as he picked blood out of his own fingernails. "It was mostly because my dad was in the Navy and being shipped out soon. I was young when he died, so I can't really remember if they loved each other. I just know they were together until he got sick. And she stayed with him even when he was sick. So I guess they had to love each other."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He shrugged.

"That's life, right? Marry a girl you've known for two weeks because you think you'll die in battle, only to get taken out by your own body turning against you. Could be worse, though, I guess. Could be frozen for seventy years, like you said before." I regretted making that comment now that Bucky was lying bleeding on the couch behind me.

"Believe it or not, it could be a lot worse than that," I informed him.

"How so?"

"You have no idea who this man is, do you?" He looked at Bucky beside me. I could hear him breathing softly, but he'd lost so much blood. I wasn't sure how long it would take for him to wake up. And I certainly didn't know how long it would take for him to recover.

"Does he work at Chipotle?" Graham asked. I smiled and shook my head.

"I don't think he even knows what Chipotle is."

"Then I don't know him."

"You know someone with a metal arm at Chipotle?" He laughed lightly.

"Nah. I was just trying to make a joke. I don't know him." I sighed heavily and dropped my head back again. "He's not going to make it, is he?"

"I think he'll be fine once he recovers from all the blood loss."

"I've never seen anyone survive after losing that much blood."

"He's resilient." He shrugged.

"I guess you'd have to be with an arm made of metal. Those scars look—brutal."

"I imagine it required resiliency."

"You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"About whether or not you love him."

"I don't know," I told him truthfully. "I don't think I'm qualified to make that call. I've never been in love before. But he's probably the closest I've ever had to that." He nodded slowly and looked back at his hands.

"I think he loves you," he said, speaking in a hushed voice as if Bucky was going to overhear.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just the way he looked at you when you called him 'baby.'"

"Like how?"

I honestly expected him to give me something cheesy or romantic. Some kind of ridiculous analogy he picked up from a book. But instead, he just shrugged and said, "He just looked at you like a guy looks at someone he loves; I don't know."

I shook my head again. I didn't know what that meant, and I'd been under too much stress to remember what Bucky looked like when I said it. I didn't even mean to say it. I'd never called him that before. I hadn't seen him in months. But maybe just seeing him there bleeding everywhere and not opening his eyes, I just panicked.

"You should get cleaned up and get some sleep. Bathroom is upstairs. Second door on the right. Yours is the first. Sheets and towels are in the closet. Though I guess there aren't any towels right now. There might still be a few clean ones in the bathroom."

"Are you going to stay down here with him?" he asked.

"Yeah, I can't leave him alone like this."

"We could take shifts." I shook my head.

"No. He doesn't know you. I don't know how he'll react if you're the first person he sees after all this." He stood up. Now that he was tired, it was more obvious his knee was injured. He hobbled like an old man with back pain as he came around the table.

"Do you want any help cleaning up?" He nodded toward the grocery bags we'd abandoned on the floor. "Or putting food away?"

"No, it's fine. It'll give me something to do. I don't sleep much anyway."

"Alright. Well—goodnight."

"Night."

He disappeared up the stairs, and I waited until he was gone before getting back to my feet. I went to the kitchen to wash the blood off my hands and spent the next few minutes putting away the groceries (that were now warm). When I was finished, I went on a quest to clean up all the blood he'd left in the kitchen and the living room. Luckily, the towels had collected most of it, but there were still going to be stains. Bucky didn't wake up, even as I lifted up his arm and pushed him onto his side so I could exchange the towels for cleaner ones.

My phone was still in my back pocket, and I could feel it buzz for what must have been the third or fourth time. I was pretty sure it was Stark. And I was also pretty sure he wouldn't let me get away with ignoring him much longer. So I pressed accept and brought it to my ear as I carried bloody towels to the wash.

"I'm fine," I assured him.

"Why the hell haven't you answered? I've been trying to get ahold of you all night," he retorted.

"I was busy. I've had some friends over. I didn't hear my phone."

"Jarvis lost connection for almost an hour. I was about five seconds away from getting into a suit."

"We're okay. The raccoon cut the power, and I called a friend to come look at it. Now he's staying over. Nothing to worry about."

"What friend?"

"Another guy from my meetings."

"I know about the kid. Who's the other guy?"

"I'm not telling you because I'm not going to let you do any more background checks on my friends. They're both fine. They're both nice guys. Don't worry about it. I know what I'm doing."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Just butt out and let me make my own mistakes then. Clara's my sister. Not my mother. I don't need you to babysit me."

"I really hope you know what you're doing."

"Goodnight, Tony." I hung up and slid the phone back into my pocket.

I got the towels soaking and the blood cleaned off the floor before I returned to the living room. Bucky still hadn't moved, and I wasn't sure how long he would be out. So I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him. Then I returned to my seat on the floor at his side. Only this time, I reached out and wrapped my palm around his metal fingers before shutting my eyes.