Hell Bound

Seven

I woke up a few hours later when Bucky shifted on the couch beside me. My head was resting next to his thigh, and I had my arms wrapped around myself. I wasn't sleeping as much as dozing. My body ached from sitting in the same spot on the hard floor for so long. He moved and let out a groan. My eyes shot open.

"Hey, whoa. What are you doing?" I asked, jumping to my knees and putting my hands on his chest. He was trying to sit up but didn't put much much of a fight when I pushed him back down. He dropped onto the couch and groaned again. "You're not going anywhere for a while," I told him as I smoothed his hair back out of his face to check how hot he was. But he was always on the warm side, so it wasn't easy to tell.

"I don't think I could go anywhere if I tried," he said. His eyes were still shut, but there was tension on his face that hadn't been there when he was knocked out. He was definitely feeling it now.

"And you shouldn't. You lost a lot of blood, and that shrapnel was lodged pretty deep. Even with accelerated healing, you need time to recover."

"I don't want to put you in danger." He moved again, but I shoved him back down.

"Don't worry about me. You're not going anywhere, alright?" He finally gave up and didn't try to sit up again.

"I need to clean up," he said.

"Then let me help you."

I stood and tried to wrap my arm around him, but we only managed to get him about two inches off the couch before he dropped again. The muscle he needed to sit upright currently had a hole in it, but he was too heavy for me to do anything more than offer him meager support.

"I can do it," he insisted, though he was breathing hard through clenched teeth. "Just give me a second." I sat on the coffee table as he worked himself through the pain. It took him a minute to get past it, then he sat up in one swift movement. His face went pale, and he was holding his breath. I sat on the couch beside him and set my hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was burning but clammy.

"You okay?" I asked softly. He didn't answer right away. He shook his head once and then needed another moment to come up with words.

"It feels like I'm being ripped apart from the inside."

"Well, considering the amount of shrapnel and broken glass I pulled out of you, I think that's to be expected. There were a few rocks too."

"Thank you. I don't know how to repay you."

"Oh, you definitely owe me one, but not for this. We'll talk about it another time. Come on." I lifted his arm around my shoulder and tried to hoist him to his feet. But he was heavier and stronger than me, and I was useless at helping. But if I could at least take off a tiny bit of weight from his injuries, then it would be enough to try.

We managed to get him to his feet, but it took time to get them moving. Once he did, he winced and hissed through his teeth with every step. I left him in the downstairs bathroom with strict instructions not to get the sutures wet and then went to finish cleaning up the towels while he was busy. He appeared in the kitchen entryway while I was turning on the dryer. He hadn't been quiet for once, and he still had a lot of dried blood on his chest and back. But his arms and most of his face were clean.

"When was the last time you ate something?" I asked as he slumped against the arch, clutching his bare stomach. He winced again. "Are you hungry?"

"Tired," is all that came out.

"I'd give you my bed if we could get you up the stairs. Otherwise, all I have to offer is the couch."

"Is the kid staying?"

"He doesn't have anywhere else to go." He nodded once.

"Convenient. The couch is fine." He turned to hobble back into the hall, and I huffed before rushing to help him.

"He's sleeping in the spare bedroom, if you care."

He didn't say anything to that. But he seemed grateful for the aid. He leaned against me and took a deep breath before moving forward again.

"So you really don't remember me then?" I asked as we walked.

"I know enough."

"How much is enough?"

"I know you were a combat medic and probably wouldn't let me die."

"I see."

We got him to the couch, and I helped him sit down. He took a long time to breathe after his exertion, and I located a pillow for him. I handed it over, and he propped it under his head. His legs were splayed out on the arm of the sofa since he was too tall to stretch across it comfortably. I pulled the blanket back over his legs.

"And I know you had feelings for me," he added as I tucked it around him. I could feel his gun stuffed into the cushions. I didn't see him stick it there, but I shouldn't be surprised. He was never unarmed. Even when he was unarmed.

"And how'd you come to that conclusion?" I questioned with my eyebrows raised in his direction.

He answered by reaching out to touch his thumb to my cheek. His fingers were clean now, but I could feel dried blood flake off my skin as he softly traced the line of my cheekbone. I forgot that he'd smeared blood on me after I called him 'baby.' Now I could remember the exact look on his face when he did it. He'd looked just like this. But I still couldn't say that it was love. You had to remember someone to love them.

"I had a hunch," he said. "Until I heard you tell the kid you care about me." I nodded and stood back up, quickly rubbing the blood from my cheek.

"Get some sleep, Bucky." Then I turned toward the kitchen, so I could shut off the lights and wash my face. I wasn't ready to face his accusations. Mostly because I couldn't guarantee that his hunch was wrong. I cared about him, probably more than I should have. He told me from the start that it was a bad idea. But I didn't listen.

When I returned to the living room, he was asleep again. Though he looked slightly more comfortable and less likely to bleed to death. I wasn't ready to leave him there alone. So I went to my room to gather up some blankets and a pillow. Then I set up camp on the armchair beside the couch. I fell asleep to the sound of him breathing quietly in the dark.