Time to go

Sleep

"Dr. Banner?" Coulson seemed more surprised than anything. "What's going on?"

"It's a very long story," Bruce thought for a moment on how to explain what had happened then decided against it, no need to drag Coulson into the entire mess. "But I need your help."

"Bruce," Coulson seemed a bit embarrassed. "I'm not in the states right now, I won't be able to help you for a few months yet.But if it is really important, I can-"

"Oh no, you don't have to come back to New York. I just need you to make a phone call for me."

"Oh." Coulson sounded confused. "I guess I could help you there. Who do you need me to phone?"

"Director Fury."

"Bruce, Uh." Coulson was digging for words. "I'm not directly affiliated with SHIELD anymore, I don't have as much pull there as I used to, and, and I'm supposed to be dead. You aren't even supposed to know I'm alive."

"All I need is one phone call." Bruce said. "Plus, Director Fury knows you are alive and trusts your opinion."

Coulson was silent for a good minute before he sighed. "You'll owe me for this Dr.Banner, but I can give Fury a call. What do you want me to talk to him about? Do you have some designs you want him to look over?"

"Not really," Bruce suddenly felt really uncomfortable. "I need you to get him to extend the deadline on our deal."

"Bruce," Coulson's voice had a parental tone in it. "You know better than to make deals with Fury. What have you done?!"

"It's a long story..."

"And I have more than enough time to hear it." Coulson finished.

Bruce contemplated just hanging up the phone right there and phoning Fury himself to beg for more time, but he knew that he had about a snowball's chance in hell of convincing Fury of changing their bargain. He needed Coulson's help.

Yet as he organized his thoughts, his eyes wandered to the door to the hallway, and thought of Clint.

Coulson was Clint's handler at one time, they were very close. What if he never knew Clint had faked his own death? What if Coulson hates him for endangering Clint's life even more by getting him sent on a suicide mission?

Then his eyes wandered to the sleeping, yet stable body in front of him.

Stable for now. He thought. You don't know if he is really going to be okay. You don't even know if he is going to wake up today or tomorrow or in a month.

Bucky was living on borrowed time.

This was the same man who was going to have to go on a suicide mission when he was just barely recovered and probably die during it in his condition.

Bruce could feel himself stiffen at the thought of Bucky dying on this mission. They were called suicide missions for a reason, most of the starry eyed agents sent away for these missions had their remains shipped back if they were lucky. Most agents who died on duty were left in the country they died in. Most were buried in unmarked graves (if they were buried at all), where they weren't missed or mourned.

A horrifying image clouded across Bruce's mind.

Steve and Natasha stand solemnly side by side as each are handed a almost comically small urn of what was left of their best friends.

No. That couldn't happen. He wouldn't bury another friend. He wouldn't watch Natasha dump the contents of the urn into the wind the second she had a chance, because she couldn't even fathom Clint trapped in a fancy jar forever. He wouldn't watch Steve grip the urn so hard that his fingers turned white and little dents appeared in the metal as he tried and failed miserably to hold back his tears.