Pre War Bucky Barnes One Shots

M'lady (Part 2)

You rushed through the doors of the tent only to be greeted by an overwhelming rush. An ambush attack had just been made on the 107th infantry and now your unit was being flooded with casualties.

The air reeked of burnt flesh, rotten flesh, blood, mud and it was far too hot, far too infectious in here for these soldiers if they hoped to survive. But this was the best you could do.

"Nurse!" Someone shouted.

Your head whipped around to see one of the younger trainees holding up a much larger man who was struggling to stand around her shoulders and signalling for you.

"Help me please." She said looking panicked. "There's too many."

It was often like this. By now you were quite experienced having been there for the last few years. A lot of the newer nurses came to you for help.

"Get him on a bed and ask the doctor to line him up for examination." You instructed her.

She nodded and hurriedly escorted him over to one of the very few free beds.

Nurses and patients were desperately rushing around. There were cries of pain, moans of agony, buzzing of flies, huffs of exasperation. It was all a bit overwhelming.

"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice shout.

Sure enough the head nurse was waving you over to a bed in the corner. You rushed over to her where the body of an unconscious patient lay on the bed.

"What's the problem?" You asked.

"This ones been shot in ribcage, left side. He's lost a lot of blood but luckily the bullet didn't hit a main artery and doesn't appear to have gone too deep or caused any major internal damage so he hasn't bled out, yet." She informed you. "I want you to stay with him. Clean the wound, remove the bullet and attend to him. Watch him. I'm going to start assigning nurses to the worst cases that have a chance of surviving like this one. I think that paying them your full attention gives us the best hope for survival."

You nodded in understanding. "Do we have a name?"

"Sergeant James Barnes." She informed you before heading off to the next station.

A pang of familiarity hit you but you couldn't place it. Probably just another soldier who you have treated once before. You frowned as you set to work examining the man.

"Alright soldier let's get you cleaned up." You mumbled.

There was a somber, blank expression on the mans face. Eyes closed, chapped, plump lips slightly turned down at the corners. About a weeks worth a dusting of stubble on his waxen cheeks and dirt, mud and grime caked to his skin. His brown hair was unruly and plastered to his forehead with a mixture of dirt, sweat and old, dried blood. Dark circles around his eyes and a pale complexion was easily spotted underneath all of the mud.

Yeah, you could say he looked a little worse for wear. But that was all in a days work for you now.

You found the hem of his khaki green shirt and carefully pulled it up, unable to suspect just where the bullet hole may be because there was so much blood soaked into the torso of his jersey.

Once you had peeled it away from his skin you were able to see the gapping hole in his lower, left ribcage, still dribbling deep, red blood.

This was one hell of a lucky man. Any higher or lower and the bullet could've very well been a fatal shot.

You turned to the table beside you and grabbed the tweezers. Immediately getting to work, you dug them into the wound trying to find the bullet.

You heard a groan from above you and looked up to see the soldier stirring, his brow furrowing in pain, but not awakening.