the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter five

Bucky’s Story.

“WHERE IS THAT… THAT… DINGLEBERRY!?”

I propped myself up on my metal elbow upon hearing the familiar voice and weak offense. The man sounded eerily similar to Steve. But that was impossible… the drugs I gave him should’ve lasted for about a week…

A female voice snorted. “Dingleberry? Really? What are you, 90? Oh wait.”

 “Shut it, Natasha. I’m not in the mood.”

It was Steve alright. And he sounded angry. Really angry. Footsteps thundered toward my room. For a moment, I considered leaping out of the window next to me and risking the five story fall. But even if I was guaranteed survival, my decision came too late. With one solid shove, the room door flew off its hinges and Steve’s face popped through the doorframe. A red head stood behind him with her gun drawn. I froze.

“YOU BETRAYED ME!” Steve barked, his eyes aflame.

 “What?" I managed to choke out before Steve grabbed my ankle and dragged me out of the bed. I hit the floor with a loud thud, ripping out my IV in the process. Steve struck me in the face twice before I put my metal arm up to defend myself. I tried to reason with him, but he was so angry… he wouldn’t hear it. But the red head seemed to have heard my pleads. She fired her gun into the ceiling, immediately stopping the struggle. Steve stood straight. He looked almost embarrassed for losing his temper.

I scrambled away from the two, into a corner on the opposite side of the small room. I was confused, scared, and angry all at once. My body wasn’t used to processing so many emotions. Nausea overtook my system. Before I knew it, I was vomiting in my lap. How pathetic.

“I’m going to kill him,” Steve growled to the red head as he pointed at me.

The red head, who I didn't call by her name for reasons I wish not to discuss, handed Steve a portfolio that was on the nightstand next to my bed. My diagnosis lied within.

At first he seemed reluctant to open the portfolio. It probably occurred to Steve in that moment that I went through all this trouble to keep this information away from him... whatever was inside must’ve been overbearing. Steve took a step back and considered his options for a moment as the flimsy folder wiggled and flopped pathetically in his shaking hands.

I watched axiously. If he were to put the portfolio down and leave, it would save him from heartbreak. But if he opened it now and read what was inside, would it tell him something he didn’t want to know, or something he's been trying to figure out?           

At last, Steve decided.

He apprehensively glanced up at the red head as hisfingers eased open the corner of the folder, letting one side fall open and the other reveal my diagnosis.

He let his eyes skim over a few lengthy, complex words in a row before he flung the folder across the room in frustration. He wanted answers, but all he got were big words.

Steve probably knew that if he even tried to keep reading the diagnosis, he wouldn’t be able to understand it.  I didn't even understad it until the doctors explained everything to me.

Steve had to go to someone who was educated in this field; someone who understood these types of things … he had to go to a genius.

 “Get up,” I screamed at me. I was slouched over in the corner, covered in my own excrement. I groaned in response, but he showed no sympathy for me.

Steve turned to the red head, who watched him uncomfortably. She straightened out her back and put her hands to her sides as he faced her.

 “What are your orders, ‘Cap?” she asked.

"I want you to wait for Bucky to get changed. When he’s ready, sneak past the faculty and staff, and meet me in the parking lot.” She nodded. Steve turned on his heel and began to exit the room.

 “Where are we going?” the red head questioned before he was out the door.

"We’re going to Stark Tower,” he said over his shoulder, and then swiftly left the room.