When You Were Never Mine: Part 2

That Little Voice

"This has been the longest shift ever. Twelve hours of this is twelve hours too much," the nurse at the emergency room desk complained to her coworkers. "We haven't had a patient in two hours. I mean, I'm not asking for a train wreck or anything, but maybe a little broken bone or something."

"Do no harm, huh?' another nurse chuckled behind her. "Now you're wishing for injuries just to get you off your ass? You could go stock the rooms if you're so bored."

"Pfft, I'm not that bored. Tell ya what, I'm gonna run across the street to the diner for some good coffee. The crap we have is like warm tar. Anybody want one...oh...oh shit," she exclaimed, dropping the coat she had yet to put on and rushing towards the door. "Guys, I need a cart!"

Before she could move very far at all, the wide doors to the ER opened with a gust of cold air filling the nursing station and leaving the others with a chill at both the temperature change and the sight that was getting closer. As soon as their eyes adjusted, they saw the Winter Soldier running towards them with a limp body draped over his arms, both of them covered in blood; who's blood it was, they weren't yet sure.

"Please, she needs help," the Soldier begged urgently, refusing the cart as it was pushed next to him. "She's been shot."

"You have too!" the first nurse added, reaching up to check the gaping wound on his neck, but he pulled back as if her touch would kill him then and there. "Sir, you're bleeding a lot. We need to look at that."

"No. You take her."

"Sir-"

"I said, no," he insisted, his voice now icy and determined. It was made very clear, very quickly, that no one was to argue with him about this again. "You take her, and you help her. Now."

Another group of nurses rushed out from one of the rooms, offering to take your body from him but he wouldn't release you to them. The Soldier nodded towards the center of the ED and one of them wisely took his cue, leading him to where he could finally put you down. When he did, his movements were uncharacteristically gentle for the assassin, as if he could hurt you any more than he already had. For all he knew, you were dead by his hand. Normally that wouldn't bother him, because it was his mission and he had succeeded; it was the screaming voice in the back of his mind that was driving his actions now, and he couldn't deny the commands it was giving him.

"She's an Avenger," he told them quickly as he finally released you, "she's married to Stark."

"This is (Y/N) Stark?! What was she doing? Didn't they just get married yesterday?"

"That's all I know. That, and if you let her die, this won't be the last time you see me." With that, the Soldier turned and left the room, waving away anyone who so much as attempted to look his way, or at the wound still bleeding down his neck. As he passed by one of the supply shelves he casually grabbed a handful of gauze and pressed it against his skin, barely wincing at the sensation over a slug that was still imbedded where you had shot him in kind. He stumbled very slightly as he exited the building, the loss of blood beginning to catch up to him. His bloodied hand dragged across the bricks, leaving a trail behind him as he tried to escape back into the darkness of night where he would be safe. Here, under the fluorescent lights and sharp glare of sterility, he was beyond obvious.

You son of a bitch.

"Who's there?" he spun around, only to find no one.

I hope Stark kills us.

"Us? My god, how many voices are in my head?" The Solider stopped and leaned back against the wall, lifting up the back of his heavy leather jacket just enough to feel the coolness of them against his skin. The heat was rising from his feet and up his body in a wave, and the sights around him began to swim in his vision just a bit. "I've got to be hallucinating."