the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter eleven

Meanwhile...

"Can somebody tell me where the hell Steve Rogers is?" Tony Stark's voice unpleasantly boomed down the quiet corridors of the intensive care wing.

"Please—" Tony said even louder this time, his irritating voice growing closer to my door. "Can somebody tell me where—oh."

He gawked at me from my doorframe. Wearing a tight black T-shirt and an old pair of blue jeans, Tony crossed his dirty arms over his glowing chest. "There you are."

"Here I am," I sarcastically replied, taking a long swing of my coffee. The bitter liquid scorched my tongue as I sipped. As I knocked back my drink, I looked Tony up and down. His hair was tousled to the side. His cheeks were covered in grime. He needed a shave, too. Being dirty  was an unusual look for him.

Tony lent up against my doorframe. "I want you to come see something."

I followed Tony to his laboratory. As we weaved past crates of metal and mountains of junk, Tony eagerly explained to me that he'd been in the process of bringing this invention to life for decades. When we got to the middle of the room where his famous swiveling chair sat still, Tony stopped.

"There." He pointed to a large contraption across the room. It was a steel box that was about seven feet high, and five feet across. There was a jungle of wires hooked up to the device, but it didn't seem to be running.

"What is it?" I asked Tony.

He chuckled lightly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but closed it immediately. At that moment, a nurse exploded through the door of the laboratory. Her eyes were wild as she shouted, "He's responding!" Only one thought popped up in my head: Bucky.

We raced across Stark Tower to Bucky's room. I skidded to a halt at his door, which was left open by the nurse. I couldn't believe my eyes. Natasha stood with her arms crossed at the foot of Bucky's bed, staring at him intently.

"He's crying," she said to me without breaking her gaze.

I slowly crept into the hushed room with my eyes fixed on Bucky's restful expression. As I inched closer to him, I noticed a single tear drop running down his face.

"Is he in pain?" I demanded at the nurse. She fearfully shrugged.

My heart felt shriveled up like a deflated balloon. What if he was hurting in there? I couldn't bear to think that he was suffering while I just sat around and watched...

I miserably flopped my head on to Bucky's lap. A loud sob escaped my lips.

Whatever Bucky was feeling, I doubted that he was hurting as much as I was now.