Second Chances

Twenty-two

It was hot. It was so fucking hot. 

The flames hissed around Steve as they ate away at the wood. Steve forced his breaths to be shorter so he could breathe through the smoke. He had lost his mask somehow, and he doesn't even remember taking it off. Steve doesn't even remember why he was in this room, to begin with. 

Someone screamed his name.

Ah, that's why he was there. 

He sprinted towards the scream, his lungs burning in protest. 

Fucking asthma, the doctor was supposed to fix that. 

The person screamed again, and Steve froced himself to go faster. He had to save them before it was too late. Before they died like Bucky. They could have a family that would be crushed if Steve didn't hurry the fuck up. 

Steve accidentally took a deep breath and his trachea burned as he coughed out the smoke. However, he kept running. The scream sounded, and Steve cursed when he realized he was going in the wrong direction. He spun on his heel so his body was facing the left, and he sprinted harder than he had been before. Steve made a move to grab his radio and ask about the structure of the building. His hand ghosted over the place where his radio was supposed to be, but there was nothing there. He cursed again, trying to yell out to the person that he was coming as fast as he could when he got to them. He coughed when nothing but smoke came out of his mouth after it filled it so quickly. 

The person screamed again, and Steve was almost relieved when he saw that they were just a door away. Almost. 

Steve still had to get through the door, which could be locked or boarded up by rumble from the fire. He also had to get the person and run back to the ground floor of the apartment building. He didn't have any communication with the rest of the team because he lost his radio, so he couldn't jump out of the window hoping that the would catch him with a mat and he couldn't get Sam to drive the latter over. 

Steve coughed violently into his elbow, hearing the telltale wheeze. 

Well, now Steve was screwed for another reason. 

He sprinted towards the door, turning his body so his shoulder rammed into the wood. It crumbled to the ground easily, and Steve let out a breath of relief now that there was one less complication. He rushed into the room, and he saw a person lying on the ground, their left arm crushed under a fallen piece of the ceiling. 

Steve rushed over to them, and he ripped the debris off of the man. The man wheezed and coughed as he rolled to his side. Steve grabbed the man, and he gasped when he was met by a pair of familiar, steel blue eyes. 

"Bucky?"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" The man hissed, and Steve gasped.

"Buck, it's me. Honey," Steve pleaded, and Bucky's eyes narrowed, black dust surrounding his eyes.

"I don't know who the fuck you are." Bucky hissed, and Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder.

"Bucky, it's me. It's Stevie. Your husband. Honey, come one. We gotta get out of here." Steve gripped Bucky's hand and tried to pull him out of the room.

"You're the one."

"The one what?" Steve looked over his shoulder.

"You're the one that killed me." Bucky's eyes opened wide, full of rage, and Steve took a step back, his hand slipping out of Bucky's.

"You killed me!" He yelled again, and Steve quickly shook my head, reaching out for him again.

"Bucky, I-I didn't. I promise. Bucky it's me. It's Steve Rogers." He took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in my chest.