the pendulum swings backwards
reventum:
It was working, the distraction techniques of keeping Steve talking while Bucky worked. Focus his attention on something other than what was being done to his shoulder and maybe - maybe - it would lessen the pain. That was the theory anyway, didnât always work in practice but it also served the dual purpose of keeping his friend as alert as possible. Bucky knew exactly how cold Steve would be getting with nothing on his upper half and very little heating, if any, in the shop. If anything, Bucky was only half paying attention to the conversation himself, he had more pressing issues concerning the welfare of his best friend so heâd let the topics drift from one thing to the next with little comment. And for every little twitch and flinch that Steve made, Bucky reacted in holding him just a little bit more securely. He wasnât stitching the wound, heâd do that at home, but the adhesive strips heâd pulled out of his pouch needed firm placement and would be useless if they got coated in the gel that had been applied.
âWhen we get you somewhere warm, safe anâ properly cleaned up,â he began, idly. âThen weâll discuss what Iâm doinâ right now.â He was already contemplating how to bandage the arm, talking without really thinking much. Steve wouldnât be able to remember much and, being the son of a nurse, Bucky figured that the kid would actually be interested in certain aspects of it. Besides, deep and meaningful conversation would have to wait until later - time was ticking on and there would only be so long before either Rumlow and his crew returned, or someone noticed that something wasnât right with the general store.
Especially considering the yowl that Steve had given out.Â
Bucky simply patted his friend on his good shoulder as the blond passed out, huffing out a laugh. âI know you do, kid. I know.â It was actually easier to work with Steve when he wasnât subconsciously fighting what Bucky was trying to do and he slowly moved the arm heâd popped back into socket to make sure it was sitting right before he leaned the other back against the shelving behind. The bandaging was done quickly and securely enough to stop the arm from moving from the scrawny ribs heâd attached it to, hopefully securing the possible break in the collarbone too. Heâd also tried to keep too much heavy strapping from the cleanly gauzed cut but it would all have to come off again anyway. Then heâd pulled the jumper back over Steveâs head but back to front  and heâd foregone the arms, and instead of the torn and bloodied jacket Bucky had removed his own and wrapped it around Steveâs small frame. It was too damn bad if anyone saw the arm or the uniform.
A knock at the door and the voice of an elderly lady pulled at Buckyâs attention and, confident that Steve would be fine (after checking his pulse), approached and unlocked the door. He opened it only enough to stick his head out, flashing the woman with greying hair a winning smile. âIâm afraid weâve had a bit of a problem with the office in the back maâam, weâre closed right now.â Then, careful to use his right hand, he grabbed the bag of coal sitting outside the door and pulled it in, closing and locking the door behind him.Â
Bucky hauled the bag over his shoulder and made his way through the store, pushing open the half-open door to the office to be greeted with the slumped over body of the owner - the mess on the back of his head evidently where the sticky pool of blood under the man came from. Crossbonesâ handiwork no doubt. He ignored the body, able to do nothing for him, and grabbed the keys to the brown delivery van that was parked out back and visible from the small, grimy office window; their ride home.Â
It was with a careful check around that Bucky left the back door, heading over to the vehicle and unlocking the back doors first. There was still a few deliveries worth of groceries inside and Bucky dumped the bag of coal in beside a sack of potatoes before closing the van again. He tossed the keys in a hand before unlocking the drivers door, climbing in behind the wheel and unlocking the passenger door from the inside. He inserted the key in the ignition, pulled out the choke and pressed the starter button. The engine sputtered and failed to spark, the starter motor only just causing the engine to cough. With a growl, he exited the car and lifted the hood, pulling out the crank handle and shoving it with no small amount of force into the hole at the front. All it took was two turns from his left arm to force the engine into starting and he slotted the handle back into itâs cradle and slammed down the hood - muttering obscenities all the way back into the store, leaving the engine running.Â
Within a few moments he re-emerged carrying Rogers bridal-style, pushing him onto the passenger seat and dumping the bloodied clothes, cleaning rags, first aid items and Rumlowâs club into the foot well at the kidâs feet. He left the store open as he climbed back behind the wheel and drove off just as the faint whine of sirens echoed in the distance.
Waking up was like swimming up to the surface of a vast, icy cold lake, but staying just below the surface â except, instead of water, it was his conscious mind. Steve knew the feeling all too well; he had been injured before to the point of passing out, though never this badly. Right now, he couldn't even assess just how injured he was exactly, though. It seemed too much effort to even open his eyes and see where he was, let alone spend time trying to think about which parts of him did and didn't hurt. No, thank you, he was comfortable being almost awake but not quite, in a state where he didn't need to do anything other than be.
Of course, eventually (it could have been a minute, or a couple of hours), a clear thought appeared anyway, and of course, it managed to ruin the almost pleasant feeling of not feeling anything. The thought was Bucky. First, it was almost abstract, just the name, and what he always felt when he thought of his best friend. Then it took shape, becoming first a fresh-faced youth in Army uniform, then morphing into an older man with longer hair, a grim expression, and a metal arm. And then, Steve felt everything all at once: the throbbing pain that seemed to encompass his whole upper body, but seeming to peak in his left shoulder, the not so heavy but quite unpleasant aching of his head, the shortness of his breath that always accompanied passing out. (In the back of his mind, there was a vague thought regarding his asthma, but he couldn't quite grasp it, so he let it go. If it was important, it would return.)
Now that he was taking account, he decided it might be a good idea to figure out where he was. He was lying on something soft and vaguely familiar (though that might just have been a fancy, a wishful thought), he was wearing a lot of layers (though some of them felt wrong), and there was a heat source nearby, as well as the sound of feet shuffling. As opening his eyes was decidedly way too much effort yet, Steve instead tried to figure out what had happened â only to draw a huge blank. The last thing he remembered clearly was the general store⌠and then a few flashes of a stranger with a huge club, a lot of pain, and Bucky making odd jokesâŚ? No, that last part couldn't be right.
An eye was finally, cautiously, blinked open. The light filtering into the room spoke of the sun already going down outside, which, even with it being winter still, was something of a shock â how long had he been out? The rest of his surroundings brought a reinforced sense of comfort, though; the leg of the old sofa he was lying on, the broken, unmoving ceiling fan, and most of all, Bucky's silhouette appearing from the direction of the kitchen.
There were a lot of things he could say when he finally caught sight of his friend; featured among them was 'hey', considering how hard it was to even think, and yet, what finally came out of the blond's mouth was, âWe safe here?â
