The stranger wasstill alive when Bucky got him into the apartment, though he looked like shitand Bucky had to hold his hand about an inch above his mouth to feel anybreathing. Stupid, he thought. Gun's in the bedsidetable, just take care of it and dump the body. He half twitched towardthe bedside table, but stopped at that. He still had questions. Dead bodiesdrew attention.
Triage, then. He ended up justcutting through the leather after a (very) brief attempt at figuring out how itworked. He had to peel it off, wishing belatedly that he'd put a towel down. Atleast it was just linoleum. Blood welled up as he pulled it away, and Buckysucked breath through his teeth at the ragged hole in hischest. Based on the look of it...Bucky rolled his guest to his side, a littlemore carefully, and nearly winced, lowering him back down.
Now what? Wait for him to die hererather than out on the street? Gun's still an option. Bucky shook his head like he could shake the voice away and satback on his heels. Man still wasn't dead, and the wound didn't look fresh.Still bleeding, but not gushing the way he'd expect, and he'd been standing atleast for a few seconds. Which made his skin crawl a little, because what couldget stabbed through the chest by something that looked to have been a little more than a small knife and justkeep going.
Not through the chest, but you couldsurvive, it started again, and Bucky bit histhumb hard, which seemed to mute it a little but didn't solve his otherimmediate problem. He checked again; still breathing.