The hit was hard. Steve didn’t feel anything, just the blow, and it knocked out his breath. There were screams and shots and the ringing in his ears just got worse until that was all he heard. It left him feeling really insular, like his world existed only in the space between his two ears. He was yelling, but he couldn’t hear himself, begging Bucky to come back, begging everyone to stop shooting… And they did. But only because gunshots in such a confined space were detrimental to everyone’s hearing.
They dragged him out easily, though. He was light, he had a head injury and now his shoulder felt useless. He wasn’t awake for the rest, taken right passed where Tony was sitting at Loren’s bedside.
Bruce would be the one to take care of the bullet in his shoulder – he was a surgeon and they needed him so right to work he went – but after that, Steve was left alone. His world was silent and so he didn’t hear anyone calling his name as he left the hospital in the gown and his jeans. It was all too easy to slip into the crowd of people requiring aid or wanting to give it.
Much too easy.
Steve was shocked at the state of the city. Everything was a miserable mess. Everything was in ruin. There were still dead on the streets, covered in scratchy white blankets, waiting to be picked up.
He went down into the subway, alone. Bucky had come for him. He had to return the favor, huddled up in a borrowed (all right, stolen) coat. No one stopped him. The subway system had not been cleared, not yet, but there was a lot more infrastructure work to worry about before anyone swept the tunnels. “Bucky?”
His voice was thin and high. He was drugged up and freezing and in pain. He couldn’t hear himself. He had no idea that he was just basically whispering.
no subject
The hit was hard. Steve didn’t feel anything, just the blow, and it knocked out his breath. There were screams and shots and the ringing in his ears just got worse until that was all he heard. It left him feeling really insular, like his world existed only in the space between his two ears. He was yelling, but he couldn’t hear himself, begging Bucky to come back, begging everyone to stop shooting… And they did. But only because gunshots in such a confined space were detrimental to everyone’s hearing.
They dragged him out easily, though. He was light, he had a head injury and now his shoulder felt useless. He wasn’t awake for the rest, taken right passed where Tony was sitting at Loren’s bedside.
Bruce would be the one to take care of the bullet in his shoulder – he was a surgeon and they needed him so right to work he went – but after that, Steve was left alone. His world was silent and so he didn’t hear anyone calling his name as he left the hospital in the gown and his jeans. It was all too easy to slip into the crowd of people requiring aid or wanting to give it.
Much too easy.
Steve was shocked at the state of the city. Everything was a miserable mess. Everything was in ruin. There were still dead on the streets, covered in scratchy white blankets, waiting to be picked up.
He went down into the subway, alone. Bucky had come for him. He had to return the favor, huddled up in a borrowed (all right, stolen) coat. No one stopped him. The subway system had not been cleared, not yet, but there was a lot more infrastructure work to worry about before anyone swept the tunnels. “Bucky?”
His voice was thin and high. He was drugged up and freezing and in pain. He couldn’t hear himself. He had no idea that he was just basically whispering.