The message that had gotten to him was 'Sergeant Barnes was found at the bar and is unconscious and not waking up'. Well, no. The message hadn't actually come to him. It had come to the senior officer meeting he was in via a private named Jameson. Jameson hadn't even looked at Steve as he delivered it, matter-of-fact and all business. No one in the room even moved in their seat as someone asked calmly if he had received some sort of head injury.
Steve never heard the answer because he was already out of the room and running.
It took him longer than he would have liked to find Bucky and the officers who had carried him over to a nearby couch. Mostly because he hadn't thought until after he was out of the room to ask which bar specifically they'd been talking about. But once he found Bucky and the small crowd of officers and a bartender hovering over him, he took control. Bucky was asleep with no sign of injuries. His eyes weren't even moving behind his eyelids so it wasn't like he was simply asleep. Scared, Steve barked at someone to go bring a doctor to his room and then got a gurney to carry him up to a bed upstairs. The bartender didn't even ask them to pay for the room and looked at Bucky with such deep concern that Steve couldn't help but note it. Bucky must be a very good patron here, he thought to himself and stopped the train of thought right at that station.
The medic came and checked Bucky out but could come up with nothing to explain it. He agreed there was no wounds and that, perhaps, this was just exhaustion catching up with him. After Azzano there had been a great many battles and not much time between. The medic told Steve to just have someone watch over him and to call again if anything changed or he didn't awaken by morning. A few soldiers offered to perform the duty (as did the bartender which was just about when Steve thanked him and kicked him out completely) but this was Steve's job.
He'd lived his life by Bucky's side and in his pocket. None of that was changing now.
So he'd waited. He'd prayed and he'd watched and wondered if this how Bucky had felt during his bouts of pneumonia and sickness. He brushed the hair from Bucky's forehead and monitored his pulse. And he waited. Until, finally, he hears his name being spoken aloud.
"Buck," he breathes out in relief, moving his chair closer to the bed so he can look at his friend closer. He reaches for his hand and takes it in a tight grip. The next sound out of him is a light laugh, wet around the edges but not giving into that sentimentality. "Jesus, Buck. Was this payback for the time you needed to call a priest in '35? If so, swell, pal. Point made."
He reaches over for a pitcher and pours a small glass of water to hold out for him.
"You were unconscious at the bar. For hours," he finally explains. "What happened? Do you know?"
no subject
Steve never heard the answer because he was already out of the room and running.
It took him longer than he would have liked to find Bucky and the officers who had carried him over to a nearby couch. Mostly because he hadn't thought until after he was out of the room to ask which bar specifically they'd been talking about. But once he found Bucky and the small crowd of officers and a bartender hovering over him, he took control. Bucky was asleep with no sign of injuries. His eyes weren't even moving behind his eyelids so it wasn't like he was simply asleep. Scared, Steve barked at someone to go bring a doctor to his room and then got a gurney to carry him up to a bed upstairs. The bartender didn't even ask them to pay for the room and looked at Bucky with such deep concern that Steve couldn't help but note it. Bucky must be a very good patron here, he thought to himself and stopped the train of thought right at that station.
The medic came and checked Bucky out but could come up with nothing to explain it. He agreed there was no wounds and that, perhaps, this was just exhaustion catching up with him. After Azzano there had been a great many battles and not much time between. The medic told Steve to just have someone watch over him and to call again if anything changed or he didn't awaken by morning. A few soldiers offered to perform the duty (as did the bartender which was just about when Steve thanked him and kicked him out completely) but this was Steve's job.
He'd lived his life by Bucky's side and in his pocket. None of that was changing now.
So he'd waited. He'd prayed and he'd watched and wondered if this how Bucky had felt during his bouts of pneumonia and sickness. He brushed the hair from Bucky's forehead and monitored his pulse. And he waited. Until, finally, he hears his name being spoken aloud.
"Buck," he breathes out in relief, moving his chair closer to the bed so he can look at his friend closer. He reaches for his hand and takes it in a tight grip. The next sound out of him is a light laugh, wet around the edges but not giving into that sentimentality. "Jesus, Buck. Was this payback for the time you needed to call a priest in '35? If so, swell, pal. Point made."
He reaches over for a pitcher and pours a small glass of water to hold out for him.
"You were unconscious at the bar. For hours," he finally explains. "What happened? Do you know?"