if you can hold on, hold on

[onlyforthedream]

This isn't a scene I ever wanted to witness.

The run to the Compound was brutal, and Tony was on his way out to get Xavier when I was on my way in. At some point, I took the Shield off my back and set it on an unoccupied bed.

There are doctors moving deftly from the table Bucky's stretched out on to the sink, or trays of gauze and utensils and back again. I didn't let anyone get near the arm until Dr. McCoy was there. I know the kind of technology he's worked with. He removed it, and I felt something wrench in my gut. I was vaguely aware of someone at my elbow speaking with concern before I shrugged them off and went around to watch them peel away the Winter Soldier's uniform. It would take a soldering iron to cut through it. He's covered in superficial wounds- severe bruising, mostly, damage to his ribs. With the arm gone, they manage all right.

Oh, God, Bucky.

I beg off questions, agree to let McCoy take care of the knife wound in my side after another reprimand I barely register. I'm numb to it, whatever he's doing. I don't bring up the gash on my leg. There's enough blood and dirt that I can't imagine anyone noticing for a while, anyway.

"...you'll want to restrain him," I say, as the thought occurs, though the words are hard to get out. I catch Rory frowning in my peripheral vision, bagging the ruined and blood soaked t-shirt I'd been wearing before depositing it in the trash.

"Just- until-"

There's a sound in the hallway of heavy metal on flooring and I'm up, off the spare bed, ignoring Dr. McCoy's curse of frustration.

"Professor?"

Comments

[thebettermen]

"Captain."

Windswept from the flight over and disoriented from the haste with which he was summoned, Charles nevertheless keeps his voice professional as he steps into the room. There's a time for academic curiosity, but this certainly isn't it, the tableau in the clinic grim, to say the least -- not that he had expected much else, even with what little information he was provided ahead of time. Right away, his gaze falls on the prone form of James Barnes. A note of concern sounds in the back of his throat; the man's seen better days. Then again, the same could very well be said for the Captain, desperation rolling off of him in waves.

For a moment Charles is not entirely sure which of the injured is meant to be his patient.

"Mr. Stark informed me that Barnes had been... programmed?" he says, casting a glance to the man in question as though to confirm the information. "Do we have any idea what set him off?"