The Kind You Save → Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier

Chapter Five-Call me James

Chapter Five

The van was running on fumes, but the Soldier didn't want to stop. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was hot on their tail.

"They'll definitely catch us if we run out of gas," Malone pointed out ever so helpfully.

So the Winter Soldier stopped at a questionable gas station, where people would probably not ask about your bloody clothes and black mask.

Malone watched as the Soldier struggled with the gas pump. He probably never had to deal with this. She hopped out of the van, brushing past him easily. She began filling up the van. "Hey," Mal said. The Soldier, who had been scanning the surroundings, looked down at the her.

"You'd look a lot less conspicuous without the mask."

She was right, but that didn't mean Winter had to like it. No matter what his personal preference was, it was now more practical not to wear it.

He didn't move a muscle, so Malone reached up slowly. She watched him closely for signs of aggression. One wrong move on her end and he could snap her neck. Mal gently touched the mask, lifting it smoothly off his face.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was extremely handsome, and Malone could feel herself blushing.

He took the mask and sat back inside the van. Malone shook her head roughly, she had absolutely no time to think of him in that way. She needed to survive, not crush on this guy.

She finished filling the van, and sat back into the passenger side. Mal grabbed her duffel bag, rummaging around and finding a set of clothes.

The Soldier looked at her questionably when she handed him the clothing. Malone only shrugged, "You've got to blend in." She gestured to the back of the van. "I can patch you up, if you want. Or, at least, I can try."

He nodded, feeling strangely bare without his mask.

They climbed into the back, and Malone dug out her first aid kit. When she turned around, she blushed furiously. He had already taken off his shirt. Malone tried not to stare at the thick scars around where the metal of his left arm met his flesh. She had the overwhelming urge to touch the light pink scars, feeling as though that was the real problem here, not the gunshot wound.

Malone looked up at Winter. "W-what do I do?" she stuttered. Just yesterday she was reading to children, now she was stitching up an assassin. As she looked at the Soldier's face, a thought of recognition itched in the back of her mind... Something she read?

Malone looked back at the bullet wound, which was oozing scarlet blood. The Soldier took from the first aid kit a long slightly curved needle. Mal's face paled when she saw it, she had watched enough spy thrillers to know what she had to do.

She poured rubbing alcohol over the needle first, properly disinfecting it. Then Malone poured the alcohol over her own hands, due to the lack of latex gloves.

The Soldier watched her, partially amused. She was taking more precautions then he ever did. He watched as she silently steeled herself. She was more tough than most people gave her credit for.

Malone threaded the needle, her hands shaking badly. She took a moment to stop and breathe, steadying her hands. Luckily, she had learned a simple stitch. She remembered her first-aid instructor saying it was a medic's go-to stitch. "It's all in the wrist," Mal mumbled, "Don't be afraid to take a big bite." She laughed, at the time, she had thought her first-aid teacher was creepy. Little did she know that class would be so helpful.

The Soldier stayed perfectly still while Malone stitched the wound. She gulped when it was done, praying that she wouldn't throw up. "How's that?" He shrugged, "It'll work."

Mal wrapped a clean bandage around it, sighing in relief when it was covered. She handed the clothing back to him, and climbed in the front seat. Malone leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, waiting for her nausea to pass. Who knew stitches were so revolting?

Within two minutes Winter was sitting in the front, wearing a white tee and black pants. Malone couldn't help but notice that they did fit quite well. His broad shoulders filled in the borrowed clothes much better than her brother ever did.

They were on the road again, their destination unknown. A sudden urge to hold a conversation overcame Malone. The silence was suddenly suffocating.

She watched Winter's profile as he drove, noting the sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. He would look much better with a shave.

"So, Winter," Malone started, "Do you actually not know your name, or do you just not want to tell me?"

He sighed, "I don't know my name for sure, but I met a man who seemed to know me..."

Malone waited, a minute passed by. Then two. "What did he call you?"

"Bucky. He called me Bucky. Then he called me James Buchanan Barnes."

Mal played the name over and over in her head, James... It fit him. It fit him better than Bucky. Bucky seemed to fit someone innocent and happy, which was definitely not what Winter was.

"What do you want me to call you?" She asked hesitantly. He didn't reply for a few minutes, giving Malone time to admire the miles of farmland they were driving through.

"James. Call me James, I don't think I'm ready..." He trailed off, but Malone finished the sentence in her head. 'I don't think I'm ready to be Bucky again.'

A/N Well. Here we go I guess. A few cutesy moments between them! That's good... I guess. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please be nice. I want to hear feedback from you guys! Vote, comment, share! ~Lady_Loki_00