Who Am I? » [Stucky]

112. Crash and Burn

Sam and Steve were pilot and co-pilot; strapped into the broad padded black seats in the cockpit of the jet. Before them was a switchboard covered with tiny twig-like silver switches, multi-coloured buttons which flashed and bleeped and switches: some of which seemed to glow, others didn’t. Their main navigation interface was ingrained into the crammed dashboard on a small illuminated square screen, which also displayed the tilt of the wings, height statistics, the pressure within the cabin and the vehicle statistics: fuel remaining, time until destination and the amount of oxygen circulating the craft.

The windows were frosted over with crystalline designs, decorating the glass like shimmering threads of gossamer, complex and unique patterns expanding outwards in jagged lines. They were dotted with condensation, and just out of view, barely visible in the dark were the wings and the blue glowing arc reactor engines that Tony had fit them out with, and the sparking lights on the end of the wings, indicating the dimensions of the jet.

Sam and Steve had padded headphones slotted over their heads and secured over their ears to try and drown out the prevalent rumble of the jets and to communicate with one another over the overpowering sound.

“You’ve been silent for about half an hour.” Sam’s voice was crackly in the poorly wired microphone and his voice went unheard outside of the microphone over the din on the Quinjet. “Something’s wrong… Don’t be afraid to speak your mind,” Sam prompted, hoping Steve would throw him a rope.

Steve’s lips parted and there was a mute inhalation as he readied himself for an answer to the inquiry. “I just keep thinking…” He began, his voice already tainted with scepticism and his downcast gaze drooping to the ground. “What if we come back empty handed, you know?” Steve looked up and to his right, genuine trepidation and terror displayed on his face. He looked like a beaten animal: afraid and sunk in dread.

“You can’t be thinking that, man. If you go in thinking it’s going to be a failure, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I highly doubt they’ve killed Bucky, honestly, I believe what you said – he’s their asset, they’ll brainwash him and put him right back into service,” Sam agreed on a lower note, reminding him of the time pressure residing on their shoulders.

“That’s another possibility too. I mean, we could get there in time, swoop in and steal him from their hands, but what if it’s already too late? What if they’ve wiped him until the name Steve Rogers is worthless… And I don’t want to go back to being worthless to him. We’ve gone through so much, Sam. And he recovered so well… I just don’t want to see him suffer regression and recovery all over again. Relapses like that would be hell for the both of us,” Steve sighed deep with woe.

“I can’t tell you that’s not a possibility, because it is – but I’m sure, that if that’s what happens, you’ll find a way around it. You’ll help him recover in record time, having already had the experience of helped him before,” Sam kindly reminded him; trying to motivate him for his mission and encourage positive thoughts of confidence and capability.

“I just really don’t want that,” Steve complained, putting his head in his hands, stressing at the potential scenario.

“No one would want that…” Sam stressed. “But at least in that scenario, he’d still be alive. And for that you should always be grateful.”

Then there was a bleeping on the radar, a pulsating dot appeared on the corner of the nav, moving inwards towards the Quinjet. It flickered on and off as the expanding hoop of the radar burst from the centre of the screen and spread outwards like a ripple in a pond. It blipped, having been an unidentified object of unknown origin.

“Hold up, what the hell is that?” Sam hissed, squinting at the map, seeing the incoming rogue object.

It was catching up at great speed, homing in accurately. It appeared to be tailing them without fault and aimed with precision.