Re: log: steve rogers, tony stark, winter soldier
Steve stared down the barrel of that gun, unwavering. There was a point of surprise, but it faded like a bad photograph, and Steve ignored the threat of a bullet to the brainpan. He caught the tremor of Bucky's arm, the slowness that oozed where blood left, and he tried to take stock of his friend's injuries. He didn't know what file the man was looking for, and he didn't care. If he had been a soldier on a battefield, he'd be supposed to care—if could be pertinent, it could endanger countless lives, but war receded in muted colors, just for a second, dulling even the bulb of red that followed Bucky, growing blacker, until it was just the man himself and Steve.
He didn't want to have to incapacitate the other man, injured as he was, but he knew the desperation of Mission, and he knew Bucky would try to fight him, he would try with every ounce of strength he had left to get to the lone door behind Steve, and it couldn't get that far.
"Please, Buck. Don't make me do this." There was pain to his words, but he bit down on his own hesitation. He flicked his comm on as subtly as he knew how, and he spoke—not to Tony, but still to the man with the gun. If his voice came in clear, static-free, to Tony, it was to help guide him to where they were, to tell him what had happened. "We need to put pressure on your wounds. Let me help you."