Summary: With Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes at the helm, squad 51 is the top firehouse in Brooklyn. They risk their lives on a daily basis, running toward the danger instead of away from it, doing everything in their power to ensure the safety of the public.
During one particularly treacherous call, Bucky literally pulls you from the flames and saves your life. Wanting to thank the men and women of squad 51 – and put a face to the voice you hear in your dreams – you bake up some goodies, and find yourself falling for the grey-eyed fireman.
Word Count: 1,497
Warnings for the series: Language, talk of blood and injury, angst, fluff, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: GIF found on Google Images without a source.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Brooklyn was a beautiful city at any time of the day, but it was exceptional after the sun went down. The lack of natural light gave the city a feeling of goth and grit as the shadows extended until everything in their path was consumed, leaving nothing but the dark.
Most people were creeped out by it, said that the hairs on the back of their neck and arms stood, that goosebumps dotted their skin, that they felt as if someone were following close behind. But for Bucky, it was his favorite time of the day. Without all the hustle and bustle of traffic and hordes of people, Bucky could think clearly. Well, clearer than at any other time of the day.
Tonight, however, there was only one thing on Bucky’s mind; pulling as many people as he could out of the flames that were currently threatening to consume a ten-level apartment building.
“Fire department,” he hollered. “Call out!”
Steve was behind him, groaning at the oppressive heat that was coming at them from all sides. “Fire department, call out if you can hear us.”
“Christ, I can barely see anything with all this smoke,” Bucky ground out. Sweat was dripping down from his hairline and it was starting to itch, mainly on his face. He stomped down the urge to rip off his mask and swipe it away.
“One of the many hazards of a fire,” Steve said dryly.
Bucky pushed open a door, jumping back when flames leapt at him. “Fire department,” he called out roughly as he entered the apartment. Everything was consumed by the flames; mementoes of whoever lived there, items that could never be replaced.
“Barnes, Rogers, you find anyone?” Chief Fury demanded to know.
Steve pressed the button on the radio on his shoulder. “Negative.”
“Then hurry it up,” he ordered his men. “I don’t want you in there when it comes down.”
Bucky was grinding his teeth as he continued to clear the rooms. “Then get the hoses in here.”
“We’re doing the best we can,” Sam said, his voice tight.
“What’s the hold up?” Steve asked as he checked his oxygen level.
Before Sam could answer, Bucky was holding up his fist. “Fire department, call out.”
“Help me, please,” someone cried from across the hall.
“We got someone, Chief,” Bucky said before bolting out of the apartment and busting down the door across the hall.
The flames weren’t as bad in the unit, but both men knew it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. They needed to find whoever it was, and fast. Both men went to call out, to find out exactly where they needed to go, when the voice called out again.
“I… I’m back here, in the bed… bedroom.”
Bucky entered the room first, eyes scanning, trying to see through the thick smoke. “Where are you?”
A hand shot out from the other side of the bed, shaking almost as much as its owners vice. “Here. Please, help.”
“We’ve got you,” Steve said when he dropped to his knees.
“Are you hurt?” Bucky wanted to know as he crouched down next to the man on the floor.
Shaking his head, he pointed to his tipped over wheelchair. “I’m a paraplegic, can’t walk. I… I knocked it over when I was getting out of bed,” his voice cracked as tears clouded his vision.
The building was groaning and shifting, the wooden beams splintering as the flames ate away at them, and if the loud crash in the apartment next door was any indication, Bucky and Steve didn’t have much time. Without another word, Steve moved the man into a sitting position and secured his arms around his chest. Bucky grabbed the man’s legs before the firemen stood and carried him out of the apartment, down five levels of stairs – which wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, and onto the sidewalk.
Clint and Nat rushed over, their medkits on top of a gurney they were pulling between them.
“What do we got?” Clint demanded to know.
Steve had just ripped off his hat and mask. “Paraplegic male with smoke inhalation. Possibly some secondary injuries from falling.”
Nat placed an oxygen mask over the man’s nose and mouth as Clint took his pulse. “What about you guys? You were in there for a while.”
“We’re fine, Nat,” Bucky gruffed, swiping a hand over his face. “Just take care of him.”
Rolling her eyes, Nat turned her attention back to the coughing man on the gurney. Clint didn’t like what he was hearing in the stethoscope.
Clint snapped his fingers to get Nat’s attention. “You hear me, Red?”
“What?!” she hissed at her boyfriend.
“We gotta get him to med,” was what he said instead of telling her not to talk to him like that. Not that she’d listen. Stubborn woman.
“So, let’s go,” Nat grumbled as she glared at Bucky, who was shoving his facemask back into place.
When Bucky moved to step around him, Fury shook his head and clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re not going back in. The fire is getting too big.”
“There are still people in there,” Bucky argued. “We can still save them.”
Jarvis, the squad’s Lieutenant, was in complete agreement with the chief. “The south side is completely taken over, kid. We’re pulling everyone out.”
It was Steve’s turn to disagree. “We’ll check out the north side. It’s not as bad over there.”
Sam and Pietro exited the building, the hose turned off, water dripping out of the end. Behind them were Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, Peter Quill, and Tony Stark, all of them sweating behind their masks, none of them carrying any tenants out of the apartment building.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Fury bit out as Bucky stalked toward the truck.
“I’m switching out my oxygen,” was his clipped answer. “And then, I’m going back in.”
Jarvis stepped in front of Bucky, a determined look in his eyes. “No, kid. You’re not.”
“Get out of the way, Vis,” Bucky growled.
Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on, Buck. Don’t do this.”
Bucky shrugged out of his friend’s grip. “There are people in there, Stevie.”
“I know that, Buck,” he insisted soberly. “But if Vis is telling us it’s not safe…”
The men and women of station 51 believed that Jarvis was psychic on some level. Nothing crazy like predicting what the next Powerball numbers were going to be, or the exact time of someone’s death, but if he said not to go into a burning building, then you didn’t go.
“Fine,” Bucky said through his teeth. “What do we do next?”
Fury gave a sigh as he took in the shape of his weary crew. “Do everything in our power to make sure the fire doesn’t spread.”
Sitting on a stool at Wanda’s bar, a place each member of the squad owned a share in, Bucky was nursing a beer. Steve was next to him, a beer in his hands as well, staring nowhere in particular.
Wanda, with a rag over her shoulder and her hair pulled back into a braid, approached the duo with a timid smile. “Rough day?” she inquired softly.
“Always is,” Bucky sighed.
“It was a complete loss,” Steve continued since Bucky wasn’t divulging anymore information.
Wanda gave a groan of sorrow. “I’m sorry, boys. Next round’s on me, okay?” She pulled out two bottles of beer, uncapped them, and set them in front of the two friends. “And if you decide you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Her brother, Pietro, was at the other end of the bar, a small brown-paper-wrapped box in his hands. She gave a small shriek before launching herself across the bar and hugging him tight.
“Ah, shit,” Bucky ground out. “It’s her birthday. I didn’t get her anything.”
“Sure ya did,” Steve said as he bumped Bucky’s shoulder with his. “We all pitched in a few bucks a couple weeks back, ‘member?”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”
The two drank in silence, well, as much silence as one could expect while inside a semi-busy bar. Wanda’s was the place where Brooklyn’s finest firefighters, EMT’s, doctors, nurses, and police officer’s hung out to unwind from their day. It was where they had their first dates, and their second, maybe even their third. They brought their families when they were visiting, bragging about owning a part of a fine establishment. There were Superbowl parties, gatherings after funerals and promotions, birthday and anniversary parties; anything and everything in between.
Their jobs went beyond comradery, it was a family. And as everyone knows, you can love your family, but you don’t have to like them, or get along with them most of the time.
Just as Scott and Hope approached the bar, Bucky pushed away, drained his beer, and strode out without so much as a goodbye to Steve.
TWO
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