“Take it easy,” Murph said gently. He kept flicking worried looks up and down Crank’s body. “Take it easy, Crank, okay? Can you hear me?”

Just about, Crank thought, knowing his mind was moving too slowly, struggling to piece everything together.

Where had they just been? The sky, surely - Murph was in his flight suit, dirtied from what could only have been a parachute landing. Had Crank jumped too?

No, that didn’t feel right. He tried to focus, but it sent a wave of painful nausea through him, and all he could summon was a feeling of swooping fear and the certainty that he was about to die. The last minute wave of peace that must have struck him right after the realization, some latent faith in the mercy of God that his Judgement would be fair. Trying to search himself beyond that felt like trying to peel his skull apart. The pain of it, and the steadily growing awareness of his own body, forced a wheeze out of his mouth. His tongue wouldn’t form the words he wanted, the questions he needed to ask his navigator.

Murph looked pleadingly up at somebody Crank couldn’t see. There was murmuring in what sounded like German, getting slowly closer.

When they lifted him, the world slipped away.

It’s hot in the desert, and Bucky’s hands are on him, inside of him, his mouth burning trails over his skin. There’s laughter in his ear and soft words, and teeth digging into the tender flesh of his neck and shoulder. Crank can’t see anything but he sighs and arches and reaches for Bucky in return, tries to catch him but only slides his fingers through shadows.

And then freezing England, all of Crank’s saints sitting in judgement, the cold of Bucky’s voice as he asks ‘Are you flying today or not?’, the unfamiliar flint in his commands that makes the hair on the back of Crank’s neck stand up.

‘Yes, sir’, and Cranks mouth is full of bile, burning his throat and tongue at billowing white parachutes tumbling from a burning fort, one two three four five six seven eight-

“Y’alright, you’re alright, just breathe, please just breathe, Crankshaft, please-”

Not Bucky’s voice, this one young and Southern and scared, thin hands on Crank’s face turning him so the bile fell out of his open mouth and he could take in air again.

The ringing in his ears had gone, but the thick sourness in his mouth had only gotten worse, and Crank forced his eyes open despite the weight of his eyelids.

“M’ph?”

Christ, but his worst hangover had nothing on this. He felt leaden all over, like he had rusted solid. Murph was beside him, looking slightly cleaner but even more worried, his hands still on Crank’s face.

“Here, I’m here. C’mere, drink this.”

He let go of Crank to pick up a cup and bring it to his mouth. Lukewarm water washed away the worst of the buildup of blood and stomach acid. Breathing came slightly easier, and Crank caught his breath before attempting to speak again.

“What happened?” He rasped. 

His eyes were still adjusting. They weren’t outside any more. There were gray walls encompassing them, a metal door closing them in. Crank was laid on a low cot of some kind, Murph crouched so they were eye-to-eye.

“German MPs came an’ got us, moved us here. You weren’t wakin’ up enough to do a medical on, so they let me stay with you in case you got worse,” Murph explained.

It didn’t answer for all the dark spots in Crank’s memory, but it gave him enough to work backwards.

“We jumped?” He asked.

Murph’s face creased into even more of a frown.

“I did, but you musta stayed with her all the way down. Found you just outside the wreck. Pure luck the fort hit so close.”

Fragments came back to him like snatches of dreams; the fort’s controls going mushy on him, the nosedive she kept wanting to dip into, hitting the bailout bell and yelling at Glenn to get out and take the boys in the nose with him. 

No wonder he felt like shit. It was a miracle he was even alive.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Without thinking, he tried to sit up, but only managed to raise his head before his whole body protested and he had to drop back down with a curse. He took deep breaths through the pain, and then started again more slowly, flexing his fingers and working from there. His ribs ached, and his shoulders, and his neck. There was a constant, pounding pain through his skull.

When he tried to curl his toes, his stomach dropped. He tried again. The same result. His foot wouldn’t flex, and his ankles wouldn’t turn. He tried to will his knee to raise, or his hips to shift, but nothing below his navel was responding.

With his heart crawling up into his throat, he tried to shuffle himself up into a position that would let him see the length of himself. It was difficult, and painful, but everything seemed to be there. Like staring at them would make them work, Crank tried again to force some movement into the limbs.

They stayed as still as if he was still unconscious. They didn’t even hurt, he realized.

“What? What is it?” Murph asked hurriedly, frightened by the sudden way Crank had moved and then stopped, hands hovering around him like he wanted to help but didn’t want to accidentally hurt him more.

Trying to swallow his panic, Crank fixed his eyes on the space just above the tips of his shoes.

“Can’t feel my legs, Frank,” he croaked. “I can’t feel my legs. Can’t move ‘em.”

A long, silent moment stretched between them. Then Frank was scrambling upright.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” he said, not at all convincingly. He walked over to the metal door and started pounding on it. “Hey! We need a doctor in here! Hey!”

Fear lodged in his throat like a rock, Crank laid himself back down. He stared at the gray ceiling through increasingly blurry eyes, and decided God wasn't that merciful afterall.

Quietly, he started to undress, kicking off his shoes and peeling off the jacket of his dress uniform. He left them where they dropped. It was a nearly seven hour drive from base - cleaning up could be a job for when he wasn’t coming down hard from the coffee he had needed to get him to the New England coast.

When Bucky looked again the snoring had stopped. Crank had one eye cracked open lazily.

“‘S late,” he said, muffled where he hadn't moved an inch.

“It's early,” Bucky corrected him. The clock on the bedside table had it as almost five in the morning. Dawn was casting a faint blue light over the world, and through the curtains. “Drove through the night.”

Crank made another muffled noise and raised his head slightly, like he was trying to force himself awake.

“E'rything alright?” He asked.

“Everything's fine. Just missed you.”

Another noise, this one decidedly pleased, and Crank's nose scrunched as he managed a smile before dropping his head back down on the pillow.

“Missed you too.” Still not moving from where he was taking up most of the considerable space, he sighed. “You comin’ to bed?”

Bucky wanted to, more than anything, but he felt sweaty and grimy from the road and knew he would wake up worse for ignoring it. It wouldn't be appreciated by the man already in the bed, either - Crank got prickly about being clean the same way he did about not being able to see an exit. He had scrubbed his hands bloody in an effort to get dirt out from under his nails after working in the garden too many times to count.

“Soon. Gonna shower first.” Bucky leaned over to pat Crank's ass. Appreciated the give of it, the soft proof of good living they had been managing together. “Don't go anywhere.”

After a sleepy noise of assent, Bucky headed to the bathroom and stripped off properly, not even bothering with the light. This had been his home long enough for him to navigate the whole place by touch alone if he had to, and he was grateful now for not needing to be blinded by the bare bulb that swung sadly in the center of the room. 

They kept meaning to get some kind of shade for it, but then a floorboard would collapse or the roof would spring a leak or the wiring would go on the fritz, and it dropped back down to the bottom of the list. At least the place was habitable now. The plumbing worked more often than not, and the windows stayed shut when a breeze went by, and, most of the time, nobody was at risk of dropping through to the basement when they walked through the living room. A marked improvement to when Crank first moved out here, and Bucky came chasing after.

He showered quickly, knowing they would need the hot water again in a few hours, and roughly dried himself off with a towel. It was warm enough that he didn't bother redressing to cross back to the bedroom. What was the point of practically rebuilding this old house if he didn't get to enjoy some quality time with his fella in it?

Crank still hadn't moved, and Bucky couldn't help smiling at the way his breathing had gone back to that deep almost-snore that meant he was teetering on sleep again. 

The lazy stretch of his frame was increasingly enticing, too, and he climbed onto the mattress to kneel over Crank before lowering his head to press his mouth to the line of his spine, just above the waistband of his boxers. He kept placing kisses there, slowly moving his head up vertebrae by vertebrae until he was at his shoulder blades. His skin tasted like salt and faintly of soap. 

He must have had a bath before bed, and even though he was beyond exhausted Bucky felt himself stir a little. It was ridiculous - Crank had no idea he was going to be home by now - but he wondered if he took a little time to himself once he was clean, if he slipped a hand down between his legs and opened himself up thinking about Bucky. It was something he had confessed to before, when Bucky had been fingering him open and asked how Crank kept himself occupied when he wasn't around.

He turned his last kiss, at that point where the spine became neck, into a gentle bite. Crank responded with a sleepy grumble.

“Tired,” he complained, reaching one hand back to swat at Bucky. “Sleep.”

Bucky laughed and nipped at him again before dropping all of his weight onto the body below him. His cock had gone soft again, but it wasn’t about that. It was about burying his face in the crook of Crank’s neck and breathing him in and feeling their chests rise and fall together. He knew he only had a minute before one of Crank’s sharp elbows found his ribs, and he savored it before rolling away and onto the only sliver of mattress Crank wasn’t currently occupying.

“Gotta let me have some of the mattress if you want me to sleep, Charlie,” he teased.

Crank heaved a beleaguered sigh and did his own roll onto his usual side of the bed. It gave Bucky enough room to flop comfortably down on his belly, but as soon as he was settled, Crank rolled back again to drape over him. 

Bucky laughed into his pillow, and he could feel Crank laughing with him against his back. This was good. Comforting. Almost too warm, but Bucky would take that over the alternative any day. A kiss landed on the bare skin of his shoulder.

“Glad you’re back,” Crank said sleepily.