From Darkness

I stayed with Ivan until we were ready to move him into the car. Bucky knew the car he'd stolen would likely be picked up quickly, so we made plans to find another one as soon as we were in town. Ivan stayed asleep as I got another shirt on him. It was cold outside, and I didn't want his fever to make him go into shock. So I prepared with blankets and waited for Bucky and Dana to get the car ready to go.

Bucky came in with one of Dana's coats and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then the two of us got to work on getting Ivan out of bed. Only when Bucky lifted his torso, he cried out in pain. Bucky dropped him and looked at me. I was trying to carry his legs. I knew Bucky would take most of his weight, but I couldn't stand back this time.

"Just do it," I instructed. There was no way we'd be able to get him into the car without pain. I just had to hope it didn't rupture something. So he lifted him again, ignoring the obvious pain he was causing, and we got him to the car.

Bucky was much better at getting him situated than I was. Only that he had to practically hold Ivan like a child. He woke up just long enough to tell us to stop treating him like a baby. Once Bucky got him in the backseat, I slid in beside him so I could watch over him.

"Fucking hell," he muttered as I checked his wounds. He was bleeding profusely again. But coherent.

"You okay?" I asked.

"M'fine," he said. But he kept his eyes pinched shut.

"Should I turn the heat down?" Bucky asked, sliding into the driver's seat.

"We'll wait until his body adjusts and then see how it goes. The cold could have shocked his system," I informed him.

"Got it."

He got the car moving toward the road, and I watched the older woman standing out front. We didn't even say goodbye. I was pretty sure Bucky had already packed everything we owned with the intent to disappear as soon as we got Ivan to a hospital with Dana. Probably even sooner. I'd probably never see either of them again. And I didn't even know her real name. Didn't even get to call her "babulia" like she wanted.

"How is he doing? Does he need water?" Dana asked from the front seat. I shook my head.

"We'll wait awhile. He'll need to get comfortable again after being moved," I explained. "I don't know if we made the damage worse by moving him."

She nodded and rested her head on the back of the seat. I was uncomfortably wedged between her seat and the back. At least my hand wasn't cuffed this time. I chewed on my lip as I watched him sleep. His breaths were shallow and strained. His skin had gone red and patchy again.

"We could just call Stark," Bucky suggested. "It might take him a while to get here if he's in the states. It'll give us a head start. Call him and run."

"It'll take longer for Stark to get here than it would for us to get to a hospital. We can have Dana call him once they're situated. If that's okay with you."

"It's fine," she said.

"It's going to be a while, babe," Bucky reminded me. He'd never called me that before. I would have been startled if my stomach wasn't in knots.

"I know."

The car went silent again. I kept Ivan's hand in mine even though it was limp. I lifted my knees and stared at the floor. No one bothered with music or radio or anything else. We stayed quiet as we drove along through the trees. It seemed to go on forever. All I could do was wait.

It was only about ten minutes before I realized something was wrong. Ivan's hand was still clutched tightly in mine, but usually holding a feverish person's hand resulted in clammy palms. That was the moment I realized his temperature had dropped. I couldn't hear him struggling to breathe. My head shot up.

"Stop the car," I said.

"What?" Bucky replied.

"He's not breathing." I put my hands on Ivan's face, feeling along his neck for a pulse. The car halted, and I jerked against the seat but quickly shook it off. "Pull the seat up. I need more room."

"Jo."

"Just do it."

They both moved their seats up and climbed out to give me room. I got right to work on compressions. I could hear the sound of Dana crying, and the far-off call of night birds in the woods, Bucky's boots on the gravel before he got the door opened at Ivan's head. I counted in my head. Compressions. Breaths. Compressions. I kept going until Bucky's hand reached out to stop me.

"Jo," he said. I shook my head, not wanting him to finish his sentence. "He's gone. He's not coming back."

"No, I can do it. I just need more time."

"There isn't any. You did everything you could."

"We can still jump-start his heart. I can do it."

"We don't have the equipment for it. Even if we did—it's already too late."

When I was younger, and my grandpa died, I felt hollow and empty without him. Like there was a big part of me he'd taken with him. I didn't even cry at his funeral. I dove headfirst into schoolwork. Even started helping around the house. I did everything I could to keep busy and keep my mind off of that emptiness. My mom said everyone mourned differently, and eventually, the numbness would fade. Slowly. Piece-by-piece.

But that's not how it happened at all. It hit suddenly. Like a bullet right to my heart. I could feel the same pain now. The crushing weight of my mistakes collapsed over me. Ivan didn't move. He didn't breathe. He was just gone.

I shoved Bucky out of the way and scrambled out of the car. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing. Just that I had to get away. I couldn't breathe.

"Jo, where are you going?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I couldn't get anything to come out of my mouth. I just walked up the road and didn't stop. I did everything I could to swallow the emotions. Give myself an objective so that I had something to focus on before it consumed me. That's how I survived. It's how I persevered. But it wasn't progress. It wasn't healthy. And it just wasn't enough to keep the pain away.

It hit all at once and hard enough to make me trip over my own feet. I dropped to the road, wrapped my arms around my head, and then I was crying. And I didn't care who saw me. I just couldn't hold it back anymore.