Tough Love

*I Started Writing This Before Civil War Came Out*

After finding Bucky in an abandoned warehouse with his arm stuck in a machine, Sam and Steve take him to Tony to get his arm fixed up. Almost immediately, the realize that fixing Bucky is going to be harder than they expected. He doesn't know who he is, can't do anything for himself, and barely talks. He see's Steve as his handler, which isn't how Steve wants to be seen.
Bucky slowly learns to trust Steve, talking more, and, eventually, he learns to love.

~OR~

Bucky is super fucked up and Steve just wants what's best for him.
(Cover art belongs to its owners, and cover made on the Moldiv app)

*Battle of the Fandoms Comics Entry*

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12. Chapter Eleven

Bucky's POV

 

As we sat and ate breakfast the next morning, Steve's phone started to ring and I jumped at the sudden sound.

"It's only Sam, Buck. Don't worry." Steve accepted the call and stood up, walking from the kitchen and into the living room. I didn't follow so he could have some privacy, but I still heard everything that Steve said, even though he spoke quietly.

"Hey, Sam...Things are good...Okay, no, but things are manageable...He's doing good, he remembered some things that happened during the war...Yeah, World War II. He slept on my floor last night and woke me up from a nightmare...I was crashing into the ocean...Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry...I told him about the dream and he filled in some of the details of the things that happened before...Yeah, I know, that that's a great thing, it's just something that he said at the end...He thinks I'm his handler...Yeah, and I don't know when he'll understand that, but I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually...I hope so too...Okay, have fun. Talk to you tomorrow...Bye."

As Steve walked back into the kitchen, I started eating once again but I had the feeling that Steve knew I was listening. I was thankful that he didn't say anything though, and that he didn't punish me.

~~~

I walked into Steve's room with my pillow and blanket like I had the past three nights. Sleeping in his room made me feel safe and it helped with my nightmares, which was good.

As I sat on the ground by the wall, Steve walked out of the bathroom and laid on the bed.

He let out a sigh. "Buck, you don't have to sleep on the floor since I know it's uncomfortable," he said and my heart beat sped up. Was he about to ask me to join him? Was he about to prove his love to me?

"The bed's big enough for two, hell, three even. So," he softly patted the spot next to him. "You're more than welcome to join."

As I stood up and climbed into bed, I was filled with excitement. This was finally going to happen.

I immediately straddled Steve, reaching my hand down and starting to palm him through his boxers.

"Buck, what are you doing!?" Steve shouts, startling me.

"Getting you hard," I said, confused, stopping my hand movements at the tone of Steve's voice.

Steve was wide-eyed. "Why?"

"Because we're sharing a bed. That mean's sex," I stated, not understanding why Steve was so shocked about this. Whenever I'd shared a bed with my other handlers, they'd show their love for me by having sex with me.

"No, it doesn't," Steve said, sitting, I was still on his lap. "Two people can share a bed without having sex."

I didn't understand.

Steve didn't want to have sex with me?

Does he not love me?

Tears start to fill my eyes and I crawls off Steve, muttering the words, "I'm just going to sleep on the couch."

I walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me. I went to the hall closet and grabbed a pillow and blanket. Wiping away my tears that had started to fall, I walked down stairs and headed to the couch.

As I laid down, the negative thoughts filled my head once more.

He thinks I'm hideous.

He doesn't love me.

He thinks of me as a burden.

Tears streamed down my face as I fell asleep.

~~~

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, bleeding all over from where my punches landed. "Please!" I ignored him.

"Stop!" I did nothing but beat him to the floor.

"I'm your friend," he begged, not fighting me back.

"You are not my friend," I growled, my metal first flying straight down at his chest, puncturing his skin and going through flesh and bone. I pulled out the still beating organ. "I have no friends."

I dropped the still heart of Captain America onto the floor next to me.

~~~

I woke up in a sweat, shaking.

"No," I mumbled, tears in my eyes. I got out of the blanket that I was tangled in, throwing my shirt off of me as soon as I could, sitting up and gripping the edge of my metal arm with my flesh one.

"No," I whispered, tears now flowing down. I scratching at where skin met metal.

I started to bleed; both my fingers and my shoulder started to bleed.

"No," I said sternly, letting out a quiet sob. I started pulling at my shoulder, trying to rip it off but it wasn't budging.

I got up and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the drawer.

I put the blade as far under the metal as I could and started trying to pry it away.

I let out a cry of pain, one that would've gotten my beat by my previous handlers. I couldn't be weak in front of them.

Blood was sliding down the left side of my torso, getting smudged on my right side as I carved at my shoulder.

I noticed Steve as soon as he started walking towards me and I started to sob harder. He moved slowly as he grabs a washcloth off the counter. He softly grabbed the knife out of my grip and tossed it into the sink, it clattering as it lands.

He presses the cloth up against my gash and pulled out his phone and calls someone. I couldn't make out what he was saying because my crying drowned everything else out.

Steve doesn't say anything, he just kept pressure on the bleeding area, so after I calmed down, which took a while, I spoke.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Not a problem," he responded without hesitation. "You're never a problem." He paused. "But you want to tell me what this was all about?"

I shook my head and Steve let out a sigh. "Well, Tony will be here soon with Bruce to help."

"Bruce?" I asked, fear filling me at the thought of meeting someone else.

"He's another friend."

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