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*

4Likes
4Comments
3112Views
AA

13. Chapter Tweleve

Steve's POV

 

Bucky walked into my room with stuff to sleep like he had been doing for the past three nights now. I think that sleeping in my room helped with his nightmares since he hadn't had any since he started sleeping in my room.

I was happy that I made him feel safe.

I saw Bucky sitting on the floor getting 'comfortable' and I walked out of the bathroom.

As I laid on the bed, I let out a sigh.

"Buck, you don't have to sleep on the floor since I know it's uncomfortable," I said and Bucky looked...odd. "The bed's big enough for two, hell, three even. "So," I patted the spot next to me softly, "You're more than welcome to join."

As Bucky stood up, climbing into bed, he looked excited.

That's when he straddled me, reaching his hand down and palming me through my boxers. "Buck!"  I shouted, startling him. "What are you doing!?"

"Getting you hard," he said, confused, but he stopped his hand movements.

"Why?" I asked, astonished at what was happening.

"Because we're sharing a bed. That mean's sex," he stated.

"No, it doesn't," I said, sitting up even though Bucky was still on my lap. I wanted to be at eye level. "Two people can share a bed without having sex."

He didn't seem to understand.

His eyes filled with tears as he crawled off of me, muttering.

I caught the word, "couch," as Bucky walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I laid in bed, confused, thinking back to all the things I read in the Winter Soldier's files. I remembered briefly reading things like 'Reward him in after missions by Sierra Six.' Which I knew was code for something, but it might've been code for sex.

I shivered at the thought.

~~~

I didn't sleep that night. All the horrible thoughts of the things that had happened to Bucky filled my mind.

It was around two in the morning when a cry of pain caught my attention. I immediately got up and left my room. As I went down the stairs, I expected to see Bucky flailing on the couch from another nightmare, but he wasn't there, which caused me to be really worried.

I ran down the rest of the stairs and went straight into the kitchen since it was the only other place on the main floor.

I froze in the doorway.

Bucky was standing, well leaning on the counter, shirtless, but that's not what caused me to freeze. The entire left side of his torso, and some of his right side, was covered in blood.

It was all coming from the seam of his left arm, where metal met flesh.

Bucky held a knife with bleeding fingers as he tried to cut and pry the arm away.

I slowly walked up to him and he noticed me for the first time. Tears were streaming down his face as sobs broke out.

As I neared him, I grabbed a washcloth off the counter and carefully took the knife out of his bloody grip. I tossed the knife into the sink so it was far away and I put the washcloth on Bucky's shoulder, pressing it firmly.

He kept sobbing.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Tony.

"What's wrong?" Was the first thing he said. He probably heard the sobbing in the background.

"Bucky's trying to rip his arm off and it's really bloody," I stated.

"I'll be right there and I'll bring Bruce," Tony rushed out and I hung up the phone, setting it back on the counter since it now had blood on it.

I didn't say anything to Bucky, I just kept the pressure on the wound so he wouldn't bleed out.

When he started to calm down, Bucky spoke. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Not a problem," I said without hesitation. "You're never a problem," I stated. "But you want to tell me what this was all about?" He shook his head and I sighed. "Well, Tony will be here soon with Bruce to help."

"Bruce?" Bucky asked, eyes widening.

"He's another friend."

It was less than thirty minutes before Tony and Bruce walked in the front door with bags of stuff and directed Buck and me to the lab.

Bruce immediately wiped Bucky off and hooked Bucky up to give him more blood as Tony started removing the arm.

They worked in near silence and I was too afraid to interrupt them to ask what they were doing. Bucky just laid there, not saying anything.

Tony was there for the mechanics and Bruce was there for everything else. He gave Bucky a shot of morphine and numbed the area that Tony was working on. He had wanted to put Bucky under anesthesia, but Bucky was too afraid of that, so he just laid there high as a kite and awake.

It took two hours for the arm to be removed and the shoulder to be stitched up and wrapped. Tony said that he hadn't finished the new arm yet, but was only about a week or so away from it being done.

Before they left, Bruce gave me some healing cream that I was supposed to apply to Bucky's shoulder twice a day, starting in the morning.

It was going to take about thirty more minutes for the morphine to exit Bucky's system, but he didn't want to move so I just sat by him as he laid on the table.

"I had a dream," Bucky said suddenly, "Where I used my arm to rip out your heart. It scared me. I don't want that to happen," Bucky said, tearing up.

That stunned me. It stunned me that he was sharing this with me. It was probably the drugs, but it was still unexpected. "Is that why you tried to rip your arm off?" I asked and he nodded.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, a tear slipping down his face.

"You don't have to worry about that," I said, matching his volume. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeated. "You're my mission," he said softly, but I still stiffened at the words, that is, until he continued talking, "And you've been my mission my entire life. 'Take care of Stevie. Don't let him get hurt.'"

 
Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...