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.


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*


9. Chapter Eight

Steve's POV


I took those words to heart immediately. He sounded so sad, so broken.

Just because he's unarmed doesn't mean he's not dangerous, but he doesn't feel safe without a weapon. I told him to wait here and I went down the two flights of stairs to the lab where I went into Bucky's backpack that we kept down there. Wanting to give Bucky the choice, I brought the backpack upstairs with me.

I knew that Bucky knew I was coming, but I knocked on the door before entering.

"Steve?" he asked and I walked in. His eyes lit up when he saw his bag of weapons. He reached out for it, but before I handed it to him, I gave him a very short talk.

"I'm giving you this to make you feel safe, and because I trust you not to use it on me or anyone of our friends."

"Friends?" he asked, confused. It was like he didn't know the word.

"Yeah, friends. Sam, Tony, Natasha, and others that you'll probably meet eventually." He nodded and I continued. "I just have one rule for you."

"What is it?"

"Don't shoot anyone unless I tell you too. Now, you just get one, but you get to choose, okay?" I said and he nodded. I handed him the backpack and he dug through it for a few seconds before pulling out a Hydra-made pistol.

Part of me felt like he was immediately going to turn it on me and shoot me in the head, and another part of me trusted my best friend with the weapon, but all of me was surprised when he turned around and tucked it under his pillow.

"Thank you, Steve, for trusting me."

I smiled at him. "Any time."


Giving Bucky a gun was the right decision. Well, up until the time that he pointed it at me.

Given, it wasn't his fault, it was just a reflex.

It was the two nights later when he had another nightmare. 

I woke up to the sound of someone whimpering in what could only be fear. Now, I've always been a light sleeper, but I'm not so sure that I heard the sound of Bucky in fear so much as I felt it.

When I got to his room to wake him up, he wasn't thrashing around like he was the other night, he was just shaking and his head was turning back and forth, like he was trying to get out of something. He was whimpering and letting out small 'no's' of protest as the clamminess of his face became more and more prominent. He started breathing heavier and heavier to the point that he was going to start hyperventilating and so I did the only thing I could do; which was wake him up.

I'm not sure what exactly I did to get a gun pointed at my face, but my hands when up in surrender immediately. Thankfully, Bucky didn't pull the trigger, he just kept the thing pointed at my face until his breathing started to slow down.

"S-Steve?" he stuttered, dropping the gun back onto the bed. "I-I'm sorry." Bucky looked terrified, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I hugged him.

I held him close to me and whispered, "It's okay," over and over again until his breathing evened out and the shaking stopped. "It's okay."


When Bucky came downstairs for breakfast in the morning, I could see the outline of the gun tucked into the back of his sweatpants.

"I-I'm sorry about pointing my gun at you last night," he said, pulling the gun out and placing it in front of me on the table. "I understand if you want to take it back."

I picked up the weapon in front of me and studied it. "What type of gun is this?" I asked, looking up at Bucky who was standing over me.

"It's called 'Hedie,' because the bullets are coated in poison so even if it's a graze, you'll still die," Bucky explained with an eerie smile on his face.

"Hedie?" I asked and he nodded. "He-die?" I said slowly and Bucky nodded.

"It's one of the most deadly guns they've made since the Forties, and so they kept the name simple, so even the 'idiots who use the gun' could remember the name."

I chuckled and I saw small grin playing at the corners of Bucky's lips. "Buck," I said, handing the gun back to him, "I trust you with this. And if you keep having nightmares, you can always sleep in my room."


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