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*


15. Chapter Fourteen

Steve's POV


"Hey Steve," Bucky said, knocking on my/our opened bedroom door; I kept it open so Bucky knew he was always welcomed. "Can we spar?"

"Wanna try out your new arm?" I asked and he nodded.

"Yeah, I haven't practiced fighting with it, but I think I'm used to the weight of it enough to put up a decent fight," he said as I got out of bed, walking to my closet and changing into workout clothes to match what Bucky was wearing.

We walked down to the back yard and got into our fighting stances.

During the middle of our fight, a firework went off. Bucky doesn't miss a beat as he lunged forward and tackled me to the ground, pinning me down as he looks around us, surveying the area and looking for the threat.

"Bucky!" I yell. "It's okay!" He looks down at me, scared and confused. "It's just a firework!"

"A what?" he asked, not understanding.

Another one goes off and he pushes me further into the ground on reflex. I reach my hands up and grab his in my own. I move them from my shoulders and I sit up, pushing him up with me. I point to the sky as another one goes off.

"Firework?" He asked and I nodded.

"Yeah, people light them for the Fourth of July and the week leading up to it," I explained and he turned and looked at me. We were both now sitting by each other on the ground.

"It sounds like gun shots," he said, his voice slightly shaking.

I frowned. "I know, and I don't like the sound either. But don't worry, the fireworks won't hurt us, it's just the sound that's bad."

Another one goes off.

"Let's go inside," I tell him, standing up. I reach my hand out to him and he reaches back and I pull him until he's standing.

Another firework goes off and he flinches again.

I put my arm around his shoulder and pull him closer to my body and he relaxes, feeling more safe and secure.


"You know," I said to Bucky as we laid in our bed as the fireworks went off. He was pressed to me, hiding his face in my shoulder, his arms squeezing harder around me each time a firework exploded. "You used to tell me that the fireworks on the Fourth of July were just for me."

He looked up at me. "Why would I say that?"

I looked down at him. "Because today is my birthday," I stated and his eyes widened.

"How old are you?" He asked and I chuckled.

"Somewhere around one hundred," I told him and he looked confused.

"How old am I?"

"Somewhere are there too. Don't forget, we were both frozen for an extended period of time." I hoped that he didn't get triggered by my words, but he just frowned.

"I can't believe I forgot your birthday," he mumbled and I chuckled.

"It's okay, we can always celebrate it next year."

As another firework went off, the conversation ended since Bucky's head was once again tucked away in my shoulder.

My phone that was sitting on the nightstand started to buzz, and after checking who it was, I put it to my ear.

"Hey, Sam," I said as I answered.

"Bud, sorry I didn't call earlier. I've been on the phone with different people from my group, calming them down because the fireworks aren't good for their PTSD. But how are you two holding up? And happy birthday!" Sam rushed out, not wanting to forget.

"Thanks, Sam, and we're managing. Thing's could be better but they could most definitely be worse too."

He and I talked for another few minutes, mostly about Bucky's condition like always, which was getting better every day, and then Sam had another call from one of the vets.

Moments after I hung up, something crashed through our window. Bucky and I jump up, him kicking the grenade under the bed. We both hit the walls as it exploded, but were still alive.

As I pushed myself to my feet, I heard the sound of men entering the house with heavy footsteps.

"Buck, you okay?" I shout, looking through the smoke at where I expected my friend to be.

After a moment, he replied with a simple, "Yeah."

A group of men kicked open our bedroom door; I had locked it to make Bucky feel safer from the fireworks. As soon as I came back to my senses, I got into fighting mode.

I dived for the nightstand where I keep a spare gun hidden in the top drawer, pulling it out and taking out two of the guys within seconds.

Bucky was going hand to hand with the third guy, blocking incoming bullets from the door with his new arm.

I continued shooting at the door, taking out guy after guy with my gun.

That's when I realized it.

Bucky wasn't using his gun, just his hands and anything that was near him.

Then I remembered. I had told him not to use the weapon without my permission.

"Use your gun, Buck!" I shouted over the sounds of the bullets leaving the chamber.

He didn't hesitate to pull out the weapon that was tucked away in the back of his pants and shoot the guy he was fighting in the head.

The two of us cleared the upper level in a matter of minutes, soon moving down the stairs to finish the house.

We walked onto the front porch, watching a man clamber into the waiting Quinjet. "See you later, Cap, Asset," Rumlow called to us. Bucky and I aimed our weapons, but the jet just reflected our bullets as they hit.

We watched as it flew off, taking away the one man both Bucky and I really wanted to kill.

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