Run

Steve made several attempts throughout the week to connect with Bucky, most of which Bucky found rather embarrassing and pitiful. He put himself in positions to interact with him whenever Bucky was around. He tried to strike up conversation, he was kind and overly-gentle and did everything he could to try to make Bucky feel comfortable, but in reality, he usually ended up making Bucky feel awkward and somewhat helpless. So he avoided Steve as best as he could.
And Bucky felt bad, really he did, but being with Steve only made him feel worse because he couldn’t find it in his broken self to love Steve like Steve loved Bucky.
He just couldn’t be a good friend anymore. So he didn’t try.
When Bucky’s arm was finished a week later, Tony sent a call to his room and told him to come up to the top floor. Bucky had decided during the week without it that he really did need that arm, especially if he was going to be hunted by Hydra. He may not like it, but that was it and if truth be told, he expected now to wear that arm until he died. So Bucky took the elevator up to the top floor and prepared himself to see the metal and the star. He tried not to be too excited to have the ability to flex his fingers again.
Bucky noticed his arm right away, once the elevator doors parted. It was directly across from him, lying on the table and it looked strange and unnatural while unattached to a body. But then again, it looked stranger and more unnatural actually attached to him, to he figured it must just be the nature of having a metal prosthetic. It was otherwise perfect, from what he could see. No more mangled metal and bent and torn scraps. It even looked shined. Bucky was impressed.
“We couldn’t save the star,” said a man across the room, presumably Bruce. “So we just scrubbed it off. If you want it, you’ll have to put it back on yourself.” Bucky swallowed. No more star. That was good, that was a plus.
“No, it’s fine,” Bucky said and tried not to let on how relieved he was not to have to look at it on his shoulder anymore.
“Alright, let’s get this thing back on you,” Tony said, clapping his hands together and striding forward. Bucky followed with equal parts excitement and apprehension. He had missed having two arms.
“We’ll need to have a look at the socket quick, too,” Bruce added. “Before we can do much.” Wordlessly, Bucky approached the table and pulled his shirt off over his head. The metal on his chest looked bare and lopsided, he knew. He had spent plenty of time in front of the mirror studying it.
“There’s a switch,” Bucky said. “Or, there was. And it clicks in.”
“We found that,” Tony said, beckoning Bruce to the table and picking up the metal prosthetic with two hands. “Sit up on the table and we’ll work on it,” he instructed. Obediently, Bucky used his one hand to heave himself up onto the tabletop and slouched there. Tony and Bruce buzzed around his left side, making ‘hmm’ sounds and scientific remarks to each other. Tony pulled out a bag of chips and offered some to Bruce, who accepted. He then offered some to Bucky, which caught Bucky a little off-guard. He realized wasn’t used to being offered things or treated very equally. It rather delighted him to be an equal. He took advantage of the situation and tried a few of the chips, which turned out to be repulsive, but he chewed and swallowed them politely and didn’t say a word. It was a small gesture, he knew that, and one Tony probably didn’t even realize had any significance to him whatsoever, but it meant the world to Bucky Barnes.
“If we fit this piece here, it’ll click in and he can test it out,” Bruce finally said. Tony shrugged.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he agreed. Together, the men pushed Bucky’s left arm into place with some force, enough to nudge Bucky over just a tad, and then there was a small click and a nearly inaudible whir and suddenly he had an arm again. He looked down at it and could nearly weep with joy, except that he refused to let himself. He couldn’t, however, stop a small, relieved smile from tugging at his mouth ever so slightly. He tested out the fingers first. They all curled at his command. His elbow moved in and out, his shoulder rolled, his wrist turned. The plates of metal slid up and down soundlessly in a beautiful sort of gleaming symmetry. He almost laughed out loud. A voice in his head muttered ‘broken inside, broken outside’, but he ignored it.
“This is great,” Bucky said quietly and grinned cautiously at Bruce and Tony. “Thank you.” Bruce had already started to turn away, his eyes on the floor, as they seemed to consistently be.
“Don’t thank us, it was no trouble,” he said.
“Yeah, thank your cheerleader, Cap,” Tony said. “Speaking of whom, where is he? He said he wanted to see you. Bruce, have you seen Steve?” Bucky’s good mood dropped in an instant and everything in him protested.
“No, no, don’t call him here,” Bucky cried, a little louder than he had meant. Tony turned to him, confused.
“Are you sure?” Tony asked. “I’m sure he’s just around the--”
“I don’t want him here,” Bucky cut him off hastily. “I just don’t.”
“What is it about me that he suddenly hates so much!!” Steve cried, standing out of his chair in the surveillance room in the basement of Stark Tower. Natasha, folded up in her chair next to Steve, sighed ever so slightly.
“I don’t want to see him,” Bucky said on the camera. Steve watched, distressed, as his friend stood up off the table, both arms available to him now, and back away from Tony and Bruce. He clutched his shirt with both hands, wringing the fabric. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it. Hair was hanging in his eyes. “Thanks, I’d like to get back to DC now.”
“I don’t understand,” Steve groaned.
“Maybe he just needs more time,” Natasha suggested, staring at the glowing monitors as Bucky insisted that Tony take him back to DC.
“I’ve given him time. He’s had time,” Steve said. Natasha looked up at Steve from her chair and watched him pace. Bucky’s constant rejections were tearing him apart.
“The guy’s been through hell, Steve, and he doesn’t even think he knows you,” she said.
“I know,” Steve said, his voice dark. His face was turned away from her. He was in pain.
“If you really wanted to, you could stop him before Tony gets the plane ready,” Natasha suggested.
“And he’d strangle me to death,” Steve retorted, throwing his hands up. “I’m going home. Bye, Natasha.” He slammed the door behind him before she could say goodbye too. Natasha sighed again and frowned at the monitors, where Tony and Bruce were chatting again and Bucky was staring at his left hand with a frown.