Status: Currently in progress.

Run

3 Steve

Bucky woke slowly, having slept heavier and deeper than he had in some weeks. He had not dreamt, at least not to memory, but his memory, he knew, was not one to be trusted. Regardless, he felt well-rested and as he stirred, he came to the realization that his right shoulder was not in any sort of pain at all. He sat up slowly, examining his shoulder, which was wrapped in gauze that he didn’t remember using. In fact, where even was he?
“Hey Bucky,” said a voice that startled him. He turned and his mind hesitantly assigned a name to the voice. Steve. Steve Rogers. Bucky jumped again as the significance hit him. He wanted to be away! “I’m glad you’re awake.” Steve said. He was standing in the doorway. He looked like he had been standing there for some time. There was darkness under his eyes and his shoulders slumped. Bucky stared at Steve, dead-eyed, refusing to respond. He wasn’t ready to face Steve Rogers yet! “Anyway, you were out all night,” Steve said after a long, silent pause during which Bucky had made no reply. He nodded to Bucky’s shoulder. “The doctor left. He said your shoulder will be back to normal soon. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Bucky said.
“Oh,” Steve said. He shifted a little, as though he had not imagined the encounter going this way. “That’s good.”
“Can I leave?” Bucky asked. Forget tact, prudence be cursed, he wanted to get away. He could see himself running and jumping again. His emotions welled under a dam in his heart, too conflicting and powerful to make sense of. Steve stared for a minute, dumbfounded. He took a step towards Bucky.
“Leave? But you just got here!” Steve protested.
“What is here?” Bucky demanded, cutting off anything else Steve might have wanted to say.
“I, well, this is my apartment,” Steve admitted. Bucky balked. He scrambled to throw the blankets off of himself and swung his legs down over the side of the bed. He spotted his shirt, dirty and stained, slung across a chair by the bed, and quickly pulled it on. A fairly large part of him was ashamed of his left arm. He didn’t want Steve to be looking at it. He especially didn’t want Steve to be looking at the way the metal reached out into his chest and the scars where it fused into his body. He wished for more covering clothing.
“Look,” he said hastily. “Thanks for the hospitality, Captain, but I have to go.” Steve’s face hardened and he blocked the door.
“Why?” Steve asked. “Please, Buck, work with me here.” Bucky glared at the floor, Steve’s floor, and refused to look him in the eye.
“Let me through,” he said quietly and after some consideration, Steve slowly stepped aside.
“What is this about?” Steve cried, following Bucky as he bee-lined for the front door just in sight. The dam which Bucky had previously been mostly unaware of, splintered ever so slightly and Bucky felt his breathing quicken. He couldn’t sort out so many feelings, not here, not now. “I’m your friend, I can help you work through this! Please let me help you!” Steve pleaded, so close behind him Bucky could almost feeling his breath on the back of his neck. Bucky grasped the door handle and swung the door open. He had to get out, now now now. Now! Please Steve, Bucky begged in his mind. Please let me go. There’s too much pain, there’s too much, I can’t handle everything right now! He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell the words at Steve, and he nearly did, he was so close, until Steve reached forward and grabbed Bucky’s metal left shoulder, just above the star he hadn’t even attempted to scrub off yet. Bucky froze and everything hit him all at once. His whole body tensed and Steve seemed to notice.
In Bucky’s mind at this moment, a picture arose. It was fuzzy and unclear and there were emotions that accompanied it. He saw the streets of Brooklyn, dirty and cobbled, and a bruised smile from a little blonde boy. He saw another hand on another shoulder in another time.
“Captain,” Bucky said darkly, his voice shaking and the pain in his heart overwhelming him. He chose his words carefully. He hated himself deeply. “If you value your life, you’ll let me go and you will never touch me again.” Stunned and hurt, Steve lifted his hand away and Bucky took the final step outside of Steve’s apartment and slammed the door hard. He heard the wood splinter just a little.
Steve Rogers was a good man. That was it, he was simply, utterly, down to his heart good. And he didn’t deserve to feel pain over someone as broken as James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky berated himself until he could no longer stand to think about it. He had been the Winter Soldier there again. In a time when he thought he could put it behind him, he realized it was never truly gone in the first place. He hadn’t felt so inhuman in weeks.
A deep part of him was grateful for the unfeeling coldness of the Winter Soldier. That part of him was there to take off and on when his emotions became too much, when his brokenness overwhelmed him. It was a sort of defense, there was a level of protection, and he didn’t like it, but it was there and it stopped the dam from breaking.