Status: Currently in progress.
Run
4 Crunch
Trigger warning for suicide mention.
Within the span of a week or so, Bucky’s right shoulder felt perfectly fine. There was no more pain, so he discarded the gauze and went again about his routine. Because of the disturbance in the last hotel, he was, not for the first time and not for the last time, forcibly evicted and he began to look for new places to stay. Luckily, the area of the city in which he had been frequenting for the past month or so was littered in disgustingly cheap motels, the kind that didn’t ask questions when you came in past midnight, sweaty and shaking and hoarse, which he found he frequently did. (The late-night city walks he took in order to avoid the nightmares often left him shaken due to late-night thinking, such thinking which we all know can be harmful at best.) Renting another room wasn’t difficult. He found one, a dingy place like all the rest out by a large, loud overpass. His room was on the second floor instead of the third, which he considered significant because the third floor window would do more damage to leap out of than the second floor and he wasn’t sure if he resented that or not.
But the important part is that one day, as Bucky happened to be walking past, the overpass fell out.
He didn’t exactly see it happen, but he heard screaming and loud cracking and by the time he turned around, all there was was smoke. On instinct, on a whim, and with a death wish, Bucky ran into the smoke.
There was screaming everywhere, and coughing. Bucky couldn’t see, but he followed the sounds of the nearest cries. He found people, so many people he didn’t count. He pushed them all in the direction of safety. He lifted broken pieces of overpass concrete off of fallen citizens, dragged out bodies, carried out wounded. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but he did it, and almost mechanically, too. He didn’t accept their tearful thanks.
Bucky next found a man lying on the pavement, trapped underneath a car, screaming. Bucky coughed, almost, almost wished for his mask and goggles back, and knelt down next to the man.
He didn’t say anything, but he fit his fingers under the hot metal of the crashed car and hoisted, lifting with all his strength in both arms. With just enough space, the man scooted free and stumbled off, tears streaming from dirt-caked eyes. Bucky was left with the car. He struggled, tried to back off, but something in the dust from behind him bumped his back and he tripped. First, his face hit the pavement and slid. He felt skin peel off. Then his palms. He saw his glove shred and sparks leap off his metal fingers and blood spring from his flesh ones. Then the car fell. With a crunch, Bucky watched nearly his entire left arm disappear underneath piles of smoking metal. He screamed. He struggled under the car, pulling at his arm, which unsurprisingly, no longer obeyed his command. With one final, adrenaline-fueled kick, Bucky managed to push the car off of himself and push himself away. He grabbed his left arm and cradled it to his body. He’d never not had an arm before now, not really. For the first time since blacking out in a snowy trench 70 years ago, which was an experience that only just made his list of memories, Bucky didn’t have use of all his limbs. He panicked.
Out of the dirt, Bucky scrambled, shaken and distressed. There were more people in there, but there was nothing he could do, not now. He walked back to his hotel room in shock, cradling his arm, trembling, at a loss. Inside his room, he stripped off his clothes and tried to look at his arm. It was crushed and smoking and it wouldn’t respond to him. With his right hand, he felt along his shoulder until he found the small lever in the back, miniscule really, and pulled it up. The entire arm loosened and he watched in the bathroom mirror as it slipped right off his body. He caught it and set it down on the counter. It barely resembled his arm. The plates were mangled beyond recognition and shards of metal jutted out at various angles, and whether they were his or from the wreckage, he couldn’t tell.
“I don’t have an arm anymore,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t know how he knew about the lever. He’d never needed to take off his arm before. In the mirror, he looked wrong. The metal portion that fit deep over his chest and shoulder remained, assumably a pretty permanent addition. But there was an empty socket there now, and barely much more of a shoulder. Distressed and exhausted and numb, Bucky left the bathroom and dropped onto his bed, falling into fitful, confused sleep because quite frankly, he didn’t know what else to do.
***
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“You’re right it’s a lot to ask. I don’t even know this guy. And the last time I checked, he didn’t even know you.”
“Tony, please. He’s in a really tight spot and you’re the only person I know who could help.”
“...”
“Please. For me, at least.”
“...”
“I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want your money, Cap.”
“Then what do you want??”
“I can tell you what I don’t want.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“Ha!”
“It’ll be fun. Right? You like that sort of thing, it’s technology, there’s electricity, it’s… Science. And it’s new. Don’t tell me you weren’t at least itching to see how it worked.”
“If I agree, will you stop begging me.”
“I’m not begging.”
“Alright, I’ll do it. But the next time your homicidal-turned-heroic little buddy gets himself in a ‘tight spot’, you’re gonna have to find another guy.”
“Thanks Tony. This means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well, you owe me big time.”
***
The next day, a letter arrived at the hotel for Bucky. He opened it one-handed, which was actually a lot more difficult than it sounded and it required him using his teeth as well. But when he finally managed to open the envelope, he recognized Stark letterhead and with a sinking, confused feeling, began to read the scribbled note.
“James Barnes,
I’m coming to pick up you and your broken arm tomorrow at noon. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, so if you try to point a gun at me or something, you can kiss four limbs goodbye. I’ll probably have it fixed in a few days and then you can go home.
Tony Stark”
Within the span of a week or so, Bucky’s right shoulder felt perfectly fine. There was no more pain, so he discarded the gauze and went again about his routine. Because of the disturbance in the last hotel, he was, not for the first time and not for the last time, forcibly evicted and he began to look for new places to stay. Luckily, the area of the city in which he had been frequenting for the past month or so was littered in disgustingly cheap motels, the kind that didn’t ask questions when you came in past midnight, sweaty and shaking and hoarse, which he found he frequently did. (The late-night city walks he took in order to avoid the nightmares often left him shaken due to late-night thinking, such thinking which we all know can be harmful at best.) Renting another room wasn’t difficult. He found one, a dingy place like all the rest out by a large, loud overpass. His room was on the second floor instead of the third, which he considered significant because the third floor window would do more damage to leap out of than the second floor and he wasn’t sure if he resented that or not.
But the important part is that one day, as Bucky happened to be walking past, the overpass fell out.
He didn’t exactly see it happen, but he heard screaming and loud cracking and by the time he turned around, all there was was smoke. On instinct, on a whim, and with a death wish, Bucky ran into the smoke.
There was screaming everywhere, and coughing. Bucky couldn’t see, but he followed the sounds of the nearest cries. He found people, so many people he didn’t count. He pushed them all in the direction of safety. He lifted broken pieces of overpass concrete off of fallen citizens, dragged out bodies, carried out wounded. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but he did it, and almost mechanically, too. He didn’t accept their tearful thanks.
Bucky next found a man lying on the pavement, trapped underneath a car, screaming. Bucky coughed, almost, almost wished for his mask and goggles back, and knelt down next to the man.
He didn’t say anything, but he fit his fingers under the hot metal of the crashed car and hoisted, lifting with all his strength in both arms. With just enough space, the man scooted free and stumbled off, tears streaming from dirt-caked eyes. Bucky was left with the car. He struggled, tried to back off, but something in the dust from behind him bumped his back and he tripped. First, his face hit the pavement and slid. He felt skin peel off. Then his palms. He saw his glove shred and sparks leap off his metal fingers and blood spring from his flesh ones. Then the car fell. With a crunch, Bucky watched nearly his entire left arm disappear underneath piles of smoking metal. He screamed. He struggled under the car, pulling at his arm, which unsurprisingly, no longer obeyed his command. With one final, adrenaline-fueled kick, Bucky managed to push the car off of himself and push himself away. He grabbed his left arm and cradled it to his body. He’d never not had an arm before now, not really. For the first time since blacking out in a snowy trench 70 years ago, which was an experience that only just made his list of memories, Bucky didn’t have use of all his limbs. He panicked.
Out of the dirt, Bucky scrambled, shaken and distressed. There were more people in there, but there was nothing he could do, not now. He walked back to his hotel room in shock, cradling his arm, trembling, at a loss. Inside his room, he stripped off his clothes and tried to look at his arm. It was crushed and smoking and it wouldn’t respond to him. With his right hand, he felt along his shoulder until he found the small lever in the back, miniscule really, and pulled it up. The entire arm loosened and he watched in the bathroom mirror as it slipped right off his body. He caught it and set it down on the counter. It barely resembled his arm. The plates were mangled beyond recognition and shards of metal jutted out at various angles, and whether they were his or from the wreckage, he couldn’t tell.
“I don’t have an arm anymore,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t know how he knew about the lever. He’d never needed to take off his arm before. In the mirror, he looked wrong. The metal portion that fit deep over his chest and shoulder remained, assumably a pretty permanent addition. But there was an empty socket there now, and barely much more of a shoulder. Distressed and exhausted and numb, Bucky left the bathroom and dropped onto his bed, falling into fitful, confused sleep because quite frankly, he didn’t know what else to do.
***
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“You’re right it’s a lot to ask. I don’t even know this guy. And the last time I checked, he didn’t even know you.”
“Tony, please. He’s in a really tight spot and you’re the only person I know who could help.”
“...”
“Please. For me, at least.”
“...”
“I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want your money, Cap.”
“Then what do you want??”
“I can tell you what I don’t want.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“Ha!”
“It’ll be fun. Right? You like that sort of thing, it’s technology, there’s electricity, it’s… Science. And it’s new. Don’t tell me you weren’t at least itching to see how it worked.”
“If I agree, will you stop begging me.”
“I’m not begging.”
“Alright, I’ll do it. But the next time your homicidal-turned-heroic little buddy gets himself in a ‘tight spot’, you’re gonna have to find another guy.”
“Thanks Tony. This means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well, you owe me big time.”
***
The next day, a letter arrived at the hotel for Bucky. He opened it one-handed, which was actually a lot more difficult than it sounded and it required him using his teeth as well. But when he finally managed to open the envelope, he recognized Stark letterhead and with a sinking, confused feeling, began to read the scribbled note.
“James Barnes,
I’m coming to pick up you and your broken arm tomorrow at noon. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, so if you try to point a gun at me or something, you can kiss four limbs goodbye. I’ll probably have it fixed in a few days and then you can go home.
Tony Stark”