Random writing.

You weren’t expecting anything when it started.

He’d shown up to the Tower quieter than most. Standoffish, unreadable. You'd been assigned as his point of contact—“Ease him in,” they said. “Help him find normal.”

But normal wasn’t easy to come by for someone like Bucky Barnes.

Still, he let you sit with him during shared meals. You’d catch him listening as you told stories about the city or teased Sam across the room. His replies were clipped but thoughtful. He'd nod when you made jokes. Once, you caught him smiling.

Then came the moment that changed things—subtly, but completely.

You were reaching for a mug in the kitchen. He stood beside you. As your fingers brushed his arm—just a touch, featherlight—he flinched.

Not dramatically. Not enough to cause a scene. But enough for your heart to ache.

His shoulders tensed. His breath hitched. He stepped back like the heat of your skin had burned him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, pulling your hand back instantly.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at the floor, ashamed of something that wasn’t his fault.

You didn’t bring it up that day. Just gave him space and offered him coffee like nothing happened.

But that moment stayed with you.

So you started paying closer attention

You noticed it in the way he avoided the couch if someone was already sitting. How he always stood at the far edge of the elevator. How his hands stayed buried in his sleeves, even when the sun was warm.

When he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

When he laughed, it was careful—like joy was something borrowed.

You adapted without needing to say it aloud. Stood beside him instead of in front. Sat far enough away that he wouldn’t feel cornered. Asked with your eyes before you ever reached out.

He noticed. You knew he did. Because slowly, inch by inch, he started to linger longer. Sit a little closer. Speak a little more.

Trust takes time.

Especially when you’ve been taught the wrong definition of touch.

It always started with the sound.

A low, mechanical click as the restraints slid into place, followed by the sterile whir of lights flickering to life overhead — harsh, clinical, too white. Too clean. A cruel contrast to the filth he was forced to live in.

The chair was metal, ice-cold against his skin no matter how long he was in it. His breath fogged in the air like a ghost trying to escape. But ghosts were free. He wasn’t.

He stopped fighting it years ago — if years even existed down here. Time was meaningless in a place that never changed. No windows. No sky. No sense of day or night. Just missions, control, silence. Then pain.

A man in a lab coat leaned over him, faceless and featureless in Bucky’s mind now. There had been too many. They all smelled the same — antiseptic and cruelty. A hand gripped his chin, tilting his face roughly upward like he was an object being inspected.

“You're not him anymore,” the voice said, clinical, bored. “You don't flinch. You obey.”

But he did flinch — inside, where no one could see. Where it wouldn't earn him another reset.

Another hand came next — this one pressed over his shoulder, firm and too slow to be casual. They wanted him to feel it. They always wanted him to feel it, in the worst ways. Not just pain, but control. Ownership. Submission.

It wasn’t the physical agony that broke him the most. It was how they taught him to dread touch. How something so human became a punishment. They rewired him — so that warmth became threat, closeness became fear, and skin-on-skin was something to survive rather than savor.

There were nights after a mission when they didn’t even have to touch him. They’d just come close. Breathe behind him. Wait for him to flinch.

He always did.

It was a week after a rough mission. Bucky had barely said a word.

You found him on your couch one night, long after the city had gone to sleep. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Eyes vacant.

You didn’t speak right away. Just offered him tea. Sat beside him—far enough to let him breathe.

Eventually, he said it.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he whispered, “to want to be touched but not know how?”

Your heart cracked. You didn’t rush to fix it.

Instead, you said, “Yeah. I think… I do.”

He turned toward you. “It wasn’t just the fighting. HYDRA—they used touch. Twisted it. Made it mean control. Made me afraid of something I used to love.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

His voice dropped lower. “Sometimes I still feel like a weapon. Even now. When you smile at me. When you sit close. Part of me wants to pull you in. And the other part... is scared I’ll ruin it.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “Not with me."

He asked if he could hold your hand.

His voice shook when he said it.

“Only if you’re sure,” you told him.

“I’m not sure of anything,” he confessed. “But I want to try.”

So you laid your hand between you on the couch. Open. Waiting.

He took it, slow and careful. His fingers hovered before they rested on yours, like he was expecting the world to crack open beneath him.

But it didn’t.

And for the first time, he didn’t flinch.

You squeezed gently. “You’re doing amazing.”

He smiled—small, but real.

He started coming over more.

Sometimes with books. Sometimes with nothing but tired eyes and quiet company.

One night, you found him in the kitchen. He was making tea—two cups. He handed you yours without a word, then hesitated.

“Can I stay tonight?” he asked.

You blinked. “Of course. You want the couch?”

He shook his head. “I want to try… sleeping next to you. If that’s okay.”

You nodded. “It’s more than okay.”

That night, he curled up beside you—nervous but determined. You didn’t reach for him.

But he reached for you.

His fingers brushed yours under the blanket.

Light, hesitant.

You looked over. “This alright?”

He nodded, eyes a little glassy. “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

You didn’t need more than that.

And when you woke the next morning, his arm was loosely around your waist. His breathing soft against the back of your neck. No nightmares. No panic.

Just warmth.

Just safety.

Just him.

He still had bad days. Days when the shadows whispered louder than your voice.

But they passed.

And on the good days, you’d catch him reaching for you without thinking—nudging your foot under the table, brushing your hair behind your ear, linking pinkies as you walked side by side.

He was learning.

And he was loving you, in the way only he could—slow, steady, gentle.

Not perfect.

But real.

You hit the ground hard enough to crack concrete.

The shrapnel tore through your side like butter. Should’ve knocked you out. Should’ve stopped your heart.

Instead, you grin through the blood coating your teeth.

The alley’s spinning when footsteps thunder toward you. You don’t need to look to know who it is. The stomp is all Winter Soldier panic—controlled chaos, barely leashed.

“Where is she?” Bucky’s voice is hoarse in your comm. “Where the hell is she?!”

You close your eyes and wait.

Five… four…His shadow falls over you just before “three.”

“Shit.” He drops beside you with a sound that’s almost a growl. “Hey—hey, look at me.”

You crack an eye open. “Took you long enough, Barnes.”

“Jesus Christ.” He brushes hair out of your face, hands already slick with blood. “Don’t talk. You’re losing too much.”

“You think this is me quiet?”

He glares. “I’m not kidding.”

Neither are you—but you do like the view from down here. Bucky’s crouched over you like you’re something fragile. Like one wrong move will break you in half. You like the way his hands tremble when they press into your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

He doesn’t know it’s already stopped.Well. It’s trying to.

You’re slowing it on purpose. Keeping the wound open. Keeping his hands on you.Because damn—he’s warm.

“You’re okay,” he mutters, as if saying it will make it true. He leans over you, breath brushing your cheek, hands steadying against your ribs as he applies pressure. “Just hold on. Med team’s close.”

“You’re real bossy when you care,” you murmur.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off. “You’re on my team.”

“Didn’t know you held all your teammates like this.” You raise a brow, lips curling despite the blood. “Should I be jealous?”

He looks like he wants to yell and shake you and hold you tighter, all at once.

“Shut up,” he grits. “Don’t do this. You’re—bleeding out, you smartass—”

You hum, eyes half-lidded. “You’re so serious when you’re scared. It’s kind of hot.”

His fingers tighten. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, Bucky,” you sigh, “if I listed all the things, we’d be here all day.”

He presses harder into the wound and your breath stutters—not from pain, but from the way he curses softly under his breath like he’s the one breaking.

His hands are slick, shaking. Tender.

Your body’s already trying to stitch itself back together. But you hold it off.

You want more of this.

More of his touch.

More of him.

Then he notices it—the blood isn’t pooling as fast. The color’s already starting to return to your skin.

He goes still. Eyes narrow.

“What the—”

“Fun fact,” you say sweetly, “I don’t die easy.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

“I heal,” you say with a cheeky grin. “Fast. Like, ‘this would’ve killed a normal person ten minutes ago’ fast.”

He stares at you, hand still hovering over the now-closing wound. “You’re kidding.”

“Cross my heart.” You wink. “Which you were cradling, by the way. Awfully romantic of you.”

“You let me think you were dying.”

“You grabbed me like you’d break if I slipped away. I wasn’t gonna ruin the moment.”

His mouth opens. Closes. He looks furious. He looks wrecked.

“You—” His voice is rough. “You’re—insane.”

“Maybe.” You sit up, your shirt clinging to drying blood. “But you like it.”

He glares at you, jaw tight. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You stand, steady on your feet. “You’ll live.”

He looks you up and down, gaze lingering on your now mostly-healed side. “You’re trouble.”

You smirk. “And you’ve got a type.”

He grabs your arm before you can turn, voice lower now. “Next time, tell me. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

You lean in, close enough to smell gunpowder and adrenaline. “Next time, kiss me first. Then we’ll talk honesty.”

He freezes. You grin wider.

You walk ahead, hips swaying with mischief, and Bucky stays frozen behind you, blood drying on his gloves, heart still lodged somewhere in his throat.

You’re healing right before his eyes—wound vanishing like it never happened. And yet, the imprint of you beneath his hands lingers like a burn.

You let him panic. Let him hold you. Let him feel for you.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And goddammit, it should piss him off more than it does.

But instead?

His jaw clenches. His pulse stutters.

And something under his ribs twists sharply.

Because it’s not just the way you survived—smirking through pain like it was a game—it’s how you looked at him while doing it. Like you could see right through the hard edge he hides behind. Like you weren’t afraid. Like you enjoyed it.

Like you knew he’d catch you if you fell.He watches you go, sunlight glinting off blood-streaked skin, your laugh still in his ears.

That attitude should be dangerous.

And it is.

It’s lethal.

He mutters a curse under his breath, lips twitching against his will.

He’s so fucked.

You're chaos wrapped in a pretty grin. Trouble in a bloodstained uniform.

And he's already falling.

Hard.

Whether you slow your healing next time or not—he knows damn well he’s going to be right there again.

Hands on you.

Heart on the line.

And this time?

You didn’t scream when they took you.

That came later—when your voice cracked raw from begging the shadows for mercy, for death, for something other than the cold numbness pressing in around you like icewater under your skin. But in the beginning, there was only silence. The kind that hollows you out from the inside.

The kind that makes you forget your own name.

You had been captured by Hydra. A mission gone wrong. A corner turned too fast. A shot fired too late. And then it all disappeared beneath the haze of a needle and the slam of a steel door.

No one found you. Not for weeks.

And in that time, you stopped existing.

You curled in on yourself, starved and shaking, while voices you didn't recognize whispered in the dark, breaking you down with every calculated word. They told you you were abandoned. That no one was coming. That you were alone because you were unworthy of being loved.

They never needed to touch you.

They just watched you rot from the inside out.

When the team finally found you, you didn’t recognize them.

You heard the explosion first—the thunder of boots, the sharp bark of Bucky’s voice, the sound of someone screaming your name like it meant something.

But all you saw were more shadows.

You tried to crawl into the wall when they burst into your cell. Your fingernails broke against the concrete, your body instinctively folding into itself, your mouth whispering pleas in a language you didn’t know you remembered.

You didn’t know Bucky was crying until his tears hit your hands.

"Hey," he choked, dropping to his knees, blood on his knuckles and desperation in his eyes. "It’s me. It’s Bucky. I’m here, okay? I’ve got you. You’re safe."

But safety was a concept that no longer made sense to you.

When his hand brushed yours, you screamed.

You screamed like you were dying. Like you were on fire.

And something in Bucky broke that day.

The jet ride back was too bright. Too loud. You were swaddled in a blanket like a child, staring through people who whispered your name with eyes full of quiet sorrow. Natasha sat across from you, tense and silent, her hand clenched in her lap.

Steve paced quietly in the back, eyes heavy with guilt.

Tony said nothing, choosing instead to sit beside you in stillness.

They all felt the ache, but none knew how to hold it.

Because they saw the pieces of you, scattered and bloody, and none of them knew how to put you back together.

Except for Bucky.

He didn’t leave your side. Not once.

You wouldn’t let anyone else near you. The first time Bruce tried to assess your wounds, you had a panic attack so violent your lips turned blue.

But Bucky?

You let him stay.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t see him. But he was there. Sitting on the floor, silent and patient, like he was trying to absorb your pain with every breath.

"You don’t have to talk," he whispered once, voice so low it made your ribs ache. "I’ll just be here. I’m not going anywhere."

And he wasn’t.

Not when you curled into corners, sobbing so hard you threw up.

Not when you tore your own skin in your sleep.

Not when you started to disappear into yourself again.

He stayed.

And the others watched, hurting in their own quiet ways.

Natasha lingered by your door some nights, pacing like she wanted to knock but couldn’t.

Steve brought books you didn’t read.

Tony made sure the lights never flickered in your room again.

They didn’t say much. They didn’t force anything. But they were there.

And Bucky? He just was.

Weeks passed.

You started whispering again. Small things. Words like "water" or "blanket" or "stay."

Always to Bucky.

Only to him.

He was the first person you let touch you again.

A pinky finger. Brushing yours. Barely there.

You sobbed when it happened. Clutched your chest like it hurt. Like it burned to feel something again.

Bucky didn’t cry. Not then.

But that night, Steve found him in the hallway outside your door, fists bruised and bloodied against the wall.

"I can’t lose her again," Bucky whispered, voice shattering. "I can’t."

Recovery wasn’t linear.

Some days you smiled.

Some days you screamed.

Some nights you let Bucky hold your hand.

Some nights you clawed at your own skin, begging him to make it stop.

And he did.

Not with force.

Not with words.

Just with presence.

He’d pull you into his lap, wrap his arms around your shaking body, press his lips to your temple and whisper, "You’re safe. You’re not alone. I’ve got you."

Until you believed him.

Even if only for a moment.

One night, you whispered, "Why did you stay?"

Bucky looked at you, moonlight catching the cracks in him that matched your own.

"Because you matter. Because you didn’t give up. Because you let me find you."

You blinked, tears spilling freely. "I don’t feel like a person anymore."

His voice broke. "Then let me remind you how to be one."

They say healing is like a mosaic, broken pieces coming together to form something beautiful.

You were still cracked. Still healing. Still learning how to exist in a body that had been turned into a prison.

But Bucky loved you through all of it.

With hands that never rushed.

With words that never demanded.

With a heart that only ever whispered, You are safe here.

And for the first time in months, maybe years—You believed him.

One Year Later

The morning sun slipped in through the curtains, painting your room in pale gold. The shadows that once clung to the walls had long since faded, replaced by quiet warmth and slow, steady breaths.

You sat curled on the couch, a book in your lap, half-forgotten, as Bucky entered with two steaming mugs in hand. He paused in the doorway, watching you with that soft look he reserved only for you—a kind of awe, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

"You’re staring," you said, voice lighter, steadier now.

He grinned. "Can you blame me?"

You set the book aside and took the mug he offered, your fingers brushing his without flinching. That tiny act still felt like magic sometimes.

You leaned into him when he sat beside you, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in without a word.

There were no more nightmares that week.

You’d started laughing again. Dancing in the kitchen. Humming in the shower.

You still had days where the world felt fragile, like it could crack open beneath your feet—but you no longer fell alone.

You looked up at Bucky, your eyes soft. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

His thumb brushed your cheek. "You saved yourself. I just got to love you through it."

The blood came fast, hot, seeping through your shirt, soaking into your fingers. He barely got to you in time to see the light leave your eyes for just a second. That second would replay behind his lids every time he closed them for the rest of his life.

He dropped to his knees, both hands clamping down over the hole in your side. “No, no no no, stay with me—” His gloves were slick in an instant, warmth pumping between his palms. “You’re alright, doll, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Lies. All of them lies.

And then the world doubled down.

When you fell, the ground hadn’t been kind. Shattered concrete and steel littered the street like teeth. A jagged piece of rebar, black with rust and ash, jutted up at an angle, waiting. Your thigh met it on the way down.

The sound it made when it tore through you was something he’d never forget. Wet. Final. Wrong.

Your scream split the air, shrill and raw, and then darkness yanked it away. Your head lolled, your eyes rolled, your hand slipped from his.

“(Y/N)!” His own voice was hoarse, desperate. He pressed harder against your stomach with one hand and clamped his other arm under your shoulders, dragging you close. “Don’t—don’t close your eyes, doll, don’t you dare.”

But you were limp in his arms, the blood soaking into his shirt in twin rivers, one hot gush from your abdomen, another seeping down his arm from your thigh. He shifted you against him, his elbow trying to press against your leg wound while his palm held your side, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Gunfire cracked overhead. Someone shouted in the comms. He didn’t hear it. He only heard your ragged breaths stuttering shorter, quieter.

He picked you up like you weighed nothing. Like you were nothing but blood and silence and slipping time.

Red drenched him as he ran. It smeared hot against his neck where your head rested, spread cold under his arm where it dripped freely from your thigh. His boots slid on gravel made slick with you. He adjusted his grip, pressed his face into your hair, whispering, “I’ve got you. I swear it. Just hold on, baby, please—” His voice cracked and broke against your temple.

The quinjet’s ramp opened with a mechanical groan, the wash of its lights spilling across the ruined street. Natasha’s gunfire barked sharp cover. Sam shouted something he didn’t process.

He barreled inside, knees slamming the deck as he lowered you onto the med bench. His shirt clung to him, stiff with blood, hands still pressing wherever they could.

“Two wounds,” Natasha snapped, eyes scanning. “Stomach’s priority. Christ, look at her leg—”

The sight of it nearly buckled him. The gash across your thigh was jagged, raw, muscle split wide where the rebar had gone straight through. It was wrong, it was all wrong, and there was nothing in the kit that could undo it.

“Stomach first,” the medic barked, already shoving pads and IVs into place. “That leg can wait. It’s secondary.”

Secondary.

The word sank like a stone in his gut. He wanted to scream at them that nothing about you was secondary, that every drop of blood was the most important thing in the goddamn world. But the monitor was already shrieking, your pulse already faltering, and all he could do was keep pressing and whispering broken things into your hair as the quinjet swallowed you whole.

Abdomen. That’s where the surgeons went first.

Your leg was washed, sutured, bandaged. Good enough. Something to deal with later, when you weren’t already teetering on the knife’s edge.

“Secondary,” they called it, like the word meant safe. Like it meant solved.

Bucky sat outside the operating room, soaked in you, his hands shaking, and only heard half of what the doctors said. The only words that mattered seared into his brain like iron:

She might not make it.

But somehow, you did.

Somehow, you did.

The first days in ICU were hell.

Machines hummed and beeped in rhythms that made no sense until Bucky memorized them, until he knew which tone meant good and which meant death creeping closer. The hiss of the ventilator became his breath, the drip of the IV his heartbeat. He sat hunched in the hard chair, body folded forward, fingers laced with yours, afraid that if he let go for even a second you’d slip away into silence.

But you woke up.

It was clumsy, ugly, the kind of waking that clawed its way through pain and sedation. Your lashes fluttered, your lips parted around a dry rasp. He nearly choked on his own breath when your eyes cracked open, unfocused but searching. They landed on him, watery, weak, but him.

“Buck…”

His name, broken in half, nearly broke him in half too. He caught your hand in both of his, kissed the back of it, his tears wetting your skin. “I’m here. I’m right here, doll. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Your voice was ragged, your body weak, but your eyes found him. That was enough. That was more than enough.

The abdominal wound hurt like fire. He could see it in the way you winced every time you shifted, in the way your breath hitched when you tried to cough. But you expected that. You’d been cut open, gutted, stitched back together. Everything hurts.

When he asked about your leg, you just shrugged faintly. “Feels like the rest of me. Broken.”

He frowned, but you brushed it off, too tired to explain. He pulled the blanket gently back and rubbed your calf through the fabric, careful not to jostle the bandages. To him it felt like stiffness. Healing. He didn’t see what was festering underneath. Not yet.

By day three, you were more awake, your voice hoarse but sharp enough to cut again. He held a spoon to your lips and you rolled your eyes.

“Barnes, if you feed me another spoonful of applesauce, I swear I’ll crawl out of this bed and kick your ass.”

He laughed, really laughed, the sound startling in his own chest after so many days of silence. His shoulders shook with it, his eyes damp as though laughter was too close to crying.

The door opened and Natasha leaned against the frame, smirking. “She looks better than you, Barnes.”

You grinned faintly, weak but alive. “Told him that days ago.”

For a moment, it felt like old times. Like family.

By day four, you were well enough to tease him for falling asleep in the chair with his arms folded. “You look like a grumpy grandpa,” you rasped, voice still sandpaper.

“Grandpa?” He lifted a brow, smirking. “Doll, if I’m old, what’s that make you?”

“Long-suffering,” you whispered, and your lips twitched with a ghost of a smile.

The fear in his chest eased for the first time since he’d carried you bleeding through fire and smoke.

By day five, you were able to sit upright with enough pillows behind you. He coaxed you carefully, his hands firm and steady at your back, his voice low in your ear: “Easy. I’ve got you.” You hissed when the stitches pulled, but you didn’t stop. You made it upright, trembling but proud.

The tray of hospital food was beige, shapeless. You poked at it with your fork and grimaced. “If this is my last meal, I’ll haunt you harder than ever.”

Bucky bent, pressed a kiss to your temple, and teased, “Pretty sure you’ve been haunting me for years.”

For the first time in weeks, you smiled and didn’t look like it hurt.

That night, when the lights dimmed and the room sank into the hush of machines, you whispered: “If you love me, you’ll sneak me real food. Pork and chive dumplings. Extra chili oil.”

His hand squeezed yours, and he smiled, soft and wrecked. “Done.”

It was the first time he left your side without fear.

He walked the hall with the bag in his hands, warm and fragrant, the smell curling around him like a promise of normal. He pictured your eyes lighting up, the way you’d groan at his smug grin, the way you’d mutter about rules and then devour them anyway.

For a moment, he believed in tomorrow.

And then he opened the door.

The world shattered.

Nurses were already inside, voices sharp, movements frantic. The monitor screamed a flat, endless note. Your body convulsed on the bed, back arched, eyes rolled white, foam pink spilling from your lips. A nurse pinned your shoulders while another scrambled with the crash cart.

“Seizure! She’s seizing!”

The bag slipped from his hands. Dumplings scattered across the tile, chili oil spreading like blood under his boots.

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore itself raw as he lunged forward. “Not again—don’t you dare—”

Your body jerked once, twice, then collapsed. Limp.

Flatline.

The sound broke him. He roared, throwing himself at your chest, slamming his palms down, his tears dripping into your gown. “Stay with me! Don’t you leave me, doll! Don’t you leave me again!”

Strong hands dragged him back. He fought like a madman, metal arm denting the wall, his throat ripping as he screamed your name. Sam was suddenly there, shouting, “Buck! Let them—let them!”

He could only watch, choking on sobs, as your chest snapped under compressions, as your ribs cracked like branches, as shocks arched your back and blood spewed from your lips.

“Charging! Clear!”

Your body jolted, head snapping sideways, crimson splattering the sheets.

“Again—clear!”

Another convulsion. More blood suctioned from your throat.

“Come on, sweetheart,” a nurse whispered, her voice breaking.

And then, the monitor stuttered.

Beep.

Silence.

Beep.

Weak. Fragile. But there.

Bucky sagged against the wall, trembling so hard his teeth clacked. Tears streamed down his face unchecked.

He barely heard the words as they pumped meds into your IV.

“The source is infection,” one muttered grimly. “Septic shock. It’s the leg.”

“The leg’s gone,” another said, hollow. “If we don’t take it, she dies.”

The dumplings lay forgotten on the floor, their steam fading into cold air while the smell of chili oil and antiseptic mingled into something that would haunt him forever.

They took you from him fast.

The crash team barely gave him a second glance as they pushed your bed out of the room, voices sharp, shoes squealing on the tile. IV bags swayed with the speed, monitors screamed as they wheeled you down the hall. Bucky tried to follow, he always tried to follow, but Sam caught him by the shoulders and held him back with a strength Bucky almost broke in half.

“Buck,” Sam rasped, his voice shaking just as badly as Bucky’s hands, “let them do it. Let them save her.”

He wanted to throw him off. He wanted to tear through every hallway, kick down every door, sit on the edge of the operating table and never let go of your hand. But his legs locked. His chest hollowed out. All he could do was watch your bed disappear around the corner, the voices fading with it.

The silence afterward nearly killed him.

He stumbled into the waiting room like a ghost, soaked in blood that had dried stiff on his clothes, his boots sticky with chili oil and your blood both. The smell clung to him, metallic and hot, salt and spice, a cocktail that would never leave him again.

He sat. He stood. He sat again. Time crawled like broken glass under his skin. Every few minutes he found himself on his feet, pacing trenches into the tile, hands knotted in his hair. He tried to pray, but the words burned his throat on the way up, so he just whispered your name instead.

Every time a nurse walked through the doors he jerked his head up, chest seizing, only to collapse when they walked past without looking at him. Every beep from a distant monitor made him twitch. Every laugh from another waiting family made him want to smash something until his knuckles split.

After an eternity, the surgeon finally walked in.

The man’s face told Bucky everything before his mouth moved. His expression was too careful, too composed. The kind of face people wore when they were about to take the last of someone’s hope away.

“She’s alive,” the surgeon said first, because it was the only thing keeping Bucky standing. “We stabilized her. Got her blood pressure back up, cleared the infection from the abdomen.”

Bucky’s throat worked, but no sound came out.

The surgeon sighed, eyes lowering. “But the infection had already spread through the wound in her leg. Necrosis had set in. If we didn’t act, she would’ve gone septic again within hours. To save her life, we had to amputate above the knee.”

The words didn’t land at first. They slid across Bucky’s brain like oil. His mind refused them. Refused to picture you, vibrant, laughing, alive, without the legs that carried you across rooftops, across battlefields, across life.

“Above the knee?” His voice cracked sharp, like he’d swallowed glass.

The surgeon nodded. “It was the only option. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s body gave out. He sank into the chair like his bones had dissolved, his hands clawing at his face, his chest heaving with silent sobs. His metal fingers dented the armrest as his flesh ones shook.

Alive. But changed forever.

Hours later, they let him back in.

The room was dim, quiet but not peaceful. Machines hummed their lullabies, the monitor blinked its green heartbeat. You lay pale against the sheets, your body smaller somehow, shrunken by the loss. Bandages wrapped tight where your right leg should have been.

Bucky froze at the door. His chest clenched so violently he almost turned back out again. But then your lashes fluttered. Your lips parted. Your breath rasped in.

You were waking.

He was at your side in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees, his hands shaking as they closed over yours. “Doll? I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then finding him. Relief cracked across his face. And then your hand twitched, reaching weakly toward the blanket, and you felt it.

The absence.

Your breath hitched. Your head jerked down, stitches pulling, but you still tried to throw the sheet back.

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered, catching your hand. His eyes were destroyed, his tears spilling freely. “Not yet. Please.”

“Where—” The word was shredded, broken.

He swallowed, voice shaking. “The infection… it spread too far. They had to—” His throat closed, the rest strangled in sobs. “It was the only way to save you.”

Your heart stuttered, the monitor beeping fast, frantic. Tears streaked into your hair, your chest heaving against the stitches. “No. No—Bucky, no—”

“I’m sorry.” His forehead pressed to your hand, voice cracked and ruined. “If I could’ve taken it for you… if it could’ve been me…” His shoulders shook. “I would’ve done it in a second.”

You sobbed, the sound thin, raw, scraping the air. He held your hand tighter, kissed your knuckles until his lips were salt.

The monitor beeped, steady and cruel.

Beep.

Beep.

Alive. But not whole.

Bucky stayed there with you in the dark, holding on like if he let go, he’d lose more than just your leg.

And in that silence, the one he hated more than anything, he made himself a promise:

If there was a way back to normal, no matter how broken, he’d walk it with you.

Every step.

“Shit!” You caught him out of the corner of your eye when leaning over to put your drink down. He was standing in the entrance, his eyes observing you from afar gaging your threat levels. Your hand flew to your chest as his sudden presence scares you more than he himself. “You guys weren’t supposed to be here yet.” 

You stood up then turning the tv off before going to introduce yourself. He stands up straighter, more rigid somehow than before, and takes a small almost unnoticeable step back. You notice it though part of your training was to be able to take in small things like that in. 

“Oh!” You stop in your tracks before grabbing the hem of your baggy shirt and pulling it up to just below your breasts and doing a turn to show that you don’t have any weapons hidden away in your sleep shorts. “Look no weapons, I'm clean as a whistle! I’d pull it all the way up but just between you and me,” you lean forward to whisper towards him, “I don’t have a bra on.” You drop the shirt and take two more steps forward before holding your hand out as far as you could towards him. You wanted him to be able to come to you. “I’m y/n!” He had taken a step forward just before Steve showed up. 

“What are you doing here? Tony said you’d be in your room.” He stood in front of Bucky not to block his view of you but to stay in between you two in case the Winter Soldier came out and you dropped your arm. 

“Well you’re early and I don’t much like feeling like a prisoner in my own home. Besides,” you spoke as you leaned around Steve to have a look at Bucky again, “he doesn’t seem all that dangerous right now.” You smile at him and send him a wink before going back to standing straight. 

“Get out of here kid. He’s got to get settled before meeting anyone.” 

“Fine.” You pouted before leaving to go back to your room, sneaking in a wave and another smile to the new super soldier in the building when you caught him watching you. 

What you didn’t know is that Bucky had taken a step to follow you. The Winter Soldier in him, the majority of him at the moment, had taken a look at you smiling sweetly at him and showing you weren’t a threat and decided you were his next mission. That he had to keep you safe. He would have followed you if it weren’t for Steve placing a gentle yet strong hand on his shoulder and directing him to the table where he had put heated up leftovers down for him to eat. 

You didn’t get to meet him the next day. Tony had him on lockdown in his own room to watch him, make sure he wouldn’t snap and go all killer on everyone. Which you thought was just a tad unfair, even though you got it, seeing as he purposely escaped Hydra and has been nothing but compliant since he showed up. And since he had found out you were out when they arrived, because Steve’s a goddamn snitch, Tony reamed your ass out going on about safety and blah blah blah. You had zoned out while he talked only coming back to when he turned to Steve about keeping someone on watching Bucky’s door. 

So the next time you had been able to meet Bucky it had been because you pulled a Clint and went through the vents knowing that if anyone heard it they’d assume it was him and that all the vents in the rooms aren’t up high so they’d be easy to get out of. 

Bucky was on high alert after hearing the clang of the vent covering landing on the  wood floor. He didn’t need to look for a weapon or anything; his arm was all he needed so he just posted up next to the opening ready to get the jump on whoever or whatever came out. His defenses lowered a little when he had heard the soft curse that fell from your lips. He still grabbed you by the back of your hoodie when you emerged pulling you up as if you were still a threat. 

“Woah big guy it’s just me!” You smile at him despite the yelp that escaped you when you were grabbed. Upon recognizing your sweet smile he lets you go and crosses his arms in front of him. “Snuck over so you weren’t all alone, Tony’s got Nat watching the door like a hawk right now.” He doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even move much really. “Brought a bag of snacks. It's still in the vent if you wanna be the one to grab it and check to make sure it’s not a bomb or anything.” He still doesn’t move standing stock still his eyes fixated on you. “Okay then.” You crouch and reach in pulling your book bag out feeling his steely gaze the whole time suddenly unsure about this whole plan. Once it’s out and on the floor in front of you, you unzip it and hold it open for Bucky to examine the few bags of snacks inside. 

“Man, I forgot how bare the new rooms are.” You speak again after getting up and glancing around. You move deeper into the room abandoning the bag. He looks down at the what should be used as a tactical bag but is instead stuffed with snacks and what looks like a blanket at the bottom peeking out from between the bags at his feet. His eyes wander from it to you who’s rummaging through his kitchen as if there’s no boundaries and he couldn’t just kill you for crossing any if he wanted to. 

“So what do you wanna be called?” You come back into the living room area and look at him just as he finishes zipping the bag back up and standing with it in his hand. 

“What?” His voice is rough and a little hoarse probably from all the screaming from what Hydra probably did to him. Which you don’t know the extent of but just knowing Hydra it doesn’t take a genius to know they most definitely tortured the man in front of you. His vocal cords must be so damaged and you make a mental note to make him tea with honey. 

“Well I mean you’re not The Winter Soldier anymore so I won’t call you that and I’ll be caught dead before I call you Soldat like Hydra did. But also James feels so formal and I’m sure you don’t exactly feel like you’re back to being Bucky yet.” You had seen how uncomfortable he looked the few times you saw Steve use the old nickname. “So what would you like me to call you?”

“I…I don’t know.” He deflates only a little, barely noticeable but you still catch it. 

“That’s okay we don’t have to use names or anything!” You send a sweet smile his way before continuing. “But if you figure it out just let me know Honey!” He straightens up at the pet name almost as if he’s standing at attention and you take note of it before reaching down to slowly, carefully, take the bag from his metal hand. You hate that it feels like you’re treating him like a stray dog in how careful and slow your movements are. You only hope that he doesn’t take it to be you’re scared of him. He doesn’t, he understands you’re just trying to make sure he knows you’re not a threat. He appreciates it really, he has to stop his instincts from kicking in each time Steve goes to wrap an arm around his shoulder instead just flinching away from him before he can be touched knowing that if he did actually get an arm around him Steve would end up on the ground in no time. 

“Now how about a movie or something?”

When Grown Ups is over and the second one is started there’s a commotion from outside the door. 

“Must be the changing of the guards. Who do you think they roped into watching your door now?” Bucky only shrugs when you glance his way before there’s someone trying to get in before realizing the doors locked and knocking. 

“Bucky it’s me.” Steve’s voice rings out and your face scrunches up at the fact that he had tried to just barge in. “Tony said we have to check on you at each watch shift. So you gotta let me in, man.” 

Your eyes go wide and you look back at Bucky in a bit of a panic before rushing to throw the unopened snacks in your bag and get it zipped up. Bucky stands when you do and follows you in your rush to get back to the vent in the floor. Your panic is enough to make him begin to panic just a little.

“Buck? You there?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” His eyes never leave where you’re standing in between him and the wall. 

“Feel free to finish the movie if you want Honey. I've seen it plenty of times.” You whisper to him as you crouch and toss the bag into the vent. “I’ll come by again tomorrow if I have a chance, maybe make you watch an animated movie next.” He doesn’t want you to leave at all and he balls his fists up at his sides to stop himself from following you into it instead just watching as you wave before grabbing the grate and popping it back into the wall. 

“Hey man, how're you doing?” You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop but you can’t help it as you hear Bucky open the door and Steve greets him. “What’re you watching?” 

“Just clicked on something and it started going.” 

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to use the tv. It was confusing for me at first too.” You wanna laugh at how Steve assumes Bucky just couldn’t figure out how to work the tv but instead press a hand to your mouth. “Where’d you get the blanket?” At that you want to groan and bang your head against the vent realizing you left the blanket you had packed on the couch in your hurry to leave. 

“Found it in a closet.” You can picture Bucky shrugging as he answers and begin to crawl your way back to your room missing how the two super soldiers glance at the vent and how Steve says something about Clint being up to it again. 

The next day you’re in the lab with Tony and Bruce for most of it helping them design a new arm for Bucky. Which when Tony had brought up doing you were the first person to volunteer to help, not that there was anyone else that really could. And after studying the scan Tony did of it when Bucky arrived the three of you agreed that he definitely needs a better one. Hydra hadn’t taken into consideration that they were working on a human being at all when they installed his current one, not one of you actually expected that from them. 

The arm itself is sloppily fused to actual bone and the only thing he would be able to feel from the arm is pain. The workings and wirings of it only being tapped into his pain nerve endings rather than just not connecting to any. Which you’re all positive Hydra did on purpose. You didn’t even realize connecting to any was possible until Bruce pointed it out and Tony explained it to you. You were quick though to ask if connecting to all of it was possible in the new arm. Tony said it would take more time to do than if it wasn’t but that yes it was possible and that yes, he had answered before you could ask, that would be a feature they’d include with the new one. 

Since you were busy doing that you can’t sneak away to visit Bucky until late. You almost don’t but you told him you would and didn’t want him to feel forgotten. It’s halfway to eleven when you pop open the vent. Bucky’s on alert as soon as it comes off the wall having spent most of the day glancing over and watching it. He stands arms crossed across his chest and your hand shoots out in a wave. 

“Hey Honey it’s just me!” You announce yourself before sticking your head out to smile at the super soldier standing next to the vent. “Sorry it’s so late. I was in the lab all day.” You yawn as you push yourself out and onto the floor. You lay there for a few seconds fighting the urge to just curl up and go to sleep, something you fought the whole time you crawled your way over, before getting up and facing Bucky. “It’s been a long day. How’s yours been?” 

“Fine.” He watches as you walk over to the couch before collapsing yourself into the corner of it. 

“C'mon give me more than that, what’d you do all day in here?” 

“Steve showed me the tv.” He gestures to the remote in front of you taking two steps closer to you. 

“Is that it?” He nods. “You can’t possibly just sit in your thoughts all day.” As you look at him and he looks right back at you, you realize he does. And you’d bet your life it isn’t fun considering his past and just how recent his break from Hydra is. 

“Well I’ll try to remember to bring cards or a puzzle or something next time so you have something else to do. Now c'mon I won’t bite you, yet.” You pat the couch next to you and give him a teasing smile successfully coaxing him over. “It’s a little late but do you want to watch a movie? I could put on a tv show though too. Whatever you’d like.” 

“Movie’s fine.” 

Throughout How To Train Your Dragon, which you put on because from what you’ve heard about Bucky in the 40s from Steve he seems like someone who’d enjoy dragons, you can’t stop your eyes from trailing over to his arm. You don’t want him to feel like you’re judging him for it so you keep the glances you do take to a minimum. It’s not until halfway through the movie when Bucky’s relaxed into the couch more than he was that you reach a hand out to touch it and he pulls away. Later you’ll laugh about how it parallels the scene where Hiccup tries to touch Toothless. 

“Can I?” You ask just holding your hand out for Bucky to decide if he wants to put his arm in your hands or not. He hesitates, not sure why you’d want to touch it, not sure if he trusts that you won’t use it against him the way it has been before. But one look at your curious eyes has him following the silent orders that your outstretched hands give him. 

Once the arm is in your hands you scoot closer to him causing him to stiffen up at your proximity. The winter soldier in him preparing for the pain that normally comes when a handler takes a look at his arm. He wouldn’t lash out and hurt you if it did come though, not when you were his unofficial mission. But pain never comes and when he glances back over to you from the movie you’re delicately running your fingers over the metal plates that make up his arm. He relaxes into the couch again and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face. 

“Can you really not feel this?” 

“No. They said it was unnecessary.” 

“But you’d feel it if I shot you right here?” You draw a circle on his arm with your finger before tapping the middle of it. Bucky nods wishing with all his might he could feel your kind, soft, touch even a little bit. “That’s such bullshit!” Your voice is still soft through your exclamation and Bucky can’t help but wonder how someone could be soft and yet sound so angry at the same time. And he can’t help the almost suffocating feeling in his chest that your anger is for him rather than at him. Something he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before, even with memories coming back to him more and more as the days go by.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs, wanting to escape that feeling.

“It’s not.” You look up at him, absoluteness in your voice and written all over your face. It causes his breath to catch and he turns back to the movie playing letting you continue to examine the metal arm he hates so much.

You eventually doze off, head resting on his shoulder. Bucky doesn’t notice until the movie’s over though having been too pulled into it just the way you had hoped. He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t think you meant to fall asleep and let your guard down that much around him in the first place though. You had, the moment you were done looking at his arm you had wrapped your arm around his before resting your head down on it and letting the sleep that had been biting at your heels since you left the lab catch up with you. 

Bucky’s slow in his movements, using his flesh hand to block your hair from getting caught in the metal plates of his arm, something he had done a lot after his own grew out and he’d try to use the metal hand to push it out of his face, before adjusting his arm to face the couch instead of your body your head falling to his chest then. He taps your face a few times to try to wake you before moving to shaking your shoulder. The only result he gets is you squirming in your sleep and digging your face farther into his chest. He doesn’t want to resort to the violence that had been used on him to wake him up, not on you at least but maybe on Steve or any of the others, so he picks you up and carries to to the untouched bed in his room watching as you bury into the covers as he puts them on you. 

You don’t show any signs of waking up even the slightest the whole time causing the soldier in him to worry. If you don’t wake up to being nudged or carried then would you wake up if there was an intruder. The thought only brings the winter soldier in him further to the forefront as he sits and watches the door.

You cringe at the sound of your alarm when it goes off in the morning. You feel so groggy and out of it as you try to find your phone confused when it’s not plugged in next to your pillow the way it normally is. You’re confused when you find it in your pocket until you open your eyes and realize you’re not in your room. You’re still disoriented as you sit up but remember that you fell asleep on Bucky’s couch at least. 

“Honey?” Your voice is a little raspy as sleep clogs your vocal chords and Bucky only turns his head slightly so he can still keep an eye on the open bedroom door. “Did you carry me to bed?”

“Couldn’t wake you up.”

“Oh that hasn’t happened in a while.” You’re normally a light sleeper having woken up to the soft thump of your cat jumping off of your own bed multiple times before. “You must make me feel safe.” And he does even with how nervous everyone seems to be about him falling back into being the winter soldier. Bucky’s heart does somersaults as you speak the words, pride swelling in his chest that he’s successful in that part of his mission. You swing your legs over the side and stretch before checking the time on your phone, four in the morning.

“Did you sleep?” Bucky shakes his head and you frown while standing. “Well I have to get to the lab, we’re working on something big and exciting. You should try to get some sleep alright?” You head into the bathroom knowing there’d be a couple spare toothbrushes in the mirror like there always is in the empty rooms of the tower. When you come out he’s still in the same spot. “You didn’t change into pjs or anything? C’mon get up.” 

You don’t even think about it first in your sleep disoriented state before grabbing at his arm and pulling to get him to stand. The Bucky part of him comes back and he plays along faking a stumble to make it seem more like you had successfully pulled him up rather than him getting up on his own. Light laughter falls from your lips and a small smile appears on his face at the sound. 

“Here. At least change your shirt, you’ve been in the same clothes for at least two days now.” You turn from where you had been rummaging in the dresser and shove a clean shirt in his hands. Bucky just places it on the bed before taking his old one off without thinking. He never had to in the recent past, if he was granted new clothes to change into at the Hydra facility there’d always be someone there watching. It’s not until your breathing hitches and he sees your eyes lock onto the shoulder the arm is attached to that he becomes self conscious about the scarring there. He’s quick to put the new one on hating the look in your eyes. 

“Okay you get some sleep, take a shower when you wake up. I won’t be able to stop by later but I’ll probably come by tomorrow at some point okay Honey?” Bucky nods and holds himself back from following you as you leave the bedroom and back into the vent to get to your room to change before going to the lab.

You end up beating Tony and Bruce to the lab, not by much but they’re both shocked when they show up at six to find you looking at the projected blueprints you’d all been working on the day before. The second thought you’d had after seeing the scars at the seam of metal and flesh had been to tweak the plans so it could be detachable. The first one being ‘oh god I can’t believe he’s gone through so much pain’ .

“What’re you doing here already, worker bee?” Tony asks the nickname he gave you after that first long night in the lab with them rolling off his tongue and leading into a yawn.

“Woke up with an idea for the arm.” You zoom into where the arm is set to connect to the shoulder before swiping it away to show how you worked out it could be done. “Thought we could make it so his arm could be removed.” You take a sip of your energy drink as the two men take their spots on either side of you.

“What made you think of this?” It’s Bruce this time who speaks hand on chin in thought. “It could work though.”

“I don’t know. Had a dream about it and thought maybe it would be easier to clean or maybe to sleep.” You couldn’t exactly tell them that you thought maybe if he could remove it he wouldn’t have the urge to try to claw it out the way the scars hint to.

“You’ve been spending too much time in the lab with us if you’re dreaming about things kid. But it definitely could work, we’d just have to-” Tony trails off as he brings the hologram closer to him from where Bruce was studying it with a swipe of his hand and begins to toy with the way it could connect in a way that it could still work with the nerve endings.

You’re only in the lab for a couple of hours. You help the two of them fine tune the design ideas bouncing between the three of you. And then Tony’s ushering you out of the lab so he can get to work on actually making it seeing as that’s his expertise. You had argued that you could still help but you’re prone to dropping the smaller parts he needs when he builds anything and it ends with the two of you crawling around on the ground to find them, so it’d be quicker if you didn’t.

As tiring as it can be working throughout the days with them you do find it rather peaceful and you’re always happy to work through lunch the three of you eating takeout as you continue to work. Tony and Bruce were like the, much, older brothers you never had with how close the three of you are. Not that you aren’t close with the other Avengers, you spend a lot of time with all of them since you share living spaces with them, just some you’re closer to than others.

“So how’s watching Bucky’s door? As boring as it sounds?” You ask Natasha later in the gym as you hold the punching bag steady for her.

“The guy doesn’t even make a peep when I’m stuck sitting there. It’s a waste of my time and Stark should just have Steve on watch duty. It’s his childhood friend not mine.” You can hear the eye roll in her voice and can tell how annoyed she is with it.

“I don’t get why Tony has anyone sitting there if he’s not doing anything.” She stops punching and puts her hands on her hips while she peers around the bag to look at you with an exasperated look on her face.

“You’re joking. You’re part of the reason we have to, miss I’m going to be out of my room when he gets here and try to approach a very extremely recent ex Hydra assassin.” You cringe at her words knowing they’re true, the watch shifts are more for keeping you out than keeping him in. Not that it’s stopping you. “Now we actually have to wrap this up because I’m due to play watch dog in an hour so Steve can get his training in.”

After the gym with Nat you head to your room to shower and get ready for a comfortable night in with a book and your cat curled up on your lap. You decide that before you sit down though to check on Tony’s progress knowing almost without a doubt that he’s still gonna be in the lab. You stop by the kitchen to get him some food, burgers Clint was still working on making for dinner, knowing that he wouldn’t have eaten yet. You made one for yourself and one for him avoiding Clint's hands as they try to shoo you away playfully claiming you can’t take food before it’s all ready and head down to the lab again.

“Tony Bologna!” Your sing song voice greets the man before he can see you. “Brought you some food Clint was making your favorite.” You set the plates down at one of the clear work benches. “How’s the arm coming along?”

“I just can’t keep you out of this lab, can I worker bee?” He finishes up something real quick before spinning the stool around to face you. “It’s taking longer than I originally thought it would but it should still be ready in probably two days or so, depending on how much you come annoy me.” He playfully bumps his shoulder into yours after wheeling over to sit next to you.

“So am I just banned from the lab until it’s done?” You laugh knowing he doesn’t mean any harm by it.

“Wish I could tell you yes but you’ll find your way down here regardless. Just try to stay away, yeah? Wanna get this arm done with as soon as I can so Nat can stop complaining about guard duty.”

“You letting him out and about after it’s finished?” You speak around a bite of food.

“Yeah, gets out for good behavior.” The two of you eat in comfortable silence then with you trying to hide your excited smile.

Tony does end up finishing the arm in a couple days. Steve brings Bucky to the med bay as Tony and Bruce get it ready for the surgery it’ll take to remove the old one and install the new one. You get to be the first face he sees when he enters immediately taking a step towards you only stopping from continuing on when there’s a subtle shake of your head telling him not to. You give him a polite smile like you haven’t been spending most of your free time with him.

“What’s going on?” He asks as he notices the scrubs you and the two older men are in and the doctor in the corner of the room.

“Hi Bucky!” You cringe inwardly as you use the name and Bucky frowns at your use of it. “I can explain everything to you if you wanna come have a seat over here.” You direct him to a seat near the surgical table, hating that you can sense his panic. His eyes go wide like a stray dog feeling threatened as he gets a glimpse of the table and the tools next to it. “Steve, you can go now.”

“Oh uh, I’m actually supposed to stay.” He looks at Tony before looking back at you and you stop the eye roll that wants to happen.

“Can you go get me some water then? I’m a little parched.” You hope he doesn’t recognize your water bottle in the room just wanting him gone so you can whisper encouraging things to Bucky without anyone hearing. He nods after getting a nod in approval from Tony and heads out while you take a seat next to Bucky.

“It’s gonna be okay Honey.” You whisper wrapping your pinky around his flesh one and the man next to you relaxes a bit. “So you’re here today so we can remove that arm of yours and replace it with dun da da da one of our own design!” You smile as you say it, motioning to the black and gold one on the table next to you. You glance to make sure no one else in the room is looking before you take his hand to pull him up and towards the table so he can get a better look at it.

“This here is obviously the arm itself, but this piece is what’s permanently going to be in your shoulder so you can remove the arm as you please.” You point to each piece you talk about your eyes glowing with excitement to finally be telling him about it. His eyes go wide and his head snaps over to look at you with the news, his hand going to touch his shoulder through his shirt. He knows that’s a feature you added because of the scars there, from when he used to try to claw the damn thing out when it would get too uncomfortable after a long mission of using it.

“We’re going to have to put you under so we can actually do the surgery if that’s okay Honey?” The pet name is whispered so everyone else can’t hear it and Bucky nods unsure because he’s never been put under for anything before. He’d either just have to suffer through it or he’d pass out from the pain of it all.

“Wonderful! Now we’ll need you to take your shirt off and hop right on up on this table to lay down. Oh thanks Stevie.” You thank the man who hands you a cup of water drinking it to keep up the act of needing it while Bucky follows your order like the good soldier he is. But once he’s down and Bruce starts putting the restraints around him he gets that wild look in his eyes again like he’s about to do anything he can to get away. And while this causes Steve’s guard to come up, him taking a step closer ready to subdue his friend if need be, you step over under the guise of helping Bruce when in actuality you’re just there to rub your hand up and down his arm in a soothing way. 

“Bucky, I’m Doctor Cho. I'll be assisting these three so nothing goes wrong.” The doctor in the room steps up to him with a friendly smile on her face as she looks down at him. “Like y/n said we’ll be knocking you out so it’s going to be over before you even know it. After the surgery it’s likely you’ll be a little sore but with how quickly you super soldiers heal there shouldn’t be any big pain when you wake up from the anaesthesia.”

“And then you’re free from your room prison!” You cheer from the other side of him and Tony playfully slaps you on the back of the head. Bucky’s hands clench into fists at him hitting you but he doesn’t try to lunge or anything, your laughter at Tony’s action stopping it before it can begin. “What? It’s true, you said you’d be letting him out.”

“You ready?” Bruce asks the man strapped down in front of him not enjoying the view of it any more than Bucky’s enjoying it. 

“It’s not like he has a choice.” Tony says as he brings the mask over Bucky’s face. The last thing he takes in is the feel of your thumb rubbing small hidden circles on his arm in a comforting way. 

When Bucky wakes up and tries to sit up only to find he’s strapped down still he panics not wanting to be back in Hydra’s lab. He calms though when he hears your laughter, the sound reminding him he’s not with Hydra and won’t be again. His eyes open and he scans the room searching for you. And like you can feel his searching eyes you turn your head just as he finds you smiling at him. 

“Hey there Soldier, you made it out alive!” There’s a laughter to your voice that makes him not mind being called soldier and as Bruce’s attention turns to him you mouth a ‘hi honey’ to him with a wave. Tony’s not in the room he had a date with Pepper to get to and you had to convince him to agree to you staying for when Bucky woke up. He was nervous being under and waking up strapped to a table would snap him back into being the winter soldier but you insisted you would be fine even if that happened because of Steve and Bruce both being in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, coming closer to the bed with you and Steve following close behind. 

“Fine.” Bucky grunts out and with the reassurance that he’s not feeling like a killing machine Bruce and Steve move to undo his restraints with you standing close by so you can do your job to ask him questions and tell him about his new arm.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” You ask him as they finish with Bruce moving to talk to Helen in the corner of the med bay and Steve hovers close to the two of you.

“Sore.” Bucky sits up and his flesh hand goes to his shoulder as if to massage it.

“With your healing that shouldn’t last too much longer, maybe the rest of the day but you should be back to a new normal by tomorrow. Wanna know all the new fun features of this new arm?” Bucky nods with a small smile starting to play on his lips, something Steve notices and smiles himself excited that his friend is showing through the cracks more. 

“First things first say adios to feeling any major pain from your arm, at most there should just be a sting.” It had been easy to convince Bruce that Bucky had been in enough pain from Hydra and that when connecting to the nerve endings you could all leave the pain ones out of the equation. Tony took a little bit more convincing but with it being two against one he caved. 

“You’ll also be able to feel whether something's hot or cold, though not enough that it would feel like something’s burning you. Like if you stick your hand in a fire you’ll be able to feel and tell it’s warm but it’s not going to burn where you have to yank your hand out quickly.” You look at the clipboard in front of you that’s full of all the notes on the arm as you speak but look up at him at your last words. “Though don’t make a habit of that we aren’t positive how prolonged heat will affect all the little things inside your arm.”

“Like I told you before it’s removable, I’ll show you how to do that in a minute but it’s time for my favorite detail.” You hand the clipboard over to Steve figuring he could at least be helpful if he’s gonna stand guard dog. “Please stretch your arm out towards me, palm up.” Bucky follows your instructions and you speak as you wrap a hand around his wrist and start tracing different shapes on his palm. “With the sensors in and under the metal and how we have it connected to nerve endings you’ll be able to feel things as they touch your arm. While you won’t be able to feel textures of anything and you’d still feel, say, a bullet hit it, you’ll now be able to feel it if I do this.” You draw a circle on his arm with your finger before tapping the middle of it just like you did the other night.

Bucky’s eyes snap to yours rather than watch your fingers in awe. With your similar words and action from the night you fell asleep on his hated arm it’s clear to him that you were the brain behind that decision. He wills away the tears that want to brim and fall from his eyes at someone thinking and caring enough about him to do something like adding that to a new arm, something he hasn’t had happen to him in close to a century where he’s known mostly pain and torture. Maybe that’s the reason he lunges at you to bring you into a hug without thinking of how that might come off as.

You could see the hug coming a mile away, it was written all over his face that that’s what he wanted to do. You didn’t have to be an expert on who he was to be able to see it, though you’d think it would be with how quickly Steve leaves the clipboard to clatter to the ground and make it so the two of you are separated. His sudden rushed movement pushes you back into one of the utility tables causing the tools on it to rattle around but it also awakens Bucky’s Winter Soldier fight or flight response. It’s both of those things that cause him to head butt his friend.

“Steve what the hell!” You yell out as Bucky’s head connects with his nose. The commotion should have drawn eyes to the three of you but Bruce and Helen had stepped out of the lab briefly before all of this. 

“He was lunginging at you.” As Steve’s hand goes up to cup his nose in shock that his best friend attacked him for no reason Bucky dives past him to stand in front of you as if to protect you from any danger.

“He was just gonna hug me! Weren’t you honey?” The pet name goes over Steve’s head in the heat of the moment. Bucky gives a stiff nod, the Winter Soldier in him still braced for a fight with the man in front of him if he tries to harm you again. He doesn’t start to relax until you take his new metal hand in yours and rub circles into it. The new sensation of it bringing him back. “Anyone with a brain could’ve seen that written on his face. You all have to stop walking on eggshells all the time when it comes to him or he’ll never actually make any progress.” Steve opens his mouth to respond but you’ve stopped paying attention to him and have instead grabbed Bucky’s shirt from the table you were pushed into and started pulling him out of the lab. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to remove your arm and then you can start getting used to it.”

“How excited are you that when we get back you don’t have to watch Bucky’s door?” You ask Nat as the two of you take seats in the quinjet to finally get home after the week long recon mission the two of you and a couple other agents were sent on. You had gotten word of it right after leaving Bucky’s room from showing him how to remove and reattach his arm and left the next morning. So you’re eager to get back and see how he’s acclimating to the new arm and his new freedom to roam about the tower.

“You have no idea.” She groans before answering. “I finally get my free time back. I’ve had to postpone the same date three times now.”

“Date? You mean you don’t have something going on with Steve?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugs and tries to look nonchalant but you see right through her.

“Yeah sure you don’t.”

“What about you miss lots of questions about Bucky Barnes and crawling through the vents to get into his room?”

“What? I never did that, you know Clint's always messing around in the vents.”

“Yeah and I can tell when it’s him or when it’s you. It sounds different.”

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.” You hold your pinky out in a silent promise and she hesitates before looping her own with it.

“Deal.”

Unsurprisingly when you both leave the quinjet Nat goes straight to talk to Steve who’s standing waiting in the hangar. You leave them to it, sending him a wave as you walk past wanting to beeline for your room for a shower and quality time with your cat who you always miss the most when you’re stuck on long missions like that. You end up making a pit stop in the shared kitchen to fill your water bottle up with water from the fridge there since you’re almost positive Tony purposely made it so it had the coldest water in the tower so everyone would be forced to cohabitate. You pause momentarily in the doorway when you spot Bucky sitting at the island.

“Hey Honey!” You beam, happy to see him. He turns his head to look at you shocked to see you standing in front of him. A small smile forms on his face, unable to stop from feeling as close to giddy as he has in a long time at how genuinely happy you look. 

“Hi.” He pauses as you cross the kitchen to fill your bottle. “How was your mission?”

“So boring.” You roll your eyes as you wait for your bottle to fill. “We spent most of our time in a room watching cameras and listening to mics. I bet you were glad to have me out of your space for a week though.” 

He wasn’t, he had missed your presence and how you never made him feel like he had to try to be anyone other than who he was now. Between Steve calling him Bucky and wanting him to be the same guy he knew in the forties and Tony still calling him the Winter Soldier always waiting for the brainwashing to kick back in he thought he was going to go crazy. All he wanted to do was lock himself in his room and not come out until you were back and calling him Honey and not wanting or expecting him to be anyone other than the guy he was now, a guy trying to figure out who exactly he is after being stuck under Hydra’s control for the last however long and trying to cope with that.

“I was gonna shower and just collapse on my bed for a while.” You continue not waiting for a response from him which Bucky appreciates. “Wanna come with? You can meet my cat and I could collapse on the couch instead. We could watch a movie.” You start to walk away as you speak and Bucky’s quick to follow. Of course he was, the Winter Soldier in him who saw you as his mission was going mad at not being with you on your mission because what if you got hurt and he wasn’t there to prevent it, to protect you.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” You say as you open the door to your room ushering Bucky in quickly so your cat doesn’t try to escape again. He takes in the surroundings; it's warm and soft and he immediately thinks how much it suits you. You head farther in and while Bucky still stands near the entrance you approach him a white cat in your arms. “Honey, this is Alpine. I think the two of you could be the best of buds.” You hand her over to him and he’s not sure how exactly to act with a cat in his arms but just lets it happen. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower, I’ll be right back out. Make yourself at home.”

While you shower Bucky hesitates before moving to sit on your couch which is different, softer and more comfortable, than his own. There’s blankets folded and draped over the arms and the back of it with a heart pillow in one corner and a star pillow in the other. He sits in the corner with the heart because it’s further into the room and Alpine meows looking at him with her big blue eyes. She starts purring almost immediately as he scratches behind her ears and under her chin. You’re positively beaming when you come out of your room and find them like that.

“I just knew you’d be a cat person.” Instead of sitting in the other corner of the couch like he expected you to, you sit right next to Bucky folding your legs under you and leaning your shoulder into his own.

“I like animals.” That’s something about him that never changed even under Hydra's brainwashing. He would be on missions as The Winter Soldier sleeping in alleys, because if they didn’t have to they wouldn’t supply him a safe house to stay in, and feeding the strays letting them curl up next to him to sleep in a safe space for the night.

“Hmm, I think I know just the movie to put on then.” You fall asleep probably halfway through Hotel for Dogs. You hadn’t realized how tired you were from the mission until you were fighting to keep your eyes open. And when Bucky had realized you had fallen asleep he sinks more comfortably into the couch and relaxes, metal arm on the back of the couch as around you as he’ll let it be for now and a hand stroking the loving cat still in his lap. And when he falls asleep after the movie ends it’s the first time he doesn’t wake from a nightmare.

Bucky Taglist: @the-chocoholic-writer @vanillamaa @sailormajinmoon @enlyume @collywobbl @valhalla-kristin @nojamsonmytoast @esoltis280 @aactuaaltraash @cali-888 @moonNooon @Minami97 @winchestert101

Marvel Taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @mazerunnerrose @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng