You barely noticed it. That’s why it took you so long to realize. You stared at the pot’s broken handle, and back down at your shirt. The water had been bubbling had it not? Fire still burned on the burner, and steam rose slowly from you. But then…
Why had it felt cold? It should have been hot. Scalding.
“Hey Buck?” you wavered.
“Doll?” He answered.
He walked in, a smile playing on his face.
“Did you…” He trailed off, his eyes looking to the broken pot in your hand. He took in your steaming clothes.
His eyes met your pained ones.
Letting out a curse, he burst into action, taking the pot from you, and turning off the stove.
He reached down to your shirt, his eyes silently asking permission. Clenching your eyes you nodded.
His hands ripped your shirt down the middle. You whimpered as he began to pull down your pants. The pain starting to set in.
Bucky looked up at you, distressed.
“I need you to breathe for me doll. I need to get these off.”
You nodded and looked away.
He counted to three, yanking them down. You let out a cry, hand reaching out to grab the edge of the table.
Bucky cursed again, gently lifting your legs out of the jeans. Standing up, he ran out of the room.
Gasping, you chanced a look down at yourself. From your chest to your legs, red glared back. On your thigh was a large patch of missing skin.
Nauseated, you looked away.
Bucky ran back in, phone in hand.
“No!” you cried.
He looked up at you, wide-eyed.
“No ambulance!” you gasped, holding onto the table with both hands now.
“You’re burnt,” he said.
“Please. No,” you whispered.
You were already struggling to pay rent, adding on the cost of the hospital and an ambulance would send you to an early grave.
You pointed to your keys on the counter.
“You drive.” You gasped, struggling to breathe. “James, please.”
Bucky furrowed his brows begging silently. You shook your head.
Sighing, he dropped the phone on the table and ran out of the kitchen. Only to come back, with a bedsheet in his hands. He snatched the keys and thrust his phone in his pocket, before making his way to you.
“Did you just rip that off the bed?” you whispered, finding small amusement amongst all your pain.
“It’s the lightest one we have,” he said.
Gripping the sides, he handed it to you. “In case you wanted to cover up.”
You took it gratefully. And he stepped closer on the small puddle that had formed under you.
He looked up, panicked, and gently as he could, lifted you up. You whimpered, as your feet unstuck to the floor, and Bucky whispered countless apologies.
You lifted the sheet over yourself, covered yourself whilst trying to avoid the most painful parts on your legs and stomach. You winced, pressing your face against Bucky’s chest.
He called the elevator with his shoulder, then looked down at you. Your pain reflected in his face.
“Just hold on a bit longer love, you’re doing so well.”
Your moan muffled against his chest, and you sniffled, as your tears finally fell.
The elevator chimed, and he walked inside.
The silence inside made you aware of his warm fingers, spread flush against your back. The cool metal of his arm providing a minute relief on your legs.
His chest moved up and down. And his breath ghosted your hair, as he brought his head down to nuzzle yours, unable to provide you anymore comfort.
“You’re going to be okay doll. Hold on for me okay?”
You whimpered.
The doors opened, and he rushed into the lobby, and out the doors.
He sat you in the car. And shut the door.
You leaned against the window as he drove. The street passed by in flashes.
The car jumped, running over a speedbump. You gasped, eyes rolling back.
A warm hand laid down on yours. Turning to Bucky, you saw your hand had clutched the center console.
Lifting it, Bucky ran circles with his thumb. His eyes never straying from the road, as he sent you silent reassurances. His other hand gripped the steering wheel. You dared not look at the speedometer. The sun strobing on your face was enough an indicator.
His hand tightened, and you braced for another speed bump. Instead, the car screeched to a stop, under a large awning.
Your door opened, and Bucky lifted you up again. You cried out, his jacket scraping against your side.
He sat you down on a chair, fixing the sheet over your shoulders. And then you were moving. Away from him.
“Wait!” you yelled, reaching out.
“I have to park the car. Let them take you doll,” he said, “I’ll be right back.”
Left no room to complain, the chair lurched forward again. A pair of sliding doors closed in behind you, as the car sped away.
Somehow you landed on a bed. The sheet pried from your hands. Warbled voices spoke, their owners stabbing your stomach and legs. You cried out. Begging them to stop. Hands restrained your thrashes. Someone pinched your arm. The lights grew incredibly bright, and you clenched your eyes shut.
Why had Bucky brought you here? This was no hospital, but torture. Where the hell was he. You had to get out of here.
A metal clamped down on your hand, and you fought it back your arm no longer restrained. But your arm was flaccid. Unable to do damage.
You screamed out, for Bucky. Anyone. But your voice remained mute. It had grown incredibly dark. Was that supposed to happen? At least the lights no longer bothered. Somewhere, a soft tone rang.
You tried lifting your arm again. Nothing. No longer restrained, but unable to move. Was there a difference?
Someone laughed. Probably at your inability to move. Again, another tone.
You groaned, testing your voice.
You looked around. It wasn’t entirely dark, there were some blinking lights in a corner. And a red light on your finger.
Lifting your head, you tried shaking it off. It would have worked if not for the shadows that grasped your arm. Another tone.
“Bucky,” you cried, your voice hoarse.
Where was he? Had they taken him too?
“Shhh,” a disembodied voice said.
Cool metal on your forehead as it gently pushed you back down.
You closed your eyes, letting the soft tone lull you to sleep.
___
You were on your back. That’s what was wrong.
Opening your eyes, what you saw was not your ceiling.
Blinking, you looked to the side. Where an IV bag hung, its tube running down and disappearing under your blanket.
You looked down. This wasn’t yours. You looked to your other side.
Cool blue eyes met your own. Unblinking.
Something pressed into your hand. You looked down. His fingers laced with yours. Tentatively, you squeezed back.
You looked back at his face. Dark circles under his eyes.
Blinking slowly, his gaze softened, and he let himself fall forward, mindful of your space.
Reaching with your other hand, you stroked his hair. He mumbled something; his voice muffled by the bed. When you hummed, asking him to repeat what he said, you were met with soft snores.
The next time you woke up, you found him in the corner with a nurse. They spoke in hushed tones, as the nurse handed him a large red envelope.
Sensing your gaze, Buckly glanced around the nurse. The nurse turned around as well.
“You’re awake,” The nurse said, speaking your name. “Good, I was just handing your boyfriend your discharge information. I was telling him how to take care of second and third-degree burns. The doctor included several prescriptions, both for infection and pain.”
The nurse crossed something off on a clipboard. “There is a phone number on the discharge papers. If you get complications, don’t hesitate to reach out. Any other questions?” The nurse looked between you and Bucky.
Bucky looked at you, with raised eyebrows, and you shook your head.
The nurse smiled, “well then, you’re free to go home. Get some rest. You both need it.”
Bucky nodded to the nurse as they walked off and brought a wheelchair up to the bed.
“Let’s get you home, doll.”