Old wounds
His hand won’t stop shaking, not the metal one, not the one holding a knife but the one it’s pressed against. He can hear the creak of the metal, he tries not to look up at the mirror and see the mess he is.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he keeps thinking back to his therapy session, keeps thinking back to hot liquid on him, thinking back to electricity running rampant through him and tearing through his very being.
He wouldn’t ever admit it but he hasn’t adjusted.. not truly and not in the way everyone assumes. Bucky has only known pain for the past 80 years and to suddenly be torn away from it is weird, to not feel actual pain, it’s something so off putting.
He presses the knife down and he’s scared that he won’t feel a thing. He’s scared that he will watch red pour out in a steady stream and be perfectly ok. He’s about to put more pressure when a loud ringing cuts through the bathroom, he drops the knife startled.
He quickly grabs his phone, hand still shaking and maybe a little too breathless that he doesn’t even bother looking at the caller Id.
“Yes.”
“H— Bucky? You good, man? You seem out of breath.” Sam, the shaking seems to instantly slow and stop leaving tiny tremors.
“Yeah I’m on a run, why are you calling?” He says instead of ‘I don’t know how to live without pain.’
“First of all, rude, at least sound happy to hear my voice-“
“I rather listen to Marvin Gaye.” He cuts off and smiles slightly at the outraged shout.
“Hey! I don’t know whether to be more insulted that you think Marvin Gaye isn’t a genius or that you’re trying to make fun of my voice!” Bucky laughs, sliding down against the bathroom wall.
“What do you want Cap?” He says fondly, “We have a mission, I can’t do it alone.” Sam replies.
That’s all he says and Bucky is ready to give anything, give everything if Sam wants it.
“Where do you want me to meet you?”
“Come down to Sarah’s.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t hesitate before grabbing a small bag, half of it is full with weapons rather than personal possessions.
He raises his arm to slightly block the sun from his direct view, the heat feels unlike the harsh one of Brooklyn. He stares at the blue sky, his shoulders sagging as he lets out what tension has been there for a while, closing his eyes slightly.
He’s knocked out of his daze when something runs into the back of him, he doesn’t budge but that doesn’t change the rush of adrenaline, his metal arm whirs before he realizes that the hands around him are tiny.
“Uncle Bucky!” Cass calls out and his arm stops making that awful noise. He laughs, turning around to hug the kid back. “Yeah I missed you too, punk.”
He looks up to find Sarah and AJ there, holding grocery bags, AJ looks excited with a smile on his face but Sarah has a look on her face that he’s too familiar with. He quickly lets go of Cass, rising up to full height, “I can help with those.” He says instead of, ‘It wasn't on purpose I swear.’
Sarah smiles but her shoulders are still rigid, “What a charmer you are James.” She passes him the groceries and while AJ protests that he can handle it, Bucky still takes them from the pouting kid.
He sets down the groceries on the table with a thump, the boys immediately running over to play video games on the Tv, “You should play a game with us!” His hand clenches against the table, “Sorry boys, me and Sam have some important business to attend to.” They aw at that before springing into a million questions about what hell he’s fighting.
“So..” he turns toward Sarah, “So?” He questions back.
“Why haven’t you been here in a while?”
“Well— uh you know, been busy and all.” The woman raises an eyebrow at that and Bucky is suddenly reminded that she and Sam both know when to call bullshit. However unlike Sam, she doesn’t push certain things, She simply turns to the kitchen counter and starts rummaging through the cabinets instead.
“Sam has missed you.” His eyebrows raise a mile before he lets out a guffaw, “Yeah missed making stupid robot jokes.” He laughs but Sarah doesn’t join in, “I’m serious James.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. “Yeah, well he’ll just have to get in line because I missed his sister more than that jerk.” Sarah does laugh this time, turning around with a raised eyebrow.
“You missed me?” She comes closer and Bucky's caught off guard, leaning back a bit and averting his eyes. “Y— I mean yes Ma’am.”
He doesn’t expect Sarah to burst out laughing adding to his confusion, “Oh Lord you should have seen the look on your face! Seriously Barnes, fake flirting does not flatter you.” He splutters, “Who says it was fake?”
He’s saved from the hole he dug himself into when the door opens with a thump, “I’m home!”
“Uncle Sam!” The boys run up to hug him and Bucky feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Sam doesn’t look different, not really, maybe he’s glowing more than before. He turns towards them and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know what to say, how to feel.
“Well, well look who decided to show up.” Sarah rolls her eyes with a smile, “Oh c'mon I’m here all the time! Don’t ruin my reputation in front of this computer.” Sam gestures towards him and he laughs.
“Oh wow, the bad jokes have already started.” He says sarcastically but suddenly there are arms pulling him in for an embrace, it seems like it’s years before he returns it and Sam pulls away.
Sarah looks at him before shaking her head and turning away.
“Excuse you, my jokes are the best thing you’ll be hearing.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe you should hang up the Shield and start doing stand up then,Cap.”
“Why not both?” The man grins and Bucky's heart hurts.
Bucky has a staring problem. He knows this and so does everyone who’s had a conversation with him, so does the cashier at the coffee shop who’s always nervous around him. Sam knows this, maybe too much, maybe Bucky has a staring problem with Sam for an entirely other reason.
Torres is briefing them about the mission and the details but he can’t keep his eyes off Sam, tracing the lines of his suit with his eyes. Watching his small mannerisms, his smile, he can’t get enough of it.
He manages to tear his eyes away finally and catches Torres looking at him, the man quickly averts his gaze, “So you guys up for it?”
They both nod, even though Bucky hasn’t really heard anything besides the basics, his head still swimming with warmth and rough hands.
At least they’re not dealing with Aliens, just some mutants who work for Magneto.
Scratch that. Bucky really wishes they were dealing with aliens. He’s a super soldier and yet he knows these bruises will be staying longer than a couple of hours. He’s thrown back into a wall of crates and curses whoever thought it was a good idea to put them there.
One second he’s on the floor, among broken wood, splint digging into him and the next, a small click rings throughout the warehouse. One that he recognizes too quickly, too easily, and he can pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from.
He’s up within a matter of seconds, his ears ringing and his vision not doing much better but he’s sure of what he’s doing.
The noise comes rushing back, Bucky shoves Sam out of the way, a gunshot sounds loudly through the warehouse, he hears the man grunt and thenRedwing takes down the last two with some tranquilizers. Why hadn’t it done that sooner?
He feels…. pain. It’s not that bad with the adrenaline but it’s there. He groans as he sits up off the man, slightly out of breath, blood sluggishly leaks out of his abdomen, he presses a hand against it and stares at the dark color.
“Urgh… fuck, you would think after getting tackled by a super soldier once you’d get used to it.” Sam curses and Bucky pulls him up to his feet with a laugh.
“Thanks by the way, how’d you even know he had a gun?” The man dusts himself off, “I heard the safety go off.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, “Robot got SuperRobot senses?” Bucky rolls his eyes, “Ha, Ha, so original Cap.”
“Let’s get these at the drop off point and head to a hotel, I’m begging for a shower and a bed.” The man says and Bucky nods not too worried about his wound as long as he gets the bullet out before his supersoldier healing impedes it in his skin.
Bucky is too invested in the red seeping into his clothes to notice that Sam has been wavering on his feet. It’s only when the man fails to swipe the card for their room multiple times and stumbles back, knocking into his chest does he realize it.
“W-woah, sorry, those assholes hit way too hard for their own good.” He says touching his head and trying to move off of Bucky. Instead his hand accidentally grazes over the wet spot on his stomach, flinching and pulling away as if he’s been burned.
Sam stares at the blood on his hand, taking a sharp inhale and turning back towards Bucky with wide eyes. “You got shot.” His eyes stare at the wound spot before frantically trying to reach over. Bucky squirms, side stepping from the man and taking the card from his hands. “Knock it off Sam, it’s not a big deal.”
He definitely should have not said that.
He steps into the room, Sam hot on his heels and outraged, “Not a big fucking deal? What the fuck man! You get shot— You took a bullet for me, and it’s not a big deal?!”
“We both know what we signed up for, so yes, it’s not a big deal!” He yells, turning on a lamp and flooding the room with a warm yellow.
“That doesn’t mean you can just take a hit for me! I can handle myself!” The man shoves his shoulder, forgetting for a second about the wound. Bucky hits the wall behind him with a grunt. “Fuck— Buck— sorry I didn’t mean to—“
“It’s fine.” He grunts out and then Sam is pulling him towards the bed, pushing him to sit. “Shouldn’t you also be sitting? I don’t doubt you have a concussion.”
He chooses to ignore him, getting him out of his leather jacket instead.
“And you got shot.” Sam hisses before throwing a rag into his face, and rummaging around the place.” Put pressure onto the wound! You better hope there’s a first aid kit around here somewhere.” Sam mutters.
Bucky flings the ruined shirt off of him, not caring where it lands. He stares at the wound sluggishly bleeding, prodding at it and not making a noise. He thinks about pressing into it before he changes his mind. He breathes in deeply, stares forward before—-
“Aha! Found it!” Sam yells.
— shoving his fingers inside the wound and pulling out the bullet, it hits the ground with a clatter that sounds way too loud in the quiet hotel room. Sam stands there frozen,a first aid kit held tightly in his arms as he stares at the bullet on the ground and Bucky's bloody fingers.
It feels like it could’ve been hours, maybe years, but it’s only been a couple seconds and then time goes back to normal. Sam’s rushing over, taking the discarded rag and pressing against the wound. “Jesus— what the fuck is wrong with you?!”
He wants to say everything, wants to say nothing at the same time because he’s the winter soldier. He’s the winter soldier as much as he tries not to be, as much as everyone else tells him he’s not. He’s the winter soldier and he’s perfect, the perfect choice.
“I don’t know, I’m not the one running around with a huge dinner plate like a cartoon character.” He shrugs gesturing to the shield perched up agaisnt a wall, going for nonchalant but it comes out flat.
“I’m serious! Why couldn’t you just wait a minute for me to patch you up? You can’t just do reckless shit like this Bucky!”
“Why not?” Sam looks like he wants to kill him, and Bucky wouldn’t even try to stop him.
“Because! You could hurt yourself dipshit!” Sam yells, opening the first aid kit and pulling out gauze, medical string and things that Bucky doesn’t want.
“No I wouldn’t.” He pushes Sam's hand away when he tries to sew him up.
“You just pulled out a bullet with your bare hands, Bucky.” Sam is trying to be calm.
“Did that not hurt?”
Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Did it hurt? Does he know the answer himself? He stays quiet, having a staring contest with the man. Sam tries to sew him up again but Bucky grabs his hand roughly.
“Quit it, I’m already healing, there's no need.” Sam pulls away, his fists clenched and seething like he might hit Bucky.
Do it, do it.
But he doesn’t. Instead he grabs gauze and bandages the wound before he marches out the room, grabbing his coat and slamming the door so hard Bucky feels the room shake. He stares at the blood on his fingers and the open first aid kit.
By the time Sam gets back, Bucky has already scrubbed the blood out from the carpet and discarded his ruined clothes. He sits on the bed, the Tv playing some cartoon but he’s not watching, he’s mostly replaying the way Sam had looked angry. Mouth into a firm line, trembling hands pulling off his jacket, fingers against his chest, his hand in his.
The door opens with a click and Bucky tries not to seem eager.
“Have you been sitting there and staring at the wall this whole time?” He sounds more like his normal self as he kicks his shoes off and takes his jacket off.
“I am watching Tv.”
“No you’re not.” Sam says, throwing a bag at him and he realizes that the sudden smell was Chinese. They sit in silence for a little, getting out their food. Bucky’s not really hungry these days but he eats so Sam will feel better.
“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” Sam says, barely above a whisper. Bucky wants him to break his heart open.
“It’s alright, I should have waited.” He catches a glance at the man and finds him looking at him already.
“So why didn’t you?” Sam asks, like he’s afraid he’ll scare off Bucky. Like he’s made out of porcelain.
No one has ever treated him like he’s made out of glass. An animal? Sure, a killing machine? Of course, but glass? Never.
“I’ve had worse. You worry too much.”
“That doesn’t make it any better. It’s my job to worry, I— we’re partners whether you like it or not. We look out for each other.”
They’re more than partners, so why can’t they admit they’re friends? Why can’t Bucky admit he wants to be more? Wants more and more and more until there’s so much, he’s bursting at the seams.
“You going soft on me Wilson?”
“Never, Punk.”
“Oh look who’s talking like an old man?” He grins and Sam bumps his shoulder laughing, “Oh shut up I’m in my prime.” Bucky rolls his eyes fondly.
He wants to pretend he doesn’t notice the way Sam looks at him for too long, concerned, waiting for something. But he does notice, he notices everything.
Bucky tries to sleep on the bed, late hours into the night and he can’t. He shuffles off, trying to be silent before making a makeshift place on the cold hard floor. His tags clang against his bare chest and he stares at the floor with nothing to do.
“Can’t sleep?” The voice jolts him and he cringes at being caught. “Bed’s too warm.” He says instead, but Sam already knows it’s bullshit.
“We have AC.” The man says instead, “ I know.” Bucky replies.
A couple minutes later he hears shuffling from Wilson’s side, he assumes the man is getting up to take a leak but a second later a pillow hits the floor next to him. The man comes into view, wearing loose boxers and nothing else. Bucky tries not to stare too much.
“What are you doing Wilson?”
“Helping a friend out Barnes.” Sam settles down next to him on the floor and they stare at each other in the dark.
“You better not start another staring contest robocop.” Sam says, “Nah, that’s all you Cap.”
“Didn’t know we were having a sleepover, would’ve brought my good pajamas.” Bucky says and hears Sams muffled laugh and then a hand shoving his face.
“Shut it idiot.”
Then..
“This used to help Riley.” Sam admits into the quiet and Bucky knows who Riley is, of course he knows. There are pictures hung up in Sarah’s home, muttering in Sam's sleep when they’re on a mission together.
“Your flying buddy?” He whispers, “.. Yeah, he uh— he used to get some real bad nightmares, couldn’t sleep on beds cause he needed something to ground him. It would always help when I—- when someone was next to him.” Sam's voice doesn’t sound happy, but it doesn’t sound sad either, just reminiscent. Nostalgic.
“You guys were close?” Is all he can ask, and Sam laughs humorlessly. “Yeah.. yeah.”
Bucky thinks that’s all they’re going to talk about for today and goes back to admiring Sam in the dark, a soft light from under the door, splaying against his face, illuminating his hard edges and eyelashes.
“Why won’t you let anyone help you Buck?”
Bucky doesn’t know how to answer, he doesn’t know a lot of things.
“I don’t need help.”
And they both know it’s a lie.