Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2014-04-07
Words:
1,004
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
10
Kudos:
337
Bookmarks:
27
Hits:
6,528

Triggers

Summary:

Bucky Barnes returns from a mission that hit a little bit close to home and Steve Rogers is the only one who can help him return to normal, with the help of a hot shower.

One-shot.

Cap 2 spoilers and tw: blood.

Work Text:

The door opened so quietly that Steve didn't even look up. He was used to unannounced visitors on his floor of Avengers Towers. That was even one of the reasons he had decided to move in last month.

But when he did look up, he did a double take.

Bucky, back from his mission in Sao Paulo, was almost unrecognizable. His recently clipped hair hung down over his eyes like a curtain. His eyes stared ahead blankly and he did not move.

It took Steve a few moments to realize that Bucky was covered in a film of dried blood, arterial spray judging by the flecking pattern across his face. His entire right arm, his only arm, was covered in it. It soaked through his red shirt in a dark, rusty-red color.

Steve didn't realize he had stood from the couch until he was almost an arm's width away from his friend.

"It's not mine," Bucky said tersely, but it wasn't his voice — it was that hollow copy of his usual warm voice, empty-sounding. It was a mission report.

Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to steady him, clasping there. He bent his chin down to lock eyes with him — he would never get used to it, looking down at Bucky.

But it wasn't Bucky that was looking back.

"Buck, I'm here," he said, moving his hands to either side of the other man's face.

"It's not mine," Bucky repeated, his voice dead and clinical. After a moment his eyelids fluttered and Steve felt a shudder go through the other man's body.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Steve said. This wasn't the first time that Bucky had been triggered by a mission. Back in Sicily, when they had run into a group of gun-runners from Moldova — that had triggered Bucky. Something they said, or the dialect of their Romanian, or the battle formation. And suddenly the man on his left wasn't Bucky anymore. Moments like these, they scared Steve. He never knew what to do.

Bucky was breathing hard as Steve gently pulled him into the bathroom. He guided him through the glass door, turning the tap all the way hot, gently placing Bucky in the stream. The water was steaming, but still Bucky shivered, his body quaking.

He sat there in the hot water, staring at Steve without really seeing him. He looked like a child, trembling on the floor of the shower. He didn't even flinch at the hot water soaking his shirt.

"We'll get you clean," Steve promised. He reached to comb through Bucky's stringy hair with his fingers, brushing along the clumped, blood-dried hair.

Bucky caught his wrist with his hand, his eyes finally locking on Steve.

"Get it off," he said. "Get it off me right now."

Steve nodded and reached for the buttons of Bucky's shirt, throwing it aside onto the shower floor, and then gently began disengaging the metal arm that connected to Bucky's left shoulder.

"Get it off," Bucky said again, urgently. He was shaking worse now, his teeth chattering, and his metal arm was responding, malfunctioning, gripping into the shower wall and shattering the files.

"I'm working on it, Buck," Steve said, trying to keep his voice even as he heard it breaking. "Please try to stay calm. We can get through this."

"Get it off!" Bucky yelled, and he reached with his other arm to rip off the offending limb. He succeeded, throwing it away. It shattered the glass door of the shower, but Steve didn't even turn to look. He was more concerned with his friend.

The pain of ripping off the device barely registered, but Steve could tell by the way his body writhed that it had hurt a great deal.

"Better?" Steve asked, scraping away at the blood on his friend's bare chest with the pads of his fingers.

Bucky was calmer now, too calm. He stared ahead, blankly, his breathing still unsteady. And slowly he glanced at the space along his left side.

"I can still feel it," he said hollowly.

"I know, Buck. I know."

The hot water gushed, soaking Steve's t-shirt, dripping into his eyes. He flinched at the heat, but still Bucky was shivering.

The water along the drain still ran red with the blood and he watched it, swirling with trails of darker red, along the white and blue tiles. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, trying to draw a steady breath as Bucky's labored breathing cut the air.

Bucky fluttered his eyelashes and held his hand before his face. It was still stained red, along the cuticles, along the lines of his knuckles.

"I can't get it clean," he said with a hollow laugh, his face blank, and his lips distorted in a strange smile. "Huh."

Steve reached for the hand, gripping it between his own, rubbing at the skin under the hot water. He glanced at Bucky — at his friend who barely seemed to see him — and then pressed his lips to the bloodstained knuckle.

At the press of the soft lips, Bucky flinched, but when he turned to look at Steve it was him behind those cold eyes.

Slowly, Steve wrapped his lips around each finger, sucking the blood off at a measured, steady rate, his eyes never leaving Bucky's.

Five times he pressed his lips along each finger, and five times Bucky stared right back at him. The rapid motion of Bucky's chest slowed and his eyelids fluttered closed.

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's open palm and Bucky responded by stretching the fingers behind the nape of Steve's neck, twining in the short hair there.

"Thanks," Bucky whispered.

"Come back to me, Bucky," Steve begged, and Bucky's thumb moved to his cheekbone, brushing gently along the skin there.

"How can I say no to you?" Bucky asked, his eyes fluttering open tiredly. That teasing smile of his played across his lips.

After a moment, Bucky laughed hollowly.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Stark was right," Bucky said. "You really do suck."