Plot: You get hurt on a mission with Bucky
Warnings: descriptions of blood, plot centered around major injury, slight themes of ptsd and death
Author's Note: This is my first fic over 1000 words! I loved writing this one and leaning into the imagery and sort of taking the reader along for the ride.
Message me for requests for Marvel drabbles or if you're interested in drawing art for my fics! Find me on Wattpad at minstrelwrites.
Copyright: I do not give consent for my work to be copied, shared on other sites, published, or otherwise used without my knowledge.
Cold. That's what you felt first. The cold of the stone floor shocked your whole system. The ringing in your ears drowned out the sounds around you and your eyes struggled to get the room to stop spinning. There was something sticky and warm slowly coating your hair. It felt nice, warmer than the freezing floor, a sort of comforting feeling.
You suddenly realized that breathing had become painful, your lungs struggling to fill all the way, burning with strain. The rest of your body felt numb, you couldn't figure out where the issue was coming from.
A blur passed over you, and then someone was lifting your head onto their lap and pressing something to the back of your head. You tried to focus on the shape above you. It was large and dark, but there was something shiny on one side. You tried to focus, to get your arm to lift and reach out, but it was like the communication line was cut from your brain to your limbs. You were stuck. Paralyzed. And cold, so cold. Why was it so cold? The shape above you grabbed something and pressed it hard to your chest, seeming frantic. You didn't understand why. You couldn't feel anything in your chest. It was all sort of tingly and numb. The real issue was that you were struggling to breathe, but pressing down on your chest wasn't going to help.
The damn ringing in your ears refused to stop, you couldn't hear if they were speaking. Air brushed your back and you felt like you were floating. It was relaxing. And then a piercing pain sparked in your chest causing you to cry out in pain, screams were muffled by the ringing. Your chest felt like it was on fire, your lungs tried to push through it, but it was excruciating. The pain went on and on and finally your body gave out, slipping into distant darkness.
Bucky frantically carried Y/n back to the quinjet, doing his best to keep pressure on her wounds, but there was so much blood. Her chest, her mouth, her head. He had already warned Clint over the earpieces that Y/n was hurt and they would need to get off the ground immediately. Natasha, Stark, Steve, and Thor were hot on his heels. He pushed himself, running faster, as the quinjet appeared through the line of trees. The ramp was down and Clint was already in the pilot's seat ready for take off. As soon as they were all on board, he took off. Tony helped him lower Y/n onto the med table while Natasha and Steve grabbed supplies. They started bandaging her as best as they could, they needed to keep her stable just long enough to reach the tower. Once they finished, the others went to find seats and rest after the mission, but Bucky couldn't leave her side. He saw it replayed in his head over and over.
She didn't notice the agent behind her, gun aimed at her head. He shouted her name and she spun on her heel. The shot fired, but the agent missed her head, hitting her sternum. She stood there for a moment, stunned before she fell backward, hitting the floor hard. Blood started to pool from her head where it had hit the stone. Bucky quickly disarmed the agent and knocked him out cold before rushing to Y/n's side. There was so much blood, he couldn't stop it all and she was so pale and fragile. Her eyes stared straight up, but they couldn't seem to focus. She was deadweight in his arms. She felt like she was dead.
They reached the tower quicker than he had anticipated, due to some questionable flying on Clint's part. The medical team was ready with a stretcher as soon as they landed and carefully loaded Y/n onto it. Bucky followed them to the med bay where they started to prep her for surgery. Bucky tried to go in and follow you, but they wouldn't let him.
He paced back and forth in the waiting room, the not-knowing was killing him. He ran his hands over his face, they felt wet and sticky. He looked down, they were covered in Y/n's blood. He ran to the bathroom, turning on the tap, and began to scrub at his hands, trying to get the blood off. It wouldn't leave, his hands were stained with her blood. Her's. The one person he swore to protect. He looked up into the mirror. Her blood streaked his face like warpaint. He wiped until his skin was red and raw, but some of it still refused to wash away, staining him, marking him as a failure. All he could do was destroy and break and hurt and now she was hurt.
He punched the man on the floor for the ninth time, his face already bruised and bleeding. The blood was staining his hands. His handler called out the commands and he followed, obeying, punishing.
By the time he was done the floor was covered in blood, as was he. It was everywhere, the mark of a job well done.
He punched the mirror in frustration, cracking the glass, his reflection fragmenting. He backed away, from what, he wasn't sure. He turned and left as quickly as he could, trying to put it all out of his head. He walked back out to the waiting room, doing his best to be patient as he waited for news about Y/n.
After several hours, a nurse finally came to get him. You were weak, but asking for him. The nurse led him to your bedside. He looked like a wreck, you'd never seen him this anxious and disheveled.
"Aren't you a pretty sight?" you said, trying to lift his mood.
He stared at you, assessing, looking for anything that might be wrong.
"Buck...hey, I'm fine. I'm gonna be in recovery for a while. But they fixed me up. Good as new."
You held your hand out to him. It hurt, more than you'd like to admit. He took it gently, leaning forward to kiss your head.
"I was so worried, doll. You scared the life out of me."
"You have nothing to apologize for," he kissed the back of your hand, letting his lips rest against your skin for a second before pulling away. "I'm just glad you're going to get better."
He stayed by your side for your whole recovery, doting on you and making sure you followed the doctor's orders to the letter. He promised himself, he'd never let you be hurt again on his watch.
