My Bucky, My Safety
Marvel Cinematic Universe Masterlist \\ Based on this request!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Widow!Reader
Summary: “Get away. You’re hurting her!” An ill-fated mission leaves you and Bucky at the merciless hands of Hydra.
Author’s Note: I 100% inserted threads in the first half that did NOT get resolved by the second. I’m so sorry. 💀 But I realised if I actually followed up on every thread I inserted in the beginning, this fic would likely turn into a novel and, while a tempting thought, I honestly just don’t have the time to do that justice right now. So, that said, I hope you enjoy this @poodleofstardust! Even though my editor brain is screaming at me to resolve this in a neat and orderly fashion. 😂
Warnings: Angst. Torture. Blood. Violence. Injury Description. Infection. (These are all pretty graphic—PLEASE heed the warning). Fever. Angsty Fever Dreams. Swearing. No use of y/n. Hospitals. Implied sexual assault? Like, very mildly implied. Idk, it’s honestly pretty open-ended on that one, maybe I didn’t even need to tag it… but I’d rather be safe than sorry!
Word Count: 2.7k
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The cracks in the wall trickled with dewy condensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off them. Shoulders straight, stiff, you mapped every chipped divot and hairline split.
Weakness. It was the first thing to explore upon captivity.
“The structure is depleting,” you reported, gaze never leaving the spidering cracks. “It’s unsound. Could be beneficial in our attempts to escape.”
“Not unless you want the building to come crashing down on top of us,” Bucky stated from his position at the door, gloved hands clenching, metal arm whirring.
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “You could at least try to be positive.”
“‘m sorry.” But there was no regret in his tone, and his eyes wavered uncertainly in the distance between you.
Truth be told, the anticipation of waiting was eating away at you both. You’d been locked in this cell for hours. No interruption. No interrogation.
No intrusion.
Returning your gaze to the map of structural deterioration, you allowed your voice to appear calm. Unafraid. “You know those bastards?”
Your hands trembled slightly, and you tucked them under your sleeves. Trying to hide the fear quivering in your bones.
Bucky didn’t respond immediately. His footsteps padded behind you, combat boots thumping, demolishing the distance between you.
He paused just behind your shoulder, voice quiet and tender, a hand brushing your sleeve in the lightest of touches. “Look at me.”
When you didn’t move, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face him. Your gaze remained locked on his chest, black straps buckled tightly in place over his vest.
“Look at me, doll.” He touched your chin, and you allowed him to tilt it up. Ocean blue eyes bore into your soul, stripping away the masks until your greatest fears lay naked and trembling before him.
“Bucky, I—“
But the clang of a metal door swinging in on its hinges interrupted you. You jumped, heart leaping into your throat, and Bucky stepped in front of you, a wall of solid strength shielding you from the guards flooding into the room.
Balaclavas and armoured vests disfigured the threads of humanity emanating from their forms, cold, unfeeling eyes gazing at you and Bucky.
Sadistic pleasure rose in the eyes of the ringleader when he stepped through the door and spied your trembling, mouth twisting into a cruel smile. An ugly scar marred the flesh below his right eye, ridges gleaming in the crude form of six legs and a skull.
A brand.
Hydra.
“Welcome back, darling. Long time, no see.” Triumph curled his lips, and he leaned forward, icy eyes tearing through your defenses and voice lowering as if imparting a secret. “Did you miss me?”
“Get away from her.” Bucky’s tone was a growl, low and animalistic, something ruthless lurking just below the surface.
The soldier chuckled, eyes looking you up and down, before rising again to his full height, eyeing Bucky with fascination and a hint of disdain.
“Don’t you worry, Soldat,” he mumbled, hatred seeping out with every word. “You caused us a lot of problems when you up and disappeared. There’ll be plenty of pain to spare for the both of you.”
Bucky flinched, like he was restraining himself from throwing a punch directly into the man’s face. Before you could blink, a cattle prod was pressed under his chin, and the monster before you tutted lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I wouldn’t,” he stated simply. Then, his fingers came up in a snap, gloved material softening the sound. But making it no less detrimental. “Take her, leave him.”
“No.” Bucky’s arms shot out, a shield of protection against the sudden onslaught of guards hellbent on tearing you away from him.
The cattle prod crackled to life, searing the flesh by his throat. A harsh groan emitted from Bucky with the electricity. Pain. Rage. Fear. All battling within the sound.
“Bucky!” you screamed, as rough fingers clasped around your arms, dragging you away from him.
“Get away,” Bucky seethed, teeth clenched, metal fist creaking. But desperation blazed unguarded in his eyes. “You’re hurting her!”
The soldier laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that sent a chill shuddering up your spine.
“Oh, Soldat,” he cooed, like he was placating a toddler instead of a lethal assassin. A weapon of Hydra’s own creation. “We’re just getting started.”
The cattle prod cracked to life again, sending Bucky to his knees right as the guards pulled you kicking and screaming from the cell. The clash of the metal door behind you rang like a death knell.
...
“Who gave the order for your little ‘mission’ here? Who?”
Knuckles cracked and guards shifted, unshielded bloodlust gleaming in the eyes of some, while others observed with quiet indifference. Professional. Those would be the guards to move up in the ranks—the ones that could carry out the dirty work with a level head.
“I am getting impatient, darling.” The words were grating, tight, with a sickly sense of false sweetness struggling to conceal the rage beneath. The ringleader—Petrova—sent an icy gaze your way. Your heart raced, his predatory smile devouring you. “Tell me what I need to know…” his fingers trailed up your thigh, across your leg, “and nobody has to get hurt.”
Revulsion skittered through your throat, along with something colder, thicker. Fear, choking you. “I–I don’t know,” you tried, hoping the tremble in your voice would convey sincerity. Knowing it wouldn’t.
“Now, darling.” He traced a hand over the column of your throat, the pressure light, almost nonexistent. “We both know that’s not true.”
...
Bucky paced the length of the cell. Stopped. Turned. Paced again.
Two hours. It had been two hours since the guards had dragged you kicking and screaming from the cell. Two hours since Bucky had been forced to watch them take you.
Fear still clung to the walls, stale and rancid, and he paced…paced…paced.
His fault.
This was all his fault. He was the soldier. He was the one responsible for keeping you safe—for watching your back.
And now, you were being tortured.
The toe of his boot scuffed on the concrete as he turned and began pacing in the other direction, the burning ache, still hot and twitching on his skin, constantly reminding him of what you were enduring.
Hell, you never should’ve been involved in this mission to begin with. Sam had worked out the logistics without you. It was a simple get in, get out. Nothing requiring your unique set of skills. Nothing they couldn’t handle.
But he’d wanted you there.
His nose nearly touched the wall, and he turned again, stomach churning.
God, he’d wanted you here.
His fault.
Keys jostling on the other side of the door pulled Bucky out of his spiral. The mechanism clicked in the lock. Metal creaked as the cell door swung lazily in on its hinges. The seared flesh from the cattle prod throbbed in protest as Bucky froze, muscles tense, waiting for what was about to come through the door.
“Stand back,” a guard barked, crossing the threshold with a metal prod in hand, eager anticipation gleaming in the depths of his eyes. He was waiting for Bucky to move—waiting for an excuse to exact pain.
And he almost received it.
A full-body flinch wracked Bucky’s core when he saw you. Dragged between two guards, bruises marring your face, your throat, the skin beneath your clothes. The tattered scraps of your uniform did nothing to hide the purple blossoming over your skin. Blood oozed slowly from an especially gruesome wound on your torso, scraps of fabric crusted and sticking with every movement. Your eyes, half-lidded and glossy, stared through Bucky like he was a ghost. Like he wasn’t really there.
Panic leapt into his throat, and your name slipped out of his mouth with a choke.
“Well, that was fun.” A cruel grin and creasing scar preceded the voice before eyes swimming in mirth became visible in the dim light. The ringleader stared Bucky directly in the eyes, victory and arrogance daring him to act. “We may have to do it again sometime.”
The bastard caressed your cheek carefully, a disgusting form of reverence softening the steel of his eyes, before cradling your chin delicately in his hand. You flinched, a whimper bubbling out of your throat.
“Get away from her.” It was a growl, but as Bucky moved to step forward, he was greeted with the harsh bite of a prod wedged sharply into his throat.
The resulting chuckle reverberated through the cell, bouncing off the walls and wrapping around Bucky’s senses.
“I wouldn’t.” The man repeated the words from earlier.
With a gesture to the corner where a thin blanket lay bunched against the wall, he dropped your chin, letting it fall against your chest with a wince. “Set her down over there.”
The cattle prod buried deeper into Bucky’s skin, a not-so-subtle warning to stay where he was. But he couldn’t help the flinch, the half-step, as you were tossed carelessly onto the blanket, agony released on a broken cry as your entire body seized and locked in pain.
The commander stepped forward, shoes lightly scuffing the rough concrete floor. Bucky met his gaze, allowing the rotting, bubbling hatred swirling in his gut and infecting his blood to leach out from his eyes. “You’re going to regret this.”
The man only smiled.
“If you don’t want it to happen again,” he leaned into Bucky’s ear, whispering breath tickling the cartilaginous shell, “I suggest you start talking. Because I could do this. All. Day. But she?” He pointed at you, sweating and trembling on the floor, incoherent. “She certainly cannot.”
The smile gracing his lips was wicked as he stepped away, observing Bucky. Then, he snapped his fingers, barked an order to his men, and exited the cell.
When the room had been vacated, Bucky wasted no time in rushing to your side, sliding down on his knees, the concrete hard and jarring through his bones. He ignored the ache. A feverish sheen glistened on your forehead, and your eyes scrunched tight in pain.
“Look at me, doll. C’mon, look at me.”
Nothing but a whimper met his request.
“Shit, sweetheart! C’mon.” His hands roved your body, cataloguing every bruise, every broken bone. Blood stained his fingers crimson as he analysed a compound fracture exposing a piece of your ribcage, before peeling away the fabric mending itself in the wound as gently as possible. “Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, doll. C’mon. Please. For me. Please.”
Your lashes fluttered slightly, an attempt at opening.
But the attempt proved futile, and your expression slowly relaxed into unconsciousness.
...
“Momma. Momma!”
The voice screamed in your head, drowning in the abyss.
“Momma!”
So vivid. You attempted to reach for her—your mother, yourself, the little girl in front of you. Flames burst in front of your eyes, singeing your hair, licking at your skin. The flesh on your hands blackened and burnt away, liquid fire blazing a path through your veins.
“Momma!”
...
Sweat slicked your forehead, running in trickles down your skin. Bucky wiped it away again with his sleeve, the material already soaked through from the compulsive action.
Hours. It had been hours.
Four hours, thirty-five minutes, seven seconds, to be precise.
Bucky’d watched the entire time as fever ravaged your body. As you soaked through your clothes and the thin, threadbare blanket. As you whimpered and groaned, terror and pain alternating designs etched into your expression.
Now, the infection had spread.
Bucky could smell it, rotting and putrid, pus emanating from the wound on your ribs. Sam and Steve should’ve been here by now. They should be here by now!
But they weren’t, and as every second ticked away in the back of Bucky’s mind, he couldn’t help feeling the bile rise in his throat. The dread of watching a ticking time bomb count down to its final seconds.
The heart-lancing agony of knowing you’re dying, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
...
“Momma, I want to go home.”
Whose words were those? Were they…yours?
“Please, Momma. Please, it hurts.”
Emotion rose unexpectedly in your throat, burning sharper than the fire in your veins. Because it did. It did hurt. You did want to go home.
“Shhhh.” The voice that answered was definitely not your own. “It’s alright, my dear. You can’t come home yet. You have someone there still waiting for you.”
Someone. Someone… Who?
“You cannot come and see me yet. But you will. One day.”
Gunshots sounded from somewhere far away, distant and hazy.
Were they real?
“I want to go home with you, Momma. Please.”
The voice turned soft, tender—riddled with emotion you hadn’t heard in years. “Not yet, my dear. Close your eyes. Breathe. I’ll see you soon enough.”
...
Gunshots echoed from the hallway outside the cell, encased behind walls. Distant, but approaching. Bucky’s hand tightened in yours, an animalistic instinct placing himself between you and whatever violence raged behind that door.
More shots fired, rapid, steady. Then silence.
Bucky held his breath, ready to fight, when—
“Bucky?” The voice was quiet, muffled behind the thick metal and concrete walls, but a rare blossom of hope threatened to overwhelm Bucky’s traitorous heart.
“Steve! We’re in here!”
A brief silence, followed by the clattering of the lock, ensued. Finally, a small explosion, and Steve barrelled into the room, breaking the door off its hinges on the way.
Bucky watched Steve’s eyes trail efficiently around the concrete prison, from the empty space to him…to you, ghostly pale, trembling, and damp through to the floor.
Steve and him shared a brief look before Captain America took over his friend’s expression. “We need to move. Now.”
…
An incessant beep! beep! in the back of your head sent a throb aching through your skull. The noise was deliberate, irritating, and simultaneously familiar and foreign.
A groan, half pain, half confusion, reverberated through your throat, exacerbating the ache.
Warm skin slipped into the palm of your hand within seconds, as well as your name, spoken hesitantly…hopefully.
Bucky?
Slivers of light cut through the darkness cocooning you in its depths as your eyelids cracked open, dry and crusted. Relief was the first thing you saw. Bucky’s expression dripped in it, soft tears steadily rising in the corners of his eyes, like tiny tsunamis ready to break.
“Bucky?” Chapped lips and a scratchy throat made the words all but unrecognizable, but something like understanding swirled in the depths of his relief.
“Yeah, it’s me. It’s me, doll.” His hand in yours squeezed gently, thumb twirling in anxious circles over your knuckles. “How’re you feeling?”
“Mmmm,” you groaned again, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of the light. “Hurts.”
“Okay, okay–” you could practically hear the gears turning in his mind. “Alright. I’ll get the doctor. They’ll know what to do. I’ll—” His hand started to slip out of yours, a cold rush of air swooping in to replace it.
“Bucky?” The edge of panic in your voice would’ve been embarrassing if you were in any other situation, but instead, it reminded you of the little girl inside your head. The one that had cried when you were sure you were going to die. The one that had begged for your mother to take you with her.
What had she said? “You have someone there still waiting for you.”
“Please—please don’t go, Bucky.” Tears burned in the back of your eyes, welling in your throat, and you attempted to choke them away. When your eyelids cracked open a second time, you came face-to-face with a look of such desperation, it hurt almost as much as your head did. “Please.”
Bucky lowered himself back onto the chair beside your bed, the metal legs creaking under his weight. His hand was entwined in yours again. Warm…safe. But the memory of a six-legged skull and gnarly, scarred flesh refused to diminish in your mind’s eye. You could still feel his hands, tracing…bruising….
“Did we get him?” The words were barely a whisper, entangled in air currents and breathed just as lightly, but weight settled into the room with their utterance. You met Bucky’s eyes, praying for resolution—that you would find peace in their depths. “Petrova?”
“He’s dead.” War waged in Bucky’s eyes, fierceness and protection and hesitation and fear convoluting into a battle plan, even after the fight was won. “He can never hurt you again. You’re safe now, doll.”
Safe. The word tasted thick and syrupy, with traces of residual fear and relief. Safe, safe…with Bucky, you were safe.
Tags: @poodleofstardust (if you would like to be added to my tag list, please DM or comment!)
Prompt from @promptsbytaurie! (So sorry, I totally forgot to tag until now. 😭)