Nothing Has Changed - 4
Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.
Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Words Count: 1,740
Warning: Angst, Tragedy.
Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist
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“It fucking sucks,” you muttered, frustration dripping from every word.
Tom, your dad, reached out a hand, his smile a fragile thing, but a smile nonetheless. "At least I've got my kid by my side," he said, his voice raspy.
You saw the tremor in his hand, the glisten of unshed tears behind his eyes. He was trying to be vital for you.
You stared at him, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling behind your eyes. Here he was, facing his own mortality, yet a ghost of a smile played on his lips.
Acceptance. A horrifying, unwanted acceptance that twisted your insides. You wouldn't accept it. Not this. Not yet.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst through your chest.
The air felt thin, stolen from your lungs with each labored breath. You shot up from your chair, the movement jerky, fueled by a potent mix of terror and defiance.
Tom noticed the panic in your eyes.
“Don’t fall apart. Don’t fall apart,” you kept repeating to yourself, the words a desperate mantra as you tried to hold yourself together.
Your hands trembled, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.
After hearing the diagnosis, it felt like your world was collapsing. You were on the brink of shattering into pieces, teetering on the edge of insanity.
Everything would never be the same again.
You couldn’t stay in the room any longer. You ran to the backyard, your steps frantic and unsteady. Once outside, you screamed as loud as you could, “Aaargh!”
The scream tore from your throat, raw and primal, as if expelling the anguish that threatened to consume you. It felt like if you didn’t scream, you might have a heart attack.
You collapse to your knees; the grass is cool and damp beneath you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
Tears finally streamed down your face, and you didn’t bother to wipe them away. Your body shook with sobs, each one wracking your frame with the weight of your grief and fear.
After letting out your stress and tears, you realized that the core of your anxiety was fear. But what exactly were you afraid of?
The first problem was straightforward. You knew you hadn't engaged in insider trading. You had provided proof. If they still insisted you were the culprit, you had a final, desperate card to play: blackmail. You had a little black book filled with records of suspicious transactions at Drysdale company.
Returning to your hometown was another source of stress. Meeting your tormentors again was daunting, but you hadn't done anything wrong. You were the victim, not the perpetrator.
Then there was your father. No one could have predicted his illness. It was the cancer's fault, an enemy that medicine and chemotherapy could potentially defeat.
You’d come so far. All the hardships you’d faced over the years seemed to have prepared you for this moment. Life sucked, but you had to keep fighting. Survival was the only option.
You looked up and saw the moon. The night was clear, not like the city; here, you could see the moon perfectly.
You clenched your fist, lifting your right arm and extending your middle finger to the sky. "I will win this fight," you declared with defiance.
The cool night air filled your lungs, and you felt a surge of determination. It was as if the universe had thrown everything it could at you, but you were still standing.
You turned back towards the house, feeling a new sense of resolve. This was your life; no matter how hard it got, you were ready to face it head-on.
When Tom saw you walking back into the house, he looked up with concern etched across his face. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice trembling slightly.
You nodded, your eyes meeting his. "I am," you replied, your voice steadier now. "I’ll stay here beside you, Dad."
Tom’s eyes filled with tears; it's been a long time since he heard you call him 'Dad.' He reached out a shaky hand towards you. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Thank you, thank you."
You walked over and took his hand in yours, feeling the frailty of his grip. You gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I should have been here more," you admitted, guilt washing over you. "I'm sorry for being so distant."
Tom shook his head, his tears spilling over. "No, sweetheart, I’m the one who should be sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I pushed you away, and I’ve regretted it every single day."
You sat down beside him, still holding his hand. "Let's not dwell on the past," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "We have now, and that's what matters. We'll get through this together."
Tom nodded, a weak smile breaking through his tears. "Together," he echoed. He pulled you into a hug, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace.
As you held each other, the weight of the past seemed to lift, replaced by a new sense of hope and unity. The moon outside shone brightly, casting a soft light into the room, symbolizing a fresh start for both of you.
🚗
For the past couple of days, you’ve been staying with your dad, taking care of him, and accompanying him to the hospital. You listened intently to the doctor's explanation about his condition.
The cancer Tom has is dangerous, but it's still treatable, provided he keeps up with the chemotherapy and medication. The truth is Tom doesn’t want to go through the grueling process of chemo, but having his daughter by his side gives him the strength to endure it. Because of you, he’s willing to fight.
When you drove back home, you noticed another car in the driveway. It was Bucky's.
Tom, while taking off his seat-belt, nervously told you, "Bucky is... ehm... he's helping with the funeral for tomorrow."
You, not caring at all, replied, "I don't care."
Tom looked relieved. He had thought Bucky would become a thorn in the conversation again. "I'll go inside and help him," he said, opening the car door and heading into the funeral home.
You said nothing and grabbed your phone, which had been buzzing for a while. You picked it up from near the car radio.
When the screen showed the name of your lawyer, 'Maya,' you felt a surge of relief. "Hello? What's the result?"
"You're right. They couldn't prove it," Maya said.
You clenched your fist in silent celebration. You had won.
"But," Maya added.
You felt a bad feeling in your gut. "What's the bad news?"
"It's from your office. They fired you," Maya revealed.
You tapped the steering wheel with your fingers, anger bubbling inside you. You had expected this. That damn Drysdale. You knew they would throw you away at the first chance.
You gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling the heat of your anger rising. "Those bastards," you muttered under your breath. "After everything, they still screwed me over."
Maya sighed on the other end. "I'm really sorry, but I thought you should know as soon as possible."
"Thanks, Maya," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I appreciate everything you've done."
Hanging up the phone, you sat in the car momentarily, seething.
You had lost your job, your reputation was in tatters, and now you were back in a town filled with painful memories dealing with your father's illness. The universe was conspiring against you, but you refused to break. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
As you sat in the car, grappling with the news of your firing, you suddenly noticed Bucky exiting from the funeral home and heading to his car. Something snapped inside you, a surge of rage and frustration boiling over.
You didn't know why, but in that moment, it felt like the devil had taken control of your body.
Your foot slammed on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, speeding straight towards Bucky.
Bucky heard the roar of the engine and instinctively looked up, locking eyes with you. In that moment, your gaze held an intensity that could rival the sun itself.
You wanted to hit him, to unleash all the pent-up frustration and anger that had been simmering inside you for years.
Bucky's heart skipped a beat as he realized what was about to happen. He stood frozen in place, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts in the split second before impact.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the distance between the two of you closed rapidly. Bucky closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable collision, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins.
But at the last possible moment, you swerved the car to the side, narrowly avoiding Bucky and his car. The screech of tires filled the air as you skidded to a stop just inches away from him.
Bucky's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless. The air crackled with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you like a dense fog.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching taut between you like a drawn bowstring. Then, with a shaky exhale, Bucky took a step back, his gaze never leaving yours.
You flung open the car door with a forceful slam, the sound echoing in the tense atmosphere.
Bucky leaned against his car trunk, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of apprehension and resignation.
"You scared? Clueless? Wonder why I want to hit you?" you seethed, your voice dripping with anger.
Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry with unease.
"That's how I felt when you and your group bullied me," you continued, your words laced with venom. "I want you to remember that feeling."
As you stormed away, leaving Bucky standing alone by his car, he felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, an unconscious attempt to shield himself from the pain of the truth you had just delivered.
"I deserved that," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word heavy with regret.
Despite the gravity of the situation, a tiny flicker of admiration sparked within him. "But, damn," he murmured to himself, "that was so cool."
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