“april, strengthen my roots and prepare me to bloom without apologizing for how much space my flowers take up. teach me to grow in the direction of my own light, and leave behind every version of me that was only watered by fear of being too much. be the grace i owe myself.”
-Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19,
Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n
Word count: 6.2k
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Synopsis: “Scarred Steve for life.” You tease, James cupping your face so he can wipe your tears. The two of you watching each other, the moment feeling so fragile.
“He’ll live,” Bucky smirks, thumbs brushing over your jaw.
MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT. I am not in control of how you interact with my work. My work is not to be used or reused for anything
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Rating/Warning: Angst, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Memory Loss, Loss of Control. (If I missed anything, let me know)
Notes: I had a hard time writing this, but I am happy with how it turned out. Back to weekly updates <3 Thanks for waiting.
Dividers@/cafekitsune
It had been ten days. Getting paperwork, new identities, and more had taken longer than anticipated. The two-day time frame had been pushed back over and over.
Right now, all Bucky can hear is the hum of the engines as they take off into the air, leaving from the States to go to Romania. You were a mess, that was one way of putting it, Bucky sighs as he grabs a blanket to put over you. The aircraft was small, just big enough to go over the Atlantic with them on board. It was also, thankfully, big enough for you to be able to lean all the way back. Your leg propped up. The doctor had given you some pain meds and stuff to help you sleep, as the change in cabin pressure could affect your leg.
You’d fought the sleeping medication, barely wanting to take the pain meds. He knew why, you’d been waking up screaming, covered in sweat, clawing at the air like the attacker was in front of you. He’d hold you, when you’d let him, sometimes your mind would forget who he was. Those days had been the hardest. Watching your eyes flicker over him, fear creasing your brows, as you asked who he was.
He knew you were remembering more; your lapses in memory weren’t nearly as long as they used to be. You weren’t dealing with it well. There was no therapist to call, no meds to make it go away. Nothing Bucky could do but be there for you. He was grateful that you seemed to be on the mend. The wound on your knee was actually healing, the infection finally being beaten back. It had been three days since you’d forgotten him. There were no prayers from Bucky; he lost faith a long time ago. But he hoped that maybe somehow the two of you would find a way back to one another.
“How she doing?” Steve asks as Bucky finally slumps in a chair. The man’s face is lined with what can only be exhaustion. No one had really been sleeping; their worlds had been turned completely upside down in every way.
Bucky shrugs, still looking over at you. “Doesn’t want to take the meds. I don’t think she trusts anyone. Not that I blame her.”
Steve shifts. Natasha is piloting the plane. “Once we land, we can actually take some time. Let her have a little bit of normalcy.”
“Normalcy? That’s funny,” Bucky doesn’t laugh, just shifts uncomfortably as the plane dips with the wind.
Rubbing his face, Steve sighs, “We gotta try, we can’t be out in the city being seen.”
“You mean I can’t be.” Bucky snaps back, regretting it immediately at the hurt that crosses Steve’s face. He grits his teeth, looking out the window. “I am worried.”
“I know.’ Steve replies, his face a mask of stone. “You’re not the only one on this plane.”
Bucky nearly cracks, again, but Natasha walks out, glaring daggers. “You two actually arguing? After everything?”
Steve shrinks into his chair, and Bucky tries not to look at her. Natasha goes over to one of the overhead bins and throws packets of dried food at them.
“Shut it. We have a month of goods at the safehouse.” Natasha huffs, sitting in a chair on the other side of the thin aisle. “We are an hour from anyone there. It gives us a month to decompress, a month to heal, lick our wounds.”
Bucky swallows and fiddles with the glove over his hand. “What if we need a doctor?”
“Already have a list,” She says, chewing on some dried jerky. “Also, a few doctors who might be able to replace the joint.”
Steve sits up, “Replace it? That would be good. Might give the Doc some relief knowing she won’t lose the limb.’
“It’s experimental. Everything is. Nothing will be able to be done for at least a month.”
“But still. Options, going to need as many as we can.”
“Not without her say so,” Bucky pushes in, his need to protect you making him want to scream.
They both go quiet, “Of course, Buck. She is the expert.”
Bucky just shifts in his chair, gloves squeaking as he clenches his hands. The space fell quiet, nothing but the noise of the engines.
“She’s gonna be okay,” Natasha finally speaks, grabbing them all water bottles. “Doc is tough.”
The feeling of emotions going up his throat stops him from speaking. There was no room for breaking down, not now. Maybe in a day or two, he could find somewhere quiet to scream at the sky for what the world has done to you.
“Yeah, she will be.” Is all Bucky can get out, not looking at anyone.
You wake up a few hours before landing, the world isn’t as blurry as you thought it would be. The idea of taking any kind of sedative had made you repulsed. It was a fight that you’d lost; instead, you had just accepted the pills. Sleeping through the plane ride would be easier than dealing with the pain.
Taking pain meds was worse than the sleeping ones. The pain meds made your brain feel like mush; the world would start melting and fading in and out. They weren’t supposed to do that; it should have just helped with the pain. It didn’t matter the dose or the drug. So you were avoiding them, unless the pain was excruciating.
James had been hovering. You wanted to ask him to take a step back, to look after himself. He really needed rest himself; you could see how worn he was. But the hurt in his eyes was too much to bear, so you let him hoover. There were many worse things.
The memories were coming back slowly; they were still shattered, just fragments, but enough that you knew he meant a lot to you. There was also that gut feeling, a pull, that had you looking for him every time you entered a room. The way your stomach would clench with butterflies when he'd help you do something. How your heart rate would increase when he picked you up.
The man was an ex-assassin who was a powerhouse that rivalled Steve. Yet with you, he was gentle, careful, always making sure you were comfortable. He making sure you ate, drank water, and took your meds on time. Steve had called him Nurse Barnes, which just had him glaring at the blonde. It seemed to give him comfort by taking care of you, and part of you is relieved that you had someone who wasn't burdened by you.
You were grateful for being granted access to your work from the tower. It was to help stimulate your memory. Reading through the data has helped open your mind and bring back more pieces. There was nothing intimate in there, just hard information sets. Designs for rebuilds of the arm, Sam's falcon suit, hearing aids for Clint and more. It showed that you not only helped them but were part of the team. The few anecdotes you had from Bruce made that clear. Along with additions from Tony, that were surprisingly supportive and lacking the exhaustive sass you'd seen. They respected you and trusted you.
You let your eyes flick open; the cabin lights were low, and outside was dark. Across from you, James had folded himself into the two seats. A blanket barely covers his torso. Looking around, you saw Natasha also sleeping in a chair. Steve must have been flying the plane.
Beside you was a bag of trail mix, bottle of vitamin water, and your antibiotics. You grab the water, cracking it open and taking a small sip. A wave of nausea makes you wince, but you force down some more liquid. Then grab a handful of trail mix. You try to not think about how your stomach protests against the food. Taking the antibiotics on an empty stomach was going to be worse. Grabbing the meds, you sigh, going to pop the lid.
“Hold on,” James’ sleep worn voice says. He was already up and moving. There was a fridge in the wall, he came back with your favorite yogurt. “Don't want you puking up your meds.”
He hands it to you with a spoon, moving the chair so he is sitting across from you upright. Stretching both arms in a stretch. Your eyes following how his shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin. Cheeks flaming, you go back to your yogurt, hoping he hadn't noticed.
“Thank you,” You reply, eating it slowly. It actually went down okay and your nausea faded.
James nods and tries to relax, even if he is still staring at you. He stared a lot, as if he stopped watching you, you would disappear.
You put the yogurt down and take the antibiotics. Hoping you'd be able to keep it down. Your tongue running over the now empty tooth socket. It had healed for the most part, but it was still weird to feel.
“We are about forty minutes from descent,” James says, his right hand going over the glove of his left. “Small private landing strip, there will be a vehicle waiting. Then we are on our own.”
You nod, trying not to overthink things. The lack of control was something you were still struggling with. Everything that happened was without choice.
If you have to pee, you need crutches or a wheelchair to go. Anywhere you sat needed an extra chair so that you could put your leg up. Stairs weren't a go, and James had to carry you just to get into the plane. Cars were also a pain. Everything was affected. Doing anything on your own was almost impossible and infuriating.
“What happened to me?” You don't know why you're asking now. So much hadn't come back, just a gaping hole in your memory.
James’ mouth opens and then closes.
“And don't tell me I don't want to know. I am sick of being coddled. I need to know what happened. To know what we've been up against. What we were.” You keep your voice even, despite the urge to yell clawing at you.
His jaw clicks, hands gripping firmly on the armrests. “Fine.”
Bucky told you everything. He didn't spare details, didn't skimp over the horrors you had suffered. The way you'd been sequestered in the tower for months. How the two of you had started to bond and grow a relationship. Just for you to be ripped away from him, tortured, and manipulated with drugs. Bucky gave as much info about what happened to you as he could. The details were sparse, but you took it in without flinching.
Watching you listen, ask questions, and get clarifying details was refreshing. It was a glimpse at who you were before everything happened. Your mind is sharp, clear, unflinching in a way that only you could be. For the first time since he dragged you out of there, he saw you. Saw your mind understanding the information, flickers of memories slotting in place. Pieces of the puzzle are finally coming to light.
“That brings us to now,” Bucky says quietly, watching you. Making sure your blanket is tucked carefully around your body.
You sit quietly as the plane starts to descend towards earth. “Thank you, for telling me that. This must be hard for you.”
Bucky doesn't know how to react to that. “You lived it.”
“So did you,” You reply, as the wheels hit the tarmac, ending their conversation with a whump.
The wheels screech. Natasha is already up and moving. Bags are gathered, lights are dimmed, there are no lights outside. Just the faint tint of sunrise over darkened hills. Bucky is moving with Natasha, stuff piled by the door as the outside door starts to open. He pauses and looks at it, their whole life reduced down to two bags each. Half those bags are full of weapons, tech, and medication. Looking up, Bucky sees you following him, knowing he would have left with just you. As long as you were there, he’d be okay.
One man dressed entirely in black walks in. There are no words spoken, Steve takes the keys from him, and the man moves to the cockpit. Bucky kept an eye on the interaction closely; if anything set him off, he'd snap his neck with one move. Steve gives him a nod, letting him relax a fraction. Everything was under threat; just meeting one man could put them in danger.
Outside, a dark SUV sits idling. Bucky, Steve and Natasha move as one to load it. Bucky doesn't leave the plane. Instead handing the bags down to Natasha, you're within his line of sight the whole time. He was not going to repeat his mistakes. The man doesn’t ever come back out of the cockpit, the door firmly shut.
SUV loaded, Bucky carries you out of the plane and into the vehicle. You don't even protest, just hold onto him as tight as possible. He is pleasantly surprised to hear how even your heartbeat is. How you lean closer to him. Bucky hadn't wanted to tell you what had happened and had been warned against it. Yet, it seemed to be exactly what you needed.
You are placed on the back seat, leg propped up. Looking exhausted and worn. Bucky comes around to the other side and opens the door, sliding in on the far seat. The tinted windows keep the place dark. Natasha is in the driver’s seat, her hair no longer red but black. Steve, beside her, both had guns on their side.
“You comfortable?” Bucky asks, as you twist in the seat, shifting and trying to get comfortable.
Shifting more, you huff, “Could-” You’re silent for a moment, brows furrowed. “Can I lean against you?”
Bucky is already reaching; his hands slide under your armpits, carefully gripping you so he can drag you back against him. Your back against his chest, he shuffles, going to move his right arm from around your chest. Surprised when you instead placed your own hand over it.
“Stay,” You say, voice soft enough only he could hear it.
He didn’t move, instead squeezing you closer as the vehicle starts up. Your head relaxes back against his chest, your body finally not a tight line of anxiety against him.
“It takes us about thirty minutes to get to the place,” Steve says, glancing back at the two of them. His ears go red when he sees Bucky, and you pressed so close. “It’s a small farm, pretty forested, set back far enough away from the road that we won’t be seen. Got power, and running water.”
Bucky nods, feeling your heart start to slow, your breath evening out. Drifting asleep, unaided, lying so close to him. It was a comfort, something that he had missed so much, just being near you. Feeling you close to him.
“Stark will be contacting us in a week or two. I don’t know how.” Steve tucks the ballcap further over his face as a car goes past. “But he has his way. It will be weekly contacts until-” He pauses, hands rubbing at his jeans. “Until we aren’t being tracked, or the Deathheads are dead.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, just listens. Natasha is already driving along the country road. The light starting to paint the place in red, pinks, and yellows. It was beautiful, your hand squeezes his, as they continued to drive. They pass a handful of cars, a farm tractor, and stone houses with red roofs. Cows stand out in the field, watching them as they chew their morning food. The road winds through valleys and farmland, houses spaced out far enough away that they won’t be able to see each other.
Natasha turns at a break in a long hedge, stopping at a set of black gates. The whole place is surrounded by a tall fence that is wrapped by thick trees and bushes. Steve is out, key coming out of his shirt pocket. The large gate is heavy, but he moves it without help, and they drive through. Closing the big gate behind them. Bucky feels some sense of relief knowing that they are at least behind a lock and key.
The house is a simple two story, with the same red shingles, large windows and a ground floor entrance. As Steve had said, the whole place is surrounded by bushes, there is no line of sight in or out. Behind the house is a small garage just big enough for the SUV.
Natasha pulls up front, turning the engine off. The whole car is silent for a moment as they look at what will be their new home.
Bucky squeezes your hand, kissing the side of your head. “We are here.”
You stir with a huff, wincing as you sit up straight. “I am good. Just need crutches.”
Bucky is out, grabbing your crutches, then helping you onto your foot. You lean into them with a groan, but follow Steve to the door.
You’re grateful there is only one step up to the door, and one step into the house. Teeth gritting as Steve opens the place up for you to come inside. It’s a lot larger than you’d expected, the stone-wash walls are painted a light, cheery yellow. Above is exposed woodwork, a large woodstove in the center of the place. A stack of wood sits on one wall, and close by is a wooden table. On the other side is a door, which goes to a bathroom. Down from the bathroom is another open door to a bedroom, this one painted a forest green. Past that is the kitchen and living room. Behind the woodstove are stairs leading up to a loft area. There are several big windows which let in lots of light. You can just make out the mountains above the tree tops.
You pause, looking out the kitchen window into an empty garden plot. It was cozy and warm, feeling tucked away from the prying eyes of the surrounding neighbors. There is some thumping back by the front door. The rest of the group brings in the bags of their stuff. The SUV is parked in the garage away from prying eyes.
Hobbling back to the front, you grab your bag and wave protesting hands away as you bring it to the downstairs bedroom.
“I am guessing this is for me?” You ask as you stand in front of the door.
“Yeah. Don’t need you trekking up the stairs.” Steve gives you a small nod, and you nod back.
You push the door open and place your bag on the bed. James follows behind you and drops your bag. His hands are holding onto his own.
He looks up at you, then at the small bed. “I can sleep upstairs.”
The hurt in his voice is noticeable. You turn as best you can to stop him. “Wait.” His blue eyes find yours from under his ballcap. You remember waking up beside him, body pressed close to his, how he’d carefully tucked you under his chin. “If you want to stay here, that’s okay.”
“You sure?” James asks, his body still turned towards the exit.
You nod, not sure how to express it just yet. “Think I’d sleep better with you here.” His bags are placed on the floor. “Besides, I can’t have you sleeping on the couch. Your back creaks enough.”
He freezes in place, before his face cracks into a small smile. “It doesn’t creak that much.”
Snorting, you shake your head, shuffling back over to the bed. “I heard it, it sounded like popcorn.”
James rolls his eyes as the two of you start to unpack everything. You’ll need more clothes, especially as it is going to be cold soon. You line up all your meds on the window ledge with a groan. Already missing your plants, they were probably dead now. The thought made your eyes prick with tears, which you pushed away for another time.
The clink of metal has you turning; more weapons than you thought possible have come out of James’ bag. He steals the top of a dresser to lay them out on. Knives, ammo, and guns go there. Rifles are leaned against the wall in neat order.
“Maybe I should get into cloning,” You tease a little, “Could outfit an army.”
James turns, eyes scanning over the bottles. “You got me, don’t need more.” You actually smile, the first time you have in a long time. He moves towards you; he’s slow, like he’s scared to spook you. “You're safe. Not going to let anything happen to you.”
You let yourself move towards him, “I know. I can’t thank you enough, James.”
Both of you standing a foot apart from the other, waiting for one to make a move.
“You saved me first,” James replies, the honesty in his voice cracks your sternum open.
You move forward, and James grabs you. His arms tucked underneath yours and lifts you against his chest, your arms circling around his neck. Crutches clattering to the floor. He holds you against him like you weigh nothing, tears spilling out of both of you.
“Hey, I hear the crutches-” Steve stutters to a stop, “S-s-sorry.” He mumbles before backing out of the space.
Both of you chuckle as James carefully lowers you back onto your good leg. Making sure you can lean against the bed while he gathers up the crutches.
“Scarred Steve for life.” You tease, James cupping your face so he can wipe your tears. The two of you watching each other, the moment feeling so fragile.
“He’ll live,” Bucky smirks, thumbs brushing over your jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
You nod, suddenly needing to have him as close as possible. “Please.”
His lips meet yours, and it’s soft, the memory of his lips against your temple, your forehead and then the first time you actually kissed. You lean into it, holding him as close as possible. For the first time in what feels like years, you just let yourself feel. Let go of fear and worry, and just be in that moment. Holding on to your lifeline.
James moves first, his hands moving to your hips, just resting there, keeping your body held up. You lean your forehead against his, a content hum leaving your lips.
“I missed you,” You whisper, trying not to break the moment. “I kept trying to find you.”
“I missed you, too.” He swallows, you can feel him trembling. “Thought I’d lost you.”
A memory starts to form, you sitting staring at untouched food. The blank wall that you’d built in your mind. Telling yourself that you won’t say anything about him, that you didn’t know anything. You remember the man who said he was your father, asking about James. How you didn’t know who he was talking about. How frustrated they kept getting when you didn’t have answers. The memories had been locked away, hidden behind a wall of your own building.
“I couldn’t tell them,” You swallow, the world swaying around you. “I didn’t tell them anything.”
Your grip on the edge of the bed slips, James grabs hold of you, and carefully lays you down on the bed.
“I swear, I didn’t. I didn’t tell them.” You repeat, your mind stuck on the image of a man coming into the room and asking questions over and over. “I didn’t. I didn’t tell them.”
James kneels down beside you, his hand taking yours and squeezing it tight. “I know, I know you didn't tell them anything. You are safe.”
You're shaking, against the bed, mind swirling as memories flood into your mind. They’re distorted, fragments, color swirling around them, the haze of the drugs they had put you on making them unreliable. The wall, the wall that you’d built so carefully, is falling all around you, pieces finally falling into place. Shooting pain in your knee, the punch across your face. It’s all there.
“Hey, hey,” James says your name several times. “You’re safe here. I got you.”
Eyes find his blue ones, and you can feel your breath pushing out into the air. The room is so cold and so close, you hold onto his hand, trying to focus. The warmth of his hand, the feeling of the bed underneath you, the brace pushing against your skin. Reality. No memories. Reality. Right now, was real and tangible. You weren’t there anymore.
Natasha’s face comes into view. “Hey, there, sweetheart. We got you. You’re safe.”
She takes your other hand, Steve moving into view as he covers you with a heavy quilt. You feel for a moment like a spectacle. Your whole body is still trembling, words bubbling out.
“She’s remembering things,” James says, still staying near you. “All of it.”
“Panic attack,” You gasp, the weight of the blanket, the warmth of their hands letting you finally gasp for air.
Bucky is leaning against the counter, drinking coffee, Natasha is sitting cross legged beside him. Steve has gone to do a walk of the perimeter, it had been decided they’d do a check every four hours. Keep an eye on things, make sure that there are no signs of anyone coming and going. A stark reminder of how volatile things still were.
“How much did you tell her?” Natasha asks, quietly, holding onto her cup with both hands.
Grabbing more coffee, he goes back to standing by her, “All of it, at least what I could remember.”
She nods, as if that makes sense. “Everyone reacts differently to memories coming back. It might happen again.”
“I know,” Bucky says, drinking more coffee. “I’ll be there too.”
“We all will be,” Natasha adds, putting her cup down. “You can’t do this on your own.’
His jaw set, she was right, “I am trying.” Bucky struggles to find words to explain what he is feeling. “I want to keep her safe, to help. I am failing. I am failing her. Failing us.”
She snorts, “I watched you take on an entire building. Sit beside her bed every day, even when she couldn't remember who you were.”
“She'd have done the same.” Bucky dismisses, rolling his shoulders.
“Yeah, you're both disgustingly in love with each other.” Natasha chuckles, pushing at his shoulder playfully.
Bucky huffs, crossing his arms over each other.
“We are a team, Buck. She's part of that team.” Natasha says as she pushes herself off the counter. Eyes following Steve, who's crossing by the windows. “You aren't failing her; she needs time. We all do.”
The first week goes by fast, with no word from Stark. A routine starts to take shape, every four hours, the perimeter is walked. You go out when you can, using your crutches to walk beside whoever is out. Being outside helps with the panic attacks, making you feel less like you're in a prison.
If James isn't with you, he watches, you can feel it. Hear the door open when you walk through the section that is covered by trees. The man was your shadow, and you both had started to lean on one another more.
Steve jokes that James is going to stick a tracker on you. While sharing stories about the Roaring Commandos and his time during the war. His story is just as heartbreaking as so many of the others. A man built in a time of war, only to come back to more battles. He seems to enjoy the walks and chatting as much as you do. Things are simple here.
Natasha tells you stories of missions and adventures. Slowing her walk so you can keep up with her. She doesn't dive into her past too much. You know it's just as dark as others, but you don't press. Instead, fill it with whatever you can. Both of you bemoaning not having more books.
Walks with Bucky are full of memories. Talking about everything and anything that comes to mind. He tells you about his nightmares, and you tell him about yours. Talking about your time as a field medic, and his escape from Hydra. It's freeing in a way that you both share so much and that it is so easy to.
Besides walks, you learn as much as you can about weapons. You had some basic knowledge, but practice kept it sharp in your mind. Knives weren't as familiar, so you learned to sharpen them. How to hold, hide, and use them. James was a good teacher and a good heater.
You often found yourself leaning against him. On the couch, watching pirated movies with terrible dubbing. During meals, so that you could keep your leg up. In bed, he'd drag you so that you were pressed close, his metal arm wrapped around you protectively. He was always up before you, and part of you hated that. The longing to have a slow morning with him in bed made your heart twist. James didn't touch anyone the way he touches you, or let you touch him. He was still hesitant, careful, delicate, like he shouldn't be allowed to touch you. Yet, all you wanted was for him to touch you.
The memories of the few intimate moments you shared made the craving for them pulse through you. Being here with two of your friends sleeping upstairs, and possibly hunted by terrorists, made it feel wildly inappropriate. Which oddly made you want it even more.
You'd almost died. That thought reverberated through you. It had embedded itself in your frontal lobe, like a thorn that was festering. You had never been afraid to die, you'd watched hundreds die in front of you. It had made you good at your job, good at putting yourself in harm's way without thinking. Now you have someone who would miss you. You actually have a whole group of people who'd notice, and it was rattling you.
Now, as you lay in bed trying to rest, listening to Romanian radio, all you could think about was all the things you wanted to do. All of them were with James. Everything you thought of, he was there, beside you. Eating ice cream at the beach. Sunsets on top of mountains. Stargazing in the desert. He was there. James had become a part of you in a way you couldn't separate.
You shift and slide yourself out of bed. Grabbing the crutches, grateful you're able to bend your knee a small amount. Sliding up, you work your way out of the room. Doors are still tricky, but you make it work. The crutches make a thunk against the wood floors. So you're not surprised when James meets you from the living room.
“You okay?” His brow is furrowed, hand is gripping the newspaper he must have been reading.
“Yeah, just can't sleep.” You say, watching the way his free hand twitches. Wanting to reach for you. “I got it. Promise.”
James plays your shadow, as you move to the living room. Outside the clouds have moved in and it's starting to snow.
“What's keeping you up?" He asks as you sit on the couch. James already has a pillow in his hand, tucking it under your knee. He sits on the edge of the coffee table.
“Nightmares?”
“No, not today.” You relax, watching him, remembering him soothing you not long ago from one of the night terrors that still popped up. His eyes are fixed on the brace that surrounds your knee. “Think it's all setting in. I was as close to death as I could be.” You swallow, watching him, his eyes moving to yours. “I've never had anyone who would notice if I were gone before. It's new and I am realizing I want to make the best of the time I have. However much time that is.”
James stands up, his face flushing, as he starts to pace. His arms crossing and uncrossing, his face a storm of emotions you can't place.
“I know there will always be something coming after us. Whether it's me or you or one of the team.” You keep going, despite the roll of emotions rippling out of you.
“It's okay.” James stops, staring down at the pattern on the wood floor. “Once you're healed and safe, we can find you a place to live. New identity.”
Your stomach turns in confusion. “What?” You try to get up. “James-”
“It's fine. You don't need to be involved in this-”
“Stop. Slow down.” You make yourself get up and hop over to him. His body is rigid as you rest your hands on his arms. “James, that's not what I mean.” He won't look at you. “I mean that I want to make the best of every day together.” You squeeze his arm, hoping that it makes it clear to him. “Us. I want us to spend more time together. Make the best of the time we have. I am not going anywhere.” A laugh almost escapes. “You’re stuck with me.’
James doesn’t move besides going to hold onto your waist so you don’t tip over. His face is still a storm cloud, as he looks anywhere but at you. Steadying yourself, you reach up and cup his face.
“Look at me,” You keep your voice firm, without questions. Watching his eyes flick up to yours. “I am not leaving you. Unless you don’t want me the same way I want you.”
He doesn’t say anything, just drags you against his chest and holds you close. You can feel his body trembling against yours as you cling to him. Holding him as tightly as you can, you feel so small as he encompasses your whole body.
“I love you.” You whisper against his chest, knowing that he can hear you, but still scared at how he might react to the words.
James pulls you back, looking down at you, you’d have thought you had told him you were a cat-hybrid. His eyes were wide, his lips parted, like he was trying to find the words.
You reach up and touch his face gently, watching his eyes flutter closed as he leans against your hand. “You don’t have to say it.” Your fingers continue to rub through the stubble on his jaw.
Without notice James has you in his arms, moving back towards your shared room. Crutches and newspaper forgotten on the floot. You just hang on, letting him do whatever he needs to do. He places you onto the bed, pulling the covers up so that you’re laying on the mattress, then he goes back closing the door. The curtains get drawn, and he crawls into bed with you and drags you so that you’re against his chest.
“Did you really think I’d leave you?” You ask, your hands running along his side.
James looks at you, his eyes watery, “If you wanted, I won’t blame you.”
You lean forward and kiss him, “You went through this too. We all did. In this together.”
He holds you close, his body shuddering, and you hold onto him. Letting him release the emotions he needs to. The memory of him curled up against you in a hospital bed hits you. The trust he has to be open and raw with you makes your stomach clench with pride. You couldn’t walk away from him even if you tried. Even if he never said the words back to you, you’d stick by him.
Bucky lies there in your arms until no more tears fall. Your fingers rubbing circles into his scalp, his body suddenly pliant against yours, moulding itself to make sure you’re comfortable. He can feel the vibrations of your voice, the words said out loud ringing in his ears. It hurt that he didn’t know how to say it back. It should have been simple; he did love you, but part of him still didn’t believe he deserved it. How could he?
The feeling of the flip when he went into that building, how easy it was to slip back into being a machine. A soldier that was designed and trained to destroy. He’d crushed a man’s leg and shot another without a second thought. A little over a week ago, he would have dropped the man who boarded the plane.
And he’d do it again. If it were you. Or Steve, Sam, Natasha, or any of the team. He’d do it again.
“What if I can’t stop?” Bucky finally finds his voice. You’d always ask him to be open and talk to you. “If I slip back into being-” The tremble in his voice betrayed just how hard this was to say. “Being what they made me.”
Your hand traces over his skin, his head against your chest. “You did stop. When you got out of that building, it stopped.”
“The words are still in there.” He isn’t trying to dismiss your words, but he needs to know you understand. “They could trigger me.”
You kiss the top of his head. “And if they do, we will figure it out.” Fingers working down over his shoulder. “You’re not alone, remember.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” James shuffles, his arm around your stomach. Metal clicking and whirling as he moves. “I don't want to hurt anyone. I couldn’t-”
“You haven’t hurt me or anyone else.” You reassure, “If something happens, we will bring you back. We can work on deprogramming you now and find someone who can help. And if we can’t, I am sure me and the team can.”
“How are you so sure?” Bucky moves back so that he can look at you closely.
You shrug, “I have to be. Keeps my head above the water.”
“You actually love me?” His voice wavers; he could take down armed guards and rip through walls, but this was tearing him apart.
“I love you, James.” You place a finger under his chin and repeat it.
He feels his cheeks heat up, ducking his head to rest against your chest again. Listening to your heart beat.
“Love you too.” He says your name like a promise.
Part 19
Author notes again: We are going to start messing with canon now 🤭 Cause why the heck not, this also means we are going to be having some rough patches. So hold on!
Lucifer: *looks at the ask as though it was a letter sent to him* Oh… who’s Liam?
Charlie: *over the phone* Dad who are you talking to?
Lucifer: Huh?! Oh no one. I’m uh, ya know alone. Like always… *feels awkward* So uh, Hey! How are you? Oh ho. Wh-Wh-where are you these days?
Charlie: You know where I am Dad. I've told you before.
Lucifer: You have? Oh, yeah uh, well, you know, I um uh- *looks around in confusion*
Charlie: I told you when you called me five months ago, or did you not listen?
Lucifer: No, no, no, no. Just, you know, just forgot. *pauses, realizing he’s having a huge sense of deja vu* Charlie… ha-haven’t I been to the hotel before?
Charlie: *groans* No dad! You haven’t!
Lucifer: A-are you sure? Because I remember…
Charlie: Dad listen. The hotel is actually why I’m calling you!
Lucifer: *remembers something* You want me to call Heaven and ask for a meeting, right?
Charlie: *goes quiet for a moment* Yeah… actually. That… how did you know that?
Lucifer: *blinks as his head starts to hurt, pinches his eyebrows together* I think we’ve have this conversation before… *shakes his head* Charlie does the names “Drake” and “Penny” mean anything to you?
Charlie: No Dad. What are those your new names for ducks you’re making?
Lucifer: No… no *places a hand in his stomach, feeling the baby kicking inside of him, realizing that if he can save Liam, his twins will never be born* Charlie I… have to go.
Charlie: DAD NO WAIT!
Lucifer: *hangs up* I need to go see Bel… *pulls up her contact information and calls* Hey Bel… do you have an opening today? I need some tests done.
Now that I decided to truly establish that 5 year timeline to defeat Dr. Blakk, I need tao now go through the episodes list and do a new timeline because wah, its gonna be a lot of work. But this gives me space to make new stories and arcs in between each episode and give Eli and the gang at the most a month or two of just regular shenanigans, aka rest.
Notes:
This means Eli is 20 years old at the end of Dr. Blakk's reign
Eli will have enough time to realistically improve his skills and learn about the world about Slugterra
This also means he has the opportunity to grow closer to the Shane Gang and form stronger bonds
Eli can discover more secrets his father left behind as well as Shane Secrets
Eli can find out about this father's enemies and he comes to realize that being a Shane isnt about being the shining hero all the time
^ this causes Eli to grow and mature into the Shane he wants to become
Eli and Twist rivalry can have more depth and be more angst
Every single episode can last a few more days or whatever time it needs to fully develop and have more fun with it
This timeline allows me to insert my own fanfics (no ocs/ocs) into the canon
Eli growing up from sassy teenager to sassy young adult 💜
Let Eli have an emo/goth phase PLEASE
TEEN ANGST ELI
We need more teen angst Eli
Let this boy express his FEELINGS
Then the whole thing after Dr. Blakk like Eastern Caverns and Into the Shadows takes another 5 Years which brings to entire canon timeline to 10 years and Eli is 25 at the end of it having spent his entire adolescence and young adulthood being the hero instead of a normal (ish) childhood.
Would Cinderella still name her daughter Chloe in new timeline? Because to her Chloe was also name of random new girl who got her grounded. I know she also helped her clean the garden and she didnt hate her but its just something I thought about.
Imagine in this timeline her name is Chiara and she wouldnt even know who is Chiara.
Cinderella: "Good morning Chiara."
Chloe: "Who is Chiara?"
Cinderella (shocked, thinking she is just joking): "You of course sweetie."
And Chloe would just act like yes, she just joked, but she would feel wierd about it.
