Wings
Chapter Four - Dilemma
Word Count: 1020
Warnings: Crying, sadness, torture, violence, blood, injury, pet names?¿
A/N: I AM SO SORRY. THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. uhm—also, it’s like... it seems like it doesn’t have a purpose, but i promise it’s getting there...; so, anyway, thanks for reading. reposts, shares, likes, comments, all is appreciated <3
Summary: Bucky’s never put up with anyone hurting you. He won’t start now.
Wings Masterlist
1959
June 30
Rome, Italy
"Hungry." you murmured.
For the first time in a while, you got to experience Bucky's marvellous laugh.
"We're 50ft above the ground, Моя любовь."
"Still hungry."
You chomped down on Bucky's shoulder jokingly, and rubbed your nose on the sleeve of his shirt.
One might find it strange, to think that two psychopaths in a low-riding jet could be laughing about starving, but strange was the way to go if you're forced into Hydra.
2018
February 15
U.S. State (Unspecified)
You laid over Sam's arms like a deadweight, wings threatening to rip through your flesh.
"Mm..." you groaned.
"Try not to act too injured. Maybe Buck won't kill me, then."
"Not... your fault." you squeaked out, rolling over on your shoulder blade a little bit.
"Please don't do that."
"But it feels—"
"It's making you bleed more."
Sam wasn't wrong. Red, hot trickles of blood eased their way down to the end of your spine. The winter weather helped to freeze some of it in place. No doubt that it would be hard to wash off in the shower.
You laid quietly until Sam finally arrived at a dingy little hotel, called "Super Stays". Cheesy.
You landed on the roof. Sam hadn't even asked you to walk, he just continued to carry you slowly, gently down the staircases until you descended to the 5th floor.
"Hey, if we're quiet enough, they won't wake up." Sam whispered, nudging your already drowsy head.
"'Kay."
He snorted, decreasing the volume dramatically when entering the hotel room.
It was useless: being quiet.
The moment your head popped through the frame of the door, Bucky was done in. Jumping to your side, he practically yelled, "Y/N!"
You couldn't help but chuckle in response, through it felt like the crushing of your lungs.
"You lied, Sam."
"Sorry."
Bucky stole you away, not that you were mad or anything. You wing tip scraped against the linoleum flooring, making a heavy screeching noise.
Horrible, thick lines of blood ran down the metal, landing on pools on the floor.
"Shit. I told you to be careful, Маленький!"
"I was," you replied coldly. "I wasn't expecting to have bullets flying at me today."
"I'm sorry." He soothed, stroking your hair, patting your back. He ran his flesh fingers gently down the centre of your spine, like he always had.
It tickled, usually, but today it felt like a gentle pressure. Sam had left a while ago, tired of flying, tired of being awake.
"Let's go get you cleaned up."
It was safe to say that you were fussy. You never liked when Bucky would fix up your wounds when you were both tired, but Bucky deemed it important—no, a necessity. And, to be fair, risk of infection and injury wasn't out of the picture. "Hungry?"
"No."
In all honesty, all you wanted to do was curl into his arms and sleep. You wanted him to rub your back, massage your scalp, and sent you you to sleep with a kiss on the forehead.
His metal hand was cold, massaging the oil over your back. Your wings still splayed out over the bed, because of the brokenness, so Bucky was careful with the pressure he used. You never once complained. It smelled of eucalyptus and lavender, a little intrusive, but not so bad as some other things you'd experienced.
"Relax your shoulder blades."
"Can't."
"Well, try."
You exhaled deeply, urging the arm bones away from each other. "Ow."
"Okay, okay. Don't do it."
With a firm press, Bucky's hand shoved gently into your back, spine arching at the uncomfortable contact.
"I don't like—"
"Маленький."
1967
January 6
Southeast Asia
"Mm—" you groaned, stifling tears. You were so used to Bucky's delicate touch; when the holders jabbed their thumbs and elbows into your back, you were so tempted to scream from him—for Bucky, but he was asleep, and you couldn't have him killing any more guards. You whimpered again, "doctors" having a chuckle again at the pathetic mess in front of them.
"Still."
You went straight as a board at the words, a line on the table. The bottom of your spine was throbbing and you felt like your limbs were going to fall off. Like you might die. Like—like—
BANG!
In came Bucky, flying through the cage doors in a fit of (well-deserved) rage.
"Buh-Bucky!" you cried, emotions slipping out. For a fraction of a second, you were sure that Bucky's brows furrowed in displeasure. Your hands, cuffed to the metal table, tried to reach for his hair, but were feeble in their attempts.
"Маленький. Stay still. Close your eyes."
You did as he asked, slotting your eyes into thin lines of darkness.
Grunts, screams, thuds.
When you were touched again, it was a metal finger tip on your collarbone that brought you back. Suddenly, everything was okay again.
"Gonna make it better."
2018
February 15
Bangor, Maine
Bucky stared at your sleeping face, refusing to close his eyes for anymore than a second. It was irrational, sure, but he couldn't sleep when you were in so much pain.
"Please... don't." you whimpered in your sleep, and Bucky's strong facade broke, cracked, shattered. It was a heaping mess on the floor. His brows furrowed and he wished to insert himself into your brain. Soothe.
"Y/N," he started. "Y/N, please wake up."
Another little whimper escaped your lips, and Bucky's mental dilemma tore him apart.
You needed rest.
He needed peace.
The both of you needed calm.
"Y/N."
With one final shake of your shoulders, you cracked with a gasp. Tears almost immediately flowed down in steady streams on your cheeks.
It wasn't long after that you were in Bucky's chest, nose between his pecs. There was a heavy mint-orange-pine cologne smell that respectfully invaded your nostrils.
"Aww, no, моя милая; don't cry." he said.
Your breaths shook unsteadily, heavily.
"I know you're tired, Маленький." His hand patted over your hair, his tears working their way into your skin.
“Stay still. Close your eyes, Маленький.”
