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Heal Thy Self Chapter 43

AO3 Link

Chapter 42

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

Ah… I love writing from Bucky's POV. Also, we're going to learn a little bit more about Matilda's past and childhood. Don't worry, it's totally not traumatic or scarring….Just try to picture two to three year old little Matilda toddling around with Shirley Temple style curls. It'll get you through it the worst of it. I promise. CW: childhood emotional neglect, Hydra conditioning, psychological manipulation, medical experimentation, trauma flashbacks

Isaiah 43:2

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, Nor shall the flame scorch you."

Bucky's fingers drifted through Matilda's curls as he stared at the ceiling of the hut. She liked to tease Bucky for how long his hair had gotten, but he couldn’t believe how long hers was. It was well past the middle of her back now. He couldn’t remember a time it was this long.

Knowing her, if he ever commented on it, she’d immediately cut it—and most definitely attempt to do it herself.

Matilda shifted in her sleep and he glanced down. The lines between her eyebrows deepened and a small whimper fell from her lips.

Heal Thy Self Chapter 42

AO3 Link

Chapter 41 Link

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

Bucky's back!!!!! Enjoy him for the next few chapters kiddos!

Ephesians 4:26-27

"Be angry, and do not sin": do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil."

Matilda’s eyes narrowed as she stared down the Dora Milaje standing opposite of her.

In a heartbeat, she pounced.

She vaulted over the Dora as the spear swept beneath her. Vibranium struck vibranium with a sharp clang.

Matilda hit the ground in a roll and came up swinging.

Heal Thy Self Chapter 41

AO3 Link

Chapter 40 Link

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

This chapter includes a little slice of home. I'm from a small town in South Carolina and this definitely felt like writing about home. Enjoy!

PS: About how long do you think it took between Civil War and Infinity War for Steve to grow out his hair and beard?

CW: PTSD, childhood emotional/physical abuse (flashback), trauma triggers, discussion of amputation, food trauma/disordered eating behaviors, memory manipulation, emotional distress.

Ephesians 3:20

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us

Prosperity, South Carolina might have been the most ironically named town in the Southern United States.

The back roads were littered with small farms, small churches, and an even smaller Main Street.

Maybe the name came from its culture. Everyone seemed to smile.

Even when veterans were losing housing, corporate agriculture threatened to choke out local farms, and the food pantry looked barely capable of feeding a family of mice.

Heal Thy Self Chapter 40

AO3 Link

Chapter 39

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

CW: discussions of childhood trauma, emotional abuse/parental exploitation, grief, family estrangement, survivor's guilt, references to child death, PTSD symptoms, and trauma recovery.

Job 14:7

"For there is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, that it will sprout again, and that its tender shoots will not cease."

"You’re not using your core. Again."

Matilda groaned but adjusted her stance.

Jab.

"Your core, Matilda," Steve repeated, steadying the sandbag. "Again."

"I don’t know what you mean by that, Steve," Matilda complained.

She stepped back and glanced at her red, bruised knuckles.

Searching...

Working twelve-hour shifts in the Pitt is hard enough. Going home to an apartment where sleep is impossible is slowly breaking you.

Frank Langdon notices.

What starts as shared rides to work turns into cat cafés, late-night diner runs, movies on the couch, and one orange cat who seems determined to speed up the inevitable. As the weight of the emergency department follows you home, Frank quietly reminds you that caring for everyone else doesn't mean you have to carry everything alone.

A slow-burn, hurt/comfort romance filled with gentle acts of kindness, exhausted healthcare workers finding moments of peace, and the healing power of being loved exactly as you are.

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

Read the full work on AOC3 Here.

Tags: Fluff, comfort, angst teensy tiny bit, slow burn, Frank Langdon needs a hug, and so does the reader

Master List (Incomplete):

Find Your Whimsy

Cling to Your Whimsy

Choose Whimsy

More coming soon!!

Choose Your Whimsy

Word Count: 3,457

Full Work on AOC3

Tags: Fluff, comfort, angst teensy tiny bit, slow burn

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

"...looking for the opportunities that make you pick up an edge a little bit, this whimsy, this anger and sense of being disappointed, and this sense of needing to go before you're ready…" -Patrick Ball Deadline

It was never easy to lose a peds patient. Especially not with that patient.

You’d spent hours—days—in their room coloring, making cards for the doctors and nurses, playing with the therapy dogs.

Everyone was certain they’d pull through.

Kids were tough.

This kid was especially tough.

Cling to Your Whimsy

Word Count: 3,181

Full Work on AOC3

Tags: Fluff, comfort, angst teensy tiny bit, slow burn

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

“It became this thing. It became this sort of like emblem of this guy that despite his circumstances, was trying to cling to some sense of whimsy, some sense of joy...” - Patrick Ball Actors on Actors

You sat on your porch stoop, fidgeting with the case of your phone. You weren’t really one for conspiracy theories, but you fully believed the universe liked to curse you when you were already down bad. Like your work laptop wanting to go kaput during a holiday shift. Or more specifically, your phone suddenly not wanting to keep a charge at the same time that you needed to buy new work shoes.

So now you were playing your favorite game: “Which Need Was More Needed?” You were fairly certain you could deal with holes in your shoes for another paycheck or so.

But your phone was a lifeline.

Find Your Whimsy

Word Count: 3,437

Full Work on AOC3

Tags: Fluff, comfort, angst teensy tiny bit, slow burn

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

“there is this sense that Langdon has maybe lost his whimsy in the course of this recovery process, and the fear that that whimsy will be gone forever…” - Patrick Ball Actors on Actors

“You know what your problem is?”

You glanced up from your workstation.

Workstation was generous.

You were tucked into the corner of a supply closet with a rolling cart that had somehow become your desk.

“Don't you have nurses to bother, Franklin?" you asked, turning back to your work.

Frank Langdon smirked as he leaned over your cart.

Heal Thy Self Chapter 39

AO3 Link

Chapter 38

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

Whaaa?? A surprise update??? In my best Maui impersonation: "What can I say except you're welcome!" Enjoy yourselves some Bucky/Sam action although, unfortunately, not together. CW: Psychological Conditioning, PTSD, Implied Sexual Abuse, Trauma Responses, Hypervigilance, Coercion, Brief Violence, Loss of Autonomy

Genesis 31:49

"also Mizpah, because he said, "May the Lord watch between you and me when we are absent one from another."

Tampa, Florida. It was hot, muggy, and there were a surprising number of iguanas.

Matilda was back in the States for the first time since the 1970s.

The nice thing about Americans was that Matilda could sit beside the cracked motel pool outside of SeaWorld wearing all black, a hood pulled over her head and sunglasses covering half her face—

and nobody seemed to give a shit.

"It’s so hot here," she complained, though the smile tugging at her mouth ruined the effect.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 38

AO3 Link

Chapter 37

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

CW: trigger words, psychological conditioning, panic attacks/dissociation, coercive use of powers, trauma responses

Matthew 11:28

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Matilda stood at the window of the run-down hotel, her eyes tracing the lines of traffic below. She hadn’t been to London since the royal wedding.

When Natasha filled her in on the fate of Diana, Princess of Wales, Matilda had been embarrassed to admit she’d cried.

She remembered how kind the Princess of Wales had been to her.

Too young for the life forced onto her.

Matilda always remembered when her victims blindly showed her compassion.

"You can’t stand there too long."

She turned as Natasha stepped into the room.

"People notice when you stare," Natasha continued, tossing her toiletry bag onto the bed.

Her shorter blonde hair clung to her forehead as steam drifted from the bathroom. She’d suggested Matilda cut and dye her hair too.

Hard pass.

"People never notice me," Matilda replied, turning back toward the window.

"It’s quite literally in the name."

"Still, it’s best to leave the curtains drawn."

Natasha stepped beside her, slowly pulling the curtains shut.

Matilda sighed, stepping away from the window.

"Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of paranoid?" she asked, dragging her hand across the duvet.

Another itchy hotel bed.

"Aren’t you?" Natasha shot back, watching her carefully.

Matilda shrugged.

Of course she was.

All the time.

"No," she said quietly. "Not really."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right. And I’m Santa Claus."

Matilda slowly sank onto the bed before flopping backward.

"Have I been good this year?"

"Hardly."

Matilda considered that for a moment.

"It’s only June," she decided, fidgeting with one of the vibranium beads around her wrist. "There’s still time."

The bead vibrated softly beneath her fingers.

"That’s uncharacteristically optimistic," Natasha observed, sliding onto the bed beside her.

"Give it time," Matilda replied, glancing over.

Matilda stared at her for a moment.

"Your bed’s over there, Nat," she said, shuffling farther across the mattress.

"I know." Natasha smirked, crossing one ankle over the other.

Matilda propped herself up on her elbows.

"So what exactly are you doing over here?"

"You must not have grown up with sisters," Natasha replied, gently twirling one of Matilda’s curls around her finger.

Matilda looked down, pulling away slightly.

"I had a twin brother. James died when we were…" Her voice drifted off before catching abruptly.

She couldn’t remember.

"Sixteen," she finished quietly.

That sounded right.

Natasha blinked before carefully reaching for another curl.

"Well, brothers are different," she said softly. "Sisters sit in bed together and do each other’s hair."

"Please don’t try to convince me to cut my hair again," Matilda muttered, shaking off the memory—or rather, the lack of one.

"Relax," Natasha replied dryly. "I left my scissors with Rogers."

She wasn’t entirely sure she was okay with it, but Matilda let Natasha comb her fingers through her hair.

"You don’t have a sister, Nat," she murmured.

"I do," Natasha countered.

Matilda glanced up as Natasha’s expression softened.

"Yelena. We were assigned to the same mission. She was six." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I got to see her again not long ago."

She paused, carefully letting the curl fall back into place.

"You’d like her," Natasha decided. "She’s a bitch."

"She’s a Widow?" Matilda asked, laying back down.

She reached beneath her neck, fluffing her hair so it spread across the bed.

Natasha nodded, her gaze drifting toward the phone resting on the nightstand.

"Your brother’s name was James?"

Matilda’s eyes flicked toward her before she nodded.

"We called him Jamie."

Natasha hummed.

"You’re hooking up with someone who has the same name as your brother?"

Matilda raised an eyebrow.

"Hooking up probably isn’t the best way to put it."

She paused, absently fidgeting with the beads around her wrist.

"Jamie and Bucky were nothing alike."

"How did Jamie die?"

The question didn’t feel intrusive.

And yet—

"Motorcycle accident," Matilda answered. "He didn’t think he needed a helmet."

The response came too quickly. Too practiced. Hollowed of anything real.

Natasha noticed.

"But James and James…" Natasha tilted her head slightly. "That’s not weird?"

Matilda huffed, rolling her eyes.

"James was an incredibly common name," she replied. "And I don’t call Bucky James."

The silence that settled between them was comfortable.

Natasha continued playing with Matilda’s hair, separating strands from the rest before carefully laying them back down.

"Don’t move," she instructed, focused on her work.

"What are you—"

Matilda flinched as Natasha smacked her hand away.

"I said don’t move. Stay."

Natasha kept working.

Matilda was fairly certain whatever this was would not be worth brushing the tangles out later.

Finally, Natasha leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Perfect." She grinned proudly before reaching for her phone. "Don’t move."

"Please don’t take a picture of me," Matilda groaned, covering her face with both hands.

"Just indulge me."

"You’re lucky this bed is comfortable."

It wasn’t.

Matilda kept her face hidden as the camera clicked above her.

"There," Natasha declared. "This one is definitely going to Bucky."

Matilda cracked one eye open.

"Are you pleased with yourself?" she asked as Natasha handed over the phone.

Natasha had somehow shaped at least ten tiny flowers from her curls, the rest of her hair twisting around them like stems wrapped into a bouquet.

"You know Bucky doesn’t know what a smartphone is, right?" Matilda asked, pushing herself upright.

"Boo, you whore," Natasha groaned dramatically as the carefully arranged flowers unraveled across Matilda’s shoulders.

Matilda slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"It’s a movie reference," Natasha clarified quickly. "Mean Girls. You’d probably hate it."

She paused.

"We should watch it sometime."

Natasha’s phone buzzed, the vibration harsh compared to the soft hum of the Kimoyo beads.

"How are you able to send messages without being traced?" Matilda asked as Natasha flicked through her phone.

"It’s a burner," Natasha explained, dropping the phone back onto the bed. "It can still be traced—just not to my exact location. It’ll bounce off towers across the city, and by the time anyone figures out where I sent it from, it’ll already be sitting in a trash can somewhere in Soho."

Matilda blinked.

"None of that made any sense to me," she admitted. "What towers? And what does bouncing mean?"

"It doesn’t really make sense to me either," Natasha admitted with a shrug. "Stark makes phones that are completely untraceable without needing to replace them. Those were especially nice on missions."

Matilda’s thoughts drifted, as they often did when she thought about Tony Stark.

Had he found peace?

Was peace even possible in a mind that never stopped moving?

She’d seen on the news that he was engaged.

"So," Natasha began casually, "question."

"You’re full of those tonight," Matilda noted, glancing over.

"Did you and Tony…" Natasha pressed two fingers together suggestively.

Heat rushed into Matilda’s face as she shook her head quickly.

"I was supposed to," she admitted honestly. "The plan was to keep him from leaving the rendezvous point."

"The file said you failed the mission," Natasha recalled, her fingers drifting absently through Matilda’s hair.

"Purposefully."

The word came quickly.

Matilda swallowed hard before brushing Natasha’s hand aside and sitting up fully.

"I couldn’t let them take him," she admitted quietly. "I didn’t know… he was so young…"

Her voice faltered.

She pulled her knees against her chest.

"Can we change the subject?" she asked softly. "You saw my files?"

Natasha’s hand returned carefully, her nails lightly tracing across Matilda’s back.

"Some of them," she admitted. "Tony kind of hyperfixated on them for a week straight."

Matilda closed her eyes briefly.

"Did the files say anything about my trigger words?" she asked.

The days trapped inside her own mind had become a recurring theme in her nightmares.

"I don’t think so."

Matilda stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking.

There had to be something somewhere about her trigger words.

Bucky’s handler had the notebook.

She closed her eyes, trying to picture one of her own.

A leather-bound book flashed across her mind. A rose stretched across the cover, thorns dripping with blood.

No.

Not blood.

Just thorns.

Her breath caught as the memory sharpened.

Hours strapped to a chair. Her eyes forced open as a bright light circled overhead.

A green liquid dripped through the IV connected to the back of her hand.

Her handler stood in front of her, the notebook open in his hands.

Snap.

The sound cracked through the room like thunder.

"Fós, Scáth."

Snap.

"Shadows obey when they hear these words."

Snap.

"Shadows always follow their leader."

Snap.

"Fós, Scáth."

Snap.

She complied.

"Matilda, where are you?"

Natasha’s voice cut through the memory.

"Come back to me, babe."

Matilda jerked back into herself with a sharp inhale.

"Son of a bitch," she whispered, digging the heels of her palms against her eyes.

In an instant, Matilda was running for the bathroom.

She slammed the door shut behind her before climbing into the tub fully clothed. The faucet twisted hard toward the cold.

Freezing water poured over her skin as she sank to the floor of the tub, fingers dragging harshly through her hair.

"I hate that I miss being on the ice…" she muttered, voice cracking as the spoon bent clean in half between her fingers. "Why can’t I just be better?"

Bucky’s voice was gentle, warm and rough around the edges.

"But on the days when it’s not good? When the ice calls you back, or my memories don’t? We owe ourselves some grace. Both of us."

He brushed her hair back to cradle her face. "If you ever feel like you want to go back in the ice… promise me we’ll talk about it first, okay?"

"Can I promise that I’ll try? Or…" Her eyes searched his for a long, silent moment. "Can you promise to pull me out?"

A sob tore from her throat as Matilda curled inward beneath the freezing water.

How could he pull her out now?

A knock sounded against the bathroom door.

Matilda didn’t answer.

She pressed her face harder against her knees, her body trembling beneath the freezing water.

The shower curtain shifted slowly open.

"Matilda… please…"

A hand reached carefully toward her.

Matilda’s hand shot out instantly, fingers locking around Natasha’s wrist.

"Go."

She didn’t notice Natasha’s eyes glaze over.

Her grip tightened.

"I need Steve…" Her voice cracked violently. "I need Steve. Please."

The moment she let go, the realization hit.

Natasha blinked.

Matilda folded inward with another broken sob.

She’d done it again.

Why was she like this?

The bathroom door shut quietly behind Natasha.

"Fuck… fuck…"

Matilda dragged her nails harshly over her face.

The trigger words.

"Fuck… fuck… fuck…"

They had always been there.

Why couldn’t she remember any of it?

The memory suppressant machine had never worked on her.

She remembered every mission.

Every punishment.

Every experiment.

She had walked out of Hydra with her memories fully intact.

Hadn’t she?

"Fuck!"

Her fist slammed into the floor hard enough to crack the linoleum beneath her.

A scream tore from her throat.

"Matilda…"

She shook her head violently, eyes squeezed shut as wet curls whipped freezing water across the pulled-back curtain.

"Matilda, please… look at me."

Her fist slammed down again.

Pain scraped across her knuckles as the cracks splintered farther beneath her hand.

"Matilda! Stop!"

She froze as another hand wrapped tightly around hers.

Firm.

Steady.

Familiar.

"Steve."

He stepped into the tub behind her.

Freezing water poured over both of them as Steve wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Minutes passed without either of them speaking.

Steve was just there.

No reassurance.

No speech.

Just there.

The sobs eventually dissolved into shaky hiccups as Steve pressed his face gently against the back of her head.

"I’ve always had the trigger words."

Her voice barely sounded like her own.

Horror tangled with exhaustion.

"Did you know?"

"I assumed."

She shivered violently, pressing herself deeper into Steve’s warmth.

"Why don’t I remember?" she whispered. "I-I remember him snapping his fingers and the drugs and… and the exhaustion…"

She buried her face against the crook of Steve’s arm.

"The chair wasn’t supposed to work."

Steve sighed softly, pressing his lips into her damp hair.

"It didn’t. The files proved that."

It was the only reassurance she would have accepted.

"But that doesn’t mean your brain didn’t try to protect you."

Matilda took a long, shaky breath before finally reaching up to turn off the water.

"You didn’t have to do that if you weren’t ready," Steve said quietly.

"You probably hate the cold," she murmured. "Like Bucky. Like I’m supposed to."

She flexed her fingers slowly, staring at the red, wrinkled skin stretched across her palms.

Small scrapes littered her knuckles. The bleeding had already stopped.

"It didn’t matter."

Steve’s arms tightened slightly around her as silence settled between them again.

"We’re going to have to leave," she whispered after a moment.

This wasn’t the first time she’d nearly blown their cover because of her issues.

"That doesn’t matter either," Steve promised.

Slowly, Matilda pushed herself to her feet, groaning as the cold threatened to curl her inward again.

She climbed out of the tub before turning back to offer Steve her hand.

She knew he didn’t need help getting up.

He took it anyway.

The moment Steve stepped out of the tub, he pulled her into a tight hug.

"You’re worth freezing over, Matilda."

There was no grand gesture.

No kisses.

No whispered reassurances against her skin.

It was nothing like how Bucky would have reacted.

She was grateful for it.

Without asking, Steve grabbed the towel from the hook and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing gently against the chill.

"They used fans to dry us off," Matilda muttered, taking the towel from him. "It burned."

She wrung the water from her hair, droplets splattering across the bathmat below.

"My hair caught fire once," she admitted quietly. "They had to cut most of it off."

She scrunched the towel through her curls while Steve dragged another towel through his own damp hair.

"It’s why I don’t want Natasha cutting it."

Steve’s smile softened.

"I know."

Matilda pulled the towel tighter around herself, shivering in her soaked clothes.

"Is Nat okay?"

"It’s not the first time I’ve been brainwashed."

Matilda jumped, spinning toward the doorway.

Natasha leaned against the frame, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"Have you been standing there this whole time?" Matilda asked, clutching the towel tighter against herself.

Heat crept across her cheeks beneath Natasha’s knowing stare.

"Long enough," Natasha replied dryly. "I left clothes for you on the bed."

Matilda turned back toward Steve, relief washing over her as he let out a quiet chuckle.

"I’m sorry…"

"Don’t be," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

His hand squeezed her shoulder gently before he slipped past her toward the door.

He stepped beside Natasha, shoulders already tightening back into something familiar as he angled himself away from Matilda’s view.

"Any word…?"

"I told the front desk it was bad curry," Natasha replied with a dismissive wave. "We don’t need to check out until planned."

Matilda stepped out of the bathroom, slowly gathering the clothes Natasha had left on the bed.

"I could talk to them," she offered quietly.

It was the least she could do.

"Don’t worry about it, Shadow."

Natasha winked at her, the corner of her mouth tugging upward.

"I’m pretty convincing all by myself."

Matilda nodded, offering Natasha a small smile before stepping back into the bathroom.

She peeled herself slowly from the freezing, soaked clothes, shivering as she pulled the dry ones against her skin.

"This was a bad one," Steve whispered outside the door. "We need to get those files from Tony."

Matilda froze, clutching the clothes tightly against her chest.

"I just…" Steve exhaled shakily. "We haven’t even told her about Buck—"

"Shut up," Natasha hissed immediately. "She can hear us."

Silence.

Matilda swallowed hard before quickly finishing dressing.

When she stepped back out of the bathroom, neither Steve nor Natasha looked directly at her.

Matilda wasn’t stupid.

She knew Bucky had been out of cryostasis for days now.

She had noticed the subtle shifts in his heartbeat through the Kimoyo beads.

The difference between peaceful rest and movement.

Between sleep and waking.

Between silence and work.

She knew when they were trying to remove the conditioning.

But clearly—she wasn’t supposed to know.

"How’s he doing?" she asked, draping her soaked clothes carefully across the radiator.

She glanced back at them, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

"You don’t have to keep it from me," she said quietly. "I can handle it."

Natasha smirked as Steve dragged a hand through his damp hair.

"He’s living on a goat farm," Natasha answered.

"Shuri thinks he needs a few weeks off the ice before they start working through the trigger words," Steve added quickly.

Matilda swallowed hard.

"So he’s good?"

Steve nodded, his expression softening immediately.

"Yeah," he said gently. "Better than we expected."

"Good." Her voice caught slightly. "I-I’m glad."

At least one of them was doing better.

Matilda grabbed the hotel key from the nightstand, sliding it into the pocket of her cardigan.

"I need a minute alone."

Her eyes flicked away as she tugged the sweater tighter around herself.

"I’m… gonna step outside for a smoke."

Steve tilted his head, brow furrowing immediately.

"Of course," he said slowly. "Just stay close and bring—"

Matilda was already sliding the burner phone into her pocket and tugging a ball cap over her curls.

"Yup. Got it."

She slipped out into the hallway before either of them could stop her.

As she walked toward the elevator, Steve’s voice carried faintly through the door.

"When did she start smoking?"

A long sigh.

"She doesn’t smoke, dumb ass."

"Oh."

—

Matilda didn’t remember London being this busy this late at night.

She walked aimlessly down the street, checking over her shoulder every few steps.

Maybe leaving the hotel had been stupid.

She didn’t even know where she was going.

She didn’t care.

She’d find her way back eventually.

The phone buzzed against her hip.

Instantly, a memory flashed—

A cattle prod jammed against her ribs.

Matilda yanked the burner from her pocket and dropped it onto the pavement as it buzzed again.

She stared down at the vibrating phone, letting out a long sigh.

The thing jerked violently against the concrete as it continued buzzing.

Slowly, she bent to pick it up, holding the glowing screen toward the streetlight.

"How do I answer this again?" she muttered.

Did she slide?

Or tap?

She tried both.

The screen immediately went black.

"Dammit," she hissed, starting to shove it back into her pocket.

The phone immediately began vibrating again.

Slide.

Right.

Matilda didn’t even bother checking the screen this time.

"What?" she snapped, stepping off the curb to cross the street.

A soft chuckle crackled through the speaker.

Her breath caught instantly.

She knew that laugh.

"Hello to you too, doll."

Matilda froze in the middle of the street, nearly dropping the phone as headlights swerved around her.

"Bucky?"

"Hey, doll."

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 37

AO3 Link

Chapter 36

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

CW: trigger words, psychological conditioning, dissociation/panic responses, coercive use of abilities, trauma responses, loss of bodily autonomy, forced compliance, emotional manipulation themes

Irish Translation (Author note for beginning of post)

"Fós, Scáth." "Still, Shadow."

"Réidh le comhlíonadh." "Ready to comply."

"Tá an tráthnóna tite" "Evening has fallen."

Esther 4:14

"For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?"

Matilda stared at the cryochamber. She hadn’t stopped staring at it. Not really. If she looked away, she might miss something.

"Your coffee is getting cold. And creating stains on my lab table. Off."

Shuri lifted the cup, careful not to spill.

Matilda sighed, taking it from her and downing the coffee in one go.

She still hated the taste. Bitter. Sharp. Didn’t matter.

This wasn’t something you slept through.

She tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, running a hand over her face before dragging it through her hair. She gave up the moment her nails snagged on frazzled curls.

"Have you thought of—"

The teenager held up a hand.

"Yes, I have."

"But—"

A finger lifted this time.

"No. It won’t work."

Matilda exhaled, jumping down from the table. Her hand caught the edge, steadying herself.

"And what have I told you about shoes in the lab?" Shuri continued, throwing her hands up. "You are just as bad as my brother. No respect for OSHA standards."

"What are OSHA standards?" Matilda asked, her voice tight as spots flickered across her vision.

She held up a hand. "Actually—don’t care."

As the spots faded, her focus returned to the cryochamber.

The glass didn’t fog. The casing was white—not black. He was propped on a table instead of held upright with clamps and IV lines.

Bucky Barnes looked at peace.

And yet—

Damn him.

"Why won’t my idea work?" she asked, leaning against the steel table.

Shuri swiftly swatted her arm with the end of her pencil.

"Because you’re not thinking with your science brain, Matilda," she said. "As far as we understand, your abilities cannot heal conditioning."

She swatted her again, tapping her foot until Matilda stepped away from the table.

"How many times have you used your abilities on Sergeant Barnes?"

Matilda didn’t respond.

"And Helmut Zemo was still able to use the trigger words on him?"

Her hands clenched into fists.

"We will need more than your ‘blessings,’ Matilda."

Matilda sucked in a breath and straightened.

"You’re not even willing to try?" she asked.

Shuri sighed, turning away from her. "It’s not about willingness, Matilda. It’s theory."

She spoke slowly, tapping her pencil against the table. "You’ve tested your hypothesis multiple times."

Tap. Tap.

"Each time, it’s been proven false."

Tap. Tap.

"Therefore, your hypothesis—"

Tap. Tap.

Matilda shot her hand out, twisting Shuri’s wrist until the pencil clattered to the floor.

"Wake him up," she said, her voice low—cracking on the last word.

"I’m not asking."

Shuri pulled her hand free, her eyes narrowing. "This is not what Sergeant Barnes wanted."

Matilda reached for her again—missed as the teenager stepped back.

"His name is Bucky. How can you fix him when you won’t even use his name?"

She took a breath—failed to steady it.

"Don’t make me do something we’ll regret."

"I think you need some fresh air, Matilda. Maybe some rest."

"I’m fine," she snapped.

Her gaze flicked to the chamber—then back, catching Shuri fidgeting with the beads on her bracelet. A faint silver light blinked, then faded.

"You’re not listening to me." Shuri straightened, her hand settling over the bracelet.

"I’m ordering you to get out of my lab."

In an instant, Matilda’s hands locked around Shuri’s arms, driving her back until she hit the wall.

"You’re not going to use your abilities against me," Shuri said, her face neutral.

Matilda paused.

Why was she doing this?

Her gaze flicked to the cryochamber—just once.

"I don’t need to," Matilda growled, shoving her harder into the wall.

She didn’t need her powers for this. Bucky would do the same for her. If it meant bringing him back—

"Wake. Him. Up."

Her chest heaved as Shuri’s eyes glazed over.

"I’ll wake him up," Shuri said, her voice soft… distant as her face went slack.

Matilda loosened her grip, gently lowering her.

"I can fix him," she insisted, her fingers still brushing over Shuri’s arms. "Do it now."

Finally.

She stayed close as Shuri moved to the cryochamber, pressing a series of buttons—a code no one had given her.

A hiss filled the lab as steam flooded the case.

Matilda let go, pressing her hand flat to the glass.

"Princess!"

Shuri gasped, snapping back, her hands flying over the controls. The steam cut off. Frost crept across the glass.

"No!" Matilda screamed.

She spun on her heel, grabbing Shuri.

"Make it go back—turn it back on!" she sobbed, her voice rising.

"Stand down."

The spear pushed into her chest, forcing her to let go. Her head snapped up, eyes darting between Okoye and the Dora Milaje behind her.

Okoye pulled Shuri back.

"We don’t want to hurt you, Private Sullivan."

"Get away from him!" Matilda cried, surging forward.

Spears dropped—points aimed.

Matilda lunged, catching one by the blade and yanking. The Dora stumbled as Matilda tore it free.

She brought it down hard against her knee.

Once.

Twice.

It didn’t break.

Pain flared. The spear held.

Her vision went red.

Another strike came—she turned, caught it, grip tightening.

"Bring him back to me! You can’t have him! You can’t—"

"Matilda. Fós, Scáth."

Her hands fell away before her mind could catch up.

She went still—spine straight, arms locked at her sides. Her eyes widened, darting.

Oh.

Her chest heaved. Her heart raced. Tears burned down her face.

She couldn’t move.

"Réidh le comhlíonadh."

—

The Wakandans made her shower. Eat. Rest.

Always with a Dora Milaje warrior nearby.

Ayo would snap her fingers. Matilda’s mind would protest—but she always complied.

She hated how easy it was.

Five days.

Five soul-crushing days.

"We are doing this for your safety, child."

Matilda didn’t understand what was happening to her.

She tried to ask questions. Her mouth didn’t move.

She knew she had gone after the princess—Shuri.

She wasn’t going to hurt her. She didn’t mean to lose control.

She needed him.

Ramonda would tell her she had to let go of what she couldn’t control.

She had lost her own love. She had almost lost T’Challa. She had almost lost everything.

The Queen Mother seemed to understand her.

She wasn’t so sure.

Matilda still complied.

"Captain Steve Rogers will be here soon."

Matilda’s eyes widened. She sat rigid, unable to lean into the seat as Ramonda brushed her hair.

"You will go with him until the Princess has found a way to break Sergeant Barnes of his conditioning."

Bucky.

"Once you are safe with the Captain, we will release you. You will be free."

Ramonda paused, tucking a strand of hair behind Matilda’s ear.

"But you will not be allowed to return to Wakanda."

Something in her chest twisted.

"That is not what I’ve decided, Mother."

T'Challa stepped away from the doorway.

"We will not put the kingdom at further risk," Ramonda said, placing the brush on the table.

Delicately, she began to plait Matilda’s hair—a simple braid, but in a style Matilda never would have chosen for herself.

"It will be the White Wolf’s decision if you are allowed to return."

T’Challa stepped in front of Matilda, his voice calm—an edge of authority beneath the compassion.

The words caught between her teeth.

T'Challa crouched to Matilda’s level.

"Are you ready to be free?

Ramonda’s jaw tightened.

"T’Challa…"

"You may speak, Matilda."

Matilda looked at him.

"Shadows do not need freedom."

That's not what she wanted to say.

She didn't mean it.

Her voice was hoarse from misuse.

Tears pooled in her eyes.

T’Challa slowly rose.

He smiled softly.

There was no judgement in his eyes.

Only sorrow.

Ramonda finished the braid and stepped back, catching T’Challa by the ear and pulling him to the other side of the room.

Matilda stared at her reflection while they spoke in hushed tones.

She had never been taught Xhosa, but there was no mistaking the meaning in their voices.

She tried to run her hands over the worn wood of the chair. To reach up and pull her hair free.

She didn’t move.

Matilda’s eyes followed the King and Queen Mother’s reflections.

T'Challa was approaching her. Ramonda was leaving.

"Tá an tráthnóna tite."

The effect wasn’t immediate.

First, Matilda sagged—her body relaxing for the first time in days.

Then her fingers loosened, knuckles popping as they stretched.

She curled them into fists.

It all came back at once—

"Wake. Him. Up."

She dropped her head.

"I’m sorry."

T'Challa placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I, too, once let grief consume me. No one overcomes it by remaining trapped within their own mind."

Matilda looked up.

"Wakanda will welcome your return—when you have learned who you are without him."

Matilda slowly stood, clasping her hands behind her back.

"How did you know my trigger words?"

She didn’t even know them. Her handler had never needed to use them.

"How do I get rid of them?"

T'Challa smiled softly.

"The same way as Bucky," he said. "With time."

Matilda lifted a hand to her face—finally able to brush away the tears.

"I thought I knew what Bucky Barnes had been through every time Hydra wiped his mind," she said, her voice catching. "Turns out I didn’t know anything."

T'Challa tilted his head, resting a hand lightly on her arm.

She flinched, stepping back.

"I kept my mind intact the entire time I was in Hydra. Compliance must have been difficult for him."

She finally met T’Challa’s eyes.

"What does that say about me as a villain?"

T'Challa moved beside Matilda, leaning his hip against the back of the couch.

"My cousin was raised by a killer and trained by his nation to be one," he said, glancing toward her. "He believed it was his duty to return to Wakanda, take the throne, and unleash hell on a world that wronged him."

Matilda looked at him, remembering when Erik Killmonger had beaten him for the throne.

She had been ordered to stay with the cryochamber. To protect it.

She remembered the face of the defected Wakandan warrior as she snapped his neck.

She hadn’t needed trigger words to comply.

"All that rage—his hatred," T’Challa continued, as Matilda leaned against the couch beside him. "It was the cry of an abandoned child."

Something in her chest tightened.

"Are you saying I’m the abandoned child?" she asked, brows lifting.

"I’m saying you are two sides of the same coin," T'Challa said, bumping her elbow with his.

"Erik hated the world for what he believed it had done to him. You hate yourself for what you believe you’ve done to it."

He turned to face her fully, his gaze unwavering.

Matilda looked away, her breath catching.

"Your cousin died believing he was right."

"He did."

Matilda huffed and crossed to her bag.

She pulled out her notebook, her fingers brushing over the peony still tucked between the pages.

"Bucky and I were working through this book about facing our trauma," she said, holding it close to her chest. "It never said anything about being brainwashed by a secret underground Nazi program."

"It probably doesn’t say anything about processing your father’s death, being killed by your cousin, and then being revived by the leader of a rival tribe—all in one week," T'Challa said.

Matilda’s lip twitched.

"I think the book was written with children in mind."

"I think your time with Captain Steve Rogers will prove more valuable than you realize."

Her smile dropped.

"Will you let me know when he wakes up?" "Will I be able to talk to him?"

T’Challa didn’t answer.

—

Later, Matilda sat in the observation gallery, her gaze drifting, then snapping back every few minutes.

She was no longer allowed in the laboratories, but T'Challa had agreed she could still watch the cryochamber.

She could see his face perfectly from where she sat.

It was almost enough.

Her pencil moved over the page, etching absent shapes into the corner of her notebook. The margins were starting to fill.

She wondered if she could get another before being shipped off.

"Bucky said you liked to draw."

She froze—back tensing as the pencil slipped from her fingers.

"Hi, Steve."

She let out a breath as he settled into the seat beside her. She closed the notebook.

"I’m not ready to leave him."

"I wasn’t either."

"I didn’t mean to hurt the princess," she said quietly.

Shuri still bore the bruises Matilda had given her.

"But you did."

She nodded once.

Silence settled between them, their gazes fixed on the glass.

"I don’t want to be like that anymore."

Steve looked at her.

"But I don’t know what to do about it."

She flipped open her notebook, her pencil finding the line where she’d left off.

"Maybe I should have been the one to go back on ice."

She glanced over at Steve, huffing.

"It would probably be easier for you," she added.

She shifted—the notebook slipping from her lap.

As she reached for it, Steve did too, their heads knocking together.

"Ow," she grunted, snatching it first.

"Sorry," he said, picking up the dried peony.

He ran his fingers over the brittle petal before offering it back to her.

"For what it’s worth," he continued, "I understand what Bucky means to you."

She watched his gaze drift back to the glass.

He couldn’t possibly understand.

"T’Challa says I have to learn who I am without him. Bucky used to say I could be anyone I chose to be."

She tilted her notebook—just enough to give Steve a glimpse.

"Do you know who you are without…" She paused, tapping her pencil.

Steve glanced down at the page—and she heard his breath catch.

Half of his shield, still marked by T'Challa’s claws from the airport.

The other half—the star on the Winter Soldier’s arm. Sparks jumping from frayed wires where it had been torn free.

And behind it all—a woman.

Not an outline.

A shadow.

"It was never about the shield," Steve said quietly.

Matilda closed the notebook, her finger tucked between the pages.

"Then what is it about?"

She added quickly, "And don’t say it’s about doing the right thing."

Steve sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"I used to say I didn’t like bullies."

His gaze drifted to where Bucky slept in the cryochamber.

"Turns out there’s always going to be bullies."

Matilda glanced at him."Was Stark a bully?"

Steve let out a surprised huff.

"Depends who you ask," he said.

He stood, resting a hand on her shoulder.

For once, she didn’t pull away as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"We head out in an hour."

As he turned to leave, Matilda stood, blocking his exit.

"Steve…"

Her arms were around him before she could stop herself.

He didn’t hesitate, immediately pulling her in.

She didn’t let go.

—

The Jabari mountains were always cold.

Like everywhere else within Wakanda’s borders, their peaks were hidden from satellites, drones, and every other kind of surveillance.

It made them the perfect place for Steve to park the quinjet.

Matilda begrudgingly understood.

"I would’ve brought something warmer for you," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just figured the serum kept you from getting cold. Like me."

"It doesn’t affect me, Steve," she muttered, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself. "That doesn’t mean I like it."

Natasha stepped up beside her, smirking.

"Didn’t you spend time in Siberia?"

"Yeah. In cryostasis," Matilda shot back, glaring. "I feel like that gives me even more reason not to like the cold. Plus…"

She paused as a sharp wind cut through her.

"I grew up in Georgia."

Sam chuckled, failing to hide the goosebumps creeping up his arms.

"It didn’t snow much in Louisiana, either."

"See? He gets it," Matilda said, subtly inching closer to Sam.

Sam immediately took a step back.

"Don’t you dare put your cold hands on me, woman!"

Matilda sighed, stuffing her hands back into her pockets.

"Rude."

"You’re too close to the edge."

A hand wrapped around Matilda’s arm, tugging gently.

She tensed—then spun, her hand snapping over the intruder’s.

In an instant, the Jabari warrior dropped, his body hitting the frozen ground hard.

"Whoa! Matilda!"

Matilda’s chest heaved, eyes wide as she scanned her surroundings.

Steve and Sam both had their hands up as Natasha checked the man’s pulse.

A deep belly laugh broke out nearby, drawing all four heads.

It was M'Baku.

"Thank you for that laugh!" he said, hands on his hips.

"The wawa said he was too brave and strong to be brought down by the inuwa. You showed him."

Matilda’s cheeks flushed as she stepped back, fists clenching, hands still trembling.

Her eyes darted to Steve, then back to M'Baku.

"I could have killed him," she said, her voice low.

"Maybe next time," M’Baku replied with a shrug.

Matilda crouched, pressing a hand to the fallen warrior’s forehead.

She snatched the dagger from his grip just as he jolted upright, a war cry tearing from his throat—loud enough to echo off the mountains.

Smoothly, she crossed back to M’Baku and dropped the dagger at his feet.

"Maybe not."

The two stared at each other, neither backing down.

"You’re funny, Inuwa," M'Baku decided. "Maybe you can show me your tricks next time you come around."

"Maybe that’s not the best idea."

Matilda turned as Shuri approached, a small package in her hands.

"Shuri," Matilda breathed, ducking her head. "I—"

"No need to apologize," the teenager said.

Matilda’s gaze dropped to the package as Shuri tried to hand it to her.

"I couldn’t—"

"It’s not a gift, Private Sullivan. It’s a theory."

Shuri placed the package firmly into her hands before pulling out a smaller box.

"However…" she added, a hint of a smile breaking through, "this is a gift."

She waved a hand over the box. The vibranium glowed purple as the lid shifted open.

"Kimoyo beads. When Sergeant Barnes has awakened, you’ll be able to communicate with these."

Matilda’s mouth opened—but no words came.

Instead, she felt Shuri’s hand close around hers as she slid the beads over her wrist.

The vibranium was cool against her skin, settling there as though it belonged.

Matilda tensed as the beads vibrated.

Not once. Not twice.

But—

"Bucky’s heartbeat?" she asked, her voice catching.

Shuri took a step back, grinning.

"I hope to see you soon, Shadow."

—

Later, Matilda glanced across the quinjet, a soft smile forming as she realized Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were snoring.

"Did you open the package?" Natasha Romanoff asked, glancing back from the cockpit.

"Oh—no," Matilda said, reaching under her seat.

She’d almost forgotten it.

"I hear it’s pretty cool."

Natasha winked before turning forward again.

Matilda slowly untied the twine around the package.

For the first time, she noticed how different the wrapping felt beneath her fingers.

"The paper is vibranium too?" she asked, rubbing the material between her fingers. "Isn’t that… limited?"

Her mind flickered back—missions, orders, attempts to smuggle the metal across borders.

She’d failed every time.

Natasha hummed, lifting her head slightly. "What was that?"

Matilda shrugged, shaking her head as she kept unwrapping the package.

The dark red—almost brown—flowers are what first caught her attention. Then the gloves, soft pliable leather that molded against her hands as if it belonged there.

Not leather, she realized.

"Vibranium…" she whispered, tugging out the note tucked into the sleeve.

"When you find the time, have someone punch you while wearing this. Trust me. Xx Shuri"

Natasha didn’t look at her as she spoke.

"We realized we weren’t getting our suits back… I called in a favor with T'Challa."

She said it like she was talking about replacing a pair of shoes.

"Congrats, babe," she added, finally glancing over. "You’re a superhero."

Matilda smiled softly, settling back into her seat.

Her hand rested over the suit, the Kimoyo beads humming—soft and steady—against her wrist, pulling her under.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 36

AO3 Link

Chapter 35

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

The next couple chapters are going to be super interesting. I almost regret waiting until Wednesday to post them.

Hebrews 6:19

This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enters the Presence behind the veil…

A week without her was too long.

He didn’t know if she would forgive him.

He didn’t know if he deserved it.

"We’ll find them, Buck. We just need the coordinates to the Raft," Steve had said.

Wakanda’s best hadn’t.

So Bucky went back to the only place no one thought to check.

The old HYDRA airwaves.

Mostly dead.

Repeating.

Hail Hydra. Hail Hydra. Hail Hydra.

The beeps had started following him into sleep. Into silence. Into everything.

Still, he listened.

Hours. Every day.

Waiting for something to change.

Then—A shift.

Clicks.

Coordinates.

Again.

His hand tightened against the desk.

Then—

"There’s a lunar eclipse tonight."

He froze.

The message repeated.

"There’s a lunar eclipse tonight."

His grip crushed the wood beneath his fingers.

A breath—sharp, uneven.

"Watch for shadows."

The chair slammed backward as he surged to his feet.

"Sorry," he muttered, already moving—already gone.

Steve and Natasha turned at the sound of him—too fast, too sharp.

Bucky didn’t stop.

"I found them," he said, already moving toward the airfield.

Steve caught his arm.

"Buck—wait." His grip tightened. "We don’t know what we’re walking into."

Bucky tore free without slowing.

"We don’t need to," he shot back. "We can get them out. All of them."

Matilda.

He didn’t say her name—but it was there.

"Sam. Wanda—"

"Scott and Clint are out," Natasha cut in. "Parole."

Bucky didn’t break stride.

"Then we get the rest."

He reached for the door—and stopped.

There was nothing where his metal arm should have been.

Bandages wrapped tight around his shoulder, still fresh.

He flexed his fingers—felt it anyway.

Not enough.

"I’m going to get them out," he said, turning back to them.

"I could use your help. But I don’t need your permission."

The silence lingered.

Bucky opened the door.

He didn’t look back.

Footsteps fell in behind him.

"Let’s be smart about this, Soldiers," Natasha said, tucking her hands into her hoodie.

"I’ve got a plan," Steve said, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

—

Getting through the first round of guards was too easy.

Typical.

"Which one opens the cells?" Steve asked, scanning the wall of monitors.

Bucky didn’t answer. His fingers moved over the keypad—fast, precise, impatient.

Wrong.

Again.

"Work smarter, boys," Natasha muttered.

She hauled one of the guards upright and slammed him into the chair.

"Sit."

The barrel of her gun pressed against his temple.

"Where’s Shadow?"

The guard broke fast.

He gave them the location.

And the codes.

"Get Sam and Wanda."

Bucky was already moving.

"You look like you could use a hand," Natasha said, falling into step beside him.

He shot her a look.

"What? Too soon?"

"We meet at the quinjet in fifteen," Steve said, tapping his comm. "No distractions."

They found her door.

Bucky stilled.

He could hear her breathing.

Slow. Steady.

He lifted his hand and knocked—once, twice—soft, deliberate.

The pattern.

"Cute," Natasha murmured.

He didn’t answer.

The code beeped.

Denied.

Again.

Denied.

"You have two more attempts," the speaker droned.

Bucky stared at the keypad.

Natasha stepped in, sparks flashing as her Widow’s Bite tore through the panel.

The lock clicked.

The door slid open.

Bucky was already inside.

She was curled in on herself.

Too still.

Too small.

The cages on her hands caught the light.

He stepped closer. Slower now.

Careful.

Like she might disappear.

He crouched, his hand hovering—then settling gently against her knee.

"Matilda—"

She moved.

Fast.

Her arm snapped up—

Bucky caught her wrist before the strike landed.

Matilda’s eyes widened—searching, scanning—narrowing as they landed on Natasha and then—

Him.

She stilled.

"You came," she breathed.

Like she didn’t quite believe it.

Then she moved—arms wrapping around him, tight.

The cages clinked against his back.

Bucky pulled her in, steady, grounding.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of her head, holding her there.

Matilda tensed—pulling back.

Her eyes moved over him—taking in the bruises, the cuts—then stopped.

"Your arm," she whispered.

Her hand lifted—then faltered, the cage catching against the bed.

Bucky didn’t answer.

His gaze dropped to the restraints around her wrists.

He moved closer, his hand closing around the metal, tilting it to see the bruising beneath.

Steve’s voice crackled through the comm.

"We’ve been made. We need to move."

"We’re having a moment," Natasha said, pressing a finger to her ear. "Give us five minutes."

A sigh echoed through the comms. "You’ve got two."

Natasha lowered her hand, her expression softening as she stepped toward the door.

"Take your time."

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to Matilda.

"Are you hurt?" His voice shook as his fingers brushed lightly over the bruise at her temple.

"A little," she said.

Like it didn’t matter.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let’s get you out of these."

His grip tightened around the cage—metal groaning as it gave beneath his hand.

The lock snapped.

The hinge followed.

"I’ve got the other one," Matilda said, already pulling at the second cage.

The metal hit the ground—and Bucky was on her again, his arm pulling her in as his mouth found hers.

It was quick—desperate—like he didn’t have time for anything more.

He pulled back too soon, breath uneven, his forehead dropping to hers.

"I’m sorry," he murmured. "For leaving you to them."

"It was my choice," Matilda said softly, her fingers brushing over the bandage at his shoulder.

"And I’d do it again."

Bucky pushed to his feet—staggering as his weight shifted.

Matilda caught his arm.

She pulled herself up—and swayed the same way. He adjusted, his grip tightening around her hand.

"The food here is…" she started—

then stopped, her grip tightening.

Bucky didn’t need her to finish it.

Natasha stepped in between them, hands out.

"Can you move?"

Bucky saw that look in her eyes—all sharp intent and no hesitation.

"Let’s go."

"You really are like Steve," Natasha observed, already turning toward the door.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Matilda muttered, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh and held out his hand. She took it without hesitation.

For a moment, he closed his eyes—the tension in his chest easing under her touch, familiar.

"I missed you," he said.

He pulled her into his side, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I’m here," she promised.

"Let’s go, lovebirds!" Natasha called, already waiting at the end of the hall.

"Shadow escaped!"

"Again?!"

"We’re so getting fired."

Matilda pulled them into the shadows of an empty cell just as the thunder of boots passed.

"Again?" Natasha murmured, low.

Matilda didn’t answer.

She stepped back into the hall.

"The elevator’s that way," Natasha said, falling in behind her, Bucky close on her heels.

"I have a bad relationship with that elevator," Matilda muttered, keeping to the wall. "We don’t need it. The floors go up."

She lifted her hand, angling it—tracking the structure in front of them.

Then she stilled.

"No more corners."

Nowhere to hide.

They moved in silence as they climbed.

Neither of them questioned why Matilda was leading.

Escape had always been one of her specialties.

HYDRA taught her.

The Red Room refined it.

"So how many floors did you make it?" Natasha asked smoothly.

"Fifth." Matilda glanced back. "With dislocated wrists."

Bucky stopped.

Forty floors down.

"Shadows don’t feel pain."

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

"It’s okay if you do," Natasha said softly.

"I’m sure I will." Matilda kept moving.

"We need to get going." Steve’s voice crackled through the comm—shouts and the sharp clang of metal cutting through behind it.

"Got it," Natasha said.

"We’re not far," Matilda added, already picking up speed.

The helipad door didn’t move.

Matilda stepped back, gesturing toward Bucky.

"Or do you want me—"

The door slammed inward under a single kick.

Thunder cracked overhead as waves crashed against the fortress roof.

"Thanks for joining us!" Sam shouted, ducking a swing and dropping a guard in one clean throw.

"We got busy!" Natasha shot back, already moving into the fight.

"Let’s go!" Steve called, guiding a dazed Wanda toward the quinjet.

Bucky glanced at Matilda—caught off guard by the grin tugging at her lips.

"This was kind of fun last time," she said, glancing up at him. "And they’re showing a lot more skin."

She didn’t wait for his answer.

She stepped into the fray—her hand brushing against a guard’s wrist.

The change was immediate.

The man’s weapon slipped from his grasp. His body slackened, swaying.

Matilda caught him before he hit the ground—lowering him carefully.

Bucky pressed his back to hers as they moved across the helipad.

She didn’t throw a single punch.

Didn’t need to.

By the time they reached the quinjet, the only sign of a fight was the line of guards stretched across the concrete—breathing.

Out cold.

"He’s snoring," Sam said, nudging one onto his back. "The guy who helped himself to my meal tray is snoring."

He shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"Buckle up, kids," Natasha called, already working the controls.

"Told you she’d make a good Avenger."

Matilda swayed at the entrance to the quinjet, rubbing at the bruises circling her wrists.

Bucky guided her to a bench. She steadied him in return, fastening his straps with careful hands.

Her gaze shifted—

landing on Wanda.

The younger woman leaned heavily against Steve, eyes unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the room.

Matilda didn’t say anything.

She reached out and took her hand.

"Matilda—" Steve warned.

Too late.

Wanda’s eyes slipped closed.

The bruises faded from her arms.

Her breathing evened.

Matilda recoiled slightly, her own breath catching—sharp, uneven—as the weight of it hit her all at once.

Bucky’s hand came up—then stopped.

"They did testing on her."

Matilda leaned into Bucky’s side as she said it, her voice tighter than she meant it to be.

He shifted beside her, instinctively reaching—then stopping short, missing the weight of his metal arm around her waist.

"It’s going to take more than that," Steve said, his expression softening.

Matilda nodded once.

—

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as Matilda’s feet dangled over the balcony Queen Ramonda had offered them.

The bruises along her skin were fading. The sores at her wrists, softer now.

Her hair shifted in the breeze, brushing against her bare shoulders as the sunset wrapped her in gold and orange. The sounds of Wakanda drifted up around her. The light was already starting to fade.

"Have you ever seen something so beautiful?"

She turned slightly, her blue eyes catching the light—bright, almost disbelieving.

Bucky eased down beside her.

Her arm was already there, steadying him.

"I’m looking at it right now."

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"I think you need to check your vision, Sarge," she murmured, leaning into his side.

"I have super soldier eyes," he said, running his fingers through a stray curl. "I see just fine."

Matilda smiled and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

His hand came up to her cheek—steady, grounding—deepening the kiss.

His thumb stilled for a second—like he was checking.

He pulled back when he felt her pulse spike—her shoulders going slack.

His hand came up, brushing the tear from her cheek.

She caught his hand in hers, turning just enough to press a kiss to his palm.

"I just got you back…" Her voice broke, and she ducked her head.

He drew in a breath.

"I won’t be in there long," Bucky said. "Just until they figure out how to deactivate the words."

Matilda’s eyes squeezed shut as she shook her head.

"But do you have to go back in the ice?"

Bucky squeezed her hand, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"I—"

He stopped.

"I can’t trust myself around you. Not until I know the words are gone."

"When do you go in?"

"In the morning."

Crickets filled the quiet, the city humming far below.

He didn’t look at her.

"Come on," she said quietly.

She stood and held out her hand.

Bucky let her pull him up and into her arms, his hold loose around her waist as he searched her face.

Her eyes glistened. Tears tracked down her cheeks, the tip of her nose flushed.

She smiled at him—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Let’s not waste any more time."

She tugged him back into the bedroom, leaving the balcony door open behind them.

His lips found hers—slow, deliberate—as her fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His hand ghosted across her back as he leaned into the kiss—like he was trying to memorize it.

Matilda softened against him as his hand settled at her waist.

She made a small, frustrated sound when he pulled back, rising onto her toes to follow him.

Their foreheads pressed together, breaths uneven, shared.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

His thumb brushed along her cheek, catching the tear before it fell.

Matilda blinked, searching his face.

"I don’t want to lose you again," she whispered, her hand sliding down to grip his shirt.

His heart raced beneath her palm.

"I’m right here," he murmured, kissing her again.

"I know."

Her grip tightened like she was trying to remember the shape of him.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 35

AO3 Link

Chapter 34

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

This chapter thickens the plot between Tony and Matilda... Did they/don't they?? Hmmm

3 John 1:3

For I rejoiced greatly when brethren came and testified of the truth that is in you, just as you walk in the truth.

Matilda turned her head as Clint passed her cell.

His cuffs were gone.

He slowed, glancing once at the guards flanking him.

"Hey, kid," he said quietly.

Matilda pushed herself upright, wincing as the cages around her hands dragged against the sores at her wrists.

They’d learned quickly.

"You getting out?" she asked.

They’d already sent Scott home on probation.

Clint nodded.

She smiled—small, genuine. She’d grown fond of having the archer as a neighbor.

"Good," she said. "Your kids’ll be glad to have their dad back."

Clint huffed softly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with that.

"They’re gonna keep you in those?" he asked, glancing at her hands.

Matilda tilted her head, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at her mouth.

"Don’t start getting too fond of me, Barton," she said. "Go enjoy freedom."

Clint held his hands out as the guards nudged him forward. "Yeah, yeah. I’m going," he grumbled.

"Be safe, Clint," Matilda called after him.

"You too, kid. When you get out—dinner’s on me."

Matilda stretched as far as the restraints would allow, groaning as her leg cramped.

She leaned forward, taking in who was left.

Sam sat to her right, elbows braced on his knees. He glanced up, met her eyes—then dropped his gaze back to his clasped hands.

Across from her, Wanda stared straight ahead, expression hollow as she shifted against the straightjacket binding her arms to her chest.

"Sullivan!"

Matilda looked up as the guard stepped into her cell from the side door.

"Chow time already?" she asked, lifting her hands and rattling the cage lightly.

"No," the guard replied, voice low and clipped. "Visitor."

Matilda’s brow lifted.

"Who is it?"

"Take it or leave it."

Matilda pushed herself to her feet too quickly, the room tilting as she braced the backs of her legs against the bedframe.

She steadied.

She hadn’t eaten anything they’d given her.

The guard stepped forward, unclipping the chain from the bed and snapping it onto the restraints around Matilda’s wrists, drawing her hands together.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The guard studied her.

Matilda held her gaze.

"Come here often?" she asked.

The guard didn’t answer.

She gave a short shake of her head—then yanked Matilda forward, pulling her out of the cell.

Matilda hesitated at the visitor room door, glancing back at the guard.

"Move."

The guard shoved her forward.

Matilda stumbled, her knees slamming into the steel table.

The chain jerked tight.

The guard hauled her upright, unlocking the cages from her hands. In one practiced motion, cuffs snapped into place—then clipped her to the table.

"Wait here."

Matilda sank into the chair, flexing her fingers as the metal bit into her wrists.

"Funny," she muttered under her breath.

As the door shut behind her, Matilda glanced down at the cuffs.

She snapped the chain from the table.

"Pretty sure that’s illegal."

Matilda stilled, shoulders tightening as she lifted her head.

"What are they going to do?" she said evenly. "I’m already in prison."

Her eyes tracked him as Tony circled the table.

"You look like shit," she added, taking in the bruising along his cheekbone—the way he held his wrist close to his chest, careful not to knock it as he sat across from her.

"Yeah," Tony said, the word flat. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "Thank your boyfriend for that."

"Where is he?" Matilda asked. "Are they okay?"

"Fuck if I know," Tony snapped, the edge in his voice finally breaking through. "Not here where they should be."

Matilda leaned back in her seat, brow lifting slightly.

"I thought you went after them to help?" she asked.

"Did you know?" Tony cut in. "At the party?"

Oh.

Matilda’s gaze dropped.

"Know what?" she asked.

"Don’t bullshit me, Matilda!" Tony snapped, slamming his hands against the table. "Or is it Jane?"

The sound of Tony’s breathing filled the silence between them.

"Bucky—the Winter Soldier—did kill your parents," she said. "But I’m the reason why."

Tony’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

Matilda didn’t look away.

"They were supposed to take you," she said quietly. "Use you to get Howard's serum. I couldn’t—"

She swallowed.

"Not after… they changed the plan."

Matilda shot her hand out, catching Tony by the wrist before he could move.

The room dissolved.

"Tell Howard to get his son. Now. I can’t stall much longer."

Matilda gripped Jarvis’s arm, forcing every ounce of urgency into her voice.

"Go."

His eyes glazed. He turned and left.

Matilda drew in a breath, smoothing the hem of the too-short dress, adjusting the lace at her thigh.

Then she slipped back into the bedroom—

and stopped.

Tony Stark slumped in the chair, glass loose in his hand.

"There you are," he slurred, pushing to his feet.

He stumbled toward her, hands finding her waist.

"Jane… thought you had a present for me," he mumbled.

Matilda smiled faintly, looping her arms around his neck.

"You’re too drunk, Anthony."

"No I’m not," he insisted, pressing clumsy kisses along her cheek.

She guided him toward the bed.

"Come on. Sleep."

"Promise?" he murmured, collapsing back and pulling her with him.

Tenderly, she brushed the hair from his face.

"Sleep."

His breathing evened.

Matilda stayed where she was—watching him.

Tony stared at her, eyes wide, then yanked his hand back.

"I… I remember that night."

He stepped away.

"You were gone when I woke up."

Matilda blinked, forcing the tears back.

"Yes."

Tony sank into the chair, his gaze searching hers.

"Why didn’t you stay?" he asked. "You could’ve warned him."

"I had to leave before your father recognized me," Matilda said quietly.

"I didn’t know—" She swallowed. "I didn’t know it would turn into that. I’m sorry, Anthony."

Tony’s gaze dropped to her hands.

"My mom is…"

His voice broke.

"That’s on me."

Matilda shook her head, reaching for him—then stopping when he flinched.

Her hand lowered, resting against the cold steel table.

"It’s HYDRA," she said quietly.

"Not you. Not me. Not Bucky… I don’t—"

Tony pushed back from the table, heading for the door.

"Sometimes that’s all there is," she added, softer now.

He stopped, glancing back at her.

"I’ll have them take those off," he said, nodding toward her restraints.

Then he left.

Matilda leaned forward with a groan.

"That couldn’t have gone worse," she muttered, dropping her head into her hands.

At some point, she dozed off—cheek pressed against the cool metal table.

The door opened.

She stirred as the guard stepped in, holding a pair of heavy red metal gloves.

"Courtesy of Mr. Stark," she said.

Matilda didn’t resist as the guard forced her hands forward, sliding the gloves over her fingers.

Cold metal locked into place.

A sharp click.

Her hands were pulled together—sealed.

"Don’t break them," the guard said.

Matilda flexed her fingers.

The metal didn’t give.

Back in her cell, Matilda slid to the floor, her back pressed to the wall.

"Nice color."

"Not as nice as the gloves Sharon brought me," she said. "But at least I can move my fingers."

She curled her hand into a fist—then loosened it, testing the range.

The metal whirred softly, adjusting with her.

"Stark?" Sam asked, stepping up to the glass.

Matilda nodded, shifting until her back pressed into the corner where the glass met the wall.

"Yeah. Bit of a consolation prize for not getting probation."

"What did he want?" he asked, doing the same.

Matilda exhaled, her shoulders lifting in a small shrug.

"Answers," she said. "Someone to blame."

Matilda sighed, drawing her knees to her chest.

"How long did Steve know about Tony’s parents?" she asked.

"When we got those files from Rumlow," Sam said.

Matilda shook her head, scoffing under her breath.

"He was wrong not to tell him."

"I know."

Silence settled between them.

"Do you think they’re okay?" Matilda asked, resting her chin on her knees.

"Stark said he fought them. Bucky too."

"I don’t know. I hope so," Sam said. "Those two are stubborn enough to be okay."

Matilda let out a quiet, dry chuckle.

"Don’t I know it."

—

Matilda jolted awake—and cracked her head against the glass.

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing the spot with her gloved hand.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," the guard said. "Your turn."

Matilda lifted her head. "My turn for what?"

The guard didn’t answer. He stepped in, reaching for her.

Matilda pushed to her feet, slipping out of his grasp.

"For what?" she pressed.

The guard nodded toward Wanda’s cell.

Matilda turned—

Wanda lay slumped across the bed, no longer restrained. Her body trembled with violent shivers, bruises blooming along her arms. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.

Matilda’s breath caught.

"Testing," the guard said.

His hand closed around her arms—yanking them behind her back.

Matilda twisted hard, trying to pull free.

"Hey!" she snapped. "Stop—I never consented to this!"

The guard laughed, low and humorless, as he forced the gloves together.

"You consented when you joined HYDRA."

Matilda tore herself loose, stumbling back, her chest heaving.

Matilda yanked the gloves apart, snapping the chain between them.

"Hey!" Sam’s voice echoed from the wall behind her. "What’s going on?"

Her gaze flicked to the guard—then to the open cell door.

Back again.

"I’m not going with you."

She moved.

Her hand shot up, dragging the guard down as her knee drove into his face. In the same motion, she caught his arm and twisted—hard—until something gave with a sharp pop.

The guard screamed.

"Matilda! Stop!" Sam shouted, pounding against the wall.

She didn’t.

She shoved him to the ground and bolted through the open cell door.

An alarm blared—loud and relentless against the metal walls.

Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

Matilda slipped into the shadows of an empty cell, pressing herself flat as the guards rushed past.

Then she moved.

Fast.

She knew this place wasn’t meant to be escaped.

Didn’t matter.

Tony got in.

There had to be a way out.

She ducked into a service elevator and slammed the "roof access" button.

As it crawled upward, she glanced down at the red gloves encasing her hands.

Steel.

Perfect.

She laced her fingers together and pulled.

Hard.

The metal groaned. Pain shot up her arms as her wrists gave with a sickening shift.

She sucked in a breath, yanking the gloves free before snapping her wrists back into place.

The elevator jolted to a stop.

The intercom crackled.

"Stand down!" a voice barked—thick, angry, French.

"No thanks," Matilda shot back, already reaching up to wrench the fire escape panel loose.

"Au revoir."

She hauled herself up through the opening and climbed.

Pain flared through her wrists with every stretch, sweat slipping into her eyes.

When she finally had to stop—she tore open a vent cover and rolled inside.

She glanced out.

Floor 5.

"Fuck me," she groaned, dropping back against the metal, legs still dangling from the opening.

How many floors did this place have?

She needed another way out.

But first…rest sounded good.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

They snapped open.

A sharp breath tore from her chest—muscles locking, pulse spiking.

"No," she muttered, shaking her head. "Shadows don’t rest."

Matilda hauled herself out of the vent and kept climbing.

At the next set of elevator doors, she stopped—pressing her ear to the cool metal.

The alarms still blared, but this floor sounded…empty.

Or close enough.

She pried the doors open just enough to slip through, dropping lightly onto the carpet below.

"Offices…"

Matilda slipped down the hallway—

then stopped.

A radio crackled from behind a closed door.

"The Shadow is still at large. Over."

"Affirmative. Do we have orders to shoot? Over?"

"Negative. Do not engage unless necessary. Subject is enhanced and dangerous. Use discretion to subdue. Over."

Matilda’s jaw tightened.

She moved on—slipping into a room marked Communications.

Matilda moved through the room, scanning each desk.

Computers. Monitors. Phones.

And trinkets.

A small Captain America figurine. An Iron Man one beside it. A radio that turned out to be nothing more than a music player.

On the far wall, a bulletin board.

A map—coordinates circled in red.

"Idiots," she muttered, pulling it free.

She kept moving.

Last corner.

There.

She slipped into the chair and pulled the bulky headset over her ears.

The alarm dulled to nothing.

Too quiet.

She yanked it off and snapped one side, letting the noise bleed back in.

Better.

Her focus shifted to the console in front of her.

A steady string of beeps crackled through.

She tapped the rhythm against the desk.

Matched.

"Hail Hydra," she whispered.

Then again.

"Hail Hydra."

Her fingers moved quickly across the keys, sending the coordinates and the message she and Bucky had agreed on after Rumlow.

"There’s a lunar eclipse tonight."

She waited.

Again.

"There’s a lunar eclipse tonight."

Then leaned back, eyes scanning the room.

"Watch for shadows."

A smile tugged at her lips—even as the office door burst open.

"About time," she muttered, raising her hands and dropping to her knees.

The rifle struck.

Pain exploded across her temple as she hit the ground.

Hands grabbed her—wrenching her arms behind her back as the familiar cage snapped into place.

They dragged her through the halls.

She didn’t resist.

She didn’t fight.

She didn’t care when they shoved her into a padded room, separate from the others.

The door slammed.

Darkness swallowed the space.

Bucky was coming.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc #tony stark

At what point should I make a masterlist for Heal Thy Self?

I just posted Chapter 34! That's a lot, right? Would it help if I created a masterlist post for all the chapters? Or is posting the AOC3 link enough?

Asking for research purposes?

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc #heal thy self

Heal Thy Self Chapter 34

AO3 Link

Chapter 33

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

So fun fact: the airport fight in Civil War is probably my favorite scene in the entirety of the MCU. I think the only scene that comes close to is when Cap catches Mjolnir. I've easily watched just this scene at least twenty times. Another fun fact: I probably have adhd.

2 Corinthians 10:4-5

"For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ"

The straps around her hands were surprisingly snug.

Matilda flexed her fingers, testing the give.

Not too tight. Not too loose. As if the leather had already been worn into the shape of her hands.

It was like that everywhere.

The suit didn’t fit her—it anticipated her.

The hood shadowed her face without dulling her senses.

Precision like this had a signature.

But she wasn’t so sure about the pattern.

"Why flowers?" she murmured, standing in the shadows of the airport hangar.

A distant engine hummed overhead.

Steve’s voice cracked through her comm.

"Focus."

Matilda straightened.

She stepped back—then broke into a silent jog beneath the jet bridge.

She shook out her hands once, then leapt up into the service opening, boots catching on the worn carpet inside.

She dropped into a crouch, steady and low.

From below, Captain America stepped into view.

Then the roar hit.

Iron Man and War Machine dropped onto the tarmac.

"Wow," Tony Stark drawled, "it’s so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don’t you think that’s weird?"

Matilda’s breath caught.

Maybe a little more tired—but the same voice.

Her gaze snapped sideways as the man who had chased them through the parking garage—Prince T’Challa—dropped into view, landing with effortless precision.

"Your Highness," Steve said, nodding once.

"It’s all so dramatic, isn’t it?"

Matilda’s head snapped up as the voice came through her comm.

Her gaze cut across the tarmac—and locked with Natasha Romanoff’s.

"Suit looks nice on you," Natasha continued, tilting her head with a faint smirk.

"Did they tell you what the button on your wrist does? Oh—hold on. This is my cue."

She stepped forward, already turning away.

"Steve—"

"Underoos!"

A streak of red cut across her vision—taking Steve’s shield with it.

"Nice job, kid!" Tony called as the figure straightened.

"Thanks!"

"What the—" Matilda muttered.

She glanced toward where she knew Bucky and Sam were waiting, biting down on her lip.

She was starting to feel out of her league.

"We found it."

Matilda glanced up as Sam’s drone, Red Wing, hovered above the jet bridge, its rotors whining as it angled its camera down.

"Their quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway."

Matilda dropped from the jet bridge, landing softly.

She didn’t hesitate.

Keeping to the shadows cast by each gate, she moved fast—cutting across the edge of the fight toward the hangar.

She didn’t stop as T’Challa vaulted over her.

"On your left!"

Matilda dropped low as Steve’s shield cut through the air above her.

It slammed into T’Challa mid-stride.

She straightened just long enough to catch the impact—then kept moving.

"Get to the hangar!" Steve barked.

He hit T’Challa a second later, driving him back.

Matilda yelped as a line of webbing snapped around her shoulder, yanking her hard into the wall.

"Sorry!"

She lifted her head just in time to see the kid swing over her, sticking to the terminal window above.

"That’ll dissolve soon!"

Another strand snapped across her hand.

She ducked instinctively.

"The button on your wrist!" Natasha called as she ran past, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"It’s a laser—use it!"

Matilda pressed the knob on her wrist.

A sharp arc snapped outward, slicing through the webbing.

She tore free.

Across the tarmac, Natasha grappled with Scott. Their eyes met—Natasha gave the smallest nod.

"Need help up here!"

Matilda drew in a breath, then broke into a sprint after the spider-kid.

"Coming!"

She caught up just as Red Wing veered off with the kid.

Bucky and Sam lay sprawled on the ground, webbed tight.

Matilda tilted her head, a smirk slipping through.

"Sticky situation?"

"Don’t just stand there!" Sam groaned.

She moved fast, dropping to her knees in front of them.

"Close your eyes!"

A thin arc snapped from her wrist, slicing clean through the webbing.

"What is he?" she asked, hauling Bucky to his feet.

"Some kid who went viral on YouTube," Sam said through clenched teeth. "Tony’s been trying to recruit him for months."

"What’s You—" She cut herself off with a sharp shake of her head. "Actually—tell me later. Let’s go."

Bucky yanked Matilda back.

A gas truck tore across the tarmac—and slammed into War Machine in a burst of fire.

"Oh man," Scott’s voice crackled through the comms. "I thought it was a water truck."

Matilda glanced back at Bucky, breath catching.

"Not as fun as Romania, huh?" she quipped.

She was already moving again.

"Come on!" Steve ordered.

She fell into step beside him—Scott, Wanda, and Clint closing in around them.

They skidded to a stop as a beam of energy slashed down in front of them, carving a glowing line into the asphalt.

"Captain Rogers…"

Matilda’s gaze snapped upward.

Vision hovered above them.

"I know you believe what you’re doing is right," he said calmly. "But for the collective good, you must surrender now."

Matilda glanced down the line of her teammates, her hands tightening at her sides.

"What do we do, Cap?" Sam asked.

"We fight."

She broke into motion after him.

In an instant, she snapped her hand out—catching the web before it could wrap her.

She yanked hard, slamming the spider-kid to the ground.

"Go back to school, kid!" she called, ducking beneath a blast from War Machine.

"It’s Peter!"

She shook her head, forcing herself to focus.

Everyone was engaged.

Steve with Tony. Sam with War Machine. Bucky with T’Challa.

Matilda drew in a breath.

An arrow whistled past her shoulder. A blast scorched the ground at her feet.

She moved.

If she could slip through—

Claws tore into her shoulder, ripping through the kevlar as she was slammed into the ground.

She rolled hard, twisting free and throwing T’Challa off of her.

They mirrored each other in a crouch as the chaos dulled around them.

"I’m sorry about your father," she said, straightening.

"So you admit guilt?" T’Challa asked, claws extending.

"No."

He lunged.

Matilda sprang back, catching his wrist—ducking under his arm and slipping behind him.

There.

Her fingers brushed the exposed skin where his mask had ridden up.

"Don’t let her—"

"Stand down."

His hands dropped instantly.

He stepped back—against his will—before shaking his head, breaking free.

But Matilda was already gone.

She slipped into the shadow beneath the plane.

"Glad you learned about the button trick."

Matilda spun—fist already up.

"Relax. I’m not going to hit you—"

The punch snapped her head back, sending her stumbling.

"Isn’t that the point?" Matilda shot back, recovering fast.

She ducked as Natasha came in again, baton slicing toward her.

"I didn’t know the Shadow could fight so well," Natasha said.

The baton cracked into Matilda’s ribs.

Matilda sucked in a sharp breath.

"I didn’t know you talked this much."

"Only when I know my opponents well," Natasha replied, smirking.

Matilda caught her wrist mid-swing.

Everything stilled.

For a second, neither of them moved—just watching.

Then Matilda’s grip shifted—deliberate—fingers pressing against bare skin.

"You don’t know anything about me," she said quietly.

Natasha’s balance broke before she could recover.

Matilda twisted and threw her hard to the ground.

She stepped forward, planting her boot against Natasha’s chest—holding her there.

"We’re trying to reach Siberia before he does," she said, voice low but steady.

She eased off, removing her foot.

Then she offered her hand.

"Why are you here, Romanoff?"

Natasha took it, letting herself be pulled to her feet.

For a moment, she just looked at her.

"Think about it."

Matilda’s head snapped up.

Bucky slammed into a pallet of crates, barely staying on his feet.

T’Challa lunged in, claws out.

Before they could strike, Wanda’s magic snapped forward—hurling him into a nearby jet bridge.

Matilda moved instantly, dropping to Bucky’s side.

Her hand closed around his arm.

"We’re wasting time," Bucky groaned, letting her pull him back up. "That guy’s probably in Siberia by now."

Steve reached them, bringing his shield up just as Vision’s beam slammed into it.

Matilda scanned the tarmac—friends clashing with friends.

"We’re too evenly matched."

"We’ve gotta draw out the flyers," Steve said. "I’ll take Vision. You get to the jet."

"No!" Sam’s voice cracked through the comms. "You get to the jet—now!"

He ducked beneath an airplane wing as a blast from Iron Man scorched the ground behind him.

"The rest of us aren’t getting out of here."

Clint vaulted onto an aircraft tug.

"As much as I hate to admit it," he said, loosing arrows over his shoulder, "if we’re going to win this one, some of us might have to lose."

"This isn’t the real fight, Steve," Sam said.

Steve lowered his head for a second—then looked up.

"Alright, Sam," he said. "What’s the play?"

"We need a diversion. Something big," Sam said, dodging fire from War Machine.

"I’ve got something kinda big!"

Matilda whipped around, scanning for him. She’d almost forgotten their "small" friend.

"But I can’t hold it very long," Scott’s voice crackled through the comms. "On my signal—run. And if I tear myself in half—"

Bucky glanced between Matilda and Steve, brow furrowing.

"He’s gonna tear himself in half?"

"You sure about this, Scott?" Steve asked.

"I’m the boss. I’m the boss. I’m the boss."

Matilda barely had time to react—

Scott expanded.

Metal groaned beneath his feet as he surged upward, towering over the tarmac.

He reached down, grabbed War Machine—slamming him into the ground.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Let’s go!" Steve barked.

Bucky grabbed Matilda, pulling her with him as they ran.

She dropped Bucky’s hand and pushed forward, weaving between planes and jet bridges.

A line of webbing snapped around her wrist—and yanked her off her feet.

"Shit!" she hit the ground hard as another strand shot out, pinning her other hand.

"Sorry! Mr. Stark says I have to make sure you don’t leave!" Peter called, already swinging away.

Bucky was there instantly, dropping to his knees beside her. He grabbed the webbing, yanking hard—then pulled a knife, sawing at it.

Sparks skidded off the blade.

It didn’t budge.

Matilda looked up at him.

"You need to go, Bucky."

Bucky ignored her. He tossed the knife aside and hauled at the webbing with his metal hand.

"Bucky, stop," Matilda urged.

"I’m not leaving you!" he growled.

He pulled—hard enough to arch her back—

but the webbing didn’t give.

"Stop. Look at me."

His hand stilled.

Hovered.

Then he looked at her.

His eyes were wide—panic, raw and unguarded.

For a moment, the chaos around them fell away.

Matilda smiled, soft and sad.

"You need to go," she said quietly. "I’ll be okay."

One moment, Bucky was looking at her—the next, his mouth was on hers.

Desperate. Unsteady.

Matilda closed her eyes, pressing back, letting warmth bleed into the contact—steadying him, holding him there.

When he pulled away, his hand lingered, brushing her hair from her face.

"I love you," she whispered.

Her voice barely held.

He stayed there a second longer—like he might say something else.

Then—

"I’ll come back for you."

He forced himself to stand.

They held each other’s gaze as he backed away—until he turned and ran.

The second he did, the noise crashed back in.

Matilda groaned, wrenching against the webbing.

It didn’t move.

She drew in a breath and forced her fingers beneath it, reaching for the button on her wrist.

Almost—just a little more—

"Dammit—"

She jerked as the laser fired, searing across her skin.

"Why isn’t it working—"

Matilda clenched her teeth and hit the button again.

The laser fired.

She didn’t pull away this time.

Her jaw tightened as it burned—then she looked.

The webbing was still intact.

Lang’s foot swept over her—barely missing.

"Watch it, Lang!" Matilda barked.

She curled in, arms shielding her head as debris rained down.

"Sorry!" he grunted, stepping back.

"Little help here!" she called, straining against the webbing.

Clint jogged over and dropped beside her.

"We haven’t met yet," he said casually, pulling a knife from his belt. "I’m Clint."

"That’s not going to work," Matilda shot back.

Clint paused, glancing at the webbing.

"This should do it," he said, pulling a small spray bottle from his belt.

He gave it a quick spray.

The webbing melted.

Matilda blinked, pushing herself upright.

"How did you—?"

"Vinegar," he said simply. "Like a baking soda volcano."

"Thanks."

Matilda rubbed at the fresh burns on her wrists, wincing as she caught the singed edges of her suit.

The quinjet roared to life—and tore into the sky.

"Come on," Clint said, pushing to his feet and offering her a hand. "Time to wrap things up."

Matilda took it, letting him pull her upright—but her gaze stayed fixed on the sky, watching until the quinjet disappeared.

—

Bucky stared out the window as the quinjet climbed into the sky.

"What’s going to happen to your friends?" he asked, as Germany shrank beneath them.

"To her."

Steve glanced back at him—then forward again.

"Whatever it is," he said quietly, "we’ll deal with it."

"I shouldn’t have left her there," Bucky muttered.

He shook his head. "I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve."

Steve waited until Bucky looked at him.

"What you did all those years ago… what she did," he said, "it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice."

"I know," Bucky said quietly, looking away.

Matilda and Steve really were too similar.

Silence settled between them.

"But we still did it."

Steve finally looked away, jaw tightening as he pushed the quinjet faster.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #writing is hard #marvel fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 33

AO3 Link

Chapter 32

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

Have you ever watched Captain America: Civil War and thought "Gee, I wonder what Cap, Sam, and Bucky did during those 36 hours before going to the airport?? Then is this the chapter for you!

Ephesians 4:31

“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice”.

Soft music flowed through the apartment, an echo of a time most had forgotten. Her hips moved gently to the beat, her voice soft as she sang along.

Matilda tapped the spoon against the coffee canister.

One, two, three.

She slowly turned, humming as she poured steaming water over the filter. She spun again, placing the kettle back on the stove. Before she could fully let go, a cool metal hand wrapped around hers.

“May I have this dance?”

She lifted her head to see Bucky, smiling softly at her. She smiled back, happily letting him pull her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulders as they swayed.

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

Heal Thy Self Chapter 32

AO3 Link

Chapter 31

MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)

1 Peter 5:8

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.

Berlin, Germany

Matilda didn’t want to wake up. Maybe if she stayed in slumber long enough, she’d wake up in his arms.

“Matilda, wake up for me.”

She groaned as a dull pain radiated through her spine to the base of her skull.

“Matilda… please. Open your eyes.”

Her shoulder throbbed. Her knees ached.

She flexed her hands—and something clinked against her fingers. Cool metal. Locked tight around her hands.

“Matilda!”

#theraputic writings #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing is hard #ao3 fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes x oc

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