Tiny Frog ||Stucky Fanfiction|| (DISCONTINUED)

7

Bucky POV  

I wake up and squint at the clock that I started putting on the floor. 1:47pm. What?! There is no way I slept for nearly a whole day. And I still feel tired. I sit up, still squinting. My neck feels heavy. I lift a shaking hand to my neck and begin to panic when I feel something there. 

I let out a cry of alarm when suddenly something shocks me. This only causes my panic to grow and I start clawing at the thing to try and get it off. 

"Bucky, stop it. You're just gonna hurt yourself." 

I look up at the doorway, where Steve is standing. I didn't even hear the door open. Or maybe I never closed it. 

"Steve," I sob. I can hardly breathe, much less get an entire sentence out. I get shocked again and cry harder. My ears are ringing and I start to feel nauseous as I continue clawing at my own throat.

Steve grabs my wrists and yanks my hands away from my neck. When I see that the fingernails on my right hand are covered in blood, I start screaming. 

"Bucky," he says gently, curling my fingers into a fist so I can't see the blood. "You need to calm down or it won't stop hurting you." 

I keep staring at my hand, so he lets go and leaves, returning with a damp washcloth. He takes my hand into his and carefully wipes off all the blood, then holds my hand up so I can see. 

"See? Clean." He puts my hand down and wipes the blood off my neck, too. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "I really am sorry. This is only temporary, though. Just until we figure out what's making you so aggressive." 

We stay like that on the floor for a good fifteen minutes before I calm down a little and tell him to leave. He does and I get up and go find a mirror. The closest one is in the hallway. I glare at the shock collar in my reflection. I don't find myself being angry, though. After all, I saw this coming. I knew this was going to happen soon. I was warned. 

I'm not angry, but I am a little disappointed. Mostly in myself. I should have handled this situation a little better. I should have been calmer. I know better than to lose my temper like that.

I'm a little disappointed in Steve, too. He went to all that work to earn my freedom and dangled it in my face for a few months and then took it away. 

Something falls loudly in the kitchen, startling me out of my thoughts and causing this stupid little machine to shock me again. Out of nowhere, my metal arm jerks and punches straight into the wall and gets stuck. 

"Bucky?" Steve calls from the kitchen. "What was that sound?" 

I'm not going to answer him. I'm upset with him. I don't care that it's a completely immature thing to do. 

He walks down the hallway to where I am, groaning when he realizes the damage I've caused. 

"What happened?"  

I ignore him because I'm upset and because I don't actually know what happened. I stay silent and try to pull my hand out of the wall. Nothing happens. 

"Here, let me help." Steve puts both hands on my arm, and with the power of teamwork, we finally get my hand unstuck, leaving a hole in Steve's wall. I don't apologize. 

"Uhhh." He stares at the wall for like seven minutes before leaving and coming back with a hammer, a nail, and a picture frame. He puts the nail above the hole and hangs up the frame. "There. Now it's modern art. No one will notice." 

Not like there's anyone to notice. The only person who even visits us is Jennifer and she's dumb as a stump. She'll never notice. 

"So what happened?" Steve turns to look at me and I still don't answer. "That's real mature, Buck." 

'That's real mature, Buck,' I mock him internally. 

"I don't see what you want me to do about this." 

There are do many things he could do about this. Take the collar off. Send me back to Wakanda. Get rid of Jennifer. Cuddle with me again. 

Wait. Strike that last one. Apparently it's not normal for two men to cuddle, so I do not want to cuddle Steve. I don't want to cuddle anyone. 

"If you won't talk to me, who will you talk to?" 

I say nothing and he sighs, taking out his phone. I 

"I'm texting Sam," he tells me. "You like Sam." 

Uh, no I do not. 

His phone rings and he hands it to me. It's Wilson. I answer it, making eye contact with Steve.

"Hello, Wilson."

Steve looks irritated. 

"Hey, man. Steve said you guys are having problems. What's going on?" 

"Nothing's going on. We're just..." I look at the wall, "admiring modern art." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means that I punched a hole in the wall and Steve, just like with all other situations, out a picture frame over it instead of trying to fix it." 

"It's a temporary solution," Steve tries to defend. 

"Why'd you punch the wall?" Wilson asks. "Steve say something stupid and you missed his face?"

"I don't know," I admit, walking away from Steve. "My arm briefly malfunctioned, I guess." 

"Want me to come take a look at it?" he offers. 

"You don't know anything about it." 

"I'd know more than Steve." 

"That is true." 

"Don't be thinking I like you or anything. I really just wanna yell at Steve." 

"For what?" 

"That's between me and Steve." 

He hangs up and I give Steve his phone back. 

"Great," Steve claps his hands together. "You talked to Sam. Will you quit it with the silent treatment?" 

I walk away to wait for Wilson to arrive. When he does, I offer him coffee and ignore Steve. 

"See? He's pretending I don't exist," Steve complains. 

"I love pretending you don't exist," Sam shrugs. "Makes everything much less stressful." 

Sam and I sit at the table and he looks at my arm, frowning. 

"Yeah, I don't see anything wrong with this." 

"Well, like I told you, you don't know anything about it." 

"What the hell did you do to your neck?" He pulls me forward and tilts my chin up. 

"I had a bit of a breakdown..." 

"Hmm. Maybe we should call the cat dude and have him look at your arm." 

"Or his sister." 

"And we should get this off of you." He taps the collar and the feeling alone causes me to have a bit of a panic and I get shocked. My left arm involuntarily punches Sam in the shoulder. 

"That was an accident, I swear." 

"I know. What's the password, Cap?" 

"I'm not telling you," Steve says stubbornly. 

"What year were you born?" 

"I'm not telling-" 

"1918," I interrupt. "He was born in 1918." 

"No, that's not-" 

Sam shushes him and tries '1918' as the password to the collar. I guess it doesn't work because I get shocked- again- and it's the most painful one yet.