Marvel Oneshots

Shattered (Bucky Barnes)

The first thing I became aware of was the cold—sharp and biting against my skin as I drifted in and out of consciousness. My body ached all over, pain shooting through my limbs like fire with every twitch of muscle. I could barely open my eyes, the world around me a haze of concrete walls and dim lighting.

I didn't know how long I'd been here—hours, days maybe—but every second felt like an eternity. My wrists burned from the ropes binding them together, and every breath rattled in my chest like it was my last.

How did I get here?

My mind was a jumbled mess, the memories of what had happened coming back to me in fragments. I had been out, just running a quick errand. I was supposed to meet him. James. The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. I was late. Late to meet James in the park. I'd sent him a text apologizing, promising I'd be there soon. And then... nothing.

Now, all I could think of was how he must be losing his mind, tearing the world apart to find me. He had to be.

But as the hours dragged on, the small shred of hope I clung to began to wither. Every time the door creaked open, my heart would race with fear, not hope. Two men would step in—my captors—and the torture would begin again. They had no mercy. They weren't after me. No, I was just a pawn in their game. They wanted him—Bucky Barnes.

And they were going to use me to send their message.

"Your boyfriend's made some enemies, sweetheart," one of them sneered as he landed a brutal punch to my stomach. "He's been causing problems, and we need him to learn his place."

I gasped for air, tears stinging my eyes as the pain radiated through my body. Every inch of me screamed for relief, but there was none to be found. I had learned long ago not to beg—it only made them more eager to hurt me.

"You think he's coming for you, huh?" the other man mocked, circling me like a predator stalking its prey. "Bucky's too busy being a hero to save you."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. Talking only invited more punishment, more violence. Instead, I tried to focus on anything but the pain. James. I thought of his face, of the way his steel-blue eyes would soften when he looked at me. I thought of his smile—the rare, crooked one that only I seemed to pull from him. I pictured his arms around me, holding me close, making me feel safe in a world that had never been kind to either of us.

He'd call me "Doll" in that deep voice of his, the nickname laced with affection he struggled to show. But to me, he was always James. That's what I called him when it was just the two of us—when he wasn't the Winter Soldier, when he wasn't Bucky Barnes. Just James.

He'll find me. He had to.

The days dragged on, and the torture became routine. Every punch, every cut, every taunt was designed to break me. I could feel my body weakening with every passing hour, my hope slipping away.

And then, one day, something changed. There was no warning, no prelude. Just the sound of gunfire in the distance, muffled at first, then louder. My heart skipped a beat.

The door to my cell burst open with a thunderous crash, and there he was—James.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the faint light streaming in from the hall. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the horrors of what had been done to me, and for a moment, I saw nothing but rage in his face. His metal arm twitched at his side, his fingers clenching into a fist. But when his gaze landed on me—broken and battered—his expression changed.

"James..." I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

His eyes softened instantly, the rage melting away to reveal the anguish beneath. "Doll..."