Monster

Twelve

Bucky returned a few days later as promised. He'd left quickly the last time, but thankfully listened to me. I walked into the kitchen after walking Steve out and found him already seated at the table. His jacket was off, and he was picking at the stitches on his arm. He was wearing the brace, and his long legs were stretched out comfortably. I would have thought he was relaxed if the position wasn't so intentional. It was so he could spring upright quickly if he needed to. His dirty brown hair was stuffed under his cap, but it looked like he'd at least tried to brush it out with his fingers.

"Jesus, you scared me," I said, clutching my pounding heart. He looked up and didn't answer for a moment. Then something seemed to click, and he realized he should probably respond.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to hear him kiss you." The fact that Steve hadn't heard him was alarming. He turned back to his stitches and stuck his arm out. "I think they're infected."

"Steve said that's impossible." I pulled a chair to his side and took his hand into my lap. "He said you can't get infections. It's probably just irritation from never being cleaned properly. When was the last time you took a shower?" I looked up and never got a response. That explained a lot. I went back to the sutures.

"I can cut them out, and then you can shower. I have something I can put on it to keep the dirt out. It should help with the irritation. When was the last time you ate something real?" He didn't have an answer for that either. I let out a slow breath. "I'll make you something to eat while you shower. How does that sound?"

He still gave no answer, but I didn't think he'd been offered those things in a while. Hydra probably only fed him and bathed him out of necessity. Steve told me they didn't even treat him like a human. So he probably hadn't eaten anything beyond his basic nutritional needs. And he'd grown up in the Great Depression, so I doubted he'd had many good meals before then either. A single Dorito might set him over the edge.

I went to find supplies and then took my seat beside him again. He diligently put his hand in my lap, fist tight, so I could get to work.

"They might pull a bit, but won't hurt as much as they did going in, okay?" I warned him. He nodded and watched me. Within a few minutes, the sutures were out, and I ran my fingers over the scarring, scabbed skin. "I think this will heal pretty nicely, considering it wasn't finished. It might scar for a time, but–Steve said that'll probably heal quickly too. How did this happen exactly? You've only given me vague answers." He seemed to have grown more comfortable with me since the last time I saw him. He was watching me with narrowed eyes, but didn't seem as hostile.

"They cornered me in an alley and demanded money. I didn't have any. They had a knife."

"You were mugged?" I couldn't explain the relief that washed over me. I thought he'd gone after someone. Self-defense was a different ballgame. "You didn't mess them up too bad, did you?" He studied my mouth, curved up just slightly at the start of an easy smile. Like he was unfamiliar with the concept of humor.

"They'll live to rob someone else." Or maybe not. Because that sounded awfully close to a joke. I leaned back to put distance between us.

"How's your wrist?" He twisted it, and I had to stop myself from slapping his hand to make him stop. The brace wasn't letting him get much movement, or I might have done it.

"Better."

"Any swelling or bruising?"

"No."

"I want you to keep the brace on for a few more weeks. I know you heal quickly, but since I couldn't get an X-ray, I want to be sure it heals right. Four weeks is the usual time recommended, and I don't know if there are any hairline fractures we missed. It felt like it just slipped out of the socket, but it could be worse internally. Tell me if you have any weird symptoms."

"Okay."

"Alright, follow me, and I'll show you to the bathroom."

I didn't look back until I reached the upstairs hall closet. I wanted him to know I felt safe with him. And that he was safe with me. Part of me wondered if he'd slip away the moment my back was turned. But when I turned to open the closet, the dark shape of him was already standing beside me. He was barely illuminated by the single small window in the upper wall.

I gathered up the things he'd need and shoved them into his arms. He huffed like it was unexpected, but gathered the towels close to his chest.

"I'll try to find you something to wear while you're busy," I said. "They'll have to do until I can wash your clothes. And I have a spare bedroom if you ever need a place to sleep."

I glanced at him, but he still didn't respond. So I walked him into the bathroom and showed him how to operate the handle and where all my soaps and things were. I took the pile of towels from his hands and set them on the tile countertop. He'd silently observed me the entire time I jabbered away about how annoying it was that the line between "fires of Mordor" hot and "winter is coming" cold was a hair's breadth. He looked at me like I was crazy. Or maybe he just didn't understand those references.

"You'll probably want to shave too. Steve leaves his razor downstairs if you want to use it. I don't think he'll mind. So I'll go see if I can find you some clothes, and I'll leave them on the counter for you. Then I'll be downstairs if you need me." I turned to go but paused. "Also, take the brace off and be careful with your wrist."

He watched me leave through the mirror, only stopping long enough to flip on the fan, and finally spoke when I turned back to shut the door for him.

"Thank you," he whispered. He'd said it once before, but it didn't sound genuine then. The words seemed unfamiliar on his lips. Like he wasn't accustomed to using conventional politeness. So I took this as an attempt at normality. It made me smile to see him try. Even if it felt unnatural.

"You're welcome, Bucky."