Bright white walls are not the first thing you want to see when you wake up. A constant irritating beeping is not the first thing you want to hear when you wake up. Insulin is not the first thing you want to smell when you wake up. Pain is not the first thing you want to feel when you wake up. Blood is not the first thing you want to taste when you wake up. Coughing and spitting out said blood is definitely just as bad as all of those previously mentioned things.
I heard quick footsteps coming towards my room. Bucky came barging in, ignoring Tony and Bruce who were telling him to leave me alone. He immediately sat down next to me and grabbed my hand. "Are you okay?" He asked, tugging his metal hand through his hair. "What happened?" I questioned trying to sit up.
My eyebrows furrowed at the pain in my back but I ignored it and sat up anyways. "Please answer my question." He said desperately. He looked like a sad puppy. I just wanted to hold him tight until the sad look was gone. "I'm fine, Buck, but what happened?" He sighed in relief and then stood up. "You messed up your landing Mr. I Don't Need A Heckin' Parachute!" He looked at me and pouted. He now looked like a mad puppy. "I'll be more careful, Bucky, I'm sorry." I said, smiling slightly at him, hoping to ease his stress. He sighed and walked out of the room.
I closed my eyes and laid back down, wincing at the pain in my back again. "Take these." Tony said walking in, handing me some weird coloured pill. I took it and popped it in my mouth, taking the cup of water from his hands and swallowing it down. "Next time, try not to fuck it up." He said walking out. "Language!" I called after him, hearing him chuckle as he walked out and Natasha pushed her way in. "Bucky told me you were awake, are you alright? James said yes, but with that fall, I have a hard time believing that." She said warily.
She could read right through me. Bucky and I have always known each other on a different level. We knew everything about each other, but we could never quite tell how the other was feeling. I'd say I was okay and throw up minutes later. Bucky would say he's fine and come back home at 3 am drunk. We were imperfect in that way. "Everything hurts, but Tony gave me medication for it. I'll be fine." She nodded at that and sat down. "You need to start wearing a parachute." She said. I sighed at that. "You know I can't do that, Natasha. I have my reasons and we've all agreed that we would respect that."
She groaned at that. If only she knew. I wanted so badly to tell her. Anybody. Whenever someone questions it, I whisper my reasoning under my breath, almost hoping they'll hear me. If they knew why, I definitely would never be questioned on not wearing one. If they knew why, they'd tell Bucky. Bucky can't know this is because of him. He'll blame himself even though I'm to blame. I'm the one who made the decision the first time, I'm the one who made it a habit, and I'm the one who won't stop doing it.
It's such a dumb reason too, but for me it takes over my mind. Loudly and boldly, presenting itself and only that. It happened years ago. So, so long ago. By now, it's just a memory. Another piece of the movie at the museum. They would just think it's stupid. It is stupid. I'm the practical one. The reasonable one. I don't let my emotions get in front of my work, and yet, they always are. In the little things I do, all of my choices, all of my opinions, they are all because of things that have happened for the most part. I still can't even touch Mjolnir because seeing Thor's face drop gave me reason not to. I elected not to pick it up. I could have. I know I could have. But he will never know that. For now, at least. No secret can be kept forever. Especially something as big as that.
For now, though, with everything else, it will remain a secret. Because that's what I'm best at doing. Keeping stuff from the people around me, like I was trained to. Like this was sealed in my fate since I was born.
My thoughts carried on in this direction until Natasha's pacing started to irritate me, and then worry me. Since when does she pace this much? "What's wrong?" I asked, attempting to stand up. "Your ankle is broken, lay back down. And really? What's wrong? You could have died! You could die every time we do this. Every time you do this. If you aren't going to stop, at least tell me why so I know it's justifiable." She said exasperatedly.
