Bucky Barnes X Reader One Shots

9. The One Who (Almost) Got Away

It had been six months since you'd last seen James Buchanan Barnes. You'd screamed at him to go, and he had, as he silently walked out of your front door and never came back. You hadn't chased after him, though you'd wanted to. You'd sat on the kitchen floor, your head in your hands, crying for the man you had tried so hard to love and help.

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He'd arrived at your house in the middle of the night, obviously in distress, but rejected and refused your every advance to help him. 

"I just want to help you. Let me help you. Please! Don't shut me out. Don't push me away. Bucky."

"You can't help me. I don't think even I can help myself. Just stop. I don't need it." He sat at the table, his face turned from you.

"Bucky, please. Let me help you-"

"Just stop!"

He'd watched you then, unsure of what to say next. You'd moved from your position against the counter to sit across from him at the kitchen table. You'd known you were treading thin ice, but you just couldn't help yourself. You'd taken a deep breath, hoisted the ice pick, and swung it down into the frozen water.

"Why do you still come here? Why, when you're quite obviously in distress and you need help, do you come here? Is it just to push me away? To show how manly and strong you are, that you don't need a woman's help? That you're not a fucking damsel in distress? Is that it?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why?"

He'd stammered, unable to answer.

"You know what?" You'd shaken your head, closed your eyes, and bit your lower lip. "Just go. I don't even want to look at you right now. Do you know what this does to me? Huh?"

He'd looked up at you, his blue eyes hard.

"Do you know what it does to me to see you like this? In pain and in need of my help, but you won't let me give it. I hate this. It drives me insane!" You'd run your hands through your hair and lowered your head. The ice beneath your feet was cracking. You were slipping. Bucky had stood on the snow-choked shore and watched you. He had taken a step back with each swing of your ax.

"I'm sorry. But you have to understand the shit I have been through-"

"Oh, just stop. I don't want to hear it. I get that you've been through a lot, and you've had a really hard life, and you've killed people, but you have to stop with the excuses. We've all been through things, we've all had hard lives. Granted, not the extent of yours, but the fact that you use that as an excuse doesn't help your case. You need to take responsibility for yourself, James. You do this just so you can push me away. And you know what? I've watched you do the exact damn thing to Steve, who is basically your brother." You stood, moving back to the counter. You placed both hands on either side of the sink and leaned against it, staring into it. "I'm so sick of this. None of us deserve it."

The sound of the chair legs scraping against hardwood floor steeled your resolve. You'd shattered the ice, and you were drowning in the frigid water. You were numb.

Bucky had stood and was studying you. "(Y/N)-" 

"Just go. I'm so tired, James. Just go." You never called him by his first name. It felt foreign on your lips.

"But you need to listen to me-"

"Go!" You'd yelled. "Just go."

And he had. He'd shrugged and shook his head, taking slow steps toward the door.