Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

11 Elevator

Bruce Banner, the quiet man with the downcast eyes from Tony’s tower earlier, had found his hotel and sent him a call. He wanted Bucky to return for a check-up on the arm.

“It’s working fine,” Bucky said.

“We’d really just like to be sure,” Bruce explained. “And besides, Mr., um, it was Barnes right?”

“Yes,” Bucky said.

“Mr. Barnes, your arm is,” Bruce laughed a little. “Your arm really is something else. Tony and I were really impressed and if you don’t mind, we’d like the opportunity to see it again.”

So that was it. They just wanted to look at it. Bucky glanced down at his left arm and flexed it out a little, watching the metal plates slide and click into place as he moved. He couldn’t blame them, Hydra had done a beautiful job with it.

Bucky hated the thought of it and he considered just not going, but he was struck with the sinking fear that something serious might happen to his arm again and he would be completely alone. Something in him cried out for the first time in a long time against being alone. Bucky decided then to comply with Bruce’s request.

“Tony says he’ll have a plane waiting for you at the airport, okay?” Bruce said.

“How did you get this number?” Bucky asked abruptly once Bruce finished speaking.

“I traced you,” Bruce said as though it was the simplest thing to do.

“Am I that easy to find?” Bucky raged and slammed the phone down in frustration. He would have to get better at hiding. If Bruce and Tony could find him so easily, surely Hydra already had a visual on him.

The next day at four, Bucky was in New York again, having taken Tony's plane. The travel had been uneventful. He had done everything Tony had done before him.

The plane dropped him off at a nearby private airport, however, instead of Stark Tower itself, so Bucky was forced to call another cab since he didn’t know the way.

Bucky arrived at Stark Tower soon after and entered the building. The elevators to the top, where Tony most certainly was did not stand empty, to Bucky’s dismay. He recognized the tall frame of Steve Rogers before them, waiting, his hands folded in front of him. Flashes assaulted Bucky, near painful ones, of the skinny boy in the sick bed. That smile and the bruised faced, the hand on a shoulder. Bucky gritted his teeth and forced himself to do it, just do it. He walked up to Steve, tense, and stood next to him, glaring at the ground. He spread his legs out just a little, bent his knees, ready to flee if he had to. He felt Steve’s eyes on him as he looked over.

“Bucky!” Steve said in surprise.

“Steve,” Bucky replied quietly in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Steve had turned his body towards Bucky, opening his arms just a little. Bucky stood tense and unmoving, his eyes still fixed to the floor. He frowned and looked up, past Steve, to the elevator numbers ticking down at the top of the door.

“Checking up on my arm,” Bucky explained.

“It’s been working, right?” Steve asked. He was concerned. He shouldn’t be concerned.

Bucky considered a lot of things to say. It doesn’t matter, Steve. Stop caring, Steve. None of your business, Steve. I’m not Bucky, Steve, I’m not your friend. I may have his face, but I am broken and twisted beyond recognition and it would only hurt you to know me because I am not Bucky, so stop asking, stop checking in on me, stop being concerned. Leave me alone, Steve.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, swallowing his thoughts. The dam was in check. “I think, uh, I think they’re just making sure.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” Steve said. The elevator dinged cheerily and the doors opened. Steve fell back, hesitated, until Bucky stepped into the elevator. Then Steve followed and the doors closed and up they went. Bucky stared at the ground. He looked at the carpets and corners where the floor met the wall and the line of buttons where he had pressed the top one, anywhere but Steve.