Avengers Preferences and Imagines

Pinky Promise Pt. II | J. Barnes

Pinky Promise Pt. II
For @rebeccahasnolife

I ended up making two parts (it was a close vote though, 4-3)! Thank you to everyone who voted. Next part will be out tomorrow! 

–✧–

A state of terrifying paralysis took over Bucky's body and pinned him to the floor. The ceiling above was such a bright white, that it sent spears of icy pain into the side of his head. Whatever small movements he could make were followed by cracks, pops, or groans from the bottom of his throat.

His body did not allow him to take the breaths he needed, for his rib cage, hot at the broken tips, stabbed him if he tried to.

Slowly, the paralysis faded away and all the pain it had managed to mask flooded into the crevices of relief that Bucky was lucky enough to have for the time being. The bright white wound down until the ceiling was dark, rusty and peeling again, and the throb at the back of his head melted just a little.

He started with his feet, curling his toes in his boots, then his hands, bringing his fingers to his gloved palm, then stretching them back out. Slowly, but surely Bucky dusted off his joints, moving them until he was just able to move his body enough so that his neck could turn to look into the room behind him.

In the five seconds he managed to peer into the room before his body collapsed back into the ground, panic now replaced his pain and confusion.

All he remembered was you sending him outside, but nothing after that. With that small memory, he knew you were with him, but not anymore.

It became harder to breath as questions came and went; Where could you be? Were you okay? Had you made it out safely? Were you still in danger somewhere inside the building still?

The useless alarm pounded in his blood, holding his lungs and squeezing them tightly between it's fingers.

If you were hurt, it would be his fault only.

Bucky screwed his eyes shut with regret, the possibility of him having failed you making his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. The thought of the woman he loved being handed off to danger in his presence caused him great discomfort.

He felt a strange poking sensation against his chest whenever he tried to sit up, and when he bitterly moved his hand to his chest, he felt a bump that was not a part of his suit, but rather under it. He was not strong enough to examine it, but hoped that it wasn't a broken bone.

"This way!"

Bucky's ears perked up at the sound of a distant voice, followed by footsteps that got louder as they got closer. What kind of friend would Bucky be if he did not recognize the voice as Steve's? Bucky wanted to stand up and scream, "I'm here! Steve, I'm here!" but all his body allowed him to do was lay flat on the floor and stare at the ceiling helplessly.

He wasn't sure, but he felt as if the sound of footsteps was getting farther away, which sent another wave of panic through him. With all the energy he could gather, and with all of the pain he could manage to muffle, a single croak, a single "STEVE!" left his throat, and it was as loud as he could get it to be, and raspier than he would have expected.

He felt his heart skip a few beats in exhaustion and his eyes began to flutter, darkness intercepting his view of the ceiling.

"Bucky?!"

The footsteps got louder again, this time there were many that echoed against the floor and bounced into his ear, making him wince.