Rising From the Ashes • COMPLETED ✓

34.) Definitely: Steve Rogers

STEVE ROGERS - CAPTAIN AMERICA

July 18th, 2017, Wakanda

"Are you sure you're ready, Buck?"

He nods at me, full of smiles and crinkled eyes. "I'm sure," Bucky answers, fluffing his pillows. I walk over to his bed and make sure that the sheets are all in place. His bright beam simmers down into a slight frown as he faces me. "You'll be right next to me, right? If anything happens?"

I squeeze his shoulder, "Definitely."

"Alright," He answers. "Good."

"I'm going to turn the lights off, okay? Clap twice to turn them back on. There's a nightlight in each corner of the room, and if you have to use the bathroom, just follow the path of yellow lights."

"Okay. Got it. Thank you, Steve."

I look into that kaleidoscopic gaze of his, "Thank you, Bucky." Carefully, I lean in and press my forehead against his. "Goodnight, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes."

"Goodnight, Steven Grant Rogers." I notice how he doesn't Captain and squeeze his shoulder again. The smile that blesses Bucky's face makes his eyes sparkle. I haven't seen that smile in so long. Throwing him one last look, I walk over to my bed.

But then I realize.

"Wait, Bucky, you can't clap..."

He laughs, then doubles over, laughing so hard I can see tears springing to his eyes. "Oh God, Steve. I can't, I really can't," Bucky starts to cackle and his hair flies everywhere as he shakes his head.

"I'm so sorry, Buck," I can feel heat traveling to the tips of my ears, and I know that I must be as red as a tomato by now. His laughter slowly dies down, and he wipes at his eyes with his right arm.

"No, no, no. Don't apologize, I haven't laughed that hard in what seems like forever." His cocky grin dies down as his brow furrows. He bites his lip, and I can tell by the expression on his face that he's embarrassed. "But I need more help."

"What do you need?"

"I-I need help taking off my clothes," Bucky whispers, his head now hanging low from shame and not from hiding his smirk. Barnes sighs, his shoulders visibly raising up and down. "I feel so useless. I can't even take my shirt off by myself. I feel like a baby: I'm worthless. I'm nothing. I can't do this. I don't deserve you, or this, or anything." His breath starts to shorten and staccato, and I know that he's fighting a panic attack. 

I rush over to him and hold my hand out. Bucky takes it in his iron grip and holds on tight. "You're not useless. You aren't. You never will be and you never have been." I constrict my fingers around his, "And you will always deserve me. I deserve you." 

"I know, I know." He's nodding. However, I can tell by the twitch in his mouth and the set of his jaw that he couldn't disagree more. "I'm sorry," He whispers.

"I love you, Bucky, please know that. C'mon. Back in Brooklyn, you did stuff like this for me all the time. Remember? All those fights and scuffs I got into? You babied me." 

"You mean the fights we got into?" He shakes his head in mock exasperation, the smile back on his lips. "I remember. Of course, I do," Bucky runs his thumb over my wrist, making the heat in my neck and ears creep into my face. It was a subconscious gesture, but my heart is pounding so loudly and harshly I'm almost afraid he can hear it. "I wouldn't forget anything like that. Even though I already have. I know you love me. But sometimes I refuse to." His voice breaks at the last word. I open my mouth to talk, but he beats me to it. "Now, you have to remove my sling first." I nod and gently undo the knot in the navy blue fabric that surrounds his right side. I know when he wants to change the subject. It's as noticeable as a shift in the wind.

The cloth falls to the floor and reveals the bandaged nub that was once home to Bucky's left arm, then a piece of HYDRA's technology, and now nothing. I stare at it, remembering all the times that same arm and hand patted me on the back and ruffled my hair, and all the times that arm had pulled out a gun and threatened lives. There were two victims when that metal arm held a weapon. The person behind and in front of it.

I breathe out my words, a tightness starting to find its way in my chest. "Okay, Buck. Lift your arm up, please." Cautiously, I lift the bottom of Barnes' shirt. It's almost off until it gets caught on a bandage.

Bucky hisses underneath his breath.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"—It's fine, Rogers, don't worry." He confirms his word with one assuring dimple. I nod again and gulp down the huge lump in my throat, tenderly lifting the shirt up and off his head. It joins the sling on the floor.

"Are you good now?"

Bucky bites on his lip and nods, "I can sleep in my pants, it's alright. I'm tired, and it's cold."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry about me so much, Steve. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I echo. I fold his shirt and sling into squares and place them on the chair next to his bed frame, then I stroll back over to my bed and lie down. The mattress and pillow have never felt so refreshing and comfortable before. The bed next to mine is no longer empty, no longer a place for me to store piles of clothes. Instead of my laundry, Bucky Barnes lies on that bed.

I close my eyes and clap twice.

The once deafening silence in my bedroom is now replaced by the sound of Bucky rustling underneath his blankets. It's a familiar noise, and soon enough, I fall asleep—surrounded by self-heating Wakandan blankets and memories of Brooklyn.

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