Words On My Skin

Chapter 28

A/N: Sorry this took a million years! LOL! To make up for it... NSFW SCENES LOL

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There's a time in everyone's life when karma tries to test the level of bullshit one person can take. Whether it be losing a job, a shitty ex, student loans, health problems, bills... or having a boss that wears a robo-suit who gets blackout drunk and tries to shoot your ex-HYDRA-brainwashed-assassin-soulmate for killing his parents. Normal life occurrences that nearly made you teeter over the edge of the bullshit cliff and into an ocean of stress-induced wrinkles or gray hair.

Karma was really trying your patience, as of late.

"Call Caleb and tell him what happened in here, then call Brianne and have her team clean the mess." You sighed, rubbing your temples as you bossed Steve around. "Brianne will call someone to repair the wall."

"We've got this, Y/n." Steve patted your shoulder, gently nudging you towards the hall that Bucky had nearly sprinted down. "Go to him."

"I'm giving him a minute to have a meltdown." You called back at him, adjusting your wrap around your wrist as you sluggishly walked down the hall. "I can feel him, remember?"

Stopping in the kitchen, you called out, "FRIDAY? Is Bucky in his bedroom?"

"Yes, Ms. L/n." The AI responded, "Though I would suggest giving him a moment, as he is currently destroying the furniture."

Great.

The feelings through the bond were... awful. You were lucky that you were growing used to keeping up the façade that everything was fine, when shit had hit the fan. The dark feelings that swirled around in your chest, staining the bond, were giving you a stomachache that no amount of tums could fix. Bucky's dark moods never usually lasted long, but they were bad enough to usually bring you some sort of physical discomfort. Like eating bad Chinese food after a three day cleanse.

You could feel the abhorrence directed to himself, as well as the rage that seemed to keep the feelings from dissipating.

When Bucky got this way, it was best to let him lash out on his own, before going in to calm him down.

That was why you were not sprinting after him.

Though you'd prefer him to beat the holy hell out of a sandbag, versus destroy his bedroom.

Reaching his door, you quietly spoke into your watch, "FRIDAY, is Bucky done destroying his room?"

"He is currently sitting on his bed, Ms. L/n." FRIDAY's voice came through the watch, "I've unlocked the door, for you."

"Thanks, FRIDAY."

Grasping the doorknob gently, you took a deep breath, trying to settle your nerves for whatever damage was inflicted in his bedroom.

If he hurt that soft, comfortable, warm bed you so desperately loved... you were going to cut off his toes.

Before you could back out from nerves, you pushed the door open, surveying the damage to the bedroom.

The desk was broken beyond repair. Papers, knives, glass, and parts of guns were littered across the floor – as well as broken chunks of wood from the sturdy desk. The television had a spiderweb crack, spanning from the middle – where he had punched it – to the outer corners. The thing was nearly falling off the wall.

The only thing that was untouched was the bed, which was were your soulmate was currently sitting as still as a damn statue.

He was slumped, head in his hands, anger and despair radiating from him as if they were waves of dense air.