Avengers Imagines

Bucky - All Of You

It's missing Bucky hours:')

Inspired by the picture above!
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The Winter Soldier has his bad days.

When days are particularly long and torturous, when memories resurface without him knowing where to place them in the jumbled mess of his past.

It hurts to see him like this. Even when you're nothing more than his handler during his 'reprogramming' periods, you can't hide the fact that you and him have a connection.

Something about being tortured and brainwashed, you guess.

Being under HYDRA's control has you doing their dirty work, whether it's extracting information by infiltrating bases or searching for candidates to use as their lab rats. It's all your job.

So when they call you in to handle this broken super-soldier, you can't help but feel relieved. At least there's someone who's somewhat keeping you going.

He's told you before that his name was Bucky. So, that's what you call him. Not The Winter Soldier, not anything else. Just Bucky.

"Hey," you greet softly when you enter his cell.

He glances at you for a few moments, as if processing whether or not he knows who you are. He's always been like this after longer periods of being under.

"You remember me?" you ask carefully, not taking any steps towards him. "I'm, uh... Y/N."

The feeling on your real name on your tongue feels strange.

He blinks once, and then twice. "Thanks for being here," he croaks out, his voice low and raspy from disuse.

You smile slightly, before walking towards him slowly and sitting on the chair in front of him.

He's not handcuffed or anything, but he knows that if he disobeys a small rule such as getting up from his seat before he's asked to, he's not going to hear the end of it.

"How're you feeling?"

"Dizzy," he replies. "Confused, I have... I don't know what's happening," he adds. "I want this thing off me."

You look at him sympathetically and he fixates his eyes on the floor, searching for a spot anywhere else but your face.

"Tell me what's inside of your head?" you ask gently.

He shakes his head. "I'm... I don't know. I can't think. Everything hurts," he clutches his head in his hands. "I don't want them to do that again," he pleads, gripping your hand with his flesh hand. "Please tell them not to do that again," he continues, reaching for your other hand with his metal arm before pulling it back. His eyes fill with tears, and you know that today's one of those bad days.

"Hey, listen to me, okay?" you say calmly.

"I don't- I don't wanna do this anymore," he whispers, more to himself, but you could hear it perfectly. "I want this thing off of me!"

"But Bucky, there's nothing on you," you tell him, bringing his face to your level so that his eyes are looking into yours. "I'll tel them not to do that again-"

"This thing is on me!" he exclaims, shaking his left shoulder clawing at his scar tissue like he had done a few times before. "Get it off!" he screams, drawing blood from his skin.

"Hey, hey, hey," you bolt of from your seat, trying to get his flesh hand off his left side. "Buck, you're hurting yourself!" you tell him sternly, pulling his hand away.

"Good!" he spits out, prying your hand away easily and continues to try to pull off his robotic shoulder.

You slap his hand away, covering his bleeding wounds with your hands. "Please," you press your forehead against his,"I love you. Please, Bucky."

He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. "No you don't."

"Please," you plead. "Please, Buck. Stop." You take ahold of his metal hand, and he hesitantly lets you bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss on to each of his metal digits. "I love you. Metal arm or not."

"You don't have to do this," he replies coldly, but you can see his gaze softening. "You don't have to lie to me. Why would you love this?" he scoffs.

"You know we've been through this before, love," you whisper, your eyes reaching for any sort of emotion in his blue ones.

His eyes meet yours when you said the pet name before he looks down once again. "I just... I don't want this..." he trails off,"I don't want this life. I don't wanna be here anymore."

"Then we can go, Buck. Just the two of us," you say, nuzzling your noses together.

He pulls you in with his flesh hand ever so gently, as if afraid of hurting you, and kisses you softly. "I'm sorry, doll" he murmurs against your lips, and you know it's Bucky talking and not The Winter Soldier. "I'm sorry you have to be caught up in this mess."

"Sh," you kiss him again,"none of that, okay? We can fix this. We can get out."

He nods. "Thank you," he says, pulling you even closer, still with his flesh arm. "I don't know how love fees like, but if this is love, then I love you."

You smile, caressing his cheek. You notice that the wounds on his left have stopped bleeding, courtesy of his enhanced healing.

"Sorry," he apologizes again, covering the newly-formed scars with his hand. "They're-"

"No, let me see them."

He removes his hand slowly, asking,"Are you sure?"

"A hundred percent."

"Okay," he sighs. It's not like he can say no to you.

You look at the lines on his shoulder, where his metal arm connects to his body. "I love you, okay?"

"Okay," he replies softly.

You trace his scars, peppering kisses on each of them to remind him that you love all of him, with or without the arm.

He hums in satisfaction, leaning back on his chair.

"I love all of you, okay?"

He hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes for any trace of pity. When he sees none, he answers,"Okay."