Winterhawk Writing

27

Whumptober Day 5. Gunpoint

"Hey, hey, hey, it's just me," Clint held his hands up, keeping his voice soft and non-threatening.
Bucky stared blankly at him, finger hovering over the trigger. "Kneel, hands behind your head."
Clint followed the orders and Bucky stepped behind him, putting the gun to the back of his head executioner style.
"Bucky, please." Clint begged, staring down at the rug they had bought together when they had first moved into this apartment. "This isn't you. We have a life together, just- come back to me."
Bucky stayed quiet except for a ragged breath. "Shut up." He snarled suddenly and kicked Clint onto his stomach.
"You're just having a small relapse, sweetheart, it's not a big deal. We can go see our therapist tomorrow." Clint wheezed into the rug.
"Shut up!" Bucky clenched the gun tighter.
Clint stayed quiet this time, if only for a moment.
"Steve's gonna come by tomorrow to pick up Lucky, remember? We're gonna get a whole week to ourselves. Just you, me, and a nice cabin up in the Rockies. How does that sound, Buck? I know you've been stressed lately, you deserve a break." He spoke breathlessly, his ribs still barking in pain.
When no response came from Bucky Clint slowly rolled onto his back, keeping his hands above his head. Bucky stared down at him, his mouth set in a thin line.
"Steve," he mumbled, blinked, and shook his head.
"Yeah, your best pal. Biggest cock-block to ever exist," Clint gave a small smile.
"Clint," Bucky's voice cracked and broke right alongside Clint's heart as he watched the soldier collapse to his knees. He stared in disgust at the gun clenched in his hand and shucked it across the floor.
"Bucky, c'mere," Clint grabbed at his shoulders and tugged him down to sprawl across his chest. "It's okay."
"It's not," Bucky nearly sobbed into the crook of his neck. "I could have killed you Clint. I-he wanted to."
"You're not him anymore. Just us now," Clint rubbed a firm hand up and down his spine. "Just us."
Bucky pressed his face into Clint's shoulder, gripping his shoulders tightly enough to bruise. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Clint whispered. "Let's go back to bed, yeah?"