Don't Hide | Bucky Barnes |

18

"Dawn, I'm going to need you to take your hoodie off,"

Immediately, my cheeks flush to a light pink. I feel my heart stumble in my chest, my pulse skipping painfully. I don't know why his request elicited such a reaction, but I do know that I'm beyond self-conscious. All of those years with Clayton, I had my top ripped from my body to allow easier access to tender flesh and skin. A small part of that trauma rests within me as I reach with trembling hands to the hem of my windbreaker.

"Yeah, of course" I practically whisper, feeling the rag pull away from my body. I take in a deep breath and pull the hoodie gingerly off, leaving only a sports bra on my body. Heat rushes through my cheeks and I wince slightly from the pain from my back. I shiver slightly, the room colder than I remember. Behind me, I hear Bucky take in a sharp breath. His presence makes my stomach do somersault after somersault. The alcohol-soaked rag lays against my wound again, but I feel Bucky's eyes burning into my back.

"Dawn..." he mumbles, his voice sounding almost broken. His breath fans my neck, making me shiver involuntarily. I jump slightly in surprise when his free hand that's not pressing the rag to my back reaches up and ghosts over something on my back. I furrow my brows in confusion before it hits me.

My back is streaked with every lash I've received from Clayton's barbed whip.

"I-it's nothing really, just, well-" I stutter out, letting my words die out. I have absolutely no idea how to describe the scars he sees, but shame floods through my body. If the scars on my stomach weren't enough, he most definitely is disgusted by my body now. There's a reason I hate mirrors.

"How could anyone do this to you?" Bucky finally remarks, his voice heavy with sorrow and pain. I feel my heart stutter, tears pricking my eyes.

"Some people are monsters," I respond, my voice quivering only slightly. I feel Bucky move away the rag and turn his attention back to the wound, preparing his needle and medics thread for the stitches I'll need.

"If I ever meet that doctor, I'll kill him." Bucky simply states, his voice now tight. For some reason, that makes me smile.

"For his sake, I hope you never meet him" I reply, wincing slightly as I feel the needle begin to weave carefully through my skim. Bucky works in silence, the heat from his body managing to keep me somewhat warm.

"Another scar," I observe, not being able to hide the sadness cloaking my words, "As if my body wasn't hideous enough"

Bucky's hands freeze.

"Your scars are beautiful," he rasps out, catching me by surprise yet again. My eyes widen slightly, the words completely foreign to me. I'm at a total loss for words, though, when Bucky continues.

"They make you more perfect than you already are"

He continues in silence, but his words are on repeat in my mind. I feel a single tear slip down my cheek, and I'm beyond glad to be facing the wall.

What is Bucky Barnes doing to me?

•••••

It's mid-afternoon, and life in the apartment has continued on as if the encounter from this morning never happened. If anything, Bucky has been sort of stiff around me. At this moment, we're both relaxing from the hectic past few days.

"Bucky," I begin, looking over at the lounging man, "What would you say if I asked you to come and fight with the Avengers?"

I hold my breath, anxiety pumping through me. This was the part of my mission I had yet to work on. The question isn't asked entirely in a job-perspective, though. The more I hang around Bucky the more I realize that he needs people in his life who care for him. Almost more important than that, Bucky needs the chance to see that he can help others, that he's not a monster.