Hero complex - James B. Barnes

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, James B. Barnes

Relationships: Bucky Barnes×Reader

Word count: 926

Summary: While on the run Bucky and the Reader encounter a bit of trouble.

Warnings: Pet names, explicit words, teasing, cursing, blood, bullet wound, idiots in love (hehehe). That’s it I think, let me know if you find more.

Notes: You may wonder what this is, the answer to that is I don’t know :) But if you feel like leaving me some feedback, I’d really appreciate it.

Ps: English is not my first language, I tried my best, but there might still be some mistakes/weird sentences. Sorry :)

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A groan tears through your raw throat as you’re giving yourself a mental pep-talk trying to prepare for what is coming and knowing, much to your dismay, that it’s not going to help at all.

“You know, hiding is kinda useless if you keep making noise.”

“Oh, sorry my fucking pain is such a fucking nuisance to you. It’s not like I have a damn hole in my arm from saving your fucking ass.”

“Never asked you to, doll.”

Bucky sends a saccharine smile your way, before he turns back around to make sure no one has found your hideout yet. If you weren’t smack in the middle of the enemy’s lair, you would give him a piece of your mind, but knowing how little it takes for your disputes to escalate, you swallow down your retort and focus on getting the bullet out.

Fuck. FUCK! Fuck me and my fucking need to help his ungrateful fucking ass.

Your teeth sink in the flesh just under your bottom lip, trapping in your scream of pain as shaky fingers dig in your bicep; slippery with blood, the bullet keeps escaping your grasp and it makes you want to shout your frustration to the high heavens. Too bad you can’t.

Once sure that you’re safe enough for the moment, Bucky glances back to check how you’re doing. You haven’t lost too much blood, which is the only upside of your predicament. Tears are on the verge of falling from your eyes, and he feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He crouches down next to you and takes your hand away; you give him a confused glare but don’t comment as he sets to retrieve the bullet himself. You hiss as he first touches the wound and his disapproving eyes find yours.

“Sorry. Want me to fucking die quieter?”

“You’re not going to die. Stop being so dramatic.”

You feel an unimaginable need to stick your tongue out at him, but since his fingers are about to dig inside the hole in your arm, you decide against it. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

“Bite down on something, this is gonna hurt.”

He’s right, his fingers are bigger than yours, but with the pain making you dizzy you can’t summon the strength to pull it out yourself. Whoever said that there’s strength in numbers, never stopped to consider how weakening getting used to the possibility of relying on others could be.

You bite down on your uninjured hand, hoping for the pain you’re causing yourself to trick your brain from focusing on the pain Bucky is about to unintentionally inflict. It’s useless, you already know that.

Bucky’s eyes find your face, wanting to give you a heads up before starting, and his stomach fills with dread at the realisation of just how screwed he is.

You’re scrunching your eyes closed, teeth gnawing on your hand and he shouldn’t, really, it’s not the time for such thoughts, not when you’re bleeding and in pain and – fuck, what if they find you? But he takes his time and commits the small details of your face to his memory.

Flushed cheeks, wet with the tears you’ve tried to push back; irritated lips bitten raw in your attempt at reigning in the pain; clammy skin, dampened by the cold sweat you both worked up during the chase; Bucky knows he’ll never get another chance to be so up close to you.

He drowns the thought urging him to push the stray strands of hair stuck to your face and clears his throat; professionalism is his strongest suit.

“On three.”

You nod once, pull in a long, shuddering breath through your nose and sink your teeth a little deeper in your hand. Completely, undeniably useless; the second his forefinger digs in to locate the foreign object, you feel your soul on the verge of leaving your body.

Fucking hero complex.

The suffering comes out as a sobbing whimper, and your widened eyes find Bucky’s face; teeth releasing your limb because – that trick never work, does it?

He’s even more handsome up close. Straight nose and full, plump lips. Your brain focuses on counting the light dusting of freckles across his skin; marvels at the long lashes creating the softest of shadows on each delicate flutter. Oh, he’s prettypretty.

Bucky glances up, your eyes lock and for a second he actually seems taken aback by your staring. One beat. Two.

His eyes are so bright and so dull at the same time.

The shadows of his past cloud the pools of blue Steve has told you about. You knew that, knew what to expect when they made you teammates; listened, memorised and dreamt of all the information Natasha and Tony had given you. He’s a ghost story and yet…

You try to blink away the thoughts, afraid he might catch on to your inner ramblings. One blink. Two.

His fingers pull out the bullet and your nails dig in his quad with everything you have left. Neither of you can tell when your hand found his thigh. He doesn’t complain, though, doesn’t even flinch at the action.

“What the fuck happened to ‘on three’?”

His lips tilt at the corners, if he wasn’t a breath away, you would never have caught the action.

“Changed my mind.”

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“And you’re fucking welcome, doll. Now, shut up before you get us caught.”

You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at his back. Ungrateful ass.

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Warning(s): swearing,very sad bucky, mentions of PTSD, mentions of violence & psychological abuse

You were used to something waking you up between 3 and 4 A.M. every night. No matter how badly you tried to will yourself back to sleep, your slumber never came. So usually you made your way out into the kitchen to make some tea and maybe finish yesterday’s crossword.

This time was absolutely no different, except the kitchen had already been occupied. You stopped short, standing in the doorway silently for a moment to take in the scene playing out before you. Bucky sat in one of the barstools at the island counter, eyes and nose bright red. You watched a few tears stream down his cheeks. Now, you’d never been close to Bucky. He never made an attempt to get to know you, and you respected that. You gave him his space to get adjusted to life at the Compound, completely unbothered by his social circle only really including Sam, Steve, and occasionally Natasha. Cap had voiced to you and the rest of the team that Bucky still felt as though he was a danger to everyone around him; that he wouldn’t involve himself with the rest of the team until he knew that he wouldn’t be a hazard, a liability.

But the way Bucky watched his metal arm move with a mix of dejection and pure hate pushed you forward into the kitchen.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, trying not to make it obvious that you’d seen him cry. You headed straight for the cabinet. Bucky didn’t respond, only sniffled and wiped his nose with his flesh hand. “Want some tea?” you asked, nonchalantly glancing over your shoulder at him as you reached up to grab your favorite mug.

He nodded slowly and you reached up to grab his mug. You began to make sleepytime tea for the two of you, not pressing for conversation any further. You put the kettle on the stove, doing your best not to look back.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Bucky inquired so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it. You glanced over at him only to see him watching you pensively, brows knit upward.

“Can’t sleep,” you answered. “Did you have another dream?” Bucky nodded timidly.

“It feels like they’re just getting worse the longer that I’m myself,” he admitted. You didn’t say anything, only leaned against the counter beside the stove. Bucky continued on, “And this…”  —Bucky gestured to his metal arm— ”this constant reminder of what I’ve done… it doesn’t help me much. And I never wanted to be a burden, so of course, I can’t talk about this with Steve… or… Nat or—” A look of panic crossed the Sergeant’s face; he looked as though he had become vexed with himself for opening up at all, especially to someone like you.

“You know, it’s okay to share things like this with me,” you began. “I don’t mind hearing it. You can’t expect to carry this weight alone forever.” Bucky smiled a little at this, but he didn’t look you in the eye. You wondered if it was some form of shame he carried, shame that he’d felt he was being so weak.

“I thought that I found a way out, you know? I really believed that if I ran, if I got away, I’d be alright… But there are reminders everywhere I go, everywhere I fuckinglook. The nightmares are still tearing me apart,” The soldier rested his hands on the countertop as the kettle began to whistle. You poured boiling water into the mugs and carried them to the island. You stayed on the opposite side of the counter though.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say my name before,” you replied, giving him a warm smile. He sniffled again, taking a sip of tea.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, and that made you happy. But you could tell that Bucky was still unbelievably shaken by his most recent night terror. He, his eyes glued to the countertop, let out a heavy, shaky breath before speaking up again, 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” you answered, your smile falling a little.

“I’m so scared that I’m going to end up hurting, possibly killing, someone I really care about. It haunts me, Y/N.”

“Is that what you dream about?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky replied. You were a little surprised by his openness, his sudden willingness to talk to you, let alone tell you about his traumas. He continued, “and sometimes they’re not as bad. Sometimes I have dreams of when I wasn’t… when I wasn’t the monster HYDRA made me.” He rested his forehead in his right hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just sorry that I’m unloading all of this on you; you shouldn’t have to even think about this.”

“Hey, I asked, didn’t I?” you asked comfortingly. In a moment of thoughtlessness, you rested a hand on his forearm. He jolted slightly. You yanked your hand away nervously.

“God, I’m sorry, Bucky,” It came out as a whisper. He looked you in the eyes finally, a small smile on his lips.

“No, I’m sorry. It just startled me. I didn’t expect it.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Y/N. I’m sure.”

Before either of you could say another word, Steve came into your peripherals.

“Whoa, hey. Didn’t expect to see you both up,” the Captain commented, earning a small laugh from Bucky. His soft laugh caught you slightly off guard.

“Why’re you up, Cap?” you asked.

“I had to pee and heard you kids talking,”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you replied.

“I’m older than you,” Bucky commented.

“Inconsequential information, Bucky,” Steve looked between the two of you, grinning. “I am glad you’re making friends.”

“I like her,” the soldier confirmed. Bucky gave you a smile before getting out of the chair. “I’m gonna try to get a little sleep, though. Thanks again, Y/N. ‘Night, guys.”

“Anytime, Bucky,” you said softly. Bucky raised his cup of tea to you before taking a long drink. He picked up his mug and headed right past Steve, back toward the bedrooms. Steve stood there for a moment, waiting until he heard the sound of Bucky’s bedroom door closing.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Why’re you thanking me?”

“Just… for being a friend, I guess. It means a lot that you’d talk to Buck. He’s not so open with others anymore,” Steve explained. “I’m glad he’s starting to realize that no one sees him as the monster he thinks he is.”

“Anytime. I’m always up at this time anyway. He’s a good man,” you answered.

“Besides, I knew this would happen sometime,” Steve declared, beginning to head down the hall toward the fitness center.

“Why’s that?” you called after him.

“He thinks you’re cute!” the Captain laughed.

You spat out your tea, cheeks flushing red. “WHAT?”