First Kiss

Bucky had neglected therapy in favor of remaining conspicuous, instead he took to reading psychology books. He identified with the text more often than not, finding himself written in the margins beside descriptions of PTSD and depression.

There were also occasions he found himself pairing Steve with various symptoms, the majority also alluding to PTSD and depression. The section detailing reckless behavior in relation to depression was such a throughout depiction of Steve’s behavior, it was only missing a picture.

Steve had always stood up for the little guy, this was in part his defiant personality that gave leeway to an impulse to defy bullies. Bucky had always justified his brash action with such reasoning, but it became …show more content…
From the footage it’s apparent to Bucky, and his acquaintance with Steve’s ability, that he had granted the edge residence against along his side. The lack of resistance to Steve’s opponent prompted Bucky into a void of terror.

Bucky ignores Steve blatant denial, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

A miniscule voice within Steve whispers, I hope so.

Steve looks away to obscure the shattered expression overtaking his face. Steve can’t express his incessant ache aloud, this solidifies it, extends it beyond the confinements of his thoughts.

Bucky already knows though, he always has. It’s why he was so incessant to move in after Sarah’s death, so determined to plaster a pleasant facade during the war, because he knew how guilty Steve felt for not reaching him sooner. Bucky always knew.

“We have to talk about it, Stevie.” His voice is still soft, but firm.

Steve’s search for an out yields no results, instead he lies back, his blood messed strands a stark contrast to the white linen.

“Please just look at me.” Bucky's plea rises in volume, a reflection of his …show more content…
Steve is just as small as he was the day he put his mother to rest beside his father, he’s holding himself in such a way that emulates this.

Bucky hurts, the kind of anguish that settles in his abdomen, thrashes, stirs up a concoction of every fragment of pain that has ever settled within the crevice.

Bucky is cold, bitter as lying in the snow as the train thrummed past. His limb doesn’t hurt, maybe it’s shock, maybe it’s the distraction of the fresh shard of agony Bucky is forcing down his throat at the thought of Steve’s days to come. Bucky Barnes was cradling death with his remaining palm, and yet he could only think of Steve and the rash behavior that would ensue. What Steve would do to alleviate the ache was Bucky’s fault, because he couldn’t extend his reach a little further.

Bucky still holds this to be true. Steve’s broken confession was confirmation he didn’t need.

He settles on the bed, drawing Steve’s pent knees towards Bucky’s own chest instead. He takes the hands Steve is wringing, blood smeared. He intertwines their fingers, sweeping his thumb across knuckles speckled red and bruised. Steve’s watching him with an awed expression that jostles the slivers of grief within