make_it_hurt | Closed RP with [Punched-Hitler]

Closed RP with [Punched-Hitler]

He woke up slowly. It was an unusual feeling, to wake to nothing more than his body's own sleep cycle, instead of being woken up by harsh hands and pain. He honestly hadn't been expecting to wake up, sure that he was dead, sure that the bullet they had put in his chest should have killed him.

Instead, Bucky Barnes woke up in a hospital bed, oxygen line hooked over his ears, the steady beeping and whirring of machinery all around him. Everything hurt - his broken ankle, the bruises on his legs from beatings, the lash marks over his back. It is nearly torture to breathe, his chest wrapped tightly in bandages. This wasn't the dark, dank cellar he had spent (as close as he could figure ) six or seven months in. He looked around, head tilting from side to side listlessly, looking for family or a nurse or something.

His attention was caught by his left arm - or, rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Days into his capture they'd started cutting off his fingers, one at a time, and sending him to his mother - to the President - in an attempt to get her to give in to their demands.

Then they'd started working their way up his arm, more as punishment than anything, before infection had set in and they had kept cutting back and back and back in an attempt to keep their bargaining chip from dying.

The stump of his left arm was wrapped in neat cotton bandages and Bucky swallowed hard, lifting his other hand to his lips, feeling them quiver against his fingers.

He finally asked, voice trembling, "Mom?"

She had to be here. She had been there for him his entire life growing up, there every time he got sick, even when she was on the election trail. If she couldn't get to him, they would talk over the internet for as long as it took until he fell asleep.

Bucky looked around, digging his ragged nails into his lower lip. "Mom?" He shifted, trying to sit up, and was instantly caught by the mess of wires and tubing around him. He laid back, blinking back tears.

She came almost at a run, heels clacking, the door swinging shut behind her. "Bucky!" She nearly collapsed onto Bucky's bed, grabbing his hand in both of her own. "You're awake, thank god." She reached forward and ran her fingers through his hair and he was suddenly aware that it was long enough to touch his chin.

He smiled up at her, feeling the knot in his chest ease. Bucky sagged back against his pillows and sighed slightly, letting her rub her thumb over the back of his hand. "I missed you, Mom."

"I missed you, too. Here, are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow?" She let go of his hand and started to fuss with his blankets and pillows, adjusting them around him nervously.

"I'm fine. Tired, but fine." He closed his eyes for a long moment then asked, opening them again, "I'm really here, right?"

She nodded. "You're really here, Bucky." She folded her hand over his. "Get some rest, I'll be right here, okay?" She smiled and watched Bucky drift off again, body falling limp. But it wasn't the same sort of boneless as before, the unconsciousness after being brought in, after all the surgeries. It was the unconsciousness of somebody asleep of their own volition.

She looked up once she was sure Bucky was asleep and stood back up, placing his hand on his stomach. President Barnes crossed back over to the door and pulled it open. "I'm sorry, Captain. Maybe you should come in and we can continue our discussion?" She stepped back.

Bucky drifted awake for just a moment, long enough to see his mother across the room talking to somebody that looked vaguely familiar. Before Bucky could place the face, he was asleep again.

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Steve almost wasn't prepared for the force with which Bucky threw himself at him - not that he couldn't handle it, though, and he stayed steady as a rock as Bucky squeezed him tightly. He didn't mind if he hid his face against his shoulder... hell, he didn't mind if Bucky cried and made a mess of his shirt, except for the fact that Bucky felt like he was only half-crying, and half-panicking. Even Penny the dog looked worried - she sounded it, for sure.

"Bucky," he murmured softly, moving to carefully put one hand on the other's back, palm flat, and without much force so Bucky knew he could get away, if he wanted to. "Bucky, it's okay. You're okay here. You're safe. That's what I'm here for - me and Penny."

Bucky sagged against Steve, not able to tell Steve to squeeze him tightly, hold him so close it hurt. He yanked on the back of Steve's shirt, continuing to sob and panic. He needed to comfort Penny and hold onto Steve and he was reliving it again and he couldn't shake himself out of his memories.

Finally, his body wouldn't let him continue punishing it and he finally fell into breathless gasps, tears still soaking into Steve's shirt. He rocked against Steve, body trembling all over. He turned a little, curling in the circle of Steve's arm. He stared blankly. His hand moved from Steve's back to the inside of his thigh shoving the hem of his boxers up, his sweatpants still abandoned. He palmed bare skin, the tick marks on his thighs both a relief and an unbearable memory. He shuddered and said, "I can't do this, Steve. I can't live like this. I don't want to." He dug his nails into his own thigh, determined to make his own mark on his body. "I want to hurt myself. I want to take what they did to me and.... make it mine."

He wanted to scratch out all the scars, dig them out by their roots, replace with something solely his. Even if it meant bleeding out, dying, he wasn't going to let them do this to him anymore. He could feel pain in his thigh, blood being drawn from the cuts he was making in his own skin.

"Oh, no - " Steve reached out automatically, gripping Bucky's wrist and pulling it away as soon as he started to draw blood. "Bucky, that's not the way to do it." Not that he had a real answer, admittedly, but he was pretty sure that wasn't it.

He couldn't scar - not really, not anymore. His advanced healing generally fixed him up good as new, with no marks to let anyone know how much punishment he'd really taken. But he had a perfect memory, and he remembered where every little mark should be, whether they were there or not. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but it at least meant he sort of knew how Bucky felt. Even though his scars - mental scars, really - had all been gotten in battle.

"Bucky, maybe you can't live like this, but hurting yourself isn't going to make it better. It's going to land you somewhere you don't want to be." Like a hospital. Or a mental ward. And how was he supposed to recover in there? "You want to hurt someone, you hurt me," he decided. After all, he'd heal, wouldn't he? There'd be no trace, and no one could say a thing. "But don't hurt yourself."

Bucky jerked when Steve's hand closed around his wrist and fought it. But Steve's superhuman strength won out over his weak body and he let his hand be pulled away. He shook his head and turned into Steve's chest again. "No.... No, I can't hurt you. Steve, please, just let me..." The dull throb of pain in his thigh, though, didn't feel any different than the hundreds of cuts already there. It didn't feel any different than what they had done to him.

There were no more tears left in him. All Bucky could do was push his face into Steve's chest, sobs hiccuping ineffectually out of him. Every breath hurt, his lungs seizing up and making it painful to get any oxygen in at all. He coughed and sagged, shoulders slumping. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, but the stubborn determination that had been his life since the kidnapping kept him from going still and compliant.

Bucky turned his face away from Steve, coughing into the sleeve of his shirt, hand curling into a fist, his wrist still in Steve's grip. He felt himself hack up something wet and was afraid to pull away to see what it was, but he had a feeling it was blood.

Edited 2014-07-03 00:50 (UTC)

Steve wasn't about to let Bucky go back to hurting himself, and so he didn't let that wrist go. It didn't mean he didn't keep Bucky close with his other arm, though, even as he kept sobbing - although he was starting to get worried at the sound of those sobs. And then -

"Bucky - Bucky, hey," Steve said urgently. Bucky might not want to look, but Steve had, and he didn't like what he saw. "Hey, look at me. Come on. Take a deep breath. With me."

This was a panic attack, not an asthma attack. But Steve had had plenty of the latter, and he was hoping that maybe the same strategies would work. Because he needed to get Bucky some help, but he needed Bucky to calm down, first. "It's okay. Come on, you're okay."

Bucky couldn't help but obey, turning his head to look at Steve without looking at the splotch of red on his dark shirt. Breathing hurt, but he knew as well as Steve did that the best thing Bucky could do was breathe. His chest was a clutch of panicked breathlessness and he wasn't sure how much was his chest wound and how much was his looming panic attack.

He looked at Steve with wide eyes, shoulders heaving with every breath.

But as much as breathing deeply hurt, it did help. Bucky kept his eyes on Steve's chest, trying to match their breaths instead of letting himself hyperventilate. Deep breaths hurt, but quick, shallow ones just made his panic worse.

"That's it, buddy. Come on. Eyes on me. We'll do this together." Steve could imagine breathing hurt, for any number of reasons - the top one being that bloodstain on his shirt. But they'd deal with that in a minute. First, they needed to get Bucky calmed down.

He waited until he was sure Bucky was watching him, then took a deep breath, encouraging him to do the same. Hold if for a few seconds, then breathe out. Then again. And again. "You're doing it. Just keep it up. It'll hurt less, okay? Trust me." He wanted to say they'd get him looked at in a second, but he wasn't sure that was a good thing to say. He'd tell Bucky when he called for help, but he was getting ready to, slipping his phone out of his pocket but not dialing yet.

Bucky nodded. His panic was easing, but it still hurt to breathe. He had to break the cycle of breathing to cough some more, and felt more blood come up. That made it start to hurt less, though, and he sagged, pushing his left shoulder into Steve's for support. He said, weakly, "I think I got it all out," and continued to focus on his breathing - watching Steve for the pattern, still not calm enough to hold it on his own or stop completely. "Doesn't hurt as much..."

As Bucky calmed down, Steve's heart stopped pounding quite so hard, although he was still concerned. He nodded, although he was still watching Bucky closely, trying to keep his own breathing slow and steady so Bucky could mimic it. If he stayed calm, it would help Bucky. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. "Good. That used to work for me," he said, with a small smile.

"I want to call you a doctor. But we're going to wait until you're okay, okay?" Because he didn't want to panic Bucky all over again. But he did want to get him looked at. "I promise, I won't make any calls until you're ready." Or until he passed out, but Steve was hoping that wasn't going to happen.

Bucky swallowed hard around the taste of blood but nodded. "Okay." A doctor. He could handle that, he thought. "Not in here, though. I don't want them coming in here." But this was the only place he felt safe. He wanted to keep other people out of here, but if he was somewhere else, would he have another panic attack?

He cut off that train of thought and continued to focus on his breathing. He finally managed to get his hand free from Steve's hold and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. His hand came away red and Bucky grimaced at the blood on his skin and also under his nails.

"Okay," Steve agreed, because it was such a simple thing to ask, how could he deny Bucky that? "Not in here. It's a deal. And I'll be right there, how about I throw that one in, too?" Because like hell is he planning on going anywhere, or leaving Bucky alone with anyone, even a doctor, right now.

He sees that grimace, and pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket, offering it over - if Bucky agrees (or at least doesn't look like he's disagreeing) Steve will wipe off his hand for him.

Bucky nodded. He finally sighed and stopped with the deep breathing, slumping against Steve in exhaustion. He settled his hand into the handkerchief, hoping Steve was willing to wipe up the blood. He didn't have the strength to try and do otherwise.

He managed to doze off on Steve's shoulder right there, however, worn out by the sobbing and the mental strain.

Steve wasn't bothered by the blood - he'd take care of it in a bit. Although once Bucky had dozed off, he kept an eye on him, making sure he was still breathing all right before he finally picked up his phone and made that call, to get a doctor down here. He was very firm, though, that he'd meet them out in the hall with Bucky - and it was nothing to slide his other arm under Bucky's legs to pick him up and carry him into the hall to meet the doctor, when they arrived.

Bucky stirred when he was picked up, blinking tiredly. His entire body hurt, the ache in his chest luckily just an ache and not a stabbing pain like it had been before. He mumbled into Steve's neck, "Not in the hall..." He didn't want to be exposed, where anybody could see. His vision was blurred from sleep, but he imagined all the people in the hall just standing and staring at him, at the scars on his legs.

The doctor - who was the same height as Steve, though he was more slenderly built - nodded. "Captain Rogers, the President had me set up a small room to act as an infirmary. It's just this way, down the hall." He led the way only a few doors down. The room was obviously a converted bedroom, but it was clean and well-lit and there was an examination table to the side. "If you could set him down on the table..."

Penny, who had followed them to the door, shouldered her way past the Secret Serviceman who attempted to lock her out, sticking close to Steve's legs.

Bucky let himself be put down on the table and immediately reached for Penny, scratching her behind the ears mostly to soothe himself.

"Okay. We'll get you someplace else," Steve agreed, hefting Bucky a little so the scars on his legs weren't readily visible unless someone was looking closely. When the doctor said there was another room they could use, he looked relieved - and nodded. "Lead the way." He carried Bucky as he followed the doctor, Penny following obediently along. She was already a pretty great dog, of that, Steve was sure.

He set Bucky down just as carefully, then moved to the side to let the doctor work. He didn't know this guy - presumably he'd been cleared, but he'd keep an eye on him. Anyone could be anyone with the right connections.

Bucky bit his lip as the doctor settled on a stool and started pulling on gloves. This was a man Bucky had known since entering the White House, who had given him physicals and shots and everything. And still...

Bucky hesitated then asked, "What are you going to tell my mother?"

Dr. Rush looked up. "Legally, I don't have to tell her anything. You're an adult now." He glanced over at Steve, then down at Penny.

"Then she doesn't learn about this." Bucky scratched Penny's head.

"Alright, then." He smiled at Bucky.

Bucky nodded and laid back. It was too easy to just let his legs fall open, exposing himself the way he had done for months. This time, instead of a hot, rough hand, though, he felt cool fingers against his skin. He winced, fingers twisting around bits of Penny's fur. He knew better than to close his eyes so he just stared up at the ceiling, let his self-inflicted cuts be cleaned and bandaged. They weren't deep, or long. But they did cut through a swathe of the tick marks, marring the previously perfect scars

Steve just stood by, giving both doctor and patient some room - but he was close enough to grab, if Bucky needed something (someone) to hold onto. He was also close enough to grab Bucky, if he needed it.

He wasn't sure whether watching or not would be better - he knew Bucky didn't like those scars, so after a minute he opted to just keep his eyes on the room, making sure it stayed secure so that the doctor clean and bandage the cuts. Though he did try to catch Bucky's eye, to give him a look that said he wouldn't tell the president, either. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. And he hoped it never came to that.

Bucky did get his eye caught by Steve but just smiled at him a little. He said, "I'm going to hold you to getting to meet Tony Stark, you know." He curled his fingers around Penny's collar loosely.

Dr. Rush sat back when he was gone, wrapping the bandages around Bucky's thigh. He started to peel off his gloves then asked, "Bucky, I want you to know that, if you're self-harming, I'm obligated to get you help."

Bucky nodded. "I know. I won't do it again, I promise." He sighed and sat up, pressing his knees together.

Steve laughed a little, softly, happy to distract him while the doctor took care of things. "You might regret it," he teased, but if Bucky really wanted to meet Stark, he'd see what he could do. Even Stark had a heart somewhere under all that metal. He just needed to make sure Bucky was stable enough to handle him. "He's a handful." And then some.

He glanced down at the doctor, frowning a little in concern, but actually, he was glad that someone would get Bucky help if he needed it. He'd keep an eye on Bucky, too, but he didn't quite want to say so out loud - Bucky was an adult. He didn't need to be watched like a child. More like a friend. Not to mention an assignment. "Thank you, doctor. We'll take it easy for a couple of days." Maybe Bucky could concentrate on getting Penny settled, to take his mind off everything else.

Dr. Rush nodded and reached out. He asked Bucky, "Do you mind if I take a look at your ankles while you're here?"

Bucky shook his head and let the doctor take his feet, feeling over the still-healing break and the thick scar on the back of his other foot. He looked over at Steve, "I think he and I might have more in common than you think, Steve."

Dr. Rush looked up from where he was poking his gloved fingers into the sole of Bucky's left foot. He asked, "You get your letter back from MIT yet?" He was obviously smiling under his mask.

"I still haven't gone through them all, but maybe. I don't know if I got in, since I didn't finish my last semester. Ow." He winced and jerked his foot away a little before returning it into the doctor's hand.

Steve's eyebrows rose a little at that - but not really in surprise, more in a way that said he was pleased to hear it. He'd never gone to college, it had never even been a possibility. Bucky had mentioned college applications before, but he'd never gone into overly much detail, and Steve hadn't asked. "Yeah? Well, you let me know when you feel up to it. I can be pretty persistent," he said with a smile. He was sure if he was annoying enough, Stark might give in.

And in the meantime, "We should go through your mail," he said, reaching out and nudging Bucky - carefully, very carefully. "You wouldn't want to miss something important like that."

Bucky smiled. "Alright." Then he let out a short laugh when Steve poked at him. "When we get back to my room, then."

Dr. Rush ran his fingers over the sole of Bucky's foot and he twitched away, toes curling. "You look to be good to go, at least physically. What are you going to do to take care of your mental healthy, Bucky? You should see a psychiatrist, you know."

Bucky sighed. "I don't want to talk about what happened to me. I don't want to relive it even more than I already do." He sat up, curling his arm around his midsection.

"Bucky..." Dr. Rush looked concerned. Then he gave up. "Nobody can force you to get treatment, Bucky, Not me, not your mother. I just hope you'll consider it. At the very least you can get on some meds." He patted Bucky's knee then pulled off his gloves. "Better go look through your mail. You need anything, you let me know, alright?"

Bucky nodded and got this feet. He winced as his thigh pulsed with pain, but there wasn't enough pain to make him not want to walk.

Steve nodded, smiling a little more - although it did flicker a little when the doctor said how much he'd like Bucky to get help that wasn't just for his physical injuries. Steve wasn't as familiar with mental health care as someone born in this century, but he still knew they had come a long way from calling things "shellshock" and locking people up for having waking nightmares. If they could help Bucky... he wished Bucky would agree to it, even if he understood why he didn't want to ever relive that.

But if he just ignored it... was that really a better option?

Either way, Bucky was obviously ready to go. Steve moved closer, offering something steady if Bucky needed help getting back to his room. He was pretty sure Bucky could walk there, and he wanted to give him the chance if he could. "Thanks, Doc," he said with a smile, waiting until Bucky was ready to go to get the door.

Bucky headed for the door, fingers catching in Penny's collar to keep her close as he headed for his bedroom again. Once there, he settled on his mattress and pulled on his sweatpants again.

"In my desk drawer, the bottom left drawer... There's all my mail." He'd seen it since coming home: the entire drawer was stuffed full of mail - letters and information from colleges, statements from his bank, everything that had ended up with his name on it had ended up in the drawer. And it was a lot of stuff.

Steve followed, not only to give Bucky a little space, but to keep an eye out - he was still on the job, even if there hadn't been any incidents. He wanted to make sure there would be no incidents.

When they got back to Bucky's room and everything checked out, he closed the door, nodding. "Right." Of course, when he got to the drawer, he let out a little laugh as the thing barely opened. "It's stuffed," he said wryly, starting to pull out the envelopes, glancing up at Bucky with a little half-smile. "Want me to sort it, first? Then you can see what you've got to go through?"

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