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cherrycocaineee · 4 years ago

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7. Sasuke Uchiha - Protection

Early morning dew clung to the sides of my black shoes, the blades of pine green grass brushing against my exposed toes tickled and the only relief I found in that moment was wiggling them. Trudging alongside me was Naruto, his arms were wrapped behind his head and he was frowning. I could tell he was tired and getting up early was never Naruto’s thing but the Prince that we were protecting was a complete morning person. Standing in front of us was Kakashi Sensei; Sakura and Sasuke were walking on the other side of the large carriage. Morning sunlight started peeking up above the trees creating a small amount of heat against my pale, cool skin. A loud yawn escaped from between Naruto’s lips as we started walking up a steep hill. “How much further?” Naruto complained, eyes half shut. “We just started walking, Naruto,” Sakura scolded from behind the Prince’s carriage. “I know!” Naruto yawned again, “but I’m tired.” A small scoff sounded from Sasuke, and Naruto glared in his direction as if he could see through the carriage. I reached out and touched my blue eyed, knuckleheaded friend while shooting him a small grin. My smile seemed to help Naruto settle down as he continued walking with a smile now on his face. Four hours went by of continuous walking and my feet were starting to get tired, a small aching sensation pounded against the ball of my foot. I whined quietly, not wanting the others to hear, however, Kakashi Sensei’s superior hearing caught it as soon as it fluttered from my lungs. “Prince Kichi,” he’s deep voice rumbled, “how about we rest and eat something?” “Sounds like a lovely idea,” Prince Kichi hummed, “pull over.” Everyone moved off of the path, pulling out their lunch to eat. I watched as Naruto made himself a quick bowl of instant ramen, smiling big as he waited for his noodles to steam up. I pulled out a bento box and started nibbling on some of the rice and other things I had packed, but really I was just enjoying not being on my feet. Lunch continued on for thirty minutes before we were up and stomping through the path once more. However, the happy trip didn’t last very long when my team and I noticed that there was a group of ninjas following us, hiding in the trees and leafy bushes. Naruto looked over at me with slanted eyes, my byakugan was activated and I held up five fingers indicating that there were five ninjas. The five ninjas moved quickly amongst the green landscape, but I found myself laughing at the fact that they weren’t very good at sneaking around. That’s when my eyes widened as I noticed that another source of chakra flow was coming from beneath Kakashi Sensei. He didn’t seem to notice since he was more focused on the one moving beside him. “Kakashi Sensei!” I yelled out, making him look at me, “move!” Just as I warned him to get out of the way, the underground ninja slammed through the ground and latched onto Kakashi Sensei’s foot. He dragged Team 7’s leader into the ground up to his head before standing before all of us. Sasuke, Sakura, Naruto, and I stood between the rogue ninjas, who had joined the ninja who assaulted our Sensei, and Prince Kichi’s carriage. With my byakugan deactivated, I removed my kunai from my ninja pouch, the others following the same movement. “Why don’t you four children step out of the way,” growled the leader, “we just want the prince.” “If you want him, you’ll have to go through us,” Sasuke stated, a small smirk dancing across his lips, “now Kakashi, stop messing around.” Kakashi Sensei bursted into a small amount of smoke and jumped down from a tree in front of us. Sakura squealed, “Kakashi Sensei!” Even though he wore a mask over his mouth, I could almost feel the smile on his face. Kakashi Sensei looked at Sakura and I. “Sakura, Akiko, guard the prince.” “Right!” We said in unison. Naruto and Sasuke ran to join our sensei as the fight raged on. Sakura and I stayed behind guarding the prince as one of the rogues threw their kunai in our direction, his target obviously for the prince’s head as it slammed into the carriage, scraping his cheek. A small cry left Prince Kichi’s lips as he clasped his hand over the slightly bleeding cut. Sasuke turned around. “Akiko! Behind you!” He yelled. I turned around and saw one of the ninjas charging at me. He started moving his hands to mimic symbols. “Water Release: Water Cannon.” His mouth pursed into a small circle as water came rushing out in quick, swift movements from his mouth. Steam hovered over the rocket of water. Sakura gasped, but I had to move quickly. My hands, with the speed of a jonin, created all the symbols needed for my move. The water was inching closer and closer. “Ninja Arts: Barrier Seal Jutsu!” Blue chakra from my body wrapped itself around the prince, Sakura, and I just as the gush of water slammed against it, bouncing off. The now hardened chakra protected the three of us from our enemies' attack. I pulled the kunai from the carriage and charged at the male ninja still trying to penetrate my barrier. Unfortunately for him, the chakra barrier was impenetrable. His eyes widened as I ran towards him, his kunai ready in my small hands. “Damn brat!” He hissed angrily. He went to punch me when I jumped up, avoiding his fist just a bit. His eyes widened as I slammed my foot into the back of his head causing him to fall to the ground. I landed on my feet inside the barrier as he climbed to his wobbling feet. I turned to Sakura and held out my hand. “Give me a paper bomb,” I said, earning a nod from her as she set the paper bomb in my hand. I attached the slim piece of paper onto the borrowed kunai and smiled. “Let me give you back your kunai,” I said softly, my delicate hand tossing the cool metal towards our attacker. Since he was still a bit taken aback from the hit to the head, he didn’t realize that the kunai now had a paper bomb latched to it and as it hit the ground, the bomb went off, causing a massive explosion and a loud scream to echo from his mouth. Sakura cheered. Kakashi Sensei was taking on the leader and another ninja while Naruto and Sasuke were teaming up against a third one. However, one of the rogues was missing and before I could activate my byakugan to see where he was hiding, a metal chain wrapped itself around Sasuke and yanked him around. Sasuke screamed out in pain as he was slammed through two trees and right into a large boulder. “Sasuke!” Sakura cried out. The young Uchiha was lying against the cold stone and the ninja used that to his advantage. His large, muddy hands rapidly formed a group of symbols together, an evil smile appearing on his face. Sasuke couldn’t move from his restraints. He was also badly injured, making it impossible for him to stand up and move. “Earth Release: Stone Spear.” Kakashi Sensei wasn’t able to get away from his opponents to rescue Sasuke and Naruto was being held against his opponent’s chest firmly. Sakura was frozen in place and trembling, tears slipping from her widened sea foam green eyes. Her small hand covering her mouth as the spear hurtled it’s way towards our bound teammate. Making the ultimate decision, I ran from my spot behind the chakra barrier and moved in front of Sasuke. Everything felt slow. Naruto’s screaming for me to get out of the way, the dark chuckling coming from our opponents, Sakura’s screams, Kakashi’s movements as he used his chidori to free himself to come to our aid. But I didn’t waver. My skinny frame slid in front of Sasuke just as the spear slammed into me, piercing my skin through my white long sleeve shirt. It was now lodged into my abdomen and a high-pitched yelp struck the air. As I was crumbling to the ground, Kakashi Sensei used his chidori striking the two ninjas and the one that had used the stone spear. The last ninja released Naruto and scampered off into the woods. My body collapsed to the ground and everything started moving at a normal speed once more. All the air in my lungs was thin, tiny pants were leaving my chapped lips as I tried to catch my breath, metallic blood hugged my tastebuds. I could even feel the blood from my abdomen soaking my white shirt and lavender, overall skirt. Sasuke, who’d freed himself from his confinements, ran over with the rest of team 7. Prince Kichi stood in the distance, still protected by the faltering barrier. Soon it would be gone while I continued to black out. “Akiko,” Naruto croaked, tears whelming up in his eyes. Kakashi Sensei had removed the stone spear from my body and pressed his hand strongly against my wound. “It’s okay, Akiko,” Kakashi said, worry laced in his voice, “you’re going to be okay.” My eyes fluttered until they were staring at Sasuke, who was staring at me with wide eyes. I coughed, a wheezing sound leaving my lips, and I looked back at Kakashi Sensei. “K-Ka-Kakashi S-Sensei,” I stuttered. “Shh, shh,” he whispered, “it’ll be okay. I promise.” “Why?” Sasuke rasped, tears now forming in his eyes, “why would you throw yourself in front of me like that, knowing you’d be killed?” “Don’t say that!” Yelled Naruto, eyes searing with pain and anger, “she’s not going to die! I won’t let her!” Sasuke didn’t react to Naruto’s outburst. I blinked once, and it was a slow blink. “B-because if I d-didn’t, you w-would have d-d-died. T-then how would y-you revive your c-clan.” Pain slashed through my body and I screamed, the pressure from Kakashi Sensei’s hand causing a small ache to erupt. I started seeing stars, my eyes started fluttering as everything became fuzzy, my friends’ voices fading more and more. I watched Kakashi Sensei’s face as he stared at me with desperation. Then everything went black.

Heat. That’s what I felt as my eyes opened. I was greeted by the sight of twinkling stars and the soft crackling of fire. Every inch of my body was aching with terrible shutters of pain. Slowly, and carefully, I started moving again, noticing that a sleeping Naruto was curled up beside me, his cheeks stained with dry tears. I looked around and saw Sakura also sleeping close to the fire, her hands stained with blood. Finally, I looked at myself and noticed that I wasn’t wearing my overall skirt anymore, just my black shorts and white shirt, which was still ruined with crimson, red blood. Sighing, I pulled myself up from my spot, wincing as pain shot through my like pellets. I whimpered as I turned around, wanting to move and stop the growing ache in my body. “Akiko.” I snapped my head up and saw Kakashi Sensei sitting against the tree, wondering how I had missed him when looking at Sakura and Naruto. I also noticed that his uniform was coated in my blood as well. “Kakashi -” As soon as I started speaking, I started coughing. He was quick to come to my side, handing me a canteen of water. The nice, soothing water coated my burning throat. “How are you feeling?” He asked, his revealed eye illuminating concern and worry as he watched me struggle. “I’m so sore,” I whimpered. “Maybe you should be laying back down.” Shaking my head, I noticed that I didn’t see Sasuke sleeping amongst the others. “Where’s Sasuke?” Kakashi Sensei pointed to the top of the cliff in the distance where Sasuke was sitting, staring at the night sky. Kakashi Sensei, who had his hand firmly on my back supporting me, gently pushed me in his direction. I smiled a small appreciative smile before realizing that I still needed to thank him for coming to my aid as quickly as he did. I engulfed my sensei into a warm hug. “Thank you, Kakashi Sensei.” “Of course, Akiko.” Sasuke sensed I was coming before I even finished walking towards him, immediately coming to my side as he saw me hobbling towards him. The two of us sat down comfortably underneath the blinking sky. It took me a long time to catch my breath since I was still hurting. I could feel my bandages tightening around my stomach as I sat. Once my breathing was caught up, I turned to Sasuke and smiled. “You okay?” I asked, realizing how stupid the question it was when I slipped out. “Me?” He questioned, raising a single eyebrow, “you’re the one who was impaled.” I giggled, shuttering in pain, “guess you’re right. But you did get injured too when you were slammed around.” Sasuke didn’t reply and worry started seeping through my skull, the feeling of him being angry at me for showing him up made me want to puke. However, Sasuke didn’t seem to care about that when he started speaking again. “You’re an idiot,” he whispered, “throwing yourself into danger like that. What would Naruto do without you. Or hell, Sakura. What would… what would I do without you?” His sudden outburst of emotion surprised me. He was never one to become emotional, and I not only felt surprised but happy that he trusted me enough to be this way toward me. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Akiko, you’re the only girl who doesn’t run around throwing herself at me to win my affection, my love, my attention. You’re the only girl who looks at me and wants to improve on your ninja skill rather than gawk at me. The only girl I’m willing to talk to and get to know. I never want to see you hurt like that again, especially for me. I want you to stand by Naruto’s side, reach your own goals…” I stopped his talking by wrapping my arms around him, hugging his sulking form, and resting my weak head against his strong shoulder. His tense body relaxed and he wrapped his arms around me. We sat there for a few minutes enjoying the warmth of one another before I released him. His scent lingered in my nose for a few minutes. “Sasuke, I care about you. You’re my friend and I couldn’t bear to watch you get hurt. I also couldn’t bear to watch Sakura lose the person she loves the most, even if her girly crush can get a bit annoying. I would do it again, if it meant protecting those I loved and cared about. Even you.” A small smirk appeared on his face and he pulled me back into his grasp. He eventually pulled me into his lap and rested my head against his chest. I felt a small pink tint rush to my cheeks as I listened to Sasuke’s beating heart. It was slow and steady, the pace slowly relaxing me back to sleep. “Don’t get use to this,” he whispered, “I’m only doing this because I was the reason you got hurt.” A gentle giggle left my lips. It was a complete lie and I knew it. He even knew. “And next time, I’ll save you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, but I didn’t get enough time to react as another wave of sleep hit me. Soon I was snoozing right in Sasuke’s chest listening to the small pitter patter of his heart.

#sasuke #sasuke uchiha #naruto #team 7 #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto shonen jump #sasuke imagines #uchiha clan #sasuke x reader #fluff #sasuke uchiha imagines #sasuke headcanon #sasuke fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto headcanons

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chaseatinydream · 5 years ago

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pirate king (73) || atz

You sink.

The impact from the waves knocks all air from your lungs, and then you’re enveloped by the cold, wandering fingers locking around your ankles, dragging you beneath the surface. You try to move, dazed, reaching for the little sunlight that manages to pierce the waves, but the warmth doesn’t reach you in the least.

Your lungs start fighting for air, heart fluttering wildly like the wings of a desperate bird in its dying throes. You open your mouth to breathe, but only water enters your lungs and the world around you spins, shades of black and blue and then nothing.

It’s silent.

Lonely.

You’re going to die alone.

This is the end, you think, hopelessly. There’s no pain, no sadness, and the cold of the sea feels nothing more than a comforting embrace you’re returning to. You’ll die here, a speck in the infinite ocean, just like you were always supposed to. It was foolish of you to try and go against the way of nature.

Vaguely aware of the fact that you’re still sinking, your eyes close, and uncontrolled streaks of colour flash behind your eyelids. The silence is suddenly drowned out by noise, and you strain your ears to hear the sounds more clearly.

“Chin Hae!”

The voice is urgent, laced with desperation, familiar. Who’s that? You wonder dazedly to yourself, sinking deeper and deeper into the blessed warmth. Who are they calling for?

“Wake up! Fight!” The voice resounds in your ears, a begging plea, but you shake your head, unwilling. What’s so bad about the situation you’re in right now? You’re just tired... and you want some rest. You’ll just close your eyes for a while longer... and then...

“Choi Chin Hae! You can’t die! You promised me!”

Something hard and cold presses into your hand, sharp grooves digging into the skin of your palm, a painful memory. Your promise?

Promises.

You’ve made so many of them.

You must keep your promises, even if you have to move the entire ocean to do it.

Your fingers tighten around the cold steel in your palm. There’s a tug in your chest, like there’s a rope tied to your heart and someone is yanking at the other end. It aches, but you remember now.

I promised.

And the sea explodes.

>>>

Hongjoong doesn’t know how long he’s been screaming.

He can’t seem to breathe. The world seems to move in slow motion, tiny cogs turning at a sedately pace, the ripples on the ocean surface swallowed up by the waves. His legs carry him forward, nearly throwing himself over the side of the ship, but something yanks him back.

That man is saying something, a small part of his mind registers, but he can’t find it in him to care. His throat is raw with agony, but he can’t feel it. All he sees is the surface of the ocean, and what he knows lies beneath it, out of his reach.

You.

He’d failed. He’d broken his promise to you, to his crew. He’d watched one of his family get thrown into the waves helplessly.

And he had done nothing.

You’re gone.

Something in him snaps.

“Captain, the sky!” One of the ship’s crew screams, and the quartermaster looks up in surprise. His surprise turns into shock, then into horror. Previously a shade of summer blue without a cloud in sight, he sees dark grey rolling in from as far as his eye can see, so thick that it blocks out the sun. Day turns to night, and the air hums, dropping in temperature and the smell of ozone rends the sky itself.

The quartermaster spins around in shock to stare at the captain who’s on his knees, still looking over the ocean even as the winds pick up into a roaring gale, whirling over them. The ship lists to one side, before another tempest pulls it in another direction, and the sky splits to let the rain fall.

It falls - no, it crashes - onto the deck and the crew scramble to bail water before the ship goes under. The waves heave over the deck and a man screams as he’s swept over the side, gone the second he hits the waves. The mast creaks under the force of the wind, groaning in pain, before the entire thing snaps in the middle and the thick pillar of wood falls into the sea as well.

“The sea goddess is angry!” Someone howls in fear from the crew. “Captain, what do we-”

Another wave washes over the ship, and when it subsides in frothing white foam, the man is gone, like he was never there to begin with. The quartermaster whirls to demand what is going on from the captain, but all he catches sight of is a length of short rope between the man’s fingers.

His one green eye flickers up wildly to stare at him, bloodied lips curled into a maniacal grin.

“I’ll have you pay with everything you have.”

With a tug of his fingers, the knot falls apart.

In an instant, the winds scream and the sky splits in half in a massive flash of light. The deck rolls beneath their feet, and the foaming sea heaves, causing the ship to plunge on the trough of a massive wave. Rain lashes against the crew’s faces, before they look up and realise - no, that’s not the rain.

The crest of the wave is twice as tall as their remaining mast, black water standing proud and tall, defying gravity... and it’s coming straight towards them, an unstoppable force of nature.

The wave crashes down on them, and the entire ship splinters like nothing more than matchwood.

>>>

There’s something warm and gentle pressing against your lips.

You wake up coughing and choking.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chin Hae! Breathe slowly.” A pair of arms come up to support you as you hunch over, panting and choking shallowly, water dripping from your nose and mouth. You want to open your mouth and ask what happened, but the second you try to say something your throat screams in protest, and you turn to the side, violently gagging on nothing.

“Take it easy.” A gentle hand runs up your back to soothe you and you lean into his grasp, every bone in your body suddenly too heavy for you to hold up with your own strength. What on earth happened? You try to ask, but all that comes out is a painful, choked wheeze.

Something hard digging into the skin of your palm gives you pause.

“The key...” You manage to say weakly, raising your hand to see the little piece of steel trapped between your fingers. Wooyoung’s key. It’s here. “I’m... glad...”

A pair of hands grab you sharply by the collar, and you gasp at the sight of your captain hovering over you, his one green eye brimming over with fury and something inexplicable. Oh, you realise after a moment... he’s lost his eyepatch.

“You almost died!” Your captain practically screams at you, hands balled in the fist of your shirt. It doesn’t take you long to realise that he’s trembling, knuckles bleeding bone white. “After all of that, you’re still worrying about a stupid piece of metal? Worry about yourself first, you fool!”

He says that, you think dazedly to yourself, but he’s the one who’s crying.

Without thinking, you reach out a hand to wipe the tears falling from his one eye. To your horror, that only makes your captain sob harder, twisting away from you to bury his face in your shoulder. Warmth pools there, and you wrap your arms around him to pull him close.

He’s warm.

Alive.

You both are.

“You’re alive.” Hongjoong barely manages to say, shaking his head, words muffled against your dripping clothes. “Fuck, when that man threw you into the sea, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I’m alive.” You repeat after him, testing out the words on your tongue. You can barely believe it yourself. You’re alive.

But how?

You must have said the words aloud, because Hongjoong pulls away from you, absentmindedly stretching out the wrinkles on your damp shirt.

“I don’t really know what happened,” Hongjoong admits, before he sits back on his haunches to look at you seriously. “All I remember was seeing you thrown into the sea and I got so angry, I used the last knot on my rope.”

Your mouth falls open in indignant fury and you smack your captain on the shoulder hard. He winces. “Captain, are you crazy? We’re in the middle of the sea! You could have died!”

He shakes his head with a wry smile that doesn’t match the severity of the situation, glancing down at the short length of unraveled rope in his hand. “Well, we didn’t. We should have, that was by far the biggest storm I’ve ever seen in my life, but what matters is that we’re both alive. I somehow clung to this raft the entire time, and when I came to, I found you floating a few feet from me.”

“Sounds like some sort of miracle.” You mutter, before you let out a cough and a sneeze. Even under the midday sun, you’re freezing, toes blued and fingers trembling. Hongjoong scoffs, nodding his head. “Maybe the sea goddess saved us, although I have no idea how we’re going to survive out at sea like this.” He glances over at you, mouth softening in concern. “Well, let’s take care of what’s in front of us right now. Are you cold?”

You nod your head, trying not to shiver too hard. You did nearly drown, after all. “Yeah,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but there’s nothing much we can do about it. I’ll be fine when the sun dries my clothes.”

“Here.” You look up in surprise to see Hongjoong shifting about on the small raft, pressing close against you. His arms wrap around you suddenly and you yelp in surprise when he tugs you close into his hold. He practically radiates heat, you think, leaning into his warmth before you can think about social propriety. “Thank you, Chin Hae. Thank you so much for staying alive.”

You too, you want to say, but it’s as if exhaustion has finally caught up with you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you rest your head against his shoulder. You’ll face your other problems later, but right now, you’re just tired.

He’s warm, you repeat to yourself. He’s warm and you’re both alive.

And that’s enough for you for now.

As you slip into a deep slumber, you don’t notice the red marks around your ankles left the weight of the chains and the anchor, the skin there slowly starting to flake off, drifting like tiny pieces of matchwood in the puddles left on the raft.

>>>

“She agreed, but the sea witch warned her that if she did not fall in love with a man before her legs crumbled into soil, she would return to seafoam as she did not belong on land and from there on would cease to exist.”

- The Little Mermaid, author unknown

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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yoongi-sugaglider · 5 years ago

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Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, blood, gun shot wounds, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count: 2588

Part 14===Part 15===Part 16

The sound of screaming voices awoke me the next morning to the sight of an empty room. The dull aching in my chest and leg only grew the more my mind woke up.

The screaming escalated, followed by a series of crashes and thumps from downstairs. I sighed, shifting to the side and almost having to roll myself into a sitting position. It wasn’t unusual to wake up to the sound of yelling, but from the way things seemed to be, this one might just actually be serious.

Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed I inhaled deeply, steeling myself to stand when the bedroom door swung open and a wild looking Jeanette and Rose bolted inside before slamming the door shut behind them.

Rose slid down the back of the door, arms folded over her knees as she leaned her head against it and closed her eyes. Jeanette inhaled, exhaling the breath slowly through her nose in a quiet whistle and humming to herself as she shook her head at the closed door.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked, wincing slightly when the two women jumped and whipped their heads around to stare at me with terrified gazes.

“Shit! You’re awake!”

“Oh thank god you’re awake!”

Their voices swirled and merged into one single unit of confusing emotions and I couldn’t help but snicker at their faces. “Okay, conflicting moment aside there. I’ll repeat, what in the ever loving fuck are those idiots up to downstairs?”

The two began talking at once, each speaking animatedly and raising their voices in an attempt to talk over the other. I raised a finger, instantly silencing them to sheepish glances between each other.

“I am...one person. With two ears, and half a brain coming down off of some pretty intense pain killers. Please...one at a time.”

Jeanette glanced at Rose who shrugged in defeat before dropping her chin to rest on her folded arms. The younger woman gave her a nod of deference to speak on the subject.

“Well...okay so like this morning when I got up everything was pretty quiet so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to start breakfast. Hobi was there balancing dishes from the dishwasher in one hand while trying to open a cabinet with the other. Your uh..Jungkook was sitting at the table kinda staring off into space when Tae came in and scared Hoseok. He dropped all the dishes and that’s what set Jungkook off. Jimin jumped in and they started screaming at Tae about some mission and well... They’ve been fighting ever since and it’s only getting worse.”

I let out a long suffering sigh, scrubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes before looking up at them. “Help me up.”

“But…” Jeanette paused as I shook my head.

“I’ve got to get down there. Those idiots are going to kill each other and I’m the only one that can stop them.”

Rose groaned, banging her head against the door and fisting her hands through her hair. “This is all my fault…”

“That’s not true.” I grunted, shifting my weight to the edge of the bed.

“But if I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and they wouldn’t be fighting over it.” She groaned again, head hanging as teardrops fell to the floor.

“Tae and Jimin have been at odds for a very long time. And Jungkook...well… Kookie can be the absolute sweetest and smartest man you could meet. But when it comes right down to it the man is an actual blonde. I joke with him all the time they dipped his brain in bleach before they handed him off to his mother.”

Rose snorted, glancing up to me as she wiped her tears away. “Isn’t that all men though?”

The three of us giggled, sharing a moment of joined exasperation before sobering up as another crash echoed through the house.

“Alright, for real. Jin’s gonna cry if any more of his kitchen gets destroyed. Come on, help me up. I’ve got to end this.”

***

True to form the dumb asses were still fighting by the time we’d made it down the stairs.

Jimin was off to the side, standing by the fridge as he screamed obscenities at Taehyung. Jungkook and Tae were on the floor, pulling at each other’s hair with their legs wrapped around one another to keep the other from escaping.

A massive bruise had bloomed just beneath Tae’s right eye and Jungkook’s lip was split and seeping blood all over.

“It’s all your fault Tae! Every time she’s gotten hurt it’s always you to blame!” Jimin screamed. He moved as if to launch himself into the scuffle but Hobi, who’d been watching from the stove reached over to stop him, effectively wrapping him in a bear hug and pinning his arms to his sides.

“Oh no you don’t Doc. We don’t need you getting hurt.”

“Let me go! Let me at him! This has been a long time coming Hobi!” The boy was basically foaming at the mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled in the dancer’s hold.

I couldn’t help but sigh, knowing the only way to stop this was if I intervened. Glancing between Jeanette and Rose I shrugged them off, taking a step forward on my own and muttering under my breath. This was going to suck.

“Boys! Please! Stop this!” I yelled, internally cringing as my weight landed on my injured leg.

The offending limb buckled under the pressure, causing me to yelp out in pain as I staggered forward a half a step before falling to the ground. It was worth it though.

All activity in the room ceased. For a moment it was quiet as I lay there wheezing and whimpering in pain. And then chaos ensued.

From my vantage point I could see the boys scrambling to my side, Jungkook and Tae disentangling themselves from each other as Jimin and Hobi pushed each other out of the way in an attempt to reach my side. Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi walked into the room just in time to see Rose and Jeanette reach me first, shooing the boys out of the way as they helped me into a sitting position.

“Fuck sake. What are you all in here tearing the place up for?” Namjoon growled, giving the younger boys the stink eye as Jimin crouched at my side to check my bandages.

“They’ve been arguing for the last hour, how have you all not noticed till now?” Hobi grumped as he stood to his feet and dusted off his jeans.

“Because unlike you idiots we’ve actually been doing something.” Seokjin frowned, leaning his broad shoulders against the doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“And what’s got the three of you so wrapped up in each other that you couldn’t notice the idiot brigade trying to off one another?” I huffed, pushing away the pain of my leg.

“Securing the satellite links, setting up better firewall protections for the security cameras.” Namjoon replied.

“Reinforcing the front gate, making sure our rear’s covered in terms of fortifications.” Yoongi added in.

“Adding more cameras to the sides of the house just to make sure we have every inch of the lawn and side yards covered.” Seokjin frowned, glancing at the three younger men. “I can’t believe the three of you are grown ass men. And to think one of you is in charge of giving me orders.”

He shook his head, eyes darting back and forth between them before landing on the mess that was his kitchen. It was almost comical the way his gaze went from mildly frustrated to all of a sudden full blown horror and betrayal.

“M...my… MY KITCHEN!!!”

The series of events that followed may have been comical but it certainly managed to squash the feud and rising tensions that’d settled over my boys in the time I’d been unconscious.

Jeanette and Rose managed to help me off the ground, settling me into a chair at the center island as Seokjin screamed and ranted about how ungrateful the younger men were while demanding they cleaned up their mess.

Jungkook and Taehyung actually managed to look ashamed and remorseful as they swept up the broken plates together and wiped down the counters before settling into mopping the entirety of the area. They stayed silent, barely glancing at each other or speaking until Jin tore into Namjoon who’d resigned himself to ‘helping’ cook breakfast before getting scolded about holding the knife upside down as he attempted to chop an onion.

“Ya! How can someone have such a high IQ and STILL not know the meaning for sharp side down?? All those brains and muscles and no common sense!” Jin’s face shone bright red as he screamed, barely stopping for breath as he smacked poor Namjoon over the head with a wooden spoon.

Taehyung snorted, Jungkook giggled, and after a shared look between them they burst out laughing, leaning against each other for support as they lost their minds over the sheer visual of the genius level man getting scolded by his elder.

Jimin all the while did his best to address my leg, crouching beneath the ledge of the island as he checked the skin above and beneath the bandage.

“It hasn’t bled through, so the stitches are holding. But I really wish you would stay off it as much as possible.” He frowned up at me, tiny hands wrapped gently around my ankle as he balanced on his heels.

“I’m sorry Doc. It’s just, you all were so worked up over nothing and I just had to do something to get it to stop.” I shrugged, not sure if it was a valid enough reason for almost dislocating anything that was still left to injure.

“I mean, you could have just fired in the air or something. Thrown something at them, anything but literally throwing yourself to the ground and risking actually breaking something.”

“I could have sure. But that would have meant risking the ceiling and Yoongi’s room. Not about that life if I’m being honest.” I grinned at the doctor, earning myself an exasperated glare and a pat to my uninjured leg.

“Really, and here I thought you were the rational one in this group of misfits.” Jimin stood, brushing his pants off and then walking around the island to wash his hands at the sink.

“I may be irrational at times but at least I have the ability to forgive people.” My blunt words hit home. I could tell. He’d paused all motion, staring down at his hands as the water ran over his fingers.

I reached across, turning the sink off and folding my hands before me on the cool countertop. Patiently I waited, watching the emotions flit across his face faster than his expert fingers stitching up a wound.

“Jimin...we’re going to have to talk about this eventually.” I spoke calmly, knowing that anything could set him off if I misspoke.

“I know it’s just…”

“We were all attached. The first truly good thing to come out of all our awful work.” Pausing I focused for a moment on the tiny scrapes and scratches I’d gotten from being out in the thick of it.

“We got comfortable. All of us did. And sloppy. But Taehyung can’t be blamed for that. We were all at fault. But more importantly those bastards that kidnapped me and tried to hold me hostage were at fault.” I turned slightly, watching as the others went about their business.

“When it came down to it he had to make a choice. Yes we’re always family first but everything was on the line. Literally everything Jimin.” I turned back to him, watching the frown deepen his brow and tug that sweet face of his into a scowl. “If it weren’t for Taehyun,g half our crew would be dead or in jail. Including Namjoon and Jungkook. Do you think I’d have ever let him live it down if he had chosen any other way?”

He shook his head, tossing the towel in his hands on the counter. “No… No you’re right. You wouldn’t have. You’d have torn Daegu up, burned the whole city down.” He chuckled and I joined him, my shoulders shaking with the snickers joined between us.

“You’re not wrong. But considering the circumstances I didn’t need to do a thing. The city’s already burning.” The mood chilled at those words and we sat together in silence, watching the others fuss and fight over cooking and who was on dish duty.

“This could be the end days huh?”

Turning back to him I sighed, though the motion left me wincing at the pain in my chest. “That may be so… and if it is, if everything is ending and the world is burning...shouldn’t you go make up with your best friend?”

“...Yeah….yeah you’re right.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, reaching across and giving my hand a squeeze. “Thank you for talking some sense into me.”

“Jungkook may be the brawn but we all know I’m the brains of the operation here.” I snorted at my own words. My heart warmed as I watched Jimin walk over to Tae and begin whispering softly to him.

Both men, grown as they were, became teary eyed, suddenly lunging forward and hugging each other as close as two men could.

“Damn, look at you.” Rose plopped into the chair beside me, nudging my arm as she grinned at the two now openly sobbing gangsters. “You get paid to be the family shrink?”

“Nah, they couldn’t afford me if I were to actually charge them.”

Jeanette ambled over, hand subconsciously rubbing her belly as she leaned into Rose who wrapped a gentle arm around her waist. “I don’t think even the richest man could afford your services. You really out here keeping these boys from killing each other and still surviving in this world? Absolute boss if you ask me.”

It felt good to laugh with them as we sat there. It’d been a good long while since I’d had female friends. Not that I didn’t love my boys but there was something about being around someone who got my mind without me having to say something that just felt so right.

Things settled down as we all gathered around to our meal, the chatter subdued and amiable as food was passed around in abundance. It would last us a while sure, but the idea that at some point it might run out had us all appreciating it that much more.

As I munched on my toast my mind wandered, but my thoughts were abruptly by Taehyung and Rose cheering as they jumped out of their chairs and began laughing and hugging each other.

“YAH! What the hell!” Jin demanded as he scrambled to wipe the juice he’d spilled on himself at the shock of their cheering.

“We did it!” Tae grinned, the biggest boxiest grin on his face as his ears blushed crimson from the kiss Rose had planted on his cheek.

“We managed to fix all of the security issues! Cams are on lock and all internal systems are now free of amature hour hack jobs!” Rose’s smile was infectious, cheering the whole table and causing the others to whoop and holler their appreciation for the two computer experts.

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immabethehero · 5 years ago

Text

Robbie

A little drabble about Robbie the Zombie and his five dads for Father’s Day :)

A squirrel scurries across the lawn, looking for food. It picks up tiny nuts that have fallen on the ground and chomps away.

A twig snaps, distracting it from eating. It can sense something behind it. Something large and ready to attack. It turns its head and comes face to face with a large purple creature, with curly violet hair sticking out the top of its head and falling into its face, electrically shocking grey eyes, and a wicked smile on its face.

The squirrel drops the nut and begins running across the large lawn of the Septics’ house. The name of the creature in question, Robbie, growls and runs after it, standing up and hobbling forwards to chase it. For a zombie brought back to life only a week ago, he’s certainly gotten steadier on his feet.

The squirrel zips up the tree and sighs in relief. Most beasts can’t climb up trees, it’s safe here. Suddenly, the skinny tree begins to shake, and the squirrel looks down to see the strange purple monster slowly climbing the tree. The squirrel shrieks in alarm and runs down the branch, jumping onto the next tree.

Robbie, on his part, reaches over to grab the squirrel as it races by, only to hear a loud riiiipp and suddenly fall flat on his face. His limp arm clings onto the branch for a second more, before slipping and falling right next to the zombie.

Robbie howls. Between the shock of the fall and the shock of losing his arm, he is not very happy.

The front door of the house swings open and a man wearing a long white coat rushes over to the zombie.

“Robbie, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Henrik scolds.

Robbie continues to howl pathetically. Henrik notices the ripped off arm lying limply beside him. He looks up at the tree and puts two and two together.

“You tore your arm off climbing the tree, didn’t you?” Henrik asks. Robbie nods, still crying.

“There, there, let’s get you inside,” Henrik mumbles, pulling the shaky zombie onto his feet. Robbie allows himself to be guided back inside.

A lesser known fact about Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein is that he’s actually good with kids. Under his proud and standoffish demeanor is a very kind and loving man whose soft but firm tones can calm even the wildest of children. Or in this case, a week-old zombie.

Robbie continues to cry as Henrik desperately juggles between resewing the zombie’s arm back on and stirring a warm pot of soup.

Henrik finally cuts the thread. “There. That should hold it in place.” Robbie whimpers in response.

“Oh, you’ll be alright,” Henrik soothes, rubbing his back. “Just don’t overwork that arm for the next little while.”

Robbie nods and takes a huge breath. “Sooooorrrrryyyyyy…” Robbie has picked up language fairly quickly, even if his speech is a little slurred.

“Well, lesson learned! Don’t go outside and assume your body is fit for climbing the trees!” Henrik says.

“Mmm hmm...” Robbie moans.

“I’m just surprised that the tree branch didn’t break under your weight,” Henrik says. “It’s not exactly a sturdy one.”

Robbie looks behind Henrik and his eyes widen. “Daaaad...?”

Henrik startles. “What? NO! We are not going there! You address me as ‘Doctor’, alright? Say it with me, ‘DOCTOR’.”

“Doc…” Robbie trails off.

“That’s better. Now what do you want?”

Robbie points behind the doctor. Henrik turns around just as a huge bubble of soup expands from the pot.

“SHIT!” Henrik rushes over and grabs the broom. “AVERT YOUR EYES!”

Robbie squeezes his eyes shut just as Henrik whacks the ballooning bubble with the broom. With a startling BANG, the bubble bursts and broth spills everywhere.

Robbie opens his eyes and bursts into wheezy giggles when he sees a drenched Henrik with a sopping broom.

Henrik sighs. “Good plan, bad execution,” he mumbles, putting the broom down.

The front door opens and Chase Brody and Jameson Jackson walk in, carrying groceries.

“Hello, Henrik! How’s dinner...” Chase’s voice trails off as he takes in the mess.

{What…}

“HAPPENED?”

“I tried to fight a soup monster,” Henrik grumbles, grabbing a towel and fruitlessly attempting to wipe soup off his coat. “The chicken soup managed to form into a big balloon and I made the mistake of popping it. Go ahead, laugh.”

{Oh, Robbie! Why is your arm bandaged?} Jameson asks, noticing the zombie wheezing at the kitchen island.

“Robbie snuck out to play and his arm fell off when he tried to climb a tree,” Henrik explained.

{Oh dear! That must have been a scare!} Jameson says with a laugh. Robbie reaches out for a hug, and Jameson happily complies.

Henrik smacks the towel down and begins opening the cupboards for cleaning supplies. He looks up. “Dinner won’t be for another little while, mind giving Robbie a bath while we wait?”

“Will do,” Chase says. He and Jameson guide Robbie upstairs and into the bathroom.

While Chase fills the tub, Jameson helps Robbie undress. Jameson tries not to wince at the amount of surgical stitches holding the zombie together. Whoever killed Robbie must have done a number on him before Henrik found the zombie on the side of the road, badly bruised and barely breathing.

As a treat, Chase dumps a bottle of body soap into the bathtub to make a bubble bath. Robbie giggles and begins popping the little bubbles that float towards him.

“Isn’t that just adding insult to injury?” Jameson says with a disapproving sigh.

“It’s not like Henrik is going to find out!” Chase says. He shakes the bottle again, only to realize it’s empty. “Damn, we’re all out. Looks like we won’t have enough bubbles…” He trails off when he sees Jameson close his hands around a bubble, and open it to reveal more bubbles.

“How did you-”

“In my latest magic lesson, Marvin taught me how to multiply objects,” Jameson explains. “We’re doing the simplest of objects right now, that’s as much as he can do, anyway. Wizard magic allows me to multiply bigger objects, and in larger quantities.” Jameson clasps his hands around another bubble and opens them as more bubbles appear.

Robbie claps his hands at the amazing feat. He grabs a bubble of his own and squeezes his eyes shut. He opens his eyes and his hands to find the bubble has disappeared. He pouts.

Jameson chuckles. {It’s not something everyone can do, Robbie.} he says, as he pours water on the zombie’s head. {Just a few people.}

Chase stares thoughtfully at the remaining bubbles. “I wonder if there can be too many bubbles.”

Jameson shakes his head. {Absolutely not! Henrik would kill us!}

“Come on, Jameson, do it for Robbie!” Chase begs.“If this does fail and Henrik gets mad, you can throw me under the bus! I’ll take all the credit! Please, Jameson, before the bubbles disappear?”

“Please Jamie…? Pleeeaaaaassseeee?” Robbie pleads, eye glistening with tears.

Jameson avoids meeting Robbie in the eyes, knowing how well Robbie has gotten at the Puppy-Eye stare. Why did he ever teach the zombie the trick in the first place?!

Jameson sighs, annoyed. “Oh… alright! But you owe me, Chase! Not you, Robbie, you’re fine.”

The two cheer as Jameson rolls up his sleeves and gathers up a few bubbles in his hands. He blows on them, and even more bubbles appear, floating about the bathroom.

“You gonna need more than that!” Chase says, as Robbie bounces, trying to catch the bubbles.

Jameson rolls his eyes and blows more bubbles. Robbie lets out a low moan, his best version of a squeal. Chase whoops with laughter.

Jameson wraps his arms around a hoard of bubbles and blows on them, spreading out even more bubbles.

“Uh, Jameson?” Chase yells. “You can stop now!”

{And ruin the fun? No way! Besides, I’m not the one getting in trouble!} Chase can barely read the sign over a mountain of growing bubbles.

“Jameson, I think we’ve gone too far!” Chase yells as the bubbles begin to squish him against the door.

Jameson does not respond. Robbie squeals with glee.

“Jameson?! Robbie?!” Fearing the worst, Chase bravely wades through the bubbles, determined to save his friends.

As Chase walks into the growing bubble hoard, Jameson squeezes out and looks around for Chase.

{Blast it all! Chase, where are you?!} He scans the growing amount of bubbles and notices the door. He sighs. {I’m sorry, guys! I can’t control it!}

He reaches over and twists the door knob before surrendering to the monstrous hoard.

Downstairs, Henrik finishes his cleaning and throws the dirty dishes into the sink. “There! And now to make dinner... again.”

The house rumbles, shaking the pots and pans. Henrik looks around in fear. “What…?”

There seems to be a ruckus coming from upstairs. Henrik grabs the broom and stalks toward the stairs. “Who’s there?! Come out and fight, coward!”

A sea of bubbles suddenly swarms down the stairs, knocking the doctor off his feet. Henrik screams and whacks the bubbles with the broom, only to be swarmed with more.

“CHASE! JAMESON! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Henrik demands as he swims through the hoard. “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BUBBLES?”

“HELP ME!!!” Chase screams. Jameson whistles shrilly. Henrik wades through the mess and grabs Chase’s arm. He helps Chase find his footing.

“What did you do?!” Henrik yells. Chase rolls his eyes.

“See, JJ? I told you Henrik would blame me!” he yells into the sea. Jameson responds by grabbing his waist and pulling himself up, gasping for breath.

{Can’t… breathe…} Jameson leans against Chase, breathing heavily. {I might… faint…} Chase wraps his arms around the pale gentleman.

Henrik groans at JJ’s dramatic antics. “Where’s Robbie?!”

Chase gulps. “Uhh… possibly still in the bathtub?”

A screaming purple human slides towards them at breakneck speed. The men barely have time to react before being bowled over by Robbie.

Henrik is the first to get up, spitting bubbles out of his mouth. “Robbie!” he yells, standing up. The hall is a blurry mess of white foam. Where are his glasses- Crack. Nevermind.

Robbie glides through the sea on the ironing board, whooping and squealing with glee.

“Robbie! Get off the board before you hurt yourself again!” Chase orders. Robbie appears to ignore him as he flies down the stairs.

“WATCH OUT FOR THE-”

BANG. Robbie knocks the front door down and slides across the lawn. Standing at the end is a magician with a long cape with his arms out. The sled suddenly skids to a stop before he can crash into the magician.

Marvin the Magnificent sighs in relief and bends down to check the zombie for injuries. “What were you doing inside? Did Chase give you one of the kids’ flying sleds?”

Marvin notices the pattern of the “sled”. “Is that the ironing board?!”

A bubble floats by Marvin’s vision. His head snaps up. Bubbles slowly trail out of the house, washing down the lawn. Marvin gapes and Robbie giggles, clapping his hands.

“What happened?!” Marvin yelps as another figure lands beside him.

Jackieboy Man examines the mess. “Oh dear! I’ve come across loads of house fires, but never a house… bubble. Is everyone ok?”

“I don’t know. Robbie, where are Henrik, Chase and Jameson?” Marvin asks, looking down. Robbie points at the house.

“Are you saying they’re still inside?” Jackie asks. He runs inside without waiting for an answer, Marvin running after him.

Robbie watches the two men disappear into the chaos. Perhaps he should run in as well, since there are three men inside the house.

Robbie hobbles up the lawn and walks into the house. The only thing he can see is the shiny translucent white of the bubbles. He’ll have to use his ears and nose to find anyone.

“Doc?” Robbie calls out. No response. “Doc?” He slowly wades through the water, feeling around for the doctor.

“Robbie? Is that you?” A hand reaches out and grabs Robbie’s arm. He yelps.

“Relax, is just me!” Henrik says, pulling himself through the bubbles. Robbie cocks his head. There’s something different about the doctor, but he can’t place what…

“I broke my glasses when you bowled me over!” Henrik says, eyes squinting as he feels around. “Can you guide me to the exit?”

Robbie nods and walks towards the door. He pushes through the bubbles and emerges outside, Henrik in tow.

Henrik lets go of his arm and sits down. “Thank you, Robbie.” Robbie grunts happily and plops down next to him.

Jackie bursts through the bubbles, carrying Chase in his arms. Marvin follows shortly afterwards, Jameson clinging to his back.

“OK, that’s everyone,” Jackie says, setting Chase down. “What happened?”

“I tried to save a failing bubble bath,” Jameson signs weakly. “It didn’t go so well. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s my fault as well, I encouraged it,” Chase adds. “I’m sorry.”

“Soorrryyy…” Robbie moans.

“It’s fine, I guess the house is clean now,” Marvin says, scanning the mess. “I’ll fix it up.”

“You guys wanna go out for dinner? I found a new Italian place that serves the most delicious pasta!” Jackie says.

“Wait for us to dry up!” Henrik says, wringing his coat dry. “Marvin, could you fix my-”

Marvin snaps his fingers and the lenses mend themselves.

Henrik puts his glasses on. “It’ll be Robbie’s first time at a restaurant, you sure he can handle it?”

“Ask him,” Jameson suggests. They all turn to the zombie.

“Pasta?” Robbie asks.

“They’re very long pieces of deliciousness, Robbie! You’ll love it!” Chase explains.

Robbie nods his head. “Go?”

Henrik sighs. “Alright. Let’s get changed and go!”

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-king, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @writerwithdepression, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada, @meteorshowersfillthesky, @bupine, @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @maestromeg, @the-pastel-kitsune, @uhhbeans

#apparently i can write #jse egos #writersofjack #jacksepticeye #robbie the zombie #dr. schneeplestein #bubbles #tw stitches #food #happy father's day #dr. henrik von schneeplestein

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im-a-star-boy · 5 years ago

Text

Cold

Okay so things have been a bit rough at my house so I wrote this as a vent fic so it’s a little funky. Literally everything in this but the end is metaphorical so don’t feel weird if you can’t quite understand it, it’s not made to make sense. If it was then I’d just write a post about me complaining, but that’s no fun so here’s this instead. Enjoy!

TW: Vomiting, Mentions of death, Near death experiences, Memory loss

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Summary: Peter feels cold

Word Count: 1,317

Date of Completion: Tuesday, May 5th, 2020

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

All Peter could feel was cold. He didn’t know what was happening. Where was he? Who was he? Aunt May? Harry? Wait… why was he calling for them? Who were they?

His mind wandered aimlessly as he tried to move. He was frozen, his limbs frozen through with ice. Why was he so cold again? He couldn’t quite recall. All he could process was that he was numb, therefore he couldn’t hurt. Was that good? He didn’t know.

There was something in his mouth, something hot, it burned. He wanted to spit it out, he had to, he couldn’t breathe, he was dying. He tried to manipulate movement around him, somehow, to try and get it out. It failed. The hot liquid, like molten metal or something, he felt it drip slowly down his throat. It hurt, what was it? He felt it enter his lungs, it was painful as his lungs were filled. He wanted to breathe. Why? He wasn’t breathing before? Why did he want to breathe so badly now? Was it because now he couldn’t? God, he was greedy. Has he always been this greedy?

He felt the liquid harden and freeze in his lungs and the pain faded. He still couldn’t breathe though, he didn’t like that. It was uncomfortable, his chest was expanded too much, his ribs too far out, everything, every other organ pushed around to make way for his lungs.

He laid there for minutes, maybe hours? Days? Years? He didn’t know, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he was uncomfortable and he had to move. Harry, Harry, Harry. Who was he? Why did his mind keep going back to that name? Or… is it a she? He didn’t know, he wanted to know. Who was Harry?

He tried to think back. The name made him feel good, he didn’t know why it was like a drug to his mind. Harry, whoever they were, they were good. He attributed good things with them, hot summer days, skipping stones, peaceful evenings, good times, Harry was good.

He repeated the name in his head, Harry was good. But as he kept continuing the thought, like an overplayed song, something turned sour. Hurt, betrayal, sadness. Harry had hurt him. But… Harry was good? Why would he hurt him? I thought Harry was good? I thought he cared about me? No… he left me… he left me alone.

He felt tears in his eyes and they streamed uncomfortably down his face. Was he sitting up now? When did he move? The tears kept coming. He trusted Harry, why had he done this? Six months? Why did he keep this from him for six months? Harry was… Harry was supposed to be his friend… why did he do this?

As he sat against whatever wall existed, he tried to keep his mind away from Harry. Harry had hurt him, Harry was bad.

Who was that other person? He had thought of them for a moment before, who were they? What was their name? He trusted them, they were definitely good, right? She was good, she helped him, she cared about him. What was her name? It was on the tip of his tongue. What was it? May? Was that it? He thought so. That sounded right.

He didn’t overthink her, he didn’t want to mess her up too. He focused back to his limbs. They were still cold, still frozen solid. All it would take was one touch, he would fall apart. His limbs would shatter, his lungs could be peeled away revealing the now frozen metal in his chest cavity, his frozen heart could be seen and put on display where everyone could see it. Everyone always had told him he was open-hearted. Who had told him that? Someone good. Yeah, someone very good.

Everything was fine, right? Yeah, he was fine. Was he though? Maybe, he wasn’t quite sure.

He felt something touch him. He tried to open his eyes, who was touching him? What was going on?

He couldn’t open his eyes.

He was shaking, someone was shaking him, they were going to hurt him. He tried to scream for help, to kick, to plea for someone.

He couldn’t open his mouth.

He felt his tears fall faster. Was anyone going to help him? Who was shaking him? Why did he hurt? He tried to breathe, but the metal occupying his lungs didn’t give. He was suffocating. He was dying.

He felt a violent shake, and in that moment, everything felt clear.

He was dying.

Not for the same reason he thought he was though.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Harry held him close, holding him to his chest as he sobbed. “Peter! Peter, please!” He screamed.

Miles stared in abject horror. There was a fight, villains, obviously. Peter had been the first on scene, but he didn’t know what the villains could do. The villains were prepared, they knew what they were doing. They waited until Peter was in the air, too far away from any tree or building, and they hit him. Some kind of gun, he wasn’t sure what it had done, but Peter had fallen limp midair and hit the ground with a sickening crack. His head was bleeding and he was cold, too cold for having only just been hit. Even if he had died instantly, nobody gets that cold that fast. Miles didn’t like to think about that though.

The other spiders had made quick work of the villain as Harry brought him to a nearby rooftop, but they hadn’t realized the damage that had been done.

Harry cried loudly, holding Peter close and begging him to wake up. Screaming for him to wake up, shaking him lightly, and doing whatever he could. Miles could now see the damage that had been done. Peter’s head was bleeding, he wasn’t moving or breathing, and there was a wet spot where his mouth was.

In a panic, Miles took Peter from Harry’s arms, much to Harry’s displeasure, and pulled up his mask just enough. His mouth was frothing. Miles began chest compressions, desperately trying to save Peter. Every time he pressed down on his chest, more of that white foam came out of Peter’s mouth. Harry was pale and looked like he was going to throw up as he stared, trembling, with wide eyes.

Gwen swung onto the building and froze at the sight in front of her. After the first few pumps, Miles nearly threw up as he felt Peter’s ribs crunch under his hands. Harry immediately lunged forward at the grotesque sound. “STOP YOU’RE KILLING HIM!” He screamed, horrified.

Gwen rushed forward and grabbed him from behind. “No, he isn’t, you need to relax, Harry!”

“LET GO OF ME!” He screamed again through his tears.

“It’s not uncommon for someone’s ribs to break during CPR, you just have to trust him, Harry please, trust him.”

Harry continued sobbing as Gwen held him still. “Please… please… you’re killing him…” He choked out in a sob.

He collapsed from Gwen’s grasp, sobbing loudly as Miles continued chest compressions.

Too much time passed, too much of the froth came from Peter’s mouth, when suddenly, Peter began coughing. Harry gasped as Miles quickly turned him over, watching as Peter threw up mouthfuls of the foam. Harry stared mutely as Peter attempted to sit up, only to collapse. He shot forward and caught him as tears began streaming down his face. “Peter… oh god…”

Miles collapsed backward, gasping for breath as he covered his eyes, trembling. “Oh my god…” He whimpered out, sounding relieved.

Harry held him close, crying. “Oh my god… oh my god…”

Peter leaned against him, coughing. “What… what happened?” He wheezed, sounding disoriented.

Harry didn’t reply. Peter was alive… he was alive…

#parksborn fanfic #parksborn #peter parker #harry osborn #Gwen Stacy #msm 2017 #Miles Morales #tw: mentions of death #tw: cpr #tw: vomit #fanfic #fic

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fucking-hydra · 6 years ago

Note

On the serum thing, what if you had Steve and Bucky (or if you’re extra sadistic, add the other two as well) and forced them to pick between things. Like one of them would be forced to suffer for the other and because they’re both self-sacrificing assholes it would just end up in one agreeing to suffer and the other hating it.

*sighs dreamily* Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly the kind of good shit I’m here for. This definitely got away from me so it’s really really long, I’m sorry.

Warnings for this one because it’s particularly brutal (as if my other ones aren’t, but still): human experimentation, hallucinations, paranoia, body mutilation, unintentional self harm/self mutilation, needles, drugs, gore, emetophobia, graphic description, body horror/gore, hand and mouth gore, so much blood, using one character’s torture to whump another character, and, because this one goes pretty far, dead dove: do not eat.

Most of HYDRA’s operations have been shut down, but there’s still the stray operation that had slipped through the cracks, so far off the books that their information wasn’t even encoded in SHIELD’s data during the leak. While these operations are rare, they’re vicious and strong, with knowledge and resources that are beyond anything that previous HYDRA intel could tell the Avengers.

Which is why Steve and Bucky are in a room with vibranium walls and flooring, a vibranium reinforced door, and vibranium chains keeping them on opposite sides of the room from one another, both of them groggily waking from the drugs they were dosed with in battle. There’s two other sets of bonds on the other two walls, but no one in them.

Steve comes to first, testing his bonds and looking up at Bucky. “You okay?”

Bucky blinks, nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, things are a little fuzzy, but I’m good.”

Steve doesn’t have a chance to ask anything else when a HYDRA agent walks into the room with a briefcase in hand, grinning brightly.

“Ah, gentlemen, you’re awake! Good, because I have a proposition, and I think you’re going to love this.” The man sets the case on the floor, opening it to reveal a single large syringe. “This is a very high dose of injectable LSD, mixed with a few other fun ingredients, modified to last in the bloodstream longer than normal, but with no less potency.”

“How much did you take, because you clearly can’t count that there’s two of us and one syringe,” Steve says dryly, and the agent laughs.

“You’re right, there’s only one. Which means one of you gets to choose who takes it. And since you’re being so rude, I’ll let Barnes pick.”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

“Buck, no, I can take it,” Steve says, and the agent laughs.

“Mr. Barnes has already made his choice, Rogers. So let’s see what this does, hmm?” The agent approaches Bucky with the syringe. “Attack me, and all you will accomplish is more pain for yourself and Rogers. I do not have the keys to release you, so it isn’t worth fighting.”

The agent injects the drugs into Bucky’s arm, Bucky stiffening slightly at the insertion of the needle, and then the agent steps back, smiling. “It should only take a moment for the drugs to start working.”

In seconds, Bucky’s head lolls back, thumping against the wall behind him, eyes rolling into the back of his head. It only takes a few more seconds for Bucky’s entire body to seize, Bucky’s eyes snapping forward, pupils blown wide, as he screams, throws himself at the end of his chains and thrashing wildly.

“I’ll fucking kill you! Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!” He screams, growling low in his throat and biting at the empty air in front of him.

“Bucky, Bucky it’s okay, no one’s going to hurt you!” Steve shouts across the room, but Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him, his growls turning into genuine snarling noises as he starts to foam at the mouth like rabid dog, lunging at the ends of his chains strong enough that Steve can already see the blood starting to drip from Bucky’s wrist and ankles where the cuffs sit.

“Buck! Buck you’re okay, you’re going to be okay, just breathe,” Steve says, pulling at his own chains in a desperate attempt to reach his best friend.

Almost as suddenly as Bucky had become aggressive, he goes limp, dropping into a heap of limbs on the floor as he sobs, tucking his knees to his chest and curling up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth as the force of his sobs wrack his entire body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please I’ll do better, I’ll do better, not the cane, not the cane, Commander, please,” Bucky pleads, words slurred and muffled behind his knees, and Steve freezes, stares at Bucky and tries to figure out if Bucky’s hallucinating or having a flashback.

“Buck, you’re safe, it’s okay, he’s not here, you’re here with me, and you’re going to be okay,” Steve says, and he can’t help the tears that start to stream down his own face just watching his friend suffer.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rogers, this will only last another thirty minutes or so. Then I’ll leave, and your next presenter will arrive with the choice you get to make,” the agent says, and Steve glares at the man, so angry that he’s speechless.

As promised, the drugs wear off 30 minutes later, and Bucky collapses, panting and whimpering as he sees the damage he’d done to his own body from pulling at the chains.

The door opens and another agent steps in with a new briefcase, trading places with the current agent, who packs up his own briefcase and leaves.

“So, Captain Rogers, you’re the one who gets to choose this time, and this time the injection is–”

“I’ll do it,” Steve says, and the agent raises her eyebrows.

“So eager,” she says, “But okay.”

She opens the case, bringing the syringe over and injecting it into Steve’s arm.

Bucky watches as Steve squeezes his eyes shut, groaning and shifting uncomfortably on the floor, face turning red like he’s overheating, and Bucky could recognize a fever anywhere after the years he spent trying to take care of a young Steve.

Then Steve leans to the side and throws up, coughing and hacking up vomit filled with swirls of blood. The puddle spreads across the floor until Steve is left sitting in his own vomit, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself, bruises slowly spreading out from under Steve’s clothes and covering his body.

Bucky watches in horror as Steve’s hands and feet start to turn black, as Steve starts to wheeze like he can’t breathe properly, sounding even worse than he used to when he was asthmatic.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, and Steve moans, curls in on himself clutching his stomach.

“Hurts, can’t… can’t feel my hands,” Steve says, whimpering, and then he collapses on his side, his body seemingly giving up on him as he lays curled up on the floor in a puddle of vomit that grows larger as Steve heaves, throwing up stomach acid.

Bucky pulls forward on the chains before he realizes what he’s doing, then turns to the HYDRA agent, eyes shooting daggers.

“What the fuck did you give him?” he demands, and the agent smiles.

“It’s a lovely mix of ebola and various types of the plague. Fascinating, isn’t it? This is truly beautiful to watch, we’ve never had anyone last this long.”

Bucky growls, lunges at the agent. “Help him! He’s going to die like this, you can’t just let him die!” He shouts, and the agent just shrugs, too far away for Bucky to reach.

“I doubt it, but if he does, we can deal with that. In the meantime, enjoy the show.”

Bucky turns his attention back to Steve, who’s still curled up on the floor, gasping for breath and whimpering in pain, body shaking and shivering, and Bucky can’t tell if Steve’s cold, crying, or just in pain.

“It’s okay Steve, you can make it, you can, you’ll be okay,” Bucky says, more for his benefit than for Steve’s, because he doesn’t know that Steve will make it but he can’t lose him, he can’t.

It takes another 20 minutes for the injection to wear off, Steve’s skin slowly repairing itself and returning to normal, but Steve just lays there, limp and unmoving, hair covered in vomit.

“Steve?”

Bucky waits anxiously for Steve to say something, needs to know that Steve is still alive, and he finally gets his answer in the form of a groan. Bucky lets out the breath he was holding. “Thank god.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. We have some more friends coming in to join you, just wait a moment and I’ll go get them. It was lovely studying you,” the agent says, and then she leaves, the door closing behind her with a resounding click.

“Friends?” Steve asks weakly, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to get out of here, Steve, we’re going to make it, I swear to god,” Bucky says, and Steve just nods, not lifting his head from the floor.

Bucky counts four minutes and twenty-seven seconds in his head before the door opens again, and agents drag in two limp bodies, chaining them up in the two empty sets of bonds.

“Nat?” Steve says.

“Peter?” Bucky says at the same time, and they stare at each other and at their teammates, confused.

It only takes a few minutes for Natasha and Peter to wake up, and when they do, both of them immediately evaluate the situation, looking around.

“Are you guys okay? You both look kinda bad, like you actually look your ages,” Peter says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“First of all, respect your elders you little shit. Second, no we’re not doing so great, and third, why the fuck are you two here?”

“Oh, because you got captured intentionally,” Natasha says, and Steve coughs, finally sitting up again with his back pressed against the wall to keep him upright.

“Can we not do this? Until we figure out how to get out of here, it might be a good idea to just focus on surviving.”

The others trade glances, shrugging. “Yeah, okay,” Peter says, seconds before the door opens and a woman comes in carrying what looks like a tool box, smiling.

“Ooh, are we building something? I was in robotics club, I can help!” Peter says cheerily, and the woman laughs while Bucky and Nat glare daggers at Peter, silently willing him to shut up.

“Cute, he’s so excited to get to work. But I’m a bit of a traditionalist, and I like to think ladies go first,” the woman says, turning to Natasha. “So, the option goes to you. I’ve got a plan for these tools, and I can either work with you or the kid. What’s your choice?”

“Me,” Natasha says without hesitating, and Peter whines.

“Aww, come on, Nat, don’t steal all my fun.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You’re like 13, so shut the fuck up.”

“Actually, the quote is ‘I’m 11, so shut the fuck up,’ but that was close. Besides, I’m 16, so you’re wrong.”

The HYDRA agent laughs. “Family bickering, how adorable. We have work to do though, so let’s get to it.” She opens the toolbox, pulling out a wrench.

“The goal today is to learn how quickly your bodies heal, because all four of you have some very strange metabolisms. For this particular part of the experiment, I get to be creative. I’ll admit, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t let the kid do it, I wanted to hear him scream. Please resist, I really want to hit him.”

The agent grabs Natasha’s left leg, squaring up the wrench and swinging it into Natasha’s knee, shattering the bone. Natasha bites down on her scream, only letting out a small whimpering noise, and the agent sighs.

“See, you’re ruining my fun. This is why I like the kid better.”

The agent grabs Natasha’s right arm, smashing at her elbow twice until there’s a sickening crunch and Nat’s arm is bent the wrong way, Natasha actually screaming in the process. “You’re going to fucking die,” she gasps, and the agent laughs.

“Some day, sure, but not today.” She digs in the toolbox, pulling out a set of pliers.

“So, how long do you think it’ll take for your hands to be manicurable again?” she asks, and Natasha stares at the pliers, eyes wide.

“I don’t…”

“Hey! Why not mess up mine? My nails could use a good trim,” Bucky tries, but the agent just laughs.

“You already got to play the game once today, you don’t get to take her fun away.” The agent uses the pliers to get a hold of Natasha’s thumb nail, yanking the nail out quickly and efficiently, and Natasha lets out a sob, staring at the blood dripping from the wound.

The agent pauses. “Ooh, I just had an idea.” She grabs Natasha’s jaw, prying her mouth open and using the pliers to reach in and rip out one of Natasha’s molars, quickly pulling her hand out as Natasha screams. “Yeah, that’s pretty, let’s keep doing that. Do you think you can regrow teeth?”

Natasha shakes her head, clenching her mouth shut even as she winces at the pain in the back of her mouth. “No, please,” she says softly, and the woman sighs.

“Fine, fine. We’ll find something else.” She digs through the toolbox and pulls out a box cutter, grinning. “Hmm. I’ll make you a deal. This can be the last part, but only if you let me pull two more teeth. Deal?”

Peter watches in horror, pulls at his bonds. “Hey, no, I might be able to regrow them! Why not test on me? It’ll be fun, come on, I promise!”

The agent shakes her head. “Nope, not your turn kid. As much as I wish it was. Well, Romanova?”

Natasha hesitates, considers her options, then opens her mouth. The agent grins, picks up the pliers. “See, you’re smart, I admire that.” She pulls out one of Natasha’s top canine teeth and one of her bottom incisor teeth, gathering the teeth in a small pile on the floor. “Oh, I’m definitely making a necklace out of those later.”

She picks up the box cutter. “Now let’s see, I’m not a very good artist, but I’m sure we can make this work.” She cuts the lower half of Natasha’s shirt apart carelessly, paying no attention to the stray cuts that dig into Natasha’s stomach as she moves the fabric aside, leaving Natasha in a modified crop top.

She carves the box cutter into Natasha’s stomach, tsking when Natasha flinches away. “You’re ruining my drawing, hold still.” When she’s done, she leans back, revealing the HYDRA logo sloppily carved into Natasha’s stomach. “Beautiful. We can see how those cuts heal, and then I want one last thing for us to look at.”

She extends the blade of the box cutter as far as it will go, then plunges it into Natasha’s collar bone, laughing when Natasha cries out, tears streaming down her face.

“Cute.” The agent yanks the blade out, wiping it clean on her pants and placing everything back in the tool box. She stands, walking back to the door. “That’s it for today, but tomorrow, the kid gets to choose! Until then, sleep well, you’ll need it.”

The door shuts, and everyone looks around at each other, terrified.

“So, what else do you think they have planned for us?” Peter asks, and Steve shrugs.

“Don’t know, but it can’t be good. I hate to say it, but she’s right. We’re going to need to rest of we have any chance of making it through this. We can figure out more later.”

Bucky, Steve, and Nat, exhausted from their injuries, fall asleep quickly, but Peter stays awake, staring at the floor, aware of the puddles of blood and vomit in his peripheral vision. Enhanced metabolisms or not, their bodies can’t take this, and eventually they’re going to die. Peter needs to find them a way to escape, and fast.

#my posts #my asks #my writing #anon ur my heart my soul and the love of my life #hydra #hydra trash party #yikes: the graphic novel #haha get it graphic bc the violence is really graphic-- anyway i'll see myself out #phoenix's writing

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thegreatestofheck · 6 years ago

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Flesh and Bone: Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Original Character

Summary: Not everything Hydra did had a purpose. Sometimes they tortured people and ruined lives just because they could. The kidnapping of Joana Kegley served no greater purpose than to help break in their newest experiment. Bucky Barnes remembered very little outside his own name, but he remembered a girl. He remembered a girl with a voice of reason, who spoke only the truth to him, who wanted nothing more than to keep him safe from himself. She did everything she could to stop her superiors, and he would do anything to get her back.

Warnings: Torture, a lot of angst, rape/sexual assault mentions (no actual scenes)

Joana

Had you asked Joana Kegley what animal she would assume herself to be, as a child she may have told you that she was a stray puppy. In the early 1940s, she may have told you that she was a gazelle.

However, were you to ask her after the war, she would have said that she was a wild dog, chained, foaming at the mouth, untamed, dangerous.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start from the beginning.

Joana and her twin sister, Winifred, were handed over to their Grandmother when they were twelve, in 1933. Their parents had no time to take care of two girls, for their eldest son was far more important to them. The twins didn't mind living in Brooklyn too much. They loved their Grams and her small clothing store.

It didn't take long for them to meet the crime fighting duo of Brooklyn, James Barnes and Steve Rogers.

Steve was small, his face gaunt and he couldn't always breathe. Joana feared that he didn't get enough to eat at home. (Whenever she brought him to her Grams, the elderly woman always made sure that the boy ate more than his due, no matter how much he assured her that he was fed at home). James Barnes, who was more commonly referred to as Bucky, was well built, strong and fast. He had a rugged handsomeness about him, even at 15 years old. The three became fast friends.

As their bond grew, there were generally two places you could find Joana; at her Gram's during the day and running the streets with her boys by night. By fourteen, she had come home with a black eye at least once a month.

"They bully him, Win. I can't just let them get away with it," she'd tell her sister as her Grams got the ice.

"You can't save everyone, Jo."

"Maybe not, but I can try."

Steve was missing. It wasn’t rare that this happened. Still, Bucky and Joana were running frantically around trying to find him. They passed by an alley. Joana glanced down it and skidded to a stop. There was Steve, on the ground, eye blacker than the night sky. Four boys stood around him, laughing. Joana ran into the alley, knowing before she got to Steve’s aid how this was going to end.

Without thinking, she curled her fist and socked the boy in the jaw. Bucky called her name from the end of the alleyway. The boy behind the one Jo hit stepped forward and punched her back.

"Jo!" Bucky stepped between her and the boy.

"Steve," Jo said, her voice soft, innocent, as if she hadn’t just been punched. "Get outta here."

He shook his ready, nose bleeding, eye purple.

"Go! Winnie can fix you up." With much reluctance, the young boy ran. Bucky seemed to be handling the other four boys rather well. He was trying to talk them down, telling them that Jo hadn't meant to hit the bully, but it was obvious they didn't believe him. The four surrounded him, ready to strike, but not before Jo jumped in, standing at Bucky's back, her fists raised.

"You hit like a girl," the big bully with the bleeding nose drawled angrily. Jo's lips twitched into a smile.

"Thanks."

"Jo, why do you always have to start trouble?" Bucky asked, watching two of the guys with a hard eye.

"These boys gotta know that I'm always ready to get my dress dirty. No one hurts my friends," she replied, "Not if I can stop it."

The big bully hit her across the face and she yelped. Bucky lunged at him, ready to throw some punches.

Luckily, before either of the kids could cause any more trouble, Winnie and Grams came running around the corner into the alley.

"Get away from my granddaughter!" The elderly woman yelled, waving her cane in the air. Steve ran up just behind them, out of breath and wheezing. Jo smiled at the sight of her family. The bullies surrounding her and Bucky started to back away from the Grandmother, who was still screaming at them. They ran further down the alley and were gone from sight. Jo grinned at her sister, who had the look of the devil on her face.

"You fat-headed knucklehead!" Winnie shouted, marching over to her sister and smacking the back of her head.

"Ow," Jo whined.

"What kind of crummy idea was that?" Her sister continued to rebuke her. Jo looked over at Bucky, who was making sure that Steve was alright, but still stifling laughs.

"I'm so tired of them hitting Steve, is all. I had it handled, honest," Jo told her sister, trying to get the girl to stop glaring. Grams walked over to Jo and pushed Winnie out of the way.

"Of course you did, Sweetheart. But you can't forget, Honey, people like them don't like people like us. Those white folks will take any chance they can get to hit a dark-skinned girl like yourself," Grams told her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"I know, Grams, but I had Bucky with me. I would have been fine," Jo said, smiling over at her two friends. Grams waved her fingers at the boys, who both smiled in response.

"Of course, hon. Next time, wait 'till your Grams gets there, then you can beat up the bullies," Grams said, planting a small kiss on her head. "Now, let's go get you cleaned up. Your eyes is already changing colors, and- look at your dress! It's got dirt all over it!"

She was a stray puppy, barking at everything that moved and not standing still for more than two seconds. She loved deeply and laughed loudly. She spoke out of turn and never help back her thoughts and ideas. She was untamed, uncontrollable. She was unstoppable.

It wasn't much longer after that when the woes of being a teenage girl caught up to young Joana.

She hadn't been allowed in school, so she wasn't much used to talking to boys outside of Bucky and Steve and those who wandered into Grams' shop. Winnie had been infatuated with Steve since they met and she had told Jo about all the different feelings that went along with it.

So when Joana was 15 and started to recognized those feelings in herself, she got scared.

There was a boy named Piper Johnson. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. His dark hair lay perfectly atop his head, bringing out the brilliant blue in his dazzling eyes. His Ma was a client of Grams', which meant that Jo saw Piper often enough. She never had the courage to talk to him. He was two years older than her and a football star at the school. She doubted that he even knew her name. She told Winnie that she had butterflies in her stomach every time she was near him and she never seemed to tear her gaze from him. But she didn't just tell her sister. She told Bucky too.

Bucky was all too willing to get Joana and Piper together. He stopped by Grams' once while Piper was there and somehow manipulated Jo into talking to him. It wasn't hard, actually, to get Jo to do something. A simple dare would do the trick. She digested her butterflies and put on a smile and went to talk to him. Bucky stood off to the side, being a friend of the boy, smiling with pride as they sparked a conversation.

Afterward, Joana believed that she and Piper had become friends, and she could thank no one except Bucky.

"No need to thank me, Baby Doll," he said, putting her in a headlock and ruffling her hair. "You plucked up your own courage and asked him. "You're really stuck on him, aren't you?" He released her from his grip and, still smiling, they walked side-by-side.

"Am not, you dead hoofer."

"Jo and her sugar daddy."

"He's not my sugar daddy!"

"Well, he's rich and he's your boy friend, a friend that is, in fact, a boy, so, yes, he's your sugar daddy."

"Shut up, Barnes."

Once Joana and Winnie had turned 15, it was clear to Grams that they would be smart and quite the cookies, so she made sure to brag about her girls to everyone she could. The twins would always protest, both turning a bright shade of pink. All the while, Bucky would feed Joana information about what kind of girl Piper liked.

"She's gentle and quiet and makes sure to mind her own business," Bucky said, "Nothing like you at all. I mean, you're loud and obnoxious and you mind everyone's business but your own."

Joana spent many a night thinking about all the things Bucky told her. So she made sure not to get her dress dirty. She stopped telling her stupid jokes and crazy stories and wild dreams. She got quieter, she listened better. Bucky thought she was sick.

"Why aren't you talking?" He'd ask.

"I'm practicing," would be her response.

"For what?"

"For when Piper's my boyfriend."

Bucky didn't like it, not one bit.

However, he continued to talk to Piper for her, because she was his friend and he wanted to see her happy. One day, he made a plan that would hopefully remind Joana that boys aren't everything. So he told her to hide away somewhere in her Grams' shop and he started talking to Piper.

"So, whatcha think of Joana?" He asked the boy.

"She's sweet," was his short reply.

"And she's quite a cookie," Bucky added, "Isn't she?"

"I guess so."

"Would you ever think about going out with her?"

Piper paused, thinking.

"Listen, Barnes, I know she's your friend and all, but nobody wants to date a black girl."

Joana’s heart stopped. She did everything she could not to cry. Bucky did all he could not to punch Piper then and there. Instead, he forced a smile.

"Well, if you won't date her, I guess I could take her out dancing."

"Yeah, you do that, Barnes."

Joana vowed to never have feelings for a guy again. She repressed every romantic emotion towards anyone she met, including her two best friends. Winnie, being the smarter of the two, had been allowed into school, despite her skin color. Joana was left alone at Grams, learning to read and write as best she could. After Piper's proclamation of 'truth', Jo went back to the dirty dresses and loud talking, but there were times when she still found herself not telling stories and not telling jokes and filtering what words she said.

By the time she was 17, Joana was almost as smart as her sister. With her ambition and drive, along with the help of her friends and Winnie, she learned quickly and efficiently, but she denied all requests for her to join a school. She wanted to stay with her Grams and help around the shop. By the time World War II rolled in, she had matured quite well, no longer punching people at random or calling people names because she felt like it. She learned that there were times when talking was called for and when being quiet and listening was far more appropriate. She smiled and laughed. She was free and didn't care what people thought of her. She was a professional.

She was a horse in the wind, a gazelle leaping through meadows. She was graceful and gleeful and elegant. She was all around gay, but never forgot her defensiveness when it came to her friends. She spoke out against injustice and stood against those who wished to drag her down.

She was an immovable force, and Bucky Barnes was terribly in love with her.

#ongoing #fanfiction #oc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #winter soldier #winter soldier x oc #marvel #prologue #steve rogers #captain america #mcu #avengers

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trashpandaorigins · 7 years ago

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Groot Steve Rocket Bucky Scenes from a Life: First, Do No Harm

From the team that brought you The Shrapnel in Your Heart, who really should have had their Tumblr messenger apps taken away by now, comes an intimate portrayal of a retired life of leisure, except for when it’s not. Based on the ridiculous head-canon that Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky all live together in a New York City apartment after Infinity War. From misadventures, pranks, and drinking shenanigans to harrowing reckonings of their past, Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky will eventually carve out an odd little family for themselves. That is, if they don’t kill each other first. A series of incorrect quotes, flash fics and funny scenes/dialogues. Lots of humor and fluff, some angst….okay, moderate amounts of angst.

Read the entire GSRB Scenes from a Life Series on A03

Check out the work of my partner in crime at Skarabrae_stone on A03 and follow them here @captaintoomanybattles

Note: This fic is based off an actual dream I had. As soon as I woke up I told captaintoomanybattles/skarabrae_stone and began debating if I should write it out as a fic. That debate lasted less than two hours. Some gaps had to be filled in but most of it is exactly how it appeared in my unsuspecting subconscious, including the dialogue. I still left some things in ambiguity (ignore the fact that they found a fully functioning yet abandoned hydra lab) because well, it’s based on a dream. Note to self: I REALLY need to stop drinking that herbal tea before bed…

*Warning: This fic contains EXPLICIT discussions of torture, animal abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and ptsd.*

Cold

Restraints

Can’t. Breathe.

Bucky bit his tongue, the gag in his mouth threatening to make him heave. Not like that would do much good. He’d only end up spilling the contents of his stomach all over himself. His sides still throbbing from where the Hydra agent ran that sharp electric staff through his ribs. This couldn’t be happening, no. I got away...Steve, he got me free. We---

“We are sorry to interrupt your little life,” the doctor before him sneered. “But you were so, malleable. We needed to observe your programming.”

Bucky tried to struggle against the chilling restraints that wrapped around his shoulders and secured his torso. Arms locked to his sides.

The pale man’s voice spoke with a succulent satisfaction gleaming behind thick rimmed glasses. “You were quite the protagonist, very entertaining.”

“Oh good,” Bucky grated through his gag, “wouldn’t want to bore you.”

The doctor’s lips twitched, leaning forward. Chemicals flooded Bucky’s nose, tables, tinctures, pincers, knives, bright lights.

“Your time playing house is over, soldat.” He smiled, yellow teeth gleaming in the flickering fluorescent light.

Bucky stared at him, trying to calm his panicking mind. He flung himself against the restraints with what little mobility he could, a burning sensation pricking his body. He shifted his remaining arm at the heat, the arm that hadn’t been lost in the failed struggle to get away. Bucky tensed his fist, throwing his weight against the metal contraption and sucked in a breath as he fell forward, wincing with the impact of the floor.

The doctor stumbled back and Bucky looked up just in time to see a rain of gunfire explode from above. He twisted, scrambling to get up, watching as Rocket fired his gun, perched on top of the restraint chair, it’s metal bars now smoking at the edges. Bucky got to his feet, shaking with nausea. Fight! His mind screamed over the raccoonoid’s weaponry. He made to charge forward at the agents but halted, exhaustion seeped in his bones. No! Promised Steve….promised Steve, no more fighting.

“Barnes, I’m out of ammo, let’s go!”

Bucky didn’t miss the tremor in Rocket’s voice and whipped around to see the hydra doctor running forward, scalpel in hand. Threat identified, priority disarm, kill. Bucky’s mind instantaneously ready to spring. He sucked in a breath, hissing through the stabbing in his side, limbs heavy. Don’t fight, not like that. Not anymore. Once I start, I won’t stop. He’d learned that the hard way. Too many times having seen the look in Steve’s wide blue eyes after a euphoric spout of unintended violence. Never again.

A hissing screech tore through his ears and Bucky pivoted to see Rocket leap from his prefered perching position on the restraining chair, to land on the hydra agent’s head. Gun fire cracked in Bucky’s ears as more armed guards rushed in, firing. Metal table, shield. This time his previous conditioning was productive, Bucky nodded in agreement to himself, just like Steve, he reminded himself, picturing his boyfriend using his shield expertly for offense or defence. Bucky scrambled low to pick up the overturned table and swung it towards the guards, standing between the bullets and where Rocket clawed madly at the hydra agent’s face. Bullet’s riqueshed off the metal, Bucky holding it fast against the pressure.

Something hit his back and he twisted to catch himself, the bullets stopped. Bucky’s stomach dropped, head spinning even as the guards grabbed him. Lead filled his limbs, vision swimming. Hissing, chattering. Footsteps. Snarling. He twisted over his shoulder as four more guards came clambering in, two of them taking up their stations on either side of him. He swayed where he stood, colors blurring together.

“Get it on, get it on! Watch for the teeth!” Voices snarled.

“Barnes!” Rocket barked.

Bucky shook his head, trying to dispel the fevered dizziness from his wretched mind.

The raccoonoid twisted his neck with such force Bucky worried it would snap clean off. The doctor held the small animal by the scruff of his fur, dangling, vulnerable. Bucky had learned quickly that despite his size, Rocket was a forced to be reckoned with; his endless supply of firearms and bombs alone were enough to make a foe of any size cower. Let alone the animal’s genius abilities to improvise lethal machines with the scarcest of resources on a moment’s notice. Yet stripped of all weaponry and nothing to improvise with, Rocket was still a 4 foot tall, 20 pound creature. Rocket snapped his teeth as gloved hands attempted to lift a muzzle to his jaws. For all his scrappiness, Bucky knew what Rocket knew: it was over.

“B..Barnes what the ..f..flark are you waiting for?! Get your ass outta here!”

He could have laughed, all this time living with Steve has really rubbed off on him. Bucky attempted to muscle forward, held fast by the hydra agents.

“S...stop!” He coughed, watching as Rocket’s mouth began to foam, tail thrashing madly as the scientist let him dangle. Helpless, hopeless, loathing. Feelings Bucky knew all too well rose up like black waves inside of him. Consuming and drowning. “Stop...it!” He winced as the guards yanked him back. “Rocket!” The raccoonoid’s ears now pinned back to his skull, claws ferociously swiping at the muzzle the agents forced around his head.

“Barnes,” foam flew from the raccoonoid’s jaws. “GET OU..ARRRGGHHMMM”

Bucky’s insides twisted, watching them secure the cruel contraption over Rocket’s head, clamping his jaws shut though he continued to fume.

“Let him go,” Bucky whispered, all fight gone from him. “Please, let him go.”

The doctor turned, grinning. “I can’t let it go Soldat,” he said. “We need the parts.”

Parts? Bucky’s mind raced to try and comprehend but his consciousness drifted sluggishly. The scientist turned, one of the guards plucked some odd claw device from the table and fitted it to the doctors free hand. “The hardware is old, but some of it can be salvaged, no doubt.”

Bucky shifted arduously, hitching a breath as a balled fist gutted his middle. He pitched forward, gasping only to be hauled to his knees. Bucky squinted through his bruised face across the grey concrete room where the scientist held Rocket. What….what is he….

Bucky startled as the man plunged the three pronged claw into the raccoonoid’s bristling back. Razor sharp blades punctured the flesh on either side of Rocket’s upper spine and yanked. Rocket’s eyes went wide, an agonizing animalistic shriek making the man’s skin prickle. The raccoonoid arched back, then buckled. Thick blood spattered the floor, nausea hit Bucky again jerking at the snapping of bones. The claw retracted, gripping something imbedded in raw flesh. Rocket’s body spasmed, eyes larger than Bucky had ever seen them. The doctor frowned, ceasing his motion and pulled again, met with resistance. Thin veins and tissue stuck taunt like the strings of a puppet from the raccoonoid’s open back.

Bucky swallowed, any hope he had of containing the contents of his stomach lost as he doubled over, vomiting at the sight.

“I forgot how deep these were inserted.” He was mildly aware of the doctor’s observation.

He coughed, heaving at the sight of the device pulling free. The odd claw twisted, provoking another spasm from Rocket. A dreadful gurgle came from the raccoonoid as blood now seeped from clamped jaws, dripping from the muzzle.

“One more try,” the doctor hissed and yanked mercilessly. With a final series of snaps and crunches the device came free. Arms around Bucky tightened as he was pulled to his feet. A thick metal panel clutched in the hand of the doctor, attached to it were four tangled, bloody wires with bolts attached to each end. Rocket’s head lolled, eyes rolling backward.

“No,” Bucky wheezed.

The doctor set down the cybernetics, flipping Rocket over unceremoniously and pulled at the two remaining implants just below the raccoonoid’s collarbones. Bucky held his breath, waiting for Rocket to squirm or cry out, but the creature only lay immobile. A sickening crack indicated a broken clavicle and the two pieces were ripped out with what appeared to be less effort.

The doctor smiled. “There, that’s better.” He dropped Rocket, who landed with a thud, limbs and tail flailing.

Bucky stared at the growing pool of blood seeping from the creature. Stirring his own fury. Swore I wouldn’t fight. Bucky trembled as the doctor stomped over to him, still holding Rocket’s implants. Breathe, just breathe, he reprimanded himself in Steve’s own voice. Firm fingers gripped Bucky’s chin, twisting him to stare into those malicious eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpered, longing for home. What would Steve do...Steve... that name was a prayer and that prayer ignited his heart. Bucky peered over the man’s shoulder to where Rocket lay. Bucky met the eyes of the doctor.

“We have you now soldat, and this time we will not let you get away. You will be the perfect, obedient…”

Bucky grabbed at his throat, his fingers wrapping easily around the flabby flesh and squeezing. The guards moved to shock him but he spun, disable, disarm, destroy. He kicked outward, grunted and grabbed the electric staff, swinging madly. Blue lightning fizzed and bubbled, reckless adrenaline fueled him, spiking at the sound the first agent made as he fell to the ground clutching his stomach. Bucky thrust the staff downward, into the man’s face. Behind, his senses screamed, the man leaned down grabbed the guards gun, spun and shot bullet echoing. The guard behind him fell. Two down, four more to go.

With conditioned effectiveness, Bucky charged the fourth agent, who was fumbling with his gun.

“St...stand down!” His monotone order went through one ear and out the other as Bucky seized his wrist, snapping it and thrusting his head forward, hitting the man’s skull with his own.

The man’s head drooped; Bucky shot him in the chin. He grasped the heavy weight before the man collapsed and turned him around, shielding himself from the fire of the remaining guards with the body of this one. A tried and true motion. Shameful, no. Necessary. Bucky rushed upon them, pushing the two guards against the concrete wall.

They swung, something sharp rattled his arm, and Bucky momentarily blinked away the white pain.

“Fuck!” he thought, hitting the ground only to roll, kicking up at the guard who made a grab for the staff.

Bucky’s own instincts were quicker; years of being a super soldier would do that to a person, he supposed with grim amusement. The prod ran through the man’s chest. Bucky pulled himself upward, letting four more rounds fire on the second guard. The man let out a shocked noise of pain, but died before he hit the ground. Bucky’s entire body trembled, facing the last guard. He smiled. His heart screamed at what he was doing; his mind, however, reveled in it.

“I...I have your arm!” The soldier held the appendage, shaking.

Bucky let down the electric staff, stomping over to the sweating man and wrenched the limb from the man’s weak hold. It slid rather neatly into the socket, and he smirked with satisfaction.

“Thanks,” he muttered, flexing the limb.

Before the guard could reach for his weapon Bucky slammed his metal fist into the man’s throat. He coughed, taking a tentative step backward. Now! Bucky reached out again, this time with both hands and quickly snapped the man’s neck. The same blood curdling crack as Rocket’s bones. The guard crumbled and Bucky turned. The patient will see you now, doctor.

Bucky approached the cowering man, who cowered in the corner. “The parts, where are they?”

Bucky crouched to the man’s level, holding the gun to the pulsing veins of the man’s forehead.

The doctor shook his head, teeth biting his own lip so it drew blood. Ammonia and fear wafted off of his pathetic form, burgeoning Bucky’s violent euphoria.

“Fine,” he growled. Crossing over to Rocket, Bucky stooped, gently removing the creatures muzzle and crossed over to the doctor once more. “Where.Are.The.Parts?”

“Soldat…”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the man’s head in his hands, easily thwarting the flailing limbs and weak kicked as he buckled the straps around his head. The man garbled, blood flecking his lips and tongue as he moaned.

“The parts?” Bucky ordered, still holding the man fast.

The doctor cringed, gagging, body heaving.

The device. Bucky picked it up from the floor, fixing the claw to his own metal arm.

“You may think what you’ve done to me is a miracle. You thought you created the perfect weapon for your games,” he hissed, “but you were wrong.” He crossed behind the doctor, yanking him upward to his feet. “I was never, and will never be one of you.”

With that, Bucky drove the claw into the man’s back. He let loose a savage sound as the razors sliced through flesh and tissue. With a few swift pulls Bucky fell back, the bone releasing. Blood whipped across him, metalic in his mouth. It sent his heart hammering with need, kill. Bucky yanked a final time and the doctor deflated, Bucky dropped him. The noise shattered the frenzy. W...what….Steve…? Where...what have I done? He let go of the clump of bone and flesh and cloth he held balled in his fists and stepped over the doctor’s form, taking the muzzle off.

“N….no..s...solda...soldat,” the doctor rasped, “you…..a….are...one...one of ...us…”

Bucky’s breath hitched, watching the smile curl on the man’s lips, the moment the life left his eyes. Bucky stood, surveying the area. Dead guards….blood...weapons...the doctor...I...I did this..? His stomach rolled, and he felt his knees give out from under him. Steve! Bucky looked up, trying to determine any evidence of his soulmate’s presence, though he realized with a flood of relief, there was none. You didn’t hurt him.

Shaking, Bucky got to his feet. The door’s wide open? Get out! He made his way toward the exit and stopped, foot catching on something. It moaned.

“Rocket!” Bucky cried, the memories coming back as he woke from his red-stained fog. Bucky knelt once more to the hard stone floor.

Rocket lay still, sides barely moving. His eyes pinched closed. “I said I was...g…” Blood bubbled from Rocket’s mouth, staining his teeth. He swallowed painfully. “Get your arm. D….didn’t really mean…...it like..t...this.”

Bucky slid his hand under Rocket’s head gently, trying to scoop him up. “Hey, I gave you the arm remember?” Rocket tried to muster a laugh. It came out a rattle and his head went heavy in Bucky’s hold.

“...I’m gonna get you out of here,” Bucky breathed, precariously lifting the raccoonoid off the floor. Rocket hissed in pain, buckling and slumped back down. “Hang on,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

“If you’d just,” Rocket gagged, “r...run they would’ve...k...k...killed me quicker.”

Tumultuous guilt sunk in the man’s heart. He’s right. Clear wetness pricked at the edges of Bucky’s eyes, first one then the other. Bucky settled Rocket into the crook of his arm, stepping carefully. The raccoonoid stiffened, letting out a choking strangled breath.

“Rocket just, just hold on.” Bucky pleaded, biting his lip.

Rocket shuddered, eyes rolling back, going still. Bucky’s stomach dropped, running over to the blood stained counter. Stitches, scissors. He rummaged for them through the drawers and began to sew Rocket’s back. Being in the army, even as far back as WWII, had made his impromptu surgical skills hard to forget.

“Rocket, shhh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here, just….” He bit off the extra string and looked down at his crude job. Better this then nothing. “Raccoon, I swear if you die on me!”

A sudden inflate of the raccoonoid’s chest made Bucky grin. Nice to know that tactic works, he mused. It wasn’t much but it was a response. He tucked Rocket in his arms once more and, lifting a spare gun off one of the guards, Bucky ran through the tunnels, gun first, guilt later.

At last fresh air filled Bucky’s lungs with hope, stumbling out into the forest. “STEVE!” He ran, as far away from the base as he could. “Steve!”

“BUCK!”

Bucky’s tears returned again as Steve emerged from the trees, skin ashen, eyes wide. Bucky flung himself into the other man’s arms, breathing in that scent of sweat and good intentions. Steve, I’m so sorry….Steve. Steve’s hands gripped Bucky’s shoulder’s tightly. It was a nightmare...it was just a nightmare.

“Bucky, shhh. It’s alright. I’m here, you’re alright.”

“No, no,” Bucky found his voice for the first time since the ordeal. “Hydra...they...they captured us...they let you rescue me, Steve!” He breathed, slowly retracting his embrace. “They just watched the whole time….for...r..research! They…”

Large footsteps made both men break away as Groot came barreling towards them. “I am Groot!”

Bucky revealed Rocket from his protective hold, offering the raccoonoid to him as though he were a peace treaty.

Groot faltered before him, glanced down at Rocket and ever so tenderly took the raccoonoid in his arms. “I am Groot,” he cooed, having eyes only for the small creature. “I am…”

Bucky gasped as brittle wood wrapped around his body, lifted him up off the ground, and slammed him against a tree.

“Groot!” Steve protested, horrified.

“I AM GROOT!”

Bucky clawed for breath, staring into those large eyes. For as long as he’d known the tree-like giant, Groot had been nothing but sweet, patient, and doting. What Groot lacked in understandable words he made up for in hugs and flower crowns. So many flower crowns. Bucky had never seen the flora ever provoked to anger, not even at Rocket’s drunken debauchery, not even at his own slow learning when it came to ASL--a method Steve recommended they utilize to communicate with Groot in Rocket’s absence. But this-- Bucky tried to gather air, even as tight branches constricted against him. He kicked feebly. He’d never seen such savagery from Groot. He didn’t think it possible.

“I am Groot?!” Groot roared, Bucky’s hair ruffling with the force of it.

“No, he’s not dead!” Steve guessed, looking to Bucky for confirmation.

“I am Groot!” You….you let this happen!?

Disappointment. Bucky needed no translation for it. He forced himself to relax, even as thorns began to grow from Groot’s branches and upon the flora’s shoulders.

“I am Groot?” How could you?

“Groot, listen to me,” Steve begged. “Let Bucky go. I know you're scared, but this won’t help Rocket.” Groot paid no mind, his sap stained eyes boring into Bucky.

He trusted me, the man realized; the flora’s hold on him did not lighten but he set Bucky’s feet down to the earth again. Trusted me to take care of Rocket. Bucky’s gaze shifted to Steve, if it’d been reversed...if I’d entrusted Groot to go with Steve…

“Groot, I’m sorry,” he swallowed. “I...I failed you.” He looked where Rocket lay and felt his heart twist. “I failed both of you.” Failed Steve.

Groot’s eyes did not waver for a moment. Hard and cold, unnerving from a creature usually so warm. “I am Groot,” What will you do about it? Thorns pricked Bucky’s sides and stomach, stinging.

“Groot!” Steve beseeched, “Let. Him. Go!”

Bucky looked to Rocket once more. An image of himself freshly captured by Hydra. Groot stared at him unblinking, as if into Bucky’s tattered soul, but slowly unwound his vines, taking his arm back to hold Rocket closely to his chest. He leaned down, nuzzling his head against the dull-looking fur.

“Buck.” Steve turned to him. “We have to do something.”

Bucky nodded, turning to Groot, solemn.

The affection dropping from the flora’s eyes once more replaced by murderous intent born from love and ….betrayal .

“I have an idea,” Bucky admitted, “but none of you are going to like it….” He looked down at his quivering, bloody hands. Me least of all.

II.

“Will this work?” Steve’s skeptical gaze landed on the leaking pipe overhead.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Bucky commented, scanning the abandoned lab. That gurney, his breath caught beholding the human-sized contraption he had been locked into. He winced, focusing on Rocket. Somehow the sight of his mutilated little friend was, in some repulsive way, not as terrible as that fucking gurney. Though he hated to admit it to himself.

He rummaged through the grey cabinets and examined the tools scattered about the counter. It’ll do. “Steve?”

Bucky looked up at the blonde-haired man wheeling the gurney out of the room roughly. He tossed his love an understanding look, and Bucky nodded, thankful.

“So,” Steve planted his hands on his hips and addressed them in a way Bucky could have laughed at for all its natural expertise. “He’s stable for now, relatively.” Bucky could almost see the gears turning in his mind. “Our main prerogative is to...”

“I have to do to him, what they did to me.” Bucky looked down at where Rocket lay in Groot’s defensive hold, the uneven movements of his side the only indication of life.

Steve’s hand touched his arm. Bucky twinged. After all this time? Why do I still flinch? Potent self-loathing coursed through him but he stifled it, instead meeting Steve with a grim face. “They tore out his main control unit,” he explained. “If his cybernetics are anything like mine, it’s not going to be pretty. But it can be done.”

Steve nodded, one finger subtly stroking his shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”

This time a real smile came from Bucky, for the first time since their capture. The ever helpful Steve Rogers, always wanting to be of service.

True to his nature, Steve gathered all manner of equipment needed, arranging it beside on the steel table.

“That should be good enough,” Bucky inspected the scalpels, slicing pain, skin opening, blood, no. Don’t think of that. Cutting, ripping, pulling, gutting, no! He tightened his grip on the lithe blade and set it down, tearing his gaze from the array of brutal instruments.

“I found this,” Steve commented. Bucky turned to where the man wheeled in a smaller gurney, this one outfitted with four metal clamps and an extra one besides... For a tail, Bucky realized, and gestured for Steve to bring it closer. I’m putting him in this….trapping him. The way they trapped me… “you are one of us soldat.” He gulped, steeling himself, and scrounged what little assurance he could muster.

“Groot,” he breathed, “I need to take Rocket.”

The flora colossus scowled and stepped back, shaking his head.

“Groot,” Steve placed a delicate hand on the brittle wood. “You need to let Bucky see, he’s going to help him.”

The flora looked to him, bewildered.

“ You can hold onto him, and he'll die in your arms. Or, you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call. ” Bucky clenched his teeth against his impatience. Despite his limited vocabulary, the flora colossus was not dumb.

Groot only glared, but Bucky pressed on. “I seem to remember that sort of thing already happened to you, hasn’t it? I doubt you’d want to go through something like that again.”

“I am Groot,” the flora spat, searing eyes boring into him. He signed severely.

“He says…” Steve began, “He says that you have suffered enough to know there are things worse than death.”

Bucky glanced at the knives on the table, taunting him in their reflecting light. “Your call, but you better make it fast.”

Groot looked at Bucky, helpless rage threatening to shatter his bark. He looked down at Rocket for a moment, and Steve wordlessly patted his arm. Groot leaned down, tentatively touching his brow to that of the raccoonoid. Finally he relinquished his hold, and Bucky reached out, transferring the wounded creature with surprising grace.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, turning to place Rocket in the gurney. Several stitches on his back had already torn; dark dried blood crusted around those that remained intact. With the tightening of each strap and check of anaesthesia Bucky repressed images of pinched skin, of constricting pain, and mounting fear.

“I am Groot!” Groot made to shove Bucky aside but halted, Steve’s large arms hooking around him, pulling him back.

“Trust me Groot you do not want to see this,” Steve urged straining with all his might to drag the large flora out through the double doors.

Bucky glanced at him, those eyes he knew so well. I’ll be alright, Bucky tried to convey. I’ll be alright. Trust me.

His soulmate did not answer but nodded in affirmation and led Groot out, double doors swinging behind them.

Good. Relief temporarily lightened him as the footsteps faded down the hall. Steve should not see this either. Bucky plucked the scalpel from the table once more, holding it above Rocket’s torn back. He poised it with accuracy, the faces of the scientists behind his eyes. Don’t want him to see...how easy it is… Bucky bit his tongue, lowering the little instrument and setting it against the mess of flesh and stitches and fur.

“Forgive me,” he placated aloud, to Rocket? To Groot? To Steve? Whose forgiveness was he seeking? Doesn’t matter, I don’t deserve any of it no matter who it comes from. He let himself exhale as he drew the scalpel down opening Rocket’s back once more. Looks remarkably like my own, he recalled the first time he’d been opened. A canvas, that’s what the hydra agents called his body, a perfect blueprint for weapons capacity.

Buck set down the scalpel and looked, trying to recall those procedures he’d worked so hard to repress. If his cybernetics are anything like mine, then all of it is connected through the spine, he squinted in the flickering light at the thousands of tiny vien like silver wires.

“Soldat’s spine must be reinforced to support weight of artificial limb,” the grating voices in his head spoke. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter. “You are one of us soldat.”

No….no. I am not! He forced his eyes open once more, holding his breath as he squinted down at Rocket again. That was one arm, he thought. But Rocket was a raccoon turned weapon, made bipedal through multiple surgeries and changes to his skeletal structure. All four limbs would have had to be reinforced, Bucky’s reason spoke to him in the language of the hydra scientist. With two prongs he gently lifted the pink viscus muscle tissue. Tiny wires, he assumed of the razor thin silver fibers that wound through the soft tissue. They must have all been supported and gather together by that main control unit. Like the fuse box of a building. Bucky pried gently, startling backward, dropping the prongs as Rocket’s left foot kicked.

“Rocket?” He held his breath glancing with dreaded apprehension at the raccoonoid’s sides. Finally, they moved. Bucky picked up the tool slowly.

“You must be careful there,” the doctor’s words echoed, “the spinal cord is of the most complex components to the human body.” Excruciating pain, screaming at the peeling of flesh, the dribble of blood. cold metal. “A single prick could compromise the entire operation and we need him functional.”

Bucky tried again, looking down at the open back, what was fat and muscle and bone and hardware amalgamation of parts. They didn’t need a large panel with my enhancements, Bucky recalled glancing at the note pads he could see from the table where they tortured him. After the procedures became routine and mind and body learned to deal with the initial shock of them, he could sometimes, on a good day, retain consciousness long enough to make out their handwriting. Desperately trying to figure out what and why they were using him. Faces leering, smiling, fingers and pincers poking at his flesh, jabbing into who knows what. A twitch of the face there, a tweak of his natural arm there, laughter as they stuck him with their tools. Bucky grimaced against it, willing himself back to the task at hand.

If they could connect the metal and hardware directly to each other, or to his spine, there would be no need for an extra plating. He loomed close, the bright light illuminating Rocket’s insides. Hues of pinks, reds, a sack of something pink and quivering, a kidney? He held the pincers tight, two in each hand trying to connect a small wire frayed on one end to another, please let this work, he prayed to a god he had stopped believing in long ago. With scrupulous care, Bucky connected the wires, watching Rocket’s ears or limbs or tail for any reaction. Once again, nothing.

“That’s it,” he whispered, looking for the next series of wires he could connect. Each tiny thread disappeared into his body, though Bucky tried to trace each one as far as he could. “I’m going to try and repair these.”

He found another set of wires, each of these coming from the raccoonoid’s left leg. “ Stop it! What are you doing?” he would scream, but their vacant eyes never looked at him, never considered or spoke to him. It was only after the surgeries, when the psychological tests began that they addressed him.

“I’m not going to treat you like that,” he whispered. You already are, by doing this, you are one of them. The shame making him pull his bloody gloves from the mush of Rocket’s bloody back after repairing more of the wiring.

“This is for your own good, ” the raccoonoid grinned, his mind hallucinating. Bucky tried to get free from the table, restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles. No….no!

“You of all people know there are things worse than death.” Groot’s words roared in his mind.

Bucky sprang backward, slamming into the concrete wincing as the white pain flashed through the back of his head. He looked down, fingers shaking, stained with blood. “You are one of us, soldat.” Bucky closed his eyes, beating back the harrowing memories while he slid down the wall, drawing his knees to his body. They were right, Groot was right. I can’t...I can’t do this. He looked through fevered eyes at where Rocket lay, passive. At his mercy.

Steve’s words stirred in Bucky’s heart, “we aren’t asking for forgiveness, and I’m way past asking for permission.” The fate of the universe had been at stake then. How is Rocket any different than that? How are any of us? He is Groot’s universe. And he was, inexplicably, part of Bucky’s too. Never worthy of anything, nothing more than a weapon. A means to someone else’s ends. Each of them had believed it. Each of them created because they were meaningless. Having died, having been born a rodent. Bucky drew himself up, trying not to look at his stained gloves. I’ve already asked for forgiveness, but he had yet to give himself permission to do this thing. Hell, Groot hadn’t really permitted it either and if he knew Rocket at all, the raccoonoid probably would’ve refused too.

If he makes out of this I’ll argue about it with him later. Bucky tried to make himself imagine it while he got back to work.

“We are creating something beautiful here,” the doctor encouraged while Bucky grit his teeth and wept.

“I am creating something beautiful here,” Bucky whispered, hovering the scalpel over Rocket again. “I’ll do you better than what they did to us.” His voice hitched at the lump in his throat. “As much as I can, I promise.” It was a thin promise, one he was pretty sure he couldn’t keep, but between the bouts of flashbacks and the spouting of blood and the fear he swallowed Bucky managed to repair four more cybernetic connectors and sow together a severed tendon. The man swayed on his feet several hours later, wiping sweat from his face, a trail of dark blood streaking down in its wake.

Knock. knock. Bucky tore his eyes from the vertebrae he was fixing and looked up through his haze of fatigue.

“How’s he…?” Steve stopped, taking in the scene before him.

Bucky could only guess at what he was seeing: The ex-assassin standing in a grim stone lab, tools and gauze, wires from damaged cybernetics hanging out with bloody cables from the back of a small hapless victim while he, Bucky Barnes, stood over it all, eyes glossy and arms painted in hues of agony.

“Bucky?”

Bucky looked up. Threat. Captain America. Kill. No! Steve….no. Not one of them. No! Bucky let go of the scissors he held, letting them rest against the wall of Rocket’s back.

“Steve,” he whispered. Take me away from this place.

As always, Steve seemed to read his mind. “It’s been over 12 hours Buck, you need to rest.”

“I….c..can’t...I have to…” Steve laid his hand on top of Bucky’s and closed around it.

The warmth traveling up his arm to his heart instantly slowed his breath.

“He’ll be alright for a few hours. Let his body heal on its own for now.”

Bucky nodded. “I just have to--” but Steve intercepted, slipping on gloves and gently wrapping gauze around the open wound.

He checked that Rocket’s heart rate and breathing were stable, and gently led Bucky away towards the door. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, seeing himself in that gurney. So many times they left him lying there. Exposed to the elements. Blood running down his back, burning flesh and the ghostly presence of the electric tools still inside of him for the night. Lost and alone in this same place.

Steve pushed open the doors and Bucky held his breath as Groot stood up, instantly looming over him with an expectant gaze.

Exhausted, Bucky explained, “He’ll live.”

“I am Groot?” He signed something, to quick for Bucky to follow.

Bucky’s raw fingers ached to answer but thankfully, Steve beat him to it.

“He wants to know if he can see him.”

“You won’t like it, but you can if you want, just...don’t touch him or anything else in there.”

Groot nodded but did not make to go through the lab doors just yet.

Steve said something to the flora colossus that Bucky could not hear, and Bucky resigned himself to passively following his boyfriend down to where he’d found an adequate bathroom and sleeping place.

“Do you want to shower?” Steve wondered, gesturing to the towels he’d found.

Bucky shook his head, only stripping off his filthy clothes down to the boxers.

Steve nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist and took him to sit in the small room. Bucky’s knees buckled the moment he got to the uncomfortable bed. He closed his eyes, visions of Rocket lying torn apart etched into his lids. His own mechanical arm, holding Steve and tearing into his own back as he howled in agony. Him leaning over Steve as he struggled in restraints, scissors cutting into his flesh. A grin full of teeth, soldat, soldat, soldat. Bucky put his hands to his head and stopped, dark blood embedded under his nails. Filling in the lines of his skin. The blood of his friend, the blood of the only creature who had gone through something similar to him, arguably because of him.

Steve knelt down in front of him, bearing a wet cloth. In the sliver of moonlight from the narrow window, the water gleamed as Steve silently wrung it over Bucky’s hands. Absolved. For a moment. The water dribbled over his flesh, washing away the blood, the guilt, the embarrassment. Steve’s warm hands took his and rubbed them dry, lulling Bucky’s mind into quiet contemplation.

“I’m one of them,” Bucky rasped, tears pressing against his eyes.

Steve shook his head, hands coming up to cradle either side of his face as he moved to sit beside him. “No, you aren’t, Buck.”

Bucky looked at him, those eyes so blue and so full of promise, of carefully cultivated hope despite all they’d been through. But equally tinged with hurt, with anger. With the messiness of emotions unbecoming of The Captain America.

“If you were anything like them, you would have let Rocket to die in that lab.”

Bucky nodded, the doctor’s words about “spare parts,” grating across his brain.

In the darkness, the outlines of Steve’s body leaned towards him and Bucky sucked in the breath of his kiss. How he longed to drink in all of that which was Steve Rogers. Selfish, maybe. Unwanted, probably not. Bucky kissed him back before drawing away for a moment.

“I couldn’t fight, Steve, I….I promised I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to kill again.” He looked away, towards the depthless dark of the floor. “I didn’t want to remember how good I was at it. How there’s a part of me…” He shivered despite Steve’s arms winding around him. “...that enjoys it.”

“James, look at me.” Steve’s fingers gently touched his face, turning him to look. “I would have done the same thing. Without a second thought.” He smiled sadly, eyes searching for Bucky to tell the truth.

Bucky sucked in a deep breath, the smell of his soulmate mixed with the damp of the concrete walls. He felt his spine seem to melt, leaning into Steve and laying his head on his lap, letting his feet tangle off the edge of the utilitarian bed. Steve cradled him, barricading him from the terrors both inside and out.

“You really are a shield you know,” Bucky smirked, letting his fingers run over Steve’s arms.

Steve laughed against him, and he closed his eyes to savor it.

“Haha. You’re hysterical, Buck.”

“I mean it!”

Steve planted a kiss on his head. “I know.”

They lay in the dark together, letting the sounds of their silence speaking for them. Bucky breathed to the tune of the dripping pipes and felt Steve’s hold on him, grounding him to whatever sanity he still had.

“I’m torturing him, Steve….I….I stand there working, and…”

“You went through it yourself, it’s the only reason you are able to save him.”

“No,” Bucky whispered, “it’s not that...I...I enjoy seeing it split open. It’s like it’s every Hydra agent, doctor and scientist who ever hurt me. Like I’m somehow getting revenge on them by what I’m doing to it.”

Steve’s arms did not retract their hold, but he looked down at Bucky. “ Him , Buck,” he reminded gently. “Rocket. What you’re doing to him .Which is saving his life.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, looking at Steve.

“ I….I forgot.” His voice broke, “Oh god, Steve,” the warmth drained from him. “I forgot,” he let out a choked sob.

Steve only kissed him again, stroking his cheek. “You remembered, that’s what matters. That is why you aren’t one of them. You never will be. The only person you belong to is yourself.” Steve grinned, eyes like the water under the moon. “...and to me.”

That infectious love burrowed it’s way into Bucky’s most ineffable fears, by some miracle making him believe the man.

“That’s right,” he whispered, kissing Steve back.

Steve pulled him close to his chest and lay down. They held each other close in that night, and for a moment, Bucky forgave himself. For everything.

Bucky didn’t want him to enter.

Bucky said he wouldn’t like what he saw.

Bucky said not to touch him.

Bucky said he’d keep him safe.

“You can hold him and he’ll die in your arms, or you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call.”

Your call. That was what seperated Bucky from the people who tortured him. Groot pushed open the doors to the lab and saw what it was that Bucky had done. Bloody tools lay on a tray. Each one had been used. Sharp smells of ammonia and anesthesia and rubbing alcohol. Rocket lay on his stomach, strapped into some odd metal contraption. Groot leaned down, looking at his friend’s face. Eyes closed, mouth muzzled with something that kept him so deeply asleep the flora colossus was worried for a moment that he was in fact dead. But no, one careful touch to his side and Groot sighed with relief. Somehow still alive. Like Bucky.

Bucky was the only one in this whole galaxy who could truly understand what they had done to Rocket. More so than even Groot himself. The knowledge of it a rot in his proverbial heart. Not jealousy; Groot would never envy another living thing having to go through such harrowing torture. It was something else, a vacant indisputable fact, like the leaves dying in autumn.

The flora gently undid the straps, holding the gauze that had been carefully placed around Rocket’s back. He lifted the little raccoonoid down as he sat cross legged on the hard floor with nothing to root down into, keeping the gas mask on despite everything within him that screamed to remove it. He held Rocket to him, feeling the soft fur against his wooden arms. He stroked the top of the raccoonoid’s head between the ears in the usual rhythmic motion. If only he could save him the way he’d saved the rest of the rest of the Guardians so long ago. He’d save them all if he could. Steve….Bucky. Groot let out tiny spores, dancing around Rocket’s little form and creating an air of tranquility.

Bucky didn’t want me to hold you. If only he knew, that holding you was all I could do. It was not enough. Not this time. Groot despaired, watching Rocket’s sides move in and out, in and out. Sap stuck to his face from where it leaked from his eyes.

He knew Bucky wanted to do the right thing. Knew that Bucky believed what he was doing was right. The only way, and maybe it was, yet Groot held onto the little ball of fur in his embrace and saw there the same thing he saw when he looked at the human with the mechanized arm. Someone who had been burnt and beaten, broken and bereft of anything they had been before. Someone whose eyes held a delicate happiness, trying to conceal their anguish. Someone who used their metal and weapons to keep from breaking down. Groot knew Bucky was smart, but what Bucky didn’t knew was how easily Groot could see through his stoic facade. Past that fragile exterior into the fear they harbor inside. A fear that they will turn and become the things they were meant to be. Terror that they must hold it together lest they snap and hurt the very person dearest to them.

It happened with Rocket, once, though Groot’s regenerative abilities easily healed the damage. He suspected it either hadn’t happened with Bucky yet, hence the man’s fear, or it had happened and he or Steve never spoke of it. As far as Groot knew. But Groot didn’t know anything, did he? He was a gentle, simple giant. How could he know the depths of anyone’s soul?

Some untold time later, Groot forced himself to place the raccoonoid back in the disturbing restraints, cursing himself with every snap and click.

“I am Groot,” I love you Little Rocket, I will be right outside. I love you. He let himself stroke Rocket’s tail one final time, sap leaking from his eyes before he turned and departed.

He walked down the hall, no sunlight in this place of misery. No earth. No...he stopped looking into the small bathroom. Clothes, lying in a heap. Groot sniffed, Blood. Rocket’s blood. Metal, chemicals, sweat. Bucky’s distress. He carefully plucked up the garments and filled the sink with water. Though brown at first it eventually became clear, and Groot worked through each piece. Shirt, pants, jacket, vest, socks, gloves. He rang out the vile odors of butchery, watching the blood and excretions and other forms of bodily fluids run down the fabric, down his own absorbent bark, into the cleansing water and eventually down the drain.

Groot shook with the smell and the feeling of his own vines taking in those substances, draining them from Bucky’s clothes. But he washed diligently, until each article of clothing was at last clean. Then set them out to dry, unleashing the small yellow spores to create tiny balls of warmth and light. Eventually satisfied, Groot folded them, leaving them outside the closed bedroom door but looked down once more, frowning.

Bucky is from New York….oak trees in the park, he recalled from the time Star Lord made them visit. Nodding, Groot grew several oak branches from his arm, letting the garments rest there until they smelled of sweet earthy oak. He set the clothes down once more by the door and resumed his post outside the doors of the lab. He sat down against the wall, knowing that if he entered again he would not leave.

III.

It was not hard to rise out of the rough bed the next morning. Steve was already up when Bucky opened his eyes, sitting up and stretching out the kinks in his back from the tough metal springs.

“I found coffee,” Steve appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed to Bucky’s dismay, but the coffee was good as any consolation.

He accepted, standing up and taking the military issued metal mug from Steve’s smooth hands. “This tastes like shit.”

“It’s been down here for who knows how long.” Steve laughed, beaming smile on his face as he finished the rest of his. Golden light through the small window illuminating his already radiant hair.

Bucky smoothed it gently and forced himself to drink the rest of the tar tasting liquid.

“Will you be okay? To work on him?”

Bucky nodded.

“You know if you need me to take over, just let me know.”

Bucky smiled but shook his head. “No I….I started this, I have to finish it.”

With that, he kissed Steve’s cheek and opened the door, staring down at the folded, cleaned clothes on the ground. “Did you wash these last night?”

Steve came up behind him. “Nope.”

Bucky shrugged, picking them up and changing, and started down the hall to the lab.

Groot sat outside, roots growing outward from his body to secure him to the wall as he slept. Bucky tip toed over the long legs, edging the doors of the lab open.

Just a few more days. The hardest part is over. You can take breaks. Reassuring himself with whatever wanton logic he could fathom was another area of expertise for Bucky. Just one more test for today, then you can sleep. Just three more drills, then they’ll cut. He distracted himself, making his way over to where Rocket, as immobile as ever lay strapped in the gurney.

“I’m sorry Rocket, just a few more days. Just hang in there a little longer.” he whispered and despite his better judgement Bucky reached out his fingers brushing one soft ear, half-expecting the raccoonoid to leap up and attack him. Almost wish he would, he thought stroking the soft ear. He allowed a small tenderness to fill his heart. They were all soft underneath weren’t they? Despite it all.

“Now I know why Groot likes to pet you so often,” he mused, the warm fur running smoothly under his hand. A tranquility slowly wrapped around him as he continued to pet the soft fur.

“I wanted to go to war, you know?” Bucky found himself saying. “Wanted to help in any way I could. Thought I was invincible. Like I could single-handedly save everything that was good in this world.” He smoothed Rocket’s fur. “Didn’t realize how wrong I was until I got to this place.”

He moved his hand in tune with the raccoonoid’s breathing, the mask of the muzzle fogging up and releasing. He let himself enjoy this odd serenity a moment longer, finally letting his hand slip into his glove, the velvet texture still a presence on his hand. It vanished the moment he unwound the wrapping, smell of meat and metallic fluids and sourness. Bucky covered his nose and mouth, reaching for the water to clean out the wound. Once done he took up the pinchers once more, searching for more cybernetic wires needing repair and connected them each with dexterity.

What if I save him but he...isn’t the same?

The words of caution from the hydra scientists flooded his ears: He must remain himself insofar that he is human, but not too human.. Capable of having emotions that support killing. Destroy all notions or impulses related to compassion or sensitivity.

Little did they know, Bucky mulled over as he worked, that out of all the torture hydra put him through, out of all they sought to do to him to establish their control, it was that very area that came the closest to being irreversible. Only Steve has been able to stir up his old self from where it has retreated so deep into his mind even he could not find it.

Bucky squinted as he attempted to reconnect another set of cables, these even thinner and coming down from Rocket’s brainstem. If he wakes but he isn’t sentient...if I just reverted him back to a normal raccoon... He’d never be able to face Groot again. He finished connecting the two and moved on to another set right underneath it, holding back the tight muscular tissue with clamps. And if it’s the opposite? If I snipped whatever it was preventing him from turning into the little monster they wanted? He tried to bury the thought under a mound of diligent work, keep focused. Worry about it later. Bucky worked his way up the spinal column, fixing and connecting, trimming and knotting and folding where he could, the voices of the Hydra scientists guiding him along the way.

It took five days and immeasurable hours. Bucky waned between embracing the demons that whispered to him and blocking them out as best as he could manage. Each day, Steve would come in with offers of reprieve, but never lingered long, knowing Bucky did not wish him to see. On the times Steve did linger long enough to drag Bucky from his surgery, he gave into a break and the two of them would leave the lab to find Groot sitting guard outside.

The flora too, bore the mark of the long hours. Bucky noticed the bark of his wood flaking, growing pale. The leaves and vines, usually a lucious green were dull and brown, and by the third day, they were gone all together. On the fourth day, Bucky finished closing Rocket up for the night, gave him a small stroke on the head and left the operating room to find Groot sitting as usual, only this time with fungus beginning to grow from his head and torso.

“Groot,” Steve began, looking up with worry at the flora colossus.

“I’m going to be done tomorrow,” Bucky judged. “When I’m done on his back I’ll wind him down from the anesthetic, just a little. You can go in then.”

“I’ll stand watch,” Steve offered. “But you have to go outside and get some sun.” The man had taken a hobby to researching everything he could about Groot’s rare species after the war. Bucky always knew Steve had compulsive tendencies and enjoyed learning about things. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man knew more about flora colossus then Groot did. “I’ll stand right here, and alert you if anything happens.”

“I know you were the one who kept him safe through all that’s happened to the two of you,” Bucky tried. “But, you’re not alone anymore. You’re not the only one who cares about Rocket. You don’t have to bear that burden alone.”

“I am Groot!” It’s not a burden! No more than Steve looking after you. Would he see that as a hardship? Groot shook his head, looking at the lab doors.

Bucky sighed. “Fine. With any luck you will be able to see him tomorrow.”

In answer, Groot only scowled incredulously and sunk down to the floor again. The next morning, however, Bucky noticed his clothing had been washed of gore again, and smelled of the trees that reminded him so much of Central Park.

On the last day, Bucky let Steve help him. He did not have enough hands to keep the fragile skin open while he repaired the cybernetics closest to Rocket’s brainstem.

“You’re a natural at this,” Steve observed watching as Bucky tried to hold a string-thin wire still.

“Yeah,” he quipped, “that’s why I hate it.”

“You could be a doctor,” he offered. “You could help people, Buck.”

Bucky cursed as the wire fell into the mess of blood and liquid below. “I don’t know, Steve, I,” he stopped, frowning.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky peeled back a thin viscous layer of soft tissue. He carefully reached for the scalpel and touched it gently. Metal. Raised…. He motioned for Steve to pull back harder, revealing a circular piece. PROPERTY OF H.Y.D.R.A BIOWEAPONRY DIVISION 89P13

Bucky drew his lips tight, brow creasing. “ Forget everything you knew soldat, you belong to us now.” Steaming flesh, smoke, white hot burning, searing skin. Bubbled blisters. The branding: H.Y.D.R.A

“Buck,” Steve called him back from the nightmare. “You alright?”

Bucky looked up at him. “No, this is coming out.”

“It’s close to his brainstem Buck, if something got caught or nicked--”

“I’d rather die my own person than live as someone's property, Steve!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

For a moment Steve’s face went hard, then softened, as if deciding something for himself. What it was, Bucky would ask later. “Alright. Then let’s do it.”

Bucky reached for the small drill, heeding his aim. It hit true, loosening the circular bolt. Ever so carefully he pushed and prodded the thing, trying to ignore the phantom pain at the base of his own neck.

“There!” Steve exclaimed and Bucky let himself breathe again, dropping the bolt into a bowl.

Bucky smiled, surveying internal structures of Rocket’s back. Panel gone, brand gone, all wires and cables either connected, repaired or for some of them, removed. He checked once, twice, three, four times before Steve persuaded him to step away.

“Trust yourself,” he pointed out, knowing how hard that was.

If I don’t close it up now I never will. I’ll just do more harm than good, he finally decided, and prompted Steve as they closed the wound, taking every care to minimize the potential for scarring. We both have more than enough of those to spare.

“Ready?” Steve asked, as Bucky carefully began to measure down the anesthetic.

Not enough to fully wake him yet. He knew firsthand what it meant to wake to early from the procedures and while he was pretty sure Rocket did too, there was no reason to make it happen again.

He turned to Steve. “You can go. I’ll meet you soon. I want to be here in case, in case anything happens.”

Steve looked troubled for a moment, but eventually gave in. With a kiss he took his leave and left Bucky standing alone in the lab. The man stood over the patient for a while, cleaning the dried blood around the stitches and suddenly something moved. He reached for the knife at his leg.

Hydra operatives? Should’ve known they’d find us by now! Prepare, get to Steve, watch your six, watch..

“Mmmm,....G….Groo…?” Rocket moaned listlessly, tail flicking back and forth once before resting again.

“Rocket?” Bucky glanced at the anesthetic. I checked! I made sure it was enough! But several breaths more and the raccoonoid didn’t appear to fully awaken. Bucky carefully watched him over his shoulder as he moved to the doors.

“He’s asking for you.” He motioned for the flora to enter.

Groot approached, taking Rocket’s tiny paw in his large hand. Little claws tightened around one long wooden finger and Bucky felt his heart expand. Adorable enough to make Steve squeal, Bucky imagined, laughing to himself.

“He’ll be alright,” he whispered. “You can stay with him tonight,” Bucky explained. “Wake me if anything happens.”

The flora nodded, but only looked at Rocket’s muzzled face. For his part Bucky gratefully left, his body and mind and heart waiting for the welcome of Steve’s embrace.

The next morning, after Groot willingly left the lab, Bucky rotated Rocket over onto his back, the gurney conveniently shaped to expose his back underneath while supporting from the shoulders and hips so that it did not have to bear any weight.

The raccoonoid’s head lolled as he moved, and Bucky jumped at the sight of the muzzle. That terror, anguish, humiliation, I did this…. He trained his eyes downward at the right side of Rocket’s stitches under his clavicle. I had to, he couldn’t be awake for this. No one should be. Agony...dizziness, seeing his own ruined stub of a shoulder open, raw. A socket with the ball missing.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, revealing the totality of Rocket’s right shoulder. Raccoons don’t have shoulders….they broke his bones, to reposition them. The two bolts having served to keep his chest expanded, permanently, giving him a more bipedal stance.

Bucky grimaced at the sagging bone. Without the bolts, Bucky mulled it over morbidly. His shoulders will sink, collapsing into his chest. It’ll press on his heart and lungs. The voices of the doctors echoed, counseling him. If he was going to have to listen to them, he was going to keep the new hardware internal and not metal. Too heavy, biting, no relief, the long rod that had connected his metal arm into the socket pulsed with irritation. Instead he found a durable plastic, used for prosthetics and inserted it just below the collar Bucky repaired the torn blood vessels and stabilized the broken bone. Bucky repeated the process on the left side the next day, this one easier.

“Alright,” he cinched the last thread of stitching. “You’re done, we’re done.”

He took off his gloves finally, cursing at the blood that stained them and gently removed the anesthetic mask. Rocket’s jaws jung open, pointed white teeth sharp. Bucky waited, watching the little black nostrils expanding and huffing for breath.

“I’ll go get Groot,” he whispered and stood, making for the door and feeling a great weight lift from his….stinging claws ripped into the clothes on his back, tearing furiously, a wily hiss making him panic, reaching up to try and pry the snarling biting creature off of him.

“Rocket! Rocket!”

The ringed tail hit against him, batting his face, and Bucky cringed at the claws that drove into his skin. Rivulets of blood dripped down his back.

“Rocket!” He grabbed fistfulls of fur in his hands and pulled, yanking his own flesh as he did so. “Rocket, easy!”

The racconnoid writhed, teeth biting at Bucky’s arms as he tried to force Rocket off of him. With a final rip and skin splitting pain Bucky wrenched him off, holding him at arms length. The wild dark eyes fierce and foreign. The man’s heart skipped a beat, I failed...he’s...he’s just an animal. Rocket’s claws dug into his arms drawing more blood as he squirmed from Bucky’s hold.

“Groot! Get in here!”

Within moments, the flora colossus barged in, large eyes taking in the scene. For a moment he looked at Bucky, crushed. The pain of Rocket’s teeth dulled in comparison.

“I’m...I’m so sorry, I…”

Vines lashed out and the man made to throw himself to the ground out of their way, but stumbled back. The vines lifted Rocket from his hold and grew around the animal’s torso, binding his tail, legs and arms. The raccoonoid screeched as Bucky lunged for the vials on the counter.

“Hold him down!” he shouted.

Groot pressed Rocket to the ground, tears of sap ebbing from his eyes. “I...I am Groot,” he pleaded with the crazed creature.

“What’s going on?!” Steve demanded.

Bucky bit the cover of the syringe off with his teeth. “Sorry Rocket,” he growled, jamming the needle into his furry arm. He panted, rolling backward on the ground, staring at Rocket, whose movements eventually became lethargic and he slipped into subdusion again.

“I am Groot?” What did you do?!

Steve helped Bucky to his feet as the man examined his scratches.

“Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable.” Steve immediately began to try and solve the problem.

Bucky agreed, walking hurriedly through the hall down to the bed he and Steve had been utilizing, the only one in the place.

Groot laid Rocket down. “I am Groot?”

“Now we wait,” Bucky sighed, going over and leaning against the far wall. Steve pulled him into a hug and he rested his head on his shoulder, letting Steve hold him and descended into a peaceful darkness.

“Wh….what...the...”

Hours later, Bucky rose at the sound of a weak rasping voice.

“What the fuck...h….OW! GROOT!”

The man smiled, watching Groot throw his arms around the little raccoonoid, picking him up off the bed and holding him tight to his chest.

Bucky rushed over to the two of them. “Careful of his stitches!”

Rocket cocked his head in confusion, surly but made no attempt to get free of Groot’s hold. “What stitches? Barnes, what the flark happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Bucky admitted, grinning like an idiot.

“My back hurts,” Rocket whined.

“I am Groot,” Groot explained gently, nuzzling Rocket who endured the affection with the least resistance Bucky had ever witnessed. He held his breath at Groot’s words, but the raccoonoid only shrugged at whatever the flora colossus had said.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Steve smiled, ushering Bucky out of the room before his guilt could spill every detail of what had happened.

“You did it, Buck,” Steve exclaimed once they shut the door.

A small flickering pride was bubbling in his chest. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he put in.

Steve wound his arms around his waist, pulling him in close. “I’m glad it was.”

“Why?”

Steve reached up, moving Bucky’s hair out of his eyes with such reverence Bucky could have wept. “You never would have reconciled with yourself if it hadn’t.”

Bucky smiled wryly. “Reconciled? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Steve shrugged, swaying playfully. “You used what was done to you to save a life, you should be proud of yourself.” Steve beamed, wetness coming to his eyes.

“That’s all I’ll ever need.” Bucky kissed him deliciously.

Bucky forced himself to return to the room sometime later. Though he paused in the doorway. Rocket sat in the bed, Groot beside him, one large hand in the raccoonoid’s lap. Rocket thoughtfully traced the cracks of the bark of Groot’s hand. Lush vines adorned with pink flowers bolstered Rocket up from the pillow and Bucky muffled a laugh; he’d never seen such quiet tenderness from the raccoonoid.

The flora looked up, smiling at Bucky for the first time in a long time. Bucky nodded to him as he stood.

“I am Groot.” The tree creature declined to sign whatever it was he’d said but only left the room without explanation, leaving Bucky facing Rocket who had instantly replaced his gentle face with a jaded frown.

“How you feeling?” The man came and sat on the edge of the bed.

Rocket turned away, tail flicking, ears lowered. He drew a deep breath but did not meet Bucky’s eyes. “Like shit.”

“At least you're alive, right?” Bucky forced himself to ask.

To his relief, the raccoonoid nodded.

“Get some rest, we’ll head home tomorrow if you’re up for it.” He raised an arm to pet the raccoonoid’s head, but stopped himself and made to leave.

“Bucky?”

He halted. “Yeah?”

“Groot told me I passed out for a few days after….after the hydra agent.”

Bucky nodded, but did not turn to face him.

“That ain’t exactly true, is it?”

“No,” he whispered, “it’s not.” Silence hung between them, and Bucky opened the door a crack.

“Thanks,” Rocket’s small voice wavered and he did not need to see the tears to know they were there.

He sniffed at the same liquid beginning to leak from his eyes. “Of course. Now get some rest,” he whispered softly, and left the raccoonoid to sleep.

“Barnes!” Rocket’s harsh tone traveled across their apartment several days later.

Bucky cursed, getting up from where he and Steve cuddled on their bed and went to the door. Something soft grazed his foot. Bucky looked down. A beautiful ornate flower crown lay outside, made of oak leaves and acorns interspersed with simple white flowers like baby’s breath. It was Groot, Bucky realized. He smiled, a tear of gratitude coming to his eyes as he picked it up.

“BARNES!”

Bucky cursed again, setting the crown down on his dresser and following Rocket’s demanding voice. “What?”

“You want to tell me why I don’t got no metal in my back or shoulders anymore?” Rocket stood before the mirror on the bathroom door, dressed in black pants.

Bucky looked him over, quite impressed with his own work. The flesh was healing nicely, and fur had already begun to grow over the spot where the shoulder implants had been.

“I know you and Groot are in a platonic life partnership,” Bucky began, “but if you ever wanted to branch out I figured I’d spare you the awkward first date conversation and get that metal out of your skin.”

Rocket considered for a moment. “First off, Groot and I aren’t in ‘a life’ anything! I told yah, I keep him around cuz he’s useful in a fight.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Right, that’s why his name was the first thing you said after you nearly died.”

“EXACTLY! Now….wait what’s platonic mean?”

Bucky smiled. “Oh ask Steve, he’ll be happy to answer all your relationship questions.”

Rocket just blinked at him. “And as for branching out, romance, all that, just ain’t my thing.”

Bucky raised a brow, glad to steer the conversation somewhere away from the procedure. “No?”

Rocket shook his head. “It’s fine for you and Steve, but that stuff ain’t for me. Never has been.”

Bucky nodded. “Well, I thought you’d be better off without all that metal getting infected.”

Rocket nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. He raised a claw to where the bolts on his collarbone had been, and Bucky watched for a split second as a heartfelt smile broke the raccoonoid’s face. Self worth, love. In that moment, that look on Rocket’s face made it all worth it.

I did this, Bucky thought, and for once it was in admiration.

“Besides,” Bucky joked, “I don’t like seeing any creatures in pain. I only use shampoo that’s cruelty free. That’s why my hair so luscious and shiny.” He tossed his hair over his shoulder with bravado.

Rocket pulled a shirt over himself, glaring at Bucky with impatience. “1-800 why the flark should I care?” He shook his head in indignation and pushed past Bucky, who only watched him stalk off.

Same old Rocket after all, he jested to himself. Steve was right, as always. “You should be proud of yourself,” a new voice sounded in his heart, this one welcome.

“I am.” Bucky whispered, his heart unfolding just a little, his own wounds a little more healed.

#gsrb scenes from a life #my writing #steve rogers #captain america #rocket raccoon #bucky barnes #gotg #avengers #to be bucky is to suffer #groot #stucky

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myrish-lace-love · 8 years ago

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Jonsa S7 Summer Challenge Day 1: Travel

Summary: Jon is a veteran here, suffering from PTSD. He’s gotten to know Sansa, his upstairs neighbor, in the apartment building in Milwaukee where they both live. They’ve grown closer over the past several months, and they’re in a relationship now. But Sansa’s plans for celebrating July 4th terrify Jon, and he’s ashamed of how he feels.

Trigger Warnings: Memories of Character death (Satin), flashbacks, warfare, explosions, blood, PTSD symptoms. I have experience with PTSD, but not with military service. I did some basic research and talked to some friends in the military, so I hope the details aren’t too off. For all of you who’ve served, you have my deep and unending gratitude.

A/N: For @zip00198704 whose jonsa fic If Loving You is Wrong was part of this inspiration for this story.

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Sansa had a flyer in her hand. She handed it to him as she stirred the turkey bean soup. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of rosemary and thyme.

Jon’s stomach dropped. Fireworks on the lakefront, a week from now.

“We could make a night out of it, I thought. Maybe even go away for the weekend afterwards.” She tasted the soup and held it out for him to try.

“Fireworks are my favorite, I love sparkly things, if that wasn’t already obvious from the shower curtain.”

Jon had to smile, even through the dread tightening in his stomach. Sansa’s white curtain threaded through with iridescent sequins was quite a – what had Margaery called it the last time she’d been over for dinner? Statement piece.

Sansa put the spoon back.

“Jon, you’re pale. What’s wrong?”