#ive never actually watched a team best pov either

[meteormoss]

Whats y'alls go back to life series for when your just down? Im a last life gal myself.

[bluiex]

WHOOO SO this is loosely a part of my scarian hero/villain au but you need literally no context besides boatem is a team and a heads up for some medical stuff, enjoy the unrequited grumbo >:) this was meant to be a 500 word challenge but somehow is double that, whoops lmao

also idk why but i wrote it from grian's pov, style change i suppose! _______________

"This will only hurt for a moment." Mumbo says that every time he pulls the IV cart towards me.

I don't know why he bothers, I know it's going to hurt. It hurts every time, him repeating the fact doesn't make me any happier about the situation. Maybe he thinks it'll help me prepare for it, that reminding me of the pain will cue me to brace myself against it.

But I know it's coming. It's Sunday evening, after all, we have a schedule for this. Impulse and Pearl mysteriously left the compound about half an hour ago, as they do every week around this time.

I think they took the new guy with them, too. What was his name again? 'S' something, it started with an 'S'. Hmm… St… Sc… I don't know.

Not that it matters right now. Because this will only hurt for a moment.

Mumbo always looks upset whenever he's strapping my wrists down for this. I don't blame him, I wouldn't like it if I had to do it to him, but it just makes me feel terrible. Like I'm some monster about to lash out at him, simplified down to my bare bones, animalistic instincts.

(That did happen the first time, though, I'm not proud of it. The viscera was horrible. I don't like thinking about it, so I don't.)

Either way, I try not to complain about it too much anymore. It's not Mumbo's fault that I'm like this.

Well.

Actually.

…It's entirely his fault, but not in the way most people think. He didn't mean to hurt me, he didn't mean to cause me any pain. I can't blame him for reacting the way he did, even if it's the exact reason I'm stuck in this chair right now.

He was just so, so, scared.

I try to remember that when the needle goes in. I grit my teeth— less from the pain and more from the anticipation— while Mumbo checks the IV bag for what feels like the millionth time now. He finally sits down, leaning on one of the spare gurneys we have in the medical suite.

"Isn't it bad luck, to rest on a gurney?" I ask, watching his sunken eyes blink open. He's not looking at me, but rather the IV bag; we're both stuck here until it's finished draining.

"Something about predicting your own death," I add, because I can tell he's not listening. Mumbo doesn't listen well when it's Sunday evening.

"For as often as you end up on them, I'd rather not think about that expression," he replies, trying to make light of the situation. Or at least, that's what I think he's trying to do. Mumbo looks tired, as he always does, so it's hard to tell whether it's delirium or sarcasm that he's going for.

He looks at me for a moment, and I stare back. His eyelids are heavy, and he seems to be falling asleep sitting up, but he won't. He never sleeps during this strange, shared moment we're forced to have.

I wish he would sleep when it was Sunday evening, so that I don't have to bear the weight of his guilt on my back. I wish I could run the IV alone, and not be forced to make idle small talk, dancing around the elephant in the room that is my existence.

"I'm sorry," Mumbo says, his eyes drifting from mine to my tied-down wrists. I hate this part of the evening the most, when he apologizes half-way. It's been almost a year of incomplete apologies, you'd think by now he'd have figured out how to finish what he wants to say.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I reply. We both know that I'm lying, but it's the polite thing to say.

"Except I do." Mumbo's getting upset now, I wish I could say I felt the same. It's hard to feel much of anything these days. "And I, I keep trying to fix what I did wrong, but it never comes out right."

He means me. I didn't come out right.

"You were only doing what you thought was best," I say, trying to soften the blow even though I don't want to. I'm too tired to deal with one of his spirals right now, as much as a part of myself wants to lash out at him. It isn't the time, we're both too exhausted to deal with the mess that is us.

"No, no, stop it. Please, stop saying that," Mumbo snaps. He's looking at me properly now, all cross and with a pinched face, and I think I've done something wrong. His eyes have moved beyond empty now, like he's looking through me and talking to someone else.

I think, in his mind, he is talking to someone else.

"Stop trying to say what I did was right, stop trying to protect me from my own choices," he says, but softly this time, like I'm a feral dog who's been scared into a corner. "I messed up, I was selfish and did this because I wanted to feel like I didn't fail you."

"Fail him, you mean." I didn't mean to correct him, but those words have been sitting in my mouth, festering a bitter rot on my tongue since I met Mumbo eleven months ago.

I'm not angry with Mumbo. I'm angry with me. I'm angry with my recklessness, with my stubbornness, I'm angry with a version of myself that the man in front of me would have moved heaven and earth for.

I'm angry with a me who is dead, and I'm angry that Mumbo loved that version of myself so much that he tried to give him second breath. I'm angry that my flesh and blood is from a person who is me, but isn't at the same time, and I'm angry that I'm not him.

Because every Sunday evening, while I'm trapped in a chair with an IV drip I need weekly to keep this stupid, cobbled together body alive, Mumbo's heart won't stop bleeding, and I'm not the person who can patch it up for him.

That person is dead, and I was supposed to be his replacement.

When I opened my eyes for the very first time those months ago, what I saw was a man with all the love in the world for 'me', weeping for joy.

And I don't feel the same for him— or, better said, this version of him doesn't, at the very least. Seems that dying breaks your heart along with stopping it.

I can live with not having him for a partner, but he couldn't. He still can't. And he doesn't realize it, but I can tell. Every time he looks at me, he's waiting for a reply that I can never seem to get right. To everyone else, I'm the spitting image and have the same verbosity as who I used to be, but not to Mumbo.

He looks at me like I'm an experiment gone wrong, and I loath that he's right.

Alright, so maybe I am cross with Mumbo. A little bit. I don't want to be, but I am.

"This will only hurt for a moment." What a horrible lie.

THE POV MAKES THIS ALL THE MORE BETTER HONESTLY Bruh this was SO good. It puts you in his head and makes you feel the emotions more- lvoe it love it love it

[petals42]

Coach - Part V

Hello all. I know in my major fics I’ve made Coach and Suzanne not very nice people, but after the latest updates I figured I’d try my hand at writing canon-compliant Coach. This is in his POV so obviously Coach-centric and he is not magically a perfect ally. He’s trying though. 

3.6k; canon-compliant; content warning: homophobia; post- Coach IV

It’s Sunday. Which means Church for Suzanne always and Church for Richard when he has the time. Or about every three weeks when Suzanne starts asking him on Thursday whether he is going to make it this week instead of waiting til the morning-of. It’s his signal to go with her so she can show him off or introduce him to new folks or just re-establish that they are together and happy and she can still make him go to Church whenever she wants. 

Either way, it’s not bad. He doesn’t mind listening to the sermons, even if he’s not quite sure how much stock he puts in all of this, and the music is good enough, even if he’s not one for singing himself. 

He doesn’t even mind the post-Church chitchat. In the fall and winter, the traditional spread of baked goods made by the women of the Church is usually served in the small auditorium. It’s cold when you first walk in and then all the bodies heat it up so that by the end Suzanne will be complaining that if they don’t want to put the AC on, they could just open a window or something.

Richard knows his role in this too. He stands off to the side with his plateful of baked goods, making sure to take the ones baked by Suzanne’s friends and avoid the ones made by anyone his wife is currently feuding with. He chats with some folk who wander over, always polite, but mostly people know him well enough to let him be and wait for Suzanne to finish talking with everyone. 

They have a good system. They walk through the line of food together which is when he puts on his best smile. Then he goes to a corner, she claims she has to use the restroom but takes her plate with her and stops to mill and chat with everyone on the way to the bathroom. She’ll finish her plate before she gets to the bathroom, throw it away, and then talk to many of the same people on her way back. He’ll wait and watch and when she starts looking a little tight around the eyes or flexes her left hand in that certain way, that’s when he’ll walk up and ask if she minds leaving. She’ll say of course, they will make their goodbyes, and that’s that. 

Sunday morning. 

Usually his time in the corner is almost meditative. He lets his eyes unfocus and eats just steadily enough that people can see he is eating and lets his mind drift. It may be a weird place to meditate, in a room filled with other adults, but it works for him. Coaching is a loud job, filled with the noise of teenagers and yelling and grunts and sounds just of working in a high school, really. And then Suzanne is not loud in the same way and he loves listening to her (for as little as he inputs, really he does), but she’s not a still person. She’s light and movement and laughter and she fills up a room enough that usually he is content to just bask in her presence. It’s more joyful than meditative. 

This, though. This is just right. His brain is already a little fuzzy from spacing out during the sermon and he’s bored enough that usually he would pull out his phone, but standing and relaxing in a corner is fine. Playing on your phone in a corner is rude. According to Suzanne. And he doesn’t disagree. So he’s a little bored, unable to do anything to fix that boredom, happy to turn the chitchat around him into a sort of gray static he doesn’t have to pay attention to and just… relax.

Of course, this week relaxing is a bit difficult.

He’d been busy in the week he’d gotten back from Samwell. He had booked that flight a bit last minute so it was fly out late, late on Tuesday and then leave Thursday midday to try to make it back for Thursday’s practice because he was the head coach of a football team and, goodness Junior better make it late in the playoffs when there is plenty of time for him to actually go up and see more of the games. 

So it was practice and then cram all the strategy and tape he was supposed to do Tuesday and Wednesday into Friday and game Saturday (a win, but a sloppy one if he is being honest) and it is now, Sunday, as he stands and watches people try to eat while holding a small paper plate filled with too much food, that he is finally able to think about it all. 

About the car ride and Junior telling him that he wasn’t acknowledging his relationship and getting upset and telling him that he needed to know he wasn’t messed up, like Richard would ever think he was messed up but the fact that Junior had to even ask was--

He blows out a breath. Not angry just… annoyed. At himself. And maybe a little but at Junior even though he shouldn’t be and he isn’t, he just--

Sometimes he feels he never got credit for the things he did do. He paid for all those ice dancing lessons even though he didn’t understood a bit of it. And then when it became obvious Junior was good, he paid for that private coach and went online to learn at least some of the terms even though he was never going to be able to give Junior any actual advice on anything. Which had… well, he could at least admit that that had been a bit of a disappointment. He loved teaching and coaching and yes, see, don’t rely on your elbow so much. Power’s in your shoulder-- there you go, feel the difference? He loved being a coach. But with Junior and ice skating… he looked up enough to sometimes manage a weak Remember to pull your arms tight and Junior would look up at him and smile and nod when he was little but he got older and better and eventually he had to stop trying. Because Junior was more advanced than any of the little tips he could find and he had that private coach to tell him what he was actually doing wrong and he didn’t want to look like a fool and certainly didn’t want Junior to get annoyed with him so…

He’d moved too. He and Suzanne. Packed up their house and he’d gotten a new job away from the kids he’d been coaching for years and they never talked about it with Junior, never wanted him to feel like it was his fault but his son wasn’t stupid. He would’ve thought that he made the connection between the bullying and the change of scenery, as it were. 

And then there was hockey, another sport for him to learn enough so he could at least understand what was going on and offer tentative tips, and Samwell and taking out a loan to cover what Junior’s scholarship didn’t and flying up to see at least some of the games and he’s tried to keep things as normal as possible after Jack. Tried to make it obvious that nothing had changed. That he viewed his son exactly the same. But even that hadn’t been enough.

He looks down where he’s holding his paper plate filled with post-Church snacks and realizes he’s crumpling it. But he can’t quite get his hand to loosen. Kids these days. And even thinking that made him feel old but it was true. Kids these days want everything spoken aloud, everything talked about, all mushy, like actions don’t count for anything anymore. It just-- he could count on one hand the number of times his daddy had ever said anything like “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” but he still knew it was true. Of course he knew. His father attended as many of his football games as he could and shook his hand on his wedding day, offered him a cigar when Eric was born...

And, really, he thought he had been being pretty obvious. Right after the Cup, he had started talking about Jack’s goal and his great game and congratulating him and he thought that was clear enough. That if Jack was important to Junior, than he would care about Jack’s sport as much as he could. And then he flew up to see Junior on a week where he could see Junior’s game and they could watch Jack’s game together too. Sure, he referred to Jack as Junior’s friend, but he… he didn’t know if boyfriend was the right word or if they were using partner and, okay, okay maybe it was easier to say “friend”, at least at first. Which, okay, was wrong. But also Junior didn’t even seem to hear the rest of what he was saying. He had gone up there and complimented Jack and Jack’s team and how Jack and Junior worked together and had thought he was being obvious about starting to invite Jack over for Christmas and somehow Junior still ended up yelling at him in the car. 

His mouth twists at that. That had been… not good. Not only because Junior had been hurt and crying, but because he’d been angry and yelled and he was pretty sure he mentioned that he had had to find out through the TV, like some stranger and he…

You weren’t supposed to tell your kids when they hurt your feelings. He knows that. He’s… he’s not allowed to get his feelings hurt, anyway, from the sounds of it. From the reading he’s done in the days he’s been back. The internet says that coming out is a personal thing and everyone makes their own decision and, according to most websites, it’s probably his fault. His and Suzanne’s for not being more openly supportive of people when Junior was growing up. For making him feel like he couldn’t tell them. And he doesn’t-- well, he doesn’t remember ever saying anything blatantly rude like that, he figures he’s usually a live and let live type, but apparently all those little things-- microaggressions, the internet calls ‘em-- apparently those add up. 

So, again, his fault. 

He shifts and swings his head to find Suzanne. It only takes him a moment; his eyes are long used to flicked through a crowd to find someone just her size with that specific hair color. She’s laughing, chatting with Ruby, and from the looks of it, he’s still got a while. Which is fine. He could go find one of the guys to chat with and, as the local football coach, there’s plenty of chatting he could do but he--

He looks as Suzanne and wonders instead. If her feelings are still a little hurt by Junior’s way of telling them. If she feels old and forgotten and replaced by all those friends he’s got up at college. The ones who knew first.

He pops a cookie in his mouth. Feels his stomach twist up as his mind flashes once again to that dumb car ride. And really, how was he supposed to know Junior even cared about his opinion anymore? He had all those friends and Jack and all the Falconers who all spoke out about it afterwards and there had been pictures with Jack’s parents who were there and clearly knew and Eric hadn’t even called them after. Not for hours and hours. 

He can’t help but think it wasn’t right. Suzanne had been beside herself with worry and called him over and over and Richard thought he was pretty okay, but he didn’t like when someone hurt Suzanne. Especially not Junior. Those two talked nearly every day, it seemed to him, and it was a hell of a time for his son to suddenly be so irresponsible with his mama’s feelings. 

He takes a breath. Lets it go. Those two have clearly made up and there’s no point in fighting someone else’s battle especially if they didn’t seem too torn up about it anymore. 

He wishes he had remembered that during the car ride. That he was better at not reacting with anger sometimes. At not getting all defensive. Then maybe the car ride would’ve gone smoother. Maybe that whole mess could have been avoided. And he wouldn’t still feel so embarrassed and guilty about it even though he thinks that maybe he’d finally gotten the message through on his way to the airport. 

Yes, thank God, at least that went well. He’s pretty sure. So Junior’s good with Suanne and good with him and Jack is coming down for Christmas so that’s that.

To be honest, he isn’t quite sure what to do next. Junior seems to watch him to talk and ask about Jack, but the internet said to treat the relationship just like any other and he isn’t sure he had been planning on talking to Junior much about girls except for maybe a quick check that they were being safe and he was being honorable and perhaps a “Is she expecting a ring?” or “Seems about time you went out and got one” talk. That’s about all he and his daddy had done. 

Other things he’s doing now-- reading up about things on the internet and planning to maybe pop over to the GSA at the high school when he thinks the other coaches can run the beginning of practice without him -- those things don’t come up in conversation much. At least not naturally. So there is no way to tell Junior. Not that he wants to. Would sound too much like bragging or trying to get points for doing the basics. Which, again, the internet tells him is bad. 

Watch gay movies (queer cinema, he says in his head, trying it out from what he’d read) is next. He has to make sure he looked completely comfortable with Junior and Jack kissing and the like when they came for Christmas. Luckily, the internet has a list of ones available on Netflix. Though, he’s not sure he’s supposed to talk to Junior about those either. He found one tweet or something in his search that seemed to imply that parents telling or asking their gay children about gay movies is awkward. Like assuming they all know each other. 

There seems to be a mighty fine line between not acknowledging that your kid is gay enough and talking about it too much and making them feel all different. It’s a shame he can’t ask Junior for some advice. But he’s already done enough damage. He’ll have to figure this out on his own. He had spoken disparagingly of parades and rainbows in the car because, sonuvabitch, that seems like a hellish way to spend a Saturday, what with the noise and the heat and people all crammed into a small area like that, but if… well if it would help Junior feel better, he could probably do it. For a couple hours. Maybe. 

He’ll have to talk to Junior directly more, he decides. Not just wait for major updates to come through Suzanne. He’ll have to--

“Hey, hon,” Suzanne says, stepping in front of him. He blinks and refocuses his eyes and wonders what brought her over. He doesn’t think it’s been as long as she usually stays. “You okay?”

“Wha- yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“Just checking,” she says. “You were just looking pretty intense, that’s all.”

“Just thinking about plans and stuff,” he replies. Not a lie. 

“Plans?”

“Football stuff,” now he’s lying. “Game was sloppy yesterday. Gotta tighten up.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says, patting his arm. She knows more about football than people assume and she can talk strategy with him when he needs to, but she’s not about to do it in Church. Sometimes she gets enough gossip here to last her the week. 

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“If you want,” he replies. “I can stay longer if you want to talk to--”

“No, no,” she says. “You were up at Samwell this week. Let’s head back.”

He nods and accepts it when her path to the exit leads them through the center of the room rather than around the outskirts. There are hugs and kisses on the cheek and he nods and says goodbye when prompted and they are just about out when--

“Oh, the Bittles!” It’s Martha. Her last name escapes him at the moment but it’s not a big deal. He waits for Suzanne to finish her hug and then he leans down and gives her a polite hug as well. “How are you two holding up?”

“Just fine,” Suzanne says. Richard bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Did Todd make it today?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s got that new job so he’s just been busy, busy, busy!”

“Oh well, send him our love,” Suzanne says effortlessly. “And we certainly know what it means to be a bit busy. Especially this time of year!.”

“Oh yes,” Martha says. “It’s always like school starts up again and then suddenly it’s Christmas!”

“With somehow a thousand stressful football games in the middle.”

“Seems the weeks get shorter every year,” Richard adds which is what he always adds during this conversation. 

“And the football games get longer,” Suzanne stage-whispers to Martha where it gets its usual short laugh and Richard shrugs to say ‘What can you do?’ and he’s pretty sure they have a clear shot to the door once they finish this one. 

“Speaking of,” Suzanne continues and here it is, her exit strategy. “This one’s got to get home to plan for next Saturday so…”

“Of course, of course,” Martha says, waving them on. “Good luck!” and that should be the end of it, except Martha leans in one last time to Suzanne, speaks softly enough that Richard knows the comment wasn’t really meant for him at all, and says:

“We’ve been praying for you, you know. You and little Dicky.”

Suzanne’s smile goes a bit off-center but she is turning the lean into a quick goodbye hug already and moving and--

“Praying for Junior?” Richard finds himself saying. His blood has gone a bit cold somehow. “Why?”

Maybe he meant it to come out confused and dumb-like. It doesn’t. It comes out like he actually meant it: accusatory. Barely polite. 

Martha freezes. Suzanne sort of looks at him, her eyes flashing a bit of a warning. He doesn’t know if it’s to not cause drama or to just ignore it but he does neither of those things. He just stands and waits for her answer. 

“Well,” Martha says, glancing quickly around, probably to check who is listening. No one really appears to be so far. He hadn’t actually spoken that loudly. “Well, you know, with the… the… you know.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. Suzanne is definitely glaring at him a bit now.

“We’re not judging,” Martha is saying, voice almost a whisper. “We love Dicky. We do. We’re just keeping him in our prayers while he works through…”

She fades out or at least Richard doesn’t hear if she says more because all he can hear is his son worrying that he is messed up somehow, that he needs to be fixed, that he’s anything less than perfect.

“My son,” Richard starts and it’s a bit of a fight to keep his voice even. He clears his throat and tries again. “My son is the captain of his college hockey team, is graduating this May, and is currently dating someone who makes him very happy. A man. His boyfriend. My son’s boyfriend makes him very happy. He just told me. He is very happy.”

Richard takes a breath. Now people are looking. Not everyone, he hadn’t been talking quite loud enough to cause that, but people near them are looking and Martha’s mouth is sort of hanging open and, actually, Suzanne looks a bit shocked himself and suddenly Richard is very aware that he does not want to be the center of attention anymore. If ever. 

“I- Well I--” Martha tries to start up again but Richard cannot even express how much he does not want to hear it. 

“I reckon you should save your prayers for those who actually need ‘em,” Richard says. “Which doesn’t include my boy.”

He moves then. He doesn’t care what she has to say or what anyone else has to say, and, God help him, he doesn’t even know if he cares what Suzanne has to say, not if it’s something negative or worried about the gossip he just started. He just nods one last time at her because that’s what he does when he walks away from someone and takes a few quick strides out of the room. Then it’s down the hall and hang a left and there.

Outside. 

That’s a bit better. Suzanne is right. It does get too hot in there. 

He’s just sort of standing there, taking deep breaths, calming down, hands on his hips, when suddenly an arm links through his. 

He waits a beat before looking down at Suzanne.

Her grin is blinding.

“You are brilliant,” she says, standing on her tip-toes and that’s his cue to lean over for a kiss on the cheek and he can feel a blush coming on (Junior thinks he gets that from his Mama, but that’s all Bittle). “Brilliant! I wish I had a picture of her face. God, she’s been saying that shit-- excuse my language, Jesus-- that shit for months and I’ve just been ignoring it and you! You just… Brilliant!”

She is bouncing and happy and they walk to the car, arm in arm, like back when they were dating and, alright, let’s not throw a parade or anything, he tells her, well aware that he’s still blushing, but--

It’s a start.  

[readerwinterbarnes]

Square One

Gentle Touch Pt. 4

Bucky x OFC (Jules Carlson), Steve/?, OMC, Avengers

Summary: Jules works with Bucky some more and Bucky learns more about Jules.

Word Count: 5,544

Warnings: Touch-deprived, flirting, fluff, nightmares, attempted rape

A/N: Jules POV, Ok, so this timeline will be broken up into fragments, showing Bucky’s improvements and his growing relationship, connection with Jules. Eventually the team will find out the truth, hopefully, there’s no confusion.

I headed back down to check up on Bucky, still fuming from the incident that happened previously. None of that shouldn’t have happened, none of it. He shouldn’t have gone through what Rumlow put him through either, no one should.

Helen was sitting outside of his room going through files and writing reports. I sat down next to her and slouched in the seat, letting out a huge sigh. “How’s he been? His heart doing okay?” Helen closed the folders, placing them on the seat beside her, staring worriedly at him through the window.

“It was touch and go if I have to be honest. Not much longer after you left. He regained consciousness, had another full blown panic attack that put even more stress on his heart. His heart stopped and took us a good full two minutes to get it started again. We have him on oxygen so he can fully get the air he needs due to him being slightly weak from the earlier episode.” She leaned back, letting out a sigh of her own.

“We’re going to have to inform the others soon about this. Or at least a very slight summary, some warnings for what they should and shouldn’t do. We can’t have this happening again.” I nodded in agreement.

“We do, but I’m going to have to talk to Bucky about it first. Find out for sure what are the things he absolutely is not ready for yet or even at all.”

“Looks like it might be earlier than you think.” Helen nodded towards Bucky, who was beginning to stir on the bed, groggily reaching up towards the oxygen mask. “Go, Jules, I’ll stay out here for a while longer. You’re the one he’s the most comfortable around.” I stood up and headed into Bucky’s room, careful not to startle him into another attack.

“Bucky,” tired eyes met mine in recognition, “it’s me, Jules, do you remember me?” He slowly nodded and proceeded to try to remove the mask from his face, but I raised my hands to stop him.

“Leave the mask on, Bucky, it’s helping you breathe. It’s completely safe.” He ceased his movements and sunk back down into the mattress, watching as I made my way to the chair sitting on his right. Looking up at me as I stared down at him. He looked so tired, slightly in pain. Someone who was lost, trapped in a place with a lock but no key. “Do you trust me?” Again he nodded, which was good because he was coherent, making his own decisions and was aware of his surroundings.

Slowly, I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, hearing him sigh underneath me. I pulled away and sat down, taking the book that laid on the bedside table. “Sleep Bucky, we’ll talk again when you wake up. Just relax and sleep, you’re safe here. I’m not letting anything happen to you.” I watched as heavy-lidded eyes slipped closed as he gave into the demand for sleep. So I sat there and read the book until I too had to stop and give my own body a rest. Not once leaving his side.

I woke up not due to the machines soft hums and beeps, but to something poking my shoulder. Mumbling in my sleep, I groggily swatted the object away so I could go back to sleep, but the poking continued, so I glared at the source responsible.

“Oh, so you are alive. Thought I’d have to call 1-800-REVIVE.” Bucky was staring at me with a smile and clearer eyes than yesterday. I groaned, but stood up and stretched out the stiffness from my muscles, cracking my back before heading over to the coffee machine in the back corner.

“Ha ha very funny, glad to know someone’s awake and ready to start the day,” I said as I filled two cups of the hot black gold I eagerly wanted in my system.

“Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be I guess,” Bucky replied as I sat back down, kicked my shoes off and rested my feet on the bed at an angle so I wouldn’t disturb the IVs. “What happened to Mr. Grouch Face? I remember you breaking his nose before I blacked out.” Placing the cup down, I reached behind me for the folder Tony made a copy for me and pulled out the agreement form.

“Yup broke his nose, his glasses and his massive dick ego,” I handed Bucky the form to read who took it with a raised eyebrow, “and got promoted, well kinda lost my job and got hired for a much better one.” I watched as he read through the form, face unreadable at first, before it broke out into a small laugh, then dropped down to a low hum.

“So what happened to him?” Bucky asked as he handed the form back over to me.

“He’ll be transferred to a different SHIELD location, a far location, and if he messes up even once, he’ll lose his job and get stripped of his occupational title,” I answered as I slipped the sheet back into the folder and relaxed into the chair once again.

“So, what happens now exactly? You give me a huge therapy lecture, sign me off to a bunch of medication?” I looked at Bucky concerned, I had patients who would often react like this after they had a relapse or a panic attack. It was heartbreaking to see them like this, the verge of giving up on treatment altogether and just let the therapists do whatever they wanted. But that wasn’t what I was here for, I wanted Bucky to know that he was in charge of his own decisions and that I wanted him to get the best help he could, comfort being a priority.

“No to all of the above,” I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the bed next to his arm, “I thought I’d ask you where you’d like to start. Go back to square one, start where we left off, give you time to process everything we’ve talked about like I promised I would. But it’s up to you, I’m here to help you in any way I can, but I won’t make the choices for you unless I believe I absolutely have to.” Bucky watched me, trying to see whether or not I was lying or not. When he decided I was speaking truthfully, he answered me.

“Square one, but...can we, can we skip all the stuff I already told you? I don’t think I’m actually ready to go through all of that again.” He nervously picked the fuzzy clumps off the blanket, hesitant to look at me.

“Of course we can skip that. We can focus on a different part of your therapy, we can focus on just the touch aspect. Do regular, but small, everyday activities and engage in physical contact. We could start off small, like sitting together and watching a movie, or -”

“A kiss on the forehead?” Bucky’s innocent face, but teasing eyes watched me as I blushed slightly.

“O-Or that, but we’ll work our way up from the small things.” I pushed aside the remark in hopes of moving along in the conversation, but boy was I wrong.

“So, moving up as in full body skin to skin contact? Or are we meeting halfway?” I felt my face grow hotter in embarrassment and glared at Bucky when he started to laugh.

“Y-You should, you should see your face! Oh man, that was, that was good.” Luckily, I was quick to repay the favor.

“Sure if that’s what you wanted. Or I could just slide my silky smooth body over yours, trail my fingers through your hair as I whisper breathlessly into your ear, ‘I just farted.’“ I said with a straight face but rejoiced when Bucky’s own face turned beat red, eyes wide with shock.

“Ha!” I pointed at him, smiling in victory, “Now you should see your face. Man, you weren’t expecting that now, did ya?” Bucky held his hands up as a sign of truce, returning my smile.

“What happened to the sweet, innocent therapist I had? Surely you aren’t her.”

“I grew up with four brothers and worked with complete idiots, so I’m not so sweet and innocent as many believe.” I felt relieved when Bucky smiled and laughed as we talked, letting his body fully relax into the mattress. Knowing that we were already off to a good start.

“Sorry to crush the awkward moment, but time to get serious again.” I stood up and searched through the menus for the cafeteria the room provided. “What would you like to do as a start?”

“Eat, watch a movie and, um...maybe stay with me? And we could just...talk? Never mind, sounds like a stupid idea.” Bucky looked away with a frown, but I was having none of that.

“First of all, stop right there. The idea is definitely not stupid and yes I’d love to join you. This is good Bucky, really good. We’ll go at your own pace and just let me know when you’re ready to move on to the next phase.”

“Okay, yeah...yeah, I-can I pick the movie? I heard Die Hard was a good one.” He asked, excitement shining clearly through his eyes. It struck me that this man who went through so many traumatic events, who was never given the power of choice, still managed to smile and crawl his way into my life.

“Think you can stay up for all six? Or are you too old and need your beauty sleep?” He gasped in mock hurt.

“Ouch, that hurt. Jules, I thought you were my friend. Beauty sleep my ass, let’s order a shit ton of food because I’m fucking starving. And the answer to your question is yes, let’s watch all six, not like I’m going anywhere soon.” I handed him half of the menus, while JARVIS cued up the first movie.

“Thank fuck I grew up with brothers.”

“Why’s that?”

“I learned how much food I can eat without getting sick and still manage to function afterward.” I took one last quick look at the menus before giving JARVIS my order along with Buckys. As I waited for the food to arrive, I swapped out my chair with the big arm chair, throwing my feet up on the bed again, making myself comfortable.

“Thanks for, for everything, Jules.” I turned my attention from the screen to focus on him.

“You have nothing to thank me for Bucky and I’m here for you, whenever you need me.” We were interrupted when our food was delivered with Helen trailing in behind to check up on Bucky’s vitals, then leaving shortly afterward. We ate as we watched, content and relaxing after the rough ordeals. When we began the second film, I noticed Bucky’s hand inch its way towards mine. I didn’t move because I wanted to see what he would do and smiled to myself when he linked our pinkies together. It was a step, to someone watching it looked small, but to Bucky, it was a huge step. He made the first move, he made the choice to initiate the contact and I was more than happy with the gesture.

Bucky was getting released today after three extra days and I was currently heading down to meet with him. However on the way to the elevator, I bumped into Steve who was straightening his shirt horridly, belt still was undone and a rosy tint to his cheeks.

“AH! Oh, uh hi Jules, how are you?” He asked as we made our way into the elevator. Steve straightened his clothes as if nothing happened, but I just watched him. The flush on his face, the belt, shirts askew, his button down missing a few buttons, his hair standing on end, but the biggest clue was the tip of a purple bruise peeking out from the neck of his shirt.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine, Bucky gets released in a few minutes so I’m just going to meet with him and continue therapy.” I didn’t mention anything about his appearance, but he was definitely not going to hear the end of this. “How ‘bout you though? Looks like you just got out of bed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I uh woke up late and I have a meeting with Tony. Something about a new feature on my suit, then I have to train some of the new recruits today as well.” Yup Steve was definitely hiding something and I was determined to find out what that ‘something’ was, but all in due time.

“Well show ‘em new recruits how serious we need them to be Captain.” I shouldered him, which also gave me a view of his neck. Fading red lines, obviously from fingernails, were running down the back of his neck.

“Will do, but seriously, how’s Bucky doing? Helen said he had a panic attack shortly after we brought him in.” I sighed and leaned against the wall of the lift.

“He’s, well, we’re....we’re pausing on the previous subject, focusing more on the actual physical contact approach. So we’ll be taking things slow, like sitting next to each other, touching hands, side hugs, that type of thing. Baby steps or until he feels ready to take a much larger step.” The elevator stopped on the med floor, but I made no motion of leaving right away.

Steve turned to me, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just, I hate having to do this, but I have to talk to Bucky about some...rules and guidelines we...I have to give to the rest of the team.” I said in a rush but was hesitant to look into Steve’s eyes, already knowing this was going to hurt him.

“What kind of rules Jules?” I could tell he was trying to keep his voice level, but a hint of his Captain America voice leaked through.

“Steve, what Bucky went through was more than traumatic. Touch scares him, any form of physical contact that sets him on edge will, not can, will trigger a multitude of things. The rules or guidelines are mainly for Bucky’s mental state. Uh...a protective hedge so to speak so he can feel comfortable around the team enough. However, the team needs to be informed of them so they know what to do and what not to do.” I looked at Steve and could see frustration bubble deep underneath the surface.

“Stop that right now, Steve Rogers and listen to me,” Once I could tell he was calmed down, I continued, “I know this sucks, I get it. You’re his best friend, you want to help him, keep him safe, and protect him. I. Understand. But if you really want to help him get past this, you need to listen to me and trust me. Trust Bucky and the decisions he makes. He needs his friend to support him, so do that. It’s not going to be easy. Hell, he might bounce back to square one after we took five steps forward. It takes time and I’m not one of those therapists who sets the time it takes to get them to where they need to be. It’s all on the patient, but if Bucky needs to take baby steps the whole way to get there? Then we’ll take the small steps as they come.” I looked behind me to see Helen and Bucky already waiting for me at the end of the hallway, watching us. I really needed to wrap this up.

“Just give him time okay, Steve?”

“I’ll give him time, thanks...thanks for letting me know, Jules. Or I would’ve done something stupid.” I knew this was my opportune moment and I was going to take it.

“You’re not stupid, Steve, well, besides the fact that you might want to check for injuries the next time you wake up. Others might get suspicious.” I replied while gesturing towards the hickey on his neck. Steve checked his reflection and immediately covered his neck, the flush returning. “Must’ve been a rough night last night. Oh, I know how to sew buttons too in case you’re wondering.” I said over my shoulder as I headed towards Bucky, smiling with glee as the doors closed to a gaping Steve.

“Hey Helen, Bucky, how’s our dark and brooding patient this morning?” Bucky frowned and grumbled.

“I’m not brooding, I’m a deadly assassin who’s being lectured...again.” Helen crossed her arms, totally unfazed by Bucky’s attitude.

“Uh-huh, well Mr. Dark and Brooding here has just been waiting anxiously for you. He’s good to go, I had a copy of his file sent to your office about what medications he can take if need be. Hearts all strong and healthy and he has agreed to your request of being pulled from missions until you give him the go ahead.” I nodded at Helen.

“Thanks, Helen, come on Buck, let’s leave her to her doctoral duties and go grab some breakfast.” I began to lead the way when I felt something brush against my hand. I looked down to see his right hand inched towards mine. So without saying anything, I just stick out my pinky to him and smile when he wraps his own around it.

“What were you and Steve talking about? He probably hates me, he has every right to.” Bucky said the last part quietly I had to strain to hear it.

“Why would you think that?”

“I pushed him away, I’ve been avoiding him, hiding from him...lying to him.” I stopped our way towards the kitchen where I could hear the voices of the others.

“Hey JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Jules?”

“Could you have our breakfast sent up to my office please and Code B-JURN,” I told the AI as I headed us back to the elevator.

“What does B-JURN mean?” Bucky asked as the doors slid closed.

“It means that no one will be disturbing us in my office unless they want to be sent down to Helen for major injuries. I had it placed for both my office and my floor since that day. Luckily no one’s been stupid enough to go against it.”

“Why?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel comfortable whenever we’re in a session. As a warning to others and a safety for you.” The lift fell quiet as it continued upwards until Bucky’s voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve used it before. That’s why you chose it.” I don’t say anything right away, stepping out of the lift when the doors finally opened. I made my way towards my office but was stopped when Bucky took my hand in his, pulling me to a stop. This was the most physical contact he initiated in the past few days, so it took me by surprise when he grabbed my hand.

“Did I say something wrong?” His voice small and insecure.

“No Bucky, it’s not,” I sigh and look down at our joined hand, his was large, strong, calloused but yet soft and gentle. Contrasting against my small, dainty one. “Let’s sit, I need to sit.” I steered us towards my office, kicked off my shoes and let gravity suck my body down into the couch cushions, Bucky doing the same on the opposite couch.

“Code JURN was something I - we used on our street corners, bars, streets, hotel spots when we’d try to pick up a client. Uh, when, it was back when I was a hooker, whore, street treat, take your pick. The more money you offered, the more us girls were willing to do. It was easy money, I could make five hundred easy in one night, more if I actually wanted. But us girls always stuck together, had each other’s backs if one of us felt uncomfortable in any kind of situation.”

“So you guys came up with code names?” I nodded, finally registering that our breakfast was already delivered and decided to pick at the eggs.

“Alice, she was one of the first girls who approached me, gave me pointers, introduced me to the other girls, ya know, she was one of the first ones to find me after a night gone bad. I got picked up, was supposed to go the hotel for the night, that type of thing. But we never did, instead he told his driver to stop in an alley - he was a big money type person - and he wanted to have a threesome with me and his driver, which was not what I agreed to. Not unless he paid extra, which is what you had to do at the start.

So imagine my surprise when his driver hops in the back and they both start getting frisky with me. This was only my fourth client by the way, so I thought this was normal up til the point when they began to get more urgent. Long story short, they tried to rape me, almost succeeded if it wasn’t for Alice and some of the other girls. They found the car in the alleyway, recognized the license plate and took action. We always hide crowbars and bats in our areas for things like this, so they bashed a window, scared them shitless, took what they owed me, helped me out of the car and the creeps left with a promise not to turn us in if they wanted to keep their dicks in one piece.

So that’s where Code JURN came into play. We each had our own, mine was Code Jules-Unavailable Right Now. To others, it didn’t mean anything, but to us it did. If any of us had a bad or sick feeling about a client or someone who’s willing to pay for a quickie, a full night, wild night, whatever, if they gave off a vibe one of us would steer the person away while another would text their own code to them as a warning to lay low for a while. It helped, kept us safe, made us feel safe.” I felt nervous, uncomfortable. I’ve never told anyone this before, well besides my own therapist who helped me move past it.

“You added me to your code, Code Bucky-Jules Unavailable Right Now. That’s why you added it, to make me feel safe here.” Bucky looked at me, still trying to take it all in that someone would even do this for him.

“Yes, I did. I hope that’s okay, I can change it if you want.” He shook his head, smiling softly.

“No, I like it. Makes it sound like we’re spies or something.”

“Well technically you are a spy, so it would be the spy slash assassin and the evil mastermind.”

“Bucky and Jules, the Dynamic Duo.” I pointed my fork at him in excitement.

“Yas! I like it! I can see the headlines now; ‘The Mysterious Dynamic Duo Strikes Again! Who Are They and What Are Their Plans?’ I think it fits.” We both ended up sprawled on the couches holding our sides as we laughed. I haven’t heard Bucky laugh at all, so just to hear him be free like this felt really good, made him look good too.

“You’re amazing you know that?” Our laughter slowly died down as I glanced over to where Bucky was laying down, a complete satisfied look on his face.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself too. Even though you have an ugly ass.” His head whipped towards me, a playful hurt look on his face.

“Ouch doll, that really hurt. JARVIS, Jules is being mean to me! If you must know Jules, my ass is awesome. I can prove it to you if you want.” He started getting up and began to unfasten his belt.

“No! Don’t, I don’t want to be scarred for life from all the wrinkles and sagginess!” I squealed and covered my eyes.

“My ass doesn’t sag and it doesn’t have wrinkles. Their smooth, firm and are the perfect roundness. I worked hard for this ass.” I swatted his butt away from me when he playfully wiggled it in my face.

“Fine, fine, your ass is the best ass I’ve seen, but shake your ass somewhere else you goof.” He turned around and sat on the floor beside me instead of returning back to his previous spot. He reached for my hand again, which I willingly took, watching as he fiddled with my fingers deep in thought. We stayed like this for who knows how long, lost in our own thoughts.

“How do you do it?”

“What?” He asked me, curious blue-grey eyes watching me.

“How come every time I’m around you I feel...at ease. It’s like I’m drawn to just be near you, want to touch you, not like that but like this,” he gestures towards our clasped hands, “all the hurtful touches disappear when I’m with you. I don’t understand. When you helped me that first day, it felt as if your touch alone was pulling me out from the touches that were drowning me. It’s like I need your touch just too even get through the day.” I wasn’t prepared for that confession at all. I knew that my presence helped him, but I wasn’t aware of the full extent of it.

“I don’t know, maybe I saw myself at first. Someone who was lost, desperately seeking for help that they weren’t sure how to find. Leo Buscaglia once said, ‘Too often we underestimate the power of touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.’ “I held his hand in both of mine, putting all my focus on him and him alone.

“Bucky, you were deprived of something that everyone needs in their life. For the full 70 years Hydra had you, they took a lot from you and twisted the physical contact you craved, turning it into something you absolutely feared. How you reacted that day was completely understandable. That’s why I want to help you, I want to help you so you no longer fear the contact that others offer.” I waited as Bucky let everything I told him to sink in. Hell, everything I told him in the past, what hour? Was a lot to take in. Plus we could afford to veer off topic for one day, we could continue on the next day, so, for now, we’ll take this as a well-needed break.

“What do we do now then?” I squeeze his hand once, then reach over to the side table and pull out my Stark Tablet opening up the notes app.

“Well two choices, either we continue breakfast and finish watching Die Hard or we can finish breakfast, order in for lunch, cut to the chase and get one object out of the way.”

“And what would that object be?” Bucky asked as he reached for his own breakfast, which was well beyond cold now, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Um, it, it would be how we’re going to inform the team. So, we’re going to have to set up rules, guidelines for the others to follow so they’re prepared on what not to do around you so they don’t accidentally switch on a panic attack.” His hand froze mid-way on bringing a slice of toast to his mouth.

“This is only if you’re ready. They won’t need to know the full extent of what happened or none of it at all, but after what happened before,” I thought back to the major panic attack Bucky went through. How scared he was when the asshole and his minions barged in here and almost causing his heart to fail. “I can’t have that happening again Bucky, I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared and pissed off in my whole life.”

Bucky finished his breakfast at his own pace as I let him think about the next step we needed to take towards his recovery. Overall it was a baby step, but to him, it was as if he was going to be taking a full leap over a cliff. I would never put him in a position like this ever, but his health and safety were a priority at the moment and this would make sure that the others would know to back off and not do anything stupid.

“I would come up with the rules and everything? Whatever I come up with they would have to respect it?” He finally spoke up after a few good minutes.

“Yes, or they would have to answer to me and that won’t be a good thing. I’m pretty sure Tony showed them the footage of the meeting I had with Fury, Roberts, and Tony. You are my patient first and foremost and if I feel your life and safety are at risk from anyone I don’t care if they’re Avengers or not, it won’t end well for them. And if SHIELD decides to step in then I’ll be more than happy to show them who they’re dealing with.” The tension in the air dissipated as Bucky smiled at my protectiveness over him and how threatening I was trying to be.

“Could we maybe, do you think we can do that tomorrow? I kinda, I want.” He seemed to struggle to actually get the words out into the open. Face furrowed in frustration when he failed to do so. Placing the Stark Tablet aside, I uncurled myself from my spot on the couch and kneeled beside him, brushing aside the hair that covered his face.

“What do you want Bucky?” I asked him quietly. This was about him and what he wanted, not what I wanted.

“Can I, I want,” I waited patiently, not wanting to rush him into answering me, giving him all the time he needed. “I want to watch Die Hard with you, stuff my face with all the pasta I want, I want my fucking life back, I want the nightmares to just go away and…” He looked away sheepishly.

“And what Bucky?” Now curious to know what else he wanted.

“You to kiss my forehead every once in a while...it’s probably stupid, but I, I kinda liked it.” If you would’ve asked me that day if I ever thought he would make a permanent residence in my life, I wouldn’t believe it. But now, now I do.

Without saying anything, take his face in my hands and lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Then you shall get all the forehead kisses, hugs, hand holding sessions you want. Just never be afraid to ask for it. And yes, I’d love to finish watching Die Hard with you and you will get your life back, but for now we’re going to be lazy.” I stand up and pull Bucky up to his feet, then proceeded to whip out blankets and pull off the couch cushions onto the floor.

“JARVIS cue up where we left off and could you do a double,” I stared at Bucky who was standing there all confused, “no a triple order of the pasta place on the corner?”

“Right away Ms. Jules. Would you like extra garlic bread as well to go with your order?”

“You know me so well J!’ Once I deemed the floor, now covered in blankets and cushions, satisfactory, I plopped down and patted the spot beside me.

“Get your ass down here old man, we’re going to watch movies, pig out and get fat on bread and pastalicioiusness.” For a second, Bucky just looked down at me with concern, but then a smile cracked on his face, followed by him laughing.

“Old man my ass, have you even seen Steve? He’s old as fuck, he definitely needs to get laid or something.”

“About that, I think he already is.”

“What?! No way, who is it? Is it someone we know? That punk, how come I’ve never noticed this?”

“I have no idea who it is, but he definitely got some serious action last night. When you saw us in the elevator a while ago, he was obviously sporting some hickeys and nail marks from his passionate fuck session with his mysterious lover.”

“Did he really have a hickey?”

“Oh yeah, he thought he might’ve been all sneaky about it. He also had a little gait to his walk too. Ooh not to mention the faint smell of perfume either. So believe me, I 100% determined to find out who this mysterious gal is, but for now,” I got up when a knock sounded at the door, thanking the delivery man who brought over our food, “I’m starving. So eat, be lazy and we’ll focus on brass and nails tomorrow.”  This was the perfect way to end the day. With a plan set for tomorrow, Bucky could just relax and just be himself and focus on nothing except for right now. I already knew this wasn’t going to always be this easy, but I’d consider this as a huge win.

Motionless Tag List:

@marvel-fics  @green-spotlight  @sebs-sugar-cookies  @akm0o  @extraterrestrialsky  @allyp1023 @skeletoresinthebasement @green-spotlight @flirtswithdanger @melconnor2007  jillilama-blog @they-are-not-just-stories

Help Me Tag list:

@believeitseeitdoit  @ellen-reincarnated1967  @suchwildloveisthis  @skeletoresinthebasement  @9erfect-9osts  @loverofthosebands  @xoxoaudreymarie  @dead-silence  @winter-in-wakanda  @azaleawardrobeo  @isaxhorror  @lostinspace33  @musichowler  @callie-swagg1 @capandbuck @sorryidontspeakgrounder-world @everythingintensifies @melconnor2007 @screechinginternetcoffee @hellstempermentalangel

Permanent Tag list:

@sebseyesandbuckysthighs @marvelatmytrash @oh-goodness-loki  @jotink78   @foreverlovecaptainswan  @pickylittlebitch  @just-call-me-mrs-captain  @buckyismyaesthetic  @imgettingmarriedtobuckybarnes  @shes-a-little-weird-but-perfect  @anxuanpham  @saladalpaca  @specs15  @morganosborn101  @earinafae  @frolicsomefawkes @chameerah @sorryidontspeakgrounder-world @the-witching-hours12-3 @unevenpages  @graceforme86 @badassbaker @4theluvofall @thisisdeja-vu @thefridgeismybestie @buckyappreciationsociety @thefridgeismybestie @alwayshave-faith @imsecretlyromanburki @melconnor2007

Gentle Touch Tag List:

@magsimovna @purplekitten30

Tags always open!