Broken Soldier

I'll always be here

Bucky's POV

My shoulders were shaken, and I flew up with force, and grabbed my attackers arm and twisted. They fell off of me, and I held them against the bed. When I finally calmed down, I realized it was just Luke. Our breathing was heavy, and a bruise was already forming on his cheek. Did I punch him without knowing?

"My god Baden. I'm so sorry. I get freaked out in the morning. Luke, I'm sorry." I rushed my words together, letting him go and standing up.

"Don't worry about it, Buck. I should've known not to scare you like that. It just looked like you were having a nightmare. By the way, you have a killer right hook." He said, sitting up in my bed.

I laughed shortly, and sat on the ground next to him. We both breathed a sigh of relief, and I recalled last nights events. Dean yelled at me for no reason, I walked away with Luke, and Sam said nothing the entire time. Could I ever have feelings for a guy that would just leave me like that? I fiddled with mine and Logan's dog-tags, when Luke grabbed my metal hand.

I've always been really self-conscious about it, but I don't know how he does it, but Luke has always been able to relax me when he touches my left arm.

"Maybe you should try to talk to Dean and Sam again." Luke recommended.

"Why should I have to talk to them? Dean was the one who was being an ass. And Sam didn't even stand up for me. They don't know that I don't have my emotions in check. I barely have any emotions, it's not my fault." I looked down at the ground, and ran my hands through the carpet.

"I know it's hard for you princess, but they were drunk. Go try and talk to them today." He persuaded.

I nodded slowly, and unclenched my hands. Maybe he was right, I have started feeling comfortable around them. They don't know it, but they've helped me. It would be the right thing to do. To give them a second chance. I kept running my hands through the carpet, trying to clear my mind.

"Buck, do you remember that one time, when Adam got Wanda killed. You were furious. When we came back to camp, you practically beat the crap out of him. You didn't speak to him for a week straight. You thought you could never forgive him. But then, you started to calm down, and realize it wasn't his fault. He almost died to, and you forgave him. And then you two were closer then ever. Maybe it's time that you forgave Sam and Dean." He threw his arm around my shoulders, and I laid my head on his chest.

I nodded ever so slowly, and gave him a hug. Which he returned, and gave me a kiss on the forehead. We stood up, and I went to go get ready. Besides I had to go to the motel anyway.

Dean's POV

I hid my eyes from the bright light coming through the blinds. My head was absolutely killing me. I turned my head, and saw a glass of water and two Tylenol on the bedside table. I sat up, and looked over at Sam's bed, and he looked pissed. I rubbed my eyes, and looked over at the couch, where Bucky should. But, the red headed metal girl wasn't there.

"You don't remember last night at all, do you?" Sam's voice was low, and it was dark. Like he just saw a murder happen. It sent a cold shiver up my spine.

"I remember we went to the bar, and I hit on a girl. The rest is a giant blur. Why, what happened that's made you so cranky today?"

"Oh nothing really. Just that you yelled at my girlfr....bucky, for no reason. And she walked away with that guy. And I don't know if she's coming back. And I totally just stood there, letting you guys yell at each other. And I'm a terrible person, I just let her go." Sam rushed his words together, and ran his hands angrily through his hair.

"Okay, calm down, we can figure this out. Was I that drunk that I just screamed at Bucky?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

"Yeah, you did. You just screamed at her, and she fought back. I was afraid that I would have to stop you two from murdering each other. I could've stopped Bucky from walking off. But I didn't know what to do. I just followed my mind, instead of listening to my heart." His face told me that he was up all night. Thinking about what he did, and how he could've stopped it.