neverending line // stucky one-shots

hurt.

Post-serum
⚠️TW⚠️ self-harm; depression

"One week, baby, then I'll be back home and we can cuddle all you want," Steve promised.

The couple stood at the front door, clinging to each other. Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky's head.

"Be safe," Bucky whispered into Steve's chest.

"I always am."

Eventually, Steve had to go, so he pulled himself out of the embrace and slung his bag over his shoulder.

He gave Bucky a single, gentle kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Bucky replied without meeting Steve's gaze.

Then the blond walked out and was gone, leaving Bucky alone in their apartment. For the rest of the day, he kept himself busy. He fed the fish, went for a walk, and cleaned nearly every inch of their home.

But the night was inevitable, as were the Thoughts.

Bucky hated the Thoughts. They told him that Steve was dead, that it was Bucky's fault that he died. Bucky let him go on the mission, so of course if anything happened to him, it would be his fault.

The metal-armed man walked into their bedroom to get ready for bed. He pulled off his jeans and hoodie and replaced them with gray sweatpants and one on Steve's t-shirts. Bucky buried his nose into the fabric and took a deep breath. He gave a small smile; the scent of his husband comforted him.

After brushing his teeth, Bucky climbed into bed. Great. Now the Thoughts were really gonna hit. Bucky fumbled around in the bed, unable to get comfortable. Dark clouds gathered in his mind, bringing with them horrid flashbacks. Bucky swore he could feel the cold metal still pressed against his wrists and head. He scratched at his flesh wrist with his metal fingers, trying to scrape away the feeling. This only resulted in red welts that bled lightly. Bucky paused when he saw the red. As much as he wanted to deny it, he liked the pain and the sight of his own blood.

No, he thought. Steve said no more hurting himself. He didn't want to break his promise to his husband, but he deserved the pain. He hurt so many people; doesn't he deserve this.

So he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled open the top drawer of his nightstand. After rummaging around, he found it– a sleek silver pocketknife. He flicked it open and held the blade to his forearm.

Just one cut, the Thoughts assured. Then you'll feel better.

Before he could change his mind, Bucky drew a thin line across his skin. As the seconds ticked by, more and more blood seeped from the wound. Bucky smiled. It hurt, but it pushed the Thoughts away. Besides, it would heal by the time Steve got back.

Bucky tossed the pocketknife back into the drawer. He took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and pressed it to his cut. A few minutes later, the bleeding stopped, and Bucky was finally able to fall asleep.

///

He woke up with sweat on his forehead. The nightmares were persistent last night; they were always worse when Steve was away. Bucky tried his best to push it aside as he got ready for the day.

He had no plans for the rest of the week, so he went for another long walk, and when he came back, he watched Dumbo. Bucky preferred the old Disney movies to the new ones because they were the ones him and Steve would watch back in the 30s and 40s. Whenever he saved up enough money, Bucky would buy tickets for him and Steve to see one at the theater. Those were his favorite times. It made Steve so happy, watching the colorful drawings dance on the screen. And if Steve was happy, Bucky was happy.