The Grumpy Sunshine Series

It's In The Past

Originally Posted: 01/15/2022

"James, really it's fine. It's just a graze- a flesh wound," you insist for the dozenth time, though you know like the dozen times before Bucky won't hear it. You keep fidgeting against his gentle grasp on your uninjured arm, but he is relentless. And incredibly pissed off.

He leads you into the empty MedBay and slams the door shut behind him. Without any warning, he's scooping you up and placing you on the counter. Your breath hitches and you find yourself completely unbalanced at Bucky's behavior. You're not really sure why he's mad, only that he is. "Take off your sweater."

"What?" you gulp, your mouth suddenly dry.

"Take off your sweater. I need to look at your arm," he repeats, his hands tightly gripping on the counter as he waits for you.

"Oh," you clear your throat. "Right."

You absentmindedly peel off your sweater and watch as he looks at your arm for a moment. Without saying anything or giving you any inclination as to how bad he thinks it is, you watch as Bucky starts rifling through the drawers. "Top right cabinet," you instruct.

"Thanks," he grumbles.

"I don't get why you're so grumpy. It's not that bad."

He places the first aid-box next to you and begins tending to your arm. He gently cleans the blood dripping down your arm, you hiss at the sting of the rubbing alcohol, and you see Bucky's expression slightly soften. He still won't look at you, but he mumbles, "You put yourself in danger- again. You're always willing to put yourself in danger to save everyone else."

"That's what we're supposed to do. The mission was successful, right? Isn't that what matters?"

"That's not what matters," he fumed. "What matters is that you make it out of there alive. Alive, you hear me? I don't like when you put yourself in danger- and you seem to do that a lot."

"Aww...you do care."

"You know I do," he mutters so softly that you don't even hear him. "You need to keep that clean-if you need help, come find me. I don't think you'll need stitches though."

You nod and swing your feet as James reaches over you and grabs the first aid kit.

That's when he sees it.

Slightly obscured by the several friendship bracelets you're wearing. Each bracelet identical to someone else on the team- including one that you made for Bucky. The same one he refused to take off since the day you gave it to him.

Just past the colorful strands is a long jagged scar up your wrist. The scar itself is so deeply grooved scar that it's practically embedded into your wrist, which tells Bucky everything that he needs to know. It wasn't an accident, a cry for help, and most likely self inflicted. You really meant it. And he can't help the shocked breath that leaves. You look over to see James' face which has gone a pale white and see him looking at your wrist. You know exactly what he's looking at and why.

"It's alright, James. It was a long time ago."

"Am I allowed to ask?" he gruffly asks, trying to play off the feeling of shock that radiates down his spine. You're...you. Sunshine, happiness, playfulness. And to know you tried to do this to yourself, it feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. It makes him sick to know that you tried to take yourself out of this world. When- he doesn't know, but now his mind is running rampant with what-if's, different probabilities, and scenarios where the two of you never met. Where you didn't cross paths and you weren't there. It's unfathomable to him, knowing that there was a chance that he'd have to live in this world without you in it, without knowing you, meeting you. It's not a world he wants to know.

You sigh and reluctantly nod. "You can."

"What happened?"

"It was...before," you whisper. "I want you to know that I don't feel that way anymore. I really don't."

He nods, but remains silent as he waits for you to continue. "I don't know how old I was, but the lady I told you about? They'd just killed her. I didn't tell you this but I watched. I watched as they put a bullet in her head. They said it was my fault, and I couldn't live with that- her blood being on my hands. I was older and I was going crazy sitting in that room day in and out. It was a split second decision I made and I just- I couldn't see it," you mumble. "I didn't know there was a whole world waiting- there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel."

"How?" he asks so quickly that you don't even have a chance to answer before he's rescinding the question. "You don't have to answer that. That's none of my business."

"It's alright," you assure him. "I, uh,- They didn't bring guns into the room. I think they knew I was losing it, but a guard slipped up. It was a tiny little pocket knife, but I made it count," you halfheartedly chuckle. "They barely got to me in time."

"I'm glad they did," he murmurs, finally looking up and meeting your eyes. "I just- I mean I'm glad you're not dead."

'Thanks."

"Are you?"

"Glad I'm not dead?" You finally look up at him. As you stare into his steel blue eyes, you don't even have to think about your response. "Yeah, I am."