Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Cold (2)

Warnings - angst, description of PTSD, recovery journey, injuries, concussion symptoms, slight gore, asshole Steve because he's a fucking dick in this, and language, mentions of suicide, topics of suicide, and overall thoughts of suicide

Nomad Steve can break me in half and I'd apologize 😃

Anyways, I'm completely in love with this short series, and I've only written one part lmao

I was actually thinking about making this a small fic, but I'm not sure. I love the idea and how much thought I put into it for it just to be a one shot, and maybe somewhere in the future I'll make a short story out of it. But for now, you're only getting one shots because there will most likely be a part 3

On with the sex

Just kidding lol
No smut on this one 🙂
HAHAHA

Anyways

*LONG CHAPTER*

Pain is the first thing you feel. Mostly in your head before it travels down, pulling at your stomach and leg and arms. Your wrists ache, and somewhere in your head, you just know that something isn't right. You're not even sure if you've opened your eyes yet, or if it's just too dark to see anything.

There's no movement around you besides your own feet trying to lift. It's obvious medicine had been injected with the slight daze around your eyes, but you push through it, trying your best to sit up.

The moon provides barely any light around you. From what you can see, it's some type of run down industrial building. There's broken windows that filter in shattered streaks of light, and the bed you're on is far too uncomfortable to be something that would help your aching muscles.

As you sit up, you feel the full extent of your injuries. Your head spins more, and you grasp the mattress beneath you, trying to cough whatever smoke was left in your lungs while also not trying to puke up whatever had been digested last. You don't even know how long it's been or where you are.

Or how you got here. Where this place is. If you had to remember anything, it was the fire around you. It was feeling your head get smacked against a wall before being dragged up two flights of stairs. Your wrists are the prominent reminder that you were held against a table and forced to wait until you were consumed by raging flames.

It doesn't surprise you that a hand presses against your shoulder. What does surprise you, is the strength you muster up in an act adrenaline, pulling whoever it is to the floor and hearing him groan as he shuffles around.

"Just me, Doll." You automatically ease at the sound of Bucky's voice, nodding depsite him probably not even being able to see you at all. "You're strong, even without your powers," he says softly, standing to his feet with an airy chuckle.

In that moment, you're reminded of the metal cuff around your wrist. The dull ache in your gut is just the effect and reminder that you're slowly being killed. Looking at Bucky, you're sure he's giving you a sympathetic smile as he sits next to you on the bed.

"Do you have water?" Your voice cracks from the lack of use, but you turn to him and speak anyways. Your throat is completely dry, and if you go one more moment without something hydrating, you feel like you're going to pass out.