Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

29. BUCKY: Fire and Ice

"Where are you going?" Scott calls after me.

"Away," I shout back over my shoulder. "I can't trust myself not to hurt any more of my friends." I say the last part under my breath, but I know they all hear me.

I stomp onto the balcony of the cheap motel. It's raining, unlucky for me. I hiss in pain as the first of many raindrops patters my boiling skin. For a moment I consider running back inside because of the pain, but then I realize that as long as I'm hurting, the heat doesn't come.

So I run into the storm.

I sit in the middle of the parking lot at midnight—body drenched and scabbing all over—while steam rises off of my flushed skin. The air stinks of smoke and every few moments a muffled cry comes out of my lips. Each drop of water brings on a new splintering pain. But I endure it, because I deserve it.

"Y/N!"

I grit my teeth. Ignoring Bucky's call of my name, I stay rooted on the asphalt.

"What the fucking hell are you doing?!" he sounds furious, but mainly worried. He knows what water does to me—he witnessed it firsthand a few weeks back when we'd been pitted against Black Panther in the streets and I'd had a fire hydrant burst just beside of me. His face had contorted in pure agony as my screams first reached his ears then. Now? Now I'm nearly silent in my misery.

"L-leave me alone, B-Bucky," I stutter.

Bucky appears above me. He's holding up a jacket to try and shield my body from the rain. He's drenched head to toe as I am; the only difference is that it doesn't affect him and his metal arm.

"We need to get you back inside before you kill yourself!"

"No, I won't d-die. This is the only way to s-stop me, but I w-will be f-fine."

"Bullshit." Bucky growls and tosses the jacket aside. Then he's grabbing me by the waist and lifting me into his arms. He runs us under the closest pavilion where the picnic benches and trashcans are. As soon as we're under the awning he sets me up against the wall. I'm so weak I can hardly keep my eyes open now. "Come on, Y/N. Don't do this to me." He pushes the wet hair from my face and starts trying to dry me with his warm breath and shirtsleeves. "We've been through too much for you to kill yourself now."

"I'm not going to d-die," I tell him again. I cough before going on. "It's just a little pain."

He settles down on his knees with his face parallel to mine. He carefully watches my pupils as they grow and shrink—my mind coming in and out of grogginess. "Hell right you're not going to die; or Steve would kill me, and I'd kill you."

I manage to smirk. "Wouldn't I already be d-dead?"

Bucky rolls his steel blue eyes. "Shut up," he mumbles. There's a shadow of a small smile on his plump lips.

I turn my face to cough into my arm. Blood is left on my shirtsleeve.

Bucky's face contorts with pain—which doesn't make sense, because he's not in any sort of physical distress. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. Steve should've never dragged you into this, and I shouldn't've brought us to this point to begin with..."

"This isn't your fault. There were cracks in the foundation," I sigh. "A little quake was bound to come through and tear us apart eventually." I close my eyes and whimper at the pain that is slowly starting to dull. "I just never thought I would have such a drastic part in it."

"It'll all be over soon," Bucky tries to reassure me. With the warmth that is slowly growing from my body his long brown hair is starting to dry. His cheekbones are sharp and high on his face beneath the bright blue eyes.