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its-in-the-woods · 1 day ago

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Reach For Me - Pain

Masterlist

-Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 5.1 k

Synopsis: “Tank,” He says, you blink a few times, you try not to act shocked. “I can’t fix it.” His words are clipped and short, like they hurt to say.

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT. I am not in control of how you interact with my work. My work is not to be used for anything.

Rating/Warning: Missing limbs, prosthetic, wounds, ptsd, long silences, brooding, Bucky (you know why), hurt, longing, past torture, physical and mental, swearing, and so on.. this whole story is just one big warning.

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You had given James a week of medical leave, mostly cause you wanted someone to keep Steve from wandering the medical floor all day. Also, because you wanted him to try and recover from the mission, you’d gotten permission from him to talk with Stark and Banner about possibly looking at some custom earpieces. Something that could block out sound and make it harder for something like this to happen again. They’d agreed, Stark had already set about looking into the necessary tech.

It felt like a step in the right direction. Being proactive and working with each other instead of tiptoeing around each other. You’d also have interviews lined up with several therapists and psychologists who could hopefully become part of the team. You’d already heard groaning about it, but had held fast that this was needed to benefit everyone. Banner and Thor included.

The weekend had been uneventful, you’d pretty much slept. Banner had firmly told you that you’d be escorted off the premises if you showed up at the tower over the weekend. You’d still spent a good amount of it slogging through papers on the latest biotech, learning about cybernetic eyes that were starting to see in colour. Not to mention the regeneration serum coming out of China, it hadn’t been tested on humans yet, but the applications could be revolutionary.

You opened your phone, looking at the messages, checking emails. Part of you hoped that maybe James would text you, did he even text? Face scrunching, you were almost certain he still had a flip phone. Closing out your phone, you cover your face. What the hell was wrong with you? He was your patient, a traumatized, tortured, mess of a man, who needed care and support. Not your weird heart flips, and gaze that lingered too long on the way his shirt fit him. Groaning, you bury your face into your bed pillows. Nope, that was a line you were not crossing.

Tomorrow you’d go back to work the same way you always did. Hire some therapists to talk to the dysfunctional group of heroes that lived there. Fit your vets with a device that could be life-changing. Do your job, like you were being paid to do.

“Professionalism.” You said out loud to no one. “And not losing your medical license. Very important.”

You lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. At least you liked going to work now? That had to count for something. Right?

***

Natasha sits across from you, her hair is down, long and red, arms crossed as she watches you carefully. You were currently going over her notes, she’d been shot in the left thigh, and the right side just under her shoulder.

“Would you be interested in doing physio once the wounds are healed?” You ask, typing away, Natasha shrugs a little, head tilting.

“I won’t say no,” She replies curtly, fingers rubbing over the soft grey sweater. You were pretty positive it was Steve’s, but that was none of your business. “How long you going to sideline me for, Doc?”

You worry your lip, trying not to let her eyes burrow too far into your soul. “Your thigh got the brunt of it. I saw the limp you had, should be using crunches or a chair to move around.”

“I am getting around just fine.” She replies, looking towards the scan of her thigh on the screen. “It didn’t hit the bone. I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, you have and I know normally, they’d just have you back out into the field as soon as you were on your feet. But I like to see you all not kill yourselves while I am here.” You raise your eyes at Natasha, mirror her by crossing your arms over your chest. It was not easy facing down superheroes and telling them to take it easy. “I am not trying to be a hard ass, I am trying to make sure you’re in the best form. Avoid unnecessary harm or casualties.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that, Doc.” Natasha resigns, her hand rubbing over the spot where she’d been shot. “You're refreshing.”

Your mouth opens and closes, not sure how to take that, “Thank you.” Looking down at the keyboard in front of you. “I do care about all of you. I am not sure what I expected from this job, but you all feel closer to family than patients.”

Natasha has a small smile play across your lips. “Don’t go getting soft on us now, Doc. But it hasn’t gone unnoticed what you’re doing for us, it’s been a long time coming.”

Stomach twisting, you nod, “That means a lot. I would like to give you at least another week before physio, and then we will go from there.”

She nods, “Slot me in, I’ll be here.” You nod, and she gets up going to the door.

Pausing, she turns to you for a moment, “Whatever you are doing with Barnes, keep it up, it’s working.”

Your heart shouldn’t lurch, but damn did that feel nice to hear.

***

“I am not sure why I am here, Doctor of Earth.” Thor sat across from you. It was weird seeing him in sweats and a hoodie. Dark sunglasses over his eyes, his fingers constantly moving over the hem of his pocket.

“Pepper, likes to make sure we have up to date info on all of our members,” You reply, going over his blood work. Eyes narrowing, his cortisol levels were off the charts, well off the charts if he wasn’t a god. “Have you been dealing with some stress at home?”

Thor shifts in the chair, lowering himself down; you could see how uncomfortable he was. “Nothing that I cannot handle.”

“Thor, what is going on? The last time your levels were this high, Loki blew up half the city.” You press, if anyone thought Bucky was stubborn, Thor was a whole different level.

“Something is wrong at home, in Asgard.” He states, again shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “I will handle it.”

Rubbing your eyelids, you try to figure out what you could do. He was a god; your medicine did almost nothing, and you were almost certain he was depressed. The conflict with Loki was hitting him harder than he was letting on.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” You throw out, knowing full well he was going to shoot it down. “I have a really lovely therapist who has signed on.”

His arms crossed, eyes going over his glasses, a huff leaving him. “No, I am no mere mortal. How would anyone understand what is happening?”

“Okay, it’s there if you change your mind. Sometimes talking about it helps,” You reply, so much for standing your ground. A sudden thought comes into your mind. “You could always go bug Tony about some attack bots. Maybe smashing things would help.”

He sat up a little, eyes peering over his sunglasses. “I think I would enjoy that, Doc. That is a good idea. I shall go do that!”

You chuckle watching him get up, punching at the air before disappearing out the door. Well, you definitely made his week.

***

The next few weeks fly by, and you end up clearing the whole team to get back to work. Natasha is on light duty and intel only. She gave you a glare but didn’t argue. She also seemed not to mind the physio therapist, despite Steve’s side eyeing him. Speaking of Steve, he had huffed about doing follow-up x-rays, but agreed after you let him go without physio. You were pretty certain he would have tossed the physiotherapist if he had ended up going. Sometimes you had to make compromises to avoid losing any more hair.

Now you were stuck in a budget meeting. A large glass conference room that looked out over the city, you could see the hallways, and the helipad. You were certain they’d pick this spot on purpose. A way for your boss to flex his muscles. Stark didn’t much care about how money was spent, as long as it went to something worthwhile. Whatever that meant.

Who cared was investors, the board was very specific about who got how much, so budget meetings it was. Budget, paperwork, and red tape aren’t exactly your forte. You’d heavily leaned on Bruce to help you navigate the complicated process. He’d been more than happy to show you how it all worked; you definitely owe the guy several beers at this point. Especially after he went over the powerpoint for you.

Looking around the table, your eyes land on Stark. Stark, who had most certainly not taped pictures of the eyes to his glasses, Pepper occasionally nudging him when he started snoring. The meeting was nearly concluded, and the investors seemed more than happy with how your veterans program was moving. The murmur of them using the prosthetics for military applications made your stomach turn; you would be advising your veterans of that. Whether it affected your funding or not. You would not let your patients go in uninformed to any meet and greet with privately funded military companies.

“Well, if the veteran program keeps up, we may look at expanding it come next year.” A balding man across the table leered at you; something about him made you want to gag.

You smile politely, hoping that your face didn’t give away your thoughts, “I am always open to broadening my research.”

“I bet you are. Been quite the star around here.” Another man says, his eyes staring directly at your chest. Which was hilarious considering you were in a lab coat for once. “Wish Stark had hired you earlier.”

“Now, now, gentleman. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Pepper chimes in, giving them a firm look. You now also owe Pepper wine. “Our Doctor has a lot on her plate already.”

You give her a small smile, thankful that Pepper had stepped in. Looking out through the large window, you see the crew walking down the hall from the helipad. Watching for a moment, you see that James is carrying his arm in his hand, his face a storm cloud of unsaid words, body leaning slightly left as he walks.

“If we are all done here, I have some work to get to.” You say quickly, gathering up all your notes and files into your arms.

“Oh, taking off so soon,” Stark leers, watching you from above his glasses.

The urge to flip him off is shoved down; instead, you turn and give him a polite smile. “You know where to find me, Mr. Stark.” He winces, but lets you go.

You take off down the hallway, hoping that you can maneuver the maze to catch up with James. Scurrying through the various halls, you turn through a door and watch as the elevators close.

“Damnit,” You mutter under your breath, hitting the button to go down.

One of the elevators comes up, and you are in as soon as the doors open, rapidly hitting the button to your floor. You nearly hit the floor for James’ room, but decided against it. “Boundaries, boundaries,” you mutter to yourself.

The floors go by slowly, fingers tapping on the edges of the files. Wondering where he would have gone to your office. You hit the clinic floor and nearly topple out of the elevator, scurrying down towards the office doors. Rounding the corner, you see him standing by the door, hand still hanging on to his prosthetic. His shoulder slump, tact gear stretched across him. The little heart jump had nothing to do with the fact you’d never seen him in full uniform.

“Hey,” You say quietly, like you hadn’t just run out of a meeting and down the elevator to get to him. “What happened to your arm?”

James looked down at his arm he was holding, and then back at you, his face still an unreadable mask.

“Thanks,” He says. You blink a few times, trying not to act shocked. “I can’t fix it.” His words are clipped and short, like they hurt to say.

“Oh, not a problem. I got most of the afternoon free.” You say with a small smile, moving forward and unlocking the office door.

He follows behind you, his present making the space feel small, placing the arm on your desk with a thud. You place your stuff down, sliding files back into place, firing up your computer. Looking towards him, you see him pacing around the room, his footfalls are almost silent. How could someone that large make almost no sound? Was he sweating?

You sit in the chair, rolling over to look at the arm. It was dented, right where the elbow joint was. Not just dented but squished, like a pancake. Pen taping around the different points. You use both hands to turn it over; the underside doesn’t look as bad, but this was not going to be a quick fix.

“You said a tank rolled over this?” You ask, moving back to your computer to see if there was a lab free.

He finally sits, right hand moving up to run over his left side, nodding at your question. You see him wince, just a small scowl that disappears in a blink. There is definitely sweat breaking out over his brow, was he in pain? A list of questions forms in your mind as you watch him.

Glancing back at your computer, you see the lab schedule, lab D is open, at least part of the lab was open, there would be others in there, but the equipment you needed would be available.

“I am going to take this to Lab D. I have the three-dimensional prints in my medical room next door. I can use that as a template. This may take some time.” You say quickly, booking the lab. “Did you get injured when the tank rolled over your arm? I can take a look at it now, make sure everything is fine.”

James sat there, still as stone, right hand clenched hard enough that his knuckles had gone white.

“Are you okay?” You swallow, moving over so that you are closer to him.

He fidgets, now that you are looking at him over you can see marks covering his chest. The tact vest had been shot several times, and there was blood splattered across it. The glove on his right hand was torn, and the knee on his left leg was also ripped.

“James,” You move over closer, you don’t touch him. Something was clearly bothering him more than he was letting on.

“It’s fine.” His words clipped, as he got up and walked out the door, so quickly you didn’t have time to ask him to stop.

You sit for a moment, blinking, unsure why the man had stormed out. Your first instinct is to go after him, but you stop. If he needed space, you’d give him that, he would find you if needed.

***

Bucky stood in his bathroom, the steam had covered the mirrors, and he would prefer it stayed that way. He knew the mirror would only reveal the damage he could already feel. The pain was excruciating, and the warmth had helped until he got out of the shower.

It did help that doing things without an arm was difficult. He was certain half his body was not cleaned properly, and he was also certain that getting clothes on was not going to be any easier. He’d be wearing sweats and a loose shirt until he got his arm back.

The arm hadn’t always been there, but he had never learned how to live without it. It wasn’t like HYDRA had classes on being a normal human being. No, he’d learned how to take a part of a gun one handed, and gut a person with one hand. Yet, putting on clothes wasn’t on their list, or doing his hair, or talking to another human. He was a weapon. The word etched into his mind like a brand.

The counter creaked under the squeeze of his fist.

He couldn’t hear over the coms; the new earpiece he had been given was still buggy as hell. Digging them out, he taped at the side of his head, hearing someone scream. His head turned, the dust clearing enough for him to see an agent being dragged away by some six legged monster, a tank was headed towards them. She had a dagger dug into one of its arms, but it wasn’t slowing him down; she was thrashing, trying to get out of his grip.

Without thinking, he was down off the stack of shipping containers, his heart thumping as he watched what was unraveling in front of him. Sam was diving down scooping out agents, and Steve was currently tearing through the roof of the spacecraft. He didn’t know where the others were, his focus narrowing down to what was ahead of him.

Hand on his weapon, he levelled three shots in a cluster at the creature’s head. It shook it off, turning to look at him, its face splitting to reveal tongues and teeth as it roared at him. The girl in its clutches was thrown towards the spaceship, her head hitting the ground hard enough to knock her out cold. Bucky didn’t stop, walking in a steady, easy pace, bullets focused still on the thing's face. All it did was annoy the creature.

Switching over to knives, he flips a dagger into his hand and throws it. It hits directly into the thing's maw. A scream cries out. He breaks into a sprint, the girl is going to be crushed in a moment if he doesn’t move fast. He manages to slide, throwing his arms forward and pushes her out of the way. His body curls in on itself, but it’s too slow. His arm malfunctioning and freezing, he feels the tank crushing his arm. It rips a scream out of his mouth. Pain flares as his socket is twisted and pulled off his body. It feels like it takes hours for the tank to go over his arm; he comes out the other side with a whimper.

He can feel the countertop piece in his hand, sharp enough to cut into his palm. The steam has faded, and the bruising around his limb shows. The limb is swollen and purple. Muscles around the metal plate were strained, veins red, flesh hot to the touch. The metal plating around his shoulder is rippled; if he presses on it, pain blossoms up his neck and into the back of his head.

“Fuck,” He whispers out, this wasn’t something he could fix on his own. No different than the arm, he needed help.

He thought of the look on your face when he’d gotten up and left. How confused you looked when he just stood up and left. The pain had been excruciating, his arm was broken, and half the aliens had disappeared into the forest. All he had wanted was for you to fix the arm, just for one thing to go right. The arm that won’t even fit because his limb was the size of a watermelon. It wasn’t your fault that he had been too slow, or that a tank had run him over, or that he was in pain.

Yet he still left you there. The one person trying to help him.

Looking one more time at his wrecked left side. He didn’t have a choice; if you got the arm working, it won’t slot back into the sock properly now. So he either went and saw you and got it all fixed, or nothing.

“Godamnit,” He grumbles, leaving the bathroom.

***

Lab D was as expected; there were two other groups in there working on projects. The space was huge, a large open area where one group was testing out what looked like nano-suit tech. It was not going well. They had covered most of the floor space with mats. Which were now being used by the suit test dummy, who was being thrown into it over and over. He would try to activate the suit; it would cover part of his body and then slam him backwards when he’d get nervous and clench his fist. They needed someone who was much less twitchy.

Another group had a defunct ironman suit laid out that they were slowly taking apart and piecing back together. It looked tedious and time-consuming, something that you almost wish you could be doing. Your mind was a mess.

The prosthetic was far more damaged then your initial assessment; the joint looked completely crushed and would need to be refabricated. This wasn’t simple or fast, and James was already upset. You’d also noticed that the pins that latched his prosthetic to his residual limbs were broken, which meant that the limb was more than likely injured. Not that James had told you that.

You placed his prosthetic on the table, closing your eyes and trying to refocus yourself. Trauma did horrid shit, you still had nightmares, still had flashbacks. There was no timeline for how trauma was dealt with, especially complex trauma like James was going through.

“Just keep showing up,” You say quietly, as you start to unload your cart.

Placing the arm on the table carefully, you’d need to get it apart so you could send it to the fabricators downstairs. Hopefully, they had something stronger than titanium down there; your mind drifted to vibranium. Steve’s shield was made of it, but you didn’t know of any other sources. You could possibly add tungsten to the titanium, just to the joints, adding the metal overall would make the limb too heavy. Just adding the joint weight might be too much. There were too many unknown factors.

“Whoa, is that the winter soldier's arm?” A much too chipper voice chimes in, you turn her, a smaller girl with brown curly hair and big green eyes. She immediately zoned in on the arm, her hands going out to touch it.

You stare at her for a moment too long, trying to digest the words she had said. “I am sorry. I would prefer if you used his name.”

The girl is looking over the whole thing, the way she is pressing and moving the metal has your fingers twitching. She goes to pick it up, and you nearly shout at her. “I didn’t know he even spoke.”

“His name is James Barnes,” You say firmly, moving so that you are standing in front of the prosthetics. Shuffling her out of the way, you didn’t want her touching the prosthetic anymore. “He is a patient of mine, and deserves some respect. He isn’t a tool to be fondled.”

She scowls at you, arms crossing over her chest. You felt that your face had said more than your words. “Well, he isn’t my patient.” She says loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “Besides, I have studied cybernetic tech extensively. I could help with this.”

You look at her name tag, Lily, and you try to keep your face neutral. Most of the room was now staring at you. “Lily, whether he is your patient or not, they all deserve respect. Would you call Dr. Banner, the Hulk?” Your voice was louder than needed, “Or Mr. Stark, Iron Man?”

The test dummy hits the wall with a thud, and someone gasps. Lily takes a step back, folding in on herself as she looks around the room, her cheeks stained pink.

“I apologize, Doctor," She says, your name quietly. “If there is anything I can assist you with, I will be just over there.”

You watch her walk away, the room still looking at you. The urge to yell boo sits just under your tongue, but you instead move back to what you actually need to focus on. You start placing all the pieces out in front of you, the three dimensional print in the center. Now to take the actual prosthetic apart, sans nosey interns.

***

Bucky stood in a pair of jeans that he’d struggled far too long to get on. A loose-fitting black tee that was baggy enough to hide the swelling. There had been a lot of cursing to get it on. Not to mention the shoes, he was investing in something that he could slip on after this. Clint had mentioned crocs, though the name alone sounded awful. Who names footwear crocs?

He stood outside his room and had no idea what to do. The pain had dulled to a roar; maybe it would fade. Then the shirt rubs the wrong way, and his head swims, the world turns slightly, and he is grasping the wall.

Grumbling, he makes his way to the elevators, trying hard not to move his shoulder at all. He hits the elevator button several times harder than necessary. The binging noise makes his head throb, vision blurring. The pain was almost debilitating at this point.

The doors open to an elevator full of people. They all stand there and look at him. How did so many people have access to the floors up here? He just waits for the doors to close, his forehead resting against the cool metal. Counting to ten, he hits the elevator button again.

***

Lab D is quiet, the lights are dim, everyone else has left for the day. He pads down the hall and stands just outside the doors. You're standing with three tables side by side, his entire arm spread out across all three. There are dozens of sticky notes, your tablet is perched on the rolling stool nearby. He watches as you card your hand through your hair, you grab the inner structure, it looks very similar to how a human bone would look. The joint is a mess, something that will have to be completely rebuilt.

He turns and leans against the wall, letting out a breath. An intern walks by with a scowl on her face, eyes not connecting with his, clutching her folders tighter as she walks by him. He grits his teeth; now he has to go in there and tell her that there was more damage done. That he was more damaged then he already was.

“James?” You are leaning out the door, bags under your eyes, brows furrowed as you look at him.

He pushes off the wall quickly, trying to act like he hadn’t been spiraling less than a minute before. “Umm, yeah, I-I wanted to see how you were doing with the arm.”

“Oh, come in then.” You say, still looking confused as you hold the door open for him.

He walks in and is struck with how many working parts are laid out in front of him. “Whoa, that’s a lot of parts.”

A sigh comes out as you pace the length of the tables, “Yeah, there is. The tank did a number on it. The biggest issue is rebuilding the joint.” You point at the piece of metal. “There is some nano fiber damage, and these metal cords.” You pull up three that are snapped. “They act like tendons, and they are also trashed.”

Bucky’s mind raced; this was not going to be fixed tonight, or hell, even this week. That didn’t even cover what he hadn’t shown her yet. His jaw works as he took it all in.

“I already have Max downstairs fabricating the new skeletal pieces. I have one being made with titanium and one with added tungsten. I want to make it stronger, but I don’t want to add weight.” He watches you move back and forth, your fingers running over each piece carefully. “We’ll need to do some test runs on it. I also noticed there were pins broken inside. Did you hurt your limb?”

He looks at you for a moment, “Umm, yeah. I was gonna mention it, it's nothing major.” That was a lie. “Maybe tomorrow you could look at it.” He was certainly not sleeping with the pain he was in.

Your arm crosses over your chest. “You think I am gonna sleep?” The words are thin, not anger, but sadness. “Also, you’re sweating, which I’ve never seen before.”

Bucky freezes; he doesn’t know what to do, his feet start moving backwards towards the door. You see it and reach out, he grimaces, but stops moving.

“James, you’ve been ignoring me since you got back. I can tell you’re in pain. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t help you.” You state plainly, he looks at you, the way your brows are furrowed, lips chewed to hell, and searches his face for answers.

He looks down at his feet as he pushes his shirt up to reveal his limb.

***

Your mouth falls open, the residual limb is purple, swollen twice its usual size. Reaching forward, you stop for a moment and look up at him. He is still staring at the floor, clearly upset and in pain.

“We need to go to my clinic, I need gloves, and possibly an x-ray.” You say quickly, mind a whirlwind. “And before you get upset, I will do everything I can to avoid the scan. But I need to look at this closure and possibly make some phone calls.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just drops his shirt sleeve and waits.

You move so you’re facing him, reaching over and grabbing his right hand. Despite his flinching, you squeeze it.

“James, stuff like this is going to happen. It’s all part of having an arm like yours.” You say quietly, you try to find his eyes, but he won’t look at you. “I know you saved the life of an agent, which almost cost you your own.”

He tries to pull away, but you won’t let him. Hoping that the squeeze of your fingers can somehow ground him.

“This is gonna suck, I am not gonna lie to you.” You say flatly, “But I need you to trust me, okay?”

He doesn’t move, his fingers twitch around yours before squeezing them. You let it sit, needing some sort of validation that he was going to be alright. If his limb was this swollen still, after over six hours, there was something severely wrong. Your mind had already started picking up names of people you’d need to phone, and tests you needed to run.

“I-I,” Bucky’s face twisted like he was trying to find the words.

You hold up your hand and make an okay sign, “You can just do that.”

Bucky stares at it for a moment, and you let go of his hand, but then he makes the sign.

~*~*~*~

Author's note: I already have the next part written, but I am adjusting and writing it. May post it early 🤭

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