A New Maybe

Stress, Stress, Bucky, Stress

Pairings Bucky x Anna(rmc), Bucky x teen!reader(plc), Anna x teen!reader(plc)

Words: 1.1k-ish

Warnings: This does contain series spoilers! Mentions of injuries

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Two weeks...It has been two whole weeks since what you can only seem to call "The Incident". Maybe it helps to remove you from the emotional trauma you have with the kidnapping, dissociates you from the picture, but at the moment you don't really care about that. You don't care about how your still wrist hurts when you move it, that you still struggle to walk on your sprained ankle, or how you are only recently able to lay on your stomach or sides without a deep ache from the bruises littered on them, nope, none of that matters at this very moment.

What does matter, and what is pushing you to insane limits of stress overload, is the amount of homework you have. Jason and Timothy have been keeping you updated on how everything is going and what assignments you have from the classes you share. Even Katie and Samantha are helping out, tipping the guys on what to tell you. Thankfully, for the classes you don't have with the others, the teachers were informed on what happened, and they are more than willing to send out an email to keep you updated on assignments so you don't have too much to catch up on when you come back...and while you are grateful for everything, it still means a ton of homework.

So...that is where you are right now, sitting in the living room on the couch with your books spread out on the coffee table, pencil locked between your teeth, and a growing headache as the words on the page start to blur. Your skin crawls with frustration and topped with the lack of sleep you've been getting due to, shall you say, colorful dreams, it only makes the studying process significantly worse. Your teeth dig deeper into the pencil as you re-read the same paragraph of your science book that you've read probably five times now but was unable to focus on. Aggravation tickles in your chest and every little noise around the apartment keeps distracting you and adding to your frustration, feeding it like gasoline to a flame.

Bucky works in the kitchen, bustling around, the clinking of dishes and shuffling of random items grating on your ears. Ever since the incident, your parents decided at least one of them will always be at home with you until you are healed. Which, to be honest, is a great idea, however, you just need it to please be quiet. You can feel your eye twitch as another dish clinks and the sink handle squeaks as the water gets turned off. Your fingers gripping tightly on your book as you read the paragraph again. Stress eats away at your skin and the final breaking point, or the straw that broke the camel's back, or whatever the fuck they want to call it, but you snap as Bucky walks out of the kitchen, his steps like thunder behind him, tipping you over the edge.

"Hey, I got—"

"Can you just be quiet for five minutes!" you snap and your eyes throw daggers his way until you actually see him, a plate of food in his hands and a cup of juice, a towel thrown over his shoulder, and a vanishing smile turning into a set jaw. Crap.

"Fine," he states coldly, and you bite your tongue as regret itches up your spine and settles in your chest, "If you don't want this," he continues and gestures to the food in his hands, turning his back to you and setting it on the bar, "You don't have to have it, I'll just eat it, and it's going to be delicious."

"No—wait, I didn't mean—I just—" you stutter as you struggle to find the right words, lips tucked in a thin line as you try to sit up into a better position.

"You know, I get it," he starts as he turns back to you, his jaw still set tightly as he walks across the room, moving a couple of your books before taking a seat on the coffee table in front of you, "I get you are stressed. You can't do half the things you want to, can't even walk, you haven't been able to see your friends as much, and you've got a bunch of homework to make up. You're stressed, you're allowed to be, but that doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." He finishes off and your eyes draw to your hands in your lap, fiddling with the edge of the blanket thrown over your legs as your teeth nip at your lip.

"Sorry," you mumble with guilt dripping off your tongue and Bucky sighs, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

"Eyes up here, Sweetheart," Bucky says and your eyes slowly lift to his as he seems to analyze and break you apart piece by piece to find the truth, "How long have you been at this?" he asks and he drops the critical voice he had just a minute ago, now more concerned than anything and you shrug, glancing at the clock.

"A few hours now...I can't focus. I hear every little thing and it distracts me. I swear I've probably read the same paragraph ten times by now," you say, and your shoulders drop in defeat, and Bucky nods.

"Okay," he says and takes the book from your lap and closes it along with the others on the table, "You're done."

"Wait, what?" you object, "I can't just stop now, I've got too much to do."

"And how much do you think you are going to get done like this?" Bucky asks and stands, piling your books up, "You're too stressed, you need a break. If you keep this up, you are going to burn out and you'll never get done."

"But—"

"No buts. They warn college students about doing this and should emphasize it more in high school. You can't put too much stress on this and work too much on it or you'll fry your brain. Just take a break, eat lunch, breathe before you pass out, alright?"

You sigh as Bucky looks at you sternly, and you almost laugh at how he cares, or maybe you are confusing laughing with crying...that is for fate to decide, you suppose...wait no, she's a bitch...you'll leave it up to life itself. He has a kinder touch. It still surprises you how much Bucky tries with you, and how natural it all seems to be for him, caring for someone who isn't really his in the biological sense...or even legal sense.

"Okay," you say and Bucky smiles in victory, snatching your food off the counter and handing it to you with your juice, "Thanks."

"Always," he says and it is so simple for him, to say something that holds so much meaning to you that your eyes snap to his in curiosity, curiosity for the truth, and he smiles at you, and you know he means it. He grabs his laptop from the dining room table along with its charger and sets it up on the coffee table, pulling up Disney Plus.

"What are you doing?" you ask as he starts a series he's been trying to catch up on with you, getting comfortable on the couch beside you.

"Well, I'm not letting you do any more homework for a while and you need a de-stressor, so...movie," he says and tugs the corner of your blanket over his legs, making sure not to jostle your foot, "That sound okay?"

"Yeah...that sounds perfect," you say as you scoot closer to him and the movie starts playing...maybe you could get used to this—him. Why does he have to be everything you never knew you needed? You're not sure, but you're not letting him go. If he's going to be there for you like this, his sorry ass is stuck with you for eternity.

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