Always There (Stucky One Shots and Short Stories)

Invisible Wounds (Stucky)

The scars on his body had long since healed. The black eyes and cuts had long since faded and healed over, leaving only faint reminders.

But as he saw himself in the mirror as he stood in the bathroom on this cloudy fall day, Bucky saw the gulag again in the cold, grey light. He could almost hear them in the room with him, berating him and cursing him in Russian when he protested, feeling the lash burn his skin when he stepped out of bounds.

He could see the stark brick walls of the interrogation room, lit dimly day and night, the icy grey plaster that crumbled away from the bricks... he could see the soldiers dressed in long, black overcoats and wearing black ushankas... he could hear them rewarding him for praising the Soviets. The more copious and eager his praise sounded, the more generously that they rewarded him. He had truly come to feel revulsion for his home country after enough nights deprived of sleep, enough days deprived of food, enough time tied naked outside in the middle of winter.

He felt a strange combination of numbness and terrified anguish as he saw himself. He saw the Winter Soldier staring back at him from the mirror. He saw the stone-cold killer that he once was. He remembered the many deaths that lay in his wake. He remembered coldness.

-----

"Bucky? Are you all right?"

A familiar voice broke his reverie. Before Bucky could answer, Steve had entered the bathroom and was standing against him.

"What's wrong, soldier? I know that look," Steve murmured as he slid his powerful arms around Bucky, gently pulling him close.

The painful chill that had consumed him a moment ago suddenly melted, and it showed. Bucky turned to face Steve, the haunted look in his eyes withering to one of relief.

Steve planted a loving kiss on Bucky's cheek as Bucky curled into the embrace. Warm. He did not remember feeling truly warm as the Winter Soldier, not even in the middle of summer. But now, despite that he wore a t-shirt, socks, and some thin pants on this cool fall day, Bucky did not feel at all chilled. There were no angry soldiers beating him or humiliating him. There was no stench of gunpowder. There was no longer disregard for life.

Steve's broad, muscular chest and his anxious embrace were delightfully warm and comfortable as he buried his face in the crook of Steve's neck, savoring the sweet scent. He was alive and the man that he loved was holding him. Bucky's eyes spilled relieved tears, which rolled down his face to meet Steve's smooth shirt.

"Do you want to talk about it at all?" Steve's voice was soft but filled with worry as he caressed the smaller man, swaying with him.

"No," Bucky whispered, "You're here. That's all I need."