Stucky One Shots

The Train

The icy cold rail rattled dangerously, threatening to fall away at any second as Bucky clung to it with all of the strength he had left after the blast had sent him flying from the safety of the train. The harsh metal was so frozen that it stung his fingers but he didn't dare loosen his grip. He didn't want to look at what was beneath him, heights were his biggest, and possibly only fear. His ears rung from the impact of the blast as he hung helplessly for dear life, his legs scrambling around in desperation, his face aching from the cold.

Suddenly he heard Steve's voice, terrified and strained as he peered around the edge of the ripped apart wall dreading what he might not see waiting there. "Bucky!"
He gasped when he saw his best friends frame dangling from the rugged metal.
"Hang on!" Steve yelled as he began to shuffle onto the outside of the train towards Bucky.

No! What is he doing? He's going to get himself killed! Bucky thought to himself in distress.
He tried to inch closer to Steve as carefully as possible and tell him to go back, that he wasn't worth the world loosing Captain America, but he was just too scared to be able to form words. He wanted so badly to yell for help, to yell for Steve, even though it wouldn't make any difference since Steve was already there doing everything he could to get him back.

"Grab my hand!" Steve shouted desperately reaching for his best friend. Bucky could see the fear in Steve's eyes and he was sure it mirrored his own. Just then he realised how much he didn't want to die, he wanted to be by Steve's side, fighting along side him and see him win the war. After all that was what Steve had always wanted back when he was small, weak and sick; for the two brothers to be on the battlefield together. Steve may not need James's protection now like he used to, but it was his natural instinct to do so just like he had his whole life.

Bucky reached out for Steve's leather gloved hand, not for himself but for Steve, but he slipped a tiny bit and his stomach dropped as the quickly weakening rail groaned. He managed to regain his handhold and after a second attempted to grab Steve's outstretched hand again. But then he felt it happening. The metal he was clinging to shifted once more and creaked louder than ever. He could see it in Steve's face too as his cheeks went livid pale under his mask, Bucky wasn't going to make it.
"No!" Steve cried out and made one last attempt to reach as far as he possibly could for his best friend's cold hand.

But it was too late. Bucky felt himself slipping and his white knuckles released from the rail as it broke free from the side of the train and fell, along with him. A scream escaped his lips. Finally he could make a sound as he looked up at Steve once more, as he slipped further and further away from his agonised face. Bucky threw his hands up in a feeble attempt to grasp at thin air and felt the sickening feeling of nothingness as he fell, tossing and turning through the frozen air just away from the mountainside. He could just see the train and the blue figure huddled against the side of it disappear around the side of the mountain as he was flipped around to have his stomach facing the ground that was still so far below him. Terrified he fell out of control and closed his eyes, awaiting his certain death. This was always the way he had feared to go out the most.

At least it was me and not Steve. He thought to himself. Steve was the only person he really cared about in his life. He was his best friend, brother even.

Unexpectedly Bucky felt himself hit something sharp and hard and a searing, ripping pain shot through his left shoulder as he was once again flipped back over. He let out a cry of shock. Above him he could see a ledge jutting out from the cliff face that he must've hit.

He could just see the snow capped tree tops growing up around him before he suddenly fell into an icy cold river, sunk down, too weak to fight the pressure and hit something hard on the bottom before everything went black without him being able to form one last thought or comprehend what had just happened.

....

His head pounded. His body ached. He could hear nothing but a rushing in his ears. He opened his eyes but instantly snapped them closed again at the bright white surrounding him. Confused and in pain, the man involunteerily let out a weak moan and went to lift his left hand to his forehead. Except it wasn't there. He frowned and groggily looked down Everything was a little fuzzy but not bad enough that he wasn't able to see nothing but a pale, bloody, mangled stump protruding from his left shoulder and a puddle of blood swirling around in the shallow water where he lay, caught between a log and a large rock. His whole body was numb from the icy river and he was shivering.

Who am I?
What's going on?
Where am I?

Suddenly all kinds of questions flooded his mind, and just as quickly as they came so did the answers.

My name is James Barnes.
I fell off a train.
I have no idea where I am.

Then why am I alive?

This thought pulled Bucky up short. What the hell was he doing alive? Was he dreaming? He should be dead, somewhere floating down the river or stuck at the bottom of its deep depths. How had he survived?

I wish I had died. He thought to himself. Now what was going to happen to him? He was probably going to bleed out, slowly and painfully, unable to move and never to be found. He would have much rather it have been over and done with quickly.

What happened to my arm? What happened to me?

The last thing he could remember was Steve reaching for him as he began to fall from his clutches as he tried to make sense of everything.

He inhailed a sharp painful gasp. Steve! Was he alright? Bucky let out a loud cry of frustration overcome with confusion and pain.

Weak and tired he only had one more thought before he felt himself slipping back into darkness once more.

Why me?

This went on for a long time. Each time he awoke Bucky only had a few seconds to wonder how long he had been there. Minutes? Hours? Days? It felt like forever.

Occasionally his head was clear enough for him to think about if someone was looking for him. Although he didn't want Steve to worry about him he knew that he would have every man and his dog out looking for Bucky's body. Boy would they get a surprise if they found him alive like this.

Each time he felt unconsciousness over taking him again he would think to himself. This is it, I'm finally going to die. But then somehow he would always wake up again. In the same position, but feeling weaker, sicker and in more pain each time.

Until one time he was awoken by a sharp pain stabbing through his left shoulder as someone dragged him from the river. Relief washed over him. Someone had found him! Greatfully he looked up only to be filled with panic. It wasn't Steve who had found him, nor one of his fellow Howling Commando's, nor anyone he would have wanted to find him. No. Instead standing over him was a Soviet Soldier.

What on earth could they want with him? Too weak to struggle and unable to move he lay stiff and terrified as he was lifted onto some kind of stretcher by what now appeared to be two soviet soldiers.

As they began to drag him off into the forest he looked down at his amputated left arm which was completely numb from the cold and thought about how much worse kinds of stuff they could do to him. He gathered all of the strength he could and managed to yell one thing at the top of his lungs before he blacked out, exhausted again.

"Steve! Help me!"