Who Am I? » [Stucky]

25. Night Visions

"Hold still!" Steve insisted in a hissed voice, keeping the shaving razor still whilst Bucky shuffled on the seat getting himself comfortable. The wooden back of the chair was becoming sore on Bucky's back the longer he stayed rigid in the same position with the horizontal wooden slats digging into his back like spikes.

"I'm trying, but this chair isn't exactly luxurious..." Bucky whined childishly, still squirming on his arse, wriggling about even more.

"We'll be done soon, I promise," Steve reassured him, slowly dragging the head of the razor across his scruffy hairy cheek and shaving away the short stubbly strands sprouting from Bucky's face, slicing through the fluffy white layer of shaving foam at he did. "And this is good, you can learn to use this kind of a razor."

"What was wrong with the cut throat razor?" Bucky said with tight lips, trying not to move his mouth too much whilst Steve sliced back more of the rugged facial hair that littered his jaw.

"You know damn well what was wrong..." Steve insisted, his eyes entirely focused on Bucky's face and not slicing into the soft flesh of his already lightly scarred cheek, he was wary of doing so if he pushed too hard or if Bucky fidgeted again and he really didn't want to harm his best friend.

"It was just a lapse in concentration... That was all. I'm perfectly capable of shaving my own face," Bucky complained indignantly, forgetting about trying to keep still and being expressive and scrunching his face.

Steve huffed and removed the razor from the curve of his soft cheek. "Look, can you please stay still. I don't want to hurt you!" Steve complained, getting frustrated on his insistently moving friend.

"Fine... Fine!" Bucky held his hands up in a mock surrender. "I was just saying..." He lifted his head up straight again and looked dead ahead, slipping into obedient mode, the same way that he used to when he was in the facility.

"Stay still. We need to sort out your arm," the scientist whispered in his ear in a gruff voice.

Bucky straightened his spine and sat bolt upright on his backless stool, lifting his head and letting his shoulders fall back and relax like the soldier he was. He took deep concerntrated breaths, staring right at the straight wall before him, nearly unblinking, maintaining a stilled and statue-like posture. It was as if someone had frozen him.

The mechanism was fiddled around with by accurate and precise scientific instruments, being prodded and poked and twisted. Screws were twiddled with, being screwed deeper into place, electric circuits were being rewired.

Crackle! An electric shock surged up through his arm and he cried out.

Bucky flinched, whipping his head away from Steve, avoid the razor like someone was holding something disgusting at close proximity.

Steve scrunched his brow in confusion at Bucky's convulsive action, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." He mumbled breathlessly, smiling anxiously, too startled to manage a nervous giggle. "Nothing's wrong..." Bucky rubbed at his metal arm, clutching the part of his arm that was in the memory, stroking his hand over the sensationless cold metal. He blinked more frequently, his eyes flurrying about the room as if looking for an exit and he tapped his foot impatiently on the tile flooring of the bathroom.

"You're sure?" Steve tilted his head down to look at him more sternly.

"Sure," he said sharply, shaking his head with clear cognitive dissonance. He was a bag of nerves and his fists were clenched so tight that the nails of his real hand was digging into the flesh almost to the point of drawing blood, small crescent-moon shaped indents were left in the squishy flesh of his palm.