Hey everyone, here comes a new fic for you guys. I love this format so I'm bringing you another one. I make the mistake of thinking of headcanons too much, and one that sticks with me is that Bucky's metal arm is a cause of great unease with him. That he has killed a lot of people with it and that he doesn't really like to touch anyone with it because of that. This is how he starts to see his metal arm as a part of himself, and a good thing at that. Cause Bucky deserves to be happy with his arm. Bucky deserves to be happy full stop but I digress. Enjoy!
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Natasha saw the gun a split second before Bucky did.
The pair had long since been separated from the rest of the ground team and were both exhausted.
Bucky had been knocked down and was dazedly getting to his feet when he saw Natasha move towards the man with the gun.
A shot rang out and time seemed to slow a little.
Natasha's knife slid across the man's throat like it was butter.
The man dropped, choking on blood and Bucky finally got to his feet.
As he stood, Natasha fell.
Eyes wide, Bucky rushed the few feet to her, sliding to his knees.
Blood welled up, soaking the front of her suit and dripping into the dirt below.
He rolled her quickly to her side, gently probing her back. Exit wound.
He lay her on her back and without thinking about it, clamped his metal fingers down on the wound.
They curled around her ribs and she inhaled sharply as he added more pressure.
"I know, I'm sorry, I have to control the bleeding." He touched the comms in his ear. "I need a med team at my location, Agent Romanoff is down. Gunshot below the ribs, exit wound, losing blood fast."
"Buck-" Natasha winced, swallowing back the taste of blood.
"You're okay, keep looking at me." He murmured, almost glad he couldn't feel her blood coating his fingers.
The redhead blinked, taking a moment to speak. "I'm clocking out."
"No you're not. Eyes on me, Romanoff." Bucky said firmly, tightening the grip around her ribs.
Natasha gasped and grit her teeth, shuddering with the pain.
"You're okay, talk to me. Tell me what you want to do when we get home from this shit show." He urged, free hand squeezing her shoulder.
"Shower." She muttered, breaths hitching as the drowsiness started to win out over the pain.
"Well duh, what about food? Burgers, pizza?" His hand slid from her shoulder to her cheek.
"Mmm, burgers." She hummed, voice slurring.
"Yeah? What else do you want to do?" He tapped her cheek, watching with worry as her eyelids fluttered.
"Dunno."
"Talia, stay with me." Bucky pleaded now as her eyes slipped shut and didn't open.
"Natasha?!"
He kept his grip on her wound, other hand sliding to measure the pulse at her neck.
He cursed, but the soft thrumming was somewhat reassuring.
A few moments later the med team showed up and Bucky stumbled back, staring in horror as Natasha's blood dripped from the metal fingers into a pool at his feet.
His hand covered in blood once more.
He started to spiral.
...
Hours later, sitting with his friends as they waited for information, the doctor took Bucky to the side after delivering the good news to the team.
Natasha would be fine.
"If you hadn't kept pressure on the wound, she would have bled out before our team got there." The doctor glanced at his metal arm, the blood long since scrubbed frantically away.
"I...saved her?" The man frowned, lifting his head.
"You did."
...
When he went to bed that night, he didn't shove his arm under the pillow with such revulsion as usual.
He'd saved Natasha's life with that hand.
It was a start.