Author's Note: The picture that inspired this is apparently from pain-art dot tumblr dot com, though I couldn't find it there when I looked :( It was actually one of the first pictures I thought of when I decided to take the plunge and work on this fic; it's just taken me years to figure out exactly how I wanted to do it. I don't know what the original inspiration for this fanart was (and, since I can't seem to find it anymore, I'll probably never know), but it's always reminded me of Daughtry's song "Broken Arrows." I can't remember whether I found the picture or the song first, but the two will always be intrinsically linked for me. Part of me worries that this chapter feels a little too Whole Shards-esque, but once I took that step in my characterization of Bucky for Make Me Whole...there's just no going back anymore. I'm honestly surprised more people don't explore this route with him. Anyway, this chapter happens somewhere around the same time as the first half of "Nothing."
I was going to wait and post this chapter on some extra-special meaningful date or something, but then I decided there's no time like the present. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has been my Steve, or my Bucky, in moments like these. You remind me why I'm still here.
He'd been fighting for so long. The ground beneath his feet was broken and twisted, smoke clouding the air. Gasping for breath, Bucky stopped to catch his breath, to let his racing heart slow its frantic pace.
Then he looked up and realized he was surrounded. Behind the clouds of smoke, ominous shadows moved—indistinct shapes that he couldn't quite make out. For a moment, the smoke would begin to thin out and he could almost make out a claw or a tentacle from the monsters approaching on all sides. Then more smoke would billow out, choking the sun overhead and shrouding them from view again.
Bucky whirled around, straining all his senses for danger. Where would the first strike come from? Who would attack first?
"I'm not afraid of you!" he cried, but his voice trembled violently, giving him away.
The shadows shook with laughter. Deep, booming laughs from all sides, mocking him even as he turned around and around, trying to face them.
His only warning was a faint whistling sound as something sped through the air towards him. He turned to face it, and an arrow struck him right in the heart.
Bucky staggered back, staring down at the shaft sticking out of his chest. It wasn't made of wood, but some substance that glowed bright red. He reached towards it, wanting to pull it out, but his hand passed right through the arrow as if it weren't even there.
"What...?"
Another arrow pounded into his chest next to the first, sending him reeling back. The monsters around him cackled gleefully, watching him trying to close his fingers around the arrows. But he couldn't pull them out. He couldn't even touch them.
He heard that whistling sound again, and a third arrow struck him, in the side this time. Bucky stumbled, dropping to one knee. The pain was growing unbearable, like a fire burning him from the inside.
Like the flames he could see in the distance, beyond the clouds of smoke. Were they the fires of hell?
The next arrow dropped him to hands and knees. He deserved to be here, didn't he?
Another arrow. He cried out in pain, watching blood dribble from his wounds and spill onto the broken ground beneath him. Just like the blood he'd shed himself...
Two more arrows came in quick succession, punching into his shoulders and throwing him backwards. He crashed to the ground, staring up into nothing but shadows and the glinting eyes of his attackers.
The next arrow barely even made him twitch. "I don't care," he gasped, his voice rattling in his throat. "I deserve to die."
He closed his eyes, listening to the whistling approach of another arrow. He heard the impact, but this time he didn't feel it. Maybe he'd reached his full capacity for pain...
But then he felt something drip onto his face. Rain?
Slowly, Bucky opened his eyes and found himself looking into eyes that weren't glinting with malice. These eyes were blue, as blue and as warm as the sky in summer. Tears fell from them and dripped onto Bucky's face, where they trickled down as if he were crying too.
"Steve?"
He looked over Steve's shoulder, and saw to his horror that an arrow shaft rose from his back. This one was just like the ones stuck in Bucky's chest, except that the shaft glowed blue instead.
"Steve," he gasped. "No...just...l-leave me..."
Somehow, Steve actually had the strength to smile through the pain. "I'm not going anywhere."
And then he reached down to one of the arrows sticking out of Bucky's chest, and closed his fingers around the red shaft. His hand didn't pass through it. With a single tug, he pulled the arrow right out of Bucky's chest. Strangely, doing so didn't hurt Bucky. If anything, the pain was less now, even though he could feel the open wound where the arrow had been.
The glowing red arrow vanished from Steve's hand, and he grimaced with pain. Bucky didn't understand why at first, but when Steve bent over him again, there was a second blue arrow sticking out of his back.
"Steve..."
Steve pulled out a second arrow. Once again, the arrow disappeared from his hand, and reappeared in Steve's back instead.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?" Barely seeming to listen, Steve pulled out another arrow and immediately moved on to the next one, focusing on his task.
"Is this...hurting you?"
"Yes." The answer wasn't bitter or accusatory. It was a simple statement of truth. Steve's hands were as gentle as ever, wrapping around each arrow in turn and pulling it out quickly and smoothly.
"Then why?" Tears blurred his vision, but he couldn't tell anymore if they were his or Steve's. "Why don't you just...just leave me? If it hurts so much?"
Pausing just for a moment with his fingers curled around yet another arrow, Steve looked down at him. There was so much love in his eyes, so much joy despite the pain, Bucky could have drowned in it. "Because you're hurting, Buck. The only thing I want to do is take that pain away."
And it was working. There was still a dull ache around each of his wounds, but it wasn't the blazing fire that it used to be.
But he couldn't stop crying, because every arrow Steve pulled out pierced him instead. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry I'm n-not...strong enough. I c-couldn't...fight anymore... I'm sorry..."
With one hand, Steve grasped the final arrow that pierced Bucky's heart. He cupped his other hand around Bucky's cheek, gently brushing away the tears. "Then let me fight for you."
Bucky lay curled in a ball on the cold bathroom floor. The pale blue tiles beneath him were marred by dark red smears from the puddle of blood steadily growing larger beneath his right arm.
Gently, Steve tugged at Bucky's sleeve, the end of which was completely soaked. He rolled the saturated fabric up twice, just to get it out of the way.
"Steve," Bucky sobbed, turning his face away and hiding behind the messy tangle of his hair.
Ignoring this, Steve used both hands to pull Bucky's metal hand away from his right wrist. He pried the metal fist open, until Bucky finally dropped the knife he held. It clattered loudly on the floor between them, and Steve dropped it into the sink to clean later.
"No..." Bucky wasn't resisting. He lay limply on the bloody floor, his shoulders shaking with every gasping breath. "Just...l-leave me..."
"I'm not going anywhere," Steve said quietly, grasping Bucky's bloody wrist in one hand and reaching for the basin of soapy water with the other. He wrung the clean cloth out, then gently wiped Bucky's wrist clean. Bucky's fingers twitched when the rag rubbed against the open cut, and Steve's gut twinged in sympathy.
"Steve..."
He dropped the rag back into the basin, dried his free hand on his jeans, then opened a sterile dressing with the help of his teeth. Blood was already trickling down Bucky's arm again by the time he pressed the dressing to the wound. The stream of red trickled past several uneven cuts just like this one. The scars were red and raised, contrasting vividly with his pale skin.
Bucky sniffled, his breath shuddering as he let out a long sigh. "Steve?"
"Yeah?" Moving with a speed born from far too much experience, Steve wrapped a bandage around Bucky's wrist, tight enough to hold the dressing in place but not so tight it would cut off circulation.
Bucky's voice was nothing but a whisper. "Is this...hurting you?"
Steve glanced at his surroundings. The blood smeared all over the floor, soaking into Bucky's shirt and Steve's knees. The first-aid kit on one side, the basin of soapy water, now tinged pink, on the other. Bucky, sprawled on the floor like a casualty on the battlefield.
Heart heavy, he finished tying off the bandage. "Yes."
Bucky shoved his hair aside with his metal hand, staring up at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes. Snot and tears mixed on his blotchy face, misery written in every line of his face. "Then why?" he demanded, his chin trembling violently as more tears tumbled down his cheeks. "Why don't you just...just leave me? If it hurts so much?"
And it did hurt. It hurt more than every wound Steve had ever suffered himself. His heart ached as though a dozen arrows had struck it, one after another.
But Steve gently pressed Bucky's right hand between both of his, looking deep into those pain-filled eyes. "Because you're hurting, Buck," he murmured, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. "The only thing I want to do is take that pain away."
Bucky's eyes squeezed shut, his whole face screwing up in agony. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry I'm n-not...strong enough." He covered his face with his free hand, mumbling through the metal fingers, "I c-couldn't...fight anymore... I'm sorry..."
Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's knuckles, then wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders and heaved Bucky's dead weight into his arms. "Then let me fight for you."
They sat in the bathroom in a puddle of Bucky's blood for a long, long time. Eventually, Bucky's shoulders stopped shaking so hard with his tears. Eventually, Steve's heart stopped aching so fiercely.
Maybe one day, they wouldn't be so broken. Maybe one day, they wouldn't end up in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. Until then, Steve would hold onto Bucky and do what little he could to help them weather the next storm together.