Paint
Summary: Bucky's arm held bad memories. He ignored them, because the arm was necessary. The red star upon it; was that necessary? Steve didn't seem to think so.
AN: First chapter/oneshot, Bucky hasn't met the Avengers yet, he's living on Steve's floor. PS, Nucky spent day1 sleeping, and day2 was where Steve took care of him.
Amy: You're really sweet, thanks! And I think the whole story will fit with the Kintsukuroi phrase. Slowly but surely, I hope to write a story where Bucky will be pieced together again, Steve and the Avengers as his gold and silver, and soon, Bucky will be okay. Not perfect, but at least okay. *soft smile*
"Flashbacks/Thoughts." (I'll clarify and they are usually Bucky's)
~?~?~?~
Warm… Safe…
Steve mumbled in his sleep, shifting closer to the source of warmth that was next to him. Bucky, sitting against the headboard, looked down, observing the blonde, who put so much trust in him. It was early morning, about 5 AM, and the beginning of his third day in the Avengers Tower.
Bucky hadn't sleep much that night, only in hour long intervals between waking up every ninety minutes to check his surroundings and to check on Steve, Usually, by now, Bucky would be on the floor, completing his morning exercises, or outside, running a mile a minute, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to leave the bed. Steve was latched onto his thighs, unconsciously, and Bucky was watching him.
Steve looked so peaceful, and trusting, like all was right in the world, like he wasn't sleeping next to an ex-assassin. Bucky couldn't describe what he was feeling at that moment but it was awe, and love; love for the comfort his friend was giving.
"Hmmm… You're warm."
*snort* "I'm not a hot-water bag punk."
"Jerk."
"Are you alright?"
Bucky's eyes lit up for a moment, leaving their dazed state before they fell onto Steve; who was looking at Bucky sleepily.
"Yes," Bucky said simply.
Steve glanced at his clock. "Lie down," he said, tugging on the other man's shirt. "Even if you don't sleep, you can rest a little more."
Bucky frowned, but didn't argue, allowing himself to be dragged down. He didn't close his eyes, watching every corner, as well as the closet and the , his eyes landed on Steve's form; he observed as much as he could.
Steve's disheveled hair. His soft snores. The slow rise of his back as he breathed. The warmth he naturally gave out. There was so much to look at.
Bucky tilted his head. At least his time wouldn't be wasted too terribly.
~Later~
"What do you want for brunch Bucky?" Steve asked, toeing on his slippers. "Waffles or oatmeal?"
Bucky didn't reply, looking at his metal arm as he idly traced the rough, red paint.
"Bucky?" Steve asked again, then paused, taking in the other man's actions.
Bucky looked up. "Oatmeal," he said emotionlessly.
Steve tilted his head, glancing at Bucky's arm before he smiled. "I'll get it," he said, "And something else."
Steve left and Bucky looked back at his arm, now that Steve wasn't there to worry about him more. Bucky was wearing a wifebeater, forcing him to look at the red star that was on his metal arm. Red for blood he was programmed to shed, and a star, to mock his former love for his country… The arm was necessary, without it, he would be hindered, but that didn't mean he liked it. This arm was a constant reminder of his past; of a world of pain and torture.
"Do you like it?"
The asset looked at the freshly painted, red star; ignoring the pain in his stump as he was trained. "No."
The handler smiled sadistically. "Too bad, it stays."
"Bucky."
The ex-assassin looked up, receiving a large bowl that was filled to the brim with oatmeal, blueberries, and almond. Steve smiled at him and Bucky noticed something else in Steve's arm. Steve was carrying a tool box, which held three paint cans, various paintbrushes, and-
Bucky paused and Steve grinned, holding up the can of paint remover. "I thought you could use a change."
"Change?" Bucky wondered, eating his oatmeal.
Steve nodded, pulling a stool to sit next to Bucky. "I can remove the old paint and put something new," he said, and grabbed a rag. "Do you mind?"
Bucky shook his head, looking down at the star. "What do you want?" Steve asked, uncapping the remover.
Bucky looked up and around the living room; trying to get an idea while Steve began to rub paint remover into the red spot. Finally, Bucky's brown eyes landed on Steve's shield; he paused. The shield. A symbol of strength. A symbol of hope. A symbol of life, and second chances.
Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly. "...Can I have a second chance?" he whispered to himself.
Steve looked up from his vigorous rubbing. He smiled. "All are capable of giving second chances," he said, "It is the fate of that person to decide if they deserve a second chance."
Bucky said nothing; he looked at his metal arm. He watched at the last of the red star was removed, leaving bare, silver metal. Slowly, Bucky brought his flesh fingers to the spot, scraping the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface. Bucky frowned, he couldn't describe what he was feeling, except that, even though it was impossible, he felt like a weight had been removed from the metal limb.
Steve smiled, uncapping the permanent metal paint. "What'll it be Bucky?" he asked.
Bucky looked up at him, before he pointed at the symbol. "That," he said.
Steve looked over, his eyes widening briefly, before he smiled. "Okay Bucky."
End.
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Please don't expect the Flashbacks to always be there. I write the story as I go, and by feeling. If I think of a thought to go with that given 'moment' then a 'flashback' will be added. It all depends.
That took a bit of effort… Anyways, the next chappie will have the reveal. Bucky will see the Avengers, and there, it will be found out; Will they accept him, or not?
Til next time,
Ja ne~!