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rookthorne · 2 years

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨

An unexpected end to a day out leaves you reeling, but somehow, as it always is, everything would be okay in the end — one way or another.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 2.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Hurt/comfort, graphic description of a car accident, graphic descriptions of blood and injuries, use of CPR on a child, PTSD, delving into Bucky's military past (implied death of a child), medication/sedative usage, fluff

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✰ I swear there is a happy ending with this one — it kinda veered away from what I planned and I struggled to write it, but it turned out okay in the end. ✰ Fanfiction is healing — woohoo.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ✰ House of Pain by The White Buffalo ✰ Soldier's Eyes by Jack Savoretti

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ Whumptober 2022 — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A day out with Bucky had been on the cards lately, only postponed thanks to the new partnerships the club had ventured into. The interstate was surprisingly empty on the ride back home, almost suspiciously so, but Bucky didn’t seem to have any worries about it as the bike revved and purred at a steady speed.

The pannier by your legs was stuffed full with a picnic blanket and empty Tupperware containers that once held the snacks Bucky had devoured without a second thought.

“This is meant to be a romantic lunch, Buck!” You chastised, your eyes narrowed at the pig headed nature of your boyfriend sat across from you. You could have sworn with the way he acted, the man never ate.

Bucky, ever oblivious, had turned to you with wide eyes and spoke around a mouthful of food from the once neat charcuterie board between you. He looked like a damned chipmunk. “Wha- I’m sor-”

You rolled your eyes when Bucky coughed against the crumbs falling down his throat and he glared at you when you couldn’t help but laugh. “Serves you right.”

The memory made you chuckle again and you squeezed Bucky’s middle, your chin resting atop his shoulder while the wind whipped the loose hair from your helmet back.

Freedom had never felt so good.

It was late afternoon by the time you reached the exit for home and you were more than ready to collapse on a bed and nap through a food coma, when it happened. It could not have been more than a second, but it stretched on much longer than eternity.

Bucky tensed in your hold and adjusted his hold on the brakes like he had anticipated it.

The crunch of metal and the screech of brakes against the bitumen were deafening, a roaring possibility of the wreck that rolled over and over before the two of you was being guided by the Grim Reaper himself.

“Fuck!” Bucky yelled over the roar from the engine of his bike against the sudden deceleration. “Hang on!”

Your arms clasped around his middle like a vice and you held on for dear life, a squeak of fear leaving your throat when Bucky swerved the bike to the side only just avoiding the debris of smashed glass and scraps of parts.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky said suddenly and you looked up from his back. There was no sound of scraping metal or the roar of his bike - you were at a standstill next to the wreck of what used to be a car. “Babe, I need you to call 911,” your phone was in your hand before he finished asking.

Suddenly, to your horror, you heard screaming coming from the back seat of the wreck. It was a child.

“Bucky!” You cried, your hands shaking too much to dial for desperately needed help.

“Call!” Bucky yelled over his shoulder, his feet carrying him faster than you’d ever seen him run towards the wreck of the car where the screams were coming from. You watched transfixed as Bucky ripped the door clean off its hinges to get to the child inside and you tried to ignore the splatter of blood on the now visible interior of the door.

The dial tone was only just audible over the pounding of blood in your ears and you jumped to your feet to run towards the driver's seat. A woman, no older than yourself sat slumped over the wheel - unresponsive and covered in blood.

“Easy there, little guy,” Bucky spoke softly over the wailing of the little boy strapped in his car seat. “Babe,” you looked into the backseat with wide eyes. “Does she have a pulse?” Bucky gestured to the woman slumped over the wheel - she must be his mother.

Hastily you felt along her neck until you felt a rapid beat. “She’s alive!” Bucky nodded and looked around the back seat of the car.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You gasped suddenly at the voice and looked at Bucky, his eyes set and determined as he tied a makeshift tourniquet on the little boy’s leg above a deep gash.

“There’s been a car accident,” you said quickly before rattling the location off with practised ease - thank god Bucky was here, otherwise you’d be a hysterical mess. “There’s a young woman and a child.”

“Can you see the extent of their injuries?” The dispatcher questioned. Somehow, you could hear the click of their keyboard in the background.

You looked over the woman again, desperate to find a source for the blood that covered her torso and head. “No, I can’t see how or where the woman’s hurt but she’s unresponsive,” you urged over another ear splitting cry from the little boy.

“Do not move her unless the vehicle is alight,” the dispatcher ordered and you nodded quickly - even though they wouldn’t see. “I need you to tell me how badly hurt the child is.”

Bucky was working quickly despite the screams right next to his ear, and his hands were covered in blood when he pulled away to look at the child’s arms. The sight of blood on his hands sent you down a spiral of panic entirely unrelated to what had unfolded before you.

Bucky, the love of your life, your king - was going to be triggered beyond hope once this was over. The look in his eyes was methodical, a well oiled machine in the face of literal turmoil and destruction. God, be kind to him when this is over, you pleaded in your mind.

“He-” You started but your voice failed when the little boy fell silent, his small body falling limp in his seat. “Buck!”

“What’s happening?” The dispatcher asked quickly. “I need you to tell me what is going on, ma’am.”

“The boy-” you gasped with the dawning realisation that he wasn’t breathing. “He’s not breathing! Bucky!”

With inhuman strength, Bucky ripped the child seat out from the back and hauled it out onto the road where bystanders crowded around with towels and blankets in hand. “You need to perform CPR on the child,” the dispatcher ordered and you ran around the car to kneel beside Bucky who was pulling the child from the seat. “Put me on speaker and I’ll walk you through it.”

“No need,” Bucky deadpanned and you winced. “I know how.”

A couple of bystanders broke from their shock and fell to their knees on the other side of the child. “We’re here for when you get tired,” one said and Bucky grunted in acknowledgement, his helmet the only thing keeping his swaying hair from his eyes on every press of his hand against the child’s breastbone.

The wail of sirens could be heard over the chaos of the scene and you let a flicker of hope begin to build at the sound. Help was here.

Bucky was still doing compressions with minimal guidance needed from the operator and once the trucks pulled up to the scene, you thanked her and hung up. Men and women clad in dark uniforms swarmed around Bucky and you tried to pull him back.

“No!” Bucky growled, fighting against your grip against his shoulder. “I have to-”

Oh, fuck.

“James, I need you to look at me.”

Bucky froze and looked up at you, his face cast in shadow from your figure leaning over him. “That’s it,” you soothed, pulling him gently away so the EMTs could get to work. “Come with me, c’mon.” He went to protest but you shushed him gently, pulling him along to the shoulder of the interstate by his bike.

Carefully, you sat him down against the fence so you could kneel between his splayed legs. His bike shielded him from view and he could not look past it to see the crash scene.

“Babe,” you whispered and Bucky looked straight at you, only his eyes were glazed over and haunted. It was like he couldn’t see you. “Can you hear me?”

A small nod. You placed your hands on his biceps and squeezed. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

Nothing.

You were no stranger to these episodes. Granted, they were becoming far and few between lately, but this one seemed to take the place of the worst one yet. Through his time in the Army, you learnt through Steve that during some sort of exercise - he never divulged more than that - Bucky had endured such a horrific situation that your stomach baulked at the very thought of it.

There was a reason Bucky was so kind with children. After losing an orphan to an IED that the rebels planted, he took it upon himself to make sure no child suffered around him if he could help it.

Survivor's guilt was a monster.

His hands began to shake violently and you jumped into action. The pannier of his bike always held a kit for these moments - it was unorthodox for a biker to carry around a bag of medication strong enough to tranquilise a horse and just this once, you were relieved that for once Bucky listened to Stephen.

“Okay, sweetheart,” you said quietly, settling between his thighs once again. “I need you to open your mouth, and I’m going to put the medication on your tongue.”

Wordlessly through his tremors, Bucky opened his mouth and allowed you to place the pill on his tongue, chasing it with a mouthful of water. “That’s it,” you tried to sound reassuring against the wave of anxiety beating in waves against your chest. “I’m going to call the guys, alright? They’ll come pick us up.”

You got to your feet and walked over to Bucky’s bike while your phone dialled Steve. One ring and it connected.

“Hey, sweets!” Steve greeted but for once, you couldn’t manage a smile. “Where are you and Buck? We’ve been worri-”

“Steve,” you interrupted and he fell silent. “I need you to come pick us up, Bucky’s stuck… y’know, we saw an accident and there was a kid.”

“Oh, fuck,” Steve said simply and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Where are you? Can he ride?”

You rattled off the location again and sighed. “I’ve given him his meds and he’s just sitting there. He can’t ride.”

“Okay, I’ll get the guys and we’ll bring the van. Sit tight, darlin’.”

The call ended and you fished for your purse in the pannier when an EMT and police officer approached. “Ma’am,” the officer greeted and you tensed. Cops were bad news. “Your partner,” he pointed at Bucky’s who was resting against the fence, “saved that little boy’s life today. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t see what happened, only the aftermath.”

The officer nodded and wrote something on his notepad. “Is he hurt?” You looked at him confused and the officer pointed back at Bucky.

“Oh, no, he’s not,” you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky staring back at you blankly. “He’s just-”

“Understood.” The officer said and smiled softly when you met his gaze. “I will need to take your details for the report, I suspect discussing this at a later time would be the better course of action.” You nodded and supplied your own details and said goodbye to the officer, but the EMT hadn’t moved. She had a kind face and she was holding some sort of bag in her hand.

“Are you injured?” You shook your head and picked up your purse again. “Very well.” She turned and walked away back to the ambulance, leaving your company.

Quickly, you clutched your purse to your chest and turned back towards Bucky who was still watching you silently. His hands had become lax against his thighs. “Hey, you,” smiling softly, you knelt back down between his legs and unzipped your purse, pulling free a packet of wipes. “I’m gonna clean you up a bit, all right?”

Bucky nodded minutely and remained still when you grabbed his right hand first, gently running the wipe over his fingers and knuckles, then his palm and wrist.

“You’re a hero, baby,” you said quietly as you moved to his considerably bloodier left hand. “You saved that boy’s life.”

“I couldn’t leave him,” Bucky croaked. His throat worked as though he was swallowing glass and he winced.

“I know, and I’m so proud of you,” you reassured as you pulled free another wipe. “My hero.” Bucky’s lips twitched up into a smile briefly.

The rumbling sound of an approaching bike caught your attention and Bucky watched as his brother’s came to a stop by his bike, away from all the trucks and first responders. “Time to go home, baby, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed and shifted his legs as though to get up but you stopped him.

“Baby, you’ve had your medication and I can’t catch you,” you rushed and you got to your feet as Steve and Sam approached. “Let them help you, please.”

“Well, hello there,” Steve smiled and he pulled you into a hug as Sam walked towards Bucky who had begrudgingly remained seated on the bitumen. “You doin’ alright, sweets?”

You nodded and pulled away. “Just wanna get him,” you pointed to Bucky who was glaring up at Sam, “home. It’s been a long day.”

“That it has,” Steve agreed and turned to Bucky. “You ready to go, Buck?”

Bucky nodded and you turned towards the van where Peter was waiting with the passenger door opened. The sounds of the two men taking Bucky’s weight was almost comical and you were tempted to fire over your shoulder that he wasn’t that heavy - but you resisted, just this once.

“Hey, Pete,” you greeted instead and Peter smiled softly, his hand resting on your shoulder as you passed him to sit in the middle of the bench seat.

“Make room, brooding oaf incoming!” Sam cried as they approached the door and you snorted a laugh. Bucky wasn’t amused and made to shove Sam in the shoulder but he stopped when he stumbled slightly.

“Behave!” You called loudly out the window and Sam just grinned back.

Peter helped them manoeuvre Bucky’s slumping frame into the passenger seat next to you and buckled him in. “I’ll ride Buck’s bike back,” Steve said and pointed to Sam. “He’ll lead and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Ride safe,” you whispered and Steve smiled.

“Always.”

The door closed and Bucky looked at you blearily, the hooded lids of his eyes giving away just how well his medication actually worked - despite his constant protest that they never did.

“Okay,” Peter started as he jumped in the driver’s seat. “We good to go?”

“Hell yes,” you stated simply. You wanted to go home, be back in your bed so you could hold Bucky close and soothe him from the nightmares that’ll no doubt plague him in the coming days. Peter chuckled and fired up the van while Sam’s bike roared to life in front.

You looked at Bucky and smiled - he was watching you still and you reached out your hand to tuck his head into your shoulder. He grabbed at your hand clumsily and you adjusted his grip so you could run your thumb over his tattooed knuckles slowly. “Let’s go home.”

Peter caught your eye and smiled. “You did good today, you know. We’re proud of you.”

You couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest at his admission, and you squeezed Bucky’s hand tighter when you heard his light snore. “Thanks, Pete.”