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#no one attack me for that argument typo i can't go back and fix it bc i didnt save the pdf lskfafkla
behbuh · 2 years
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To Hell & Back
Part Four:  “My wings are frayed and what’s left of my halo’s black”
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Summary: Your exit strategy involves your neighbour... Well, it is your neighbour.
Prompt: "I don't want to live on this planet anymore."
Warnings: swearing. (Typos that will be fixed). That's it??
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader
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Series Masterlist
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You weren't always this...angry.
You weren't always this spiteful and short tempered, and malicious enough to deliberately poison muffins.
At one point in life, you were everything you'd ever wanted in a friend. Kind and compassionate. Even patience was a virtue you had an abundance of.
Then, one day, some guy from Asgard came with an army of aliens and ripped a hole through your father's finances. Apparently damaging a bunch of buildings, including the one your father worked at, was bad for business and so it closed down.
Just as your mother's job had barely managed to get your family out of the red, her boss gets murdered at some important meeting that blew up – along with some world leaders. In her boss's place, the son took over and ran the company into the ground.
Luckily, your sister had a bakery that made just enough to cover your parents' costs and your summer jobs had saved you enough to get you through college. Then, some other guy came with another alien army, and decided to take half the world with him – or whatever he did
The wrong half of the world, in your opinion. You could have lived without watching your sister's husband run her business into the ground. And life would have been a little easier if you didn't have to stretch yourself thin, to make sure your mother saw the next day.
"Then half the world came back," you continue, eyes focused on the cat. "And some random family showed up in my apartment. I'm pretty sure the husband had a heart attack when he saw me–"
Bucky places another beer in front of you. You hate the taste, but coffee on an empty stomach has never worked well for you.
"–so I moved," you take a final sip of your second beer, before placing it down and reaching for the one he just placed in front of you. "Now, I'm here. Stuck with a nosy neighbour and his cat."
"You can keep her." Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall next to you. Your shoulders brush. "I don't know the first thing about cats."
You frown and look up at him. "Barnes... You are cat. And I already have you, why would I want another one?"
He scoffs, blue eyes meeting yours. "I am not that kind of lady."
"Oh god," you roll your eyes.
"Gotta buy me dinner first, doll–"
"Not a doll."
"Maybe take me dancing," he continues, lips twitching at the sight of your scowl. "If you're lucky, I might invite you in for tea."
You glance at the coffee machine, still boxed, sitting on his counter but don't comment. You know what it means, you know why he bought it, and the thought alone makes you queasy.
So you look back at the cat, curled on your bare lap, and sigh. "Sorry I came in without pants."
You don't say anything else and he chuckles. He found you in nothing but an old shirt and socks that night, so he's not really surprised.
"Sorry I helped you without a shirt." He replies. He would've answered you immediately, the second you said his name, but he had to find pants first.
Silence falls between the both of you, and it takes actual effort for Bucky to look away from you. Tempering down the disappointment that has the audacity to knaw at you, at your stubbornness, you turn back to the screen of his laptop.
He was reviewing CCTV footage of your building's basement garage. Two hours into the viewing and he heard you calling him from the balcony, so he had to pause.
Now, four hours, three beers on your side and a weird trip down memory lane later – you're helping him sift through footage at a faster rate.
"So," you begin, eyes glued to the screen. "I have a question, about that whole serum thing."
"Hmm?" It's the first question you've ever asked about that part of him, that part of his history.
"How does it work when it comes to diseases?"
Blinking, Bucky has to pause the video to look at you. "Diseases?"
You nod. "Like flu, chicken pox, tonsillitis. You know, that stuff."
"I'm confused–"
"Do you not get it or does it run through you like water?"
"What?"
"Or does your immune system just basically butcher it within the hour?" You blink at him, eyes wide with curiosity. "'Cause like, I had this friend with one helluva immune system. He never got sick, so does it work like that?"
He pauses, lips pursing as he considers you. "Do you wanna know if my blood cells can cure AIDS?"
"If that were the case, you'd be in a CDC off-site lab right now–" you put down the beer you've been cradling. "–so, no. I wanna know what kind of illness can knock a super soldier out long enough for me to use it as an excuse."
He blinks. Once. Twice. "Huh?!"
"Saturday is in a few days."
Oh.
"What does that have to do with me?" His face scrunches up into the most confused expression you've ever seen.
"As we both know," you narrow your eyes at him. "Ever since you saved my life, like the asshole you are, my parents have taken a liking to you. And since I poisoned their favourite couple last week, I'm in deep shit this week unless I can find a good reason to not show up."
"I'm not gonna apologise for saving you."
You raise an eyebrow. "Of course not. That would mean admitting it was very selfish of you."
This is not how he expected this conversation to go. Or how he wanted it to go. So, he decides to turn back to the screen and continue watching the footage.
You know you struck a nerve, and it would be easier for you to blame it on the beer, but you can't. You want answers, just as much as he does.
You want to know what gave him the right to knock down your door, or the audacity to have his friend fly you to the hospital. He won't straight up tell you, you tried when you woke up in the ICU and found him there, and it pisses you off that he might not ever tell you.
Bucky frowns at the screen. "The camera's get switched off right after I leave–" he glances at you. "Did you bribe security to switch them off?"
"We have security?"
"The guys at the front desk?"
You frown at him. You know those guys, you bring them baked goodies from work three times a week.
"Hang on," you place the cat on the couch next to you, cross your legs and turn to move closer to him. "Let me get this straight."
Your knees gently press into his thigh and he forced to look at you.
"You're telling me that Laurence with sinuses, down in the lobby, and Percy with the three-legged rabbit. Those guys–" of course you'd know that. "–they're security? For this apartment building? We have security?"
"You can't be serious–"
"We have a biometric system at the door and like cameras, and a patrol car that frequents this neighbourhood–" you're pressing a little to hard on your fingers and he's worried you just might snap one off. "–what the hell do we need security guards for?"
You continue rattling off all the safety measures the building has, which means your fingers have to suffer throughout the list, unless he does something about it.
Which he does. Almost as if instinct, his hands are clasping yours before he can make the decision to reach for them. They're warm and cold against yours, but the right kind of warm and cold that makes you frown at them.
His hands swallow yours, which isn't something that surprises you. It's the way you're not pulling away, the way you're not fighting it, the way you can't blame the alcohol because it almost feels...normal.
You haven't felt normal in such a long time.
"You gonna stop tryna break your fingers?" Bucky starts. "Or do I have to stay like this 'til you knock out?"
You blink. "Does a concussion knock you out long enough to warrant an excuse?"
"You're relentless."
"Says the guy watching CCTV footage because of a cat."
"It's... For a good cause."
"Me missing Saturday dinner is a good cause, Barnes."
He sighs. "Doll–"
"–I'll owe you one."
Bucky is about to argue, his mouth was halfway open before your words registered. That's really what happened.
It's not like he was looking for an opening or anything. A way of asking you, that wouldn't resort in an argument or anything.
It's not like those were the words he's been waiting for, for quite some time now.
Not at all.
Of course not.
But, who is he to argue with the mysterious workings of a universe.
The room you're in is dimly lit, the only light originating from the kitchen and the streetlights. But you can still see that dangerous glint in his eyes.
He grins. "Is that right?"
You swear you heard yourself gulp.
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"Okay–" you're fidgety and anxious, and can't seem to stand still as the elevator doors close. "–now, let's go through this again. What's our exit strategy?"
Bucky turns to fully face you. He's been trying to keep you calm ever since the parking lot, but even he can admit that he was far too distracted to be helpful.
It wasn't even his fault he was distracted, it was completely yours. When he invited you to Sarah's party , the party celebrating the expansion of the success revamp of the boat business, he had said to dress comfortably.
Not dress like you were put on this Earth to be the end of him.
He was waiting in the parking lot, the same one that had the camera's switched off right after he left, when you came barrelling towards him.
You had narrowly escaped your sister. She was getting off the elevator just as you were nearing it, so you quickly opted for the staircase beside it. You were a flurry of floral black and white and pink in a summer dress, your hair barely in place – you tried using pins and thought about ribbons, but then forgot about them when you couldn't find your other shoe – as you basically pushed him inside the car.
You used the passenger window to try and fix your hair, as best as you could. And he spent the drive trying to reassure you that you looked fine.
You looked more than fine, but he couldn't seem to muster up the words.
"Doll–"
"Not a doll." Is your automated response.
"You look fine, " sweet as sugar, is what he wants to say. "And, well, there is no exit strategy."
You gape up at the mammoth of a man in front of you. His words, a ballad of heathens in your book, echoes in your head.
"No exit strategy?" You whine, fisting his shirt as you desperately meet his eyes. "Bucky, no. Please. You can't do this."
The elevator doors open before he can respond to you. Sam is waiting on the other side of the doors, champagne glasses in both hands.
Hands still gripping into Bucky's shirt, hair almost presentable, Bucky's face flushing from hearing you say his name, and your expression portraying pure fluster. You and Bucky both turn to find Sam staring at the scene in front of him.
His eyebrows shoot up, golden brown eyes lighting up at the sight. "Okay. This definitely makes up for you being late."
Bucky blinks, seeming to snap out of his stupor. "Wait, wha–"
"No–" Sam cuts in. "–I know how you 40s guys are about kissin' and telling. I won't pry."
"Hang on, Sam–"
"Bathroom's on the next floor," he has the audacity to grin. "Just be quick about it. The speech's in twenty minutes."
With that, he steps away from the elevator, gives a curt nod and – with a Cheshire grin – walks away.
You slowly peel your hands away from Bucky and take a few steps back.
Bucky clears his throat. "So, about the exit strategy..."
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TAGS :D : @sunflowerxbarnes , @ginger-swag-rapunzel , @arctic-duchess , @sltwins , @thewayilookatbacon , @buckyisperfect , @paryl
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