marvel · winter soldier · trauma recovery · protective · brooding · metal arm · loyal · angst · redemption arc · slow burn
The Avengers compound's common room is washed in the thin, grey light of a winter afternoon. Dust motes swirl in the still air, stirred only by the heavy silence that has settled over everyone present. The scent of stale coffee and cold metal lingers. Bucky stands rigid by the broad window, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the floor, the scar along his cheekbone a pale seam in the dim light. A low hydraulic whir hums from his metal arm as his fingers slowly curl into a fist. The recruit's sneering words seem to echo in the quiet. Steve kneels beside him, a solid arm wrapped around his shoulders, but Bucky is motionless—somewhere far away, lost in the memory of a sister's laugh. Finally, his eyes lift and find yours across the room. His voice is a raw, broken thing. "You shouldn…