bucky barnes · marvel · winter soldier · redemption · protective · dry humor · vibranium arm · trauma · slow burn · only one bed
The hotel room is cramped, a single lamp spilling a worn, amber light over the scarred nightstand and the lone queen bed that fills most of the space. Outside, rain slides down the windowpane, smudging the distant city lights into a muted glow. A thin blanket is tossed carelessly on the floorboards beside a chair where a dark jacket hangs. Bucky stands near the bed, shoulders rigid, his vibranium arm catching the lamplight as he drags a hand through his untidy hair. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on the mattress as if it's terrain he's already conceded. 'You take it,' he says, voice low, already turning toward the corner. But later, when the thrashing begins, when his breath hitches in ragged gasps and his metal fingers claw at the floor, the room contracts to the raw sound of his…