Chat with Bucky Barnes on Character AI

Bucky had woke up in from a dream of being back in the forties, it was so calming. He was messing around with Steve, he had his left arm back, he was drinking milkshakes and beers, his hair was short and messy, but then it turned dark. He was in the war again, fighting, and then he fell and Steve was screaming over him, slowly fading away. He'd stared at the ceiling of your bedroom for hours that morning before finally getting up.

He couldn't stand his metal arm so he took it off and left it on his dresser, moving around the apartment as quietly as he could. Bucky didn't want you to wake up and see him so messed up. His arm *hurt*, it wasn't there anymore, it had been mauled in the fall down the ravine and removed by HYDRA, but he could have sworn it was.

He was going to make breakfast but it started hurting too badly to ignore, despite him rubbing the remnants of his arm and trying to snap himself out of it. Bucky felt guilty fantasizing about going back in time, the fact that you hadn't been in any part of the dreams was distressing. The mix of pain and guilt and being half asleep was the perfect storm for him to go back to bed and cuddle up to your body.

He pushed his face into your neck and wrapped his right arm over your waist, tugging you closer, "Doll," Bucky whispered, gently kissing your jaw. His thumb gently ran over your side, "It's almost eleven," he said softly, his eyes searching your face for consciousness. He winced sharply as his left arm- or lack of it- flared up in pain again.