im back boiiiiiis with a light start to whumptober

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Steve was often thought of as the perfect specimen, the ideal body, everything that everyone wanted to be. He sure didn't feel like it, though. Not with all of his scars.

He had red ones, ugly and bold, still new. They raised above his supposedly pristine skin, pink against the pale. They were the ones that he hated the most, signs of his failure as an experienced soldier.

There was remnants of burns, from fires that he'd entered countless times to save civilians. On bad days, they tightened his skin enough to make him stiff and sore. On the best, he barely knew they were there.

He had some rivets from when he had gotten chicken pox back when he was still scrawny, little dips in his skin that reminded him of the days that he'd never get back.

Steve had stretch marks. Going from a 90 pound chihuahua to a beefcake of a man does that, he guessed. They were mostly on his chest and sides, but if you looked closer, you could see so many more.

His skin was a map of all of his missions, reminders of all he'd gone through. There were countless marks on his chest from bullet wounds, when he'd taken the fall for others. Chunks taken from his side and long, winding white ones. Hundreds of small, pale nicks from mundane tasks went wrong. There was nothing perfect about him from his perspective, and he hated what he looked like.

That's why there wasn't a mirror in his bathroom or bedroom, but no one else knew that.

~

It was after a bad mission, after he'd gotten injured again, that someone else found out about what Steve was really like under those tight shirts. 

Usually Steve only let his personal doctor take care of him, but Bucky was back, and refused to leave Steve alone. He'd always been there for Steve, and wanted to make up for the times that he wasn't.

When Steve peeled off the top of his uniform, Bucky felt his heart break. Not because of what Steve looked like, but because Steve had to go through all of that pain without his best friend at his side. Not because he was repulsed, but because he knew Steve didn't love himself.

Bucky stayed quiet while the doctor patched Steve up, but followed Steve to his bedroom.

Steve was silent too. 

They sat on the bed, not saying anything.

Then, as Bucky went to say something, Steve started to cry. They were silent tears, not the loud, ugly crying that might have been expected. They marked tracks down Steve's face, and Bucky didn't fully know about them until he felt the damp through his shirt. 

Steve had hidden his face in Bucky's shoulder, as if trying to hide that he was crying.

"Oh, Steve." Bucky whispered, going to hug Steve.

Steve sniffled a  bit. "I hate them. I look at them and I despise them, and I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. They represent my failure, everything that I try not to be and cannot stop." Steve turned to look at Bucky after detangling himself from Bucky's embrace. "Everyone's got scars, Buck, but sometimes I feel like I shouldn't. Like I should be better than that, because of some liquid injected into me. Like I should know better, and know how to avoid getting them."

Bucky closed his eyes. "Steve, they aren't something to be ashamed of. They're a sign that you're still alive, that despite all that the world has tried, you've gotten back up and kept going. Be proud of them, Steve, because I'd rather you here with your scars than six feet under in some cedar box."

"But why is it so hard to be proud of them?"

"Because you've hated them for so long."

It grew quiet again, save for Steve's soft crying. They just sat there, probably for hours, in each other's arms.

After a while, Bucky spoke up again. "You don't have to love them, Steve. You're my best friend, I'll love them for you."

There was a pause before Steve spoke again. "You might have to, because the way the world is going, I'm probably going to get a lot more, and I don't know if I can handle more."

Bucky exhaled slowly. "I've got a scar on my belly from when Ma told be 'don't you dare climb that fence'- the white picket one outside of the house? So, I decided that I was going to be daring, and I scrambled up that stupid fence and scratched myself. I don't remember it bleeding a whole lot, but I still have it."

Steve scrunched up his eyebrows, and looked at Bucky oddly. "Really?"

"Yeah, look." Bucky lifted up his shirt and pointed to a tiny little white line, barely visible among the larger scars. He dropped his shirt and instead pointed at his knee, just below the edge of his shorts. A circular, dark spot was there, next to a long red line that went down to his ankle. "That one's from one day in gym. It was raining, so we were running through the school halls and I fell. I skidded so hard it actually burned a hole in my pants. Gosh, was I mad. I didn't realize it had scarred until a few years later, when I remembered it had been a while."

Steve laughed quietly. "I always had to sit out in gym."

"Cause you were always sick! Gee, remember when you got chicken pox, and I had to stay home and take care of you? You were angry because you had finally gotten a date with that girl-"

"Suzie!" Steve said. "Her name was Suzie, and I had liked her for years, and she finally asked me out. I think it was a dare, but I had gotten sick so I couldn't go and she never called to reschedule. Hey, I still have a scar from that." Steve pointed to his face, and sure enough, right next to his ear was a dip.

Steve stopped suddenly. "I know what you're doing." He said with squinting eyes.

"What?"

"You're making me connect my scars with positive memories."

Bucky smile cheekily. "Is it working?"

Steve laughed a little. "Ask me in a month."

For the countless time, it was silent again, until Steve spoke again.

"Thanks, Buck."

"For what?"

"For being here."

"No problem, punk."

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im just using the whumptober as a prompt, so they'll be out of order, and not every day. might go back to twice a week updates, though!!

i am taking requests from you guys, the readers, too :)