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Bucky knew that casualties were an inevitable part of the job when he took it. He knew that people, good people, were going to die during his missions. Steve had backed away from the title of Captain America, passing shield and mantle over to Sam. At this point, he was only ever called in for meetings and the such, more for his tactical genius rather than anything to do with the field. Bucky, however, had stepped forward into the battle against various Villains Of The Week, determined to do the right thing and make up for seven decades of the wrong thing.
Just like countless missions before, it had been one with casualties — civilian casualties. Not that the deaths of agents weren’t hard on him, but it was different; those agents had made the conscious choice to be where they were. Civilians had no choice in being dragged into the hell their lives became.
As far as he knew, it was only the five of them. A mother who died protecting her child, an old man who’d been unable to move out of the way fast enough, two young adults with hands outstretched for each other, a man in a fancy-looking suit. Such a small number, in comparison to the amount of people whose deaths Bucky has been directly responsible for. Bucky adds another five onto the number.
Bucky unloads his firearms on the quinjet, unhooks his knives from their holsters, placing them under the seat. Out of sight, out of mind.
Natasha gives him a look as he does so, but it isn’t a cruel one. She’d never asked, but she seemed to understand his desperate need to separate himself as far as possible from the mindset he fell into during missions. He’d stopped being the Asset a long time ago and was more Bucky Barnes than ever, but it was impossible to entirely get rid of decades worth of training. He hated the way he moved in the field, the disturbing silence in his head, focused only on the mission, safety of others and himself be damned.
It was a constant reminder; he may not be the Asset anymore, but he would always be the Winter Soldier.
Panic rises in his chest at the thought. He hunches in on himself, gasping for air, desperate, needing Steve, needing, needing —
Daddy.
The thought comes clearer than anything else. Steve — Daddy — Steve will know what to do. He’ll take care of Bucky — of Jamie, and Bucky. He’ll hold Bucky close when he walks through the door, he’ll tell him that he loves him and kiss his forehead and he’ll tell Jamie that he’s a sweet boy and he’ll take care of him — of them.
Bucky — Jamie presses his head to his knees, thinking of what his Daddy used to do during an attack. He remembers counting with him, in one two three, out one two three, keep breathin’ just like that for me. He thinks of his Daddy beside him, big hand on his back (even bigger because Jamie himself is only little, of course) counting breaths with him. Jamie’s eyes burn with unshed tears because his Daddy isn’t with him, he just wants to get home and see his Daddy.
Bucky grits his teeth and raises his head, gaze blurry for a moment before he blinks the tears away. He pushes the feeling of small as far down as he can for the moment. Clint’s asleep on the other side of the jet, head in Natasha’s lap, sprawled awkwardly across two seats, exhausted beyond exhaustion. Still, he looks relaxed under Natasha’s hands, and Bucky desperately wishes to be home with Steve.
The ride from the tower back to their apartment has him on edge the entire time. He’s still keyed up from the fight, even after the flight back, and there’s a strange sort of restlessness building in his veins.
Bucky hunkers down in the back of a car that Stark had called around, glancing anxiously every few moments at the pane of shaded glass between himself and the driver. The rest of the time, he stares out the window, watching for any slight detour. He trusts Stark, he does, but he doesn’t trust anyone else, including the driver.
The car has barely pulled up to his building before he practically flings himself out of it. The anxiety of being in such a small space abates for a moment, quickly replaced by anxiety at being in such an open place, in the middle of the street, potential threats everywhere. It’s getting late, only a few stragglers wandering around, possibly heading home or out to start their night. Bucky usually feels safest in darkness, where he uses the shadows to his advantage. Tonight his skin prickles with the feeling of unseen eyes burning holes into him, and he knows that the feeling won’t go away till he’s safe at home.
The furthest elevator has access to their floor, and Bucky waits in teeth-grinding silence for several moments for Steve to get the alert that someone is requesting access, and then another few moments for him to grant said access. Bucky hunkers down in the corner as soon as the doors slide open. The mirrors on the walls of the elevator make him feel sick. He already knew that he looked bad but seeing it makes it so much worse. His face is pale, tacsuit dirty, hair tacky with dust and the same blood that covers the rest of him, nearly from head to toe. Most of it has dried, and most of it isn’t his.
Steve is right there when the elevator doors slide open on their floor. Bucky all but collapses into his arms.
“Oh, Bucky.” Steve says softly, and Jamie bursts into tears. He clings to Daddy’s soft cotton shirt, bawling into his shoulder.
“Baby.” Daddy amends, clearly realising that he has someone much younger on his hands. “It’s okay, Jamie, sweetheart, Daddy’s right here.”
Jamie presses his face into Daddy’s chest, sobbing. He feels sticky and gross and he’s so uncomfortable.
“Daddy,” he gasps, pressing closer. “Daddy, ‘m all — Daddy —“
Daddy holds Jamie close, a hand buried in his hair, the other wrapped tight around his waist. “It’s okay, angel, Daddy’s got you. You cry as much as you need to.”
“No. No, Daddy, I —“ the words get caught in Jamie’s throat, out of reach. The frustration sets him off into another round of sobs.
Daddy’s words are muffled in Jamie’s hair. “What do you need, baby? Can you tell Daddy?” Jamie nods his head after a moment, sniffling.
“A bath, Daddy.” Jamie rubs his eyes. “Need a bath.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Daddy presses a kiss to Jamie’s forehead, just like he knew he would do. Jamie’s eyes fill with tears again. He loves his Daddy so much, he’s the best daddy in the whole world. He can’t find the words, so he settles for leaning into the kiss.
“D’you wanna walk, or do you want Daddy to carry you?”
Jamie reaches up to wrap his arms around his Daddy’s neck in answer. Daddy picks him up without hesitation and he melts into the embrace. He reminds himself that of course Daddy can carry him; Daddy’s really strong and he’s only little. He whispers Daddy to himself, sniffling, emotional all over again.
The bathroom is all fancy marble walls and countertops, and he leans against the sinks when Daddy puts him down to fiddle with the bathtub. He clumsily tries to undo his tacsuit, unclipping the buckles around one of his thighs.
“Baby, baby, let Daddy do that.” Daddy says softly, crouching down to unclip the other buckles. They’re there to hold his knives, and Jamie starts crying again at the very thought. He’s little, he’s so little, he shouldn’t have knives, Daddy would be upset with him if he knew such a little boy was running around with knives and guns and —
He realises that Daddy is making small comforting noises as he unzips Jamie’s pants and tugs them down. Jamie cries to himself, big shuddery sobs, as Daddy tosses his pants aside and works on his shirt.
“Okay, baby,” Daddy says several minutes later, dropping the heavy shirt onto the floor beside them. “Just shoes left, now, here we go, undo this one, what a good boy, lift your foot for me? There we go, such a good boy, other foot now.”
Daddy leaves his boots and socks with the other clothes.
Jamie wipes his nose with his hand when Daddy rises back to his full height. “Bath now, Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby.” Daddy smiles, taking his hand and helping him into the mostly full tub. Jamie hesitates as he dips his foot in, whining Daddy at the heat, but Daddy just shushes him and urges him in.
Jamie melts into the heat as soon as he settles into it. “Oh.”
Daddy smiles, kneeling down next to him. Jamie frowns when he sees the dirt and blood smeared on his soft cotton shirt from where Jamie had pressed his face.
“Daddy….” Jamie lifts a hand out of the water to press against the mark, leaving behind a wet patch. Daddy pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it over his shoulder before Jamie can blink.
“Needed to be washed, anyway.” Daddy says, waving it off. “Can you tell Daddy how old you are, angel?”
Jamie shrinks further down, till he peers out with only his eyes above the water. Daddy raises an eyebrow.
“Dunno, Daddy.” Jamie says when he rises back out of the water.
“Five?” Daddy guesses. Jamie scrunches his nose and shakes his head. He doesn’t feel five.
“Four?” Daddy tries. Jamie shakes his head again. He doesn’t feel four either.
“Three?” Daddy says. Jamie thinks about it for a moment before nodding. Daddy smiles. “Three. That’s good to know, thank you, baby.”
Jamie shrugs, mumbling. “‘s okay, Daddy.”
Daddy runs his fingers through Jamie’s hair, touch soft, like it isn’t caked with blood, like he didn’t kill people and end up with their blood splattered all over himself. Bucky swallows thickly when he looks down and sees the water already turning a muddy red.
“Steve.” Bucky’s voice is strangled. “Steve, the water, it’s —“
“Yeah.” Steve agrees, leaning forward to pull the plug. Bucky shudders as the hot water drains away. “Should’ve put you in the shower first, washed you off properly. Sorry.”
Bucky shakes his head as he stands up. He feels small and anxious and too big and clumsy and he glances at Steve and then the shower. Steve gets the message, opening the glass door to mess with the temperature. The room quickly fills with steam, replaced just as quickly with fresh air from the vents in the ceiling.
“Baby?” Steve holds a hand out to him, eyebrows raised. Bucky could say no, step into the shower on his own, and Steve would drop it. But that isn’t what he wants or what he needs.
Jamie takes his Daddy’s hand and lets himself be lead into the shower. The shower is just as hot as the bath had been, turning his skin pink again. Daddy keeps the door open, asking, “Pass me the soap, sweetheart?”
Jamie grabs the bottle of body wash from the ledge and hands it over, melting under his Daddy’s soothing touches a moment later. Daddy works the soap into a lather, rubbing it across his chest and shoulders, down the length of his right arm. He does the same with his left, without the soap — they both know how it ends up when soap gets in between the plates.
Jamie sighs, drifting in warmth and his Daddy’s comforting touches. Hands rub down his stomach and legs, working up his back and pressing into his shoulder blades. “Daddy.” Jamie grimaces at his own voice, so much deeper than it should be for such a small boy.
Daddy doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Baby boy.”
Daddy gets him to pass the shampoo, and he tears up at the feeling of Daddy massaging it into his hair. He’s getting clean, he’s a little boy who has no reason to have blood in his hair, Daddy’s taking care of him like he always does.
Jamie chokes out, “Daddy, Daddy, love you.” and Daddy makes a soft sound, squeezing the back of his neck comfortingly. Jamie shudders under the pressure, the last of his tension draining out of his body, leaving him weak and soft and held up entirely by his Daddy asking him to stay still.
Jamie cries when Daddy washes his hair out, staring blurrily at the dirt and blood rushing down the drain.
“You ready to get out, baby?” Daddy asks, voice soft. Jamie looks at him and considers saying no; he knows that Daddy would let him stand under the spray as long as he needed to feel better. But he needs his Daddy’s hugs and kisses and he isn’t going to get them in the shower. So he nods, clings to his Daddy when he turns the shower off and tugs him out, lets himself be wrapped in their softest, fluffiest towels.
Daddy carries him into their room from the connected bathroom, seemingly just as unwilling to be separated from his boy as Jamie is to be apart from his Daddy. Jamie wriggles happily at the soft bedding when Daddy puts him down.
Daddy uses another towel to dry his hair, and Jamie squirms, huffing. Daddy just smiles at him and finishes up, tossing the towel into their laundry basket.
“How do you feel, baby?” Daddy asks as he crouches down between Jamie’s feet. Jamie shrugs, resisting the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth. Daddy uses the big fluffy towel still wrapped around Jamie to quickly dry him off. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
Jamie pouts. “Feel fine. Tired. I wan’ a hug.”
Daddy leans up to kiss his forehead. “In a second, baby. You want me to pick out something for you to wear?”
Jamie nods, content to let his Daddy make the choice.
Daddy steps into their closet, wandering out a few minutes later in another cotton shirt and a new pair of sweats. He’s holding a pair of boxers, purple and satin because Bucky likes the feeling of satin underthings, and a white cotton shirt, just like the one he’s wearing. Jamie holds his hands above his head without having to be asked, preening at his Daddy’s, “oh, what a good boy.”
Daddy helps him step into the boxers and Jamie smiles at the feeling of such a soft material against his skin.
“Hungry, sweet boy?” Daddy cups his face in his gentle hands. “I can make you something for dinner, if you’d like.”
Jamie is tempted to shake his head because he wants to cuddle with his Daddy, but his stomach makes itself known with a low rumble. “Yeah, Daddy.” He says reluctantly. “Hungry.”
Daddy kisses his forehead, and his cheek, and his chin, and presses fluttery kisses all over his face till Jamie is giggling and squirmy and pushing at him half-heartedly.
“I’ll go make dinner, and I’ll be back in a minute.” Daddy says, the smile on his face making Jamie’s tummy feel all fluttery. “You call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Jamie agrees. Daddy kisses him again, a soft point of pressure against his cheek, before he leaves. He comes right back in a few moments later, while Jamie is still comfortably curled up in the centre of their bed. Jamie makes a curious noise at the soft fluffy thing in his Daddy’s hand.
“A toy I bought a while ago, after we played.” Daddy explains, laughing at Jamie’s eager grabby hands. Jamie latches onto it, breathing oh at the almost impossible softness of its fur. It’s a little bunny, a lighter blue than Daddy’s eyes, ears all floppy. Jamie wriggles and curls his toes as he rubs his cheek against its stomach, playing with its ears.
Jamie looks up with wide eyes, saying, “Daddy.” and his Daddy’s smile is so soft and adoring that Jamie’s chest feels tight with it, with how much he loves his Daddy right back.
When Daddy leaves this time, Jamie curls up with his new bunny, holding it close to his chest. He rubs his face over its fur, mouthing Daddy to himself. Jamie’s heart feels all soft and melty at the thought that his Daddy had gone out of his way to buy something for him, especially something so soft and perfect. Jamie finds himself mouthing at one of its ears absently and stops himself, wishing desperately for a pacifier. He remembers having one, way back when. Bucky had stolen one, swiping it into his pocket when no one was looking, but Jamie had still appreciated it, found it soothing to hold in his mouth, even though he disapproved of the stealing, because Daddy had disapproved of the stealing, which meant it was bad and wrong. He’d let Jamie keep the pacifier though, hid it away safe whenever they weren’t using it.
Jamie loses track of time, snuggling against the bunny. He hasn’t decided on a name for it yet; he wants it to be perfect.
“Sit up, baby, no eating lying down.” Daddy says as he walks into the room, a plate in each hand. Jamie sits up, still clutching at his bunny. “We didn’t have a whole lot, so I made pasta.”
Jamie grins, shuffling closer. He hasn’t had pasta in a long time, and it was his favorite back when Daddy was smaller. He would put their food on one plate and feed it to Jamie when he was too little to do it for himself.
Daddy settles on the bed next to him and places both plates in front of them. “Do you want me to feed you, or would you like to do it yourself?”
Jamie fiddles with the bunny’s ears. “Can you do it, Daddy?”
His Daddy gives him another one of those soft looks, agreeing, “okay, sweetheart.”
Jamie’s heart feels all melty and soft and he wriggles again, because he is his Daddy’s sweetheart. He opens his mouth wide, saying “ahhhhhh!” as Daddy twirls the fork in pasta from Jamie’s plate and lifts it to Jamie’s mouth. Daddy says a quiet good boy, Jamie as he twirls the fork in his own share of pasta he does the same to himself.
Jamie keeps the bunny safe in his lap while Daddy feeds the both of them and Jamie really really really just wants to cuddle his Daddy. He wants to turn his nose up at the food and refuse to eat and insist that Daddy cuddle him right now but it would make Daddy upset and Jamie hates making Daddy upset, so he settles for eating as fast as he can.
“I’ll go wash these up and I’ll be back in a moment, sweet boy.” Daddy stacks their empty plates, heading for the door. “Be good and wait here for me.”
The bed is so very soft and comfortable, Jamie wriggles around till he slides under the covers, still holding his bunny close. He plays with its ears and laughs quietly to himself when one of the ears flops in front of its eyes. Daddy’s smiling when he comes back in, hands free, and Jamie excitedly sits up to make grabby hands.
“Okay, baby.” Daddy says softly, climbing into bed on Jamie’s other side. Jamie cuddles up to his chest as soon as he’s within cuddling distance, the bunny pressed between them. “I love you, Jamie. You’re such a sweet boy, you know that? Sweeter than sugar.”
“Love you too, Daddy.” Jamie says. Daddy cuddles Jamie close again, and Jamie wriggles his toes happily, listening to his Daddy’s calming heartbeat. He remembers when his Daddy was smaller and Jamie would snuggle up to his chest and listen to the rattle in his lungs. It’s so much stronger now; his chest and his heartbeat.
“Can you tell Daddy what had you so upset earlier, sweet boy?” Daddy’s voice is soft as his bunny’s fur. Jamie frowns, mumbles a quiet Daddy… and Daddy shushes him, strokes a comforting hand down his back. “Daddy has to make sure his baby’s alright, which means I need to know what upset you so it can’t happen again.”
Jamie’s lips tremble and he raises his bunny to press his face against its stomach. “Daddy….”
“Please, sweetheart?”
He sniffles against the sudden emotion building behind his eyes and in his throat. “I was bein’ bad, I had a — a knife, and guns, Daddy, and I hurt people, and I —“
“Okay, baby.” Daddy soothes, kissing his forehead. Jamie sniffles and tilts his head up into the kiss. “Thank you for telling me, you’re a very good boy.”
“I’m not.” Jamie argues, voice wavering. “I’m — bad, I had guns, Daddy, good boys don’t — don’t — “
Daddy makes one of those quiet, soothing sounds, holding Jamie close. The wave of emotions building inside Jamie comes pouring out again, till he’s left wailing into his Daddy’s shoulder. He clutches at him with one hand, the other tightly gripping his bunny, keeping both as close as possible.
Daddy holds him while he cries and holds him when he eventually stops crying. Jamie sniffles, whispers Daddy to himself and takes comfort at the shape of the word in his mouth. Repeats Daddy for the same reason, and then again, comforting himself, reminding himself that Daddy is there to take care of him, just like he always has been.
The whole time, Daddy quietly tells Jamie that he’s a good boy, that his daddy loves him, that he’s his daddy’s well-behaved boy. He insists that Jamie’s never hurt anyone, and that Bucky only does what needs to be done, and whispers you’re a good boy for that, sweetheart, and Buck is a good man into the crown of Jamie’s hair.
Something settles inside Jamie, hearing that his Daddy isn’t disgusted or ashamed of him. That his Daddy still loves him regardless of what he’d done — of what Bucky had done. Jamie is only little, of course he’s never hurt anyone, and Bucky only does what he has to, and his Daddy loves him no matter what.
Jamie falls asleep safe in his Daddy’s arms, and in the morning he’ll wake up and ask his Daddy for breakfast and he’ll play with his bunny and some of the other toys Daddy had bought without him knowing. The morning will be a good one, till he feels he can be Bucky again, and he knows that he’ll still be just as loved by Daddy even when Bucky calls him Steve.