Chapter Text
Music had always been my thing.
It was the one constant in my life, the one thing that could quiet my mind when everything around me became too loud. I had always loved the way a simple melody could change the atmosphere of a room, how a few carefully chosen notes could make people smile, relax, or simply stop and listen. But for me, music had never been just music.
It was a gift.
Whenever I sang, something happened.
The sound of my voice seemed to reach people in a way ordinary music never could. Shoulders that had been tense would slowly relax. Angry voices would soften. Arguments that had been seconds away from turning ugly could be stopped with nothing more than a quiet hum. I didn't even have to sing properly sometimes. A few gentle notes under my breath could be enough to make the tension in the air disappear.
People felt calm around me.
And that was only the beginning.
My voice could heal.
I could mend injuries with a song, ease pain with a melody, and help people recover from wounds that would normally take weeks or months to heal. I had discovered the ability when I was young, and as I grew older, I learned how to control it. Eventually, it became more than something I used to help the people around me.
It became my living.
All across New York, people knew my name. I would travel wherever I was needed, singing for those who were sick, injured, frightened, or simply desperate for relief. Sometimes it was something small—a painful injury that needed soothing or someone who couldn't sleep because of discomfort. Other times, it was much more serious.
And every time I finished a song and watched someone take their first pain-free breath, it felt incredible.
There was something indescribably wonderful about knowing that my voice could make someone's life a little easier.
But having a gift like mine wasn't always wonderful.
Sometimes people forgot that I was a person, too.
They would stop me in the street and demand that I sing for them. They would shout my name, follow me, beg me, and sometimes become downright hostile when I refused. It didn't matter if I was tired. It didn't matter if my throat hurt. It didn't matter if I had already been singing for hours.
They wanted my voice.
And when people wanted something badly enough, they weren't always willing to take no for an answer.
There had been days when I had been trapped in crowded streets for hours, surrounded by people desperate to hear me sing. What had started as a simple act of kindness would turn into an endless performance, my voice growing weaker with every song while more people gathered around me.
Eventually, Tony Stark offered me a job with the Avengers. It was, without a doubt, one of the strangest offers I'd ever received.
The Avengers didn't just need another fighter. They needed someone who could keep them on their feet, someone who could heal injuries quickly enough to get them back into the fight. And apparently, my abilities made me the perfect candidate.
I became their official healer.
For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who understood that my gift wasn't something they could simply demand from me. They respected it. They respected me.
And, somehow, I had ended up with my very own suite in Avengers Tower. It was more than just a bedroom. It was my little sanctuary, tucked away from the chaos of the rest of the building. I could close the door, put on my music, sing as loudly as I wanted, dance around my room like an idiot, and nobody would tell me to stop.
For the first time, I had somewhere I could simply be myself.
Working with the Avengers was exhausting, though. Missions could last for days, sometimes even weeks, and when they finally returned to the Tower, they were rarely in one piece. Bruised, exhausted, limping, occasionally covered in far more blood than I cared to see, they would drag themselves into the training room.
And that was where I came in. I'd stand in front of them and sing. Tony had even built me a stage.
Of course he had.
He claimed it was because if I was going to be their healer, I might as well have a proper place to perform. I suspected he mostly wanted an excuse to build something unnecessarily complicated, but I wasn't complaining.
I'd stand beneath the lights while the Avengers sat around the training room, and I'd let my voice fill the space.
Slowly, I'd watch the tension leave their bodies.
Cuts would close. Bruises would fade. Broken bones would begin to mend. The exhaustion that clung to them after a mission would gradually disappear, replaced by the familiar calm my voice brought with it.
Sometimes they would talk while I sang.
Sometimes they would simply sit there with their eyes closed and listen.
Those moments became some of my favourite parts of the job.
Of course, I couldn't always stay safely behind the scenes.
Sometimes I had to go into battle with them.
I'd been trained to fight and heal simultaneously, which was a rather strange combination of skills when you thought about it. I could throw a punch with one hand while singing under my breath, keeping my teammates alive while defending myself.
It wasn't always easy.
But somehow, it worked.
And despite the exhaustion, despite the danger, despite occasionally wanting to collapse into my bed for three days straight after a mission...
I was happy.
For once, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I had people around me who valued what I could do without treating me like a walking miracle. I had a home. I had a purpose.
I loved helping people.
That was why, when Steve Rogers approached me one day with a favour, I didn't hesitate.
He wanted me to help his friend.
His friend, who had been through hell.
His friend, who was still suffering because of it.
His friend...
Bucky Barnes.
---
I was in the kitchen the morning I met him.
I was standing at the counter, waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, humming quietly to myself as I stared sleepily at the machine. It was still early, and the Tower was unusually quiet. After spending so much time surrounded by the Avengers, I'd learned that quiet mornings were something to appreciate.
I reached for my mug just as I heard someone cough behind me.
I turned around with a smile already forming on my lips.
"Morning, Steve-"
The words died in my throat.
Steve was standing there in his Captain America uniform, with Tony and Natasha beside him.
And there was someone else.
A man stood on Steve's other side, and for a moment, I simply stared at him.
He was built almost as heavily as Steve, broad shoulders and powerful arms hidden beneath worn clothing. But where Steve somehow managed to make being a super-soldier look almost effortless, this man looked like he'd been dragged through hell and hadn't quite found his way back out.
His hair was messy. His clothes were dark and worn.
There was something about him that immediately made my chest tighten.
His eyes were what caught me most. They were tired. Not the kind of tired that came from missing a few nights of sleep or working too many hours. This was something deeper. Something that seemed to have settled into his very soul.
"Hey, kid," Tony said, breaking the silence.
He gestured towards the breakfast bar.
I nodded, grabbing my coffee before quietly following them. The four of us sat around the breakfast bar, Steve beside Bucky, while Tony and Natasha took the seats opposite.
I tried not to stare.
I really did.
But my eyes kept drifting back towards him.
Eventually, his eyes met mine.
And that's when I felt it.
Pain.
It hit me so suddenly that I almost dropped my coffee.
I'd always been able to feel what the people around me were feeling. It was the one part of my gift I'd never been able to control completely. Happiness, anger, fear, sadness, I could sense all of it.
Usually, I didn't mind. In fact, it was one of the reasons I loved what I did. If someone was hurting, I could make it better.
But what I felt from Bucky was different. It was overwhelming.
Sorrow.
Fear.
Confusion.
Guilt.
Loneliness.
Pain so deep that I couldn't understand how one person could possibly carry all of it and still be standing.
I'd known pain before. I'd felt the emotions of hundreds of people over the years. I'd healed people who were terrified, grieving, injured and broken.
But I'd never felt anything like this. I couldn't look away from him.
"I can feel his pain," I whispered.
Bucky's eyes widened.
For the first time, something other than emptiness flickered across his face.
Steve looked between us. "Can you fix him?" he asked desperately.
I looked back at Bucky.
I didn't know what had happened to him. I didn't know what Steve meant by fix. But I knew I could help.
"Yes," I said softly. "But it might take a while."
My eyes moved back to Bucky.
"Does he know how I heal?"
I had a feeling that suddenly starting to sing in front of him without warning probably wasn't the best idea.
"He knows," Steve said with a small, sad smile.
He lifted a hand and gently placed it on Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky flinched.
Hard.
His entire body recoiled from the touch, and the fear that surged through him was so sudden that I felt myself flinch too.
Steve immediately pulled his hand away.
"I'm going to leave you two alone," he said quietly. "Let you do your thing."
I watched him walk away, and the moment the doors closed behind him, the kitchen fell silent.
Just me. And Bucky Barnes.
I slowly turned back towards him. He was still staring at me.
"Bucky," I whispered. His sad eyes met mine.
I stepped closer, pulling out the chair beside him. As I sat down, I immediately felt the pain intensify. It was stronger this close. Much stronger.
My knees were almost touching his, but I didn't move any closer.
"Is this okay?" I asked quietly. Bucky turned his body slightly towards me. He hesitated for a moment before giving me a wary nod.
"Do you know what's going to happen?"
He shook his head. I nodded, taking a slow breath.
"My power is... weird," I admitted. "I'll sing, and you'll feel the music. My voice will move through you, almost like it's flowing through your veins."
I paused, trying to find the right words.
"It's very personal. You'll feel my voice completely."
Bucky watched me for several seconds before giving another small nod. Then he cleared his throat.
"Please." His voice was barely more than a whisper.
I swallowed. It hurt knowing how much he was hurting. And the worst part was that I could feel every bit of it.
And I wanted to take some of it away.
"Okay," I whispered. I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I began to sing.
Softly.
Gently.
I didn't need to sing loudly. My voice didn't need to fill the room. It only needed to reach him. I felt the first thread of my power leave me, curling around Bucky like an invisible warmth before sinking into him. A sharp gasp escaped him.
I'd been told before that healing felt strange. People described it as feeling like someone else's voice was moving through them, reaching places that nothing physical could reach.
But I'd never attempted to heal someone this broken. This wasn't like treating a broken bone or closing a wound. There was something different about Bucky.
His pain seemed to go far beyond what I could see. And the deeper my voice travelled, the more exhausting it became.
I kept singing. My breathing became heavier. My head began to spin.
The room seemed to sway around me, and every note felt like it was taking more energy than the one before it.
But I couldn't stop.
Not yet.
I could feel the slightest change in him. The pain was still there. But it wasn't quite as overwhelming. So I continued.
Until eventually, I couldn't. The final note faded from the room, and I opened my eyes.
Bucky was staring at me. I could still feel the faint echo of his emotions, but the crushing weight of them had eased.
Before I could say anything, the doors opened. Steve stepped back into the kitchen. I had a feeling he'd been listening from somewhere nearby.
"How do you feel, Bucky?" he asked.
Bucky shrugged. "Better, I guess," he muttered.
I smiled faintly. "That's a start."
I pushed myself up from the chair.
Big mistake.
The second I stood, the room spun violently. My legs gave way beneath me.
"Whoa!" Steve caught me before I could hit the floor, grabbing my arm and steadying me.
"I'm okay," I mumbled, although I was definitely not feeling okay.
Steve looked concerned.
I managed a weak smile. "It'll take a few tries, Steve."
I carefully pulled myself away from him and made my way towards the couch, practically collapsing onto it. "One song wasn't going to fix everything."
I closed my eyes. My head was still spinning, and every muscle in my body felt exhausted.
"A nap would be good." And with that, I let my eyes close.