Work Text:
“Where are you going?” Steve calls after Bucky when Bucky drags his feet back in the direction of their bedroom after breakfast.
“Bed.” Is all he says. There’s a weight in his chest pulling him back to the comfort of his bed. He’s kept his head up high through a bad week, pushing everything down and acting normal. He knows everything he pushes down will resurface eventually, but he doesn’t care.
He keeps pushing everything down, swallowing the lumps in his throat, breathing through the beginning of anxiety, keeping his head up high when he just wants to curl up into a ball and stay there.
His body won’t have it anymore, leaving him exhausted and longing for calm. He’s jittery with anxiety, leaving him to face the world today. For some reason he’s convinced everything will be fine if he just curls up in bed, even though it’s never worked before.
“What’s up?” Steve is suddenly at Bucky’s side, making Bucky jump at the surprise. “Whoa, relax. It’s just me.”
Bucky turns to Steve, letting himself be pulled into a hug. The touch tingles on his skin, sending anxiety down his spine, but he stays. He wants the comfort of Steve’s touch; he wants Steve’s touch to be comforting.
“I’m just tired, I don’t know.” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s shoulder.
“You seem tense.” Steve lets his fingers slide up Bucky’s back, sending another shiver down his spine, before he starts rubbing Bucky’s shoulders. It’s clumsy in this position, but Bucky can feel his muscles relax under Steve’s fingers.
“I’m anxious.” Bucky is working on letting Steve in when he’s having a hard time. Even though it’s hard to tell Steve when he feels this way, he feels better knowing he’s not alone in these moments.
“Do you know about what?” Steve asks and moves his fingers to Bucky’s neck, hitting all the right spots.
“Just-” Everything. He can’t stop thinking about the physical abuse. The beatings, being held down, choked, cut open, electrocuted, arm maintenance. He closes his eyes at the growing weight in his chest, pushing it back down. Don’t think about it.
“The physical aspects.” Bucky doesn’t need to say more. Steve already knows the details of what they did to him. Steve’s hands still for a moment.
“How about we do something to take your mind off of it?” Steve suggests. He leans back to look at Bucky. The concern and sympathy are clear on Steve’s face. Bucky is conflicted between feeling like a burden and being relieved that someone cares.
“I just want to go back to bed.” Bucky has been doing things to get his mind off of it for a week. It clearly doesn’t work. Some days he doesn’t want to fight. He just wants to curl up in bed and feel bad for himself.
“Then let’s do that.”
“I don’t-” Bucky starts. He wants to be alone, but he doesn’t want to hurt Steve by saying so.
“I’m coming.” Steve says unrelenting.
Bucky rolls his eyes, hoping Steve takes it as a joke. Anger blooms in his chest, taking his breath away. He just wants to be alone, is that too much to ask?
He pushes the anger down, burying it with the rest, turns on his heels and enter their bedroom. He can hear Steve following him as he crawls into bed. Pulling the comforter around himself, Bucky buries his face in the pillow, feeling the darkness embrace him.
Steve spoons Bucky from behind, wrapping himself tightly around Bucky. Steve’s touch isn’t as anxiety inducing through the comforter. He can feel Steve’s heat going through the layers and melting away some of the tension he’s holding.
“This okay?” Steve asks, not sure if Bucky would tell him if it’s suffocating.
“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. Being held in Steve’s arms makes him feel small and safe, like nothing can get to him.
They stay in that position for hours. Bucky drifts in and out of a light sleep, waking up covered in sweat, his heart racing. His dreams are full of the things he’s scared of, but he’s too tired to keep himself awake.
He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a week. Every little sound woke him up with a racing heart and sweaty palms. It’s as if he’s catching up on all that lost sleep while drowning in a bubble of anxiety. It’s almost comforting to let the anxiety wash over him without having to push it down.
The pain he gets in his left shoulder and ribs intensifies as the hours pass by. He’s too tense for his own good, making every muscle in his body ache, begging him to relax. Bucky can’t stop it; he carries his anxiety in his body just as much as in his mind.
When Bucky wakes up from a particularly bad dream, shaking and disoriented, he decides he’s done sleeping. His anxiety dreams are just making him feel worse. His left shoulder is too painful to lay on any longer. Suddenly it feels like he can’t breathe under Steve’s weight.
Bucky carefully pushes Steve off him, not sure if he’s awake or not, and sits up. He bends his upper body over his knees, effectively curling up to half his size. His left shoulder aches, sending lightning strikes of pain up his skull and down his chest and back.
“Are you okay?” The bed shifts as Steve sits up beside Bucky. Bucky keeps his eyes closed, resting his forehead on his knees.
“Yeah.” Bucky says, testing how the word feels on his tongue. There’s a twinge of hope that he’s let out whatever needed to be let out, that this was the climax of his bad week. But the word feels sour, chasing away any hope.
He doesn’t correct himself. When he’s having bad days, he feels like everyone is too careful with him. Like they think he’s an overfilled balloon, and they are needles, leaving them scared of poking or pushing him in any way.
Steve stays silent for a while, probably reading Bucky’s body language to decide if he believes him or not.
Bucky figures curling in on himself isn’t very convincing, so he lifts his head, ignoring the pain in his shoulder when he straightens his back. He plasters on a smile for extra effect. Perhaps if he pretends, he’ll actually start feeling better.
Bucky can see the moment Steve relents. His frown disappears, shoulders dropping as he smiles back at Bucky. Steve puts a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
“I’m starving.” Steve says dramatically when he pulls away, his stomach rumbling for extra effect.
“Me too.” Bucky lies. Anxiety swirls around in his stomach. Food is the last thing he wants to think about.
“What do you want?” Steve asks as he gets out of bed, holding out a hand to pull Bucky along with him.
“Pizza.” Bucky says without thinking. Steve’s holding out his left hand, leaving Bucky with no choice but to let Steve pull him out of bed by his left arm. It sends pain shooting in all directions, and the throbbing in his shoulder worsens. Bucky winces in pain. It feels like there’s a knife under his shoulder blade, digging into his flesh every time he moves.
“Shoulder?” Steve is on it immediately, knowing Bucky better than Bucky knows himself.
Bucky nods, rubbing his shoulder while rolling it, trying to make the pain disappear. Now that he doesn’t have to hide it, he lets it show on his face, frowning in pain and gasping when a movement is too harsh.
“I’ll order our pizza and then I’ll massage your shoulder, deal?” Steve is already walking to the kitchen, his voice echoing through the apartment.
Bucky takes a moment to let himself curl up around the weight in his chest. It pushes him down, knocking the breath out of him. He’s so tense it hurts when he tries to let himself relax. He gasps as he feels himself go under, Steve’s voice sounding further away every moment.
“Bucky?” Steve calls from the kitchen. Bucky snaps out of it, lifting himself back up. He forces his lungs to fill with air, plasters the smile back on and joins Steve in the kitchen.
Steve hangs up the phone and gestures for Bucky to sit on a kitchen chair. Bucky sits down, sighing when Steve’s warm hands start working the muscles around his left shoulder. Bucky slowly relaxes as he softens more and more into Steve’s touch, sighing when the pain lets up.
“Tell me if it hurts too much.” Steve reminds him.
“It’s perfect.” Steve’s fingers are like magic as they gently coax his muscles to relax.
“I have to go pick up the pizza.” Steve says after a while, Bucky whines at the loss of Steve’s magic fingers. “I’ll be gone five minutes, ten tops. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah.” Bucky lies through his teeth. His body may be more relaxed for the moment, but his mind is only getting louder.
Bucky’s heart skips a beat when the door klicks shut behind Steve. The silence he’s left in is deafening. Bucky curls in on himself as his heartbeat gets louder in his head.
Bucky starts humming to himself. Like he always did when he sat alone in his cell. Like when they tortured him. If he wasn’t screaming that is. Memories flash in his head like he’s watching a screen showing a montage of all his worst and most painful moments.
He remembers being tortured for months. Beaten and neglected, having his memories stripped from him until they only had to say ten words in order to take his whole life away from him.
He remembers waking up from surgery with the new arm and realizing he had the power to hurt them now. Only to realize they could still control him. They only had to say those words.
He remembers the pain of feeling his life slip away. The anxiety as each word fell from someone’s lips and took a whole piece of his memories with it.
And the dread that would smash into him when he came back to himself. How he would hum to comfort himself as he tried to adapt to the new memories of the horrible things they made him do, horrible things that he did with his own two hands.
He would sit in his cell and just look at his hands. Wondering how they went from being used for soft touches and loving hugs, to killing and torturing.
Bucky would always hum when they touched him. Even when they beat him for it, he wouldn’t stop. He needed to keep himself calm, the beating would be much worse if he freaked out.
Bucky can feel the hands on him. They hold him down, choke him, push, and shove him. They’re cold, icy on his skin.
He stumbles into the shower, turns on the water and lets it rain down on his skin. The hands don’t disappear, they push him down. He scratches at his skin, desperate to get the hands off. Stop touching him. His eyes are closed the whole time.
The hands around his throat squeeze, making it hard to breathe.
“Let me go!” He tries to scream, but it only comes out a whisper. He keeps scratching at his skin to distract himself from the impossibly cold hands. He hears someone mention cryo-freeze and his heart leaps into his throat.
“Nononono.” He mumbles as he sinks down to the shower floor. Remembering the pain of being frozen, the coldness seeping into his skin as he can’t escape. And when he wakes up and has no idea how long it’s been, only that he will be tortured and forced to murder for them.
“Please don’t.” The Winter Soldier doesn’t beg, but he has no choice. There are so many hands on him, it’s too cold, the touches hurt his skin, like burning ice.
He pulls on his hair and tries to breathe through the squeezing hands. He’s going to pass out if they don’t let go.
“Stop.” He gasps. Desperate. “Let me go.” The water hurts his skin, like he’s being showered in small, sharp stones. He tries to shrink away from the water but hits a wall.
“Prep him.” He hears through the heartbeat in his ears. He starts thrashing around as the hands take a hold of him.
“No!” This time he manages to scream. He pulls the hands off of his arms, kicking them as he squeezes himself deeper into the corner.
“Let me go!” He can’t be frozen again. Can’t handle the pain. He doesn’t dare open his eyes and look at his handlers. He will be punished for fighting back.
“Bucky.” Arms reach for him again, and he sits completely still. Ready to get his punishment. Calling him Bucky is a new low, ever for them. They know how much the reminder of his old life hurts.
“Please don’t.” He whispers as the arms wrap around him. They feel warmer than the others.
“Bucky, it’s just me.” He barely hears the words over the sound of his own breathing. He can’t feel the water anymore. They’re about to drag him out and get him prepped.
“No, let me go.” He tries one last time to get the hands to leave him alone, but hey hold on.
“Buck, you’re safe.” What kind of a joke are they playing? He is never safe in the hands of Hydra.
“No!” He screams. But he’s done fighting, exhausted from the panic.
“Hey, it’s me, Steve.”
“Steve?” His throat feels sore and he’s freezing.
“Yes. It’s just me. You’re safe.” Bucky reaches up to touch the arms holding him. They are warm. Strong, but kind in the way they’re holding him. He can even smell Steve. The hallucinations were never this vivid.
“You can open your eyes. It’s safe.”
It’s safe. You’re safe. He tells himself, although he’ not sure he believes it. The panic is still tight in his chest.
“Steve.” Steve’s hands move to Bucky’s cheeks, holding him while he waits for Bucky to open his eyes.
It almost hurts to open his eyes after keeping them closed for so long. The room is bright, and he has to squint to look at Steve.
“There you go.” Steve is smiling at him.
You’re safe. You’re with Steve.
Bucky feels the panic calming down, his head clearing. He groans when he realizes he’s sitting in the shower, sopping wet in the aftermath of a panic attack with flashbacks. His cheeks heat up and he lowers his head to hide it.
“Will you be okay while I get you some dry clothes? I’ll just be a minute.” Steve asks, clearly uncomfortable with leaving Bucky alone again.
At the mention of his clothes Bucky feels how cold he is. They’re soaked through with cold water, sticking to his skin. He just nods. Steve helps him get up and tells him to take off his wet clothes before disappearing.
The reflection staring back at Bucky shocks him. His chest and throat are covered in red, angry scratches. As he peels of his shirt it reveals scratches on his arms and lower stomach too. He takes a deep breath before peeling off his pants, scared of what it will reveal. He inspects his skin in the mirror. His legs don’t have scratches.
His upper body however, some of the scratches look like they’re almost bleeding, the skin having been scratched off with his nails.
He lifts his shaky hand to see if he can see anything under his nails. He’s not sure whether to be relieved that there’s no skin under his nails, or horrified he had to check in the first place.
Bucky looks down from the mirror when he hears Steve coming back. He wants to cover himself up, ashamed of how he lost control.
“Oh, Bucky.” Steve sighs when he sees Bucky. It’s possibly the worst thing Steve could’ve said. Bucky’s already ashamed of the marks on his body, scared that he wasn’t able to control himself and embarrassed that Steve saw it.
Bucky stats crying, overwhelmed by what just happened. He usually feels better after a panic attack. Bouncing back quickly. The emotions demand to be felt, and then he’s fine. But not this time.
Steve pulls him into a hug, holding Bucky tightly against his body. Bucky lets himself cry into Steve’s chest, not holding back. He feels empty. And even though he’s sobbing, it’s a relief. He felt so full of emotion earlier, he couldn’t handle it. Being empty is okay if it means he isn’t panicking or in pain.
His brain is quiet. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying anymore. He can’t control what he does in a blind panic. And he knows that Steve knows that. He knows Steve doesn’t judge him. And Bucky shouldn’t judge himself either.
“What happened?”
“I could feel them- their hands- so cold.” Bucky says between crying. He squeezes his eyes shut at the memories, but they don’t spark panic this time. Steve hugs him tighter, telling him he’s safe, that they aren’t here, that they won’t ever get him again.
“The pizza is getting cold.” Steve says softly after a while, but he doesn’t move. Bucky sniffs before lifting his head, looking up at Steve. Steve wipes his thumps under Bucky’s eyes, smiling softly at him.
They take a few deep breaths together, Bucky copying what Steve is doing. He feels him stomach expand and retract, chest filling with air before releasing it.
Bucky is starving. The hunger is hollowing him out, almost making him nauseous.
“Pizza sounds amazing.” Bucky says, dragging out the last word. He can feel himself bouncing back. The fog leaves his head, weight leaving his shoulders. He hates the panic attacks, but at least they mean he’ll feel better soon.