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“What the fuck, Wanda?” Bucky Barnes asked, staring at the demolished greenhouse he’d just finished putting up two weekends ago. Some kind of magic energy lapped at the ground, crawling over the debris of his shed. At least he hadn’t moved too many plants out there yet.
“You,” Wanda…snarled? hissed? purred? accused? Bucky wasn’t sure what was going on with the young woman’s voice. He hadn’t spent much time with her. For a moment, after the un-end of the world, it seemed like they wanted him to mediate her. Shared life experience or something. He’d gotten bits and pieces of information about her from Steve and Sam, so he figured it was the brainwashing that made people draw a connection. Personally, he wasn’t sure it was the same thing and they’d split pretty easily with their pardons to get on with their separate lives.
Despite a lack of real familiarity, he knew something was wrong. And it wasn’t just his greenhouse that was clueing him in. There was something wrong with Wanda’s voice, part of why he couldn’t nail down what exactly her intention behind calling him out was. It was resonant and breathy at the same time, teasing and violent, young and malicious. He stepped back from some seeking, writhing magic and kicked dirt towards it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Where is Wilson?”
Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t live together yet. I’m not his keeper.”
“You are such a liar,” Wanda laughed and screeched. “I can see you both. You are tucked so close to each other’s ribs, there is no extricating one from the other.”
Bucky let out a low whistle. “Why don’t you stop floating like an evil alien and come talk me through whatever you’re thinking. Because clearly there’s a lot going on in your head.”
Really, he thought, he would have been a terrible therapizer all those months ago. He was doing a bad job now. Though not as bad as whoever was initially in charge of her, clearly.
Wanda cackled and waved a…burnt hand dismissively. The magic glowed so bright Bucky had to bring an arm up to cover his eyes. And then it all retreated back to her. Left the air feeling charged, tasting like electricity. For a moment, Bucky wanted to press his hands over his head, convince himself he was still okay. But he didn’t need the extra proof. He was fine. This wasn’t Hydra.
“Let me look at your hand,” he offered. “We don't have to talk if you don’t want, I guess.” God knows he was tired of people telling him to talk. “But I need to get some bandages on that injury. What happened?”
Wanda looked down at her hand with disinterest. “It’s not an injury,” she said. “It doesn’t need bandages.”
Bucky made sure to keep his face passive. “If you don’t want help, I’m not sure why you’re here,” he offered.
A terrible smile split across Wanda’s face. Bucky was pretty sure there were tear streaks down her face. “You were the one they pointed me towards. You were the one they said was most like me. I reached into your mind once and you are far more damaged than me. But still, I believed them. I let myself think there might be a mirror out there, cracked and distorted, even after I’d lost my twin. A mirror who’d understand.
“You had nothing,” she spat, still smiling, still helping a dis-ease creep under Bucky’s skin. “You were the most lonely and hurt of all of them. I thought, of all of us, you would be the first to break. You would be the first to lose the pardon and get put back in that prison.”
Bucky didn’t flinch. He’d thought the same, and worse, many many times. He knew other people thought the same, and worse. This was very old hat to him. Still, no one liked to hear it out loud.
“What is your point, Wanda? I was just trying to keep my head down and stay out of the way.”
He fed information to the right people, fulfilled his therapy mandates and service orders. If he prowled alleys and forgotten neighborhoods looking for people to help, that was his own prerogative. No one ever blamed him for it. No one had ever complained.
Wanda laughed nigh on maniacally. The kind of laugh Bucky had only heard in dying moments where the surrealism and finality of the situation was hitting someone. “That is not what you did, James Barnes. You, who had no one, who was supposed to be my mirror, got everything I ever wanted. You have your love, your home, a family you didn’t even ask for. It all fell right in front of you and no one has ever tried to take it from you! No one has ever told you you don’t deserve it!”
Bucky blinked, fully taken aback. “Wanda, what are you talking about?” he asked.
“This!” Wanda cried, throwing her arms wide. Magic flew from her fingertips and bore singed holes into his trees and fence. “You have everything! Wilson loves you–a good man loves you! You bought a house to make a home! You were adopted by those beautiful boys and you have nephews now to play with and care for and hold! And no one has ever come to take it from you–even though you are so much worse than I ever was.”
“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Bucky tried. And he realized his mistake as Wanda’s eyes flashed like a fire about to explode.
“That’s the worst part. You didn’t ask for any of it! You never wanted it! I have tried to build this my entire life! I have come back from hell to have a family and love and a home and they took it from me twice!”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said genuinely. He took a tentative step forward and looked up at her as openly as he could while adrenaline and fear and anger clashed violently in his chest and gut. “Wanda, I really am. I can’t imagine what that must be like. But I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t involved in any conspiracy against you. What do you want me to do?”
Wanda’s eyebrows rose over her flaming eyes. He was trying to remember if her magic was always red. He assumed it was. But not her eyes. He’d have remembered that.
“I don’t want you to do anything,” she said, voice suddenly a normal tone. In the context, it was the most defeated voice he’d ever heard. “I want you to lose it all.”
Bucky came up short. Fear won the battle in his chest and swallowed his heart whole. “Wanda, you’re not going to hurt Sam’s family,” he said, feeling a steel edge come to his voice, his jaw, his muscles, his eyes, every part of him that had been allowed to be soft and build, yes, a home. He pushed that aside and dug out the soldier underneath.
“Of course I’m not,” she agreed. “You are.”
And then the corners of his vision went red, sizzling hot and quickly collapsing into darkness.
He came to outside of Sarah’s house. The ocean lapped in the distance. Birds called but when he tried to look up at them, his head wouldn’t turn. Instead, it looked down at his hands, like he was playing one of Cass’s first-person games. He tried to fight against his own body, felt like he was turning in frantic circles, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of his lungs, but his body remained still, just staring. Finally, he made himself look at what was on his hands.
Bruises and blood, mostly. He had scuffed his knuckles enough to expose the fleshy meat underneath. A deep, jagged cut snarled across the back of his hand and to the soft base of his thumb palm side.
What did I do? he wondered desperately, trying to dig through his mind for any recollection. But it was like the wipes all over again. There was nothing there. Like going to a replay camera or a loot bag in a game and finding nothing at all. You cannot go back.
“You fought,” Wanda said from right next to him. But she wasn’t. Not really. She was in this mind space just like him. A consciousness sitting in the shell of his body. “You finished destroying your greenhouse and then you tried to impair yourself. Don’t worry. I stopped you.”
Thank Christ he hadn’t hurt anyone, he thought with a sigh.
“Not yet,” Wanda agreed. “You’ll do enough now.”
Sam came out of the house first. Bucky had made a joke once that he must have a sixth sense for super soldiers, always being the one to greet Bucky first. Sarah had laughed and shook her head. “You have no idea the scuffle him and the boys get into trying to get out the door to say hi first.”
“Touching,” Wanda said drily.
“Sam,” Bucky said and was surprised when the word actually came out of his mouth.
Sam was loose-limbed, but had a slant to his shoulders that Bucky knew meant Sam had clocked that something was wrong. “Hey, you didn’t text. I was meeting you,” he said. He reached out to grab Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky made himself jerkily take a step back. He felt Wanda reach around him, through him, to take control again.
“Sam,” Bucky ground out. His jaw felt like it was wired shut. “Stop me.”
“Stop you? Stop you from what?” Sam asked just before Bucky watched his fist hit Sam’s jaw.
Sam had always held his ground against the Winter Soldier. He was a smart hand-to-handsman and knew where his strengths and weaknesses could answer each other. Granted, Sam had rarely been the focus of the Winter Soldier’s assignment, so getting him out of the way was the most the Soldier ever needed to do. But, still, there was much to be said about a man who went toe to toe with the Soldier twice and walked away mostly unharmed both times.
Bucky was not operating as the Winter Soldier right now. He could feel Wanda’s magic snaring around his thoughts, seizing against his muscles. She knew how to move his body, but she hadn’t found any of the core memories of being the Soldier. She certainly hadn’t broken down any of the safe-guards he had built around the trigger words. These movements were strong but uncoordinated. They made little tactical sense.
The first time Bucky had punched someone, too young and small to really understand the action itself, he had stared at his hand in shock. The anger in his chest had given away to fear so quickly, he’d gone light headed with it. It had felt entirely like someone else had slipped their arm into his skin and clocked someone in the nose. He remembered staring at his hand, which was throbbing with an unexpected pain, and expecting to see someone else’s body connected to it. But it had been him. Every part of the punch–and the fight that came after–was his mind and his body.
Right now, everything felt the opposite. Cold realization was seeping into this space and making it difficult to think. This time, someone had slipped their arm into his skin and taken aim for him.
When Sam righted himself, wiping away a splash of blood from his mouth, Bucky could see all of that information click into place in his mind. Sam’s greatest strength was that he was almost always smarter than the person he was fighting. If Bucky wasn’t locked away in his own body, he’d be so proud of the way Sam’s eyes flicked over him, searching for answers and moves.
“What happened? Who’s doing this?” Sam asked.
Bucky wanted to look around. He wasn’t sure if Wanda had come over with him or if she was puppeteering him from miles away. Though he supposed she wasn’t around if Sam hadn’t mentioned her. Wanda has lost her mind, he tried to say, but his mouth wasn’t working. He wanted to reach up and touch his lips, but that didn’t work either.
“Bucky, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“My arm,” Bucky grunted out. “Off.”
Sam’s eyes lit and then narrowed. They’d practiced this. Ever since Ayo disconnected Bucky’s arm, he’d taken it upon himself to ensure that the people close to him (and over the age of sixteen) knew how to remove it from him. In case of emergencies like this. He’d been stupid to let his guard down for this long.
Sam was more acrobatic than Bucky was, which was actually saying something. The Soldier may have been a blunt instrument, but that instrument knew how to flip and roll himself away from danger. Back in 2014 and 2016, Sam had been lither than Bucky and his acrobatics were much faster than Bucky’s ever were. Even bulked up a little, Sam had launched himself at Bucky and spun himself around Bucky’s torso to sit on his back in a move that Bucky was certain he learned from Romanov. From this angle, Sam would have to work upside down to hit the trigger keys, but they’d practiced that too. Hell, sometimes Bucky was pretty sure Sam could use the shield to disconnect his arm.
He felt the arm fall away and the place where his chest was supposed to be heaved with relief. The worst part was over. Now, all he had to do was–
Then he blacked out again.
He woke up over Sam, hand curled tightly around his throat while Sam thrashed on the ground under him. The stepping stone beneath Sam’s head was smeared with red and Sam’s face was beginning to swell with a blood rush.
Stop, he thought desperately. Stop. Let go. This is Sam. My body knows Sam. It shouldn’t be doing this.
His muscle memory with Sam was snagging an arm around his waist when he walked by. Blowing a raspberry against his cheek or neck because Sam pretended to hate it. Pinning his hands over his head as Bucky kissed down his chest. Swiping a thumb over the corner of his eye to calm him down from a nightmare. Cupping the back of his head as they walked arm over shoulder. Bumping his hip into Sam’s in the kitchen.
It was not choking him out on the front lawn.
Blood dripped from Bucky’s face onto Sam’s and he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. He wanted to get control long enough to loosen his hold so Sam could hit him again.
Don’t do this, Wanda. Please. I love him. He’s a good man! If you’re mad at me, kill me. Sam has nothing to do with it.
“Is it a terrible thing? To kill the one you love, for no good reason?” Wanda asked. She seemed very far away and also right in Bucky’s ear.
That wasn’t Sam’s idea! We weren’t involved in that! We lost that day too! Wanda, please, I don’t understand!
“I don’t want you to understand, Barnes. I didn’t understand anything that was happening to me either. You’re my mirror. I’m just catching you up.”
Something collided with the side of Bucky’s head and his body went sprawling as the worst noise echoed in this unconscious-consciousness. Bucky tried to bring his arm up to cover his head, but his body just got to its feet. Sam was gasping on the ground and Bucky had never been so happy to hear him breathe.
I’m sorry, he tried to scream. He thought his body almost complied.
Sarah was standing near Sam, holding a large shovel in her hands and looking murderous and scared. His body stepped towards her and he fought with everything that wasn’t still jarred from the vibrating noise. Judging by the way her fingers tightened on the handle and she took a step back, he didn’t succeed in stopping himself.
Not her, he pleaded. Let her go.
“Sam,” he managed and his voice sounded wrecked. Raw and ragged, like he’d been the one who’d been choked. “Please.”
Wanda clearly wasn’t used to hand-to-hand because she didn’t keep Bucky’s eyes on Sam, even when Bucky had been talking to him, so she didn’t see when Sam landed a very solid punch straight across Bucky’s temple and cheekbone and sent his body sprawling again. She was bad at controlling him when she didn’t see the blow coming.
Sam grabbed the shovel from Sarah and pressed the long edge over Bucky’s throat. His head was ringing again but Bucky couldn’t even react. Everything was so loud. He couldn't find the edges of this consciousness or his body. He couldn’t take control. Where his head should be was throbbing, but his body wasn’t shutting down.
“Just pass out!” Sam shouted and pressed the shovel more firmly against Bucky’s throat. “Bucky, come on! I know you’re in there!”
Bucky wanted to say that he was fucking trying. He’d never experienced anything like this before. The Soldier was just him. That was all him. His body. His eyes. His thoughts. No one had literally been pulling strings and holding him still. He didn’t know how to break out of this.
Bucky’s body reached up for the shovel. Bucky felt his palm open up on the edge of it as he lifted the shovel away from his throat. He saw Sam redouble his efforts and he felt the shovel slice deeper into his hand.
What are you doing? he shouted in his head. You’re going to work my body into pieces?
“That is a benefit of controlling someone else’s body,” Wanda agreed. “I don’t feel any of the hurt. If he broke your knee, I could still make you walk.”
You feel my hurt, Wanda. I know you do. Your whole goal was to make me hurt. I’m not your enemy. You can stop this.
“You have everything that I want. I’m not going to stop until you don’t.”
Bucky forced his hand away from the shovel. Sam stumbled forward with the sudden lack of resistance. Everything else already hurt too much. The concussion he was sure was banging around his head. The gash in his hand. The pain radiating from his chest every time he looked at Sarah and saw fear in her eyes. He didn’t care if Sam halfway hacked through his throat. So long as it would make this stop.
His body turned over. The shovel sliced against his skin. Somehow, he got to his feet, shaky and weak with lack of oxygen and blood, with Bucky fighting for control. He took a jerky step towards the house and tried to dig his heels into the dirt of the lawn. He’d lay down new grass as soon as he was back to himself, he silently promised Sarah. Plant any native plant that she wanted. He promised.
He took another step and the shovel came down on the back of his head. Bucky wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees, to bury his hands in the Earth and keep digging until he couldn’t possibly move any more. But his body didn’t so much as falter, even while blood poured down the back of his neck and stained his shirt.
He tried to bring his hand to the wound but he couldn’t even feel his arm. The darkness came again.
He came to in the living room, crushing legos under his boots. A trail of mud stretched from the front door, where Sam was listing against the frame heavily.
“Buck, come back outside,” he slurred. There was swelling around his eye, a gash high up near his temple. “Come on. Follow my voice. Just listen to me.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Bucky thought desperately as his head turned from Sam and looked around the room. Peering back at him from behind the couch were two wide sets of dark eyes.
Bucky felt his heart finish breaking, shattering into useless pieces and falling through this endless depth of subconsciousness. Please, he begged. Please just kill me. Don’t hurt them.
And, oddly, Bucky didn’t feel an extra weight next to him. There was no answering voice, no magic shoving his feelings out of the way to take control of his hand and eyes again. If he probed, he could still tell he wasn’t alone. He supposed the fact that his body hadn’t collapsed into an unconscious heap was proof enough of that. But Wanda was quiet. His eyes were still on Cass and AJ’s.
They’re good kids, he tried. Some of the best. Creative and smart and kind. The first to volunteer for anything. They’re popular at school and they love their mom and uncle. Hate me if you want, but you have no reason to hurt them. They’re just babies.
AJ was the first to lift his head above the couch. He asked in a very small voice, “Bucky, are you and Uncle Sam fighting?”
Cass tried to yank his brother down, fear flooding his eyes, but AJ wouldn’t be moved. He shook Cass’ hands away and frowned very seriously. “We were supposed to make cookies this weekend. You promised.”
And just like that, the strings were cut. Bucky fell to the ground and finally passed out the proper way. Pure brain damage, no magic.
It was dim when he woke up. The lights in the hospital room were off and the blinds were pulled over the window by his bed. On his other side, Sam slept in his own bed. His face was tense, even in sleep. The bruising around his eye had gotten worse.
“Sam,” Bucky groaned. His voice was foreign in his own ears. The effort of speaking brought tears to his eyes.
Sam didn’t stir and Bucky didn’t have the energy to try again. He settled onto the bed and tried to bring his hand up to his head. When his arm came into view, he realized it was casted and sore. His fingers fell to the bandages around his neck, without making it to his face.
“Why did you stop?” he asked. At least, he thought he did. Maybe he only thought it.
Regardless, red magic flared in the corner of the room, like he’d caught her by surprise. “How could you tell I was here?” Wanda asked. She didn’t quite step into the light, but her magic outlined her enough for Bucky to know where she was.
“It’s my job,” he said/thought. “And I think you might still be in my head a little.”
Wanda hummed lightly. Seemed to consider that. Pulled her magic further from him. “They were small,” she said simply. “Besides, you didn’t need to hurt them. You did enough to ensure that someone will always keep you away from them. I wanted you to lose this life you have and you lost it.” She shrugged.
“Sam’s laying right by me,” Bucky argued fiercely. He knew he was more trying to convince himself than Wanda.
She knew it too. “For how much longer?”
Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. The words were taken right out of his own thoughts. And if it wasn’t Sam or Sarah or AJ and Cass putting distance between themselves and Bucky, Bucky knew he’d never allow himself to be near any of them again.
“Rest, Barnes,” Wanda suggested and he felt the magic latch onto his mind again, felt his heart slow, his eyes close. He was pretty sure his monitor started to shriek with a flatline, but he couldn’t really tell as darkness took over again.
“Buck,” Sam grunted, jarring an elbow into Bucky’s bicep.
If Bucky kept his eyes shut, he could pretend they were in a normal bed and Bucky was drooling on Sam’s pillow. Or that the stray dog that always dug up the flowers was outside again. Or that they were on kid duty and AJ wanted pancakes. Any normal reason that Sam would be grumpily nudging Bucky awake.
But even those fantasies were too fickle to convince him for long, so he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Sam, who was sitting on the side of Bucky’s bed. “Should you be moving around?” he asked. His voice was still wrong, his throat still sore.
“I don’t care. They keep this place below freezing. Move,” Sam ordered.
And it was really the least Bucky could do, so he scooted to the far side of the bed and Sam climbed in next to him. He’d dragged his own blanket with him, but he still got under Bucky’s and then kept his for himself. Which was fine by Bucky. He wanted nothing more than to offer his body heat to Sam. As much as he needed for as long as he’d let Bucky give it before kicking him onto the next plane. Bucky held himself still until Sam pressed close to his chest and then Bucky let himself wrap an arm around him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against the top of Sam’s head.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
Bucky’s arm tightened around Sam. “It was Maximoff. She…showed up at my house. She got into my head. It was like I was watching her puppet me around. I had to see all of it.”
“You were talking and then you just stopped,” Sam said. “I could tell you were fighting, but I had no idea what was going on.”
“Why didn’t you just–”
“Don’t even ask that, Barnes,” Sam cut in sharply. His voice was hard as a blade and Bucky’s argument died on his tongue. They laid in silence for a few more minutes. “If you…if she…if it had looked like the kids were in trouble, I would’ve gone for the drastic measure,” he added eventually.
“You couldn’t even see straight at that point,” Bucky pointed out.
“Hey, you were still pulling your punches. I was fine.”
“I wasn’t pulling anything,” Bucky admitted. “She just didn’t know how to handle my body. She was like a kid wearing shoes too big for them.”
Sam grunted his disagreement but didn’t immediately argue. Bucky wasn’t about to push the subject, not when Sam’s breathing was evening and deepening. He’d be thrilled if the two of them fell asleep for about another century or so. Then he’d be ready to talk about what just happened.
“You were fighting, Buck,” Sam repeated eventually.
“Not hard enough,” Bucky murmured. He pressed his cheek to Sam’s head, roughed his stubble against Sam’s hair. “I can’t go back. I have to go to New York. I can’t… They’ll never want to see me again.”
Sam sat back, eyes bright and hard. “You can’t leave without apologizing,” he said sharply. “You’re an adult. If you want to run away afterwards, you can. But Sarah, AJ, Cass, they all need to hear you apologize. They deserve an apology, an explanation. And you need to hear yourself apologize. You need to put those words out in the world and let them echo in that thick skull of yours.
“I know you, Bucky. You wouldn’t be apologizing for Wanda getting in your head. You're apologizing for not being there to protect them when you said you would be.” And the words were probably truer than Bucky wanted to admit. On his Amends Tour, he’d learned the boundaries of what he took responsibility for and found more solace in providing closure than getting forgiveness. He never expected forgiveness or understanding. This would not be like those other times. “This is family,” Sam continued, like he was reading Bucky’s mind. Even with the circumstances, that didn’t feel invasive. Sam was allowed in his head. “And we heal as a family. Together.
“I had to do the same thing after Riley died. I pulled away. I got mean. I put distance between the people who loved me and my broken heart. And as that distance grew, it felt more and more unsurmountable. But that apology went a long way to crossing that distance for me. So you need to go back at least one more time and apologize.”
Bucky let out a breath and was horrified when it brought tears with it. “She wanted to take it away,” he admitted quietly. “She kept saying family like I didn’t deserve it and she wanted to take it from me.”
Sam brought one hand–the other had bandages on it and Bucky couldn’t remember why it would–up to Bucky’s face to wipe away the tears streaming over his cheeks. “Why?” he asked. “Why you? I’m the biological family. I’m the one who came home first.”
“She said I made this family. That I had been her…her mirror. I had been alone and I made myself a family. She was mad that someone had taken hers away.”
Sam’s eyebrows finished knitting downwards. “Was she talking about her brother?” he asked. “We weren’t involved with Sokovia at all. You were still on the run.”
Bucky shook his head, tucked his mouth against Sam’s palm when he realized he could. “I think it was something else. Something to do with Vision. When I was… When I was… When I was choking you, she said something about having to kill the love of my life for no reason.”
Sam’s fingers petted over Bucky’s cheek thoughtfully and Bucky kept pressing useless, too-small kisses to his palm. “We’ll have to tell someone. If she’s this unstable, who knows what she’ll do next.”
Bucky nodded and felt bandages scratch over his pillow for the first time. The familiar sound was unexpected enough to make him frown, push away his anxiety and hurt far enough that he could very seriously ask, “Did they shave my head?” with a groan.
It was apparently random enough to elicit a laugh from Sam, who pushed his fingers up towards the bandages. “They did,” he admitted in as gentle a tone as he could without totally removing the mocking edge. “Sarah and I, uh, did a number on your skull. They needed room to work.”
“Jesus,” Bucky breathed and then he laughed too, hiding his face against Sam’s shoulder as a new wave of tears spilled over his eyelashes. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” he gasped between sobs and laughs and hiccups. “I was supposed to protect you. All of you. And I brought a monster right to your door.”
Sam shifted to wrap his arm around Bucky’s ribs, tracing over his spine. “You’re not a monster, Bucky,” he breathed. “And I’m here to protect you too, alright? She could’ve come after me first. And I know you wouldn’t have taken a shovel to my head.”
Bucky snorted to hide another bubbling sob. “You wouldn’t have handled it as well as I did. Thick skull and all.”
Sam flicked his back. “I’m just saying, it could’ve been anyone. And not everyone could’ve fought it the way you did.”
“It still wasn’t enough.”
“You don’t have to be everything, Buck. We were there to fill in the gaps.”
Bucky shook his head, thought better of it as far as the bandages went, and hugged Sam tighter instead. Sam tucked himself against Bucky’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Be sorry in a few more hours,” Sam mumbled against his shoulder. “I haven’t been this warm since I woke up. I’m going back to sleep.”
Bucky pressed his cheek against Sam’s head again. “Alright, Sam,” he agreed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“You better,” Sam muttered, voice already slurring into sleep. “Might think you got possessed again and wandered off to beat up a vending machine.”
Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes. He hoped the racing of his heart wasn’t too distracting to Sam. Judging by how quickly he began to snore, he figured it wasn’t.
Bucky felt frozen to the lawn. Everything was wet and raked, but Bucky could still imagine what it looked like by the time Wanda forced him into the house. The divots in the grass, the turned over birdbath, the shovel thrown aside. The front door, at least, looked like it was one piece.
Sam was several steps ahead of him, bounding up the stairs to Sarah’s side by the screen door. He kissed her cheek and neither of them looked at Bucky, though he was pretty sure that was a deliberate choice. He did not want to do this. He didn’t want to see the look of hurt and betrayal and fear in Sarah’s eyes, in Cass or AJ’s eyes. Sam knew him, knew his history. Of course he knew how to forgive Bucky when he didn’t deserve it. But the other Wilsons weren’t so used to him being like that. That was not any version of the Bucky they knew.
Everything in Louisiana had been so good. He’d been stupid to think his past couldn’t find him here. To think he could have a life that wasn’t tainted with the things he’d done, that other people had made him do. But that horror had followed him right into his safe space and demolished it.
He righted one of the boys’ sun-charms and then continued down the stepping stones to the front door. Sarah looked at him now, as he creaked the third board exactly the way he knew to avoid. She was wary, but not fearful. She was more tired than Bucky thought he’d ever seen her.
“Sarah,” he started, but he felt the words wilt in his chest. Hesitantly, he reached out to hold her hand. He couldn’t envelope it between both of his the way he wanted. His prosthetic was still sitting in Sam’s room in this house. So he just let her hand rest atop his. Her fingers slowly curled around his wrist and he let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I put you all in danger. I tried to stop, but it wasn’t enough. I understand if you want me to keep clear of your family going forward. I really appreciate you letting me come by today to at least apologize to them first.”
Sarah kept her eyes on him for a moment and then nodded. “A little bit of space might be good,” she agreed. “But I don’t know that the boys are going to agree to it.”
Bucky’s eyes widened just a little and he tried to squash his heart back down from the hopeful swell it had grown to with the words. “Hey, you’re the boss, right? If I have to go to New York, I will,” he offered. “Or at least keep the doors down the road locked.”
“You think Sam hasn’t already given them extra keys?” Sarah asked dubiously. She squeezed Bucky’s wrist and then dropped his hand. “They’re sitting in the living room.”
She walked inside first, letting Sam linger back to brush his knuckles over Bucky’s hand wordlessly. It was as calming as it always was, but it didn’t make Bucky any more eager to face this next part.
He halfway expected the boys to be hiding from him again. For them to be crouched behind the couch so they didn’t have to see him. But they were sitting on the floor around the coffee table. AJ was giving a Transformer coloring page designs Bucky was pretty sure none of the trucks had and Cass was staring at a 3-D puzzle with a frown. Bucky was pretty sure Cass was putting on a brave face. It took him a split second too long to look over at Bucky and Sam when they walked in.
For a second, everyone was quiet. Staring at each other. A standoff waiting for the first draw. “Boys,” Sarah eventually said, taking a deep breath. “Bucky has something he’d like to say.”
Again, AJ was the first to his feet. Before Bucky could even say anything, AJ was standing on the arm of the couch so he was more or less as tall as Bucky. “Is it true Uncle Sam hit you so hard, we could see your brain under the bandages?” he asked, bracing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders as he leaned closer.
“AJ!” Sarah gasped in admonishment.
“Bucky’s brain’s so small, you’d need a microscope to see it,” Sam said.
“Sam!” Sarah added with more heat to her voice.
Bucky had kind of forgotten about the bandages on his head. The ones on his arm and hand itched so badly, he didn’t think about most of the other injuries. “I don’t think your uncle hit me that hard,” he eventually said when it was clear AJ was still waiting for an answer. “It just looks like someone put an egg next to my skull.”
Slowly, so damn slowly, he reached over to hold his fingers against the back of AJ’s head to show him how big the swelling was. AJ’s eyes were wide and he reached back to paw over Bucky’s hand like he could really feel the injury on himself.
“Do you have stitches? Do you look like Fran- Fran–”
“Frankenstein,” Cass finished for his brother. He got his feet too, though he didn’t come around the room to stand near them. But, after a few seconds of shifting from foot to foot, he added, “Is it true super-soldiers can’t have stitches?”
“Uh,” Bucky started. “No. They have to use a special kind of thread that dissolves really easily so that it doesn’t get grown over.”
“Would they have to cut it back out?” Cass asked.
“Yeah, sometimes,” Bucky said.
“Yeah, that would be counter-productive,” Cass agreed with a nod. “Dissolvable stitches make sense.”
Cautiously, Bucky smiled. “Sounds like you’ll be the guy who invents the next kind of super soldier stitch.”
All at once, Cass’s wariness dissolved and he grinned brightly at Bucky. He came to sit on the couch next to AJ, tugging his brother down to sit properly. Sam and Bucky took the small loveseat catty-corner to the couch while Sarah sat on Cass’ other side.
“Cass, AJ,” Bucky started, then looked down at his fingers. He couldn’t knot them together like he wanted, but Sam’s hand was on his knee, so he hooked two fingers around Sam’s pinky instead. “I’m really sorry that I scared you. I was supposed to protect you, right? But I became the scary thing instead.”
“Uncle Sam said you were being mind controlled,” AJ interrupted. “So that wasn’t you.”
Bucky’s eyebrows knit towards each other as he tried very desperately not to let the knot in his throat rise. “It was still scary though,” he said. “And I know it might be hard to forget that, even when we’re just making dinner or playing outside. So if you guys want me to stay away for a little while, I understand.”
“I don’t,” AJ said simply, bouncing a little against the cushion. “We’re still supposed to make cookies.”
Bucky tried to smile, though he was pretty sure he failed. He looked over at Cass, who was more discerning than his little brother.
“AJ’s right,” he said though. “It wasn’t you. It’s like when Macy made me put my hand in the class fish tank. She was holding my wrist. I couldn’t do anything about it. And I shouldn’t be in trouble for it.”
Judging by the way he cut a look at his mom, Bucky didn’t think the last part was for his benefit.
Tears finally burned against Bucky’s eyes hot enough to make him blink and let them spill over. “I’m so sorry, guys,” he said as evenly as he could. “I don’t ever want something like that to happen again, okay? I’ll do everything I can to make sure of it.”
As always, AJ peeled away first, hopping off the couch to hug Bucky tightly. “I still want cookies,” he said.
Bucky laughed wetly. “Okay. We can make some cookies this afternoon,” he promised. He rubbed AJ’s back and kissed his forehead softly. “Go play outside for a little while, okay? I’ll get the kitchen ready.”
“I wanna mix, since your hand is hurt,” AJ added.
“You can mix,” Bucky agreed. The boys disappeared out the back door and Bucky sat back in the loveseat heavily, swiping at his eyes and avoiding looking at anyone else. “I think it’s still a good idea for me to keep my distance until we know what’s happening with Maximoff,” he said. “I can be around for emergencies, but I don’t want to tempt fate.”
“You explain that to them,” Sam scoffed, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I am not playing tetherball for as long as you do.”
Bucky laughed again, his whole chest still not quite in it. “I’m sorry,” he added after a second. “This should never have happened.”
Sarah hummed and stood, passing her hand gently over Bucky’s head when she walked by. “You’re making it right, now,” she offered. “We move forward and keep doing better. You coming back to talk to them means the world. They’re little and understanding and more interested in every other part of this whole encounter than the similarities to your past that you’re fixed on. It will be okay.”
“How do you know?” Bucky asked, looking up at her with wide, wet eyes.
“Because we’re family. You’re in with us and we’re in with you. And we take care of each other.”
Bucky brought his hand up to his face to hide a new stream of tears as Sarah made her way to the back door.
“Take a few more minutes,” she offered. “But if you’re in a particularly guilt-induced helpful mood, there’s dishes to be done before you start baking.”
Sam waited for the door to shut before pulling Bucky back against his side. “That’s as close to forgiveness as you’re gonna hear,” he said with a smile. “Come on, Buck. It’s okay. That went really well.”
“I know,” Bucky agreed, keeping his eyes covered as he curled against Sam’s side. “It doesn’t feel like I deserve it.”
“Well, we can work on getting there too,” Sam said. “For now, accept what they’re giving you anyway.”
Bucky took in a gasping breath, willing himself to calm down. He nodded and shrugged a shoulder to wipe his face before leaning against Sam’s side. After a few moments, he said, “You know, I don’t think I can do the dishes with this cast.”
“You better go get your other arm,” Sam agreed. “‘Cause I am not doing your apology housework for you.”
Bucky felt something loosen in his chest finally, settling down against his ribs. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he added one more time for good measure.
He felt Sam’s fingers come up to brush over the bandages on his head gently. “I know. We’re gonna be okay.”
And Bucky believed him.