Work Text:
“Is there anyway to, I dunno, turn off dreaming? Stop the nightmares?” Steve asked later, when they were half an hour out from the tower.
“No way with science that I’m familiar with,” Tony answered. “Bruce?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“What about without?” Natasha interjected.
“Without what?”
“Science. No way with science, but what about without? We know a lot of magic users these days; could one of them intervene long enough to give James a break and get his feet under him?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “But dreaming is an integral process of sleep, so it may be no better than sedation.”
“What if instead of turning off the dreams they could just guide them to something he can sleep through?” Sam asked.
Natasha saw Tony try to suppress a scoff — she knew he hated relying on anything other than his cold hard science, but she also knew that he wouldn’t let his disdain of magic stand in the way of a potential solution for their teammate. In fact, it wasn’t long before he volunteered to head up reaching out to Dr. Strange and Charles Xavier the next day.
She saw Steve draw in a deep breath and just knew he was going to demand a reason for the delay, but she cut him off with a small shake of her head. There was no need to say that they needed to know if James made it through the night, otherwise there would be no need to involve an outsider.
Sam must have made the same assessment; he put a placating hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve slumped where he was, and the conversation petered out around them.
***
Tony contacted Professor Xavier first, who said that while he might be able to perform the task they were asking, his availability was limited. He also reminded Tony that Wanda held similar abilities, and, given her history with Clint and Bucky, might be better suited to the task.
Finding Wanda wasn’t difficult. She had been in the wind before Clint had died, but had immediately returned upon hearing the news. She had only stayed long enough to attend the funeral Bucky had opted out of, so she hadn’t seen him during her brief visit; but she had left contact information with Natasha before vanishing again.
Natasha had almost been insulted when Wanda had handed the email address over; she was more than capable of finding anyone she wanted to. Wanda had derailed her irritation by simply stating that if they needed her home, and heavily implied that she expected Bucky to be the reason, she wanted to be recalled as fast as possible. Natasha was good, but Wanda didn’t want to waste the potential time it would take to make contact if she didn’t need to.
Natasha sent a short, cryptic message to Wanda and waited for the phone call to come — spy habits were hard to break, and she didn’t want to encourage bad habits while Wanda was still considered a person of interest in several countries. She was prepared to wait a while, fairly confident it was the middle of the night where the little witch was, but the phone rang a few minutes after her message winged through the ether.
Natasha hadn't even finished her explanation before Wanda agreed to come back to the nest.
***
Bucky woke up to the humming quiet of a hospital room. He still felt the heavy fog of sedation covering his limbs, and lay there for a few moments before trying to get his thoughts together and push himself upright on the bed. He was surprised to find Wanda standing beside the bed, sad, small smile fixed on her face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice hoarse. She offered him a cup of water once he sat up.
“Worried about you,” she told him. “Everyone is.” He furrowed his brow, then lifted his arm to stare at his wrist, nearly spilling the water in the process. There was no wound, no scar, no visual sign of what he had done. He could still feel the phantom drag of the knife splitting his skin open, the warmth spilling over him as he lay drifting in the tub, otherwise it might as well have been a dream.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up in another recovery room. There was the vaguest suggestion of red before his memory went black.
“Did you…” he trailed off, uncertain. She couldn’t have been at the tower. Why was she there now? He stared at her, and she either read the confusion on his face or in the air. He knew, because Clint had explained to him, that she did her best not to invade the private thoughts of others but that sometimes there was spillover she couldn’t avoid.
“Natasha called me after Pepper found you. The team seems to think I might be able to help.”
“Help how?” He knew he sounded suspicious. He couldn’t prevent the way his entire body stiffened, ready to defend itself.
“Only however much, and in what way, you want me to,” she said, voice soothing. He didn’t think she was doing anything magical to calm him, but her demeanor projected a peacefulness he hadn’t experienced since before the last mission he’d been on. The one where…
“I don’t know if I want you in my head,” he admitted. He trusted her, he did, but. Clint had loved Wanda like a little sister, and done his best to help Bucky overcome his initial hesitation of her, but none of that had changed what she was capable of, or how much those abilities were what his personal nightmares were made of. Or had been, before these new ones had overtaken them.
“We do not need to do that then. I can just sit with you, and listen to whatever you want to share. When I lost Pietro,” there was a brief hesitation before she plowed on, “Clint let me go on and on with stories about him. It helped.”
“I don’t know if I want to talk about what happened.”
“Only what you want to share.”
They sat in a long silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bucky had always appreciated how Wanda could just be. Sure, she had a mischievous side too, but he remembered many long afternoons in companionable silence with her and Clint and little conversation.
“He loved you, you know.” He was surprised when the words left his mouth. He’d been thinking it, but he hadn’t meant to say it.
“I know. I loved him too,” she said with a sad, shaky smile. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He turned his hand over, where it lay on the bedcovers; an unspoken offer. Wanda’s hand was warm in his, and tiny. It contrasted sharply against the memories that swamped him of holding hands with Clint.
Neither of them spoke.
“What. What other, ways, could you help?” he finally asked. He knew damn well the team hadn’t called her to just sit with him.
“Natasha said they believe your biggest problem is insomnia.”
“I can get to sleep just fine,” he bit out testily. “The problem is as soon as I start dreaming, it’s game over for the night.”
“Yes. They want me to stop your nightmares,” she admitted. “If you wanted me to help, there are a few different things we could try. But Bucky, I will not do anything that you are not completely comfortable with.”
He believed her, but the fear of having his head messed with ran deep. At the same time, the idea of being able to sleep without watching Clint’s last moments play out in full technicolor again. Fuck. What wouldn’t he give for that? He had to clear his throat before he could speak again.
“Tell me.”
So she did. She said she could put like a haze over the memory, so it wouldn't be as intense, and should stop triggering his dreams. She could erase the memory entirely, but probably need to tamper with his memories since then since the images took up so much of his waking and sleeping thoughts. She could watch over his dreams and guide them in a different direction so he could get a few nights of full sleep, which felt creepy as all get out.
She laughed when he told her that.
“It also is not a long term problem solver,” she said. “But I would not be staring at you from a dark corner. JARVIS could monitor and alert me when you begin to show signs of distress; I can manipulate your dreams from another room.”
He grunted noncommittally. It was hard to judge which of the options sounded the most invasive. Guiding his dreams meant she would be in his head repeatedly; but messing with the memories would be a permanent effect.
“We can always get stronger with our efforts, if they are not enough. I can give you a few nights uninterrupted sleep, see if that puts you on a level enough ground to heal on your own. If not, we can soften the memory. If the nightmares still will not leave after, I can remove just the.” She paused, swallowing thickly. “The moment Clint died.”
A thought occurred to him.
“Wanda. Are you going to see what I saw?”
“Yes. It will not be avoidable.” Her gaze met his, unwavering. “I am willing to do this for you. I pretend not that it will be pleasant. But your need is great, and I want to help, in memory of Clint.”
Now tears were burning in the corners of his own eyes. Grief and humility surged through him, clogging his throat, so that he couldn't speak. He tugged gently on Wanda’s hand, still in his, and she allowed herself to be pulled forward and enveloped by his arms. They clung together, soaking in each other’s comfort. He could decide later, take his time to think it through first. He knew Wanda would be patient with him.