Work Text:
There was a life before the incident and a life after it, and these days it was harder for you to remember the former. Obviously this was something out of your control, something that neither of you ever saw coming, especially not Bucky, but it did and you now had to suffer the consequences.
It happened a few months ago, and whenever your mind seemed to wander back to that day you tried your best to focus on the moments leading up to it; the ones filled with smiles and two steady heartbeats.
You and Bucky had started that day how you started every normal Sunday morning, a trip to your favorite bagel shop followed by a walk along the East River. With both of you being so busy, it allowed you some proper time to get caught up with each other. The two of you talked about your week, if anything serious was going on, or sometimes even something as mundane as remembering that you needed to add paper towels to the shopping list.
It was your ritual and your sacred time together.
Neither of you could have anticipated what would happen next, and for some reason Bucky had his guard down that day - and he’d never forgive himself for it.
He had gotten a call from Steve in the middle of your walk, his hand was tightly clutched around yours, the tone in his voice shifting from calm to something a bit colder - more serious. Bucky had obvious signs of when he was concerned, his brow would furrow and his jaw would lock up, the vein in the side of his neck becoming visible. He also didn’t look you in the eye when he was worried, it was as if he didn’t want you to see how bad things were, you could always tell when you looked into his eyes.
You remember him telling Steve he’d ‘be there soon’ before he hung up. It had taken him a moment before he turned to face you again, your eyes locking immediately. Something had shifted in the air in that moment, the feeling deep in your gut telling you that whatever was about to happen was different than all the other times. You felt the anxiety bubbling deep in your stomach, the words of apprehension sticking to the back of your throat. Whatever was coming had arrived and that Steve needed Bucky immediately; he would confirm your suspicions a few moments later.
The city was being invaded by a group of underground HYDRA terrorists, Steve had been tracking them for months but each lead had turned up cold. They were better at hiding themselves this time, they were ready to attack. Which now called for Bucky to spring into action, because that’s what heroes did. You knew what you were signing up for when you started dating Bucky, though it never made it any easier.
Hesitation radiated off of him, he didn’t want to leave you alone and he hated that this was all happening during your time together, but you assured him that he had to go. He told you to get yourself somewhere safe. He told you to go home. He pressed his lips to your forehead, and whispered a quick ‘I’ll see you soon’, a promise that he always kept. But before you could reach out to him and utter your own words back he was gone, swept away with the wind; gone as if there wasn’t a trace he had been there to begin with.
Your gut always twisted into knots when there was a fight like this that required Bucky.The weight of the world was on his shoulders while the impending unknown if he would come back safe was on yours. But, you decided instead of worrying about it to listen to Bucky’s words, heading back into the direction where your apartment building was, knowing that you’d be safe once you got inside.
What would happen next was something neither you, nor Bucky, ever planned on happening. This is where your memory gets hazy. You remember the feeling of being struck in the back of the head, the way that your blood all but felt like it suddenly ran cold and the loud ringing in your ears as you fell to the ground. Then it was pitch black.
The moments after being struck always came back to you in bits and pieces.
Voices, distant and distorted, are what pulled out of the darkness on that day.
The warehouse that you were tied up in was cold, pieces of shattered glass scattered around the floor. There was a trickling of water droplets somewhere in the distance, if your head wasn’t killing you from the pain the sound would have drove you mad.
There were three men who watched over you, each carrying a bigger gun than the last. Everything that Bucky ever taught you about self defense and getting yourself out of a situation like this had seemed to disappear from your brain. In theory, you knew exactly what to do. In practice, you couldn’t remember anything, the adrenaline and fear of what was happening to you was overpowering. It also didn’t help that the blood that ran down your neck from where they struck you in the back of your head was making it hard to concentrate. You were losing blood pretty quickly still. The wound must have been deep.
You were just a civilian, but the HYDRA patch they wore on their arm told you all you needed to know. They were there to kill you, to make the Winter Soldier pay for his betrayal.
The hardest part about these memories is how blurry some of them were, one moment you could remember every detail and the next it was just a haze. The only thing that seemed to stick was the fear that you felt. You knew you were going to die and that Bucky had no idea that you needed help.
In those final moments where one of the men held the chains that you were bound by and the other held the tip of the gun right to your temple, the only thought that was running through your head was that you were so sorry you couldn’t tell Bucky you loved him one last time, that you couldn’t say goodbye. You knew you screamed for help, but the echo of the room was all that you remembered. Your eyes closed, bracing yourself for the end of your life. Bucky Barnes’s face burned into your mind one last time.
BANG
And that’s usually where you woke up, in a cold sweat, your hands shaking and your stomach tied into knots - the feeling of bile rising in your throat. Your eyes raked over the dark room, your hand on your chest as you panted. Find three things in the room , you told yourself immediately. You frantically tried to remember your therapist's instructions, three things that were tangible and real in your everyday life to bring you back to reality. The lamp on the bedside table, that’s one.
Your eyes graze over Bucky’s body next to you. He’s sleeping on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow under his head as he sleeps peacefully. Bucky’s pillow, that’s two.
But you desperately couldn’t think of a third because tonight the memories felt like they were pulling you underwater, crashing onto you so you could sink.
It was moments like this that were overwhelming, your chest would tighten and the way your throat seemed to constrict at the thoughts made it almost impossible to catch your breath. So, you decided to get up from the bed. Maybe you just needed a second to yourself.
You’re careful not to wake Bucky as you swing your legs over, making sure that the bed didn’t make any noise as it moved under your weight. It was rare that he was able to sleep so peacefully, the guilt would have eaten you alive if you woke him up.
Tiptoeing your way out of the bedroom, you softly close the door behind you as you make your way into the living room of the apartment. This apartment was a space you loved with all your heart. You could still remember when Bucky had mentioned that he wanted to live together, that he had never felt anything like this before, the pull of the love you shared was just too overwhelming to ignore. It scared you, and it terrified him, but together the two of you made the leap together. Hand in hand.
You two had made Bucky’s apartment feel more like a shared space. When you had started the process of moving in together, he didn’t even have a proper bed yet, and now the space was not only cared for - but it looked lived in, like there was a happy couple occupying the space … well, because there was .
Grabbing a blanket, you made your way out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. You didn’t realize you were still shaking until you went to drape it over your shoulders as you sat down on the wicker sofa, the dark cushions sinking slightly. The nightmares were less frequent, thanks to therapy, but when they came back it was always a toss up if the feeling was going to pass quickly or destroy you. Tonight was the latter.
It was still very early in the morning, the sky was starting to lighten the dark midnight hues turning into cooler brighter tones, but it still had that feeling of nighttime; where it’s quiet and there’s a feeling in the air that the world is asleep.
The nightmare you had is still haunting you, even with the change of scenery. Maybe you were lucky that you couldn’t remember what happened next, like your mind was trying to shield you from having to relive every part of it, but it still did nothing to ease your tension.
Apparently, from what Bucky told you, he and Steve were tipped off that you were being held hostage. They were able to get to you before anything had happened. The sound of the gun going off was from the shot Bucky took to disarm the man who was about three seconds from putting a bullet in your head. The panic that flooded your body mixed with the loss of blood from the head injury you sustained made you pass out almost immediately.
Bucky said he thought you were dead, that he thought he was too late, until he felt your warm body and faint pulse. You woke up in a hospital the next morning where he explained everything to you. You still remember the tears in his eyes when you woke up. If you could recall correctly, you don’t think you’ve ever seen tears in his eyes. Relief had flooded both of you in that moment. Though the adjustment to life afterwards was not easy.
Most days you couldn’t leave the apartment without checking over your shoulder. At first, Bucky wouldn’t let you go out alone, even if you were meeting friends he made sure to drop you off and pick you up. It helped, it made you feel at ease, but one day he sat you down and told you that you had to start living your life again not in fear. It killed him to have to say it, he never wanted you to think that he would not protect or care for you, but he also knew that letting the demons win would just make things worse. He knew it all too well.
That’s partly why you hadn’t wanted to wake him before, you tried your best to handle this yourself because there was no one who would do it for you. But, as always, Bucky seemed to know when you were struggling, when you needed that extra care.
The door to the balcony opened causing you to turn your head. Bucky was standing there, his hair was splayed in all different directions and sleep clung deeply to the features on his face as he had obviously had just woken up.
“Hey,” he says once his eyes land on you. His voice is raspy and deep, you can hear him clear it a bit before he speaks again. “You okay?”
Bucky closed the door behind him before joining you. He had thrown a sweatshirt over his once bare chest, his boxers hanging a bit low as he sat down, his arm resting on the back of the couch.
When you don’t respond right away he moves his hand down to your shoulder, the plush blanket soft against his palm, pulling you into his side, his hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly. You weren’t so sure how he always knew, but you always took the comfort whenever possible.
“It’s been hard.” You say softly, your voice cracking a bit.
“I know.” He whispers in your ear, his lips pressed to the top of your forehead.
It was difficult to not feel selfish in these moments. Bucky had been through worse pain than you could ever imagine. Having a life ripped away from him, and being tortured to do unspeakable things is not the same as what you went through, and it felt selfish in these moments that you were in pain, that you needed comforting. He never felt that way though, you had helped him so much over the years with his own nightmares, and his own moments that were filled with PTSD, the comfort he was bringing to you now was the least he could do.
“Everytime I think I’ve moved past it, it paralyzes me.”
Bucky hums in response, the ache in his chest growing with every second. How was he supposed to take away your pain? How was he supposed to make this right? The guilt that he wasn’t there to protect you until you were already hurt gnaws at him, and in moments like these the hatred he felt for himself, and the men that did this, bubbles so deep in his gut.
You could feel your body tense up again, your hands shaking despite Bucky’s comforting touch as the memories flash again once more; like you were spiraling into an emptiness you couldn’t get out of.
The sound of their boots approaching.
The feel of the cold metal of the gun as it was pressed against your temple.
The soul shattering sound of it being cocked.
“Hey, hey.” Bucky’s voice is hasty as he tries to snap you out of his, his metal hand moving under your chin to tilt your head up towards him. “Look at me.”
You can feel your head move up but your gaze stays averted from his, there was this deep sense of distress and shame that flowed through you. Your body felt like it was still moments away from death, while your mind reprimanded you for not fighting back, for giving up so easily.
“ Please ,” Bucky begs, his voice filled with a tinge of desperation. “I need you to look at me.”
How could you deny a request like that? Your eyes shift over to him, you didn’t realize how close your faces were at first so you sit back a bit so you can properly look at him. His gaze was soft and his heart was beating out of his chest, as it so often did when you spared him a passing glance.
“There they are.” He breathes out, his eyes searching yours.
His thumb swipes against your skin softly, and you want to literally melt into a puddle. No one else would ever know this version of Bucky Barnes and, selfishly, you wanted to keep it that way.
“Buck, I can’t do it. I feel like I’m going insane sometimes.” You say, the tension in your voice seeping through. “Most nights I don’t want to sleep because I don’t know if the nightmares will come, and when they do I feel like I’m being suffocated. It’s almost worth it to just stay awake and suffer through being tired.”
Bucky’s heart sunk even further at the feelings you were describing, this was exactly what he went through. In the beginning, it was much worse as if even closing his eyes for a moment would cause everything to bubble to the surface. But, with all the therapy that he had to go through as part of the conditions of his pardon, it was better. Not gone, but better.
“This should have never happened to you,” he whispers, his metal hand sliding down your chin to hold the side of your neck, keeping his touch firm against you. He won’t admit out loud that this is all his fault, but it eats him alive to know he put you in harm's way. “I won’t let anything happen to you again. Do you understand me?”
You so hopelessly wanted to believe what he’s saying, but Bucky couldn’t be everywhere at once - as much as he wanted to be. His grasp on you tightens a bit, not in a way that would hurt you, in a way that signals how desperately he wants you to know how true his words are.
“You can’t be everywhere –”
“Do you understand me?” He cuts you off, his voice insistent. The look in his eyes was serious as he tried to get you to understand. “I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
You nod your head to answer him, your hands that were still trembling move to grasp his wrist, the metal of his arm is smooth to the touch. Why was this nightmare so hard to fight off? Why did you feel so empty and hollow inside except for the gut feeling of pure, unadulterated fear?
Bucky watches you close your eyes, he scans over your face watching as your brows furrow and your nose crinkles. He knows you well enough that you can’t stop thinking about what happened, that your mind is working over time. He also knows that you’re about five seconds away from crying - he can anticipate all your movements, he knows your tells, he’s memorized every single one of them.
You can feel the lump in the back of your throat start to form, and the way your face feels hot. Your brain is screaming at you to not cry. But soon, the tears fall down your cheek, though they don’t travel any further before Bucky swipes them away, the hand that’s on your back pulling you closer to him. You drape your legs next to you on the couch as you tuck your head under his chin, letting out a soft sob out into his chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt soft against your face. All of the thoughts, the fears, come flooding out of you in that moment, and as the sun begins to peak out, all you can do is let it all out.
“I’ve got you.” Bucky whispers into your hair as he holds you, his hand rubbing your back softly. “You’re safe.”
The words were uttered over and over again, his voice is soft in your ear and you can feel him rock the both of you back and forth delicately, as if he’s trying to soothe you. He’s never been great at comforting people - actually, it took until the two of you started dating for him to be exposed to such emotions for the first time in probably decades.
Now, he knew your sweet spots, he knew that you liked to be held close so he always had a hand on you. He knew that during these moments when the flashbacks were heavy that you needed something to pull you back down to earth, which is why he whispered so softly to you. And he knew that sometimes it took you ten minutes and sometimes it took you all day to get out of the funk, but either way he’d be there for you.
Bucky’s metal hand moved from your cheek to the nape of your neck, combing through the strands of hair that started there. Though it wasn’t flesh, and the metal was often cold to the touch, there was a warmth to it that made your breath hitch - quieting your sobs for a second.
“Shhhh…” Bucky hushed you, his nose buried in the top of your head breathing in your scent.
His own eyes closed as he relished in the moment for a while, it might have pained him to see you so upset, but there was something about the intimate act of holding you that just felt so right to him.
The images in your mind flash again, the phantom pain in the back of your head softly throbbing as you feel another sob force its way out. Your hand that’s resting on Bucky’s chest grabs a fistful of his sweatshirt, the fabric is tight within your grasp as the anger and hurt tumbles out of you.
Bucky peppers kisses to the top of your head over and over again until you eventually calm down, feeling the way your shoulders sink and how your sobs turn into bated soft breaths. He mumbles your name softly, trying to get your attention again, and when you hum in response, he speaks.
“You need to get some sleep. You’re exhausted.”
He was right, so you pulled back to look at him, your eyes puffy and red, your lip still quivering.
“I can’t.” You shake your head. You hate feeling this way, so … so … vulnerable. You weren’t fragile, but something about this attack had shaken you. Maybe it was because you almost died, sure that probably was it, but maybe also because they were there to kill Bucky, that they used both of you to hurt the other.
The idea of going back to sleep again and reliving it once more was terrifying to think of right now.
“Can we just … stay out here a little longer?” You ask, hoping that he didn’t push it.
The look on his face was one that was not too thrilled with your question. He was navigating this chapter of life and that included learning to take care of someone he loved, and he was torn between wanting you to get rest so you felt better, and understanding that you knew what was best for yourself.
He swallows all the words he wants to say, because an argument would do nothing to cure you, and making this more difficult than it needs to be is the last thing on his mind. So, instead, he nods his head and leans back a bit more so you can lay your head down on his lap. Your cheek pressed against his thigh. Warm. Tangible. The third thing needed to come back to reality , you think to yourself. How fitting it would be that you would find it now.
The world around you was just starting to wake up. In the distance alarm clocks would be blaring and people would be making their cups of coffee. The darkness of the morning was still barely there despite the sunrise, it was a haze that always seemed to stick around longer.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You finally whisper to him, a thank you that needed no other explanation.
Bucky’s hand stills for a fleeting moment, the words hitting him square in the chest, because it’s exactly the same thing he was thinking about you. He doesn’t respond, instead opting to lean down and press a kiss to your cheek. A few seconds passing before he peppers two more on your skin, your skin tingling from where his lips had just been. A tender moment in the midst of a night filled with palpable tension.
There on the balcony as Bucky softly played with your hair, and the two of you sat in silence as the day settled, you could finally breathe again. You were safe and alive - and in Bucky’s arms, you were loved.