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This is Steve’s first time back to the Tower after almost a month.
His last mission with Sam and Natasha took longer than expected, and he was off radar somewhere in Brazil for twenty days. Bucky stayed home, because one of the first things they promised each other after signing Sasha’s official custody documents was that they would never, under no circumstance, be sent off on a mission together. Too risky.
Bucky is undeniably the best teammate Steve has ever had – after all, they fought a goddamn World War together – but his blind preference can’t and will not come before their duty as parents. Steve knows he’d never be able to put Bucky’s wellbeing below a mission’s target and purpose. He’d undoubtedly sacrifice anything for Bucky, and knows for certain Bucky would do the same for him.
There is a reason, after all, on why people tend to avoid working with their spouses.
A twenty-day mission means almost the same amount of time off work, when circumstances allow it. Steve could have happily waited for longer to be back at the Tower, but Tony has been insisting, and Pepper has been insisting even more.
A little party, Cap. Nothing too fancy, I promise. But you’re what, 102 this year? We gotta celebrate. We’ll have fireworks and expensive wine that will not make you drunk, and you’ll pretend to be happy for Clint’s awful present. I think he’s getting you a book about veganism this year.
Steve’s never liked to celebrate his birthday. They usually order pizza from Luca’s from two blocks down and play Monopoly until Sasha’s competitiveness turns her into a little monster. But, he supposes, this is nice too.
They’re on Tony’s floor, the only one with the immense terrace over Central Park. Music is playing softy in the background, and food is accurately spread out on every superficies available of the enormous living room.
Each one of the faces are familiar: teammates, people Steve usually works with in and out missions, Pepper’s assistant and a couple of vets that Bucky met at one of his meetings. Everyone looks happy, relaxed.
Truth to his promise, Tony has not hung any balloons or cringy banner. There are the standardised little American flags on the canapé, and a couple of people are wearing questionable stars-and-stripes gadgets, but other than that, if it wasn’t for the pile of wrapped-up presents beside the piano, this could easily be a normal 4th of July party.
Steve is on his third glass of champagne when he realises. He looks around the room, glances at the small group gathered on the terrace.
“Where’s the kid?” he asks Tony.
Tony is also on his third glass of champagne. He curls his lips, unbuttoning slightly his white shirt.
“My kid? Or your kid?” he asks back.
“Yours. Sasha is out with her friends. They’re in Coney Island watching the fireworks. She said not to bring out the cake before she gets here.”
Tony smiles fondly, then finishes his glass with professional speed.
“Peter is Spider-Maning around the city tonight,” he explains then, grabbing a caviar canapé from the coffee table. “Apparently people do very stupid things on your birthday.”
They’re both staring at a very tipsy Sam trying to stay still in front of the dartboard, Clint few steps from him, tipsier than Sam, throwing his arrows all around Sam’s head. They’re both laughing, close to tears.
“So I’ve been told,” Steve comments tightly.
He glares at Bucky, who claps his hands enthusiastically when Clint misses Sam’s ear by a couple of millimetres. Bucky shrugs nonchalantly, but the winks he gives Steve is enough for Steve to let go.
He spends the next hour or so having small conversations with each one of the guests. He gets asked a couple of time how he feels being so old, if he’s considering retiring, how the flat in Brooklyn coming up, how Sasha is doing at school, if she’ll follow her parents’ legacy and become an Avenger.
“She’s only 16 still,” he tries to explain to Maria and Rhodes. “I think she should just focus on school for now. She loves art and science. She’s in the volleyball team, and in the theatre club.”
Pepper walks past him with a tray full of fish canapé. Her face is serious and professional when she grabs Steve’s forearm and says, with a low voice: “If she becomes an Avenger, I will kill you.”
She’s gone the moment after.
Maria laughs quietly, shaking her head. Steve takes that as an opportunity to excuse himself. He looks around, spots Bucky leaning on the terrace, face towards the city.
“Hey,” Steve says, once he’s outside.
Bucky turns slightly, gives Steve a small smile. He looks relaxed, so beautiful below the summer sky.
“Hey yourself,” he replies. “Enjoying the party?”
“My small talk skills are impeccable. I’ll teach you a thing or two.”
“Can’t wait,” Bucky smiles fondly, and rests his flesh hand on Steve’s arm. “Have you heard from Sasha?”
Steve moves closer to Bucky, their shoulders that touch each other. “Half an hour ago. She won a Cap Bear at the Luna Park.”
Bucky’s brows furrow. “A Cap Bear?”
Steve is already shaking his head, but he takes his phone out of his jeans’ pocket and opens his conversation with Sasha.
Bucky refuses to have a smartphone. He once watched a pseudo-documentary on YouTube about technology spying on people and smartphones recording conversations and decided against it. Tony tried to talk him out of that conspiracy, mentioning that the 21st century is a digital portal and that we should embrace technology instead of fighting. He also offered to build Bucky a StarkPhone encrypted with a built-in VPN, but Bucky simply said no, like the grumpy old man he is. He’s happy with his 20-year-old flip phone, with Sasha’s stickers on the back and a broken front camera. Steve doesn’t think Bucky’s contacts go beyond his and Sasha’s numbers. Sam’s. Maybe. He wouldn’t bet on Natasha’s.
Sasha usually texts Steve if she wants to get in contact with either of both of them. She rarely calls – apparently, calls are weird nowadays? – but will usually begin her texts with ‘Can you tell Papa’ or ‘Are you guys’ like Bucky is an extension of Steve or they’re both the equal parts of the same thing, which makes Steve’s chest warm and full.
The last message Sasha sent him, almost forty minutes ago, is a picture of herself on the metro, sitting in a crowded wagon while she proudly holds what looks like a sloppy brown teddy bear dressed in a questionable knock-off Captain America uniform from the ‘40s. She’s smiling with her teeth out, and the glitters that she put on her cheeks while getting ready look like they’ve melted down her face a bit, make her look like a little fairy.
‘He looks better than the original!! Omw to the tower now.’
Bucky looks at the screen with a smile he can’t hide, chuckling softly. He doesn’t say anything, but Steve knows the exact feeling that is expanding in his ribs. The clear awareness their daughter is experiencing being a teenager, with friends and dreams, ambitions and mood swings. Steve feels it every single day, usually while they’re having breakfast all together.
He’s about to text her to hurry up because the cake has arrived, when the phone buzzes in his hand. It’s Sasha again.
Well, it’s Sasha’s location. She’s just shared it with him.
Bucky’s smile disappears. Instead, he now looks confused, deep lines on his forehead like when he’s trying to decipher a language he speaks but can’t really remember how. His back straightens up.
“Where is she?” Bucky asks, but Steve is already cheeking.
She’s only a few blocks away, just outside the metro stop, and she’s moving.
Steve shouldn’t think too much into it. After all, it’s just a location – it’s not the first time Sasha has shared her location with him. She usually does when he asks her too, when he’s picking her up after her volleyball practice and he has to deal with twenty other Range Rovers trying to squeeze into the tiny school parking, or when she tries the best ice cream in New York and pins him the location so that Steve can stop by and grab a takeaway tub for Bucky after work.
It’s just a bit – unusual. And maybe she’s just letting them know she’s on her way, that she’s so close.
But Steve is a Captain, a soldier. He’s been in too many unusual situations for his senses to quiet down in his ribcage. He tries – he wants to. One look at Bucky and he immediately knows that something is wrong, because if there is one person on this universe that knows Sasha more than Steve is Bucky, because Bucky always knows, and always knows everything.
It’s Bucky’s flip phone that rings, in the back pocket of his jeans. ABBA’s Dancing Queen, cheap instrumental version, breaks the stretching, harrowing silence.
Bucky’s eyes never leave Steve’s whilst he picks up the phone. Steve doesn’t need the speakerphone to hear Sasha’s voice, the tiny, microscopic and almost insignificant crinkle in her voice.
“I forgot the eggs,” she says immediately. “I went to five different stores, and they didn’t have any. I don’t have the eggs. I forgot the eggs.”
Bucky’s face is pale, a mask of pure nothing. His eyes, though. A deep blue, a mad ocean of terror. He’s gripping the metal bar of the terrace so tightly it now has the perfect imprint of his flesh hand.
Steve hears a whistle in his ear coming from few buildings away, a repetitive hum that is knocking off his balance and closing out every other sound. He feels himself outside his body, like a nosey viewer of his nightmare, like he’s being forced to watch it happen, useless, defenceless. He can’t breathe, he doesn’t think he can breathe, there is no air, there is no –
“That’s okay, Sasha,” Bucky’s voice shakes him up, brings his feet back to that terrace. “We’ll find the eggs, okay? Don’t do anything. We’re coming. Can you stay on the phone?”
Steve waves frenetically at Sam, who slides outside the glass door with a much more serious face he had five seconds ago.
“It’s Sasha,” Steve barely recognises his own voice.
Sam doesn’t hesitate. He nods sharply, moves back inside to spread the voice. Something is wrong.
“I don’t think so,” Sasha’s voice doesn’t falter this time, it almost sounds like she’s smiling. “I’ve been to five stores already.”
Steve is tracking her from her phone. She’s moving away from the Tower.
Fuck.
When Bucky speaks again, the full team is on the terrace, listening.
“Five people. Okay. Are they armed?”
Steve can’t physically think about that possibility.
“I’m not sure,” Sasha replies, after a beat. “I think they may be. I’m sorry I didn’t check properly.”
Tony is already calling for a suit. He strides towards Steve, grabs the phone from his hands with unusual force and “JARVIS, copy the live location. Send the coordinates to the suit,” he says.
“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky is saying on the phone. “Everything is okay. Stay on the phone. We’re coming. Don’t hang up. Okay? Just stay with me.”
Tony stares at Steve for a second, his unnerving smile completely disappeared. In this gaze there is everything Steve needs to know. He nods briefly, because he doesn’t trust his voice just yet.
“I’ll find her,” it’s all Tony says, before jumping off the terrace.
His Iron-Man suit rescues him around the twentieth floor, and he’s off in the sky before Sasha’s reply.
“I don’t think I can, I’m sorry,” her voice is horrifically quiet when she adds, “Please come soon.”
The line is cut off the moment after.
Steve’s brain is a blank screen, a white canvas of nothing. He can’t think, he’s looking at Bucky’s agonised face and he can’t think. Everything is so quiet and so loud, that distant murmur a pinching pain in his ears. It’s only a moment, a second too long, then everything is back, sounds and colours, thoughts and strategies.
They’re under attack, and Steve is a Captain. He doesn’t need to think – his brain knows.
Steve moves first, but Bucky is right behind him. The team follows them inside.
“What’s going on?” Sam asks, near the lift.
Taking the stairs would ease the fury in his gut, but Tony’s private lift is faster, safer. They’ll be down in less than a minute.
“She’s being followed,” Bucky replies, his voice terribly detached, cold. “Five men. Possibly armed.”
The doors swing open. Sam, Natasha and Clint join them in. Maria watches them from the threshold, phone already on her ear. “I’ll call S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she tells Steve, before the doors close.
It’s a long minute.
Steve feels Bucky’s body like it’s part of his own, the tension that his muscles release grip around Steve’s veins like an armour.
He should say something, fills up the wait. He knows what will happen once they’re out of that lift, he knows Bucky and Steve will run, their unhuman pace will leave the others behind. They’ll jostle around Manhattan, make their way through a crowd of happy people. They’ll get there in no more than few minutes, and Sasha will be there, safe and unhurt, joking with Tony about her overprotective parents. Sorry, Dad, she’ll say, with the same confident grimace she took after Bucky, False alarm.
Steve will take a deep breath, Bucky will take an even deeper breath and will yell in Russian for a couple of seconds, then he will scold Sasha for using the Eggs-Emergency-Code in vain whilst simultaneously holding her close to his chest. Then Steve will hug both of them tight, Tony will whistle and everything will be fine.
Steve grabs Bucky’s flesh hand, feels his own fingers tense, a deadly hold that would break anyone else’s bones. But Bucky doesn’t complain, doesn’t move away. If possible, he holds even tighter.
Natasha is the one that breaks the silence. She takes a look at Steve’s phone, firmly in his hand, and nods sharply.
“We’ll take my car,” she explains, practical. “We’ll be there in seven minutes. JARVIS, send the live location to my car.”
“Certainly, Miss Romanoff.”
Clint looks behind his back, gives Steve and Bucky a quick look. “She’s okay, Cap,” he says, because he knows better than to talk to Bucky right now.
Steve’s chest swells up painfully, ready. He’s not thinking of anything. He can’t. There is that same whistle in the back of his mind, a background noise he’s trying to erase, lock away. He’s a soldier on a mission – he will not let his emotion compromise that. He will not risk his daughter’s safety for the overwhelming terror his body is fighting away.
Steve can’t really remember how he gets outside. One moment is watching the lift doors open, the next he’s chasing down the pavement, moving in between people on the street.
There was a time where food was a struggle for Sasha. After coming to the Tower, food for Bucky tasted like a distant memory, a dream he couldn’t fully describe. He’d laugh out of the blue whilst eating chocolate, he’d cry over tomato soup and smile fondly after biting warm bread. Steve learnt to cook to please him, to make him remember the days in their tiny flat in Brooklyn, when food was scarce and sacred. He learnt to cook to make Bucky fall in love with life again – he sometimes feels bold enough to think he has succeeded.
For Sasha it was different, there was no memory to come back to, nothing to relive. Food was no more than a functional tool for her, something her body needed to survive. Not a pleasure, neither a displeasure. Growing up in a HYDRA facility meant she never got to experience chocolate, and tomato soup, warm bread and cereals and cakes and pizza and fuzzy drinks and anything else an 11-year-old would beg her parents for. She would stare at her full plate for hours, not fully understanding what to do with it. Bucky would talk to her calmly, explaining that she could eat anything she wanted. He’d spend days sitting at the table with her, while Steve would furiously read books regarding introducing food to toddlers and picky children. She wasn’t speaking back then, but Steve knows that the concept of hunger wasn’t something she was familiar with. She spent her first two years at the Tower finding out about different foods like a wary explorer, not always sure what to expect, not always brave to try out things with weird texture and smell.
She was 12 when Steve cooked her a full breakfast for the first time. She looked at her plate with curious eyes, and when Bucky explained to her the concept of scrambled eggs, she played with her fork for a good couple of minutes. Her first bite was quiet, the second one very judgemental.
“I hate eggs,” she said, resolutely.
Bucky smiled, brows arched. “You hate eggs?”
“I hate eggs,” Sasha repeated, looking both at Steve and Bucky. “I hate eggs so much. I hate eggs more than I hate HYDRA.”
“Okay,” Steve took away her plate as quickly as he’d put it on the table. “No more eggs for Sasha. Noted.”
‘Eggs’ has become their code word for HYDRA since then, a way to talk about something that haunts their nightmare on a weekly basis without bringing back everything that implies, because sometimes it’s good for Sasha to say that HYDRA never let her grow her hair, and that no one ever taught her cursive. Bucky likes to joke about how he’d sometimes break a guard’s fingers for fun, and that he’d speak only Cantonese just to anger the doctors. Sometimes it’s not just horrors and pain, sometimes it’s just silly things, and eggs lighten the room, make space for a smile, a daring laugh.
Eggs. Five stores.
Five HYDRA agents, following their daughter around Manhattan.
Steve is not fully aware he’s running until his legs stop. He feels Bucky’s presence right beside him, hard and heavy like a stone. They’re in a dead-end hallway, away from the main road, full of dustbins and fire stairs.
Tony is the first figure Steve recognises. He’s standing tall in his suit, foot on a man’s back, arm raised against another man, both on the floor, limbs weirdly arranged.
“This is your last opportunity,” Tony is saying when Steve moves closer. “You’ve ruined my party and upset my niece. Try to get up again and I’ll turn you into a fried turkey. Oh, hey Cap! Barnes. What a strange coincidence to find you here.”
Tony’s raised arm doesn’t move, but with the other hand he points at his left and –
“Dad?”
Sasha is there. Sitting on a pile of cardboard boxes, eyes unfocused staring blankly at them. She’s bleeding from a cut on her lips and on her forehead, and she’s holding herself so tensely it looks like her bones may snap. She’s shaking and crying and breathing. She’s alive.
Steve moves first, but Bucky moves faster. He reaches Sasha in a couple of strides, kneels down in front of her. He cups her cheek with his metal fingers, because sometimes after a panic attack Sasha doesn’t recognise neither voices nor faces, but always knows her Papa’s cool hand, his gentle touch.
Her eyes flick around, like she’s trying to clear her sight. “Papa?” she asks, with trembling lips.
“We’re here, sweetheart,” Bucky says, a deep wave in his voice. “Can you look at me?”
Steve swallows the pain in his throat, stands protectively behind Bucky with first clenched so hard he can feel his nails dig in his palms.
He finally allows himself to assess the situation. Tony is surrounded by five bodies on the floor. The one he’s standing on, the one he’s pointing his beam at, and three others, all unconscious but alive.
For now.
“I need you to look at me, Sasha,” Bucky says, voice firm but kind.
He tilts Sasha’s head with both hands until her eyes meet his. He smiles, eyes wet.
“Good girl. Hey. We’re here, baby. You’re safe.”
Sasha looks up tiredly then, and the terrified look that she gives Steve is enough for him to feel the pieces of his heart shattering in that hallway.
He’s surprised to find his fury so clean, so tangible. He’s not going to lose control over it. He’ll take his time, he’ll carefully go through each one the torture methods war taught him, so that they’ll wish for death, because death would be kinder than Steve ever will allow himself to be.
Sasha’s eyes fill up with tears.
“You need to tell us where you’re hurt, sweetheart,” Steve says.
Sasha babbles something, shakes her head and wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand. Her body shakes worriedly.
Steve registers footsteps behind him, Natasha’s clear voice giving orders to SHIELD’s agents, movements around, quick and methodical.
“Shh, it’s okay. I got you,” Bucky holds Sasha firmly, grabs her forearms to keep her steady.
Sasha winces and tries to move away, hot tears mixing with blood and glitters on her cheeks. Bucky takes off his hands like he’s just burned himself, fingers shaking slightly.
“What’s wrong?” his voice is urgent and sharp.
Sasha swallows and looks at Steve for a long moment.
“I think…I think…”
Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby. You can tell us.”
“I hit my head. Here,” her right hand moves behind her head, and her fingers come back wet and bloody.
Steve feels Bucky’s shoulders tense like his own.
“And I think…I think they broke my hand.”
Sasha looks down. She’s holding her left hand in her lap. Steve stares in horror at her shaking fingers: three of her digits are bent unnaturally, and her wrist’s bone is painfully misplaced, a deep bruise forming on her swollen skin.
Steve’s words are out before his brain knows he’s speaking.
“Tony will take you to the hospital, okay? Me and Papa will be there with you.”
Tony appears beside Steve the next second, mask off. His smile is not reaching his eyes, but his voice is kind and calm when he speaks to Sasha.
“C’mon, kiddo, let’s go. I promise you not to go too fast this time,” he opens his arms wide open, moving closer to Sasha.
She blinks a couple of times while Bucky wipes her tears.
“My teddy,” she says suddenly, gaze snapping around. “My teddy. Where’s my teddy?”
“I’ll find it, baby,” Steve tries to reassure her, chest heavy like a rock. “I promise you. But you need to go with Tony, okay? Your head is bleeding and your hand needs to get fixed. We’ll be right behind you.”
Bucky stands up and helps her on her feet. He kisses her messy hair for a long second while Steve caresses her cheek, tries not to look at all the blood on her face.
Around them people talk, agents move around like a small army.
Sasha gives them a small nod, then moves closer to Tony, who scoops her up firmly in his iron arms.
His mask reaches over his face while he’s looking at Steve. “If you thank me, I will never organise you a birthday party again.”
Then he’s off, Sasha holding on his neck with her good hand.
Steve’s body aches, his heart pounding blood so fast he thinks he can hear it moving around his body. Bucky’s staring at the dirty asphalt with vacant eyes. His metal hand is clenching nervously, plates swirling like a short circuit.
They’re a wreck. Both of them. A mess of limbs and blood, and Steve wishes nothing but to have Bucky and Sasha in his arms, safe inside their flat, away from the pain and the misery that somehow keep chasing them.
But he can’t protect his family if he’s a mess of limbs and blood.
“Bucky? Hey.”
Steve’s fingers touch Bucky’s chin, hold their glaze together.
“We need to go, baby. Car’s waiting.”
Bucky seems to registers his words with a delay. He nods sharply, eyes wet with unwashed tears.
Clint and Sam stay behind with the S.H.I.E.L.D. squad.
“I want them alive,” Steve tells them, watching the last handcuffed man being pushed inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. van.
“We’ll try our best,” Clint replies, amused.
The Cap Bear is there, lying down between two dustbins. It’s dirty, but looks intact. Steve picks it up like a treasure. Bucky lets him guide him to Natasha’s car, lets her drive and speeds around New York. No one says a word.
There is a distinct emptiness in Steve’s chest, a spiralling void that tickles the palm of his hands, leaves him with vertigo in his temples. There was a minute, tonight, where everything made sense in his brain. A precise moment in time where Bucky was laughing careless with Clint and Sam, where Tony was trying to convince Steve to invest his Army backpay in NFT while Bruce whispered words from Karl Marx’s Das Kapital with an exasperated face; a bunch of seconds where Sasha was on her way back from Coney Island, with a teddy bear in her arms and glitters on her face, and she was safe, and Bucky was safe, and things were just fine.
Steve wouldn’t define himself a complicated man – he thrives the best around his family, his friends. He has money he doesn’t need, a job he enjoys very much, a future he’s finally looking forward to. The 21st century was for many years a place he never felt ready for, a world that was no longer speaking his language. HYDRA took away things from Bucky they’ve learnt to mourn, but it never really succeeded to erase his ability to make things work out, to ensure the world is a better place for Steve, not as scary, not as lonely. Bucky is his compass, the North Star of Steve’s dark sky, a night lasting a century. No matter the years, and the trauma, and the forgotten memories, Bucky will always be the one to guide Steve home.
Bucky is Steve’s home. Was. Will forever be.
He can’t disappear in that void, Steve realises. He can’t let the clenching pain in his gut take him away from home, from Bucky. He’ll have time to feel scared, and guilty, and angry.
But Sasha needs him lucid, and Bucky needs him present. Here.
He grabs Bucky’s hand, gentle fingertips leaving whispers on Bucky’s soft wrist, tiny circles that keeps him steady, sitting on the back seats of Natasha’s car.
Bucky’s eyes are distant, away the chaotic city he stares from the window, in a place he locks himself in when the world hurts more than he thinks he can cope. Not quite the Soldier anymore, not Bucky either. A subtle line between the two, cold and detached from emotions, but still reactive, alert.
Steve’s mouth is heavy, but he hopes his touch will be enough to let Bucky know he is safe, and that he can come back. Steve will be strong for him too.
S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility is not too far from Stark Tower. Natasha leaves the car right outside the entry, and Bucky is out the car before the engine is off.
Steve’s spent a great amount of time here. It’s never serious, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is always insistent he gets a full check-up after particular intense missions. Bucky is still uncomfortable with doctors, so Steve comes in every room with him, speaks to the staff on his behalf, and holds his hand quietly when the metal arm is playing up.
Sasha’s better with hospital than Bucky, but she’s still wary and quiet during her 6-month check-up. A normal hospital wouldn’t be able to help a half super-soldier kid, and S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t risk putting her blood in the hands of anyone else.
This is their best chance they have to ensure she will be properly looked after.
The building is small but efficient, Stark technology ensuring each one of the agents can receive the best care.
Steve leads Bucky and Natasha to the back of the first floor, the wing reserved to the Avengers team. Tony is already there, in his Tom Ford, talking loudly with a couple of doctors. His tone is unusually aggressive.
“…No one is touching the kid until her parents get here, am I clear?”
Steve and Bucky both speed up, reaching the end of the corridor with an urgent pace.
“Mr Stark, we need to make su—”
“Which part of ‘no one’ you’re struggling to understand?” Tony visibly relaxes at the sight of Steve and Bucky, though his face doesn’t lose the deep angry lines. “Oh, thank God. Was about to send a rescue team for you guys.”
“What’s going on?” Steve asks, eyeing the two doctors, at the same time Bucky says, “Where’s Sasha?”
Tony points at the closed door on his back. “They’re doing a CT scan to cheek for internal brain injuries. Bruce is inside with her. Barnes, do not move. That arm of yours will make the whole thing blow up if it get in there.”
“Is she conscious?” asks Bucky, plates swirling softly.
“She is,” one of the doctors replies. He quickly turns to look at Steve instead of Bucky. “Captain, I appreciate the stressful situation, but as I was trying to explain to Mr Stark, we need to examine Sasha’s possible wounds on her body. There is a large amount of blood on her clothes that—”
“Because she punched four teeth out of man’s mouth!” Tony hisses, furious.
Steve must have misheard that. “Wait, what?”
Tony waves at him dismissively, like Steve is an annoying fly. The doctor continues. “A large amount of blood that may come from other injuries. We prioritised the wounds on her head, so the CT scan will report any internal injuries and bleeding. She was very, uhm, distressed, so we let Doctor Banner in there with her. They should be done in a few minutes.”
Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the doctor’s, but his hand, the one not holding on the weird-looking teddy bear, instinctively moves to grab Bucky’s fingers, his clammy and warm palm. Bucky’s hold is sealed, a grip impossible to escape from, painfully hard and comforting, needed. It keeps Steve focused, present.
The doctor follows their movements, and visibly pales.
“So what are you saying?” Steve asks.
It’s the other doctors that replies. Her voice is kind, her eyes welcoming. “We tried to take off her clothes—”
“You what?”
“Seargent Barnes, this is standard procedure,” the doctor tries to explain, calmly. “A hospital gown is what our patients wear all the time. It’s practical and helpful during examination, especially given the circumstances. Sasha was rightly very upset, and she will be glad to know you are both here, but if she doesn’t calm down enough for us to examine the rest of the wounds, I’m afraid we will—”
“I’d suggest you to think twice before finishing that sentence,” Bucky hisses, glacial.
The doctor – Lynn, Steve reads from her nametag – simply nods, unfazed. “I understand Sasha’s previous experience with doctors—”
“You don’t,” Bucky shakes his head, and the grip on Steve’s hand intensifies. “You can’t understand.”
Natasha speaks up for the first time, crossing her arms with disarming calm. “Ever considered she may just be uncomfortable taking her clothes off in front of strangers?”
“She can’t do it on her own, not with a broken wrist and broken fingers,” the other doctor – McKee – retorts.
“Then you’re lucky she’s got a female family member who can help, right?” Natasha smiles with her mouth closed, like that’s the end of the conversation.
Both doctors seem to want to push, but ultimately decide to nod. “Of course, that would be great,” Dr Lynn says.
The door behind Tony’s shoulders open, and Sasha walks out with Bruce’s arm around her. Her eyes land on Bucky immediately. “Papa!”
They both move at the same time. Bucky grabs her cheeks, still dirty of blood and glitters, and keeps her an arm length from him, eyes quickly scanning her body. “Are you okay?” he asks, and his voice falters enough for Sasha to catch it.
Her expression shifts to a worried one in an instant. She grabs Bucky’s metal fingers on her face with her own. “I’m fine,” she replies, and she sounds honest. “I freaked out quite badly earlier. Was a bit embarrassing. I don’t like hospitals. But I’m good now. I really think I smell, though.”
“You do,” Tony replies swiftly, smiling at Bucky’s angry frown.
Steve steps closer, moves a strand of her long and knotted hair behind her ear. He tries not to flinch at the amount of dry blood. “We’ll go home soon, sweetheart,” he reassures her.
Although still visibly shaken, Sasha looks and seems much better than how they found her not even half an hour ago. She’s talking, answering Bucky’s questions with small nods and smiles, holding his hand steady and sure.
Dr Lynn kindly tells she should use the wheelchair to move around.
“Already tried that,” Bruce sighs, exasperated.
“I’m not dying,” Sasha exclaims, indignant, like she already said it many more times. Then her sullen face beams up when she spots what Steve is holding. “Cap!”
She springs forward with excessive enthusiasm, smile big and genuine that cracks slightly once she reaches over, eyelashes fluttering while she grabs Steve’s sleeve tightly. “Oh, woah. Room’s spinning.”
Steve holds her firmly around her waist and he can’t hide the frustrating frown he exchanges with Bucky, because this dismissal regarding self-care is something she unfortunately took after the both of them.
“Alright, Sasha,” his voice is gentle, but unmovable. “Let’s get you settled down.”
The doctors take them to Sasha’s room, which is spacious for everyone to fit in. They all wait outside while Natasha helps Sasha with her gown, and Dr Lynn takes the opportunity to go through the scan results.
“Sasha has a mild concussion from the injury on the back of her head. We’ll keep her here for few hours to check for any symptoms. Her metabolism isn’t as fast as yours,” she says, looking at Bucky and Steve. “But it’s very fast. This is positive, we’re not expecting any worsening of her condition. We’ve put a plaster on the cut on her forehead, but that should heal before you can take her home. We’ll medicate the wound on the back of her head, but, again, it should heal very soon. We’ll check the rest of her body shortly.”
Steve feels his shoulders relax painfully, like the breath he takes next only points out how deeply tense his body’s been until now. Sasha is going to be fine. They’ll get to take her home soon.
His hand slides behind Bucky, lands on his lower back, and he feels the density of his body deflate under his palm. He stays there, like an anchor.
“Now that the CT scan is out of the way, we’ll do an X ray for her hand,” Dr Lynn continues.
“Do we know how it happened?” Steve asks, looking at Tony.
Tony sighs heavily, and seems uncertain on his words. “Well,” he replies, voice high and sharp. “She said she headbutted a guy and broke his nose. She punched his friend afterwards, I think she broke his jaw, he wasn’t very chatty with me. Guy barely had any teeth left in his mouth. The remaining three held her down…I think they, uhm, stepped on her hand for a bit.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Steve’s hand twitches on Bucky’s back. He can’t fucking think about it.
The plates on Bucky’s arm spams, a reflex he doesn’t seem to control, an automation from the deep part of his brain connected to the wires.
Steve is the anchor. He stays there.
Natasha lets them inside the room, and Sasha is there, sitting on the bed, in a terrible hospital gown that will hunt them for months, with the teddy bear lying next to her. She’s holding her left arm close to her chest, and Steve can see the swelling all around her wrist and fingers, the deep blue bruise on her pale skin.
She’s smiling at them, but the frown between her brows tells a different story.
Dr Lynn talks to her with a kind tone, and shows her the results from her scan like she just did outside the room. Sasha nods, replies to every question and stays still like a doll while they clean the wound on her head and Steve wipes her face with a couple of wet tissues. She flinches when Dr Lynn removes a piece of fabric of her jeans from the only other open wound, a deep cut on her leg she said was from broken glasses in the hallway.
“This is why we prefer hospital gown,” Dr Lynn explains candidly, but she doesn’t sound mean or passive aggressive. “Hopefully your body will fight off the infection.”
“That…looks disgusting,” Sasha comments, before Dr Lynn bandages her around the leg.
Dr McKee examines her wrist close enough to check for the bruising, but doesn’t touch it and Steve is secretly glad about it.
“Are you in pain, Sasha?” the doctor asks her.
Her eyes flick almost imperceptibly towards Bucky. She wets her dry lips and takes a moment to reply.
“A bit,” she admits, looking down.
“We’ll work on something for your metabolism while you’re doing your X ray,” Dr McKee reassures her then, with a polite smile.
Sasha makes a weird face, but doesn’t reply.
It doesn’t take long for the X ray.
Bucky and Steve wait outside the exam room. Tony and Natasha leave for the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters but promise to be back before Sasha is discharged.
Bucky stops Tony before his back disappears down the corridor.
“Thank you, Tony,” he says, like he’s struggling with words. “You…saved her.”
Tony doesn’t smile, dismisses everything with a wave of hand, but his reply is fond and kind. “Ah! Told you not to thank me. Now you’ve made it weird, Barnes.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” comments Natasha, with a small smile, before they’re both gone.
Steve doesn’t ask, but Bruce stays anyway. He wishes he was less selfish and simply be able to tell him that he can go, that everything is under control now, but the truth is that Steve needs Bruce there. He may not be a doctor like Dr Lynn or Dr McKee are, but he’s a calm, reassuring present, a bridge between the doctors’ technicality and Steve’s lost mind.
Bucky is quiet if it wasn’t for the swirling of his arm, he keeps his head down, eyes staring at the white floor, dark strands of hair keeping his agonised glare away from the world. Steve keeps his hands on him all the time, a caress on the tense muscles of his leg, a brush of fingers on his flesh hand, on the blushed skin of his neck. It seems to help keeping him firmly anchored to that chair, and Steve knows not to push for anything else. Not right now.
Bucky’s whole focus right now is Sasha – Steve will look after both of them.
“Is this your worst birthday ever?” Bruce, sitting opposite them, is looking at Steve with a kind smile.
Steve lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head unbelievably. He completely forgot it’s still his birthday.
“Definitely. It’d be hard to beat, as well.”
“You forget the year your heart stopped beating for a solid minute,” Bucky doesn’t move from his position, but his voice is painted with gentle nostalgia. “Not sure which saints your Ma prayed that night. Poor woman was slapping your face so hard I thought she would break your jaw.”
“He died?” Bruce asks, disbelieved.
“Only for a bit,” Steve retorts. “And I think she did break my jaw. I woke up thinking I had been run over by a train. But no. I think this is worse.”
After the X ray, they take Sasha back to her room. She’s smiling, and her eyes are present, focused. Bucky helps her sit on the bed, and she easily replies to the same questions Dr Lynn asked her few minutes ago. What her name is, how old she is and where she is right now.
Dr McKee holds the X ray results in his hand, and, standing at the door, he seems almost intimidated to walk into the room. There is a flick of hesitation in both doctors’ faces.
From the quick way Bucky’s blue eyes flicker towards him, Steve immediately knows that they’re both thinking the same things.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.
Dr McKee sighs heavily, then moves to position the X ray scans on the white board next to Sasha’s bed. The images speak clearly: Sasha’s wrist bone is misplaced, a broken piece overlapping unnaturally the other. Her three fingers are bent in various point, many of her phalanxes snapped in half.
Again, Steve feels his own hand itchy and uncomfortable. He tries to fight off the nausea.
Bruce walks closer to the images, moves around to have a better visual on the damage. His face doesn’t hide the veil of distress.
“They’re fixing themselves,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself. “In…the wrong way.”
“What does that mean?” Sasha asks.
Bruce turns to look at her, as though he forgot for a second to be in the room with them. He eyes over both doctors.
“Bruce?” Steve says.
Dr Lynn moves forward, towards Sasha, with a concerned face. “Sasha, your bones are trying to heal themselves.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Sasha asks, looking at Steve.
He feels so useless. He doesn’t know. He knows absolutely nothing.
“Usually, it’s a good thing,” Dr Lynn continues. “Just like for the rest of your wounds. When it comes to bones, though, it can be tricky. Your bones have indeed started healing on their own, but their break isn’t clean. Your wrist is misplaced, so are your phalanxes. If we let them be, they’ll heal the wrong way. They’re already shifting in the wrong position.”
“So what are you saying?” Steve pushes, and deep in his gut he knows already.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to break the bones again,” Dr Lynn has the decency to sound apologetic. “And place them correctly so that they can properly heal.”
Whistle. Whistle in Steve’s ear. Louder, piercing his eardrums, shaking the floor beneath his legs.
This is worse than death.
“You want to break my hand, again?” Sasha’s voice is shocked, her eyes comically big.
“We can sedate you,” Dr Lynn offers, cautiously, but Sasha is already shaking her head.
“No one is sedating anyone,” she says, hard and stubborn.
Bucky is terribly quiet, a ghost haunting the room. His eyes are fixed on Sasha’s broken hand, his face paler than the walls. Steve takes a deep breath and walks closer to the bed, gently moves Sasha’s hair behind her small shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” he tries, weakly, but he’s not sure where he’s going with it.
There is a reason why Bucky and Sasha don’t like hospitals, and doctors, and everything that they imply. He knows the horrors they both went through many years ago whilst being sedated on beds pretty much similar to the one she’s sitting on. He could try argue in favour of it, but for what purpose? He’d be asking her to pick between two different types of pain, both too big for her small shoulders – but physical pain ends, the bones will heal, the bruise will disappear.
He’s not too sure he can say the same about the emotional pain she’d have to endure if she was sedated.
“I’m not…no one is sedating me, okay?” Sasha says again. “Just break whatever you have to break, but don’t give me anything. And don’t make me sleep.”
She holds up her broken fingers stubbornly towards the two doctors, and clearly pretends she doesn’t wince at the pain in doing so. Steve can’t help but leave a kiss on her forehead, hand secured behind her neck, just below the wound.
She’s accurately not looking at Bucky while the doctors examine her and prepare the room. Bucky, who’s not spoken a word since the X ray results, whose eyes are vacuous and still. He looks so far away.
Bruce’s presence seems to work on Sasha, too. Steve knows Bruce wouldn’t let her go through unnecessary pain and struggles if it wasn’t for her best, and the fact that he’s not questioning the doctors’ choice – like Steve’s seen both him and Tony doing multiple times for Bucky – is enough for Steve.
Bucky, though…
“Captain Rogers, I need to you hold Sasha, if you can,” Dr Lynn instructs, positioning a chair next to the metal tray she just carried inside the room. “Sasha’s bones are strong. We’ll need to add more…pressure, in order to stabilise the breakage.”
Steve nods, practical, but when he sits down and takes a look at Bucky, he feels his heart heavy like a rock.
“Bucky—” he says, but Sasha’s voice interrupts the stream of his words.
“Papa…you can wait outside, if you want.”
Bucky seems to wake suddenly from the trance he’s fallen in for the past few minutes. His glaze is dark, confused and hurt. “What? Why? I don’t want to. I’m staying here.”
Sasha’s face is open, a tentative smile drawn on her split lips. She sits down on Steve’s lap, and finally looks at Bucky with nothing but love and concern.
Before their beautiful family, before Brooklyn, before the Tower, before everything they are and have now, there was only Sasha and Bucky.
The Girl and the Soldier.
Steve knows there is a quiet, indestructible bond between them, something born from dust and trauma, but grown with love, resistant from abuse and pain.
For many years, Steve had been nothing but an unconscious donor, half of Sasha but only genetically. Buried deep in the frozen sea, he was not there when Sasha took her first steps, said her first words, started growing up in a cruel world. Bucky was, though. He was there, and each one of Sasha’s firsts are a memory and a burden for him, a tangible proof he’s become a father as a desperate attempt to shield a child from the horrors of Hydra, a child that looked like a person he had forgotten to know, left in a past up until that point he hadn’t known to own.
Bucky’s been a father for longer than Steve, and Sasha’s pain is a reminder of those days they were both victims of the same, dreadful system.
Steve tends to be anxious, overprotective, definitely too stubborn and stupid at times. He likes to know where Sasha is all the times, likes to know all her friends, her teachers, her volleyball teammates and their parents, he likes to take her around New York, drive her up to her classmates’ home for school projects, and will definitely take the role of the scary father when they’ll eventually meet her first boyfriend. He wouldn’t define himself as ‘controlling’ – he never denied her anything, followed her around or betrayed her trust – but he likes to be involved in her life like that. Make sure she knows, however she looks, she’ll find him there. Bucky’s approach is different. He spent decades scared of the world, wary and hateful towards everyone. He doesn’t trust people as such, but he trusts Sasha, and her infallible sense of safety, her empathetic approach to life, that can often be mistaken for goofy, but never naïve, nor silly. He doesn’t need to know her location, impose his way into her life the way Steve admittedly can do sometimes. Bucky is sure that Sasha knows that his door is always open, and that she can come to him for anything she may need. He’s the quiet constant in her life – has been for as long as she can remember. He raised her to be strong, resilient, and fearless, but also honest and open.
Steve envies him more than he’d ever admit. He’s more glad, though, to know that there will always be someone to make fun of him and drag his feet back to Earth when he’s being particularly ridiculous – isn’t that how love works, after all?
However, there is one thing that Bucky’s approach can’t overcome, something that shakes his well-built fundamentals, and crumbles his calm.
And it’s this. Nothing but this. His family in danger. His family hurt – Sasha hurt, exposed and fragile like her broken fingers. Because her pain isn’t a nightmare – it’s a memory.
Steve knows. Sasha knows even more. And Steve loves her so damn much, because more than being stubborn, she’s trying to protect her Papa from seeing her hurt and defenceless once again.
He looks at Bucky with Sasha’s same expression, hoping Bucky will understand.
But Bucky is frustratingly stubborn, and he avoids both Sasha and Steve’s kind glaze, fixing his on the floor. He doesn’t say anything, but the rumbling sound of his metal arm speaks for him.
Steve sighs, feels Sasha’s uncertainty through her body, but she stays quiet, too.
Dr Lynn waits patiently few seconds, then seems to accepts Bucky’s presence in the room like a clashing painting. She still tries to arrange herself so that it’s Bruce on her back instead.
She holds Sasha’s broken wrist precise attention, while Dr McKee stands next to her, eyes attentive and focused.
Sasha’s fingers shake, and Steve can feel her tense like stone in his arms. He holds her tight, kisses her sweaty forehead and her messy hair.
“Okay, Sasha. I’m not gonna lie to you,” Dr Lynn says. “This will hurt. But only for a little bit. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”
Sasha’s biting her lip. “Just do it.”
Steve holds his beath in a way he hasn’t done since before the war. He’s not used to be scared of pain, not anymore. He’s accepted pain as a longstanding partner, present and invisible in his life at the same time. This, though, is completely different. Another kind of waiting, another kind of pain.
He hears the bone breaking before he feels Sasha’s body convulsing frenetically, trying to escape Steve’s iron grip whilst at the same time trying to hide deep in his chest. She screams, in a way she’s never done, anguished and angry, sad and powerless.
“It’s okay, baby,” he mutters uselessly against her temple. “I got you. I’m so proud of you, you’re doing great.”
He can hear her mad pulse in his ear, and when Dr Lynn doesn’t stop, he feels her rushed breath against his neck.
At the third scream of pain, Bucky leaves the room. Steve watches him open the door with his flesh hand, the handle ripped and broken in tiny shards. He wishes he could follow him – he wishes to be more than a bunch of limbs and a beating heart, but an anchor in the deep sea, a branch against the storm.
And yet, maybe the hardest lesson the serum has given him is this – that, and the end of the day, he is still terribly human.
So he stays, exactly where Bucky needs him to, exactly where Sasha needs him to.
It’s Bruce that moves towards the door. His face is pale, curled in a fragile empathy. “I’ll…I’ll go with him,” he mutters, to no one. “The other guy is not happy about this situation.”
“Last thing we need right now is – fuck!,” Sasha yells against Steve’s warm skin. “It’s Hulk!”
After Bruce leaves, Dr Lynn takes few excruciating more minutes to fix Sasha’s bones.
By the time it’s over, Sasha is panting, eyes wet and unfocused by pain. It takes Steve a while to bring her back.
“I’m so proud of you, baby,” he keeps saying. “You’re so strong. I’m so sorry.”
Dr Lynn is methodical in her movements. She casts Sasha’s wrist and hand with a concentrated frown.
“That was very brave of you, Sasha,” she says at the end. “I doubt you’ll need the cast for longer than a week, but I’d like you to come back here before taking it off, okay? We’ll do another X ray. Even if it may feel healed, I want to make sure everything is placed correctly, so make sure to rest, drink lots of fluids and eat a healthy diet.”
“Thank you,” Steve says, looking at both of the doctors.
They nod and give them privacy. Bucky’s smashed the door, meaning it doesn’t close properly, and from the chair he’s sitting on, Steve can see both Natasha and Tony quietly talking in the corridor with Dr Lynn.
It takes Sasha a couple of minutes to speak. “Well. That sucked.”
Steve, bricks in his stomach, can’t help but laugh. He kisses her head so many times he loses count, then moves backward enough to look at her flushed face.
“It did,” he replies, without losing the smile. “How do you feel?”
Sasha makes a face like she’s considering it. “Tired. But also…very awake? My hand doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”
“On a scale from one to ten?”
“A six.”
“I’ll accept that. Your head?”
“A four? Maybe a five.”
“Alright,” Steve nods, holds her close. “You’ve been so brave tonight. You know that, right? You knew exactly what to do. I’m very proud of you, Sasha.”
She shrugs, considering. “I don’t know if they were Hydra,” she confesses, looking up. “I didn’t have time to explain it on the phone but…they didn’t look Hydra.”
“You don’t need to worry about them anymore,” Steve says immediately, before adding, “Tony said you defended yourself.”
Steve’s tone is both incredibly proud and undeniably concerned. But Sasha smiles a little, like she’s proud of herself too. “One of them grabbed Cap,” she explains, eyeing at the teddy bear lying on the bed. “Do you know how long it took me to win him? How much?”
Steve’s smile widens. “I don’t. How much?”
“Ten bucks. I know, right? Crazy.”
“We’ll take him home soon, alright?”
Sasha nods, and remains quiet for a few minutes. She bites her lips, uncertain, and Steve knows what she’ll say before she does. Still, he gives her time to formulate the words in her head.
“Do you think Papa is…fine?” she asks, voice low and timid.
Steve sighs, because he has no idea. “He will be,” he decides to say, though.
“I didn’t mean to kick him out— I just know he doesn’t cope very well with these things.”
“I know, sweetheart. You didn’t kick him out. He just removed himself from a situation that was too much for him. He knew you were safe, that I was there with you, and that was enough for him to accept the fact that, when it comes to your pain, he may not always…think lucidly.”
Sasha nods, like she agrees with everything Steve’s saying, and he’s so glad because it’s costing him more than he will be able to explain.
“I hope he doesn’t think that I think he’s weak,” she says. “Do you think I should tell him? That he just did what I hoped he would do.”
Steve kisses her forehead one last time. “Why don’t you rest for a bit, uhm? I’ll go and find him. Make sure he’s not destroyed any other door.”
Sasha laughs quietly, and lets Steve settle her down on her bed, the teddy bear held securely under her arm.
“Hey, we’re back!” Tony opens the door, Natasha right behind him. “Aw, girl, you got a cast? That’s so…uncool of you.”
“I’m flipping you off with my not-so-broken finger. You can’t see it, but I am.”
Steve thanks both of his friends for taking over, and when Natasha whispers him, “He’s outside,” that’s exactly where Steve heads to.
He finds Bucky in the car park, under a broken streetlamp. He’s sitting on a step, eyes lost in the void in front of him, back arched towards his bent legs. His glaze flicks over Steve for a second when he sits down next to him.
“She’s okay. Resting,” Steve immediately says, before Bucky can ask. “Tony and Nat are with her. She has a cast, but it will only be for a week or so. She’s not in pain anymore. She’s chatty, tired. We’ll take her home soon.”
Bucky nods, sharply. Steve notices the tension his muscles. He looks like he’s about to fight someone.
“Where is Bruce?” Steve tries again.
“Not sure,” Bucky replies, mechanical. “He didn’t look too good.”
“Yeah,” Steve conveys. “Think the whole situation shook him more than I’d thought. We’ll need to send him a chest of fruit or something.”
Bucky doesn’t reply, and Steve doesn’t push. He just looks at his sharp profile, the deep lines of his face, shadowed by the July night.
Then, hours or minutes later, Bucky speaks.
“They broke her bones, Steve.”
“I know.”
“They broke her hand, and her fingers, in a way that they had to be broken again in order to get fixed.”
Steve holds out his arm, pushes Bucky into his own body. He leaves the whisper of a kiss on his forehead. “I know, Buck,” he says, like he just did for Sasha. “She’s okay, though.”
“Is she?” Bucky moves away, and his tone is sharp. “Do we want to pretend this will be a solo incident? That she will be free to live her life like a normal kid? She’s not a normal kid.”
Steve breaths slowly, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. He wets his lips.
“She’s not a normal kid, you’re right. But she’s also not part of a normal family. Nothing of this is normal. I don’t think we’re…pretending that she can be something that she simply can’t be. I think…we’re giving her the opportunity to be whoever she wants to be. However she may want to.”
“And if it’s not enough?” Bucky’s voice breaks, and Steve’s heart breaks with it.
It’s so rare to witness such raw emotions on Bucky’s marble face, a written fear all over his hard façade. Steve wishes he could take all his pain away, right now like 100 years ago.
“It is enough, Bucky,” he says, gently. “It’s all we can give her. It has to be enough.”
Bucky stands up furiously, and furiously wipes his eyes. “I couldn’t even…I couldn’t even stay,” he exclaims, angry tears wetting his flushed cheeks. “What kind of father am I if I can’t even fucking stay?”
“Don’t you dare,” Steve stands up too, and he can’t help the harsh inclination in his voice. “I’ll not let you blame yourself for being a fucking human being, for having feelings. You didn’t do anything wrong. If the choice was between killing a doctor and leaving the room, you picked the right thing. No one can blame you for it. So don’t you dare blaming yourself.”
Bucky’s lips tremble, a silent sob escapes. His eyes are wet, red and terribly sad.
Steve wants to kiss him so hard, under the July sky, in an anonymous car park just outside Manhattan. He wants nothing more.
He walks towards Bucky with his hands open and forward, welcoming. He touches Bucky’s wrists, fingers walking up to his forearms, his tense shoulders, the tight skin of the neck, until he’s cupping Bucky’s wet cheeks.
“If there was one thing that could have made it worse for Sasha was knowing you were there, struggling and in pain, trying to prove something we all already know,” he whispers, lips so close to Bucky’s face they brush over his nose. “You think she thinks less of you because you love her so much you physically can’t stand her pain? She knows, Buck. We both do.”
Bucky’s eyes are closed, but Steve feels the moment his tension starts to melt away like snow on the sun, leaving his stone body and making space for something similar to resignation first, and acceptance next.
Steve will take that.
He kisses Bucky’s lips with an infinite gentleness, trying to wash away the darkness of his thoughts. He wishes Bucky knew how essential he is for Steve – the core, the brain, the heart, his fingers, his muscles, everything. Bucky is the moon, the sun, the night and the sunset, he is the guide among the tempest, he is the soothing voice after a dream. He’s the home to come back to, he’s the key to find, he is everything Steve will never be, and everything Steve will always try to become.
Bucky kisses him back, and there is no kindness and gentleness in the way he grips Steve’s shoulders, just a raw desperation, a silent ask for help and forgiveness. Steve will give him anything. Always.
“You don’t have to be anything,” Steve says, so quiet he thinks for a second he’s only thinking it. “You owe the world nothing, you understand? I’m here to catch you. I’ll always catch you, Bucky.”
His mind tries not to wonder, spiral down memories he doesn’t have the strength to consider right now – trying to grab Bucky’s hand, so close, so damn close, a valley of snow and death below them.
Bucky senses his discomfort and kisses him again, wipes away his darkness – and isn’t this love, after all?
They hold each other under that broken lamp for what seems like hours. Then, Steve cups Bucky’s neck and kisses his forehead one last time.
“C’mon, old man,” he mutters. “Let’s bring our girl home.”
A few hours later, as they all three lay in the king size bed, Bucky plays with Sasha’s long braid and watches her staring at Steve drawing little flowers on her white cast.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, Sasha,” he says.
She takes her attentive eyes off Steve’s pink marker, looking up with a confused expression. “You were exactly where I wanted you to be, Papa,” she replies simply, holding her Cap bear with her good hand.
Steve smiles – he can’t help it – but doesn’t stop drawing. Bucky kisses Sasha’s crown.
“I’m sorry about your birthday, Dad,” she says then. She rests her head on Bucky’s pillow and yawns loudly. “Maybe we can celebrate tomorrow? I’ve not given you my present yet.”
Steve finishes the last petal of a daisy and puts the marker on his nightside table. He leaves the light on, in case Sasha will need it. He checks his phone, reads Bruce’s recap of his midnight yoga session with Pepper.
He doesn’t lay down completely, but mimics Bucky’s posture and sits on the bed, back on the headboard.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he tells Sasha, then. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”