Chapter Text
What is this? What exactly is happening right now?
What do you mean this bitch isn’t going to jail? What do you mean the
‘New Avengers
’?
Your head is about to burst with all the questions, and the flashes of all the cameras in front of you only make matters worse. Valentina is still talking, people are shouting questions; it’s all just too much.
You glance at Bucky, who seems much calmer than you; the deep lines between his eyebrows, though, betray that he is also confused and overwhelmed.
The noise is getting louder and louder, to the point where you cannot take it anymore. You just need a quiet corner, away from everyone, just for a few minutes.
“Excuse me,” you mutter, and stray off from the center of attention. In your peripheral vision, all heads turn to you, but at this point, you don’t give a single shit.
You don’t have to go too far before the corner you were searching for finally reveals itself — a narrow, forgotten nook at the side of the building. It’s dim, cool, and blissfully quiet. The low hum of the city remains in the background, muffled, distant, no longer a threat. You stumble into the space and your breath catches as you exhale, letting your exhausted knees give out.
Leaning back, your head finds the wall, you let your eyelids fall shut as your body sinks into the stillness. For the first time in hours, the world stops spinning. The adrenaline of the battle and the joy of saving Bobby — and, thus, the whole city — has started to wear off.
New Avengers.
You scoff in irony. It’s probably the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.
You couldn’t be an Avenger. You are not worthy of that title. Weak, worthless, covered in shame — that’s what you are. You will never gather the strength to protect a whole country, let alone the whole planet. Those visions did a great job reminding you of that. You can practically hear her voice ringing in your head.
A constant disappointment. How come my kid grew up to be a nothing, a nobody? You can’t do anything right, you can only make my life more difficult than it already is. Useless. Go away, so I don’t have to look at your crying little face! You can’t take the truth, so you cry like a baby? Useless AND weak? Is there nothing worthy about you?
She went on and on, again and again, no matter how many times you tried to get away from that room. No matter how many times you tried to hug that little helpless girl, who had no one to protect her from those words coming from her own mother. Words that hurt as much as a belt against your skin — if not more. No matter how many times you tried to shut her up by talking back, by gagging her with your belt around her mouth. Nothing worked.
Then you started screaming for help, with every ounce of strength you had left, until your closest friends started coming. Steve, Nat, Wanda, Clint, Sam; many others. But each time you tried to reach them, they disappeared, one by one — turned into that terrifying black shadow. Until you heard Bucky’s voice. He was the only one who called for you inside the void; everyone else was a silent figure. The moment you saw each other from afar, you both ran, ready to jump into each other’s arms.
You didn’t get the chance though. The moment your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of his, the world shifted — and you were in Bobby’s room. Your confused, panicked gazes met, but there was no time to take a breath. You had to rush to Yelena, save Bob, save everyone trapped in this madness. And you did it — you saved the day.
Then why the hell do you feel like a complete failure?
Υour head is about to explode from the pain. Closing your burning eyes, you rest your head against the wall behind you. The hard, chilly surface offers some comfort.
Soon, someone takes their place next to you, and you don’t have to open your eyes to know who it is.
“Hey,” Bucky’s soft, soothing voice runs through your veins like a caress to your overwhelmed nervous system. “Are you okay?”
Your nostrils dilate as a puff of air escapes in irony. This time, you open your eyes.
“Are you ?”
Bucky scoffs back, his smirk carrying nothing but bitterness. You vaguely remember his answer inside the void a few minutes ago — something along the lines of “I’m fine, I have a great past.” Sarcasm; his favorite line of defense.
“We all went through hell. I don’t think we’re supposed to be okay.”
Your teeth unconsciously press into your bottom lip as you nod slowly. With a long exhale, your head finds its place on Bucky’s shoulder. Your eyelids fall again and then, like magic, the voices in your head become more distant.
You can’t help but notice it’s not Bucky’s metal arm that is pressed against you. “You finally sat on the correct side,” you comment, the tiniest of grins on your lips.
Almost always, Bucky sits on your right, which means you have to lay your head on his hard metal shoulder, and that’s a constant complaint of yours.
With a soft chuckle, he confirms, “I've finally learned my lesson.”
You won’t admit it, but you kind of miss it now, even though his flesh arm is much more comfortable and warm. The memory of solid cold metal was somehow… comforting. Maybe because that’s what being with Bucky means.
After the Blip, everything changed so violently. You lost five years of everyone’s lives. You lost your closest friends. But Bucky was always there.
It wasn’t easy — it may have been painful at times — but he was always there. He is always there. Somebody to lean on, somebody who cares no matter what. He is the person closest to you. ( How close? You are not actually sure. The line between friends and something more gets blurred more often than not; but that’s a conversation for a whole other time.)
“It was worth it though,” he remarks as if stating a simple truth — but the tension in his jaw tells another story. “Wasn’t it?”
“Well, it made us fucking Avengers, so, pretty much,” you reply flatly.
Bucky snorts, slightly turning his head towards you. “You know that’s not what I mean, y/n.”
Your little chuckle indicates that, yes, of course you know. Bucky isn't one to care about titles and honors. In fact, you’re pretty sure he feels just as revolted by the hypocrisy of the whole situation as you do.
“Yeah,” a slow, tired smile starts to decorate your face. No matter the cost, you’re on the same page. “It feels nice to save people again.” You turn to him, and the same gratitude is mirrored on his face.
Soon though, Bucky returns his gaze to the ground before he speaks. “I may feel a little less shitty for dragging you into this.” His voice carries regret.
“Hey,” your shoulder bumps against his, “you didn’t drag me; I volunteered,” you remind him, gently.
A scoff escapes him as he toes a rock with the tip of his combat boot. His voice comes softer this time. “Right.”
Leaning your side into his, you tilt your head forward so you can enter his vision again. “Where you go, I go, remember?” He may be avoiding eye contact, but his grin is sweet like syrup.
And that’s because your statement is nothing but sincere. Somewhere along the way, you two became a team. You’re not sure how — it just worked. Even when he announced his intention to run for Congress — an idea you personally considered completely ridiculous — you didn’t walk away. You stood by him, through every awkward speech, every uncomfortable handshake and fake smile. (Thankfully, that chapter didn’t last long.)
Bucky nods once, finally meeting your eyes again. “Even through hell.” You add, raising your eyebrows, as if sealing the vow.
You watch as Bucky’s expression suddenly transforms from peaceful and content to blank and cold. The teal blue of his eyes becomes empty. You recognize that look very well — it’s a very specific face he makes when the void of his PTSD sucks him in; when he gets lost in the memories, the pain, the anguish.
You and Bucky have this ritual for times like this, when either of you dissociates. “Hey,” a hand on his forearm to ground him, and you shake your head softly, “don’t go there.”
Then, Bucky always responds with the same question, the same fearful, pained expression: “What if I don’t have a choice?”
That’s when you tilt your head, a bittersweet grin on your lips, and offer your hand, palm up, for him to hold onto. “Then, I’ll be right here when you come back.”
Bucky stares at your open palm, waiting between the two of you, for a few seconds. It works — just like every other time — as he finally threads his fingers through yours and holds on tight. You tighten your grip right back, and you hear him letting out the heaviest sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all this time.
You exhale too, and let your heavy head fall on his shoulder once more; this time his follows, landing on top of yours. You both close your eyes, allowing yourselves to cherish these few moments of peace, away from everyone.
Even though you both need it so desperately, it unfortunately doesn’t last long. Yelena’s voice, coming from afar, makes you jump on the spot.
“Hey, голубки!”
You have no idea what that means, but it makes Bucky scoff and smirk at the same time.
“Press is asking for all of us. Get off your asses.”
Reasonably, Bucky is up first, then offers you his metal arm to help you get off the ground with minimum grunting and swearing. God, you really are exhausted.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do most of the talking,” he assures you.
“I wouldn’t take the opportunity away from you,” you tease him while patting as much dirt off your uniform as possible. “You’re getting so good at it.”
Bucky throws you a death stare, even though you can tell he’s suppressing a chuckle. He knows you messing with him about his Congressman speeches is not ending anytime soon.
By now, he’s a few steps ahead of you, but your legs don’t seem to want to move before you have a chance to ask what’s been on your mind all this time.
“Bucky!” you shout.
He stops and turns back to you with a curious expression.
“How did you get out?”
Of the Void — you need to know. Was it a coincidence, the fact that you found each other inside your nightmares, or whatever those are called?
Bucky seems to read all of this on your face, without you having to voice a word. The knot between his eyebrows relaxes and his eyes become somehow bigger, brighter, before he replies.
“I found the only person who gives me peace.”
It is, more or less, the answer you were expecting. That doesn’t mean it didn’t still take your breath away. Your eyelids flutter, involuntarily, fighting to hold unshed tears — tears of joy, of relief. For now, all you can do is nod, a silent promise for a conversation that needs to happen. Now is not the time, but soon. Real soon.
Bucky — your friend, your partner, your love — nods back, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. He nods once more and stretches his arm again, for you to grab and follow.
The weight of everything still lingers, the crowd’s roar hasn’t died down. But his hand is warm and steady. Certain. And you take it. Like you always do.