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You've been strangely silent since the fight with the Void. Bucky glances over at you as you pour a cup of coffee, lips tightly pressed into a thin line. Your fingers are curled tightly around the handle of the kettle, a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes plastered on your face when Ava compliments your coffee-making skills. This is not the usual you, gone is the cocky and sassy lover he once had, replaced by the silent avoidant person standing in front of him right now.
"You alright, love?" He murmurs softly into your ear, slipping his arms around your waist.
"I'm fine." You turn around and press a quick peck to his cheek, giving him the same smile you gave Ava. Bucky frowns, gently removing the cup from your hand.
"You don't sound fine."
"Really, Buck. I'm alright." You reach over to try and take the cup back but Bucky puts it just out of your reach, tugging you into his chest.
"I know what pretending to be fine looks like for you, you're not fooling me. You can tell me anything, I promise, love. Please, it hurts me to see you hurting." Bucky cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. You can see the sadness in his ice blue eyes and it causes your heart to ache, but you don't want to burden him even more.
"It's nothing." You shake your head. "You have enough on your plate already, taking care of this new team. I'll be fine. Just give me a few more days."
"Love! You always come first, no matter what. We can go to the roof if you want more privacy." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "You've been avoiding me for a week now, it's clearly affecting you and I want to help."
You sigh, flesh fingers interlacing with vibranium fingers and look him in the eye. "I saw…things…in the Void. Could we go to the roof?"
"Of course, my love." He nuzzles into your hair. "Let's go now, before the others come to disturb us."
He rests a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the roof where it's just the two of you and the open air of New York City. He lies in the usual spot, patting the area next to him and you lie down, staring up at the clear blue sky.
He holds onto your hand, thumb brushing over the back of your palm but doesn't say a word. You lean into his warmth, arm pressed against his and inhale deeply. The dark clouds gather in your mind as you think about how to tell Bucky about your experience in the Void but he squeezes your hand, a reminder that he's right here, by your side and pushes the clouds away.
"How many shame rooms did you go through?" You ask softly.
"Three." He swallows hard. "Pretty sure you can guess what I saw."
He chuckles, but there's a hint of pain in his eyes, his voice laced with sadness.
"Yeah, sounds about right. Sorry I asked." You look away.
"It's because of the shame rooms, isn't it? The reason why you keep avoiding me." he murmurs.
You let out a shaky sigh, closing your eyes as you gather your courage. You feel your skin crawl as your thoughts dip into the shame rooms but you force yourself to open your mouth. You need to tell him about it, he needs to understand why you keep avoiding him and then maybe he'll stop pestering you. Besides, you did make a promise to tell him everything in return for him doing the same. You're not going to be the first one to break the promise, and he had told you about the worst shame room he'd been in when he had a nightmare about it.
"Yes." You finally manage to choke out a word. "I —"
You want to scream, to cry, releasing all the pent up anger and hatred that's directed at yourself but they're blocked by something. Your breaths start to become rapid, powers instinctively flaring but there's nothing to see. No golden afterimages, no shimmering outlines. Bucky shifts, ice blue eyes filled with concern.
"Y/N, stay with me." He places your hand on his chest. "Listen to my voice, focus on breathing. I know you can."
He focuses on his breathing, making each breath he takes deliberate so that you can feel his chest rising and falling.
"In, out. In, out." He coaxes you to follow his breathing pattern, easing you into the rhythm. You struggle to control your breathing, but he's patient, his voice grounding, and soon you're breathing with him, hands clammy and shaking. His fingers remain intertwined with yours, his warmth a sign that he's still right there next to you. Your vision clears, heart still pounding in your chest but its from the dregs of panic that are slowly fading away.
"You alright now?" Bucky reaches up to cup your cheek.
"Yeah." You exhale. "Sorry about that."
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, love." He presses a quick kiss to your lips.
"About why I've been avoiding you." You decide to tell him, get the weight off your chest now rather than later. You'll have to tell him about it at some point, you can't keep avoiding him forever. "It — it's because of the shame rooms."
You remember it all as though it just happened yesterday. You remember the trepidation, your chest tightening as you stared into the inky blackness, then the coldness that washed over you as you stepped into the Void.
Then you blinked.
You know this place. You've been here a thousand times before.
"Begin."
You whirl around, coming face to face with the man you love and hate. He stares past you, as if you aren't there at all. The sound of guns firing ring in your ears and you turn to look at the row of teenagers, each with two pistols in their hands. Bodies have already started to litter the floor, the smooth white marble tiles stained crimson with blood.
One of the teenager's eyes turn golden and they cleanly put a bullet in between the eyes of another teenager. Behind them stands a young man, his back facing theirs as he takes down the woman who tried to kill him. The duo are a whirlwind of death, every bullet hitting their mark thanks to their powers. The teenager whose eyes can turn golden has the ability to see a few seconds into the future, the other has the ability to slow down time. Their powers compliment one another's, and they're the top of their class. It's no surprise that they're the ones left standing once the fight has died down.
Them and another teenager whose eyes turn ice blue whenever he uses his ice powers. The room's temperature has dropped to match that of his powers, and the other two can feel the chill seep into their bones. Frost has already crept onto their arms and legs, but they have each other's backs, and that's all they need to defeat the foe who stands before them. They move as one, one pair of eyes flashing golden while the other pair flashes silver, and the sound of two pistols firing rings in the air.
You finally let out the breath you didn't realise you were holding as a single body drops to the ground. The room slowly returns to its original temperature, now that the source of the chill is gone and the two teenagers stand over the body, looking at each other.
"Only one can remain."
You know this scene. You know how it plays out. You know that those eyes never flash silver again while the other flashes golden. You want to scream, to yell, to tell them to stop but the moment you take a step forward you're pulled back by an invisible force.
"Do not interfere." A voice hisses into your ear, sending chills down your spine. The invisible force tightens its grip, squeezing the air out of you and you gasp.
"Let go of me!" You try to fight back, but it's futile. You can only watch helplessly as a pair of eyes turn golden while the other remains a soft brown. One pistol is raised while two clatter to the floor, and a trigger is pulled.
Bang.
Your ears ring, there's muffled screaming coming from somewhere, you think it's you but you're not sure. Blood blooms from the hole in the young man's chest, a small smile permanently etched into his face.
"Я тебя прощаю."
I forgive you.
Then the horror movie repeats itself.
You scream and fight once more, struggling to stop your younger self from completing the test but each and every single time you're stopped. Your powers don't work here, you don't feel the familiar rushing in your veins whenever you activate them and you feel helpless. Tears have started to form in the corners of your eyes, springing from the frustration that boils over within you.
"Я тебя прощаю."
"Я тебя прощаю."
"Я тебя прощаю."
You've clawed at yourself until your fingernails are caked with blood, trying to rid yourself of the invisible force that's holding you back but you can't. You don't know why, you can't find the source of it and you howl in frustration.
"Я тебя прощаю."
"I'm sorry," you choke out.
Tears blur your vision.
"I'm so sorry."
"Я тебя прощаю."
You crumple to your knees, throat clogged with saliva. "You shouldn't."
"Я тебя прощаю."
The simulation keeps repeating. You want out. You need out.
"You need to learn how to forgive yourself, you know?" His voice rings in your head. Bucky.
"You need to learn how to take your own advice, you know?" You remember sassing him back.
"прощать." You whisper. Forgive.
This is your past. One of your demons given form. You can't run from it, it's as much a part of you as your powers are. You have to acknowledge it, accept it, overcome it, but it's so hard to do so. You killed the only friend you ever had, and he had let you. He had forgiven you for it.
You let out a sob, hands balled into fists.
"Я тебя прощаю."
You pull the trigger.
Bang.
You blink, and step through the door.
"Kill her." Your ten year old self stands at the door, staring at their mother.
"Kill her." Your ten year old self takes a step towards her, a gun concealed in their jacket.
"Kill her." You know where this is going.
You take a step towards the duo, then break into a run, throwing yourself between them.
"Don't. Please." You beg your younger self who stares up at you with empty eyes.
"Move aside." They say, voice emotionless.
"Don't." Your plea falls on deaf ears. They take a step closer towards your mother, hand moving towards their jacket.
"Stop, please." You reach out with a hand, ready to wrestle the gun from them.
"You can't stop it, чудовище." Your mother hisses, placing a hand on your shoulder.
Monster.
She shoves you onto the floor, staring down at you with hate and your heart breaks.
"You can't do anything."
A shout escapes your lips but she's right. You can't do anything. You can only watch as your ten year old self takes the gun out and presses its muzzle against her chest.
"ты моя миссия."
You are my mission.
"Ты моё дитя, я люблю тебя."
You are my child, I love you.
Blood blooms, creating a dark patch on her blue dress. Your ten year old self stares at the body, gun loosely held in their hand.
"Миссия выполнена."
Mission complete.
The scene repeats itself.
You have to figure out how to break this cycle, you can't stay here forever, trapped in this endless nightmare. You know it's not real, it happened in the past, but you can't stop thinking it's real. Well it is real, technically, it's just not happening presently.
You can't tear your eyes from it all. You remember this moment vividly, the first time you ever killed someone you knew. This was a test of whether you could sever bonds, whether you could put the mission before your personal feelings and you had passed it with flying colours. You hadn't hesitated, not even in the slightest, and that had made your handler proud, even if it meant you would turn your gun on him in the future.
You try to wrestle the gun from your younger self when they stand at the door but your mother wrenches it from your grasp and rams its butt into your head, causing your vision to spin. You stumble away as she hands the gun back to your ten year old self, and they shoot her.
Restraints wrap around you, holding you in place. You snarl, struggling to free yourself as the scene continues to play in front of you. The sound of a gun firing echoes in your ears, even after that part of the scene is over. You feel the leather tear into your skin the more you struggle, sticky crimson liquid trickling down your wrist.
"мама," you gasp, straining to reach her.
You are my mission.
"The people we meet along the way become a part of us." You don't know why you suddenly remember this conversation. Maybe it's because you're thinking about the way your mother used to embrace you like you were everything to her, her touch causing those memories to resurface once more. You remember the way she cradled you, whispering sweet nothings as the blizzard howled outside.
"Really? I don't…I don't know. I can't seem to feel it. My mother was kind, despite the environment she was in. I'm nothing like her." You'd looked at your hands, and though they were clean they still felt caked in blood.
"You just can't see it." He had smiled at you, ice blue gaze soft. "I promise, you are kind."
You shakily look up as your ten year old self enters the room once again, ready to severe their first bond and squeeze your eyes shut. You can't turn back the past, you can't stop your past self from killing your mother, but you can grow. You can become a better person, you can be kind just like your mother. You can be the gentle light in the darkness, shelter someone else from the raging storm outside, just like how your mother used to do for you.
"спасибо вас, мама."
Thank you, mother.
You take the gun from your younger self and point it at your mother. Once more you pull the trigger, watching as blood blossoms from the wound and life fades from her eyes. Bright blue turns dull and you let the gun clatter to the floor.
Pushing past your ten year old self, you pause at the door, turning to look back at them. They look back at you, as emotionless as ever. Your hand moves towards them but you decide to pull away in the end. You know they will learn what it's like to form bonds again, to cherish and strengthen them, to love them instead of fear them. You know there's still a spark of hope deep down somewhere in the child Hydra made into a weapon, a flame that burns, protected by memories of their mother.
So you blink and step through that door without a second glance.
You knew this was coming.
The first two rooms had one thing in common — they were moments from your past that haunted you to this day. Of course this moment would show up too. You wonder how many more demons you'll have to face before finding Yelena and Bob, inhaling deeply to prepare yourself for this room.
"Do not forget. The Asset is a tool, a weapon. Treat it as such."
Past you is older now, but your eyes are as empty as ever. You've learnt to compartmentalise your emotions at this point, and it's paying off. Your handlers don't see the pain you feel, the guilt that tears through you as you simply stand there, just as they want you to.
"Punish it."
Your past self's fingers curl around the handle of the whip, a slight tremor running through them that no one catches but you. You remember the terror that coiled in your chest, the way every part of you screamed for you to stop as you raised the whip in the air. Bucky didn't move. He didn't flinch. He simply stood there, waiting for it like he was conditioned to. The pale white scars on his bare back shone underneath the light, permanent reminders of what he's endured at the hands of his handlers.
You know what's about to happen but flinch anyways when the whip cracks as it's swung downwards, tearing through flesh with ease.
"Nineteen more to go."
More red streaks appear on already marred skin.
"Eighteen. Harder."
The whip bites deeper, drawing more blood.
"Seventeen."
Your past self grimaces, but swings the whip again.
"Sixteen."
Bucky winces at the sting but remains standing. He is a weapon, a tool. He does not feel pain, he does not feel fear. You are the heir of Hydra, an obedient child, and you will do as you're told.
"Fifteen."
Your past self continues on, shoving the guilt further down where it can't affect you.
"Fourteen."
"Thirteen."
"Twelve."
"Eleven."
"Ten."
Your past self lets out a shaky breath. It's starting to affect you to the point where hiding it is getting difficult, but still you persist, or his punishment will be worse. You know it will be. The last time you had faltered, he'd been forced to watch you be whipped, struggling against his chains until he's broken his wrist and his throat had gone hoarse from screaming.
"Nine."
A hiss of pain barely slips past his lips. His back has been torn almost to shreds, but you're nowhere near done yet.
"Eight."
Your clenched fist that isn't holding the whip has dug its fingernails so deep into your skin that it's drawn blood, but it's nothing compared to the stain that has spread across the floor from where Bucky is standing.
"Seven."
You want nothing more than for this to end.
"Six."
You want nothing more than for you to end.
"Five."
You want to end.
"Four."
Bucky lets out a cry of pain.
"Three."
Your past self sets their jaw, hands shaking.
"Two."
Bucky nearly falters.
"One."
You and Bucky scream.
"Do not forget. The Asset is a tool, a weapon. Treat it as such."
You move before you know it, putting yourself between the whip and the man you love. The whip doesn't come down, but your past self's hand does. They grab your shoulder, looking you in the eye with a dead gaze.
"Don't interfere."
You shove their hand off, snarl cut off when a metal hand wraps itself around your throat.
"Buck —"
"You can't save me. Or yourself."
The words cut deeper than anything ever could.
"I —"
"Disappear. Forever."
Your heart shatters even though somewhere at the back of your mind, you know that none of this is real. He throws you across the room before turning back around to face his punishment. A punishment he didn't deserve but accepted anyway because he was commanded to.
The whip cracks.
"Nineteen more to go."
You scream, throwing yourself at your past self.
They fight back, a well placed blow to the stomach sending you stumbling back.
"Eighteen. Harder."
Your fingers scramble for a gun, who your target is you're not sure. Do you put a bullet into Bucky's brain to save him from the pain that is to come? Do you put a bullet through your head to stop the torture? Still, the coolness of the metal seeps into your palm as it sits snugly in your hand.
"Seventeen."
You need to pull the trigger.
"Sixteen."
But who do you aim at?
"Fifteen."
You don't have much time left unless you want to see this play out again.
"Fourteen."
There's nothing left to lose, right?
"Thirteen."
You exhale deeply.
"Twelve."
You point the gun.
"Eleven."
You fire.
Your past self's body crumples to the ground and Bucky lunges at you despite his bloody back. You turn and pull the trigger again, stifling a sob. He collapses to the ground right next to your past self, blood seeping from the bullet hole in his forehead.
"I'm sorry, my love."
Unable to hold onto it anymore, your hand lets go and the gun falls to the floor, its barrel still warm.
The final door opens and you step through it.
By the time you've finished recounting your experience in the Void, you're shaking terribly. Tears stream down your face, a new addition thanks to the memories of the last shame room. Bucky wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the comfort of his embrace.
"Oh, love. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
You cry into his chest, clutching his shirt tightly as sobs wrack your body.
"I'm scared," you choke out. "I'm scared that I'm still capable of hurting you."
"I'm not scared of you hurting me, because I know you won't," he murmurs softly, gently rocking you in his arms.
"How do you know that?" Your throat is thick with saliva.
"Because no one can ever force you to do anything you don't want to ever again, and I know you don't want to hurt me." He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
"What if — what if deep down I —" You can't even form the words anymore.
"I know that deep down, even back then, you didn't want to hurt me. You only did so because you were forced to, because you knew that a worse punishment awaited me if you didn't." His lips graze your cheek. "I saw, afterwards, the pain in your eyes, the guilt that ate at you from the inside."
You find it in yourself to look up at him and see nothing but pure unadulterated love in his ice blue eyes. He really isn't afraid of you hurting him. He pulls you even closer into his chest, nuzzling your hair affectionately.
"I'll always be by your side." He kisses you again. "Nothing will ever separate us."
He removes an arm so that his thumb can wipe away the tears on your face. "I don't fear you, and I never will, because I know you will never hurt me."
A hiccup escapes your lips and you lean into his touch, yearning for the comfort he always provides. He gives it to you freely with a soft smile you've come to know and love, his calloused palm warm against your cheek.
"I love you." The words leave his mouth for the second time in your relationship. The first time was when you'd been on the brink of death.
"I love you too." You barely manage to say the return words.
The two of you lie like this in silence, basking in each other's presence and love. In every shame room you've severed a bond, whether it be your very first friend or your mother's, but the bond between you and Bucky is a strong one. It's stronger than the forces of the world that seek to tear it apart, it's stronger than the nightmares that plague the both of you, it's stronger than you imagined.
You listen to the calm beating of your lover's heart, a reminder that he's alright, that he isn't afraid of you or what you can do and find yourself lost in his eyes. He's looking at you with a different type of love from that of your mother, or your first friend. Your mother's gaze had been gentle, inviting, and warm. Your first friend's had been fiery, bright, and intense. Bucky's was a combination of both. You could see the gentle warmth that your mother's eyes once held, but also the intense fire that had once burned in your friend's eyes.
They weren't afraid of you, despite knowing what you could do, despite knowing that one day they might die at your hands because of who they were to you. Just like how Bucky isn't afraid either.
You let your hand rest on his cheek, tense at first but when he leans into your touch, you relax.
It feels nice, not being afraid, not being feared.
He smiles at you and you smile back.
Perhaps it's time you trusted yourself.