Work Text:
Looking back, the signs were all there.
You wake up already tired, already filled with a sense of please don't let it be time to get up from the moment you open your eyes. A peek at the clock on your nightstand betrays you. Still, you don't move, because your limbs feel full of sand and your head packed with cotton and your tummy won't sit still. You bury your face in your pillow and wish the clock would turn back a few hours.
By the time Steve comes knocking gently on the door, you're already buzzing under your skin. "Hey, sleepyhead," he whispers from the hall, door cracked just a bit because even when you don’t say anything he knows the light would be too much.
“Daddy?” you whisper back, eyes popping open to squint at his face. Immediately, the door pushes open wider, and Steve’s smile is like a balm on your jittery nerves.
“There’s my baby,” he says softly as he leans down, scooping you into his arms with your blankie still hanging from your shoulders. He tucks it secure around you and you’re swaddled in his arms like he’d just pulled you out of a crib instead. You give a sleepy snuffle and bury your face in his neck, soothed by the gentle rocking of his body in place. He whispers something above your head, but you don’t catch it and don’t try to.
Breakfast isn’t always a fuss, but this morning, you can’t seem to make yourself cooperate with the typical routine. Steve deposits you in Bucky’s lap with a careful “we’re a little wobbly this morning” in the other man’s ear.
“Dada,” you plead before Steve even finishes speaking, suddenly needing to be held as tight as possible before you can think of anything else. You wrap your arm around Bucky’s neck, the other holding your stuffed rabbit close to your chest, and you’re met with a pressure hug that seems to squeeze all the tension from your little body.
“Shhh, Dada’s here,” he murmurs in your ear, voice gravelly and safe. You don’t realize you’ve started crying until his shirt feels damp under your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Poor little doll,” he says as he rocks you a little in his lap, chin resting atop your head. “Mornings get under my skin, too, honey. I’ve got you.”
The morning passes like that, with your body cradled in someone’s arms every moment and little bites of food poked in between fussing. Every sense feels heightened unless you’re being held tight, so tight they can’t do anything else but hold you.
And like the time you’d built a block tower so high it reached the top of Daddy’s head… anything without a steady foundation will eventually crumble.
“I’ve gotta head into the office for a little bit this afternoon, get a little work done,” comes Steve’s voice from the kitchen, low enough that he’s probably trying to make sure he doesn’t disturb you. The television is playing your favorite cartoon, all nice colors and gentle sounds, and you’d been subdued for at least half an hour. Your sippy cup is even balanced on your knee, filled with sweet juice (that a small part of you suspects was watered down), and you’re playing quietly with your stuffed rabbit.
As soon as those words float into the living room, though, your brain loops them like a scratched record: gotta head into the office, get a little work done, head into the office, get a little work done without silly stinky crying babies getting in the way of real problems—
You don’t realize your hand is moving until your palm smacks against your cheek, too loud for your little ears and hard enough that it makes two sets of supersoldier senses become immediately alert. A hitching sob erupts from your chest and then everything becomes a little fuzzier, like time is passing slower and quicker at the same time, and you’re watching yourself react to the hands that come to keep you safe from yourself. Your body protests it at first, the arms that wrap around your waist and pull you into a broad chest despite how hard you’re shaking and how messy your face is from crying. Voices become a blur of shhh, shhh, you’re okay, you’re safe, gentle hands, you’re not in trouble. we love you. we love you. we love you.
When your eyes crack open again, you can tell it’s been longer than you thought it had been, because you don’t remember anyone turning off the television and the curtains are drawn and you’re lying down. You don’t remember lying down, but your head is cradled in someone’s lap, and there’s a heavy blanket on top of you, and your thumb is between your lips. You definitely don’t remember putting your thumb between your lips.
“There you are,” comes the voice above your head, and a broad metal hand rests on your scalp. “Hey there. Hi, baby doll.”
Your eyes flick up, slow and heavy, to see Bucky above you with an expression equal parts concern and absolute care. His hand slides down to cup your cheek instead, gently stroking with a cool thumb. “Welcome back, sweetheart,” he says softly, studying your features. “Don’t move too fast now.”
“Got some ice for your cheek, honey,” Steve says somewhere behind you, and you slowly turn your head to watch him come in from the kitchen. It still feels like you’re moving through molasses, and your face is sore like you’d cried long enough to irritate the skin, but time slips through your fingers like sand when you try to grasp it.
“…Mad at me?” you whisper after a second, words coming out slow like if you say it carefully enough the answer won’t bite. Instantly, both men shake their heads.
“Not a bit,” Steve assures you at the same time Bucky goes, “Don’t even think about it, kid.” You can’t help the way relief floods through you, and your arms pop out of their weighted-blanket-swaddle to reach for Steve. He bends down to hug you right there, your body still half-cradled in Bucky’s lap, your arms still trembling from the meltdown you hadn’t been fully present for.
“We need to use gentle hands with my baby, sweetheart,” he says low in your ear, hand rubbing along your spine and relaxing your muscles like magic. You can hear a hint of something in his voice that makes your chest ache. “Daddy needs you to be safe.”
“And you don’t deserve that for a minute, baby doll,” Bucky chimes in, arms tightening around your waist so you’re locked in a double hug. You let your head fall onto Steve’s shoulder and let Bucky continue, your eyes sneaking a glance at him whenever you get brave enough. “There’s nothin’ too big for us to help you handle. That’s our job, anyways, sweetheart.”
“Don’t like being a problem,” you mumble into Steve’s neck in response, the post-meltdown guilt starting to creep in as your cheek throbs. Like he could read your mind, Steve’s hand comes around with an ice pack shaped like a little frog, tucked into a baby-safe pouch for your skin. He holds it gently on your face, right where your knuckles had landed.
“You are never a problem,” he says, steady and looking you in the eye even if you’re too nervous to keep your gaze from darting around. “I mean it, honey. Dada and I love you, more than anything in the world. Even in your hardest moments.”
“Nothin’ in the world you could do to get rid of us, punk,” Bucky hums, planting a kiss atop your head. You lean back into his arms, letting your Daddy ice your cheek and your Dada hold you steady, and there’s no place in the world you feel safer.