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The Wrong Drink
The party is loud.
Not unbearably loud; just the usual Avengers-compound kind of loud where music vibrates through the floor, Tony Stark has absolutely ignored the concept of “inside voice,” and Sam Wilson is somehow winning an argument and losing it at the same time.
The common room glows gold beneath dim hanging lights. Glasses clink. Someone laughs too hard near the kitchen island. Peter is being aggressively beaten at Mario Kart by Natasha, who looks entirely too pleased about it.
It feels normal.
Safe.
You think that’s why you don’t notice the drink.
“You’ve been staring at Barnes for twenty minutes,” Natasha says without looking away from the screen.
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have,” Peter says.
“Traitor.”
“I’m observant.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“Still observant.”
You throw a pretzel at him.
He catches it triumphantly.
Across the room, Bucky leans against the wall beside Steve, nursing a beer he’s barely touched. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows. His hair falls slightly into his eyes every time he tilts his head.
And annoyingly enough, he catches you looking.
Your stomach flips stupidly.
He raises one eyebrow.
You immediately look away.
Natasha snorts.
“Painfully obvious.”
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she’s right.
You don’t see who hands you the drink.
That’s the thing that bothers you later.
You replay it over and over afterward, trying to remember a face, a voice, a hand.
But the party blurs together.
Someone passes by.
Someone says, “Here.”
You take the glass automatically.
Because this is home.
Because these are your people.
Because nobody should be poisoning anyone at Avengers Tower.
At first, it feels like heat.
A little too warm.
You loosen your grip on the glass and frown.
Tony is currently trying to convince Bruce to do karaoke.
Bruce looks like he’d rather fight the Hulk barehanded.
You smile faintly.
Then the room tilts.
Just slightly.
You blink hard.
Maybe you stood up too fast earlier.
Maybe you haven’t eaten enough.
You take another sip without thinking.
Mistake.
The dizziness blooms all at once.
Your heartbeat stutters strangely.
Sound becomes too loud and too far away simultaneously.
The lights overhead smear.
You grip the counter edge.
Okay.
Something’s wrong.
You glance around instinctively.
No one notices.
Sam is laughing.
Steve is arguing with Tony.
Bucky is looking somewhere else.
You inhale slowly.
You can handle this.
Probably just overwhelmed. Exhausted. Maybe the alcohol hit harder than expected.
You straighten.
Your knees nearly buckle.
Okay.
Not normal.
You should tell someone.
You know you should.
But there’s something humiliating about suddenly becoming the problem in the middle of everyone having fun.
And maybe it’s irrational, but you don’t want Bucky looking at you like you’re fragile.
So instead you quietly set the drink down and slip away from the party.
The hallway outside feels colder.
Quieter.
You press a hand to the wall.
Your pulse pounds violently under your skin.
The floor shifts beneath your feet in slow waves.
“Jesus,” you whisper.
Your vision doubles briefly.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
You just need your room.
Just water. Sleep. Maybe Bruce if it gets worse.
You can manage until then.
You don’t notice the footsteps behind you at first.
The compound is always full of movement.
Agents. Teammates. Staff.
But when you turn the corner toward the residential hall, the footsteps turn too.
Your stomach twists.
You look back.
A man you don’t recognize stands near the end of the hallway.
Dark clothes. Baseball cap low over his face.
Not Avengers staff.
Your instincts flare immediately.
“Can I help you?” you ask.
Your voice sounds wrong.
Slurred at the edges.
The man smiles.
Every alarm in your body goes off.
You turn sharply and keep walking.
Faster now.
Your room is just down the hall.
Your hand shakes as you reach for your keycard.
The footsteps behind you speed up.
Fear cuts through the haze instantly.
You whirl around.
“Back off.”
The words come weaker than you intended.
The man keeps coming.
“Easy,” he says softly. “You’re confused right now.”
Your blood runs cold.
Drugged.
The realization slams into you all at once.
Drugged.
You stumble backward.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You’re not feeling well,” he says. “I can help.”
You reach automatically for the knife at your thigh.
Your fingers miss the sheath twice.
The hallway sways violently.
He sees it.
And lunges.
You react on instinct.
Training takes over where thought fails.
You slam your elbow into his throat and shove hard.
But your balance is wrecked.
Your body is heavy and delayed.
He catches your wrist easily.
“Stop fighting,” he snaps.
Panic explodes in your chest.
You twist violently.
Your foot catches wrong.
And suddenly you’re falling.
The side of your head slams into the sharp edge of the hallway table.
Pain detonates white-hot behind your eyes.
For one horrible second, everything goes silent.
Then warm blood starts pouring down your temple.
The man curses.
You barely hear it.
Your ears ring violently.
The hallway spins.
You try to stand.
Your legs collapse underneath you.
The stranger grabs for you again.
Then voices echo from down the corridor.
“-told you he was cheating!” Sam’s voice rings out.
“I was not cheating,” Steve argues.
The man panics instantly.
You see it happen.
He bolts.
Runs.
Disappears down the emergency stairwell just as your vision finally gives out.
The last thing you hear before darkness swallows you is Bucky yelling your name.
Everything afterward comes in fragments.
Hands lifting you carefully.
Someone swearing.
Natasha’s sharp voice barking orders.
Bruce saying, “Move, move - get her to medbay now.”
And Bucky.
Bucky everywhere.
“Hey. Hey, stay with me.”
His hand against your face.
His voice shaking.
“Look at me.”
You try.
You really do.
But the world keeps slipping sideways.
When you wake properly, the lights are dim.
Your head feels like it’s splitting apart.
A monitor beeps steadily somewhere nearby.
You blink slowly.
Medbay.
There’s a weight against your mattress.
You turn your head carefully.
Bucky sits beside the bed.
Still in the same clothes from the party.
Hair messy.
Dark circles under his eyes.
His metal hand clenches so tightly in his lap you hear it creak.
He notices you moving instantly.
“Hey.”
The word comes out rough.
Like he hasn’t spoken gently in hours.
“Hey,” you whisper back.
Your throat burns.
Relief crashes over his face so hard it almost hurts to look at.
“Jesus Christ.”
He exhales shakily and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“You scared the hell out of us.”
You try to sit up.
The room spins immediately.
Bucky’s hands are suddenly there.
One at your shoulder.
One carefully supporting your back.
“Easy.”
“What happened?” you murmur.
His jaw tightens instantly.
“Somebody drugged you.”
The words make your stomach turn.
You close your eyes briefly.
“We know,” Bucky continues quietly. “Bruce ran bloodwork.”
“Oh.”
Your voice sounds very small.
Bucky notices.
Of course he notices.
His expression softens painfully.
“Hey.”
You look at him again.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
And somehow that almost breaks you.
Because embarrassment arrives before fear does.
Humiliation.
You should’ve noticed.
You should’ve told someone sooner.
You should’ve fought harder.
“I thought I could handle it,” you whisper.
Bucky goes very still.
“Handle what?”
“I thought maybe I was just tired.”
His eyes darken immediately.
“You knew something was wrong?”
You hesitate.
Bad choice.
Because now he knows the answer already.
“You left the party alone?”
You stare at the blanket.
“I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
Silence.
Then:
“You almost died.”
The rawness in his voice makes you look up instantly.
Bucky is furious.
Not at you.
At the idea of losing you.
Which somehow feels worse.
“Buck -”
“You should’ve told us.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve told me.”
The words hit differently.
You swallow hard.
“I know.”
His metal hand trembles once.
Barely noticeable.
But you see it.
“Do you have any idea what I thought when I saw you lying there?”
You can’t answer.
Because his voice sounds dangerously close to breaking.
Bucky scrubs a hand over his face.
“There was blood everywhere.”
Your chest aches suddenly.
“I’m sorry.”
He laughs once.
Short. Disbelieving.
“Don’t apologize for getting hurt.”
“I should’ve been smarter.”
“No.”
Sharp.
Immediate.
His eyes lock onto yours.
“This is not your fault.”
A soft knock interrupts the silence.
Sam peeks into the room first.
Then Natasha.
Then Peter immediately after because apparently boundaries are fake now.
“She awake?” Peter asks.
“No,” Bucky says flatly.
“I can literally see her.”
“Use your imagination.”
Peter ignores him and hurries over anyway.
“Oh thank God.”
The relief on his face is painfully genuine.
Natasha crosses the room more slowly.
Her expression stays calm.
But you know her well enough to see the fury underneath.
“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.
“Like I lost a fight with a truck.”
“That’s because your head met reinforced hardwood at terminal velocity,” Bruce says from the doorway.
“Comforting.”
“I try.”
Sam folds his arms.
“You scared us, sweetheart.”
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
Because they really do look scared.
All of them.
Peter especially.
The kid looks pale.
“Did they catch him?” you ask quietly.
The room shifts.
Natasha and Bucky exchange a look.
Not good.
“Not yet,” Steve says from behind them.
You hadn’t even noticed him there.
“Security footage got wiped.”
“Inside job?” you whisper.
“Looks like it,” Natasha says grimly.
Bucky’s jaw flexes violently.
“We’ll find him.”
The promise sounds lethal.
Later, after everyone reluctantly leaves to let you rest, Bucky stays.
Of course he does.
You drift in and out for a while.
Every time you wake, he’s still there.
Sometimes reading mission reports.
Sometimes staring at the floor.
Sometimes staring at you when he thinks you’re asleep.
That one makes your chest hurt most.
At some point deep into the night, you wake to quiet voices outside the curtain.
“You need sleep,” Steve says softly.
“I’m fine.”
“Buck.”
Silence.
Then:
“I should’ve noticed.”
Your breath catches.
Steve sighs tiredly.
“This isn’t on you.”
“She looked sick.”
“None of us saw it.”
“I should’ve.”
The self-hatred in his voice twists something inside you painfully.
You shift slightly.
The curtain opens immediately.
Bucky’s entire expression changes when he sees your eyes open.
Like his body physically cannot help reacting to you.
Steve notices.
Of course he notices.
His mouth twitches once before he quietly leaves.
“Hey,” Bucky says softly, stepping closer.
“Hey.”
“Need anything?”
You hesitate.
Then quietly:
“Come here?”
He freezes.
Just for a second.
Then immediately moves beside the bed.
You shift carefully, making room.
“You don’t have to -”
“Move.”
You smile faintly.
He lies beside you carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll break.
The mattress dips slightly beneath his weight.
You can feel his warmth immediately.
For a while neither of you speaks.
Just breathing.
Quiet monitors.
Night pressing softly against the windows.
Then Bucky says very quietly:
“I thought I lost you.”
Your eyes sting instantly.
You turn your head toward him.
He’s staring at the ceiling.
Expression painfully open in the dark.
“When Sam yelled for us…”
He swallows hard.
“I saw the blood before I saw you.”
You reach for him automatically.
Your fingers brush his metal hand.
He stills instantly.
“Buck -”
“And all I could think was that you were alone.”
His voice breaks slightly.
“You were hurt and scared and alone.”
You squeeze his hand carefully.
“Not alone anymore.”
He finally looks at you then.
Something unbearably soft flickers across his face.
“No,” he whispers. “Never again.”
The next few days blur together.
The compound becomes unbearably protective.
Sam escorts you everywhere like an annoyed bodyguard.
Natasha teaches Peter how to identify signs of poisoning “just in case.”
Tony upgrades security so aggressively that FRIDAY starts sounding personally offended by everyone.
Bruce checks your vitals every six hours.
And Bucky-
Bucky barely leaves your side.
It starts subtly.
A hand against your back when you get dizzy.
Food appearing beside you before you ask.
Late-night tea left outside your door.
Then less subtly.
Hovering.
Watching.
Sleeping outside your room the first night after medbay because “it’s temporary.”
It is not temporary.
You find him outside your door again around 2 a.m.
Sitting against the wall with a book in his lap he clearly hasn’t read.
“Bucky.”
He looks up immediately.
“You okay?”
Your chest aches.
“Why are you sleeping out here?”
“In case you need something.”
“You have an actual bed.”
“This floor’s not bad.”
You stare at him.
He stares back stubbornly.
Then quietly, almost embarrassed:
“I just need to know you’re safe.”
That ruins you a little.
You open the door wider.
“Come inside.”
He hesitates.
“You sure?”
“Unless you’ve developed a deep emotional attachment to hallway carpeting.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
Victory.
He settles carefully onto the edge of your bed while you curl back beneath the blankets.
Moonlight spills silver across the room.
You study him quietly.
The tension in his shoulders.
The exhaustion he’s pretending not to feel.
“You can sleep too, you know,” you murmur.
“I am sleeping.”
“With your eyes open?”
“Efficiently.”
You laugh softly.
His expression melts immediately at the sound.
Like hearing you laugh physically relieves something inside him.
“Can I ask you something?” you whisper.
“Anything.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His brow furrows.
“Like what?”
You hesitate.
“Like losing me would destroy you.”
Silence.
Bucky looks away first.
Which is answer enough already.
Your heartbeat stutters.
“Buck…”
He exhales slowly.
“You wanna know the truth?”
“Always.”
His metal hand flexes once.
“Because it would.”
The room suddenly feels very small.
Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears.
Bucky stares down at his hands.
“I tried not to…” He laughs weakly. “God, I tried.”
“Tried not to what?”
He looks at you then.
Completely unguarded.
“Love you.”
Your breath catches hard.
“And then I saw you lying there and…”
His voice roughens.
“I couldn’t breathe.”
You stare at him.
This beautiful, terrifyingly gentle man who looks more frightened of your pain than his own.
And suddenly every moment clicks together all at once.
The hovering.
The protectiveness.
The way his eyes always found you in every room.
The way he panicked.
Because this was never just friendship for him.
You sit up slowly despite the ache in your head.
“Bucky.”
He immediately moves to help you.
Hands careful at your waist.
“Easy.”
“I’m okay.”
“You literally fractured a table with your skull.”
“Bit dramatic.”
“You were unconscious for six hours.”
“Okay, maybe slightly concerning.”
He huffs a laugh despite himself.
And God, you love that sound.
You realize it very suddenly.
Very completely.
You love him too.
Your fingers slide carefully over his metal hand.
He stills immediately.
“You know what the worst part was?” you whisper.
His eyes lift to yours.
“What?”
“I kept wishing you were there.”
Emotion flashes raw across his face.
“I should’ve been.”
“No.”
You squeeze his hand gently.
“But when I heard your voice…”
Your throat tightens.
“I knew I was safe.”
Bucky breaks first.
You can actually see it happen.
All that restraint finally giving out quietly at the edges.
He leans forward suddenly and presses his forehead carefully against yours.
His breathing shakes.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispers.
You close your eyes.
“I’ll try.”
“No,” he murmurs. “Promise me.”
You smile weakly.
“Okay.”
His hand cups your face so gently it almost hurts.
Then he kisses you.
Soft.
Cautious.
Like he’s been wanting to for a very long time and still can’t quite believe he’s allowed.
You melt immediately.
Your fingers curl into his shirt.
He makes the quietest broken sound against your mouth.
And suddenly you understand.
Why he stayed.
Why he looked terrified every time you closed your eyes.
Why he slept outside your door.
Because Bucky Barnes loves with his whole ruined heart.
And once he lets someone in, losing them becomes unimaginable.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead stays against yours.
“You know,” he murmurs softly, “next time you want my attention, there are easier ways.”
You laugh weakly.
“Noted.”
“Good.”
He brushes his thumb carefully beneath the bandage at your temple.
Eyes unbearably soft.
“Because I’m not letting anything happen to you again.”
And for the first time since that awful hallway -
You finally believe you’re safe.