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Steve's enhanced hearing was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, being able to hear what others thought he couldn't was the difference between life and death.
It was the reason he could plan for anything. Keep his friends safe. Keep the world safe.
On the other, it meant certain sounds that were just a touch too loud for most, were near debilitating for him. And, while it sounded trivial, it meant he woke up at the smallest noises.
A car honking ten miles out, Tony making coffee so he could continue with whatever project he was keeping himself busy with.
That was what was happening that night.
Steve opened his eyes, not even aware of what had woke him. He rolled over, preparing to fall asleep, when he made out Bucky's form on the other side of the bed in the dark.
His back facing Steve, shaking with stifled sobs.
"Buck?" Steve whispered, sitting up and reaching out a hand to settle on Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky's reflexes were quick; he flipped over, grabbing Steve's wrist with metal.
His eyes were glazed and teary, looking straight through Steve. Staring at an imaginary threat.
"Hey, Buck," he said, keeping his voice light. Just like if he had woken up on a normal morning. "It's okay, we're in the tower." He never said home. Never: "It's okay. You're safe, you're home." Because as much as they liked living in the tower, it wasn't really home. Their home was long gone; lost to a time that had gone on without them.
Like any mission, Steve was prepared for anything. Bucky could've just had a nightmare, and gotten startled when Steve touched him.
Or he could be deep in a flashback. He could think he was the Winter Soldier, again. He could think he had a mission that was never assigned. A mission that was expired—or executed—ages ago.
The first time that had happened, when Bucky woke up mumbling about the Asset, Steve hadn't known what to do. One thing led to another, and he had Bucky restrained on their bedroom floor.
They both drew blood that night, and Steve wasn't eager for a repeat.
So when Bucky's metal hand clasped his wrist hard enough to bruise, he spoke calmly.
"Buck, I need you to let go."
Steve would have let Bucky break his wrist if it meant he'd stay calm, but he knew Bucky would have strong objections to that when he came to.
His eyes snapped to Steve's face—really seeing him, not just through him—then down to their hands.
He pulled away as if he'd been burnt. Scrambled off the bed, pushing himself against the wall like he couldn't be far enough away even if he'd been halfway across the world.
Bucky slid down the wall, just staring at a spot on the floor ahead of him, and shakily pressed the code into his arm that made it clatter to the floor. He flinched at the sound, but seemed calmer with it off.
Steve lowered himself off the bed, made his way across the room slowly, and sat down next to him.
Bucky slid his knees up to his chest, his arm curled into himself. It was a protective position that Steve unfortunately recognized.
They were both silent for some time. Steve didn't think Bucky would speak unprompted, but he didn't want to rush anything. It was hard; really seeing what Hydra did to him. Watching him forget himself.
Once, after a bad episode had passed, they were standing in the kitchen in their wing of the tower, leaning on the counters. The calm after the storm.
"I hate this," Bucky had said, hand curled in his hair.
"I know," Steve said, "I can't imagine having to relive all that." He could imagine it. He wasn't free from his past either. But this was about Bucky, not him.
And he didn't know. Not really. He would never fully understand what Hydra did to him. Sure, Bucky gave him bits and pieces, and Steve's mind felt welcome to wander to worst case scenarios, but it wasn't the same. Not the same as seeing it. Not the same as living it.
"No, not that. I can deal with the flashbacks and the nightmares. I just—" his voice caught, and he shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes. When he removed them there were black dots in his vision. "I just hate for you to see it. The Winter Soldier. The Asset," he finished bitterly.
Steve didn't see the Winter Soldier. He just saw Bucky. Bucky, scared and hurting, and all he wanted was for him to feel safe again. Like when they were young and naive and wanting for greater things.
Once the silence had grown long and weary, Steve spoke. "You here?"
"I'm dangerous," Bucky said, in lieu of a real answer. "I'm a threat."
He sounded so small. Curled in on himself in a way that completely contradicted his words.
Bucky could have a gun in Steve's mouth, and a match set to the world, and Steve still wouldn't think him a threat.
"You know that's not true."
"I hurt you."
"It was an accident," Steve said, trying to catch Bucky's gaze. "See? Not a scratch." He lifted his arm to show his unblemished wrist, and tried not to take it too personally when Bucky flinched.
Bucky uncurled his hand from his chest, reaching towards the proof that Steve was fine. His fingers stopped just shy of his wrist, hesitating.
Steve gave him what he hoped was an encouraging look, and Bucky trailed his fingertips tentatively around the side of his wrist, over his pulse. He took his hand gently and guided it to his own cheek, pressing a kiss right where he had gripped too tight.
"There you go," Steve whispered, smiling softly. Bucky rarely let him say it, but he was so proud.
And that's when Bucky broke. He lunged at Steve, a sob bubbling up from his throat.
Steve let out a soft grunt at the impact, but held steady, wrapping his arms around the strongest man he knew. His best friend. The love of his life.
The end of his line.
"Hey, hey. I've got you, Buck. It's okay. I've got you." He placed a gentle kiss on the side of his head, and rubbed small circles into his back.
"Sorry," Bucky gasped against his shoulder, but Steve gently shushed him and carded his fingers through his hair.
"Nothing to be sorry for," he insisted. He was all soft touches and gentle coaxing. It was a comfort that Steve desperately hoped Bucky knew he deserved.
He whispered reassurances into the dark until the sobs dissolved into heavy eyelids fluttering shut against his shoulder.
"Let's get back to bed," Steve murmured, and picked Bucky up, carrying him back across the room.
Once Steve had gotten them both tucked back in, Bucky muttered something softly.
"What was that?" Steve said, equally soft, amusement making his tone light.
"Mm… Tired," Bucky said, his voice gravely and thick from the shed tears.
"Yeah?" Steve smiled. "You wore yourself out."
"Mm," Bucky agreed.
"Rest," Steve said, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple. "You deserve it."
"I love you," Bucky mumbled against Steve's chest.
"I love you too, Buck," Steve said, but Bucky had already fallen back asleep.
Steve's enhanced hearing was a blessing and a curse. But if it meant that Bucky spent one less second hurting, one less memory endured alone, then he'd amplify it tenfold.
It didn't have to be the difference between life and death, just the difference between warmth and a chill. The difference between loneliness—
and love.