Reality Bites, Eat This Instead

His ocean eyes were glued to yours, a soft smile on his lips as his head rested against yours, “Hey sweetheart…”

You couldn’t believe your eyes, he had left, you told him to. You reached up placing a hand on either side of his face, you studied him. He looked worn and tired, the silent tears streaming down your cheeks. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Steve settled himself between your legs, his hand coming up to caress your face, wiping the tears from your cheeks. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, “Princess… I could never leave you. After everything we have been through… I couldn’t do that to you.”

You squeezed him tightly, afraid if you didn’t, he would disappear from your grasp. Praying this wasn’t just a fever dream.

“But you said… What about Peggy?” your voice a soft whisper.

He pulled himself from your grasp, picking you up bridal style, walking towards the door. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he dangled the ranch house keys in front of your face, “You didn’t think I would actually let you sell that place, did you?”

You laughed lightly, “It was always meant for you… a place to have peace Steve…”

He pressed his forehead to yours as he picked up your bag slinging it over his shoulder, “It was meant for us Princess… Now let’s get home, we have a lot of time to make up for.”

He pressed a deep kiss to your lips before walking out the apartment door---

You startled awake, a hard surface against your back, your apartment pitch black, not even the lights from the city filtering in the windows like they normally did. Something wasn’t right.

Planting your hands on the ground, a sharp pain sliced through your hand, instantly recoiling, you felt the warmth of blood coating your hand. Reaching behind you, you felt your way up the wall, finding the light switch, flipping it on.

You were momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness, but as your eyes adjusted, a pit took anchor in your stomach. Your entire apartment was destroyed.

No.

Obliterated.

You clenched your fists at your sides as you looked to the windows, they were barricaded, covered with anything and everything you could find, not an ounce of light from outside filtered in. As for the rest of your apartment, well, it reminded you of Avenger’s Tower after the fight with Ultron’s bots. Shattered glass lay all over the floor, furniture and decorations littered the space, flipped on their sides, or upside-down.

You groaned as you carefully walked into the kitchen, running the warm water over your hand, reaching for the alcohol under the sink, you poured it over the gash in your palm. The stinging sensation causing your hand to tingle, after cleaning it, you reached for the first aid kit under the sink, rummaging through it to procure bandages. As you wrapped your hand, your fingers traced over the scars on your knuckles, a memory flickering in the back of your mind of a rainy night not too long ago. The feel of the tree bark tearing at your flesh, followed by a sad brunet’s bright blue eyes full of concern and rough fingertips softly tying your bandages.

You blinked, pulling yourself from the memory, gripping the counter tightly, you willed the memories to bury themselves back in the darkest pits of your consciousness. Taking a deep steadying breath, you released the counter, clearing your windows of their makeshift barricades, and setting your furniture up-right, lastly you picked up the glass, careful not to gouge yourself again.

You sighed, the apartment was still a disaster, but the rest could wait until morning, you stepped back into the kitchen, your empty bottle of wine mocking you on the counter. Scoffing, you grabbed it and the others, popping the tops off them, you turned the neck of the bottle downward in the sink. You watched as the deep red liquid sloshed down the drain. One by one each bottle emptied, you picked them up dropping them into the trash, if you continued to drink like this, you would need a new apartment. As the last bottle clattered into the trash, you flicked off the light, and a knock sounded through your apartment. Your head whipping to the door, padding towards it, you checked the time on the stove, 1:17am. Shaking your head, you cracked the door peeking out,

“Bucky? What’s goin on? Are you alright?”

You opened the door a little more to get a better look at him, he looked worse for wear, his still shoulder length hair disheveled, eyes dark and red rimmed, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he leaned against your door jamb. Your eyes furrowed, stepping back and opening the door so he could walk in, gesturing to the couch.

You and Bucky weren’t the closest, but when you were on the run with Steve, you had the chance to get to know him a little better in Wakanda, and in the few weeks you had after everyone came back from the second snap. You both cared for each other, you found solace, a kindred spirit of sorts. So, when he showed up on your doorstep, looking like he just came back from a war, you understood, he still fought wars in his mind, his memories still flooding back to him, haunting him.

You softly closed the door, bolting it, and walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, before walking into the living room to settle down on the couch next to him, handing him the glass. As he lifted it to his lips, you grabbed the freshly folded blanket on the back of the couch, wrapping the two of you in it,

“You wanna talk about it?” your voice barely a whisper.

All he could do was shake his head, his crystal eyes meeting yours briefly, the horrors they had witnessed, you could only imagine, but they held a sadness you knew all too well. You nodded in understanding, resting your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes flutter shut. After a few minutes, his head rested against yours, his breathing becoming even. You forced yourself awake; you were not sleeping on your couch tonight. Rising to your feet, you took Bucky’s hands in yours.

He hesitated for a moment before following you, as you entered your room, he began to protest, your name falling from his lips, the exhaustion and brokenness nearly palpable. You crawled onto your bed, rolling down the covers, before standing again, venturing to the dresser inside your closet. You grabbed a pair of men’s sweats from the bottom drawer, you stared at them for a long moment , but you swallowed the lump that threatened your throat, walking back out into the bedroom.

Bucky was still standing where you left him, shaking your head, you grabbed his hands, placing the sweats into them, you gestured to the bathroom,

“Get changed, you aren’t sleeping on my couch.” Your brows were raised, but your tone was solid, there wasn’t any room for rebuttal.

“Peach…”

You shook your head, “No, don’t ‘Peach’ me James Buchanan Barnes.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he disappeared into your bathroom, closing the door, you flicked the light in your room off, crawling into your bed, the soft yellow light peeking out from around the door, becoming a beacon as the door swung open. Bucky stepped out, sweats sitting low on his waist, the deep ‘V’ of his muscles trailing below the waistband. They were tighter on him than they had been on Steve; they hadn’t been baggy on him by any means, you just didn’t realize how much bigger Bucky was than him.

You rolled the covers back down so he could climb in, but he stopped just short of the bed, frozen in place looking down on you, “Peach, the couch is…”

“Shut up and lay down. I refuse to sleep on my couch when there is a perfectly good bed right here.”

“But…”

“And I am not leaving you by yourself. So, get comfortable.”

He swallowed, nodding as he placed his clothes in the chair by the door, he walked to the other side of the bed, you held the covers open as he slid in. The cold sheets are already absorbing his body heat, warming you down into your bones. You gave him a couple of minutes before turning over, back facing him, as you instinctually scooted closer, casually cuddling against him.  

You dozed off, as his arm draped across your middle, securing you tightly against him, you smiled to yourself, as the two of you drifted off to sleep. He just needed to feel safe.

You awoke shortly after in panic, at Bucky’s strangled cries. You flipped over, searching the room, to find it empty, your eyes settled on Bucky, who was still asleep. His eyes still closed as he thrashed next to you, his labored breathing and sweat slicked his face and chest. A nightmare. You recognized the symptoms because you had to soothe Steve through them as well. You had lost count of how many times you had gently woken him from his hellish memories. You imagined Bucky’s were worse, having been tortured and forced to do unimaginable things for so long.

Your heart ached for him as you reached for his face, delicately caressing his cheek,

“Bucky?” you whispered softly.

You gave him a light shake with your other hand,

“Buck?!” you whispered again, panic seeping into your tone.

His eyes flew open as he bolted straight up in the bed, his chest heaving as his eyes settled on yours, but they didn’t see you, the panic and sheer agony in them made you want to wrap your arms around him. You brought yourself up, sitting next to him, you placed a hand on his chest,

“Hey. It’s okay, you are here, not there. You’re with me, focus on me.” You spoke softly, trying to soothe his nerves.

Slowly, so very slowly, he returned to himself, the recognition lighting in his eyes as the nightmare released its hold on him. He blinked hazily, his breathing slowing. You hated this part, the aftermath of what they had become, all the decisions they had to live with. The pain you could see in his eyes, mirrored the pain you had seen so many times before in Steve’s, all you wanted to do was help, but you didn’t know how.

You caressed his cheek softly, repeating,

“It’s okay. You are Bucky, you aren’t him. You aren’t him.”

His eyes closed slowly, as he leaned toward you, his head resting against yours, you closed your eyes, your hand moving to the back of his neck to trace soothing circles as you waited for him to fully calm down.

“I’m sorry, Peach. I didn’t mean to… I can’t…”

You brought your hand to his cheek again, his eyes meeting yours, you shook your head softly, “You don’t have anything to apologize for Bucky. I understand, it isn’t your fault…”

“They don’t stop Peach, they don’t--” he sighed as you eased the two of you back into the covers, laying his head near your chest, you curled around him. Shushing him quietly as your hand carded through his soft long locks. His eyes drifted closed as you whispered reassurances to him, your own eyes sliding shut.