Top Posts Tagged with #dad!bucky

The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read* This is undergoing major editing rn. I just write and hit edit, but I love this story and re-read it a lot. There's a lot I've wanted to change/tighten up. Until it's completed fixed, there's going to be some confusing things. Some of the parts are Present tense while others are past. Sorry! i'm working on it.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU

-----

The metal of the chair is cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzz faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, but you the only thing shielding you from the AC is a thin hospital gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don't move. Not because you're obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that makes your stomach churn. He doesn't look at you. He rarely does. You aren't a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You've been chosen for something… special."

You don't speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. "We're calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

Still, you say nothing. You've learned silence is the only control you have left. But you can't stop your stomach from sinking, can't stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to you?

"We've selected the optimal pairing. Your mind-remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence, and his… well. You'll see."

You frown, finally speaking when curiosity gets the best of you. "His?" Who is he? What the fuck are they going to do to you?

He finally smiles. "Yes. We're combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You'll be carrying a child soon."

Your heart stops.

"What?" you croak. The doctor can't be serious? What do they want with a baby? Would they kill you after you had it? What if you couldn't get pregnant? Would they kill you as a punishment?

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. "Your body will serve as the host. We'll be implanting within the next week."

"No," you whisper, eyes wide. "You can't-please. I don't want-"

Dr. Johns leans in closer. "Want?" he echoes. "You don't get to want. This isn't about you."

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week is hell.

You scream. You cry. You beg. But the drugs are stronger than your resistance, and they don't even look at you while they do it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it's over.

And you're left in a cell, aching and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing and you're trying to comfort it. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly, something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Something so small and beautiful. A little life you created.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

"Hi," you whisper to the silence. "I'm your mom." The word feels weird to say. You're a mom now.

This is not the life you want for your child. But all you can do is love it and hope there's a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. It's is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to it. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don't care anymore.

You name it in secret, just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. Your baby. Your everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home, not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

"You're barely holding together," a guard snorts. "Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options."

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Their words are hurtful, but you try to ignore them. You try to think of your baby instead.

You wonder what your baby will look like. What kind of personality will it have? Will it be happy? Or will this place suck the innocence out of it. Will it be born early? Maybe late? Will it look like you?

You imagine so many different scenarios and outcomes. They give you hope.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and it with it discomfort. Your body hurts from the pregnancy changes. Your cot doesn't support you the way you need it to, leaving you with stiff muscles in the morning. Your clothes which were already too tight, just get tighter and tighter. Eventually they give you bigger ones, but the entire process is humiliating with horrible jokes and jabs made at your expense. Your feet and ankles ache and while you start out being able to massage them for some relief, your growing belly ends up preventing you from continuing.

The cravings are the worst part. You long for foods you used to be able to have. Fresh strawberries... chocolate... pickles... thing you know you'll never be able to get. Nothing you receive is fresh or really tastes good at all. But it's what you have to eat if you want to stay alive.

You don't know who the father is still. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament. Or was it something even darker. Was the father a man who willingly signed up to use you? Did he know what you were going through, what your baby will go through, and deliberately choose to go through with this?

Either scenario is painful to think about.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would he love it the way you do? Or would he not care at all. Would it be safe for the baby to know him?

What kind of life will the baby have?

You try to escape numerous times. It never works. They know you are too smart for regular locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for a specially made door, one with no handle on your side, a permanent guard watching you, and cuffs that restrict your motion. Eventually the consequences outweigh the potential benefits. You had to think about your baby, you couldn't risk your life with an escape plan that most likely won't work. So you have to stop trying.

-

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

The one time they decide to not medicate you is the one time you actually want the fucking meds. It doesn't matter how much you beg for something, anything to soothe the pain. Their joy from hearing you scream is more important than your comfort.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. The pain is immeasurable, unlike any you'd ever felt before. You're covered in sweat and blood, but you don't care. You want to see your baby. "Please! Let me hold her, just once! please!" you beg and plead.

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

After a while a nurse comes back in to make sure you're still alive. Her checkup is a haze, you're too busy sobbing to really understand what she's doing. Somehow you get cleaned up and put back into your cell with a bottle of electrolytes, a giant pad for the bleeding, and a massive hole in your heart.

You don't move for days. And no matter how many times you ask, they refuse to show her to you.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb. Nothing matters anymore, you don't have your baby.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

"You'll get to see her," Dr. Johns says smoothly, "once a week. But only if you behave. You need to stop sulking and do what we ask. You need to heal. If things go as planned with the baby, you'll be needed again in the future. And you need to be alive for that."

You want to spit in his face. Tell him you'd rather die than going through this again, than experiencing the heartbreak of losing another child to them. But the thought of your baby now, of her eyes, her breath, her little smile that you have yet to see... tempts you greatly.

"…Okay," you say. At least you can check if she was okay. You'd have to figure a way out for the both of you later, before this happens again.

-

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful blue eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can't help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier). A picture of the man in question is printed in the top corner. His face is dead serious, framed by brown hair that matches your baby. His cold, emotionless eyes stare up at you through the paper. He looks like the shell of a man.

You nearly drop the file.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks. You've seen him before multiple times in passing. You've heard the guards talk about him, every new detail they share more horrifying than the last.

Your heart breaks, not for yourself, but for him. He doesn't know. There is no way he does. You've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they are. He doesn't know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don't tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he's even capable of caring for anyone right now. Does he remember what it's like to feel that? He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt you, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it's too much of a risk. You have no idea how he'll react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die... there'll be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

-

The guards give you one hour. That's the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name, never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she's so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don't move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

"I missed you," you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. "Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?"

She coos softly, hand brushing against the worn sweater you're wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces. She's so precious, your love for her is overwhelming.

"You're safe with me," you promise, even though it's a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained super soldier, like her father. "Just for now. You're safe."

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. "Don't listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy's here." you mutter. And for now, you are.

-

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to, but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger, you pray time will freeze somehow so you never have to give her back

"Sleep, baby," you whisper. "Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can't give you."

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There's one day, she's quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn't smiling. She isn't moving.

"Is she sick?" you ask the guards, voice rising. "What did you do?!"

"No questions," says the same monotone response. "One hour. No more."

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently. Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes, a beautiful shimmering blue, blink up at you. Relief hits like a tidal wave.

You cradle her even tighter. "You scared Mommy," you whisper into her soft hair. "Don't ever do that again, okay?"

Your voice cracks. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

You have no idea what they're doing to your child. It kills you to think they're hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she's a resilient baby. She's smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream and you fight. You're drugged. And when you come to, bleary, arms strapped down in your cot, you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. No heavy footsteps or light buzz of chatter. Just an uncomfortable silence.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn't a guard. It's no one. The electricity shuts down and so the electric locking door pops open with a hiss of released air. Like the door, the electronic restraints pop open, giving your arms some much needed relief.

You wait for a moment, worried this is all some cruel prank.

Nothing happens and you finally stand up after deciding it's safe enough to attempt to leave. You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic. Your legs wobble slightly from their lack of use, but you push through.

It's dark and eerily quiet outside of your cell. You find a wall and follow it while your eyes adjust to the darkness.

There's no soldiers, scientists or other prisoners. Just the dead hum of a forgotten place. You wonder what happened, where did everyone go? Why weren't you taken with them? Is your baby gone too?

You feel your breathing pick up as worst case scenarios play through your mind about your baby. You need to find her, but where do you even start?

A sharp, familiar cry pulls you out of your thoughts. She calls out for you, her yells terrified. It's your toddler. Your head snaps in the direction her cry is coming from.

You pick up the pace, keeping an arm out in front of you to prevent you from smacking into something. You follow her cries for what feels like forever through the maze of a building until finally you make it to her.

You find her in a room, a small cell with a tiny window, is filled with overturned equipment. She's crying, face red, fists curled. She's still in her tiny containment crib, one she's definitely overgrown but they didn't care to change for a bigger bed. No one's watching her anymore.

You gently pick her up, immediately pulling her close to your chest.

You feel a flood of relief and happiness flood you. "I'm here," you comfort while rocking her gently. "I'm here. I got you. I got you, baby. I'm so sorry you've gone through this. I'm here now, I promise I'll stay with you. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

"Mama, scared." She tightly clutches onto your sweatshirt, like she's afraid you'll leave. "Scary, mama."

"I know baby, it's okay though. Mama's here." You hold onto her tightly and kiss her forehead. You stay there in her room for a while, just trying to soak in the feeling of having her all to yourself. Eventually, you try to figure out what to do next. You can't stay with her like this forever. It'll be night in a few hours and who knows what'll happen. You need to have a plan.

When you were brought here, you weren't told where 'here' is. It could be the US, it could be a completely different country. All you know is that when you look out any of the windows on the property, all you see is miles of forest outside. Who knows what's out there or how far the forest goes. You debate just going for it, pushing your way through the forest in hopes to run across someone who can help you. But there's too many unknowns. Any strangers you come across could be dangerous and hurt you, and if they're not dangerous, what if they don't speak the same language? How will you communicate? What if it rains or you come across a dangerous animal. You don't have anything to fight with and you definitely aren't dressed for a hike. There's also no guarantee of civilization on the other side of the forest. There's too many risks, and you're not ready to take them right now.

The first thing you do is check if there's any vehicles left behind. If there is, that changes everything. You find a broken down truck near a storage shed, but's in desperate need of repair. You return back to the building and scavenge what you can. You find food, water, a flashlight and other miscellaneous items that you take to a room you find that locks from the inside. By the time you gather everything you can find, the sun is setting and the building is getting colder.

You bring the last of the blankets, stolen from nearby cells, into the former office/newly turned safe haven, closing and locking the door behind you. The office is small, but big enough to not feel suffocating. It helps there's a small window to let some light. You push together two thin mattresses you managed to drag down the hall, making a bigger bed. You cover the top with a few blankets to separate the dirty mattresses from you and your toddler, not wanting her to get sick. When the bed is covered, you let her climb on top and get comfortable. You hand her a pen and paper to keep her distracted while you work.

Whoever was in this office left in a hurry. Papers, folders, and pens are thrown all over the floor and a worn wooden desk. The trashcan is full of shredded sheets to the point where the pieces are falling onto the ground. The file cabinet has drawers left open, barely anything inside aside from a loose note page and an empty folder. You gather all of the papers and set them in a tall pile on the wooden desk you push into the corner. You fold the clothes you found and organize them in the file cabinet before deciding it's almost too dark to do anything else. You have a flashlight, but you don't want to waste the battery. Who knows how long you'll be here.

As the last of the light fades away, you head back to your makeshift bed with a scavenged granola bar in hand. You settle in next to your daughter who's fallen asleep, exhausted from the emotionally draining day. You stare at her in awe, watching as her little chest moves up and down with each breath. You can't believe she's really here with you right now, it feels like a dream. You gently stroke her hair, a smile on your lips. There's a light peace in the air, one you've been longing for.

You know, at some point, you'll have to leave the building. You'll need more food and water. At some point it'll start to get too cold for you to stay. You'll have to figure out a way to another safe place.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't seen a regular person or even a busy town in years. You have no idea what to say or where to go. When you do get to someplace safe, how do you start your life again? The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside has constantly been evolving. There's no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe for now. From your calculations, if you ration strictly you'll be able to make it for at least a few months. You'll figure out the rest later.

-

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You'll both freeze to death if you stay here much longer. You're thinner, more exhausted too. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps. Every day you go out to the truck to see if you can try to get it working so far. Nothing's changed so far. With every failed attempt to turn it on, you get more anxious for the future.

Then one day, everything changes.

You hear footsteps echo through the halls. They're followed by strange machine noises and English voices. Whoever it is, it's not HYDRA. You don't know if that terrifies or comforts you.

You don't know who these people are, but you're unwilling to take any chances of this going badly.

Baby, we've got to go. I need you to be really quiet for me, okay?" you try to keep your voice calm as you talk to your daughter. You pull a sweater over her small frame, hoping it'll keep her warm enough outside.

She looks up at you with confusion in her eyes. "Why?"

There's some people here that we don't want to meet right now. We need to get outside before we run into them. It'll be okay, I promise sweetie. I just need you to be brave and quiet right now." you whisper. You pick up your baby up, grateful you left the door open so it won't creak as you try to leave. You don't have time to gather any of your supplies. You just run down the halls, sock covered feet slapping against concrete. You navigate the halls from memory, having walked around the building hundreds of times at this point.

She pouts, holding a rag doll you made her from cloth tightly in her arms which are now wrapped around your neck. "Mama, I'm scared." her voice wobbles, breaking your heart. "No dark please." she hates the dark."

You pick up the pace, trying to get out before she has a break down. "I know it's dark, we'll be out soon. Just please try to be quiet, okay? It'll be okay, I promise." you try to comfort her the best you can.

Something upstairs clatters to the ground, sending a sharp thud echoing through the hallway. You feel her jump in your arms, a small scream pulled from her lips. The scream is quickly followed by sobs. Her grip tightens and she buries her head into your neck, seeking any sort of comfort she can get.

You hush her frantically. "Please, baby, shh, don't cry, don't cry, they'll hear you-"

It's too late.

You hear footsteps pound against the stairs as they hurry down towards you. Somewhere behind you a muffled voice barks an order.

Panic pulses through you and you bolt towards an exit. Your baby's cries bounce through the concrete halls and fill your ears. You keep trying to soothe her, but nothing is working. She can sense your fear, and it's making it worse. You turn a corner and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall. The exit's behind her, sun hitting her back and casting a shadow of her body on the ground.

The sun makes her red hair look fiery. She's dressed head to toe in black. You can faintly make out her face. Her eyes are wide in surprise, her lips pulled in a slight frown. She doesn't raise a weapon, although there are plenty of her to use attached to her clothing if she wanted to.

"Hey," she says, holding up both hands. Her eyes shift from surprised to concerned. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. Do you speak English?" There's a crackle from an earpiece that's hanging on her shoulder. You can tell there's voices coming through, but you're to far to understand what they're saying. She ignores them and holds eye contact with you.

You back away, toddler clutched tight. "No! Don't touch her! Don't take her! Go away." you try your best to sound intimidating. It doesn't work. She doesn't leave, she tries to calm you down. You don't know if you can believe her, that's she's here to help. What if you're her mission? What if HYDRA remembered you, and sent her to take you back? You can't give up your baby again.

Others come. Bigger and scarier. There's a man in a metal suit coming down one hall, a large muscular man dressed in a costume that resembles the American flag close behind him. There's more feet coming down the stairs, more voices speaking through the woman's earpiece.

You turn and try to run, but another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

Your daughter is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

"I told you guys to wait." the woman seethes in frustration. "You're scaring her. Let me handle this!" she demands to the group.

"Don't kill her!" you cry, collapsing to your knees. You cover your daughters body with yours, trying to shield her from the man behind you. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't hurt her! Please! Leave my baby alone."

The redhead approaches slowly, glaring at the men around her. "Back off, Clint. She's not dangerous, she's trying to keep her kid safe." she tells the man behind you. Then she turns her attention back to you. "We're not here to hurt her," her voice is gentle and cautious, like she's trying not to scare you anymore. "Or you."

You shake your head, body trembling. "Liar. You're all liars, she's just a project to you. She's all I have. Don't take her from me again."

"We're the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA. We're here to stop them." she says. "You're safe now. I promise you, nothing will happen to you or your baby. I won't let it. We just want to help."

You cling tighter to your daughter. You want to believe her words, but it's hard. You don't know her, or any of these people. "Please," you whisper, chest heaving. "Just let me keep her."

The redhead, who's slowly managed to approach you, crouches beside you.

"You will. No one will take your baby from you ever again."

Something about the way she says it feels sincere. You hope you're not making the wrong decision.

-

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking. Everything feels like too much. You're on edge, hyper-aware of every sound and movement around you. Your mind plays through different escape possibilities, waiting for someone to make a move and hurt one of you. Nothing feels safe here.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother's instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

"She won't let go," Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. "Even when she's asleep."

"She shouldn't have to," Bruce says softly. "Not after what she's been through."

They don't think you can hear them.

But you do.

When you arrive, they bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean, but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

The man you're told is Bruce Banner, stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a calm and slow voice. "I'm just going to take a look at you," he says gently. "Both of you. I promise I won't touch her unless you say it's okay. I need to make sure you're okay, and see if there's anything we need to do to help you heal."

You don't move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat. "Mama, who's this?" her little voice is raspy with sleep.

You pull her tighter against you. "She's mine," you say. Your voice cracks. "No one touches her."

Bruce gives a small nod. "Of course. I won't unless you give me permission. She's your kid, I understand why you're worried. You've been through a lot, and I'm not here to make things worse or hurt you. I just want to make sure you're both okay."

You're not sure you believe that.

But he doesn't push. Instead, he pulls out a high tech scanner, one you've never seen before, and crouches slightly to your eye level. The scanner is a decent size with a small screen on his side. It looks highly advanced.

"May I scan you from here?" He asks, a comfortable distance away from you.

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod. He's just scanning, that can't be too bad.

The scan is quiet. No poking. No restraint. Just small movements.

"She's malnourished but stable," Bruce says, looking at your daughter. "You've been feeding her from rations?"

"Yes," you whisper. It's been a hard task to do. She's a growing baby, they need proper food. You've done what you could.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. "You did an incredible job. Many kids in her situation, wouldn't be this well off. You've taken good care of her."

Your throat closes up. You tried. You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest.

She's calmer now but still eyes him slightly. "Who are you?" She asks.

Bruce smiles gently at her. "My name is Bruce. I'm here to make sure you're okay."

"You're not bad?" She blinks. "No hurting us?"

Bruce sounds sincere. "No, I'm not a bad guy, and I don't want to hurt you. I want you to feel safe."

She nods, pulling her attention away from Bruce to the rag doll in her hands.

Bruce looks up at you. "You've been through serious mental and physical trauma," Bruce continues. "You have a right to feel scared and angry and whatever else you're feeling. You can't come out of situation like that unchanged." He pauses, watching your reaction. "So if everything feels messy right now, that’s okay. There’s no right way to feel after what you’ve survived. We’re here to help you, however you need. We’ll take this slow, help you get re-adjusted, make sure you and your little girl are safe. The goal is to give you a chance at a life that isn’t defined by what HYDRA did to you.”Bruce holds your gaze. "You're going to need to hydration, some vitamins and proper food. We'll make sure you get all of that. I want to thank you for trusting me to be in here with you, and for letting me talk with you both. I know this was very difficult for you to go through.

You nod in acknowledgement, still weary.

Bruce finishes checking you quickly after. Before he leaves, he attaches you both to an IV so you both can get the fluids and vitamins you're missing. You're hesitant at first, but you know you need it.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that's nicer than any room you've seen in ages. There's a nice real bed with new blankets and pillows. A large mirror on the other side of the room on the wall that faces you. There's a large window that allows sunlight to pour into the white room. You can see the busy parking lot below and a different forest further away. It's shocking to see so many people in one area. You've forgotten what it's like to be apart of the real world. You've forgotten how busy it is.

You're able to clean up in the bathroom attached to your room. The clothes you're given feel so soft against your freshly washed skin. For the first time, you don't feel or smell disgusting anymore. You feel like a real girl again. You make sure to wash your toddler, who's so excited to shower for the first time. When you're done dressing her, you gently detangle her hair with your fingers. At some point, you try to take a nap on the bed. You don't know how to sleep in a real bed anymore, it feels a little uncomfortable despite being softer than the mattresses you've been using for years. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm, so you just deal with it..

You sit for a few hours, awake, staring at the door.

And then someone knocks.

"Hey. It's me. Natasha," comes the voice from the other side. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." Your voice is quiet. You wouldn't call it trust yet, but you're starting to feel slightly more comfortable with her.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close. She's careful to respect your personal space.

"I just want to ask you a few questions," she says quietly. "Is that okay?"

You look at her for a long moment, unsure if you should answer. Finally, you agree.

"What's your name?"

You lick your dry lips and give her your name.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

Her expression softens. "And how long were you in that facility?"

You look down at your baby. "Since I turned 18."

Natasha's jaw tightens just a bit, but she tries to keep her neutral expression. "That's a long time."

You don't respond. You know it is. You lived it.

She nods to your baby, who's cuddled close.

"What's her name?"

You hesitate, but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

"Daisy."

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. "That's beautiful."

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter's hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. "Can I ask about her father?"

Your whole body tenses. You hadn't thought of him in months. You didn't think you'd need to, he obviously left along with everyone else. There was no way you'd ever find him again, and you didn't think it was a good idea to try. Your eyes drop to Daisy's face again. So small. So innocent. A beautiful, resilient baby.

You swallow thickly. "I don't… I don't know him," you admit. "I never met him. Not really." You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha's gaze flickers, and you see it. The briefest flash of concern.

"It wasn't like that," you say quickly. "No one… touched me. I mean, not that way."

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You take a shaky breath.

"They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to recreate their favorite weapon. I was young enough... fertile enough... for them to keep trying if it failed the first time. Or so they could use me again in the future if they decided to make more."

"You brush your fingers across Daisy's head. "I didn't even know whose DNA they used. Not at first."

"You found out?"

You nod slowly. "They left a file out once. I don't think they meant to. I saw his name."

Natasha doesn't speak, she waits patiently for me to finish.

"They called him… the Winter Soldier, WS-13. He was one of the brainwashed super soldiers stationed in the building."

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

"I didn't tell him," you whisper. "I was scared. I thought maybe he'd take her. Maybe he'd hurt her. Or… maybe he didn't know. I couldn't risk it. I had to protect her. I'm her safest bet."

You looked up at Natasha, terrified, worried her silence means she doesn't believe you. "I swear I'm telling the truth."

She seems to realize she's been quiet for too long. "I believe you, I didn't mean to make you think I didn't." She pauses. "There's something you should know though. It's about your baby's father."

-3rd POV-

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watches in stunned silence.

Steve stands stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She'd been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea, he couldn't have. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced. He wouldn't have just left it behind to fight to survive in an abandoned building. That's not the Bucky Steve knows.

Sam glances at Clint. "Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?"

Tony frowns. "HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn't have been possible. It's not out of the realm of possibility to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding. Sounds very in line with their mission statement."

"She doesn't know he's here. What's there to gain from lying about him anyway?" Bruce said quietly. "I don't think she's lying."

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "I think she's telling the truth too. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar, I just couldn't place it before. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. She looks like him when we were kids. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?" he asks, voice rough.

Bruce nods slowly. “If… if he wants a test, I can talk to Y/N. Carefully,” he adds, already watching Daisy through the glass. “We’d only need a small blood sample, and only if she’s comfortable with it.” His expression softens. "Now that you mention it, she does look a bit like Bucky."

Clint shifts his weight. “So… we’re telling him, right?” His gaze moves from one man to the next.

"Who’s going to do it?" Sam asks.

"I'll do it." Steve volunteers. "He'll hear it better from me."

-3rd POV-

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echo through the training room.

Sweat drips from Bucky's brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles are raw from the relentless assault. The gym is quiet, empty except for the sounds of Bucky's punches. That's how he liked it.

This is the only place where the memories don't claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees bloodied faces, terrified and dying. Faces of people he hurt and stole from the world. Even now, even free, the weight of what he'd done presses against his chest like a boulder he can never move.

So he hits the bag. Over and over. Like he can punch his past into silence. His metal arm whirs with each movement, controlled and brutal. He isn't training to stay in shape. He's trying to feel something. Anything that isn't guilt.

Steve pulls him from his silence. "Buck."

He didn't stop punching. Didn't look. He needs this.

"I need to talk to you."

Still, he doesn't stop. Not until Steve steps into his line of sight.

Bucky drops his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. "What is it?" he huffs, slightly frustrated with the disturbance.

Steve hesitates. That… that was never a good sign.

He finally finds his words and begins. "There's a woman here. She was rescued from the same Siberian HYDRA facility you used to work from in Russia a few hours ago on our mission."

Bucky blinks, wiping his face with a towel. "Okay…"

Steve’s jaw tightens. “She's been there since she was eighteen,” he says quietly. “HYDRA used her. Ran experiments on her, medical procedures, psychological torture. She didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky stiffens.

"I… I wouldn't be telling you this if it wasn't important."

"Steve," Bucky says, voice a warning. "What are you not saying?" Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve continues. "She has a daughter."

Bucky frowned. "Okay? So? What's going on?"

Steve takes a step closer. "We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck."

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest. "What?"

"She didn't know at first. She found out later. The girl, her name's Daisy, is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you."

Bucky staggers back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

"No." He says in disbelief. "No, that's not... I don't have a kid, Steve."

"I know it's a lot," Steve said quickly. "I know. She didn't lie. She doesn't even know you're here. She isn't trying to manipulate anyone. All she's done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, Bruce says we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want."

Bucky stares down at his hands. His right hand, flesh and bone, tremble His metal left hand lays limp against his side. "A kid?" he whispered. "My kid?"

His vision blurs. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I didn't even know," Bucky rasps. "I didn't know what they were doing. I still don't remember anything, but I have a feeling they took something from me. They always take from me, Steve. What else have they taken? What part of myself do I have left that's just for me, that hasn't been tainted by them?" Bucky growls, pain and embarrassment bubbling inside.. "I can't believe this."

"I know, Buck."

He turns away, eyes wild. "I don't... What if I'm just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if I mess her up? Will her mom even let me see her... Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?"

"No," Steve said quietly. "She doesn't even blame you. She said she thinks you didn't know. She didn't tell anyone because she was scared. She's just trying to keep her daughter safe."

Bucky sinks to the floor.

He doesn't speak. Just presses head back against the wall, a million thoughts racing through his mind. 'Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot more trauma. Steve said Daisy looks like me. I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.'

Wow. A kid. A real one. A little girl who exists in this world, who shouldn't, because of him. Because of HYDRA.

Can he do this?

-End of 3rd POV-

The compound garden is quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. The world is more beautiful than you remember. Everything is vivid and full of color. Full of life. The the melodic sounds of birds and crickets mix together to create a song that floats around the afternoon air. The sun wraps you in a warm heat that hugs your body. It's not uncomfortable, just strange. It's a feeling you haven't experienced in years, since before you were captive.

It doesn't feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. It's like a dream. And because of that, it ignites a small pool of worry in your chest. It feels too good to be true, and you're worried that it'll end.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter settled with her back against your chest, her tiny hands sticky with banana. She's happy and clearly buzzing with excitement. This is her first time experiencing this all.

Nature. The sounds, the colors, the feelings. It's her first banana too.

The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one. It's soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha's idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

She's handling everything much better than you thought, thankfully. Somehow throughout it all she came out a happy little baby. She's not scared of new things, she's excited to try it all.

You used to be like that. You wish you still were.

Your own comfort? That's a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little made up tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn't need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You feel the hair on the back of your neck stick up, your shoulders tensing. Your grip on Daisy tightens as your eyes scan the area in front of you for a possible escape if needed. You feel heart race as thoughts of worst case scenarios rush through your mind. You're used to the sounds of people coming. You've learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable. Unstable means uncooperative. Uncooperative means pain.

You finally turn and your breath catches. Your eyes widen and you know he sees it to. The fear that settles in your eyes.

You can tell by the way he pauses for a moment. Conflict shines in his eyes as he debates with himself if he should come closer.

It's him. The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you'd been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions and feelings.

The Winter Soldier.

No.

Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him. She says he's different now, a man who can think on his own. He has thoughts and feelings, a conscious. Likes and dislikes, things he wasn't allowed to have before.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair, the same color as Daisy's, is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a black hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium hand shines in the bright sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

He isn't the weapon you remember. He's a normal man. And he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

It's strange.

He physically resembles himself from the past. His hair, his face, his arm are the same. But the way he carries himself is different. The Winter Soldier had a dark and inhuman air of stillness that surrounded him. He moved like a machine with orders to complete and no time for anything else. This man feels... real.

He continues to walk towards you but stops several feet away, giving you space but still making sure you can have a conversation. His eyes lock on you, then they flicker to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in. His face is still but his eyes run through multiple emotions, like he's processing information he doesn't know how to accept yet.

Someone told him about you two.

You knew at some point you'd run into him. You've been worried about it since the moment Natasha broke the news to you that he lived in the compound. You didn't know when you were going to meet him or how you'd explain everything, or even if you should explain it to him. You had hoped to push this off for a little bit until you had time to take in everything that happened. It's all been so much.

But you guess that wasn't up to you.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn't know how or where to start.

You sit up straighter and you swallow harshly. If this goes badly there's no way you're getting out of this alive. He's not only 10x stronger than you, but he's also trained to kill.

Natasha says he's different now. Remember that. But what if she lied? People lie all the time. What if this is when the dream ends?

Daisy senses your tension and stiffness. She looks up at your face, a small frown sprouting on her lips.

The Winter-Bucky finally speaks up, seemingly sensing your rising panic. "I'm not gonna hurt you." His voice is deep and steady, but softer than you imagined. You'd never heard him talk before, but you'd pictured what his voice might sound like. Angry and intimidating with no room for sympathy. This isn't at all what you imagined.

You don't answer.

"I shouldn't've come, I knew this would be a lot for you." he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. "I didn't want to scare you. I just…" his eyes wander over to Daisy again.

He wants answers.

"She's mine?" he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. "Yes." you force yourself to reply.

His jaw clenches. His breathing quickens slightly, something that wouldn't be noticeable unless someone were intensely watching him the way you were. He's silent for a minute as he tries to understand what you just told him.

You give him the space he needs. Well, it's not like you have much of a choice anyways.

"I didn't know. They didn't tell me," he finally speaks. "I swear, I didn't know. Or at least, I don't remember." he admits. There's an honesty in his voice that makes you question your fear for a moment. He seems so... normal. Is this really the same guy? Did The Winter Soldier have a twin?

"I believe you," you say, mostly to yourself, because you do think you believe him. Part of you does.

His eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, full of anxiety he's trying to keep hidden. They meet yours. He takes one step forward and then pauses again. Then he hesitantly, he asks what he's been wondering. "Did I-did I hurt you when she… when she was…" He trails off, obviously uncomfortable and nervous like he doesn't know if he wants the answer. His eyes drop to the ground and you realize it's shame coating his voice. "I hoped I wasn't capable of shit like that but… I don't know. I never know what they made me do. Not really. Murdering people has been hard for me to accept. Knowing I did this to you, I don't even know how I can forgive myself."

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest. You know what he means. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It's too hard for him to say out loud.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Not knowing if your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

"No," you shake your head slightly. "You weren't even in the room. You didn't touch me."

His head jerks up to look at you. For a moment, his shoulders slightly untense. It doesn't last long though because his relief turns into an expression of confusion. "What? How could I have gotten you pregnant than?"

"It was in vitro," you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. You wish you could've protected yourself. Stopped what they did to you. You couldn't, which makes you feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put the eggs back in me. You were never physically involved in it." you try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn't know it was you until about a year after Daisy was born."

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features once again. It's raw and honest. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that... I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant... it's hard enough to survive without a baby under those conditions." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known... I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you were there and had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

You look at him again and realize something that unsettles you. He's just as scared as you are. And just as broken. "It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." Bucky definitely intimidates you. It's hard not remember him from the past. But you don't blame him for what happened. He clearly didn't choose to get involved with Hydra. He's a victim, just like you.

"Still, I'm sorry."

There's a heavy silence between you. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and a feeling of uncertainty. You both missed time with your daughter. And now you were both going to have to figure out how to work together for Daisy.

You were more similar than you originally thought.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you'd even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her. If I died, she wouldn't have had anyone to be there for her at all. I couldn't risk it." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you. You deserved to know though, she's yours too. I'm sorry I was selfish and kept you from her." you ramble, letting your guilt spill. Maybe things could've been different if you had told him when you found out.

Bucky's face stiffens, but not in the same way it used to be. It's more of a surprised stiffness. "You weren't being selfish. She needed you. You couldn't have known how I was going to react, I don't even know how I wouldn't reacted to that. If I would've been able to even understand that. You chose the safer option, and that's what's made it possible for you to be here today. Don't blame yourself for being a mom and looking out for your kid."

Daisy wiggles and grabs your attention. "Mama?" she whispers.

Your eyes snap down to her. You smooth a hand over her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart."

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance. He's just trying to get on her level.

He looks at Daisy, taking her in once again. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

"She's… beautiful," he states more to himself than to you, his voice a whisper.

Your throat tightens. "She is. Always has been a beautiful baby." The first time you saw her, your heart melted. In that moment, it was just you and her and she had you completely wrapped around her finger. You couldn't believe that a baby could be so beautiful. She had, and still has, these shiny piercing blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean. And the softest brown hair you'd ever felt. Her smile melted your heart. She was perfect.

Now that you've seen her dad so close in person, you understand just how much she's taken after Bucky. There's no doubt she's his kid.

"How old is she?"

"Almost two and a half." you answer.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn't.

And that matters more than anything else. He doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

"Do you… do you want to sit?" you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

"I'll stay back here," he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. "Just wanted to see her. That's all."

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin. "Hi."

Bucky's lips curl into a small smile. He waves back. "Hi."

"Mama, he's good?" she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again. The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

"I think he's trying to be," you say quietly.

- 3rd POV -

Bucky doesn't remember walking back into the compound.

He remembers standing up from the bench with a nod and a careful thank you to Y/N. He remembers Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembers the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it's a blur.

Now he's back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clings to his skin, hair sticks to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt feels suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand has already started to fray.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the wall if you keep that up."

Bucky doesn't stop punching, but his jaw tenses. "Maybe it deserves it." The pain. The sadness. The fear. And definitely the anger.

Steve steps into view, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. He watches as his friend takes out his feelings on the punching bag, his brows furrowed in concern. He knows this was a complete bombshell. He's not exactly sure how to help. How do you comfort someone who's lived through decades of abuse, has barely had enough time to process what has happened to him, and now has to learn how to be a parent? It's all happened so quickly, of course Bucky's taking it out the only way he can.

Steve speaks up. "You went to see her?"

Bucky exhales through his nose and gives the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaves. "Yeah." he wipes the sweat off of his forehead with his arm, glancing at his best friend.

Steve knows Bucky has more to say. He doesn't push, he waits for Bucky to be ready.

Bucky rips off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. "Y/N, she's scared of me."

"She's been through hell," Steve said quietly. "She's scared of everyone, Buck."

"I know that," Bucky snaps, more at himself than Steve. "I saw it. I saw it all over her face. In her eyes. The closer I got, the more she flinched like I was going to-" He breaks off, dragging a hand over his face as he takes breath. "I didn't mean to scare her."

Steve walked closer. "I know, Buck. This is something that's going to take time. It's bigger than you. She's terrified of everyone. It took us hours to convince her to come back with us. When Bruce tried to check out Daisy, she completely clammed up until she warmed up to Natasha. She's been through trauma. It's going to take time for her to learn to trust others again. Try not to take it personally."

"It's hard not to. She told me she was scared of me. That she'd seen me in the halls when I was Winter, and it freaked her out. She doesn't know me, she doesn't know I've changed. What if that's all she sees when she looks at me? Some mindless weapon who's capable of causing so much harm." Bucky sighs in frustration. Not at Y/N, but the situation. Neither of you deserved the treatment you got.

"If she's scared of me, how am I ever going to get to know my... my kid." The word feels heavy on his tongue, a completely foreign concept. A dream that he thought had died with him when he fell off the train. He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, to be able to love and support her. To build a loving home with the love of his life, one where they could build a beautiful life and family together in. He'd looked forward to being able to be there for his wife, especially through something as big as pregnancy or raising a baby. Being there was important to him.

This wasn't his dream life though, this was reality. He didn't get to fall in love. He doesn't have a wife or a home full of love. He didn't get to choose to have a child. He wasn't there to support the mother at all, he didn't even know about her. He wasn't there through the pregnancy, the birth or even to see Daisy grow up. He's missed every single milestone. That hurts.

"Hell, I don't even blame her, Steve. She didn't share much, but if what she told me is the synopsis of what she went through, I can't imagine the rest of the details. Hydra made her go through IVF without her consent. She had to go through the pain of being stuck in a place like that while in such a vulnerable state. The fear she must've felt, Steve. Not to mention the pain. And she had no one there to support her." Guilt pools in Bucky's chest. "I contributed to that. They wouldn't have hurt her if they didn't have me. If I wasn't so valuable to them. And why was I valuable? Because I killed people. A person like me shouldn't be near kids. I'm not the type of role model they should look up to." He grumbles, his heart hurting from his own words.

On one had he's terrified of screwing the kid up. On the other hand, he can't help but want to be around her more, to try to make up for the time he's missed. After getting away from Hydra, Bucky never expected to have a family. He'd been perfectly fine knowing he'd likely die alone, without a wife or kids. Who would want to be with a guy as fucked up as he was? The trauma, the nightmares, the depression spells he found himself falling into because of it all. There were days he could barely force himself to get out of bed because the weight of his past felt crushing and completely isolating.

If he couldn't take care of himself, how the fuck was he supposed to take care of a partner or children? Was he capable of balancing his traumas and a family? That's generously assuming he could even find someone willing to stick with him long enough for a relationship. He was an assassin. He committed crimes and did things many people could never look past. That's a lot for another person to take on. Any person in their right mind would run the opposite way after discovering what was in his past. So Bucky just assumed the whole 'American Dream' was just not in the cards for him, and he had made peace with that, as hurtful as it was.

But now he has a kid.

He currently has a little person out there, his miniature twin who is now his responsibility.

And that complicates things. The moment he saw her he felt a strange pull, one he assumes all parents feel when they see their babies for the first time. A longing to hold her, to talk to her, to be near her. He felt an emotion he'd thought he'd buried down many years when he found out Becca died: love. It's a feeling he hasn't felt that strongly in a long time, to the point where he was starting to think he was incapable of it. But he was wrong. Daisy proved that the moment they locked eyes and an overwhelming rush of instinctual protectiveness rolled over him. And in the bottom of his heart, he felt hope again. Hope that maybe just maybe, he'd somehow get to have his dream: a family.

He wondered if somehow Y/N and Daisy could be his chance to get a taste of normal life. Was that selfish of him to hope for?

When Bucky saw Daisy, he knew that he'd do anything to keep Daisy safe, to prevent her from experiencing what she already had ever again. That he'd make sure she was always happy and safe, even if it meant staying away from her so she could have a normal life away from his looming darkness and danger. The though of having to walk away killed him, but he'd do it if you asked him to. You were her mother after all, there was a connection between you undoubtedly stronger than between him and Daisy. You knew Daisy better than him. You knew what was best for her, what she needed and didn't. He didn't know you, but he trusted you to do what's best for her. It's what you've been doing this entire time, putting her first over anything else. That's what parents are supposed to do. It didn't matter if the thought of it broke his heart into a million tiny pieces or sent a rush of panic through his veins. Having a kid means doing what's best for them.

If you let him stay in her life, he'd have a completely different set of problems. How could he take care of a kid without letting his past loom leak into the relationship? He's not normal, likely will never be. His broken memories and PTSD haunt him daily. Daisy deserves to have his full, uninterrupted attention. She deserves a parent who isn't so fucked up, one who can give her a normal loving and happy life. Bucky doesn't doubt he can provide the love part of that, he's just unsure about the normal.

Bucky just wants what's best for his kid, and he's scared of ruining her life.

"You are just as much of a victim of this as she is. Don't put yourself on the same level as them. We've talked about this before. You need to forgive yourself. You didn't have a choice in what you did. You and I both know that if you had been given a fair chance, you wouldn't have chosen to do what you have done. You help people, Bucky. You always have, that's who you really are. Not The Winter Soldier. You're driving yourself insane by carrying this guilt on your shoulders." Steve tries to reassure his friend. "You need to forgive yourself. I don't think you should assume what's going to happen with Y/N and Daisy. You don't know what's going on in Y/N's mind or what's going to happen in the future. It's unfair of you to try to read her mind and make decisions based on what you think you know. All you can do is try to keep improving yourself and be there for your kid as much as Y/N feels comfortable with. It might start out slow, but trust takes time Buck. You know this, she's not going to warm up overnight. But consistency, patience and kindness bring positive results." Steve puts a comforting hand on his friends shoulder, giving him a small squeeze. "Y/N will see what I see in you Bucky. A good, loyal, strong man who deserves to live a good life. Someone who's worked hard to make up for their faults. You just need to start by seeing that in yourself first."

"It's just a lot, Steve. I've been trying to work through everything, I really have. But this has made everything 10 times more complicated." Bucky sighs, anger bubbling at the thought of how he got into this position. "Hydra really did every shitty thing they could think of. I just can't get over how any of them could do this to us? And I can't stop thinking about why. Why did they need a baby? What were they planning on doing to her when she got older? How was Daisy treated?" A horrible image floods Bucky's mind. He clenches his fists tightly, his nails digging into the palms of his hand as he looks for some way to push the thought away. "Was she abused? Every time I think Hydra can't hit a new low, they surprise me with something more horrific than the last."

The atmosphere is tense in the gym. Steve patiently waits for Bucky to finish, knowing he needs to be listened to right now. His heart hurts at the pain his friend is going through but he tries to keep it from showing on his expression. Bucky doesn't need pity, he needs support.

"What if I knew about them Steve, and they just wiped my mind? Or what if I just didn't care? If I was fine letting a little baby stay in a situation like that." Bucky admits his fears.

"I wish I could answer those for you, Buck, but I can't. You can't blame yourself for things you don't know you did. You're hurting yourself and you're preventing yourself from healing. Right now, you need to focus on what you do know and what you can control: healing and being there for Daisy. It might take time, but I think you and Y/N should talk about this. She might have some of the answers you're looking for. To build up to that though, you need to be patient and you need to let Y/N set the pace."

Bucky slumps onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. "Thanks, Steve, for letting me talk to you about all of this."

Steve sits beside him, giving the other man enough space to calm down. "Of course, Buck. I'm here for you."

"I'm going to try to be there for Y/N and Daisy, and not let my head get in the way."

Steve smiles. "Just take it one day and a time. That's all you can do." Steve's quiet for a moment. "Did you look at her?"

Bucky glances sideways. "The baby?"

Steve nods.

Bucky's voice drops to a whisper, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She’s perfect, Steve. Big blue eyes. Shiny brown hair. She's got this laugh... She laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that? She's a beautiful baby."

"She is." Steve hums in agreement. "It's all going to work out, Bucky. Don't worry."

"Thanks Steve."

-End 3rd Pov-

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell. You try to focus on her carefree demeaner, but it's difficult. There's still an uncomfortable tension aching in your shoulders, an uneasy nervousness in the pit of your stomach.

The compound is too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Every unknown sound triggers an automatic alarm in your mind, one telling you to pick up your baby and get her to safety. It's exhausting and stressful, but it's all you've known for years.

You can still feel the warmth of sun-soaked bench under your body from your time outside earlier. You remember the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he'd crouched like he wasn't sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

That's feels strange to say. Our child. For so long it's just been your baby. No our. You had never even considered the possibility that you'd ever meet Daisy's dad, and you had no intention of ever trying to find him. But, life loves to throw curveballs.

This definitely wasn't how you'd planned out your life. All of your goals, dreams and hopes went out of the window the moment HYDRA kidnapped you. The dream board you made and kept framed on your bedroom wall remained that, a dream. You waited as the years passed, your heart sinking further as the milestones you'd hoped to be at by this time grew further and further away.

The one dream you were able to reach came at a horrific cost; your freedom. You'd wanted kids someday. Maybe after settling into a career or buying a house. You weren't exactly sure when you wanted a baby, but at the time it felt like a far away goal you'd figure out when the time was right.

You didn't have that freedom. They chose everything, you were just an incubator to them. They didn't care about the trauma you'd experience or the long-term effects their abuse would have on you. As long as they got what they needed they were happy.

You love Daisy with all of your heart. She's your precious baby and always will be, no matter what you went through to have her. No matter how horrible of an experience you went through, if it meant having her, you'd do it again in an instant. At the same time, you can't help but wonder what would've happened if your life had turned out how you'd hoped. If you'd gotten to choose when to and who to have her with. Or where you'd be right now if you hadn't been stolen.

You wonder if Bucky feels the same, if he grieves his past just like you grieve yours. Does he get angry and feel like screaming too when the memories overwhelm him? Does he ever find himself shaking so hard from the tears that he wonders if his body's going to give out? Does he ever feel so lost, confused and conflicted about where to go from here?

It's hard to imagine him so distraught. It's an image that contradicts the man you saw in the past. The way he reacted to Daisy though, that's what makes you wonder. His expressions were so... human and raw. There was genuine curiosity and fear in his eyes. Those moments of uncertainty, when all he could do was stare at Daisy with anxiety stiff in his shoulders... that's what tells you he can feel now.

Your heart twists.

You want to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn't been in the room. He hadn't made the choice. He hadn't known. His body was used just as much as yours was, and that means he likely feels some of the same things you have.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, "You should be honored. He's the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece."

You blink hard, wrapping your arms around yourself in a tight hug as if it can protect you from your mind. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn't even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside of you. Just a number and a list of praises the medical staff loved to sing.

And now he's real.

You aren't ready. You want to be, but you aren't.

But the way he'd looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

You don't know what was going to happen next. Didn't know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe, just maybe, Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe you all could.

-

It's late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm, doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter's short wavy hair, gently tucking in strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels... nice.

You don't hear him at first. His steps are silent, a skill he learned from years of practice.

"Um… hi." the voice is soft. Slightly hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter's hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. Although his expression is neutral, his eyes reveal hesitancy.

You stiffen slightly, but don't pull Daisy into your lap, fighting against the urge to do so.

He notices.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. "I just… I was wondering if I could… talk to her. Just for a little bit if that's alright with you."

His voice sounds heavy, like he's never quite been in the position to ask something like this before.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

"You don't need to worry." Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, carefully stating his request. "I wouldn't touch her. Or scare her. I'd just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that's okay."

You feel your stomach twist hesitantly. Your mind can't help but push forward anxieties. He says he won't touch Daisy, but what if he's lying? What if he tries to take her away? He seems completely different than the man you saw when you both were captive. He's slightly awkward and nervous in ways you completely didn't expect, a stark contrast to the stoic and powerful person he used to be. But people can lie. What if turns back into the man used to be? What if he's dangerous?

No. He's different now. You try to remember the garden and how he treated you both respectfully. The Winter Soldier wouldn't have done that. He would've taken what he wanted, no matter how he had to do it.

This is Bucky. You need to remember that. Bucky is different.

You argue with yourself. You try to see from his point of view.

This is his child too. One he's just learned about hours ago. What if you were in his position? You love Daisy so much, you suffered when you couldn't be with her. He might not know her, but he's human. And he's her father. Whether he knows her or not, there's got to be a connection that he feels to her, even if it's just beginning to form.

He's curious. He just wants to get to know his baby.

It makes your heart clench to think about how he hasn't gotten to spend time with her at all. She doesn't know who he is. At least you saw her once a week. This is the second time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time and experiences he can't ever get back.

It'd be cruel to keep him away. You know what that feels like. As much as you're hesitant to say yes, you know you can't do that to him. It's not fair to Daisy either. He deserves a chance to prove himself. And Daisy deserves a father.

"Yeah sure. She's just playing," you say. "You can sit. If you want." You offer, glancing at the carpet near your daughter.

The relief that passes through Bucky's body isn't loud, but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly, just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches. His eyes hold a deep focus, like he's still trying to process that the child in front of him is his. His hands are clasped loosely in front of him. He's still and quiet, like he's nervous he could scare her away.

Bucky watches as Daisy giggles and grabs a toy. His brows briefly flicker, like her laugh made him feel something he's not quite sure how to express yet.

Daisy feels his gaze. She looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face. She tilts her head and grins, her eyes glimmering in the sunlight.

Her hand is stretched out towards the man in an innocent trustful gesture. In her small hand is a little brown porcupine, one with spikes the same shade of brown as hers and Bucky's hair.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with his flesh hand.

"That for me?" he asks softly. "What's his name?"

Daisy nodded solemnly. "Pokey!"

His fingers gently grab the stuffed animal from Daisy. He rotates it slowly in his hand, taking a look at the toy. His metal arm stays firmly planted in his lap the entire time. "Pokey, huh? That's a good name."

"The best." Daisy agrees with a nod.

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter's hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Instead of overanalyzing everything, you try to force yourself to just sit in the moment and watch them bond.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering. Just as quick as she was to offer Bucky her toy, she's back in her own little world, unaware of the complex feelings Bucky and you are going through.

"She's got your smile." Bucky observes, sending a glance in your direction. His eyes briefly scan over your face, like he's trying to take note of what else she inherited from you.

"Thank you."

You two sit like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning. Both of you unsure how to navigate this complex situation.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays. He let's Daisy approach him on her terms, how she wants to, meeting her where she let's him.

-

You stand at the crib beside your hospital bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy's soft hair. The toddler is fast asleep, tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looks so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn't, not really. Daisy has known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiles. Still trusts. Still shares her toys. Somehow throughout everything, she's managed to keep her loving heart.

You turn away and sit down on the bed and curl into the blankets. The sheets are soft and clean. The scent of lavender drifts from the pillow.

It's all so different from the concrete cell, a little overwhelming if you're honest. Everything keeps happening so drastically. One minute you're living a normal life with normal things around your. The next you're stuck alone in a disgusting cell with absolutely nothing. Then you're back to having normal comforts at your disposal. There's slow progression into any of the drastic situations, you weren't able to warm up and prepare. You were plunged into it all and it's hard to adjust to.

The sudden changes send you longing for some sort of familiarity. Even though your cot was uncomfortable and stained with who knows what, you feel yourself long for it. For the certainty it provided. You knew what to expect with the cot. If you didn't lay in the correct spot, springs would poke through the worn surface and poke you. One side sagged just a little deeper than the other. In one of the corners is a little hole where you hide scraps in a rag in case the guards decide not to feed you. You know what to expect with the cot.

You don't know what to expect with this bed. Or this compound. Definitely not with Bucky. That scares you.

He's been fine so far. He hasn't done anything to trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable. You hope he stays the way he is, respectful and mindful.

In your chest blooms a glimmer of hope. Maybe you can do this with Bucky.

-

Bucky now spends a little more time with you and Daisy every day, never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brings little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy, a new stuffed animal. He always checks with you first. You appreciate the effort he goes to make sure you're not surprised by anything.

Over time you two start to talk.

It starts out slow with things like 'How are you today?', 'Do you like the compound?', or just general conversation about the baby. It's surface level, but that's what you need right now.

"She reminds me of Becca sometimes," Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement, breaking into territory deeper than surface level. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. "My sister."

You tilt your head. "Was she older or younger?"

"Younger," he says, his smile widening at a memory. "Bossy. Tougher than I ever was with a heart of gold."

You smile back "She sounds like a good kid."

" She was." Bucky's smile fades into one of sadness. "My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me."

You frown. "I'm sorry. That had to be painful to find out."

"It was." Bucky agrees quietly. "I try to focus on the time I did have with her, the parts I can remember. It helps sometimes, but nothing can replace the feeling of knowing you'll never get to say goodbye."

Bucky's vulnerability warms something in your chest. He didn't have to tell you about his sister, you two have been perfectly fine making small talk. He chose to open the door a little to let you peak inside. You appreciate it.

"I was wondering," Bucky glances over at you. He holds your gaze while he speaks. "If it's okay with you, could I read your file?"

You're silent for a moment while you think about it. What's in it? What will he know? Everything?

"I'm not trying to dig into your past. I just want to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through… so I can understand you." He explains.

He's trying to learn about you.

"If you want, you can read mine too. Just know it's... some pretty heavy stuff. And around 600 pages long." He mutters the last part, finally breaking away from our eye contact. You can tell it's a hard offer for him to make.

You give him a small nod, making your decision. "You can read my file if you want. I don't mind."

"Thank you." Bucky offers me a small smile.

"I'm okay though, I... I'll pass on reading yours." You nervously chew on your lip. "I have two images of you in my head. One from the past and you now. It's been hard for me to understand that they're both you. I'm trying to get to know you as you now and not let your past cloud that. I'm worried reading your file could taint that, and I don't want that to happen."

Bucky nods. "I understand, thank you for giving me a chance. For not letting my past define who you think I am now."

"Thank you for trying to understand me." You return the gratitude. You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. "That one's me, isn't it?"

You laugh under your breath. "Looks like it. Henley and everything."

He grins, and for a moment, just a fleeting second, you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone… normal. Someone experiencing the beginning of a friendship blossoming.

And that's new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU

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