“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now”
Bucky x fem!reader
Summary: After a failed Hydra experiment, Y/N is left suffering from intense anxiety attacks. Bucky seems to be the only person who makes it better.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety attacks
2k words.
You were starting to feel your attacks getting out of control.
They were coming much more frequent than they were before, and it was hard to hide what was happening behind closed doors from the rest of the team. You lived on the level of Stark towers with Natasha and Wanda, and you knew you were keeping them up at night with your constant moving around. Tony was a genius, but soundproofing? Not his strongest suit. It used to be that the attacks would only come at night when you were left alone with your thoughts, but lately you’d find yourself rushing out of the kitchen when you felt your breath catch in your throat, signaling an attack.
It wasn’t until Nat found you face down on the floor one afternoon, having blacked out from a recent anxiety attack, that her and the others started trading off helping you breathe through it as much as possible, often preventing you from sprinting out of the room when something became too overwhelming. When you dropped your mug in the kitchen and spiraled into an attack, Steve rushed over placing both of his hands on yours to try and ground you, his voice soft and comforting as you gasped for air for over 10 minutes. And when you hit Sam hard enough to draw blood during your weekly sparring match, he stopped you from scurrying out of the gym, and practiced counting down with you from 5: 5 things you could see, 4 you could feel, 3 you could smell, and so on. It wasn’t ideal, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t embarrassed that everyone knew what was going on with you, but it was also a relief to finally admit to needing help. You were a trained assassin, but it was okay to ask for help, right? And your attacks had never gotten so bad that someone couldn’t pull you out of one eventually.
The only person who had never been around for one of your attacks was James Barnes, who everyone called “Bucky.” You didn’t know him very well, and he had only been at the tower a couple months, but you caught enough hushed conversations from the random agents around the tower to know who he was, and what he had done in the past. It didn’t matter to you one bit, everyone had skeletons in the closet, but you were positive an anxiety attack would not be something that would help in Bucky’s own recovery from what Hydra put him through. So, you kept your distance as much as physically possible, not wanting to trigger Bucky further.
You were heading into the gym for a late-night session, knowing you would be keeping up Wanda if you stayed in your room, and she needed her sleep after her latest mission. You figured a few rounds with the punching bag and a couple miles on the treadmill would help. Pushing open the gym doors, you paused when you heard a slight grunting coming from the area with the punching bags. You froze when you realized it was Bucky, left arm reflecting a bit of light back toward you. Bucky must have heard you come in, because he stopped abruptly and turned, shaking his sweat damp hair out of his face. You smiled and waved at him, earning a nod in your direction in return. Bucky turned back to the bags, the soft thud of his punches echoing through the gym, so you turned to walk over to the treadmills, figuring you’d leave him to his work out. You were curious about Bucky and wanted to know more about him from him but figured now was not the time for friendly introductions and forced small talk.
You set the treadmill to a decent speed and jumped on, ignoring the thoughts bouncing around in your head as your feet scuffed along the moving mat. Unfortunately, your thoughts rarely left you alone and when you got into a good rhythm, you started to think about Ryan.
Much like Wanda, you had a twin brother who was your everything, until he was killed after a failed Hydra experiment. You were in the room with him when Hydra tried their latest serum on you both. You survived but were left with nothing but your trained assassin’s skill set and some sort of intense empathy that translated to overwhelming brain activity, instead of the ruthless super soldier Hydra surely wanted. The scientists locked you deep in a cell for a few years after that, another wasted experiment, until Steve and Nick Fury found you and recruited you for the Avengers. Thankfully, on missions, your anxiety was kept at bay, your instincts taking control, but living your regular life was a different story.
You swiped angrily at the tears on your face, the hot wet tracks distracting you from the placement of your feet on the moving walkway, causing you to fall to your knees. The moving platform didn’t stop, and you felt yourself being thrown backwards against the wall, hitting the concrete, knocking the wind out of your lungs. The treadmill continued to whir, but you could barely hear it over the loud gasps crawling from your throat, as you fought to breathe through the accident. Embarrassment and internal emotion took control, and once you caught your initial breath, you felt yourself spiraling into an attack, unable to pull yourself out of the situation that was overwhelming you. You could feel your vision begin to darken around the edges as you fought roughly for air, your throat burning. Sounds were muffled, and you couldn’t see, but you felt the sharp cool of metal against your upper arm, jerking you a bit out of the attack, a rush of air filling your lungs. You sighed loudly in relief and glanced up into blue eyes. Bucky, who had heard you crash roughly against the wall had rushed over to see if you were okay.
“Hey,” he muttered, his left arm gripping yours a bit harder as you made eye contact with him.
“Are you okay?” You nodded in return, equal parts embarrassed, and amazed that Bucky had brought you out of that attack so quickly. With concern lacing his eyes, he reached out his right hand for you, and you stood on wobbly legs, while he checked you over for injury. Your knees were scuffed, but everything else was fine, so you dropped Bucky’s hand and silently exited the gym, content to return to your room and pace rather than sit in your embarrassment with all that had just happened. You reached your room, when you realized Bucky had followed, his footsteps silent to even a trained assassin’s ear. You turned to him, and he wrung his hands together before speaking, eyes directed toward the ground.
“I, uh, just wanted to make sure you got back to your room okay.” You gave him a simple smile and he turned around, moving quickly, as he headed to the elevator.
After that day in the gym, Bucky had witnessed two more of your anxiety attacks, and was able to pull you out of them quicker than anyone else with the shockingly cool touch of his metal hand. During a particularly bad attack triggered by a quick memory of your brother, Wanda had to rush to find Bucky, dragging him by the arm without explanation. You could see the frustration painted across Bucky’s face until he saw you crumbled onto the floor of the TV room, your eyes blown wide in fear as you fought to breathe. He simply crouched to your level and grabbed both shoulders, instructing you to breathe for him. Wanda watched on carefully as you took the first trembling breath through your lungs, earning you a wide smile from the man directly in your eye line.
It got to the point that you started seeking Bucky out, not only for help with your attacks, but for comfort, his presence seeming to ease your mind better than any drug or therapy you had tried. And you noticed a bit of a change in Bucky the more you pulled him out of his comfort zone. You would smile brightly at him when he’d sneak silently into the room during movie night with the team, sitting carefully next to you on the couch. And you had glanced around shocked the morning you walked into the kitchen and saw him with Sam and Steve cooking their usual Sunday team breakfast, flipping pancakes, a small smile on his lips, as the other eagerly awaiting Avengers talked animatedly. And you knew it wasn’t lost on the others the way Bucky would brighten when he’d notice you in a room, eye contact lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Or the small touches Bucky laid on your hand or shoulder when he passed on his way to grab a cup of coffee, silently making sure you were okay. But you didn’t mind, because he was helping you slowly take back your own mind from Hydra’s impenetrable grasp. And his presence made you feel like someday things might actually be okay.
About a month after the gym, you were walking down the hall in search of Bucky when Steve pulled you aside a concerned look on his face. You had smiled at him lightly, but it slipped away when you saw the way he was glancing at you nervously.
“Look, Y/N,” he sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you this, but the Petrov family’s building was attacked early this morning. There were no survivors.”
You felt your breath catch in your throat signaling an incoming attack, but you were too lost in your own thoughts to care. Your mind flashed to the image of the little girl and her family that had given you shelter one stormy night during a recent mission to Russian. Your ears filled with the conversation you had with little Katrina, where you had promised that her family wouldn’t be hurt by the insurgents you were investigating. You had been positive that you took out much of Ulan’s gang of arm’s dealers, but one must have slipped past. And just like that, your promise to the family had been broken.
Tears slipped down your cheeks, and before Steve could stop you, you rushed out of the room, heading directly to the second floor down to the end of the hall where Bucky’s room was. Your breathing was becoming erratic, and you were gasping as you ran toward his door, your palms slapping against the wooden frame, sobs and gasps slipping from your mouth. Bucky didn’t answer the door and you began to fear the worst, when you heard heavy footfalls coming from behind you. You turned just in time for Bucky to pull you tightly into his arms, almost crushing you against his chest.
It was the first time Bucky had comforted you like this, but you were gasping so loudly, the only thing you thought to do was hold onto him harder, hoping to ground yourself in his presence. Your breathing didn’t even out like it usually did, and you could feel your throat tightening and vision blurring as you began to panic, your body not getting enough air. Bucky clutched you tightly to his body, arms rubbing fast up and down your back as if he was trying to warm you up from being outside on a cold day.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, I’m here now,” Bucky mumbled into your hair, pressing stray kisses to the side of your head as he tried to comfort you the best he could.
You shoved your face into the crook of his neck and tried your best to inhale, remembering Sam’s attempts to break you out of an attack before. Bucky smelled like freshly washed laundry and lavender, and it helped you to relax a bit. Your vision was still dark, so you continued to use your other senses as much as you could. Moving your hands from their position, Bucky loosened his grip a little as you felt for his heart blindly. He realized what you were doing, so he grabbed your wrist and placed your palm flat against his chest until you could feel the steady beat under it. You closed your hand around the worn fabric of the shirt he was wearing, clenching it in your fists, feeling your breathing coming a bit easier, and your vision slowly returning. You rubbed your thumb across the bunched-up fabric in your hand, waiting for the panic to cease its hold on your body. Bucky played anxiously with the ends of your hair, raising goosebumps across your arms, a sign you were slowly coming back to life. Your body was beginning to relax a bit, and Bucky pulled you from his chest, looking deeply into your eyes. You could see the tears slipping down his cheeks, so you lifted both hands to thumb away the wet streaks, Bucky catching your hands in his own.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your palm, his expression one of regret. You shook your head, unable to speak quite yet, but hoping he took your response for what it was. He gave you a small smile, and took your hand, leading you through the door into his room, and over to his bed, pulling down the comforter, and gesturing for you to get under the covers. You obliged, slipping under the soft sheets and Bucky tucked you in gently, smoothing your hair out of your eyes. He turned to leave, but you grasped his wrist lightly, pulling him back toward you.
“Please stay,” you rasped out, your voice rough and scratchy from the attack.
Bucky seemed to consider your request, his own mind working in overtime, before he finally crawled into bed next to you. Without a second thought you scooted toward him, your head on his shoulder, hand pressed flat against his heart, feeling the thump against your palm. Bucky slipped his arm under you, pulling you closer, and drew soft circles across your back until your eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of the last half hour catching up with you. You were about to close your eyes, when you felt Bucky’s lips press against your forehead in a quick kiss. You hummed in response, pressing closer to him, and you felt him grip you a bit harder, letting out a contented sigh.
With him here you finally felt like things were okay.
