Testing the waters

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"I'm tellin' you, Buck" Y/N beams, "if it's got food and candles, it counts as a date night."

Barnes is still tugging at his boots in the door way, looking apologetic as ever, like him being late off a Quin-Jet is something he could've prevented.

Her eyes roll, "It's fine- you text me to let me know you where behind schedule, the pizza has been here for ten minutes, and- you've finally got your boots off-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, dipping her back dramatically like hoping that the corny gesture might add to the romance.

The feeling of her laughter against his lips makes him smile so hard that his cheeks ache, and then they're eating and drinking red wine that is too good to have with stuffed crusts from Albie's.

and that's when his mind wonders again,

to dance halls and evening walks in formal jackets and what it might be like to push her on a rope swing in a pretty sun-dress-

"what are you day dreaming about?" Y/N chuckles, quirking a brow at the pinkness in his cheeks.

"…date nights" is the reply he settles on after a minute, pressing a kiss against her cheek before settling back onto the couch.

"wow" she says, laughing again, "that's impressive even for you, sweetheart, can you even get sweeter than fantasising about date night while you're literally havin' a date night?"

He rolls his eyes, before melting down into her lap. Smiling almost smuggly as she recieves him more than eagerly, discarding her wine glass to card through his hair with her fingers.

"Wait" she says teasingly, "Before you get all this fussin'- the person you were with in this daydream was me wasn't it? because if it was Steve your puppy dog eyes are goin' to be about 12% less effective"

"88% is still pretty good" he says playfully, before shaking his head in response to her mock look of hurt, "of course it was you, darlin' it just that back in my day-"

"Back in my day?" Y/N mimics, beaming down at him like he's the best thing she's ever seen, "Did you really just say that, outloud?"

Her teasing is tempered with unwavering affection, but still it makes him laugh, a true soft chuckle bursting through his chest when he realises how it sounds.

"Still" he murmurs, feigning grouchiness, "goin' on a date meant somethin' different back then, it was more of an event..."

"Oh, yeah?" Y/N presses, seeing the trace of nostalgia in his eyes, "tell me about it?"

He blinks at her, before looking away, genuinely bashful again;

"You don't wanna hear me dronin' on about ancient history, Sugar-"

"Actually" she objects, "After missin' you for 2 days because you've been galivanting across Russia, I think that's exactly what I want."

He paws at his jaw before sighing, surrendering to the arm your holding him by snuggling into your front.

"Well, they didn't usually include this much touchin' for a start"

"Is that a complaint?" Y/N quips, raising a brow in genuine curiosity.

"No- never-" he's quick to tell her, "I just don't really know where to start, doll. It's all real different now."

She just smiles down at him again, letting her thumb brush his temple as his eyes flutter shut.

"What would our first date have been like, d'ya think?" she asks, "and don't just rattle off some Grate-Gatsby story, I know you and Rodgers didn't eat Caviar in tuxedos when you took girls out for the night"

"God" he scoffs dreamily, smile firmly on his face now, "Gatsby was more my ma's era, darlin'… I'd have probably taken you out for a walk first, asked you when I could pick you up and spent a couple of hours gettin' myself ready… I'd have brought flowers, -I might've had to pick them from the garden-" he allows, "-but I'd have brought ya' something, and then I'd knock for ya'…"

"And would I be wearin' one of those pin-up style dresses, victory curls and red lipstick style?"

"No" he snorts, "All the dames back then wore sweat pants"

"You're gettin' sassy in your old age" Y/N is quick to tease, "I meant for a walk… since that's where you said you'd be takin' me… is that the kinda thing ladies got all dolled up for back then?"

He's grinning like a fool as he hums, picturing exactly the kind of thing she might've been wearing.

"It'd probably have been some kind of dress" he allows, shyly at first "somethin' nice but not, not the whole nine yards unless you wanted me to be fightin' all the other men in town away all night."

It's her turn to laugh then, it swims through his head like music, making his chest flutter happily.

"We'd probably spend a while just talkin', darlin', and I'd have asked you for a second date before I took ya' home."

"Is that when you'd have asked me if I had any friends for Steve?"

He chokes on a breath as he realises that's exactly when he'd have done that.

"and I'd have said "sure, but don't be late"… and then, you'd have arrived together at least 10 minutes after we'd arranged, but- you'd have been so charmin' that I wouldn't have minded one bit."

"Maybe" he murmurs, not wanting to tell her just how well she's got him figured out.

"And where would this double date be?"

"Probably dancing" he says surely, "I got tired of trying to take girls to the pictures with Rodgers. He could never stay out of trouble."

"He still hasn't figured that out"

He grins again, eyes still shut but as her hands go back to soothing his muscles, she notices that they're definitely relaxing.

"You'd have been more dressed up for dancing- but so would I, it'd be full uniform, sugar" he murmurs, "and you might've even found some stocking with seams if you'd thought I was worth the trouble…"

"Oh, you're definitely worth the trouble" she whispers, loving the dreamy quality his voice has taken on, it seems so sweet, how content he is just talking about all this, "I'd have done my hair too, and put on that lipstick"

He smiles at her description, picturing it so vividly in his mind that he could reach out and touch her lips and his fingers would come away red.

"And my pretty friend would be takin' care of Steve…" she tells him decisively, "so what would we be doing?"

"I'd get us drinks, doll…" he says, "the band would be playing, not through speakers like now, but they'd have a singer, and a whole set up, we'd ditch our glasses and I'd ask you to dance… there were always so many people there, sugar, the room was so warm- and we'd be laughin' and I'd pretend that I didn't… but if it was you in my arms I'd have forgotten all about Steve by the time the music stopped."

The fingers in his hair are like magic, drawing every facet of tension from his body as she untangles the strands with ease. He hadn't even notice how tense he'd been before. The mission had been quick and easy and without complication until the end, when Tony's "un-freezable" engine had frozen, needing 30 minutes to warm back up before they could head home. He'd been wracked with guilt for the entire flight, hating having to tell you he was going to be late for date night. The date night he'd been looking forward too all week.

"I'd have taken you for a bite on the way back to your place" he continues, clinging to the fantasy like a blanket in the cold, "I'd have wanted more time with ya'- so I'd have insisted on a diner instead of a hot-dog stand or somethin'… I wouldn't have let you drink to much, we'd have gotten cokes in the glass bottles- I swear, it tasted so much better than it does now, even with the rationing-"

"Is that when I'd steal your hat and put it on over my pretty curled hair?" she asks cheekily.

"hat?" he asks, opening his eyes to look at her curiously,

"You said you'd be in uniform- I've seen the pictures."

"Well, yeah, but-"He blinks, still not understanding "Why would you take it, doll?"

"Isn't it like cowboys?" Y/N presses warmly, still carding through his hair

"Cowboys?" Bucky echoes, confused.

"Mhmm" she hums in confirmation, "plus, if I ran away with your hat, you'd definitely follow me home wouldn't ya?"

"I'd have walked you home anyway, m-maybe even kissed ya' at the door if I was feelin' brave" he stammers, still caught up in the mental image of the most beautiful girl in the world wearing an outfit that would've put Marilyn Monroe to shame and his hat.

"Well, yeah" she agrees, "but this way you'd have to chase me inside."

Suddenly, a flush fills his cheeks as the imagined dress vanishes, leaving him with a fantasy that does more than make his face hot.

"It's your birthday in March" Y/N says coolly, "I'll see what I can do".

6 hours is more than awhile.

It’s miraculous.

It’s so miraculous that even though Y/N thinks this must be the calm before the storm, she can’t stop herself from drifting off, too.

She doesn’t move, she keeps her arms around his body, but, her eyes flutter shut and before she knows what’s happening, she’s unconscious too.

For Bucky, pain is familiar. It’s a constant that he can hold on to no matter what else is happening.

Especially when he’s the solider. The Solider only has pain, his entire universe is agony, aside from one, thing that he thinks might be a person, even if it would make more sense for it to just be a dream; but still- This new feeling is awful.

It’s hot, and, it’s… it’s red.

He uses colours, sometimes, because he can’t use words. Not when he’s masked and muzzled- Not when he doesn’t have permission to speak. No. No, words aren’t for him. Colours, though… Colours he can use.

Y/N, Y/N is blue. Blue is his favourite. It’s always been his favourite, so- so that’s what she is. Sometimes she’s a pale, blue, calm and gentle like the sky, and sometimes, when he’s done something right, then, then she’s deeper, like the ocean. There’s nothing the solider likes more than her.

So, she’s blue— and this, this pain he’s in is red. It’s bright, glaring, angry red—

He knows he shouldn’t move, that moving makes it worse, that it gives them a reason to hurt him more, but he can’t help it. It’s burning, it’s, it’s so hot—

His hips are shifting. They’re rocking back and forth and it’s only getting worse.

Punish me, he thinks desperately, Punish me, so that I can stop—

Punishments are white. Blinding white, and then red— Red when it hurts, but… but then it’s always back to white.

Blank slate. Order. Obedience. All of it is from pain, all of it is from them and he— he needs it, but-

Oh, god— nobodies coming— nobodies coming to make it stop and he can’t do it by himself.

He’s panicked now.

He’s panting and whining, and his whole body is tensing-

The sound Bucky makes is primal.

It wakes Y/N instantly. It sends a bolt of panic straight through her chest that makes her arms tighten around his shoulder protectively.

He is thrashing in place, trying to escape some imagined restraint, and even though the cry he’d let out is done, she can’t help but hush him, slipping her hands round to his cheeks so that she can guide his face up, up to where she can see, and—

Oh.

She can feel it. His skin is too hot, even for him.

A super-solider fever would usually intrigue her, under almost any other circumstances she'd be asking him questions already, but considering the fact that he's still struggling to breath, she decides to do the maths herself.

A fever is just an immune response, you need a fever to fight things off- no-

You need a fever to keep things balanced. Bodies need homeostasis, they need balance and right now, everything from his hormones to his pain receptors and inflammatory markers are five-hundred shades of wrong.

No wonder his cheeks are so red.

The serum helps, but it helps by boosting his immune system, and that means boosted fevers, too.

Y/N feels her attention snap back to Bucky as he wretches, unlocking his jaw as he gags into the sheets on his lap.

Sweat his beading by his temples, he looks muddled, but only for a second, and then, she reaches down, using the blanket to wipe his chin clean, and that's when she realises he looks horrified.

“It’s okay”

His head is shaking before she even gets the words out.

She can feel his entire body flooding with adrenaline. She can feel the way his chest is racing.

This is not okay at all.

Red. Everything is Red.

“Red” he pants, “Red”

Y/N nods. She knows what’s going on. That’s been their safe-word for as long as he’s been able to understand the concept of consent. From the moment The Solider had been aware enough to speak to her, to trust her as a friend.

“Bucky… Sweetheart” she murmurs, trying to coax his gaze back to her, “It’s okay, it’s alright-”

“I… I'm sorry” he chokes, “-I-It- god, it- it hurts...”

It’s too much. He’s shaking— his entire body still feels like it’s on fire and all he knows for sure is that he's thrown up in front of her, again.

He ruined everything, he woke up screaming, and he's made a mess of the bed, and she had to see it all because he isn't brave enough to be on his own—

Y/N is in front of him now, letting him clutch her against his chest in a way that is clearly involuntary. She's grateful that whatever instinct that is driving him to keep her so close also remembered to have him not crush her in the process.

She has wiggle room, more than enough to breathe. Just about enough for her to be able to pull back and look at his face.

His eyes are manic. They’re searching the dark room over Y/N’s shoulder.

It’s night time now, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn't want to close his eyes again. He doesn't want to see anymore red.

He's making his peace with the shadows until, the shadows start to move.

He sees them morphing into figures. Black, looming silhouettes creeping in towards him.

And he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry-

but he can’t speak. He’s screaming. He’s crying, and begging all at once but no words are coming out it’s just a noise.

It’s a terrible noise and he’s about to be dragged away from the woman he loves, to be tortured in ways he can barely comprehend and they’re coming and he can’t fight them off, because he’s broken and sick and—

Y/N is almost crying herself.

Bucky is way past weeping. It’s tragic, and unfair, and he can’t control it, and still, she thinks he’s only getting more and more worked up—

She wonders absentmindedly if he knows what he’s doing. If there is any part of him lucid enough to understand what's happening around him. The breaks in hysteria seem so random, and not nearly long enough.

“Love” she whispers, desperate to sooth him, “Love, it’s okay… you're safe, it’s just me here it’s all okay.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to hear her. His eyes are screwed shut. He’s hyperventalating, crying and retching against her throat.

His hands are holding onto her so tightly she knows she’s going to have bruises by morning, and she doesn’t care one bit. There isn’t anything in the world that would make her prise him away from her front.

Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red.

He’d do anything to make this stop. He can feel his body aching.

god, it— it hurts, and they’re— they’re coming— He’d seen them. But… why… Why aren’t they here, yet? They’d seemed so close.

He’d seen them.

“Shhhhh” Y/N’s soft voice purrs, “Shhhh now, baby— it’s okay.”

That’s not them. That's not an officer, or a shadow.

That’s, her. That’s Y/N, and… is… is she holding him?

It feels like she is. It… It feels like her.

Blue.

The colour overwhelms him for a minute, even though his eyes are closed.

A glaze of calm, sky blue coats him for a second. For just long enough for him to catch his breath.

“Good job” she says next, “Good job, Buck, can you do that again?”

Do what? he thinks, All I did was breathe.

He’d do anything for her, so he figures it’s worth a shot.

As his lungs expand, he feels her hands on his back, stroking a gentle circle across his ribs.

“Well done” she says, “Sweetheart”

The praise in her tone tugs at something nice, deep, deep down inside his chest.

He splutters out a cough on the next inhale and realises that all he wants is to see her- That he wouldn’t care about a hundred people coming to teach him a lesson as long as her face was the last thing he gets to see before they take him away.

If you want anything… anything at all, you just tell me, okay?

The ghost of her voice pricks at his mind. The gentle reminder urging him to speak, despite every fibre of his aching body begging him to stay quiet, to stay silent so that he might avoid some kind of correction—

“P-please I… I-I want to see y-you… p-please”

“Okay” Y/N says, like his fractured request hasn’t just broken her heart, “Okay, I’m right here, just— that’s it”

One of her hands is on his cheek, cupping the tear stained skin so that he can shift his face up to look at her, when his blood-shot eyes flicker open.

She greets him with a smile so lovely he thinks he might have died.

That he was right, all along and that he’s died and gone to…

Well, he didn’t think heaven would hurt this much, but if she’s there with him then it can’t be anywhere else—

“What’re you thinking?” she presses, thumb stroking his temple, “huh? what’s goin’ on in there?”

“Th-that I… I didn’t think heaven w-would let me in, doll, but— but if you’re here too t-then it c-can’t be hell”

She laughs at that. Soft and tempered.

“You’re not dead, Barnes” she says, with a half-hearted roll of her eyes, “You’re sick, and tired, but I told you before, you’re going to be just fine in a couple of days.”

He thinks that sounds right. He just about remembers.

Every inch of his body is sore.

He tries to scan through everything, in search of injuries, from his head, and his jumbled thoughts down, past the burning agony of his scar, and his straining ribs and cramping stomach until he remembers the soreness of his throat, and the echo of wetness on the covers between them.

It makes his urge to puke again nearly unbearable.

Y/N sees the way his cheeks are suddenly turning bright red, and pieces that together with the mortified expression he’s now sporting—

“I’m so sorry” he whispers, teeth starting to chatter together as the tremors in his muscles get more and more intense, “-fu-fuck I’m sorry”

And then, her lips are against his.

She’s kissing him, and he can’t breathe because he’d really thought she was going to hate him. To think he was disgusting, because he is. He is and he can’t help it, but she’s kissing him and he loves her and he tells her all the time but it doesn’t seem like enough and—

“It’s not your fault” she whispers, “baby boy, it’s all okay, I promise— but we should clean up, okay? We should get another shower.”

I can’t walk, he thinks, defeated- I can’t move… not yet.

“P-please” he whispers, averting his gaze, “Please d-don’t m-make me move, not… not yet, I— I can’t and I- I don’t want to fall…”

Y/N shakes her head, pressing her lips to brow.

“Would I ever let ya’ fall, Buck?”

He’s so humiliated that all he can do is sob as he forces himself to shake his head.

No, he thinks, No, you wouldn’t.

“No” she confirms softly, holding him close, “But we’ll wait anyway, yeah? you just keep breathing for me, love… you keep breathing and then, when you’re feelin’ a little more steady we’ll get you into the shower…”

An idea strikes her suddenly;

“Or” she says, “How about we take a bath?”

That seems to spark his interest. His brow furrows in consideration, and a cry catches in his throat.

He swallows it, trying earnestly to push back against the hollow ache of shame that’s trying to crush his chest.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N knows that he would, it’s written all over his face, “Me and you, sweetheart— We’ll clean up, it’s not a big deal”

“I… I m-made a mess…” he whispers shakily.

She thinks he sounds like a child.

Like a terrified little boy, who doesn’t want to get into trouble—

“It’s not your fault” she swears, stroking his cheek again, “You're burnin' up with a fever, comin' down from a cocktail of drugs that you didn't mean to take in the first place, you couldn’t help it”

Nervously, he looks back at her face. His eyes are so, so terrified, that she can barely take it.

“I love you” she murmurs, “It’s okay— I promise.”

Bucky believes her. For whatever reason, in that moment, he really believes that she loves him anyway, that she’s not angry with him, even though he thinks she should be, and he’s so overwhelmingly grateful that he breaks down crying all over again.

“I l-love you too” he stammers, burying his face in her chest, “I’m sorry— I- I really-am I— I- I couldn’t—I- I saw, I- I know it’s crazy but I— I saw someone…”

“Shhhhhh” she exhales, running her hand through his hair, “It’s not crazy, you’re going to see things, remember? it’s all part of the process”

He clings to her tighter, realising that if she’s right, that that means he’s going to keep being tortured by things that only he can see coming, that it’s only going to get worse—

“But” Y/N cuts in, feeling him tensing, “you can see me, too, right?”

He can, so he nods, trying to slow his cries;

“And would I let anybody take you away, or do anything to hurt you?”

No.

No.

His head shakes. He sniffs bravely and nuzzles into the skin of her neck as he thinks about how lucky he is to have her in his life.

To still have her in his life, after everything he’s done.

“No” she agrees, “So you’ve got nothing to worry about, sweetheart”

“I… I c-can’t d-do this” he stammers lamely, “I- I can’t, t-there isn’t enough l-left of me to break this time”

Y/N just shakes her head, pressing a kiss against his brow.

“You’re going to be alright” she promises, “We’ll go one step at a time okay? for right now, we need to get cleaned up, love… So, we need to get to the bathroom. We can do that, can’t we?”

Can I walk? he thinks, flexing his legs-

It hurts, but, he’s good at pain.

“I… I can walk” he says, aiming for confident, “If I- If I f-fall I’ll… I’ll get back up”

The waver in his voice is heart wrenching.

Y/N brings her fingers down to his cheeks, wiping them clean-

“I’m not going to let you fall” she tells him again, “I promise”

He clings to her hand as she prises him away from her front, helping him stand on unstable legs.

She just presses a kiss against his shoulder, and loops an arm around his waist, helping him half stumble towards the bathroom.

It’s agony, but he manages; With her help, he makes it all the way too the toilet, where he finally collapses, sitting on the closed, plastic lid with a relieved whimper.

“There” she purrs, stroking his hair back, “You've got a fever so I can't make it too warm” Y/N soothes, "But to be honest, I don't think it'll make much of a difference once we're both in there..."

His eyes roll up at her, wet and embarrassed. She smiles, letting him press his whole cheek into her hand as she lowers it away from his brow.

“I’m going to start the water now, alright?”

It takes him a second to process her words, but when he does, he nods, shaking lamely as he watches her leave him, to head towards the tub.

The sound of the water splashing against the porcelain is nice.

He thinks it’s soothing, like white noise.

Y/N shoots him a look, and is somewhat satisfied when she sees him shivering where she’d left him.

She takes the opportunity to slip into the bedroom, to strip the dirty sheets and throw them into a far off pile in the corner and grab them both a fresh set of clothes.

When she re-enters the bathroom, he’s waiting, wide-eyes watching the doorway anxiously.

“I’m right here” she swears, discarding the bundle of fabric she’s brought on the marble countertop, “Just bringin’ some supplies”

He half nods. Teeth chattering.

The bath is steaming. She grabs a bottle from one of the shelves and pours a generous amount under the running faucet.

It smells nice.

Bucky can’t quite place exactly what it smells like, but he likes it all the same.

And then, she’s back, between his legs, letting him hide his face against her stomach.

It’s bare now. She’s naked, and he doesn’t remember her getting undressed and that scares him and everything— everything is way too much, again.

He’s crying into her skin. Sobbing, desperate, gasping sobs, as he fusses with hands in his lap.

Y/N’s hands are stroking his back, rubbing soft, calming circles across the straining outline of his ribs.

“C’mon, baby” she whispers, helping him look up at her, “Let’s get in”

It’s ready now. The tub is full—there’s thick layer of bubbles floating across the surface of the water and all he wants is to follow her into it.

So that’s what he does. Once she’s undressed him, he shuffles along behind her, almost slipping as he clambers over the side, and settles under the blanket of sweet smelling foam.

She’s behind him, he’s settled between her legs, leaning back against her front and letting out precious little noises that seem more like whimpers than out-right cries.

That’s a win, she thinks, I’ll take that.

It's luke warm at best, but he's so warm that her theory about it not mattering much is quickly proven.

“Good job” Bucky hears her praise, “Good job, baby— you’re doin’ so well”

He sags back into her, giving up completely. Letting himself retreat inwards, so that he might stand a chance at making through this whole thing in one piece.

She watches him blinking up at her from behind damp lashes, looking awfully muddled, and brings her hand round to his naval, so that they can tangle their fingers together.

He jumps at the chance, squeezing both of her palms in his, before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

He’s exhausted, and the water is cool, but for some reason, he’s not shivering like he was before and even though his body is still painful, it's much easier to ignore, even if it is a lot to process at once.

He’s breathing, he can feel Y/N behind him, he can feel her hands in his.

It’s a lot, but because of her it’s bearable.

He hears himself making a noise that sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He’s only sure that he’s the source of it, because of how she hushes him, pressing a kiss against the back of his head, and boxing him in with her thighs.

He’d have stifled it, if he’d had a choice, but that kind of self-control is long gone now.

Y/N’s efforts at quieting him seem to work though; the sound fades off, and leaves Bucky only the ringing in his ears as a distraction.

And after a few minutes, even that is vague.

Everything is… off. It’s hazy, and he feels like he’s floating, and grounded all at once.

Time isn’t right. It’s not linear, or rhythmic anymore.

He snaps back to himself when he feels things.

A sharp bolt of pain in his arm— A soft brush of fingers across his brow— The coolness of the water rolling up, over a part of his chest that had been dry, before.

The spaces between are abstract. They’re the chattering of his teeth, and the waves of sickness that he’s no longer trying to swallow down.

They’re the gentle kisses Y/N is pressing against the top of his head. They’re the words of endearment that she’s whispering against the slick skin of his uninjured shoulder.

He’s crying. He doesn’t know why, or when he started. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s not like he can change it, anyway.

His hair is soaked, it’s warm and heavy, and he’s… he’s gagging and spluttering— His chest is hammering, he’s— he’s spinning and falling and terrified—

“…You’re okay, baby… I’ve got you, you’re alright…”

The feeling of panic retreats at her voice.

He needs to keep her close. He’s so scared of being alone-

His fingers are furled. Fists tight.

He feels something. A soft, light brush of a thumb across his flesh knuckles.

Instantly, he lets go— Both of his hands releasing their grip because just like that he knows… He knows who he’s with. Who’s holding his hand, who’s hand he’s squeezing that hard.

He retches again.

He sobs, and splutters and shakes his head as hot, blazing cramps roll up across his core.

He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

Can feel bones breaking between his fingers. He can almost hear the crack—

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Bucky is back to hyperventilating.

Eyes screwed shut, red faced and choking on desperate, spluttering sobs.

Y/N’s heart is aching as she tries to piece together anything that might have lead to this seemingly reaction.

“Bucky” she whispers, bringing her thighs up to further box him in, “Everything’s alright”

He’s holding his own chest. Both arms wrapped around himself, in a primal attempt at self-comfort.

There’s a string of bile draped from his lips, across his chin.

He’s crying. He’s crying like he’s never going to stop.

“Shhhhhh” she exhales, “I’ve got you, I’m here-”

Suddenly- His eyes are wide.

It’s horrible. The sheer, frantic, pain-driven terror, behind them is horrible.

“My love” she purrs, “I’m here, I’m right here”

She brings her fingers up, cleaning his face with warm water.

Her touch seems to confuse him. His gaze is muddled, lips slightly parted.

“I-I’m sorry” he whispers, “I-I-I-I d-di-didn’t mean too-”

The chattering of his jaw stifles his words. He’s hurting. He’s visibly hurting so much that Y/N can’t help but shift to hold him tighter.

“I’ve got you” she tells him, “You’re safe, sweetheart— You’re so safe”

“Y-you” he stammers, desperate to know, to know if he’s harmed her by accident, “a-a-are y-you?”

“Am I?” Y/N deciphers, “Am I what, Buck?”

“S-sa-safe?”

Oh, god.

Her heart shatters. It breaks into a thousand pieces and stings behind her ribs.

“Am I safe?” she checks, “Baby boy, is that what you’re asking?”

She can barely believe it. It’s only because she knows him, that she can even begin to comprehend the fact that even in his current condition, that he’d be worrying about her.

He nods looking at her with the same piercing gaze as before.

“I’m safe” she swears, “I’m so, so safe.”

“I-I th-thought I-” he sobs, relief making him almost dizzy, “I- I th-thought I’d h-hurt you”

Tears sting behind Y/N’s eyes as she shakes her head.

“No, baby” she promises, “No, you could never, you could never hurt me.”

His chest rattles loosely, he sniffs and whimpers and cries even louder as he tries to make himself believe her.

“Sweetheart” she coos, “I promise you, I’m fine”

“I- I-I’m s-sorry I— I- m-my hands I— I, I can’t do this… I- I can’t, I— I’m too scared—”

“Hush now” Y/N soothes, trying to settle her own pulse, “Can you look at me?”

Can he?

He has no idea if opening his eyes is something he’s capable of anymore, but he wants to try.

So he does.

Everything is blurry, and it stings, but… Y/N is there, she’s real, and calm, and unharmed.

That settles him for just long enough for him to catch his breath.

There’s a horrible wheezing sound in the air. As a gentle thumb brushes across the damp, hot skin of his cheek, Bucky realises that it’s coming from him.

As it waivers, before cracking off to nothing, he realises that it’s his lame attempt at breathing.

“You’re alright” Y/N says, letting water trickle from her fingers, across his jaw, “Just relax for me”

He loves her. He loves her so much.

His lip quivers, pouting and chapped, and then, everything slips again.

She watches his eyes flutter shut as another bout of sobs rip up from his chest.

It’s horrible. He’s shivering, and heaving and clinging onto his own chest so hard she can see bruises forming, even though there’s a layer of foam on top of the water clouding her view.

“C’mere-”

She takes his hands in hers, prising them away from his ribs and helping him tangle their fingers together instead.

He can feel that. He can feel her palm against his flesh one, and the gentle strumming of her pulse through the sensors of his metal one.

It’s stable. It’s constant and everything is gone, again.

There’s a sharp jab of pain in his shoulder that makes him wince. There’s a tug of sickness in his throat that makes him lunge forwards a fraction, and then, there’s the sound of Y/N telling him he’s okay to let go, as he vomits down into the water.

He hears the splash, and feels the shame curdling in his veins, but, then a wave of… blackness over takes him again, and he finds himself collapsing back into her front.

“Bucky” Y/N whispers, pressing her lips against the top of his head, “Shall we go back to bed?”

It takes awhile for him to hear her, and even longer for him to realise that she’s asking him a question.

By that point she’s already drained the now cold water from the tub, and has started to try and manoeuvre herself out from under him, so that she can grab towels for them to share.

“B-b-bed?” he repeats, teeth chattering loudly, “I…I-I…”

“Come on baby, stand up for me, nice and slow”

It’s like he’s floating, but not in a nice, weightless kind of way.

It’s agony, it burns, and he’s terrified but before he can fall, there’s a gentle arm around his waist, helping him, even though he doesn’t understand how.

“I’ve got you” Y/N promises, steadying herself as she half carries him back towards the bed, “Good job, Buck… Just a little bit further.”

He collapses the moment she withdraws her support.

A scream erupts from his chest- It’s primal and loud and terrified.

He’s falling, he knows he’s falling- and he’s reaching out for something- anything but, he- he’s going to fall anyway—

He’s on the bed. Y/N wraps a blanket around his naked body, deciding that any attempt at dressing him would be almost cruel.

“I- I d-don’t— I- d-don’t w-want t-o fall” he sobs, muffling his own fractured voice with his palms, “I- I’m- I- I’m f-falling”

“Oh, baby” she soothes, slipping in beside him again, “Oh, baby, no, no you’re not falling”

Her palm is on his brow, his entire body is convulsing—

Panic flares, and his eyes snap open, wide and confused.

They land on her, on her gentle smile, and then he only looks more muddled.

“We took a bath” she murmurs, brushing his damp hair back slowly, “We cleaned you up, and got dry… and now, now you’re back in bed, tucked up with me…”

“I… I- I’m n-not stable” he tells her, voice barely audible, “I- I sh-should b-be wiped”

Y/N thinks that that is probably the saddest thing he could’ve said.

It’s obviously something he’s picked up from somewhere else. It’s not anything she’s heard him say before. She wonders briefly if he’s hallucinating again, if he doesn’t know where he is—

but no.

He’s looking directly at her now. Full blue eyes waiting earnestly for her to tell him that he’s right. That he needs to be dragged away and electrocuted within an inch of his life.

When she shakes her head, he blinks, and submissively drops his gaze to the sheets.

“S-s-sorry” he makes himself stammer, desperate to let her know that he only wants to help, “I— I- t-thought-”

“It’s alright” she promises, “You just need to breathe…keep breathing and get some rest for me… that’s all”

“For you?” he echos, almost dreamily, “Br-breathe?…f-for you?”

“Mhmm” she confirms, “that’s right, love, and then, rest”

He likes that. He’d do anything for her and there are worse things in the world than breathing.

and as for the resting, He doesn't think he knows how to do that, right now, but he’s about to try, he’s about to do anything that he remembers being vaguely linked to resting, when a sharp bolt of pain shoots up to his shoulder.

It hurts, and he can’t help but whimper, flesh hand reaching over to curl protectively over his scar.

He wants help.

He looks for Y/N again, because he trusts her, and he loves her and he’s in pain, and—

“Oh, baby” she murmurs, seeing the way he’s starring at her, “baby boy, I know-”

“It hurts” he whispers, “It… it… it really hurts, Doll”

She doesn’t think he’s ever sounded so young.

“I know” she replies, leaning in to kiss his brow, “I know it does, I’m sorry... It should get a little better when you've gotten some more sleep...”

“I can’t… I- I can’t fight, I can't protect you-I”

He can’t protect himself. He knows he can’t. That realisation is almost as bad as the pain. The pain that for once he knows he can't just push through.

“No” Y/N agrees softly, “I know, it's okay”

“I’m sorry” he whispers, defeated.

He’s not an asset anymore. He’s barely a man.

“Sweetheart” she coos, stroking his cheek, “you have nothing to be sorry for… You don’t have to fight, you don’t have to do anything right now...”

“Will…” he sniffs, “…W-will you stay here wi-with me… so- so that you can keep me safe?”

“Of course I will” she promises, “I’m staying right here, with you”

He focuses on that at he tries to breath through the pain in his arm. The sharpness of before is fading to an angry ache now, if he tries, he can convince himself that it's merging with the cramping of his muscles. He can definitely breath through that, he's been doing it for hours already.

"You want some water?" she offers softly, flattening her palm across his brow again, "You feel a little cooler for right now, so I'm not gonna push it..."

"No" he whispers, voice still weak, "I- I won't keep it down"

Y/N beams at him, nodding in understanding as she settles down with him, stroking his hair back as it starts to dry.

"You're doin' so well, Buck..." she praises, watching as his damp lashes flutter, "If your pain gets any worse I'll press Tony for something to take the edge off..."

"It..." he gulps, focusing on her face tiredly, "It'll stop, r-right?"

"The pain?" she asks, stroking his arm affectionately as she nods, "Yeah, baby... it might take a while to go away completely, but it'll stop."

"Promise?"

I can take it, he thinks nervously, if she promises me it's not forever, if she stays with me, I- I think I can take it...

"I promise, handsome" Y/N sighs, enjoying the moment of calm, "I know it's a lot, but we're gonna ride it out"

"Together" he murmurs, letting his body at least try and relax into the bed.

"Yeah, Buck. Together."

The siren that has been splitting the air in the tower is quieter, here. In the common room, with the thick white carpets and furniture to muffle the sound.

Steve is frantic. He’s frozen in position, breathing shallow as his brain fights to come up with any way to respond to the situation he’s facing.

He’s facing Bucky.

Bucky, who, until 2 minutes ago had been doing just fine.

But now he’s not fine, now he’s hysterical.

FRIDAY had set off the code white alarms, helpfully alerting the other residents that something wasn’t right, and all Steve had been able to do is back pace, horror in his eyes as he’d watched the infamous Winter Solider curl up into a ball on the floor.

“Lets cut that noise”

Y/N’s instruction has an instant effect. The shrill ringing is gone as quickly as it’d started.

The door locks behind her with a dull click, and now she’s pacing towards the scene.

Unlike Steve, she doesn’t look afraid at all.

If anything, she looks curious.

“Hey boys” she greets mildly, coming up on Steve’s flank, “What’s goin’ on in here?”

“We” Steve gulps, trying to gather himself, “We were just talking and then…”

“And then?”

He blinks at her prompting, mouth suddenly dry.

“He started freakin' out- speakin' Russain” he explains, looking urgently at the man on the floor, “and then- I- I don’t know what happened, he just—“

Y/N tilts her head.

“He didn’t collapse or anything” he says, “He just—“

“Sat down on the ground?”

He’s hardly sitting, but he doesn’t know think there’d be another way of explaining the situation without making him feel sick.

He nods, and so does she.

She looks understanding, now, rather than curious.

“Hey, Buck” she calls, taking a slow step towards him, “You doin' okay?”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He just stays still, burying his face in his knees, arms looped protectively across his brow.

“Y/N” Steve cautions, “I don’t know if he can hear us”

“Sure he can” she replies, almost with humour, “even if what your thinkin’ is right— which I don’t think it is, by the way — Do you think he magically goes deaf?”

He blinks at her dumbly, brain working overtime.

That does sound a little ridiculous, but he’s not an expert on the effects of brain washing, so he decides to forgive himself for that, at least.

“You said he started speaking Russian” Y/N says, “That’s why you called a code white?”

Steve nods, guilt stirring inside of his chest.

Was I wrong? he thinks, did I make this worse?

“Lets try this, then” she says, taking a smaller step closer, “Baki, chto sluchilos’?”

The russian words pour easily from her lips. Steve blinks again, thinking about how strangely soft she’s managed to make them sound. He’s always thought the language was harsh, but her voice is gentle, even now.

Bucky seems to notice her question this time. Although he doesn’t move as much as he flinches in response to her words.

“What were you talking about?” She asks suddenly, head snapping back to Steve, “Before he swapped languages.”

His brow furrows, arms over his chest as he thinks back.

“I…” he says, “I’m not sure exactly… nothing serious, I mean, just— stuff”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah” he agrees, “Childhood stuff, yeah- Yeah that was it— He asked me if I remembered something, a store where he used to work on Tuesdays— and then we were talkin’ about the guy who owned it, and about how he used to go crazy at us for trailin’ mud into the front of the shop…”

“Right” she presses, “and then?”

“And then” Steve sighs, frustrated, “Uh, I said—“

He stops. Realising exactly what he’d said.

Y/N raises her brow, urging him to continue;

“I said” he gulps, looking suddenly ashamed, “I said “I guess we were lucky that he didn’t take us outside and beat us” for half the stuff we did”

Yeah, she thinks, That’d do it.

Steve opens his mouth to apologise, but she cuts him off,

“What did he say in Russian, do you remember?”

“No” he says quickly, remorse making him dizzy, “No, I— I didn’t really get it, it was so fast, he was just, mumbling and backing away and then…”

She nods, understanding.

“Darlin', I-”

“It’s fine” she says, closing the last few steps between her and where Barnes is still hiding on the floor.

It’s not fine. Steve knows it’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I think he said insvinte?” he offers, desperate to be helpful, to right this wrong somehow, “Or something close-”

“Izvinite” she corrects quietly, dropping to a crouch.

Her tone is soft again, and Steve can’t help but wince a heavy ball of dread hits him square in the chest.

It must mean something, then. It wasn’t just incoherent rambling,

“What does it mean?” he hears himself ask, not really wanting to know.

“Sorry” she answers, voice barely audible, “It means I’m sorry”

“Jesus christ” he mumbles, backing away towards the arm of the couch. He leans on it, not trusting his legs to hold him up as he paws at his face in despair.

Y/N reaches out carefully, letting her fingers run over the folded metal plates of Bucky’s arm, before they finally reach his hair. It’s damp by his temples. His whole body is shaking so quickly it’s almost invisible.

“Tebe ne nuzhno izvinyat'sya, dorogaya…” she whispers soothingly “…ne togda, kogda ty ne sdelal nichego plokhogo.”

You don’t have to be sorry, Sweetheart… not when you haven’t done anything wrong.

The back of his shoulders jump with a concealed sob.

He’s terrified, plain and simple and the idea of him being so scared, being so, hopelessly afraid and then being hit by a terrible, loud siren is almost too much for her to bare.

No wonder he’s trying to hide.

No wonder he’s making himself as small as possible in the furthest corner of the room.

“Hey” she soothes, hoping that he’ll respond to English now she’s touching him, “You’re okay…look at me… it’s just me, it’s okay…”

Steve watches, horror stricken as Bucky slowly edges his face up from behind the wall he’s made with his body.

His chin stays hidden behind his forearm, but his eyes are red and streaming.

Y/N shakes her head, hushing him as he starts to choke on air, suddenly feel obscenely exposed;

It’s clear from his expression that he’s too far gone. That scared doesn’t cover it anymore. She’s not fully confident that hysteria covers it, anymore.

His panicked gaze drops to the floor, and she watches as he chokes on a breath that seems to hurt him. Her head shakes, and she lets her hand fall away for a beat as she considers what might be best to say;

“Soldat” she murmurs, knowing he’ll take notice of that, “Glaza na moi”

…Solider…. eyes on me…

That does the trick.

The way his gaze snaps to hers is automatic. It’s instinctual and instant.

“Khoroshiy mal'chik” she soothes, knowing he needs her to be kind more than anything else, right now, “You’ve gotta slow your breathing down— In and out, with me now, okay?”

He blinks at the gentle Russian praise, and then he shivers.

Y/N doesn’t like using his conditioned submissive to her advantage. Not when she can help it, but he needs to stop dragging in aching bursts of air, he needs to calm down-

“In…” she instructs, “…and, out…”

He obeys instantly. Matching the rise and fall of his chest with hers even though he’s having to fight through every fibre of his body to do so.

His discomfort is obvious. She can see that he’s only following her commands because they’re commands. That it’s not a natural way for him to be breathing right now. That it’s hurting him to fight his reflexes so plainly.

“…Deep…” she whispers, trying to soften her voice again, “…Deeper, now, Soldier, and slow, you’re okay- you’re safe, right now, everything’s alright.”

Something flickers across his eyes as tears spill down his cheeks, again. Y/N tilts her head and moves her hands around to cup his jaw. He’s still half hidden, but she knows he won’t fight the contact. She smiles as she wipes her fingers across his face, and nods encouragingly as he changes his inhalation’s to match her new instructions.

Steve is watching from his perch across the room, fighting the urge to cry himself. This is torture, he thinks, though he feels guilty for the thought the second he has it. He hasn’t been tortured— He has, though and that’s why he’s curled up in a corner while Steve gets to watch. He hates the way he’s daring to feel badly. He hates this whole situation

“Can you tell me your name?”

Y/N’s voice snaps him out of his bout of self-deprecation.

He’s watching, desperately hoping for a reassuring response, for some sign that he’d been wrong after all—

“Hmmm?” she presses gently, “Teper' tvoye imya, dorogaya.”

Tell me your name now, sweetheart.

This time, her voice seems to confuse him. He draws in another wet breath before nodding a fraction.

“J-James Bu-channon B-Barnes”

She beams at him and watches his face relax a fraction when she doesn’t have an issue with his answer.

“And what’s my name?” she asks after a pause, “Teper' my govorim po-angliyski, soldat”

We’re speaking english now, Solider.

This time, he looks more nervous.

“Y/N?” he whispers uncertainly.

“Right” she agrees instantly, “Good”

That seems to settle him a fraction.

He inhales deeper, and doesn’t seem to suffer quite as much on the exhale.

“You’re safe” she promises next, swiping another set of tears away from his cheeks, “…Nothin’ bad’s coming…”

He looks at her for the first time since she’d arrived in the room, he really looks at her face, and she sees something behind his gaze give way.

“-I— I di-didn’t m-me-mean t—to d-do an-anythin— wrong” he stammers, frantically trying to tell her, “I- I’m s-sorry— I- I didn’t- I- I c-c-can't—”

“Shhhhhh” she soothes, shaking her head before leaning in to press a kiss against his brow, “We’re breathing right now” she says, smoothing his hair back, “That’s all you need to think about”

It’s a bit of a low blow, really, cutting him off like that, but she knows he’s too far gone to have a rational discussion about everything else right now. A panic attack worsened by the addition of an alarm which she’d wager had been just a touch too familiar is a whole lot of trauma to fight through at once.

He needs to focus. He needs to breathe. And she knows him well enough he won’t disobey something as close to a command as her words. Not given the circumstances.

She’s right. Just like before, his body takes over.

He reverts to mimicking her exaggerated breathing pattern and letting his eyes loose focus.

This time, she doesn’t interrupt him straight away. Not even to praise him. She just watches silently as he forces his chest to rise and fall in a mechanical rhythm that she’d curated to deliberately ease his most primal responses.

Steve paws at his eyes, pressing back his own tears now.

This is all my fault, he thinks, the reality of the situation hitting him now, There was no code white, he was just scared and I made things ten times worse—

Y/N just sits with him for a few more minutes, waiting until she notices him starting to shiver, before she reaches out to stroke his cheek again.

“Good” she whispers, affection heavy in her voice now, “That’s better, huh?”

“I-I’m t-t-trying” he stammers weakly.

“I know” she agrees, leaning in and pressing a kiss against his brow, “I know, Bucky, I know you’re doin’ good…”

He nods a fraction and that’s how she knows that he’s ready to take back control. To at least start deciding what he wants to do, again.

“Want some water?” she offers, beaming proudly when he shakes his head, “No? Okay… What do you want, huh?”

“C-can… C-can I… Can I- have… have a h-hug pl-please?”

“A hug?” she checks, “Sure… Sure you can, c’mere—”

And then, her arms are open, and Bucky feels himself moving, rocking onto his knees so that he can to cling onto her waist.

This is all he wants. He just wants to hide his face against her neck, and hold onto her and—

“Sweetheart” she murmurs, “You’re okay, it’s all okay, I promise…”

And then, he’s back to sobbing.

His adrenaline is crashing, and he feels dizzy and sick and he’s crying like a baby in her arms.

None of this feels right. He doesn’t understand how he’s ended up on the floor in the corner of the room. It’s all a blur of panic, and loud, shrill noises that always mean terrible things are coming and— and he remembers feeling useless, of not being able to be understood—

“We're sp-speaking English, now” he sniffs, “W-we’re sep-peaking, English now, I- I’m sorry I- c-couldn’t before.”

Steve’s heart breaks in his chest when he hears that. When he hears his best friend weeping and earnestly trying to convince them that he knows he’s meant to be speaking the same language as they are.

“…Shhhhh, now…” Y/N soothes, “…It’s okay… you can’t help it, it’s not your fault…”

“I- I t-tried” he bleats, upset making his Brooklyn drawl stronger somehow, “Doll, I— I tried b-but my head…”

“I know…” she promises, “…It’s alright, sweetheart— I’m sorry— I’m sorry ‘bout all that noise…”

He clings to her so tightly that her t-shirt tears under his metal thumb.

The memory of the skull splitting siren making his whole world spin for a moment;

“We won’t do that again” she promises, “I’ll get Tony to figure somethin’ out— even if there ever is a need for somethin’ like that, we can’t have it be so loud…”

“—I’ll be good-” he promises pathetically, “I- I s-swear, I— I- Please, I- I c-cant t-take that n-noise, again…”

That’s more than Steve can process. He pushes up and leaves the room in silence, hoping that the route back to his suit is deserted. He doesn’t think he can handle a run in with anyone. Not with how full his own eyes are now.

Y/N barely notices his departure. She’s too busy hushing the cowering man in her arms. Because he is cowering in her arms now. He’s shaking like a wounded stray, chest heaving with sobs.

He’s too big to hide against her, really, but some how he’s managing.

His entire face is angled downwards, obscured from view as he presses his brow into her shoulder.

All she can do is hold him. Hold him, and murmur out gentle streams of praise until he finally starts to settle down.

Until his body caves in and he drifts off into something that could almost pass for sleep.

Y/N thinks it might’ve been more convincing if his hands hadn’t stayed furled in the fabric of her top.

“C’mon, handsome” she sighs, “If you wanna’ try and get some rest we should get you a little more comfy”

She watches curiously as Bucky edges his face up, slowly revealing wide, blue eyes that look awfully sore.

His cheeks are red, and damp, and she can’t help but lean in and press a kiss against his chin starts to quiver.

“We’ll stay here” she promises him quietly, “We’ll stay right here, okay? but you can lie down—”

“W-wi-with you, right?”

Her chest aches as looks into his eyes and nods.

As she sees how terrified he still is.

“Yeah, Buck… we can lie down together, would you like that?”

He offers her a jerky little nod before sniffling sadly and averting his gaze.

She nods, too and starts to adjust her position, carefully rearranging their bodies so that she is the one curled up, with Bucky against her flank. He keeps both arms locked around her waist, and lets out a sad series of gulps as he fights the urge to tuck his legs into his chest.

It’s hard. He wants to protect himself, to bring his knees tight into his front, but he also wants to be held. To let Y/N protect him, while he really, really needs her too.

“Shhhh” she soothes, eager to ease the quiet little whimpers that are suddenly vibrating against her jaw, “Baby boy, you’re alright…”

Bucky is nuzzling into her throat, nose bumping against her temple in his not so subtle bid to earn more attention from her.

“What do you want, huh?” she asks, tone playful as she lets one hand thread through his hair, “You’re precious”

He lets his eyes close as he presses kiss against her cheek, and then another against her chin, and jaw, and the tender skin behind her ear…

“…Some fussin’?…” she guesses, stroking a line across the back of his ribs, “…We can do that… C’mere…”

She shifts again, rolling over a little more so that she can tuck him neatly between her legs. Her thighs box him in, and he folds instantly into the embrace, letting out a soft, hollow, sound of appreciation as his cheek meets her chest.

“You’re alright” she soothes, starting to stroke his back, “I know that scared you, but you’re okay… I promise”

He just clings to her tighter, screwing his eyes shut.

It did scare him. The sound, the not being able to speak English, the look on his oldest friends face—

“Hey” she inserts, feeling his back heave, “Hey, I’m here, I’m right here…”

“…He— H-e was mad…”

“He?” she asks, “You mean Steve?”

He nods, nose brushing her jaw.

“Baby, why would you think that?”

“..I…” he gulps, “..I couldn’t sp-speak english and th-then he… he started that noise..”

Her heart cracks down the middle as she puts it all together. As she pieces together the way it must’ve felt to him.

“Oh, Bucky” she whispers, “Bucky, no— It wasn’t like that”

“Will- W-will you tell him I’m sorry, d-doll?”

“No- Not when you haven’t done anythin’ to him that warrants an apology.”

He doesn’t reply to that. She assumes he stopped listening after the no.

“…Baby…” she murmurs, trying to soothe him, “…Steve isn’t angry, it wasn’t a punishment, it was the security system, that’s all…”

“It… it sounded like… it sounded like w-what t-they…”

“—I know” she cuts in, “I know it did, I’m sorry— We won’t do that again.”

This time, she doesn’t want to break the silence he settles into. It doesn’t feel as upset as the last time.

Her fingers roll across his temple, stroking his hair as he works at calming himself down. At letting his body adjust to the sudden lack of adrenaline;

and then, he’s sleeping.

His whole body is a deadweight, chest rising and falling in a natural rhythm that betrays how vulnerable he is.

Y/N feels herself relaxing too. He’s too warm and soft for her to stay tense, besides, the only thing she was trying to guard is him, and he’s not going anywhere.

That’s when she lets her mind drift back to Steve.

To her friend who’d fled the scene in horror whilst she’d been unable to comfort him.

She sighs, looking at her sleeping lover with sheer adoration. She’s glad he’s sleeping, because her own remorse is more than enough for her to deal with;

“What do we do about that, huh, Buck?”

Y/N knows he can’t answer. He does seem to smile in response to her voice though. She thinks that it’s probably a trick of the light, but, the idea of being able to make him feel better regardless of his consciousness is nice, so she doesn’t over think it.

“Baby” she whispers, “Shall I call him? Tell him to come back up, see that you’re okay?”

This time, he stirs.

He nuzzles into her, letting out a sigh.

“I’m taking that as a yes—“ she decides, knowing that she has to do something, “—Friday, get Steve up here please.”

The AI replies with a polite ‘Yes, boss’ and Y/N settles back against the wall, trying to arrange their bodies into a position that looks a little less intimate without rousing her partner.

It’s easy enough. Bucky is pliant, and all he really wants is to stay close. She realises pretty quickly that as long as he’s able to keep his arms around her, he goes along with the adjustment.

She strokes his hair to soothe him once she’s satisfied.

His face is hidden against her stomach. His legs are tucked into his own chest, again, but it seems a lot less sad now.

And then, she hears footsteps.

She looks up with a smile that almost falters when she sees the expression on Steve’s face.

He’s clearly been crying. His nose is red, cheeks blotchy, and his eyes look terribly sore.

“Come sit, you’re as bad as him” For a second it looks like he's going to fight her on it, but then, with a sigh and a bashful smile, he nods. Pacing silently towards Y/N before settling himself beside her on the ground, not bothering to speak deciding to just put his arm around her shoulders instead.

Prologue You hadn't really known what to expect when Tony had sent a text that said nothing except "good luck with lover boy" in the middle of the day, it definitely hadn't been this.

A loud rumble in the corridor that makes you discard your phone, and then-

Bucky is staggering down the hallway towards your room as you open the door to investigate. He's arm in arm with Steve and he's laughing. He's cracking up at something that Rodger's clearly doesn't find funny, because he is tight lipped and focused on keeping his old friend upright and moving.

"What?-"

"Thor-" Steve tries to explain, as Barnes reacts to your voice, struggling to break free from the arm around his shoulder as he beams at you;

"Sugar!" he says gleefully, "There she is!- ain't she the prettiest thing you've ever-"

"Thor, brings- christ, Buck will you settle down for a second-" Steve tries to continue, "-He brought a flask of mead, he was supposed to do a shot-"

"Let me go- Rodgers, I got my best girl right-"

Steve sighs and you can't help but think it almost looks like he's smirking as he steps back, letting Barnes try and walk on his own.

He makes it half a step before tripping over his own feet and landing in an undignified heap on the carpet. "So, he's wasted?" you ask, helping Steve pick him back up.

"Pretty much" is all he gets out before Bucky starts chattering again, happily amusing himself as you both guide him into your room. Once he's on your bed, Steve leaves with an apologetic glance and a "Have fun" which you think is too smug.

You can't really be anything other than happy though. Not when you turn around and find Bucky smiling contently on your bed, trying in vain to kick his boots off.

"Here" you say softly, reaching down to untie the laces, "I've got it baby"

Bucky feels his cheeks aching from how big he's grinning, but he can't help it, not when you're so perfect;

"You're lookin' like the chesire cat" you comment fondly, tugging both boots free and throwing them to the floor with a dull thud, "are you a light weight or does Thor have the good stuff?"

"Both" he slurs happily, arms reaching out for you even though he's flat on his back, "You're gorgeous, darlin'-"

Any thought of resisting evaporates like smoke when you meet his gaze. He's wide eyed and hopeful and still beaming like the sun. So, you sigh returning his lovesick expression and curling up with him on top of your bed. He's a lap cat at the best of times and now, now he doesn't seem to care that it's physically impossible to get closer. That he is much larger than you are and that no matter how much he might want to, he can't actually touch every inch of you at once.

"Here..." you chuckle after 15 minutes of squirming and drunken complaints that might not have even been in English, "...is this what you want?" Before he can formulate any kind of reply, he sees you, stripping your top layer off, leaving your upper body bare. His eyes widen and he manages to give himself a bruise on his flesh bicep by trying to rip his own top off with his metal fingers.

You roll your eyes fondly and help him undress too, so that he can finally settle himself into position.

The position he chooses is basically just draping himself across your body, with his face in the crook of your neck.

Could be much worse, you decide, stroking his hair as he presses a kiss behind your ear.

"you just let me know if you want anythin', sweetheart" you murmur affectionately, more than happy to spend the rest of the day listening to him chatter away about nothing.

"No" he chuckles to himself, "No I- I can't"

That's interesting.

"Can't what?" you press, cheating a little by stroking a line across his spine in distraction, "what do you want?" He shivers in response to your touch, drowning in the feeling of bliss for a moment before his reply spills from his lips like he's in a dream. Like for a split second, one of his most embarrassing secrets is nothing more than a statement of fact.

"I want you to tie me up" he drawls, "tie me up and keep me here for the rest of my life, I've always wanted my girl to do that... to just, keep me like that"

"well..." You laugh again, softer this time, and go back to stroking his hair, "maybe when you're sober"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- As it turns out, Bucky after a few too many chugs of Asgardian Mead is basically just a very large weighted blanket with a built in heating system, and the occasional slurred compliment.

He has little to no stamina for it and it doesn't take long for him to pass out and stay that way until the next morning. Even you dragging yourself out from beneath him to shower and change doesn't wake him, neither does you re-joining him.

When he finally does stir, his head is pounding.

Not surprising, he thinks dryly, forcing himself to try and piece the previous day together.

It's not going badly until he gets to his drunken confession. Out of everything he could've forgotten, that he has forgotten for all he knows, that he gets to remember.

"Typical" he groans, voice cracking tiredly as he paws at his eyes

"What's typical?"

Your voice makes his heart flutter, he's suddenly hyper aware of the feeling of your skin against his own.

"Nothin', Sugar" he quips, letting his embarrassment go in favour of pleasant morning conversation with the woman he loves.

It doesn't stay gone though. It keeps niggling away at him throughout the day. He's running with Sam and Steve and suddenly he hears himself saying "tie me up" in a voice that doesn't even have a hint of shame.

And he's making a sandwhich with Wanda when she makes a joke about him being lucky for not embarrassing himself after drinking for the first time in a lifetime when he remembers the feeling of electric glee that he'd experienced upon hearing your reply;

"maybe when you're sober"

He reigns himself back in each time, gritting his teeth and willing the memory to fade into oblivion, but it just wont let up.

Not even the day after that, or the day after that- and finally, after a very long day spent going over HYDRA case files with Romanoff, he gives in to it.

You know he's had a shit week. Drunken playfulness aside it's been over a month since he's given himself a proper break and the past seven days are just the cherry on top.

He's always so eager to distract himself by help however he can that he forgets to come up for air until he's breathless and if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, he's not that far off now.

"Can I talk to you about somethin', doll?" he asks shyly.

His head is in your lap, you're stroking his hair back away from his temples as you nod, beaming down at him;

"You can talk to me about anything"

He scoffs at that, blush creeping up to his cheeks.

"The other night" he begins awkwardly, "when I was-"

"wasted" you insert helpfully,

Bucky hums in agreement, before sitting himself up, looking at you more seriously.

"When I said I wanted you to tie me up" he bursts, "-I meant it"

He braces to see the look of judgement on your face, but it doesn't come. You just nod.

"I figured" you say, "drunk mind, sober thoughts and all that"

And then he doesn't know what to say. Within all of the different ways he's rehearsed this conversation, he'd never pictured it starting off like this.

"It's fine, Buck"

He blinks at you, even more unsure of what to say to that.

"It's the twenty first century" you remind him humorously, "People want all kinds of things." "all kinds of things" he echos, still trying to comprehend the idea that you're not either laughing at him, or calling some kind of shrink.

"so if you've been worried about freakin' me out I should tell you" you nod, stroking his cheek fondly, "being tied up is kind of tame these days"

That makes him laugh, a sweet relieved chuckle escaping his jaw before he can remember that he still thinks he should be feeling uncomfortable.

It's hard though. To feel anything other than serene with you talking to him like this, with your thumb on his jaw, and-

"it's not a sex thing" he bursts suddenly, needing to say it, "I-mean it might be-" he corrects when you quirk a brow, before smiling again, "-it could be- but, I didn't mean it like that"

Again, you nod.

"I know it doesn't make any sense" he sighs, "I'm sorry-"

"Bucky" you murmur, "it-"

He cuts you of with a sigh;

"It ain't normal, doll. Me wantin' you to just tie me up so tight that I can't get out no matter how strong I am, and then just wantin' you to hold me- I want you to make me powerless so you can take care of me, it doesn't make any sense and I know it ain't fair- I'm sorry, I just thought you should know that I-"

"It makes total sense" you murmur, silencing him with a soft kiss against his brow, "Sweetheart, you work yourself too hard, you wanting someone you trust to make sure you keep still and take some TLC every now and then definitely seems about right to me"

He's stunned. Blue eyes locked on your face as you smile.

"and you shouldn't think that me takin' care of you any part of unfair" you add, "since we're in love and all, I'd say looking after each other is part of the deal"

"But it's not like you really could..." he says weakly, hope tainting his features

"Why not?" you challenge playfully, "I'm good with rope"

"Because" he smiles, shame quickly retreating, "I'm good with rope too"

He flexes his metal arm. It groans as if to prove a point and you can't help but laugh.

"Give me ten minutes, and we'll see who's better."

Bucky thinks they might be the longest 10 minutes of his life. The feeling of fizzing elation from the previous night is back tenfold, now. and since your departure the embarrassment is starting to creep back in. The excitement is the only thing keeping it at bay, all he can do is hope that you come back before they can mix together into dread.

You do. You come back with a plastic bag full of-

"Vibranium infused rope" you declare smugly, "We knocked it up in the lab months ago, it's for the gym equiptment- can't have you and Rodger's destroying everything that isn't welded down."

Bucky is gawking, totally disbelieving as you unravel coils of thick, woven rope.

It looks like normal rope from far away. Up close he can see the shimmer of silver hidden in the fibres, and when he touches it, he notices that it's softer than any rope he's felt before. Like it's never been frayed. Once his curiosity is satisfied, he realises that he's just standing, flushed bright red and grinning down at a bag of rope. Before it can feel awkward again, your beside him, holding his free hand and pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

"So" he gulps, "what, uh- what do we do next, doll?"

"What do you want to do next?" you challenge, not wanting to push him into anything too quickly.

His eyes flick to the rope, and then back to you.

"Could you just... take control for a bit, Sugar?" Bucky hears himself ask, knowing that he's too close to go back now. To close to actually getting what he wants to force himself into silence.

"I can" you agree, "Lets set some ground rules first though"

"Rules?" he echos unsurely

"Well, it's more like one rule, I guess" you chuckle, "If you want out, if you want me to get you out, no questions asked, we've gotta have a word"

He feels his brow furrow in consideration.

"If it gets too much for you, sweetheart..." you purr, "if you get a little lost in it all, and you don't like how it feels, then we need a word that's going to be easy for you remember, don't we?"

That makes sense. It's not something he would've considered, but the fact that you have, that you not only thought about, but you're insisting on it, is why he's so glad that he's doing any of this with you.

There's no way he'd trust anybody else with this.

"Mercy" he says softly, "It's what I used to say when... when it didn't make a difference- but it's the only thing I never got too scared to say."

You nod in approval before kissing him deeply, not wanting his mind to linger somewhere terrible.

It works, and by the time you pull away, he's smiling bashfully down at you.

"Go into the bedroom, love" you instruct, "Get undressed and wait for me- I'm gonna get a few things ready."

It doesn't take long for you to cut the rope to size with the knife you'd also collected, and it definitely doesn't take long for you to undress yourself, leaving only your underwear in place before you take your supplies and head to the bedroom.

Bucky is kneeling on the bed, looking pointedly at the covers as a flush of colour spreads from his neck across his entire body.

His glowing body.

He's naked and perfect in the dim lighting, it looks like his muscles are almost shining as you pace towards him, pressing a gentle trail of kisses across the skin of his back as you climb into place behind him.

"Good boy" you whisper as you start to secure the rope around his wrists, and his ankles, looping coils between his arms all the way up, effectively locking them in place.

He bites back a moan at the praise, giving in to his primal desire to let go. He wants to be good for you. He trusts you, and now he's totally at your mercy. He loves you more and more with each loop of rope, soft but tight against his skin.

His breathing quickens when you start to trap his chest, too. Encasing him in an intricate web with impressive efficiency.

"Try and get out" you whisper, pulling the final knot taught as he gasps.

Every muscle tenses, his metal arm snarls with effort before he blinks up at you with eyes that are suddenly very full of tears.

"Sweetheart" you sooth, pacing round to his front, trailing your nail across a line of rope that is pressing into chest, "is it too tight?"

His head shakes instantly.

"It's perfect"

His voice is almost inaudible. So you cup his cheek, watching as he stops struggling, his instinct to free himself surrendering to the helplessness of his position.

"You're perfect" you correct fondly, loving the thin layer of blush that is still reddening his cheeks. "Can I cry?" he sniffs after a beat, "I-I don't know why-"

"Do you want me to untie you?" you offer, fingers finding his hair.

"No" Bucky bursts, keening back into your touch as much as he can, "Please I- I don't want that, I- I just w-want to"

Tears are already starting to spill across his cheeks, but you just wipe them away before offering him another nod.

"Cry all you want, Buck" you sooth, flattening your palm across his brow, "you're all mine for a while, I'm gonna look after you"

"God" he gulps, "Thank you"

You dismiss his gratitude with a shake of your head, wasting no time in helping him re-arrange his position so that he's lying on his side with you.

He's naked, and mostly still, and you are warm, and soft, and holding him, and he can't move. The constant binding pressure across his skin is a constant and welcome reminder that he is utterly powerless. He can't defend himself, or run. Not that he wants to do either of those things, but still, the absence of the option is wonderful, seeing as how his body seems to be stuck in a constant state of wanting to do both at once.

And he's with you.

The secret fantasy he's had for years, for forever, for all he knows. Is finally real, and it's so much better than he'd ever thought it could be.

The tears haven't stopped since they'd started, but as he starts to feel himself surrender fully, he realise he's sobbing too.

Weak little sobs jumping up through his throat, making his chest burn against the rope with the strain of his breathing.

"Shhhhhhh" you whisper, holding him now, "You're okay, handsome... just let go... relax for me..."

He can't go anywhere anyway, he can't run from his feelings, and he can't escape any imaginary threat, either. He has no choice but to do what he's told and that is a welcome relief. His thoughts are racing through his mind too quickly for him to process, all vying for attention at once, not knowing how to deal with the lack of distraction, so any instructions are welcome and the fact that they're from you? That right now, he's yours. The feeling of being utterly, totally, yours is better than anything he's ever been able to dream of before.

"Good" he hears you praise, fingers dancing across his spine in a way that makes him strain to arch his back, "that's my good boy"

"Oh, god" he murmurs, not knowing how his fantasy could've ever seemed as good as this. Like he could've ever, in a million years been able to imagine a scenario that felt anywhere near this good.

He'd had no idea, he decides, he was clueless before this.

"You like that, huh?" Bucky hears you muse, both hands flat against his back now, holding him against your front as he nods, small and hidden in your neck.

"I want to be good for you" he sniffles lamely, knowing that right now, all that matters to him is that.

His entire world depends on him being good for you. So hearing you say it? hearing you praise him and oh, shit- whatever you're doing with your hands-

You smile, hushing him rhythmically as you start to press down across the tense planes of his back, rubbing over the rope as you work the exhausted muscles with precise points of pressure.

It's ecstasy. Or nirvana, or heaven, maybe. Bucky doesn't know. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything other than you and the way it feels like he's physically melting into your touch.

"Good" you repeat, voice softer now. Mirroring the way that he's calming himself down, finally letting himself relax into his position. Even the crying has stopped by the time you turn your focus back to his hair. To untangling every strand with your fingers as you whisper a gentle stream of praise into the air between you both. When it looks like he's falling asleep you offer to untie him but he practically begs you for more time, so, you decide to cover both of your bodies with a blanket instead, making a mental note to draw the line at letting him sleep for too long like this.

But you can't help but smile, relishing in every flutter of his lashes, every soft, calm breath and the way that he flexes his muscles every now and then, only looking more and more content when he realises he still can't move.

I'm not helping you explain the marks to Rodgers, you think firmly, I'm definitely drawing a line there.

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI

Your super solider boyfriend spends basically every night in your apartment, at first you thought holding onto your own place was for the best, especially considering your own history with shield, but something changes your mind. READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced. One day she says something on the way home from a rogue mission that makes Steve Rodgers realise he's not the only person looking for Sargent Barnes. READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc General wintersolider context warnings. fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDI (angst is mild) Okay, they hadn't meant to spy on you and Barnes. Not really- but the two way mirrors that are scattered through the tower make it too easy to avoid. The question is what they're going to do about what they saw. READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI You each tell your own friends. That was the deal you made with Bucky when you finally got together. A year later and he’s finally figuring out why you’d been so sure that you’d gotten the better part of the deal with Tony. READ 1 | 2 | 3

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc this one is heavy on the winter solider. angst, comfort. 18+ MDI When you were first captured by Hydra your own training kicked in. You convinced them of your blind loyalty and decided to bide your time. What you didn’t expect was their most dangerous weapon being so… sweet. READ 1 | 2 | 3

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDI You told him it was a bad idea. That it was going to be loud. Luckily, he has somewhere to run too. READ 1 | 2 | 3

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc fluff, smut, angst, comfort. 18+ MDI (Smut and fluff come in the later chapters) Bucky hates med-bays, he's always hated med-bays. So when he bolts from one nobody is surprised. Even when the sight of him fleeing makes staff raise an alarm, it's never hard to find him. READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI  After the downfall of HYDRA it takes 2 weeks for you to find him. Somehow, it seems like far too long.

READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI  Waking up to an empty bed in the middle of the night never bodes well, especially not in winter.

READ 1 | 2 | 3

Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture,  blood etc. The usual extortionate amount of unapologetic cuddling and comfort. fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI

Bucky never liked the blood. So when he comes home covered in it, nobody is quite sure what went wrong.

READ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Falling in love had been easy. Easier than breathing.

So easy in fact that Bucky hadn’t been able to stop himself from worrying about it all for at least 10 hours a day.

Worrying about being so dependant on another person, when he’d lost everyone else that he’d ever cared about, aside from Steve.

Steve who had laughed at his concern, a quick “That’s why they call it falling, Buck— It’s not meant to be difficult, and if anyone deserves something nice like this, it’s you.” being the end of their conversation on the matter.

Truthfully, he isn’t that dependent on you. Not yet, anyway.

But, fighting to not fall is definitely not easy, and right now, he’s clawing onto everything he can, just so that he won’t let himself go too far too fast.

But God knows he’s in over his head already. He spends every waking second thinking about you, and when he can next see you, and talk to you, and maybe hold your hand for a moment-

Yeah, it’s like you hung the damn moon.

and now, you're standing in front of him, looking lovely as ever, in a towel fresh from the shower you've shared, and just like you do every night, you're offering to let him stay the night in your room. "Where you might actually get some rest for once"-

-and he’s trying not to say yes. He’s fighting against every fibre in his body that wants to curl up beside you right now, this second, and it’s— It’s... It's much harder than it should be.

“…Sweetheart…” you murmurs, voice concerned, “…You tell me every mornin' that your bed's too cold. I'm just reminding you that mine is very warm, and if you want to, you can start spending the nights here, you leave late and come by early as it is…”

He wants too. He really, really wants too.

And it shows.

His face is so easy to read.

You thinks absentmindedly that it’s no wonder HYDRA kept him masked so much. You wouldn't have wanted to look into his eyes all day if you were them, either.

He’s just watching you silently. Jaw ticking as he argues with himself about how to reply to your repeated offer. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to laugh it off and kiss him goodnight, but then, you sees his eyes drop to the floor.

The expression that’s on his face now is so hopelessly forlorn that you can’t help but reach out to stroke his cheek-

His whole head snaps sidewards in an automatic bid to protect himself from a slap and you feel a dagger slice through your heart as you realise what's happening.

“Oh, Sweetheart” you whisper, fighting to keep your tone calm, “You’re tired, huh?”

He gets jumpy when he’s tired.

He gets quiet, too, and teary on occasion, and now, he looks like he’s on the verge of something new.

When he drags his gaze back to your face, he looks like a cornered stray. Like someone who’s about to be beaten half to death for flinching without permission.

“You don’t have to stay” you remind him softly, “Bucky, of course you don’t— just try and get some rest okay? I'm gettin' a little worried...”

Your hands are back at your side, and your face, he notices, your face is nothing short of adoring.

And that… God, oh, god, that is what is going to make him lose his grip;

“I, god, doll I’d love to stay with you…”

He’s said it now, and he knows that just like that, that it’s over.

That he’s giving up to the free fall and that the best he can hope for is a better landing than the last time he fell and ended up at someone else’s mercy.

“I… I just, I- I- I wanted to do it different.”

Your head tilts curiously to the side as you watch him ringing his flesh hand in his metal one.

"Different how?" you ask, a genuine quirk in your brow.

Bucky hears himself huff as his cheeks flush hottly, "I'm a lot to deal with at night" he confesses dryly, "I- I was hopin' to make it easier on you, doll- give you more time to back out"

"Back out?" You echo, almost offended by the idea, "That's-"

"I.. I really can be a lot, doll..." he cuts in, voice gruff with embarrassment, "...I know you love me, and you've always been real patient with me, you're... you're a damn angel, and I've always wanted to spend the night, I've always hated leavin' but I- I just couldn't put all of that on you, because I know it's too much-"

“-I don’t think I know what you’re talking about” you say, interuppting him with a smile, “Buck, you’re gettin’ awful flustered”

He scoffs at the playful lilt in your words and reaches up to paw at his chin, grateful for the way you'd stopped him from rambling.

“Yeah” he agrees after a breath, “You do that to me, sugar, haven’t ya noticed?”

Slower this time, you reach out to stroke his cheek again.

This time, he lets himself keen into the feeling of your fingers against his face, almost purring in delight at the contact.

“I have an idea” you say softly, “why don’t we try three nights”

“Three nights?” he echos quietly, “Three nights of what?“

"Of sharing" you tell him, beaming now, "Tonight, tomorrow and the night after, if you want to stop before then, then we will..."

I wont, Bucky thinks instantly, I won't ever want to stop, thats the problem. "If you want to keep going after that, then that's what we'll do"

"It's not me I'm worryin' about" he murmurs gruffly.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "I've been inviting you for half a year, Barnes. I'm not going to be the one kicking you out."

"But if you do want more space, doll- then you'll tell me, right?"

You look at him, seeing the stubbornness already setting on his features, and then you nod in agreement, knowing any further argument would be pointless.

"During the three nights" he pushes, "You'll tell me, if I do anythin' that is too much for you, then you'll tell me and give me chance to fix it- promise me"

And then, you lean in and kiss him. Your palm flattens out against his jaw, and before he knows how, his own arms have laced around your waist, holding you against his chest as you pull away to nod, your free hand reaching down for his metal hand, so that you can twist your pinky around his. "Promise” you murmur, “and, will you please try remember that I love you, and want you here... don't worry too much, okay? nothin's goin' to change that”

Your tone has shifted now, you're not playful, you're genuinely asking because you care about him, and it shows.

"Promise" he says, smiling as he squeezes his little finger gently around yours before bringing your hands up to his lips, where he can kiss against your knuckles, hiding his clear emotion for a second.

Before you can get suspicious about the way he's trying to bury his face in your fingers, he’s throwing himself into your front, grabbing you into such a tight hug that you have to gasp for air in between a bout of surprised laughter. You flex your newly freed fist and waste no time in squeezing him back, trying and failing to return the strength that he is putting into the embrace.

Bucky’s not laughing, though. He’s just holding you.

He’s just clutching you as tightly as he can without hurting you, and burying his face in your shoulder, while he tries to convince himself that he won't end up doing something that makes him lose you forever.

You give him a minute, not wanting to try and break free from the stifling position when he so clearly needs the closeness;

and then, you realise that his pulse is racing. You can feel it thrumming against your front, too fast to be your own.

“Sweetheart” you murmur, voice betraying your concern, “You okay?”

Your breathlessness jars him. He remembers himself instantly, and releases his grip with a flush of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry” he bursts, “Shit- doll, I- I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“What? Hug me?”

“Crush you” he corrects, grateful for the playful tone you're using, “I didn’t—”

He looks so bashful. His eyes are firmly set downwards and he’s wringing his flesh hand in his metal one in an obvious display of awkwardness. and because he wants to reach out and hold your hand, again-

“I’m fine” you tell him calmly, reaching out to stroke his cheek, “you look exhausted though, huh? Shall we turn in?”

Silently, he looks up at you, and you can physically see a layer of bravado falling away.

This is difficult for him, you realise, being vulnerable doesn’t come easy to him, especially not right now, and sleeping next to someone? It doesn’t really get much more vulnerable than that.

“I love you” You decide to say, disregarding how often you've already said it, “It’s going to be alright.”

And then you're reaching out to take his hand, and he’s letting you, because he's yours, and he doesn't want to pretend not to be, not now he thinks it might all work out, and then, the next thing he knows, he’s in bed.

The journey there, and getting undressed is a blur.

He’s so nervous that he’s in a daze.

He thinks that that's ridiculous.

You've been intimate, more intimate than just getting undressed and being under a blanket together, anyway. But for some reason this feels much more intense than all of that.

And then, he’s back to starring.

He’s on his side, a few inches away from where you are, and he’s just looking at your face. Trying to drink in the sight of your features, trying to memorise the curve of your jaw, and your cheeks, and your mouth—

“C’mere, sweetheart”

Your voice is like honey, and he’s blushing like a teenager;

“How do you like sleeping?” you ask, genuinely curious, “Cuddled up? or with some space?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then he closes it. Swallowing dryly and reaching up to paw at his jaw while he thinks of a way to tell you that he honestly doesn’t know anymore without it sounding tragic.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve had options” you say for him, “Did you ever share a bed with a girl before?”

A crease forms between his brows as he tries to force his mind back;

“Does my ma count?”

you laugh at that, soft and airy as you reaches out to stroke his temple.

“No” you murmurs, “No, I don’t think so…”

“Then no” he sighs, “I never did more than kiss the dames I courted, doll”

“This is ‘more than kissing’?” you tease softly, “We’re barely touching, Barnes.”

“Barely” he agrees, voice almost a breath, “But back then, things… things were different.”

“I know” you say, sympathetic now, “I’m sure you were a perfect gentleman”

“I wouldn’t say that” he murmurs, edging his front towards you, “a gentleman wouldn’t have been kissing them either”

“Well I’m sure they weren’t complaining” you sigh, “a handsome officer like you, they could’ve done worse.”

You're beaming at him as he scoffs, small and shy under your consideration.

“Want to try gettin’ closer?” he hears you offer, “You can always go back to your side if you get too warm.”

It’s almost too good to be true. The idea of being curled up in your arms. Of being able to sleep tucked up against your chest, of maybe, just maybe, being able to drift off without his thoughts spiralling into panic because everything is too quiet and he can’t convince himself that he’s not back in some awful cell—

“C’mere…” You purr, adjusting your position to receive him, “…It’s alright…”

It’s more than alright.

He's pressed against you. He can feel your arms wrapped around his back, holding him close and the skin on skin is so soothing that he has to bite back a moan of delight as he settles into position. His flesh arm is bent up, with his fist under his chin, and his metal one is draped over your waist so that he can feel your pulse thrumming through the censors in his palm.

It’s stable, and calm, and he is so, so in love that his chest feels like it could burst from the pressure, and he wouldn't have a single complaint—

“I don’t want to speak to soon” you murmur, “but I think this might be a winner, huh?”

“Yeah” he agrees quietly, “I— I think so.”

The idea of tearing himself away from the embrace is heinous.

The idea of going back to his own room in three nights, knowing what heaven feels like is worse.

This, is the closest to calm he’s felt in a life time. This, feels a lot like the mercy he used to beg for, back when mercy hadn’t been something he understood.

And then his eyes are closed.

And he’s falling asleep, and he thinks dreamily that he should be trying harder to stay awake. That he shouldn’t be giving in this easily—

but then, he hears you.

He hears you hushing him, exhaling gently into his hair as you stroke a slow circle across the bare skin of his back, and he decides that if he is going to fall, then he’s glad it’s with you. The fact that he's deeply asleep in minutes doesn't really surprise you.

The fact that he stays that way does. You'd been prepared to soothe him for hours, if that's what he'd needed, but then again, you think, as you start to drift off yourself, he probably has a lot of actual resting to catch up on.

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SWF One shot library page [ x ] [ 2 ]

When Steve blinks urgently at Natasha, he finds very little comfort in the aghast expression she’s wearing.

Y/N, however, looks smug, more than angry.

“I installed that mirror, assholes.” she says, “This is my house- do you really think you can get away with watchin’ me through the walls without me clockin’ on?”

“It wasn’t you we were watching” Natasha says calmly, “It was-”

“I know” the other woman agrees, taking a drink.

Bucky tilts his head up, realising they’re admitting to spying on him.

Steve feels himself flush even redder than he had the night before.

“Listen, Buck we didn’t mean-

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

He is worried though. He’s very worried.

“We where just-”

“Worried” Y/N finishes on his behalf, “We know.”

“How-“

She rolls her eyes at Natasha.

“Your motives are hardly complex” she replies, “You-” she nods at Steve, “Have been fussing over him” she looks at Bucky, “since long before HYDRA, I’d bet— and you-” she focuses back on the woman, “-are just loyal enough to get roped into that concern.”

The red head blinks, and Steve realises that he’s gawking.

“I’m fine” Bucky inserts then, speaking properly for the first time since the subject has been changed, “I’m.. I’m workin’ on some stuff, but you- you don’t need to get wound up ‘about it. I’m a grown man, I’m fine”

“You were acting strange-” Natasha states bluntly, “- Someone noticed, told us to check in”

“Someone noticed-” Y/N says, “-and they told Steve to check in, as a friend, y’know, the way that you sometimes come and check in on me, when I’ve been on a hard job and someone gets antsy”

Steve feels his brow furrow at that. How long exactly had these two known each other?

“We were concerned that-”

“We know what you were concerned about” she says, rolling her eyes at Natasha, “Do you really think we don’t have somethin’ worked out for that kinda’ situation?”

Steve finds himself swallowing as he looks over at Bucky again.

He’s wearing a tight lipped smiles that he knows means he’s uncomfortable. His eyes are lowered to the plate in front of him, but before he can speak to offer some kind of support, he watches him look up, at Y/N.

“…doll, thinks it’s.. it’s unlikely, anyway” he says, “she, uh— she says it’s…”

“Almost completely impossible for anything short of repeated exposure to proven stimuli to trigger that kind of a total sub-nuero relay inversion when it’s been this long since you’ve last had a wipe.”

“In english, please.” Natasha says dryly.

This time, the roll of Y/N’s eyes isn’t playful. It’s exasperated.

“Because it’s been so long since anyones fiddled around in his head, it would take a whole new, professionally orchestrated set up to get him anywhere close to what you’re talkin’ about.”

Bucky’s leg is shaking now. Steve watches it bouncing on the stool for a moment;

Y/N catches it too, and reaches out under the counter with her foot, brushing it against his calf.

He stills himself at the contact, exhaling shakily as Natasha hums curiously.

“So we don’t have anything to watch out for?”

“I wouldn’t say that” Y/N counters, “You’ve pissed me off, for a start”

“But Winter Solider wise-”

“Bucky is fine.” She says decisively, “But, that doesn’t mean we don’t have a plan in place, in case anything changes on that front.”

“And that means…”

“That means” Y/N hisses impatiently, “That you don’t need to worry about anybodies state of mind, other than mine, because as usual, the Starks have taken care of everything else, and all my brother meant when he asked Rodgers to check in on his friend, was that he might actually want to consider asking if he was doin’ okay, not that he should grab you and spend the next twenty minu-”

“-Doll…”

Bucky’s interruption silences her instantly. She inhales sharply, before sitting back in her seat, irritation flaring, but then, when she looks across, and see’s the way that Barnes is watching her, with nothing but genuine adoration behind his eyes, it evaporates like smoke, leaving her looking as composed as ever in her seat.

“We shouldn’t have watched after you came in” Natasha concedes, looking genuinely remorseful, “I’m sorry”

“Me too, Y/N— Both, Both of you, I- I’m sorry”

Bucky shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t have watched at all” Y/N says, ignoring Steve completely, “Sestra, vy dolzhny verit', chto u nas vse vyyasneno. Yesli by byl shans, chto kto-nibud' mozhet postradat', my by uzhe ispravili eto.” Sister, you have to trust that we have things figured out. If there was a chance that anyone was going to get hurt, we'd have fixed it by now.

Steve’s jaw hangs slack as he hears russian pouring easily from the woman’s lips.

“YA doveryayu tebe.” Natasha replies, “i, yesli vy skazhete, chto vse v poryadke, ya ne budu sporit’.

I trust you, and, if you say everything is okay, then I won't argue.

“Vse v poryadke.”

Everything is okay.

Y/N’s answer has an air of finality too it. Even though he has no idea what she’s actually said.

“So” Natasha says, tone incredibly light, “How long as you two been a thing?”

Steve almost chokes on air at that.

Bucky chuckles quietly beside him, whilst Y/N goes back to eating.

He can barely keep up with the atmospheric shift. It’s so strange that only a few minutes ago the women were close to an argument, where as now, they might as well be best friends.

How, did they meet, again?

He has no idea, he realises, he’d always assumed that Y/N, was a package deal that came with Tony, he’d never given any thought to how she might know anyone else, even the night before, when Romanoff had said that she’d known the woman for a long time, he’d never actually thought about it.

“He’s doin’ that face again” Y/N observes, using her fork to point at Steve, “He really should stop workin’ so hard over breakfast”

Bucky laughs almost silently, as Steve blinks himself back to the moment.

“That’s not an answer” Natasha says.

“I know” Y/N agrees cheerily, “You’re not supposed to know there is a ‘thing’ anyway. Don’t see why I should confirm or deny”

“Confirm” the other woman repeats, with a chuckle of her own, “You spent the whole night curled up together like lap cats-”

“I’ve spent more than one night curled with you, like a lap cat.” Y/N says, “Wanna talk about any things that we might have had going on?”

Steve chokes on a bite of pancake that he doesn’t remember taking.

Natasha shakes her head, taking a drink from Y/N’s mug.

They both catch her throwing a wink at Bucky, who just grins, bashful and sweet down at his own food, as he starts to pick at it again.

“Beregi yeye, Barns.” The red-head says calmly, “

Take good care of her, Barnes.

“YA budu. YA klyanus’.”

I will, I swear.

His reply is calm, it’s composed and that, is what makes Steve tilt his head.

It’s so odd, hearing the Russian words without the fear that laced them before.

Natasha just nods, satisfied, and Y/N, goes back to eating.

Steve thinks he should apologise, again. He feels like he should, like he’s misjudged the whole situation, like, he’s betrayed Bucky and totally under-estimated Y/N.

“I…” he begins, anxiously shifting, “I’m really, I’m really sorry”

To his surprise, it’s Barnes that answers.

“We know, Stevie, it’s alright, just… just, ask me next time… it’s like doll said— if you’re… if you’re worried, you can just talk to me”

“I know” He’s quick to agree, “I know, Buck- I’m sorry-”

“You’ve already apologised” Y/N reminds him cooly, “It’s alright, just don’t let me catch you at it again— last thing we need is you turnin’ into a peepin’ tom. Although Tony would love that-”

“Oh, god” Bucky mutters, “Don’t tell your brother bout it, darlin’, he’ll never let them live it down”

Her face is a light. Steve notices then, for the first time, how beautiful she is. With no make up, hair tied back, genuinely grinning, with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I should tell him, huh?” she teases, “might take the heat off you for a bit-”

“Steve watchin’ ya’ through a mirror is hardly comparable to anythin’ I’ve-”

“I don’t think he’d compare” she says, “he’d probably just take the excuse to be an asshole to someone else for a couple of weeks”

“He’s not an asshole” Bucky counters dryly, “Darlin’, I think he’s been-”

“Your judgement is skewed” Y/N cuts in, eating again, “You wouldn’t say a bad word about him regardless”

Barnes doesn’t argue, he just shrugs, smiling a little as he goes back to picking at the meal before him.

“So, does he know?” Natasha asks, brow quirked, “Bout this ‘not a thing’ you’ve got goin’ on?”

Steve blinks, unsure of why she’s pressing the issue.

“Does that matter?” Y/N counters, like she’s genuinely interested in the other woman’s answer, “He’s my brother, it’s my relationship, surely it’s my business-”

“Your brother has a bad temper” Nat answers calmly, “I’d like to know if we need to be ready for-”

“Awww, Red” Y/N inserts, grinning, “are ya’ sayin’ that I don’t have a bad temper?”

Steve is gobsmacked, absorbed in the exchange and almost as fascinated by the way that Bucky is ignoring it completely;

“No” Natasha says, “I’m saying that if there is some kind of fight, then I’m with you-”

“’til the end of the line, right?” Y/N finishes, clear teasing in her tone.

Steve opens his mouth to object to the jab, but Bucky is laughing before he gets chance;

“You’re bein’ a jackass, doll” he chuckles, “she’s tryin’ to be nice”

“I’m a Stark” the woman says calmly, “some might say that jackass is a genetic trait”

When he rolls his eyes, Steve realises that he’s gawking; He hasn’t seen Barnes talking this much since… well, since the forties, really.

“Whatever” Y/N snorts, attention back on Natasha, “I love you too, Nat, you don’t have to declare sides on a war that isn’t ever goin’ to start”

“But-”

“Even if it did” she continues, “I trust you, I know you’ve got my back, alright?”

Natasha looks like she wants to say something more, but, eventually, after a strained look at Steve, she just nods, picking at her pancakes.

“You all worry way too much” Y/N declares after a moment, taking a sip from her coffee, “I swear it’s a wonder you haven’t gone grey”

“He tried to kill-” Natasha begins,

The other woman cuts her off with a pointed glare. Steve finds himself blinking at the look, and the way it’s worked at silencing the spy so quickly.

“Three years ago” she says, seemingly calm, “my brother came up with the mark 58 suit…”

The trio blink at her a little blankly. Even Bucky looks confused.

“You wouldn’t remember” Y/N allows, “It was red, like the others, gold like the others— brilliant like the others”

Steve opens his mouth to question her train of thought, but quickly decides against it, when he notes how she’s clearly not finished speaking.

“But” she says, taking a drink of her coffee, “It was the first model to have auto-aiming energy conducers.”

Nobody responds, so she shrugs.

“It wasn’t actually that big of a deal, since his previous models had all had the same long range damage capability, and JARVIS used to be pretty good at setting targets up, but it was time saving, y’know? It meant that if he wanted to take down a jet he didn’t even have to be able to see the thing, just scan for it, lock on, and boom, no amount of evasive manoeuvres or counter attacks would make any difference-“

“What does that have to do with-” Natasha tries to cut in

“-He was on mark, what? back when ya’ll had that fight?” Y/N continues, ignoring the woman’s attempt, “102? 103? I mean, I think we’re on 121 now.”

“Y/N” the red head insists, “What does that-”

“Even forgetting about all the significant upgrades he’s made over the years…” she drawls, locking eyes with her friend, “he definitely had the ability to take out military grade weaponry- even moving missiles with the push of a button- without even having to stop and lock on himself.”

She looks at Steve, and then, at Bucky.

“If he wanted to kill anybody they’d be dead” she finishes, gaze back on Natasha, “it was a glorified fist-fight, Red, and considerin’ the video he’d just seen, I’d say a brawl was the least you could expect.”

The mention of the video as brief as it was, has had an instant effect on Bucky. He’s stiff now. Eyes firmly on his plate even though his cutlery is discarded, hands both hidden on his lap beneath the counter.

Natasha looks contrite. Everything Y/N is saying makes total sense, she supposes, there was never another way Tony was going to react- and he didn’t actually hurt either of the men that are sitting around the table with them.

“Have you seen it?” Steve asks suddenly, eyes meeting Y/N’s again—

His question shocks everyone, including him. He hadn’t meant to speak, or at least, he hadn’t meant to ask that, not with Bucky sitting at his side.

“More times than you.”

Her answer surprises him even more.

Natasha watches with the same look of fascination that she’d worn the night before as Y/N takes another bite of her breakfast;

“Y/N, I-”

Her head shakes before Steve can even finish his sentence.

“It doesn’t matter” she says firmly, “I knew way before I it, it was never a shock for me like it was Tony-”

“You knew before?” Natasha asks, curiosity spiking

“That my dad didn’t die in a random car accident on the one night he decided to transport his top-secret super serum across country without any security?” she mocks, “Yeah, Nat, I figured that one out all on my own.”

Her brown eyes roll in her head, and Steve notices how she’s deliberately not looking at anyone, anymore;

“How long had you known for?” the red-head presses, tone more careful, now.

“A while” Y/N replies, “I knew I was right when Peg wouldn’t let me and Tony get an autopsy, she said it was because he was probably drunk, didn’t want to ruin his legacy, or something’… Tony bought it but-” she shrugs, “-I was younger, I didn’t have a company to take over, guess I had more time to dwell on things”

“But you would’ve been 12 years old back then-” Nat says, “You’re saying you’ve known since then-”

“-It wasn’t an accident-” Y/N cuts in, “I didn’t figure out the details right away, and it took me awhile to dig around enough to find that tape-”

“So you knew before we did?” the red haired woman continues “that Barnes-”

“No” Y/N replies quickly, “Not exactly.”

Her eyes flicker to Bucky, she offers him a calm smile, and then, she looks back at her friend, altering her expression to something a little more forgiving.

“I knew that something had happened— That it hadn’t been a crash— and when I got older, I figured that HYDRA had probably been involved, that was enough for a while, when we were workin’ y’know?” she stops to see that the woman is following her, “when I had some more time, I… I found the footage, and then when I’d managed to decode it all, including the audio… I heard him saying ‘Sargent Barnes’—”

“Please” Bucky gulps, looking desperately at his lover, “Please don’t-”

Don’t talk about this, right now, he thinks, please, I can’t handle it.

Whatever words Y/N was about to say die in her throat. Her entire face softens as she gives the man a nod.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway” she tells Natasha, realising that she’d gotten a little caught up, “I know what happened now— Tony knows enough, and everything-”

“You know what happened” Natasha repeats, “and Tony knows… enough?”

Steve raises his brow when he catches the implication behind the woman’s words, but Bucky’s breathing is noticeably shallow, now, so he daren’t push any further.

“Yes.” Y/N says firmly, suddenly standing, “That’s exactly what I said.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he finds himself expecting Natasha to challenge Y/N further. He’s never seen her back down before- he’s formulating a way of getting Bucky to follow him out of the room, should the women start some kind of argument, he’s been warned about Y/N’s temper, after all, but, to his surprise, the red-head just…nods.

“yesli ty tak govorish’”If you say so, she says, attention returning to her food-

“Da, Nat … Obeshchayu, vse v poryadke, prosto … slozhno”

I do, Nat… I promise, everything's fine, it's just… complicated.

Y/N’s words are emphasised by the way she comes to stand, pacing around until she’s by Bucky’s side.

He doesn’t move to look at her. He’s fallen back into silence, now, and Steve finds himself watching him with poorly disguised concern.

“Do you want to come for a walk with me?” Y/N asks, tone calm and unassuming.

Almost instantly, the man nods. Eyes aimed at the floor as he gets off his stool in one swift movement;

“C’mon then” she says, taking his hand in her own— “We’ll see you guys later.”

“Wait!-” Steve exclaims, reaching out to grab the other man’s shoulder, “-Buck are you-”

The second his fingers makes contact with Bucky’s shirt, the man flinches away, jolting back and almost stumbling into the wall.

It’s Y/N that stops him, by adjusting her position instantly, correcting her footing and shifting so that she’s in front of him.

Steve looks horrified. Bucky’s face has morphed into something so terror-stricken that he feels absurdly guilty for the way he’s tried to touch him without permission.

Both men blurt out a ‘Sorry’ at exactly the same time, and Y/N can’t help but roll her eyes, despite the way that Bucky’s apology is one that’s clearly motivated by some kind of fear induced reflex.

She squeezes his palm, and offers him a calm smile as he tries to calm himself down.

Nobodies coming to hurt you, he thinks, It’s just Steve— He’s not going to hurt you—

“-Buck, I- I didn’t mean to-“ Steve tries to explain, “-I just wanted to apologise, again…”

He looks so intensely embarrassed, that even she can’t help but take pity on him, even though he’s not her first priority at the moment.

Bucky’s fingers are clinging to hers, now. She can feel his pulse hammering through his palm.

“I think you’ve covered that base” Natasha inserts, from where she’s watching the interaction unfold, “We won’t do it again”

“No” Y/N agrees, smiling, “You won’t.”

She watches him settle, smiling proudly as his metal fingers flutter upwards in search of a part of her to hold on to, they come to a satisfied stop when they reach the hem of her t-shirt, knotting in the cotton to tug at it restlessly, even though the man attached to them is seemingly deep asleep.

“Shhhh” she soothes, stroking his brow again, “’s okay, sweetheart, everything’s okay”

His jaw locks, and then releases at her assurances, and she only becomes more certain about their necessity when she hears his arm whine, metal plates folding down to form a smooth surface.

“d-do you require a mission report?” the unconscious man croaks, unsure and clearly afraid.

“No” Y/N is quick to reply, “I know you’ve done well, it’s time to rest now, it’s alright.”

He seems to like that, even though his eyelids flicker uncertainly as he gives her the smallest nod of agreement.

“Rest” she hears him repeat, voice almost inaudible now, “Rest.”

“Mhm” she hums, bringing his flesh knuckles to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss across them, “that’s right, rest.”

His breathing slows, again- his lips parting as he lets go of whatever tension had been lingering in his muscles before.

Y/N thinks he’s beautiful like this, he’s always lovely, she thinks, but seeing him so unguarded, so peaceful seems special, maybe it’s because he only seems to look like this with her, when they’re alone, or maybe it’s just because it’s nice to see him so tranquil, when he’s usually trying so hard to hold it together.

She strokes his hand, she spends a few minutes showering him in gentle touches, in whatever contact she can, until he seems totally settled, at which point, with a final kiss against his broken thumb nail, she picks a book up from her side, depositing his hand against her side as she starts to read, letting him be silent and still on her lap.

The room is quiet, the soundproofing Tony had installed for her seems to be doing it’s job, because even though she knows the match the others have been watching must be ending, she can’t hear a thing through the walls.

A few hours pass, and Bucky stays pliant and heavy in position, it’s only when the clock on the wall catches her eye, that she considers waking him. It’s evening, now, and she knows he hasn’t eaten, she hasn’t either, but she’s less concerned about that, it’s him who barely touches anything when she’s not there to remind him it’s alright, that the food is for him, that it’s not going to be ripped away at any moment.

It worries her, the thought of him being hungry, but too afraid to mention it is almost too much for her too tolerate.

“FRIDAY?” she calls quietly, “Order us a pizza or two, please, cheese and that, meat one that Steve likes, ask someone to bring it, when it arrives.”

The AI conveys it’s polite agreement at a similar, tempered volume, and although Barnes’ arm creaks at the disturbance, when she runs a comforting hand through his hair, the noise chokes off, and he slips back down into stillness.

It’s Natasha who brings the food, when it turns up 40 minutes later, in cardboard boxes spotted with rain.

She’s silent, as she opens the door to their suite, giving Y/N a kiss on her cheek as she lowers the containers onto the sideboard and exits before she can risk waking the man who’s still managing to cling to sleep against his lover.

Y/N makes a mental note to buy her something shiny.

In the end, she doesn’t have to say anything to wake Bucky up, she just has to open the pizza boxes, and take out a slice.

The smell of food rouses him, making his mouth water, making his stomach cramp as he rubs his nose into her thighs, trying to suppress the way he’s ready to beg for as little as a mouthful of something cooked.

“Hey, sweetheart” he hears a familiar voice coo, further bringing him round, “I’ve got dinner, for when you’re up”

He can barely believe his luck when he blinks his eyes open, and is met with the sight of Y/N, beaming at him sweetly with a collection of food by her side.

“I…” he gulps, “That’s for us?”

Y/N chuckles softly, reaching over with her clean hand to card his hair back, again

“Sure it is” she tells him, “I got that one Steve always gets, figured you’d like it too”

Bucky shifts a little, straightening up despite the ache in his bones.

“I’d eat anythin’ you’d give me” he murmurs honestly, as his knees click.

I’m just lucky to get fed.

Her head shakes, as she grins, pushing the meal towards him, shuffling over a little so he can slip in beside her.

“I figured you’d skipped lunch” she comments, not wanting to sound like she’s scolding him, “It’s good, too” she adds, smiling at him again, “we’ll have to tell Steve that he’s onto a winner”

The box is hot on his lap, now. He’s blinking down at a pizza that’s half cheese and half, whatever order she’s talking about Rodgers’ having gotten right, and despite the stabbing pains in his stomach, he realises he can’t make himself reach down to take a slice.

His arm groans with tension as he brings vibranium fingers up to prod at his scar. It’s absentminded, the ache in the flesh beneath the solid metal is grounding, so is the heat of Y/N’s palm, when it lands suddenly against his jaw, steady and gentle.

In…Out…In…Out

Breathing is good, he thinks, he can focus on it, he can make himself inhale slowly through his nose, he can make himself expel it through his lips.

“Not hungry?” Y/N prompts, knowing he is-

“I am” he replies quietly, suspecting she doesn’t really need is confirmation.

She hums, keeping her hand against his face as he drags in another, deeper, lung full of air.

Bucky presses hard along the back of his shoulder, letting himself really feel the plates beneath the jagged, raised, scar.

He hisses when his thumb catches a bump that feels suspiciously like a screw.

Y/N’s brow furrows, and she curls her own thumb up across his cheek, pulling his eyes to hers.

“Stop” she soothes calmly, gaze flicking to his hand, “Eat now, sweetheart, it’s alright”

His arms drop in surrender, he feels the strangest urge to look away.

There’s a flush of red creeping up his neck, it’s prickling and warm-

Bucky realises it’s being caused by shame. By the shame he’s feeling, now, as he struggles to eat, even though he’s hungry.

“Sweetheart” Y/N murmurs, coaxing his eyes back over to her face, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know” he replies, realising, as he says the words, that they’re true, “I’m sorry, doll- I- I don’t know why I’m doin’ this”

“You’re not doing anything” she counters quickly, offering him another smile, as he pecks a soft kiss to her palm, “anythin’ I can do?”

He lets his eyes drop shut for a moment, as he relishes in the feeling of her fingers trailing across his jaw-

His pulse is thrumming through his veins, she can feel it throbbing as she traces his skin.

A few minutes pass quietly, until he blinks his eyes open, and lets himself look around the room.

“Ca-“ he begins, before clearing his throat shyly, and making himself turn to face his lover, “Can I eat down there?” he asks, nodding to the floor, to the corner of the room, where he thinks he might stand a chance at feeling less visible.

The idea of being alone on the ground isn’t particularly appealing, really. Bucky doesn’t want to lose the feeling of Y/N against his side, he doesn’t want to part from her, even for an instant- but he’s starving, and if tearing himself away from the safe space he’s found on her bed, to eat on the ground like an animal is his only option, then, he’ll take it, no matter how terrible he’ll feel once he’s full.

“Only if I can come too” Y/N purrs, snapping him back to the present.

His head tilts, eyes muddled as he processes her response.

“Are- Are you serious?” he asks, cautious- barely daring to believe that she means what she’s saying

“Of course I am” she half chuckles, reaching down to grab her own pizza box, “C’mon, handsome, it’s gettin’ cold”

Bucky is still just watching, when Y/N is well and truly settled in her place on the floor. Her back is resting against the wall, her dinner on her lap.

He follows, earnestly hoping that she won’t change her mind, that she won’t move back to the bed, or start to tease him some how, about his desire to hide in a corner.

He drops to his haunches on her right, wide eyed and adoring.

“What?” Y/N asks, with a mild tone of joking in her voice, “Do I have somethin’ on my face?”

“No” he replies quickly, averting his gaze as he settles into position, “No, doll, you’re- you’re beautiful”

Y/N chuckles, nudging his shoulder playfully as he finally makes himself start to eat.

It lightens to tension in his gut, it helps him continue to feed himself without bile flooding his mouth at the thought of how much he’s being allowed to consume at once.

It feels awfully strange- being well fed, and comfortable, and safe, after spending a life time being starved, and tortured and in danger.

It’s only when he’s almost done with his meal that Bucky considers the fact that comfort is very much subjective, and the floor where he’s sitting now, is much less desirable than the bed he’d been on before.

Guilt stabs at his chest, leaving a familiar sickness to churn his stomach.

His eyes flick sidewards, to the woman he loves, to the woman he’s dragged down with him.

She’s smiling, wiping her hands on her pants, and looking anything but displeased.

He’s confused. It shows in a crease between his brows, he’s just about to look away when Y/N catches his gaze, and widens her smile.

“I’m sorry” he says instantly, “I’m sorry I- I brought you down here, doll- you- you should go get, get comfortable up-”

She laughs, soft and sweet in the air between them.

His cheeks flush redder, he chews his lip, feeling utterly undeserving of the sound.

“I’m comfortable here” she tells him, more sincerely, now she can see the sadness behind his eyes, “I’ve eaten dinner in much worse places”

She hears him hum- he’s still looking at his knees, and she can see the way his metal fingers are twitching. She decides to cut him off, bringing her own palm down to cover his, before he can bring it up to worry at his scar, again.

“What are we gonna do with you, huh?” he hears her whisper

His fingers curl around hers, he blinks shyly at her, before shrugging, and looking away.

“whatever you want” he mumbles in honest response, “I’m yours, I- I’m always gonna’ be yours, I think”

It’s Y/N who hums then, considerate and quiet.

Bucky thinks he should probably look at her again, maybe he owes her some kind of apology too? He’s not sure about that, he always feels like he should be saying sorry for one thing or another, and at best, she laughs his statement off, pecking his cheek to remind him his remorse is misplaced, and at worst, she straight up tells him to stop apologising.

He’s not sure he can take something that close to a scolding right now. Not with how delicate he’s feeling.

“I think we better get you showered, then, handsome- then you’re comin’ to bed”

“He’s withdrawing”

“From what?” Steve asks, anxiety making his voice sharp

“Everything” Tony says, taking over from Bruce, “HYDRA were pumping him full of just about every drug going— appetite suppressants, sedatives-”

“-pain relief-” Banner adds, looking through the two way glass, “and some other compounds we can’t identify”

“Yet” Tony cuts in, “We’ll crack them pretty soon”

He’s aiming for confident. Steve can tell that he earnestly wants to help, so he offers him a tight lipped smile as he nods.

“He’ll be okay” Bruce says, sounding more certain, “but for right now he’s just going to have to ride it out”

There’s an apology in his tone.

“For how long?”

Tony shrugs, flicking through some notes-

“A while” is what the Stark finally decides, “A couple of days, maybe? It depends on what half of this shit is, and how the serum-”

“Can’t you do anything to make it-”

“Steve” Bruce cautions, “We’re doing everything we can”

The ‘don’t push it’ is implied.

Tony is still unhappy about Barnes even being in the tower, let alone in his lab.

The blonde nods again. He’s about to rattle off a ‘thank you for your help’ when the door to the adjacent room opens.

Bucky is perched on the edge of the examination table. He’s shaking like he’s having a seizure, with hair hanging in sweat dampened pieces in front of his eyes.

His eyes look rabid. His pupils are blown and they’re ringed with deep-set bruises.

Y/N decides to approach him slowly, not even sparing a glance in the direction of the two way mirror that she just knows people are watching them through.

“Hi, sweetheart” she coos, coming to a stop a few feet away from him, “How’re you feeling?”

The man doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even blink.

“Not great?” She guesses, reaching out carefully to press her hand flush against his brow, “Still feel like puking?”

He’s clammy, his skin is damp and cool under her touch—

“Mhmm”

A hum is better than no response at all, so she takes it, letting her arm fall back to her side.

“Y/N, if you can convince him to give us a blood sample we might-”

Bucky flinches as the in wall speakers crackle to life above them. She shoots a harsh look at the mirror and her brothers voice vanishes as quickly as it’d come.

“Was that one test too many?”

It’s only then that his eyes roll up to hers.

God, he looks sick.

“-‘m, um, I'm sorry” he whispers, voice cracking painfully around the word,

She just shakes her head, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything else. For a moment, she thinks that he won’t. That he’s going to settle back into silence, but then, he blinks at her,

“Wh-what’s happenin’ to me?”

The waiver in his voice reminds her just how brave he’s being. It’s clear that he’s suffering, that he’s in pain, and the she knows how much he hates being anywhere as remotely clinical as the lab-room where he’s been waiting in for hours, she thinks that it’s a miracle he’s daring to ask her anything, she thinks, let alone something about himself;

“Well…” she begins, “…From what we can see HYDRA had you hooked on a bit of a cocktail…” she pauses, letting him absorb what she’s saying, “… We’re still trying to figure out the exact amounts, Buck-That book we’ve got gives us some clues, so does how you’re feeling, and the readings we’ve got from the scan”

Bucky sniffs, swallowing bile as it floods his mouth again. Everything is spinning, he screws his eyes shut, until the darkness of his eyelids becomes a blinding white, and he’s so scared by the change that he snaps them back open, reaching out to take hold of her fingers in a last ditch attempt at finding some facet of comfort—

Y/N’s heart melts at the gesture. She curls her hand around his, and lets him settle himself for a beat,

“Some blood would tell us more about what is causing what… it’d make it easier to figure out exactly what everything they gave you was for—”

“C-can” he gulps, “can you make it stop?”

There’s no point in lying to him, she decides, He’s had enough of that already—

“No” she says honestly, “Probably not, sweetheart… It looks like you’re goin’ to have to just let it pass regardless, but if we can figure out the details we might be able to take the edge off”

He’s starring at her. His expression is so hopelessly defeated that she can’t help but step closer towards him;

As she moves in, standing directly between his thighs, he crumbles, he visibly shatters, folding forwards with a terrible shudder- The way her hand lets go of his, moving so that she can wrap her arms around his back is a reflex. She’s rewarded with the feeling of him burying his face in her stomach as his lungs start to strain.

“Cou-could you st-stay here?” he asks, voice muffled by fabric and tremors, “If.. I-f I give the sample w-w-would y-you stay?”

“Sure” Y/N agrees quickly, “I can stay right here, okay? We can have Bruce slip in and grab it, you’ll only have to move your arm”

“Okay” he says bravely, “J-just Bruce, ri-right?”

“Just Bruce” she promises, nodding at the mirror, “We can get Steve too, if you want? I’m sure he’s around-”

“Please” Bucky bursts, “P-please don’t— I- I d-don’t w-want him seein’ me like this”

“Okay” she replies calmly, “No Steve”

The door opens quietly, Y/N looks over and smiles encouragingly at the doctor as he makes his way towards them, already holding everything he needs in gloved hands;

“I bet he’s busy, anyway” She’s says, looking back at the mirror, knowing that the blonde is watching behind, “SHEILD will have him up to his neck in paper work for the next month and half now he’s back in their good books.”

She understands why Bucky might want to hide this whole situation from Steve. They’re both protective over the other, and neither is very good at letting the other one fret no matter how justified it might be—

“Okay Sargent Barnes-” Bruce says, almost in introduction-

“Bucky” he corrects shakily,

“Bucky” the man agrees, ignoring the way that the man is still hiding his face against Y/N’s front, “I’m going to bring your sleeve up now, alright? Just try and keep still, I’ll be as quick as I can”

Y/N strokes Bucky’s back, as he nods in agreement, and then when she sees the tourniquet going on above his elbow, she feels him freeze completely. She can only imagine how difficult this is for him, how many horrible memories it must be triggering. Before the needle slips into his skin, she holds him a fraction tighter, and then, when the blood starts to draw, she presses a kiss against his head.

To his credit, Banner is fast.

The whole thing is done in a matter of seconds.

Still, Barnes is hyperventilating now. His ribs are straining, breathes coming in quick shallow bursts that he can’t make any effort to slow.

Bruce doesn’t notice though, or if he does, he’s too polite to comment- He takes his prize and disappears with nothing more than a curt nod in Y/N’s direction;

“All done, handsome” the woman coos after a moment of quiet, “What do you want to do now, huh?”

That question takes Bucky by surprise. It’s clear from the look on his face when he finally shifts to peer up at her that he’d been expecting her to say maybe anything other than that

“Do you have to go?”

“No” she says fairly, “We can stay here, but you’re only going to keep feeling worse, and it’s more comfortable up in the—”

“I can leave?” he asks, clearly confused, “I.. I th-thought you w-were going to- to leave me here until I-”

“No” she says again, “No, Bucky… Of course you can leave, you can go anywhere you want”

Now he only looks more muddled.

He really had been expecting to be locked inside this horribly bright room so he could ‘ride this out’ without causing any trouble.

The idea of not being left in total isolation in an empty, clinical suite genuinely hadn’t crossed his mind.

Y/N thinks that’s awfully sad.

“…Y-you said ‘we’…” Bucky murmurs next, “D-di-did you mean—”

“I’ve taken the week off work” she tells him softly, “I’m all yours, sweetheart— Someone’s got to keep an eye on ya’, and since you’ve already said ‘no’ to Steve I figured-”

“I l-love y-you” he stammers, feeling horribly unworthy, “I- I-I’m s-sor-”

Y/N cuts his apology short by tilting his head up, so that she can press a gentle kiss against his lips.

“I love you too” she swears, smoothing his hair back affectionately, “Baby, and you’ve done so well with all of this, but now I think we should get you out of here.”

Bucky just nods, barley believing his luck- He’s way too far gone to question it, though, so he doesn’t, he just waits, hoping that Y/N will take the lead,

“If he stops tolerating fluids we can arrange an IV ” Bruce’s voice announces via the speakers, “some of these compounds look similar to ketamine, which means—”

“Hallucinations are likely” Y/N inserts calmly, “Yes, Thank you, Dr Banner— I’ve read the same material as you, and I’m well aware of the implications of non-medicated withdrawal”

That information is clearly new to Bucky, who suddenly looks rabid with fear

“H-halluciations?” he parrots, trying to stop himself from crying, “Y-you mean—”

“Don’t worry” she soothes, “You’re going to be okay, It’s alright…”

It’s not, he thinks frantic, I’m dangerous, I—“Hey” Y/N says, tone a little firmer, “Hey, Bucky, look at me-”

He does. His eyes snap to hers, and the moment they do, she finds herself wishing that he was looking anywhere else.

“I promise” she murmurs, “I promise you’re going to be okay”

“I’m scared” he tells her honestly, “Doll, I— god, I— I’m so scared”

Her heart shatters in her chest.

She can feel the shards of it aching, as she reaches up to cup his cheeks.

After everything he’s been through, after all the terrible, horrible things he’s survived, it seems awfully unfair that there’s still more he has to suffer.

It’s no wonder he’s terrified. He’s clearly hurting, and his body is just starting adjust to the lack of drugs it’s been accustom to for nearly 100 years. It doesn’t help that the only facts she’s been able to give him is that it’s probably going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

“I know” she whispers, “I know you are”

His lower lip is quivering, his are eyes full of tears and suddenly, he doesn’t look manic, anymore, he doesn’t just look tired, or sick, he looks totally, completely, shattered.

“But, I’m not leavin’ you—” he hears her swear, “—I’m going to look after you okay? No matter how bad it gets, I’m going to make sure you’re alright, I promise”

Steve watches his oldest friend clutching Y/N’s hand and half stumbling out of the lab, and feels guilt flooding his chest like poison.

He wants to help. He wants to make it all go away, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, and even though it’s illogical, he can’t help but feel sickened by how helpless he is in the situation.

“You did the right thing, Cap” Bruce says in consolation, “You got him here, you convinced him to let us run the tests-”

“I lied to him” Steve counters, “I told him I was goin’ to the office-”

“and I told Y/N I didn’t mind my kid sister shacking up with the guy who killed our parents” Tony cuts in dryly, raising his hand to silence Steve’s budding defence of the man, “My point, is that sometimes we lie to the people we love, welcome to the twenty-first century.”

He shrugs, looking pointedly back at his notes.

“weren't they together before you found out about that?” Bruce asks, before remembering that they're supposed to be avoiding that topic all together, “not that it matters - he’s right, Steve— He’s okay, we’ve got some good data, hopefully he’ll clean up quickly enough-”

Tony barks out a laugh that he tries to disguise as a cough when he see’s the genuine look of upset that Steve is wearing.

“Sorry” he says, “But that guy’s blood is… it’s something else… he’s got a hell of a come down headin’ his way”

“But he’ll be fine?” Steve asks, terrified again, “Right?”

“Right” Bruce answers instantly, “Right, just-”

“Not for awhile.” Tony finishes,

“Y/N isn't a child” the other man cuts in helpfully, “and, she has more than enough experience handling Barnes-”

“She’s not his handler” The other Stark bristles, “She loves the guy, which is the only reason I’m-”

“I didn’t mean it like that” Bruce says, calm tone working at diffusing Tony’s budding irritation, “but, again, he’s right Steve— She dotes on him, I think we should leave them to it for a couple of days at least— FRIDAY can keep an eye out”

He doesn’t like the idea of staying away, but it’s clear that he doesn’t have a choice. Barnes had said that he didn’t want him interfering, and he can’t say he blames him. Dignity isn’t something he’s had a lot of, over the years. HYDRA clearly hadn’t been very big on it, so robbing him of the little privacy he’s trying to have would be absurdly selfish.

By the time both Bucky and Y/N have made it back to the room they share, the man is drenched in sweat. He’s shaking so much that he’s barely managing to walk, flesh arm draped around his partners shoulder for support.

“Okay, love, I know… It’s okay, we’re here, you’re alright” she soothes, locking the door behind them, “FRIDAY, lets turn the heat up— Keep it high for the next 48 hours.”

The ‘Yes, boss’ that usually follows a command is drowned up the the sound of Bucky’s retching.

It’s loud, and hollow and he’s hunched over at the waist, and then, he’s puking, stomach acid burning up his throat as he screws his eyes shut—

“Alright” Y/N murmurs, adjusting herself around him the best she can, “Alright, it’s okay”

It’s not. He’s not—

He tries to straighten himself out, but the second he tries to move, it feels like he’s being kicked in the ribs. He doubles over, and then, just as the second round of hurling stops, he drops to his knees.

Y/N can’t catch him, he’s way too heavy, but she can wait until he’s still before moving round to his side, and running her hands through his hair, holding it away from his face as he starts throwing up again.

It hurts. He hasn’t eaten in days, which is probably why it feels like knives are being twisted in his stomach as he continues to cough wetly into his own lap.

“You heard what Bruce said about fluids, right?”

He nods as much as he can with the way she’s holding his hair.

If I can’t keep them down, I get an IV.

She suspects the way that he’s processed the sentiment is a little off. She thinks that she should probably remind him that hooking him up to a saline bag won’t be a punishment he earns by not drinking enough, but now doesn’t seem like the time. Not with the way he’s starting to sob-

Hollow, gasping cries are rattling his chest, tears starting to stream down his face, mixing with whatever other bodily fluids are shining by his jaw.

“Okay, Buck...” she soothes, taking a hair tie from her wrist and using that to hold his hair in place, “It’s all going to be alright”

Exhausted, blood shot eyes roll over to her as she slips into his field of vision.

He doesn’t believe her at all.

“Don’t leave me” is all he manages to say, “Please.. I— I d-don’t w-want to die on my own—Please I- I want to die with you.”

And then, just like that, he’s not just sobbing anymore.

He’s weeping. It’s loud, and uncontrollable. He’s shaking and looking at her with a look that she knows will stick behind her eyes forever;

“You’re not going to die” she promises lamely, tugging him into her chest, wrapping her arms around his back not caring for one second about the way that he’s still covered in puke, “But I’m still not leaving you on your own…”

Bucky disagrees with her. He can’t catch his breath, he can’t breathe and that alone might kill him. Let alone the way his entire body feels like it’s being torn apart from the inside out— This, whatever this new, incredible pain is, is worse than anything he remembers having lived through before, and some of that had nearly finished him off—

He gags, into her chest, feeling her hands stroking the burning skin of his back through the material that is clinging to his body, now.

“Oh, sweetheart” she sighs, “Lets get you in the shower”

While we can still move you

She doesn’t say that out loud. She doesn’t have too.

He’s not going to fight, or tell her that he doesn’t want to move— He just keeps crying as she helps him drag himself into their bathroom, and then, into the walk in cubicle, under a stream of warm water he doesn’t remember her starting.

The noise is soothing. So is the feeling of it rushing over him, drenching his hair, washing his face; and then, he sees her.

She’s naked, and perfect and kneeling down in front of him.

He’s still dressed, he realises with a blink that he’s still wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants.

Mechanically, he moves to take his shirt off.

It’s agony. He doesn’t know why, but the second he moves his shoulder it feels like the entire seam of his scar is tearing open. His bones all feel broken. He makes a noise that sounds like a wounded animal, and then, Y/N is moving for him; she’s guiding the fabric up and over his chest, and she’s stroking his cheek as he whimpers and whines and finally kicks his legs free from his pants.

He feels like he’s just run a marathon, like he doesn’t have an ounce of energy left. So he just lets himself fall back against the towels, crying, and shivering under the spray of water.

Y/N cleans him slowly, taking her time lathering him up in sweet smelling soap. She doesn’t touch is scar, though. It’s red, and angry, and it looks awfully painful.

HYDRA had a morphine substitute going almost round the clock when he was off ice, she recalls, that’s probably why.

“Can I touch your shoulder, love?” she asks calmly, “You can say no”

The reminder that he’s free to refuse is very much needed. The terror driven ‘yes ma’am’ he’s about to blurt out dies in his throat, and he just simpers for a moment before flexing metal fingers and whispering out a “Please don’t” that Y/N thinks might be the bravest thing she’s heard him say.

“Okay” she agrees with a smile, “Okay, Buck— I know it hurts”

“E-ev-everything hurts”

She nods, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I know” she says, “I know it does, I’m sorry”

“W-whats happening’ to me”

“You’re withdrawing” she repeats, knowing that he already knows “All those drugs HYDRA had you hooked on, baby, all of it’s gone— there was a pump in your arm, it kept it all on automatic but there isn’t anyone left to put in a re-fill, remember? so now you’re detoxing, it’s all leaving’ your system”

That all sounds like something he’s been told before. He remembers fragments of conversations, of talks with her, and her brother, and Bruce; about his arm, and about the components inside and how they were using them to medicate him— He remembers them deciding not to take it out, to let it run it’s course, not wanting to just cut him off cold turkey—

“I, I can’t do this” he whispers, “I- I need I— p-please j-just just-”

“We can’t” Y/N says sadly, “Bucky we tried, remember? There isn’t anything we can do, the units been deactivated and we can’t just throw another one in, it doesn’t work that way.”

He’s so hopelessly, crushingly defeated that all he can do is keep crying.

The feeling of his lovers fingers drifting across his face is the only facet of comfort he has, so when they stop, it’s more than he can bare.

His flesh hand shoots up to hers, so that he can press it back against his jaw with a look so desperate that she can feel her own chest aching;

“You’re going to be alright” she promises again, “We’ve run all the tests, love… It’s going to be a rough couple of days but after, when it’s all run it’s course you’ll feel better than you did before”

He doesn’t believe there’s going to be an after. He’s honestly certain that he’s going to die in agony before anything can ‘run it’s course’ -

“I know you’re scared, I know it’s all too much” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss his brow, “But, you’ve done it before… so many times, love… and this time, I’m going to be here, you’re not going to be on your own”

A line forms between his eyes, he doesn’t remember, he—

Oh, oh god.

He remembers hell. He remembers flashes of something he’d hoped had been nightmare— stone walls, and clawing at his skin until it tears open underneath his fingers, and, and the sound of screams, of his own screams until his voice gives in, and, no, not it’s all way too much—

He’s throwing up again, even though nothing is coming up. He’s gagging and spluttering and his heart is racing.

Y/N realises what must’ve triggered this reaction, and shakes her head the second he can see—

“Don’t think about that” she whispers, “there’s a reason you don’t remember it all, okay? It’s not your fault and it’s not important— What is important, is that you hear me, okay? I’ve got you, and this, this is all going to be okay”

The nod he gives her is barely a twitch, but she catches it all the same, and then, a few minutes later when she turns the water off, and feels flesh fingers reaching out for her hand, she catches that too.

She is the only thing he cares about right now. His entire world is searing, blazing pain, but she, she is soft, and kind and he loves her, and he trusts her and even though he’s still half convinced that this is really going to kill him, if he gets to die holding her hand then maybe the pain won’t seem so bad.

Bucky doesn’t remember her helping him put boxers on, or how he got into their bed.

He remembers the way his crying had gotten more hysterical when she’d let go of his fingers so that she could put a towel on the floor beside him, and he remembers the way that when she’d gotten under the covers he’d rolled over, ignoring the way that his whole body had felt like it’d torn apart at the action, so that he could bury his face in the crook of her neck— so that he could sob into her skin and cling onto her body in an attempt to keep her close.

“My sweet, sweet boy” Y/N purrs, taking the hint and tugging him into her front, “If you want anything… anything at all, you just tell me, alright?”

“Y-you” he gulps, “I- I want y-you— I- I need you, I— I’m s-so scared— I- I j-just want you here”

“I’m here” she whispers, trying to calm him down, “I’m right here”

He forces a nod. This time, the action is more notable, so is the way his hands tighten around her waist, locking himself in position so firmly that nothing, nobody, would stand a chance at prising him away.

“Hush now” she says, stroking his hair, “You just keep breathing for me, okay? that’s your only job right now… you just need to breathe, and rest”

Breathe, and rest.

“I-I’ll t-try I— I swear”

His promise is hissed out through gritted teeth, but Y/N still smiles when she hears it. She smiles, and kisses the top of his head, feeling his sobs becoming quieter and quieter until eventually, they fade off into the kind of quiet, uneven gasps that usually means he’s asleep.

Thank god, she thinks, praying he’ll stay that way for awhile.