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The high pitched screams pierced his skull and he tried to ignore the memory of a saw cutting through flesh and the remnants of bone. He tried to remind himself he was in a warm little house in a cozy little suburb and not a frozen wasteland and took steadying breaths as he left his room and walked down the hall, the gentle thud of his hot feet on cool hardwood oddly comforting.
He hovered at the threshold of the room, urging himself to go in. Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms wrapping around his torso to hold himself back, fingers idly scratching where flesh met metal. Because if he went in, he would need to walk across the room. And if he did that, he would need to pick up the tiny little bundle making such big, big noises with his tiny little lungs. And he wanted to, desperately. He wanted to pick up the baby and soothe him and rock him and tell him everything was going to be alright, just as he'd done for Becca when she'd been so very tiny until Mama came to feed her. And just like Becca, he loved this so very tiny baby with everything he had, but unlike with Becca, he couldn't trust his own mind let alone his own strength. He hadn't been broken and shattered and put back together with metal and pain, not even sure if he was even still alive or just haunting this place.
"Buck." It wasn't the name that brought his attention back to focus, or the hot wet on his face, or the hand that pulled his own away from his shoulder. It was the sudden lack of digging, and even then it barely registered that he'd been clawing and scraping at the seam again, trying to get it off him, not even with his fingertips tinged crimson. "Hey, buddy. You okay?"
He still wasn't sure if Steve was real. They were angry at first, the masked faces with their scalpels and drills and hot, hot metal, when they realized their plans were all for nothing, but then they took great glee in telling him how his best friend was dead. Dead and frozen and probably being eaten by polar bears. So he wasn't sure if this was really Steve or if he was also just haunting this place. And it was hard to look at him because if this was Steve, it meant he knew just how weak Bucky really was for all the ways he'd let them hurt him. So he didn't look at him. Instead, he scrubbed his face as dry as he could only for it to be wet again the next time he blinked and he glanced toward the door with a sniff. "The baby was crying. Wanted to make sure he was alright."
"Really?" If the baby's crying sounded like the saw cutting through flesh and remnants of bone, the hope Steve's voice felt infinitely worse. "Would you like to see him?"
Yes. With everything he had yes. He wanted to. He wanted to hold the baby and love him and keep him safe because he was a part of Steve, and the only person in the world Bucky loved more than Steve was a sister he also refused to let himself see no matter how much he desperately needed to. His face scrunched and his vision blurred more and he tried to hide them from Steve in the palm of his hands. He didn't even need to look at him to see the worry and hurt in the other man's face as he took a step back. "No."
"Bucky." Dejection hurt more than hope.
"Steve darling. Why don't you go check on the baby. I'll take Bucky back to his room. Maybe get him some pants on."
"Thanks, Peg."
"Everything's too hot." He complained before glancing down at himself. "I'm wearing underwear."
Peggy patted his arm as she tugged him gently. "Thank God for small miracles."
"But, the baby-" He glanced once more toward the nursery.
"He'll be fine, Steve's got him." The crying settled. "See? Now come along, let's get you settled."
"I don't-"
"What did Steve always say?"
His brows furrowed. "'Stop smuggling contraband to trade for more K-Rations.'"
"No, silly man. The other thing."
"Oh, right." As soon as he remembered he let his body obey her tug, turning and following her along back to his room. Her fingers tucked around his arm, just above the elbow, skin much cooler against his own. "'Do as Peggy says.'"
"That's right. Though I suppose now we know why you were always so hungry." Worry tinged her voice along with a bit of guilt.
It was a quick trip back to his room and Peggy found him some clothes better suited for his body temperature and a thin, cool sheet and set them on his bed, just puttering about with purpose while he stood like a useless lump in the middle of the room. When she was done she settled him into the chair next to his still made bed, careful not to mess up his little nest of pillows and blankets beside it. He was expecting a hurt voice after jerking his head away from her gentle touch through his hair, too much, but her voice was as calm as it'd been just seconds earlier. "I'll go get you some tea."
He just wanted to sleep again but knew that once he closed his eyes the dreams might come again. Instead he leaned into the back of the chair, burrowing his face against the wing, and rested as best he could because it was just so exhausting being like this. He knew how he was supposed to be. He could almost remember what it was like to be Bucky Barnes, smiling and care free, or at the very least able to pretend he was so Steve wouldn't worry.
He closed his eyes, listening to their voices in the other room, hers humming a lullaby and his worried rumbles. It was soothing and he didn't realize how much so until Steve startled him out of a light doze.
"Peg wanted me to bring you this." Tea appeared before him on the end table, coaster and all. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the scalding hot porcelain. "Careful, it's-"
Scalding hot on his tongue and down his throat, the pain like a dropped anchor and jerking him back into the moment. Bucky blinked as he found himself coming a little bit out of the fog. "A bit toasty."
Steve let out a breath of a laugh. "Yeah, just a bit." Then his eyes were blue and piercing and could see straight through him. "You're gonna be alright, Buck."
He snorted and shook his head, giving Steve a small smile. It was sweet of him to say but he knew it was a lie. "You don't know that."
A look passed over Steve's face, like he wanted to tell him something. "Listen." The moment passed and he shook his head. "Just...trust me on this? You're gonna get through this. And I'm gonna be here for you." He let out a weary sigh and scrubbed his tired face with his hand, probably not even fully aware as he mumbled something Bucky almost didn't hear. "This time, at least."
"This time?" This wasn't the first time Steve almost said something or said half a thought, leaving Bucky to wonder if he'd been missing out on half a conversation. "This got something to do with that weird string of words you keep saying? Since when do you speak Russian?"
"I'm just...checking something."
Liar. "You got a wife, Steve. Hell, you got a kid. You can't waste your energy on me."
"Hey." His tone was sharp, the sort of voice he found in the Army. "It isn't a waste, not on you."
Bucky waved a hand. "Thing is, you got more important things to deal with. A gorgeous wife, a beautiful kid. If I were you, I'd lock myself up somewhere and just cuddle them both."
Steve's brows furrowed. "I thought you hated my kid. Figured you might have thought I tried to replace you with him or something."
If the scalding tea hadn't have brought his attention forward that would have. "What? God no. I hate what the crying does to my head but he's just a baby. He doesn't know what it does. But I...I just...I fuckin' love the little guy. He's...he's you just...tinier than even you used to be."
"Good." Steve grinned at him, wide and relieved. Then the brows were back. "If you don't hate him, why are you so against holding him?"
Dammit. Bucky almost missed the fog. It was still here, and he knew it would envelop him again sooner rather later. "I just..." He looked down at his hands flexing his fingers. "I don't know what they did to it." He felt himself sink a bit deeper as he admitted to Steve things Steve should never have had to know. "I tried to remember what they did but sometimes it just-" It had hurt. The things they did had twisted and burrowed and torn and ripped and stretched and cracked. "It was hard to keep track of it after awhile."
If his brows furrowed any further they'd be at his lips. "I still don't underst-"
How could he not?! Bucky stood, fingers going through his hair. "I don't know what it does!" He heard the stirrings of a whimper coming from the nursery and let out a soft little expletive before lowering his voice. "I can see myself crushing things with it every time I close my eyes." His fingers were back at the seam again, scratching. "I won't even be meaning to, I just crush them. And I don't, not really, but one day what if I do? At least you, I'd feel bad but I know you can recover. I never have to touch Peggy."
"You won't just crush things, not without meaning to."
He opened his mouth to scream at him but caught himself last minute. "You don't know that! Every time I think of seeing Becca, I know she's gonna wanna hug me, and I know I'm gonna wanna hug her, but I just keep seeing myself squeezing too tight, and hearing the cracks, and when I think about picking up the kid all I can see is-" He shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes as he tried to just push the images out of his head but they kept slipping against his face as he kept choking on his own breath.
Steve'd hugged him before when he'd cried. Not when he'd gotten the draft notice, he'd made sure no one else was home when he'd allowed himself a few minutes to be a spineless coward. But when his mother had died, and then his father, Steve had hugged him when he'd gotten a few minutes where he didn't have to be strong for his sisters. Not like this, though, but Bucky didn't think he'd ever cried like this, body wracking as he tried to stifle the sounds so as not to disturb the baby. And not when Steve was like this, either, taller and broader and still feeling wrong. And he didn't push Steve away, just burrowed a bit against him, muffling the strained, high sounds against his shirt, keeping that arm pressed tight between them and digging his fingers into that shoulder.
"I just wanna stop hurting people," he admitted with a hitched breath and tight throat.
He didn't think Steve could understand him, muffled as he was, but he could feel the breath catching in his lungs as he hugged him tighter. "I know you do, buddy."
The body may have been wrong but the voice was right and it brought just a little bit of comfort.
-end