Chapter Text
He’s quiet.
But his face isn’t furrowed in pain or discomfort. His head rests softly against my shoulder, his chest moves in and out slowly. His eyelids occasionally flutter like he’s about to wake, opening for just a moment to look at me sleepily before drifting closed again.
And I’d never been happier.
Of course, this isn’t how I had wanted things to go. When I had nursed Bucky back from the brink of death all those weeks ago, I had never dreamt that I would lose him again so quickly. It was my fault he had fallen back into Hydra’s clutches.
My fault he’d suffered so much.
I had made myself a vow that it would never happen again. If I had to give up every waking moment to make sure he was safe, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
The car stops at a red light. Sam steals a glance from the driver’s seat.
“He really does look awful, cap. What did they do to him?”
My jaw tightens. I trust Sam, but I can’t bring himself to tell him what Bucky had really gone through.
“More than you could imagine. But he’s out now. That’s all that matters.”
I run my hand through Bucky’s hair. He responds to the touch with a small barely perceptible lean into my hand. His hand is still locked in mine, fingers trembling ever so slightly.
We eventually pull up at the front of the apartment. I shake Bucky gently,
“Hey, you awake?”
His eyes shoot open. I feel his body immediately go rigid, but it then slowly relaxes.
“Yes.”
“We’re home.”
He nods again, lifting himself into a sitting position as I go around to open the door for him. He hesitates before stepping out. I see his eyes moving, darting around. Scanning for danger. His metal hand grips the edge of the car.
“It’s alright Buck. It’s safe.”
He nods slowly and gets out, stretching cramped muscles. He flinches, a hand coming to press against his bandaged abdomen.
“Careful there,” I admonish softly. I take his right hand in mine and lean back into the passenger window to speak to Sam.
“Thanks again for the lift.”
“No worries man,” Sam responds with a dismissing wave, “And listen, if you need anything or if anything goes…wrong…” Sam continues, glancing at Bucky, “You let me know, yea?”
I feel Bucky’s hand tighten in mine. He’s not as out of it as I thought. He knows what’s going on. He knows what Sam’s saying. And I hate to think how that makes him feel. I don’t want him to think he’s a problem. Regardless, I give Sam a nod. Having backup is not necessarily a bad idea.
“Appreciated, Sam. I’ll get him settled and let you know.”
Sam drives off with a wave. It’s just me, and Buck. I turn towards the door, fishing my keys out of my pocket,
“Come on Buck. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He lets out a quiet breath. His face is frustratingly passive. In fact, he’s been completely unreadable since the hospital. But he can’t hide everything. I see the hesitance as he steps forward, allowing himself to be led by the hand.
“Right.”
His single word answers don’t give me much, but it’s encouraging that he was talking at all. The doctor had warned that he’d be a bit hazy for the next day or two. The cocktail of drugs Hydra had administered were still in his system. According to the doctor, his emotions were dulled to the point of non-existence. But it would fade. And then they would all rush back at once.
I did not look forward to that moment.
Bucky remains silent as we head up the stairs. I can see him still looking around. I hope that the familiar building might at least spark some memory in him. Even I can’t help but feeling a little emotional returning. It hadn’t been the same when I had returned here without Bucky in tow. He’d been a constant presence in the apartment since I had found him. It had felt incomplete without him when I had stormed back here after Rumlow stole him away. And it hadn’t felt complete since.
The door swung open.
“Welcome home, Buck. You have been here before, of course. But that might be a bit hazy now,” I say as I guide him inside. He blinks a few times, but I see the flicker of recognition there. He doesn’t say anything though, but I can see him taking it in. The living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. He still remains frustratingly passive.
“We were bunking together before, but its okay if you want to sleep on the couch too.”
I see his eyes go to the couch, and to my surprise, he shakes his head.
“No.”
“You’re okay in my bed still?”
“Yes.”
I give him a smile, trying not to reveal that I was secretly glad he had said that. The king bed had felt colder and emptier than it had ever had before when he was gone from it.
He doesn’t move. He remains standing there, hand still locked in mine. But I see his eyes continuing to rove, darting from one thing to the next. A sinking realisation hits me.
I have no idea what to do next.
I take a deep breath. I had Buck here a few weeks ago. It should be no different now.
Except it was. I had been close to getting through to him before. He had been talking, close to smiling, even. But now, he’s just standing there. Eyes back to that glassy, unfocused stare. Vacant and distant.
All that hard work, gone in an instant.
I shake my head. No, I couldn’t afford to think like that. The progress was still there. He was just a little zoned out. I let go of his hand, and it falls limply to his side.
“Are you hungry? I know I am,” I say with a weak smile. He glances back to me. There’s a questioning look in his eyes.
Am I supposed to be hungry?
He says nothing, but he hasn’t declined. I sigh. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“I’ll make something simple. Bacon and eggs?”
“Okay.”
Finally a word, even if it was soft and barely above a whisper. I move to the kitchen, busying myself with the pan. Thankfully Bucky manages to seat himself at the table. With a task at hand, I feel a little better. I try and focus on said task, but my eyes keep shifting back to Bucky, sitting motionless at the table. His eyes move, tracking me as I move. But there’s a concerning blankness behind them. Every few minutes or so he shakes his head, as if trying to shift some obtrusive thought.
“You alright there, Buck?”
“Yes, si…”
He cuts himself off. The unsaid “sir” hanging in the air. I stop midtrack. Bucky freezes too. I feel my hand grip the pan handle a little too tightly.
I hate it. I hate that his mind still wants him to talk like that. Especially to me. Another deep breath. Just crack another egg into the pan. Don’t bring it up. I tell myself at least he’s responding. Aware. That’s something.
We both remain silent until I’m done, placing a plate in front of him, and then one for myself. I slide into the chair next to him, giving the best smile I could muster at the moment.
“Eat up, Buck. But slowly, alright?”
To my relief he tentatively takes the food- grabbing a piece of bacon with his metal hand. He takes a slow, experimental bite. And another. The bacon disappears.
“Is it okay?” I ask tentatively.
He nods.
“Good.”
Good. That’s better. An opinion. Perhaps he wasn’t as far gone as I had thought. Relief floods through me. I manage to relax enough to eat my own food. God I was starving. I try and eat slowly, to set a good example for Buck. But its hard. Hospital sandwiches and soup are just not enough to keep a super soldier going.
Bucky continues to eat, hesitant but growing more confident with every bite. A contented expression settles over his face. Its far better than the blankness from before.
“You want any more?” I ask, noticing his empty plate. He looks at the plate, then to me. Unexpectedly, he grips the table as a look of discomfort crosses his face.
“Buck?”
“Not…not supposed to ask for more,” he says between gritted teeth.
I breathe in deeply, nodding in understanding.
“You can now.”
His quiet a moment before nodding slowly.
“More.”
Another long silence.
“Please,” he adds. The word clutches at me. It’s not a polite ‘please’. It’s a pleading ‘please’. Like he’s had to beg for food before. I’m immediately up and filling his plate again.
“Of course Buck,” I reply softly. I set the second plate in front of him. As he begins his second serving, I grab the bottle of medicine the doctor had given to me at the hospital. Three times a day, with food. I empty one into my hand,
“You need to have one of these with your food,” I say casually, holding it out to him. I hadn’t stopped to consider how he might react. It became apparent quickly. He freezes at the sight of it.
“No,” comes a sharp, almost panicked whisper. His hands grip the table again.
“It’s alright, the doctor gave them to you at the hospital, remember? It’s to help you get better.”
He shakes his head, fear seeping into his eyes.
“No.”
I didn’t want to think what awful things had happened to him to make him respond like this. There was clearly some deep-seated issue with medication. He had been the same at the hospital but had relented eventually. I lower myself so I’m at eye level with him,
“This isn’t like what Hydra gave you. This is to help you heal.”
His breathing is becoming rapid now, but he’s listening. Trying to, at least. I can almost see the thoughts running behind his eyes.
“Promise?” he rasps.
“I promise. It won’t hurt you. And it won’t make you forget anything.”
That seems to reassure him. He swallows hard, his eyes moving from the pill to my face, no doubt trying to find the deception he was so used to.
“…okay. I’ll try.”
His hands release their vice-like grip form the table. He reaches out slowly, hand shaking, and takes the pill. I push him a glass of water but he’s already dry swallowed it. Guess he was used to that.
“Good,” I encourage, smiling, “Wasn’t so bad, huh?”
He doesn’t respond. He seems a little uncomfortable, perhaps as he reconciles his action. And then that awful blankness begins to seep into his expression again.
“Buck?”
No response. But I see him glance to the living room.
“Why don’t you sit on the couch while I clean up. It’ll be more comfortable.”
He raises with a slight nod, moving slowly to the couch where he lowers himself down. He still sits back straight and feet flat on the floor in a position that’s as far as possible from “comfortable”. But it’s a start.
I wash up the plates. When I join him in the living room, I see he’s drawn his knees to his chest. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His eyes are open, fixed and staring at the wall. I feel my chest clench. Was this normal? The doctor had told me to expect some dissociative behaviour, both from Bucky’s mind trying to reconcile what had happened to it, and from the suppressive drugs in him. But it still felt unreal, unnatural, to see him like this. Nothing but a shell.
“Buck, can you hear me?” I ask, slowly lowering myself on the couch next to him.
His head tilts just a fraction- a tiny sign of recognition. His eyes move from the space in front of him to me. A quiet acknowledgement.
I hear you.
“Do…you need anything?”
A tiny shake of his head. I let out another deep breath. Part of me understands. I know what he needs.
Silence. Space. Time.
Only Buck knows what’s going on in his head, and I know that he needs time to deal with it. His eyes slowly revert to their forward facing position, seeing things only he can see.
“Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be alone?”
His eyes don’t move, but his hand darts out, grabbing mine.
Stay.
A flood of warmth runs through me.
“Alright, I’ll stay.”
I settle back against the couch next to him, still holding his hand. There’s a hitch in his breathing- a soft intake follower by a long exhale. His muscles relax slightly and his jaw unclenches. He’s still guarded, but he seems relieved.
I hope I am the reason.
He doesn’t speak, but he seems as close to content as he can get. I get the sense this is familiar for him, even without the emotion-supressing drugs. A retreat to a dark place where he can hide himself. I shuddered as I thought of what kind of things would have made him do this in the past. But now, I hope that it’s a way he can protect himself. And hopefully heal.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you,” I ask softly. His head moves ever so slightly in a nod.
Yes.
His jaw tenses again. I feel his hand tighten.
“Am I asking too many questions?”
Another slight nod.
Please stop.
I can almost read his mind in the pleading glance he gives me. I nod in return.
“Okay. I’ll stop. Is this okay?”
I squeeze his hand. There’s a long pause. He squeezes it in return. Permission to keep my hand in his.
The minutes tick on, silent and long. He remains still, but his breathing has evened out. Every few minutes I feel him squeeze my hand again, a silent reassurance that he was still there. That he was still okay. And I remain there, his steady anchor.
It would be a long road to recovery. But we had taken the first step.