“I’m not a weapon!” Bucky insists fiercely into the fridge.
His voice is groggy, his mouth dry, and his tongue too big for his mouth.
He takes several deep breaths, his eyes still squeezed tight, feeling the cold air cool his sweaty skin. A flyaway lock of hair irritates his forehead and he pushes it all back, out of his face. He needs a hair cut.
When he finally opens his eyes again the contents of the fridge are the same as before he’d closed them. It’s not all fruit and veg and protein like you’d probably expect a fridge for superheroes to be. He stares at a half eaten chocolate cheesecake slice, probably Natasha’s, and considers the wrath she would inflict on him if he were to finish it. Imagining this wrath causes him to lose his appetite.
The fridge had seemed like the most logical place to go after waking up from the nightmare: the kitchen is one of the only places in the Avengers tower Bucky can locate, and he’d been hot and sweaty and slightly hungry.
He listens to the comforting sound of the clock ticking on the wall, the low buzz of the fridge. He shivers and then shakes himself, physically, after a moment, and closes his pink, non mechanical fingers around a yoghurt.
“Me neither.” A voice comes from somewhere way too close to him for Bucky not to have noticed, and he jumps, spinning around to see Pietro sitting idly on the kitchen counter. He should’ve known from the accent.
“Fucking super speed,” Bucky curses, clutching his heart as it slows down a little, but not entirely, because being around sarcastic snarky dudes that he’s not known long enough to have a feel for when he’s at his most vulnerable isn’t the most comfortable situation he could be in. Not like the fridge, or alone at the kitchen table eating yogurt, which is where he’d thought his night was headed.
“Sorry,” Pietro says, though, and sounds sincere. He actually looks a little sheepish, and not that snarky and sarcastic. On closer inspection, he’s about as pale as his hair, which is sticking to his forehead with sweat.
Bucky grabs another yoghurt from the fridge and two spoons and hoists himself up to sit next to him.
“Thanks,” Pietro smiles, and Bucky watches him lick the lid like a little kid.
“Can’t sleep?” Bucky asks, digging into his own yoghurt.
“Nightmares,” Pietro admits, “You?”
“The same.”
They eat in silence together, watching each other in the unabashed way two severely sleep deprived people can in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning without either of them really noticing. Pietro finishes first and sets the pot down next to him.
“I know what it’s like to be turned into a weapon by HYDRA,” He says, which seems a little heavy a little sudden, but Bucky just stops eating a moment to listen.
“Yeah?” He prompts when Pietro doesn’t go on.
“Me and my sister- those tests with the Scepter…”
“I thought you volunteered for those,” Bucky frowns.
“We did, but they were still horrible. We didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into, you know? And I know it’s not the same but I think I might understand a little bit of what you’re feeling and I’m sorry,” Pietro finishes, looking flustered.
Bucky considers this while he finishes his yoghurt, setting it down beside him. Pietro clears away the used containers and spoons.
“Thanks,” Bucky says.
Pietro nods.
“I’d better try sleep again,” Bucky says around a yawn, hopping down from the counter. He sways a little in his step, and Pietro steadies him.
Bucky thanks him again, and they stand together for a moment, listening to the clock.
“If you ever want to talk…” Bucky says quietly, looking up a little to make eye contact with Pietro.
He smiles wider this time, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. He looks sweet like this, sleepy and rumpled in the low light, breath smelling like apricot and dairy.
“I’d like that,” He says.