A shrill scream startles Bucky as he jolts, his guard up instantly until he recognised the screams as fear and not anger. His instant reaction wore off and he knew by the husky tone it was Rocket, who he hasn't spoken with since their developmental conversation yesterday.
They've been purposely avoiding each other, like they were embarrassed, or just not ready to feel so cut open in front of another like a surgery patient under anaesthesia.
They have the same scars and the same traumas and the same serums pulsing around their veins but knowing they're the same is more disconcerting than feeling alone.
Having so much of their emotions and experiences known to anyone else is very uncomfortable, especially given how closed off and reserved they normally are.
Bucky considers just leaving Rocket for someone else to go and help him but he can't help picturing the animal throwing other people off him, humiliated.
Bucky is the only one who can even start to understand what he's going through, and the yells are getting louder and more pained and Bucky is sure he hears snippets of words, small whimpers of, “hurts...”
Bucky sighs and slaps his hands on his thighs, glad he's still in his joggers and hasn't even attempted to let sleep envelope him. It's too much effort just to be woken just how Rocket has been now.
He begrudgingly trawls to the door, feeling a sense of pure responsibility and purpose but also like he's stranded at sea; despite their similarities, he really doesn't know what Rocket needs.
“Bunny? Can I come in?”
Bunny had slipped out of his mouth; he's still not used to being friendly with the raccoon and so all the names of any other animal under the sun is usually directed at Rocket instead.
But this time, Bucky thinks, 'bunny' is said in an endearing way. He hadn't even realised this was the closest thing to a pet name between the pair, at least a non sarcastic one.
Rocket didn't answer, but the screams got louder and more muffled as if even through the dregs of sleep, he is still conscious enough to try and drown out his sobs.
“Rocket, I'm gonna come in.” Bucky isn't expecting a response, and he definitely doesn't get one unless he counts the painful howl that echoes around the room. And he doesn't.
The sound was so full of hurt that he had to stifle back a panicked gag; this nightmare was hitting a little too close to home.
He lifted the handle slowly, trying to make his movements steady, but it doesn't make any difference as Rocket still sobs out from the bed. Only when the door is shut firmly behind him and he's taken a deep breath, does Bucky allow himself to turn around towards the bed.
Some sheets are piled on the floor and a lump of duvet is trembling in the corner, hiding the shivering form of a scared raccoon.
Bucky takes a step forwards, unsure if he should take the duvet off, but he sees how panicked Rocket was getting stuck underneath it, thrashing his little furry limbs, that Bucky instinctively peeled it off to reveal the animal's face, painted in several shades of pure terror.
“Rocket, buddy, can you open your eyes?” Bucky asked softly, surprised himself at how low his tone came out.
He didn't know he had the potential to be so gentle and nurturing, and it's almost reassuring until he focuses on Rocket's face and sees tears dripping down a strip on his fur, sticking it to his face uncomfortably.
“Roooocket-” he chimes out in a singsong, equally to calm himself down and the raccoon. He needs him to stop screaming.
“I'm here.” Bucky whispers tentatively, unsure if that was too friendly. Maybe he's putting it on too much. But as he shuffles on his feet the animal snuffles harshly and peels his eyes open, flinching when he sees who it is.
“What the fuck?” He yells, but Bucky picks up on the tone of fear in his voice. His eyes are wide and shocked.
“I'm not gonna hurt you,” Bucky whispers so quietly it's almost inaudible as he perches on the end of the bed awkwardly.
“Bucky - What're you doing here?”
After a long sigh he speaks up.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't want you to wake up from that alone.” Bucky's face flushes red.
“Oh,” Rocket mumbles and tries to act like he doesn't care, but the gratitude in his poor lost eyes and the way he holds himself up like he's weak and small, Bucky knows his presence is meaningful.
“Alright, wanna slow your breathing down?” The soldier speaks quietly, trying not to anger the raccoon by telling him what to do.
He asks it as a question; something he's learnt from years of brainwashing and having his own free will taken away from him is being asked if you want to do something, demonstrating that there's a choice and no punishment for simply not wanting to do something, it was such an important thing to him and to help him adjust to a somewhat normal life.
“Yes.”
It was so quiet Bucky would've missed it if it wasn't for the super soldier hearing. Hearing Rocket actually admitting to not being okay was something that'll take a lot of getting used to.
“Alright. Do you wanna get out of those sweaty sheets?”
Rocket slowly slips out of the cocoon of blankets and sits shivering in a small pair of old shorts, looking embarrassed and lost.
“Can I just -” Bucky places a hand on Rocket's back but the animal instantly flinches away, bearing his teeth like he's prepared to bite. Bucky almost loses it emotionally then; he knows what that's like. To feel so threatened the only logical option is to fight.
“It's okay. I'll be gentle.”
He's referencing the rods in Rocket's back, and he almost cries in relief. He's going to be gentle.
Rocket ever so slightly shuffles closer to Bucky's side, instinctively nuzzling into his soothing metal fingers. Rocket understands the significance of this moment, too. Bucky trusts himself enough to use the metal hand to stroke him. He feels so similar to Rocket that he doesn't feel ashamed or like he needs to hide.
Tears prick at the corners of the raccoon's eyes and roll down his nose silently before he can stop them, and to be honest he doesn't know if he wants to.
It feels so relieving to be openly sad in front of Bucky. He tries so hard to always be brave, and letting his guard down in front of somebody who couldn't be more understanding is so cathartic for him.
“It's okay. I've got you,” Bucky murmurs gently, still petting Rocket's head as he almost presses into his side, Bucky's huge super soldier body holding Rocket's tiny shivering form.
A huge contrast, an unlikely bond.
But a bond that'd always been destined to work.
“You're not so bad, Metal Man,” Rocket scoffed softly, still pushing his head into the metal fingers. He understands the irony in him calling Bucky Metal Man, as if he isn't modified to have way more metal than him.
“Oh yeah? Neither are you, Rabbit.”
“Oh, come off it,” Rocket giggled.
“Sorry. I meant Rat.”
Rocket gasped in shock and Bucky can't tell if he's genuinely offended or not.
“Fine, fine. I meant Bunny.”
“I'm not some cute flopsy bunny!” Rocket protested, but his mouth curls up in a small smile, little tears still rolling down his face.
“You are little though.” Bucky teases, but Rocket just scoffed.
There was silence for a moment, just gentle whimpers of content from the raccoon as Bucky continues to stroke him.
They listen to the sounds of the ship; the rain pattering on the small windows, the gentle hum of the machinery closed down for the night, the rather excessive snores from none other than Peter Quill.
“This is nice,” Bucky starts, “I mean, like, the rain. You know. I've always liked the rain. It was something I missed in Wakanda.”
Rocket smiled softly.
“This is nice. The rain, of course,” he says, tone deadly serious, but the unspoken words float around the space like the stars surrounding them.
Bucky thinks it's nice to be with someone who gets it. He thinks it's nice to have somebody to look after. He thinks it's nice that he feels like he's making some kind of an impact.
He most importantly thinks it's nice that Rocket has given him a distraction from sitting on the floor of his own quarters, the idea of sleep just another unrealistic fantasy.
Rocket thinks it's nice that Bucky is stroking him. He thinks it's nice someone wants to be so close to... someone like him. Whatever he is.
He thinks it's nice that he can hear the soldier's heartbeat and not his own screams.