Chapter 9 (Original)
-BUCKY-
Waking up in cold sweat was never fun.
Neither was the was the sleeping part, but Bucky couldn’t really do anything about it. He had tried to avoid it once. Got to about 72 hours before Steve drugged his coffee. He didn’t let the man near the pot again. But his point was made.
So instead, he would brave the reoccurring terrors that found him in his sleep. Visions of frigid temperatures and biting metal digging into his neck, wrist, and ankles. Screaming that was all to familiar to be anyone else’s. All memories from HYDRA.
And it still haunted him in consciousness. Coming in contact with cool tile or cold showers would send him into a panicked fit. Pulling him back into his more unpleasant experiences. Then called being a sissy, now known as a panic attack.
Though most people expected the darkness to have a similar effect on him, it was actually the light that gave him trouble. So used to painfully bright fluorescents being shoved in his face, whether it be for operation or just as means of torture.
The darkness was, to him, painted in a better light (THAT WAS UNINTENTIONAL. GOD BARTON WAS RUBBING OFF ON HIM).
The only times where he was surrounded by pitch blackness was at the end of his day, when everything was done and over. When those HYDRA bastards would throw him into a 6 by 6 vibranium cell where he would try (and usually fail) at getting 2 and a half hours of sleep.
But it meant safety.
That’s why Bucky would always find himself staring blankly into the inky shadows of his room, recovering from his failure of an attempt at sleep.
But tonight just wouldn’t cut it.
So, he begrudgingly rolled out of his sweat soaked sheets. Standing from the mattress with a groan (followed by an ensemble of pops and cracks of his stiff bones), he he changed out of his damp t shirt in into a comfortable drawstring sweat shirt that could only be described as “ lived in”. But it did a good job of covering his prosthetic, so it was his go-to.
With the final addition of his Captain America slippers (a gift from Steve of course), he seemed himself ready to head out.
The hallway was dark and empty when he stepped out, not a single light was on behind any of the doors either. Grateful for the cover and for lack of people, Bucky continued down to the main kitchen, hoping to get something to drink and maybe snag one of those petite cakes if there were any left.
As he trudged past rows of dark and noiseless doors, Bucky felt like he wasn’t meant to be there. Even though he had been living with the rest of the Avengers (by Steve’s insistence after he was cleared from Wakanda), he always had sense of misplacement, like he was intruding in their life’s just by being there.
Of course he was! He, the sole reason the team even fell out in the first place, was now living under their roof, eating their food, using their resources, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Stark was taking this.
Hmm. Stark. He had only spoken to the man in passing for the past couple of weeks. And they were actually starting to get comfortable with each other’s presence. But when that Peter kid showed up…well he just sort of closed in on himself after that. Scarcely coming up from his work and when he did, he stayed out the socialization.
Now, the only person Bucky felt at ease with was Steve. Which, don’t get me wrong, is better than he could have possibly imagined only a couple of months ago. But he really wished he was able to move on with his life and start something new instead of having to rely on what he had in the past.
But HYDRA had changed him so that moving on could never be an option. He was too broken and faulty to be able to try to live like once did. So, in a cruel twist of fate, he would never be truly free of HYDRA.
But he was satisfied with what he could manage. He even if all he would ever do is live in the shadow of the stranger that was James Barnes, at least he was able to live a life other than that of the Winter Sold-
The clinking of utensils stilled Bucky in his thoughts, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen just around the corner.
No one was ever up at this hour
And if they were, they never lingered long enough to stumble upon company. Each resident having their own personal reason as to not wish to socialize this early.
Before and now more than ever with his training, Bucky had found himself to be subconsciously observant of those around him. While at one point, it had been called people-watching, a good half of his life taught it to be scoping out the target. Learning their tells and ticks, memorizing routines and sleep schedules, and knowing like second nature their breathing pattern and habits.
While Bruce and Steve slept through the night soundly, Clint and Natasha (along with the rest of the resident spies and assassin’s including himself) brave the darkness after waking up, and on the off occasion they end up leaving their rooms, they make quick work out of getting what they need before retreating back into solitude.
Everyone else was on a different part of the floor and thus, had a second, smaller kitchen for their convenience. Even if he didn’t take any of that knowledge into consideration, he had subconsciously checked each door when he had passed, making sure each one was shut and dark. Without any sound.
No one could possibly have been up. And yet the dimmed lights and sounds of bustling from the nearing kitchen said otherwise.
So he did what any self respecting person with a stranger in their home would do.
He walked right fucking in.
Cause god forbid he gets enough sleep to deal with this shit. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t come prepared.
So, when Bucky crept up behind the figure sitting at the kitchen island, unnaturally silent, Captain America slippers in hand, of course he ended up scaring the shit out of the perp. But he didn’t even get to make his move as his apparent sneak-attack startled them more than he expected.
Before he could even register what was happening, He had found himself pinned to the ground, right, of course, after the person jumped almost 20 feet in the air just to get the drop on him. He struggled the best he could, but their grip was tight. Too tight. What was going to happen to him? Was this HYDRAs’ attempt to get back the Winter Soldier? Was he going to be taken away? What if-
“Mr. Barnes?” Said a shrill voice from above him. He was promptly released from the death grip that held him. He quickly whirled his head around to find none other than Peter standing sheepishly back.
It was then he remembered the kid stayed over on the weekends, so that he and Stark had more time to science the shit out of something. (What actually was the relationship between those two?)
It was also then that he realized that Peter was talking frantically rambling.
-nd you cant tell anyone! Aunt May would kill me if she knew! And again, I’m really sorry again for, yah know, attacking you, but like, you totally snuck up on me and I’ve been really tired lately and this really isn’t helping my case.”
The kid cut his explanation short. Bucky hadn’t even registered the incredible heights the kid had reached, and honestly it would’ve taken him days to finally put two and two together.
But it all clicked for him right there.
The sudden appearance of a certain vigilante at the airport followed by a new ‘intern’ of Starks that’s far beyond just an unpaid employee. The father-son like closeness that connected the two nerds that just appeared out of nowhere. I hadn’t just happened. They had something else pulling them together.
And even without that, Bucky could recognize the marks that heroing left that could be seen on every one of his teammates.
The look on the younger’s face, only now being able to see the lines etched into his too-youthful complexion. Lines of worry and anxiety over the weight of New York that he brought unto himself, from a responsibility he had no obligation to carry. Scars that had been passed off as unimportant accidents now clearly recognizable as that of rusty knifes and the graze of a bullet. His crooked nose cocked in a direction that could have only be caused by brute force.
And if all that went over looked, the eyes sold it.
Cause amongst the brown pigment where shades of grey. A fog-like veil that hid all of the pain and hurt in his gaze. And yet, now that he could take it all in, all Bucky could see was the falsity in his eyes. The walls brought about by betrayal. The craters left from loss. The doubt in worth from failure after failure…
This kid had been through hell and back just to play hero for a punch of people who don’t deserve it. And he could tell the Daily Bugle was getting to him.
He needed someone in his corner.
He just didn’t need him to know.
“It’s alright, kid. Just reflexes. You take self defense?”
Peter stared incredulously at his response, not really believing his seeming ignorance. Surly he had to have seen him. But, he Aswell was tired, so maybe…
“I mean, when you live in a city like New York-“
“It’s a given. Understandable. So now, here’s another question. What are you doing up?”
He spoke as Peter hoisted him up off the ground. He then turned back to what looked to be the most diabetic cup of coffee to ever be summoned from hell. Taking a long, drawn out sip before responding.
“Same as you, I guess.”
Now that hit him hard. Cause if this barely-even-an-adult child was having the same bone chilling nightmares as him, the 90-something (lost track) year old war vet and Nazi survivor, then he needed more support than he thought. But obviously, he misread the comment. It couldn’t be like that…right?
Before he could clarify anything, Peter spoke again.
“Bad dreams, yah. Not that new to them.”
Bucky hummed, pulling his lips thin at the thought of such a pure hearted little shit having a life that was anything short of amazing.
“You want some?” Peter asked, gesturing to the coffee pot.
“I..I guess. But I’m more of a black-as-my-soul type.”
The short laugh he received from the kid made all of his gruesome pop-culture study sessions worth it.
Once the drinks where brewed and the two had settled at the counter, Bucky presses further.
“So, how long?”
The vague comment was immediately picked up and understood. Without even looking away from his cup, he responded.
“2, maybe 3.”
“Months?”
“Years.” The dry, utter uninterest in his tone told of the disdain he felt towards the topic.
Hell, the feeling was mutual. But years was too long for his comfort. But he didn’t let his thoughts be displayed in his expression. Neutral was the way to go in these situations.
“What happened?”
Peter took a second of staring into his swirling mass of liquid heart-attack as he contemplated the question. It was obviously a touchy subject for him seeing as his grip on the mug tightened at the mention of the memory. But he continued anyways.
“My, uh, my Uncle Ben. Couple years ago, he and I went out. There was this guy, pretty shifty looking, and I-I don’t remember what happened b-but my, uh, Ben. H-he, uh… he…”
He fell short, the ending to his story unspoken yet painfully clear. There was more. He could tell. But that was for a time when the two weren’t clutching their caffeine like a life line at 3 in the morning. So instead, he could settle…
“Kid, has anyone ever taught you to throw a punch?”