𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 | barnes¹

xix. torn apart

Her confusion quickly faded into panic when she realized that she couldn't even pry her eyes open. She had honestly thought that she was dead until she was finally able to weakly lift up her right hand.

But as a warm, calloused hand slid into her own, a strangely familiar sense of comfort washed over her.

"Okay, okay," the voice breathed out, relieved. "There you go, honey. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Honey. Bucky called her that. He claimed that the term of endearment was too fitting not to use, saying that she was even sweeter than the liquid gold.

A groan escaped her lips when she tried to open her eyes again. This time, she was successful, taking an excessive amount of blinks to clear the blurriness from her vision.

Lucy wasn't sure if she was hallucinating or not when she saw Bucky's face hovering over hers. Like a guardian angel. He was cradling her in his arms, his worried expression slightly softening as they locked gazes.

He breathed out a relieved chuckle, running a gentle hand through her hair before cupping her cheek. "That's it, there you go. Can you say something for me, Luce?"

Lucy didn't miss the desperation lacing Bucky's words. She opened her mouth to say his name but her vocal cords failed her and a series of distressed coughs ripped through her throat. Bucky hurriedly pulled her body upward, holding her against his chest while rubbing large circles on her back in hopes to alleviate the burning in her lungs.

Bucky whispered soft, reassuring words in her ear as a few painful tears escaped her eyes. He couldn't speak any louder, positive that his voice would simply shatter if he did.

When those guards threw Lucy into his cell, he had to push aside his urge to go and kill them all for handling her so roughly and instead focus on bringing her back to consciousness. Every thirty seconds, he kept placing two fingers on her wrist to check her pulse, terrified that her heart would stop beating right in front of him.

Because if hers did, Bucky was certain that his would have too.

After what seemed like forever, Lucy's grave coughs finally settled down, leaving heavy panting in its wake. She snaked her shaky arms around Bucky's torso and held him tightly, burying her head into his neck.

Bucky didn't hesitate to reciprocate her actions, wrapping his muscular arms around her frail body to pull her onto his lap. They held each other tightly, the only sound reflecting off of the concrete walls being shaky sniffles.

Lucy pulled her head back, her hands still weakly gripping Bucky, and spoke through the heavy dread weighing down her heart. "I-I can't tell if you're real or not."

The absolute fear and uncertainty in her voice sent a wave of agony through Bucky's chest, making it harder and harder to bite back the sob that threatened to spill past his lips.

Because he too shared the same fear.

He couldn't tell if she was real.

Of course, there was the irrational half of him that wanted her in his arms. For the past few months, he had been longing for his best girl. Wanting nothing more than to hold her and never let go, until the end of time.

But his heart, which overpowered selfish needs, wished she wasn't there. He wished that he was in Brooklyn with her, not in some HYDRA base where she would be suffering under their unforgiving torment.

So, maybe this was all some twisted illusion that Bucky's mind was making up as a coping method for his pain. And that was okay because all that mattered to him was that she was safe. Far, far away from the horrors of the war.