Bucky's peaceful sleep soon turned torturous, as his dreams lead him somewhere he didn't want to go. His slow, quite breathing turned rapid and uneven. His slacked face became distorted and strained. His hand gripped the bed sheets as he cried out.
His cries woke Steve, who sat up groggily. He looked over at Bucky and whatever memory of sleep had been erased from his mind. "Bucky," Steve whispered.
Bucky didn't hear Steve, but if he did he screamed louder because of it. His body twisted and the sheets followed tieing around his frame. He thrashed as if subconsciously he knew he had to get out of the blankets. Suddenly he screamed and bolted upright.
"Hey," Steve said quietly, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "It's okay."
But the kind words did nothing in the way of consoling the man. He just looked at Steve, eyes welling up. Steve tried to smile at him, but he couldn't move his face. He knew how much Bucky had been through, but he couldn't begin to imagine the horrors that still haunted him. In an attempt to comfort him he wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and pulled him into his lap. Steve kept his arms tightly around him, trying to stop the violent shaking coming from Bucky's core.
"I got you, Buck. I got you. It's okay." Steve repeated, softly. "I have you and I won't let go."
Steve could feel Bucky. The way his heart was beating like it was trying to escape the body which it was placed in. His heavy breathing. Each breath Bucky took was short and deep the way someone would if he were drowning and needed to take as much air in as he could. Steve could feel every ailment that held the man at that moment and he wanted it to go away.
Steve wished more than anything that he could do something, anything, to help Bucky, but what would soothe someone who had endured so much?
With the rising sun Bucky calmed down, his breath slowing and his heart coming back to a normal rate. He had turned around and buried his face into Steve's chest, just so he could hear Steve's heart.
"It sounds the same as it did before," Bucky noted.
Steve shifted, pulling Bucky closer to him and gave a small smile. It was nice, having him remember small things. It reminded Steve of Brooklyn so many years ago, but Steve never did forget, not for one second.
As the two of them lay there, the light in the room began to change. The cool light of the moon that illuminated many of the nooks of the bedroom were washed out by a warm glow that came from the morning sun. Everything was painted with a soft orange which made the room feel homely, though the two had only been living there a short week.
The light awoke Steve, who then, in turn, was prompted to move Bucky so that he could get up. Carefully, he slid the brunet off to his side of the bed. Slowly he pulled himself off the bed, as he did the mattress formed back to the way it was before a 220-pound man layed on it.
Standing up, he stretched reaching his arms up over his head and arching his back. The movements he made were graceful and sluggish. He hadn't got much sleep, but it was something that he had to deal with. Besides, he could make coffee while dwelling on lost sleep.
He tiptoed into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, but not all the way because the hinges squeak much too loudly for Steve's liking. After deciding that the door was closed enough he walked to the coffee maker, that was positioned on the counter to the right of the sink. There were the top cabinets that came down, only leaving one foot above the counter. Those made it difficult to get to it, but neither man drank coffee in the small apartment anyway. Steve put the coffee in and then the water, then pressed the little button. Soon it was spitting out coffee slowly, but surely.
He paused and ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
It's much too quiet, he thought. Steve's gaze drifted up, past the small table and chairs to the table behind the couch, that really was part of the dining area despite it matching the living room furniture. There on the table was a turntable, a new one, Natasha had bought if for the two of them when she found out that they would not be advising her advice. She said it was a housewarming gift, but among the records that she gave them there was one she made, including directions for something, but Steve didn't want to know what was said, and after what had happened a week and a half ago Bucky hadn't wanted to either.
Steve smiled as he looked through the records. He remembered only some, but others were music that his friends had been suggesting. He pulled a jazz record from the box that they had been stashed in.
Jazz shouldn't wake Bucky up. He guessed. Then again he can sleep through anything.
Steve shook his head, a small smile creeping across his face. After everything, the past week had been the most normal thing Steve had experienced in a long time, just as long as he didn't turn the TV on.
He placed the record on the table and then the needle on the record. Piano filled the room with its delightful sounds. The music filled Steve's mind and soon he was humming along to the instruments and making breakfast. Two pans, one for eggs and the other for bacon and sausage, were on the stove and bread was in the toaster. By the time everything was on two plates and on the table and the used pans were in the sink Steve had a freshly made cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other.
The newspaper might not have been the best idea, but he had to stay connected to current events, even if it was all Captain America a criminal? and The Winter Soldier: America's Greatest Threat. Steve knew the papers were wrong and hopefully, after some time the papers finally might be on his side of things. And maybe, just maybe Tony might do something stupid, again and all off the heat would fall off of Bucky.
Even if that was a solution, it was wrong and Steve knew it. Even if Tony had screwed up, so many people have screwed up before and they got a pass, so Steve should give him one too.
Whatever Tony may say about us, Steve looked at the mostly shut door, Tony has his beliefs and I have mine.
Then the man, leaning against the counter with coffee in hand noticed that the music had stopped. He pursed his lips, put the paper and cup down, and went to turn the record over. As he was walking past the door, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone sitting up, so he went to check on Bucky.
Gingerly he pulled the door open, miraculously the hinges made no noise. In the small room that Steve and Bucky called their bedroom, Bucky was sitting upright. Steve could see that the man on the bed's shoulders was shaking, barely, but noticeable.
"Hey, Buck?" Steve asks quietly.
Bucky half turned his head, but thought better of it and looked back at the window he was facing. "Go away, Steve," Bucky mumbled.
Steve frowned and stepped into the doorway. "Bucky, please talk to me."
Bucky scowled, but Steve couldn't see it. If Steve sees me like this he'll think I can't handle my problems, besides I have to take care of him or he'll get into trouble. Bucky told himself as he rubbed his eyes.
"I'm fine," Bucky said, but it was filled with much more acid than he originally planned. Shit.
Steve walked in and sat behind Bucky, facing away from him. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me. I understand, but I am here for you. Okay?" Steve then pushed up off the bed and headed for the door.
Bucky clenched his fist and bit his tongue, trying to decide. "Hey, wait." The words slipped out before Bucky had any way to stop them.
The blond stopped, waiting for an answer.
"Last night," Bucky started, but he stopped, not sure how to finish. The long pause drew Steve to speak again.
"Yeah, what about last night?" Steve asked, trying to prompt something out of Bucky, even if it was just a simple 'nevermind'.
The brunet let his gaze drift to the picture that they kept on the dresser that was sausaged between the windows. It was a picture of Peggy. She had her hair up, and she was wearing a beautiful blue dress with red decals with red lipstick to match. She had been the only other person to know that Steve had a pure heart, no one else knew him before the serum. And now it was just Bucky.
He hadn't even gotten to pay his respects.
The memory of Steve 5'7" always ready for a fight flashed in Bucky's mind. He always wanted what was best for people, whether or not it was best for himself. He could trust him, he knew that, but it was just a question of whether he wanted to tell him. The man had gone through so much for him already, how could he burden him with any more.
Then, for the first time, he asked himself, What would Peggy do? He answered the question though, he knew the answer. It wouldn't have changed, no matter how old she became. She would want him safe, but she knows just as much as I do how much Steve wants to help people. He wants to help and not helping tears him apart. Or at least it did, probably still does. He went through all this and struggled for me already.
"Last night," He paused, "I had a nightmare. But not the usual ones, this one was worse. And it wasn't so much a nightmare, more like memories." Bucky eyes were fixed on the photo.
"Oh, Buck," Steve whispered. He turned to watch his friends. "I'm sorry."
Bucky continued over the whispers, "I killed so many people, Steve. I killed so many. Innocent. People. I did it, with my hands. How can you just let me walk around? And after what happened recently, I could turn on anyone, Tasha or you."
Steve's face hardened as he searched for the right words. He sat down next to the man, wrapping an arm around him. "It wasn't you, but even if it was, people deserve second chances. You have to remember there are people who care about you. It wasn't your fault please don't blame yourself. You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met and that will never change."
"But what if I kill you or Natasha or Sam or anyone?" Bucky protested.
"You couldn't kill Natasha. You might have a fighting chance, but I don't think it will happen." Steve joked in an attempt to put a smile on Bucky's face. "But there will always be people to help you. And if you ever feel like you might snap, tell someone because we can help."
"How can you be sure?"
"I can't," Steve replied plainly, "But I can hope. And after everything you've been through, you deserve a little hope."
Bucky gave him a small smile, but it still didn't shake the fact that he wasn't telling him the whole truth. His nightmare wasn't just memories, that was only the beginning. The worst thing he dreamt was a knife pressing into Steves' throat and the person on the other end was him. He sliced Steve's throat, he killed the person he cared for most. The blood dripped slowly down Steve's neck and it caked on his left arm, with his right he caressed Steve's face. Then Bucky stabbed his heart. And then he woke up to a moonlit room, with a concerned Steve, and a broken heart.
"Yeah," Bucky whispered turning to Steve to plant his lips the mans cheek. "A little hopes good."