Chapter Text
9am
The East River was huge, and in some areas, unavoidable. Steve knew that, being from Brooklyn, but he still cursed Tony for choosing to stage this particular press conference right on the banks of the thing. Already worn out from two days of hauling around rubble and scooping the bodies of the latest attempt to overtake Earth (or maybe just New York), Steve’s nerves and patience weren’t so much frayed as they were totally decimated.
It was probably pretty, to anyone who wasn’t trying not to wince as the river slapped against the stone bank, the odd bit of spray drifting over in the wind, like it was trying to taunt Steve.
Someone coughed subtly, and Steve looked to his right, to where Bruce was sitting. He’d raised one eyebrow at Steve, a question and some concern caught in that one movement.
Steve knew that the concern was probably far more related to the battle and the clean up they had just slogged through, but Steve could do both of those things over and over (and over and over-) with no complaint. The slick and yet harsh sound of the river moving, the tide rushing it against the bank to hit painfully, over and over (and over and over-) was the source of Steve’s painfully tight posture. As long as the noise was there, the water was there, and if the water was there then Steve couldn’t relax.
The problem had been there his whole life, and a stint drowning and then frozen certainly hadn’t helped. The fear was in his bones and there was no separating the two.
“-Captain? Rogers?” Tony was saying, and Steve blinked, returning his attention to him. Tony smirked, outwardly all smarm and derision, but his eyebrow did the same question-and-concern thing that Bruce’s did. They spend too much time around each other, Steve grumbled to himself.
“Sorry, Tony. Practically dozing off in my chair,” Steve said, and followed Tony’s subtle gesture to step up to the podium, feeling Bruce squeeze his elbow quickly, as he passed him.
“It is past 3pm, you’d usually be in bed, wouldn’t you old man?” Tony joked, but behind the cover of the podium, squeezed his elbow too.
Steve was going to throw them both into the river.
He plastered his old show business smile on, and delivered a few tired platitudes about good old fashioned work ethic, and a few less tired praising comments for his fellow Avengers. He tried to answer a few questions, but without the others piping up behind him, he would’ve barely been able to get the gist of what the reporters were asking him.
The sun, too hot for March, beat down on Steve’s tired brow, heating the blood that pounded against his ears, mimicking the water behind him.
Slosh. Smack. Slosh. Smack. Slosh. Smack.
His stomach turned, and Steve managed to rattle off a few last words and a thank you, before practically running off the stage. He could hear Tony making some crack at him, and the light footsteps that meant Natasha was almost certainly following him.
He made it back to the building they’d got ready in, make up to cover scratches and bruises, uniforms with no rends or tears, and locked himself in a stall in the men’s room.
The door was long, nearly touching the floor, and Steve leaned back against it, breathing harshly in through his nose and out through his mouth, convincing his empty stomach not to hurl up acid. Trying to convince himself that the frantic noise of pounding in his head wasn’t the river following him even into safety. Trying to pretend that he was about to go home, have a shower, ask Ava or Yelena what they wanted for dinner-
“Steve? You okay?” Natasha’s voice. Inside the men’s room.
Steve swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise up.
“There’s only one stall closed, I’m going to assume it’s you.” The door rattled against Steve as she knocked. “Steve?”
“Mmm.” If he didn’t open his mouth, he couldn’t throw up. Right?
“Are you okay?”
“Mmm.”
“You sure? If you’re hiding a stab wound again I’m telling Bucky.”
“That was you!” Steve fired back, indignantly.
“You are okay, then?” Natasha replied, sounding relieved. Which was just annoying, considering how easily she had stopped him feeling nauseous.
Steve stood, his pulse still thundering but his stomach calm for now, and opened the stall. Natasha scanned him up and down as he stepped out.
“You’re not allowed in here,” Steve pointed out.
Natasha shrugged. “Technically I’m also not allowed in America without reporting to the CIA,” she said, inspecting one perfectly manicured hand.
“Men’s room, America,” Steve said, weighing invisible scales. Natasha cracked a smile at that.
“Get home, I’m sure you’ll be fine after some rest,” she said, pushing off the wall she leaned on, her eyes knowing Steve in a way he wasn’t sure he liked.
“You too. You haven’t got the serum to be doing the hours you do,” Steve scolded lightly, and Natasha blew a raspberry in reply. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, twinkled a wave over her shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands!” She said in place of a goodbye.
Steve looked at the sink, thought about the sound the water would make coming out of the tap, the feeling it would have running over his skin-
He had to lean against a wall for support as he desperately fought off a dry heave silently, not wanting Natasha to return and see him like this.
--
11am
Sam had given the brownstone a nickname the first time he visited. “The Lost Boys Island, right? Or house, really,” he’d said, grinning an aside to Steve and Bucky while waving in greeting to the others that lived there.
The house was theirs, they’d needed a place to be together away from the Tower, and the compound, and the memories, and Brooklyn was home to them, so it made sense to come back to it. It was incredibly changed from the place they remembered (the tiny grocery Steve had done an advertisem*nt for was now a boba tea shop), but the neighbourhood they bought the brownstone in was familiar enough.
The problem they ran into was that the place was too damn big and too damn empty. Sound seemed to echo, and they really only used the bottom floor, too used to living on top of each other to separate their hobbies into separate rooms.
First, Steve noticed how Wanda and Pietro weren’t settling at the compound, and Bucky noticed Yelena hating the Tower and Natasha’s safehouse (though that was a work in progress, Bucky had said to Steve with a heartbreakingly hopeful smile).
Then, Scott had mentioned Ava during one of the Avengers meetings, and Steve had offered her a place too.
Sam’s nickname was bestowed lovingly not long after that, and Steve and Bucky’s house became much more like a home with all the noise and chaos the others brought.
Though, as Steve pulled up to the entrance to their underground garage, he thought maybe he wouldn’t mind a bit of peace today. He felt bad immediately for it, after all they were all young, and they should be having fun, right?
Bucky would argue that he and Steve were also young, but Steve hasn’t felt young since he woke up from the ice.
He could hear the music and an argument as he came in through the front door, and couldn’t help a smile even with as tired as he was. Pietro and Yelena were the source of the argument, the former holding an album with a bright cover, while Yelena pointed at the stereo passionately. The entire argument was in what Steve recognised as Russian, but Pietro was throwing in the odd Ukrainian and Belarusian word, which was probably cheating. Ava was curled on the couch (almost entirely solid today, very good sign), watching the argument with a small furrow in her brow. Bucky and Wanda, however, were making use of the space they’d made by pushing the dining table aside to do some unholy mix of dancehall swing and...something with a lot of kicking and arm movement. Wanda was grinning, though, and nothing was flying off the walls, so she must be having fun, and not a seizure.
“Hi, Steve,” Ava said quietly.
“Hey, Ava. How’re you?” Steve replied, dropping a hand to squeeze her shoulder. Nice and solid beneath his hand, perfect.
Ava smiled. “They’re yelling about Eurovision. It’s all very normal,” she said, nodding at Pietro and Yelena.
“Ah,” Steve said. He wondered if he should add ‘Eurovision’ to his little book, and if he could do it stealthily without the rest of the room noticing him do it.
Bucky was twirled by Wanda and caught sight of Steve by the door, his eyes lighting up when he saw him. Steve would never and will never, for as long as he lived, get over the sight of Bucky being so happy to see him. He could feel tears in his eyes, which was ridiculous, he and Bucky had been together and safe and happy for years, it was stupid that he-
“Steven! Thank god, a tie breaker-” Yelena shouted, and managed to parkour across their living room faster than Pietro could speed across. The uncanny movement must be a family trait, Natasha pulling off appearing and disappearing like she had magic powers too.
“You can’t ask him! He’ll side with Bucky!” Pietro accused, nearly smacking Steve with the album as he pointed it at him.
“Steve hasn’t sided with me a day in his life,” Bucky called, and Steve rolled his eyes at him.
There was an odd pressure building being his eyes. Steve went to rub his nose, realised he hadn’t removed his helmet, and took that off so he could.
“-you would bring up her, but when was the last time you made it to the Grand Final?” Pietro hissed. Steve realised the argument had gone right on even without his attention.
Yelena scoffed. “And when was the last time Sokovia made it past a Semi Final! Hmm?”
“If it’s a tie about whose music is better, you know I haven’t listened to much outside of American stuff, right?” Steve asked. The pressure was still building behind his eyes, and weirdly the back of his neck felt tight.
“Truly unbiased then! What if we just-” Yelena started.
“Just go with vibes, pick which one feels right to you,” Pietro jumped in, and then reappeared in the kitchen, scowling at Yelena. She was entirely unapologetic that she had attempted to punch him in the stomach, and instead seemed more annoyed that he had simply sped away.
“Coward!” She shouted.
“That’s not very ‘united by music’ of you,” Ava murmured, smirking when Yelena gave her a wilting look, and then strode past Wanda and Bucky to continue her argument with Pietro, who was now zipping to be at least two metres aways from her at all times.
“Thank you, I didn’t know how to tell them I haven’t seen any,” Steve said quietly.
Ava waved an airy hand at him, and curled herself back up to keep watching the circus in the kitchen.
Steve took that to be his dismissal, and finally crossed the small distance between him and Bucky, practically falling into his arms, linking his hands at the small of Bucky’s back.
“You were gone one day, drama queen,” Bucky teased, wrapping one arm around Steve’s shoulders, and ran his free hand through Steve’s hair.
“It’s greasy,” Steve warned, but muffled in Bucky’s neck it sounded more like ‘mivsmeevzy’.
“Bless you,” Bucky replied, and Steve gave him a muffled laugh and a light punch to the side. “The treatment I get! Children, scold your father.”
“Do not ever call us or Steve that. Ever again. Ever. Again,” was Yelena’s response, and apparently that was enough to end the argument, as Pietro joined in with similar disgust.
The chaos, the cacophony, even the mild bullying, was so familiar and felt so much like home that Steve was angry with himself for not being comforted, and instead could feel that pressure, that tightness in his skin getting worse. The noise was like angry bees against his head, the voices though familiar, were aggravating like salt in a wound. For some reason, the pounding in his head was making him think of standing by the riverside just a couple hours ago, the way it made his hair stand on end, the bile rise in his gut-
“Hey, hey! Okay, we get it, we’re cringe. Go away now, gremlins.” Bucky’s voice, always a balm. Even when Steve was furious with him, he always had a way to make him soothed with only a few words. Bastard, Steve thought fondly. The radio was even turned down, lessening the strain on Steve’s brain.
The pounding didn’t stop, but at least nothing else was aggravating it.
“You okay? You seemed off at the conference,” Bucky asked, quietly enough that only they could hear it.
“Mmm. Water,” Steve said, tilting his head so his words could be heard properly.
“Ah.” Bucky kissed the side of his head. “Haven’t told the team yet?”
Steve was impressed he didn’t say ‘still’ this time.
Rather than jump into the argument that would undoubtedly happen (Bucky worried for Steve’s safety, Steve uncaring for that because really who is afraid of water ?), Steve let a yawn crack his jaw, and lifted his head enough to touch his forehead to Bucky’s cheek. “Gonna go shower, probably crawl into bed,” he said, instead of “No, and I never will.”
“I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?” Bucky said. Steve rolled his eyes again, pretending to be annoyed by Bucky’s care. It would’ve been out of character and far too strange for him to ask Bucky to come with him. He was fine. It wasn’t like the other times, when Steve was half out of his mind and without Bucky there he’d crumble. Those were- those were rare. Maybe they were happening more often than they used to, but they still weren’t all the time.
And Bucky expected it from him, expected him to shove him away, be fine. He’d been fine, all that time when they’d been focused on helping Bucky, when they built the house, and brought all their “Lost Boys” home. He was fine.
Steve stood up straight, wincing as the light from their airy kitchen windows stung his eyes somewhat. Bucky had a furrow between his brows, so Steve kissed him. It worked as a distraction, and he could close his eyes again, and he got to kiss the love of his life. Win win win, really.
Bucky’s hand was a warm anchor on his neck, the other a solid presence between his shoulders, and Steve could feel the tiny puffs of air from his nose, like he couldn’t bear to break the kiss even to breathe. Steve loved him so much.
They did break apart, eventually, to a chorus of people who were Not Their Children acting very disgusted that the two people they lived with that were Not Their Parents had dared engage in PDA. Bucky gave Steve a gentle push towards the stairs, wading into battle against the hecklers in their living room.
Steve pulled his body up two flights of stairs, barely able to smile at the joyful giggling and teasing behind him. It felt like home, like family, finally not grating, but that endless slosh slosh slosh of water rang in his ears still, growing louder. The sound of it crashing on the breakers, the shore, whatever part of his brain it lived in, hurt.
He closed off the hallway into his and Bucky’s dedicated part of the brownstone, and headed straight for the bathroom. He stripped some of his gear as he went, knowing Bucky would probably yell at him for leaving it everywhere. He just needed the helmet off, needed the echo of his blood crashing against his ears to stop being so goddamn loud-
He shook his head like a dog, shoving his gloved palms into his eyes like that would stop the sound- the feeling? Whichever it was, it was draining the tiny bit of energy Bucky had given him back, and he needed that to shower.
Down to finally just his suit, boots toed off outside the bathroom door and gloves thrown in the direction of the bedroom, Steve opened the glass door to their huge shower. They’d decided on it when they renovated the brownstone, making sure it was big enough for the both of them. Bucky had made a joke, wiggled his eyebrows lewdly enough to make Steve blush, but despite all implications, the only use they’d had of the shower’s huge size was so Steve could cling to Bucky while Bucky washed blood and gore out of his hair, brought him back to himself time and time again. It was Steve’s fault, he wasn’t ready to let go of the shield yet, not even with Bucky back safe. Bucky never said anything, and maybe never will, but his eyes going all distant and sad when Steve took hours to come back to himself said enough.
Maybe it was everything from this morning, the standing in the sun with the sound of water behind him, the bleary way the world looked, or maybe it was being stuck in the endless loop his life had become. Maybe it was just the guilt of once again not being here living life with the man he nearly died to get back.
Maybe Steve was just doomed, as all he did was turn on the shower, and suddenly he was back in the Valkyrie.
The water crashed through the windows, glass cutting across his face and arms, freezing water stealing the air from his lungs and sealing terror everywhere it went, cutting off his frantic pleas before he could even make them, drowning him before he could beg to make a different choice-
Peggy- that was Peggy, right? Calling his name? Her hands on his face- No, no she wasn’t there, she wasn’t-
Steve looked up, and the Winter Soldier stood over him, impassively staring down as he plunged to his death in yet more water-
Steve’s foot moved without input and kicked him away, and Bucky’s wide, worried eyes went somehow wider with shock as he followed the momentum and collided with the wall opposite the shower, and Steve stared in horror as he held out his hands to him. Like Steve was a wounded animal.
“Hey, it’s me. It’s Bucky, you’re okay. You’re okay, honey, you’re home. You know you’re home, right? You...” Bucky was saying, in a low soothing voice, and Steve registered finally that he was on the floor of the shower. He was on his back, still in uniform, and soaking wet. The shower wasn’t running, Bucky must’ve turned that off when he heard Steve...fall? Steve looked at his left hand, registering the pain at the same time as he noticed the glass shards all around him.
“I broke the door?” Steve asked, voice barely loud enough to be called hoarse.
“Yeah, honey. We heard a loud noise, like you’d fallen, so I came up here,” Bucky said, cutting off his own soothing mumble.
“I- I don’t remember.” Steve looked up at the fan, whirring away the non-existent steam. “I turned the shower on and...”
“That’s okay, we can sort that out too. Can I get you out of there first? You’re soaking wet, that can’t be comfortable,” Bucky said, and Steve nodded to give him permission. Bucky gave him a small, proud smile that turned Steve’s stomach, and Bucky stood up, his left arm reaching out-
“You’re my mission!”
“Then finish it.” Kill me, please, before the water, I’d pick your hands over the water, please Buck-
“Steve! Stevie, please, honey, it’s me- I’m not going to hurt you-” Bucky’s voice was no longer soothing and gentle, he was begging. He sounded devastated, what had happened in...
Oh.
Bucky was back against the wall, hands pulled tight back against himself, looking at Steve in horror, and Steve- He’d somehow curled himself tightly into the corner of the shower, as if he was cowering away from Bucky’s hands, away from-
“No,” Steve said, and immediately unfurled himself, ignoring Bucky’s cry of alarm when he cut his hands and feet open again as he half-crawled half-stumbled out of the shower. He collapsed on top of Bucky, burying his face in his hair. “No, no I didn’t say any of it.”
“You did,” Bucky said sadly. Steve still felt him move so he could gather Steve in close, legs on either side of his body, one arm around him tight so the other could cup his face. “You did say it.”
“No,” Steve said, and felt Bucky chuckle weakly.
“Stubborn sh*t,” Bucky replied, and kissed his temple.
Steve sank further down against him, resting his head against Bucky’s collarbone and resting his hands on his chest. He could feel Bucky’s heartbeat start to slow from its rabbit-quick beat, and willed his own to slow to match. Bucky tucked him in closer too, cocooning Steve in his own body.
“Where do you go? When I scare you?” Bucky asked, breaking the tense quiet.
Steve sighed, and watched Bucky’s hair sway. “When- When you...on the-”
“On the helicarrier, yeah. Before you brought me back,” Bucky prompted gently.
Steve sighed again. Or maybe just breathed. His chest hurt, like a metal band was wrapped around and squeezed .
“You don’t have to tell me. I just don’t want to make things worse. If I am-” Bucky started, but Steve moved a hand up to cover his mouth before he could finish. He shouldn’t have, as there was still blood even if the cuts were already scabbing over, but Bucky’s soft laugh and the even softer press of lips convinced him of his dumb decision.
Once he was sure that Bucky wasn’t going to keep talking about making Steve ‘worse’, Steve pulled his hand away, resting it on Bucky’s neck, thumb right over his pulse point.
“Can we...can we talk about it? Not now, we can just sit here, until you feel okay to get out of your wet things.” Steve nodded against his neck. “Okay. You tell me when you’re ready?” Steve nodded again. “Okay. Okay, honey.” Steve closed his eyes, and felt Bucky stroke fingers through his hair, the lightest pressure against his scalp. Warm, and comforting, and feeling like home.
“You’re home,” Steve said, not sure which way he meant.
“I am,” Bucky agreed.
--
12pm
Bucky could tell him until he was blue in the face that Steve could take his time, but once the initial shock and fear had worn off, Steve barely could let Bucky within arm’s reach while he was in his soaked clothes. Steve would berate himself for this later, but every time Bucky reached out to help, Steve would flinch away, frowning. He could feel his brows practically touch, knew he was glaring at Bucky who was just trying to help, and Bucky would back off, looking helpless.
It was like looking in a mirror back to a couple years ago, when Steve had just been trying to coax Bucky out of hiding spots so he wouldn’t get lost in his head. Steve would feel sick with guilt if he wasn’t already sickened by his uniform sticking to him with slick, slimy-
“Here,” Bucky said, breaking Steve’s endless loop into the void, and some towels appeared on the sink next to Steve. “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna let the others know to give you some space.”
Steve made a noise, a grunt or something, and then watched Bucky’s head until it disappeared, letting the guilt sting him with an awful warmth.
He managed to tear his suit while unzipping it, decided on it being a lost cause, and tore it the rest of the way down. It wasn’t one of his Stark-made ones, after all, just a cheap replica for the press. No wonder it soaked so easily, Tony’s versions probably repelled water. Not that he’d offer to test that theory. Or any theory involving him and bodies of- ugh.
He flung the fabric of what was once his suit into the shower, and tried not to retch at the wet slap. He put his hand on the tap, and went to twist it on, but quickly turned it back off as soon as he heard the water start to rise. For a moment the mirror cracked in his mind’s eye, and Peggy’s voice echoed through his mind and he was right back there, again, and again he-
Steve grabbed a towel and rubbed at his hair almost violently, mostly just to give himself something else to focus on, and the soft fibres scraping against his face felt starkly different to remaining, threatening water.
Bucky had stocked the cupboard under their sink with wipes. Ostensibly for clearing make-up and touting things like hyaluronic acid or micellar water, or whatever was in fashion for skin care, Steve used them when he couldn’t even bring himself to get in the shower. Bucky had once offered to run a bath instead, clearly remembering how much better that was for him when he was coming back to himself. Steve had seen the reports, seen how Bucky would be stripped down and sprayed with a cold hose, and even without an affliction like Steve’s it wasn’t hard for anyone to understand how awful that was. Dehumanising. Steve running Bucky a steaming hot bath and sitting right beside the tub was exactly the way to help Bucky, and he’d been so thrilled that he could help that he’d barrelled right past his own issues. Maybe he’d even deluded himself that he could fix himself simply by focusing on Bucky.
But then Bucky had offered the same to Steve. He’d got as far as helping Steve into the bath, but once Steve was in it and lying down, it didn’t matter that the water was hot, or Bucky was there, or that it smelled faintly of lavender.
Steve had been back in the Valkyrie, drowning in frozen water, unable to scream or plead or cry, and could only lie there and wait to die. Bucky had pulled him out, wrapped him in a towel and held him until Steve came back to himself. He’d begged Steve for forgiveness, promised to never do it again, and Steve believed him. He couldn’t reassure him, or promise Bucky that he was going to be okay, because at that moment he was trying to force himself to remember that it had been seventy years since that happened, and that he was in fact not hallucinating Bucky in his final moments of life.
Bucky had found plenty of other options to help Steve, some more successful than others, and when it came time to renovate their bathroom, he’d barely spared the bathtubs a blink before finding the oversized shower.
Steve wrapped a towel around his waist, and tossed the wipes into the bin, heading back across the landing to their bedroom. The hallway door was slightly ajar, and he could see Bucky’s hand on the doorframe, the left one.
“...overtakes sometimes, you know,” Bucky was saying. Steve may not have the entire context, but he bristled at Bucky speaking for him on his own damn fears. He’d said to Bucky that he didn’t want people to know, but Bucky had to be right, he supposed, gritting his teeth. Bucky’s back to himself, back to normal, so dictating how Steve deals with his own sh*t is just a part of that, right Buck?
Steve let the bedroom door slam behind him, feeling the tiniest bit of guilt emerge for only a moment, and angrily started going through drawers. A voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s started to whisper in the back of his head. “You find anger easy because it’s simple, love, but that don’t mean it’s right,” it said, caressing the back of his neck like a breeze and making his flared temper somehow worse and better. Even ghosts are conspiring against him now, apparently, he seethed to himself.
He managed to get himself into a full outfit, unsure if it was coordinated but at least everything was covered, and was in the process of tying up one boot when Bucky finally knocked and entered. Something about his mostly-damp shirt, bare feet and concerned yet confused eyes prompted the same spike of guilt and anger that the phantom voice had. Steve clung to the anger, not wanting to feel any way reasonable yet.
“You going somewhere?” Bucky asked, watching Steve thread a lace back through the eyelet. They always seemed to fall out, and it didn’t help that Steve’s hands had started shaking again.
“Need some air,” Steve muttered. He forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing, letting a red haze cloud his vision, rather than look up as Bucky’s feet came into view. The arch of them was somehow vulnerable, and made Steve’s stomach and heart ache.
“You just got home, and after-” Bucky started, but Steve didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence.
“After what? My episode? What?” He spat, still not looking up, still clinging to the anger. Still trying to fight off the memories of his mother gently bringing him out of his rage with her words alone.
“Jesus, Steve, you know I would never call it that. Why do you-” Bucky cut himself off, and Steve heard him huff a breath through his nose. “Why are you angry right now?”
Steve scoffed, and abandoned his laces. He could do the shoes up later, once he was away from the stifling room and the even more stifling house, with all the people and noise and chaos and familiarity-
“You and Wanda done discussing me on the stairs? About how this stupid thing-” Steve waved in the direction of the bathroom, “-overtakes me sometimes? I already told you I don’t want people to know! It never works out well! They always start...judging me, or pitying me, doubting me.” He’d been trying to move past Bucky without moving him, but Bucky just stood right in front, and the proximity alone made Steve have to look at his face, finally, and Bucky looked-
He looked exhausted, and scared. For Steve.
The red haze receded just enough that Steve let Bucky talk.
“What you heard on the stairs was me telling Wanda that I had a relapse,” Bucky said. Steve’s anger shattered like the shower door, and a heavy stone of guilt slammed into his stomach, taking over. “I told her you were helping me clean up so she wouldn’t be worried. Because I know you’re not ready to talk about this beyond us two yet.”
“Oh.” Steve fell back against the wall, and slid down it until he was sitting, Bucky’s hands on his elbows while he did. Bucky took his hands back, briefly, and Steve knew it was because of how he’d reacted in the bathroom. Bucky didn’t know what boundaries to follow because Steve switched between which ones were right every five seconds after a- well. An episode. A breakdown. Bucky tried so damn f*cking hard, while dealing with everything he’d been through himself, and what does Steve do but make his life harder and worse and-
“Hey. Hey, stop that,” Bucky said softly, and Steve felt the warmth of his right hand slip around his ankle, his thumb tucking under the hem of his jeans. “What’s going on in there?” Bucky leaned down, and his bright grey eyes pierced through Steve like they could see every thought bubbling in the noxious pit of his mind.
Steve let out a breath, feeling a squeeze around his chest that was familiar enough to be mildly alarming. “Nothing good,” Steve said back. Bucky smiled, a lift in one corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still so worried.
“Yeah, well, you always had a storm cloud over your head, Rogers,” Bucky teased. He took a chance and slid forward, moving his hand from Steve’s ankle to his knee, and when Steve let him, he came close enough to lean their foreheads together, Steve’s shoulders finally fully slumping. “How can I help, honey?” Steve shook his head. “There’s gotta be something. I hate watching you disappear into yourself, or forcing it all down so you can comfort me.”
“You’ve been-” Steve mumbled, knowing Bucky wouldn’t let more than that get past Steve’s mouth.
“It doesn’t matter what I’ve been through or how comparatively worse it was, or is, or whatever you’re cooking up in your head to justify your own suffering,” Bucky said, firm and unrelenting. Steve felt him thread their fingers together, and clung back to him tightly instead of replying. “You’ve got to let me do something. Something’s got to change, sweetheart. It’s got to.”
Steve let his head fall from pressing against Bucky’s, to rest back in the crook of his neck. Safety, always, to hide his face there. Pretend the world wasn’t turning around him. Bucky’s metal hand stroked softly through Steve’s hair.
“Why don’t you get out of those clothes and into something comfier, and we can lie in bed for a bit? You’ve had a series of days,” Bucky offered. Steve nodded, and closed his eyes so when Bucky stood up, the brief moment he stood above him Steve wouldn’t think about falling.
--
1.30pm
Bucky’s head was a comforting weight on Steve’s chest, his metal hand a solid presence on his side. Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s hair, soothed by the familiar smell of him, and smiled when Bucky pressed a kiss over his heart.
“You know I don’t get palpitations anymore,” Steve said.
“You can never be too careful. Especially not with you,” Bucky replied, kissing him again when Steve laughed.
Steve curled his arm a little tighter around Bucky’s shoulders, and reached down with his free hand to take Bucky’s from his side, entwining their fingers. Bucky squeezed lightly, always so careful with the vibranium hand, always so careful with Steve. Moreso, than he ever was before the serum.
He waited, ever patient, for Steve to talk. No pressure, no prodding, but Steve could feel his silence weighing differently than Steve’s. He deserved more than Steve’s mood changes and volatilely absent freak outs. More than struggling alone in the dark while Steve lashed out or zoned out. Really, Bucky deserved more than Steve but Steve was possessive enough that even when he genuinely believed he should let Bucky go, he couldn’t.
“How much do you remember? About the helicarrier,” Steve asked, finally.
Bucky’s hand squeezed tighter, for a moment. “Almost everything. Some bits are hazier. You...you under me, though. That’s clear,” Bucky said, whispering it like an admission of guilt.
Steve kissed the top of his head, like granting him forgiveness over and over would stop that particular loop. “And you remember-”
“You asking me to kill you so you wouldn’t drown instead? Yes, Steve. That has a starring line in many nightmares,” Bucky said, shifting like he wanted to get up. Steve didn’t know how much his courage would hold out if they made eye contact, so he just held Bucky until his head dropped back onto Steve’s chest.
Steve took in a breath, held it for a moment, and released it. “Obviously I knew that the carriers were going to fall into the river, but from the moment I got on board and saw you, that was my whole focus. Finish the plan, then get you out. Get you safe. But then-” Steve’s voice broke slightly, and he closed his eyes shut, overwhelmed briefly by the memory of panicking, half delirious with blood loss or grief.
Bucky had been trapped beneath the fallen steel, grimacing and wide eyed like a trapped animal, and Steve knew that even after he helped him out there was no guarantee Bucky would stop. Steve freed him and then Bucky went right back to trying to kill him, all though far more frantically than before, with an edge to it that felt like desperation.
It wasn’t until Steve fell back, the glass windows cracking around his shoulders, that the world came screaming back in. Far below them echoed the sound of heavy, heavy metal hitting the water with a splash that rumbled like thunder. The wind whipped through the hole torn in the hull, and glass shards ripped over bare skin like razor-sharp sand.
“You’re my mission,” Bucky had practically growled.
“Then finish it,” Steve had replied. Despite the bullets in his guts, the steady throbbing and aching from multiple hits to the head, the dizziness and pain and everything else that was supposed to rob him of reason and senses, all Steve could hear was the f*cking water.
“Finish me. Please. Buck, I can’t drown again-” Steve had forced out through his battered mouth, tasting copper and fear. Bucky’s fist stayed hovering above his head, his eyes widening. “Kill me, please, before the water, I’d pick your hands over the water, please Buck-”
But before Bucky could do anything, the glass had given way beneath Steve, sending him plummeting down.
The last thing Steve saw before the water claimed him was the Winter Soldier staring after him impassively, uncaringly, after denying Steve a death without fear. Instead, Steve’s battered body succumbed to his greatest and oldest fear, while his mind screamed in terror.
Steve’s voice felt hoarse once he was done speaking. He felt a vague sense of nausea, but Bucky’s warmth held it at bay. Bucky’s presence held it at bay.
“I really didn’t think I was getting out of that alive. It was a shock to wake up in the hospital,” Steve finished, and turned his face back into Bucky’s hair.
“Can you let me up?” Bucky said, voice shockingly flat. Steve felt his heart stop, and ice cold fear pierce through it as an afterthought. He loosened his arms, of course he wasn’t going to force Bucky to stay, it’s all too much, and Steve knew that, knew that Bucky would get sick of it one day, all of the problems and horror Steve brought into his life, he would be better off-
Bucky framed Steve’s face with his hands once he was sitting upright, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat to see tears streaming down his face. Bucky looked anguished, but he wasn’t running away. Or apologising. He just stroked Steve’s cheekbones with his thumbs, lips trembling, until Steve felt his eyes start to sting as well.
The tears did start when Bucky leaned in and pressed their lips together, Steve so grateful that Bucky was here, that he was near Steve at all, let alone still in love with him.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why would you just live with that?” Bucky admonished miserably, lips barely moving from Steve’s to talk. “Steve,” he said, like a prayer or a grief-stricken poem.
“I...it wasn’t this bad...before,” Steve said, weakly. He reached up to grab Bucky’s waist, trying not to bruise him but needing to ground himself.
“You hadn’t drowned before. Twice, now,” Bucky said, and Steve flinched. Bucky kissed the corner of his mouth and wiped away fresh tears. “You can’t keep going like this.”
“I can’t stop. They-” Steve said, but his heart was barely in it. They’d had this argument once, only once, when Bucky had wanted to move away from the compound, when they were looking at brownstones and Brooklyn and home. Bucky had argued that Steve had given enough, and Steve couldn’t agree with that. Bucky asked if he even considered himself a person anymore, or was he just a shield with a man inconveniently attached? Steve had shouted something in reply, something in anger and lies, because that was easier than being honest with the man who knew him better than he ever could. It was the first time they’d spent the night apart since Bucky had come back into Steve’s bed, and it had made them so miserable they had come to some sort of silent agreement to not talk about it again.
Bucky had a point now, though. Steve couldn’t keep going like this, but what right did he have to stop? How much more would he have to do until he felt like he could?
Bucky waited for Steve to finish his sentence, and then pressed their foreheads together when Steve sighed instead. “We have to do something, honey. We’ve got to change something. I can’t watch you try and kill yourself out there, and then come home angry and scared and barely in your own head.”
Steve pushed down all the desperate love and guilt he felt, and laughed weakly instead. “‘We’? Is it our hydrophobia now?” He joked, and felt the smallest bit of weight lift at Bucky’s soft huff of a laugh and eyeroll.
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t make all your problems mine,” he pretended to gripe. He then bundled Steve up in his arms and lay back, reversing their positions but keeping their foreheads together. Steve wrapped his arms tight around Bucky’s middle, and tried to take in some deeper breaths. He struggled, fighting through the odd sob, but matching his breathing to Bucky’s helped even it out.
“What...what should I do?” He asked, later, when the silence no longer felt charged and painful.
Bucky kissed his forehead. “Start small. Tell our lost children,” he said.
Steve was surprised by how calm he felt by that, confused in the wake of the lack of anxiety. “Okay,” he said.
“Yeah?” Bucky asked, and Steve smiled at the bright tone.
“Yeah.”
--
the vvitch (2015)
2.01pm Are you and Steven all right?
2.15pm I’ll leave some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I made too much soup.
2.17pm There will also probably be fresh bread, Pietro is on a rampage with the baking.
2.18pm I can also make some tea. If you would like.
2.20pm I’ll leave you alone for now, but I hope you are both okay.
hey wanda 💓 3.10pm
can you come upstairs? nothing serious. we just wanna talk to you 😄
please bring tea! that would be very appreciated 🙏
I’ll be right up! What kind?
peppermint pls 🙏
Of course! About 5 minutes.
You use far too many emojis for a man over one hundred years old.
--
3.19pm
There was a soft yet smart rap of a knock on their door, and Bucky smiled at Steve encouragingly. Steve sighed, pressed his face into Bucky’s chest, and nodded.
“Come in!” Bucky called out. The door opened on the smallest squeak and the smell of peppermint seeped into the room along with the sound of Wanda’s many necklaces lightly jingling.
“I wanted to make sure it was steeped properly before I came up,” she said. Steve heard her close the door behind her. “Is everything okay?” She sounded so concerned, and Steve abruptly felt worse about the entire morning. How much stress had he put the younger members of their strange little family through?
“Yeah, he just needs a moment. He can’t bear to be away from my rippling, masculine chest,” Bucky said. Steve thumped said chest with a fist. “Ow.”
Wanda giggled, which never failed to bring a smile to Steve’s face. She giggled like her own joy was a surprise to her, and what a delightful surprise she had. Aside from Bucky, and everyone else in the house, no one deserved to laugh more than Wanda.
“Thank you,” Bucky said, and the smell of peppermint was much closer suddenly. “Come on, Steve, Wanda’s steeped this to perfection,” he coaxed. Steve took in one last breath to steel himself, and rolled onto his back, carefully dodging the cup Bucky was holding. He leaned up on his elbows and shuffled back towards the headboard, only opening his eyes and smiling at Wanda once he was propped up against it.
She smiled warmly back, but her eyes analysed him, missing nothing. He knew she wasn’t in his head, but she didn’t even have to be. Steve knew he looked awful.
A cup floated in front of him, suspended on a cloud of soft red magic, and Steve accepted it with a smile impossible to stop. “Thanks, Wanda.” It was, in fact, steeped to perfection.
“You’re welcome. I’m always happy to share a cup,” she replied. Her rings clinked against her own cup, and Steve felt oddly fond of the badly-chipped black nail polish on her fingers. “Are you feeling better?” She directed this at Bucky, obviously keeping up the facade of the story he had told her on the stairs earlier.
“About that.” Bucky looked at Steve. Asking permission, still, even after everything. Steve loved him so much.
“It was me that broke the door. I’m-” Steve scrubbed at his face, his other hand carefully keeping his cup steady. “I’m not…well.”
Wanda said nothing, but nodded for him to continue. She wasn’t surprised, but Bucky’s story was practically translucent, considering how steady he’d been all day, and how much of a mess Steve was all the time.
Steve sipped at his tea and then handed the mostly-full cup back to Bucky, who deposited it on the nightstand. Steve looped his hands together, trying to steady the shaking.
“I’ve...Since I was- So, I’m...” Steve stammered. It was like now he’d decided to talk about it, he had no idea where to start, or how much he should say, or how much Wanda even should know. Should Wanda even be first? Bucky had suggested Wanda since she was the heart of their home, forever trying to make everyone happy and comfortable, but maybe that meant it was unfair to inflict her with any of Steve’s garbage, and besides all that-
“Steve. It’s okay. Start simple,” Bucky said, cutting through Steve’s spiral downwards. His right hand slid over Steve’s joined ones, and Steve was quick to swallow it in his own grip.
Simple. He could do that. It was amazing how much the simpler plans worked better than the complex.
“I’ve been afraid of water. My whole life. And the whole-” Steve gestured at nothing, but Wanda nodded, somehow understanding that the flapping of three joined hands meant ‘Captain America sh*t’, “-didn’t help. Made it worse, probably. I can’t even- sometimes I can’t even have a shower for how much it-” Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hand had to be hurting him, but Bucky wasn’t saying a word or even grunting in pain. Wanda’s expression had turned from open listening to something bordering on sorrow, and Steve had to look away, and had to drop Bucky’s hand. “It’s pathetic, I know-”
“It’s not!” Bucky and Wanda said at once. Steve blinked at them.
“Don’t call yourself pathetic,” Bucky said, sharp in a way that a hundred years ago would’ve had a skinnier Steve firing back. Current Steve just blinked, unable to take it as truth or a lie.
“Agreed. You’re not. I do not think surviving death from your greatest fear twice is pathetic.” Wanda floated her cup away, and shuffled closer to take Steve’s hands in hers. Steve focused on keeping them loose, and not immediately breaking Wanda’s thin fingers in his ridiculous grip. “I knew there was something, we all did. We thought perhaps it was just the horrors of your profession, you don’t see happy stories more often than sad ones in the Avengers.”
Steve had always been impressed with Wanda’s calm acceptance of the strange, and her empathy. Maybe it came from her powers, her abilities to reach into people’s minds, but Steve didn’t believe that. Wanda was just like that. He had been so appreciative and grateful to her helping Bucky, in all the ways that she had, but now, when that same care was directed at him?
“The Avengers stuff doesn’t help. We’re always arguing about it,” Bucky added. His arm became an anchoring weight across Steve’s shoulders.
“The conference this morning, after you had spent a day fighting back- what was it? Robots?” Wanda asked, frowning.
“Aliens,” Bucky said.
“Neither,” Steve said, nudging Bucky with his shoulder and Wanda with his foot under the covers, prompting smiles from them both.
“Right, right. Mermaids,” Wanda said seriously, and smiled brighter when Steve nudged her again. “My point being, the conference was at the river’s edge, wasn’t it? You were already worn out, ready to be home, but then you had to give some kind of speech, all the while water right behind you?”
Steve could feel cold stealing back into his veins, stopping the shaking with numbness. The sound of the water hitting the bank echoed in his skull painfully, the endless slosh slap slosh slap slosh slap-
“Steve, hey. Sweetheart, come back.” Bucky’s voice. Steve turned to look at him, and Bucky’s arm tightened around him. “Right here,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger you,” Wanda said, soft and as sorry sounding as Steve felt. Steve shook his head, but couldn’t form words. The ice lay heavy on his tongue still.
“It’s okay,” Bucky said, translating for Steve.
“I meant with that- well. What you had to do this morning is like turning your back on someone with a gun who has tried to shoot you before,” Wanda said, and Steve looked back at her. Her eyes were clear and understanding, and she wasn’t looking at him with even the smallest bit of judgement. She shrugged one shoulder, and held his hands a little tighter. “I don’t know why you have been afraid all this time, but to your mind, it must feel like it is trying to warn you, that it is dangerous, and now it has proof. It is too much, that you cannot live a normal life without the fear now, but Steve-” She let out a sad little breath, shaking her head. “-Steve, you would not judge a soldier who flinches at fireworks, would you? Or someone who takes the stairs so that they will not be trapped in an elevator?”
Steve shook his head slowly, something not quite relief but close to it blooming inside of him. Fragile, trembling with effort, but trying to grow anyway.
“Like proof of concept,” Bucky said, and Wanda nodded. “Like someone going ‘I told you so’.”
“But over and over again in your own mind, where you cannot escape,” Wanda said.
It was all so matter-of-fact. So...simple. Wanda and Bucky agreed that it was too much, now, but did not judge him. Bucky didn’t because he already knew, but Wanda? Wanda took it on and even sympathised! Compared it to- to real fears, to real things.
“You don’t...” Steve started, trailing off when a lump of dread formed in his throat. Wanda looked at him patiently, smiling encouragingly for him to continue. “You don’t...think it’s weak?”
“I think you’re very brave actually. I don’t like that you come home and even though you are safe you still feel in danger, but it is brave to go out and fight anyway. As much as I wish you didn’t,” Wanda replied.
“Amen,” Bucky agreed.
Peggy had called him brave and courageous, but she had been incredulous of the fear, and had always looked at him afterwards in surprise that he was still fighting, still a soldier. Wanda didn’t.
Steve felt a horrific guilt that he had ever thought they would react the same. That anyone he loved would.
“You really don’t think badly of me for this, at all, do you?” Steve asked, feeling the dread turn to the something else in his stomach, the something that was threatening to overwhelm him.
“I don’t think badly of you at all, Steven. You saved my life, my brother’s life. Gave me a home. You and Bucky both. You’ve never done a bad thing to me or mine at all,” Wanda said. Calmly, straightforward, staring right into his eyes the whole time, exuding nothing but warmth and kindness.
Steve could not contain the strangled laugh he made, as a weight he’d carried for years shifted just enough to let some light through. He wouldn’t have even been able to remain sitting up as relief finally burst through his body and sapped his strength, if it wasn’t for Wanda and Bucky immediately hugging him, two pairs of arms keeping him upright and surrounded in love.
It felt a bit rude to respond to Wanda’s heartfelt words by sobbing into her shoulder though.
--
4.47pm
Gathering the others downstairs hadn’t taken long, though Pietro had to be persuaded away from the oven at least three times. Steve didn’t blame him, he’d rather watch a loaf of bread rise then explain again why he’d been acting so strange. His eyes had still been red and puffy when he’d checked himself in the mirror before Bucky took his hand to take him downstairs, and his skin was probably still pale and waxy. Not to mention he’d probably missed some kind of debris in his hair, since he hadn’t actually gotten around to washing it.
Too late now as he and Bucky sat in their reading nook, crammed into one armchair as they usually would be, facing the others on the overstuffed sofa. Wanda gave Steve another encouraging smile from her spot on the arm next to Pietro, her own arm keeping him anchored to the spot. Yelena sat bolt upright next to him, narrowed eyes glancing between Bucky and Steve with part concern, and a bigger part suspicion. Ava had her knees tucked under her chin, and was watching them with a gravity that Steve worried came from her thinking she was about to be kicked out. However, if Steve understood one thing, it was irrational fears.
“Well? Come on, then! Don’t keep us in suspense!” Yelena said, feigning impatience to cover her worry. Another thing she shared with Natasha.
“And someone please keep an eye on the time and an ear out for the timer,” Pietro added, wincing when Wanda squeezed his shoulder as hard as she could. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“We don’t want burnt bread,” Steve said, shrugging.
“Exactly! Thank you, Steven,” Pietro exclaimed, wincing again at Wanda’s hand. “Ow.”
“We also want to keep an eye on the time anyway,” Ava said softly. “The others are arriving at 6.”
“The others?” Bucky asked, sharing a confused look with Steve.
“Oh my god, I forgot,” Yelena gasped, falling back against the sofa with her hands outstretched. “How did I forget?”
“I think we all did,” Wanda added, sheepishly.
“Well. Thank goodness I made bread,” Pietro said snidely. “Wanda! Ow!”
In the chaos, a memory did twig for Steve, from a few days ago. Wanda had asked if there was a night they could have Vision over, and then Sam was going to be in town anyway, and Scott had wanted to come down to see Ava, and if Sam was coming Natasha may as well come too-
“sh*t,” Bucky said, and squeezed Steve’s hand so he would look at him. “We can hold off,” he said, apologetic and guilt-ridden already. The telling-people-plan hadn’t involved half the Avengers, after all.
Steve considered it, and himself, and pressed his head to Bucky’s.
“I think I can,” he murmured, and Bucky’s eyes widened briefly as a smile slowly grew into a grin.
“Yeah?” He asked, always to double check.
“Yeah. You can help,” Steve said. Steve may regret reliving it over and over today, but he could trust Bucky to take over, to speak for him. He would never admit it, but Bucky always knew how to pick up where Steve left off, and Steve could lean on that now.
“Always. Always, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. Absurdly, he sounded grateful, but Steve couldn’t question it before Bucky kissed him. Chaste, of course, lest the children become scandalised.
“We’ll, uh...tell you later. With the others,” Steve said, turning back to the assembled people on the sofa.
“You’re going to keep us in suspense? After all that? Tore me away from my bread?” Pietro moaned, and barely dodged a book flying at him from the shelf. “Wanda!”
“What? I didn’t let it hit the ground,” she said, utterly unapologetic as she floated it back to the bookshelf.
“You were going to let it hit me!”
“You were being rude!”
“Are you sure?” Ava said, still quiet, but somehow cutting through the twins’ argument.
Steve nodded. “I...I would rather not repeat myself,” he admitted.
“Hear that. I hate telling the same story more than once,” Yelena drawled, somehow flinging herself upright casually. “Like it was perfect the first time, don’t make me say it again, it’s never as good.”
It wasn’t quite the same situation, but Steve appreciated her attempt to empathise with dry humour.
“You know, you’re so much like Natasha sometimes-” Bucky started, and then laughed when Yelena interrupted him with a noise like a retching cat.
“Never- never speak to me again, I am not like her in the least!” She declared, and promptly disappeared around the corner.
“Magic, it’s got to be,” Pietro said, staring at the space where Yelena was.
“No, it’s shadows. She can move the shadows,” Wanda argued.
“I didn’t know SHIELD made another like me,” Ava said, deadpan serious but with a glint in her eye.
That startled a laugh out of Steve, surprised at his own delight. Ava looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile trapped in the corner of her lips.
--
6.52pm
Vision took advantage of the momentary silence after Steve was finished talking to start gathering dishes. Somehow, the gentle clinking of plates and cups helped settle Steve’s frayed nerves. Wanda’s ever-encouraging smile and Bucky’s hand in his helped even more.
“You’ve been sitting with that? All this time?” Sam asked, aghast. He’d paled when Steve had spoken about the helicarrier, and Steve had to fight back his own guilt at seeing Sam’s misplaced feelings. Sam, who could not ever have known, was not to blame.
“Sam, the only person who knew was Bucky. Ever. I never told anyone,” Steve said, reaching over the dining table to take Sam’s hand. Sam’s grip was strong and sure, just like him.
“You could’ve talked to me, I would’ve- well, I couldn’t have done anything beforehand,” Sam reasoned, mulling his thoughts over with each tilt of his head. Steve could see the cogs working. “In the hospital, after- you. You weren’t all there, were you?”
“And you hadn’t been for some time,” Natasha added. She kept leaning back in her chair, looking as casual as she pleased, but there was a downturn in her mouth that wasn’t usually there. She also had a hand on Sam’s back, taking as much comfort as she was trying to give.
“No.” That was the hardest one to admit, and Bucky’s momentary tighter hold on his hand showed that he knew. “I don’t think I’ve been right since I left Brooklyn the first time.”
“Steve,” Pietro said, half on a breath. Steve hadn’t seen him so still, ever. The stillness, and the pity, did have him bristling for a moment, but it was easy to turn away from it, with Bucky right there to keep him steady. Anger still pulsed low in his blood, the easy way out, but he wasn’t going to take it, not this time.
Steve squeezed Sam’s hand one more time, then let go so he could lean back into Bucky’s embrace, to hold him up physically and emotionally. Letting him, for once.
“Peggy sounds like a bitch,” Yelena said, and then scoffed in dismay as four different voices scolded her. “What? Steve is a hero, and she acted like he was a bomb!”
“She somewhat had a point,” Steve offered, weakly, grinning at the ceiling in response to Bucky’s scathing noise.
“Nah. She was a bitch,” Bucky said, and Steve caught the wink he sent Yelena’s way.
“She started SHIELD as well. Not on my top ten of innocent people,” Natasha added.
“Guys, come on, it was a different time-” Scott started, and then promptly stopped as Bucky, Steve, Sam and Ava all looked at him in unison. “...oh my god I can’t believe I said that,” he said, looking at his own hands in dismay.
“I think you should go back under house arrest for that alone,” Ava said, nudging Scott with her shoulder.
“Would you move back in? Come keep an old man company?” Scott asked, pouting and widening his eyes at her, the epitome of pleading painfully.
Ava turned a disgusted look on him. “And be a free babysitter for Cassie while you and Wasp go out all hours? Dream on.”
“Worth a shot,” Scott grumped, slumping back in his chair. Steve saw his face twitch and Ava try to hide a small smile behind rolling eyes.
“Might I pose a query, Captain?” Vision asked, sitting back next to Wanda, immediately tucking his chair in close to hers.
“You can just call him, Steve, Viz,” Wanda admonished gently.
“Yes, well. Sometimes formality is required,” Vision replied, almost sounding genuine, if it wasn’t for the smirk he directed at Wanda.
“You can just call me Steve, especially here. Don’t know how much I want the Captain in here anyway,” Steve said, surprising himself with his own honesty.
Vision nodded, probably trying to say thank you for the permission without saying the words. “Your hydrophobia, it started when you were small?”
“I genuinely don’t remember a time without it,” Steve said.
“And yet, you had no trauma surrounding water, before the events of 1943?” Vision’s tone reminded Steve of the museum curator Steve and Bucky had befriended to let them sneak in for free. He’d had this way of speaking that made you sit up straighter, like he knew something you were just about to figure out yourself.
“Nothing that would’ve caused it. Most of it was because he already had it,” Bucky said, taking over when Steve didn’t reply.
“Considering what has now happened to you, it would appear that your fear was actually a healthy one, was it not? It was almost warning you for what was coming.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s-” Sam started.
“What, you think Steve was born with a fear of water as a...what, early warning system?” Scott interrupted.
“Pretty flawed one, if that was the case,” Natasha added, her slight inflections betraying how silly she found the idea.
“Powers have manifested for less. And sometimes we don’t understand their purpose until much, much later. Maybe Steve’s have yet to come to fruition,” Vision amended.
Sam rapped his fist on the table, halting whatever Scott was about to say as he leaned forward with a look of pure disbelief. “No. No, I’m stopping this here. Steve has hydrophobia because he has hydrophobia. Do not look for mysteries where there are none!”
“We cannot rule out the possbility-” Vision argued, but Sam was quick to cut him off.
“No! That is maladaptive thinking! Steve needs mindfulness and regulation, some coping mechanisms, not to think he’s Water Jesus!” Sam made an apologetic frown at Steve. “No offence, Steve, but you aren’t Water Jesus.”
“Didn’t wanna be,” Steve agreed, leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Well, how does he get the coping mechanisms? Is there- like is it fixable?” Pietro asked, leaning across Natasha to get closer to Sam.
“Phobias are complicated, but people can and do live with them without them controlling their lives,” Sam said.
“Oh, I did hear of one lady who was so afraid of spiders she couldn’t even look at a brooch of one without crying. They got her to just put a bunch all over her and after like an hour she was cured!” Scott added excitedly. He then looked around the table at the silently judging faces, and held up his hands. “What? What did I say?”
“Exposure therapy?” Sam asked, and Scott clicked his fingers and pointed at him. “You think exposure therapy will help a water phobia.”
“Why not? It helped spider-lady,” Scott said.
Sam pointed at Steve. “You think submerging Steve into water and leaving him there will help?”
Steve turned his head so one ear was pressed into Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky’s hand came up to cover the other one. Safe, home, he repeated to himself, making his voice louder than the endless slosh-slap-slosh-slap-slosh-
Bucky kissed his forehead, keeping his face close to Steve’s while covering his ears, and Steve felt himself relax a little more at Bucky’s close proximity, at his warmth and his protection.
He really never would’ve been able to do this without him. Maybe one day he could stand alone and be fine, maybe he would have those strategies and mechanisms in place without Bucky to protect him or bring him back out of the water, but right now, Steve would take every bit of help Bucky offered. He was sure that if Bucky could hear him he would say something like ‘about damn time, Rogers!’, and while Steve would accept that he needed Bucky, he wasn’t about to let him win that argument.
Steve chanced a look across the table, now that the ringing in his ears was back to being a noise and not an auditory hallucination, and Sam met his eyes. He mouthed ‘sorry!’ at him, his mouth a sadder pout than Scott’s had been earlier, enough so that Steve snorted a laugh. He gave him a thumbs up in response, and Sam made an exaggerated wiping-sweat-from-his-brow move, nearly dislodging Natasha from her seat.
Laughing quietly to himself, Steve nudged Bucky away from him enough that he could sit upright, and rejoin the chaos of the dinner table, now hotly debating if spider-lady would win in a fight against Antman.
“She would if she was me,” Yelena argued.
“But she’s not, she’s normal,” Scott volleyed back.
“Are you implying that my sister is abnormal?” Natasha cut in, cold as steel.
“Ooooooooh!” Pietro and Ava chimed in, Ava grinning in Scott’s face.
“Crazy people, all of them,” Bucky murmured in Steve’s ear.
Steve grinned over his shoulder at him. “We fit right in then,” he said back.
He felt his grin soften when Bucky kissed his shoulder.
--
9.00pm
Sam had made him promise to come by his place in Harlem soon, so they could go through some steps to get Steve started with managing his mind. Steve wasn’t able to promise that he could or would start right away, or even that he felt able to make that first decision, but it wouldn’t hurt to make a plan. Steve was good at plans, everyone kept telling him so.
Scott, Sam and Natasha left about 8, Scott saying a few quiet words to Ava that put a serious look on her face but determination in her eyes, and Bucky and Steve tried to stop Vision asking their permission to stay the night to no avail.
He insisted, as he was a guest in their home, and once Bucky and Steve had assured him that he could stay as long as he liked, he then asked Pietro, Yelena and Ava as well.
“Your boyfriend is so weird,” Steve said in an aside to Wanda.
“Mmmhmmm,” Wanda replied with a dreamy little smile.
“Like you can judge,” Bucky added, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and kissing the back of his neck. He hauled them both off to bed after that, Steve barely hearing the gibes about them being ‘boring old men’ as he realised how bone-deep tired he was.
“In bed by 9, what an awful stereotype we make, Rogers,” Bucky had said once Steve was in his pajamas and already bundling himself into the bed covers.
“Mmph. You weren’t up until all hours fighting robot-alien-mermaids,” Steve mumbled. He still had enough energy to watch Bucky change, to admire the play of his back muscles. He’d been doing that since before he knew what it meant to be attracted to someone, let alone that he was attracted to Bucky.
“I heard they were actually robot-alien-mermaid-Nazis,” Bucky said seriously, pulling his shirt down and heading over to the bed. Mmm. Murder strut, Steve thought somewhat deliriously.
“Mm. From space,” Steve agreed, holding up an arm for Bucky to slide under, which he did rapidly, dropping his head onto Steve’s heart once more.
“Aliens are from space,” Bucky pointed out.
“Not always. Sometimes they’re from under the earth.” A yawn cracked through Steve’s words, somewhat lessening his argument.
Bucky laughed once. “You’ve been watching too much Doctor Who,” he said, poking Steve’s side.
“Nuh uh,” Steve protested, but the cotton wool slowly filling his brain was stopping most of his higher-brain power.
“Genius comeback, Rogers. Go to sleep,” Bucky said, and Steve, for once, did as he was told.
He let himself drift away, but caught Bucky’s last murmured words.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said into Steve’s heart.
Steve fell asleep with a smile, warm and dry all the way to his toes.
--
12.00am
A dream of water, crashing over and over, filling the room and filling his mouth, a dream he had over and over, one he awoke from frozen, afraid and confused and terrified, one he’d had for years, did not show up to disturb him.
Today ticked over into tomorrow with nothing more from Steve than a gust of breath, and one small movement to tuck Bucky back into him.
