Angst

Bucky was your friend. He was your best friend and he would never hurt you. The thought alone made you laugh in its sheer and utter ridiculousness. The two of you cuddled on the couch together during scary movie nights, made the worst messes in the kitchen when it was your night to cook, and answered his call when the nightmares were just a bit too much to take. He had been your champion against dates gone wrong, meeting them at the tower's main door as they dropped you off after terrible nights, his metal arm and clenched fist in clear view just to drive his point home. In return, you had told off more than one random woman as you walked the busy streets of Manhattan during days out, tearing down their shameless advances and stares that lasted a little too long, despite his clear discomfort with it.

You protected each other; it's just what you did without question. You comforted each other when it was all just too much. You would never hurt him and he would die before hurting you.

So when the first strike of his hand smashed into your cheek, throwing you against the wall with a force that shook pictures that hung from it, it felt as if it were a nightmare that you couldn't escape. You were waiting for the moment that you would wake and hear his voice soothing you back to reality, but that moment wasn't coming. The voice that you heard now wasn't the quiet and reassuring Bucky who would hold you to him until your crying stopped; this voice was one that wanted you to cry louder, taunting you with each swing of his arm.

There was no one to save you from this; you were alone in the tower that night, the team gone on a mission that allowed you and Bucky to have a rare night off. The first strike shook your brain so violently that you couldn't even remember what movie you were watching when the attack on your home began, but you could clearly remember each word that was read as the volume boomed throughout the room around you. With each word, Bucky screamed for you to run from him, knowing what he was about to do, but before all were said, his warnings stopped and he was now looking at you as if he had never known you.

He was the Soldier; you had never witnessed the change with your own eyes before, but you knew plain as day who he was now. No matter what you said to him, and no matter how you tried to reach his mind, your Bucky was gone.

The second strike of his cold fist took the vision from your right eye, and the sound of your nose breaking cracked through your skull. It didn't even hurt, really, because you were so focused on what was happening to Bucky that you didn't allow the pain in; it would only distract you. You didn't remember the third or fourth hit or where they landed, but it was the fifth that finally took you down. Your last view was the look in his eyes, cold and dark and unreachable; you weren't sure if his name had escaped your lips before you dropped at his feet, but you had to believe that you saw just a second of terror in those same eyes before everything went black. If you were going to die at his hand, you had to have the belief that he wasn't completely lost in what could be your final memory of him.

~~~

No way in hell he's getting anywhere near her again, Steve. No.

Tony's voice was almost enough to pull you from the warm slumber that the pain medications were giving you, but the attempt at opening your eyes was pointless from the swelling within and around them. You wanted to argue on Bucky's behalf, hearing Tony's tone, but it just wasn't going to happen right now under the relentless pull of your narcotic induced haze. You wanted to tell him that Bucky was helpless and under their control and that he would never to this on his own volition. You knew that wherever Bucky was right now, he was torturing himself enough to not need Tony to add to self-inflicted pain.

He would never do this, you know that. It wasn't him, Tony. Hydra had control of his mind. It wasn't him.

Do I look like I care? Look at her, Cap. What kind of mind can be so out of control that it can do that to someone they care about?

"Tony," you tried to say, but the dryness that cracked your lips and extinguished your voice into a pained whimper kept you mute. Your arms felt like lead weights at your sides, far too heavy for you to attempt to lift; even the slightest wiggle of your fingers took an exhausting level of energy. Whatever they were pumping into your veins, it was paralyzing you into silence and an inability to save the one person that you cared the most about, even after this. Even this terrifying event wasn't enough to change how you felt about Bucky, and you began to grow angry that Steve wasn't trying harder.

In your building rage, your heartbeat began to rise in reaction, finally catching the men's attention at the hastening sound of its beat on the monitor above your head. Steve was at your side first, and even though you couldn't open your eyes to see him, you felt the strength of his hand wrapping around yours well before he uttered his first word softly next to you.

"(Y/N), honey, it's okay. I'm here. Tony's here," he attempted, trying to soothe you as best as he could when he knew full well that his voice wasn't the one that you wanted to hear. "Are you in pain? Just squeeze my hand if you are, okay?" When you didn't give him the response he asked for and your hand remained still, if simply confirmed what he already knew; he withdrew back for a moment, waiting until your heart began to slow, and when he could see Tony turn away to retrieve one of the nurses it gave him his opportunity. Steve leaned in close, the soft stubble and warmth of his cheek pressing ever so gently against yours, "I can't bring him in here yet," he whispered, "but I'll try, okay? I promise, I'll do my best to get him here."

~~~

The team had visited throughout the rest of the next day, coming and going without many words spoken, but you could still feel the tension hanging in the air around you, even when you couldn't open your eyes yet fully to see it. The cool ice packs that Steve kept bringing you were helping some, and by mid-day you could open them just enough to see the sunlight steaming in through the window, but not enough to make out who was sitting right next to you. More often than not, it was the Captain, quietly whispering secrets to you about how Bucky was doing and that he was worried about you, but also that he had yet to find a way to get him here because between Tony and FRIDAY, they were on him like super-max prison guards.

Towards the end of the day, as you could feel the room cooling around you when the sun began to set and the voices of the visiting team began to quiet, you welcomed the silence and the relaxation that came with the meds to help you sleep. After the event, in these first few days your nightmares hit with an unrelenting terror, and you needed the help to keep them away; especially now that you didn't have Bucky to talk you back into reality. You didn't like the dependence on the drug, but it was the only way to rest.

You had just begun to drift, and your body finally had found full relaxation when you felt the mattress sink next to you; a gentle hand pushed a stray strand of hair aside before stroking your cheek and moving to hold your hand. Nothing was said, and with your vision compromised in the dark room, you had only your other senses to help you. You were able to just make out the muscular form and felt the familiar strength in his large hand wrapped around yours enough to make your best guess.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, doll, I'm here."

"What's going on?"

"I just talked to Buck," he began softly, squeezing your hand a little more, "and he wanted me to tell you...that he had to leave."

"He left?" you asked almost silently, your voice faltering. "What do you mean he left? Where did he go?"

Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes, cursing his friend for putting him in this position, having to be the one to do his dirty work and break your heart for him. He knew that from now on, every time that you looked at him, you would see Bucky's betrayal in his face because he was delivering a message that you would never forgive. "He can't stay and be a danger to you, (Y/N). He wanted you to know that this was his decision. It wasn't Tony, or Nick, or anyone else. He doesn't care about what any of them think, he only cares about not hurting you ever again."

"It wasn't his fault," you tried to argue, choking on the lump building in your throat, "he has to know that. Steve, you have to tell him that I don't blame him at all. You have to tell him that, okay?"

"Okay."

You felt the squeeze against your hand again and heard the soft sniffle from him, and it only made your own control crack even more. It burned your eyes when the tears built up behind lids that you could barely open, but it was a pain that you didn't even really feel; it was nothing compared to the stabbing in your chest at the loss that you were facing. "Steve, promise me something."

"Anything."

"Tell Bucky that I love him. Nothing is gonna change that."

"I will. I know that he loves you too, (Y/N). That's why he has to go."

The mattress straightened again and your hand was released, leaving a moment silent between you before you felt a soft kiss against your forehead. A few tears that weren't your own dropped onto your cheek, wiped away almost as quickly as they had fallen. "Steve, will he ever come back?"

"I don't know, doll. I don't know." He backed away and made his way quietly to the door, pulling it open to leave but pausing to turn back to you one last time. "I know that I'm not him," Steve whispered, his own voice threatening to break, "but you'll always have me, (Y/N). I want to help you through this. Anything you need, you tell me."

"Okay," you sighed, doing your best to hold it together until he was gone. "Thank you for telling me, Steve. I know that you would have brought him here if you could."

"Yeah, right...um, goodnight, (Y/N)." Steve took his leave and shut the door quickly behind him, moving down the hall towards the elevator to be sure that he was out of earshot before talking to the man who had been with him the entire time that he was next to you, and had heard every word that was spoken. "You could have talked to her, you know?"

"No," Bucky answered, shaking his head emphatically, "no, I couldn't. It was hard enough to be next to her...and to see what I did..."

"That wasn't you, Buck."

"I didn't deserve to touch her again, but I had to."

"You should have been the one to say goodbye," Steve continued to press. "Having me do it for you wasn't fair to her. Or you. She didn't even know that you were the one holding her hand, Buck."

"I know."

"So go in there and do it right."

Bucky again shook his head and leaned past Steve, slapping the control for the lift heavily with his open hand, looking up silently to watch the numbers change in a maddening slowness until the doors finally opened. "You did good, Steve, thank you. But I have to go." He stepped into the elevator with dragging feet, his posture looking defeated and so much smaller than his usual self; he looked older and weary, but still unwilling to change his mind. No matter how much it hurt him, or how much he didn't want it to hurt you, he had spent every minute since Tony had locked him away from you convincing himself that there was no other way. When the doors began to close, he turned back to his friend who was watching helplessly, leaving him with his last request before they might never see each other again.

"Just keep your promise to her, Steve. Be there, because I never can."