That night, I couldn't sleep. No matter what I did, I couldn't get stupid Reid out of my head. We couldn't let him take control of the Avengers. No, we wouldn't let him. Despite everything going on, Bucky had no trouble falling asleep, and had been snoring for over three hours now. I flipped my pillow over and plopped my head back down. As I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep again, he started mumbling incoherently. I opened my eyes and sat back up.

"Buck," I yawned, shaking his shoulder. "Buck, wake up."

His head rolled from side to side and his fists clenched. "No, no, no," he muttered over and over.

"Wake up," I called louder. "Bucky, wake up, it's just a dream."

"No!"

"Bucky!"

He shot up suddenly, and stumbled out of bed. I furrowed my eyebrows and crawled across towards him. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding me, and his breathing made it sound like he'd just gotten back from a run.

"What's wrong?" I climbed out and walked over to him. "Did you remember something?"

I tried to put my hands on his face, but he quickly pushed me away.

"Bucky, come on," I whispered. "Remember, you can tell me anything."

He sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands as he shook his head. "Not this. I can't tell you this."

"Yes, you can!" I sat next to him and put my hands on his arm. "I don't care what you've done. I know you, Bucky. I know you didn't want to do what they made you."

"You won't think that if I tell you this." There were tears forming in his eyes, and I grew more and more scared of what his dream could've been.

"You don't know that."

"But I do, Cara, I do!" He insisted. "I need to leave."

I grabbed his wrist as he stood and pulled him back. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

He shuddered and closed his eyes. "Please, just let me walk away."

"No," I said sharply. "I'm not letting you walk away from this. You promised you would tell me from now on."

Bucky looked at me with deep pain in his eyes. "They told me that they were terrorists and needed to be taken out in a way that seemed discrete," he began hollowly. "So I followed their car one night after they had dinner. I had placed a bomb in it, but needed to be sure it looked like an accident. When they crossed into a less crowded part of a city I shot out their tires and they swerved into the other lane. Their car hit another and exploded. They both died."

"You didn't do that," I said, rubbing his arm gently. "They made you."

"They weren't terrorists, just onto Hydra," he continued. "They had two kids. A multimillion dollar empire. The man helped build SHIELD."

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and drew away slowly. "No," I whispered. "That's not possible."

"I'm sorry, Cara. I'm so sorry."

"Oh my god," I stood up and covered my mouth with my hand. "No, it's not true. I don't care. It's not true!"

"I killed your parents, Cara! It's my fault their dead," he snapped. "You've been sleeping with the person who took them from you."

I flinched and tears welled in my eyes. "Don't say that!"

"It's the truth!" He spat. "I told you, I'm a monster."

"Bucky, stop!"

"Accept it, goddammit! I did an unforgivable thing," he said harshly while blinking back tears. "And I can't keep doing this. Now that I know, I-I can't keep doing this."

"Bucky, please, no!" I cried.

He stormed towards the door, tore it open, and rushed into the hall. I struggled to catch my breath and stumbled backwards toward the bathroom. I felt sick to my stomach, and collapsed next to the toilet. I vomited into the bowl as my lungs and throat stung painfully.

When my stomach was completely empty, I slumped to the side limply and leaned against the wall. I shoved my hands through my hair as my entire body shook, and my throat began to feel like sandpaper.

Finally, I let out a broken cry. I held my mother's ring close to my chest and cried into my hands. After several minutes, I crawled over to the cabinet below my sink and tore it open. I reached inside and felt my fingers land on the bottle of whiskey that I had hidden there. I pulled it out eagerly and ripped the cap off before taking a long swig. The familiar burning sensation made me wince, but I didn't stop.

By the time I fell asleep, I'd drank almost the entire bottle.

****

"Cara, let's go, get up."

I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut tighter. My neck was killing me, and my whole body hurt.

"Cara! Up!" I could tell now that it was Clint talking. "Jesus, if this is what raising a teenage girl is like I'm screwed."

I opened my eyes a crack. "What do you want, Clint?"

He stood above me and folded his arms. "What happened to you?"

"I had a shit night," I mumbled and sat up. I was still in the bathroom and my head pounded.

Clint picked up the bottle of whiskey from the floor and held it up. "Yeah, I can tell." He put the toilet cover down and sat on top of it. "You wanna talk about it?"

I rested my head back against the wall and chewed my bottom lip. He rose his eyebrows and I sighed.

"Have you ever learned something about someone that you really care about that should bother you a ton but really doesn't but it bothers them and it completely tears everything that was between you two apart?" I asked, not even pausing to breathe.

He looked at me wearily and sighed. "Yeah, I guess so."

My throat tightened and I sniffed quietly. "What do you do?"

Clint hesitated. "Am I allowed to ask questions that would help me to better answer your question?"

"Minimally invasive ones."

"Is it about a boy?" He asked.

I nodded slowly.

He groaned quietly and rubbed his eyes.

"Not helping."

"Sorry," he said. "Well, how huge is this thing you found out?"

"Big," I sighed. "Really, really big."

"Did you try talking about it? And I mean really, really talking."

I thought for a minute and stared at my hands. "I tried, sort of. He was kind of a mess and wouldn't let me."

"Alright, alright," he said slowly. "How much does he mean to you?"

"A lot."

"More specific."

"I don't know, Clint, a lot," I snapped.

"So you love him?"

"Love," I repeated.

"Yeah, do you?" He asked casually.

My mouth gaped slightly and my headache seemed to get even worse.

Did I love Bucky? I cared about him a lot, I really did, but I never thought about the l word. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd told someone I was in a relationship with that I loved them. But now I was thinking that I should have, that Bucky needed to know how I really felt.

"I-I don't know," I said finally.

"Okay, let's go over everything," he sat forward and folded his hands. "I came
in here because it is after twelve in the afternoon and you still weren't downstairs and I was worried about you. I found you passed out on your bathroom floor with a mostly empty bottle of whiskey next to you. Then, you asked a very long, verbose question that makes me even more worried. In my humble father-husband-male specimen opinion, that doesn't happen unless you're in love with the person who caused it."

"You were worried about me?"

He nodded. "I haven't forgotten about what happened last year."

I didn't respond.

Last year wasn't my brightest time. I'd gone through some shit and started feeling like shit, and long story short, gotten caught in a downward spiral. Clint had caught me at a very dark moment, and forced me to confront my problem. I made him swear to not tell anyone, and for over a year he had kept that promise.

"Thanks, Clint," I whispered after a while.

He stood and held out his hand. I took it, and he helped me up.

"Anytime. Come on, bring it in," he smiled and held his arms open. 

We hugged briefly and he started towards the door. He stopped and turned with his hand on the knob.

"If you ever get to where you did last year again, remember I'm here, alright?"

I nodded quickly and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. "Of course."

He smiled again and left.