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cassiopeiassky · 2 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 57 & Epilogue

Not gonna lie, this feels almost surreal. I don’t know if any of my readers are still out there or if y’all gave up on me (which, fair, I’m not mad) but for those that are still here: I have finished this fic. It is done. And it feels like I’m closing a door in my heart, but in a good way because I’m not locking it, just closing it.

For those of you still here - I hope you enjoy this. I know I’ve enjoyed every minute and conversation with you.

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 7652

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Eh, the usual. Talk of trauma, flashbacks, that sort of stuff. You know I like to keep it real. But there’s also fluff. All the fluff.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

He reaches up to press a button and a panel of the roof slides to expose the sunroof. Through it you can see bright lights and the tall rise of the buildings on either side of you. It’s strangely soothing – almost hypnotic – and you keep your gaze up until the buildings are long gone and the atmosphere clears of light pollution. The stars wink down at you as Bucky drives, although he brings the car to a stop about a mile away from your destination so you can both look up toward the heavens.

Warm fingers twist with yours, the radio station playing 80s music sings quietly, and you don’t have to ask to know that – for the moment, at least – Bucky is at peace.

And so are you.

The next 10 days follow the same pattern. Get up, call the boys – or rather Jimmy, since Artie still won’t talk to you – have breakfast with Bucky, see your respective therapists. Then physical therapy and coffee with Galina while Bucky finishes with Dr. Lee and works out.

Your time with Galina becomes something you really look forward to – your quickly blossoming friendship with her is ridiculously easy. Her edges are quite a bit sharper than Mikhail’s, but everything you grew to love about him is there in her. Despite how you felt about him at the end, there were times that you hadn’t been entirely sure if your feelings for Mikhail originated out desperation or an actual connection; you can see now that everything was completely genuine, which makes his loss even more unbearable. That said, it also makes you even more grateful for the chance to have gotten to know him, even if that gratefulness comes with the bitterness of having such a brief taste of something so good and pure. Although you certainly don’t miss the circumstances, you miss him. It’s confusing. The letter he wrote travels with you whenever you have a pocket; it brings you comfort.

You and Bucky, and oftentimes Galina, share lunch. Then another call to the boys, a nap, the afternoon therapy session, and quiet time with Bucky. The weather has been mild, so you’ve been able to go for walks around the complex. The two of you don’t talk much during this time; the comfortable silence as you wander the trails serves as a time to process after the intensity of therapy.

The evenings are the closest you get to normal. Dinner, one last call home, maybe a movie or reading while Bucky journals, then bed. Sleep is still hard to come by most nights – now you both have nightmares – but you each manage to carry the other through. The nights get long but at least they aren’t lonely; if anything they lead you and Bucky becoming even closer. The balcony off his room becomes a familiar haunt at two o’clock in the morning when neither of you can stand being confined within a set of walls; wrapping up in blankets and each other while staring at the stars makes it much, much easier to shake the horror and figure out how to breathe again.

There’s a comfort to the routine; when you know what to expect and everything is the same from day to day you can put all your energy into your therapy and healing. It’s absolutely exhausting but completely worth it, and although you miss your kids desperately, you’re glad you allowed yourself to be talked into staying here rather than seeking treatment in your hometown. By the middle of the following week your leg is, unbelievably, completely healed. Your mind, not so much. It’s getting better, though – the punishing pace of therapy sucks but you can’t deny the results. According to Patrice and Stan it’s a model they’ve used for years; a super intensive inpatient type treatment for the short term, then ongoing, consistent treatment long term to indefinitely. They did offer to have you stay longer but were also satisfied enough with your progress to allow you to go home so long as you focused on your healing for the immediate future – no job or school for at least the first three months – and promised to keep up with once daily therapy. The plan is to reevaluate in two months, and if progress is still being made then you can scale back the number of sessions each week.

It should be doable – you still have the life insurance money from Christopher that you’d been living off of previously, and as far as you know you still have the house you were renting before everything happened. You and Bucky are sticking to the original plan from right after your escape – you’re going home together. Neither of you have any doubts as to the validity of your relationship or feelings for each other, so why change it? He’s focusing on his healing as well so he’s taking a leave of absence from…avenging? Do heroes have job titles? It makes you giggle when you think about it but you keep forgetting to ask. It isn’t important anyway – what matters most to you is that he’ll be close and safe, and that you don’t have to start worrying about him going on missions right off the bat. You’re really not ready to pile that kind of worry on top of everything else.

The days go by both dizzyingly fast and excruciatingly slow. Before you know it, you’re leaving for home tomorrow.

* * *

It’s your last day of physical therapy, and Galina is clearly distracted.

“Is everything okay, Galina? I mean, I know that’s a loaded question, but –“

“May I ask a favor of you?” She speaks quickly, like she’s trying not to lose her nerve. It’s almost disconcerting; you simply cannot imagine Galina as anything less than rock steady.

“Anything.” You leave unsaid that you owe her everything; nothing she could ask of you could possibly be more than what she’s lost. If it’s in your power to grant, you’ll do it.

“I feel as though you would have been part of Izolda’s and Mikhail’s life if we were in another time, or another life. I think if you had had the chance to grow up with them, the three of you would have been inseparable. I am certain you would have become part of our family. I –“ she sighs heavily, “I am short on family these days.” She swallows hard before speaking again, “I have no plans to go back to Russia, there is nothing for me there. The family of my heart is gone. My other children – they are their father’s blood, not mine. I know this is a lot to ask, but I will never get the chance to be babushka to Mikhail or Izolda’s children. May I visit your children? Spoil them as a grandmother would?”

You get the feeling that this is the closest you’ll ever get to seeing her beg or cry…but you? Tears are already filling your eyes. “I’d be honored, Galina.” You clear your throat against the tightness. “I’ve learned that family isn’t always blood. Sometimes it’s the people you choose. If in another life you could have basically been another mom to me, there’s no reason why you can’t be one in this life. Consider yourself adopted; you’re a grandma – babushka – now.” You reach over to take her hand. “They’re going to love you.”

She smiles and your heart hurts at the memory she replicates. “Thank you, dear one. I…I-“ she laughs lightly and shakes her head, “Mikhail said you would. He wrote a letter to me, and told me that you seem to collect people like some collect stray animals. Just like my Izolda. My boy said I only had to ask,” you still can’t see the tears but you can hear them as she squeezes your hand, “and I would have a family again. He was right. Thank you.”

When you pull her into a hug, she cradles the back of your head with her hand. Neither of you fight the tears this time.

* * *

Finally, the day comes.

It’s time to go home.

Bucky helps you into a quinjet and begins to prepare for flight. It’s just the two of you headed back to the safehouse, which feels both strange and familiar. He flips a few switches and the engine roars to life. “Ready to go home, Doll?” He smiles, full and bright, matching your own excitement.

Yes doesn’t even begin to cover it. You miss your kids, you miss your family, you miss your books. You kind of even miss school, although that will need to wait a bit. You miss the life you’d started building with Bucky, however unconventional. “Yes I am.”

He keeps doing whatever it is he needs to do – this definitely isn’t like driving a car so you have no damn idea what’s actually being done at the moment – and it’s kind of mesmerizing.

And kind of hot.

“What?” He catches you staring out of the corner of his eye.

Your face grows warm. “Huh, what?” Busted.

“You’re staring.” He’s got a shit eating grin on his face, and he knows you well enough to know exactly why you’re staring.

Fine. Two can play at this. “You’re the sexiest man on earth, and now you’re doing,” you gesture vaguely, “sexy things driving a jet. I can’t stare?” Your choice to be sharply blunt instead of flirty pays off – it throws him off and his face begins to turn red.

“Sexy things driving a jet?” he sputters. “How the hell is that…sexy things?”

“It’s your competence.” You shrug, “and your intelligence. It’s hot, Buck.”

He exhales, collecting himself, then smiles over at you. “Sometimes I feel like an idiotic schoolboy around you, you know that?”

“Yep.” You nod. “You’ve mentioned that.” Which is fair, considering how you feel around him. Equally idiotic, but unequivocally his equal. It’s safe for you to be vulnerable around him since you know he won’t take advantage of it or see it as a weakness. It occurs to you that you’re back to feeling like the best version of yourself – this is a good sign. A really, really good sign.

Bucky shakes his head and laughs lightly. “No one else I’d rather be flustered by,” he murmurs as he winks at you.

Of course, this sets off the butterflies in your belly – and he knows it. It’s fun, but at this rate you’re never going to get home. The thought alone is ridiculous but also undeniably possible. “Bucky,” you giggle, “can we call a truce?”

“What, you think I can’t flirt and fly at the same time?”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can, I –“ he blinks at you, as if mentally calculating the factors. “Shit, maybe not. Not with you, Doll. I can’t really fly if I can’t take my eyes off you, and I can’t lie, it’s really hard to do that when you’re looking at me like that.”

Your face gets hot again. “Stop it.”

“You first.” And thus begins the world’s most ridiculous stare down, which ends when you both burst into laughter.

“You wanna learn how to fly?”

“Really?”

He nods, “It’ll help keep me focused. We’ve got all the time in the world to be us when we get home, but I gotta get us there first.”

“Okay. This will actually be really neat. Teach away.”

“Alright.” Bucky’s blue eyes turn serious. “First of all, it’s flying a jet, not driving a jet.”

* * *

“Welcome home, dear.” SUNDAY’s voice echoes as you walk through the door; you almost miss it with the sound of Jimmy screeching as he runs to you.

“Momma Momma MOMMAAA!” he launches himself into your arms, and you squeeze his little body to you as tight as you can without hurting him. There’s just no way to fully describe how much you missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you with his face tucked into your neck. Inhaling the smell of his hair brings the tears right to the verve of falling, and then they are.

He wails when you reluctantly put him down. “Hey, hey,” you cradle his tiny, tearstained face in your hands, “I’m just going to find Artie so I can talk to him. I’m not leaving, I promise.” But then you’re crying and he’s crying, so you pull him to you again. “Okay, baby, we’ll go together. Where’s Artie?”

“Our room,” sniffles the quiet whimper from your neck.

“Jimmy, why don’t you come with Grandma so your Momma can go see Artie?” Your mom tries, and fails. Epically.

“NOOOO!! I WANT MY MOMMA!!” His screech vibrates your eardrum, but you just hold him tighter.

“It’s okay, Mom, I’ve got him.”

Then her arms are around you both, and then you feel another set – your dad. He’s studiously avoiding eye contact; he can apparently forbid his tears from falling, but he can’t keep the shine of them out of his eyes. He wordlessly kisses your temple, then steps back. He’s not really one for words.

You don’t allow the hug to go on for too long; you can’t, not when you know your other son is hurting so badly. “I’m sorry, Mom, we’ll catch up in a bit, I promise.”

“Go,” she nods.

Even with Jimmy still in your arms, you take the stairs two at a time. You’ve been away from him long enough.

“Artie?” One of the blankets hanging over the edge of his pirate bed shifts slightly. “Baby, can you please come out?” When he doesn’t answer, you sit on the floor at the foot of his bed as Jimmy tucks tightly into your side. “I’m sorry, Artie. I bet you’re pretty mad at me. That’s okay, you can be mad.”

A small sniffle, but then more silence.

“I missed you, Artie. I missed you a lot,” your voice breaks, but he deserves to hear this so you keep going, “I love you more than anything. I didn’t want to leave, but I was sick and I had to go away for a while so I could get the medicine to make me better.”

His voice is uncharacteristically quiet when he finally breaks the silence. “You left me.”

“I did. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

“No, baby, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been able to leave you if I’d said goodbye.”

He crawls out from under the bed and stands in front of you. “I’m mad.”

You nod. “That’s fair. It’s okay that you’re mad. I know how I felt when I left – I can only imagine that you were mad, sad, scared…all kinds of yucky feelings. I’m so sorry, Artie.”

Just like that, his little face crumples as his brown eyes fill with tears.

You open your arms, giving him the choice even though you want so badly to pull him into a hug so tight he would feel your love for him. A long minute passes, then two, before your son walks into your embrace and begins bawling. You hold him as tight as you can, rocking him slowly from side to side as you both cry, only releasing one arm from him when Jimmy starts fussing that he’s not being hugged, too. Your legs are completely numb and your back is spasming before they let you go, but you wait until they’re ready.

When you and the boys finally make it back downstairs, you find your mom, dad, and Bucky talking at the kitchen table; she’s been crying but your dad looks at you with glowing pride. His weathered, work worn hands grab yours when you take the seat across from him, “I knew you were tougher than those sons of bitches that took you.” His voice is thick with unshed tears, “I knew you’d come home to us. I knew it.” He turns to Bucky, “And thank you. Her mother and I owe you everything.”

A flash of shame, quickly buried, flashes in Bucky’s eyes as he mumbles, “I just wish I could’ve done more, sir.”

“Don’t you do that.” Your dad’s voice turns stern and you know from experience that he’ll take no arguments, “Now I’m not young, but I know how to use the Google. I looked you all up when I found out you were in charge of my daughter’s safety. I know you fought in a war. I know that look, that guilt. Felt it myself, seen it in my friends. Don’t you do that. You got her back. That’s what matters.”

He stands as the rest of you sit wide eyed – he rarely talks about his time in the service, even in passing – then makes his way to the living room and flips on the TV. He’s said his piece and now it’s time for Wheel of Fortune. The familiarity of it all makes your heart ache.

* * *

“What do you want for dinner? We should start winding down for the day because we have a big day tomorrow! We’re going home.” It feels weird to say that.

To say Jimmy looks confused would be the understatement of the century. “Huh?”

“Home. Remember? The grey house before here?”

“Momma, this is home.” Artie looks up from where he is tucked into your side. A strand of your hair twists in his little fingers as he gazes at you. “We stay here.”

How are you supposed to explain this? “Baby, this is Uncle Tony’s home. We were just staying here for a while.”

“No. Uncle Tony said so.” He sounds so sure of himself, nodding as he speaks, “And SUNDAY said so. SUNDAY knows everything.”

You share a confused look with Bucky.

“SUNDAY. Tell Momma. Uncle Tony said.”

“Yes, dear. He’s right – didn’t Tony tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

SUNDAY sounds almost amused and your parents look borderline terrified as they look around for the voice, “I think perhaps you should check the top left desk drawer in the study, dear. I will unlock it for you.”

“What the heck is going on,” you mutter, as you and Bucky both rise. Of course both boys and your parents follow you into the other room like a bunch of oversized ducklings. You open the drawer, and on top of a rather hefty pile of paperwork is a handwritten note and a few sets of keys.

Kiddo,

If I tried to do this without any trickery you wouldn’t have accepted, so I snuck in the paperwork with the medical stuff I had you sign when you first landed stateside – there is no forgery here! These are legit, I promise. I’m sorry about the deception. Well, no, not really. This is your home; it was from the moment you walked in. It was really just a house to me, walls and a roof built for a family and a dream but it just sat empty. You and your boys bring it to life. You’d actually be doing me a favor because you’ve filled it with the love and little footsteps my mom wanted so badly. Also – I already told Artie and Jimmy. You’re going to have to break it to them if you really want to refuse. Or you could just…not….refuse. Make the kids happy.

There is no mortgage, no obligation. It’s yours, free and clear, with all the bells, whistles, and safety features it had before – maybe you don’t need a full time team of people to protect you anymore, but that doesn’t mean your safety isn’t on my mind. Think of this as my way of making it up to you – my mistake cost you a lot. Let’s not pretend it didn’t. All I ask is that you let me come by from time to time to say hello and play uncle. And maybe host family Christmas? This past one was one of the best I’ve ever had. Of course, as this is your home now, you are free to lock me out. SUNDAY has already been set to you and to a lesser degree the boys; you’ll need to add Barnes if you decide to keep him.

One more thing - you don’t technically need the keys in the drawer, but they’re there anyway. Just in case you like to jingle keys.

I’ll see you around, Kiddo.

Tony

“That goddamn sneaky little bastard.”

“Momma! Bad word!”

“I’m sorry honey, I – wait, did I teach you that? I don’t remember teaching you that.”

Confusion turns to clarity when both boys turn and look at their Grandma, who at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.

You hand the letter to Bucky before kneeling to face your sons. “Okay, so you heard Grandma swear a lot, huh?” They both nod. “Well, Momma swears, too.” Their faces light up, so you quickly continue, “That doesn’t mean you can. At least, not right now. Those are grown up word, not little boy words.”

Artie looks down at his feet then back at you. “I wanna say baffterd.”

Swallowing your laugh and almost choking, you do you best to nod solemnly. “And one day you can, when you’re older.”

His eyes get comically wide with excitement, “When I’m five?”

“Um, no baby. Maybe when you’re fifteen.”

“Awww,” he looks so disappointed but somehow you hold the giggle in, “that’ll take forever.”

“It’ll probably feel like it, but it’ll go quicker than you think. For now, you can say turd. How about that?”

They both hug you in excitement, and then don’t want to let go. When Bucky tousles Jimmy’s hair, he turns to Bucky and raises his arms, which you take full advantage of as you lift Artie onto your hip. Bucky automatically does the same, looking both relieved and thrilled that one of the boys was letting him do that again. Artie tucks his head into your neck and Jimmy does the same to Bucky, and both you and Bucky visibly relax and you smile at one another. One more step back to normal.

“Sweetheart.” When Bucky hands back the letter his voice and eyes are soft as he looks at you, almost pleading. “It’s up to you. And hey,” he makes sure you’re paying attention, “you don’t have to make a decision right now.

“I just, I don’t know. It’s, uh, it’s a little excessive.” There’s the understatement of the century.

“The way he pulled it off was a dick move, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it feels an awful lot like home to me and I think it does to you, too.”

You pull a face. “Goddammit, this is so weird. Who just…gives someone a house? Why is he like this?”

Bucky shrugs as best he can with an armful of Jimmy. “For what it’s worth, Doll, you are not the first person to utter those words and you probably won’t be the last.”

It’s not like you don’t want this house. This is practically your dream home, and it does feel like home to you. Some of your best memories happened on this property, and it’s so incredibly easy to see how an infinite amount more of them could be made here. The boys love this place – there’s so much room for them to run, both in and out. It would almost be like a fresh start, as these walls are entirely untainted by unhappiness or casual cruelty by the one that is supposed to make you feel safe. But on the other hand, it’s just…it’s fucking odd. You still aren’t used to Tony’s generosity, and probably never will be. On the other other hand, this decision isn’t just about you, it’s also about your family. Your whole family. “This is home to you.”

“It’s nice, I really like it here,” Bucky shakes his head, “but ultimately that’s because of you. Home is wherever you are. The walls around us make no difference to me.”

It’s borderline cheesy, but his sentiment melts your heart. Especially because you know he means it.

“Are…are you two…a thing?”

Well, shit.

You kind of forgot your mom and dad were still there, watching you.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell your mom about you and Bucky – there were so many times you wanted to pick up the phone to do just that but couldn’t – it’s just that you didn’t really want to do it right now. It had been your hope that you’d have some time to get settled in, spend some time with your boys, and just rest for a while. A few days, maybe a week. Then you’d have the conversation, when you were well rested, alert, and preferably without the boys clinging to you like a wet t-shirt. You’ve been making incredible progress in therapy, but it’s exhausting. Like down to the marrow of your bones exhausting. And your mom, with her well-meaning but overprotective nature, is also exhausting when she has questions to ask.

And she’s going to have a lot of questions.

“Well,” your dad steps up to Bucky and claps him on the shoulder, “This is going to take a while. Come on, son, might as well go pick up some pizzas for dinner.”

Bucky glances at you with a raised eyebrow, asking if you want him to stay. His expression indicates he’s also probably vaguely amused at being called ‘son’ by a man technically younger than him, and still more than a little unnerved at the idea of being separated from you. You shake your head slightly and give a small smile to let him know you’ll be okay; he returns your smile with one of his own and a slight nod. You all walk out to the living room where he puts Jimmy down on the couch next to you, presses a kiss to the top of your head, then follows your dad out the front door.

Flawless wordless communication? Check.

Now you just have to settle things with your mom.

It takes almost an hour and you getting flat out annoyed, but she finally gets it. Kind of. You’d put a movie on for the boys in an effort to distract them, but they were absolutely not willing to leave your side, so you had to keep some things kind of vague with a lot of “I’ll tell you laters.” Someday the boys will learn your story with Bucky, but today is not that day – they already have enough to heal from that will keep them up at night. So you field the questions you can and stick to the basics.

Yes, you basically fell in love with your bodyguard. No, he didn’t take advantage of you. No, you are not afraid of him. No, you aren’t afraid of his metal arm. Yes, you love him and he loves you. Yes, it’s serious. Yes, really. Yes, it was fast. No, he’s not going anywhere. Yes, he loves the boys, and they love him. No, they aren’t afraid of him. No, they aren’t afraid of his metal arm. Yes, he’s perfectly gentle with them. No – this is when your patience completely runs out – he doesn’t have anger issues.

“Trust my judgement, Mom. Please. He’s a good man.” You try to keep your voice calm but can hear the edge in it.

“I know, honey, I just…” she sniffles back her tears, “you never stop being a mom, you know?”

A wall of guilt tumbles down on you. She’s not trying to test your patience; she’s just still terrified at almost losing her daughter. And to be fair, you aren’t always a great judge of character and have been hurt because of it. Christopher is a prime example of that. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She watches the boys for a moment before turning back to you. “He…he must really love you, to do what he did.”

The enormity of all he did still takes your breath away when you think of it. “He does. He really does.”

“You deserve someone that loves you like that.” She smiles. “And he sure is handsome.”

“I know. It’s a bit much sometimes. No one really needs to be that good looking – it’s just excessive.”

She laughs, but then is all business when Bucky and your dad come through the door with armfuls of pizzas and wings. “Come on boys, it’s time to eat!”

It’s the first of what you hope to be many more family dinners. And the more you think about it, the more you think they might end up taking place here, around this table.

* * *

Bedtime is a nightmare. You know it won’t always be this way, but tonight is tough. The boys screamed when you put them to bed, terrified that when they woke up in the morning you’d be gone again. No amount of reassurances or promises from anyone was helping.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispers in your ear in between trying to comfort a screeching Artie, “why don’t we just bring them into our bed tonight? They can sleep in the middle. Might help to ease them back into normal.”

“If we do it tonight it might not just be tonight.”

“As long as it takes,” he shrugs, completely unbothered.

Somehow you manage to fall even deeper in love with him.

* * *

It takes all of 10 minutes for the boys to fall asleep.

Bucky props himself up on one arm; you do the same. “So have you given any thought at all to the house?” There’s no pressure in his eyes, just a hopeful curiosity.

“It’s weird. But I have a hard time imagining us anywhere else. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does. It’s because it’s home. It’s okay to accept it, Sweetheart. Stark wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble to give it to you if he didn’t want you to have it.”

You heave a sigh as you brush back one of Jimmy’s curls. “I think you’re right.”

The soft moonlight catches Bucky’s smile. “So this is home.”

“Mmm. This is home. Our home.”

You’re pretty sure there are tears in his eyes but he blinks them away as he grins. “Your dad was extremely concerned about my plans for the yard.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Bucky breathes out a quiet chuckle, “He asked me what my intentions are regarding the landscaping, and if I have given any thought to adding rocks or mulch. Oh, and do we want a garden? Apparently the backyard has the perfect amount of sunlight.”

“Oh. Oh wow. That’s…well that’s actually super on brand for my dad.”

“Really?” His eyebrows go up as he laughs lightly.

“Yeah. He’s one of those people that mows his lawn in alternate directions every week.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment as he studies the sleeping boys. “He was really nice to me, said I must be something special if you actually let me take care of you. Asked a bunch of questions about my war experience. Told me a little about his.”

“Yeah?” That’s surprising – your dad doesn’t usually like to talk about his time in Vietnam.

“Mmm.” Bucky brushes some hair from Jimmy’s forehead. “Asked if I planned on sticking around for a while.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Bucky’s soft eyes gaze at you for a long moment. “That I’d be here as long as his daughter will have me.”

“So only forever?” You don’t exactly sing it, but it comes out melodic.

He smiles broadly. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

Bucky’s expression grows serious. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“Yeah. But you got me through it, Buck. I was hanging on to every word you said. And sang.”

“I meant every word that came out of my mouth. Still do. Always will.”

“I know. Me, too.”

* * *

Are you surprised when Jimmy begins stirring from night terrors? No. You aren’t. Bucky manages to soothe him back to sleep before he even completely wakes.

Are you surprised when Artie has a nightmare an hour later? Nope. You hold him tighter and rub his back until he settles, even though you’re already sweating from how he cuddles you when he sleeps.

And when you wake from your own nightmare at a quarter past two, Bucky’s pained eyes meet yours in matched relief at being awake.

Without a word you both begin carefully untangling yourselves from the boys. He’s shaking and you’re near tears by the time you’re in each other’s arms – by the time you grab some blankets and slip out the door to the balcony off the master suite, it finally gets just a bit easier to remember how to breathe. Blinking away the taunting faces of Anatoliy and Nicolai as they repeatedly murder Mikhail, you take in the surroundings. The way the moonlight reflects off the snow makes it impossibly bright for the middle of the night but it’s a comfort. Nothing can hide that way.

Then again, there’s nothing here that can hurt you. Exhale. Relax. Breathe.

You force your shoulders down and take a deep breath. “I almost forgot how peaceful it is out here.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, he just slides his hands around your waist and pulls your back into his chest as you stand at the railing and look out at the frozen lake. The air is frigid, but you don’t mind – between Bucky and the blankets wrapped around you you’re plenty warm.

There’s a rustle and a sharp crack carried on the still air; you both look to the edge of the lake where three whitetail deer emerge from the trees and begin making their way out into the open where they start frolicking in the snow.

Are you surprised when you feel yours and Bucky’s heartbeats start to beat together in synchrony? No. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. It’s a steady, constant reminder that everything is going to be okay.

Epilogue

June, later that year

The day has been filled with early summer storms from the cold front that is coming through; they’re not particularly strong, just loud enough to keep the boys on edge. They are currently bookended with you and Bucky on the couch, snuggled up with their blankies, favorite stuffies, and popcorn as you watch a movie. The commercials come on, and you’re too busy gazing at your little family to pay attention until your Jimmy asks a very important question.

“Bucky, what’s a daddy?”

It takes you both by surprise until your eyes flick to the TV. Ah, that explains it – it’s a Hallmark commercial for next week’s holiday – Father’s Day.

Bucky gathers his thoughts while his metal fingers tenderly smooth away a curl from Jimmy’s forehead. “Well, a daddy is kind of like a momma. It’s someone that loves his kids very, very much, and protects and teaches them.”

Artie, tucked in next to you, pipes up, “Does everyone have a daddy?”

“Families come in all shapes and sizes, buddy. Sometimes there’s just a momma, or just a daddy. Some kids have both a momma and a daddy, and others have two mommas or two daddies. Then there are families with no mommas or daddies, and they live with grandmas, grandpas, aunts, or uncles instead. And sometimes family isn’t who you’re born with, but people you find that end up loving you, like your uncles Steve and Tony.”

“Oh.” Jimmy’s eyebrows draw together as he thinks. “So…are you our daddy? You do that stuff.”

Bucky looks to you with a startled but achingly hopeful look in his eyes. You know how much he loves those little boys – he certainly thinks of himself as their father and he stepped into the role seamlessly with the ease of breathing – you just hadn’t given much thought to the nomenclature or technicalities because you’ve been a family pretty much from the week you met. Nothing about your relationship with this man could really be considered conventional, so you suppose it never really occurred to you to put a label on it because it was just understood that you all belonged together. But now he’s looking to you for the answer because he has always refused to knowingly overstep or violate your boundaries, and when he doesn’t know what they are he plays it safe and he asks. So you give him the only possible answer – the answer that he already knows but ultimately needs to hear directly from you. “Happy Father’s Day, my love,” you whisper as a smile spreads across your face.

“Yeah,” he has to clear his throat before he can speak clearly, “Yeah, I’m your daddy.”

“Okay,” Jimmy turns his eyes to the TV. “Okay, Daddy.”

Artie whispers the name under his breath, trying out the word before speaking out loud. “Daddy?”

“Yeah buddy?” Bucky’s voice is thick with tears.

Artie just shakes his head, smiles, and nods. “Daddy.”

Bucky beams.

* * *

Late April, the following year

She’s in the final few weeks of school and she is stressed out, which is how he finds himself walking through the mall with Artie and Jimmy in tow. She needs peace and quiet to finish up her assignments, projects, and final exams, and the boys have been extra rowdy from the spring thaw that’s finally taken hold, so Bucky decided to take them out. They’ve already shared some ice cream and a pretzel, and are now wandering the glass cases of one of the jewelry shops looking for fitting graduation gifts from the twins.

Bucky is doing his best to let the boys pick out the items – within reason – and so far he’s had to talk Artie out of a gaudy gold and diamond encrusted men’s watch and damn, he wasn’t expecting Jimmy to have such expensive taste. He could rival his uncle Tony; the kid can pick out platinum and flawless diamonds like nobody’s business.

Artie finally settles on a pair of opal earrings that are framed with silver to make them look like a unicorn’s face. They’re cute, but Bucky knows the reason she’ll love them is because Artie picked them out. She’s sentimental that way, and it’s something that Bucky absolutely adores about her. At one point last summer she had seven glasses of dandelions in the windowsill above the kitchen sink; she hated throwing them away because the boys gave them to her.

“Daddy? I wanna look at that one, please,” Jimmy tugs gently on Bucky’s jacket as he points to a silver and amethyst bracelet. Bucky’s already wide smile grows even wider – of all the titles he’s had in his long lifetime, ‘Daddy’ is by far one of his favorites.

“Which one, Jimmy, the one with the purple stones?”

“Yeah! It’s pretty, like Momma!”

“It sure is pretty, but I think your momma’s prettier. Can we get that, too, please?” Bucky asks the saleswoman politely after Jimmy confirms his selection. “And ma’am, I am so sorry about the smudges on the display cases.” Artie still has both hands and now his nose pressed against the glass, looking to make sure he picked the right thing.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, dear, it’s nothing a bit of glass cleaner can’t handle!” She smiles as she hands back his credit card. “Your children are beautiful, Mr. Barnes. And it’s very fitting that the one with your blue eyes shares your name.”

“Thank you.” It’s not the first time he’s heard that – he just smiles to himself and doesn’t bother to explain the technicalities. Why would he? He’d claimed both boys as his own long ago.

“Can we give these to Momma when we get home?” Artie implores, “please, Daddy?”

“Nope, we gotta keep this a secret for a couple of weeks. We’re gonna give these to your Momma on her graduation day. She’s gonna be really surprised!”

“A couple of weeks?” Jimmy’s face falls in a display of epic disappointment. “But that’ll take forever!”

“Would it make you feel better to give her something today?” Both boys perk up immediately. “How about we stop at the book store?”

People stop and stare at the two little boys cheering in the middle of the mall. They love getting their Momma presents, but they also know that if they’re going to the bookstore, they’re going to get something, too. Once life started getting back to normal, she had a conversation with family – both blood and made – and put limits on the amount of toys the boys were allowed to receive. But books? There’s no such thing as a limit on books.

In this moment, seeing their excitement over books – so much like his own when he was a kid – he sees himself mirrored in them. The feeling is almost overwhelming but in the best way possible, and he aches – absolutely aches – to make things official.

Bucky pulls out his phone. “Hey Stevie, can you draw something for me? There’s something I’ve been meanin’ to do and I’ve got an idea…I just need your artistic talent to do it.”

June

You’re sitting on the swing next to the lake, listening to how the soft creak of the wood sort of complements the gently chaotic symphony of the waves, crickets, and frogs. The warm breeze lifts the smell of blooming flowers to you while you watch the fireflies dance over the shoreline, and the stars twinkle above you in a perfect, cloudless canopy. It’s peaceful, easy. It’s where you go when you need a bit of stillness or to be alone with your thoughts. When you need to think about Mikhail.

“Care for some company?” Bucky’s baritone reaches you before the sound of his footsteps, but you’re used to it by now.

“Yours? Always,” the smile in your voice is obvious.

The seat of the swing shifts slightly under his weight as he effortlessly manages to sit while you still swing.

His hand finds yours. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Serene. Calm. Perfect.

You almost don’t want to break the silence, but you’re curious. “Do you ever wish you could press pause?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn toward you. “Hmm?”

Still gazing at the stars, you enjoy the moment before speaking again. “Do you ever wish you could press pause, you know, stop time. Just for a while during those moments when everything is perfect so you can make sure to soak up every little detail and commit it to memory.”

“You mean like now?”

You nod as your eyes traces the constellations. “Yep.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Mostly since you and the boys came into my life. And a few times before the war, like Christmas mornings when the family was together.”

You squeeze his hand – you knew he’d understand even though you’re not sure you can adequately explain what you’re thinking. “I just…I don’t know. In this moment, right now, everything is perfect. You’re right here beside me and the boys are safe and cozy in their room. I got to go shopping and then to lunch with my mom and grandma today. I don’t have homework because I’ve finally graduated, and I have a job that I love. And then the weather is fantastic and I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw fireflies, but they’re out tonight.”

It’s quiet for a while as you both watch the world around you. “Nah. This moment is good – great even – but it’s not perfect.”

You hold in the laugh but not the grin. “Let me guess – it would be perfect if there were cupcakes?”

“Yes. No! I mean, generally cupcakes improve everything, but right now they wouldn’t cut it.”

“Picky picky.” Nudging him with your shoulder, he tries and fails to hold back a smile while keeping his eyes upturned to the sky. “Well it’s perfect for me. I guess you’ll just have to wait your turn.”

The waves don’t disguise his gentle chuckle – instead, they almost seem to amplify it.

The moment passes and moves onto the next. Serene. Peaceful.

The easy rhythm comes to a stop as he braces his legs to still the swing before shifting to face you, and your body automatically moves to mirror his. Bucky watches you for a while as you patiently wait for whatever it is he has to say, squeezing his hand to let him know that he can take his time. Slowly, he brings his free hand between the two of you.

His voice cracks as he turns his palm upright and opens his fist. “Be my bride.” He swallows hard as the hope radiates from his eyes. “Please.”

Your wide eyes go from his face, to the ring glinting in his palm, and back to his eyes.

There are so many feelings, but what’s most notable are the feelings that are absent. There’s no fear, no uncertainty; there’s a complete lack of trepidation or hesitation. In a way there’s almost a sense of redundancy – not in a bad way, you just already belong to each other in every way that matters so a set of rings and a piece of paper can’t possibly change anything – but also something yet unfinished, at least according to the dreams brought on by traditions instilled deep inside the man sitting across from you when he was just a little boy. There’s a sort of settled feeling in your soul, one that seems to whisper, “it’s okay to be happy.” You’re getting better at listening to it.

Words seem so inadequate right now – how the hell are you supposed to just say yes when you mean so much more than that? A nod and a smile will have to do.

Bucky beams at you, fully understanding your lack of words. He lets go of one hand to gently take the other, sliding the ring onto place as you watch with something that feels like amazement.

“There,” his whisper conveys awe, love, and joy, “You’ve got my ring on your finger.” Bucky kisses you with a reverent sweetness while the stars twinkle their approval. “Now the moment is perfect.”

He’s right. It is. And it makes you smile, because you know this is just one happy moment in a shared life that is destined to be full of joy.

You’re not naïve enough to believe that you’re only going to have happy moments together, but you know in your heart that the good moments will far outweigh the bad. You and Bucky will undoubtedly stumble and hurt each other – because you’re both human – but you’ll also heal each other. And in a world so broken, that is the truest kind of happily ever after.

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #my work #when everything's made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am)#part 57 & epilogue #wemtbb

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