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wintersentry · 27 days ago

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alright i haven't written fanfic in close to a decade but watching Thunderbolts* again last night has officially pushed me over the edge. i haven't proof-read this and it is unfinished but i had to get it out. dabbling in WinterSentry.

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As a general rule, Bucky holds people at arm's length. It's easier that way: keeping those around him a safe distance from learning more about him or what lies under the surface. Muddied by flashbacks, heartbreak, and the look in his countless number of targets' eyes before they closed for the final time, it's hard living in his own head. He doesn't need to subject anyone else to the horrors of his past or the confusion of his future.

Before he emerged from the hut on the outskirts of Birin Zana a renewed man, before his final reset as the Winter Soldier, before he ended up on Zola's table with a pain so powerful he couldn't see straight, he was a happy kid. That's how he remembers it. Young, hopeful, strong-willed, bull-headed, but with a soft spot. A soft spot for early mornings before church making eggs and toast for his sister and mother, for the feeling of a dame in his hands as their feet joined rhythm and the rest of the room faded away, for the smell of the boardwalk on a hot summer's day, for Steve.

No matter the day, no matter the hardships, no matter the pain, Steve made him feel like he was home. He put on a tough front when he was at work or moving his way around the dance floor but when it was just him and Steve, he allowed himself to let go of that steely exterior and truly enjoy himself.

He hasn't felt joy like that in nearly a century.

Instead, he busies himself with his work, whatever that may look like. At first he found comfort at Sam's side, acting as a right-hand man once again. Now he's on the floor of the House of Representatives, wearing these monkey suits that never seem to fit him just right. It sure as hell isn't where he thought he'd end up as he dealt with the backlash, the exposès, the nightmares, but he likes to be busy. He needs to be busy. It's the best way he's found to keep his head atop his shoulders.

His newest piece of work? The ragtag crew he somehow got saddled with. The Thunderbolts. The New Avengerz. Whatever they're calling themselves this week. And a piece of work they are. When he got the tip from Mel about Valentina's latest manmade horror, he thought he was wrapping up these operatives to drop at the door to her impeachment trial. Now, they're being called the next reign of heros. Protectors of Earth. Our last hope. Blah blah blah. He couldn't care less what PR spin Ms. De Fontaine puts on it. He's just glad he has something to focus on - something to put his energy towards.

It helps that he's no longer the least stable part of a group. A lot of work has gone into making that possible. Though, it's easy to look put together surrounded by this lot. His shortcomings were always so obvious when he stood next to Steve or Sam; his past haunting him in the shadows as he tried to redeem himself through these paradigms. But the Thunderbolts? They've all got demons. Somehow that's reassuring.

They've come a long way since Bucky flipped that limousine and disarmed them one by one. He was ready to rinse his hands of the whole issue, let John Walker and his little friends act as evidence to put an end to Ms. De Fontaine's delusional plans. But after rescuing Bob from his own torment, alongside these antiheroes who put up more fight for near strangers than any House rep does for their own constituents, Bucky found a new role for himself. Leader.

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Interpersonal skills are not his strong suit at the moment. He used to be able to talk his way out of a fistfight with the boyfriend of whoever he was trying to woo at the bar. To convince pharmacists to let him pay late for whatever medication Steve needed so urgently. To figure out what people needed and how he could exploit that. After decades of being on ice getting any and all humanity electrocuted out of him, he wasn't so suave. Not as charming. It made him feel like a shell of his former self, trying to regain the confidence he once had.

He admired how close the team had grown. Truly. He didn't mind exchanging his Brooklyn studio for a floor at the Watchtower, trading long silent mornings for organized chaos. He enjoyed getting to see Ava come into her own as a team member, John beginning to learn to bite his tongue, Yelena letting go of her past, and Alexei embracing them, flaws and all. Though he couldn't seem to let his guard down, no matter how natural it all felt. Not after Bob got inside of his head.

---

It was a slow week around the tower and everyone was busy with their own antics. It wasn't Bucky's job to keep track of them when there wasn't a mission so he didn't care to find out who was going where that weekend. He kept up a consistent routine on days where he didn't have missions. He had just finished up his post-gym shower and was headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee when he heard hushed, hurried breathing coming from down the west corridor.

He snaps into stealth mode in moments like these: stopping dead in his tracks, holding his breath, and listening carefully to assess the situation. The muffled whimpers led him to round the corner, finding a mess of a man curled up against the wall, sitting with his head in his hands.

"Bob?" Bucky said quietly as not to startle him, bending his knees to settle on the floor next to him.

Bob's head snapped to look at the super soldier, faltering backwards in surprise. "O-Oh, hey. I didn't- uh, didn't hear you- hmph. Come over." He tried to get the words out between his sniffs and eye wiping. He found it hard to meet Bucky's steely gaze. His cold demeanor was off-putting most days. Analytic and critical. "I thought I was the only one around," he laughed dryly.

Bucky watched as Bob searched within himself to find strength but couldn't. His shoulders were still curled in, jumping erratically as the man tried to catch his breath.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked in an even tone, free of judgement.

"Oh, hah. Nothing. Just uh. The usual, right? Soul crushing guilt." He tried to brush away the tears left on his cheeks but his sleeves were too wet. He turned them around and kept brushing, eventually dragging them down his neck to clear away stray tears. "I was trying to calm-... Calm myself down. But uh, didn't work. I think-... I think it's a-.. Uh, panic... Attack." He breathed out the final word before taking in a sharp inhale.

Bucky rested his left hand on Bob's shoulder, keeping it steady there even as he flinched at the touch. "S'alright. Try breathing with me. Let's see if you can do that," he instructed, staying still as not to startle him further.

Bob's eyes searched Bucky's face and shoulders, avoiding the other man's gaze as he looked for any sign of judgement. Any sign that he was too much to deal with. He began to even out his breathing, closing his eyes for a moment to match the in's and out's to Bucky's. He struggled to stop the jittering breaths, growing frustrated and embarrassed with himself.

The hallway was still as they sat together. Bucky gave him some time to try and calm down but it was becoming apparent that measured breathing alone wasn't going to work. Bob began gasping, quietly at first, taking in huge breaths and letting them out slowly. But then they grew into whimpers, then sobs. He turned his head away, shutting his eyes tightly as he balled his fists in his lap. It didn't take long for his concentration to disappear entirely, shifting his body away from Bucky to make himself ever smaller.

Bucky took his hand away as Bob leaned in the other direction. This was not his strong suit. He furrowed his brow and moved to sit properly on the floor, unsure what to do next.

"You're alright. You're safe here. Can you sit up? Plant your hands and feet on the ground?"

Bob lifted his head for a moment, peering at Bucky through the wet curls pressed against his face. He couldn't control the gasps for air or the shuddering breaths that followed. His eyes were wide and scared. Something about it made Bucky's chest tight.

"May I?" Bucky asked quietly, holding his hands out. Bob made a quiet noise of affirmation as he nodded quickly. Bucky carefully grabbed Bob by the shoulders and guided them to press flat against the wall. He moved his legs individually so that the soles of his feet on the floor, knees close to his chest. Bob placed his palms on the floor to steady himself, distracted momentarily by the help.

"Alright, look at me. You're alright. You're safe. This feeling inside of you is temporary, alright? Just focus on my words," Bucky instructed, sitting just to the side. "You're stronger than whatever is tearing you up inside, alright? Just believe-..."

Bucky was cut off abruptly. In the midst of talking to the trembling figure in front of him, he placed his right hand - his human hand - atop of Bob's. As he trailed off, the room started to go dark. Suddenly, there was a noise behind him, like that of a cattle prod. His head whipped around and it was just hallway, but not that of the west corridor. He turned back to where Bob had been seated, nowhere to be seen. He shot up quickly and balled his fists, a growing growl turned scream echoing through the halls.

"Bob?" He yelled out, checking his surroundings once more before he headed towards the sound. Green light filled the space, growing brighter as he rounded the corner to a vault. He quickly ducked back behind the wall, afraid of what he was about to see.

He didn't remember much from being the Winter Soldier. He may not recognize the current space he was in but he was all too familiar with the set up. Concrete walls deep underground, winding hallways to a large, cavernous room, set up with all sorts of foreign equipment. He took a peek around the corner again when the sound of electricity and yelling subsided, flinching but not turning away when it started up again.

He saw himself. Strapped to a chair. Mouthguard clenched between teeth. Arms flexed within their binds. Screaming. Gritting. In pain. Over and over again. Getting shocked. With HYDRA onlookers, the likes of Rumlow and the rest of the STRIKE team, watching.

He could almost feel the shocks pulsing through his head. He remembered that pain. He remembered what it was like to have his brain shattered over and over. He watched as the machine turned off and let go of his limp body, tears unidentifiable against sweat on his expressionless face. The shell of himself listened as he was told to stand, spit out the mouthguard, and head into his chamber. The slow march of a broken man began and Bucky's eyes followed him across the room, until his gaze met Bob's, staring with his mouth clenched shut from behind a group of scientists.

Bucky blinked hard a few times and suddenly he was back in the Watchtower, Bob's face just a foot from his own. He yanked his hand away and stumbled backwards and fell onto his back, moving slowly to sit back up. His own face was blank but he could feel tears on his cheeks.

"Bucky... I'm sorry- I didn't-... I didn't mean to-..." Bob started, too shocked to continue.

Bucky stared at the floor for a moment before looking back up. "I thought you said you can control that," he gritted through his teeth.

Bob's heart seized, embarrassment forcing the blood into his cheeks. "I- I can! When I fo- focus... I wasn't, uh, I wasn't focused..." He cleared his throat, frantically wiping at his face once more. The panic attack had subsided after the surprise of the memory hit him, but the feelings that Bucky had been experiencing filled him instead.

Bucky cleared his throat and moved away, causing Bob to deflate some. "I-... Uh. I'm sorry you had to see that." He coughed out, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure. He stood up abruptly and adjusted his shirt. "I need to... Go. I'm sorry," he sputtered once more, turning on his heels and heading out of Bob's line of sight, leaving him dumbfounded on the floor.

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