crimson, [b.barnes daughter], marvel

1.

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In the quiet isolation of his quarters, Barnes sat motionless. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock on the wall. It seemed to be out of place in the modern expanse of Stark Towers. 

Time had become a vague concept to him. Each second indistinguishable from the next, and yet each one heavy with the weight of memories he couldn't quite grasp.

The world outside had continued forward, but for Barnes, time had fractured. There were moments when the past felt more real than the present. The cold grip of the blood on his ledger more familiar than the warmth of sun on his skin.

Steve had tried, God knows he had. He'd been the only presence at his side, trying to be a reminder of the life before this. But where Steve saw redemption and recovery, Bucky saw only the reflection of a man he no longer recognized. The man who had once been James Buchanan Barnes was as much a ghost to him as the faces that haunted his dreams.

The dreams were a nightly torment, an array of violence and faces twisted in fear. They left him gasping for air, sheets tangled against his sweaty body. He fought against them with every fiber of his being. On the worst nights, he woke with screams, the phantom taste of blood on his lips.

It was on one of those nights Steve had been there. The concern in his eyes did nothing to pierce the fog of confusion and terror that enveloped Bucky. The fight had been instinctual, a desperate struggle between what he had once been and what he was learning to be now. 

When clarity had returned, the shame that filled Bucky's chest was a physical ache, the bruises he'd left on Steve's neck a stark reminder of the monster he feared that still lived inside him.

Steve had been adamant Bucky's quarters would reside next to his up until then. 

The decision to allow Barnes his own space had been a mutual one. It was a necessity for the man's sanity, a chance to breathe without both the constant reminder of what he'd done and the feeling of Rogers breathing down his neck.

The Avengers had become somewhat of a family. Stark had been all but happy to allow Bucky a chance. It was Rogers that had pleaded for him, accepting him without second thought.

But acceptance was a gift Bucky felt unworthy of, each step to belonging shadowed by the fear of the return of the person he had once been.

As weeks turned to months, the nightmares, while never gone, had receded enough to allow moments of peace. 

He found that peace in the routine of training, the physical exertion soothing to the ache in his mind. 

Though, there was a melody that hummed in his veins, echoing from within him. It was a connection to a life he couldn't remember. A life that had been stolen from him. And at the heart of that melody was a sense of loss, a void where something - or someone - important should be.

There were pieces of his past still locked away, hidden behind the walls in his mind HYDRA had built.

Bucky's gaze drifted from the clock to the city lights below, showcased by the large open view of windows in his living room area. It was a tapestry of light that felt alien to him. He was about to turn away when a soft knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.

It was late, and the tower was usually silent at this hour, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city.

Bucky's place was dimly lit, shadows playing across the walls as the lights of New York flickered like distant stars.