Bucky Barnes X Reader One Shots

5. It Takes an Ocean

"And I can't fall asleep without a little help,
It takes a while to settle down,
My shivered bones,
Wait till the panic's out...
It takes an ocean not to break..."

-Birdy, Terrible Love

******

You'd gotten home late from work one night to find Bucky in the dark and curled up on your couch, watching Casablanca. He sleepily lifted his head as you came through the door, his eyelids drooping.

"What are you doing up?" You asked, crouching on the floor in front of him. You pushed a chunk of hair from his eyes and rested your hand on his.

"I don't trust myself to sleep without you," He yawned. "I'm afraid I'll do something."

"Oh, Bucky." You sighed,  studying him. His hair was unruly, like he'd tossed and turned for three days before giving up. His clothes were rumbled and he simply looked tired. The blanket around his shoulders was your baby blanket; your grandma had given it to you when you were born. You loved that thing, it was your favorite possession. Despite the situation, you smiled to yourself.

Reaching for the remote, you switched off the movie and TV, bathing the room in darkness. 

"Come on," You said, helping Bucky to his feet. "Let's get to bed."

The two of you slept soundly that night, wrapped in each other's arms.

******

Longing

Rusted

Furnace

Daybreak

Seventeen

Benign

Nine

Homecoming

One

Freight Car

Soldier?

******

The next night, however, was a different story. 

You had both gone to bed angry after fighting over the fact that he had to go on a mission on your anniversary. You didn't understand why the Avengers (AKA Nick Fury) couldn't postpone the mission for a day, and Bucky refused to see why you wouldn't just celebrate your anniversary another night ("Plenty of couples do it...I'm sure." "But it's not as special that way." "But why does it have to be so special?" "If you have to ask, you shouldn't ask." "What does that even mean?")

Neither of you would concede, and you'd reached an impasse. Exhausted from the day, you decided to go to bed and worry about the issue the next day, after a full night's sleep.

You tossed and turned the entire night, unable to relax. Something in the back of your mind was nagging ceaselessly at you, and no matter your efforts to quiet it, it continued. And around two in the morning, Bucky's faint mutterings began to keep you up. Sighing, you reached over to turn on the lamp, and you placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, softly saying his name.

A single phrase left his lips, leaving a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. 

"готовы соблюдать (ready to comply)."

His left hand wrapped around your wrist and twisted, pulling your hand from his skin and causing you to cry out in pain. He sat up and his eyes were on yours, but they were dead and empty. You swallowed, groaning as his hold on your wrist tightened. He twitched, and you flew across the room, slamming against the wall.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, trying to climb to your feet. Your back had hit a picture frame that hung on the wall, and you could feel the shards of glass burn in your skin as you moved. Your head ached, and the floor was spinning.

"Bucky," You said, standing. "Come back."

He charged, covering the span of the room in a matter of steps. His fist closed around your throat and he lifted you a good few inches off the ground. You clawed at his hand, breaking a few nails down to the quick on his vibranium arm. 

"Bucky!" You repeated. Your voice was hoarse. "Bucky, stop."

His hollow blue eyes bore into yours. He didn't know you. His grasp on your neck tightened. Your lungs burned and, in vain, you kicked out at him.

There was only one word that would bring him back. You closed your eyes and mustered all of your energy, breathing hard and pulling at his hand.

"Sputnik." You choked.

In an instant, his eyes cleared and he dropped you, stumbling back. You fell to your hands and knees, coughing violently. When you had composed yourself, your gaze found Bucky perched on the edge of your bed, his head in his hands.

You sat back against the wall, panting heavily.

"Bucky," You whispered.

He didn't reply, but stood and delicately scooped you into his arms. Bucky carried you to the bathroom, where he set you down on the closed toilet lid. You watched him as he went through the cupboards until he had amassed a collection of various-sized tweezers, cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, band-aids and bandages, and neosporin.

Silently, he set to work on your wounds, deftly sliding shards of glass from your limbs, and giving you a wash cloth to bite into. When he had finished, he wrapped up your injuries and sat on the rim of the bath tub. 

You studied him, unsure what to say. This had happened before, his nightmares and such, but his reaction to your waking him had never been like that.

"I'm sorry." He breathed. His voice shook.

"It wasn't you," You shook your head.

"I'm sorry," He repeated.

"It wasn't you."

You lapsed into silence and watched each other.

"I can't hurt you again," He said.

"Bucky - "

"I need to leave."

"Buck - " 

"I could kill you. I won't kill you."

"Shut up." You stood in front of him and lifted his face to yours. Tears stained his cheeks and you used your thumb to wipe away a few lingering strays. "It wasn't you. You won't kill me. As long as I say the word, you won't kill me. We can get through this, okay? I know we can." His eyes closed as you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I'm scared, (y/n)." He sighed and clenched his jaw.

"Shh," You whispered, running your hands through his hair. "I'm not. I believe in you, in us. I know we can work through this. We just might need a little help."

"From who? Who could possibly get this stuff outta my head?"

"We'll worry about that tomorrow. But for now, it's late, and we both need to sleep. C'mon."

You took him by the hand and led him back into the bedroom, where you both fell asleep instantly.