Crawl Home To Her

Crawl home to her

Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!reader

Summary - Bucky's nightmares never seem to stop, and he despises himself for dragging you down with him.

Word count - 1.7k

Warnings - Angst, descriptions of torture, descriptions of seizures, PTSD, mentions of blood, sad fluff at the end.

A/N - Reader does have powers in this fic which aren't really explained but hopefully they're easy to understand, I kind of imagine them to be similar to Wanda's in certain aspects. Also, apologies if my writing is kinda wordy in this, I kinda went off on one and couldn't stop. Enjoy :)

The title is based off a lyric from work song by hozier.

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It was like something carved from a horror movie.

The giant, hulking figure emerging from the chamber, the surrounding air clouded with vapor so cold it burned to the touch.

His face was concealed, a black mask and goggles hiding the human features beneath, with silver, reflective metal taking the place of his left arm, gleaming in the yellow overhead lights. He looked solely like something built for destruction.

The soldier was put in the chair before he could even comprehend that he was awake.

They had strapped his wrists to metal, encasing his head in a familiar contraption and his mouth was forced open by rough hands on his jaw, rubber shoved between his teeth.

He was vaguely aware of the routine. Everything was familiar in a way that made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end, but for all he knew, there was no reason to be scared, soldiers don't feel fear, and emotion only gets in the way of the mission.

He could barely taste the bitterness of the rubber before he heard the whir of a machine begin, and he was so mind-numbingly cold that he could almost barely feel the electricity suddenly tearing through his skull.

He didn't scream, he barely moved, and it would be easy to wonder if he could even feel it, or if pain was just another thing that Hydra took from him, just to strip him even further of his humanity, but he felt every second, his body just too in shock to react, convulsing in his restrains.

The agony seemed to last hours, pain so intense that he could barely breathe, but the machine eventually came to a slow halt, the rubber taken from his mouth, and the soldier heaved his first full breath in what felt like years, the cold air filling his lungs too fast and ripping back through his oesophagus in painful coughs.

Once the coughing had ended, he let his head fall back against the leather beneath him.

His veins were on fire, crawling in his skin as icy heat travelled up his forearm and carved its way through his neck, residing in his temples with a throbbing headache. His jaw ached, as did every single muscle in his body and when he rolled his eyes open, he found that the bright lights surrounding him kept him blind to the people standing in the room, crowding around the soldier writhing and twitching in the chair as if he was some kind of circus monkey to be watched for their amusement.

He managed to unclench his fists and release his jaw, feeling his body go lax for a few seconds before he felt a spike in his heart rate, his muscles tensing against his will as his eyes rolled back.

Then he was gone, unaware of the stares of the doctors writing on their notepads when he began seizing for the first time this session. None of them stepped forward, not a single medic attempted to check on the soldier, or wipe the blood that spilled from his lips when his teeth clamped down onto his tongue.

He was only given a few seconds of refuge after the seizure had ended, before he was torn away again, his body taken with another, and another, and another. It was endless.

His chest spasming with every gasping breath, every muscle in his body clenched painfully. He wasn't present enough to see a man in a white coat move closer to him, positioning the headpiece over his face again and this time not even bothering with the mouthguard before the electricity returned, and his brain caught fire again.

This time, he screamed until the sound died in his throat and his vocal cords refused to make any more noise. A vague image of a man with blonde hair, standing straight with a shield pulled to his chest, flashed behind his eyes, and a part of him felt relieved at the sight, as if the man in his memories could somehow save him from this living hell, but the thought disappeared before he could even acknowledge it, and this time, when the machine finally stopped, he passed out before he could feel the after affects, pulled under when his body and mind could no longer handle the agony, deciding to just completely shut down instead.

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You woke with a start, Bucky's harrowing scream beside you as you sat up so fast your head spun, and you stretched out an arm into the darkness, searching for the table lamp to your right and wasting no time in turning it on, bathing your bedroom in warm light.

Crawling onto your knees, tears were already forming wet tracks down your cheeks as your lover cried out in his sleep, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly behind his eyelids, hair stuck to his forehead, bare chest glistening with a sheen of sweat as he heaved for breath.

You reached for him and pressed your hand against his forehead, no hesitation as your eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, forcing Bucky awake with your ability.

There was no way you'd let him sleep through that one, no matter what his therapist demands.

Bucky's eyes tore open as he gasped for air, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Bucky?" You asked quietly, not wanting to risk startling him further as your hand hovered over his shaking form.

He looked at you, relief flashing in his eyes before he eyed the tears dripping down your chin and his mind clouded with guilt.

It was too often that you found yourself falling into Bucky's dreams. And no matter how many times you tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, he'd never believe you, he knew better, and he knew how your powers worked.

He pulled himself up, resting his back against the headboard and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment, listening to your racing heartbeat with the saddest look on his face. He then opened his eyes, a tear of his own falling down his cheek as he looked at you and parted his lips with a shaky breath, "I did it again, didn't I?"

His voice sounded broken, shot from all the screaming he had done before, it broke your heart and you leapt forward, wrapping your arms around him and letting him hold you tightly, clutching you to his frame as he cried, repeating over and over how sorry he was.

You stroked his hair affectionately as you both cried.

"It's okay Buck, it's not your fault."

He was so distraught by his nightmares, that he was reaching out for you in his sleep, pulling you from your own mind and trapping you into his, forcing you to witness the horrific things that Bucky endured, or the things that he did.

Each time it happened, he blamed himself, despising the fact that he was forcing you to live his trauma, but you would never stop reminding him that it was okay, you'd seen much worse, and he would always be worth it.

Sometimes a deep-rooted, selfish part of him would be glad for your abilities, he doesn't have to explain to you the horrors he had faced in his past, you'd seen them for yourself, lived his darkest moments through his own eyes, but then the guilt would creep in, washing away the thoughts every time he woke up trembling with fear, and you'd be there beside him, shaking just the same.

He apologised to you again as the tears came to a slow stop, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, shivering against you when your fingers dragged softly across his spine, soothing him just the way you always did.

You pulled back this time, hand reaching for his jaw when he refused to look at you, tilting his head for his eyes to meet yours, and your face was serious as you spoke.

"You have nothing to apologise for, James. I want to help. If I couldn't handle this, love, I wouldn't be here, but I love you, and I want to stay." You assured him, your gaze flicking between his eyes, urging him to believe you, to stop carrying this guilt he had no reason to carry.

"I just- You don't need to see any of that." He whispered back, eyes red and bloodshot, breath shaky.

You smiled softly at him, your right hand sliding to the back of his neck, as you pushed his head down to yours, resting your forehead against his, noses brushing together, a simple action so intense and intimate that Bucky gulped, his eyebrows tightly furrowed.

"I'm okay, Bucky, I promise you, I'm okay," Your warm breath fanned against his lips as you spoke, and his eyes fluttered shut, "I just want to take care of you."

A shaky breath fell from his lips, cursing the tears that threatened to return at such simple words, but fuck if they didn't hit him hard.

He couldn't remember a time when someone had wanted to take care of him, not since he was a young boy, before his father died, before he had to step up to take care of his mother and sisters, working illegal shifts at the local factory at the age of 15.

But you wanted to take care of him.

He leaned forward and locked his lips with yours, his hands reaching out to pull you closer and closer in hopes that you'd eventually sink into his chest, finally close enough that his constant need for your touch would be satiated.

He broke away to speak against your lips, so magnetised to your kiss that he couldn't possibly pull back far enough to breathe air that wasn't your own, "Thank you."