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rookthorne · 2 years

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Amandla | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ

Pairing; Stucky (IW) Word Count; 3.1k Warnings; angst (it's whumptober - buckle up), hurt/comfort, amnesia, restraints, nightmare/insomnia, fluff, pet names A/N; FIRST WHUMPTOBER ENTRY! this marks the beginning of some of the darkest stuff I have ever written. translations will be at the very end - I am aiming for you, as the reader, to be just as confused as Steve is. SORRY IN ADVANCE! 😘

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

Bucky wasn’t acting himself, but Steve had the determination and strength to bring him back where he belonged - home.

The crisp night air of Wakanda was a relief to Steve’s lungs as he looked to the shrubby horizons where clusters of Marula trees stood proud, indifferent to the way Steve marvelled at their beauty and captured it with the scratch of lead on paper.

Since the serum, Steve had found that one upside that Dr. Erskine may have never anticipated nor accounted for; the speed of which he could draw. The artistic streak that both his Ma and Bucky had been in awe of had bloomed with such intensity it had consumed him.

If he sifted through the countless memories he still possessed of his time during the USO tours, he could still hear Colonel Phillips berating him for sitting on the stairs of the stage exit with a pencil in hand. There were days he could not tell the difference between the monkey on a unicycle, parading around in his suit for all to see, compared to himself.

After losing Bucky all those decades ago, Steve had never picked up a pencil, let alone entertained the thought of putting one to paper. The memories of seeing Bucky lounge in their apartment and smoking a cigarette with the breeze blowing through an open window with the scratching sound of his charcoal and parchment in the background were always hard to stomach. Painful as it was, he stopped drawing for good.

But here he was all these years later, dressed in Bucky’s favourite button up and sweatpants while listening to the soothing scratch of lead over paper as he observed and drew Bucky’s goats under the light of the moon.

They slept peacefully, unperturbed by the struggle that Bucky faced day in and day out. Steve knew all along, no matter how much Bucky tried to deny it, that Bucky cared for them so deeply because it was one of the first opportunities presented to him - a choice - to care for something; a chance to prove that he was, in fact, capable of doing good.

It had taken weeks for T’Challa to finally convince Bucky that it was safe to be here, in his own small hut amongst the villagers and their children. Hell, as soon as T’Challa had waved them over to meet a few of the villagers, Steve had known that it would be a perfect fit. A safe place for Bucky to recover and learn how to be a man once again, not a weapon.

When a crowd of excited children had rushed towards Bucky’s approaching figure he had turned still as stone, rigid and unmoving under the panic of possibly hurting them. It broke Steve’s heart seeing the absolute fear in Bucky’s eyes as he looked over his shoulder at him for guidance, and since Steve had never led him astray, Bucky listened when Steve spoke. “They’re only kids, Buck. They won’t hurt you, even when they want to bowl you over.”

The relief that had flooded Steve when Bucky looked back down into the children’s faces, wide eyes and bigger smiles as they stared up at the White Wolf who crouched down so they could play with his loose hair was immeasurable. Bucky later admitted to Steve that it was one of the first times that he had felt safe. “Children are harmless. It was only a braid.”

Of all things considered, Bucky’s recovery had been on a steady incline, getting better day by day - sure, there were times when he took a step forward only to be pushed back another three, but he had never given up. It was with a swell of pride that Steve told him he was starting to come back to himself, back to being Bucky Barnes.

However, something had been off all day and it was making Steve feel on edge, poised like a coil ready to spring at a seconds notice. There wasn’t a way to pinpoint exactly what it was because there was too much to go off of; too many variables or scenarios.

Bucky had been withdrawn all day and had barely touched his food. He had tended to his goats with a very noticeable lack of his normal enthusiasm. Sam, the goat who had a habit of climbing to the highest bales or boulders and jumping off had pulled off a particularly impressive leap from the top of the hut - Steve had no idea just how the little creature had managed to get up there - and Bucky didn’t even crack a smile.

Steve’s protective instinct screamed at him to bundle Bucky up and get him away from whatever it was, no matter the cost, but Bucky had shrugged away or, honest to god, snarled at him a ‘no’ or ‘get away’ whenever Steve had tried to offer a comforting touch - it was as though the Winter Soldier had his way out of the depths of Bucky’s mind and taken control.

Which led to now.

The breeze that rustled leaves in the trees and the fabric of the door leading to the inside of Bucky’s hut brought with it a smell he could only describe as home; its earthy tones and slight spice from the slow cooking pots over blazing campfires, and the sound of the few awake villagers bustling about their business.

A slight shuffling sounded from behind him and Steve froze.

The rustle of leaves and the crackling of fire became mute as he honed in on the sound, desperate to discern the source. Was it Bucky? Had Sam somehow escaped the goat pen again?

Another sound - a sharp intake of breath, came from beyond the rippling fabric of their door. “Buck?” Steve whispered, barely audible over the wind but if Bucky was awake, he would have heard. There was no response and Steve started to move quickly but silently to place his book on the stump beside his seat. A low whine came from inside the hut and Steve felt his stomach sink.

It was a nightmare. It had been days since his last one and if Steve hadn’t had the serum, he could have sworn those bruises would have been around for weeks.

“Bucky?” Steve said a little louder, peering into the hut and looking around until he found the source. Bucky was laying on his side facing the wall, the sheet covering his lower half and leaving his muscled back on full display. He wasn’t shaking, or tossing and turning as he usually did - that alone set off alarm bells in Steve’s mind.

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve whispered as he ducked through the doorway, his feet silent on the thatched floor as he padded over to the bed to sit down gently. “Come back to me, you’re safe.”

He didn’t dare run his hand down Bucky’s arm or side like he did last time while half asleep - Bucky had almost broken his nose with how hard he had swung out against his imagined captor. Instead, he opted to keep talking, praying that somehow Bucky would hear his voice and be lulled back into sleep. “I’m here, Buck, I need you to relax for me.”

Suddenly, Bucky became deathly still, his shoulders no longer rising with breath. A second later he began to shake.

“I don’t-'' Bucky wheezed and Steve almost felt relieved, he was talking, but it was short lived when he began to move his only arm as though to yank away from something. “No, I don’t want it! Stop!” Bucky shouted and Steve felt his gut turn with the vivid image that demand painted of his dream.

“Buck, come back to me, you’re safe,” Steve tried a little louder, almost letting the desperate need to hold him close win out, but he stayed his hand. “I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart, c’mon.”

Bucky turned further into the mattress and whimpered, his white knuckle grip on the sheet not lessening even when he started to breathe raggedly. “That’s it, Buck, that’s it,” Steve soothed. He knew that Bucky was nowhere near being awake enough to acknowledge his attempts at calming him down, but his mind seemed to register Steve’s voice as something soothing. Steve wasn’t the enemy.

“GET AWAY!” Bucky suddenly screamed and Steve jumped back, watching helplessly while Bucky thrashed around in their bed. “No, no! NO!”

A violent jerk landed Bucky on his back and his arm and legs became twisted in the sheet, making his flailing all the worse. There was a sheen of sweat over his chest and tears were streaming down his face from behind his closed eyes.

“Oh, no, god no,” Steve gasped in horror. The knife that Bucky normally kept under his pillow had moved with all of the thrashing and the blade glinted in the moonlight. If Bucky kept this up, he was going to get hurt.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled over Bucky’s sobs, and he stood just shy of the edge of the bed. “I need you to wake up!” To Steve’s anguish, Bucky didn’t wake up, he only continued to flail and become more tangled in the sheet.

To hell with the bruises, Steve thought, and he leapt into action.

“I am not cleaning up after the damn goats if you hit me,” Steve mumbled with a huff of laughter and he climbed onto his side of the bed. Bucky continued to cry out in pain or fear, Steve couldn’t tell, while he shook and strained against the restraint of the sheets.

The sudden dip of the mattress made Bucky still momentarily, gasping for breath.

It was now, or never.

Quickly, Steve threw a leg over Bucky’s hip to straddle him and grabbed ahold of his fist, pinning it against the soft pillow to prevent any surprise blow.

“Отстань от меня!” Bucky yelled while he tried to twist away and out of Steve’s grip, but he held fast, suppressing the shock of hearing Bucky speak Russian. God, I hope he didn’t hear those damn words, Steve cursed to himself. “Да отвали ты от меня!”

“Bucky,” Steve said a little louder, drowning out the sound of Bucky’s legs twisting against the bed and the rustle of the sheet. “You’re safe, you’re with me, it’s me, Buck,” Steve paused when Bucky stilled as his brows furrowed, his eyes still closed against the flow of tears. “It’s Stevie, come back to me.”

While not thrashing against the weight of Steve on his hips or the restraint of the sheet tangled around his arm and legs, Bucky still laid tense beneath Steve. His brows were pinched and his face was pulled into a grimace, the slight twitch of his left eyelid and side of his mouth was the only warning Steve had before it actually happened.

Bucky’s eyes opened quickly, but he remained frozen. They were glassed over and his stare was empty as he looked up at Steve from the pillow, then to his wrist still in Steve’s grip and then back up to Steve again. It was like watching a child trying to figure out just how they made it to bed the night before, only much scarier.

“Я готов отвечить.” Bucky’s tone was flat, almost gravelly after all the shouting, and all Steve could do was stare in shock - he had hoped to never hear those words again. Impatiently, Bucky - no, the Winter Soldier - tried again. “Готов подчиняться, Пирс.”

Oh, hell.

“No, Buck,” Steve started, shoving down the urge to scream from the anger that boiled in his blood. He had to focus if he was going to bring him back and he hated the fact that the only way to get through to Bucky while he was like this, was to give orders. “I’m going to get you out of this sheet, I need you to stay still. Can you stay still for me?”

The only way Steve could deal with this is to pose it as a question, rather than an order, but Bucky took it all the same.

Quickly, before Bucky grew restless, Steve released his wrist and sat up slowly. “I’ll start here,” Steve pointed to Bucky’s arm while Bucky stared into his face. It was unnerving to be watched with such an intense scrutiny, especially from Bucky, but Steve powered on. “I dunno how in the hell you got it so tight, Buck,” Steve mumbled, not particularly talking to Bucky but he responded as though he had.

“Это приемлемо.”

Steve eyed him cautiously but continued, finally lifting himself up and off Bucky’s hips to stand at the end of the bed to loosen the tangled sheet wrapped like a vine around Bucky’s legs.

Once free from the tight grip of cotton, Bucky’s mind seemed to switch from being the Winter Soldier to a Sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment of the US Army - exactly how Steve remembered him best in his pressed uniform and tilted hat.

“Please, please don’t,” Bucky gasped and Steve watched with dawning realisation that this Bucky was hurting - it wasn’t the toughened soldier that left Brooklyn. “I don’t want it anymore, please,” the scrabble for purchase against the now damp mattress made Bucky whimper pitifully, desperately trying to put distance between the two of them. “It hurts, I don’t want it, please don’t make me,” Bucky whispered pleadingly, curling in on himself and avoiding Steve’s gaze.

And just like that, Steve’s heart shattered. “Oh, Buck,” he soothed, fighting the urge to rush to Bucky and hold him. “You’re safe, can you tell me where you are?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to become disorientated after such a horrific nightmare, but Steve could never steel himself enough to hear the answer.

“A-Azzano, there were men disappearing er’ywhere, a h-huge tank came, I-I didn-” a wet hiccup interrupted his slurred ramble and Bucky groaned, clawing at his shoulder as he looked around the hut with wide, fearful eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve questioned lightly as he sat down slowly on the edge of the bed furthest from Bucky.

Bucky only grimaced and swallowed thickly, looking anywhere but at Steve. He was casing the inside of the hut for escape routes, Steve suddenly realised. “You are safe here, Buck. You’re in Wakanda, with me, with your goats.” There were no sparks of recognition and Steve sighed quietly.

There was one way to help him remember, but whether he’d react violently, that was another story. But if Sarah Rogers didn’t raise a stubborn man, Bucky sure as hell cemented it.

Steve pointed to the lamp beside the bed. Light was always a way to ground him, Bucky didn’t like the dark. “I’m going to light this, and then I’ll stay up while you try to sleep again, Buck.”

The sudden flicker of yellow and orange lit up Bucky’s face and Steve inhaled sharply - he looked sunken, so pale and afraid.

“Do you want some water?” Bucky looked at him sharply. It was like he had forgotten Steve was standing right there. “Buck?” Steve urged and Bucky nodded hesitantly, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

Steve smiled softly and retrieved the canteen. “I need you to go slow, okay?” Bucky nodded at his request and reached for the canteen with trembling hands, and promptly dropped it with a cry of shock.

“‘M sorry, I won’t do it ag-” Bucky started but Steve shushed him gently.

“I’ll help you, here,” Steve slowly reached a hand out and held the back of Bucky’s head to tilt it back slightly. The canteen rested against Bucky’s lips as he drank greedily, parched from the shouting he had done earlier. “That’s it.”

Bucky backed away to the far side of the bed and cradled his knees to his chest, watching Steve with apprehension as he placed the canteen on the bedside table and moved to sit against the headboard.

It was going to be a long night.

Finally comfortable with a pillow behind his back, Steve grabbed his book from the bedside table and flicked it open to a random page, silently hoping that Bucky would come closer once he saw the title on the bound cover.

A few moments later, Bucky piped up from his perch on the corner of the bed. “What’re you readin’?” Talk of the devil.

Steve looked up to see Bucky cautiously meeting his eye and pointing to the book in his hand. The sight of Bucky taking interest so soon made Steve grin, while Bucky hesitantly smiled back.

“The Hobbit.” Bucky’s eyes brightened suddenly with recognition and Steve couldn’t help the sudden rush of relief he felt - he was getting somewhere.

“Want me to read it aloud?” Steve had to hold in a gasp when Bucky nodded slowly. “Come sit next to me,” Steve gestured to the spot next to him and watched as Bucky scooted closer, peering curiously at the book while he did so. He settled against the head of the bed and waited patiently. Steve smiled. “Alright then.”

“There were many paths that led up into those mountains,” Steve started, still smiling. “And many passes over them.” Bucky made a small noise of discomfort and shifted and Steve waited patiently for him to settle again, ignoring the fact that while shuffling, Bucky had moved closer. “But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers.”

Steve continued to read, still feigning ignorance to how close Bucky was shifting to his side until they were almost touching. Suddenly, Steve felt Bucky staring at him and he looked up from the book expectantly. “Are you alright?”

“Can I,” Bucky hesitated, a slight hum leaving his lips before he continued. “Can I lay there?” He was pointing at Steve’s lap. All the while Steve could feel the burn of tears building as he looked into Bucky’s face; so hesitant and unsure, scared even, to be comforted.

“Of course you can, Buck, here,” Steve adjusted and uncrossed his ankles. Bucky slowly rested his head into Steve’s lap and Steve had to fight the urge to sob with relief. “There ya go.”

Finally comfortable, Steve continued to read until the end of the chapter while running a hand through Bucky’s hair, absolutely content to finish an eventful night in such peace.

The tranquillity was broken when Bucky spoke up quietly, his voice breaking only slightly at the end. “Stevie?”

Steve’s grip in Bucky’s hair tightened slightly and he sighed, finally letting the relief flood his body. Bucky looked up at his sniffle but Steve was only smiling.

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart. It’s me.”

отстань от меня! = leave me alone! Да отвали ты от меня! = get away from me! Я готов отвечить. = ready to comply. Готов подчиняться, Пирс. = ready to comply, Pierce. Это приемлемо. = It is acceptable. Amandla = Strength (Xhosa) (thank you, google translate.)

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

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