A Means To An End
Summary: After chasing a lead into a neaby building, Sam and Bucky get to see a more... vunrable side of the Baron.
This fic is inspired by @morganbritton132
They had been chasing a lead, one of the cars that supposedly belonged to the Flag Smashers had been spotted outside of a small theatre. They had speculated it was a supply stop, or maybe a place to lay low. Zemo had taken them, in a surprisingly non-attention-drawing car, to about a block away from the theatre, and they started to walk the rest of the way there.
“It is privately owned, from what I understand.” Zemo explained to them. “The owners, most likely powerful and influential individuals, are either unaware of what's going on, or are actively supporting the group.”
Sam nodded, “Makes sense to me. Do we have to worry about them being there?” Zemo shook his head.
“Most likely not. They would have no reason to be inside unless they are also super soldiers.” Sam hummed in agreement and turned to Bucky, who had been silent.
“Are you good, man?” He asked quietly as they grew closer to the theatre.
“This feels like a trap.” Bucky grumbled, glaring at the small, but lavish, building that they had stopped in front of. “They’ve been staying at the camps and keeping supplies there. This feels out of character.”
Sam frowned, “Well maybe they needed a place to lay low, they know we’ve been tracking the houses they’ve been staying at, so maybe this is how they're trying to throw us off?” Bucky nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
Zemo led them into the theatre, effortlessly navigating the building. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared. As they wound their way deeper and deeper into the building, Bucky seemed to grow more and more agitated, until he froze.
“Bucky?” Sam asked worriedly, looking at the range of emotions passing over his friend's face.
“Shh,” Bucky hissed quietly, tilting his head towards a wall. Sam barely had the time to open his mouth when an explosion rocked the building. He felt something hit his head, and passed out.
Sam blinked awake, groaning at the dryness of his mouth. It took a few moments for him to remember what happened, but he didn’t feel too bad, so he assumed everything was good. He wasn’t completely covered in the ruins of the theatre, which is good, and after relieving himself of the rest of it, everything seemed to be intact, aside from some bruising and some cuts.
He looked around and spotted Bucky, who seemed to be just waking up as well, and walked over to help him up. Not that he needed it.
After the two of them had (somewhat subty) looked over the other for any signs of damage, they set about scouring the building for anything of use. Bucky was walking with a limp, and Sam had a minor concussion, but they were both still breathing and alive. They stumbled through, leaning on the other or on the nearest (standing) wall whenever they needed it.
That was when Sam remembered Zemo, and Bucky heard a voice.
“Fuck.” They said in unison, looking at the other in surprise.
“Zemo,” Sam explained in a single word, watching as Bucky let out a tense sigh.
“I heard someone.” Bucky said back, looking in the direction he had heard a whimper. It was very faint, but still present. “We don’t know who was in here. Could be a civilian.” Sam nodded and Bucky led them in the direction he heard the cry. As Bucky and Sam grew closer, Bucky was able to discern the voice as a sort of pained mewling, someone on the edge of hysteria that threatened to consume them. Sam also grew more concerned as Bucky led them into a more unstable and ruined part of the theatre.
The pathetic cry’s grew louder as the drew near to the source, and the weakness and vulnerability in them was the reason neither Sam nor Bucky thought that it could possibly be the missing Baron until they laid eyes upon him.
Zemo, in short, looked like a mess. A cut on his hairline was pouring blood down his face as the man curled in on himself. His hands were bleeding, the skin on his fingers rubbed raw after being used to scratch as concrete and metal. His appearance and injuries weren't the worst part though, no the worst part was what he was saying.
“Heike, Carl, Papa.” Over and over, like a mantra. Even as he choked on dust he continued to repeat the phrase. His voice sounded wrecked, ripped to shreds by screams no one had heard. It was very clear that Zemo just wasn’t there. He was not present as he repeated those three words even as he gasped for air and his voice cracked and crumbled.
Sam reacted before Bucky, gently calling out to Zemo. Even as he raised his voice Zemo did not respond, not even a flinch at the volume. Bucky tried next. He gently prodded at the Baron’s hands, once again not even eliciting a flinch. Bucky tried again with more force, pressing both of Zemo’s hands tightly against his chest. It was a very tense few moments as the Baron because lucid once again.
The usual sharpness returned to his eyes, although the tears were still present. Zemo blinked at them, and for once the Baron looked ashamed of himself.
“Apologies, you should not have seen that.” The man quietly apologised, wincing at the way his voice cracked. Sam and Bucky both just shook their heads, helping Zemo up. They all stumbled out of the rubble together, and Zemo spared himself a glance at the two men helping him. Bucky had a sort of empathetic understanding in his eyes, eyes far too soft to be looking at a criminal such as himself. Sam gave him a look of understanding, although it felt more like pity than anything. Zemo knew both men had experience with PTSD, but he never wished for them to know he struggled with it as well.
They staggered through the streets, Zemo carefully keeping quiet about the sharp pain in his ankle every time he took a step. It would be better if they just left him alone for some time once they arrived back at his safe house, and they would not leave him alone if they knew the extent of his physical injuries, let alone his mental ones.
And so he kept quiet.
When they made it into the safehouse, Zemo let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. He let himself relax minutely now that they were in a safe location. It had been a taxing experience, and all he wished was for some space to once again grieve and mourn for his family. Unfortunately, it did not appear that Sam nor James would be giving him such a privilege, and so he continued to do his best to hold apart his now fragile mask.
“So.” Sam said once they had all settled on the couch in the main room of the house. It was a tense, but not unwelcome intrusion into their silence, nevertheless Zemo flinched at the sudden noise.
“So.” He repeated quietly, knowing that as long as he spoke in quiet, quick sentences they would not be able to tell his voice was still quiet ruined and cracking. Zemo resisted the urge to curl up, to bring his feet into his person and rest his chin on his knees. It would be a very childish position and not to mention, vulnerable. It was a very tense few moments before Zemo decided to speak again.
“Do I have your permission to sleep or-” his voice cracked again as he thought of sleep. No doubt it would be nightmare filled. “Or do I have to sit in this st-stifling silence longer?” He could feel himself flush at his simple inability to speak a proper sentence, but silently hoped it would convince Sam and his sympathetic and pity-filled body to let him go.
“Oh, uhh, sure man. Whatever you want.” That was all he needed. He walked as fast as he could, without making it obvious he was eager to leave, to the closest bedroom. He locked the door behind him, relishing in the comfort the simple click brought him. He toed off his shoes and shrugged off all of his clothes sans boxers, and collapsed onto the bed.
He started shaking with the effort that it was taking to hold everything, and so he let it out. Every single bit of pain and grief and anguish that he felt as he was relieving the memory. He could taste the dust in the air, remember the pain in his hands that he ignored as he dug his family from underneath the rubble.
It all felt so real, like it was happening again. Like he was truly relieving the worst moments of his entire life again. Like he was- he was experiencing the destruction of his whole world again, he could physically feel the pain in his heart as he recalled the memory.
He sobbed and screamed into the pillows on the bed, shaking like a leaf in a storm all the while. It didn’t take long for the pain to turn into exhaustion and numbness. For the grief to turn into mourning. He let out a shaky breath as his tears started to slow and his shakes turned less violent.
He felt nauseous but all too tired to even think about expelling energy to have something to drink, so instead he focussed on just passing the fuck out.
And hey! It worked.
Or at least he thought it did. He was pretty certain it did. Especially when he opened his eyes to see his papa’s ruined mansion in front of him. He inhaled the scent of dust and smoke, eyes already watering as he stared at the remains of his once luxurious childhood home. He stumbled down to the basement where he knew his bodies would be, solidifying the fact that this was a dream. In reality, it had taken him much longer to search the basement, holding out hope that the caved ceiling wouldn’t be covering their bodies.
He stumbled down until he was directly in front of the spot he knew their bodies were buried, and started to dig. He dug and dug even as his hands screamed at him (or was it him screaming?) and the pain became near unbearable, until he was able to make out a small, pale wrist underneath all the rubble.
He clutched it like a lifeline, checking for a pulse for a very long moment. He already knew there wouldn’t be one, but every time he had this dream he still held out hope. He continued to claw at the remains, more careful now, until his entire family was uncovered. And just like every other time he had this nightmare, he carefully checked for pulses, breathing, anything, and just like every other time, there was nothing.
He allowed his tears to fall in the privacy of his family’s ruined home, and hoped to wake soon. If the dream continued on like this, he would be testing the theory of whether or not dying in your dreams can make you die in real life.
Thankfully, he woke up soon after. Although the way in which he woke up was not the most pleasant. He awoke to a loud thudding on his door and someone shouting his name. He felt somewhat delirious and wondered if he had picked up an infection. He grabbed a neatly folded bathrobe off of a chair and pulled it on, tying it loosely as he unlocked and opened the door.
Sam Wilson stood before him, looking uncharastically concerned. Well the man regularly looked concerned, it was just that he was concerned with Zemo that was abnormal.
“What?” Zemo asked tonelessly. He was too emotionally exhausted to use any snark or sarcasm.
“You were screaming,” Sam replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Zemo suddenly felt awkward as well.
“Oh.” He was usually silent during his nightmare, but the day's events appeared to have affected his subconscious more than he had thought. “Apologies.”
“No it's fine, I just… you got me and Buck real concerned earlier, and I thought maybe…” Maybe he had gone into another flashback.
Zemo shook his head, “Just nightmares. I should recover just fine in a few days.” Sam looked nervous, but didn’t push it. He left soon after. As soon as he was out of sight Zemo let out a quiet brief, sagging against his door frame.
He knew that the right thing to do would be to talk, to open up and spill out all his vulnerability so that they could pick through it like vultures and decide whether or not he was worth helping. He did not believe he was worth helping, and so he would not do the so called right thing.
He would not bear his soul only to have it crushed.
He would not let himself believe that maybe people did care after all.
Because he was only a means to a necessary end. And there was no need to complicate things further by adding his own emotions into the mix.
No. He would stay strong. This wouldn’t affect his performance on the field, and he would not let it affect his newly acquired acquaintanceship with the two men who assisted him in his escape from prison.
A means to an end. That was it.
4 notes · View notes
Hey, if you still take requests, can you write No5 with Bucky pretty plz?❤️
I hope you mean no.5 from the prompts darling.Cause I really am always waiting for someone to request smthn from the promps list and I love you for this. So lets goo!
Prompt 5. “Look at me. I love you.”
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Sad Bucky , Panic Attacks and Nightmares , Lots and lots of reverse comfort ( if ya’ll not really into that ); FATWS spoilers
Summary: After 7 years Bucky finds himself at your doorstep. (Heavily inspired from the song Sweet Night by V/ Kim Taehyung)
A year after endgame everything seemingly was going back to normal for most of the Earth. The Avengers at least those of them still left were busy with their duties as heroes. Sam took over the title of Captain America. And Steve’s diary lay on the desk of Bucky’s therapist open on his list of amendments. Every single name crossed out.
And a missing page.
Every night his head tossed around on that darned pillow on the floor images of that one door open flashing vividly in his dreams.
“You really gotta get help for that man”, Sam had warned for what seemed like the millionth time as he held a beer to his partner’s cheek. Bucky idly dismissed him as he took a sip of his drink. “I’m serious Buck, having a panic attack every time you even think about going anywhere near her neighbourhood is really not great for you. That also goes for your nightmares.”
Another sigh and he replies “It’s not that easy Sam.....What would you do?”. “Wrong person to ask Bucky”, Sarah chuckles as she passes by them getting a reply in the form of a scoff from her brother. “I would go confront her and do anything I can to get her back.”
That night wasn’t any different for Bucky as he woke up sweating and panting. His palm flat on the cold hard floor as he supported himself. “I really need a couch”, he grumbled before proceeding to look at the starless bitter sky through the window.
“Remember when I caught you breaking in through my kitchen window with a shivering little kitten in your hand because the door was locked, you were on the run AND you did not want the poor cat to suffer in the rain...?”
He smiled as he remebered your question that he had never answered back. ”How could I forget? You pepper sprayed me in the face right after I got in....”
“Woah you look like someone touched your hair products” “Leave me alone Sam......” “You know you will never know untill you try....” “I know....”
“What did you dream of ?” “You and I on a ship floating in the sky as we looked at the stars in Wakanda.....” “You make me want to come along with you”
“I wish I had let you....” he said as he wiped his eyes full of tears .That was the first time he had a dream and not a nightmare. The only night he had stayed with her.
“Do you think.....” “Think what ?” “That she would have the door open for me this time ?” Sam looked. at his friend for a second before looking back at the sea. “ I do...”
“Bucky. Look at me. I love you. I always have and I always will”
He woke up in a cold sweat as his eyes fell on the picture hung on the wall. “That was the last thing you said to me....”
Running in the middle of the night during winter was probably not the best idea for anyone but for Bucky it was everything in this moment. Especially as he didn’t ever falter before frantically ringing the doorbell of a house all to familiar.
“I knew it was worth it you know.....waiting for you even when you told me not to...”, she had spoken as she lay with her back on Bucky’s, his tears wetting the crook of her neck.
No further words were exchanged as he held her tighter her hand petting his hair as the both gazed into the Sweet Night and the end of the soldier’s nightmares.
Done ! I am so sorry for the huge delay ! I really hope you like this! I have no idea if this has turned out well so please do tell me🥰! I really wish more people would ask from the prompt list. It is really amazing for me to write and think about ! Do not hesitate to send me fic requests and please like, comment and reblog my work if you like it to support me! Please do not plagarise my hardwork! I hope to hear from you more!
33 notes · View notes
Title: Hold Me
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 841
Warnings: anxiety, hurt/comfort, anxiety attacks, angst
Author’s Note: I know it's really late to be posting a fic but I've had anxiety all day and I sat down and just started writing and this fic took form. I wasn't going to post it at first but then I thought about everyone else who suffers from anxiety and how this fic might help them to find some peace tonight. I hope this brings you some comfort it you read it. Reader is written in a way it could be any gender or any race.
Nobody has permission to repost, translate, or copy my works anywhere. I only post on AO3 and tumblr. If you see my work anywhere but on these two sites please let me know.
You wake up and you feel it. Anxiety. A weight on your chest. It makes breathing hard. Tears are already in your eyes and you haven't even been awake a minute. Breaths coming in short gasps. You sit up, clutching your blanket to your chest and you wonder when it'll be over.
Thoughts about if you're good enough cloud your mind. The what ifs questions you hide from. What if I'm not a good friend? What if I'm not as nice as I think I am. Over and over again these thoughts slide through your mind while the tears slip down your cheeks.
The anxiety never goes away, not even when the tears stop and you catch your breath. All day you feel it. Bringing up your messages. Typing out thoughts. Questions. Needs for reassurance. But you delete them. Because you don't feel like you deserve them.
Your mind is twisted. Self doubt. Restless thoughts. More messages typed out. Using your notes app on your phone to type out messages that you’ll never send. A smile plastered on your face. You’re okay, you say. Coffee made. Anxiety increases. Spending all day curled up in bed wondering why you were this way.
You desperately want the anxiety to go away but try as you might it stays all day. In every thought. In every look. In every part of your day. It’s there. Taunting you. Telling you you’ll never be good enough and all of the relationships you’ll ever have will fade away. You don’t deserve friends. You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve anything.
So all day you lay in your bed, phone cradled close as if it can give you the answers, the comfort that you need.
That’s how Bucky finds you. Hidden under the covers, half drunk water bottles scattering your night stand, face tear stained, still trying to fight out of the hole that your mind has dug for you to lay in. He knows just from looking at your form hidden under covers how your day was and he hates that for you. He knows how you feel, he’s been there many times himself, so without a word he toes off his shoes and climbs into the bed with you.
He slips under the covers and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and holding you tightly. Your back is to his chest, every inch of him touching you and holding your body against him. A soft kiss to the back of your head, but not a word is said.
You feel yourself start to relax, his touch always brings you a peace that you can’t ever find the words to describe. He rubs your side, pressing his lips to your ear to whisper that you’re okay.
“It doesn’t matter what caused it, I don’t need the details. We can lay here all night sweetheart.” His words are soft, wrapping you in a blanket of love and care. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier but I’m here now.”
“You’re okay sweetheart. Let it out. It’s okay to cry.” He says when you start to cry again, but this time the crying is different. It’s relief that pushes tears from your eyes. It’s knowing that you can fall apart and you’re not going to be alone.
Your body sags against his, the tension slowly melting from your bones as you relax slowly. He helps you turn in his arms so you can bury your face in his chest and you can wrap yourself around him. He doesn’t stop holding you tightly. He keeps his arms around you, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles.
It’s what you need in this moment and it reminds you once more how grateful you are to have someone like Bucky in your life. He understands you in ways that nobody else has ever understood you.
He holds you as you cry, making sure to tell you over and over again that he loves you. Even when the tears dry up and you lay there exhausted by your mind in his arms, he keeps telling you that he loves you and keeps holding you close.
“There’s my pretty sweetheart.” Bucky says softly, his thumb brushing away some stray tears. “Tomorrow we’ll give your therapist a call but tonight we’ve got each other, okay?”
You nod, no arguments about calling your therapist because you know you need the talk.
“Have you eaten today?”
You shake your head. You had barely moved from your bed.
“I’m going to order us food.” Bucky says as he pulls his phone out. He knows in times like these what you need and what foods bring you comfort.
When the food comes he turns on a movie that you like and you lay there, eating and watching it in the comfort of his arms. The anxiety you felt isn’t gone, but it’s a little easier to handle now. Sometimes you just needed a shoulder to lean on.
Sometimes you just needed Bucky to hold you.
friend tag: @eurynome827 @steveng-rogers @nix-akimbo @uncafeavecbarnes @daddyandybarber
71 notes · View notes