Title: Close Your Eyes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2800
Characters: Bucky/Wanda
Prompt: "Bucky wakes up from a nightmare and Wanda finds him because she could feel his mind going crazy so she uses her powers to ease his mind a bit and Steve and/or Natasha and/or Pietro find them the next morning all tangled up together? :D Bonus if Wanda throws in a line about controlling your own fears."
Summary: She's felt fear before. She's felt terror. But she's never felt anything quite like that before. She knows exactly who it's coming from, too.
For: bloodredmoon87
Close Your Eyes
It's not unusual for her to wake up in the middle of the night. It's been happening since she was little, since before the missiles and the destruction and the experiments, though all of that trauma probably didn't help anything. There were a few good months right after volunteering with Hydra where she almost hated the thought of going to sleep, because her power was too strong and too unpredictable for her to control even while awake. Things are better now, obviously, but there are still going to be side effects of all the horrors that she's seen and the mistakes she's made. People fear her and for good reason. She knows she can be dangerous, but fearing herself will only ever make things worse, so she tries not to anymore.
It's worked for the most part. Being around The Avengers makes a difference, too. She can't remember the last time she's been in an environment that felt so… comfortable.
Tonight is the first night in months where she hasn't been able to sleep all the way through, which is a little odd, but she doesn't feel particularly alarmed by it. She probably just needs something warm to drink and she'll be fine, so she slips into the kitchen and heats herself a mug of water, drops a slice of lemon in it and lets it soak as she sits at the breakfast bar.
She's scrolling through a news article on her tablet when she feels the first tug, but it's so soft and so brief that she thinks she's just imagining it.
But, not a minute later, the tug is sharper and harsher, wrapping around her chest and squeezing tightly. She drops her tablet in surprise, presses a hand over her heart as she feels the fear hit her, strong and startling and almost suffocating.
She recognizes the sensation of someone else's emotions pulling at her, drawing her in, and it's something that happens a little more often now that she and Pietro are around The Avengers all the time. Usually she can tune things out in a crowd, and having been around Pietro her whole life, she's attuned to his thoughts but not necessarily affected by them anymore. She can separate herself from his emotions when they flare up. It's something she's still getting used to with the others, especially since their emotions are all so strong.
She knows that what she's feeling right now isn't her own fear, but it's vivid, and it takes a moment before she remembers to rip herself from its grasp.
Her skin tingles as she snaps back into her own head, a chill sliding down her spine, and it isn't until she brings a hand up to brush her hair from her face that she realizes she'd been crying. She's felt fear before. She's felt terror. But she's never felt anything quite like that before.
She knows exactly who it's coming from, too.
She's never been in his head before, but she's been around Bucky long enough now to be attuned to his aura, and there's something terribly haunted about him. She can't say she expected any differently after what she read in his files, but she's never felt fear as strongly from another person as she had from him. Whether that's because his was just so much stronger or because she was somehow more sensitive to him than she'd ever been to anyone else, she's not sure. She's been curious to find out but she hasn't tried to push it. He definitely wouldn't appreciate someone else poking around in his head, and just because she knows that she can trust him to cover her in the field doesn't mean that he trusts her.
She doesn't know if he could ever learn to trust her, either. Not completely, anyway. Not when she can easily do to him what Hydra has done for years and years.
Still, even after she's ripped herself from the grasp of his emotions, she can't quite shake his touch from her mind. Because there hadn't just been fear, or rage. There'd been an incredible amount of loneliness, too.
She can't – she can't just leave him to suffer through that. She can't just leave him alone.
She slides off of the barstool and onto her feet, her tablet and her lemon water forgotten as she walks into the hallway, dimly lit by the kitchen light she left on behind her. She knows that his room is all the way at the end, but even if she didn't, she can feel his fear tugging her forward, growing stronger and wilder as she pads down the hallway. Until she's standing right in front of his door and his emotion is almost palpable. She swallows lightly and gently turns the knob, pushing it softly open. Her heart squeezes when she hears his whimpers.
The moonlight filtering in from the windows dimly outlines his face to her, but it's not hard to tell how distraught he is. She only meant to take a few steps closer, but her feet carry her to his bedside before she can quite help it, distracted by the way the moonlight reflects off of his metal arm, his fingers threatening to rip the duvet with the strength of his grip.
"No," he breathes, voice soft, barely above a whisper. Terror tugs at his expression as he shakes his head. "S-Stop—please."
One little touch won't hurt, she tells herself, bracing one hand against his headboard so she can lean over his body. She spreads her fingers out, pressing her palm down until it hovers just an inch above his hammering heart, letting her eyes flutter closed. She doesn't want to invade his mind while he's asleep, but… Just this once, so he can fall asleep.
She lets out a breath and eases herself into his thoughts, letting him tug her back in.
This time, she's prepared for his fear. She sees flashes of his memories – swirling white snow, cold metal bars, a red book with dusty pages – and pushes right through them, shoves them away so that she can delve a little deeper. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't take long for her to get what she's looking for: Steve, his face skinnier and his body even more so, but his eyes just as bright. Pretty young girls with curls in their hair and printed floral dresses. Soldiers huddled around a table, drinking and laughing. A sunny day at the ballpark. It takes more effort to bring these memories into focus, and she's not entirely sure how clear the images are after being muddled down for so many years, but she can still feel it working. His whimpers taper off, his breathing slowing back to normal as his body stills under her palm. His mind feels calmer now, so it won't take much more for the fear to dissolve completely.
And she's about to press on when she feels something cold wrap gently around her wrist, and her eyes snap open as she sucks in a breath.
He's staring up at her, eyebrows furrowed a little, but he doesn't look mad. He doesn't even look upset. He looks – confused.
(She shouldn't find it so endearing, but it kind of is.)
"Was that you?" he asks, voice soft. It sounds like he already knows his answer, but he keeps staring up at her, waiting for a response.
"Yes," she admits, feeling her cheeks warm slightly as she moves to draw her hand away, but he tightens his grip a little. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep her hand right above his chest. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, knowing how incredibly inappropriate it is that she invited herself into his room, into his thoughts. "I didn't mean to intrude—"
"No, no," he says just as quickly, bracing his free hand against the mattress to sit himself up, bringing their faces no more than a foot apart. "It – it felt nice."
"Did it?" He nods, absently brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She doesn't know why he's still holding onto her hand, but she doesn't mind it. "I've never done that before."
He gives her a look. "Been in someone's head?"
"Made someone feel calm," she corrects, her cheeks growing even warmer as the realization of her words settles in his eyes. Of course she's been in people's heads before, but it had always been to cause them distress. It was never the opposite. She knew that similar principles applied, but still. She hadn't had much opportunity to try. "So, it worked out alright?"
"Yeah," he answers, lips tugging ever so slightly at the corners. "It felt good." And then, softer: "I didn't think anything could ever feel that good again."
Her heart flutters at this. Then he gives her a soft, small smile that touches his eyes and her breath almost catches in her throat.
She should – probably get back to her room, or at least to her tea, because she's not quite sure she can fall asleep now with her blood thrumming the way it is. But she doesn't know how to draw her hand from his grasp, nor is she sure that she wants to. Even though the metal had felt cold at first, his touch is warmer now, gentle yet firm as he keeps his hold on her wrist, thumb pressing just above her pulse. It's strangely comforting. Tentatively, she presses her hand down, his fingers loosening ever so slightly but not let go entirely as she presses her palm flat against his chest, and this time her breath really does catch in her throat when she feels how fast his heart is beating. But she can tell it isn't because of his fear.
His eyes flutter closed as he leans his head back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. His body has relaxed entirely under her touch, and she feels a little exhilarated at this. At the fact that she is the reason that he seems so peaceful right now.
She feels powerful.
He seems content with her staying, at least for the moment, so she takes this as an invitation to ease herself onto the mattress beside him, keeping her hand flat against his heart as she leans on the headboard and shifts to get more comfortable. She's about to tell him to lay down so that she can finally help him get some sleep, but he starts talking again.
"How do you do it?" he asks, opening his eyes to meet hers. She tilts her head a little. "How do you keep them out of your head?"
The question surprises her for a moment, but only briefly. She figures it's fair enough that he knows about the experiments done to her considering he has just as much access to her files as she did to his.
"It isn't really about keeping them out, because Hydra isn't what's in my head. It's the fear." She slides her hand up his chest and presses it against his cheek, brushing her thumb gently over his temple. His eyelashes flutter at her touch, but he holds her gaze. "It's their fear that controlled me. Their fear of what they turned me into, and everyone else's fear at what I'd become. It made me afraid of myself, and if that happens then Hydra is never going to go away. I may not be able to control everyone else's fear, but I can control my own."
He lets out a breath, a smile touching his lips again. "You're a lot stronger than I am."
She shakes her head. "You're strong. You're so much stronger than you know." She brings her other hand up to cradle his face, hoping he can tell how sincere she's being. It seems like he can. "I had my brother during the experiments. I was never alone. I had someone who loved me to remind me every day that the experiments didn't turn me into a monster. You were alone for years with no one but had Hydra in your head." Her voice quivers, and he reaches up to grasp her wrist, smoothing his thumb over her pulse in a soothing gesture. "I'm sorry," she breathes. It's ridiculous that she's emotional, but she hadn't realized until now just how alone Bucky had been all those years. How alone he still feels because of it.
"Must be hard to always feel what everyone else is feeling." He sounds sincere and she doesn't know what to say, so she shrugs her shoulders a little. "Sorry I woke you."
"I was already awake," she admits, drawing her hands away and folding her arms over her chest. She can still feel his touch tingling on her skin.
His eyebrows furrow a little. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Not as often as before, but yes." She shrugs her shoulders again and glances at the door. "I should probably go."
It's kind of the last thing she wants to do, to be honest, and he looks at her like he can tell. "You can, if you want," he says, lips tugging at the corners. She's never seen him smile as much as he has tonight. "Or you can do me a kindness and stay with me for a bit. Maybe with you here I can finally get my first good night's sleep in decades."
Her heart skips in her chest, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. "I bet that works on all the girls."
She's teasing, of course, and he breathes out a chuckle and shakes his head. "Only girl it needs to work on is you," he tells her, and despite the slight playfulness in his tone, she can tell that he's being sincere, too. She glances away, blushing even more, somehow, but he grasps her chin in his fingers and brings her eyes back to his. "Is this alright with you?"
She nods, smiling at the little breath he lets out, as if in relief. He scoots over a little, making more room for her in the middle of his bed, and then holds the duvet up so she can slip underneath. She thinks she should feel a little more nervous about this – about sharing a bed with a man that she'd barely shared a conversation with until tonight – but it feels oddly comfortable right now. She turns onto her side to face him, tucking her hands underneath her cheek, and he lays himself flat on his back, rolling his head on his pillow to look at her.
"Are you afraid?" she asks softly.
"No," he answers, and she knows that he means it. She can feel it. "Not right now."
"Good," she says. He closes his eyes and smiles, and that's the image that stays with her when she finally falls sleep.
... ...
She flinches when the lights get turned off, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter as she turns her head and buries it into her pillow—except that is most definitely not her pillow, since it's harder and firmer and a lot warmer than it should be. She feels it rumble in a low groan, shifting underneath her. She can vaguely make out the sound of Pietro complaining.
"—but she's in his bed," he's arguing, sounding slightly mortified but mostly irritated.
"They left the door open and they're both still in clothes. Just relax." Natasha. She sounds entirely too amused. "You've caught me and Steve in far less."
"Natasha," Steve says, and even he sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "Okay, let's just—they're still asleep, guys. Give them some space."
Both Pietro and Natasha protest as Steve is probably pushing them out of the doorway, and then there's a click as he shuts it softly behind them, their voices muffled as they carry down the hallway. "Shit," Bucky murmurs beneath her, and she breathes out a laugh as she brings a hand up to cover her eyes from the light that they'd left on. Pietro is definitely going to be pouting when she eventually makes her way back into the kitchen, and only a small part of her is actually worried. Not because of what he'd seen, but because there's definitely no way he's going to warm up to Bucky now. (Which isn't necessarily true, because Pietro wouldn't go as far as hating him or anything. But there will be huffing for a while.)
She blinks her eyes open, squinting against the light until her vision adjusts, and she lifts her head to peer down at Bucky. She'd ended up half on top of his chest sometime during the night. He doesn't seem to mind, though. His eyes are bright as they stare back at her, a soft and sleepy grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"How did you sleep?" she asks. He feels perfectly calm, content. But she still wants to be sure.
"Best sleep in decades," he murmurs, hand smoothing over the small of her back, and she shivers ever so slightly, her hair falling like a curtain around his face as she tips her head forward and breathes out a laugh. "Feels even better to be awake."
"Yeah?"
He smiles up at her. "Yeah."