It was the kind of dark where you couldn't tell if your eyes were open or not. Bucky trembled underneath the covers, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. His breath came in quiet gasps, and he choked back a sob, conscious of his lover sleeping beside him. He didn't want to wake Loki, but all the things he usually did to calm himself weren't working. Images kept flashing through his head faster and faster, each one worse than the last. How many times did he have to watch himself kill people, as if a spectator to his worst nightmare? How long would it last?
His chest and neck were slick with sweat, and he raised a shaky hand to brush away the damp hair from his face. He was stealthy in leaving the bed, and after a few moments of blind scrambling, he located his shirt. It had been discarded the night before, and he flushed when he remembered how hurried Loki had been to disrobe him. One of the few good things in his life right now. But on nights like these, it was hard to remember them.
Bucky slipped silently out of the room and padded across the house to the balcony. He threw open the double glass doors and welcomed the cold gust of air that greeted him. Fresh air sometimes helped clear his head. But he often felt like he didn't deserve to forget. A whole bunch of people were dead because of him. Why should he get to forget? Why shouldn't he live in torment? The least he could do is remember each and every one, because to let himself forget would be to kill them all over again.
So he remembered. He remembered the light in their eyes dimming, and he remembered their last breath, their last words. More often than not it was some form of begging, and in his memories he wished he had heard them. But he wasn't himself. He wasn't human. The only one he let go was his childhood friend, his brother, the man he would take a bullet for: Steve.
He didn't hold him responsible for the actions Bucky had committed. Neither did Loki. But that couldn't change the fact that it was his hands- both flesh and metal- that ended so many lives over the past 50 years. The terrible part was that if it weren't for Steve, he would still be him. The thing HYDRA turned him into. The thing that kept him from letting his guard down around people he cared about.
It had taken a long time before he let himself try to be with Loki. Firstly, he hadn't wanted to lose Steve. And he was too scared that he might hurt Loki on accident. But then Loki had confessed that his actions before and during the battle of New York were not his own; he'd been under the influence of the tesseract. He understood what it was like to do things you weren't aware of, and he fully understood the guilt you carried afterwards. And then Bucky hadn't been able to push him away anymore. He hadn't wanted to.
"James?" the quiet voice came from behind him. Bucky turned, and Loki was standing there, reaching out a hand. His face was fearful, and Bucky didn't understand why until he realized where he was. He was perched on the edge of the railing, balancing precariously. Did Loki actually think he was going to jump? Bucky let out a short, hard laugh. It hadn't occurred to him to take his own life, despite the fact that it was the easiest option.
"Did I wake you?" Bucky asked in as normal a voice as he could manage. Loki wasn't fooled; he knew him too well.
"I'm glad you did," Loki replied carefully, his emerald eyes wide. "Mind telling me what it is that you're doing?" The biting wind sent Loki's dark hair swirling around his face, a stark contrast to his pale skin. Bucky was struck with the thought that Loki, his Loki, was beautiful.
"Relax, Lokes," he said, a humorless smile curving his lips. "I'm just thinking." Loki still looked cautious, like he was afraid any quick movements would cause him to fall. Or jump.
"You can think elsewhere, James. Please get down," he requested softly. Bucky let out a weary sigh, and stared out over the city lights below. They all kind of blurred together, a constellation of red, orange, green, and yellow.
"Why should I?" he challenged. "You either think I'm going to fall, in which case you should trust my skills, or you think I'm going to jump. Which is sounding like a better idea all the while." Loki sucked in a sharp breath, and his face immediately caused guilt to blossom in the ex-assassin's chest. He shouldn't take out his frustrations on the man he loved.
"James-" Loki choked out, and Bucky sighed again.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Bucky cast one last glance out at the city, then hopped off the railing. Loki strode swiftly over and wrapped the soldier in a firm embrace. Bucky relaxed slightly, laying his head on his lover's shoulder. He breathed steadily, in and out, and the tightness in his chest began to fade. This was what he needed. Not a calming exercise, but Loki. Loki, who made everything better even when it wasn't.
"Did you mean it?" Loki demanded when they pulled apart. He cupped Bucky's cheeks in his hands, and stared at him directly in the eyes, searching. His green gaze was hard, and Bucky placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.
"Death would be simpler…but, no, Lokes. I couldn't do that to you. I just… I just had a bad dream," he confessed, his voice catching slightly. Loki's face softened, and he wrapped an arm around Bucky's waist. Together they went back into the house they shared.
"Why don't you tell me about it?" Loki suggested, and Bucky allowed a small, grateful smile to spread across his lips. This is what he needed.