Gone:

"No…please."

"It hurts!"

"Just make it stop! Please make it stop!"

He screamed and thrashed and cried, harder and more desperately than he ever did as an infant. She wanted to run to him, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. She reached for him, but he was too far away. She called out to reassure him, but his screams drowned out anything she had to say. All she could do was watch.

His head lolled to the side in exhaustion and for the briefest of instants his tear-filled blue eyes locked onto her. Their silent cry of, "Help me," shattered her more forcefully than any of his audible pleading. She recognized that look from when he fell and hit his head as a toddler, or tore into her bedroom sobbing from a nightmare, or sprained his ankle playing outside. It was a look of bottomless trust, of faith that she could fix this with a kiss and whispered words of reassurance. And in all of those situations, she could.

Not this time.

~0~

Winnifred awoke with a gasp, the ghosts of her son's screams still reverberating through her skull. It was the stuff of nightmares, but it had all been real. She saw and heard nothing in her dreams that she hadn't seen and heard in real life.

It took ten minutes to catch her breath. George slept on. In the year since her PTSD diagnosis, he'd mastered the art of sleeping through her nightmares. Winnifred, on the other hand, had mastered the art of knowing whether or not she'd fall back asleep on a given night. Tonight was definitely not one of those nights where she could relax again. She crept into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. It was a futile attempt to wash away the visions she knew would haunt her forever.

As she'd done most nights the memories ripped her from sleep, she sought confirmation that they remained in the past. Her therapist had warned that this habit couldn't sustain her forever, especially as he grew older and eventually moved out, but for now Winnifred allowed herself the simple pleasure of watching her son sleep peacefully after seeing him writhe in agony for the hundredth time in as many nights.

She tiptoed down the hall and quietly eased his door open.

The bed was empty.

"Bucky?" she called. No sign of him. She pulled the covers back just to be sure, then checked the bathroom to see if he was there. Nothing. This had to be another nightmare. Just her brain taunting her with a future that might've been—and still might come to pass if he relapsed.

"What's all the racket?" George asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes in the doorway.

"Bucky's gone."

He instantly switched into full wakefulness. She probably should have chosen her words more carefully. "What?!"

"I don't know where he went!"

"Okay, calm down. I'm sure there's an explanation for this. He probably had an impromptu sleepover at Steve's."

Bucky had done that several times before, but not in the past three years. And he always told her about it first. If he was at Steve's, she would know. His phone wasn't here, which reassured her that he was somewhere voluntarily and therefore probably safe, but she couldn't be sure. She called him three times and got nothing. Only then did she start to spiral. She didn't want to call Sarah—heaven knows that woman got little enough sleep as it was—but at this point she had little choice. George rested a comforting hand on her shoulder as she waited for someone at the Rogers' to pick up.

"Winnie?" Sarah sounded more awake than anyone should at midnight, but Winnifred was too preoccupied to worry about it.

"Is Bucky there?"

"No. Why?"

"He's not here. We don't know where he went."

"Have you called him?"

"Yes. No answer."

"Oh no. I'm sorry I don't have more to offer, but I have no idea where he could be."

"That's okay. Thank you. Sorry I called so late."

"No worries. Do you need me to come over? For moral support?"

"Thank you, but I'm okay. George is here."

"Okay. Call me back if you change your mind. And text me when you find him."

"I will. Thank you."

"Any luck?" George asked. She shook her head.

"I'm going to try Gabe's mom."

She chose right. Gabe's mom told her the boys had gone to a soccer party. Evidently, Gabe was more forthcoming about this than Bucky. Winnifred sighed in relief, but as soon as she hung up the phone that sigh turned to a sob. The sick churning in her gut that she felt when she failed to find him in his room—that's how she'd feel all the time if cancer came back and took him away from her. It was a possibility never very far from her mind.

George stayed with her for half an hour before she finally coaxed him into going back to bed. "I'm going to wait until he gets home," she said, knowing she'd never fall asleep until she'd seen him. Alone at the kitchen table with nothing but the memories of her dream and the panic that had overcome her, she silently cried until she heard the front door open.

Bucky looked terrified to see her, as any teenage boy should upon sneaking into the house after sneaking out. And that should have made her feel better, seeing him act as any teenager would. But for whatever reason it didn't, not right away. It just made her angry at herself for not being able to move on as he had. Also for not having the heart to punish him the way any sensible mother would. How could she punish him when he'd already suffered so much? He'd never done anything his whole life to deserve that hellish year. So she let him go with just an explanation. From the look on his face, the guilt was punishment enough.

Winnifred texted Sarah that he was home now, and thanked Gabe's mom once again. She didn't dare sneak into Bucky's room to check on him, not knowing if he'd actually be asleep, but she did walk over and press an ear to his door to listen out for the sound of his breathing. Her footsteps must not have been quiet enough because he asked with a huff of mirthful annoyance, "Do you want me to get you a baby monitor for next Mother's Day?"