The first time Steve wakes up in hospital, he panics.
Bucky is there to see it, slumped over exhausted in the wooden chair a sympathetic nurse had gotten him. Steve wakes up slowly at first, still bleary from the magnitude of pain medication the staff had been pumping through him. It is wearing off, and Bucky can see Steve's eyes flick about as he takes in his surroundings.
He knows the exact moment he realises he is in a hospital. His breath hitches, his eyes widening as he tenses. He winces as he moves his injured shoulder, the wave of pain no doubt heightening his anxiety.
His eyes dart around and land on him, his breath sharp and short. "W-ere are we?" he croaks.
Bucky understands the meaning behind the question immediately. His mouth is bone-dry as he leans forward, his palms cold and clammy.
"France." He can't get the word out fast enough.
Steve relaxes instantly, his eyes closing as his head drops back into his pillow. Not London, every line of his body breathes.
Bucky swallows.
Not London. Not yet.
The serum helps Steve heal and the hospital gets a special shipment of morphine to try to manage his pain levels. The nurses are very concerned with his pain and recovery rate, more than one nurse sternly informing Steve when he protests the amount of resources being spent on him that he can't heal properly while in pain.
The brisk but caring nature of the nurses seems to put Steve at ease. It also probably helps that almost all of them are betas or omegas, the alphas of their profession having been sent off to the front lines.
Unwilling to let them sit idle in the weeks during Steve's recovery, Command tasks the Commandos with meticulously sorting and recording the files they had found in the base. It is repetitive and sometimes disturbing work, but it keeps Bucky's mind occupied.
Eventually, Steve is fully healed, nothing more than a faint, shiny scar on his shoulder to indicate what had happened.
The only problem is their delay while Steve had been recovering had thrown off their entire operation. Troops movements had changed, allied forces had moved, and Hydra bases had adapted in the time they had been off duty.
Not to mention the building-levelling weapon that had almost killed Steve in the first place. Command is very anxious to assess its threat level and the potential for Hydra to use it elsewhere.
Which is why, a month and a half after Steve's initial injury, they get called back to London.
The plane to England is worse this time. Bucky sits with his back pressed into his seat, wishing they could be anywhere but here.
A very small part of him wishes they hadn't invaded France at all. France is so much closer to England than some of the other countries they had fought in. Its proximity had no doubt influenced the decision to bring them back.
Steve looks nauseous the whole flight back. He sits with his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the headrest. His nerves are palpable. Bucky can't blame him, he should've had six months away, not just under two. The majority of the flight is silent, the Commandos unwilling to break the stressed tension hanging in the air.
Bucky feels sick with anxiety. The plane engine drills into his brain, the vibrations numbing his bones. He feels drained and the week hasn't even started yet.
He feels bad for how miserable he feels. Nothing will happen to him when he gets to London. He is safe. He doesn't have anyone blackmailing him and using him. He doesn't even have to see it. He isn't the one who is suffering.
He still moves in a fog as he and Steve check into the hotel. The familiar lobby and wooden panelling feel oppressive. He hates this hotel. He hates the worn green pattern on the carpets. He hates the pale blue curtains and the yellow lampshades. He hates the wooden dressers and the cool white tiles in the bathroom.
He hates Howard, and he hates London.
"Did you bring the book?"
Steve's voice breaks into his thoughts and he looks over. Steve has dark bags under his eyes, his face long and tired. There is no trace of the ever-confident alpha persona he puts on as he drops his bag on the bed.
Bucky bites his lip and looks away, tossing his own pack on the white bedspread. "Yeah," he replies softly.
The dog eared copy of The Time Machine had become an unspoken tradition between the two of them. Bucky hadn't read a word of it while they had been in the field.
He saved it for London.
"Read a chapter?" Steve asks, exhaustion clear in his voice.
Bucky watches as he slumps onto the bed, kicking his shoes off with abandon. He doesn't even get undressed, simply burrowing under the blankets with an air of faint relief and heavy resignation.
Bucky nods, his voice even quieter than before. "Yeah."
Bucky tries to push it to the back of his mind. He feels guilty doing so, but his sanity relies on it. Steve's predicament circles around in his head none-stop. He feels like a caged animal, pacing and slowly losing his mind.
He attends the first day of meetings and gives his reports. He avoids glaring at Stark and he concurs with Steve's assessment of the weapon and its threat to their operations.
Bucky hadn't gotten a look at it before it had been blown to pieces by its own blast, but he imagines that little design flaw has something to do with the fact that they have yet to receive any reports of it in action since their raid.
Meetings with Allied leaders never fail to agitate him. Somehow he always gets the impression that they remain somewhat skeptical of their small team and the effectiveness of their mission.
And he knows it's not just due to their size. They aren't the only Commandos team out there leading secret missions, so he doubts it has anything to do with that.
Instead it's like Command is still waiting for the SSR program to backfire. It almost had, in their eyes. Steve, an omega (or alpha depending on their clearance level), is the only successful candidate out of the program, and he had stubbornly built himself a mixed-race team.
Consequently, Command watches his movements with eagle eyes, searching for every bit of justification for the expense of the program they can get their hands on.
Bucky knows Steve feels the pressure, and this recent close-call has no doubt amplified it. His team had faced a setback, and if Steve had been anyone else, he'd either be dead or released from active duty.
Nevermind how that is far from an uncommon occurrence on the front lines. Command expects better. On principle.
It's ironic, Bucky muses, as the meeting drones on around him. He remembers once Steve complaining to him about the uphill battle omegas faced trying to get recognition.
"We have to be three times as good just to get half the recognition," he'd complained.
Even now, an alpha to all but a few, Steve has to do the same.
Outside of Command it is a different story. Captain America is perfect propaganda material. The media and the public eat him up. He can do no wrong in their eyes because he isn't allowed. It simply isn't possible.
He doubts news of his injury or brush with death had graced the papers. Everyone knows Captain America is infallible.
Command lets them out of the meeting eventually. Bucky pulls in a breath of fresh air as he and Steve exit the building.
Like clockwork, his stomach knots with anxiety. He'd managed to keep the impending appointment out of his thoughts for a few hours, but now he is intimately aware that Steve will be going to see Stark soon.
He scans Steve and can tell from the grey pallor of his face that his mind is on the same track. His hands hang in fists by his side, before he shakes them out and wipes them on his pants, his eyes skipping restlessly over the pedestrians near them.
Bucky swallows and racks his brain for something to distract them both. Last time, Steve hadn't had the energy or nerves to go out and do most of the things soldiers did during their time off. The one thing they had done gives him an idea though.
"Wanna see if we can find the library?" he asks.
Steve's eyes meet his with a grateful look and he nods.
oOo
Bucky realises at dinner that Steve probably doesn't want him to watch him leave to go to Stark. Last time he had disappeared without a word, and now that Bucky thinks about it, he can't imagine how awkward and distressing that farewell would be.
He can still remember how uncomfortable it had been when Steve had come back, and he remembers with a new surge of anger at Stark that they're going to have to do that all over again.
Those revelations are why he doesn't get up when Steve leaves early from the table in the dining hall that the Commandos had taken over. He forces himself to stay in his seat, acutely aware of how little Steve had eaten and how he won't meet his eye as he clears his place.
There is an effort at a smile as Steve waves off invitations to stay and Bucky chews the inside of his cheek. His fork digs into his fingers, his skin white with how tight he grips it. It's only after Steve steps away that he realises the fingers on his other hand are digging into his thigh, his whole body wound like a tight cord.
He grinds his teeth and purposely pulls his shoulders down into a more relaxed position. His eyes drop to what remains of his meal. The food sits like glue in his mouth, the whole mess nearly impossible to swallow.
He reaches for his water, and when he catches Dernier regarding him from across the table, a small furrow in his brow, he has to look away.
Steve's bed is indeed empty by the time he gets back to their room. Bucky rubs a hand over his face and growls low and hard, indulging for a moment in the part of him that feels like snarling.
The same horrible waiting as last time looms over him. He opens the window preemptively and orders more bedding, preparing everything like last time. He knows if he lets himself, he will spiral again, so he drags himself through his nighttime routine and tries to sleep.
He doesn't.
His eyes are open and staring blankly at the unlit lamp when he hears a key in the lock. His stomach swoops and he sits up, flicking on the light.
Steve cringes as the room brightens, his shoulder pulling up and his head turning away as he shuts the door. Bucky bites the inside of his lip but doesn't say anything as Steve drops his key on the dresser next to his bed, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly.
"Bathroom's ready."
It doesn't surprise him anymore when Steve doesn't respond verbally. He only nods, silent as a ghost as he slips into the bathroom and closes the door. Bucky's senses feel hyper-aware as he listens for the sound of running water, his heart thrumming in his chest.
He flops back into bed and sighs, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Calm scent, he reminds himself. Calm scent. Calm scent.
He thinks he succeeds by the time Steve comes out of the bathroom tugging his collar up, freshly washed and dressed in his clothes. Bucky doesn't even feel embarrassed at how his instincts relax at the sight. At this point he'll take anything to help handle the situation.
Steve sits hunched on the bed across from him, his wet hair dark blond in the lamp light. Bucky's eyes flick over him automatically, only to freeze when he sees something that sends any calm he'd managed to achieve into a downward spiral.
Steve's neck is covered in bites.
He'd tried to pull up his collar to hide it, but Bucky can still see the red rings of teeth marks dotting his skin. He stares at them in horror. The bites start just under his jaw, interchanging with dark hickies down to his collarbone. The only parts of his neck that aren't bitten are the scent glands themselves.
Stark had done everything but place a claiming mark. His intentions could not be more clear.
His breath punches out of him in painful bursts as he stares wide-eyed at the marks. He's certain his scent takes a dive, but he remains blind to it. His blood is ice water in his veins, his heart a frozen rock.
He looks up at the sound of a sharp breath.
Steve's face is deathly pale, his lips bloodless as he trembles like a leaf. A shaky hand reaches up to clasp the collar tighter around his neck, his face turning away as he curls in on himself. He crumples on the bed.
Bucky is already dumping his pillows and blankets on the floor before the first mournful whimper leaves Steve's throat.
His hands feel ice-cold as he clumsily bunches his bedding into some semblance of a nest by Steve's bed. Steve is simply balled up into the foetal position, his arm draped over his face, his other hand still fisted in his collar.
He hadn't even made a nest this time. He shivers as though from cold, his toes curling under as he draws in to himself. His shaking is visible, his shoulders hitching with every stuttered breath.
A whine of distress builds in Bucky's throat and he's forced to blink his eyes clear, aware of the trembling that had invaded his own limbs. He can't imagine the turmoil Steve must be in. How vulnerable he must feel. How terrified he must have been while Stark had been biting him so close to there.
The thoughts of Stark leaving a bonding mark on Steve makes his head spin with anger and he sucks in a series of breaths, giving himself a shake.
Focus on Steve, he reminds himself, collapsing onto his blankets. That is the only way he is going to stay coherent right now. Steve needs him. And he can't let him down.
His tongue feels like it is glued to the roof of his mouth, his voice box frozen. He breathes through his nose, scanning Steve. He appears to be completely shut down. If he could speak, he doubts Steve would respond.
He looks miserable. And cold.
Bucky moves on instinct, sitting up to grab the bedding at the end of Steve's bed. Normally Steve would be the one to build his nest. Bucky had avoided touching the material as much as possible because it was for Steve, but right now, he doesn't think Steve is capable of doing anything.
He moves as gently as possible, pulling the thick blanket over Steve, bringing up images of past nests in his mind. He won't be able to build one as well as Steve could. He doesn't have the practice and he wants to keep from touching him as much as possible. He hadn't asked Steve if he could do this, and he doesn't want to make Steve panic.
He just wants to help.
He has to help.
Steve doesn't move as he settles the blanket over him. He doesn't flinch or react negatively, so Bucky allows himself to breathe as he grabs several pillows and lines them along Steve's back and legs.
I like having something at my back, Steve had said once while Bucky watched him fuss with the nest. It makes me feel safe.
His hands shake as he surrounds Steve with pillows. He feels sick, his body breaking out in a cold sweat. Every time he thinks he's seen the worst of Stark he somehow manages to go one step beyond.
Bucky sits back and chews on his thumb nail. He bites at the skin around his nail as he watches Steve slowly tug the blanket tighter around himself. He pulls it up all the way to his nose, pressing his face into the thick fabric to hide his eyes. But Bucky doesn't miss the shine of unshed tears.
Bucky breathes out. Nothing he can think to say will help, so he stays silent. He can't touch Steve. The only thing he can think to do at all is sooth with his scent. He settles on his knees by the bed, resting his head on his arm as he leans against the mattress. Tears press at his eyelids and he breathes in slowly, deliberately focusing on his scent and keeping it as comforting as possible.
He gets lost in the rhythm of breathing for a while, the rest of his body feeling distant. His eyes drift up to the curve of Steve's shoulder and he watches him breathe in time with him, the steady movement slowly becoming more measured and even.
The cool night air drifts through the window and brushes his toes, making him shiver. He will have to get up to close it at some point, but it feels like every bone of his body has settled by the bed. He'll get up when he needs to. But not before.
Eventually, Steve shifts, pulling the blanket further over his face and scrunching into a tighter ball. His voice catches, barely above a whisper, making Bucky lean in to hear him.
"I don't know… how many more times I can do this."
Bucky's stomach lurches, his whole body tensing as though he had been zapped with electricity. His hand tightens on the bedsheet and he bites his lips. He closes his eyes and breathes out, his body starting to tremble.
He doesn't want to think about Steve having to do this again. Every time it gets worse. He doesn't know how much more either of them can take.
His eyes burn, and he hears Steve's twitch, his voice growing strained. "I— I want to go home. I want this war to be over. I can't—"
He cuts off a sob and Bucky opens his eyes to see the bundle on the bed huddling tighter, Steve's shaking visible through the blanket.
He swallows and presses his hand into the bed, trying to ground himself. While in the field they talk often with the Commandos about going home. But this feels different. Rawer.
Bucky's mouth is dry when he opens it. "Me too," he admits.
Tears prick at his eyes and he gulps for air, sniffing to clear his nose. Now that the words are spoken out loud he can't ignore the growing ache in his chest.
He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and he wants to sleep in his own bed, and he wants to go to sleep without the sounds of gunfire in his ears. He wants to go somewhere safe where everyone already knows Steve is an omega and they won't have to hide it anymore and he and Steve don't have to spend every second of every day looking over their shoulder.
He wants to go somewhere where they won't be hurt anymore.
He shudders as he wipes his eyes, indulging for a moment in thoughts about how unfair this is. Steve had done nothing wrong. He'd only wanted to help, and here he is, his efforts more or less spit back in his face because of his designation.
Bucky drags a damp hand down his face and rubs his nose on his sleeve. He sniffs and shakes his head, dispelling the morose thoughts. His eyes fall on the huddled blanket in front of him and he knows he needs to do something to ease the pain emanating from the miserable bundle.
"It can't be much longer," he whispers, his voice rough with tears.
Steve's eyes peek doubtfully from the blanket to look at him, and Bucky pulls his lips up into a half-smile. No doubt he looks like a wreck, with red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face, but he tries to look positive.
"The war's gotta be over soon," he insists. "It's been years already, and we just landed in France a couple'ov months ago. It can't be much longer."
Steve's eyes gleam with uncertainty, but he does consider what he'd said. "It… can't be forever, at least," he replies quietly, resignation still clear in his voice.
Bucky nods tiredly, breathing out. That much is true. He doesn't know how much longer they will have to bear this, but one day it will end.
Steve sniffs and frees a hand from his blanket, wiping his face. His skin is pale, the purple bags under his eyes giving him a sickly, exhausted look. When he drops his hand though, there is something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, like a glowing ember flaring under a soft breath.
Steve never ceases to amaze him.
Bucky feels his scent dip into warm Christmas pine, and the ache in his chest eases as Steve shifts and lays his hand next to his on the bed. He blinks tiredly and Bucky watches as Steve presses his face into the pillow, breathing deeply.
"Stay for a while?"
An affirmative rumble answers Steve's question before Bucky can, and he sees the corner of Steve's mouth twitch upwards as he gently places his hand over his.
Bucky holds his breath. This is more touch than Steve usually allows after nights like this.
Touch and physical proximity, like cuddling or communal sleeping, is something that most people of any designation find soothing. It's something he wishes he could do to help.
But he's careful of it now, after Stark.
The fact that Steve had been the one to initiate this means more than he can say. He sits there, listening to Steve's breathing slow down, vowing not to move until Steve is in deep sleep.
oOo
Steve doesn't leave the room the first day afterward. There are still a few faint bruises and marks on his neck, and he'd taken one look at them in the bathroom mirror before crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over his head.
Bucky thinks that Steve has every right to want to block out everything after what happened, so he doesn't suggest going out. Instead they take their meals in their room and Bucky spends most of the day reading aloud from the books they had gotten from the library and writing letters home. Eventually Steve sits up to draw, and Bucky takes that as a good sign, even if he knows the subjects of the drawings aren't going to be pleasant.
They have scheduled meetings for the next day, so Steve is forced to get up. His neck is bare of any signs of what had happened to him, but there is a deadness to his eyes that Bucky doesn't like.
He keeps his eye on him as they cycle through their meetings. Steve moves on autopilot for most of it, remaining quiet and serious unless called upon. Bucky doesn't feel like speaking up either, and the morning meetings pass solemnly, if not quickly.
"Colonel Phillips wants to see you," Peggy tells Steve as she wraps up their discussion on the new Hydra code they had managed to break. "He's in his office."
Steve nods, and then, because Peggy has a faint light of concern in her eyes, he smiles and says something banal about the meeting and seeing Phillips. Bucky barely hears it, his brain simply waiting for the next task.
He already knows that he's going to be following Steve to Phillips' office and waiting outside. He pushes himself up from the table as Steve turns away from Peggy and nods goodbye to the Commandos, falling into step with Steve.
He can feel the looks they exchange between themselves as they head out.
They don't speak as they leave the meeting room. Phillips' office is down a level and they make their way there, weaving past a few records personnel on the way.
The SSR headquarters is stuffed to the brim, Phillips' office tucked away beside rows of secretarial desks, bisected by metal shelves holding every record or file imaginable.
Bucky's eyes skate over the hive of activity, glad that he doesn't have Phillips' job. It seems to require far too much paperwork.
Looking at the Privates working away at their desks, he is reminded that Steve could have almost been among them.
Women and omegas of any gender could enlist for these types of duties. The idea was to free able-bodied men from those positions so they could fight on the front lines. Steve's health challenges had been too severe even then, but Bucky can't help but wonder how things would have turned out if he'd been let in anyways.
He wouldn't be happy being sat in a desk somewhere and not on the front lines, but he wouldn't be trapped like he is now with Stark.
He's pulled out of these thoughts when Steve bristles beside him, his lips pulling back to show his teeth. Bucky glances at him in surprise, nearly stumbling as he scans the room, trying to find the sudden threat.
Steve's eyes are icy blue stones, glaring daggers at a desk near Colonel Phillips' door.
Bucky follows his gaze and sees two Privates standing at the desk. One of them, a woman with blonde hair, leans suggestively towards the young man, her hand trailing up his tie.
Bucky can practically smell his discomfort, even through his scent patches and across the room. His shoulders are rounded, his chin ducked as he tries to pull away, pressing against the desk. The woman laughs and reaches up to touch his chin, which is when Steve snaps.
A growl rips out of his throat and he is halfway across the room before Bucky can blink.
"Private Lorraine!" he barks, his voice sharp as a knife.
Private Lorraine jumps, snatching her hand back. Her eyes widen as she sees Steve and her shoulders straighten. Her face shifts through a series of expressions before she settles on confident, tossing her hair and smiling as Steve approaches.
Bucky shakes himself out of his stupor and hurries to Steve's side, his eyes sweeping the scene. The young man tries to discreetly push off the desk his gaze darting anxiously between Steve and Lorraine.
Bucky's eyes land on his badge and he sees that he is a Private Matthews. He also sees the small Greek symbol next to his name stating his designation.
He's an omega.
His eyes jump to Private Lorraine's badge and he sees the B symbol of a beta. His stomach drops as he pieces together what they'd just seen, and why Steve looks ready to blow a fuse.
"Captain Rogers," Lorraine smiles, as though she can't sense the tightly controlled anger rolling off of Steve.
She leans back on her desk and trails her eyes up and down Steve appreciatively, which in turn makes Bucky want to follow Steve's example and start growling.
For his part, Steve looks unimpressed and he blows past Lorraine's attempt at brushing off what had happened. His voice rings with a hard edge as he glares down at her.
"You are aware, Private, that inappropriate conduct towards a follow officer is a court-martiable offence."
Lorraine glances between them both, her smile straining at the edges as she laughs again.
"Well, I would hardly call it that," she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She looks up from under her eyelashes in a way that is probably supposed to come off as coy and girlish.
Steve remains unmoved and Lorrain's lips twitch downward before she pulls on another smile and glances towards Private Matthews. "It was just'a bit of fun, wasn't it Matthews?"
Bucky feels a pulse of sympathy for the other Private. He is clearly on edge, his shoulders pulled up to his neck as he glances between what he perceives as two angry alphas and one unapologetic beta.
Steve snarls. "Shut up," he snaps, catching Bucky off guard with his hostility. "Anyone with eyes could see it wasn't that." He pins Lorraine with a furious glare, his hands curled into white fists. "And I happen to know personally that you make a habit of unwanted advances."
Bucky glances at Steve in surprise and Lorraine's smile begins to slip.
Steve's voice drops dangerously, his fists nearly vibrating with how tense he's holding himself. "So," he bites out, his teeth bared, every inch of him radiating threatening alpha. "I will be reporting your behaviour to your superior officer. I suggest you keep your hands to yourself."
Lorraine's mouth falls open and she gapes at him like a fish, her confident, flirty expression nowhere to be seen. Steve ignores her, instead switching his gaze to the trembling Private a few feet away.
His expression softens instantly and his voice loses its cutting edge. His shoulders smooth out, his chin raising a little to bare his neck.
"I can take you back to your desk," he says gently. "Sergeant Barnes will stay with Private Lorraine."
Bucky nods briefly, accepting the task, and he watches as Steve guides the shaky Private away. He can see him talking softly to him, and he knows that Steve is both reassuring him, and making sure he knows who he can turn to should this happen again.
Bucky's stomach clenches in distaste, and he turns an angry glare on Private Lorraine. Her cheeks burn red with embarrassment and she turns back to her desk, as though by ignoring him she can pretend the confrontation had never happened.
Bucky won't forget though. Private Lorraine had clearly been taking advantage of her designation and status, and that omega Private could have been Steve—maybe had been Steve—and Bucky has had it up to here with handsy fellow officers.
"By the end of the day, everyone in this office is going to know how Captain America feels about the treatment of omegas," he warns her, his voice low and menacing. "I suggest you follow his advice."
Lorraine's eyes dart over and she swallows.
Bucky flashes a sharp smile, showing off his canines, before settling in to wait for Steve to come back.
AN: *creeps by with hands in the air*
I know I know, things just keep getting worse for Steve. I feel like Howard would be the type of alpha who would enjoy the power imbalance and threat he holds over Steve. Especially when it comes to biting.
But I also really wanted to have the scene with Lorraine at the end. First it shows that Steve wouldn't necessarily be safe elsewhere, it gives him a brief outlet for what he's going through, and it also shows that he can do some good with his position now. Even if he can't help himself.
Also I just feel like Lorraine needs to be called out more often.