I'll Protect You, I Promise

Kill

Bucky's peaceful sleep soon turned torturous, as his dreams lead him somewhere he didn't want to go. His slow, quite breathing turned rapid and uneven. His slacked face became distorted and strained. His hand gripped the bed sheets as he cried out. 

His cries woke Steve, who sat up groggily. He looked over at Bucky and whatever memory of sleep had been erased from his mind. "Bucky," Steve whispered.

Bucky didn't hear Steve, but if he did he screamed louder because of it. His body twisted and the sheets followed tieing around his frame. He thrashed as if subconsciously he knew he had to get out of the blankets. Suddenly he screamed and bolted upright.

"Hey," Steve said quietly, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "It's okay."

But the kind words did nothing in the way of consoling the man. He just looked at Steve, eyes welling up. Steve tried to smile at him, but he couldn't move his face. He knew how much Bucky had been through, but he couldn't begin to imagine the horrors that still haunted him. In an attempt to comfort him he wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and pulled him into his lap. Steve kept his arms tightly around him, trying to stop the violent shaking coming from Bucky's core.

"I got you, Buck. I got you. It's okay." Steve repeated, softly. "I have you and I won't let go."

Steve could feel Bucky. The way his heart was beating like it was trying to escape the body which it was placed in. His heavy breathing. Each breath Bucky took was short and deep the way someone would if he were drowning and needed to take as much air in as he could. Steve could feel every ailment that held the man at that moment and he wanted it to go away.

Steve wished more than anything that he could do something, anything, to help Bucky, but what would soothe someone who had endured so much?

With the rising sun Bucky calmed down, his breath slowing and his heart coming back to a normal rate. He had turned around and buried his face into Steve's chest, just so he could hear Steve's heart. 

"It sounds the same as it did before," Bucky noted. 

Steve shifted, pulling Bucky closer to him and gave a small smile. It was nice, having him remember small things. It reminded Steve of Brooklyn so many years ago, but Steve never did forget, not for one second.

As the two of them lay there, the light in the room began to change. The cool light of the moon that illuminated many of the nooks of the bedroom were washed out by a warm glow that came from the morning sun. Everything was painted with a soft orange which made the room feel homely, though the two had only been living there a short week.

The light awoke Steve, who then, in turn, was prompted to move Bucky so that he could get up. Carefully, he slid the brunet off to his side of the bed. Slowly he pulled himself off the bed, as he did the mattress formed back to the way it was before a 220-pound man layed on it.

Standing up, he stretched reaching his arms up over his head and arching his back. The movements he made were graceful and sluggish. He hadn't got much sleep, but it was something that he had to deal with. Besides, he could make coffee while dwelling on lost sleep.

He tiptoed into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, but not all the way because the hinges  squeak much too loudly for Steve's liking. After deciding that the door was closed enough he walked to the coffee maker, that was positioned on the counter to the right of the sink. There were the top cabinets that came down, only leaving one foot above the counter. Those made it difficult to get to it, but neither man drank coffee in the small apartment anyway. Steve put the coffee in and then the water, then pressed the little button. Soon it was spitting out coffee slowly, but surely.