Til Death Do Us Part.

Terror's.

Bucky, and I stayed in bed until late in the morning. Us both not wanting to leave each others company. The bed felt warm, and his arms around me felt too good. 

The golden sunrise poured in through the cracks in the newspaper covered windows, and the flecks of the creamy glow sprinkled across our apartment. 

In the hazy light I awoke to Bucky smiling at me, my body pressed against his. His blue eyes always seemed sad while looking at me, and everyday he looked as though he thought I'd fade away. He was always worried I'd either leave, or he'd forget again, and everyday I'd have to remind him otherwise. 

With his flesh hand he caressed my cheek, and pulled me closer to him. 

I smiled, kissing him good morning. 

"Don't worry, I'm still here, James..." 

"Thank you, Doll..." 

Eventually we were forced to get up, and face the day. 

I slid on a pair of jeans, and a jacket before stealing one of Bucky's baseball caps, and putting it on. 

We left the apartment to go to the market, and pick up some breakfast. 

Bucky was bad with crowds, and he was always looking over his shoulder. He was always afraid, on edge, and uncertain whenever we were out in the real world. 

To him, everyone was watching, scrutinizing his every action, and he hated it whenever I went out with him too because he was certain something bad would happen to me. 

His gaze held worry, and his jaw was always uncomfortably clenched. 

I held his metal hand tightly, never letting go, silently reassuring him that everything was okay. 

The market place was always busy, teeming with swarms of people, and with each pair of eyes that dared to glance over in our direction Bucky would flinch, and pull me closer to him by my waist. 

Children bought fresh fruit with their parents, and couples walked their dogs together. 

A lone man played an accordion, eager for some tips. His wool bowler hat flat against the cobblestone ground, awaiting some short change, and I plopped some coins in before walking away. 

The street sellers zealously badgered anyone who got near their stands, vehement in getting some cash, and hawking away their goods. 

I tried my best to act normal, chatting away in Romanian to some of the salespeople, but I could practically feel Bucky's anxiety radiate off him. 

He stood as still as a statue, rigid, and in distress. 

I stood on my tiptoes, and gazed into his eyes, my lips close to his ear. 

"It's okay, James... No one is looking at you." I reassured before going back to buying some plums, my hand never leaving his. 

Bucky acted similar to a scab on your skin. No longer bleeding, but not un-painful either. If you accidentally nicked the scab it'd break, and re-open, and have to start all over in the healing process. 

It was like that everyday. 

One minute he'd be fine, and then he'd get nicked, and everything bad would come back, and he'd mentally bleed from the pain of all he's done. 

And, we'd have to start all over again. 

Tonight just so happened to be one of those bad nights. 

They usually happened a few times a week. Where the terrors would get him, the night terrors. 

Like a soldier with PTSD, he would just frequently be plagued with the memories of all he's done. 

Bucky was forever cursed. First, he was cursed to forget, and now... He's cursed to remember. All the pain, the torment, the affliction of seeing all of the faces he's killed. 

The day went on fine, like it usually does, but once night comes, and he closes his eyes to sleep... That's when the demons get to him. 

See, when Bucky is awake, and he has me there to reassure him he does alright, and the demons get locked up temporarily, but when he dares to get a wink of sleep? That's when the darkness comes out to play. 

I could feel him shake, and thrash around under the covers. His jaw chattering, and I could hear him grimacing. 

He had already torn his pillow apart, the down feathers inside scattering everywhere. 

With his metal arm he feverishly punched the mattress, and I sat up before I next, would be punched. 

In the blue moonlight perspiration trickled down his face, and chest. His tank top soaked through. 

He had broken out in a cold sweat, and strands of his disheveled damp hair stuck to his forehead. 

He was trembling, every muscle in his flesh forearm flexing, and tensing. 

I reached out for him carefully, but as he screamed from the guilt his metal fist jabbed me in the stomach, and I was thrown off the bed. 

I winced before trying again, harder this time. 

I threw myself at him, hugging him from behind, and I sat on my knees on the bed in the sea of feathers.

"James, it's okay... I'm here." I murmured, his breathing jagged as if he was suffocating. 

Softly, I kissed his shoulders, the taste of his hot skin against my lips. 

I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers stroking his chest, and I felt his heartbeat calm. 

"James..." I kept on saying, coaxing him out of the bad place. 

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." I heard him weakly chant before he turned around to face me. 

Bucky's expression held so much grief, and strain from his guilt, and once again he looked so beaten down, like he a mere shell of himself. 

He buried his face in my chest, and pulled me to him by my hips. 

The feeling of me, my body, and curves in his hands a comfort. The familiarness of my figure, and scent the one thing he needed. 

I ran my fingers through his hair lightly, and pecked the crown of his head, letting him know that I wasn't leaving. 

Bucky kissed the nape of my neck, and continued to kiss every inch of me. Savoring the feeling of my form, and the relief I could bring him. 

"I'm sorry..." I heard Bucky utter, his mouth against my skin, and I smiled. 

"It's not your fault, James... I love you."