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ro-sham-no · 25 days

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Sam’s wall breaks, and he won’t stop screaming.

it's his birthday so you KNOW i had to whump my boy

It’s been two days and fifteen hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

Blood droplets fly out of his mouth with wracking coughs as he chokes on hurried inhales, mucosal spit gumming up his trachea.

It’s been two days and sixteen hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

The only times he’s been silent in the last two days and seventeen hours is when he’s unconscious. The first bout - four hours and twenty-three minutes of silence - Dean’d just clocked him in the jaw when it was clear Sam was going to scream himself into involuntary suffocation - diaphragm and abdominal muscles locking up from the abuse. Dean knocked him unconscious for those four hours and twenty-three minutes, after six hours of his weeping and gnashing of teeth.

By the time he had woken up, Dean had shots of sedative and they were two hours into a twenty-eight-hour drive to Bobby’s - if nothing else, Dean’s efficient. Sam didn’t take notice.

And if the sounds he won’t stop making can be described as screaming, then the sounds he makes when Dean has to touch him while he’s awake can only be described as a death wail. Wailing and scrambling to get away from Dean with a fervor that earns them both violent shades of bruises.

It’s been two days and twenty hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

During the drive, whenever Sam’s anguish would escalate back into hair-tearing, along with beating his fists against his arms and thighs and threatening to bash his head into the windows of the Impala, Dean would pull over to force another dose of sedative into him.

The sounds he makes while Dean tries to subdue him… Well, even in the most remote location on their route, Dean was afraid the farmer whose house they could just barely see in the distance would be able to hear. It had to have been at least three miles away, with how flat the land was, and Dean was still worried that someone would hear.

Sam won’t stop screaming, and his screams are deafening- except when he’s unconscious, from the shots Dean gives him, the screaming is just in Dean’s mind. A haunting kind of tinnitus that rings in Dean’s ears, just as nauseating as the real deal, but a touch less heartbreaking.

He only allows himself to sleep for the first few hours of Sam being down for the count, despite the catatonic state that seemed to have taken over him. Dean wasn’t about to risk Sam waking up without him. They sleep together in the car, in the weeds and the bramble off of back roads, hidden from view. Baby’s paint has never been so scratched up.

It’s been two days and twenty-three hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

They’ve been at Bobby’s for the last twenty-four of those, trying to hold back on the sedative, because god knows they can’t keep it up forever or Sam’s heart is liable to just straight up quit, so they’ve been rationing it. Walking the nerve-wracking line between acceptable amounts of incomprehensible human suffering and causing an overdose that could just kill Sam, for good this time.

On the 72nd hour - that’s two days and twenty-four hours, or three days and zero hours, or 4,230 minutes and zero seconds, or 259,200 seconds and -

It’s been three days and zero hours, and Sam is awake, but he stops screaming.

And on the third day he will be raised…

Dean rushes over to check on him, but Sam is still breathing, heart still beating, body still holding itself upright, and he’s stopped screaming.

Now, though, two lines of salty tears trail down his face. For all his hysteric shrieking over the last three days, through all the rocking and swaying and the occasional distinct syllable of “no” over and over again, he hadn’t actually shed a tear, until now.

It’s been three days and zero hours and Sam’s tears are silent.

He’s staring far off into the distance - into the wall that’s four feet in front of him - and he is silent. Even his gasps are inaudible. No sniffling, not a single huff or quiver of breath. Just tears.

It’s been three days and zero hours and two minutes and both Dean and Bobby are in the room now, staring at Sam with undisguised fear-horror-confusion.

They stare at him and he begins to shake. Lightly, at first, but it grows. It always grows. Sam is silent, and he’s shaking, and his eyes stream tears with the consistency of a downpour, and Dean moves back in front of him. He’d stepped away to yell for Bobby out the door when it looked like Sam would live after his abrupt descent into silence. Dean steps back in front of him and reaches out to touch Sammy, and now Sam’s not silent. A three-minute silence and now it’s broken by Sam scrambling backward with a gasp that’s really more of an inhaled moan of fear, hastening back so far that he pushes off of the bed he’d been sitting on.

He crashes to the floor, out of Dean’s reach even as the man leaps forward with a cry of, “Sam!”

But Sam’s flight had been too fast, so he crashed to the ground and has now fallen silent again, but Dean can’t tell if there are still tears because Sam has wedged himself into a ball in the crease between the floor and the wall, form-fitting his back and ass over the baseboards hard enough to bruise. He’s hiding his face in his knees, still trembling, but still silent, so Dean can’t tell if the tears have stopped. He isn’t sure if that would be better or worse.

Because now it’s been three days and five minutes, and Sam’s curled up in sublimation.

He’s crammed against the wall, his knees are up in front of him, spread only far enough to shove his head between them - but down quite far, uncomfortably so, contorted - but his hands aren’t curled up like the rest of him. Instead, his hands are held out around his legs, stretched around them and then upward, palms out like he’s receiving something sacred. Or like he’s giving it away.

It’s been three days and six minutes and Sam is trembling in sublimation.

The room is silent, Dean and Bobby don’t know what to do, but he isn’t hurting himself and he isn’t screaming so they wait him out.

It’s been three days and thirty minutes, by the time anything happens.

At first, Bobby thinks it’s the creaks of his house. At first, Dean thinks it’s the creaks of his soul. They’re both wrong, they realize, as the sound is actually coming from Sam, but it reverberates in such a way that it’s equally loud from every corner of the room. Dean wonders, faintly and somewhat hysterically, when Sam learned ventriloquy.

It’s a low but resounding utterance, indistinguishable at first, but becoming more distinct with every syllable, losing its eerie ambience and beginning to actually come from Sam as its focal point. Whatever Sam is saying, deep into his chest in a tone that aches, becomes clearer, but neither of the other two men can understand it.

Sam’s palms are still held up in front of his shins. His head is still shoved between his knees, and he’s still trembling. He finishes his recitation but doesn’t fall silent. Instead, he switches to a language that Dean realizes with a jolt that he can understand the words, seconds before Bobby realizes it, too.

“Pater noster, qui es in שְׁאוֹל, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in שְׁאוֹל et in terra.”

A sickening aura falls over the room as both lucid men hear the exceptions to the otherwise familiar prayer. “On earth, as it is in שְׁאוֹל,” Sam had said. Sheol, the subterranean final resting place. The pit. “The place of no return, the land of utter darkness and deep shadow.”

Hell.

Our Father who art in the pit of utter death and darkness…

It’s been three days and one hour by the time Sam finishes his contritions.

By then, he’d recited that first chant in the same unknown language twice more, alternating it with the Latin rendition of the Lord’s prayer.

Hallowed be thy name…

Dean has a gnawing, sinking feeling in his gut that he knows exactly what that other language is.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in שְׁאוֹל, the deep shadow.

The cadence, the tone; they’re the same. Distorted by the foreign, guttural tones of the other language, but they cut through Dean with the same taste. Sam is repeating the same thing over and over again, just in alternating tongues. The familiar Latin combined with the unfamiliar, grating timbre of the other.

The repugnant language of the wretched Divine.

Those accursed, winged beasts, just like the one his brother, his Sammy has been locked up with for an earth-year. And who knows what that timeline looked like, in the depths? Nothing sears in your mind quite like the crushing realization that virtually no real time has passed when you return from it, Dean remembers. The rock constantly lodged in the base of Dean's chest, taking up space where his lungs are supposed to go, which screams out, your pain was never real.

Did time distort further the further down you went in hell? Was Dean’s 40-year stint a mere blink in the face of the time Sam had been locked up with that thing that did this to him?

The only reason Dean’s stomach isn’t on the floor in front of him is because his stomach is empty, the pervasive ache of the last few days locking it up tight. Sam has been screaming and Dean hasn't been eating, but he's never been less hungry in his life.

It’s been three days and one hour and Dean’s been crying for every single second of them.

The wailing and screaming had gouged at him, in that way little baby's cries gouge at unsuspecting figures passing by, striking that deep, maternal cord within them. The same way little toddler-Sam’s cries had always gouged at Dean. The same way, too, that not-so-little teenaged Sam’s sniffles into his pillow that he thought were muffled had always gouged at Dean.

If the screams had been gouging at him, this reverent recitation was gutting him. Viscerally, like a fish being pulled sharply off of a too-big hook that it had somehow managed to swallow down too far. Catch and release turned into a pitiful horror.

But it’s been three days and one hour, now, and Sam’s finished his latest round of the Lord’s prayer - Latin this time - and he’s fallen silent again.

His hands are still held out, despite how bad it must make his shoulders and wrists ache with the tension of his stillness. Before Dean can think to do anything, though, Sam continues, but he breaks the pattern. Instead, his voice is much shakier now, and he starts to plead, the only term applicable to the tone of voice Sam has taken on: wretched, and full of supplication. Pleading, in Latin still,

“Elohim, Messiah - Please take this temptation from me. Please, as you have so graciously promised, benevolent Savior, tempt me not with this Sin of the Flesh. I am too weak, Father. This temptation is too great and I cannot bear it.

Temptation? Father?

The formal tone rankles. The self-deprecation vexes. The use of Father to refer to the most foul being to ever walk above and below the earth seethes and horrifies. Dean is rankled. Dean is vexed. Dean seethes, and he is horrified.

“Take Him from my sight, יהוה, keep me away from His fraternal presence, please, Lord. Balm though He is to my soul, grateful though I am for this offering, I am too weak to refrain from Sin.”

Fraternal? Sin?

“I would naught but bastardize this precious gift, and thine hand wilt be forced against me, as thou shalt flay me apart; dissect me to make penance for my transgressions. I do not wish this, Father, so please: Take Him from me, do not allow my wretched Sin to pervade in thine realm.”

Just because Dean’s stomach is empty doesn’t mean it isn’t trying valiantly to make an appearance. At the word “fraternal,” Bobby had started pushing him out the door. Stunned, Dean hadn’t fought back. There’s bile on Bobby’s hardwood floor outside the bedroom Sam and Bobby were still in.

Sam spoke as if Dean’s presence was the temptation, one too great to bear. And he spoke as if to God, but Dean knew better, he knew where Sam had been. Where Dean let him go. No gods to be seen, not there. What Sin had Lucifer contrived between them, to make Sam pay penance for? What occurred between them for Sam to be… Flayed alive. Dissected.

Dean’s not stupid enough to believe that's anything but literal.

Bobby swings the door mostly-closed just in time for Sam to finish his pleas and lower his arms.

It’s been three days and one hour and ten minutes, and Sam raises his head.

Dean watches through the crack in the door, concealed in the darkness of the hallway. He’s holding his breath and he’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself for not rushing right back to Sam's side. But something is holding him back, and he doesn’t want to name it.

(Fraternal… Sin?)

Sam raises his head but keeps his eyes scrunched shut - tears and snot are dripping down his face, which is a blotchy red but somehow still pallid with fear. He’s shaking worse than before as he straightened his back out, sitting up and letting his legs fold down so he’s cross-legged. Not relaxed, but no longer contorted. Finally, he releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes, pointing down at the floor.

Bobby shifts his weight purposefully and Sam’s eyes fly to him with a wild flinch of fear. It hangs in the air uncomfortably long before he recognizes the man in the room with him, and he lets out a sob of what Dean hopes is relief.

He quickly bows his head and shifts up onto his knees in a simple prayer position, hands pressed together in a booklet of gratitude as he sobs out, “Thank you, Messiah, Morningstar. Thank you.”

Then, with a big sigh, he allows himself to look back at Bobby, but his gaze is clinical, observing. He whispers, through his hitching, wet breaths, “He did it. I can't believe he did it. He’s gone. I don’t have to do it again, not yet.”

Sam’s face crumples as he’s hysterical with relief, and Dean’s clawing his own arms raw and bloody outside the door, desperate to get to the crying baby and soothe it, desperate to kiss toddler-Sam’s scraped knees, desperate to tell teenage-Sam that nothing will ever change the way Dean feels about him, despite whatever darkness he seems to think is inside of him. But still, he’s held back by that unspeakable Sin between them. Lucifer didn’t contrive it, Dean knows that. He holds himself back.

Bobby speaks up then, gruff and wary, “Don’t have to do what, yet?”

Sam startles before finally, really looking at Bobby like he’s a human on the same plane of existence as him, not like he’s a mildly interesting fixture on a non-existent wall.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, Bobby. It’s good to see you,” Sam cracks a smile, and it encapsulates one thousand shades of grief.

Sam continues quieter, once again to himself, “I wish it wasn’t like this. I’m sorry. So, so sorry. But you’re not Him, so it’s fine, it’s fine…”

Bobby squints at him long and hard, eyeing his more relaxed posture and at least somewhat lucid speech - odd though it may be - before he glances at the crack in the door and gives a tiny eyebrow raise that says, get your ass in here.

Dean slowly cracks the door open and calls out to his baby brother, just as he comes into view, “Sammy?”

His reaction is violent. If Sam was pallid before, he’s now a putrid shade of green, face twisting up in horror as he shakes his head, wringing his hands and mumbling out at first, devolving quickly into yells into the aether, into the corners of the room, “No! No, no- please, you promised, no-”

He collapses into himself on the floor, half hidden behind the bed, putting it between him and Dean. The trembling returns with moans and cries incessantly pouring out of Sam’s mouth as he buries his head in his hands, gripping at his face and whatever hair is in reach with too much force, wailing out a constant stream of no, no, no!

Dean takes an involuntary step forward into the room, drawn in by that maternal wretchedness. Desperate, always desperate, to comfort his baby brother.

When his boot sounds on the carpet - muted but oh-so-loud to Sam’s ears - the cries lose their shape, hiccupping wails of no quickly becoming unintelligible and increasingly frantic, building and building until it can only be described as a howling scream.

It’s been three days and one hour and fifteen minutes, and Sam won’t stop screaming.

#2.5k+ words #lucifer wants to be jesus #religious imagery #aftermath of torture #mentally anyway #this doesn't rlly follow canon LOL whoops #(#spn #wincest #< implied/referenced #sam winchester #sam whump #happy sam winchester's birthday #to those who celebrate #)

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sjsmith56 · 3 months

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Chance Encounter - Part 3 + Drabble

Summary: Bucky goes the extra mile in helping Katrina during her detox. Almost a year later they celebrate multiple events.

Length: 5.2 K

Warnings: Angst, Bucky feeling guilt, cold turkey detoxification (sped up for dramatic purposes), fluff at the end and in the Drabble.

Author’s notes: This story took such a different route than my original plan. It was supposed to be a meet cute story then the idea of making the OFC Bucky’s adult daughter, with her own daughter, just kind of appeared in my head and grew from there. Plus the idea of Bucky as sexy dad and granddad was definitely appealing. I hope it resonates.

<<Part 2

🩺 🎉

Bucky didn’t go to the cafeteria for supper, staying in his quarters instead, brooding. Ignoring the sound of someone knocking on his door until Friday advised him it was Sam, led to the latter entering with a cheeseburger, fries and a couple of bottles of beer. Placing the food down in front of Bucky he opened the one beer, handing it to him, then opened the other for himself.

“She didn’t take it well,” he stated, drawing a grimace from Bucky.

“She took it better than I thought but then I told her about the kill squad and that when she comes off the suppressant, she might be uncontrollable. That’s when she closed down.” Bucky took a drink of his beer and picked up the cheeseburger, nodding at Sam before he bit into it. “Thanks.”

“Well, at least she knows the truth.” Sam reached for a fry. “You know, even if she doesn’t speak to you again, you did the right thing. She’s free of that husband, free of HYDRA and she can live the life she wants.”

“Yeah, as long as she doesn’t turn into a killer,” replied Bucky sarcastically. “She’ll have to hide her abilities to stay anonymous. SHIELD will likely have to put her into witness protection so that the CIA don’t get any ideas of using her in black ops. Life will be great for her.”

“Whoa, that turned dark,” commented Sam, taking a swig of his beer. “Give her space. She already knew you killed her parents and still went with you when you showed up at her door. She’s just dealing with all of this new information all at once.”

A grunt was Bucky’s response. As unrealistic as the idea had been, Bucky had hoped for Katrina to be more receptive to the thought of him as her father. He had even briefly thought of buying a house for all three of them, of being there for her and Anna, and doing things together as a family. Now, he was blaming himself for even having that hope, knowing it was an unrealistic fantasy. A hand waved in front of him, and he jerked back.

“What?” He glared at Sam.

“You were somewhere else,” said his partner.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I was. Sorry. I kind of got my hopes up. You know, imagining how things could be.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Sam stood up, finishing his beer. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. At least, Katrina and Anna are safe now, and the docs will figure out a way to deal with the issue.”

“It will work out,” replied Sam. “Try to get some sleep.”

With a wave, he left, and Bucky finished his meal. He picked up the bottles and put them in the recycle bin in his quarters, putting the takeaway box into the garbage. Stretching, he called out to Friday to turn out the lights but was interrupted by a knock on his door. Figuring Sam forgot something he opened it and was startled to see Katrina and Anna. As soon as she saw him, she began to cry and he opened his arms to her, holding her close, as he drew her inside.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re alright.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It was so much to take in and I thought I should try to figure it out by myself, but I haven’t been able to think for myself for my whole life. I’m so confused.”

“Come sit down,” he said, taking Anna from her. “Have you eaten?” She nodded. “What has you so confused?”

“Stupid things, like if you’re telling me the truth. I’ve been lied to my whole life, and I just don’t know if I can tell anymore what the truth is. I went to see Shuri and she said you’re the most honest man she knows.”

He smiled slightly. “She’s biased but she knows me very well. She’s the scientist who neutralized the trigger words that brought out the Winter Soldier and she designed my arm. What else did she tell you?”

“I couldn’t understand why you didn’t remember me, because I thought I was important to you. But in the supermarket, there was no recognition. Yet, you remembered other things that happened to you. She said HYDRA really did a lot of damage to your brain and that there were many things that you would likely never remember. Were the memories of me the ones that you’ll never get back?”

“Listen to me,” he said gently, placing Anna on his lap. “When I first saw you in the supermarket, I saw a woman who looked out of place. You seemed overwhelmed at the size of the place, the selection, the whole atmosphere. What you wanted was on the top shelf and you couldn’t reach it, but you were too afraid to ask for help. It reminded me of myself after I got away from HYDRA. So, I offered to help you as one person to another. Then when you looked at me, I could tell you recognized me, but I thought it was just like when any member of the public suddenly realizes it’s me. It wasn’t until you went to the end of the aisle and looked back at me that I had a flash of a memory that I had seen you before, but I didn’t know where. When I went to my car and saw you sitting there, it just reinforced that you were familiar. I recognized Sergei as well but couldn’t place where I had seen him, except the feeling I got from him wasn’t good. So, I got his licence plate number and Sam looked up Sergei’s information. I had his name and address but still couldn’t put the pieces together. I thought he may have been HYDRA but there were so many people that I encountered over the years I couldn’t narrow it down in my mind. But I was worried about you, because you were obviously afraid of him, even in that parking lot. So, I came to that house, and I watched through the window. When he hit you, I was ready to beat him down just on that alone. After he left, I knocked on the door and you called me Soldier, so you did know who I used to be, except when you said it, there was no fear. That didn’t make sense, even when you told me who you were and how you knew me, because I still didn’t remember. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t leaving there without you and Anna. I’m not the type of man to turn my back on anyone who needs help, and you needed it.”

“Do you remember me now?”

“Bits and pieces only,” he admitted. “Feelings, a couple of memories of me holding a child as she cried, which may have been you or it may have been my sister. After they forced me to kill your parents, my memory was wiped repeatedly, to make me forget you, then I was frozen. After I was awakened, I was wiped again and sent out on a kill mission, according to the files Sam found. They reprogrammed me to go after Steve Rogers because he was getting in the way of their plans. Until then, the public didn’t know who I was. But during a fight, my mask came off, and Steve recognized me, called me by name and that made other memories of him start pushing out. They wiped me again to go after him and I almost killed him, but a specific memory came back of us as friends and that was it, I wasn’t going back. If I had remembered you then, I would have come back for you. I would have never left you there. But they did too good of a job on my memories of you. I’m sorry.”

“So, you don’t care about me as your daughter,” she said hesitantly. “You only care for me as some woman who was in an abusive relationship.”

“No, that’s not true,” smiled Bucky, as he looked at her, then at Anna. “I lost everything because of HYDRA. My parents died without them ever knowing the truth that I survived. My sister was alive, and I did manage to meet with her before she died but all those years without her were gone forever. Steve went back to the past and he was the last person I had history with. When Sam told me that you were my daughter, it was like a part of me that I had closed up had opened again. You’re family, Katrina. You and Anna are my family. I don’t know if the old memories will come back but we can make new ones. We can get a house and live together, with a swing set in the back yard and a pet. You can go to college. Anna can go to school.”

“What about the transition? What if I turn into one of those killers? They must have thought that’s what would happen if they put me on those suppressants.”

“You’re also my daughter,” said Bucky. “I killed for them for a long time, but I haven’t killed anyone since the moment I remembered Steve for good. Shuri said it was because the good person I really am wouldn’t have done those things willingly. It’s something I struggle with but there must be some truth in it. Those killers were never good people. They were trained from a young age to have no mercy, no joy, and no love to give or receive. You’re not them. Your foster parents did love you, even though they were part of HYDRA. They tried to protect you and failed. You love Anna and you’ve protected her from the moment she was born, and you haven’t failed with her.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, looking at her hands. Bucky felt a swell of emotion at her words. “Everyone said you were dangerous, but you never were to me. Growing up on that base was hard because only three people treated me kindly, you and my parents. Even though Pierce was polite I always knew he saw me as something to use.” She sniffed and Bucky reached into his pocket for another handkerchief, handing it to her, bringing a slight smile from her. “I’d like for us to live together. If anyone understands how hard it is to go from living as a prisoner to suddenly being free, it’s you.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself then looked at him again. “Can I call you Dad?”

“You can call me anything you want, sweetheart,” smiled Bucky, suddenly feeling like crying himself.

This time the hug wasn’t for comfort but for grasping at a chance for happiness. A part of Bucky that had been missing in his life was finally filled. For Katrina, she felt safe, especially knowing that this man who had looked out for her when she was a child was more. He was her father, and nothing would ever change that.

“I better get Anna to bed,” she said, as she finally pulled out of the hug. “Tomorrow, when they outline the plan to take us off the suppressants I want you there, as my dad and my friend. Then we can do what you said, make new memories, permanent ones.”

“I’ll be there,” said Bucky. “I promise.”

He stood up, kissing them both on the forehead in turn before handing her daughter back. Then he pulled them both in for another quick hug before walking them to the door. He watched them walk down the hallway towards their quarters before he went back inside. That night, Bucky Barnes slept straight through for over seven hours, a new record.

When he showed up with Katrina and Anna at the Avengers lab on the following day and listened to the plan, he still had doubts that things would work out. The analysis of the pills proved that they were no longer as effective as they had been as the active ingredients in them were losing their potency. They were also addictive in nature. Katrina was on the cusp of having a physical breakdown. They could either wean her off or put her through a cold turkey withdrawal from the suppressants. Each process had its pros and cons.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked Bucky, who held Anna in his lap.

“If it was me, I would want to get that stuff out of me as soon as possible,” he said. “But it’s going to be hard on you, really hard.”

He didn’t tell her about his own withdrawal from what HYDRA gave him, a process he underwent alone because he was on the run, without any help or trust in anyone.

“You’ll help me?” Her plaintive look as she asked almost broke his heart, but he assured her he would. She turned to the two doctors and Shuri. “I’ll go through the withdrawal as long as my dad can stay and help. I don’t want Anna to see.”

“She can stay with my sister and nephews in Delacroix,” said Sam. “She’ll be safe there and get lots of fresh air. We can arrange for a sorcerer to open a portal directly there.”

Looking at Bucky for guidance on Sam’s offer, he nodded his approval, and she accepted it. After a tearful goodbye with Anna, they decided to start the process the next day. With Sam along, the three of them spent the day together, with Bucky telling her about his family and growing up in Brooklyn before the war. He showed her an album he had of pictures that his sister had of him when he was young. It was bittersweet for Katrina, seeing the pictures of his parents and his sister, family she would never know. That evening, after dinner, Bucky took her up to the roof, where a lounge area was, and they watched the sunset together, before he walked her back to her room and assured her that she would get through this.

Bucky stayed with her throughout the detoxification process, as there were things in the pills that couldn’t even be identified as other than toxic. While her emotions went all over the place, at the same time as her strength and senses exploded, he held and rocked her like a baby, cleaned up her vomit and worse. When she begged for the pills to take the edge off of what her body was going through, he listened, then refused her requests, taking the physical and verbal abuse that she threw at him in response. Not once did he lose his temper or raise a hand to her. The few times he took a break, when a strong sedative was given to Katrina so that both of them could rest, he would shower, crying in that sanctuary, for what HYDRA had done to his daughter. Then he checked in on Anna, having a live video call with her, assuring her that Mama would get better. After some food to replenish him, he returned to that barren room with only a mattress on the floor, since Katrina had destroyed all the furniture in the first of her many rages as her body shed the drugs she had been fed since she was two years old. Every time he returned; it was with a nod to Bruce to lock the door. Then he sat next to her on the floor and waited for her to wake up, ready to go through the process all over again.

For those who were watching on closed circuit TV, Sam, Bruce, Helen and Shuri, it was both heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time, at witnessing the love he expressed to his daughter to stay with her throughout the ordeal. Sam thought it was one of the most heroic things Bucky would ever do. On the fourth day, he was dozing as he sat against the wall, the strain of all of it finally catching up to his super soldier stamina. Katrina woke up and rolled over to see her father sitting on the floor, his back against the wall with his eyes closed, his face unshaven, his hair a mess; and thought she had never seen anyone that she loved more at that moment than him.

“Dad?”

He opened his eyes immediately and looked at her intently.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answered, tiredly.

“Are you okay? You look like shit.”

He smiled. “I’ve been better. How are you?”

“Hungry,” she said. “But better.” She sniffed. “Is that me that smells?” He nodded. “Can I have a shower and get out of these clothes?”

Sam, who was watching at that moment on the closed-circuit TV with Bruce, turned to him.

“That’s good, right? She’s through the worst of it?”

“Yeah,” agreed Bruce. “She might have a relapse but if she’s hungry and her sense of smell is working then her body is finally readjusting. I think we can let her out to get cleaned up and have something to eat but I still want her to stay here for the week just for observation.”

Allowed to shower and wash her hair, Katrina took a long time before she came out of the bathroom, going right to Bucky and wrapping her arms around his middle.

“I have your eyes,” she said, as the side of her head rested against his chest and he enclosed her with his arms. “I hope Anna has your eyes as well.”

“You already have my heart,” he whispered, “both of you.”

It was further proof of their blood kinship to confirm she inherited the blue eyes of his family. After two days with no relapse, Katrina asked for Anna’s return, and the decision was made to wean the little girl off the pills slowly. She hadn’t been on them as long, only for a year and it took just over a month at the compound to wean her off of them completely. Her blue eyes matched those of her mother and grandfather. Although she was still adjusting to her growing abilities, her natural joyful nature sprouted during that time, endearing her to many of the staff. The time they spent together at the compound, proved to be time well spent, as they learned how to be a family.

With Nick Fury’s help, a house in Brooklyn was found, ready for them to move in; just needing furniture, linens, and all the other things necessary for living. Bucky moved all of his possessions from his flat over but so much more was needed and the three of them went on a bit of a spending spree, finding furnishings for their small family. Many hands came forward to help them move in when they finally took possession. For the first time since he left for war in 1943, Bucky Barnes had a real home to come back to.

They also received word from SHIELD that the search of Sergei’s house had revealed a list of people who had been in HYDRA but were never identified or located when it fell. When the authorities showed up on their doorsteps to take them into custody, many of them took the same way out that Sergei did. A few tried to claim they were forced to be part of that organization but were still taken in to be given their day in court.

Eleven months later

The doorbell rang again, and Bucky called out that he would answer it. Peeking through the window he saw it was Sam, Sarah and the boys, and he opened the door with a big smile, noticing the big present that Sam was carrying.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he said to his second family. “Just yourselves.”

“Like I’m going to come to a four-year old’s birthday party without an offering,” replied Sam. “It’s really something for the house. It was the boys’ idea.”

Bucky looked at AJ and Cass, standing there with grins on their faces. “It better not be a video game console. My granddaughter is way too young to be addicted to them like you two are.”

The sound of running footsteps had everyone turn around as Anna came barrelling down the hallway.

“Uncle Sam, Auntie Sarah!” She hugged them around the knees, almost knocking them into the wall.

“Gently, Anna,” warned Bucky. “Remember, you have to be gentle with everyone.”

He picked her up, kissing her on the cheek. “Why don’t you take the boys out to the backyard and show them your climbing gym?”

“Okay, Grandpa,” she answered, then wriggled to get out of his arms.

Grabbing the boys’ hands, she pulled them with her out to the backyard.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you be called Grandpa,” smiled Sarah, kissing him on the cheek. “I think you like it a lot.”

“I do like it; I can’t lie,” smiled Bucky, then he put his hands out. “Give me that and I’ll add it to the pile of presents that other people brought even though I specifically asked them not to.”

“Stop complaining, Dad,” said Katrina, coming out of the kitchen. “You got her four presents and already let her open two of them. Hi, Sam. Hi, Sarah. Thanks for coming. There’s one person left, and he’ll be here soon.”

“A certain wingman?” teased Sam, as Bucky grimaced at him. “Aw, you like him. You just don’t want to admit it. Have you had the shovel talk with him yet?”

Bucky kept walking into the living room, giving Sam the finger as he did. That made him chuckle and he hugged Katrina, then signed to her.

“Does he know how serious you two are?”

She glared at him and signed back. “No, not yet.”

“Are you two signing to each other?” Bucky called out from the living room. “I can hear your hands move.”

They both stopped, then grinned as Bucky came back out to the hallway. With a knowing look at Sam, Katrina led them through the kitchen and out to the backyard which was done up with balloons and streamers. Music was playing and there was definitely a party atmosphere going on. Sarah looked at her brother as they went down the steps, surprised at the level of activity in the back yard. This was a bit much for Bucky’s usual tastes, but he seemed to be right in there, laughing and joking with people. He kept his eye on Anna, especially if she was too exuberant in her dealings with others, as she often forgot that most people weren’t like Grandpa, Mama, Uncle Thor, Uncle Peter, or Auntie Carol. Today, they were celebrating a couple of things, including Anna’s fourth birthday, or her first really, since her birth father Sergei, didn’t believe in celebrating sentimental milestones. In his mind, life was hard and you either took what you wanted to survive, or you died.

When the doorbell rang again bringing Joaquin Torres into the party, Sam was surprised to see a nod of acknowledgement from Bucky at the Avenger’s arrival. Maybe the major change in adjustment that the stoic super soldier underwent in the past year was an understatement. Remembering the first day he saw Bucky Barnes, that day on the freeway when the man literally destroyed Sam’s car with his hands, he smiled as he watched him pick Anna up, smothering her with kisses before he put her on his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” said Bucky, as he looked over the people assembled in his back yard. “Officially, this is just a get-together to celebrate a few things. First, I want to congratulate my daughter, Katrina, for getting her GED, scoring high enough to earn college credits in math, science, and language arts. She worked very hard to get that done, and I’m very proud of her. I’ll let her make the second announcement.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she replied, making several people grin at each other, as they still weren’t used to Bucky being called that. “I wanted to announce that I was accepted into NYU, and I’ll be starting there for the fall semester taking Applied General Studies, since I really don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”

“Not following your father as an Avenger?” Thor looked confused. “You are a super soldier, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am but I’m also a mom, and I don’t think I inherited the ass-kicking gene from him,” she grinned. “Actually, he kind of suggested it. Said I should find my own path and he would light the way.” She looked lovingly at Bucky, who returned the look right at her. “Anyways, it’s been almost a year since Dad found me, and helped me start this new life. You’ve all been important to me as well, so thank you for being there for me and Anna.”

After the polite applause, Bucky lifted Anna off his shoulders and held her in his arms. He whispered into her ear, smiling as her face shone brightly.

“Really? Now?”

“Now,” he said. “What do you want to say to everyone?”

She looked sweetly at the people who were gathered then crowed out her greeting. “It’s my birthday! I’m four years old. Let’s have fun!”

It was an incredible party, as much fun for her mother and grandfather as it was for the four-year-old girl. Every gift she opened brought joy to her, even the video game console that Sam Wilson brought, ignoring the fake glares from her grandfather. When Bucky brought the cake out, with its four candles lit up Anna clapped her hands.

“Close your eyes, make a wish and blow out the candles,” said Katrina.

Scrunching her eyes up tight, Anna thought for a moment then she leaned forward and blew the candles out, to applause from everyone. As Katrina cut into the cake and shared pieces with everyone, Sam stood next to his partner, who gazed at his daughter and granddaughter with so much love.

“You’re a lucky man, Buck,” he said. “A good deed in the supermarket led you to find a real treasure.”

“I am lucky,” agreed the super soldier. “I have everything I want in life; a good job, a home, friends, and a family that I never knew I had. Thanks for doing the leg work and finding out the truth.”

“Any time, partner, any time.”

He patted Bucky on the shoulder, then both men accepted their piece of cake, enjoying every bite. Sometimes the darkest of discoveries leads to the brightest of celebrations, and this birthday party of Anna Barnes was proof of it. From now on she would grow up knowing that she was loved and cherished by her mother and her grandfather, the man formerly known as the Winter Soldier. This was one chance encounter that changed three lives for the better.

Bonus Drabble - I tried to include this in part 3 but it didn’t fit so I made it into a little Drabble instead.

The sight of Joaquin Torres holding hands and occasionally hugging or kissing Katrina Barnes at her daughter’s birthday party still surprised most people. Those that were at the compound when he arrived during the time of Katrina’s observation period, witnessed how he seemed taken by her immediately. Those that weren’t there heard the story and still didn’t believe it almost a year later. Torres didn’t even know she was Bucky’s daughter as she was listed at the security station as Katrina Ivanova. She was in the cafeteria waiting for Bucky when Joaquin saw her and Anna. Seeing Sam, he gestured to him to come over.

“Who is she? New staff?”

Sam had grinned, wondering if he should mess around with the flyer. Then Bucky joined his family, and Anna wanted to sit on his lap, drawing a smile out of the stoic super soldier. That just intrigued Joaquin even more and he pestered Sam for more information.

“The older one is Bucky’s daughter,” Sam finally said. “Just found out about her. They’re going to try to make a go of it as a family.”

“The little one is his granddaughter? He’s okay with that?”

“He’s great with it,” said Sam. “You want to meet her? She’s 26. Just a little younger than you.”

“He won’t hurt me, will he?” Joaquin looked a little worried.

“No promises. Come on, we’ll go sit with them.”

They picked up their trays and came over. Bucky narrowed his eyes a little bit as he noticed how Joaquin was looking at Katrina but said nothing, although he moved to the same side of the table with her.

“Katrina, this is Joaquin Torres, also known as The Falcon,” said Sam. “He works with your dad a lot. Joaquin, Katrina Barnes.”

“I will be, as soon as I get my name legally changed,” she replied, extending her hand to him. “This little one is my daughter, Anna.”

Joaquin looked from her to Bucky, who was keeping a civil face, at least for now.

“So, you were born while he was still the Winter Soldier?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story but because of a chance encounter at a supermarket, I found my dad, and he found me and Anna.” She anticipated his next question. “I inherited his abilities, if you’re wondering.”

He smiled at her, then at Bucky. “I think you’ll be a good dad and grandfather. You already seem a lot happier.”

“I’m working on it,” murmured Bucky. “Don’t you have some work to do on your suit?”

“Already finished the systems upgrade,” said Joaquin. “I’m pretty free until we get another mission. Oh, I heard that Fury was looking for you and Cap. Sorry Sarge.”

“Sarge?” asked Katrina. “They call you Sarge?”

“Hmmm,” answered Bucky, then he looked at Sam, who was trying to keep a straight face. His own face and voice were definitely not amused. “I need to talk to you, in private.”

As they walked away, he could hear Katrina ask Torres why her dad was called Sarge. They didn’t see Katrina, Anna or Torres for the rest of the afternoon, as he showed her the amenities outside, including a playground that Bucky didn’t know about. That was the day Bucky finally experienced what all the fathers of his dates in the 1930s and 1940s went through when he led their daughters out the door. The thought of karma finally catching up with him on his ladies’ man days, was a bitter pill to swallow. But at least he knew where Torres lived, and he definitely had the shovel talk with him a few days later, while sharpening one of his favourite knives.

Since then, Torres hadn’t disappointed Sarge. Whenever he showed up to take Katrina out he was pleasant with her father and he always brought her back on time, while showing her the greatest respect. He did have plans to visit Sarge soon, to ask him something very important, but he could wait. Today was Anna’s day and the ring was patiently waiting for its moment to be offered to her mother.

THE END

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