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“Shhh, baby, try to relax.”
Bucky’s voice is a pebble creating ripples on the surface of your brain. The world is coming back in pieces. Your vision is still fuzzy, like you’d been asleep a long time, even though you don’t remember lying down. You don’t remember your head ending up in Bucky’s lap, either, but his metal fingers are brushing through your hair like you’re three. And maybe you are?
“There’s my doll,” he murmurs, and his face swims into vision above you. As you register his features (tight jaw, red eyes, furrowed brow), an ache from elbow to wrist starts to thrum in the back of your mind, like a low-priority focus creeping forward through the fog.
“Try not to move, honey.”
The different voice rings gentle in your ears, and you realize that it’s Steve holding your arm in his lap, Steve gingerly dabbing at your skin with gauze pads that come back too vividly colored. It makes your stomach lurch when you see it, but the scary part isn’t the sight—it’s the way you still can’t piece together the last few hours.
“Wha— ?” you start to whisper, but your throat cracks painfully and you choke on a little cough. The two men immediately move, Bucky gingerly guiding you to your side while Steve brings a straw to your lips. You sip without thinking and the cold water feels like a balm on your vocal cords. You drink almost greedily, not caring when a droplet of water slides down the corner of your mouth to your chin.
“Easy, sweetheart, not too fast,” Steve says gently, taking the water back before you can overdo it. You lay back again without prompting, letting Bucky settle you between his criss-crossed knees. A faint sense of buzzing lingers under your skin and in your chest, like something really bad happened and you’re just catching up to find out about it. That seems to be the case in tenfold, because as your body comes back online from whatever state of distress had made you end up in this situation, your emotions fall into your chest like a brick.
“Daddy?” you whisper without thinking, your voice trembling under the threat of scared tears, and both of your caregivers soften in every sense. Your brain sinks deeper every moment, the stress sending you into that state of I can’t be an adult right now.
“We’re here, sweetheart,” Steve says quietly, while Bucky continues massaging your scalp. Your eyes can’t help but flick downwards towards the evidence of what you had done when you were much, much more in your adult brain. A roughened-but-gentle hand comes to cup your chin, flesh fingers tilting your gaze back to the ceiling, back to Bucky’s steady face.
“We’ve got cookies cooling in the kitchen, darlin’,” he says softly, effectively grabbing your attention before your eyes can start to sting. “Chocolate chip. Your favorite, hm? Just how you like ‘em, too, all soft and golden. Bet you’ll want some milk in your cup, too.”
He continues to quietly ramble, dotting on details that create a picture in your head almost stronger than the stinging sensation. At some point, your beloved plush dog gets tucked under your free arm, and the same thumb ends up between your lips. Neither of them stop you, even if Bucky tries (unsuccessfully) to press a pacifier into your mouth instead.
When it’s mostly over, when you’re bandaged and aching and feeling raw in every way, Steve scoops you up like you’re the smallest creature on the planet and just holds you for a minute, his strong arms soothing something deep in your heart. “My baby,” he whispers, like he’s reminding you and himself all at once. You sniffle a little into his shoulder and Bucky’s metal hand joins Steve’s in your hair, and you’re surrounded by love in every way that matters.
Later, there will be appointments to make, gentle check-ins, safety plans, and plenty of tough moments of honesty, because what happened tonight scared all three of you. But for now, you’re just little, and you couldn’t be safer in their arms, and they’ll always be there to remind you.