#faad: the real bucky

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 29. the real bucky.

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU��similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. somewhat evil!Tony Stark (eventually).

[Steve]

“Willa, please… can we just talk about it?” I try desperately, now on at least my tenth attempt at calming the child down. Willa’s been crying for the past hour or so since I broke the news to her about Bucky coming later; up until now, she’s been too upset to even have a conversation about the matter. This time when I ask, she just slumps her shoulders, miserable tears continuing to trail down her whitened cheeks.

“Please, please d-don’t. ’m sorry. W-will do anything,” she whimpers.

“Sweetheart, hey. He’s not coming here to hurt you, Willa. Let’s just talk about it, okay? I know this is really scary for you, but there’s a lot about the situation that you don’t understand,” I try to reason.

I’ve moved us over to the couch in hopes of getting a little more comfortable. Willa’s pressing herself against the cushion she’s leaning on, looking absolutely inconsolable at the news. I sigh, my heart breaking a little bit in my chest at the sight of the panicked child. I hate to put her through so much stress, but I think that healing this relationship between her and Bucky could be really beneficial for both of them. The more safe, supportive relationships Willa has, the better. And I know that making amends wherever he can is important to Buck regarding the things he did when the Winter Soldier took over.

“You know how I told you that I was frozen in the ice for a really long time?” I begin, not sure how much my story will ease her fears. Willa nods, her gaze cautiously meeting mine. “Well, Bucky and I were friends even before that happened. All the way back when we were just two teenagers looking to enlist in the army. He protected me whenever I would get bullied on the streets,” I explain. The girl blinks, still not saying anything. “Bucky was always a good guy. The only reason he ever hurt people was because he was forced to. He was captured by Hydra, and they controlled his brain to make him do things he would never do willingly. He never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart.” By the look on her face, I can tell that what I’m saying is having little to no impact on how the child feels about the man. “Remember when you said he would come in and take care of you before he became scary?” I ask, earning a silent nod. “That’s the real him. He did that before he was fully under their control. And now, he’s completely free of Hydra. He’s back to his real self.”

“Not safe anym-more,” Willa mumbles, a tear still falling from her reddened eyes every once and a while. “Too scary.”

“He’s safe, doll. I promise. I pinky promise,” I try, offering her my little finger, but she recoils back from it, refusing the commitment. “Please, Willa. I know you’re scared now, but you’ll see when he comes; he’s a really good guy. And he misses you, too. He was so excited to hear that we found you, that he could see you again.”

“To hurt m-me more,” she whimpers weakly. Fighting back tears, I shake my head.

“No, that’s not what he wants,” I restate, knowing that unfortunately, nothing I say at this point is likely to change her mind.

“Mornin’ guys,” a familiar voice chirps from across the room, breaking Willa and I out of our conversation.

We both gaze over to see Peter approaching, shuffling through something on his phone. After another moment, the teen clicks the device off, shoving it in his pocket and looking up with a smile.

As his eyes fall on Willa, though, his expression quickly turns to worry, and in an instant he’s made his way over to the couch, asking, “Oh no- what’s wrong, Willa?” Peter sits down on the other side of the child, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to face him, and before anyone can say anything more, she completely crumples into his arms. The boy holds onto his friend steadily, looking up at me in total alarm. “Wh-what’s going on, guys?” he asks, probably looking for a response from me more than Willa at this point, given her current state.

“S-Steve’s b'inging him here to hurt me. I-I was bad and now- now he’s coming, didn’t mean to be; will do better, please,” the small girl rambles through her tears, revealing her true worries: that she’s done something to deserve being hurt, and that’s why I’m bringing Bucky here. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as the child’s words settle in the tense air.

“He’s what? Bringing who?” Peter asks, clearly confused by the whole ordeal.

“No sweetie, you haven’t been bad,” I soothe, reaching out and placing a hand on her back. Willa lurches away from my touch, clinging to Peter like her life depends on it. “Willa-bug, come here. Please sweetheart,” I reason, but she doesn’t move an inch. I sigh, looking back up to Peter. “Bucky’s coming over later,” I explain.

“Oh,” the boy says slowly, still seeming unsure as to what the problem is. “That’s great! I haven’t seen him in a while, but last time he said something about wanting to play Mario Kart with me and Thor.” I smile slightly, nodding as I remember their conversation. “S-so- so that’s what Willa’s so afraid of?” I nod.

“Willa knew Bucky before we rescued her, when they were both stationed in Hydra,” I tell him. “Bucky was the Winter Soldier then.” A look of clarity finally rolls over the teen’s face, and he nods, now understanding.

“Ohh,” he replies knowingly, “so she knew him when he was… evil,” he puts together. I nod. Turning his attention back down to the little girl hiding away in his arms, Peter pulls back slightly to look her in the eyes. “Hey, hey Wil, can you look at me?” he asks, the nickname now familiar as something he uses quite frequently with the girl. Willa’s eyes struggle to meet his, and he smiles at her gently, the soft Peter smile we all know and love. “Wanna know something? I was pretty scared to meet him too, at first,” he tells his friend. “I mean, Cap told me he was a good guy, so I wasn’t too concerned, but still; Tony told me about his past at Hydra.”

The child sniffles, thankfully at least giving Peter a chance to try to reason with her. “He’s super nice, Willa. Last time he was over, we all played board games and Nat made pies. Bucky and Steve had a pie-eating contest. Steve won, of course, with his increased metabolism and all.” I chuckle slightly at the memory. “I promise he won’t hurt you, friend. Steve would never let someone near you who he thought would hurt you, never ever. He loves you more than anything-” the teen reasons, though he quickly pauses when he realizes what he’s said. “I-I mean, he-”

“That’s okay, Peter,” I tell him. “You’re right. I do love Willa more than anything.” Peter seems unsettled by my sudden openness with the word, which makes sense given the fact that he wasn’t present yesterday during our discussion about love. “That’s something we’ve started saying now,” I let him know.

“L-love Steve,” Willa says weakly. Peter looks even more shocked at this.

“Oh- th-that’s great!” the kid smiles, trying to hide his surprise.

“Who else do you love, sweetheart?” I ask, hoping to give her a chance to express her feelings to her closest friend.

“L-love Peter,” she responds quietly, so soft I can barely hear her. Peter’s eyes widen, and to my (maybe not so) surprise, they fill with tears. He holds his friend at an arm’s length away, looking her in the eyes.

“I-I love you too, Willa. I love you so much; you’re my best friend in the whole wide world,” he professes, pulling her in for a hug. Her little arms wrap around him and he holds her close, a smile forming on my face as warmth settles in over me. The friendship they’ve developed is truly incredible; I’m so glad they have each other. I think Willa’s a whole lot better off with Peter by her side.

Though I know it’s a stretch, a part of me hopes she could become this way with Bucky; I want for her to be able to love him again. They’ve clearly both been critical in each other’s lives; I think that especially for Buck, finding people to love isn’t an easy process.

“Mr. Parker,” a voice says out of nowhere. We all look up to see Vision who’s appeared suddenly in front of us.

“What- where did you-?” I stumble over my words.

“Oh, hey Vision,” the teenager greets, unphased by his abrupt arrival. After a moment of confusion, I realize that he must have just teleported himself into the room. I sigh, shaking my head. Sometimes the future is really too much.

“Mr. Stark is waiting for you down in the lobby,” the red man states.

“Oh, that’s right! I totally forgot.” Peter turns back to Willa, a pained look on his face. “Hey, Mr. Stark is taking me out to train offsite today,” he tells her carefully. “I don’t know when we’ll be back, but I promise we’ll play later, okay?” The little girl’s face drops as she realizes her friend is leaving her, and she clings to him momentarily, as if to beg him not to go. The boy’s face further contorts with guilt, but he gently removes her little hands from him, standing up and joining Vision. “I’ll see you guys soon,” he says, nodding at both of us before he and Vision head for the elevator.

Like always, Willa simply watches as he goes, her wide eyes settled on the elevator long after its doors have opened and closed again, taking her friend away. After a few moments of silence, I scoot closer to her, reaching out a hand and rubbing it gently over her arm. “D'you wanna come sit in my lap?” I offer.

Willa peers over at me warily, her bottom lip sticking out ever so slightly. I pat the space on my legs gently, and a look of longing flashes in the girl’s eyes, but it’s soon replaced by hesitancy. The fear that she’s done something wrong in order to deserve Bucky’s visit has clearly not left her. I sigh, opening up my arms to her, an offer she would usually never resist. This time, though, she just looks over sadly, not even feeling safe enough to try.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I encourage, but Willa stays frozen in her place, probably worried that anything more she does might worsen her situation. As difficult as it is to watch her go through this, there might really be nothing I can do to show her she’s safe until Bucky’s actually here.

Willa was four years old, curled up in a ball on the hard concrete floor of the small, empty room she had been thrown in by one of the guards. She knew the place well; Room Nine, it was a correctional cell. The little girl wasn’t sure exactly what she had done this time to deserve more punishment. It could have been any of a number of things, really. Sometimes they beat her for crying. Sometimes they beat her for not being able to use her powers like they wanted her to. Sometimes they just beat her because she existed. No matter how hard she tried to be good, they still beat her anyway. As she stared at the blood-stained floor, the child longed for the earlier days of her toddlerhood, where the worst she was subjected to was her shock collar and remote. All Willa could do was hope her punisher would be one of the more lenient guards. Though they were all strong and brutal, some consistently went easier on her than others.

When the door opened to reveal the one she formerly knew as ‘Bucky’, but whom everyone now referred to as 'soldier,’ all Willa’s hopes of being let off easy disappeared. The tiny girl cowered in the corner of the room as the tall man with long dark hair approached her, the door slamming shut behind him.

The sight of the pitiful child had no effect on the Winter Soldier; his brain was freshly wiped clean of any feelings or cares. He did not have any memory of the child, even though months before, when he still had a partial hold of his mind, he had occasionally snuck in to check on her, bandaging her wounds and giving her what little food he could offer. All recollection of that was erased completely by a machine. And when he had voiced his readiness to comply, the mission he was given was simple: Force the girl to self-shift. Use whatever means may be necessary.

The soldier walked straight up to the little body on the floor, leaning down at the waist and grabbing the girl by the throat. He held her up off the ground with his hands gripping the backside of her neck, lodged right underneath her head. At any time, he could simply close his fist and completely cut off her airflow. Willa whimpered in fear, tears springing from her eyes.

“Shift,” the man demanded, his voice low and gravelly, almost distorted in sound. The word caused more fear to shoot through the little girl’s veins. She knew what this meant, that pain was coming. She knew also that she couldn’t fully control her shifting yet. Panic set in as she realized that she was being asked to do something that she had not mastered.

“P-please, w-wait,” she stumbled, her body far too lost to fight-or-flight mode to comply with her attempts to reach equilibrium. “C-can’t, sorry,” she tried, but that was not an answer the angry man was willing to take. The soldier pulled back a fist and slammed it into the poor child’s cheek, blood instantly flooding to the surface in an angry purple flush. Willa cried out in pain, biting down on her tongue instinctively to try to silence herself.

“Shift,” he ordered once again, his voice much louder this time.

“P-please, will try harder, p-p-please,” the girl sputtered out, her whole head throbbing in excruciating pain. In response to her pathetic-sounding pleas, the soldier began to tighten his fingers around her neck. Willa choked and gasped for air, her arms and legs flailing as she struggled to breathe.

“Shift, or you’ll faint,” the ruthless man threatened. Big warm tears flooded Willa’s cheeks as she tried again to control her powers, but she was still met ultimately with failure. Black spots started clouding her vision.

The soldier saw her reaching unconsciousness and eased up his grip, not wanting to make her completely black out, for that would only make his mission take longer. Once Willa was able to get in a few good breaths, he struck her cheek again, his own face red and hot with anger. She sobbed loudly at the stinging sensation, unable to hold in her agony. This only irritated the soldier more, causing him to drop the girl to the floor. He then reached down and picked her up again, this time entirely by the hair, and then, without warning, he stood back up and swung her against the wall, her whole body colliding with the hard concrete. He slammed her again and again against it, skin being torn from her frail frame and blood beginning to train down her arms and legs.

The soldier then held her up again in front of him, still dangling by her hair, and yelled directly in her face, “SHIFT!” Spit sprayed her bloody face.

Willa could only whimper in reply, her whole body seething with pain. Though she had learned to be quiet during a punishment, her four-year-old mind was growing foggy, and she began crying out for her mother, even though the woman had already been dead for years.

Frustrated, the man swung her back and threw her again against the wall, this time letting go of her hair in the process. She hit the concrete head-first, warm darkness surrounding her as the room and the soldier disappeared. She did not know if it was sleep or death that had swallowed her up; she did not mind. She would welcome either with open arms.

[Bucky]

I fidget slightly with the metal on my left hand as the elevator rises steadily through the building; I haven’t been over on this side of town in a considerable amount of time. I’ve missed Steve and all the others, truly. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m out of place whenever I’m over. They’re a group of superheroes. And then, there’s me. I’m no super-anything.

After a few minutes, I’ve reached floor fifty, and the doors slide open as the bell goes off, letting those inside know of my arrival. I step out into the large living space, looking around. At first, I don’t see anyone, but as my gaze travels from right to left, I spot Steve sitting on the couch, a small figure curled up in a ball beside him, shaking.

Steve waves over to me and I nod back at him. I’m hesitant to say anything or make noise due to the small child at my friend’s side. From what I can see from here, she looks to be a little bit bigger than what I remember, but not much. They’ve obviously cleaned her up, given her some real clothes and fixed her hair. She’s in nowhere near the kind of state I found her in when I would sneak in to try to help her back at Hydra, but she’s still clearly malnourished, not to mention terrified at the moment. I sigh, not sure if I should move any closer or stay put.

“Willa, someone’s here to see you,” Steve rouses gently, causing the child to cower further into herself, letting out a frightened sob. “Hey, c'mon sweetheart,” my friend murmurs, turning the small girl’s body towards him and scooping her up onto his lap. Her little hands grip onto his shirt as she buries her face into the fabric, still shaking violently with fear.

Guilt builds up in my chest as I watch the girl cry. Steve looks up at me sadly and motions over. My feet feel like they’re being held down by weights as I drag myself over to the two, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table in front of them, a safe few feet away.

“P-please, please St-Steve,” a little voice begs. “Will b-be good, won’t ever be bad again, please.”

“Hey Buck,” Steve greets, stroking up and down the girl’s back soothingly.

“Hi,” I force out. At the sound of my voice, the child jumps in Steve’s arms, now shaking even harder somehow.

“You look good. Didn’t know you chopped the hair,” he comments.

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know; I decided I might like it short again,” I reply, the small talk feeling completely forced given the current circumstances.

“Willa-bug, can you come say hi?” Steve eases, but the little girl in his lap shakes her head fiercely.

“Please, please don’t let him h-hurt me, please don’t, p-please,” she whimpers.

“He won’t hurt you, sweetheart. You’re safe, I promise.” As he continues to comfort the child, Steve lifts her slightly in his arms and turns her around to face me, rocking her back and forth lovingly. The little girl’s gaze warily meets mine, the green in her eyes sending sparks shooting up and down my spine; it’s the same green I saw so long ago. “You’re safe, you’re safe,” the man behind her murmurs again, stroking the child’s cheek gently with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, I muster all of my courage, saying as carefully as I can, “Hello, little one.”

The girl - or Willa, as Steve now calls her - looks up fearfully at my words. I soften my gaze as much as I can for her, letting my shoulders lower a bit in hopes to appear less intimidating.

“I’m very glad to see you again. It looks like Steve’s been taking good care of you.” Tears stream down the kid’s cheeks as she begins to struggle in the man’s arms. “You don’t have to be scared,” I tell her gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Please, too scary, pl-please,” she squeaks. The look on my friend’s face is full of sadness and confliction; I can tell that he hates putting her through so much emotional distress, but he also seems just as set on our reunification as I am.

“Not scary, sweetie. Shh-shh shh, there’s no scary here,” Steve tries to reassure her, though the girl only continues to squirm in his arms, struggling against him until eventually, he sits her down firmly in his lap, his arms crossed over her so that she can’t escape. Willa’s eyes squeeze shut in fear as she realizes there’s no escape for her.

“I-I’ll be good- will shift, won’t cry, please, please don’t,” she begs in terror, and as her pleas come to an end, a new look of horror washes over her face as she lets out a quiet cry, a dark wet spot forming underneath her on Steve’s pants. A look of pure heartbreak forms on his face as the little girl freezes up, entirely too scared to speak, move, or do anything.

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve sighs, standing up and lifting her in the air. “I’m sorry, Buck, let me take care of this,” he apologizes tiredly, but I stand as well, shaking my head.

“Here, let me,” I offer. He eyes me hesitantly, clearly worried that I might just do more damage at this point, but I honestly don’t know what damage there’s left to be done; I just want to show her that I’m safe now. I open up my arms to take in the child, but he shakes his head, saying, “At least let me carry her.” I nod, not wanting to push him past what he’s comfortable with.

Steve quietly turns, starting to lead me to the hallway. The walk is silent past the many doors before we reach the very last one on the left. We walk in and the man stops at the dresser to grab a new set of clothes before leading me across the room to another door that opens to a bathroom. He walks over by the counter and sets the child down on the floor; surprisingly she stays standing on her feet. Steve then steps back and sets the clothes on the counter, glancing over at me, unsure.

I send him a comforting nod before I turn to the small girl, approaching her carefully. When I’m a foot or two away from her, I lower myself to my knees, hoping that being on the same level as her will ease some of her fears. At this point, though, she seems to have almost completely shut down. Her body is still tensed up, her eyes wide with trepidation, her mouth clamped shut. I recognize this response right away; she thinks there is no fixing what she’s 'done’ at this point. She’s just trying to be 'good’ now to not make it any worse.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, little dove,” I say warmly, a faint look of recognition setting off in the child’s gaze as I the clothes off the counter and unfold them. Then, I reach out and pull down the little girl’s dirty clothes, slipping them off her feet one by one.

Willa stays silent, probbaly too afraid to even protest.

Looking through the cabinets, I find a tub of skin-safe baby wipes. As gently as I can, I wipe the little girl clean, apologizing when she flinches, “Sorry, bunny. I know they’re a little cold.” She looks completely surprised when I don’t do anything to hurt her, but instead throw the wipes away in the waste bin. Putting the box away in the cabinet, I pick up the clean clothes, holding them up for her to step into. Willa does so warily; once she’s fully clothed again, I stand back up, washing my hands in the sink. She stays quietly down at my side, not moving an inch or making a sound. As I scrub with the lemon-scented soap, I look over at Steve who’s watching in shock. He was probably expecting her to freak out, which honestly, a part of me was too, but luckily it all went smoothly.

Drying my hands, I kneel back down in front of the girl. “How about you and I go start on some dinner while we let Steve get cleaned up?” I suggest, offering her my hand. To my complete surprise, Willa takes it, accepting my offer. Rising back up to my feet, we turn back to face Steve who still looks completely lost.

“O-okay, then. You guys get to it. I’ll be out in just a few.”

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