𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.
❝ welcome to the nightmare ❞

The urge to jump was far too strong.

Just jump. A moment of weightlessness. A vicious snap. Simple as that.

Her boots scraped against the edge of the world, teetering dangerously on that weighty scale between life and death, barely resisting that tantalizing temptation to fall.

Morning sky eyes on a forever sunset sky. Purples and pinks reflecting back into her soft blues. Red curls rustling on her chapped cheeks. The world quiet except for her breathing.

Just jump. A moment of weightlessness. A vicious snap. Simple as that.

She could sense someone behind her — that shadow, that looming presence, a friend. She couldn't turn. She wore a small soft sort of smirk. She had a secret. She knew something they didn't.

It wouldn't hurt for long. It would be fast. A long drop, a sudden stop, and then the pain would end. Everything slowed down. Everything went silent. One last wish. One last moment of peace.

Just jump. A moment of weightlessness. A vicious snap. Simple as that.

"Let me go."

━━━━━━

After they buy the house, renovating begins almost immediately, and with the work of a few super soldiers, it's pretty much finished in no time. Parts of the house are still sparse; they don't have a couch or many decorations or a salad spinner which is an important household item according to Sam.

But they have a fireplace and a garden. They paint the front door yellow much to Natasha's fond chagrin. Bucky grumbles only a little when they cut a dog door for Sandwich who remains loveably stupid as ever. And Svetlana is a giddy mess when she paints their names on the mailbox at the end of their pathway.

Romanoff—Barnes.

Svet gets a room of her own with a big bed filled with the softest pillows she's ever seen and a massive walk—in closet. Her closet is no longer so empty, now filled with clothes that are a range of styles and vibes. When they went shopping a few weeks back, Natasha had asked what Svet's style was. Not Bucky's style, not Natasha's style, Svetlana's style. The girl had absolutely no idea what to tell her.

Back in the old days, Svetlana wore whatever was available to her. On the run with Bucky, she wore her papa's socks and whatever he managed to buy at the market with no complaints. Then, when she was on the run with Natasha, Steve, and the rest, she simply wore whatever she could blend in with. Then during those terrible, terrible years after the Snap, she spent most of them in uniform or in cryo.

Now, finally with a closet to call her own, Svet realizes that she really has... well, nothing.

So, they get everything.

Svetlana's style, whatever it may be, will take time for her to work it out. Then again, all they have now is time.

But adjusting to living as part of three rather than two is... hard.

Like the painfully awkward dinners that Svetlana insists they eat together, like Natasha accidentally walking in on Bucky in the shower. Or in the moments when Svet and Bucky seem to have their own language, knowing each other's minds without saying a word and Natasha has to remember all the years she lost. Like Svetlana sitting in the middle of the couch as they both fall asleep on her shoulders during a movie so she can't go to the bathroom. Or the arguments that Bucky and Natasha get into over things that feel so meaningless later.

It's hard but it's also good.

Because while Natasha also lacks any form of culinary skill, she does know the best restaurants around Brooklyn like Izzy and Sal's Deli. She teaches Bucky and Svet how to correctly do laundry, and she laughs only a little bit when they struggle in the grocery store. She doesn't judge them for their nightmares and they don't judge her for sleeping with a gun under her pillow.

Life starts to get easier.

If they can ignore the nightmares, ignore the discomfort and the tension, they all can feel things falling into place.

Bucky knows it when he leans in the doorway of their half—finished kitchen, watching Natasha and Svet with their matching red hair twisted up into messy buns, flour smeared across both of their faces, making a complete mess as they try to make something resembling dinner.

Bucky thinks that maybe this is where he can find peace.

Natasha knows it when Svet forces them to watch some cheesy action movie and the father and daughter fall asleep, one after another, Svet's head on Natasha's shoulder and Bucky curled around their girl like a shield. They look somehow more similar when they're asleep; soft, peaceful, strangely delicate.

Natasha thinks that maybe this is really going to last this time.

Svetlana knows it when she sleepily comes downstairs one morning to find both of her parents at the kitchen table, talking and chuckling and each sipping coffee as they discuss plans for the present and for the future, Al Bowlly's 'Guilty' playing in the background like a bittersweet memory.

Svetlana thinks that maybe this can finally be home.

As the days turn to weeks in their new home, Svetlana decides to stay fit. Though, truth be told, she's not sure she could ever be out of shape. With the serum pumping in her veins, she'll always be in perfect condition. But after a lifetime of struggling, it feels too strange to do nothing at all. And maybe a part of her is looking to feel something, to feel something hurt, to feel something familiar.

Bucky and Natasha worry about her.

Sometimes she won't sleep for days. Sometimes she doesn't seem herself. The nightmares won't stop. Her hearing keeps fading out. She pushes her body until she can locate her limits and then she'll break them. She's used to matching and overcompensating for any perceived limitations, but they're nothing to her now. She pushes herself until she's sweaty and breathing heavy, muscles expended until she can do nothing but lay limp on the floor.

Sandwich sits with her through all of it. Most often, her canine best friend can be found lying on his belly barely a foot away, and every time she pushes up, he gives her a sloppy wet kiss on her nose.

Though, however much she loves him, Sandwich isn't exactly the best sparring partner.

She wishes she had one. Someone to help her hone new skills. Asking Sam would be odd and she could never ask her papa. Never. It would bring back too many memories, and too much shame. The last thing she wants is to hurt him.

It's on days like this that Svetlana needs her mother. To ask about boys and battle tactics and everything in between. But the girl is still working up the courage to ask when Natasha finds her viciously pummeling her punching bag and she asks what Svet has been needing most:

"Want some company?"

It's a few days later that Bucky and Sam return from a mission to the sounds of a fight within the walls of the house. Panic surges up Bucky's throat, and they break down the new front door with weapons raised, only to find the two girls facing off in the middle of the living room with their fists up.

"Oh!" Svet sings, immediately dropping her fists in favor of a cheery wave, "You're back!"

"Oh my, God, why?" Gun quickly dropping, Bucky looks between the two of them with wide horrified eyes, "What the h—ll is wrong with the two of you?"

Svet and Natasha simply look at each other. Svet shrugs. Natasha smirks.

"Look at the you both, coming in guns blazing." The mother tosses red bangs off her forehead, "James, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were concerned about us."

"Of course I was!" He snaps back, only getting more annoyed at the amusement he sees dancing in her eyes, "The h—ll do you expect?"

"Calm down." Natasha's smirk remains, "A girl's gotta take a compliment where she can, sweetheart."

Sam blinks and Svetlana blushes a little.

Lips threatening to turn up now, Bucky's brows twitch a little, "Are you... Are you flirting with me right now?"

Natasha heaves a fond yet long—suffering sigh, "Have been since the '90s, but thanks for noticing."

Groaning, Sam rolls his eyes over at Svet who just happily smiles.

"Can't you guys find, I don't know, a normal mother—daughter bonding activity?" Sam waves a finger between the two, "This is just plain freaky."

Svetlana innocently arches a brow, "'Freaky' only because I can still whoop you, yes?"

The room goes silent.

Sam slowly narrows his eyes at the eighteen year old, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The girl scowls and then giggles, hopping towards him with mock punches at his ribs and jaw. Sam dodges and moves with her, the both of them dancing around the living room, yelping and laughing. Over their shoulders, Bucky and Natasha meet eyes and maybe they have their own language as well, knowing each other's minds without saying a word. A silent conversation passes between them, soft and quiet, an understanding.

No, she's not okay.

But she will be.

They'll make sure she's okay.

━━━━━━

They keep up their running, Svetlana and her father. It's usually every night that they find themselves awake with nightmares, sprinting the suburban streets with matching grins on their faces, racing each other in the orange glow of street lights. Sometimes Sandwich comes along, sometimes he prefers to curl up on Natasha's feet in bed.

Today is a day of the latter.

They're just walking up the pathway to the house when Svet suddenly freezes, the fine hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms all standing on end. Bucky immediately comes to a halt, turning to glance at her strained expression and then survey the street for any unfamiliar people or vehicles. When he finds nothing out of the usual, he quickly focuses his attention back on his daughter.

His hand settles on her cheek, head tilting to better meet her unfocused eyes, "What is it?"

"Three people." She murmurs, head slightly tilted, "Mama, Uncle Sam... and someone else."

Not another word needs to be said.

Without seeing what the other is doing, Bucky quickly draws a gun from the waist of his pants while Svet slips a sleek knife from her shoe. Both armed, they turn to step into the house and stop abruptly at the sight of the other.

Svet's brows raise.

Bucky simply sighs.

And they enter the house side—by—side, weapons low and ready just in case. But it's hardly an enemy that awaits them in the living room.

Bucky straightens at the sight, "Colonel Rhodes."

"Barnes." The man dressed in uniform nods politely before looking at the slim redhead, "Svetti."

She smiles almost shyly, sneakers squeaking on the hard wood floor, "Mister Rhodey."

"Eh, enough of that." The man smiles and waves them off, "Call me Rhodey, please."

Nodding simply and silently, the father and daughter then promptly turn to Natasha who is standing off by the wall. Strangely grim—faced, Sam does not look overly eager to start talking so it's up to her. Their blue eyes are wide and expectant, and Natasha knows she can't ignore them any longer.

Arms crossed over her chest, she finally makes herself meet their eyes, "Rhodey is here to discuss your new status with the government in light of the Accords."

The room has gone deadly still, nearly eerie. The brightness in their home dims a bit, the vibrancy seems to fade. Bucky tries to breathe life back into it by clearing his throat and letting out a tight breath. Svet isn't sure how much that really works because she still can't stop her shaking fingers from fisting onto her papa's shirt.

"Congratulations." Rhodey's serious face suddenly breaks into a smile, "You've both been pardoned."

Bucky feels the release of it in his chest, his arm immediately closing around Svet as she leans into him with a relieved sigh of her own.

"But it does come with..." Hands folded in front of him, Sam looks up from his spot at the kitchen table, "Conditions."

"Of course it does," Bucky can barely resist rolling his eyes.

Nervously tapping her fingers against her thigh, Svetlana forces herself to ask, "What sorts of conditions?"

"As you both are now considered civilians, you will be expected to meet certain expectations which mostly means weekly counseling sessions to monitor your mental states." Rhodey plows ahead with his answer, ignoring the generally displeased looks on their faces, "With your history, the government wants to be confident that neither of you will engage in further violence."

Svetlana's eyes flicker down to her feet, the toe of one sneaker scraping over another.

Blank—faced, Bucky says nothing.

"No one likes oversight, but I think it's the best we could have expected. You've both fought for so long, and I think you both can..." Rhodey clears his throat, forcing a minuscule but heartfelt smile, "You can rest now."

Natasha doesn't let her eyes stray from them now, taking them in, watching every twitch and change. Bucky is very quiet, but something has softened within him. He swallows hard and he nods as if accepting something.

Finally, after pulling off his black gloves, he reaches out his flesh hand, "Thank you. For my family."

Rhodey takes his hand to shake in return.

"I'll walk you out," Natasha gives him a small smile before leading him towards the front door, "Thank you for coming... This is a big weight off our minds."

"Of course." Rhodey slips his hands into his pockets, giving her a pointed look, "You know we're still here if you ever need anything. For all of you."

"I know." She shrugs simply, having never doubted it. But her expression quickly shifts and she can feel sadness seep into her voice when she asks, "How are Tony and Pepper holding up?"

"About as good as can be expected." Rhodey says quietly, suddenly looking utterly exhausted, "Tony's at least getting out of bed now."

"And the kids?"

"Good days and bad days."

"And you?" Natasha rests her hand on her old friend's arm, eyes serious and sad.

Rhodey clears his throat and shrugs a bit, "Keep trying to remember the old days."

By the time Natasha closes the door and returns to the living room, Bucky is pacing around and sipping from a water bottle, "I guess it's official now. The world's really moving forward."

"I hear something called the Global Repatriation Council is being put into place." Natasha informs them, wrapping an arm around her daughter's visibility loosened shoulders, "They're going to reactivate citizenship, social security, and healthcare for everyone who disappeared during the Blip."

"O da." Svet smiles a bit teasingly, "And they will want their new Captain America to help guide them, yes?"

Mostly silent up until this point, Sam's heavy expression hasn't at all changed and his eyes flicker to his shoes and back up again, "Well, that's the thing. There isn't going to be a new Captain America. I'm going to be turning the shield over at the exhibition in a few months."

Stunned isn't the right word, not exactly anyway. Svet isn't sure there is one. She gapes at him with peach lips partly open, and she can feel Natasha frozen at her side, equally confounded.

"Get out."

Svetlana's wide eyes dart to her papa in shock. His voice has lost its familiarity, its warmth. It's as if he's suddenly pulled back, as if whatever bridge had been built between them in in flames. Natasha stays silent, knowing this isn't her place to say anything.

Sam's lips purse into a thin tight line, "Bucky, listen to me, man—,"

"Don't." Bucky just shakes his head, sounding so hurt, looking down at the floor, unable to look at him, "Just don't, Sam. Get up, and leave."

So, that's what he does.

Sam gets up. He slams the door. And they don't see him again for a very long time.

━━━━━━

The urge to jump was far too strong.

The Winter Soldier sailed over the railing to the staircase below, boots landing with a massive thud, curling around to land a bullet into one guard's forehead while his child sunk a blade into another's heart.

And together, in one voice, father and daughter breathed out, "Hail HYDRA."

No witnesses, that was the order. And orders must be followed.

Slowly, they crept closer, feet silent and eyes blank, weapons and hands still dripping with blood, closing in like predators on their prey.

"Please..." The witness' breath tumbled and trembled out of his chest as he desperately pushed his back against the wall, "I—I didn't see anything!"

Morning sky eyes meet ocean blues ones, wide and terribly innocent despite the murder and gore around them.

"Finish it."

Svetlana wakes from her own peaceful dreaming to the sound of her father screaming.

She bolts upright in bed, heart pounding in her chest and pounding in her ears. Disoriented, she can't figure out where the sound is coming from before she feels her pounding heart wrench within her ribcage. Realization crashes over her like an icy wave, freezing her down to her bone marrow.

"I'm coming!" Her screams join her father's, voice cracking in her throat, "I'm coming, Papa—!"

Svet nearly throws herself out of bed, sheets trapping her legs as she trips and rushes for the door. The girl sprints desperately from her bedroom, hand trailing along the wall as her feet pound across the wood floor.

The closer she runs, the better she can hear his familiar voice growling, "Stop... Net, mne zhal'. Stop, I won't make... derzhis' ot menya podal'she!" No, I'm sorry... Stay away from me!

She's nearly there, she can nearly stop the screaming, but Natasha intercepts her just feet away from the door. Her mother's hands land on her shoulders, gun in her waistband and green eyes shining.

"Svetti, stay here." Her voice is quick and forceful, demanding to be heard over Bucky's cries, "It's going to be okay, but you need to stay here."

"Mamulya..." The words are trapped in her hoarse throat, her hands going to cover her ears, "Chto eto?! What's wrong with him?!" What is it?!

"I don't know, but stay back, baby, please?"

"But Papa, he'll need me—,"

Natasha takes her face in her hands, "He'll need you to stay back and stay safe. I'll see what's wrong. Please, stay here."

Her mama waits until she reluctantly agrees before she quickly kisses her forehead and slips through the doorway into the dark. Hands shaking, heart still pounding, Svetlana creeps fearfully towards the doorway but she can't get herself to cross the threshold now. She presses her muscular back into the wall, squeezing her eyes closed and feeling tears well up in them.

"James!" Her mother's voice is loud but firm over his, "Bucky, wake up!"

It doesn't take him long to break from his nightmarish sleep, but they all know that's not the hard part. It's not the sleeping, it's the waking up that's the problem.

"I'm sorry..." Bucky's hoarse voice reaches into the darkness, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Svetlana slips down the wall, hugging her knees close to her chest, feeling all of four years old again. Tears burn down her cheeks and she buries her face into her knee tops, feeling her shoulders shake and tremble.

"I'm not this... I don't want to be this, maybe he was wrong, I don't know if I can—," he's gasping for breath, struggling through every word, the rattle of his dog tags echoing in her ears, "I'm so sorry, Natalia—,"

Her voice is so steady, so firm and calm amidst the storm of his mind, "James. Look at me. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Oh, I have plenty to apologize for." There's a dry chuckle amidst the raspiness of his throat, barely able to swallow down sobs.

They trip and stumble into a long wordless pause where her father tries to catch his breath, his gasps for air and struggles to control his sobs aching Svetlana deep down. She always used to be able to calm him down. To know that she can't anymore, it makes her feel... useless. Helpless. Guilty.

God, why do they all have so much to be guilty for?

"Then make a list," her mother's voice startles both father and daughter.

The confusion is clear in his tone, "What?"

"A list of everyone you need to apologize to. Make your list and find your peace."

Simple as that.

And so, to make peace, to make this last, to finally find home, the very first name on Bucky Barnes' list of amends is written out in a hazy half—light:

S. Barnes

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

tfatws here we fricking go . . .

maybe leave a comment? a bit of a vote? much love xx