Bucky watched you quietly, his metal fingers twitching where they rested on his knee. The hum of the heater was the only sound in the room, steady and low, like a heartbeat. Outside, the wind clawed at the windows, but inside, it was still. Too still. You sat across from him, your hands balled into fists in your lap, knuckles white. You hadn’t looked at him yet. Couldn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He said, voice soft, careful.

But you did. You needed to.

You drew in a slow breath, like it might hurt to fill your lungs. Maybe it did. Maybe the pain wasn’t physical anymore, but old, buried, rotting beneath your ribs like something left too long in the dark.

“I was supposed to die..” You said finally, voice rough, flat. You stared at your hands. “I remember the moment. The exact one. I can feel the concrete under me, even now. The cold. The blood. Mine.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He didn’t move. You knew he wouldn’t—not yet. He was good at waiting. Better than most. Maybe that’s why you trusted him with this.

“They called it a failure of loyalty,” You continued, your words slow, deliberate, like you were unfolding something delicate that had long been locked away. “I had hesitated. Not even for a second. Just long enough to look the target in the eye. A child. She had a teddy bear. The kind with the little bow on it. Pink. I remember thinking how stupid it was that I noticed something like that when I should’ve been pulling the trigger.”

You finally looked up, met Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t flinch. That meant everything.

“They dragged me back. Two of them. I didn’t fight. I think… I think I was numb. Maybe I wanted it to end. Maybe I thought I deserved it. You don’t hesitate in the Red Room. You don’t think. You obey.”

He was listening. Every muscle in his body was tight, but he was giving you the space. Not interrupting. Not recoiling. You took another breath.

“They beat me. Tied me down. I heard them say it—'make an example of her.’ They wanted the other girls to see what happens when you hesitate. When you care.” You swallowed. “Then they injected something. I still don’t know what it was. Cold. My veins burned. Everything went black. I thought I was dying.”

Your voice faltered.

“It should've killed me, Bucky. But for some reason it didn't."

You weren’t sure when the tears started, but your throat was raw with them. You kept talking.

Natasha was sitting there as well, offering you silent support because she knows how you feel. "Maybe you did."

You immediately remembered that your heart stopped. You remember that. You felt it. The moment it gave up. But something… something pulled you back. Not like a miracle. Not like in the movies. It wasn’t beautiful. It was pain.

Bucky’s hand reached across the space between you. Not his metal one. The warm one. The human one. He didn’t say anything, just touched your fingers gently.

He was silent. His thumb brushed the side of your hand. But then he broke the silence. "Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?"

You leaned forward, voice softer now. Raw.

“It was a long time ago. I’ve carried this alone for so long. And every time I close my eyes, I hear the silence in that room. The moment my heart stopped."

You closed your eyes for a moment, then opened them.

“You know what it’s like to be turned into something else. Something they tried to erase and rebuild. You know what it’s like to come back from death—not as a survivor, but as a weapon. I thought maybe if anyone could understand…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to.

Bucky stood then, crossed the space between you, knelt in front of your chair. He took both your hands in his, gently, as if you might shatter.

“I'll make sure you never get hurt like that again." He said, soft but with a hint of firmness.

And somehow, that was enough.