Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.
You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.
One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.
Bucky Barnes was gone.
The Winter Soldier stood in his place.
And yet—he didn’t hurt you.
Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.
Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.
A shield.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.
But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.
Not to eliminate.
To protect.
At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.
“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”
“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.
“Yet,” Tony shot back.
You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.
Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.
The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.
Bucky was on you instantly.
His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.
“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.
Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.
He was still in there.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.
Unless they posed a threat to you.
That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.
“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”
Bucky wasn’t convinced.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.
“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.
“No,” he replied flatly.
“Bucky—” you tried.
“The room is secure.”
“That’s not the—”
“She does not require assistance.”
“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”
Bucky didn’t move.
You exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”
That got his attention.
“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”
His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—
“…Understood.”
Progress.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.
There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.
Just a moment of quiet.
You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.
And then you heard it—his breath hitching.
A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.
You blinked sleepily, looking up.
Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.
His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.
“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.
You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”
His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.
He just buried his face in your neck and held on.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.
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