Skye forced herself to focus on Bucky, his hand on her and his voice in her ears. She nodded and worked on slowing her breathing. Nothing could be fixed while she was freaking out.
“In an’ out, come on”, Bucky instructed gently, squeezing her shoulder gently again. This was familiar: Bucky had helped Steve through countless asthma attacks when they were young and a hundred panic attacks in this century, especially given they often worked on helping Steve get over his hydrophobia. Helping someone to breathe was not unusual for him.
“You’re doin’ great, Skye”, he said quietly, just barely holding himself from saying sunshine.
She smiled weakly at him, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Sorry,” she murmured, “Didn’t mean to freak out on you.”










