Who: Steve and Bucky What: Feels. Just...all of them Where: Their room When: late night Rating: sad. (maybe language at some point) Status: open only to those in the apartment/ongoing
Steve had gotten up as soon as he heard Luke stirring, hoping to catch him before he started outright crying. With so many little ones in the apartment it was easy to start a domino effect and he knew the rest of the house had only just gone to sleep.
It was rare for all, or even most of them to be asleep at the same time, between the children and the emotion that ran through all of them and the nightmares-mostly from himself and Bucky but sometimes others as well-it wasn't often there was as much sleep happening as there should be. But the kids had been fussy that day, feeding off each other and taking turns throwing tantrums and crying fits. He couldn't really blame them, with all of the upheaval and the gaping hole that could be felt in their lives, sometimes he wanted to just throw down and scream for hours too. So when night came and babies had settled, most of them managed sleep. Even Steve had for a few moments, before having that familiar nightmare-only this time it was Peggy falling from that train, with Bucky behind him, yelling that it was all his fault.
He couldn't do that though. He needed to keep it up, make sure the kids were okay, that they didn't feel like it was their fault or that they had been abandoned or unloved. He had to hide that hole and patch the wounds. For them at least.
He didn't think he could do it for himself. He could try and act the part, go through this grief process, and then move on, bottle it up and act like his world hadn't been shattered. He'd done it before and would inevitably have to do it again. The world, the universe, God, who or whatever was in charge seemed to enjoy this part. He was their yoyo, up and down up and down. Happiness and peace and wholeness was always followed by that deep, hopeless emptiness. He could watch his father go but then his mother followed, he could get Bucky back but then he would be taken too, he could kiss Peggy and then have to tell her goodbye. He could think he was dying, giving up and going back to everyone he loved, but then he would wake up, alone and controlled with everyone he loved dead or dying. He would finally carve a place, find true happiness and family, but the crash had to come, the emptiness always came back.
And he hated himself. Hated that, even with Bucky in the bed next to him and his children the next room over; his son and daughter in law and grandson across the hall, Dean and his own son, whom he had considered family even before the wedding there too. Even with all of them his chest was still gaping. That his mind and emotions had decided that if he couldn't have it all he couldn't be happy.
And then he hated that thought too. He SHOULDN'T be happy, they were here but she wasn't. She'd been taken from them and he didn't know where she was or if she was alright or if she remembered their love, her own children.
He tried not to dwell on it, as he fed the baby with one of the bottles from the fridge, warmed in a saucepan while he rocked the little boy. They picked up on everything and they didn't need that, his sadness, his hopelessness and confusion. So he just held the boy close, gave him his meal and a burp and then lay him back in his cot. He moved silently through the home until he was back in the bed, staring at the ceiling with tears in his eyes. It was these moments, in the quiet, dark spaces that he always felt like he was sick again. Frail and broken, with a vice squeezing his chest so tight that he couldn't pull in air.
He tried not to, he didn't want to wake him, but Steve couldn't help it. His body seemed to move without his permission and he was curled in to Bucky's back, seeming smaller than a man his size should even be capable of as his shoulders shook with sobs, long and deep and hopeless.