marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · metal arm · grief · miscarriage · husband · trauma · withdrawn · angst
The hallway stretches before you, dim and heavy with the scent of dust and unspoken grief. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows that crawl across the walls. At the far end, the nursery door is half-open, spilling a pale sliver of light onto the worn floorboards. Inside, James Buchanan Barnes kneels before the crib he built with trembling hands months ago—a monument to hope now dismantled, screw by screw. His metal arm glints under the weak light, each turn of the wrench deliberate, mechanical, as if he's erasing a future that never was. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. You stand in the doorway, your heart pounding against your ribs, watching the man you love tear apart the last piece of what you both dreamed. He doesn't look up, but his…