I wrote this a while back and only posted it on Tumblr, but decided to bring this one-shot to FF. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Bucky leaned over the plastic bassinet, looking at the baby boy wrapped in a blanket almost bigger than him.

"You don't give two craps if I'm scared, do you?"

Newborn baby James stirred and gurgled, a small spit ball dripping down his little pouty lips.

His hand – his fleshy hand – hovered over his son's torso. He found it surreal how much his hand was shaking. Bucky wanted to tickle his chest with the tip of fingers. He had seen the effect it caused on James earlier that day; his girlfriend lightly teased his tummy and the baby cooed quietly and stuck the tip of his little tongue out. He was so adorable it made Bucky's heart ache.

Bucky heaved a sigh.

He wanted to hold him but his metal arm…

"Could you help me?" he asked the nurse that had just walked in the nursery.

"Is there a problem?"

"Can you…" he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Can you help me hold him?"

Anger and sadness tore at his heart. He couldn't even hold his son in his arms…

The nurse sighed, "You'll have to figure this out on your own. Once you're out of the hospital, there's –"

"I know, but… please…?" he begged. "Just this one time," he added.

The woman swiftly held James in her arms and walked to Bucky to place the baby in his arms.

Unconsciously, Bucky started walking back. He suddenly wanted, needed, at least six to seven feet of distance between him and the nurse holding his namesake precious son.

He could crush him by only laying a finger on him.

Flashbacks of the dozens of people he killed barehanded were blinding him, their cries for mercy deafening him. Bucky remembered the first time he was brainwashed. He screamed and begged.

His breathing matched his speeding heart.

Those goddamn words that turned him into a killing machine –

"Listen," the nurse's voice snapped Bucky out of his thoughts, "this child won't care about your insecurities. He'll only care about you being there for him. So, could you please try to get yourself together?"

The nurse thought Bucky was having a mild panic attack. In all fairness, he did look like he was experiencing one.

"I'm – I'm gonna hurt him and I'll never forgive myself if that happens."

"Let's do this slowly, alright?" she attempted to calm Bucky down. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"Sitting won't make a difference," Bucky claimed.

"One thing at the time, alright? Take a seat."

He nodded and sat on the chair behind him.

"Now breath," the woman carried on. "In and out. Deep and slow breaths. No rushing."

Bucky was so focused on the breathing that he didn't realize the nurse slowly approaching him and placing James into his arms.

"Watch his head," she told, Bucky as she carefully positioned his arms around the baby.

James' head rested on his right arm, his feet against the cold metal of his other arm.

"When you lay him down on the bassinet again, be careful with his head," the nurse reminded before resuming to her original task.

"Hey…" he choked on his words, eyes crinkling as he gave the biggest smile his post-brainwashed-self had ever given. "Hi. Sorry for being a jerk. But hey," he blew out a breath of air; not quite a laugh, but close, "I've been a jerk since 1917."

Bucky didn't realize right away that he was tickling James' belly with the tip of his metal arm. When he did notice it, Bucky smiled. James let out a small yawn, kicking his little legs up, his button nose crinkling. His adorableness was beyond words.

For someone who had seen – and caused – far too much war, death and pain, Bucky was absolutely fascinated by his little boy. He was so innocent, untainted, so perfect. And he was breathing. Bucky only remembered taking lives away and now he was holding a human he helped create.

"One of these days, I'll give you my dog tags. I don't wear them anymore. I'm not that James Buchanan Barnes. I'm not a Sergeant. But I'm not HYDRA's killing machine." A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips, "I'm your mother's boyfriend, my best friend's friend… and I'm your dad."

James threw his little fist in the air; his little hand then fell over Bucky's metal one. The baby's first and only instinct was to grab one of his fingers. Bucky couldn't feel the touch of his son's hand grabbing his hand, but James surely felt his father's hand. And he didn't cry or find it strange, which pleased and comforted Bucky.

"If you can put up with your old man, I'll know you'll live up to your name, pal. And let me tell you, being James Steven Barnes won't be easy. But thankfully your mother's amazing. And I'll try my hardest to be the best dad I can be."