Home of the Brave (слэш)

It was Bucky, standing in a pool of his own blood, one shoulder propped against the doorframe as if he could barely stand. A little girl covered in dirt and blood clutched his right arm, leaves caught in her mane of springy black curls. A tiny baby was carefully cradled in his left, black streaks of grime standing out against its china-pale skin
“I need your help.”