[ Like an old sweater, darned in too many places gone thin, or a pair of worn, tired shoes — Steve’s coming apart at the seams and he doesn’t know what to do to stop it. There’s nothing he can do; his fate was sealed the moment Sarah Rogers drew her last, and after that, it was only ever a matter of time.
He’d held it together at the funeral, stood dry-eyed and as ramrod straight as his crooked spine would allow, though each echo of dry earth hitting wood felt like a physical blow. He’d kept himself composed afterward, not letting even Bucky see the cracks forming under the surface, although he’s aware Bucky probably saw through those anyway. But he’d kept up a pretence anyway throughout it all. The condolences, the kind words, and all the while that horrible pain inside him had grown and grown, eating away at him like a living thing, until Steve felt he was walking emptiness itself, despair made flesh.
There’s a part of him that died with Ma, Steve knows; the problem is the rest of him, his stupid, stubborn body, still keeping itself alive. Even now, held up against the wall behind the theatre, his cheek already swelling from the first punch, his stomach aching from the second. He was supposed to meet Bucky inside half an hour ago, had arrived about fifteen minutes earlier than he should’ve, and then — ]
That all you got?
[ Mockingly, as if the bastard with his hands gripping Steve’s collar was the one getting pummelled instead of the other way around. And there’s something wrong with Steve that he doesn't think is ever gonna be fixed, because the thing gnawing on his insides has left him not just empty, but bitter, and he’s stopped caring about anything at all. The third hit splits his lip against his own teeth, and Steve's head knocks back against the brickwork as he tastes copper. ]
[ there are some philosophies - all of which bucky would certainly send people to ask steve about; the little guy has a thirst for knowledge and surely would know to explain them - that argue that the world is at balance. where there is light, there must also be darkness, where there is good there must also be evil. bucky doesn't really subscribe to any philosophy, he lives more by a code, a simple guideline to rights, wrongs, and rules to friendship with steve rogers. but that one...maybe there's something to it, because as steve feels stretched thin, empty, bucky feels like he's about to burst at the seams from the sheer, overwhelming concern that fills him.
friendship with steven grant rogers, according to bucky barnes, has two crucial rules:
1. when it comes to feelings, don't listen - look. steve will always insist that he's fine. he's got his pride, which is something bucky is very familiar with, they all have their pride but for steve, it's different. every damn day is an obstacle course the man tries to tackle all on his own to prove to himself, to the world, that he can. if you let him, the guy would go down to his grave, still swinging, still refusing to call for help. to bucky that spirit is both admirable, a high bar to hold himself up to, and the worst damn part of his life, because he always - always - has to be on the lookout, which directly leads to the second rule:
2. steve is never late; steve is always in trouble. it's easier when bucky knows where he's supposed to be, he knows to go looking. there's a method to it, of course, he's got locating steve down to an art. you start with wherever you're supposed to meet - but that's really for time saving purposes, it's just as possible the guy got in trouble along the way, or didn't even make it out of his house due to some attack (that part - that right there takes years off of bucky's life in the moments before he finds steve. a big guy he can take for him, but an illness? how's he supposed to fight that?). still, you start with the meeting place. if it's too crowded, you always try to meet beforehand to avoid having to look for him in a damn crowd. alleyways - always a good bet. new york is full of them, but the sound of a beatdown echos, and it's usually a safe bet that it's steve he'll find on the receiving end of it.
today is no different, and even as bucky is filled with frustration, with anger - at both his friend and the guy low enough to beat up a guy half his size - he also experiences relief. at least he found him, and on time.
unceremoniously hurling the guy (who, to bucky's opinion, could be the missing link scientists are looking for in evolution between ape and man) backwards, bucky places himself between him and his friend. ]
You fellas mind if I cut in? [ they always try to hit him. they rarely try to hit him twice. bucky stops the punch hurled at his face and twists. when a pained cry escapes steve's assailant, he lets go in favor of throwing his own punch, right in the nose. it connects hard, and bucky knows exactly how his knuckle will bruise now, after years of practice, knows not to worry about the little cracking sound his wrist makes as bones shift and fall back into place. it's as familiar a sound to him now as his own name.
blood gashing out of his nose, the guy takes off, and bucky turns towards his friend, offering him a hand.
jesus, the state of him. maybe his arrival wasn't so timely after all. maybe it's time for a third rule - skip going where you're meeting, go directly to look through every alleyway on the way. ]
At least tell me she was pretty. [ he knows all too well that steve will pick any excuse to fight, will stand up for any wrong. it's gotten so much worse, now. but it's a nice dream, that he could maybe at least meet a nice girl this way one of these days. maybe she'll do what bucky can't seem to manage - and settle him down. ]
[ By the time Steve rolls his head forward, there’s a faint, blood-smeared grin on his face that he knows the man wasn’t expecting to see. Hell, it’s strange enough to Steve. Pain isn’t touching him these days the way it used to — or maybe he’s just ain’t feeling it the way he used to. His head aches sharply where it hit the wall, his stomach and his face are throbbing angrily, and yet all of it seems dulled somehow. ]
What, you think this is fu —
[ The guy doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Steve hears Bucky’s footsteps before he sees him, recognizes them immediately, and then Bucky’s there — in between Steve and the sonuvabitch scrambling back from where Bucky flung him. Steve slides down the wall, bricks scraping his back through his shirt, but doesn’t bother getting up just yet, his strange smile already faded. The vicious spark of emotion from before seems to have faded, too; he doesn’t feel much of anything, watching Bucky dispatch the man like it’s easy (and for Bucky, it usually is).
At most what Steve feels is concern for is his best friend's knuckles — they’re gonna need icing, if he hit him hard enough to break his nose. Bucky turns to him, then, and Steve sees the expressions flickering across his face as he takes in Steve’s tattered state.
At least tell me she was pretty. For a second, he doesn’t understand, just stares blankly at the hand Bucky’s holding out to him. Then realization hits and Steve bows his head, feigning a cough as he grabs the proffered hand and pulls himself to his feet, an odd sensation curling like acid in his stomach. If he were his usual self, he might call it shame; Bucky thinks he got into this to defend someone else. ]
Gonna be honest, I didn’t really notice.
[ His voice is hoarse, and Steve coughs for real this time as he swipes a wrist across his mouth. It’s honest, but only halfway. There was no girl. Steve wasn't defending anybody today, not even himself. And ain’t that the worst of it? That as often as Steve gets involved in things because he sees them going south, it’s even more often that his fights aren’t ones he picks? Christ, he can’t imagine saying that out loud, admitting something so humiliating. That sometimes, all Steve is — is a target.
He swallows and looks back at up at Bucky through his bangs, feeling that same twist in his stomach as he adds with a wan half-smile, ]
I think we missed the feature, but we can catch another film if we get back now. If you still want.
[ there's plenty of pain coursing through bucky, but very little of it has to do with his knuckle (though steve's right, it could certainly do with some ice, he can already tell it's going to go through the full spectrum of color) and a whole lot to do with the state of his best friend in life.
that blank stare, it tears at his heart in a way few things do and unlike steve - he does little to hide the emotion on his face, at least at first. it's all there, clear in his eyes; pain, fear, overwhelming concern. his own secret is that at times like these - he understands exactly how steve feels. it's sheer helplessness, to watch steve suffer so and not be able to do a damn thing about it. he would take on all of new york for steve, but he can't do a thing about his grief, not a single thing but stand there and watch him go through it.
when steve takes his hand, he pulls him up, wraps an arm around him to steady him. bucky knows better than to think steve would lean on him as they walk, he's learned to take the initiative and mix support with unbridled affection. ]
You oughta do something about your priorities. [ it's a soft tease, as his own expression relents. he doesn't want to get into a fight with steve here and now, that can be better saved for when his friend is safe at home, where he can't try to take it out on anyone else who will just end up taking their own issues out on him. but it is clear to bucky that if steve doesn't start giving him a damn inch - there's going to be a fight because neither of them can keep going this way. ]
We'll give it another try tomorrow, come on. [ he claps his shoulder, hoping he's not upsetting an injury. softness, he knows, would only upset steve's pride further. he ushers steve out of the alley, not letting go of his shoulder, using that bit of leverage to help prop him up. ] You need a shower. [ and ice, and a first aid kit, and some sense knocked into his head but he's not holding his breath on that last one - though he will never stop trying. ]
[ The moment it’s out of his mouth, Steve knows it ain’t happening. He can’t see what he looks like, but he sure as hell can see the gamut of expressions go over Bucky’s face, and the amount of concern and hurt there — on Steve’s behalf — is enough to let him know Bucky’s not interested in pictures right now. Truthfully, neither is Steve. He feels a jab of guilt through the bleak curtain hanging over him, at having inadvertently ruined their afternoon out.
Bucky deserves better than this. God, what the hell is he doing, hanging around Steve these days? ]
Look who's talkin'. [ It’s quiet but warm, an attempt from Steve to match the faint levity in Bucky’s voice with some of his own. He has to keep himself from leaning into the arm Bucky’s got around him, no matter how much his tired muscles want to. It’s not that he needs the help to remain upright, exactly; he’s unsteady, sure, pain climbing up and down his body, but his brain’s filled with enough white noise that his feet wouldn’t even notice they were going askew until he was already tripping over them. But with the emptiness clawing inside him, it's as if Bucky’s touch is the only thing holding up him lately, like he'll fold over without it.
Instead, Steve just allows himself to settle under the warm, familiar weight of that arm, willingly lets Bucky propel him out of the alley and onto the street. His mind might be static, but something in his body recognizes and responds to that touch, and the clap to his shoulder is as reassuring as a shot of hooch. Speaking of which. ]
Think I’ll be fine with a drink. And maybe some — [ He breaks off, glancing up at Bucky with a little frown. ] Wait, did you have lunch?
[ Bucky headed here straight from work, didn't he? He must be hungry. Steve tries to think about what he’s got in his pantry back at home, if it’s good enough to put out for company. Bucky’s his best friend in the whole goddamn world, closer than blood, but he’s still a guest when he’s over, and if Ma found out that Steve didn’t —
A cold weight drops in the pit of his stomach and Steve stumbles on his next step, hard. ]
[ steve's tone may be joking, but the joke itself falls flat. bucky's priorities are damn straight, and steve is right there at the tippy-top. he doesn't engage in it, instead choosing to keep moving before something else can go wrong.
he's about to respond to steve's invitation and inquiry when the other falters - and nothing else matters for the next second but propping him up, keeping him from breaking a limb on a bad fall. strong hands pull him back before he can hit the ground, and don't let go even after he's found his footing.
as long as he's by his side, bucky would never let steve fall. ]
Alright? [ and there's that concern again, back in his eyes. sure, the sidewalk doesn't exactly offer the most even footing, but steve had only recently endured a bad beating - maybe home isn't enough. maybe he should take him to see a doctor? worry eats away at him, and steve isn't the only one who misses his mother at this moment. sarah would know what to do, and bucky wishes he could consult her again, could have someone backing his plays. it's a lot of responsibility to shoulder alone. ]
I think you've had enough. [ it's partly a joking reply to steve's offer for a drink, and partly - just a fact. he's had enough. enough of doing everything all on his own, it's time to accept some support, god knows it's willingly offered. ]
Why don't you stay the night? Everyone misses you, I bet ma will make your favorite, you know she likes you best. [ he tries to keep the lighter tone going - deciding that if steve refuses his offer - he's going to spend the night by his friend's side even if he has to curl up by his front door. ]
[ they've stood by each other through thick and thin, since the day they've met. when steve had a bad asthma attack at school, bucky jumped out the classroom window to cut precious seconds off of his mad run to reach his friend's side. when bucky had his heart broken steve saw right through his pretense and they spent the whole night talking, bearing the consequences of sleep deprivation and angry parents together. they could get through most anything, as long as they face it together, bucky truly believes it.
it's not the first time steve's tried to push him away, it's just the worst time. the world keeps taking from steve; it took his father, his health, and now his mother, and bucky is hellbent not to let anyone or anything - not even steve himself - take him away from his friend as well. he may not have the right words to say, he may not know what the right thing to do is, and hell, he's in a world of pain himself, but he's going to be there, a steady presence by steve's side, no matter what.
he lays down the cushions on the floor. it wasn't an easy road, to get even this compromise out of steve's stubborn skull, but bucky's left him no choice by spending the night sleeping outside his door. sure, they'd be more comfortable at his parents' house but if his friend needs to be home, a little discomfort is a small price to pay for the knowledge that the little guy is safe and most importantly - not alone in this space that screams sarash rogers at every turn. ]
Goodnight.
[ he offers a final squeeze of the shoulder before turning out the light and laying his body down with a soft sigh. the floor's a heck of a lot better than huddling on the outside of a door, and the warmth, exhaustion, and most of all - the comfort of knowing exactly where steve is and that he can't get up to any trouble without stepping on him and waking him up - soon lull him to sleep, the sound of his soft breaths filling the room. ]
[ It’s not the first time Bucky’s pushed back, but it is the worst. God in Heaven, it’s the worst, and Steve doesn’t know how to even begin to explain why. Truth be told, there’s no explaining what’s happening to Steve these days; no explanation that’ll make sense, at least. That won’t make him sound like he's …
The crushing grief was one thing — and maybe his bloodshot eyes, the waxy pallor of his skin, had given that impression to Bucky when his friend had finally broken through Steve’s guard. Came into this tomb of a house and brought life back into it with him, his unwavering presence and stubborn, almost defiant friendship. But this, this thing hanging over Steve, a grey, lifeless mist — ]
'Night, Bucky.
[ He tries not to flinch at the hand on his shoulder, tries to take comfort from the warmth and pressure of the touch of a loved one — his last loved one, the last flickering light in Steve’s life. But a small tremor makes its way out of him anyway, and he hopes to God Bucky doesn’t notice, keeps his back turned as he turns out the light.
The room is dark, now. Dark enough that if Steve stretches his hand out in front of him, he can’t see even the outline of it. But tiny bursts of color edge from the outside of his vision anyway, little electric twists and turns, and Steve feels his skin crawl as a faint rustle echoes from the far corner of the room. He waits until he hears Bucky’s soft breathing go slow and deep with sleep, and then shifts into a sitting position, staring into that corner.
Nobody. Nothing. He looks down; Bucky’s asleep, and Steve can’t wake him up. But it’s been three nights since he last slept, and it’s taken what little of his steadiness he had left after the funeral, and he’s careful as he puts one bare foot onto the floor. It avoids the plank he knows creaks, and he puts down the other with slightly more confidence, stepping over Bucky’s sleeping form.
In the darkness, his vision suddenly swims, neon lines whirling as a dull, heavy pain starts in the back of his head, and Steve finds himself skidding on the edge of a blanket and pitching forward. ]
[ dreams, bucky's found, are a unit of measurement for him; the more he has them, the better things are going in his life.
he remembers no dreams since things took a turn for the worse for mrs. rogers. when things go badly, by the time he lays his head it is so exhausted it can't seem to handle anything beyond quiet darkness. it's been weeks now, since he's dreamed last. maybe more, it's a weird thing to keep track of. so when he hears the crash, feels the body collapsing over his own, bucky doesn't suspect a dream - he knows he's awake, he knows something's happened, and he knows he needs to shake off that exhaustion and store it for another day - because right now, action is needed.
he sits up, reaching for steve, trying to steady him, pull him up off of the floor and into his makeshift sleeping arrangement. he needs to get the light, check that steve's okay - but first thing first, he needs to get him squared away and warm. ]
What happened? Are you alright? [ he should get the first aid kit - he should get the light - he doesn't want to let go of steve's form, an irrational part of his brain terrified that the man would just...disappear, if he did. but he has to, he has to be practical, he has to be in control, he has to tap into his big brother mindset that has enabled him to pull both steve and becca out of trouble time and time again, despite his own penchant for getting in it himself. he stands up and drapes his blanket over steve's shoulders before walking to the light switch, cursing softly when he stabs his toe against the dresser.
light fills the room, and for a second he's blinded but he keeps moving all the same; he knows the layout to steve's house as well as he knows his own, and moments later he's back with a glass of water and the first aid kit. he's watched mrs rogers apply that thing to steve and himself more times than he can count, he can do this. she's counting on him, now. ]
Let me see - [ he's not sure if it's even needed, but in truth he just needs something to do. ]
[ There’s a split second of dizzying weightlessness as Steve falls, his legs going out from under him, and then the world explodes in pain and shock. He hits the ground shoulder first, his forehead glancing off of it in the next second, and it punches a noise out of him as well as his breath. He’s distantly aware that Bucky’s sitting up, grasping him gently and pulling him onto the cushions, that Bucky’s asking him if he’s — wait.
A stab of panic goes through Steve as he realizes he’s woken Bucky up, that Bucky’s getting up to turn on the light. He tries to grab onto Bucky's arm as he gets up, but the sudden swirl of nausea in his stomach, coupled with the ache in the back of his head, both serve to keep Steve where he’s seated. Then the light flips on, and his eyes dart immediately to the far corner.
Nothing.
Now with his forehead throbbing as well, he watches Bucky pad around the tiny apartment, each inhale and exhale filling the air with increasingly harsh, shaky sounds. Tiny tremors wrack his frame even under the blanket now draped around his shoulders, and Steve can’t quite look Bucky in the eye as his friend sits down in front of him with the first aid kit. ]
I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was, I was just. [ Like you can tell him. Steve’s face spasms and he raises his hands to his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them for a long moment. He doesn’t want to lie, not to Bucky, but the truth ain’t something his friend’s gonna want to hear, either. When he removes them, there’s tiny black spots in front of him, and for a moment his vision is clear even if it is edged with a glittering haziness.
Something darts out of sight just behind Bucky’s shoulder. Steve swallows, glancing there involuntarily before looking up at Bucky from under his bangs. ]
I wasn’t feelin’ so hot, so I figured I’d get up. [ Pause, and then hesitantly, taking the glass of water from him: ] Is your foot okay?
[ with the light on, bucky can see the bruising, and it gives him something to do, somewhere to start on, so he looks through the kit, thinking cleaning an injury's always a good first move. everything he needs is neatly laid out for him, and a thank you just damn near escapes his lips to mrs. rogers for her foresight and her excellent habits, when his mind catches up with him and reminds him that it may not go down well.
he gently wets the cloth and takes steve's hand in his own, cleaning the blood. ]
That's what I'm here for, pal. [ to be woken up, to help him. he notices the glancing and wonders if steve might have hit his head too hard - maybe he should take him to a doctor? god, he just wishes it wasn't all his call now, the pressure is massive.
but it is what it is, and he'll do his best for his friend. steve would do it for him. they'll never leave each other behind, that much is a certainty. ]
I'll live - Steve, what are you looking at? [ he frowns as he looks into his eyes, trying to spot signs of - what? he's not sure, something, anything that might be off. ] What's wrong? [ what is he feeling, where does he hurt, how can he fix it? please just. let there be a way for him to fix it. ] Should I get the doctor?
[ Bucky's touch is soothing, the methodical way he dresses his injuries a calming sensation that Steve's body recognizes before his mind even knows what's happening. Bit by bit, his breathing slows down to something more manageable even if his heart is still beating a rapid tattoo inside his chest, and he meets Bucky's gaze with an increasing sense of guilt.
Christ, Bucky shouldn't even be here, letting alone hurting his foot just to patch Steve up. Steve shouldn't have let him in, in the first place — should have pretended better and kept his friend out of this place, this room, this waking goddamn nightmare. He's just about to steel himself for a lie (I'm fine, I'm not lookin' at anything) when Bucky suggests a doctor. ]
No. [ Steve croaks out, too quick and too vehement, and hastily follows it up with: ] I, I don't got the cash, there's no point. Anyway, it's — nothing a doctor would ...
[ He trails off, listening hard, his hand going taut in Bucky's own. There was a whisper. There was a fucking whisper, a sibilant string of words too strange for him to understand, but loud enough to hear. He heard it, he'd bet his life on it, and Steve finds himself staring hard at that corner by the door. ]
Bucky. [ Hushed, almost a whisper himself, as he hedges his bets one last time before making up his mind. ] Did you hear that?
[It is a strange inverse of last time. When Thanos snapped his fingers, Steve only had Nat left. Thor was too lost in his grief to stay in touch. The others scattered to the wind. Some did better than others. He'd been happy for them.
This go around Steve faired a little better. Natasha is gone. Thor is on his way out as always. He got Sam, Bucky, Wanda, and T'Challa back. It'd been at a heavy cost, but God help him even in his grief over losing two Avengers, he needed this win.
He needed to finally get Bucky back and keep him.
There's nothing he can do for Tony and his family now. It's safe to say they won't be returning the stones today. It'd be irresponsible to run back to Wakanda until that's resolved. Steve does the kindest thing he can think to do: head back to the place he'd been staying the past few years with whoever is willing to come.
The magician, Strange, is at least able to portal them back saving them from hotwiring a car. Sam and Wanda head into the empty rooms to crash.
(Yes, rooms. No one wanted large homes in a world where half your family is likely dead. He paid close to nothing on it.)
Steve heads to his room, full Captain America gear, and slowly works his way towards the attached master bathroom with what's left of his shield still on. It occurs to him out of nowhere he hasn't really spoken to Bucky at all save to asking him if he wanted to tag along. Even after getting beaten badly by the Mad Titan, wielding power from another world, and losing allies and friends, he realizes he's still scared to address Bucky in any meaningful way. Steve's lost him so many times he can't help thinking that the second he opens himself up to Bucky again, it'll be over. That fear is plain on his face as he finally stops to face him just short on the bathroom. Steve plays it off with a joke even if the truth is obvious; his eyes are glassy. What happened to Tony and Nat is only partly to blame.] You know I'd hug you, but I can't actually take this off.
[Slowly, he presents his shield arm to Bucky. It's painfully clear why he's still got it on: it's keeping a badly torn up arm together. Count on Steve to find a way to keep going.]
[ it always ends in a fight. sometimes, it also starts with one. dying, as it turns out, wasn't as painful, or as permanent, as bucky was lead to believe. but, he reasons, that's not his first rodeo with that, either.
the fight goes by, as fights always do, and by the end of it he's still standing - as he usually is. what's infinitely more important is - steve's still standing. and that's enough. he's never been greedy with his miracles, even before everything was ripped away from his grasp, it wasn't exactly difficult to keep him content. from the very beginning, steve's safety was a big piece of that puzzle, took up about a quarter of the thing.
they're mourning, all of them, and he mourns with them, in his own quiet way. he's knows too much loss to wallow in thoughts and wishes that it were him eternally resting instead of those people who still had so much to give, so much to do, were so well loved. but if he could, he would give up his life in a heartbeat. still, after everything, it's not that he's eager to die, it's not that he's eager to give up what life he has, even now, but it would be right.
what soul the winter soldier has left should be given to protect the man whose parents he took away, the woman who, like all other girls in the widow program, he failed to protect.
he gives steve his space to mourn his friends. they've been apart for so long - longer still, now - and he doesn't presume he has a place by his side anymore, though he knows beyond doubt that he'll always have a place in his heart. so he comes when he's asked, but keeps his quiet as he's been prone to do since that fateful day in washington when bucky started inhabiting his mind again and for the first time in decades - wasn't wiped away.
bucky pauses when steve turns to him, and he notes everything. the winter soldier may be gone, but his instincts remain, some of his programming, he knows, will never go, and his impact is immortal. he takes on steve's expression, the state of his body - not just the arm - assessing fatigue as well as injury.
there's a moment of silence before bucky pushes past him and despite never setting foot in this house before - he knows exactly where steve would keep the first aid kit. a flash of memory hits him, though he never pauses, a powerful flash of a time when steve would comfortably fit when he needed to carry him, when he would sit with the first aid kit and clean him up, in an attempt to hide the evidence of another fight from mrs. rogers' shrewd gaze. ]
Sit. [ he instructs, laying down a towel for him to sit on. they need to tend to that, and they may as well do it now.
[Steve follows orders just like back then in these scenarios. He always grumbled, but did what he was told. He'd claim it was to get out of trouble, but honestly? He saw what it did to Buck and his ma. Steve could never stop standing up, but he didn't have to be a jerk about receiving help.
This time Bucky is spared the grumbles. He takes a seat and tries for a smile. They're together again. Steve should be happy. His heart doesn't feel any less broken. He keeps waiting for Nat to barge in with a line about boys and fossils. His eyes prick with tears as he hears her voice so clearly in his head.]
Sure. Get to work, Doc. [He jokes weakly. She was always funnier.]
[ the attempt is appreciated, but all bucky manages to give back for it is a faint stretch of the lips as he does exactly as he's told - he gets to work, pulling away shards of shield, cleaning the flesh that's left in their wake, carefully bandaging it. in the old days, he used to warn him that it would hurt, he doesn't bother now. nothing could hurt worse than the loss, the feeling of failure. and as much as bucky hurts? he knows full well it doesn't hold a candle to what steve is feeling.
his hands are as gentle as possible, trying to spare him any pain they can. it's a long moment of silent work before he speaks. ]
It's a big house. Preparing for a family? [ he hasn't seen any evidence of that, no pictures with a girl, let alone a girl in the flesh, but why would anyone get a place this big just to be alone in it? he remembers now, how his heart ached for steve when he had to go back home after his ma died. that apartment was small, it always felt it - even when they themselves were little - but after mrs. rogers died, it felt like the voids never ended, like they stretched and stretched to infinite space, and they could have comfortably fit the whole neighborhood in that apartment.
imagining steve alone in this big house now, for however many years it's been since he purchased it, he doesn't imagine the man in front of him - broad shouldered and strong - he pictures the boy he was, and every last ounce of his being wants to protect him from that loneliness. steve deserves better, he always did. ]
[Steve sits there in perfect stillness as Bucky works. It should hurt. He's had some nasty wounds over the years, but Thanos by far damaged him the most in every sense of the word. His mind is more occupied with the loss of Natasha than anything else. The monster hadn't directly killed her the way he had Vision. It still hurts more than any physical wound. She's no longer at his side through anything and everything. Perhaps more importantly he isn't at hers. A part of him always imagined they'd die together. They'd almost done it enough times. His mistake in retrospect had been letting her go with Clint, he thinks. Steve was always better at sacrificing himself first.
The question pulls him out of his tailspin of dark thoughts. He shakes his head heavily. He didn't realize the helmet was still on until this very moment.] No.
[Steve lets out a breath of laughter. He wanted a family still. That's the tragedy of it all. He only ever managed one with the Avengers much like Natasha. That seemed to fall apart when the children died. He should be grateful he got one back. He is truly. Steve can't feel it properly or much of anything.
Steve goes to unstrap his helmet with his good hand as he explains himself.] I, uh... I started a support group. To honor Sam. [He swallows thickly. Steve clearly never said it aloud before.] One of the guys- couldn't stand the sight of this place after he lost his family. Talked about burning it down. I think he planned on being inside when he did.
[He pries it off, tossing it to the side unceremoniously and immediately feeling guilty for it. Tony will never make another helmet. He should be gentler with it. Steve continues the story rather than keep on that train of thought.] So I told him we'd trade. He has my old apartment, I live here and keep his family's things safe for him. Everything was a mess, still is in a lot of ways, so it was as simple as taking my stuff and heading over. I'll probably need to switch back now.
[He smiles wryly. At least they have tonight. Steve would actually be okay being evicted because you can't fit kids even as little as his were in Steve's old place.]
[ bucky listens quietly, patient through the silences, attentive through the speech. he doesn't push for more, fingers continuing to deftly work on the injury. he's not surprised by any of what he's hearing; the world is full of stories just like it, he's certain, and it's a relief to learn how steve dealt with it.
he nods, offering a small smile in return. ]
Best reason for a move I ever heard.
[ the world is in trouble, it's not difficult to see. after 5 years with a halved population, it will struggle to generate enough resources to feed and tend to the needs of the sudden influx of people, and not all reunions will be sweet. it's just all the more reason to revel in the positive. ]
[ he was back on zola's table. the nightmares that plagued his every waking moment and what dreams he managed in his sleep manifesting before his eyes in some cruel cosmic joke. as if the lessons of his last bout of captivity have been learned, the armor that was his identity, his mantra, his focus - has been methodically stripped away from him, bit by bit.
sergeant no. soldier, now. james barnes no. asset. property, not person. 32557038. 0001.
the asset was taking his first mission today, a test-run, and tensions are running high in the base, but they don't touch him. why should they? all he needs to do is what he's told. as long as he does what he's told, things will be alright. with the burden of choice lifted, it doesn't matter if it's his first mission or his millionth. with a final injection, meant to assure compliance - because the asset is stubborn, and somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he's mighty pleased of it - he's instructed to gear up and get going.
it's an easy mission. he's instructed to be grateful for this gift. all he has to do is shoot a man from 3000 yards away. quick and easy, in and out. follow his handler, do not stray from his orders, there will be consequences for the slightest delay in execution, any sign of hesitation, any step out of line.
he sets up his weapon methodically, efficiently. all that's left to do is wait.
the asset senses the disturbance long before his handlers do, and instead of listening, the damn taser is used on him; hardly enough to knock him out or hamper him, just enough to cause pain. consequence, while on all sides, guns are pointed at him. his feral howl echos through the abandoned building, but the distance selected is great enough to avoid alerting his target.
to work they instruct him, giving him hardly any time to brace for impact when the door is forced open. ]
[ didn't take peggy long to grow accustomed to having steve back in the picture. not long at all, really, before she got comfortable barking orders in his direction. as shield (so new the organization barely had a dent in it!) found its feet, so too did director carter—before she promptly also found a right-hand man in steve rogers. he followed orders (the ones he deemed worth following, at any rate) and he brought work the likes of which she couldn't have considered without him. missions she'd never have thought to pursue had he not suggested them.
the barnes file is one such mission. the pair of them have poured enough overtime into the investigation and preparation that (had it been paid) they could have bought two or three of those charming-but-pricey row houses uptown. but even without the promise of a paycheque, peggy and steve had worked tireless days and late nights to be certain—absolutely certain—that when they made their move it would be at the right time, the right place, and with the right tactics in mind.
the high-level brief is simple enough: locate barnes, collect barnes, and afterwards they can fully dismantle hydra's domestic and internal operations. to pursue hydra first would have pushed them further underground—and hydra would have taken their so-called asset along with them. had it pained her to let her enemies carry on, unimpeded, while they crossed their ts and dotted their is?
absolutely.
but then was then and now is now. peggy hears steve crash through the far door—adjusting her grip on a monster of a shotgun—and counts the seconds, the heartbeats, the heavy hits. she can't follow too quickly on his heels. soon. ]
the draft's been going on for over a year now, and so far, bucky's name hasn't come up. a part of him that he'd never own up to is relieved; he's seen war reflected in his father's eyes, and he's not exactly eager for a closer look. he'd have to be some sort of psychopath to be eager for that, wouldn't he? that's normal. it's not that he's a coward - it's that he's a realist. war isn't glorious, it's messy, it's dangerous, it's terrifying, and he's never reveled in violence. he utilizes it, sure, but never excessively. and besides, his family depends on his paycheck, what would they do, if he died? who'd keep steve out and about in society? he's got responsibilities right here, good that he does at home.
there's another part of him, though. that part that longs to don a uniform, fight for his country, for freedom, for the pride in his father's eyes when he comes home, just like he did. he wants to do the brave thing. he'll bear it respectfully, he thinks, if his name gets picked, he'll do the right thing, contribute his share, it's what he always does. but until then - well, he's still got work to do.
history says that in 6 days, everything changes. in 6 days, the japanese bomb pearl harbor, and james buchanan barnes doesn't wait to have his name picked - he stands shoulder to shoulder with steven grant rogers at the recruitment office, both of them head of the line to volunteer their services. steven grant rogers gets turned away. it's not until 1943 that he joins the war effort.
james buchanan barnes was easily accepted; captain of his high school's wrestling team, and a physical laborer, he was exactly the sort of soldier the us army craved for. and the rest, as they say, is history.
but today is still just a monday, and bucky is still just a guy making his way to the little room he rents after a long day of work. it's cold, and he's holding his coat tightly around him, the thin, old, worn out material doing little to protect him from the icy winds, his head's down to keep the worst of it out of his eyes. ]
[It was selfish, Daisy knew it, trying to rewrite time in order to save her mother. She can already picture Fitz shouting at her, naming all of the reasons it was dangerous. And yet...
She dresses as she best to match the 1940s, but with only what she has in her closest and some reference pictures she found on google she barely passes for that time period. She's not going straight for her mother. She's going to the man who tortured her mother, killed so many Inhumans. Daisy is going to kill Daniel Whitehall before he has the chance to hurt anyone.
It's early in the morning, well before anyone is up, when Daisy puts her plan into action. So with a gun in her purse, along with lipstick and her cell phone(as if it will even work), Daisy puts in the coordinates and just hopes it works. She's not nearly as well versed with all of this as Fitz.
There's a pull at her stomach, like going down a steep hill before her body lurches forward and she's no longer in the safety of the bunker.
Shit. She hadn't accounted for the cold. Arms wrapped around herself, Daisy looks around. This--
Definitely doesn't look like Germany. At least not from the pictures she's seen. Trying to get her bearings, Daisy knocked hard in the shoulder before hands reach out to steady her as she stumbles. Her first instinct is to go tense, hands balling into fists as this stranger asks if she's okay]
Oh, sorry.
[Daisy laughs it off when they joke about her not being dressed for the weather. But her laugh fades when the stranger makes a lewd comment, offering to warm her up.]
I think I can manage that one on my own.
[He doesn't seem to take the hint, laughing at her remark that was definitely not her being playful. She's growing more frustrated by the minute, realizing this is definitely not Germany and that she's only been here for two seconds and already being hit on by some guy that is definitely dead now. It's when he tries to place a hand on her waist and pull her closer, not taking no for an answer, that she makes a grab for his hand and starts pushing his fingers back towards his shoulder.]
You really don't want to do this.
[A few people have started to gather, surprised and shocked at what she was doing and not the reason behind it. She was well aware times were different, but, that wasn't going to stop her from defending herself.]
[ bucky's gotten quite used to interrupting fights. normally, they involve steve, but it's not always a necessity; once he's started interfering, well, it became a habit of sorts, one might say.
so when the sound of a pissed off dame hits his ears, he looks up and begins to stride over to her rescue -- which, she doesn't seem to need. well, it's a refreshing change, and he's not going to say no to not bruising his knuckles again when they've only now regained their normal complexion.
but then, a crowd gathers, and that's never good. a man with his pride wounded in the privacy of an alley is one thing, a man humiliated in public, well, he's far too likely to call on his friends. oh well, steve likely would've gotten around to giving him an opportunity to color his knuckles shades of green and purple soon enough, anyway, he may as well come pre-prepared. he steps up to the pair. ]
Mind if I cut in, Miss?
[ he flashes her a smile, and hauls the oaf away by the collar of his shirt, and giving him a stiff kick to the back. he's giving him a chance here, beaten by a tall fella allows him to keep his pride. take it he urges in his mind, go. they all have problems enough without getting into a needless fight over actions that are indefensible. you've shamed yourself enough. he stares him down until he goes, and then turns back to the young woman who is entirely underdressed for the weather. he is, too, but a worn out old coat beats the hell out of no coat at all.
he should know. he's taking his own coat off now, and it's hardly any fun. still, he offers it to her. ]
You alright? Were you robbed? [ times are desperate, he knows, but gees! ]
[Everything happens so fast that, for a few seconds, Daisy just stares dumbfounded. Not because some guy stepped in 'took care of it', but because he wasn't just 'some guy'. He was Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes was talking to her.
Oh, right, he was talking to her.]
What? Oh, no. He was just--
[Daisy waves a hand vaguely in the direction the guy had walked off in. The crowd has broken up now too and the chilly air is settling its way into her bones, arms wrapping around herself.]
I'm okay. He was just being a creep.
[Bucky Barnes is offering her his coat. She's definitely staring at him for too long, it's hard to keep the surprise off her expression.]
I, uh--
[Daisy looks around again, trying to figure out what street she was on because it's very apparent now that she's in New York.]
What street am I on?
[And because that sounded weird...
Daisy leans in closer, as if a little ashamed but also finding it funny.]
[ she's staring at him. why is she staring at him like that? he knows he's a good looking fella, but it's not that sort of staring - he knows that sort of staring damn well.
she's staring at him like - what? like he's some kind of ghost? maybe she's got family that got drafted, or just plain died, and he looks like him. it's a tale as old as time. a tale that happens more and more often in the city.
his eyes soften, and he wraps his coat around her.
in the cold, smells don't really travel as far, and his nose is too frozen to really function anyway, but he's pretty sure he doesn't smell any alcohol on her breath, her eyes seem clear, too. but who's he to bust her excuse? ]
You're on 100th. How about I walk you home, make sure no one else hassles you? Where do you live?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
( the h/c meme )
Date: 2018-10-20 12:06 am (UTC)He’d held it together at the funeral, stood dry-eyed and as ramrod straight as his crooked spine would allow, though each echo of dry earth hitting wood felt like a physical blow. He’d kept himself composed afterward, not letting even Bucky see the cracks forming under the surface, although he’s aware Bucky probably saw through those anyway. But he’d kept up a pretence anyway throughout it all. The condolences, the kind words, and all the while that horrible pain inside him had grown and grown, eating away at him like a living thing, until Steve felt he was walking emptiness itself, despair made flesh.
There’s a part of him that died with Ma, Steve knows; the problem is the rest of him, his stupid, stubborn body, still keeping itself alive. Even now, held up against the wall behind the theatre, his cheek already swelling from the first punch, his stomach aching from the second. He was supposed to meet Bucky inside half an hour ago, had arrived about fifteen minutes earlier than he should’ve, and then — ]
That all you got?
[ Mockingly, as if the bastard with his hands gripping Steve’s collar was the one getting pummelled instead of the other way around. And there’s something wrong with Steve that he doesn't think is ever gonna be fixed, because the thing gnawing on his insides has left him not just empty, but bitter, and he’s stopped caring about anything at all. The third hit splits his lip against his own teeth, and Steve's head knocks back against the brickwork as he tastes copper. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-10-20 04:34 am (UTC)friendship with steven grant rogers, according to bucky barnes, has two crucial rules:
1. when it comes to feelings, don't listen - look. steve will always insist that he's fine. he's got his pride, which is something bucky is very familiar with, they all have their pride but for steve, it's different. every damn day is an obstacle course the man tries to tackle all on his own to prove to himself, to the world, that he can. if you let him, the guy would go down to his grave, still swinging, still refusing to call for help. to bucky that spirit is both admirable, a high bar to hold himself up to, and the worst damn part of his life, because he always - always - has to be on the lookout, which directly leads to the second rule:
2. steve is never late; steve is always in trouble. it's easier when bucky knows where he's supposed to be, he knows to go looking. there's a method to it, of course, he's got locating steve down to an art. you start with wherever you're supposed to meet - but that's really for time saving purposes, it's just as possible the guy got in trouble along the way, or didn't even make it out of his house due to some attack (that part - that right there takes years off of bucky's life in the moments before he finds steve. a big guy he can take for him, but an illness? how's he supposed to fight that?). still, you start with the meeting place. if it's too crowded, you always try to meet beforehand to avoid having to look for him in a damn crowd. alleyways - always a good bet. new york is full of them, but the sound of a beatdown echos, and it's usually a safe bet that it's steve he'll find on the receiving end of it.
today is no different, and even as bucky is filled with frustration, with anger - at both his friend and the guy low enough to beat up a guy half his size - he also experiences relief. at least he found him, and on time.
unceremoniously hurling the guy (who, to bucky's opinion, could be the missing link scientists are looking for in evolution between ape and man) backwards, bucky places himself between him and his friend. ]
You fellas mind if I cut in? [ they always try to hit him. they rarely try to hit him twice. bucky stops the punch hurled at his face and twists. when a pained cry escapes steve's assailant, he lets go in favor of throwing his own punch, right in the nose. it connects hard, and bucky knows exactly how his knuckle will bruise now, after years of practice, knows not to worry about the little cracking sound his wrist makes as bones shift and fall back into place. it's as familiar a sound to him now as his own name.
blood gashing out of his nose, the guy takes off, and bucky turns towards his friend, offering him a hand.
jesus, the state of him. maybe his arrival wasn't so timely after all. maybe it's time for a third rule - skip going where you're meeting, go directly to look through every alleyway on the way. ]
At least tell me she was pretty. [ he knows all too well that steve will pick any excuse to fight, will stand up for any wrong. it's gotten so much worse, now. but it's a nice dream, that he could maybe at least meet a nice girl this way one of these days. maybe she'll do what bucky can't seem to manage - and settle him down. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-10-24 06:52 am (UTC)What, you think this is fu —
[ The guy doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Steve hears Bucky’s footsteps before he sees him, recognizes them immediately, and then Bucky’s there — in between Steve and the sonuvabitch scrambling back from where Bucky flung him. Steve slides down the wall, bricks scraping his back through his shirt, but doesn’t bother getting up just yet, his strange smile already faded. The vicious spark of emotion from before seems to have faded, too; he doesn’t feel much of anything, watching Bucky dispatch the man like it’s easy (and for Bucky, it usually is).
At most what Steve feels is concern for is his best friend's knuckles — they’re gonna need icing, if he hit him hard enough to break his nose. Bucky turns to him, then, and Steve sees the expressions flickering across his face as he takes in Steve’s tattered state.
At least tell me she was pretty. For a second, he doesn’t understand, just stares blankly at the hand Bucky’s holding out to him. Then realization hits and Steve bows his head, feigning a cough as he grabs the proffered hand and pulls himself to his feet, an odd sensation curling like acid in his stomach. If he were his usual self, he might call it shame; Bucky thinks he got into this to defend someone else. ]
Gonna be honest, I didn’t really notice.
[ His voice is hoarse, and Steve coughs for real this time as he swipes a wrist across his mouth. It’s honest, but only halfway. There was no girl. Steve wasn't defending anybody today, not even himself. And ain’t that the worst of it? That as often as Steve gets involved in things because he sees them going south, it’s even more often that his fights aren’t ones he picks? Christ, he can’t imagine saying that out loud, admitting something so humiliating. That sometimes, all Steve is — is a target.
He swallows and looks back at up at Bucky through his bangs, feeling that same twist in his stomach as he adds with a wan half-smile, ]
I think we missed the feature, but we can catch another film if we get back now. If you still want.
no subject
Date: 2018-10-24 07:15 am (UTC)that blank stare, it tears at his heart in a way few things do and unlike steve - he does little to hide the emotion on his face, at least at first. it's all there, clear in his eyes; pain, fear, overwhelming concern. his own secret is that at times like these - he understands exactly how steve feels. it's sheer helplessness, to watch steve suffer so and not be able to do a damn thing about it. he would take on all of new york for steve, but he can't do a thing about his grief, not a single thing but stand there and watch him go through it.
when steve takes his hand, he pulls him up, wraps an arm around him to steady him. bucky knows better than to think steve would lean on him as they walk, he's learned to take the initiative and mix support with unbridled affection. ]
You oughta do something about your priorities. [ it's a soft tease, as his own expression relents. he doesn't want to get into a fight with steve here and now, that can be better saved for when his friend is safe at home, where he can't try to take it out on anyone else who will just end up taking their own issues out on him. but it is clear to bucky that if steve doesn't start giving him a damn inch - there's going to be a fight because neither of them can keep going this way. ]
We'll give it another try tomorrow, come on. [ he claps his shoulder, hoping he's not upsetting an injury. softness, he knows, would only upset steve's pride further. he ushers steve out of the alley, not letting go of his shoulder, using that bit of leverage to help prop him up. ] You need a shower. [ and ice, and a first aid kit, and some sense knocked into his head but he's not holding his breath on that last one - though he will never stop trying. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-10-26 08:25 am (UTC)Bucky deserves better than this. God, what the hell is he doing, hanging around Steve these days? ]
Look who's talkin'. [ It’s quiet but warm, an attempt from Steve to match the faint levity in Bucky’s voice with some of his own. He has to keep himself from leaning into the arm Bucky’s got around him, no matter how much his tired muscles want to. It’s not that he needs the help to remain upright, exactly; he’s unsteady, sure, pain climbing up and down his body, but his brain’s filled with enough white noise that his feet wouldn’t even notice they were going askew until he was already tripping over them. But with the emptiness clawing inside him, it's as if Bucky’s touch is the only thing holding up him lately, like he'll fold over without it.
Instead, Steve just allows himself to settle under the warm, familiar weight of that arm, willingly lets Bucky propel him out of the alley and onto the street. His mind might be static, but something in his body recognizes and responds to that touch, and the clap to his shoulder is as reassuring as a shot of hooch. Speaking of which. ]
Think I’ll be fine with a drink. And maybe some — [ He breaks off, glancing up at Bucky with a little frown. ] Wait, did you have lunch?
[ Bucky headed here straight from work, didn't he? He must be hungry. Steve tries to think about what he’s got in his pantry back at home, if it’s good enough to put out for company. Bucky’s his best friend in the whole goddamn world, closer than blood, but he’s still a guest when he’s over, and if Ma found out that Steve didn’t —
A cold weight drops in the pit of his stomach and Steve stumbles on his next step, hard. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-10-26 09:11 am (UTC)he's about to respond to steve's invitation and inquiry when the other falters - and nothing else matters for the next second but propping him up, keeping him from breaking a limb on a bad fall. strong hands pull him back before he can hit the ground, and don't let go even after he's found his footing.
as long as he's by his side, bucky would never let steve fall. ]
Alright? [ and there's that concern again, back in his eyes. sure, the sidewalk doesn't exactly offer the most even footing, but steve had only recently endured a bad beating - maybe home isn't enough. maybe he should take him to see a doctor? worry eats away at him, and steve isn't the only one who misses his mother at this moment. sarah would know what to do, and bucky wishes he could consult her again, could have someone backing his plays. it's a lot of responsibility to shoulder alone. ]
I think you've had enough. [ it's partly a joking reply to steve's offer for a drink, and partly - just a fact. he's had enough. enough of doing everything all on his own, it's time to accept some support, god knows it's willingly offered. ]
Why don't you stay the night? Everyone misses you, I bet ma will make your favorite, you know she likes you best. [ he tries to keep the lighter tone going - deciding that if steve refuses his offer - he's going to spend the night by his friend's side even if he has to curl up by his front door. ]
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:for 1943
Date: 2019-01-27 09:30 am (UTC)it's not the first time steve's tried to push him away, it's just the worst time. the world keeps taking from steve; it took his father, his health, and now his mother, and bucky is hellbent not to let anyone or anything - not even steve himself - take him away from his friend as well. he may not have the right words to say, he may not know what the right thing to do is, and hell, he's in a world of pain himself, but he's going to be there, a steady presence by steve's side, no matter what.
he lays down the cushions on the floor. it wasn't an easy road, to get even this compromise out of steve's stubborn skull, but bucky's left him no choice by spending the night sleeping outside his door. sure, they'd be more comfortable at his parents' house but if his friend needs to be home, a little discomfort is a small price to pay for the knowledge that the little guy is safe and most importantly - not alone in this space that screams sarash rogers at every turn. ]
Goodnight.
[ he offers a final squeeze of the shoulder before turning out the light and laying his body down with a soft sigh. the floor's a heck of a lot better than huddling on the outside of a door, and the warmth, exhaustion, and most of all - the comfort of knowing exactly where steve is and that he can't get up to any trouble without stepping on him and waking him up - soon lull him to sleep, the sound of his soft breaths filling the room. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-29 08:08 am (UTC)The crushing grief was one thing — and maybe his bloodshot eyes, the waxy pallor of his skin, had given that impression to Bucky when his friend had finally broken through Steve’s guard. Came into this tomb of a house and brought life back into it with him, his unwavering presence and stubborn, almost defiant friendship. But this, this thing hanging over Steve, a grey, lifeless mist — ]
'Night, Bucky.
[ He tries not to flinch at the hand on his shoulder, tries to take comfort from the warmth and pressure of the touch of a loved one — his last loved one, the last flickering light in Steve’s life. But a small tremor makes its way out of him anyway, and he hopes to God Bucky doesn’t notice, keeps his back turned as he turns out the light.
The room is dark, now. Dark enough that if Steve stretches his hand out in front of him, he can’t see even the outline of it. But tiny bursts of color edge from the outside of his vision anyway, little electric twists and turns, and Steve feels his skin crawl as a faint rustle echoes from the far corner of the room. He waits until he hears Bucky’s soft breathing go slow and deep with sleep, and then shifts into a sitting position, staring into that corner.
Nobody. Nothing. He looks down; Bucky’s asleep, and Steve can’t wake him up. But it’s been three nights since he last slept, and it’s taken what little of his steadiness he had left after the funeral, and he’s careful as he puts one bare foot onto the floor. It avoids the plank he knows creaks, and he puts down the other with slightly more confidence, stepping over Bucky’s sleeping form.
In the darkness, his vision suddenly swims, neon lines whirling as a dull, heavy pain starts in the back of his head, and Steve finds himself skidding on the edge of a blanket and pitching forward. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-29 08:37 am (UTC)he remembers no dreams since things took a turn for the worse for mrs. rogers. when things go badly, by the time he lays his head it is so exhausted it can't seem to handle anything beyond quiet darkness. it's been weeks now, since he's dreamed last. maybe more, it's a weird thing to keep track of. so when he hears the crash, feels the body collapsing over his own, bucky doesn't suspect a dream - he knows he's awake, he knows something's happened, and he knows he needs to shake off that exhaustion and store it for another day - because right now, action is needed.
he sits up, reaching for steve, trying to steady him, pull him up off of the floor and into his makeshift sleeping arrangement. he needs to get the light, check that steve's okay - but first thing first, he needs to get him squared away and warm. ]
What happened? Are you alright? [ he should get the first aid kit - he should get the light - he doesn't want to let go of steve's form, an irrational part of his brain terrified that the man would just...disappear, if he did. but he has to, he has to be practical, he has to be in control, he has to tap into his big brother mindset that has enabled him to pull both steve and becca out of trouble time and time again, despite his own penchant for getting in it himself. he stands up and drapes his blanket over steve's shoulders before walking to the light switch, cursing softly when he stabs his toe against the dresser.
light fills the room, and for a second he's blinded but he keeps moving all the same; he knows the layout to steve's house as well as he knows his own, and moments later he's back with a glass of water and the first aid kit. he's watched mrs rogers apply that thing to steve and himself more times than he can count, he can do this. she's counting on him, now. ]
Let me see - [ he's not sure if it's even needed, but in truth he just needs something to do. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-30 08:34 am (UTC)A stab of panic goes through Steve as he realizes he’s woken Bucky up, that Bucky’s getting up to turn on the light. He tries to grab onto Bucky's arm as he gets up, but the sudden swirl of nausea in his stomach, coupled with the ache in the back of his head, both serve to keep Steve where he’s seated. Then the light flips on, and his eyes dart immediately to the far corner.
Nothing.
Now with his forehead throbbing as well, he watches Bucky pad around the tiny apartment, each inhale and exhale filling the air with increasingly harsh, shaky sounds. Tiny tremors wrack his frame even under the blanket now draped around his shoulders, and Steve can’t quite look Bucky in the eye as his friend sits down in front of him with the first aid kit. ]
I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was, I was just. [ Like you can tell him. Steve’s face spasms and he raises his hands to his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them for a long moment. He doesn’t want to lie, not to Bucky, but the truth ain’t something his friend’s gonna want to hear, either. When he removes them, there’s tiny black spots in front of him, and for a moment his vision is clear even if it is edged with a glittering haziness.
Something darts out of sight just behind Bucky’s shoulder. Steve swallows, glancing there involuntarily before looking up at Bucky from under his bangs. ]
I wasn’t feelin’ so hot, so I figured I’d get up. [ Pause, and then hesitantly, taking the glass of water from him: ] Is your foot okay?
no subject
Date: 2019-01-30 08:49 am (UTC)he gently wets the cloth and takes steve's hand in his own, cleaning the blood. ]
That's what I'm here for, pal. [ to be woken up, to help him. he notices the glancing and wonders if steve might have hit his head too hard - maybe he should take him to a doctor? god, he just wishes it wasn't all his call now, the pressure is massive.
but it is what it is, and he'll do his best for his friend. steve would do it for him. they'll never leave each other behind, that much is a certainty. ]
I'll live - Steve, what are you looking at? [ he frowns as he looks into his eyes, trying to spot signs of - what? he's not sure, something, anything that might be off. ] What's wrong? [ what is he feeling, where does he hurt, how can he fix it? please just. let there be a way for him to fix it. ] Should I get the doctor?
no subject
Date: 2019-01-30 09:34 am (UTC)Christ, Bucky shouldn't even be here, letting alone hurting his foot just to patch Steve up. Steve shouldn't have let him in, in the first place — should have pretended better and kept his friend out of this place, this room, this waking goddamn nightmare. He's just about to steel himself for a lie (I'm fine, I'm not lookin' at anything) when Bucky suggests a doctor. ]
No. [ Steve croaks out, too quick and too vehement, and hastily follows it up with: ] I, I don't got the cash, there's no point. Anyway, it's — nothing a doctor would ...
[ He trails off, listening hard, his hand going taut in Bucky's own. There was a whisper. There was a fucking whisper, a sibilant string of words too strange for him to understand, but loud enough to hear. He heard it, he'd bet his life on it, and Steve finds himself staring hard at that corner by the door. ]
Bucky. [ Hushed, almost a whisper himself, as he hedges his bets one last time before making up his mind. ] Did you hear that?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:missing scenes - endgame
Date: 2019-05-05 01:19 am (UTC)This go around Steve faired a little better. Natasha is gone. Thor is on his way out as always. He got Sam, Bucky, Wanda, and T'Challa back. It'd been at a heavy cost, but God help him even in his grief over losing two Avengers, he needed this win.
He needed to finally get Bucky back and keep him.
There's nothing he can do for Tony and his family now. It's safe to say they won't be returning the stones today. It'd be irresponsible to run back to Wakanda until that's resolved. Steve does the kindest thing he can think to do: head back to the place he'd been staying the past few years with whoever is willing to come.
The magician, Strange, is at least able to portal them back saving them from hotwiring a car. Sam and Wanda head into the empty rooms to crash.
(Yes, rooms. No one wanted large homes in a world where half your family is likely dead. He paid close to nothing on it.)
Steve heads to his room, full Captain America gear, and slowly works his way towards the attached master bathroom with what's left of his shield still on. It occurs to him out of nowhere he hasn't really spoken to Bucky at all save to asking him if he wanted to tag along. Even after getting beaten badly by the Mad Titan, wielding power from another world, and losing allies and friends, he realizes he's still scared to address Bucky in any meaningful way. Steve's lost him so many times he can't help thinking that the second he opens himself up to Bucky again, it'll be over. That fear is plain on his face as he finally stops to face him just short on the bathroom. Steve plays it off with a joke even if the truth is obvious; his eyes are glassy. What happened to Tony and Nat is only partly to blame.] You know I'd hug you, but I can't actually take this off.
[Slowly, he presents his shield arm to Bucky. It's painfully clear why he's still got it on: it's keeping a badly torn up arm together. Count on Steve to find a way to keep going.]
oh. my. god.
Date: 2019-05-05 03:45 am (UTC)the fight goes by, as fights always do, and by the end of it he's still standing - as he usually is. what's infinitely more important is - steve's still standing. and that's enough. he's never been greedy with his miracles, even before everything was ripped away from his grasp, it wasn't exactly difficult to keep him content. from the very beginning, steve's safety was a big piece of that puzzle, took up about a quarter of the thing.
they're mourning, all of them, and he mourns with them, in his own quiet way. he's knows too much loss to wallow in thoughts and wishes that it were him eternally resting instead of those people who still had so much to give, so much to do, were so well loved. but if he could, he would give up his life in a heartbeat. still, after everything, it's not that he's eager to die, it's not that he's eager to give up what life he has, even now, but it would be right.
what soul the winter soldier has left should be given to protect the man whose parents he took away, the woman who, like all other girls in the widow program, he failed to protect.
he gives steve his space to mourn his friends. they've been apart for so long - longer still, now - and he doesn't presume he has a place by his side anymore, though he knows beyond doubt that he'll always have a place in his heart. so he comes when he's asked, but keeps his quiet as he's been prone to do since that fateful day in washington when bucky started inhabiting his mind again and for the first time in decades - wasn't wiped away.
bucky pauses when steve turns to him, and he notes everything. the winter soldier may be gone, but his instincts remain, some of his programming, he knows, will never go, and his impact is immortal. he takes on steve's expression, the state of his body - not just the arm - assessing fatigue as well as injury.
there's a moment of silence before bucky pushes past him and despite never setting foot in this house before - he knows exactly where steve would keep the first aid kit. a flash of memory hits him, though he never pauses, a powerful flash of a time when steve would comfortably fit when he needed to carry him, when he would sit with the first aid kit and clean him up, in an attempt to hide the evidence of another fight from mrs. rogers' shrewd gaze. ]
Sit. [ he instructs, laying down a towel for him to sit on. they need to tend to that, and they may as well do it now.
he wants that hug too. ]
:)
Date: 2019-05-09 02:01 am (UTC)This time Bucky is spared the grumbles. He takes a seat and tries for a smile. They're together again. Steve should be happy. His heart doesn't feel any less broken. He keeps waiting for Nat to barge in with a line about boys and fossils. His eyes prick with tears as he hears her voice so clearly in his head.]
Sure. Get to work, Doc. [He jokes weakly. She was always funnier.]
ily
Date: 2019-05-09 04:03 am (UTC)his hands are as gentle as possible, trying to spare him any pain they can. it's a long moment of silent work before he speaks. ]
It's a big house. Preparing for a family? [ he hasn't seen any evidence of that, no pictures with a girl, let alone a girl in the flesh, but why would anyone get a place this big just to be alone in it? he remembers now, how his heart ached for steve when he had to go back home after his ma died. that apartment was small, it always felt it - even when they themselves were little - but after mrs. rogers died, it felt like the voids never ended, like they stretched and stretched to infinite space, and they could have comfortably fit the whole neighborhood in that apartment.
imagining steve alone in this big house now, for however many years it's been since he purchased it, he doesn't imagine the man in front of him - broad shouldered and strong - he pictures the boy he was, and every last ounce of his being wants to protect him from that loneliness. steve deserves better, he always did. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-05-20 05:05 pm (UTC)The question pulls him out of his tailspin of dark thoughts. He shakes his head heavily. He didn't realize the helmet was still on until this very moment.] No.
[Steve lets out a breath of laughter. He wanted a family still. That's the tragedy of it all. He only ever managed one with the Avengers much like Natasha. That seemed to fall apart when the children died. He should be grateful he got one back. He is truly. Steve can't feel it properly or much of anything.
Steve goes to unstrap his helmet with his good hand as he explains himself.] I, uh... I started a support group. To honor Sam. [He swallows thickly. Steve clearly never said it aloud before.] One of the guys- couldn't stand the sight of this place after he lost his family. Talked about burning it down. I think he planned on being inside when he did.
[He pries it off, tossing it to the side unceremoniously and immediately feeling guilty for it. Tony will never make another helmet. He should be gentler with it. Steve continues the story rather than keep on that train of thought.] So I told him we'd trade. He has my old apartment, I live here and keep his family's things safe for him. Everything was a mess, still is in a lot of ways, so it was as simple as taking my stuff and heading over. I'll probably need to switch back now.
[He smiles wryly. At least they have tonight. Steve would actually be okay being evicted because you can't fit kids even as little as his were in Steve's old place.]
no subject
Date: 2019-05-20 06:20 pm (UTC)he nods, offering a small smile in return. ]
Best reason for a move I ever heard.
[ the world is in trouble, it's not difficult to see. after 5 years with a halved population, it will struggle to generate enough resources to feed and tend to the needs of the sudden influx of people, and not all reunions will be sweet. it's just all the more reason to revel in the positive. ]
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:» for mucked and uprightness
Date: 2019-05-08 03:50 pm (UTC)sergeant no. soldier, now. james barnes no. asset. property, not person. 32557038. 0001.
the asset was taking his first mission today, a test-run, and tensions are running high in the base, but they don't touch him. why should they? all he needs to do is what he's told. as long as he does what he's told, things will be alright. with the burden of choice lifted, it doesn't matter if it's his first mission or his millionth. with a final injection, meant to assure compliance - because the asset is stubborn, and somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he's mighty pleased of it - he's instructed to gear up and get going.
it's an easy mission. he's instructed to be grateful for this gift. all he has to do is shoot a man from 3000 yards away. quick and easy, in and out. follow his handler, do not stray from his orders, there will be consequences for the slightest delay in execution, any sign of hesitation, any step out of line.
he sets up his weapon methodically, efficiently. all that's left to do is wait.
the asset senses the disturbance long before his handlers do, and instead of listening, the damn taser is used on him; hardly enough to knock him out or hamper him, just enough to cause pain. consequence, while on all sides, guns are pointed at him. his feral howl echos through the abandoned building, but the distance selected is great enough to avoid alerting his target.
to work they instruct him, giving him hardly any time to brace for impact when the door is forced open. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-05-09 01:12 pm (UTC)the barnes file is one such mission. the pair of them have poured enough overtime into the investigation and preparation that (had it been paid) they could have bought two or three of those charming-but-pricey row houses uptown. but even without the promise of a paycheque, peggy and steve had worked tireless days and late nights to be certain—absolutely certain—that when they made their move it would be at the right time, the right place, and with the right tactics in mind.
the high-level brief is simple enough: locate barnes, collect barnes, and afterwards they can fully dismantle hydra's domestic and internal operations. to pursue hydra first would have pushed them further underground—and hydra would have taken their so-called asset along with them. had it pained her to let her enemies carry on, unimpeded, while they crossed their ts and dotted their is?
absolutely.
but then was then and now is now. peggy hears steve crash through the far door—adjusting her grip on a monster of a shotgun—and counts the seconds, the heartbeats, the heavy hits. she can't follow too quickly on his heels. soon. ]
» for morethan084
Date: 2021-06-10 05:15 pm (UTC)the draft's been going on for over a year now, and so far, bucky's name hasn't come up. a part of him that he'd never own up to is relieved; he's seen war reflected in his father's eyes, and he's not exactly eager for a closer look. he'd have to be some sort of psychopath to be eager for that, wouldn't he? that's normal. it's not that he's a coward - it's that he's a realist. war isn't glorious, it's messy, it's dangerous, it's terrifying, and he's never reveled in violence. he utilizes it, sure, but never excessively. and besides, his family depends on his paycheck, what would they do, if he died? who'd keep steve out and about in society? he's got responsibilities right here, good that he does at home.
there's another part of him, though. that part that longs to don a uniform, fight for his country, for freedom, for the pride in his father's eyes when he comes home, just like he did. he wants to do the brave thing. he'll bear it respectfully, he thinks, if his name gets picked, he'll do the right thing, contribute his share, it's what he always does. but until then - well, he's still got work to do.
history says that in 6 days, everything changes. in 6 days, the japanese bomb pearl harbor, and james buchanan barnes doesn't wait to have his name picked - he stands shoulder to shoulder with steven grant rogers at the recruitment office, both of them head of the line to volunteer their services. steven grant rogers gets turned away. it's not until 1943 that he joins the war effort.
james buchanan barnes was easily accepted; captain of his high school's wrestling team, and a physical laborer, he was exactly the sort of soldier the us army craved for. and the rest, as they say, is history.
but today is still just a monday, and bucky is still just a guy making his way to the little room he rents after a long day of work. it's cold, and he's holding his coat tightly around him, the thin, old, worn out material doing little to protect him from the icy winds, his head's down to keep the worst of it out of his eyes. ]
no subject
Date: 2021-06-10 07:42 pm (UTC)She dresses as she best to match the 1940s, but with only what she has in her closest and some reference pictures she found on google she barely passes for that time period. She's not going straight for her mother. She's going to the man who tortured her mother, killed so many Inhumans. Daisy is going to kill Daniel Whitehall before he has the chance to hurt anyone.
It's early in the morning, well before anyone is up, when Daisy puts her plan into action. So with a gun in her purse, along with lipstick and her cell phone(as if it will even work), Daisy puts in the coordinates and just hopes it works. She's not nearly as well versed with all of this as Fitz.
There's a pull at her stomach, like going down a steep hill before her body lurches forward and she's no longer in the safety of the bunker.
Shit. She hadn't accounted for the cold. Arms wrapped around herself, Daisy looks around. This--
Definitely doesn't look like Germany. At least not from the pictures she's seen. Trying to get her bearings, Daisy knocked hard in the shoulder before hands reach out to steady her as she stumbles. Her first instinct is to go tense, hands balling into fists as this stranger asks if she's okay]
Oh, sorry.
[Daisy laughs it off when they joke about her not being dressed for the weather. But her laugh fades when the stranger makes a lewd comment, offering to warm her up.]
I think I can manage that one on my own.
[He doesn't seem to take the hint, laughing at her remark that was definitely not her being playful. She's growing more frustrated by the minute, realizing this is definitely not Germany and that she's only been here for two seconds and already being hit on by some guy that is definitely dead now. It's when he tries to place a hand on her waist and pull her closer, not taking no for an answer, that she makes a grab for his hand and starts pushing his fingers back towards his shoulder.]
You really don't want to do this.
[A few people have started to gather, surprised and shocked at what she was doing and not the reason behind it. She was well aware times were different, but, that wasn't going to stop her from defending herself.]
no subject
Date: 2021-06-10 08:05 pm (UTC)so when the sound of a pissed off dame hits his ears, he looks up and begins to stride over to her rescue -- which, she doesn't seem to need. well, it's a refreshing change, and he's not going to say no to not bruising his knuckles again when they've only now regained their normal complexion.
but then, a crowd gathers, and that's never good. a man with his pride wounded in the privacy of an alley is one thing, a man humiliated in public, well, he's far too likely to call on his friends. oh well, steve likely would've gotten around to giving him an opportunity to color his knuckles shades of green and purple soon enough, anyway, he may as well come pre-prepared. he steps up to the pair. ]
Mind if I cut in, Miss?
[ he flashes her a smile, and hauls the oaf away by the collar of his shirt, and giving him a stiff kick to the back. he's giving him a chance here, beaten by a tall fella allows him to keep his pride. take it he urges in his mind, go. they all have problems enough without getting into a needless fight over actions that are indefensible. you've shamed yourself enough. he stares him down until he goes, and then turns back to the young woman who is entirely underdressed for the weather. he is, too, but a worn out old coat beats the hell out of no coat at all.
he should know. he's taking his own coat off now, and it's hardly any fun. still, he offers it to her. ]
You alright? Were you robbed? [ times are desperate, he knows, but gees! ]
no subject
Date: 2021-06-10 10:54 pm (UTC)Oh, right, he was talking to her.]
What? Oh, no. He was just--
[Daisy waves a hand vaguely in the direction the guy had walked off in. The crowd has broken up now too and the chilly air is settling its way into her bones, arms wrapping around herself.]
I'm okay. He was just being a creep.
[Bucky Barnes is offering her his coat. She's definitely staring at him for too long, it's hard to keep the surprise off her expression.]
I, uh--
[Daisy looks around again, trying to figure out what street she was on because it's very apparent now that she's in New York.]
What street am I on?
[And because that sounded weird...
Daisy leans in closer, as if a little ashamed but also finding it funny.]
I had a little too much to drink.
no subject
Date: 2021-06-11 05:12 am (UTC)she's staring at him like - what? like he's some kind of ghost? maybe she's got family that got drafted, or just plain died, and he looks like him. it's a tale as old as time. a tale that happens more and more often in the city.
his eyes soften, and he wraps his coat around her.
in the cold, smells don't really travel as far, and his nose is too frozen to really function anyway, but he's pretty sure he doesn't smell any alcohol on her breath, her eyes seem clear, too. but who's he to bust her excuse? ]
You're on 100th. How about I walk you home, make sure no one else hassles you? Where do you live?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: