Bucky Barnes (
advanced) wrote in
fossilised2017-02-01 11:44 am
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For Steve
The war had been raging for a long time now, and James Buchanan Barnes had been drafted some months ago to ship out to Europe and fight with all the others in the trenches and on the front lines. Telegrams came back daily with the news of more brothers, sons, fathers, and husbands killed. More friends who will never return, and still there was no end in sight.
But then something even stranger began happening on both sides of the timeline.
All the newsreels were reporting strange anomalies centred in New York City and Washington D.C. that could only be explained by time itself unravelling in places. Buildings that changed to vast monoliths of glass and steel for a few minutes and then back again, a faded billboard for asthma cigarettes becoming a full colour motion picture of a man eating soup. Some people had even said they had met men and women claiming to be from the future, though this was all hushed up.
It only lasted a few days, and then it was sorted. Sealed, the government official offices said, just a trick by the Nazis to confuse us. Forget it and go about your day.
But there were pieces of the future lost in the past for good.
The Winter Soldier-- Bucky-- whoever he was now, confused fragmented memories all he had to go on, had been thrown through time unceremoniously into a street that looked altogether familiar and confusing. He hid from the authorities who were collecting all the anomalies with ease, even though his manner of dress was out of place now with jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He didn't change it. He found his feet taking him somewhere only half remembered.
An apartment with a key hidden under an old brick. Why did he know it was there?
He didn't know. He just let himself in, quiet as a whisper, and made his way through to the bedroom where someone was asleep under the covers. Skinny, blond, somehow also familiar (the man on the bridge? The man in the Potomac? The man at the museum? No, that didn't make sense, that man had bulging muscles, but somehow he was sure they were the same). He didn't say anything, just stood there and watched impassively, waiting for the man to wake up.
But then something even stranger began happening on both sides of the timeline.
All the newsreels were reporting strange anomalies centred in New York City and Washington D.C. that could only be explained by time itself unravelling in places. Buildings that changed to vast monoliths of glass and steel for a few minutes and then back again, a faded billboard for asthma cigarettes becoming a full colour motion picture of a man eating soup. Some people had even said they had met men and women claiming to be from the future, though this was all hushed up.
It only lasted a few days, and then it was sorted. Sealed, the government official offices said, just a trick by the Nazis to confuse us. Forget it and go about your day.
But there were pieces of the future lost in the past for good.
The Winter Soldier-- Bucky-- whoever he was now, confused fragmented memories all he had to go on, had been thrown through time unceremoniously into a street that looked altogether familiar and confusing. He hid from the authorities who were collecting all the anomalies with ease, even though his manner of dress was out of place now with jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He didn't change it. He found his feet taking him somewhere only half remembered.
An apartment with a key hidden under an old brick. Why did he know it was there?
He didn't know. He just let himself in, quiet as a whisper, and made his way through to the bedroom where someone was asleep under the covers. Skinny, blond, somehow also familiar (the man on the bridge? The man in the Potomac? The man at the museum? No, that didn't make sense, that man had bulging muscles, but somehow he was sure they were the same). He didn't say anything, just stood there and watched impassively, waiting for the man to wake up.
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"Let's go with whatever you want," he offered, kindly, experimentally. It had worked for them both so far and Steve, other than being a very giving human being, wanted to help Bucky reintegrate with society. He wanted to help him with his nightmares and his trust issues and his memory. "If you want to come to bed with me, please do. If not, I'll set up the couch. Or you can sleep on cushions on the floor like you used to."
He wanted to be accommodating without forcing Bucky into his own whim.
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"I want to... come to bed with you."
He wanted to be as close to Steve as he could, that was the easiest way to protect him and it also soothed him. He had no thoughts of propriety or deviancy on his mind.
"I'm not used to being asked. Sorry."
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He did t want to think about Bucky's death. Or his torture. Or what he could have done or should have done. He needed to just promise himself to do better in the future. And this future would still have his best friend in it.
When Bucky did come to his bedroom, Steve was stuck on reading the same few lines over and over again. His mind had stalled out with sorrow and exhaustion and hope,
He did glance up as a familiar figure filled his doorway and he let his head fall back against a very deflated pillow.
"We're gonna be okay, pal. I really think so."
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Maybe he could risk once more to get train tickets, and then he'd have to find a way to get money to support them when they were there. He could rob a bank, maybe a convenience store, he had more than enough skills to do that.
When he finally slipped into the bedroom and began to pull his clothes off, it was with a much more relaxed body posture.
"I'll make sure of it, I'll protect you."
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At the slightest movement to signal that he might be undressing, Steve immediately looked away and made as if setting his book aside was a big deal. He scooted down in his bed and tried to refluff his pillow. There wasn't a lot of space here for the two of them, he suddenly realized. This wasn't the hotel. There was no queen sized bed. It was just a slightly larger than single he'd gotten second hand last year. Where was Bucky going to sleep other than right up against him?
It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time and so Steve tried to cling to the edge as Bucky promised him protection and support. The words didn't help.
"You've always had my back. I didn't expect anything less," Steve started.
He hoped it didn't sound as confusing as it did in his head, with his voice going higher than usual there. He cleared his throat for effect.
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He didn't even leave his boxers on, only slipping beneath the covers when he was naked. It was necessary, because of the size of the bed, to press up against Steve from behind and drape an arm around him in order to have somewhere to put it.
"Go to sleep."
A low growl next to his ear, utterly ignorant of what he was doing to poor emotionally compromised Steve.
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The chances of Steve sleeping for at least the near future? Roughly zero.
He tucked his knees up, which caused Bucky to mold against him again, and the outline of a very inappropriate body part was very noticeable tucked against the back of his thigh. Steve had stiffened, closed his eyes tightly, and tried to refocus his breathing. This was better than an attack. Just barely.
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Bucky frowned to himself in the darkness, wondering if he ought to have given something akin to an order to someone who looked so like a handler. But Steve's tone of voice hadn't sounded angry, more tight, and now his muscles were all tensing up. Was he ill? About to have an attack? Bucky stiffened behind him and shifted his hand to rest on the centre of his chest as if to feel his breathing.
"What's wrong? Why are you tense?"
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"I-- no, I'm all right." He slipped his fingers around Bucky's hand, Palm to his knuckles, but didn't pull him off. "You're uh... Well you're not exactly dressed for bed. Or for anything and..."
Steve didn't like to lie. He just didn't know what Bucky would do with this information if he told him. The old Bucky would have understood and probably kept his distance but still remain his friend. This one might kill him for it.
"I'm.. Struggling a little. With temptation. I think it's just stress. Or with you being so close-- I'm so sorry, Buck. I don't mean to be this way. I thought I was over it. I should let you sleep by yourself." He was so embarrassed.
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Bucky was still and silent for a long time after the confession.
Temptation. He had to work that through on what it meant, but even with the gaps in his knowledge, it didn't take too much to piece together what was intended behind those few hesitant words. That should scare him after some of the things that had been done to create the Soldier, but it didn't, and it certainly didn't disgust him. The Soldier and Bucky had both learned through the changing times about the evolving nature of sexuality.
"I don't know if I feel the same," he replied eventually. "You make me feel safe, I didn't think I would ever have that again."
His arm tightened around Steve, as if to stop him from leaving the bed and going elsewhere. Even if he didn't know what he wanted in return, he knew he didn't want to lose Steve.
"Don't go."
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But having confirmation that Bucky still wanted him close did make Steve relax. Had he expected any different? They didn't abandon each other. Not even for sickness. Bucky had never left him at his lowest. And maybe this was what he needed. Temptation to overcome.
Steve relaxed his grip. And relaxed himself.
"I won't-- Bucky.. Thank you. I mean it. Thanks for understanding. Means the world to me. Maybe in DC I can find someone to help me...? I think they had therapy. After I get a job."
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Bucky didn't quite grasp what was going on here, at least not for a long few seconds. But then something shook loose in the vacuous void of his memory, one afternoon in school where rumours had gone around that Tyler Masters had been transferred out because he had been caught after gym doing things with another boy. The scandal, the disgust...
"Oh."
He was not the right person for this kind of comfort.
"It's not something that needs therapy. Being gay, it's natural. Nothing wrong with it."
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Happy. There was nothing wrong with being happy. It was natural. Steve exhaled at thst, forcing the tension out of his chest.
"Maybe. But... Maybe we shouldn't talk about it." God would strike him down as he laid there, finding himself indeed happy in Bucky's arms. His fingers loosened s little on the ofher's hand and his body released more tension with every breath be mirrored off of Bucky. His head was full of cotton and his eyes hurt from sleepiness and the tears both shed and left inside. "And it doesn't matter. You're-- you're my best friend. I'll do anything I can to make sure you stay feeling safe and-- okay. Going to sleep now," he joked softly.
He smuggled into Bucky in his sleep. It was indeed natural.
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He couldn't remember a time when they had been together, but that didn't mean that it hadn't happened, he didn't remember a whole lot of things. It didn't matter, he wasn't going to take advantage of Steve, but how did he feel in return? Hard to tell. He felt an innate connection, he wanted to stay nearby, but was that attraction physical or just emotional?
He'd have to pay attention to himself over the next few days and weeks to analyse how he felt.
But for now, he just let Steve sleep. Only waking him when the sounds of life outside the window began to get loud, when the sun was bright in the window. They had to get out of here, Steve's future waited for him in Washington and there were too many people here who might see his face and recognise him as a dead man.
"Are we leaving?" It wasn't exactly good morning, but Bucky didn't often mince words now. "Before the funeral?"
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Before the funeral? Steve was barely awake, groggy and almost having forgotten that there was a funeral to worry about. And why. He rolled over slightly. His whole one side stiff from having voluntarily curled up in the same position all night. It was rare he didn't wake up in some sort of pain so this was nothing new.
"I... I said my goodbyes," Steve said. Would it be terrible to miss the funeral? Would Bucky look down on him from Heaven and scowl to see that he decided to stay with another version of him instead?
Steve didn't think that was possible. He was sure Bucky would want him to help as much as he could.
"That's probably fair," Steve said softly. "And we should think about how to change some of that money on the way. It's... Odd. Some of it."
The best way to do that was through buying and selling illegally but he couldn't bring himself to say that, even if they would need a little capital to move.
They were going to need a car. Something that wasn't stolen.
His mind worked overtime a little.
"So we should go... Uh. Let me pack. I should have enough in the kitchen for... Oh. It might have gone bad by now." He hadn't even thought of that. "All right! We'll get breakfast as we go."
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"I can get us a car while you pack."
He pulled himself up from the bed, naked form silhouetted in the morning light, and began to gather his clothes together.
"I can keep us safe if you trust me."
Steve might not like the choices that Bucky would make, but they would be effective.
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He shut the door behind him, utterly afraid of what was going through his head right now, and started the water in the sink to wash his face. His eyes weren't that great but he had seen the scars on Bucky's back and seen the outline of his.. His...
Oh God. Help him!
Ideally, Steve would spend the rest of his time in the bathroom, until he heard Bucky leave. He'd pack after that. It wasn't hard. He had most of his things packed from when he thought he was enlisting in the Army. And funny thing, that. He was still wearing his tags.
Steve refused to take them off. He just dressed over them, put his scant few possessions in some boxes and waited in the window for Bucky.
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He was gone approximately three hours.
When he came back it was in a pick-up truck, new and shining, with two duffel bags on the back seat. He beeped the horn outside the building and waited, but if Steve didn't come down then he would lock up and go up to find him. It might be best for his small friend if he didn't ask exactly how Bucky got the truck or what he had in the bags.
It was all about trust, after all.
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Steve decided not to ask questions that he didn't want the answers to. It was part of the whole trust thing. He assumed that Bucky wouldn't rob or hurt people and that they would do their best to get everything settled in without too much lying and cheating. Sometimes it was necessary to break the rules, both religiously and secularly, but Steve wanted to keep that to a minimum.
He was grateful for the help with the boxes and his bags and sort of gob smacked at the truck. It was beautiful in the way all new things were and sure, he had some trouble climbing up into the cab but once he was there, the view was awesome. "We can see over most of the cars!" Steve exclaimed happily.
At least the ride to DC would only be a few hours. The roads weren't nearly as good as Bucky might remember but seven hours or so should get them to the capital.
It was new start. Something fresh.
Steve didn't watch the rearview mirror as they left. He wanted to move on from his old life completely.
no subject
Perhaps he might not need to be on the run here, not when the people who were looking for him would be doing so seventy years in the future.
"Will you tell me about-- us? About me?"
It was a quiet question, maybe three hours into the drive. He was trying to remember all he could for himself, but he didn't have all the pieces.
no subject
They were in the rural parts of Pennsylvania when Bucky spoke, away from the major roadways. They kept passing these little roadside restaurants and Steve was tempted to ask for a stop for lunch even if they could t really afford it. He'd only been out of New York one other time in his life: Camp Lehigh. And now? Just a few days later he'd left again. It was an adventure he needed to experience all of.
The question made him smile.
"We've been friends since we were kids. You saved me. Or helped me save myself I guess, from bullies. I think we've barely been apart since... Once when your family went to the Jersey shore for a week. And then when you were drafted. And-- You boxed. You taught me a little of that but you were the star. Oh and you loved to dance. I use to lay across your bed and watch you get ready for your dates. Everyone loved you. Old women, young gals from lower grades-- I think every guy we palled around with just wanted to be you."
Steve smiled back at Bucky, the sun making his eyes almost green.
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"I don't remember."
He sounded disappointed. His eyes fixed on the road. He might have stopped there, the Soldier wasn't known for his conversation, but he was determined to push forwards because otherwise how would he ever progress?
"I remember a room and a man that looked like you. He had your hair and your eyes, he spoke in a Brooklyn accent and he smiled at me. I remember what he taught me to do."
And it sure as hell wasn't box.
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Still sweet and naive, having never seen the world outside of postcards and what the movies told him tended to be on the rosy side of life, Steve had no idea what Bucky might have meant. He wanted to cultivate all of his memories, even ones that came from times that he himself didn't remember.
This could be a memory about the Captain America Steve, the one that no longer existed and might not exist again. It was important for Bucky to get a grasp on that side of himself too.
"What did he teach you?" Steve asked, turning around to face Bucky. The seats were wide enough that he could probably stretch out across the bench if he wanted to.
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"He taught me not to move."
His fingers tightened on the wheel a little, tense, but his voice remained level.
"He told me don't move and then raised the temperature of the room until I fell from heat exhaustion and failed, then he took me to the reconditioning rooms for punishment. He told me don't move and lowered the temperature until I got hypothermia and fell, then he took me to the reconditioning rooms for punishment. He starved me for six days and then put a piece of bread in my mouth and told me not to move, and when I swallowed it he took me to the reconditioning rooms for punishment. He taught me not to move, so I could stand on broken legs and go without sleep for days. He taught me not to move."
It wasn't the lack of movement that was important, of course, it had been the obedience even in the face of pain or personal need, it was to drive home that orders had to come above literally anything else.
no subject
Of course, Steve's smile at the story was quickly wiped from his face as he continued. Steve stared at Bucky and then he turned to sit properly in his seat and just watch the scant traffic on barely paved roads as they drove south for awhile. Finally, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
This is what Bucky's death saved him from. In part.
"Someone with hair like mine and eyes like mine... Is this what the serum is going to do to me? Is this why you said no testing? Are they going to experiment again...?" What he wanted to ask, and didn't, was if Captain America did the tortufe.
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gdi I thought this posted...
Re: gdi I thought this posted...
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