Bucky Barnes

Despite putting her weapon away, Yelena was still somewhat tense. She had never really been close to anyone other than a target and even then she was controlled. Made to go against what she had wanted. The line got blurry after awhile and though she was now free, what was she going out into the world with? A deadly skill set and no one else. What was a Widow without a purpose? As he said he guessed so, Yelena watched him for a moment before shrugging. “We are defined by what we do. Not by nice words.” She told him before slowly nodding. She didn’t believe in heroes and villains but more in what the other person did. She was neither. She was a killer; plain and simple. Keep it clean cut and dry. As he stated that they had won if she truly thought that, Yelena stayed quiet before slowly nodding. “They always do. I have a lot of things to remember them by.” 

As he spoke about the place, Yelena gestured around them. “You went to a place like this?” She asked him, quite surprised. She wondered when he managed to be able to do something like this. After all, since she could remember, all she knew was the Red Room. Even the children movies they had shown her were altered and filled with propaganda, watched on repeat. She thought she knew the tale of Snow White like the back of her hand until she came to America. As he trailed off, Yelena couldn’t really relate so she said the next best thing. “I really like boxed macaroni and cheese.” She admitted with a shrug.

Bucky wasn’t tense, exactly, not in the same way she seemed to be. He was alert, aware, and there was tension from all the shit he’d come here to try and suppress but it seemed to alternate with waves of fatigue. Their conversation just made him feel older and more tired and he supposed that was a slight improvement on being wired but it wasn’t much of one. “Words can help direct actions.” At least sometimes they did for him. If he said something, made a promise, even to himself, he tried to keep it, tried to act the same way he said he would. It didn’t always work but it helped a bit. She was quiet for a moment, like she was considering his words, but came back with basically the same response. He understood that, though. “Me too.” He flexed his metal fingers, curling them for a moment, when something occurred to him. They hadn’t exchanged names, they were just a Widow and the Soldier. “My name’s Bucky, by the way.” He offered, suddenly, abruptly, but maybe if she knew him as something other than HYDRA’s ghost story then...then he didn’t know, but it seemed like a good step to take. 

“Not just a place like this, this place. I grew up in Brooklyn, which isn’t far, and I used to come here as a kid, dragged my best friend here a million times, and then brought girls here when I was older.” She probably didn’t care but he was clarifying because he was still kind of caught up in the memories anyway. Bucky blinked when she mentioned boxed macaroni and cheese but his lips twitched up in a slight smile. “Yeah? It is pretty good. What else d’you like?” 

As he spoke, she listened. Natasha, of course, never wanted her Yasha to hurt. She never wanted him to look like he did right now, but pain in this life was inevitable and seemed to come in an onslaught there was no escaping. She only wished they could have a reprieve. He could have one. If there was anyone who deserved it, it was Yasha. Even with all that she had gone through, it wasn’t the same. There had been nothing to forget like he had had to forget. No one to lose like he had lost. They suffered together and were forged of the same steel, but they could never be the same at their core. And for that, she ached for Yasha. He deserved better.

“Sounds gloomy,” she answered with a mirthless scoff. “Any idea where it came from?” Had he looked into it yet? If not, she could help. Or she could try to.

...

He faded out, for a moment, as he spoke the words, back in the hallway, sinking into the feeling of losing himself however brief it had been. Her scoff brought him back to the present and Bucky blinked, eyes flicking away from the wall and looking at her again, refocusing. He was in his room, with Natalia, he had control of his mind. These were important facts to keep in mind, to stay focused on. As long as they were true, which they were, then he wouldn’t slip back, there was no danger of it. He put his gun down, carefully, precisely, and leaned back a little, letting out a breath. 

“The big, new aliens, as far as I could tell. Don’t have any more intel than that.” Bucky was tired. That was sort of a chronic state for him but since the mission he’d gotten even less sleep than usual and he’d been...keeping his distance from Steve which both helped and didn’t. He didn’t need Steve to see him like this, Steve needed to keep a clear head and not be worried about him. Bucky missed him, though, his steady, supportive presence. He set his jaw and looked away again. “If they can take me I’ll become a liability on the battlefield. I either shouldn’t go or...” He looked at her again. “Someone will have to be prepared to put me down.” It wasn’t fair to ask but if anyone could do it it would be her. Her or Steve but he already knew Steve wouldn’t. 

For a moment, Steve heard pretty much nothing. He could see Bucky talking and he knew he shouldn’t be rude, but he was busy trying to sort through his feelings at rapid fire speeds. If Bucky was upset, then was it even fair for Steve to be reeling a little from the whiplash? Surely his own emotions about the situation were secondary. Bucky was going through a lot and Steve–

“You did?” he asked suddenly. He’d heard that, after all. He wasn’t so gone that he wouldn’t hear Bucky telling him he’d wanted to kiss him for ‘a long time’. What the hell did that mean? How long was ‘a long time’? Steve knew he was slow on the uptake–hell, he’d been slow on the uptake in even realizing he’d cared about Bucky that way. He was slow to his own emotions, so there was no way he would have noticed just how long ‘a long time’ was. “H-how long?” 

He was going to feel very stupid in a moment, no matter what Bucky’s answer was. Steve had been spending so much of his time being ‘noble’ about it. Doing the right thing. He wasn’t really cautious in most respects, he would say, but he always had contradicted his impetuosity when it came to matters of the heart. The right partner. The perfect fit. Had it come up to bite him in the ass?

...

Steve wasn’t giving him much. Bucky was talking and asking questions, admittedly too fast for Steve to answer them, but he had stopped eventually and hoped that Steve would give him...something. But instead he was just standing there looking...what? Thoughtful? Regretful? Unhappy? Bucky was too frazzled to read him very well and then Steve ignored all his questions to ask his own and Bucky felt like he was teetering on the precipice of hysteria he just wasn’t sure if it would be sobs or laughter. The question hung between them and Bucky swallowed and then again trying to make sure he didn’t tip over to either side of that ledge. 

“I don’t know. What else are supposed to do? Trade friendship bracelets?” Yelena asked bluntly, her question dripping in sarcasm. “Good. A killer knows a killer.” She said simply, removing the plush teddy from behind her as she held it between her hands, her thumb slowly stroking over it. “I choose not to hope. Hope breeds eternal misery.” She responded as if it was fact, looking up at him. As he mentioned that maybe she could, Yelena laughed under her breath. “Like what?” She asked sharply. “There is nothing out here for people like me. Like you.” She stated. As he mentioned this used to be a place that he would visit, Yelena looked around again, taking in the surroundings. “I’ve never been to something like this. I thought things like this only existed in the movies.” She admitted as she looked back to the teddy bear. 

...

Bucky snorted. “Not likely.” Those obviously weren’t the only options but he didn’t miss her sarcasm. His jaw tightened at her next statement but he nodded. “Guess so.” He’d never wanted to be a killer, never even really wanted to join the army, but he’d been drafted and Steve had been so desperate to go that he’d never dared mention he would’ve rather stayed at home. At least he’d looked good in the uniform, he remembered thinking that, what felt like lifetimes ago. There was no denying he was a killer now, though, and a damn good one, whether he wanted that or not. Her next comment just made him feel tired and immeasurably old. Shouldn’t he be the one saying that? She was too young for it, surely. But he wasn’t out here to change her mind. He barely had enough energy to cling to what little hope he sometimes had for himself let alone try to spark some in her so he shrugged. “If that’s what you believe then I guess they won.” He said, simply, because that’s how it seemed to him.

He had just been thinking about it and for a moment, Steve half wondered if he had imagined what happened next. Because here Bucky was, giving him the exact thing Steve had just been thinking it. And it was… god… Steve hadn’t had many kisses in his life. Lorraine, Peggy, Natasha. None of them had felt quite like this. Peggy was closest, he was pretty sure. He’d loved her, but he loved Bucky, too. And he had loved Bucky for years. Before he even knew for sure that did. What did it mean that Bucky was kissing him now? That he had loved him too? Or was this just the heat of the moment? Could it just be some kind of way to feel? 

It didn’t matter, Steve decided, in that moment. It could matter when it was over. After all, with the world falling apart around their ears, why shouldn’t he take this? This act that he had wanted for such a long time. And Bucky’s lips were full and soft and exactly like he had always imagined they would be when he had let pencil move over paper, shading in the plush of them, or when he had caught himself watching Bucky for too long. The sound that left Steve at the intensity of it all was one of surprise first before it quickly faded and his lips parted to make the most of this moment. One hand dropped to rest against Bucky’s lower back, the other catching his hair. 

No sooner had he settled into all of it, started to let himself really enjoy such a kiss, that Bucky was pulling back as if Steve had burned him. Dazed, Steve only registered panic after his mind finished with pleasure. And then he was kicking into overdrive. Because Bucky was apologizing, and the look on his face was one of absolute panic. Oh. So it had been a mistake. That was fair, he supposed. Bucky was wired right now, wasn’t he? And he hadn’t slept. A thousand excuses came to Steve’s mind.

“It’s…” God, he had imagined kissing Bucky, but now that it had happened he felt his stomach drop out. “Don’t worry about it, Bucky,” he answered. Crossing his arms over his chest to hold himself together, he wet his lips–if only to taste the last of Bucky’s on them–before getting himself together. “It’s okay. You’re upset. I won’t… I’m not mad.” He was actually crestfallen, but he wasn’t about to say that to Bucky.

...

Bucky’s mind was spinning and halting in equal measure. The absolute best he could hope for, he decided, was Steve very gently turning him down and their friendship continuing on as if it hadn’t happened. The worst? He went there and didn’t at the same time, watching Steve, petrified. But he knew Steve and he saw the way Steve tucked in on himself, even through his own panic and the blood pounding in his ears. Was he...sad? Disappointed? That also made Bucky’s mind stop, like the needle skipping on a record. Steve was saying not to worry about it but now details that he’d overlooked from the first rush of kissing Steve fell into place. The slight sound he’d made, the touch to Bucky’s hair and back...something faint started to flutter in his chest. Steve wasn’t mad. So what was he? 

“Why?” It was quiet, not suspicious or accusatory, just quiet and he dared to step a little closer again. “Is it ‘cause I’m wrecked right now or because...” He stopped, wet his lips, but forced himself to keep going. “...because you liked it?” He waited a beat but not long enough for Steve to possibly answer before he charged ahead. Part of him was screaming at him not to do this, Steve had given him an out, he should goddamn well take it. But it was war and maybe they wouldn’t get another chance and he knew Steve and maybe...just maybe...”Because I did.” It was shaky but he soldiered on. “Don’t think it’s just ‘cause I’m all fucked up right now, either. I mean, it is, partly, but damn if I haven’t wanted to do that since...for a long time.” Okay, so he couldn’t quite go all the way, couldn’t quite admit that he’d wanted to do that since before the war, since they were fucking teenagers but baby steps, right? If he was misreading this, if Steve was going to stare at him blankly and again probably gently turn him down then....then he didn’t know what would happen but he was, apparently, doing this and laying it all out there, or at least most of it. 

Steve was grateful that he didn’t have to defend his own diplomacy. Because he didn’t want to have lie to Bucky. He wouldn’t. He had been abused enough. Steve would have no part of it. But he didn’t want to have to press a nail into his bleeding heart already. In a way, this was better than the stoic and harshly put together Bucky. It showed that HYDRA hadn’t taken him away. They hadn’t stolen as much Bucky as even Bucky seemed to think. Steve had always known that, and here Bucky was showing him just that all over again.

For a long stretch of moment between them, Steve’s heart thumped in his chest. He had felt this before, back in the 40s. Bucky used to toy with him when they were younger, usually when he came home late smelling like alcohol and some dame’s perfume and woke Steve up in their shared Brooklyn apartment. I’ll always come right home, Stevie. Jerk. But he couldn’t deny that he used to think about it. For days after. Pinned against the refrigerator through the sheer force of Bucky’s presence, his blue eyes flashing with irritation that would fluctuate quickly to amusement and then embarrassment and back. And there he’d be, with those gray eyes and his lazy smile, teasing Steve into a fuss that either ended with him shoving Bucky off and grumping away, grumbling about making some coffee, or something like that. Now, the tone was very different. And there was a part of him that wanted to lean forward and run his nose along the bridge of Bucky’s. He wanted to…

But it then Bucky was moving and Steve hadn’t really noticed how his breath had picked up until his name slipped from Bucky’s lips. “I’m here,” he promised. And it would be so easy to just lean in and steal the kiss he had thought about for so long. But it wasn’t about him. Even if the sharp pressure of Bucky’s hand pulling on his hair grounded him in Bucky. Even if the desire was there, deep in his stomach.  “Buck, I…” Christ…

Was Steve’s heart pounding or was that just Bucky’s own pulse he could hear in his ears? This was...too much and not enough at the same time. He’d never been able to help getting close to Steve. Hell, he was sure he’d basically given himself away the nights he came back to their shoebox Brooklyn apartment after drinking and messing around with women because he’d tease Steve, cage him against the fridge with his arms because he wanted to be close to him, or just lean there and tell him he’d always come home to him. He always kicked himself the next day, waiting for Steve to bring it up or ask him an awkward question...but he never did. So Bucky just left it at that, unable to help himself and always somewhat secretly relieved that Steve never called him on it because he didn’t know what the reaction would be. This was like one of those old moments though increased in intensity. They were both also sober, painfully so, and Bucky missed the ability he used to so easily have of getting drunk. It would’ve made dealing with all of this a lot easier. But he couldn’t, not anymore, so here he was. 

Here he was, with Steve so damn close, and himself so shook up, jangled and hurting and desperate for something to feel....what? Real? He wasn’t even sure but he was still holding onto Steve so tight and he half expected Steve to push him away before he did something stupid, something it felt like he was teetering on the precipice of. Then Steve spoke, so quiet, almost uncertain and Bucky couldn’t stop himself. He closed the slight distance between them suddenly and kissed Steve, hard and searing, and let finally doing it drown out everything else for a handful of seconds. 

Steve’s lips were soft. He tasted good. Bucky wanted to do this forever because it seemed to calm something in him and it felt good. But then his brain caught up with him and he jerked away abruptly, severing all contact and taking several steps back, a new kind of panic and fear in his eyes. 

As the two spoke in circles, Yelena stared back at him. “Shall we just try and kill each other now?” She asked in a dry tone. She supposed that was how this was going to go down. “And I don’t topple regimes for Russia anymore. Doesn’t make me any less of a killer.” She had learned to be somewhat okay with the work she had done. If anything, it had become a comfort blanket and a purpose. “Don’t count on it. It is usually a lie anyway.” She muttered as he stated that he wasn’t sure how he would be happy anytime soon. At his question, Yelena slipped the gun into her holster. “What is an ex-Widow to do when she has no purpose?” She asked in return. “So I just wander down, trying to find what else I am besides an assassin.” She said before slowly shaking her head. “Haven’t found something I am better at yet.” Yelena watched him for a moment. “What is an ex-HYDRA agent doing in a fairground?”

...

“Thought we just decided not to do that.” That had seemed the whole point of the lowering their weapons thing, after all. His eyes hardened a little as she seemed insistent on that still being part of Bucky even if he didn’t do it anymore. He knew that, of course, but he didn’t need strangers reminding him of it, especially not right now. “I wasn’t trying to deny it.” It was a little harder, almost snappish, and he took an irritated drag from his cigarette. So much for calming down. Bucky heard her mutterings about happiness and he sighed, more tired again than irritated. “Here’s hoping that’s not always true.” He didn’t feel like he had a lot of hope but there was some, buried deep, that he might be able to work this all out eventually. When she holstered her weapon, Bucky did as well, glad to be finally done with that particular part of this exchange. She answered his question, sort of, but it made sense to him so he nodded. Bucky knew what that was like, after all. “Maybe you will.” It was quiet, but sincere. Everyone should be more than an assassin, maybe especially people like them though it was harder to believe and become than either of them would probably want. Expectedly, she turned the question around and he sighed, glancing out over the abandoned fairground again before returning to her. “Remembering and trying to forget.” He knew that was cryptic so he elaborated. “I used to come here a long time ago, when it wasn’t abandoned.” 

The words rang in his ears. Idly, he wondered if Bucky knew how they had won the war. Steve did. He remembered locking and loading on the target, plunging into the ice with Peggy on the comm. He remembered how cold it had been and how it had felt to have his heart stop beating. It wasn’t something he looked forward to experiencing again. The initial ‘dying’ of it hadn’t even been the worst part. That had come with rest. With an end to the pain he had been carrying since March when he had lost Bucky’s hand and watched him plummet. But then it had seemed over in all too little. Instead of Heaven, or whatever was waiting when it was all over, he had woken in a bustling New York eighty years later. All of it was uncertain, wasn’t it? Could he make a promise to Bucky that he wasn’t sure he could keep? It wasn’t fair to lie to him. But then again… dying didn’t necessarily mean staying down, did it? At this point, a few of them had had similar experiences. A wild concept, maybe, but certainly not an untrue one.

“I’ve got a bad habit of walking away from things that should have killed me,” he said with a gentle levity. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. He hoped that it instilled enough hope. “Last time I pulled a self-sacrifice, I came out as strong as ever.” And here he was.

He could feel Bucky’s fingers in his hair, and his stomach fluttered a little bit before he swallowed. Pulling back a little, Steve’s gaze met Bucky. “I won’t leave you behind,” he murmured quietly. Not without you. He remembered how Bucky had shouted it. He wished he could say he had never left Bucky behind, but then… that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Biting his lip, he only hoped that Bucky would believe him even if he had screwed it up so colossally in the past. “I can’t do this without you.” Not now that he was back and Steve had something nailing his feet to the ground beyond the duty of it. Because duty was all fine and good, wasn’t it? But a person needed more than a sense of what was right. He was loath to admit it, but Steve was as human as so many of them. 

They were so close, and it felt… it felt like home. Like it should. Steve wouldn’t shatter it with thinking about how easy it would be to run the tip of his nose along the bridge of Bucky’s. How it might feel to seal the promise that they’d get through with a kiss. They weren’t meant for that, were they? In spite of everything, Steve wouldn’t confuse Bucky. Wouldn’t put him in a bad spot. So he merely swallowed hard, keeping Bucky’s gaze locked with his own.

...

Bucky knew. He knew that Steve had gone down in a plane with nukes to save the world and it wasn’t from the Smithsonian exhibit, either. No, he’d found out around the time it had happened. He’d been with HYDRA...how long? Time was still fuzzy, especially then when his days had been darkness and pain. He hadn’t given in, though he was increasingly unsure what he was fighting and what he was fighting for. But he’d resisted, tried to maintain scraps of himself as they tried to peel the layers away, to mold him into something else. And then they’d shown him. The newspaper, the headline. They’d read it to him, the details, but Bucky had drowned them out with his screams. There’d been violence and more pain but nothing like the pain of knowing that Steve was gone. It had snapped something in him, that knowledge, and what little fight he’d had left had soon dried up. So yes, Bucky knew, but he intended never to tell Steve how he’d found out. 

He had expected a scoff, some kind of sad and mirthless denial. But Bucky surprised him. Before, it was like they had everything about one another figured out. Now, they were surprising one another left and right. Changed. Not quite who they were before. Steve wondered, though, if Bucky was ready to be that. Different. Or if he had been forced but was still trying to catch up to the inevitable. His expression was soft as he gave a nod in return. It was better than arguing. Better than the manic terror in Bucky’s eyes. Even if Steve wasn’t so sure Bucky believed what he said.

But it was good, he thought. Good that Bucky could believe in what Steve said. Or maybe just in Steve himself. That, at least, hadn’t changed. He shook his head before blowing out a breath, about to say more when he was suddenly enveloped in the warmth of Bucky’s arms, aware of the heat of his body and the cool, inorganic press of metal through his shirt. He was shocked for a moment, but it wasn’t as if Bucky hadn’t hugged him before. It was just the sheer intensity of it that had his baby blue eyes widening before he let out a soft breath. His arms were careful as they wrapped around the other. It felt different. More equal. It had since the serum, but sometimes Steve did miss that all-encompassing warmth.

“I’ve got ya, Buck. And we’re gonna win.” He said it again, both for Bucky’s sake and for his own. Because every so often, Steve needed the affirmation for himself as well. And he had just promised it, hadn’t he? Had to pull it off now, right? Somehow.

...

There was a time where he’d known Steve like the back of his hand, better than he knew himself. A lot of the time lately, he still felt like that. To him, Steve didn’t seem that different. Sadder, certainly, and more strained but still essentially the same Steve. Bucky was the one who was different, who had been so radically altered, and he was still coming to terms with that, merging who he had been with who he was now to figure out who the new combination was. It was usually easier with Steve, at least Steve generally made him feel more like his old self and that made it easier to grasp it all together. 

He remembered when Steve had been smaller, when he’d made excuses to throw an arm around his skinny shoulders or hug him just so he could be close to him half the time. Steve was bigger now, more solid, and they were basically the same size. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes miss Steve being smaller if only because it felt like he could protect him better, could wrap him up tighter. But it was better for the role Steve had now that he was solid. His body finally matched the size of his heart and Bucky couldn’t begrudge him that very much. Steve’s arms wound around him, a little more slowly and carefully, but Bucky didn’t ease up or decrease the tightness of his hug. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or the emotions but it seemed like he just needed to hold Steve here, like this, right now, to assure himself that he was here and solid and alive. He had to make sure Steve stayed that way. 

Steve confirmed that they were going to win and Bucky swallowed. They would win, but at what cost? He couldn’t help but wonder that but he equally couldn’t accept that the cost should be Steve. That was too high a price to pay. His arm shifted and his flesh fingers curled into Steve’s hair, not pulling just resting there, as he pulled back slightly to look at him, expression intense. “Promise me you’ll be there when we do.” Steve was obviously capable of self-sacrifice, he’d done it before, but Bucky wouldn’t stand for it. Steve was the only real, solid thing he had, the only constant in his too long life and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, lose him. If he made Steve promise he had a feeling there was a better chance of him getting through this. “No self-sacrificial bullshit, okay? If we win, we win together. Promise me.” His tone was firm but there was a different kind of desperation in his eyes now, a different kind of need. 

Yelena tutted. “I was here first. I haven’t saw anybody here until today and he shows up with a gun.” She told him bluntly as she edged back a little on her feet. “You don’t think I have heard about you? The killer with the metal arm?” She asked as if it was obvious. “They called you the Bogeyman. That if a Widow was ever thinking of going against them that you would come in the night and kill us.” Yelena told him, recounting the old story she was reminded every night with. They may have known how to break out of handcuffs but they never dared try. Not if they didn’t want the Bogeyman coming to get them in the snow covered hills.

As he asked to stop the whole stand off, Yelena’s lips twitched for a moment, hesitant in to actual heed his warning. As he confirmed to her he wasn’t here to do anything to her, Yelena didn’t budge for a moment. After a tense moment that seemed to last forever, she gave in and raised her gun as a surrender motion, her other hand still clutching the plushie behind her back. “Happy?”

...

“Yeah, and we’ve gone over why I have one.” Bucky wasn’t about to rehash the whole it was stupid to walk around unarmed point. But then, apparently, his reputation had preceded him which made a little more sense if she was...jumpy. Then again, most ex-Red Room or even ex-Hydra for that matter were pretty jumpy, it just came with the territory. Bucky wasn’t surprised to hear that he was painted as the Bogeyman for the Red Room girls, he would’ve done exactly that if he’d been ordered to. That didn’t mean he liked hearing it, though. He nodded and sighed. “Well, like I said, I don’t do that anymore.” It was quieter now, his guilty conscience weighing heavily on him. And to think, with what felt like a snap of the alien’s fingers, he could be that person again, or they could make him into some new form of horror. His shoulders stiffened at the thought. That’s what he’d come here to forget about but apparently it was just going to keep plaguing him. 

Finally, she pulled her gun up and he dropped his to his side almost immediately. At the question, he huffed a bitter laugh. “Not for a long time, but it’ll do.” He holstered his gun and took another drag from his cigarette. “So what’s an ex-Widow doing at an abandoned fairground?” She could probably ask him the same question but he was eager to not focus on his own thoughts so this would at least be distracting. Maybe it had something to do with that stuffed animal she was protecting like it was a child. 

Steve went silent, letting Bucky speak. He knew he couldn’t fight Bucky’s mind. He knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t want Bucky lost in his head after everything. After how far he had come in Wakanda. “I know,” he answered. “But I can try, right?” It wasn’t really levity. Not this time. Because Steve was known for picking fights, even if he couldn’t win. Even if they were impossible to win. 

He opened his mouth to counter the words, but stopped when he finished it with, well, something that he would say. And the way he looked, so torn and afraid, like he needed some kind of anchor. Steve reached out in spite of himself, resting a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck to ground him. “We won’t, Bucky. We’re gonna win.” He had to believe that. If he lost sight of it, leading this ship would start to be impossible. It was already so heavy on his shoulders. He wouldn’t lose the hope. He couldn’t. “I promise you.”

Steve wanted to try to fight the battles in his head, of course he did. Absurdly, Bucky wanted to laugh, though it would be humorless and sad more than actual mirth. That probably had something to do with how exhausted he was and all the turmoil of these emotions. Instead, his lips twitched in some sort of sad shadow of a smile, chest tight for a moment. It was very Steve, to want to help however he could, and the fact that Steve put so much of that energy into him was...it was touching and amazing and so completely undeserved though he knew he’d never convince Steve of that. “I guess you can.” He finally agreed, quietly, voice a little thick. 

She recognized the tone and it made her stomach roil. She knew it well and she didn’t like thinking about it. However, she understood also that they had both been trained to separate their feelings from their work. Put those emotions on a shelf, push through pain. They had been doing it for decades now, so Natasha didn’t begrudge him. She didn’t turn away, even if the way he spoke to her did put her on edge. Still, she listened to his report, assessing it. 

“Like they used to,” she remarked, her jaw going tight as she looked down at the gun in her hand. She remembered the electroshock. The way they formed their minds. The subliminal messaging and the deeply bred patriotism. Her experience hadn’t been the same as James’, but she had watched him live it. Spent her time looking into those sad gray eyes looking for him when they wiped him away. He came back, because she had gotten quite adept at pulling him back, but she knew how much more often he suffered. She had been brainwashed from childhood. He’d gotten a lifetime of it in just a few short years to get him to the baseline they needed. 

“What did you hear?”

...

Bucky knew it wasn’t comfortable for her, receiving a report like this from him, but with her he felt like he didn’t have to pretend, like it was okay to revert back to this, when he needed to. This was how she knew him best, after all. Bucky Barnes was more or less a stranger to her, she was much more familiar with the Soldier, or whatever halfway mark she would manage to get him to in between cry and trips to The Chair. At least for a time, anyway, before even that had been taken from both of them. They’d been forged together, in a way, and that kind of bond didn’t just evaporate even if he’d changed a lot. This was always a part of him now and it was...comforting to have someone who knew him like this, who didn’t expect him to be anything else. 

He gave a short, sharp nod at her comment. Yes, very much like they used to. The Chair had been different, a little, but in general it was very much a familiar feeling. Bucky’s movements of cleaning the gun stopped abruptly when she asked what he’d heard. It was a logical question and it wasn’t like he’d been able to forget it. It rang in the back of his mind more often than not, as if faintly it was still trying to gain control of him, and for a moment he didn’t want to speak it aloud unless doing that somehow...changed him, even though they weren’t really here. But he swallowed and did it anyway, staring at the wall, his voice mechanical as he recited it. “Love=lies, life=death, self=dark side. Freedom is obsolete. Hope has no point.” 

Yelena licked her lips briefly, her index finger almost twitching as she looked back at Bucky. Her eyes didn’t waver. If anything, it was looking for the slightest excuse to pull the trigger and live to see the next day. A widow was to survive any threat thrown at her, no matter the danger. A widow who failed was a widow who did not live. That was what she knew. It was ingrained in her very being. “I find people to be more dangerous than aliens.” She stated sharply. “Only an idiot wouldn’t arm themselves if they are under threat. You are a threat.” She said, twisting his earlier words.

As he mentioned Hydra, Yelena’s other hand clutched the plushie behind her back. “You are not with them?” She asked him. She was good at reading liars but she had heard the stories of the killer with the metal arm. She didn’t even think it was that true. That it was some sort of horror story people used to those in the black ops business but she supposed the Boogey man was real. “You aren’t with the Red Room?”

...

Bucky made a frustrated sound and his grip on his gun tightened for a moment, though his trigger finger remained steady. They were still talking in circles and it was really pissing him off. “I was just walking. That’s not very goddamn threatening. You followed me.” So he was losing his temper now but that was bound to happen, given how wound up he was and now this whole stand off situation making it considerably worse. She wasn’t wrong, though, he was a threat, a big one, but she shouldn’t know that unless she recognized him which it was clear now she didn’t, not really. 

At least his suspicions were confirmed when she brought up the Red Room. He’d figured as much so he tried, with difficulty, to rein in his anger and frustration. “No. Not for years.” It was flat but true and while he could be a good liar when he wanted to be he was nothing but sincere now. Keeping his eyes on her, he took a drag from his cigarette, still clutched in the metal fingers, hoping the smoke would calm him. “Can we quit with the whole stand off now?” He asked, blowing out the smoke. He was still irritated but also just...tired. “I’m not here to take you anywhere or force you to do anything or hurt you. I don’t do that anymore.” The exhaustion was coming through in his voice now, he was sure, but he was still too well trained to be the first to drop his gun. They’d probably have to count to three or something but at least it seemed less likely now that it would turn into a shoot out.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but it snapped shut once more as Bucky punched a hole in the wall. Reaching out to rest a hand on his elbow gently, Steve met Bucky’s eyes. “Buck…” he said quietly. “Breathe.” He wasn’t attempting to be condescending, the tone calming. He was hoping to pull him back to the room. Away from the rage and the fear that he was clearly expressing. “I won’t let you lose.” He couldn’t.

Would that help here? Steve felt so useless sometimes, because this was a side of Bucky that he didn’t know all that well. But he was going to learn to navigate it. They could do it together, he believed. “Come on. Let’s… let’s sit.”

...

Bucky’s wild eyes flicked to Steve, chest still heaving and fist still in the wall. Breathe, Steve said. Good advice. The light touch and the calm words helped remind him how and he tried to take a few steadying breaths. It wasn’t hugely successful but it was...better. He pulled his fist from the newly made hole and dropped his arm to his side, though he didn’t move away from Steve at all. Bucky’s jaw set again at Steve’s words. “How’re you gonna do that? You can’t fight the battles in my head for me.” Sometimes Bucky wished he could, if only because he knew how hard Steve fought for things he cared about. Most of the time, though, he was grateful that Steve couldn’t see what was in there, couldn’t see the battles Bucky had and routinely still fought. It was better if Steve didn’t know all those details. The words were still clipped but it wasn’t really Steve he was angry with even if the situation seemed hopeless. 

Steve wanted to sit but Bucky shook his head, he wasn’t sure he could do that yet, still tense and full of the restless energy that had had him prowling around the room a moment ago. “This is gonna make me a liability, Steve. If they can...if they have better luck next time, then...” Then it would be a disaster for the team, not to mention Bucky personally. Then they could make him hurt people he cared about, they could make him hurt Steve and he’d vowed he would never do that again. “We can’t let ‘em.” It was firm but desperate, clinging to the idea Steve seemed to have that somehow they could fight this together. Bucky knew he’d just rebutted that but it was the last and only real hope he had, that somehow Steve could prevent this though he had no idea how. His expression had cracked wide open, now, naked desperation and fear scrawled across his features because with Steve he could never seem to maintain the cold mask for long. 

Looking down at him, Natasha didn’t flinch as he admitted what had happened to him. As he told her he was compromised. With James, it could mean a number of things. He had been compromised on missions before, and Steve hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on the situation. Perhaps because he knew that Natasha would find her way here to James’ side.

She let him finish before pausing for a moment, assessing, and then finally settling with grace onto the floor across from him. Her hands reached out and she took up a cloth to follow his lead. “What happened, exactly?” she asked him after a few more moments of silence had passed between them.

...

He could feel her eyes on him even though he was looking down and not at her. Not judgmental, just watchful, alert like he usually was. He still was now, he was also just...distracted. It might not have looked it from the outside but that’s because he was keeping everything so tightly coiled inside him. The only person it was hard to do that with was Steve which could’ve been why Bucky had been more or less avoiding the other man. 

She joined him, helping in the gun cleaning and he didn’t mind, though she was one of only a few people he would actually allow to touch his weapons. The silence let him calm a little again, going through the familiar motions, a little of the tension in his shoulders easing away slightly. The question brought it back. “Basic firefight. In a compound, crossroad of hallways. Parademons charged us, but there were bigger ones with strange helmets. They said something alien and I heard words in my head and I knew they were...I could feel them trying to take me, take over.” Most of it was matter of fact, like he was giving a mission report and she was his handler. Not a dynamic either of them would likely be comfortable with but there it was. Until near the end, anyway, when his voice got tighter, a little more strained. Bucky scrubbed at the gun in his hands a little more vigorously, jaw tight. “I went down. Steve hit the enemy and it stopped.” But that handful of seconds had been enough to throw everything he thought he’d gotten back into question. 

Yelena’s eyes wavered ever so slightly as she held his gaze, as if looking for the slightest twitch. The slightest reason for her to pull the trigger and call it self preservation. That was what a Widow was designed to do. Kill and preserve their own survival. A Widow that couldn’t was no good to no one. A failure. Yelena had excelled. She had proved herself to them as Natasha’s equal and she would not fail now. “Then why are you here and armed?” She asked bluntly, still not backing down, especially since he too was holding her in his sights. Her lips formed thin lines as she glanced to his gun and back at him.

At his question, her eyes caught the shimmer of his fingers. Her eyes went wide for a moment. “Holy shit.” She said under her breath as she looked back at him. “I already told you. I won’t go back. A man with a gun coming here when I haven’t seen anyone here for months make me a little wary.” She said as she adjusted her grip on the pistol. “That arm…what are you?”

...

She studied him just like he was studying her, assessing his threat level, gauging if he was going to pull the trigger. Something else that pointed to how well trained she was and the training seemed...familiar. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions but he was really starting to wonder about her. Bucky snorted at her question. “The world’s under siege by alien forces. Anyone who walks around unarmed is an idiot.” Then again, he was more armed than most but she couldn’t know that just by looking at him. “I’m not gonna answer any more of your questions until you start answering mine. You were the one following me, remember?” 

Bucky saw her noticing his metal fingers, the way her eyes widened. It spooked her a little, obviously, and he waited for it to be familiar, to confirm his suspicions. Then again, he used to have a different, shinier arm but he still figured he was the only well known assassin with a mechanical arm around. “Yeah, and getting followed and having a gun pointed at me makes me wary.” He snapped back, clearly losing patience with this whole back and forth and the stand off. A part of him whispered that he should shoot her and be done with it but he ignored that. She asked what he was and his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Good question. Been trying to figure it out for a while. HYDRA had one answer but I didn’t like theirs.” Well, there. Maybe she’d react to that. He needed to move this forward somehow. So much for trying to calm down somewhere semi familiar. 

Steve had been trying to process through everything that had happened recently. The mission, the refugees who were traumatized from what had happened, the look on Bucky’s face when that… thing had taken over him. He wasn’t a fool. He was well aware that Bucky had been less around. He desperately didn’t want to have Steve see him when he was distressed. That much, Steve had picked up on. But it also left him feeling like he was hopeless at being anything Bucky might need, as much as he wanted to be.

There was so much information to sort through, to translate and act on. In the coming days, there’d be need for recon, for missions, and for extractions. It was all piling up. And with Bucky gone into the hiding he inevitably needed, Steve was feeling more isolated than ever before. 

On this particular night, he couldn’t sleep–he felt like he never could these days. So he was up when he heard the knock, he was up on his feet before Bucky even finished speaking. He sounded… that blank way he so often had when he had first woken up from cryo in Wakanda. It set Steve on edge because this Bucky always felt so inaccessible. This was the Bucky he had had to be in order to survive, so he didn’t begrudge him per se… but it was difficult. There had once been a time when they had had no secrets between them. So long ago.

“You okay, Buck?” he asked as he took in the other. He very much doubted he was okay, but he was asking anyway. “You wanna come in?”

...

Bucky wasn’t surprised when Steve was still awake, when he heard movement before he’d really even finished speaking. Steve slept about as much as Bucky did which was to say, very little. Lately, that was even less because with what the aliens had done sleep was even worse than usual. It was like being brainwashed again, however briefly, had stirred up all of the Winter Soldier crap and it was...worse. So sleeping had become less of an option lately. It made Bucky tired, made him feel worse, but sometimes he could make that not matter. He’d gone on little sleep as the Winter Soldier and since he was falling back on that he could function. He kind of hated it but it seemed necessary. 

Steve opened the door and looked as tired as Bucky felt, though he was all concern, of course. Bucky’s jaw tightened a little. “No.” It was quiet, a little less neutral, in response to the first question. Admitting it was hard but...necessary. He just nodded at the second question and walked into the room past Steve, pacing, prowling around the room like he couldn’t help himself. The room wasn’t huge so he made quick turns, sharp ones, and he knew he should start talking, start explaining, but where did he start? What could he even say? It wasn’t very Soldier like to be pacing around but he wasn’t the Soldier anymore and Bucky Barnes was often in motion. So this was some...mixture, though his expression was still mostly the blank mask. 

“I’m not okay.” He elaborated, probably unnecessarily, even as he stalked around the room. “I haven’t been since the mission.” Also obvious but he didn’t know how else to start. His jaw clenched harder, a slight crack in the blank expression. “They tried to erase me. Take my mind. Make me a tool.” It got shorter and more clipped as his voice got tighter. “Like HYDRA. And it would’ve worked. I was losing.” The last word was nearly a growl and he glanced at Steve, his expression starting to crack, but it was his eyes that told the story of how much it affected him, the rage and fear. He looked away again though, shook his head, made one more turn of the room and suddenly turned to the nearest wall and put his fist through it, breathing hard.