#steve 001

Every year at Hawkins High had their king. It wasn’t official, unless you counted the plastic prom king crown as official, but it was an accepted truth among that year’s graduating class. For the class of ‘84 it was Jason and, standing in front of him, was the king of the class of ‘83.

“I think they’ve really outdone themselves this year,” Jason smiled as he took a sip of his drink. “The live music has been fantastic and with the size of the crowds it seems like we’re drawing in people from two counties over.”

Jason still remembered sharing a beer with Steve at the first high school party he’d ever attended. Things were different now, for one drinking was no longer illegal for either of them, but Jason enjoyed it just the same.

___ bucky sat in front of steve, loving the way they were trying to act normal - like simple people getting lunch and not a trouble in the world. even when they were far from it. it still felt wrong, being out there with this past. and especially that day. “thought you were going to spend today with stark.” the once-soldier leaned back, trying to relax his muscles. december 16 was a day that now existed only to make him wish he would’ve died on that train mission.

shot :   my  muse  gets  shot  and  struggles  to  your  muses  house  for  aid.

___ of everything he could imagine, a bloody steve rogers wasn’t what bucky was hoping to see after opening the door. when his brain caught the image, many questions were quickly formed, but there were more important things to do before. helping his best friend so he wouldn’t fall on the ground and hurt himself even more, for example. “wait here. don’t move.” he left steve on the couch and looked for his first aid kit, his mind working fast as it always did when it came to steve. even after so many decades - everything in him was prepared to protect the blonde. “lay down, but don’t close your eyes. there’s only an entry hole, so i’ll have to take out the bullet.”

___ rainy afternoons were bucky’s favorites. maybe people that had to go out hated them, but he found some comfort on it. and having a good book to finish with hot chocolate to complete the combo, made it all better. there were no many people in the book store anyway, so he took some time to relax and get himself lost in the pages. or at least he could do that until someone blocked the light from the window and made him frown at the shadow now not letting him see too well the inked letters. “can i help you?” asked before looking up, guessing it was a client. though when he did look up, his eyes widened and a smile soon formed across his lips. “stevie!?”

he had seen the exhibit. had read every word of it. but seeing and believing, of course, were entirely different demons. from what the text said, he’d been something of a hero. a member of an elite strike force commanded by captain america, himself. captain america. steve rogers. his best friend, give or take a little muscle mass.

and seeing his face underneath a helmet, strong and proud, well. that’d been enough. that same nose that never seemed to set right after being broken one too many times. sunny hair, much shorter now to suit a military crop. this identity was burned in his memory, bathed in shadow but brought to light on the highway. the bridge. the carriers and the water it fell into.

best friends since childhood. yet he had been able to so easily, to nearly--

it was hard to swallow. made him sick, really, thinking he’d ever laid such deadly hands on someone so dear to him. the days of being a package deal running amuck around brooklyn seemed so far away.

and they were. years and years.

he’d kept that brochure real close. it was rather faded, creasing in places and wrinkled most everywhere else, and wasn’t that funny, really, because he was pretty damn similar: a dried up old soldier who’d been used for bad and good and everything in between... now just another cog in the wheel. there existed terrible uncertainty in what this current destination held... but he wasn’t being chased. hell, he didn’t know a damn soul in here.

until, of course, an unmistakably large symbol of justice came through the bar he’d decided to occupy that particular evening.

even when small, steve had presence. and bucky had always kinda... known if he was near. like some weird sixth sense, enough to know with incredible (and missed) confidence that it was truly steve who had crossed the room farther away. they had been so in tune with each other for the longest time, and to think that connection had been tampered and even severed, in places, was what really destroyed him at the end of the day. to call himself a monster almost seemed kind. merciful, even.

he thought, briefly, it would almost be easier to let steve be. maybe he had another life here, a life that didn’t include him. it’d be better that way, less painful, perhaps -- the steve he remembered in pieces, the one he’d read about, he felt... too deeply. too strongly. and if bucky could take a bit of that hurt away, fuck, he’d do it in a heartbeat--

in the end, he still had humanity. he still had a selfish wish to reacquaint with this person he’d seemingly found, and lost, and found again... to rid them both of this strange back and forth of unknowing. to stop running.

that was the biggest thing that’d come from this whole weird experience: in the city, he wasn’t running. he didn’t want to. didn’t have to.

and in that perfect world, he’d pick up and leave right then. but he was stubborn and so, so dumb - “don’t do anything stupid while i’m gone.” “how can i when you’re takin’ all the stupid with you?”

“... steve rogers.”

“punk.” “jerk.”

“think you could just walk in here and i wouldn’t notice, pal?”