#stuckysecretsanta2020

Around his seventh birthday, he asked his dad why he never got a pet. Pa had ruffled his hair and laughed. 

“You’ve got enough brothers and sisters, Jamie. Isn’t that good, bud?”

He’d just mumble “sure”, not wanting to upset his Ma who’d made his brothers and sisters. 

-

When he lived with Steve in their own little apartment, he still wanted a pet. 

Both of them knew it was impossible. With rent, food, and Steve’s frequent doctor visits, there just wasn’t the money. 

Even though Bucky still couldn’t have a pet of his own, he enjoyed petting the stray dogs in the street or the dogs of rich ladies who lived near his parents.

-

Once the United States joined World War Two, Bucky got sent to Camp McCoy to train for the army. He heard that some folks were training dogs to assist the soldiers. He immediately wrote home to Steve.

Stevie, you’ll never believe it!

Dogs are being trained to assist soldiers!

You know I’m being trained as a sniper, but I wish I could be a dog handler.

Maybe when I come home a war hero we can get a dog and a big house with a big lawn for the dog to run in.

How are you? How’s home? Are you staying out of fights? I miss you lots. Sometimes it gets real cold in the barracks, and I miss our home and the blankets your ma made. 

Anyway, I’m doing pretty well.

All my best, Buck

-

The base in Italy was wet, cold, and terrifying. Bucky had never been out of the States before, and now he was in enemy territory with Axis soldiers trying to kill him.

Bucky was scared any time had to leave his barracks (even though he knew a roof wasn’t going to do much against bombs).

The only part of the camp that resembled something normal was the mess hall. The food was rarely any good, but mealtimes brought all the soldiers together like battles didn’t. Sure, you trusted your brothers in arms during battle, but meals were different. Battles brought out fear and anxiety, while meals brought out laughter and stories of back home.

“What I miss the most is the ocean. Big blue waves crashing on the sand. And the sun! Fellas, it felt so good to just lay on the warm sand with the sun in the sky over ya’.”

“Aw, shut up, Frankie, we’ve heard enough about the sun,” Bucky said, laughing.

“Well, alright, Barnes, what’s somethin’ you miss?” Frankie shot back.

Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck. He missed his family, and he missed his bed and home-cooked meals. He missed working at the docks and going to dance halls when he could scrounge up enough change. Most of all though, he missed Steve. 

But the soldiers didn’t want to hear about Steve. 

“I—I miss seeing the dogs that the rich ladies have. Those ladies walk ‘round all near my parents’ place with their silk coats and pearl necklaces, and the dogs are sometimes looking nicer than my brothers! What with their fur all neat and those bright shining collars. I know it’s real over the top, but I wish I could have a dog to spoil like that.”

He did want a dog, that wasn’t a lie.

But what he wanted most was to be at home, curled up with Steve in their bed. 

-

Strapped to a cold metal table and experimented on somewhere in Austria, Bucky had frequent fever-dreams.

Usually, he’d dream about Steve. Even though in reality Steve got into fights all the time, that was a rare occurrence in his dreams. Most of the time he’d dream about coming home from a long day of work to a warm supper on the stove made by a Steve who was healthy. Other times, he’d dream about the house always being warm and sitting and listening to the radio with Steve.

Occasionally, he’d dream about having a puppy. Steve would always be present in the dreams with a puppy. Steve and Bucky would take their soft golden puppy on walks at night. Sometimes when it was warm they’d stop at Coney Island for some ice cream, and they’d let their dog splash in the waves.  

But no matter how much he dreamed, it never came true. No puppy, and certainly no Steve. 

-

Once again, Bucky was being shaken awake. 

Even though he despised his alarm clock from back in Brooklyn, he found himself longing for it now. Getting shaken awake got old fast. 

He groggily opened his eyes, expecting to see the bald German scientist hovering over him. 

He did not see the bald German scientist. 

He saw a man who looked just like Steve, only taller and with more muscle.

He must be hallucinating. 

The man shook him again. “Buck, c’mon, wake up.”

That voice was Steve’s voice. Bucky would bet his life on it.

“Stevie,” he mumbled, tired from days of experiments and dozing on the metal table.

“Yeah, it’s me, pal.” Steve pressed a large, cold hand to Bucky’s cheek. “I thought you were dead, Buck.”

“I thought you were smaller.”

Steve laughed, a loud, real laugh in the middle of a war. “Let’s get out of here.”

-

Back at base, Steve and Bucky were rushed to the medical tent.

A nurse bandaged Steve’s scrapes, put some ointment on his burns, and declared that other than a few minor injuries, he was fine. 

Bucky, on the other hand… Well, no one was quite sure what had happened to Bucky. Aside from a few burns from the fire, he had no visible wounds, but his head pounded something terrible, and his muscles felt achy. A nurse gave Bucky some water and placed a cool rag on his forehead and then left with a promise to return soon.

She returned with Colonel Phillips, and Steve paced beside Bucky’s cot as the nurse and the colonel discussed something quietly.

Bucky fell asleep.

When he woke, Steve was sitting in a chair beside his cot, hand clasped together, head bowed.

“Ste—Steve,” Bucky muttered out.

Steve’s head jerked up. “Oh, you’re awake. Here, let me get you some water.”

“No.” Bucky reached out, fingers grasping the sleeve of Steve’s shirt. “Stay.”

“Alright.”

Bucky turned his face towards his friend. “Are they sending me home?”

“They’re sending all of us to London.” Steve’s lips lifted, however slightly. “Giving us a break from duty for now.”

“You too? You’re gonna come with?” Bucky pulled at a thread in the blanket. What if they sent him away from Steve? What if Steve wasn’t coming too? HE wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

Steve placed his hand over Bucky’s restless one. “Of course me too. Think I’d let them send me somewhere without you?”

“Y’know what?”

“Huh?”

“I want a dog, Stevie.”

“Go back to sleep, jerk.”

-

The streets of London were loud, though to Bucky, everything was loud. The pounding in his head had never really gone away.

Even though the sounds made his head hurt, Bucky didn’t mind the noise all that much.

It was nice to be able to walk outside without the fear of being attacked by enemy troops—or at least, less fear of being attacked by enemy troops.

He liked being able to spend time with Steve. They would walk all around the city together. Brooklyn would always be home for Bucky, but he couldn’t deny that London was beautiful too.

One day while out walking with Steve, Bucky had seen a fluffy brown dog running in the grass and catching a ball thrown by a young boy.

Desperately wanting to pet the dog, Bucky approached the young boy with much less confidence than he would have before the war.

“Can I pet your dog?” Bucky asked.

The boy smiled. “Sure. Her name is Teacup.”

“Thank you.” Bucky knelt down, scratching behind Teacup’s ears. “Such a good doggy.”

-

All Bucky wanted was for the new year to bring about the end of the war. He wanted to go home and see his ma and pa and siblings and go to work and dance halls and live with Steve in their little apartment.

Bucky never seemed to get what he wanted.

Instead of home, the new year brought the Howlies boarding an enemy train—in a terrible snowstorm no less.

Granted, they were doing this to capture Arnim Zola, the man who had experimented on Bucky.

So no, Bucky would not mind capturing him, and he would not mind his death, either. He would just prefer to go home instead.

Steve and Bucky landed on the train as planned, but when they entered the car, armed soldiers were ready for them.

Bucky shot at a soldier while Steve slammed his shield into another’s head. Two more soldiers came in. Bucky shot one and was aiming at the other when suddenly he was blasted backwards.

Wind was whipping around him, and the deep ravine was below him, and how did he even get here in the first place when he just wanted to go home?

He saw Steve leaning over the side of the train, reaching a hand out to him. “Hold on! Hold on, Bucky. Grab my hand!”

Bucky stretched, trying to grab hold of Steve’s hand, but there was a crack, and the rail he was holding onto broke.

And he was falling through the sky, down, down, down.

And he saw Steve’s heart break into a million pieces.

And he landed hard on the ground. So hard that it rattled his teeth and his bones.

He couldn’t feel his left arm. He couldn’t really feel anything at all.

It was cold.

He wanted to go home.

-

Once again, Bucky found himself strapped to a cold metal table.

His arm was gone. His head hurt.

In the beginning, he had tried to fight the HYDRA bastards who captured him but soon learned that fighting just got him punched and denied food.

Sometimes he’d hear Steve’s voice, and Bucky would bolt upright, looking everywhere for the source of it.

The agents would laugh at him.

“Captain America isn’t coming for you, Sergeant,” they’d say, mocking.

Bucky was so tired.

He wanted to be home. He wanted to curl up in bed with Steve, and he wanted to go on evening walks with a dog, and he wanted to go home.

Soon enough, he lost track of how long it had been.

-

The Soldier couldn’t remember anything.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. 

The Soldier could remember blue eyes, but the handlers said he was imagining things.

-

The Soldier was instructed to take out Captain Rogers.

Captain Rogers was a good fighter.

Captain Rogers threw the Soldier in the air, and when the Soldier hit the ground, his face shield fell off.

The Soldier got to his feet, glaring at Captain Rogers.

“Bucky?” Captain Rogers said, mouth open in shock.

What was a Bucky? No, Captain Rogers was addressing someone. Captain Rogers was addressing the Soldier. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

-

The Soldier—no, James. 

James found his own little apartment.

He went out now and then but mostly tried to stay out of the way of everybody. 

He didn’t want to be noticed. 

James would cook himself meals in his apartment. He would water the plant that sat next to his bed.

Some days he would forget to water the plant.

Some days he would forget to eat.

Some days he would have a hard time, memories swarming in from all directions, and confusion overtaking his mind.

Some days, though, he wouldn’t have a hard time. Those days he would go for a run, maybe pick up a book from a small bookstore near his apartment.

He slowly started to remember things. He liked science. 

He liked to look out the window and see dogs passing by on the street. 

He wanted a dog. 

-

James just wanted to buy some fruit, when all of a sudden he was accused of killing the cat man’s father.

He did not kill the cat man’s father.

He didn’t do that anymore.

But he still found himself in Siberia after fighting the cat man, two flying robots, and a spider kid.

It turned out one of the flying robots was actually Tony Stark.

Howard Stark’s son.

He didn’t mean to kill Howard Stark, but that didn’t seem to matter to Tony. 

His arm was gone, his arm was gone.

He had just wanted to buy some fruit, go home, and water his plant.

-

Things were getting better. 

James was living in an apartment at the Avengers compound with Steve.

James was going to therapy. 

James was starting to remember things.  Steve was his friend. Steve liked to draw. James liked to listen to music. James liked to read and do puzzles.

James had gotten a dog, a golden retriever. Both Sam and his therapist had suggested it.

Pluto was a good doggie. James and Steve would go for walks with Pluto. When James was having a hard time, Pluto would snuggle against him, grounding him. 

And Steve? Steve was a good friend to James. Steve helped him to remember; Steve helped when he had a hard time.

Steve was special to James.

-

Bucky had been reading on the internet. There was a lot to learn.

He always knew that he liked more than just girls.

Now, there was a word for it. 

Pansexual, he figured, fit him. 

He told Steve, saying, “I’m pansexual. Means I like girls and boys and other people, too. If you want me to leave, just say.”

Steve broke out in a smile. “I like boys and girls, too, Bucky. Bisexual.”

“Oh.”

“And I… Bucky, I like you. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Bucky must’ve been quick for a little too long as Steve said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Bucky said. “I just… there’s a lot of things going on. There’s a lot of things that have happened. But… I think I loved you before, and I like you a lot now.”

Steve just stared at him.

“Could I miss you, Steve?”

And Steve just leaned in, and Bucky put a hand to his cheek and kissed his lips softly, and it was nice nice nice.

“Would you like to go to Pride?” Steve whispered.

“I’d like that, Steve.” And he kissed him gently.

-

“Hop in, buddy,” Bucky said to Pluto, who was wearing a sign that said: PLUTO LOVES YOU.

Bucky himself was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with pan flags painted on his cheeks.

“Ready, Buck?”

Bucky slid into the passenger seat of the car. Steve, wearing a bi flag tied around his neck, smiled at him. 

“It will be good,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s hand.

“It will be,” Steve agreed.

They kissed.

The tree sat in the corner of the room, just like Bucky remembered it, but this one wasn’t a stick with broken branches. It was lush and full, standing tall, close to the ceiling.

And then there was Steve, no longer the bony little guy who picked fights as often as he breathed. No, now he was over six feet tall and rippling with muscles and just as much righteous anger as ever. That was something that never changed. Steve would always be an unstoppable force, and Bucky would forever be his anchor, keeping him from losing himself to his emotions.

The tree jiggled, the branches rustling, and then Steve shimmied out from under it, laying on his back and looking up at Bucky. His hair was sticking up every which way, and he had a pine needle on his forehead. His brow wrinkled, and his mouth twitched as he took in Bucky’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, already rolling and pushing himself to his feet. He wiped his hands off on his pants and leveled his gaze on Bucky, scrutinizing every inch of expression on Bucky’s face. Steve always had a way to look through him that others didn't. He never missed anything when it came to Bucky. Maybe it was his nature, or perhaps it was just that Steve lived and breathed Bucky like he was the lifeblood in his veins.

Bucky tried to erase the frown from his face because, really, he didn’t even know why he was sad. He wasn’t even sure it was sadness that he was feeling. It felt more like a melancholy ache for something out of his reach, or maybe it was right in front of him already, but he was too scared to reach for it. He didn’t know.

“It’s just different, you know?”

“What is?” Steve asked.

Bucky stepped forward and picked the pine needle from Steve’s forehead fondly. He shrugged after, motioning to the tree. “Everything about this should be good, but I can’t help but feel—I don’t know what I feel. After everything we’ve been through.” He sighed, walking over to the couch to sit. He plopped down, and Steve followed, sitting beside him, arms on his knees as he leaned into Bucky’s space. That was Steve, always pushing against his barriers, for better or worse.

“You deserve some happiness, Buck. I think we both do. The world’s finally not ending. No one is hunting for our heads. It’s okay to let yourself have this.”

Bucky looked at the tree, and even though it lacked decorations, it was beautiful, standing in the room like a reminder of a life Bucky didn’t know he deserved. Steve would always argue he deserved the world, but Bucky looked at his hands some days and only saw red, and it wasn’t the red of the deserving. It was the blood of innocents, and Bucky couldn’t help but believe that tainted his soul in a way that could never be changed, no matter how stubborn Steve decided to be.

“Yeah, I guess,” he agreed rather than push back against Steve. Because Steve might be an unstoppable force, but Bucky could be an immovable object at times. They made quite the pair, and when they did clash, it tended to be spectacular.

Steve pressed his lips together like he was trying to bite his tongue. Maybe he knew Bucky wouldn’t change how he felt. Bucky flopped back against the cushion and looked out the window. Snow drifted past the glass.

“I’ve got pitch all over my hands from the tree. Do we have any rubbing alcohol around still?”

Bucky glanced over at Steve’s hands and saw the dirty specks of sap on his skin. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so, not like we need it for much, but we probably have vodka, maybe?”

“Oh, I forgot Nat left that bottle, might as well give it a try, but before I do, is the tree straight? I don’t want to move it again after I get my hands clean.”

Bucky looked at the tree, tipping his head back and forth. “Good enough.”

Steve leaned over and caught Bucky’s chin with his hand, turning his head a little to the side so he could plant a kiss on his lips. It was chaste, but not every kiss needed to be deep. Bucky let himself enjoy the touch, though, and for a moment, he thought maybe Steve was right. Maybe he did deserve this.

“Love you, Buck. I’m glad we’re getting to spend Christmas together again.”

Bucky smirked. “It’s not half bad, is it?”

Steve pecked his lips again, and then pushed himself up from the couch, heading for the kitchen, probably to clean his hands and get the ornaments they’d just bought together.

Everything was so new, so different. It didn’t feel right, even with the snow coming down. Bucky remembered enough to know they’d never had the money for new ornaments or even gifts. Christmas for them was always about something else. All the money they’d spent and lights they’d bought, Bucky didn’t think it would be as good as the little tree with popcorn he remembered.

Steve came back into the room a minute later with his arms laden with overflowing bags. Lights, bulbs, fancy snowflakes, and icicles, they had it all. Maybe Bucky just needed to get his head on straight and try to enjoy the present. It wouldn’t do any good to live in the past.

The bags crinkled as Steve dug through them. He grabbed a box of fancy glass bulbs and held them out to Bucky, who sighed but accepted them.

“Open those. They all need some hooks, though. I know we bought some.” Steve dumped one of the bags out on the chair and picked up a small box with a triumphant noise. “Here they are.” He tossed them at Bucky, bouncing off his chest and landing in his lap next to the box of ornaments. “Get to it, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and with a huff, he tore open the boxes and started threading hooks on the bulbs. “Do you remember that paper angel you made for the tree?”

Steve’s head snapped up from where he was working on his hooks. A mixture of emotions flashed over his face, settling on something hopeful. “You remember that?”

Bucky shrugged, crimping another hook on a bulb and adding it to the pile on his lap. “I’ve been remembering more, sometimes it doesn’t make sense, but I think—I remember you had this paper angel you made your ma, and I remember popcorn. I think we strung it on our tree.”

Steve smiled, and he laughed softly, ducking his head. “You’d always get so mad at me because I’d eat my weight in it, which still wasn’t that much. Do you remember the tree we had in Germany—before things went to shit?”

Bucky didn’t want to disappoint Steve, he wanted to remember for him, but the slivers of memory were vapors that disappeared when he tried to touch them. Mouth twitching downward, he shook his head, keeping his eyes on his hands, so he didn’t need to see the hurt on Steve’s face. Bucky was okay with the holes in his memory, he could get by, but he knew how much it bothered Steve, even if he didn’t say it out loud. Bucky could see it in the tight lines of his face whenever Bucky couldn’t remember something special.

He heard Steve sigh and then say, “Well, it wasn’t much of a tree. It wasn’t a whole lot more than a stick, but you made it into something for us—for the Howlies and me. You stuck it in the snow by the campfire and tied bullet casings to the branches with some thread you had in your kit. We all sat around the fire, trying not to freeze, singing carols. You made it nice for us—for me—you always did.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his imagination filling in the details or if he was remembering, but for a brief second, he thought he recalled the smell of a fire and the way bullet casing ornaments caught the light. It was gone as quick as it came, though, and it left him with a familiar ache in his chest.

With the last bulb done, all the hooks on, Bucky’s gathered them in his arms and stood. “You’re right, Stevie. We should make this special.”

He would do that for Steve.

Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thanks, Buck. That means a lot you’re willing to try.”

And that was the truth. Bucky would always give Steve the world. That was one constant in their life. Bucky would do anything for Steve.

Bucky dumped his armful of ornaments into the chair and then crouched down to look through the bags. He grabbed the boxes of lights and stood. “We should start with the lights, I think.”

Steve nodded, putting down his ornaments and taking a box from Bucky, who’d already pried the tape off that was holding them closed. They each pulled their string of lights from the pack. Steve dangled his in front of himself, looking perplexed, making Bucky snort.

“I’m no expert, but I think we should start at the top and work down.”

Steve stretched his lights out, glancing up at Bucky. “The tree was always your doing, so I’ll follow your lead.”

Together they passed the lights around the tree, plugging the next string into the last when needed until they got to the bottom. They both stood back and studied their work.

Steve looked at him, hands on his hips. “You know, we should probably have tested them first.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Move over. The guy with the metal arm will plug them in.”

Steve frowned, but Bucky laughed. “Relax, Steve. It was a joke, you know, a thing normal people do.”

“Just plug it in, jerk.”

Bucky shimmied around the tree and plugged in the lights. Immediately the multicolored lights sparkled in the branches. Bucky came back around to the front to stand beside Steve, who was looking at it with a soft expression before he snaked an arm around Bucky’s back, pulling him into his side.

“We never had anything like this, and it’s not even finished,” Steve said.

Bucky reached around and slipped his hand into Steve’s back pocket, and they stood there, taking in the twinkling lights and enjoying each other's presence.

Chewing his lip, Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked at him with his brows knit together in question.

“What would you think if I said I didn’t want all those fancy ornaments and shit?” Bucky asked, then looked back at the tree.

He heard the heavy breath escape from Steve, and the arm around Bucky’s waist tightened, Steve’s fingers digging in just a little over his hip. “If you don’t want this, that’s fine. It was a stupid idea, anyway.”

Bucky’s head snapped to Steve. “No!” he said a bit too sharply. “No,” he repeated softer this time. “I do want this, but I want—can’t we have it like when we were kids. All the new ornaments—it doesn’t feel right. Maybe because that sad little tree of ours is the only one I remember.”

“What are you saying, Buck?”

Bucky ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just—can we pop some popcorn and thread it on a string, maybe make some paper snowflakes, and an angel like you made your ma. It won’t win any awards, but it’ll—it’ll feel like home,” Bucky chanced a look at him. Steve’s eyes were glossy with tears. “Ah, I didn’t mean to make you cry, punk. Fuck. I can’t do anything right. I just thought—”

“No! No, Bucky. I would love to do that with you. It will be just like old times. I’d like that a lot. I’d love it.”

Bucky turned, sliding his hand around to hold Steve’s hip, his other grasping Steve’s waist. “Yeah?”

A soft smile brushed over Steve’s lips. His eyes twinkled from the lights of the tree. Steve slid his hand up Bucky’s chest, coming to rest with his large palm pressed against his pulse point, just under his jaw. He stared into Bucky’s eyes for a second, then leaned in and kissed him, nibbling Bucky’s bottom lip.

Bucky chased his mouth, making Steve chuckle warmly. “I love you, Buck, every part of you. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Bucky wanted to disagree at first. He knew that he would be better without having spent a lifetime killing, but then, had he not, had he died on falling from the train, then he wouldn’t be here now with Steve. For better or worse, the things he’d done had molded him into who he was today, and if he really thought about it, if he was really honest, he didn’t mind who he had become.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” Steve said after a beat, “but you’re not alone. You couldn’t shake me if you tried.”

Bucky felt a swell of emotion. He stepped closer to Steve and rested his forehead against Steve’s collarbone, stealing a glance at the tree from the corner of his eye. Something about the lights, or Steve’s earnest declaration, or maybe it was just him, having finally reached a point where he couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time in months, he let them fall.

Steve’s arms snaked around him and squeezed him tightly, like applying pressure to an oozing wound.

And Bucky melted.

He clutched at Steve, pulling himself so close they were almost one. The fabric of Steve’s shirt grew damp with tears as Bucky silently cried; every so often, his shoulders would shake. Steve continued to gently rub his hand up and down Bucky’s back, whispering soothing things as he did.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Bucky just breathing in Steve’s scent, a mixture of his cologne and the soap he used. It was grounding, the way it hadn’t changed. Steve always smelled the same. Bucky wondered if he still used the same cologne he did in the war.

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky’s hair, just breathing against him, his warm breath tickling his scalp. Despite all the emotions coursing through him, he really was happy. The tears weren’t really an expression of his sadness, more a release of emotion he’d dammed up over the years.

Sniffling, Bucky turned his head up and kissed the side of Steve’s neck. His skin was warm against his lips. Steve gave him another squeeze and then relaxed his hold, so he could pull back and see Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Steve breathed.

Bucky sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. “Hey.”

“So, how about we make some popcorn?”

Bucky dried his eyes with his sleeve, nodding a few times. “I can find some string.”

They didn’t talk about Bucky’s meltdown, and that was okay. They didn’t have to. Maybe that was a part of knowing each other so well. They convened in the kitchen a little while later and sat at the table with a large bowl of popcorn between them, feeding the pieces onto the string, and Bucky felt at peace.

Later, they strung it around the tree, and Bucky clipped paper into snowflakes that looked nothing like snow, and Steve made an angel in memory of his ma.