Not bad, for the end of the world.

“Hi to you too, handsome.” You giggle, but even you can tell it’s forced.

A silent moment passes, and you know he’s weighing his countermeasures. “Are you safe?”

“Yes, yes I’m safe.” A small, betraying sigh escapes you…maybe he’ll miss it.

Of course he’s trained in nuances, especially yours, and clocks it immediately.

“Spill it, now.” It's the tone he knows you won’t resist, and the fact he’s pulling it out for this lets you know he’s genuinely concerned.

“It’s nothing…” It’s all you manage before your voice hitches, revealing your hand completely.

“I’ll fly you home right now, say the words.”

“No, Bucky. I’m an adult, I can handle a little girl drama. It’s just I’m tired…they said I wasn’t being a good friend. I really clicked with the new girl and they got jealous. They gave me the third degree and I had a panic attack.”

“Excuse me? Who is responsible for that?” His tone is sharp, dangerous.

“It’s fine. I overestimated my worth in this group, so at the very least this was a learning experience. I won’t be going on a girl’s trip again any time soon.”

The silence from the other end makes you nervous because Bucky wasn’t exactly patient in general, but when it came to you all bets were off.

“They also ate my bacon.” You say with a tired laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Are you with them?” He asks, as if gathering information for a mission. “Or are you alone?”

“I’m here at the villa by myself. They all went out to get lunch, but I didn’t really feel like it. My feelings were really hurt and I was tired from the panic attack. They said I may be depressed but I could still go out and do things.”

“I love you.” He says it as if it’s a threat to anyone who wrongs you. It gets cut off by the familiar rumble of his motorcycle and you can’t help but feel thankful he’s on his way.

The others come back a little later, moving about inside as if nothing had gone awry, laughing pointedly at inside jokes that had apparently been carefully cultivated over lunch. The solitude of the back patio suits you fine, enjoying the sound of the waves more than the company anyways. Half lost in a thought you jump when a firm and distinct knock sounds at the door.

A bunch of squeals sound off from inside, the one who thinks of herself as the leader moving to check the peephole.

“Oh my god… is that?” She cries, voice openly filled with desire.

“Move, lemme see!” Another whispers, poorly.

“I can hear you all, so I suggest opening the door if you would like your deposit back.” His voice is strained, and you know he’s trying to be civilized, if only for your account.

“Why is he here?” They twitter, proving they haven’t paid attention to anything you’ve ever said.

Finally they open the door, revealing a Bucky who looks more pissed than you had ever seen, even more so than the time that teenager had backed into your car at the mall.

“Where is she?” He seethes, moving inside the doorway with an air that makes them shrink back. It’s a sight to behold from your chair that you’ve turned to watch through the window.

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong villa we’re-”

“You three are the only ones who made a mistake today. You earned yourself an enemy and I don’t mean her. I’m so much worse.”

“No, surely you don’t mean…”

Four pairs of eyes turn towards you, but there’s only one set you care about. Once he finds you his face softens, a smile pulling at his lips.

“You ready?” He asks, moving past gawking faces.

“Yeah.” You mumble against him as he pulls you into a squeezing hug. “I already packed my bag, I just need to grab it.”

“I’ll get it, just head outside.” You lift a brow, but he motions towards the door with a look that leaves no room for discussion.

“Ok.” You shrug, stealing a kiss before moving through the still gawking group with a pleased smile.

A few moments later he strides out, your bag thrown over his shoulder. He’s shaking his head as he approaches, mumbling to himself as he places it in a sidebag.

“ You know,” He says as he straddles the bike “I thought talking to Sam was taxing, but those women are far worse.”

“Yeah, that’s my bad,” You say, putting on the helmet he hands you. “sometimes the little girl in me gets too excited when someone calls me their friend and my judgement kinda goes screwy.”

“Nothing about this situation is your fault.” He rebuts, tone serious.

“Let’s go home, Bucky.”

“Oh no, we’re not going home… I booked us an even nicer Villa and we’re gonna have the getaway you deserve. I plan on showing you just how happy I am to have you in my life.”

“You’re such a softie.” You sigh, head against his back as the bike rumbles to life beneath you.

“Just for you.” He says, words drowning in the wind. 

The End

Divider by @porcelaincatx

“At least I don’t look like a school girl.” Sam quips, still trying to swallow his laughter. Dean turns with a huff, punching Sam on the arm. “Still hit the same… so does that mean you always hit like a girl…or?”

“Be serious! I’ve gone full Lindsay Lohan early career over here and you just wanna stand around and laugh about it. You remember Reno, Sam… she’s gonna be even more pissed than she was then if she wakes up a man. You know her stance on the patriarchy. Doesn’t matter if it’s one she likes or not, I ain’t hanging around to deal with the backlash of her attitude on testosterone.”

“Really Dean, Freaky Friday?” 

But then Sam thinks it over, instinctively rubbing the scar on his left temple. Sure it may have been Dean’s fault, but yet again he would be found guilty by proxy. He shudders, earning a knowing nod of understanding from his brother.

“Fine. Leave her a note and we’ll head back to town to figure out what went wrong. Who did you piss off last night?” 

“She doesn’t mind harmless flirting, as long as nothing comes of it. She flirts as much as I do, it’s part of the business, Sammy.”

“I’m not worried about her…yet. I’m worried about the witch or some other kinda monster that you scorned last night with your puppy dog eyes and childhood trauma humor.”

“Man, I’m innocent! I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. Jealousy is a terrible color on you.”

“Just hurry up, or I’m leaving you here and letting you figure it out yourself.”

“You wouldn’t betray your own brother!”

“You seem more like a sister now anyways.” 

It sets Sam to laughing again as Dean sneaks in to leave a note and steal a kiss. 

“I don’t know, it’s just weird to kiss yourself good morning, it goes against god.”

“Yeah, and we know first hand how weird he likes his stories.” Sam adds, parking the car outside the twenty four hour diner the three of you had visited last night.

“That’s what I’m saying here, I don’t know what kinda twisted freak finds joy in this.” Dean huffs as he climbs out of the car. 

“Your skirt’s stuck in your underwear, dude.” Sam sighs, turning away from the sight. 

“Man, don’t be a perv, this shit is already uncomfortable… I see now why she goes on and on about the inherent evilness of bras.”

“Did you have to wear a skirt though?” Sam asks, back still turned.

“My clothes didn’t fit…” 

“I didn’t even know she owned a skirt, she’s got a jean collection to rival yours.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy. I happen to like this skirt on her…uh, me…us? Come on, quit procrastinating, she’s gonna be up soon.”

Sam waits until Dean passes him, heels clacking on the pavement. “She owns heels?”

“Jealousy Sam, jealousy.”

They find a seat at the bar, the small space already packed with what appears to be every member of the community’s male senior citizen population despite the fact sunrise was still an hour away. Sam orders a vegetable omelet and Dean orders The Hog Heaven Deluxe, much to each other’s chagrin.

“Sure can put away a lot of meat for such a pretty thing.” Dean’s neighbor quips. It garners his I will kill you look, but it just makes the old man laugh, sweat jiggling down his forehead.

“Look man, I’m already having a shit day, why don’t you fuck off?” He tries, just wanting to be left alone with his bacon.

“And such language for such delicate lips.” Wrinkled hands reach out to touch his own.

“Ok, you’re asking for it. I’m gonna beat your ass.” Dean seethes as he hops off his stool, heels clicking on the linoleum. Instinctively he reaches for his gun, the soft swish of skirt bringing him back to his current reality.

“Pretty and feisty.” His tormentor says, looking through Dean to Sam. “She with you? Might want to get her some midol, seems like she’s on her period.”

“Ok, time for you to leave.” Sam says, standing up from his stool where he had been watching with a grin.

The stranger assesses Sam and nods, leaving a stack of ones before slinking out the front door.

“Shut it.” Dean warns as Sam turns with a smug grin.

“Ok, everyone that was here when we rolled through a bit ago is still here… all exhausted, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I’m at a loss for this one. I’m afraid we may need the backup she can provide.” 

“No way, Sam. We gotta fix it before she wakes up.”

“Ok, let’s go over it again. What happened before you woke me up?”

“I told you, nothing. Woke up to go pee… pissed all over myself and the floor. Looked down to see what the problem was and found…boobies” A small grin spreads across his face despite himself. “And well, then I saw myself in bed and woke you up.”

“And last night?”

“We stopped at this diner a little after midnight, you were there, you bitched about our triple bacon burgers. I don’t even remember seeing a waitress because my eyes were burning so bad from the drive. Then I crashed in bed and woke up a beautiful bouncy baby girl.”

“And the case was a vamp, so that shouldn’t be related…” Sam muses, perplexed.

“It’s what I’m saying, it don’t make sense.”

“You know what we have to do, Dean.”

“I don’t wanna.” He whines, and it makes Sam chuckle, because it looks the same as when you do it.

“Ok, come on Polly Pocket, let’s go wake up a nightmare.” Sam sighs, leaving a tip before he stands.

“Fine, but you wake her up.”

“Why me?” Sam cries in shock.

“I’m literally just a girl, Sammy.”

“Get in the car or I swear to god.” Sam sighs, climbing into the passenger seat.

It’s a silent ride back to the motel, neither one wanting to discuss the fate that lies ahead of them. They arrive with no more information than they left with, no plan on how to handle the situation. Dean leaves Baby idling for a few confidence building minutes, before accepting his fate.

“Ok, here we go.” Dean sighs, checking his reflection in the mirror.

“Really, Dean? Now is the time to be concerned about appearances?”

“When you turn into a pretty girl we’ll discuss priorities, for now zip it.”

They sneak in, Sam first, Dean clicking behind him. They were hoping to get at least another few minutes to construct a plan before you awake. Their plan did not work out in their favor.

“Boys.” You say, seated in the shadows for dramatic affect. It works, because they both jump, and Dean slides between Sam and the wall.

“Listen, we… we tried to fix it, honest…but we couldn’t figure out what caused it.” Sam starts, spilling his words out one atop the other.

Their nervousness makes you smile, you love the fact that the winchesters fear you more than anything else.

“Come here, pretty girl.” You call, ignoring Sam. Dean whines, peeking from behind Sam with your own eyes, big and nervous. “Now.”

He obeys, confused a bit by the dynamic. Usually he has the control, but then you are him now, so why not. His mind is a confusion of emotions and it bleeds onto his face, well your face, and you get to watch him work out his next move in real time.

Sam picks up on the cards Dean is willing to play to stay in your good graces and makes an attempt to shift himself towards the door. However you catch it immediately, cutting off his movement with a glare and slow shake of your head.

“I don’t know what happened.” Dean whines, lowering himself down onto his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?” You ask, grabbing him by his chin to lift his eyes to meet yours.

“I mean…” His mind processes what you usually do to him in order to get out of situations like this. But you are him now, at least his body, and he can’t help but frown at the thought of doing that to himself… intriguing, but wasn’t today was weird enough, but then again...

The look he wears cracks your reserve and sends you into a fit of laughter. 

“Ok, ok, get up off your knees. Sam peel yourself off the wall. We have work to do… seems like I may have fucked up the Latin last night when I was doing what I thought was some easy work.”

“I told you it wasn’t my fault, Sammy!” Dean yells, relieved, while attempting to jump up from the floor as he normally does. Instead his heels stick in the carpet and his ankles twists, leaving him in a pile on the floor.

“At least you’re pretty.” You say, stepping over him to hand a spell book to Sam.

“Can we maybe fix it tomorrow? Being a chick is kinda growing on me.” Dean asks from the floor. “ Sam, why don’t you go grab us lunch?”

“It’s literally six am, Dean.”

“ Have it your way. Leave or stay, I’m not paying for your therapy for what happens next.” Dean says, standing to grab you and pull you towards the bed.

“I’ll be back at noon.” Sam sighs, heading out the door with haste.

“Bring burgers.” Your voices call after him.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see what those lips do.” You manage to say with a mostly straight face.

He shivers. “Don’t say that…it’s just I thought this man at the diner was gonna eat me this morning.”

“I’d kill him.” It’s weird for Dean to hear his words with your ears, but he doesn’t mind it.

“Hey handsome.” He asks, climbing on the mattress and sinking down onto knees and ankles that don’t hurt. His voice seems even more timid since it’s yours. “You know that thing I… fuck, I mean you do…the one you.. I mean I really love?” Soft eyes peer up at you, small grin playing on his lips.

“Oh, that’s rich…that’s what you think I look and sound like when I’m asking for it?” You laugh, but you close the space between you two. It’s not everyday you’re presented with an opportunity like this so why waste it.

A tiny pout, true to him regardless of the body he’s in, appears and you lean in to kiss it away.

“Anything for you sweetheart.” You murmur against your own lips.

The End

A double shot of courage and you turn, leaning your back against the cool wood to stake your claim to the spot, in case you needed another round. Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in your options. A few people of interest catch your eyes, while most only earn a quick dismissal, a sad few even garnering a hell no.

A few songs later and you’re no closer to finding what you came for, the few you even enjoyed looking at already paired up. With a sigh you turn, signaling the worker behind the counter for another round. Your feet were hurting, your eyes itched from the eyeliner you liberally applied, and even though this dress did wonders for you it was uncomfortable as hell. You needed to make this quick.

You feel a presence before you hear him, his voice drowning in the mix of music and boots. “You from around here?” 

In an attempt to seem uninterested you wait for your drink before you turn. It was worth it, because when you turn you find yourself both disappointed and face to face with a highly ranking hell no. 

“Not interested.” You offer curtly, hoping he’ll get the hint. He doesn’t, instead squeezing in between you and the girl next to you so he could signal the bartender. “Two shots of jagermeister.” He turns to you, tapping your shoulder to regain your attention. “And for the lady?”

“A Quick Death.” You moan, but it’s lost to the rhythmic stomps of a lively line dance taking place inches from your exchange.

“ Crème de menthe?” He asks uncertainly, leaning in even closer.

You try again, turning to face him so he will get the hint, adding a firm head shake to seal the deal. “I’m fine.”

“Oh I know you’re fine, that’s a given.” He reaches out to grab your waist, your attempt to escape thwarted by the wall of bodies behind you. A chorus of expletives come as you collide, even more following as bottles hit the floor.

“Don’t touch me!” You yell, pushing his hand away before it makes contact. “I said-”

The words get cut off as a hand materializes on his shoulder, jerking him away from you with enough force to cause an immediate and wide berth to be given by everyone around. He seemed out of place here, dressed in shades of gray and black, sunglasses holding back his long hair even though it was well past nine pm.

“What the fuck?” Your would be tormentor yells, attempting to stand from the floor as his captor still holds his shirt tight.

Eyes, a dangerous shade of blue, look up from the man at his feet and find yours. You shiver, even though it feels like your entire body is on fire. 

Bingo.

“Did he touch you?” He asks, free hand in a balled fist, ready to be put to use.

“No, he was just going to buy me a drink.”

A slight flicker of confusion skirts across his face, but it’s fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a tight lipped seriousness.

“See! The lady’s fine. I was here first, so fuck off!”  

The cry from the floor earns him nothing but a tightened grip on his shirt and a quick lift, leaving him scrambling to secure footing upon his landing. He jumps when he manages to find it, finally coming as close to face to face as he could manage while being almost two heads shorter than his challenger.

“Look man, I was just buying her a drink, what’s it to you?”

“You tried to touch her without asking, so I thought you’d like to know how that felt.”

The threat leaves him wide eyed as you sip your drink happily, at the very least you’ll go home amused.

“Hey man I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”

“I’m not the one you own an apology. I’m not the one whose hips you wanted to grab; but I can be the one to grab yours.” He moves closer to his now squirming prey.

“What the hell? Fuck off man.”

Stormy eyes dance as a wicked smile pulls across his lips as he leans in, almost nose to nose. “You all done touchin’ women without consent?”

“Yessir.” 

“Now what do you say to the lady?”

“Sorry Ma’am.”

“Do you accept?” The tall one asks, cutting his eyes towards you to maintain his proximity to the problem.

All you offer is a shrug, but you’re fighting against giggling like a school girl.

“Get outta here. Don’t let me see you again or God himself couldn’t stop me from stompin’ your ass.”

As soon as he’s allowed to, he scrambles off, running towards the stairs under carefully watching eyes.

“My hero.” You quip, but he cuts his eyes at you and words escape you.

Once he’s sure the threat is gone his whole body relaxes, and he moves closer to you with a smile. “Hi. What are you having?”

You down your shot and give him an enjoyable once over. “If I get my way, you.”

A hearty laugh meets your confession, but he doesn’t look surprised. “I can respect a woman who knows what she wants. I’m happy to oblige, but what’s the hurry, you got somewhere to be?”

You check your watch and look up to find him looking at you with his own hungry look of desire. “Well It’s 9:35 and I’d like to be home by 10, so yeah, kinda in a bit of a hurry. I’ve got some Ben and Jerry’s that’s calling my name.”

He seems amused and intrigued. “What flavor?”

“Cookie dough.”

A frown as he moves closer, hands on your waist to pull you in. “No Half Baked?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Too Bad.” He grins, taking your hand to pull you away from the bar. He moves you through the crowd, heading to the back corner.

“Here?” You ask, a bit trepidatiously, as he opens the door to a unisex restroom.

“I do my best work in public restrooms.” He shrugs, locking the door behind himself. “I’ll have you happy at home in no time.”

“I’ll be the judge of tha-” But your words get cut off as he turns, a wild look taking over his face. He crosses the space in a step. You instinctively withdrawl, back hitting the wall behind you with a thud. A breath and he’s sliding his hand under your chin to gain control, his other arm by your ear as he steadies himself on the wall. You’re trapped between him and the wall, looking into eyes that are nearly black from blown pupils.

This is gonna be fun.

 He tightens his grip, lifting your face to look at him, apparently pleased by the long suppressed giggle that escapes you. 

“Hush.” It’s a demand, one given with a tone that leaves your knees weak. They work to betray you, but his grip is tight, sliding down to grasp your neck instead. “What kinda dirty girl does this, with a stranger in a filthy public restroom?”

Your eyes instinctively move to scan the state of the bathroom, his words momentarily breaking the spell.

“Hey.” He steadies himself and slips his free hand into your hair, a pull that knocks your head on the wall regains your attention. “Focus.”

“You could find yourself in dangerous situations out here. I won’t always be there to protect you, save you from real creeps. A hero like me should be thanked.”

An attempt at a nod is all you can manage, still under his grip.

“Would you like to thank me?” He releases you, moving to cross his arms.

“Yes, please.”

A knock comes from outside the door.

“Go away.” He says in a tone that quells the knocking. “Better make it fast, pretty girl.”

Five minutes, one hand dryer shaped bruise on your back, a broken sink, and two possible concussions later and he’s walking you down the steps to the sidewalk.

He leans in, softer now in the glow of the street lamps, and steals a kiss.

“Can I call you?”

“The only thing you better call is the babysitter Bucky Barnes, because we’re late as hell.”

A laugh, warm and familiar, fills your ears as he slips his hand into yours and leads you towards the car.

“It’s not my fault we’re late, you never play by the rules. You went off script. I wasn’t planning on jealousy being a contender tonight."  A playful tug causes you to bump into him. He steals another kiss before you regain your balance.

“I’m not the only one who went off script. I requested cowboy boots, pearl button shirt, tight jeans,and a cowboy hat to go with the vibe, and you roll in all John Wick. It kinda did it for me though, I’m not gonna lie.”

He chuckles at your pout. “Did you really wanna spend $500 for a one night bit?”

“Remember when it was your turn to pick last June? Those flights were $300 each and my foot went in that airplane toilet, it ruined my favorite boots.”

A memory plays for him in his mind and he smiles, agreeing once it finishes. “Fair enough.”

“Tonight was an interesting experience, but I'm not sure I care to revisit it.”

“Me either. Speaking of, do you have any sanitizer? It really was gross and I thought you’d see it there for a minute. I knew I’d lose you if you started thinking with your brain again.”

He pauses beside you as you search your purse, laughing at your gag when you process his confession. “I have a chapstick with no top, forty three cents, a half eaten granola bar, six cheerios, and a paci.”

“Oh, a snack! I’m famished.” He takes the bar, picking off lint before sticking it whole into his mouth.

“You’re disgusting.” You chide, wrinkling your nose at him before taking his hand, swinging it as you walk beside him.

“And yet this was your turn to pick and look at what you made me do.”

“Oh yeah, Bucky, it took so much convincing.”

A few moments pass, and you finally reach the car. He is going to shut your door but stops, leans over, and meets your eyes with a look like he’s about to make a serious confession.

“My love, can I ask you a question? It’s really been bothering me.”

“Of course baby, what is it?”

“Did you really not get me my ice cream?”

His intense worry at the trivial matter makes you laugh, your hand finding his with a squeeze. 

“I got you a big one.”

“Yay!”

He closes the door and you watch him dance around the back of the car to his side. He slides in and reaches immediately for the console, lifting it to pull out a huge bottle of painkillers.

“Your head hurt as bad as mine?”

A nod, and you take a few from him. “And I think you broke my rib.”

“Sorry.” It’s soft, and sheepish as he pulls the car into reverse. “I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“I’m holding you to that, Bucky. Let’s go home and pay the babysitter her overtime. We would have made it on time if you didn’t bring out the enforcer.”

“I’ll take care of the babysitter’s late fees… and please, you love the enforcer, it’s in all the feedback reports.

“You keep those? I thought it was a joke you nerd.”

The tone from the bathroom is back, its accompanying look illuminated by shadows. 

“Hush.”

And so, as usual, you do, sitting silently as he drives you home with a satisfied grin.

The End

“You want the front seat Sam?” You ask as he shifts uncomfortably behind your seat.

“Sammy’s fine, he’s used to taking a backseat to beauty.” It draws a real laugh from Dean, the kind that crinkles his eyes at the corners and makes you love him a little more each time.

A sigh and his signature eyeroll and then Sam continues. “I’m good, just get in so he’ll shut up, I’m begging you.”

You oblige, climbing in beside Dean with a smile. He’s dancing to the radio as he drives, Sam still turning over the case from the back, worrying that witches rarely go without at least a little fight.

“Maybe they knew they were outgunned?” You offer, trying to keep the peace.

“Maybe they just wanted us to think we had the upperhand.” Sam muses, still looking over the files he had pulled from his bag.

“Maybe we discuss this over beer and burgers and not the Stairway to Heaven guitar solo?” Dean fusses, still drumming on the wheel. “It’s blasphemous.”

“We’ll look it over later Sam otherwise John Bonham here is gonna lose it.”

A few hours later, fueled by cheap liquor and sleep deprivation, the discourse reignites much to Dean’s chagrin. Sam had managed to pull you to his side, and now you were questioning the case as much, if not more, than he was.

“You mean you’re siding with Sammy instead of me?” Dean fusses, words slurred ever so slightly. You’re sitting at the rickety table with Sam, pouring over the files, music playing in the background. “You know I basically raised him, so I’m really the brains of the operations here.” He’s kissing at the back of your neck, working hard to distract you.

“I think he might be on to something, baby.” You chuckle, earning a huff from him. His lips move into a frown against your skin, a barely perceptible whine escaping him.

“ Wouldn’t you rather me be on something, sweetheart?” It’s a poor attempt at a whisper and it earns him a gag from Sam.

“Dude, I’m literally right here.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Dean quips, unmoved.

“It’s also a me problem, Dean. I haven’t been into people watching since 2018.” It shakes him, and he moves around to read your face, unsure how to respond. Curiosity and intrigue mingle on his face, a little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“We will revisit this later when innocent ears aren’t present. If you two want to be Poindexters then I’m going to bed. I have about a six month sleep deficit I need to make up for anyways.” He gives you a quick kiss and sulks off to bed.

A few hours later and no closer to a resolution, you and Sam follow, the amber glow of dawn sneaking around the edges of the worn curtains.

It feels like you have just fallen asleep when a loud boom shakes the room.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, pushing up his satin eye mask.

“Really Dean?” Sam sighs, judging him openly.

“Beauty is pain.” Dean shrugs a rebuttal. “Check on Baby, Sam. That sounded close.”

“Really?” Another sigh, but he climbs out of bed and pulls back the curtain. “Um guys?”

“Oh hell no, what did they do? I bet it was that Tesla driving son of bitch next door.” Dean scrambles over you, slipping on the rug in his fervor.

“What the hell?”

The commotion had fully pulled you out of your slumber, and you were watching their antics with a smile. 

It’s small at first, the feeling like something was off. It wasn’t something you could necessarily pinpoint, but you think it was the smell. Or better yet the lack thereof. Everywhere you three stayed had a very distinct smell; mold, age, dollar store detergent, alongside things you didn’t want to think about. It was never pleasant, but it was a constant companion.

Now it just smelled…

New?

 It smells like clean linen and fresh paint, a gentle hint of cigarette smoke like it had wafted through the vent from next door. The comforter is soft and fluffy against your skin, the mattress suspiciously devoid of lumps.

“Guys? What’s going on out there?”

“Well, as much as I hate to admit it I think you and Sammy were onto something.” Dean fusses, turning to move towards the desk that looks entirely different than it did when you fell asleep. “At least they didn’t send us back further than Baby, the dicks.”

“Excuse me, what?” You ask, even more confused.

He holds up the calendar he finds there, colored in yellows, oranges, and browns. “Those charmed freaks sent us back to 1969. They’ve freakin’ broken time!”

The End(for now😏)

“Why don’t you just tell him for fuck’s sake, I’d like grandkids before I die, I’m not getting any younger.” She sighs, laying her book on top of yours where it still sits on the table between you.

“You’re only two years older than me, and you’re not even my mom.” You retort, eyes still intently watching his muscles flex as he works at a stubborn bit on the back tire.

“I might as well be, I’ve practically raised you, and better than all this pining, mind you. Now I may not be your momma, but it seems like you’ve found someone you’d like to be your daddy.”

“Shut up, Jo!” You reply, a bit louder than you mean to. She’s wearing a pleased grin, affirmed by the reaction she’d garnered from you. 

“See, I know my little girl. A freak after my own image.”

She laughs at your sigh, pulling out her phone to scroll as you resume your watching. However, when you turn your eyes back on his truck he’s not there, instead he’s moving intently toward the two of you.

“Oh god, he’s coming over here, what do I do?” 

The panic in your voice is thick, but she just smiles and shrugs, eyes on her phone. “I don’t know, what am I your mother?”

“You know what, I can’t stand you!” You yell, but you don’t mean it at all, and her continued smile shows she doesn’t believe it either.

He’s on the steps now, dear god he’s big. 

Shit, was that a thought or did it escape?

“It didn’t escape, but your face isn’t helping keep it inside.” Jo says outloud, eyes still on her phone when you look at her, mouth agape.

“I get the feeling I’m interrupting something.” Bucky chuckles, leaning himself against the railing as if he found it all a bit entertaining.

“Not a thing, just the weekly BBWC meeting.” Jo explains, finally looking up to meet your eyes with a wicked grin.

“What’s that, BBWC?” His eyes scan between you, confused by Jo’s grin and your look of horror.

“Oh nothing, it’s just B-”

“It’s Best Buddies Weaving Club!” You yell, cutting her voice off with your own.

Jo chokes on a laugh, wheezing gasps for her breath intriguing him further. He moves closer, standing in front of you .

“Weaving you say?”

“Yeah, weaving.”

His eyes search the porch, then land on you suspiciously. “Where’s your yarn… and loom?” 

“We’re still in the planning phases.” Joan offers, wiping at her eyes. “Just dreaming about what we want to run our fingers across. What are you, the wool police?”

“ What? No… the wool police?” He eyes her suspiciously, but lets it drop. “I just came over to say I’m hosting an end of summer block party tomorrow if you two want to come. I’m gonna grill and everyone can swim if they want.”

Jo finds her words before you, eyeing him suspiciously. “I don’t do pools or people, food is iffy, you got any pets?”

He looks uncomfortable, hand running through his hair as he shifts under her questioning. “Um, I have a cat.”

Her phone gets set aside, and she’s wearing a true smile. “Perfect. What time?”

“Oh, um… 6.”

“Amazing.”

“Okayyyyyy…See you there, too?” He turns his eyes on you and smiles.

“I really can weave.” 

He scrunches his brow, turning back to Jo as if looking for a translation.

“It means she’d love to.”

A chuckle and he turns, moving towards the steps. “See you both tomorrow.”

“ I can’t do it, I’m not going.” You whine, pulling at your bathing suit cover up.

“Well I just rang the doorbell, so you better act quick.”

Less than a second passes and the door opens, a tall blonde greeting you with a smile. “Hello ladies, Bucky said you’d be here soon.”

“Dibs.” Jo whispers as she moves past him.

“Bucky, they’re here.” He calls over his shoulder. “Hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.” He laughs at his own joke for a moment until he leans down to pick up the cat rubbing at his heels. “My name’s Steve and this little guy is Alpine. Once I get settled, I can't wait to have a couple pets of my own. Are you a cat lover?”

“Buddy I can be any kind of lover you want.” Jo says with a grin as she reaches out to pet Alpine.

“Ok, that’s my cue, I’m gonna go find somewhere that’s not here.” 

“I’m in here!” Bucky calls from the back of the house. You follow his voice to find him at the sink, stirring lemonade in nothing but swim trunks. It stops you dead in your tracks, and you distract yourself by looking out the back windows. The backyard was empty and it seemed that the four of you were the only ones in the house.

 Steadying yourself, you move to help with the lemonade. He allows it, moving on to ready the burgers. “I thought this was a block party Bucky, where is everybody?” 

A sheepish grin pulls at his lips. “Well, we live in a cul-de-sac and Steve just bought the house across the street so technically this is the block."

“Oh, ok then, just us.”

“Is that a bad thing?” 

His arm reaches over your shoulder to grab some spices off a shelf, and for a moment you’re trapped between him and the counter. A small gasp escapes you at the proximity.

“Sorry, that was rude.” He chuckles, stepping back. “Next time I’ll just use my words.”

“No worries, let me help you with that.” 

He hands you a plate of burgers and you follow him out back to the grill. He puts them on the grill and moves to the cooler, which is full of a bright red liquid, fruit floating on the top.

“You like hunch punch?” He asks, rising with two cups before you can offer an answer.

A sickly memory passes through your mind and your stomach flips.

 “Not since college.”  But you take it anyway, happy for a little liquid courage.

 He looks you over, expression unreadable as he moves across the deck. 

“Wanna swim?” 

Your stomach flips at the thought of being alone in the pool with him.

“Don’t you need to watch the grill?”

“Nah, Steve doesn’t care for water much. He’ll be out in a minute.”

“Not so sure of that, Joan might have him on his back by now.” 

You don’t miss the way he looks you up and down as you unzip your swim cover while he lowers himself into the pool. Heat creeps up your body as you move towards him like a magnet.

He laughs, holding his hand out for you as you climb the steps into the pool.

“I highly doubt he’d mind. He always loves the girls I find scary.”

“Who’s scary? Joan asks from where she materializes in the chair beside the pool.

“For fucks sake!” Bucky squeals, actually grabbing your arm. “What is she, a witch?”

“Nah, something older.” You shrug, taking his still full cup and placing it inside your empty one with a grin. He looks unsettled by your words which leave you and Jo laughing. 

“So you better play nice.”  She adds from offside.

A couple hours and half a cooler of punch later the two of you are back in the pool, Joan already at ease in Steve’s lap.

You watch the scene enviously, desire and alcohol melding into dangerous concoction. “I envy her ability to speak her mind.” 

“Why, is there something you want to say?” His words are slightly slurred, a half smile on his face as he eyes you suspiciously. “Maybe about why you and Circe up there watch me every time I wash my truck?”

“Noooo. I got nothing to say.” A giggle escapes you as he closes the space between you, your back hitting the side of the pool.

“Is that so?” His hands grab your waist and pull you into him. He looks like a cat playing with a mouse. “Swear?”

“Mhmm.” It’s all you can manage as you watch his eyes trail down your chest.

“Really?” You can almost feel his gaze on your skin as his eyes move. 

“So if I do this-” His finger follows the low cut of your bathing suit top.

“Or this-” He leans to suck at the side of your neck, his breath hot on your skin when he speaks again.

“Or, let’s say this-” he slides his knee between your legs, lips pulling into a grin against your skin when the whine he anticipates finds his ear.

“You won’t have anything to say about it?” He immediately breaks all contact as his words end, looking at you with a knowing smile.

“Bucky.”

It’s hungry, desperate, and all the confirmation he needs, lips back on yours before you can continue. Your legs wrap around him, and you drink him in like he’s your lifeline.

“It’s about time something happened between the two of you, I thought I was going to have to do something about it myself.” Jo calls from her throne, Steve braiding her hair.

“What exactly does she mean by that?” Bucky murmurs against your lips. “Is she dangerous?”

“Not to me, she’s not, but you better treat me well.”

“Oh I plan on treating you well... several times tonight, and again tomorrow morning, and for a long time after if that’s ok with you.”

“I thought I was never gonna get him to make a move.” Steve sighs as he finishes the braid, looking at you and Bucky like a proud parent.

“Tell me about it,” Jo agrees, standing and offering Steve her hand. “They grow up so slow… so very slow. Wanna go see The Labyrinth, I got an uber and there’s a special showing at 11.”

“I think I love you.” Steve says, taking her hand and giving you and Bucky a wave as a second thought.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Jo says with a wink, following Steve through the door leaving you and Bucky alone. 

“What exactly are her boundaries?” Bucky asks trepidatiously.

“Guess you’ll just have to find out the fun way.” You giggle, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

The End

Then came the years in between before and now, dark in his absence, where the vibrant hues mocked you, his shadow at every turn. The thought of people enjoying happiness anywhere was difficult, but the idea of couples frolicking at the beach, playful in their ease, felt like a slap in the face. It had been over five years since you had stuck your feet in sand, felt at home in the waves.

Then all at once the fates sighed, tired of their games, and discarded their toys. Just as he was taken from your sleeping arms, so was he returned. You thought it a dream at first, pleased by the realness this one provided. However when he spoke and then kissed you; you accepted it, sobbing in his arms.

Very little of how you struggled was willingly shared with him, but he knew, pulling the very thoughts from your mind as he always did. It felt strange, being seen after years of anonymity. So, month by month he helped you piece yourself back together, heal what he had not intentionally broken. 

He was so angry, not at the injustice he had experienced, but at the way it had affected you, the way your friends had let you recede in on yourself until you were barely more than a whisper. It was strange, defending your friends that had hurt you so, but had they not experienced their own loss? He didn’t care, hurting you was always inexcusable. He returned, same as he left, fiercely protective of you, willing to protect you from anyone that posed a threat to your wellbeing, and that included yourself.

“Where’s your mind, Coral?” Warm arms wrap around your waist, memories fading at the tickle of his breath at your neck. He always says the nickname is because you’re something pretty he found at the beach, but you think it’s more symbolic, hinting at something inwardly soft protected by a sharp outer layer.

“Nowhere, everywhere, hard to determine honestly.” you shrug, turning to face him.

“Ready? I know you’re dyin’ to get your feet in the sand.” The soft sound of waves seem to agree with him from the balcony behind you.

A sense of panic runs through you at the thought of being exposed in front of everyone’s curious eyes. The five years he’d been gone had allowed one friend, and that friend was food. When he returned, you celebrated, and that also included food. The body you offered the ocean was quite different from when she saw you last. “I guess.” 

“What’s that now?” He steps back to survey you, reading you like he’s so good at. “You guess?”

Another shrug, eyes on your feet.

“If it’s a touch of confidence you need, I can take you back to bed, but you’re the one who apparently needs a break.”

A playfully smug grin waits for you when you meet his eyes, but you find it a trap, a lure to gain your attention for what he really wanted to say.

“I love you, Coral, every single inch of you. I love every part of you that has already been or is yet to come. Every stretch mark you despise is a map for me to explore another part of you I find attractive. I look at you and I see my own personal lighthouse, a constant, guiding me home to myself when all my life I’ve felt astray. You survived the unthinkable, for five years, had it been you…” His voice catches and he attempts to physically shake away the thought. “I don’t know if I’d of made it. You are strong, resilient, and as much as I love your body, and I fuckin’ love your body, it’s not the only thing that holds worth. You are immeasurable, unable to be quantified, infinite.” 

“Kinda repetitive there in the end, but thank you.” 

He frowns at your quip, allowing you time to kiss him quickly on the nose. He grabs you before you can escape, pulling you into a firm hug. “Don’t do that, don’t deflect. I mean it, I love you. And if anyone so much as squints in your direction, I’ll kill ‘em.”

“No need for murder, Bucky.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Lightening illuminates the bedroom, a rumbling roll of thunder following on its heels.

“Damn it, I was finally ready.”

“Looks like you’ll have to settle for my plan instead.” With a mischievous grin he picks you up and tosses him on the bed behind him.

“I love you.” He says, illuminated once more by lightning.

“And I love you too.”

The End

“You live here?” He asks when he slows, voice somehow matching the rumble of his bike.

“No, I just like committing mail fraud for shits and giggles.” 

His head cocks a little at your deadpan response, as if he’s not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. He removes his helmet, and before you can catch yourself you audibly gasp as you take him in. He’s beautiful in a dangerous way. The kind of beauty that dissolves inhibitions and loosens morals.

 What started as a curious once over turns into a prideful smirk as he finishes his assessment.

“You always this rude?” He asks, but you can’t help but notice he sounds strangely pleased.

“I typically don’t even bother speaking.” You retort, unwilling to be one upped. You attempt to look uninterested by flipping through your mail. “But you seemed interesting enough for my time.”

“Did I now?” He asks, apparently pleased with himself. “ Interesting enough for you to show me where apartment K4 is?”

The mail slips through your fingers when you register the apartment as the one across the hall from you. “Maybe.” You offer, bending to pick up the pieces from the damp pavement. “But you have to answer a question.”

He eyes you suspiciously, and you can almost see him deciding if you were worth his time. “Fine, but just one.”

A shrug, one you hope passes for a lot less intrigued than you feel, is offered. “Fine. But scoot up, I want a ride.”

“My god you’re bossy.” He fusses, but he moves to let you on and then hands you his helmet.

“We’re literally in a parking lot, I’m not wearing that for like 500 feet.”

He mumbles to himself, but hangs his helmet on the handlebars. “You gonna at least hang on or are you planning on going Evel Knievel over the speed bumps?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

A short two minute ride later and you're at your respective doors, the apartment fully furnished behind him.

“Oh yeah… I didn’t even get your name, or my question.”

“Bucky.”

“Weird, ok, is that a nickname or…”

Another look of disbelief, mixed with something more like enjoyment, crosses his face as he waits silently.

“Anyways Bucky, why is there blood on your hands?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but those would be the nine words that forever changed your life.

@the-wayward-robot @castielscaplan @cosicas-cuquis @bloodredandfullofthorns @flashfictionfridayofficial

He called it Karma, to himself mostly. He told Steve once, a heavily redacted version of the truth. Steve, in an attempt to reassure him, promised it wasn’t his fault, just residual trauma. But Bucky knew this wasn’t something that could be fixed, something that had blame placed elsewhere. It was his, personally curated over the course of decades. One doesn’t get to just hang it up and walk away.

He tries his best not to sleep, refuses to if Steve isn’t home. Once, he went eight days without sleep when a mission went bad and Steve got stuck in Europe. One day longer and he was going to catch a flight, the ticket window opened on his phone when Steve called and said he was coming home.

They were never the same when they called, the nightmares. For you see that would create routine, routine allowing preparation. He had the pleasure of being dropped, unannounced, into the very depths of hell without so much as a hint.

They were always bad.

Tonight was worse.

Cold. Snow crunching on his boots as he steadies himself, attempts to stand. It’s loud, echoing in his ears against the otherworldly silence.

He attempts to gain his bearings, the only light is in the distance, something smouldering, embers scattered across what seems to be a clearing.

Was he in the forest? 

There were no trees he could see, only black above him, white below, the red embers snaking their way across what he assumes is the horizon.

Were they moving?

A blink, another, and it confirms that the embers were indeed moving, racing in fact towards him with a supernatural speed. The snow remains untouched in their wake, unexplainably virgin white.

He moves to run, but finds himself stuck, unable to as much as turn to look behind him.

There’s no need, too focused on what lies ahead. He stills, a low hum now seems to accompany the glow.

It grows upon approach, still at a good distance, but he gets chills at the recognition, understanding filling him with white hot dread.

It wasn’t a hum.

It’s screams.

Another attempt to flee does nothing, condemned yet again to await his fate.

The embers have turned to flames now, blue violet in intensity, lapping at the ground, racing towards him with a hunger like they hadn’t been fed in ages.

Heat licks at his neck, the screams growing with the flames, deafening him as they approach. 

Instinctively he moves to cover his ears, but they're glued to his sides. 

His ability to blink goes next, and he’s left to face the full version of fury.

Finally encompassed, the flames refuse to take him, set him free to what awaits, instead holding him there for their next play of hand.

The once constant drone of scream becomes distinguishable, transgression laid out one by one.

 He recognizes every single voice.

“Please, I have a daughter!”

“He killed my family!”

“He’s not worth saving.”

“I don’t want to die.”

It’s hours, or years, seconds or decades, but Bucky’s voice is hoarse, raspy and broken from repenting.

The fire still refuses to burn, penance denied.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me, I never had a choice! It wasn’t me… It wasn’t meeeee”

Release.

A gasp, a swing, two arms holding him against a warm chest.

“It wasn't me…” he murmurs still, unwilling to open his eyes, afraid it’s a cruel trick.

“Baby, you’re safe, you’re in bed, I’m here.”

“I… it, fire, fuck.” 

Steve runs his hands through damp hair before placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“You’re home now, look at me, come back to me.”

A shake comes, face still buried, afraid to tempt the fates.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you. Where are you?

“Home.” It’s weak, a tremble threatens to end him.

“That’s right, and who am I?”

Bucky shifts, just enough to look up and meet the familiar eyes awaiting him.

“Say my name.”

“Steve.”

It’s said like a man who’s drowning, the name a lifeline, a rescue. He manages to sit up, a weak smile on his face at the worried look Steve wears.

“I got you Buck.”

“No Steve, we’ve got each other.”

It must be palpable, because your friend swears she didn’t know he was even in town, much less coming tonight. Her remorse is short lived as she’s called over to the table where everyone is making drinks. You follow her, not yet daring to seek him out. A variety of clear, dark, and colorful options lay in front of you, tempting you to try. This required a very specific amount of alcohol. Too little and you’d get mad and leave, too much and you’d wake up with another regret to box up alongside the others.

Two shots later and a summery mixed drink in hand you turn, scanning the shadows. They stretch, gray fingers crawling across the green grass, swallowing up the space left by the setting sun. He’s watching you, leaning against the wooden fence alone except for the shadows. He’s cloaked in gradients of gray, adorned like the king of shadows himself. He’s always on the fringe, making his home in the darkness. Cold to most, distant to all.

Except you.

You find him with a smile, a wicked one, reserved just for you, for times like this. It serves him well, having yet to fail him. 

Not tonight, Barnes.

But you’re moving towards him, the warm feeling crawling up your body plotting against you.

The shadows seem alive now, swallowing him as you cross the yard. The cigarette he’s smoking casts soft shadows in the dark, just enough light that you can see his face shift as you approach. It looks deceivingly soft, pleasant even, lazy smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. You’ve been reading him for years now, enough to know when he’s trying to disarm his prey. You’re playing with fire, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

The thing you won’t admit, not even to yourself, is that you like it, crave it even. Nearly a decade of this, whatever this was. A game of cat and mouse that was more like tiger and lion, neither of you really escaping a victor, both left to lick your wounds on your own. It was predictable- ugly, vile, and quick. Well, not all parts were quick you think, and it brings a smile to your face.

“See you’re still drinking that same cherry shit you did in college, you ever plannin’ on growing up?”

And so he’s off, let the game begin.

“Can you still do that tongue thing with the cherry?” He adds, a smile filled with a memory skirts across his face briefly, cigarette bouncing between his lips as he speaks.

“And I see you’re still making bad decisions in the shadows. You look like you belong in an alley.”

It earns you a laugh, admission granted into the exchange. “Don’t recall you ever complaining about what I do in the shadows.

“That’s because I did all the work.”

It's a real laugh this time, and he turns to face you. He offers you his cigarette and you oblige, a smoky acceptance that you’re willing to play the game. 

It burns, and leaves you coughing, much to his pleasure. The only time you smoke is with him, another part of you that is uniquely his. He pushes his sunglasses up, soft hair framing his face. He’s playing his next move as he looks you over.  He seems to take you apart with his gaze, eyes tracing you so intensely you can almost feel his touch grazing your skin. He knows this game, his moves both calculated and rotely familiar.

“You look good.” 

 His words are calculated but effective. That’s because compliments were given sparingly between you two- used for their disarming sincerity, prize pieces in a game of destruction.

It seems you miscalculated your alcoholic need, because you soften, your lips moving on their own. “Thanks, you too.”

His mouth shifts ever so slightly, less than a whisper of a smile but you know what to look for, and it’s in his eyes. Now you’re down a point and he’s in the lead.

“Still dating that try hard in accounting?” 

You could almost miss it if you were a novice, but there in between layers of pride and something even you weren’t permitted to know, was a true desire for information. Hope that you would say no.”

“We’re actually married… last month.”

You raise your left hand, thankful for the beautiful gemstone ring you had bought at the art show earlier in the week.

You had taken the lead from him.

He whips to face you again, rattled. The slightest hint of uncertainty in his voice as he speaks. “Bullshit.”

You allow the silence to fall between you as you finish the cigarette, flicking the butt nonchalantly over his shoulder. 

“Does it matter? If I said let’s go to my hotel and start making regrets right now would you say no, regardless?”

“Is that what you’re saying?” The space between you lessens as he steps closer, words almost hopeful.

“Is that what you want?” 

It takes a second but it clicks that he’s been outplayed this round. His eyes darken, and you’ll pay for it later, but you never mind. You reach in his shirt pocket for the cigarettes, lighting one while you wait for him to decide his next move.

No means you leave.

Yes means you win.

Either choice means he loses, only one means you stay.

“I don’t care if you’re married or not.” He offers, snatching the cigarette from your mouth. 

How you love it when he’s outplayed and pouty.

“Be a good boy and play by the rules, answer the last question. Or I’ll make your decision for you and fuck off. Now, do you wanna go or not?”

“Fine.” He offers, sullenly.

“Fine.” You mock, crossing your arms to copy his stance. “If I miss my flight you will pay me back.”

“Get fucked.” Is all he offers, blowing smoke directly into your face.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the whole point, asshole. You gotta car or do I have to uber myself to my regrettable decisions?”

He snubs the halfsmoked cigarette on the bottom of his boot and drops it in his shirt pocket. “Yes I have a fuckin’ car.” A bit too defensively, and you can’t help but seal your victory with an unquestionable lead.

“Just wanted to check, that summer a couple years back I’m pretty sure you rode a Razr scooter to my hotel.”

“I did NOT!”

“And for the record, no, I’m no longer dating Rick.”

“Ah yeah, that’s his name… Rick, Rick, has no -” 

“Bucky.”

“Ok, Ok, damn. You’re so uptight sometimes.”

A beat of silence passes as you head for the gate.

“I missed you.” It’s offered for free, a show of sportsmanship after his loss.

“Prove it.” You demand, victorious.

The End

The two of you had been married just over a year now, and it had been a wonderful whirlwind of a year. Your ceremony had been threatened by the possibility of the outbreak of war, however, in a rare show of humanity the crisis had been averted and peace was shakily accepted. You both knew what had been avoided, and it cast an air of thankfulness over an already reverent ceremony as you two exchanged your vows.

 Instead of kissing your husband goodbye at the train platform you were kissing him awake each morning before work. Instead of waiting on a sword’s edge at your parents you were here, in your homey albeit small apartment, living your life with a sense of fulfillment. It was a simple life, Steve working as an aspiring illustrator, you at the bakery part time. Yet, at night, when the city cooled and you sat together on the fire escape together watching the city shake off its daytime responsibilities, there was only one thing that seemed to be missing.

“Where are you, my love?” His lips pressing against your damp neck pulls you from your reverie, the skirt you had been mindlessly ironing discarded as you turn.

“ Didn’t hear you come in, was just thinking.” Your voice is still thick with daydreaming as you meet his lips with yours. “Did you get the film?”

“I did, and I got you some new candy, they’re called Mike and Ike.” He passes you the bag wearing a proud, if not mischievous, smile. “ There’s something else in there too.”

“What on earth is a Mike and Ike?”  Curiosity gets the best of you as you rummage inside the bag.

“ I dunno, Buck said they were new,  good and chewy, just like you’ve been craving.” 

You sort through the bag’s contents, taking out the film, assorted candies, and then something white and fluffy catches your eye at the bottom. It’s a small white bear with blue eyes and a green ribbon. “ What’s this?”  You ask as your brain simultaneously registers what it is. “A stuffed bear? You got me a present on your birthday?” 

For a minute you think he knows, Steve has a way of knowing things no one has told him, much to others, especially Bucky’s chagrin. Usually to you it’s endearing, but it catches you off guard today. “ Did you see Bucky today, what did he say? I'm gonna kill Rebecca if she told him.”

He’s confused at your response, and it confirms the news is still yours to share. “ Bucky? No, should I have? I thought we were meeting him at 7 at the World’s Fair? We’re still going aren’t we?” His confusion melting into concern.

“Yes, yes of course baby, but what made you get the bear?”

His smile seems shy now, and he takes the bear from your hands, thumbing the soft fur as he contemplates his words. “I dunno really,” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper “Just making a birthday wish, I guess.”

“Why don’t we go sit on the fire escape?”

Your response shakes him, and he looks up, concerned. “Everything ok, love?”

“Yes, I just want to talk to you before we go meet everyone.” You pull him by the hand, crawling out the window to sit side by side in the narrow space.

 The metal is hot as you sit, burning your calves through the thin cotton of your dress. Your shoes press against the railing in front of you, making the rusted metal squeak under the pressure. The warm bricks scrape against your back, shoulders touching as Steve settles awkwardly beside you. You register it all, using the sensations to ground yourself in the moment you want to remember. How many versions of you have already sat here, how many more are yet to come.

When you turn to him he’s still holding the bear, running his fingers over the fur in a poor attempt to soothe himself.

He’s worried. 

“Don’t be worried.” you chuckle, your touch on his leg causing him to jump. “ So for over a year now we’ve sat here almost every night and watched the city. We’ve dreamed, planned, cried, and wished.”

“Mhm” His smile is shrouded in memory, as he thinks back over the time.

“Well, when we sat here and talked, cried, dreamed, planned, wished, what was that thing we were missing?”

The silence falls heavy with the weight of the topic and you allow it, giving him the time he needs to answer.

“A baby.” He finally musters, barely audible. 

“A baby.” You confirm, but he’s still lost in thought, still soothing himself with the fur of the bear. You take it from him gingerly, sitting it between you. With a gentle touch you lift his chin to meet your eyes. The sadness in his eyes almost engulfs you, but you offer a smile instead.

“ Steve, we have our wish, we’re gonna have a baby. The doctor confirmed it.”

His face runs the gamut of emotions as he processes the news. “A BABY!” He yells when it clicks, and he jumps up, knocking his head on the fire escape landing above him. It barely phases him as he leans over to pull you up, meeting you with a kiss. “A baby?” He asks through met lips, confirming this time, tears welling in his eyes.

“A baby.” you nod as you lean back to survey him, your own tears running down your cheeks. “You didn’t know, honest?”

“No I didn’t, swear.” He helps you through the window, the apartment filing with smoke and the promise of a burnt cake. “ Just thought you really had a thing for chewy candies.”

“Damnit, I ruined the cake. I’m sorry, I’ll make a new one, I promise.” You fuss, but it’s to yourself, because Steve is already in the chair, ringing Bucky.

“Buck, hello, Buck, I’m gonna be a daddy, and you’re gonna be an uncle! It is! It’s the best birthday yet!”

And so that day, July 4, 1940, burnt cake and all, became Steve’s favorite birthday ever. The one his child, and their children’s children would hear about every chance it presented itself.

The End