Puppet on a string

bucky barnes · survivor

✪      Steve shrugged vaguely and said, “I guess it depends on who you are.” That was certainly what he’d found to be true at least. What some people accepted, there were always some who didn’t.

He winced inwardly when Bucky whispered that he didn’t want to hurt him. He thought maybe Bucky knew and realized that he’d misspoken but then he clarified that he meant with his arm. 

He was both relieved and disappointed by it.

“You didn’t hurt me, Buck,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “Not really—and you’re not gonna hurt me now. Go to sleep.” He bunched up his pillow up under his neck and tried to get comfortable. Mostly he just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

The feeling of Bucky radiating heat at his back—despite the fact that they weren’t even touching—was oddly disconcerting, but he wasn’t afraid. Maybe he should’ve been but he still wasn’t.

He didn’t know how to be afraid of Bucky. 

“Goodnight,” he murmured softly. 

Bucky still couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d said or done something wrong for something seemed off with Steve but sleep was so very tempting to him at that moment that he brushed aside his own feelings and and rolled over, just so that he could keep an eye on Steve. Maybe the name for what was going on would come to him eventually.

“You were in hospital,” He protested again, words interrupted by another jaw-cracking yawn and he let out an indignant huff, hating to lose to something as human as sleep. This felt right though; no matter his earlier protests, sleeping beside Steve always felt right. Before, it was so that he could make sure Steve didn’t get sick, or worse, die in his sleep and now...he wasn’t sure who was looking after who these days, but it gave him some comfort to know that not everything was different in this new world. Steve was the one thing that always had and always would be the same.

✪            Bucky seemed amused by the memory of the night he’d had to sleep over or risk getting a strip torn off him by his ma. Steve liked reminding him of those times, back when things were so much easier than they were now. 

He chuckled when Bucky pointed out that he was the taller of the two of them now. “Well, that’s why I have a bigger bed,” he joked. 

Despite being the one to ask the question, and the fact that Steve had agreed, Bucky stated flatly that men didn’t sleep together.

It made the bottom of Steve’s stomach drop out to hear Bucky say it so plainly. Steve hadn’t really considered how Bucky felt about things like that before. It had never come up, he guessed, but to hear him say it like that, like he disapproved, it stung. 

“Well,” he said, his tone having lost all its confidence, “this is a special thing. It’s just something you need right now.” 

It was hard to try and rationalize why something he didn’t think of as wrong could be right to someone who thought it was wrong. It was a little much for 2am. Worse, was now knowing that Bucky apparently disapproved of Steve in a fundamental way. He wasn’t sure how well he was going to sleep after that little revelation. 

“Okay. Good,” Steve said to Bucky’s clear implication that contact between them would not be appreciated. Evidently it was proximity he wanted and not human contact. So Steve turned over and tried not to feel like something big had just transpired between them. Something that now made Steve feel like he had to hide things about himself from his best friend.

“Then again, nothin’ is right to me anymore so I don’t know. Maybe men do sleep together?” Bucky amended awkwardly as the air suddenly grew tense and he couldn’t think what he’d said or done this time that had ruined the mood. He wasn’t the Bucky he used to be, perhaps he never would be but he was trying to get back some semblance of who he was before. He didn’t know what Steve was - there were no words adequate enough, that felt right, to explain just what Steve meant to him. But last he remembered, two men couldn’t share a bed without people talking, and he didn’t want to bring Steve down any further than he already had. Steve seemed to have adapted well to living in the twenty first century; Bucky had a long way to go.

“Don’t want to hurt you, Stevie,” He whispered then, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord despite his adamant refusal that he would not be falling asleep. His dark lashes brushed his still sharp cheekbones and he yawned widely, not even bothering to place a hand over his mouth because that would involve moving and he was getting quite comfortable. “I hurt you before with the metal arm...I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you again.”

She got to her feet and nodded, sharp and trying to seem braver than she felt. The moment his hand left her head, she missed it but she didn’t say anything, focusing on the task at hand he’s given her and after months now of training with him, finding this clear focus when given an order was coming to her almost naturally already.

She took some clothes, but not too much, like he suggested, and she also too her hairbrush, because it was the one thing she still had from what she considered her ‘old life’ and… it was stupid, probably. But she didn’t want to leave it behind. But she decided it wouldn’t be too suspicious because she had taken it with her on hunts before as she didn’t like it when her hair would get too tangled up and messy.

She took her two knives and guns too, strapping them on herself like she’d normally would when they were going for a long training session outdoors. It would mean she’d have them at hand, ready to use now that she had some skills already… but she hoped she wouldn’t have to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody, not even the people who hurt her.

And by the time she was done packing it all, backpack zipped and on her back, her tears had dried and the tightness in her chest subsided. Only her heartbeat was still quicker, but now with adrenaline rather than sobs. She left her room and nodded to him.

“I’m ready.”

It seemed like in no time at all that they were both packed and ready to leave their old lives behind. It sent a thrill through The Solider because, for the first time, he was actually going to be in control of his own life. He’d run away before, but Hydra had always caught up to him in the end - a few times, he’d ended up in Brooklyn with no recollection of why he was there and why it was so important to him and not only did his escapes anger The Handlers, it almost seemed to frighten them as well. Perhaps they didn’t like allowing the asset any control over his own actions at all, but he couldn’t be sure.

His weapons were already on him, like they always were, but he briefly checked that he had enough bullets and the such-like, enough to further proof that they were away on a hunt, if Hydra visited in their absence. He scanned around the living room slash kitchen area for anything that they would miss or anything that would give them away and seeing nothing obvious, he turned to face Ronja and sent her what he hoped was a comforting smile.