Chapter Text
If Frank had been any less tired, he may have startled at the huddled figure settled right in front of his dog when he stepped in. He almost pulled the trigger, though, and the only thing that stopped him was the way those wide, blue-grey eyes snapped up to him a half-second before he pulled it. He wondered if this one would survive a bullet to the head too...and he almost tested it out, but Max didn't like loud noises and had probably seen far more death than he'd deserved.
"Hey," Frank, instead, greeted the dog and pat his head with a half smile.
"He's a shit guard dog," that soft and gravelly tone that Frank had (maybe) thought about once or twice since the first meeting drifted through the room. But he thought that maybe the voice was bit softer this time.
Who knows?
Frank swayed on spot, pain and tiredness really sinking into his bones now. The kid —well— man, cupped Max's face and was making little kissy noises at him.
Barnes paused, smiled at the dog for a moment before he turned his face up to the Punisher.
To put it literally, he looked like shit. Bruises littered his face and there was a new chink in his nose that let Barnes know he'd probably broken it and not cared to get it fixed. Not only that, but his usual military stance was reduced to slumped shoulders and laboured breaths. Barnes saw the way he leaned a little heavy on his right —just like last time but a little worse. Yeah, this man looked like shit.
"Max's not meant to be a guard dog. 'e's a sweetheart," the man grumbled before he dropped the heavy duffel bag. Everything in there clattered and it was possibly by only the will of God that nothing went off. Barnes stared at Frank again for a moment, this time fighting back the urge to make a half-informed comparison between the man and his dog... but he didn't know either of them enough for that, so instead he offered something else.
"Let's eat," Barnes stood and walked over to the corner where he'd stashed a couple bags of take-out that had long run cold by now.
"Ate already," the man hugged as he stripped himself of his bloodied kevlar.
"That shit you call protein bars ain't food. I should know," Barnes almost hissed at the man before he dropped his tone. "I grew up in the depression," he added softly. The man —the punisher guy, he didn't address it, he didn't seem like he'd heard either, not with the way he momentarily screwed his eyes shut and grunted with his next step.
Barnes gave him a once over as he gingerly sat to the ground with his eyes still wired shut. The man didn't say anything, his eyes just moved between Barnes and the sweet dog. He accepted the food with a quiet 'thanks' but didn't even glace at it before he started shoveling it into his mouth.
Barnes was content with sitting in silence too. He had spent the last month (that he could recount from his own memories) watching the man in question. He didn't care for company then, it was just enough to watch him. The Soldier would have agreed too, but Barnes couldn't feel him just then.
The dog whined and pawed at Barnes' thigh. He was a sucker at heart though, so he sighed, picked apart pieced of his chicken and fed it to the pup with his left hand. (He knew the dog was full grown and nowhere near the size of a pup but —come on— the dog was so fucking sweet)
"So," the punisher started with his mouth all filled up like his ma' didn't teach him any about manners. "Who're you?" He shifted his gaze to Barnes briefly before he shoveled another fork full of fried rice into his mouth without swallowing the last. Barnes held back a huff —his man... Bucky's Ma... would've had 'im by the ear if she'd seen him do something like that.
So, Barnes swallowed before he spoke shortly. "Nobody."
Something strained and coarse fell from the Punisher's lips. Barnes categorized that as a laugh.
"You can't be nobody an' lookin' for me."
"I wasn't looking for you," Barnes shot back plain and simple. It was a lie though. He turned his head to the Punisher and watched the way he took time to actually swallow now.
"I still found you though," Barnes said softly, and he added a little smile too. He wasn't sure how genuine or nice it looked, but that didn't seem like it mattered when he was with a man whose laugh sounded like it's been stowed away collecting dust.
"Right," the Punisher's tone way dry as ice. "And you just stumbled upon me every time after that?" He lifted his split brow, dried blood flaking a bit with the movement.
Barnes swallowed, but there was no food behind his lips. It wasn't like he tried to be discreet about following the man after they'd 'bounced up'. He just didn't think he'd noticed since he'd never said anything.
"Who's the devil guy," Barnes tried instead.
"Red?" the Punisher's face lost almost all tension —Barnes didn't know him very long but he could guess that losing all tension may have been impossible. "Ah... 'e's my friend," the Punisher shrugged.
Barnes' lips turned up in a little quirk. Not fully a smile but a little more than a smirk. "You shoot all your friends in the head?" He turned his burning gaze to Frank's bruised and stoic features.
Frank just shrugged before scooping another couple of forks of whatever into his mouth. He barely swallowed before he moved to answer. "I shoot everyone in the head."
"The dog's still alive," Barnes gestured to Max as he offered the sweet pit a piece of chicken. Max readily licked up the treat, whining once he'd swallowed it and Bucky just caressed the side of his huge jaw. And maybe pointing this out was Barnes' only way of calling bullshit on this guy —because Barnes didn't know much about him but he felt as though he knew this.
"Max ain't do nothin'" the Punisher huffed, pushing aside the empty take out box and reaching for an unopened bottle of Gatorade.
"Red neither," Barnes pointed out and waited for something else to come out of the Punisher. He saw the way the marine's jaw ticked after he capped the bottle. A grunt of acknowledgement followed and then Frank's gravelly tone came.
"You been watching Red too?" the Punisher's shoulder's didn't tighten the way his voice did, and maybe that was because he was always coiled and ready to fight. He had never been relaxed, there was no need for him to tense.
Barnes couldn't help the way he laughed at this. It was a short spasm of his lungs but it left a smile on his features even as he looked over the heady suspicion on the Punisher's features.
"Who are you, really?" Frank's voice lowered (if that was even possible) as he peered at this kid. It wasn't that he was unremarkable, it was that he made himself to be. He left his beard to grow however it decided, his hair was greasy and left to fall onto his forehead. There were these deep creases at the corner of his eyes that didn't seem to come from laughing but he looked like he never really meant to frown.
Still, he frowned.
"I- uh- I don't really know how to answer that," Barnes' lips tilted up in a shy smile and the Punisher just watched him through his hooded gaze. "What's your name?" he tried and the Punisher's brows lowered as they stayed in silence.
"Y'know," Barnes sighed. "The scared people on the TV call you the Punisher. I like the name, goes with the whole—" he paused to gesture at Frank's entire being, "... blood 'n' gore thing you got going on. But," he titled his head from side to side, "...I'm pretty sure that's not on your dog tags."
Frank swallowed down the last of the annoying sweet and slightly sour drink all while keeping eye contact. Max had hunkered down, finished with the man's chicken and just let his huge head rest on the man's lap. The kid's gloved hand moved over Max's head methodically and softly and the fucking dog loved it.
"What's on your tags?"
The kid shrugged, only on his right side, eyes tilting downwards at the sides though he still tried to brave a little smile. It was like something shifted and Frank couldn't really tell what, he was just a bit different. The kid lifted his right hand and pushed his greasy hair out of his face —and somehow— that changed his whole appearance. He was a real pretty boy actually.
"Doesn't matter what's on 'em. I lost 'em when I died," he explained with this earnest look in his eyes. Frank couldn't really see the colour in his shitty apartment but as he rocked back and the kid's face caught the light outside, he could —at least— tell that the kid had light eyes.
He had known this from before, of course he did, but he also expected them to be different... just based on everything else.
"You some kind o' freak?" Frank narrowed his eyes. "You a science experiment gone wrong or somethin'?"
Bucky huffed out a small laugh that happened to startle the pup in his lap. He apologized by doubling down on his petting. "Or somethin'."
"You ain't from 'round here, are you?"
"Hell's kitchen?" Bucky hummed.
"New York."
"Aye, buddy, wha'd'ya mean 'm not from hyere?" Bucky lifted on brow in the Punisher's direction and let his face settle into something incredulous. It didn't last for more than 3 seconds though because he eventually bubbled into his own laughter.
A short grumble fell from Frank's lips. The sound was something that may have been a laugh in another life —or just with a little more practice. The sides of his eyes crinkled briefly before his face fell back into that dark hued grimace. Still, he looked a little amused. "Yeah," he shrugged. "Figures."
"Wha'd'ya mean by that?" Bucky shot and waited.
"New York is filled with your kind," Frank stated matter-of-factly. There was no bite to his words, no prejudice or anything alike. He was stating something he knew, giving information to the man beside him.
"I bet," Barnes agreed and turned his gaze back to Max. In the distance, he picked up the the far off siren an ambulance and a few police cars. It didn't take a lot for him to assume that they were heading to wherever the Punisher had just came from.
Frank didn't even really sense the movement from beside him. He just knew, at some point, a shadow moved and then his apartment was swallowed by that empty feeling that held him every other time he had been here. Even Max whined when he felt it, tugging uselessly against his chain in the direction of the open window.
Frank sighed, forcing himself to stand to try to lick his wounds. This shit fucking hurt.
Bucky's footsteps were heavy against the pavement of Park Avenue. He didn't know if he was grateful for the never ending crowd of locals and tourists who always slowed at the big tower or if his skin crawled because of it.
Maybe his skin crawled because of the heat. Maybe his skin crawled because his stomach was doing backflips and all of his intelligence had pointed him to Steve being here today.
He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets... mostly. There were a few assholes in business suits with these terrible hearing aid looking things attached to their ears and they were screaming at people who weren't there. They —they didn't deserve Bucky's best behaviour and Bucky had dinner to buy for the rest of the week. Needless to say, a few wallets were lifted, emptied of cash and dropped a few yards over.
There's almost too much input: too much whirring, too much casual talk, too many footsteps and smells and people not actually seeing each other and Bucky thought he would hate it —turns out, it feels a little bit like home. Maybe New York was always like this (he couldn't really be sure) maybe the army used to be like this (that sounded far more likely). Either way, when he stepped into the big ugly building, he thought it'd be a little different that outside. He was wrong.
Every pore that stretched across his skin (though completely covered) stood on alert in complete panic once he heard that medical 'whoosh' and was hit with the biting cold in contrast to the Summer's heat. A ringing settled in his ear, an ache came in his chest and it felt like the floor was swept from beneath him. He was falling.
He was falling.
He was falling.
He was falling.
so gracelessly —everything around him faded into nothing but stark white and emptiness. All stimulus was gone and he was alone until—
"Sorry," a higher toned voice mumbled and Bucky's eyes fell a little.
He wasn't falling anymore. He was standing still with his hands wrapped around the upper arms of some boy with huge brown eyes almost hidden behind even bigger glasses. His hair was scruffy and brown, his cheeks were still a little plump, he wasn't very tall and his gaze flitted around as though he was looking for someone. He looked so young and a little shaken but definitely not scared.
In an instant, Bucky released his grip and the kid stepped back with a grateful smile. He was off just after that —possibly too fast for a kid his size but Bucky didn't know what 'future kids' had in 'em these days. He was pretty sure they drank coffee by the gallon and vibrated off of the walls —or at least that was what he gathered as his eyes finally gazed around the first floor.
Kids —teenagers more likely— were scattered around on all sorts of devices. They looked like they initially started trying to stick to couches and chairs but easily ran out of space. There were too many of them packed in here. The high smell of caffeine danced through the air and followed each body that passed by Bucky.
The doors behind him hissed open once more and he was slapped with the aggressive heat of outside. Suddenly, it didn't feel so cold anymore.
"Excuse me, sir," a little voice to his left spoke up.
Bucky turned, far slower than he intended, then was forced to drop his gaze to meet eyes with a girl. Her skin was smooth brown, hair —almost black like her eyes, and she stood just a foot shorter than her sharpened jaw indicated she should. She was a teenager —Bucky assumed— a small one at that.
"Yea?" His voice was rougher than he'd hoped —out of practice— he thought. So, he made up for it with that half-smile he was sure was coded in his blood because it hadn't looked any different even after all these years.
"Can you buy me a cup of coffee?" head bowing before he could even let the smile settle in place. "I'll give you the money," she grumbled, reaching to swing her backpack around.
"Yeah. A'right kid," he shrugged, eyes moving over to the counter where the workers were bustling behind and the line in front was moving on swiftly.
"Thank," she said softly and handed him a crumbled up $10 bill.
"Why do I gotta?" He asked belatedly as they made their way to the line. He didn't really care. It wasn't like he was buying drugs for the kid... not illegal ones —this was all just practice.
"They won't let me get another," she shrugged, wild eyes skittering around the room as she fiddled with her backpack straps. "Said I had too much."
"Would they be right?" he asked, already knowing the answer. There were 3 people ahead of them, each rattling out their order like code then stepping aside with rehearsed efficiency.
The girl scoffed. "They don't got 4 assignments due tonight," she murmured indignantly. After that, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder and Bucky followed her gaze —eyes following on a group of kids huddled on some plush looking carpet and also looking their way. His eyes skimmed the group, 3 other girls around her age with similar tired yet souped up looks and 2 boys —one of the boys was the same one he had bumped into.
"Mn," he hummed then lifted his right hand and pointed. "And all o' them do?"
"Well ya," she gave him a pull of the lips that looked like a smile's rejected cousin. Subconsciously, he copied the facial expression and nodded. "Highschool sucks," she finished just as it was their turn in line.
"Can I have an iced caramel macchiato, thanks," she spoke to the cashier who eyed her suspiciously. Just as the young —but still older than the girl— man was about to object, Bucky spoke up.
"It's for me," he said, drawing the attention to him. He waited the awkward total of 4 seconds in which the cashier looked over his face then shook his head, called the total and took his cash.
"Name?" the cashier asked.
"Riri," the girl —Riri, cut in with a a look of pure satisfaction on her features.
"An' this is where kids pile up?" Bucky spoke once they stepped aside and waited for her order. Riri's eyes scanned the room, pausing a little to actually take it in. Bucky did the same. They both watched the high ceilings, sophisticated architecture and the fact that everything in here looked so fancy and expensive, it was was covered in a loft of high school and college kids like pigeons over New York.
Riri shrugged. "It's got the best Wi-Fi in New York. It's free too —plus, we get to see super heroes fly by from time to time," she nodded and Bucky nodded along too. "I heard that they live here," she pointed vaguely upwards.
"And you-"
"Riri!" a barista called hastily over the clamour of movement in the building. She stepped forward with a thanks and took her drink.
"What were you saying, mister?" she glanced up at him before her eyes darted back to her group of friends.
"Nothin'," Bucky shook his head and waved her away. "Coffee isn't good for you by the way; it hardens your brain," he muttered back whatever he remembered hearing from —from someone... he didn't really remember from whom.
The girl laughed a little. "My grandma says that to me too. You even have her accent," Riri shook her head and thanked him again before she was practically skipping towards again.
Bucky smiled to himself a little. Maybe he was relearning that he might have liked kids once... and maybe he still does now —or maybe he was just happy that he got through the human interaction with relative ease. He shrugged, shrugging off whatever it was as as he re-adjusted himself and headed for the elevators. There was no way it could be this easy.
He didn't really have any plan of action. He didn't think he would make it this far either. There was a little bit of a gnawing at the back of his head that told him that the whole building would be surrounded by a security detail —that he wouldn't be able to make it through the doors before he'd have been swept away by an army of men wearing S.H.I.E.L.D uniforms who would ultimately drag him back to the depths of a HYDRA basement.
He shook of that thought too —and tried to ignore the chill that came when he stepped into the clean silver walls of the elevator. That was all The Soldier's thinking —he tried to assure himself.
"You do not have authorization to access these floors," a polite, disembodied British voice spoke into the confines of the elevator and Bucky's eyes immediately focused past the reflection of his own face.
The chill that he just tried to shake off came rushing forward and swallowed his skin. It left him shivering on the spot and staring blankly at nothing.
The last disembodied voice he'd heard was swiss, cold, biting.
"Are you lost?" the voice spoke again in a tone that was... gentle? Maybe a real person was seeing him. Bucky looked up, searching for what he knew as cameras. He remembered the years when those started being planted everywhere. It was a hard couple of years for The Soldier. He remembered how much he hoped —during those times— that if he waited long enough, stood still enough in the camera lenses, someone would look at the tapes and see him, and come for him —to save him or to kill him, it was one and the same. But no one ever came, no one ever saw those tapes.
"Uh," Bucky tried to talk but his voice was stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nodded —still not sure if anyone was seeing —but like then— he hoped now.
"Is there anyway I can help?" the voice spoke again, and Bucky didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. He was being watched. He knew it for sure now. He knew who he was... or who he shared a face with, so, he bowed his head a little, eyes piercing holes into his shoes.
" 'm lookin' for Capt'n America," he said softly.
"Lots of people are," the voice spoke again in an almost undetectable higher tone than before. He sounded like... he was being funny? Bucky couldn't tell, there was no face for him to read. he remembered being good at reading faces. "Are you a fan?" If there was ever a trace of anything in the man's voice, it was gone now... or it was never there at all.
"Uh... no," Bucky smirked to himself.
"An enemy?" He thought, now, that the voice seemed darker, wearier... but also the same.
"No," Bucky voice was sharper, louder than he'd meant for it to be. "I don't want to hurt him-" again he left out.
"Are you a friend of Captain Rogers?"
Bucky nodded eagerly. That as one thing that he knew for sure. "Yeah, I'm 'is friend."
"Very well," then there was a pause. "Can I have your name?"
"Uhm," Bucky frowned. "Steve," he almost cursed himself immediately after.
"Just Steve?" Bucky was sure if he could see that man's smug face, there would be a lifted brow and maybe a condescending smirk.
"Steven Barnes," Bucky grumbled out and frowned a little at his own stupidity. He felt his heart clench in his chest and his pocketed metal hand ball into a fist, leather gloves creaking at the friction.
"May I ask, Mr Barnes, how do you know Captain Rogers?" Again, there was that humour in the voice's tone. There was something in there that made Bucky's skin tingle and made his palms twitch.
Bucky chuckled to himself, letting his shoulders slump a little. "Are you suspicious of me, random floating voice?" Bucky tilted his head up, stared directly into the white ceiling light and narrowed his gaze as though he could see the voice.
"Yes
"A'right," Bucky sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "Least I know he's safe here," he mumbled mostly to himself, not caring if the hidden speakers in here heard him at all. "We went to school together," he admitted then waited for the incredulous noise that would come at how far fetched that would sound.
There wasn't any noise. Actually, there was an expanse of silence possibly filled with judgement, and Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"So you're leaving a message as 'Steven Barnes from school'?" the voice spoke again with this incredulous tone that Bucky was waiting for. At this, he actually laughed.
"Yeah, tough guy, that's right," he shook his head, catching his own amused smile in the mirrors on the wall, pausing for a bit in recognition. "And uh-" He looked a little like his old self... still a lot more like the soldier though.
"Yes?" the voice spoke, a little impatiently.
"Tell 'im... tell him to calm down or he'll make his arrhythmia act up again," Bucky nodded again, at least sure of this bit.
"Is that all?"
"Yes," Bucky affirmed, looking around the elevator again. He realized now, that he had calmed down a little bit in here. It didn't feel like a cage anymore, he was just in a strange elevator... talking to a detached voice that mocked him a little.
Then, there was this long stretch of silence.
"You're not gonna tell him, aren't ya?" Bucky gave this raised brow stare at the ceiling.
He heard something —a sigh almost. "All messages are filtered before they arrive at target personnel."
This time, Bucky sighed, but he didn't prod for anything. "Yeah, thanks random voice," he grumbled and took a step forward to the door.
"My name is JARVIS," the voice spoke and Bucky just shrugged.
"Yeah, okay," he said before the doors open and he was slapped right back into the dizzying whir of the main floor.