Chapter Text
Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. His therapist had said he was in a rut and that much he believed. Since getting back from Afghanistan he’d done doodly-squat (if even that). In the beginning it had been acceptable. He had moved back in with his parents while he did physical therapy and waited for his new arm. And then he’d got the arm. And then he had languished.
‘What the hell was he supposed to do now?’ He thought to himself He had a high school diploma, a metal arm, and absolutely no direction to start off in. All he ever did was watch trashy television about housewives and fashion reality shows, go to work at the bar down the street from his tiny apartment he shared with his old war buddy, and people watch in between. He sighed, staring but not seeing the people who passed him by.
Central Park was alive as ever; little kids running to and fro in the grass screaming and laughing, street artists putting on a show, vendors selling heart-attack’s on a stick, and everyone in between. Bucky stared as a businessman slumped onto a bench opposite him, eating a hotdog and looking as dejected as he felt. He ran his eyes over the man’s cheap suit and mentally clicked his in disapproval. It was ill fitted and at least five years out of style. Typical.
Shaking his head Bucky looked back down at his notebook and the page stared back, just as blank as it was five minutes ago. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself and closed it. He really hated his therapist. Moreover, he hated that she was right. When he tried to think of the future all Bucky can imagine is working the same minimum wage job, same shitty apartment, and same nightmares. His therapist had said he needed to make a plan, to get out and do something he cared about.
But what did he care about? His family, obviously, his friends, of course, his comrades, but what else?
“Alright Jamesy, I’ll bite what’s up?” his sister, Natasha, asked as she dropped down onto the bench beside him handing over his coffee.
“Its Bucky,” he hissed like an impudent child.
“I’m your sister I can call you whatever I want, would you prefer Pooh Bear?” she smirked.
“Whatever,” he huffed and instead concentrated on his coffee, savoring it like he was a connoisseur.
“So really out with it.”
“Out with what?”
“That look, I know that look. What’s got you all upset?”
Bucky sighed and relented; there was no winning with his sister. “My therapist says I’m in a rut.”
“Agreed.”
“Yea I know,” he replied sarcastically. “She said I need to concentrate on the future, find my passion or whatever.”
"And the problem is?”
“The problem is I don’t know what my passion is.”
“Well what do you like?”
“I dunno.”
Natasha leveled him with a withering look, “stop being difficult, everyone has interests. What about sports? You were so good in high school.”
“Who will take me now?”
“There are plenty of veterans leagues.”
“Yea the pamphlets mom leaves me for says as much,” he grumbled. He loved his family he really did, but they could be a little too involved sometimes. He was twenty-two for god sakes, he didn’t need passive aggressive emails from his mother every five minutes.
“Well what do you do all day?”
“Nothing really: I watch crap TV, work all night, and sleep the rest of the time.”
“Ok,” she drew the word out, slowly thinking it over. “Well what shows do you watch?”
“Real Housewives, the History Channel, Project Runway,” he rattled off. While he may be shy about admitting this to anyone else his sister was the sole exception to that and just about all his other rules.
“Oh I love Project Runway, Tim Gunn is a fashion god.”
“I know, only he can pull off those suits,” he grinned despite himself.
“Well why don’t you focus on that?”
“What? Tim Gunn?”
“No silly fashion, you were voted best dressed after all.”
“Fashion?” he asked, testing out the word, seeing out it felt in his mouth. It say dry and heavy but not entirely unwelcome.
“Yea, y’know start a collection, learn to sow, make a vlog or something.”
“Ok first off I can sow just fine you’re the one who is all thumbs,” he pointed out making his sister roll her eyes. “And second what the hell is a vlog?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Big brother I love you but you are so out of touch,” she chuckled.
“Sorry I was a bit busy defending freedom for the last few years.”
“And I am ever so thankful for that. So you really don’t know what a vlog is?”
“No.”
“You know blogs right?”
“I’m not completely out of touch.”
“Ok well its that but videos, they’re all the rage.” Bucky thought it over brow furrowing in confusion. Sensing this Natasha continued, “you can make a video about talking about whatever: your life, celebrities, news, and fashion and then you post it to YouTube.”
“Why would any one care what I think about fashion?”
“I dunno, I care.”
“You have to you’re my sister.”
“No actually I’m allowed to think you’re the stupidest shit ever,” Natasha smirked getting a light elbow in the side for it. “But seriously, you should, you’d be great.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well just think about it.”
“If I say yes can we change the subject?”
“Only if you pinky promise,” she said holding out her hand.
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically but hooked his fingers with hers and shook nonetheless.
“Good, now mom wants to know if you’ve been eating properly.”
“Dear lord,” Bucky groaned.
The siblings spent the afternoon wandering around the park and Bucky even managed to enjoy himself once Natasha had gotten all their mother’s intrusive questions out of the way. That afternoon before work Bucky sat in front of his computer thinking. On a whim he tried a few keywords in Goggle, followed a few links, and found himself lost in the world of YouTube and vlogs.
He didn’t sign up in the end but the thought lingered. As it turned out he didn’t have a say. Three days later Natasha sent him an email that read:
‘I knew you would chicken out so I made an account for you and even gave it a depressing name. I expect to see at least one video before the end of the month or there’ll be trouble,
Enjoy Pooh Bear!’
Rolling his eyes he followed the link and sure enough there was a YouTube account all set up under the name The Winter Soldier. Natasha had even put up a profile picture: a candid from him lounging in the sun. Mentally cursing his sister Bucky gave in. he would do just one video, that at least would appease both his sister and his therapist.
A full week flew by as he researched what he wanted to talk about and another five days camping out in his room making the video. He downloaded a few different editing programs on his aging laptop. It was slow going at first; he’s spent so much time the old-fashioned way at war or simply offline altogether that it was hard to get back into the swing of it. But eventually he completed the video making sure to keep his metal arm hidden. He let it sit on his desktop for a whole day until one night, quite drunk, he worked up the courage and posted it. Closing his laptop he took another shot, and turned the TV trying not to think about what a mess he’d gotten himself into.
He didn’t check his account for another week; though he almost did multiple times but chickened out at the last moment. He had gone to war and fought for freedom and democracy in a desert thousands of miles away from home, yet he still he found himself scared to check other people’s reactions to his video (that, is there were any reactions at all). One morning after work he finally worked up the courage. It was dawn and he’d had a few drinks to help out and hopefully keep the nightmares at by for a while at least. Summoning the last dregs of his confidence, he logged on and checked on the little blue link to his YouTube page.
It had a few hundred hits and some comments - not all of which were supportive or even in mildly correct English - but there were some nice ones. Natasha had clearly emailed the link to their entire family and (he guessed) maybe half her high school because many of the posts were from cousins, or old friends, or awkwardly enough, some of his sister’s friends who had thinly veiled crushes on him. ‘So not the end of the world’ he thought to himself. That didn’t mean he would make another, even if the video had been generally well received.
When the weekend rolled around Bucky dutifully met Natasha by the Balto statue, as was their custom. She stalked up grinning devilishly and part of him deeply regretted ever telling her a thing. “You check the video?” she asked.
“Hello to you too and yes.”
“People liked it, just like I said.”
“Half of them were family or your creepy friends.”
“My friends aren’t creepy.”
“Well they certainly creep on me.”
“You’re a hot older guy, course they do,” she shrugged looping their arms and dragging him towards the nearest coffee stand.
“Gross Nat.”
“I didn’t mean I think that. To me you’re just my nerdy older brother. But I mean come on, you’re not exactly ugly, and teenage girls can’t be held responsible for their hormones.”
“You sure seem to be in control of yours.”
“Yes well I’m the exception, our family is less than normal.”
“No it isn’t,” he sighed.
“Cheer up Pooh Bear, I thought it was great.”
“Oh shut up you little shit,” he chuckled shoving her playfully away. While his life may not be in order, Bucky could at least count on his little sister to lift his spirits (sometimes with spirits, but mainly metaphorically speaking). They joked their way to the vendor bought their usual coffees and settled down on a bench over looking the lake.
“Ok but seriously, when’s the next video going up?”
“There is no next video,” he answered flatly.
“But that one was so good!”
“You can stop lying anytime you want.”
“I’m not lying and you know it, only you and Clint can tell when I’m lying,” she stated, shifting to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m serious Bucky, it was a good video and it’d be good for you.”
“I don’t know Nat.”
“Please? For me?” she asked putting on her sweetest smile.
He smirked, “you know that doesn’t work on me, and yet you still try.”
“It totally does. Now please? Do another?” Bucky watched her and nodded with a sigh. There really was no winning with Natasha. When she wanted something she got it or there would be hell to pay. “Thank you bro,” she smiled, and leant over to plant a kiss on his cheek, “you’ll thank me later.”
“Really? Because at the moment all I’m thinking of if cursing you.”
“You’ll see,” she said in a mocking little song.
“Sometimes I think you’re too smart for your own good.”
“Hey you got the fashion sense, I got the brains.”
“And the brawn?”
“We’ll call it an even split.”
“Oh really? You think you can take me?”
“Please, I know I can,” she snorted, as if the idea was absurd.
“Little shit,” he muttered, a grin dancing across his face.
After bidding Natasha goodbye at the subway station Bucky wandered home, stopping to buy a few fashion magazines at the supermarket on his street on his way. If he was going to do this he may as well commit (or Natasha would have his balls, even though she kept saying he didn’t have any). He spent the afternoon flipping through the pages and tracking down a few fashion blogs to help with ideas. The next video came a bit easier, although he still had to wait a day before summoning the nerve to post it.
Slowly the hobby grew on him. Bucky would sit for hours watching his shows or flipping through the magazines making notes of things he wanted to talk about. He began making trips to department stores and thrift shops looking for interesting finds. With each successive video he gained followers and with that the bravery to continue. Piece by piece “The Winter Soldier” spilled his secrets, and his story to an audience of strangers, and to his surprise; they liked him. It took a few dozen videos but he eventually revealed his metal arm when going on a tirade about military fashion and the institution in general. Even then his followers supported him. They did not reject him for his perceived deformity, but wanted more of his story, they wanted to know him better.
As the months progressed Bucky found his niche. He would spend each episode talking about the latest trends, debate some of the choices of fashion shows, and always end with a positive message. He was teaching himself and others to love themselves as they were: fat, skinny, punk, disabled, or just down right weird. Instead of hiding his arm he grew to embrace it.
His therapist was proud, and Natasha was smug.