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The thick leather book with pages edged in red sat on your nightstand, the spine cracked from years of use, pages dog-eared and yellow with age. A tear in the leather on the cover betrayed its age. The old King James Bible went with you everywhere it seemed. He saw you with it on missions, when you’d be holed up in a hotel room or safe house. He saw you with it under an old oak tree on spring days, when the world was starting to burst with life after a long winter. He never thought you to be a religious person, but that bible went with you everywhere.
He didn’t ask about it. Didn’t ask about what you believed. Didn’t question the fact that you never went to church but you could be found reading that old book. He wondered, of course. He’d watch you write in the margins, green pen, a curious choice. He wondered what you wrote, what you were thinking. You’d chew on the pen cap, a habit he’d given up trying to get you to break.
It led him to this moment, cleaning your shared bedroom. The two of you had been together for a while, and sharing a room had happened as time went on, without a question asked. He sat down on the bed and reached for the book. Part of him felt like it was a violation of your privacy but his curiosity got the best of him. He opened the cover and found an inscription, dated June 19, 1942.
‘ My dearest son, may this book guide you when you feel lost, love always, mama’
The names written inside the cover told him one thing. It had belonged to your great-grandfather, who passed it on to your grandfather, who gave it to your mother. He flipped through the pages, taking in the different color inks. The green was in your hand, the red in your mother’s. He could guess that the blue and black ink belonged to your great-grandfather and grandfather.
He jumped when the door opened, he was lost somewhere in the Book of Proverbs. You were smirking from where you stood, leaning against the door.
“I was wondering when your curiosity would win out,” you said.
“I didn’t realize it was a bible,” he said. A lie, but you let it go, amused by his excuse. You nodded.
“Great-grandfather’s. Took it overseas with him in ‘42. Belonged to his mother, actually. She got it in ‘22, when they moved. It was a gift from her mother. She never wrote in it, except that inscription. Grandpa got it when he was eight. Then he passed it on to my mom when he passed. And now it’s with me. I’m not the most religious person in the world, but there’s something comforting about that old King James,” you said. He nodded.
“When did your mom give it to you?” he asked.
“When I became an Avenger. She figured I needed it more than her now. It’s been through so much. Traveled the world. It’s not about the words, y’know? Or maybe it is. My grandfather had it with him in Korea and Vietnam. His father had it with him in Europe. Mom brought it with her in her travels. Held tight to it through all the stupid things I did when I was a kid,” you said.
“You? A troublemaker?” he asked. You laughed.
“I told her she still needed it more than I did, but, you know how my mother is,” you told him. He smiled and shook his head.
“You get the stubbornness from her,” he said. You said nothing in response. Instead, you sat next to him, gently taking the book from his hands. You flipped through until you found the page you were looking for. It was dog-eared multiple times over. John 14:27 was underlined in multiple colors. Blue, black, and green staining the page, dried tears still apparent.
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid,” Bucky read over your shoulder. You just nodded.
“The story goes, my great grandfather was waiting, night before the D Day invasion, scared out of his mind about what was going to happen. He threw the book against the wall and when he picked it up, this was the page it was on,” you explained.
“And how do you know that story?” he asked.
“He wrote it down in his journal. I keep that in the drawer, you know. I don’t know what I believe, not really. But this one...I read it before every mission, especially ones we know are more dangerous,” you explained.
“Seems like your grandfather had the same idea,” he noted. You nodded.
“I don’t think there’s a chapter of that book that’s untouched. Been read cover to cover hundreds of times at this point. Cancer, war, crazy kids who find themselves getting into trouble constantly. Me, telling my parents I was becoming an Avenger. They always knew I was different. When puberty hit and my powers came with it, well, they weren’t too surprised. One of those times mom pulled it out. We weren’t exactly church-going people,” you said, a soft smile on your face.
He set the book back down on your nightstand and stood up to stretch, taking your hand as you stood up.
“We should go pick up pizza,” Bucky said, pulling you out of the room.
“Clint’s cooking,” you said.
“Exactly,” he said, sending you into a fit of laughter. You just shook your head as the two of you headed out.