Archive of Our Own

Bucky knew he had come a long way, but it was little things like that, that showed him how far. It was easy for Bucky to banter with Stark, to let the jibes roll off of him like water and give as good back. It was easy for him to sit at a table with former targets, eating together. Even eating, there was nothing stopping him from reaching out for a fourth bread roll, nothing stopping him from making his own decisions. He was James Buchanan Barnes, he wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore.  Or at least, most days he wasn't. 

Bucky would never be the man he used to be, there were days when he felt so suffocated by his past, by the things he had done that he couldn't leave the room he shared with Steve. He was told over and over again that the people he had killed, the crimes he had committed, had not been him and maybe they were right, but that didn't stop him from remembering them all the same. It had been his fingers that had pulled the trigger, his fists that had knocked in skulls, his hands that had set explosives- but it was as if he had been a puppet, the strings controlled by HYDRA. They never left him out long enough to defrost, they learned that if they did, no matter what they put in his head, he started to fight it. The actions had not been his own, he was learning to accept that. Of course, it wasn't always that easy. 

He just needed time, that was what they all said. He just had to take it one step at a time and gradually, things would get better. Bucky would never be able to change what he had done, but he sure as hell could make up for them. 

Natasha had told him that.

He believed her. 

If anyone understood, it was her. They were the same, really. The only difference was that Bucky had been active longer, but perhaps even that was a stretch. After all, Bucky had been frozen for most of it. She had been trained as a child, slowly but surely brainwashed and moulded into the perfect assassin. If she could break out of the conditioning, then so could he. 

Especially when he had Steve. He hated seeing the guilt flash behind his eyes, like what had happened to Bucky was his fault, like he could have prevented it. Bucky had known how dangerous it was when he went on that mission, when he followed Steve onto that train. Even knowing what he did, knowing what he would suffer, Bucky would always make the same decision to follow Steve. He had watched his back since they were children (it was much smaller back then), he would always watch Steve's back. It was his job, it didn't matter that he could look after himself, that he wasn't the sickly boy he had once been, it was Bucky's job to look out for him. 

Now that he was himself again (or as close to it), he intended to continue doing that. 

Easier said then done when Bucky wasn't cleared for missions and now that Bucky was doing better, Steve was on them every week. He had the Avengers, whether it be Sam or Natasha or Clint or whoever was required for the mission, but did they watch his back like Bucky? Did they keep him from doing something stupid? Steve was a stubborn bastard, always had been. He would do whatever had to be done no matter the risk, he would throw himself into danger if it meant he could protect someone or do what was right. Someone had to be there to stop him and if not stop him, then protect him. Bucky had learned all about the plane he had flown into the ocean by now, that was exactly the kind of thing that Steve Rogers would do and he hated it. 

It didn't kill him that time, but one day it would. 

Bucky tried not to linger on that thought for too long, it did nothing good for him. A world without Steve was not a world that Bucky had signed up for. Steve was meant to be the one that lived, that had a second-chance at life. He wasn't plagued with sickness anymore, he was strong and healthy, he had his whole life ahead of him. Peggy had lived a full and happy life, Steve deserved that chance too. He had seen the way that blonde agent had looked at him, the looks they had shared, Sam said she was Peggy's niece. Maybe Stevie could start a new life with her, find himself something to fight for again (something that wasn't him), settle down, be happy.

Bucky just wanted Steve to be happy. 

But the more he looked, the more he realised that Steve was as far from happy as he could possibly be. Bucky had helped, had eased his heart a little, he had no doubt about that. Sometimes Bucky would glance over and catch Steve looking at him with such emotion that he had to look away, pretend he hadn't noticed. Bucky wasn't the answer, Bucky couldn't give him all the things that someone like Sharon Carter could. That was a different box, one that didn't need to be opened. Not now, not ever. Steve deserved to be happy, he had earned it. But he wasn't, Steve was suffering. For how long, he had no idea but Bucky could guess. 

Steve had gone into the ice in the middle of the war and come out with another on his doorstep, thrust into fighting once more. He had never had a chance to stop, to breathe, to process. Bucky had the feeling that Steve didn't know how to stop anymore, didn't know what he would do if he did. He was exhausted, tired, his blue eyes dull, his movements mechanical. He was more of a robot then Bucky was and it was wrong. How could no one else see it? How could no one see that Steve hardly slept, that he was always in the gym, or looking for the next mission? How could no one see that Steve had no passions of his own? He used to draw, Bucky hadn't seen one sketchbook in the apartment Stark had built for him (them, now). The apartment itself was practically empty, few possessions beyond the essentials scattering the place. 

Sam worked with soldiers that had come home from the war day after day, Stark had fought his own demons, had been in a similar state after the Battle of New York, if what Bucky had heard was true, how could none of them see that Steve was struggling too? He wasn't just Captain America. He was Steve Rogers too. He was a man that had lost everything, in the space of a few hours from his perspective. For Steve, it had been just a few years since the war, not decades. It had been just a few years since he had lost Bucky, since he had flown his plane into the ocean. 

Why could no one see that Steve had never had a chance to come home from the war? That for him, he was still there, still fighting, every day. 

It broke Bucky's heart. 

Sure, neither of them were the men they were before but Steve was never meant to end up like this. Not Steve, not his Stevie. He used to be full of dreams, optimistic even when he could barely even breathe. Now- now he didn't seem to have any dreams left. Oh, he smiled (mostly when he looked at Bucky or someone cracked a joke), but it hardly reached his eyes.

Steve was fading away and no one else even noticed. 

Bucky would be damned if he lost him now though. No, he refused. It was his job to protect him and he would. The problem was getting Steve to listen. He had never been very good at listening. Not when Bucky told him to stop picking fights, to stop going out in the cold to sell his drawings, to give up on enlisting (to stay home, stay safe), to give up on him. Steve never listened, but he would this time, Bucky would make sure of it. He would beat it into him if he had too. As long as it made him stop, just for a little while, just long enough to breathe again. 

"Buck, what are you doing up?" asked Steve, looking up at him with worried eyes. It was the middle of the night, and Bucky had felt Steve slip out of the bed, felt the cold rush under the covers. Bucky used to be the one that kept him warm, now it was the other way around. Needless to say neither of them liked the cold. No one commented on the fact that they slept together every night, or the fact that Bucky lived with Steve in his one-bedroom apartment but it was all they had ever known. It was familiar to Bucky, a place of safety and comfort which he had so desperately needed in his early recovery. He didn't so much need it now, but he couldn't stand the idea of giving it up. Not yet, not when he didn't have too. Maybe it was selfish, but that was something to be dealt with another time. 

Steve had been there for him, now Bucky had to return the favour. It was clear that no one else opened their eyes enough to do something and Bucky just wanted what he had always wanted from Steve, for him to be happy and healthy, to live a good, long life. 

"I think I should be asking you that, Stevie," said Bucky. There were papers scattered across the dining room table, maps with red circles on them. In this day and age there had to be more sophisticated ways of doing whatever he was doing, but for all his time there, Steve hadn't quite gotten used to the future yet. Bucky eyed the maps, most of them in Europe, Germany in particular. He knew enough names to know that he had circled old HYDRA bases, very old ones. "If anyone should be doing that it's me." 

"You've done enough," said Steve, softly. "You've named every possible base you can think of, I just- I thought maybe there would be ones they didn't let you in on, old ones that could have survived the war." 

"Maybe," he agreed, carefully. His eyes flickered to the clock: 2:36 am. "It's the middle of the night, Steve, you can do this in the morning." 

He shook his head, "I have a mission, we leave early." 

"Steve-"

"It's not long, and I can sleep on the flight, I just had to get this down while I was thinking about it-" Bucky placed a hand over his, holding him in place. Steve looked up at him with a furrowed brow, confusion and concern dancing across his face. There was no fear though, there never was. "Buck? Are you okay, do you need-"

"This ain't about me, Stevie," said Bucky. He knelt down next to his chair, his grip tightening on Steve's hand. Tired blue eyes met his and Bucky could have cried. He looked so tired, he should have noticed earlier. "This is about you, buddy. I'm worried about you, I don't think you should go on the mission tomorrow- today- you know what I mean." 

Steve frowned, "What are you talking about? I'm fine. Did you have another nightmare?" 

"I have as many as you these days," said Bucky, pointedly. "You can't hide from me, Stevie. You might be able to hide from the rest of them but not me. You're tired, Steve. You need to rest, you've been fighting too long." He watched the emotions flicker across Steve's face, the effort he made to shut them down. "Don't do that, you don't need too. Neither of us are the men we used to be, things have changed, too much has happened. You really think I wouldn't notice how much you have changed, Stevie? Hell- the war ended back then, soldiers got to go home, but you- you never did, did you?"

"Bucky-"

"No, let me finish. It's time for you to stop now, okay? You need to stop and breathe and rest. I'll go down and tell Fury or Hill or Natasha or whoever it is myself, if I have too. You're not going on the mission, Stevie. I won't let you. I've been getting better, now it's time to get you better too."

Steve's shoulders slumped, the red pen slipping from his fingers. "Bucky." This time his voice was broken, and Bucky wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him forward. He crumpled like a leaf, his head falling to Bucky's shoulder, his breaths heavy. "I kept telling myself I was fine," he whispered. "I had to be, no one else said anything, so I had to be fine. There was so much happening and the easiest thing to do was just throw myself into it all but Buck- Buck, I'm real tired." 

"I know, pal." 

"I felt like it wasn't so long ago that I lost you, that you fell from that train and since then-" He sniffed, and Bucky resisted the urge to wince. "Since then I've felt so lost, but there was so much to do so I just kept going." 

"I'm here now, Stevie, it's gonna be okay. Come on-" He stood up, carefully, pulling Steve up with him. "Come on let's go back to bed." 

Steve resisted, "The mission- I can't just-"

"I'll send a very nice message to whoever needs to know, I promise." He gave a firm pull, and Steve stumbled after him. It didn't stop him from scoffing, quietly, even as he gripped Bucky's hand tightly and let him maneuver him back into bed. 

"I'm not sure I believe you when you say it will be nice," said Steve, as he wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and rested his head on his chest. Bucky let out a breath, a small knot in his stomach unraveling. There was a long way to go, but it was a start, it was something and he was relieved to just have that. 

"As nice as I can be," ammended Bucky. 

"That's what worries me." 

Bucky pinched him, and Steve yelped, looking up at him with wide, betrayed eyes. "Stop worrying, they'll be fine, they'll get over it, you're more important."

"Bucky..." 

"It took me a while to notice, but I have now, and I'm not gonna stop until you're happy, Stevie. You deserve to be happy, you've always deserved that." 

"I am happy," said Steve, "I have you." 

A warmth flowed through his chest, but Bucky refused to acknowledge it. He didn't know what he was talking about, not really. "And I ain't going anywhere," he said, carefully. "But- but you could settle down, Steve, have a family, rest. You don't need to keep fighting, not anymore." 

Steve sighed, his fingers fiddling with the edge of Bucky's shirt. "They need me though," he said, quietly. 

"They have plenty of good fighters, Rogers, they'll be just fine without you. You need to live too, you can't just keep doing this day after day, because it will kill you if you do." A heavy silence fell over them, and Steve refused to look up at him. His fingers had moved to Bucky's metal arm now, tracing the seams. 

"I don't know how to stop," said Steve, eventually. "I- I feel like I need to do something, to finish HYDRA, to protect the Earth, to lead the team, to make sure everyone is okay-"

"Yes, but you don't need to be the only one, Stevie. Even Natasha takes a break sometimes, Stark throws himself into his inventions which is as good as a break for him. You just need to stop and figure out what you want to do with your life, if you decide you want to fight then that's fine, but you don't need to feel obliged to do it. It's okay to stop, it's okay to step away, it's okay to only take the occasional mission, that won't make you unneeded. You could never be that, because I'll always need you around, you stubborn punk." Steve lifted his head, his eyes shining with amusement (and so many other things). Bucky held his gaze, "How about tomorrow we use Stark's credit card and order some art stuff? That could be a good start." 

"I have money too, Buck," said Steve, wryly. 

"Yeah but it's more fun to use Stark's. We can actually get you some quality stuff, not whatever pieces of charcoal I could scrounge up on my way home from work." 

"I liked using charcoal." 

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Fine, we can still get some shit old charcoal, but we're buying expensive stuff too! I think you've earned it." 

Steve smiled, softly. "Yes, sir." 

Bucky shifted, jostling him on purpose. "Go to sleep, punk. You look fucking exhausted." 

Steve let his head fall back down against Bucky's chest, his muscles loosening. He reached out to lace their fingers together and Bucky let him, wouldn't refuse him even if he wanted too. Bucky felt safe and warm with Steve's weight draped over him, his steady heartbeat filling his ears. Bucky closed his eyes, let himself memorise every little thing. It wouldn't always be like this, it couldn't. This might have been another time, being with a man might have been accepted now but it wasn't something that Steve wanted and Bucky wouldn't-

"Buck?" called Steve, his voice sleepy. 

"Hm?"

"I meant it when I said I'm happy because I have you." Bucky didn't dare make a sound, he was certain that Steve would have picked up the rise in his heart rate. "I don't want anyone else you jerk, I want you. I thought- I figured you knew by now." 

Bucky swallowed, thickly. "Go to sleep, Steve."

Steve sighed, "That's okay, if I'm having time off, we'll have time to talk about it." 

"If you say so, Stevie." 

"I do say so." 

"Stop yapping and go to damn sleep, Rogers."

Steve chuckled, "Night, Buck."

"G'night Steve." 

Bucky refused to even consider that Steve could possibly feel the same way, that he knew and had known all this time. That made things complicated, and he didn't want to make things complicated. Steve was his best friend, if that was the only way he could have him then that was fine. He had accepted that a long time ago. Why would Steve feel the same way? He was supposed to settle down and have a family. Bucky had always made a show of pulling in the dames, of disappearing to some dark corner with one or two. He always thought that Steve was down because the girls never looked at him the same way but what if it was something else? What if he was down because of Bucky? He never said anything but then again, neither did he. 

He sighed, deeply. 

It was too early for this. Even if Steve did feel the same way, Bucky had never been good enough for him. Not before HYDRA, and certainly not now. The important thing was that Steve was himself again. The rest- well, that could come later. 

Bucky shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Steve as he pulled the phone he had swiped from the table out of his pocket. He opened a new message in the group chat the Avengers used for official business and with one hand, punched out what he thought was a very nice message. It was as nice as they deserved, anyway. He turned the phone off before anyone could reply and settled back into the bed.

'Steve is out of commission for at least a month, if anyone steps foot in the apartment to talk about missions or how they could have used his help within that time, I will put a bullet in their chest. If anyone makes a joke about it, if anyone brushes it off as not a big deal, I will make you wish you had PTSD as bad as he does, trust me on that. You're all idiots, you should have noticed sooner and I very much hold that against you. 

Yours kindly, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.'