Chapter Text
A single shot.
The sound of a single shot was all it had taken to lift the lid from Hell and release its demons to wreak havoc in this base.
Around him, the sounds of battle dimmed- the wheezing gasps of dying men were muted, the colours of explosions caused by hand grenades lacked their vividness and a sharp, harrowing ringing in his ears drowned out the shouts of comrades and foes alike.
He was the first to find them.
The ground was so saturated with their blood that his boots sank into it where cobblestones fazed into scuffled dirt.
The man in front of him was almost certainly dying, and he knew that there was little to be done to salvage what few tendrils of life still clung to his soul. Blood was still welling from deep wounds in his shoulder and across his chest- but weakly, fitfully, like the last drops coaxed from an almost empty barrel.
The man to his left was dead. A dozen bullet wounds, each a black disk ringed with red-brown crust, stood out on the starched planes of his white shirt like withered flowers placed atop the long deceased.
There was another man, also dead, with no discernible wounds aside from a broken wrist. It would later transpire, in autopsy reports, that he had been one of the few left living when the raid began that had been dispensed off quickly with mustard gas.
Another woman lay beside him, her fingers still grasping weakly at the rigid digits of his hand. Vomit drenched the front of her shirt and blood seeped, congealing, from the corners of her eyes and lips.
Mustard gas, again.
And there were others- oh, there were others. Tens upon tens of them, piled up in this cell like sacrifices to some God of war, their blood staining his shoes, making the cobblestones run red and the overturned ground around the flagstones almost black with it, but the one that his eyes zeroed in on was a girl.
A girl- and truly, she was a girl, for she appeared barely 13 years of age. She was slumped against one of the compact mud walls near the entrance to this room, red blooming from the single shot at the back of her head. She had been spared the mustard gas, at least.
A single shot, through the frontal lobe and straight out the optical, the bullet embedded in the wall that had been painted red with her blood.
His knees hit the ground.
There was shouting, yelling, voices coming nearer and the familiar click and clatter of something that he should have recognised, but he stayed still. Trembling hands reached for the girl before him as he curled closer, tried to drown out the space between them, tried to protect her like he should have in the first place, but there were hands at his shoulders and hands at his waist, pulling him up and shoving him towards the door, and it was only then that the click and clatter registered in his mind.
He moved blindly, instinctively, shoved the men coaxing him out of the room into the corridor. Their voices briefly infiltrated the haze that surrounded his mind; Tyler and Joey, that’s who they were. Good- good, he’d gotten them out of harm’s way, they were safe, he’d kept them safe-
There was a deafening blast, like the clap of thunder had he been amid the clouds that brewed the storm themselves, and a blinding flash of light. Heat singed his skin and rolled over him in waves, constantly assaulting his senses. Something sharp and hot embedded itself in his shoulder as agony splintered up his arm like lightening and the ringing in his ears grew ear-splitting- and still, still it grew louder, and louder still, louder and louder until-
Bucky started awake, bolt upright in his bed as panic gripped at his heart and tightened his chest, the stench of corpses burning in pillars of orange flame still turning his stomach. A sheen of sweat caught the weak light that filtered through closed curtains, gently illuminating his form. The sheets were twisted around him, his duvet an unceremonious pile on the floor as shallow, ragged pants fell from his lips. Fear consumed every synapse in his brain, made them fire randomly as adrenaline pumped through his system. Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky familiarised himself with his surroundings.
A bed. A flat. His flat.
This- this was not the battlefield. This was home. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
~0~
"…Betcha never thought you’d be following in the old man’s footsteps, hey, Sarge?”
“It’s not Sargent anymore, Dum Dum, you know that.” Bucky said into the mobile cradled between his shoulder and his ear, his hands busied with preparing breakfast (efficient, steady, calloused; a soldier’s hands).
“Ah, yeah, guess s’not; still, s’gonna take a while to break outta the habit, y’know? Anyway, the boys and I just wanted to check up on ya. What college did you say you were teachin’ at?”
“It’s a highschool, not a college, Dum Dum. You know Brooklyn Prep School, down by that big sports centre? Yeah, the one with the pool and the gym. That’s where I’m working.”
“I still can’t get over your gym uniform, you nutter. Your shorts are at least 2 sizes too small.”
“What can I say; the army’s bulked me out, and I forgot to buy a new pair. They’re not that bad, Dum Dum. I’ve gotta go, in any case; don’t wanna be late on my first day.”
“You’re never late, Barnes. But sure; have fun. Don’t let the kids drive you too crazy, as funny as that would be.”
“We’ve got Monty for that.”
“Ha! S’true- catch up with ya later, Buck.”
“Yeah, see you, Dum Dum.”
Bucky allowed his lips to curl into a small smile as he pushed his phone into his pocket with warm fingers, ignoring the clink of metal on ceramic when he picked up his plate with cold, harsh digits.
Yes, he decided as he sat at an empty table in an empty apartment. Yes; he was tired.
Tired of the looks and whispers that followed him wherever he went, picking at his back, at the scarred skin where shoulder met prosthetic. Tired of having to claw tooth and nail for his sanity in the early hours of the morning, when all he saw when he closed his eyes was blood and fire and scarred flesh. Tired of looking in the mirror and seeing himself as the man who’d let good men and women meet their death because he’d taken too long finding them. Tired of an arm that creaked like an abandoned house in strong wind (it was his fault, he knew it was his fault, for not taking care of the joints, but he still rejected the prosthetic, still hated the glint of metal whenever he raised his arm). Tired of remembering how the villagers he’d seen dead had talked about their children. Tired of waking up in a cold sweat and reaching for the gun that was no longer under his pillow.
His mind was full of ghosts and his knuckles full of scrapes from when he’d hit the wall one to many times in frustration. Sometimes the alarm rang and he opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness and he was afraid to get up. He wanted to stay home in his bed until the rest of him withered away and they found a prosthetic to replace him entirely, a prosthetic as efficient as the metal arm that weighed down his left side.
On those days he remembered Gabe’s encouraging smile, his belief in his competence. Or how Jacques and Morita had welcomed him home with a shot of bourbon and a slap on his back. He thought of Dum Dum, and his thinly veiled reassurances that took form in teasing jibes, and he thought of Monty and those kind eyes, and usually, he found the will to get up and out of his bed.
But still, Bucky thought as he washed up quickly and left his dishes and cutlery on the drying rack; the military was in his bones, as deeply ingrained in his personality as the snark and wit that Dum Dum liked to poke fun at. It was in his pressed and folded clothes, in the way he religiously made his bed each morning, in the scars that spread like spider webs from the joint in his shoulder.
He just hoped that it wouldn’t always be.
~0~
“How’s he doing?” Dum Dum glanced up from where he was washing up to the figure leaning against the doorway to his kitchen. He threw the man a mock salute, drying his hands on a dish towel and shrugging.
“He’s doing well, all things considered. Relax, Gabe; getting him to fill in that position at your school was a great idea. It’ll do him good to be out and about, interacting an’ giving the old muscles a workout.”
Gabe shrugged, walking over to snag a piece of toast from the pile Dum Dum had prepared. “Yeah, I hope so. I’m gonna be late if I hang around anymore, though. See ya, Dum Dum.”
“Just ‘cause I’m lettin’ you stay ‘til you get yourself an apartment, don’t mean you can steal my food, Gabe!” Dum Dum called after him, the man’s reply muffled by the piece of toast between his lips before he heard the front door slam shut. He shook his head as he tossed the towel in his hands over the back of one of the chairs in the dining room, breathing a soft sigh as he headed upstairs.
With how much he worried about these dumb fucks, Dum Dum was surprised that he hadn’t magically metamorphosed into the ultimate father figure.
~0~
“Steve, man, hurry up, Peggy’ll have our heads.” Sam called through the open door to the boy’s apartment, smirking to himself as he heard a crash, a muttered curse and then an insistent yell that he was coming.
When Steve did turn the corner and pull his front door shut behind him, Sam laughed. “What the Hell were you doing in there, Steve? I heard crashes and questionable language.” He quipped, helpfully taking the boy’s backpack from him as he shoved his key in the lock.
“I forgot to put my easels away last night.” The blond responded, grimacing and shooting Sam a grateful look as he took his backpack from his hands. “Makes getting my things together ten times harder. Both of them collapsed; luckily the canvases weren’t still on them.” He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair in an attempt to instil some order to the unruly locks.
“I see you didn’t have time to dry your hair properly; your hair’s doing that thing again.” Sam chuckled, the pair of them falling into step as they headed down the stairs of the apartment building. Steve sighed, huffing a breath that made the hair flopping in front of his eyes shift before settling back in place.
“I’ll deal with it tonight; for now, I’ll deal with my hair falling in my lashes.” He muttered in resignation, unable to help but smile as Sam laughed once more.
“Alright, drama queen, come on- Peggy’s waiting on the ground floor.”
“Yeah, yeah, coming- oh, Christ, I forgot my inhaler again-“
“Got you covered- you gave me and Peggy your spares, remember?”
“Oh- right, yeah. Let’s go, then. Hey- isn’t that new teacher supposed to be joining today?”
“Hm? Oh- yeah, the one filling in for Mr Boyce. Apparently he’s a war vet.”
Steve grimaced. “Wonder how a war vet’s going to like teaching a kid who can’t even do one pull up.” He sighed. Sam laughed, clapping his back fondly.
“It’ll be fine- and even if it isn’t, you can wow him with those baby blues.”
"Sam!"
“Sorry, sorry! Just had to. Come on, Peggy looks livid.”
Steve smiled a little as he followed after Sam, throwing Peggy a little wave when they caught up to her and laughing as she quirked a brow, through him a scathing comment about being on time and then turned on her heel to start walking towards school.
Yeah- today would be a good day. He could feel it in his bones.