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Steve found himself, again, in the Avenger's gym at ass o'clock in the morning. He knew his nightmares lead him here, and he had vague memories of stumbling down the stairs to reach the gym. He remembered his heart beating fast, the screams of his nightmares still in his mind and adrenaline still in his veins. He couldn't always remember what happened in his nightmares, but he could always remember what they felt like.
He could remember fear, defeat, bone deep sorrow and regret and failure.
His nightmares only ever had one thing in common: the lifeless faces of those he couldn’t save. The innocents of Sokovia, the bystanders in New York, the soldiers from the war.
Bucky.
Fuck, Bucky.
He ran faster on the treadmill and fought his ghosts back into their corners.
"You're up early."
He slowed and stepped off the treadmill before turning to face Natasha.
He was too tired to come up with an excuse, just stared at her with tired eyes.
"Sorry, I'll get out of your way."
"The gym takes up an entire floor, Steven, you don't need to run and hide."
He glanced at the clock on the other side of the room.
4:45 am.
It was an unspoken rule that whenever two Avengers ran into each other at unholy hours, they wouldn’t force the other on why they were up.
He was grateful for that rule.
"I'd better get going, really, I have some early meetings. Thanks though."
Well, they both knew that was bull shit.
He made his way back up to his flower via the stairs. As the adrenalin of his nightmare and the following run finally faded into the background, bone-deep exhaustion prevailed his mind.
He just wanted a good cup of coffee.
Coffee like the cheap deli across the street from the sketchy apartment he had lived in long ago in Brooklyn. The coffee that he'd buy when he was feeling alright, when he had a couple extra cents, when it wouldn't hurt his heart too much, when Bucky or his Ma wouldn't see and scold him for it.
Or even coffee like the cows piss they gave him in the army, that tasted like shit and blood and sweat but it was alright because coffee meant a second of down time, a second where they weren't in immediate danger of death, a second to spend with the only family he had anymore.
Steve realized with sudden, blinding clarity just how desperately home sick he was.
For all of Stark's brilliance, he hadn't invented time travel yet (although he wouldn’t put it past him). He does the next best thing and goes on another run to Brooklyn. His early morning, post-nightmare run had been cut short anyway.
Brooklyn reminded him of home. Of better and worse times, of his Ma, of Bucky.
Shortly after discovering Bucky was alive, after he had been dragged out of the water and saved him from drowning by the ghost in his nightmares, Steve had tried desperately to find his Bucky, to help him, to keep the last scraps of HYDRA away from him.
They hadn’t found him. They'd found trails, mysterious data dumps and anonymous tips and destroyed HYDRA bases, but no Bucky Barnes.
And that was alright.
That had to be alright.
Sam had pointed out to a distraught, near tearful Steve, that maybe he didn't want to be found. Not yet. He still had a mission, his own mission, and even if it wasn’t what Steve wanted, he had to respect that.
Steve ran, from the Stark tower all the way to Brooklyn and the corner where their deli used to be.
Now, 70 years later, it was a modest, homey, hole in the wall coffee shop now, with couches and music and tired college students behind the counters and everyone from the elderly to young parents to high-schoolers coming in to start their day. He had lost count of how often he’d visited. The workers were used enough to Captain America visiting their shop and they didn't whisper to each other anymore or ask for an autograph on a napkin. He decided he liked it here; it may be new and modern and have Wi-Fi and sell coffee for 5 dollars a cup, but it was nice.
It still felt like Brooklyn.
Today, there was someone sitting on the corner couch, typing furiously at her computer. An elderly man who was old enough to be his brother was reading a book at a table near the back. (The first time he’d seen the old man, Corporal Thomas Baker, he had saluted Steve and told him that even though he served in the Pacific, it was one hell of an honor to meet Captain America. It was nice to talk to him.) There was a kid name Alex who always worked the opening shifts, there every time he stopped by at 6:30 in the morning after sleepless nights.
The shop was busy right now, people going in and out, getting their cup of joe to fuel the day. He quietly waited his turn while children and a few adults whispered and pointed, and ordered his plain cup of black coffee and a scone when it was his turn. Alex smiled at him like they always did and asked him how he’d been and don't you want to try anything different and are you sure you can't help with my history homework? As they quickly made his coffee.
He sat on a stool looking out the big front windows, and watched Brooklyn flow past him. He began sketching the people and buildings and cars in front of him on his napkins.
It had begun to snow. There were never very many tourists in this part of the city, but there were still more than normal with Christmas less than a week away. There were a few cars driving by with Christmas trees tied to the roof of the car.
The Avengers had all decorated the common area floor for Christmas a week and a half before. It was originally going to be done on December first, but that day had found them deep in middle-of-nowhere Australia, sweating through their uniforms and fighting both a remote HYDRA base and desperately trying to not anger the venomous wildlife.
Whose idea was it to make Australia a thing?
Anyway, they had all gathered on December eighth, with all the paperwork completed for the mission and everyone released from medical, to set up a 12-foot tree that Tony had somehow dragged all the way from upstate to high in the Avengers Tower. They had all had hot cocoa and eggnog, both containing varying levels of alcohol, and had decorated the tree with both expensive store-bought ornaments and terrible hand made ornaments that they made together that day. Tony had even gotten limited edition ornaments of themselves, which was frankly disturbing.
A civil war had followed Tony's reveal of the Avengers-ornaments, everyone trying to draw ridiculous faces or messages on each other’s ornaments, like kids at a slumber party drawing on each other’s faces, and the results had been worth the strangeness of seeing himself hanging on a Christmas tree.
He brought his attention back to outside as a group of kids walked by on their way to their last day of school before Christmas. They tried to catch snowflakes on their tongues, while parents tried to hurry them along. He remembered being in the kids’ position, both forever ago and a few years ago. Everyone was bundled against the cold air, making him wonder how smart it was to go by foot all the way to Brooklyn in nothing but a light jacket, sweats and running shoes.
Oh well. He survived 70 years in the Arctic after all.
Around 8:30, he began making his way back to stark tower. He walked unhurried, taking in the life of the city. He stopped to buy snacks three separate times: once for a churro, once for a waffle as big as his face, and once for a bagel. A super soldier’s hunger never sleeps, after all.
He watches the people around him, absorbs their season’s joy and happiness. He thinks that’s another thing that didn’t change: the feeling of people during the holidays. There will always be those perfectly happy, reunited with all their families and friends; the melancholy ones who are missing some people; the ache of those who were alone.
He couldn’t figure out why he felt the ache so strongly this year. Normally, he just felt numb and hazy, like waking up in the hospital high on pain meds after a long mission.
He hoped Bucky might make it to Steve for Christmas. If nothing else, he hope for a note that says he’s alive.
His mind drifts to all of the ghosts in his nightmares that never made it home for Christmas.
Now, now, none of that Rogers.
Two blocks away from the tower and it was nearing 10 o'clock, and the snow had accumulated into a messy slush on the curbs and alleys. From one of the alleys, he heard the cry of some sort of animal, maybe a very small child. The sound would have been lost in the crowd if not for his enhanced hearing. He walked hurriedly towards where the sound was coming from, underneath a dumpster in the next alley.
He found a tiny, filthy kitten half hidden behind a cardboard box.
Steve reached toward the kitten, no bigger than his hand, who hissed and backed away from him.
Now don't move to fast, Stevie, they ain't been treated too good by people. They ain't got no reason to trust you an’ me.
There was a litter of kittens he and Bucky had found when he was 16. They had been too tiny, too cold, and Bucky’s ma murmured that she wasn’t sure they’d survive, but they’d all cuddled up on Bucky’s chest, under Bucky’s jacket and next to Steve. It’d always been one of his best memories. They couldn't keep the kittens for more than a few days, but Bucky’s Ma had some friends from her job that gave them real good homes.
He wondered if Bucky remembered those kittens.
"Let's get you home and cleaned up little guy, yeah?"
He tucked the wet kitten into his thin jacket, and he suddenly wished he had grabbed a heavier one.
He remembered his last Christmas in the war, somewhere deep in Europe with the Commandos, when a barn cat from an nearby abandoned village wandered into their camp. That was the Christmas that Bucky had been so painfully quiet, reading and rereading a letter from his Ma that had detailed every part of their family’s Christmas, how much they missed him, and please won’t you and Steve be sure to be home for Christmas next year. The cat had been grey tabby, had come to camp Christmas eve and couldn't be found the day after Christmas, but shit if that little cat didn't make Christmas a little more real, a little less painful, a little more like home.
Selfishly, he hoped this little guy could do the same for him.
He made it to the tower, ignoring the paps who had arrived for the day and whatever latest made up drama they wanted fake answers to. By the time he made it up to his floor, his shirt was soaked by the kitten’s fur, and they were both shivering now. He filled his sink with warm water and carefully washed the kitten with a warm washcloth.
Just like Bucky had forever ago.
He slept that night with the now clean, warm, bright white kitten tucked next to his head on his pillow, but the nightmares didn't go away.
The kitten tried to soothe him anyway, rubbing against his hand and begging for pets and food.
There was five days until Christmas now, and the Avengers and Friends were all going to be celebrating together barring any catastrophic disaster. Clint's family was coming to New York, Sam was coming up from DC, Bruce promised to emerge from the lab for at least two hours, and even Thor would be on world to experience "this great yuletide celebration."
Steve was glad, even excited for this. He didn't want to be more alone than he already felt.
Of course, this also meant that he had to find gifts for a billionaire, a god, two super spies, a witch, a robot, and one of the smartest people to ever live.
Probably two young children, a baby, and a woman he's met once.
His best (modern) friend wouldn’t be too much of a problem.
Still, he really needs to learn to not procrastinate these things.
He remembers that he and Bucky would always eat oranges at Christmas; it was the one time a year they could find them. One year, Bucky had saved enough to buy Steve a proper set of pencils, the next he’d gotten a new pad of paper. They hadn't had anyone else to worry about gifts for but each other, not enough money to do it anyway, and just having each other was enough.
He looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment. It was still unusual for him to actually be able to really experience the snow and Christmastime, and not bundled in bed fighting the flu or pneumonia or whatever else was around that year. He wished he could spend it with Bucky.
In time, Steve. You just gotta be patient.
But before anything else, before he worries about gifts or Christmas past, he's going to get all the things one needs for cats these days. FRIDAY had been kind enough to inform him that cats need a litter box, litter, a scooper for the litter, food and water dishes, actual cat food (yes, Captain Rogers, it would be preferred to feed cats cat food and not fish from your refrigerator), and something to scratch so they don't destroy the too-expensive furniture.
Because he has the money and wants to spoil his little dumpster kitten, he’ll get plenty of toys and treats and a cat tree or two as well.
To the pet store he goes.
The workers seem more than happy to help Captain America and his kitten that he kept tucked in his inside jacket pocket.
After he’d bought everything the kitten needed and precariously balanced the bags and the kitten all the way back to the tower (the workers convinced him to let them deliver the cat tree), he made his way to the elevator and to his apartment.
Where Clint and Tony were sitting on his couch, eating his cereal, watching some shitty Hallmark Christmas movie on his tv.
"Y'know cap, you should really actually decorate in here. This is literally still set up exactly like Pepper's people did it. They took everything straight from Ikea, by the way. Your apartment is an Ikea showroom," Tony complained.
Clint made a face at what was happening on the tv.
"Well, you'll be happy to know I have some new furniture being delivered soon."
"And this was voluntary?" Clint slid into the conversation as an ad started playing on the tv.
"It was important."
"Why, does Captain America have a super-secret child now?" Tony teases.
"Yes." He let the kitten jump out of his coat.
The kitten immediately hissed at Tony and settled on Clint's lap.
"Why the hell does he like you?" Tony whines at Clint.
"It's your cold, cold heart. Cats like warmth," Clint sasses back.
"Why the hell are either of you in my apartment?"
"I needed cereal,” Clint says as he pours himself more of said cereal.
Why was he eating cereal?
"I need your toaster, but the prospect of a shitty Hallmark movie distracted me."
"So nothing important?"
"I'll have you know I need that toaster for a part for a highly important classified prototype."
“He’s making something for his super-secret child.” Clint countered.
Tony’s face spoke of many, many fruitless discussions over this topic. “His name is Harley and he’s not my child.”
"Would you please mind leaving? I need to do Christmas shopping.”
"Alright, damn old man. Can I take the toaster?"
Clint just points to the cereal.
"Take what you want, just give me something back for it later."
As Clint starts to tuck the kitten into his pocket, Steve sighs and says, "not the cat."
"Does he have a name by the way?" Clint asks as he puts him back on the couch with a final pat on the head.
"I haven't thought of one yet."
"Huh. It can be a group project yeah?" Tony notes.
"Sure, just get out of my apartment."
He spends the rest of the day shopping online for last minute Christmas gifts, using the detailed Christmas list that Clint had discreetly dropped off for his kids. Honestly, he could have just handed it to him instead of stealing his food. Still, he won’t complain. (Clint may be annoying at times, but he was still just as valuable as every other member of the team. Plus, all the Avengers agree they’d die for his kids.)
The kitten was curled up and purring on his lap when he fell asleep on the couch.
~~~
On Christmas Eve, after fitfully sleeping until 4am and going on his run, he first went to the coffee shop in Brooklyn, for no other reason than to make sure Alex got an extra-large tip. He then began his stops to a rather diverse range of stores to pick up his orders. There was an expensive boutique for a sweater for Clint's wife, a few toys for his kids that had been on the super-secret Christmas list. A bottle of almost painfully expensive Scotch for Tony, along with a few random appliances for spare parts' sake. A custom-made knife set for Natasha that he had the presence of mind to order a few months ago. An ugly sweater for Thor, who was sure to adore the Earth tradition, and some fancy blend of tea for Bruce. The list went on, and he had to stop to drop off his purchases at the tower in the middle of the day when it all became too much to physically carry.
Also, to feed the cat his lunch.
Before the grocery store closed for Christmas eve, he ran in to buy a bag of oranges.
For old times’ sake.
When he got the tower, he made a pit stop by the Avenger’s common floor to pick up some wrapping paper. There was a large box by the couches with gift wrapping materials: twenty different kinds of wrapping paper, scissors, and tape. He picked a tube of plain brown wrapping paper with an evergreen design on it, some tape and a pair of scissors, adds it to the pile in his arms, before taking the elevator to his apartment. Once he arrives back at his apartment, he begins painstakingly wrapping each present, and trying to keep the kitten away from the scissors.
He leaves the oranges on his table overnight, like a child leaving out cookies for Santa Claus.
They're still there when he tiredly wanders out of his room at 2am in search of water after a nightmare.
He wakes again at 6 and makes his way to the bathroom for a long, hot shower until the kitten forces his way in and begins demanding food.
"Merry Christmas to you too, buddy."
He feeds the kitten and begins preparing his own coffee. He wonders why baristas are paid so little. He can barely make a passible cup of coffee, much less all the flavors and fancy things they do. Who decided that coffee makers are bottom of the line? They practically keep society running at this point.
Anyway.
He glances at the pile of presents he wrapped last night, and, setting his too-hot coffee down, begins pilling as many as possible into his arms.
After two trips to bring them all to the tree in the common room, he makes his way to the counter where he left the oranges. He rips open the bag and picks one up, turning it over in his hands.
“Maybe you’ll be here next year, Buck.”
He puts it back.
He hoped Bucky had all the oranges he could dream of.
Or plums. He remembered the way Bucky’s eyes lit up the first time he’d ever had a plum, one that Steve had found in a discarded box by the docks and brought home.
Now that there’s almost as sweet as you are, Stevie.
He wondered if he could pick up some plums somewhere, even on Christmas.
He hoped Bucky was safe.
He hoped Bucky was happy.
He hoped.
The kitten rubbed his little head against his leg.
His friends had told him to add a couple Christmas movies to the list to watch; he had already made it through Home Alone, Die Hard (which didn’t seem very Christmas-y to him,) and a few older “classics” that, really, were far younger than him.
By the time it was 10am, Steve had made it through Elf, which was, as of yet, his favorite “new” Christmas movie that had been given to him. The kitten had migrated between his food and Steve’s lap throughout the movie, and now Steve picked him up and headed to the elevator to go see how things were in the common room. Natasha had texted Steve and asked him to bring the kitten down, something about socializing him and making sure he’s used to people. He was sure Natasha just wanted to shower him with love and affection in her own Natasha way, and make sure the kids got to play with him too.
In the common room was the beautiful chaos of most of his modern family, nearly all the avengers present. Even Vision was there, looking at everything with a comically serious face, clothed in a Christmas sweater and jeans. The only ones missing were Bruce and Tony, and they promised to be down from their labs by noon, and if not the rest of the Avengers would stick Pepper on their tails. Clint’s family was here, they had drove in this morning after spending Christmas Eve with Laura’s family. The kids were happily fascinated by Wanda’s magic and Vision, Laura was talking with Natasha, Clint was animatedly discussing something on the tv with Sam and Thor. After greeting Clint’s kids, he made his way over to the TV to listen in to the conversation there.
By 11:30, Tony and Bruce had arrived, armed filled with packages. They looked as though they had pulled an all nighter, and Steve suspected most of that was either finishing custom gifts or trying to figure out how exactly in the hell you wrap package. They all wished each other a Merry Christmas, greeting one another with hugs and food and gifts to be put under the tree. They had agreed to open presents at 12:00, and just a few minutes before, FRIDAY interrupted.
“Excuse me, but I believe you would like to know that there is currently someone in Captain Roger’s apartment. Records match to one Sargent James Barnes.”
There was a moment of shocked stillness, calm before the storm, before Steve was on his feet fast enough that the cat that was on his lap was now hanging onto his pant legs by his claws.
Laura began pulling the kids towards her and each of the Avengers began running towards the stairs. In a haze, Steve put on his best Captain voice and told them all firmly to stay the fuck here. He tucked the kitten into his pocket, forwent the elevator, and ran up six flights of stairs.
When he burst into his apartment, he finds Bucky, metal arm covered by a sweatshirt, long hair tucked under a knit cap, staring at the oranges on the counter. He had his own bag of them clutched in his hand, and something weighed down the pocket of his hoodie.
Bucky looked up for a moment when the door opened but soon went back to looking at the fruit.
“Remember when eating these made us feel like kings?”
Steve hesitated before responding.
“And now people can have them no problem every month of the year.”
Bucky looked up at him again, their eyes locking for a long moment.
“I saw someone carrying oranges out of a store and I remembered us eating them together. I knew it was special, but it took me a little bit to remember we only ever could have them at Christmas.”
He was quiet again, but Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky needed to talk. Steve wanted to listen.
“Sometimes my mind does that. I just – I just see something, and I remember something, or feel something and I don’t know why.”
The kitten jumps out of Steve’s pocket, and cautiously starts sniffing at Bucky.
At first Bucky just looks down at the kitten, a blank look on his face, before he kneels and lets the kitten sniff his right hand.
“You named him yet?”
“Nah. I only found him a few days ago.”
Steve kneels on the floor and leans against the cupboards next to Bucky.
“I think - we found a kitten when we were younger. Or. Several kittens? There was a grey one, and a gold stripped one, and. A black one.”
“Yeah.”
“But I don’t think we had them long.”
“No, we couldn’t afford pets.”
“I guess we couldn’t, could we," he said with a dry huff.
They were quiet for a long time, the only sound the kitten playing on the floor.
“Alpine.”
Steve startled. “Alpine…?”
“The kitten. He’s white like the snow in the alpine. In Europe. That could be his name. Alpine, not Europe.”
“Yeah? How you like that little guy, huh? Are you Alpine now?”
Alpine mewed back to Steve.
Steve looked at Bucky and caught a soft, almost-there smile returned back at him.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t mean for you to find me.”
“I’m glad – I’m glad I know you’re ok.”
Another long pause. Alpine started to climb up onto Bucky’s lap.
“I’m not – not like I used to be anymore; you know. I’m not the same.”
“And I’m not a five-foot-nothing scrawny, weak kid anymore. We change. It happens, and we learn and adapt and grow. That doesn’t mean I don’t want – “ Steve’s phone starts vibrating with an incoming call before he can finish the sentence.
It’s Tony. Of course its Tony.
He picks up.
“Steve, I swear to fuck if you spend one more minute up there I will drag you and your little boyfriend down myself and make sure you aren’t murdering each other. Unless you were fucking? If that’s the case please carry on.”
“What the hell, Tony.”
“I’ll take it you’re fine then?”
“Yeah. If I’m not down in ten minutes tell the kids they can open their presents.”
“Does ‘the kids’ include Thor?”
“Sure. Just record his reaction.”
“OK, will do. Does ‘the kids’ include me?”
“Bye, Tony.” Steve hung up.
Bucky was still looking at him softly, the almost-smile back on his face.
“I’m glad you have them.”
Steve nodded his agreement slowly.
Bucky’s smile slowly fell away, the blank look replacing it.
“I never apologized. I don’t think I apologized.”
“For?” Steve asked.
“I almost killed you.”
“You also saved my life.”
Alpine was playing with Bucky’s hands, sharp claws gaining no reaction as they dug into the grooves of his left.
He suddenly drew a breath and looked up.
“I missed you, Stevie.”
Steve met his eyes. His throat felt thick, and his eyes stung, and fuck he hadn’t cried since the last time he saw Bucky.
“I missed you so much, Buck. So much.”
And then they were holding each other, each of them the only thing keeping the other from falling all the way to the floor. Steve tucked his nose into the side of Bucky’s hood, and he could feel Bucky press his face into Steve’s hair.
“Please don’t leave.”
Bucky didn’t respond.
“I – I understand if you have to, if you can’t stay, if you want to leave, I mean, it’s fine. Just, promise me you’ll come back again?”
“Always Stevie.” A kiss was pressed into his hair.
Once the kitten in between them started to paw his way out, they separated. Steve gazed into cool grey eyes.
“Do you want to come down? The others won’t mind.”
Bucky winced. “I’ve tried to kill almost everyone down there or someone close to them.”
“I’ll call and ask if it makes you feel better?”
Bucky nodded shortly. “They – I won’t say much. I’m not very good company.”
“Honestly Buck? Neither am I. They won’t mind.”
“Ask them before you say that.”
Steve nodded before asking, “FRIDAY? Could you ask if everyone downstairs is okay if we both come down, please?”
“Of course, Captain Rogers,” came the reply.
“That thing’s freaky.”
“Yeah, well, it was made by a Stark.”
FRIDAY cut in, “Everyone downstairs would appreciate you both coming down for the festivities. Mr. Stark asked me to add on, Captain, for you to please make sure that ‘your boyfriend doesn’t go murder mode.’”
Bucky's eyebrows rose. “Yeah, that’s definitely a Stark.”
Steve stood and held his hand out to Bucky to pull him to his feet.
“We're not leaving without this little one.” Bucky bent to pick up Alpine, who happily clambered to his shoulder.
Steve didn’t let go of Bucky’s hand.
They made their way down via elevator, fingers hooked together, 15 minutes after Tony first called Steve. As soon as the doors began to open, Clint's older two made a mad dive to the Christmas tree. Thor did look very excited to be experiencing a real Midgardian Christmas and looked as though he was close to joining Clint’s children. Bucky’s mouth twitched up in a faint smile, and he murmured, “just like Becca, huh?”
The two settled themselves onto a loveseat, a little closer to the back, with clear sightlines on exits and windows. Bruce had happily vacated it for them when they came down. Bucky was hesitant of touching anyone but the kitten and sat stiffly with Alpine now in his lap. After watching the kids (and Thor) begin sorting presents out to everyone for a little while, he began relaxing into Steve’s side.
As Steve got handed presents, a few people apologized that they didn’t have anything for Bucky. He would just shrug and mumble that it’s fine, he showed up uninvited. Steve wanted to argue that he was always invited, always belonged right here next to him, but he would wait until there were less people and Bucky was more comfortable.
The kids (including Thor and Tony) opened their presents first. Thor was wonderfully delighted at his ugly sweater, with its pom-poms and a dancing Santa and his elves. Tony was satisfied with his new spare parts. The kids found it magical that they got all the things they wanted, and asked Wanda innocently if she had magically known and told everyone.
She just smiled and shrugged.
After everyone had opened their gifts, and they were again talking and laughing, Bucky tapped Steve lightly on the side. When Steve looked over, he reached into his pocket, withdrew a small, long box, and pressed it into Steve’s hands.
“For old times sake. I – we ain’t such broke kids anymore, huh Stevie?”
Inside lay a set of beautiful charcoal pencils and a pad of paper.
It really wasn’t a lot in the 21st century, but to a poor kid from ’30s Brooklyn, it was everything.
“For old times’ sake.”
Bucky smiled hesitantly at him.
“But for now, too.”
Steve reached up to cradle Bucky's head in his, carefully stroking his thumb along a stubbled jaw. He searched Bucky's eyes, and when he nodded and leaned into Steve's hand, he pressed a soft, chaste kiss into Bucky's lips before settling into Bucky’s side, and letting his head fall against his right shoulder. He felt Bucky lean into him more, and as the exhaustion of all the stunted, sleepless nights caught up to him, he drifted into sweet, quiet oblivion.
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought just before sleep came for him, he thought he heard a soft, low, oh-so-familiar voice telling him that he loved him.
When Steve woke up, it was nearly three hours later, and Alpine was pawing at him, begging for his dinner. He looked to his left, where he found Bucky waking up as well. The rest of the little group of Avengers was settled, for once quiet, all watching one of the many film renditions of A Christmas Carol.
He nuzzled into Bucky’s chest contentedly. The ghosts still haunted his mind, but they were quiet now. He was surrounded by people he was safe with, his team, his family, Bucky.
“Merry Christmas, Buck.”
“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”
They made it home for Christmas.