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The distance is not because he doesn’t love Steve, it's because he does. Bucky loves him so much he feels his chest may burst sometimes. The little things Steve does get him too, like now, as he stands in an apron by the stove stirring their dinner. His hair is damp and nicely tussled from the shower he just took, his shirt hugs his arms and back just right, and the apron strings accentuate his perfect ass. Yeah, Bucky is a goner, but it's too bad he’s not good enough for the man in front of him.
Steve has tried his best since getting Bucky back and mind cleared of the trigger words to open up. He’s taken the ex-assassin to therapy, dragged him along to train with the team, and taken him out to explore the ever-changing city. And Bucky loves what Steve does for him, he really does, but he tries to keep his distance and tries to keep himself from getting too attached.
He’s got way too much blood on his ledger. He carries so much guilt from all the people he killed as the Winter Soldier. No matter how much he’s reassured that it wasn’t his fault, he knows it was, because he can see his finger pulling the trigger and he can see his fingers wrapping around his victims’ necks, and he can see the life bleeding out of his victims’ eyes. He suffers from flashbacks and nightmares. Extreme PTSD is what his therapist calls it. Not being good enough is what he calls it.
Steve serves up two plates of a chicken stir fry of sorts and sets one down in front of Bucky, and the other in front of the barstool next to him. As they eat, they talk about their days and joke around about their time in the Howlies. But Bucky can see the hurt in Steve’s eyes as he tries to guard himself and pull away. He doesn’t deserve love. He’s the Winter Soldier, a killer, who has killed many. He doesn’t deserve happiness when he took others’ happiness away from them.
“Do ya wanna watch a movie with me, Buck?” Steve asks gently, hope in his eyes.
“Nah, I’m tired, Stevie. Therapy took a lot out of me today,” he lies, watching as the hope dies in Steve’s eyes and is replaced by hurt. He looks down to avoid it.
“Alright, Buck. Call me if you need anything,” Steve replies softly, as Bucky trudges to his room.
He changes into a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms and crawls into a heavily blanketed bed. He still chases the chill away to this day. He hates to be reminded of cyro. Hates to be reminded of yet another piece of his bloody, violent, painful past.
Bucky sinks into the bed and stares at the ceiling. At least I’m in the bed this time, Doc. He thinks sardonically. He’s been known to sleep on the floor when the bed feels too soft or he feels he doesn’t deserve comfort. The drone of the cars from the city and the exhaustion he actually feels creeps into his bones and he feels his eyes flutter shut.
The Asset comes to face down on the hard floor. He is not going to fail his mission, no matter how good the mission is at fighting. He vaults up quickly and sees the mission flip onto the lip of the structure they fell from. He fires his pistol at him, trying to stop the mission from reaching his destination with the card that will foil Hydra’s plans. The mission falls, grunts in pain, but gets back up and sprints to the column that holds the cards. He shoots again and is rewarded with a grunt, but the mission keeps climbing.
The mission reaches his target to replace the card, and the Asset shoots again with single-minded determination, hitting him in the back. He goes down, and the Asset feels a flash of satisfaction but keeps his eyes trained on his mission, who is still breathing, still alive.
The next thing he knows, he’s being buried by a metal overhanging that pins him to the ground and he can’t complete his mission, can’t get the kill in. But the man is down next to him, grunting in exertion, trying to lift the piece of metal off of himself. The Asset crawls out, in pain, a feeling he knows well, and looks over at the man, in a flash of confusion.
“You know me,” The mission says calmly.
“No, I don’t!” The Asset swings a hard punch at the mission and knocks him down. The man stumbles back up, panting.
“Bucky. You’ve known me your whole life,” his tone turns pleading, and there’s pain in his eyes.
The Asset freezes, a flash of recognition in his usually blank mind. He allows himself to hold onto this feeling, try to piece it together, but then decides his mission is more important and hurls a blow at the man again. The mission goes down.
“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” the mission states pleadingly, pain in his voice.
“SHUT UP!” The Asset roars, swinging harder. The man is causing him confusion and making him feel things he doesn’t understand. He has to finish the mission. He has to.
The mission goes down but stumbles back up. He throws off his helmet. “I’m not gonna fight you.” He drops his shield, his protection. “You’re my friend.”
The Asset lets out a howl of confusion, rage, and determination as he slams the man to the ground, hopping on top of him. The Asset smashes his metal fist into the man's face repeatedly, satisfaction and some dark, horrible feeling coursing through his veins. He decides not to focus on the dark feeling. He is completing his mission and will be rewarded. The mission tries to speak to him again, but the Asset hammers his fist back down and the man’s nose bursts open, spattering blood on both of them.
Realizing his usually efficient fist isn't killing the man, he reaches down and tightens his metal fingers around his throat. The man makes gargled noises and fights against his hand, but the Asset tightens and watches his eyeballs bulge. His face turns red and the Asset can feel him try and gulp for breath. The mission is almost complete.
The cylinder structure that held the cards falls and shatters the platform they are on. The Asset’s grip loosens as they freefall from the plane. Debris falls around them and he grabs one of the sharp pieces of metal from the sky. Changing his grip on the mission he stabs into his neck and blood spurts from the wound…
Bucky wakes with a gasp and to his door banging open. Steve’s there in an instant, his kind, ocean blue eyes full of concern, his large hands framing his face.
“I killed you—I-I got you,” Bucky whimpers, trying to push Steve away. He can’t put Steve in danger. He doesn’t deserve comfort when he tried to kill his friend. He deserves to be in pain, to be punished.
“Hey, hey, I’m alright,” Steve says, re-cupping Bucky’s face and searching his eyes. His kind expression doesn’t waver.
“No, no, I-I’m a murderer. It’s my fault. You can’t be near me.”
“You’re free from that. It wasn’t you. It’s not your fault,” Steve said softly, pulling Bucky to his chest and wrapping his arms around him.
Bucky loathes himself for taking comfort from the man. He’s the type of man his past self would’ve gone toe to toe with to protect Steve. His past self would hate how he’s putting their Stevie in danger, around bad people who may hurt him. But Steve is slowly rocking him, stroking his hair, and whispering sweet nothings into his ear and Bucky feels the tension drain from his body. He slumps against his friend’s chest and slowly wraps his arm around the Captain’s torso, loathing himself for it.
He must fall asleep like that because the next thing he knows he’s blinking awake. The room is still dark, slightly illuminated by the pale light from the moon and the sky outside is inky black. But what catches his attention is the man standing in front of his window, slightly leaning forward, one leg back, and his hands flat on the window sill. Bucky jolts up and feels Steve’s arms drop from his torso.
“The skyline has changed since the last time I saw it,” the man remarks in a voice the ex-assassin knows all too well. The man turns and Bucky is faced with a younger version of himself, wearing his sergeant uniform and a playful smirk.
“Guess that’s what happens in what, 70, 80 years?” Bucky’s mouth falls open in shock and his past self, the 40s version of Bucky, only smiles and winks.
40s Bucky’s gaze drifts to the bed where Steve is still half curled around Bucky’s body, his arms hugging Bucky’s lap. His expression softens, and he takes his cap off as he crosses the room to sit on the bed behind Steve.
“The punk,” he says affectionately, his hand coming to gently pet Steve’s hair. He makes a soft contented noise in his sleep, and Bucky’s past self smiles.
“You’re good for him,” Bucky croaks, trying to find his voice through his shock.
“Don’t you dare run from him,” his past self says sharply, looking up from Steve’s sleep slack face, his eyes turning steely.
“I don’t deserve him. My head’s messed up.” Bucky’s shocked that his past counterpart had guessed his train of thought.
“Well, fix your head. You’d hurt him if you ran,” 40s Bucky says, the steel dropping from his eyes.
“He’s just so good and kind and I’ve killed so many,” Bucky says mournfully, his gaze dropping to Steve’s sleeping face.
“Don’t gotta worry about that, pal. Stevie here has killed. Hell, so have I. Ya, kill people in this uniform ya know.” His past self goes back to running his fingers through Steve’s hair, the look of adoration never leaving his face.
“He takes care of me now. That was my job. I’m not caring for him the way I should,” Bucky says shamefully, watching his visitor’s face.
“You really think he never took care of you? Sure, the bastard never said no to a fight, but he was always there for ya. He got you outta trouble many times. Sometimes all I was good for was cleaning him up after the punk got beat,” 40s Bucky says softly, his left hand coming to caress the sleeping man’s face. Bucky clenches his vibranium arm despite himself, and his past self looks at him with a small smile.
“But all he seems to be doing is take care of me and I’m not taking care of him enough. I don’t deserve him.” Bucky reaches out and runs his human hand through Steve’s hair because that’s what his past self would have done. His past self would be sweet on Steve and take care of him, making him feel loved and safe.
“Well pal, that’s just love for ya. Takin’ care of the people that matter most to ya when they need it. And don’t let the stubborn brat hear ya say you don’t deserve him, he’ll blow a gasket,” Bucky says smirking, bringing his right hand down to gently curl his fingers over Steve’s slack ones. “And I think you love him too.”
Bucky sighs and nods his head, curling his fingers in Steve’s hair to lightly scratch his scalp. Steve lets out a contented humph with a small smile and both the man and the ghost smile at him. Bucky takes a quick glance at his past self and sees an adoring expression on his face. He knows he must look the same.
“You don’t need my approval pal. You already have it.”
Bucky inhales sharply and feels tears prick in his eyes. His hand briefly stops the soothing motions in Steve’s hair. “Why? I’m broken. I’ve done bad things.”
“Listen punk, that wasn’t you. You’d’ve never hurt our Stevie with a clear mind. You’d’ve never murdered innocent people with a clear mind. Your minds gettin’ clear and you don’t wanna hurt people. Sure, ya may be struggling, but that doesn’t make ya a burden. Ain’t no fight too big for our bastard. He’s gonna fight for ya whether you like it or not.” Past Bucky’s left-hand moves from Steve’s bearded cheek to softly caress his lips with his thumb.
“I’m not good enough for him. I’m not you. I’m the Winter Solider. He doesn’t deserve that,” Bucky says brokenly, his fingers dropping from Steve’s now tussled hair to his hard muscled shoulder.
“Ya may not be fully me, but ya sure as hell ain’t the Winter Soldier. The Soldier is just a ghost, like me.” 40s Bucky’s eyes meet his own and they only hold kindness but with a hint of challenge. They dare Bucky to run, to hurt their Stevie. Bucky knew well enough the consequences his past self would’ve given any perpetrator of Steve.
“But your mind is whole. You’re carefree. You don’t have ghosts following you around. I keep remembering the things I did, and they’re horrible. I keep seeing the things I could’ve done,” Bucky says brokenly, his eyes not leaving Steve’s peaceful face. He can’t bear to find judgment in his younger self’s eyes. It’s easier to look at the man that makes him feel safe and wishes he was good enough so he could allow himself to sink into that feeling. “He needs you. He wants you.”
“Look, the bastard may be stupid but he ain’t dumb. He knows you ain’t who we were in the 40s. But he knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. I know you still remember all the times we had to patch Steve up after he was all bloody. All the times we had to take over a fight when the dumbass wouldn’t back down. You still remember dunking him in ice baths when his little body couldn’t handle his fever. That’s all you too.”
And with startling clarity, Bucky can feel the exasperation and fear when he sees Steve being beat up as he runs in the dirty alley to help him. He sees his unmarred hands dunking Steve under an ice bath as he whimpers in pain. He sees a bloodied towel in his hand, and can feel the gentle touches he’s giving Steve as he patches him up. He can feel them, and he knows they’re his own memories.
40s Bucky leans down and kisses Steve softly above the bearded part of his cheek. He raises his head and smiles softly, then goes back down to kiss Steve on his slack lips. He gives Steve’s face and lips one last gentle caress then gets up from Steve’s side and crosses it to where Bucky sits on the bed, stewing on his own anxious thoughts and self-doubt. He sits down in front of Bucky, cross-legged, and cups his face tenderly.
“Look, you finally got a chance to love him the way we wanted to when it wasn’t safe. You ain’t gotta be young n handsome like me to treat him right. Just love him, take care of him, let him take care of you, and accept that you deserve love and happiness.” Bucky looks at him with a tender expression, complete genuineness in his eyes.
“But–but…”
“No buts. There ain’t no ghost better than a livin’ person. You’re what he’s got and he loves you, no matter who you are. And you love him. It don’t matter your mind isn’t right. Just work on it. Try your best. Remember, we struggled the first time after Hydra experimented on us and Stevie here had to take care of us after we had nightmares. It ain’t new to him.” Bucky’s hands grip tighter on his face to make sure their gazes are locked together. “I don’t blame you. He doesn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. You’re making amends which makes you a better man than most.”
Bucky tries to look down from his own kind gaze as he feels his eyes burn and an upsurge of emotions he doesn’t understand rising in his chest. He’s struggling with this love, this acceptance. Maybe he does deserve it, but it's hard for him to allow it.
His past self moves his left hand from his cheek and brushes Bucky’s hair behind his ear. He gently scratches at his scalp and cups his chin to move his eyes back up.
“Look at me, pal. You’re human, just like anyone else. You deserve love, comfort, kindness. You blame yourself and feel guilt for your past, but you gotta know it was never your fault. You’re a good man for makin’ amends for something you shouldn’t blame yourself for. You’re allowed to get better. And something ya gotta know by now is life is crazy. Take advantage of what ya got. You’ll be good enough for our Stevie because you love him and you want what’s best for him. Tell him you love him, treat him well, and don’t be hard on yourself on bad days. Cause the punk loves you no matter what.”
40s Bucky pushes him down slowly to the bed and then kisses him softly on the forehead. He’s looking at him with something he can’t decipher as his fingers start skritches his scalp comfortingly. It feels good and he feels lighter, better. He feels his eyes start to flutter shut, and he fights it, wanting more time to figure out his conflicting thoughts and emotions. But his past self takes the pads of his thumbs and gently shuts his eyelids for him.
“Tell him you love him. Allow yourself to get better,” he hears as he fades away into darkness.
The next time he wakes the sun is streaming through his window and his head is still on Steve’s chest from when he woke up from his nightmare. He is slightly confused because he had fallen asleep next to Steve talking to his own ghost. Said super-soldier is awake, tenderly running his fingers across Bucky’s cheekbone and looking at him softly. It does not go unnoticed Steve stayed in bed with him instead of getting up to run.
“Mornin’ Buck. Sleep okay?”
Bucky doesn’t answer. Instead, he slowly lifts his head and gazes into Steve’s eyes questioningly. He places his hand on Steve’s cheek and slowly leans in, not breaking eye contact with Steve, waiting for him to say no. His eyes flutter shut as he places a chaste, soft kiss on his best friend’s lips. Though quick, he feels his heart explode with a light feeling he’s been missing all these years. His lips tingle and he feels electricity course through his veins. This is right.
“Stevie, I love you. ‘M sorry I’ve been distant.”
Steve cups both of Bucky’s cheeks and brings his lips back down for another kiss. It’s slow, loving, and sweet and Bucky can’t get enough of it. His lips slide against Steve’s and he feels the nonverbal communication of love, reunion, and unspoken promises. It feels right, he finally feels right, and he feels the most love he’s ever felt in his life.
“I love you, Buck. ‘Til the end of the line.”