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“Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever been to space?”
The question catches him slightly off guard. With his dark hair freshly cut no less than three days ago, there are no loose strands to shield Bucky’s view as he briefly turns to look down at you. Though you normally stand about five inches tall, right now you seem impossibly tinier as you hug your knees to your chest, wide eyes still focused on the bright midnight moon resting high above the two of you.
“No,” he replies simply, “I haven’t.”
You hum your acknowledgement, the sound barely audible over the mechanical whirring of the air vent you’re sitting on.
Adjusting his arms Bucky leans back, and he’s about to look up again when you pose another question to him:
“Do you think there’s another world up there?”
Pursing his lips the former assassin gives out a low whistle. “There’s gotta be at least a hundred out there. Why? What world are you lookin’ for, Jellybean?”
The use of the nickname brings a little smile to your face, a sweet reminder - no pun intended - of your first meeting with him, and a lesson to always make sure your eyes are never bigger than your stomach. Yet it doesn’t break your wistful reverie.
“A world for people like me.”
He raises an eyebrow and pauses for a second, watching your gaze meet his. “Y’know, if you wanted me gone, all you had to do was say.”
A soft snort leaves you. Had you not known the large and wonderfully engaging human for many months now you wouldn’t have been able to pick up the amusement lacing his otherwise very serious response, but you know better, your friendship with Bucky having very quickly become a very unlikely but unique affair. A strong growing bond that you take comfort in having.
It’s not like there are a lot of those going around right now.
“If it helps,” he offhandedly continues, casually slinging an elbow onto a bent knee, “I did meet a raccoon from space once.”
You shudder visibly. An entire planet of rodents? Fucking yikes.
“I’d rather jump off a kitchen counter.”
Bucky gives out a low chuckle at your reaction and you can’t help but join in. A warm feeling spreads through his chest as he watches you, amazed at how carefree you appear to be in this moment despite living in a world that’s working against you in nearly every way imaginable. He thought he felt the same once, but thanks to you and Sam he knows better now. He’s never met anyone else with a fortitude quite like yours.
As your shared laughter dies down a comfortable silence slowly begins to fill the air. Bucky slips his jacket off, shoving it under his head as he lies back across the New York rooftop, surveying the sky once more. Resting them on his chest, his flesh hand idly fiddles with the glove on his metal one.
The irony of the connection you two share is never lost to Bucky, of the questions you ask each other during every meeting. From discovery to discovery.
From one great secret to another.
Over a hundred years later and he’s still got so much to learn about the world around him. He likes the way he feels less haunted and more human whenever he’s with you, even if you aren’t one yourself. Giving you the whole story could taint this friendship permanently. He’s given up so much already, so why run the risk of destroying the only thing that’s been spared from layers and decades of subterfuge and smoke and blood-coated ruin?
But one day, he’ll tell you everything.
Maybe one day, just… not this day, he falsely thinks.
For a few minutes he closes his eyes and relaxes, content to lie to himself, until a small and somewhat dramatic cough reaches his enhanced ear. An eye cracks open to see your miniature figure standing on the edge of the vent, a hand placed on a patch-covered hip and a foot tapping the metal beneath you in impatience.
He stretches his arm out, shutting his eye again, and the sensation of you jumping on his extended palm and running along his arm sends a warm and pleasant shiver up his spine. There’s a little rustling on the center of his chest for a couple of seconds, and when it finally stops he glances down to see you gently curled atop him. Though you’re as big as a bouncy ball he smirks at the satisfied, sleepy look that situates itself on your face.
He knows he will continue to wonder long after the sun rises what you might look like if you were larger than the palm of his hand. Correction, he’ll wonder what you might feel like. He’ll imagine the quiet joy he would experience as holds you - how easily you would tuck your body into his. And although he doesn’t consider himself a selfish man, Bucky Barnes will openly admit he’s wished hard for many things during his extended lifetime; things that should’ve been granted to him and now are, and dreams that had no chance to see the light of day. He recognises where this one falls.
He knows this is just another impossibility to add to the list.
“Good night, human bean.”
“Night, Jellybean."