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Frailty
The first time Steve appears as an angel is in Azzano, although Bucky’s convinced his childhood best friend must have been otherworldly even before then. Tiny and fierce with big blue eyes and a perpetually split lip from endless fistfights, Steve Rogers has always looked like a member of the heavenly host. Steve should have been born on Christmas, but his mother didn’t get the memo. Instead of being the world’s savior, Steve is only that for Bucky. Not a Christmas baby, he was born on the Fourth of July and is as full of patriotism, nobility, and justice as anyone who’s ever lived.
Conversely, Bucky’s firmly earthbound. Gritty and practical, he doesn’t harbor delusions of grandeur and has no interest in saving anyone but Steve. Instead of fighting to revolutionize the world, he works within the system, using his hands for hard labor and pulling Steve out of scrapes. Loyal, trustworthy, kind, and good, Bucky knows who he is—a working class kid from Brooklyn who doesn’t plan to move more than a few blocks from his childhood home or aspire to much beyond a decent place to live and a loving wife who’ll understand that Bucky and Steve are a package deal. Where Steve goes, Bucky follows closely behind. His wife will have to accept that.
When Bucky talks about his job at the docks, about the strenuous physical activity and the way his back and biceps ache when he returns home, Steve’s ears burn red, and he flees to the fire escape. The first few times he does it, Bucky’s hurt and confused by Steve’s behavior. It takes forever for Bucky to figure out what’s caused the rift. When he realizes Steve’s sore about his health issues keeping him from taking manual labor jobs, Bucky is flabbergasted. Steve might feel useless to society earning his money from drawing and illustrating, but Bucky knows Steve has immense talent. If Bucky had his way, he’d earn his income from art, too. Unfortunately, he’s not nearly as talented as Steve. He is, however, a lot more pragmatic.
Steve might be the optimist, but he’s mighty grumpy about it as he glares at people who waste resources and pick on others. Despite his small size and propensity to fight men three times his size, Steve believes the world can be better and actively works to make it be so. For his part, Bucky ducks his head and takes care of his business without causing problems or drawing unwanted attention to himself. However, Steve squares his shoulders, puts up his fists, and fights for what’s right. The fact that he usually ends up with a broken nose, black eye, or split lip is irrelevant to him. He has no idea how to let anything go, especially after Pearl Harbor when his singular goal is joining the army and going to Europe to fight the Nazis. When Bucky tries to talk him out of it, Steve gets as angry as Bucky is exhausted from attempting to keep Steve safe. They don’t speak to each other for two days.
The stalemate breaks when he’s drafted into the 107th. It almost kills him to leave Steve behind in Brooklyn. Not only does Bucky love Steve with his entire heart, but he also hates the hurt and resignation in Steve’s eyes when he realizes Bucky’s going to serve without him. His self-loathing and anger make Steve shake, and Bucky knows what that means. Without Bucky there to rescue Steve, he’ll get beaten up daily, and no one will be around afterwards to pick up the pieces.
When Bucky’s captured and taken prisoner to the Hydra base, he doesn’t lament his fate so much as accept it with a weary sigh. He’s not worried about his life—there’s nothing he can do about it anyway—but he is sad that Steve and his family will worry about him and grieve that he’s gone. He’s still telling himself that when he’s strapped to a table, jabbed with a needle, and pumped full of fluid. Whatever they’re injecting into his veins causes hallucinations. That’s the only explanation for why little sickly Stevie shows up as an avenging angel and gathers Bucky to him.
“It’s me. It’s Steve.”
“Steve?” he mumbles as concerned blue eyes swim in front of his face.
His wrists and ankles are freed so he can sit up, but it takes a gargantuan effort to move. He’s so tired, so completely out of it, that he’s not convinced Steve’s actually here with him.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you were smaller,” is what he mutters to what he’s half sure is an apparition, but Steve’s new size isn’t the only concerning thing.
Massive wings painted in patches of red, white, and blue curve upward from newly broadened shoulders. Bucky can’t quite look at him without squinting. The aura around Steve is blinding, shining from the inside out and lighting up the gloom around him. Unable to walk properly, Bucky leans heavily on his savior. As he sags, Steve braces him, wrapping him in a protective embrace that assuages all Bucky’s worries and fears.
He feels almost fragile now that Steve’s muscled and broad instead of the scrawny punk he used to be. Except, that’s not really it. After the experiments and poison pumped through his bloodstream, Bucky’s lost weight. His skin is pale, almost translucent, and his bones ache so badly, he swears they’re hollow. He drags himself through the building, dogging Steve’s energetic, bouncy steps. His limbs feel like anchors, even when he’s balancing on a beam high above explosions set to destroy all evidence of Hydra’s crimes. When it collapses behind him, Steve urges him to go, but Bucky can’t leave him again. Even if he cared enough to save himself, he wouldn’t have the strength to run without Steve right beside him.
Clasping the guardrail, he screams for Steve to join him. “No! Not without you,” he insists because he loves Steve more than he can describe. Holding his breath, he watches as Steve backs up and leaps from the collapsing floor that’s much too far away. No one can make that jump, Bucky realizes just as fire engulfs Steve mid-air.
For a moment, Bucky’s sure he’s just suffered his most devastating loss, but then Steve’s flying. Those massive wings carry him forward, straight to Bucky’s side. It’s where Steve should always be. When Bucky collapses from relief, Steve’s wings catch him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into Bucky’s temple.
With a sigh, Bucky closes his eyes. It’s Steve’s turn to fight now.
Power
The Soldier can’t remember his name. The man on the bridge, though, is someone he knows.
Underneath all the brainwashing and programming, the Soldier knows him, and that’s not what Hydra wants. He’s strong, he’s trained, and he’s a weapon. He’s also useless against the unnervingly familiar face, body, and voice.
And that name. Bucky. He knows that name too, even if he hasn’t heard it in decades.
The memories start to creep in, seeping through the sieve that is his brain, trickling through the holes and finding purchase in his consciousness. He makes the mistake of telling and displeasing Pierce, his handler. The Soldier earns a backhand across the face for asking questions, followed by a session in the chair.
He’s locked in, strapped down, his arms locked in place—even the shiny silver one with the red star he likes so well. The mouth guard goes in, the switch is flipped, and then he’s there in front of him. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Wings spread. The word Bucky on his lips.
Locking his eyes on the familiar form, the Soldier clamps down on the mouth guard and refuses to blink. No matter what they do to him, they can’t make the figure disappear. Instead, there’s power in his resistance, in his refusal to succumb to what they want. The Soldier is strong and formidable. Hydra is nothing in the face of the winged man with a fierce look of affection that’s directed right at him.
“Bucky,” he calls through the buzz in the Soldier’s brain. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you’ve gone by Bucky forever. You’ve known me your whole life, Bucky. You know me. You know you do.”
“No, I don’t!” the Soldier yells, although there’s no sound above the buzz of electricity jolting through him.
“Yes, you do. You know you do. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers. I’m your best friend, and I’m not going away, no matter what.”
Somehow, the wings spread even wider, and the tips glow red as they stretch and expand. Mesmerized, the Soldier watches the colors sparkle and shine. When Steve shifts his shoulders, the feathers glisten and ripple. Without even touching them, the Soldier can tell how much strength hides in the soft layers.
“Shut up!”
The agonized cry echoes through him. Everything hurts, including his chest. He’d say it’s an ache in his heart, but he hasn’t had one since Hydra hacked off his arm and turned him into something evil. He’s hollow, empty, and numb. At least he had been until the winged creature appeared. Now, everything feels possible, including experiencing emotions again.
“Wipe him,” Pierce snaps, but what the doctors are doing isn’t working. Infuriated, Pierce orders the voltage higher, but that only brings Steve in closer.
“You listen to me, Bucky Barnes,” he says in a powerful tone that makes the Soldier tremble. “You are not broken, and you’re not lost. Stay with me because I’m with you—”
He remembers then—a brief flash of a younger, thinner face twisted with sadness. Steve with downcast eyes and drooping shoulders. Blonde hair combed carefully over a creased brow. A suit jacket hanging from a thin frame that seems too frail to stay upright. Somehow, that small, angry human is here now, and he looks just as furious at what’s before him.
“—till the end of the line,” Steve finishes.
The buzzing ends then as the electricity stops. As if he’d never been there at all, Steve disappears, leaving the Soldier bereft. Before he has time to give into dawning emotions, he’s given orders and sent out to complete his mission.
It’s almost too easy. Hardly expending more energy than flicking his wrists, the Soldier dispatches enemy after enemy and personally sees to the destruction of several aircraft. It’s not until he’s on one of the helicarriers that he comes face to face with his foe, and his brain twists inside his skull.
“Please don’t make me do this,” his adversary begs in a quiet, determined voice.
Standing his ground, the Soldier waits for the attack. Blow after blow rains on him, but he blocks and parries and gets in several strikes of his own. His opponent is a worthy adversary, someone who has been trained well. It makes sense that Pierce has sent him, the Soldier, to fight someone who Hydra can’t defeat any other way. They dance together, bobbing and weaving as they punch and collide. It’s almost a game, but he finds no joy in it. Only efficiency, purpose, and an unrelenting clash of strength as his metal hand connects with a shield of similar material.
“You know me.”
“No, I don’t!”
Vision swimming, the Soldier refuses to accept that his mission is to kill his guardian angel.
“You’ve known me your whole life.”
“Shut up!”
“Your name is—”
James Buchanan Barnes.
“You’re my friend.”
Enraged, he pulls back his fist and snarls, “You’re my mission.”
Bloodied and bruised, his opponent struggles to speak. When he does, the Soldier breaks.
“Then finish it. ’Cause I’m with you—”
Till the end of the line.
Frozen in shock, the Soldier pulls his punch and stares at the figure below him.
Steve, his brain screams. This is Steve.
A whirl of memories explodes in his brain just as the helicarrier detonates around him. Clinging to a metal bar, he watches in horror as the glass floor gives way and Steve falls. He waits, certain he knows what’s coming, but Steve plunges too fast. Before the great wings can unfurl and give a powerful flap that would hold him aloft, Steve splashes into the water and disappears below the surface.
Panicked, Bucky—the Soldier!—jumps after him. As he falls from the destroyed aircraft and plunges toward the water, he spreads his arms wide. Just before he brings his hands together to hit the surface, he has one comforting thought.
It feels like he’s flying.
Safety
Life after the Winter Soldier is one of constant danger and looking over his shoulder, likely because his alter ego simmers just below the surface and could reemerge at any time.
Hiding in plain sight, Bucky slinks through the streets of Bucharest like a dark shadow, struggling to remember who he is as flashes of blue and gold flit through the fog in his head. He doesn’t sleep much, but occasionally he sinks into slumber and the nightmares stay at bay. On those odd nights, he catches the hum of moving wings and a warm feeling wraps around him. Every time he wakes, he longs to chase the heat, but it escapes him. He can’t afford blankets to ward off the chill either. Instead, he sleeps in his clothes on a ratty mattress on the drafty floor.
When his head aches so much he can’t take it anymore, he writes in his notebooks, desperate to get everything down and out of his tortured mind. Sometimes he sketches, the curve of wings and feathers filling page after page. There’s a shield too with a red star superimposed over concentric circles. Together, they represent something, although he’s not sure what it is.
When Steve appears this time, he’s an avenging angel. Under attack, Bucky fights for his life, using his metal arm as armor. When Steve steps in front of him with his shield, Bucky inhales sharply. It’s a relief to have someone with him, to not have to do everything alone. Unfortunately, he can’t stay under his protection. In order to save himself, he shoves Steve toward the operatives and rushes into the stairwell where he fights and brawls until he’s free. With Steve chasing him, he leaps from the building to the roof below and flees.
The cat comes out of nowhere, claws flashing and spitting in anger. He shakes off his attacker and sprints to escape. Racing through tunnels, he emerges into the sunlight and spots a motorcycle headed his way. Grabbing the handlebars, he jerks it away from the rider and hops on for his escape. He’s almost gone, almost to freedom, when he’s thrown to the highway. Rolling to a stop, he springs to his feet in a fighting stance, his backpack still latched over his chest.
In seconds, Steve’s there, standing in front of him with his shield in place. Bucky swears he’s not losing his mind as a massive set of wings unfurl from Steve’s back and wrap him up like he’s something precious. Terrified of returning to captivity, he considers running for several moments, but he can’t bear leaving the security of Steve’s embrace.
He loses himself then and comes to with his arm trapped in a vise. Blinking open his eyes, the first thing he sees is Steve, arms crossed and wings glowing in the slanted light.
“What did I do?” he asks, but he knows. More than anything, he just wants to stop running, to hide in Steve’s care and fight alongside him instead of living in the shadows.
If Steve’s an angel, Bucky is a demon—dark, cruel, and evil when he’s in the Soldier’s hold. Whether or not it’s intentional, Bucky’s past actions reek of malicious criminality, while Steve has always been noble and good, a symbol of justice to the world. The most he can do is follow Steve’s lead and help rid the world of further chaos by decommissioning the other super soldiers.
When all hell breaks loose, Steve defends him. Throwing himself into a fight with his teammate to defend a lifelong friendship, Steve protects him from danger. Of course, he reciprocates. He has to make sure Steve’s safe, if only to absolve himself of actions he’s taken since he’s been Hydra’s hostage. Like a man possessed, he whirls in a torrent, pushing through the pain until he has to stop. Reeling from his injuries, he lies motionless until Steve swoops down to help him to his feet. Leaning heavily on his friend, his body relaxes when Steve’s wings wrap around him and carry him away from danger.
They fly south, migrating from ice and snow to sun and sand. The jungle envelops them as they enter Wakanda, passing through the invisible barrier with air whistling past. They hover off the ground for a few seconds before setting down gently and emerging into the light. It glints off Steve’s hair, giving him a halo to match his angelic stature. If he thought it would help, Bucky would kneel before him and ask for a blessing.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steve pleads when Bucky decides to go back into cryostasis.
The look of sadness in his eyes is almost enough to make Bucky change his mind. Despite Steve’s despair, Bucky knows he’s making the right decision. He settles into the tube, sinking into his new prison willingly this time instead of being forced into it. Watching intently, Steve stands before him, shoulders tense and face painted in consternation. The tube slides shut, enclosing Bucky entirely, but he’s not afraid—not with Steve standing guard over him. Eyes drooping, Bucky takes one last look as Steve’s wings unfurl, and then he tumbles into darkness.
“Wake up.”
Soft and warm, Steve’s voice pulls him from black to light, urging him to come back and rejoin the living. Logically, Bucky knows he’s not conscious, is aware that he’s in a dreamlike trance that bears no resemblance to the nightmares of his past.
“Am I dead?” he asks, although he doesn’t mind it if he can spend eternity in Steve’s presence.
A crooked smile spreads over Steve’s face as he arches his back and stretches. They expand then, a ripple of frail feathers, powerful muscles, and a protective posture. His wings are beautiful, a reflection of his soul. Steve’s simply the best person Bucky’s ever known. He’s unworthy, but Steve’s chosen him anyway, dropped his shield multiple times just to keep him safe.
“No. You’re not,” Steve assures him. “I’m just watching over you until you’re ready to return. I’ll be there when you wake. Until then, I’ve got you.”
Holding his arms open, he enfolds Bucky into his embrace. Closing his eyes, Bucky leans heavily into Steve’s broad chest. Wrapped in strong arms with soft down glancing over his skin, Bucky lets go of his burdens. Steve will wing him back when it’s time. Until then, Bucky can finally rest.
He’s found his peace.
