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Bucky swung down from the cab of the beat up old truck he and Clint used to get around the farm. It was more rust than anything and Bucky was only just barely able to keep it limping along; he suspected that it would be more cost efficient to replace the whole thing at this point. The problem was, Clint had been having a hard time with change and letting things go recently.
So it didn’t matter that the truck was over thirty years old and leaked oil like that was its job, it had come with the farm when they had bought it ten years ago and it was going to stay. Bucky would keep the thing running until it fell apart.
Bucky’s shirt clung to him uncomfortably as he moved into the house—it was soaked with sweat. The quick repair job on the fence in the back forty turned out to take three times as long as he had estimated; he had ended up stuck under the blazing noonday sun instead of finishing in the cooler morning hours as planned.
Bucky was craving a cool shower, but he needed to check on Clint first. Bucky grabbed a cold drink from the fridge and guzzled most of it as he passed through the house calling Clint’s name. When he didn’t get a response he headed to the back porch.
Clint lay on the sun soaked floorboards, curled around where Lucky was on his favorite dog bed with his favorite stuffy tucked between his paws. Bucky dropped down beside them, cross legged, and ran his hand over Clint’s back, soothing. Lucky opened his one hazy eye for a moment and huffed a greeting. Bucky reached over to fondle Lucky’s ears and was rewarded with a brief tail wag before the old mutt dropped back into sleep.
“What am I gonna do Buck?” Clint asked, voice thick. Bucky didn’t pretend to not understand the question.
“Keep him comfortable for now, then after, you’ll keep doing what you always do — surviving.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” Clint choked out as a fine tremor started up.
“I know, sweetheart. You’ve given him a really good life. That’s all any of us could hope for.”
“He saved me, you know.” Clint had to take a steading breath. “I know I talk about how the whole bullshit with the mob went down. But after that. I, I wasn’t doing so good — he gave me a reason to keep getting up every morning. Had to take care of him, you know.”
Clint’s voice was cracking as he stroked over the large furry body he clung to. Clint hadn’t admitted that in full to Bucky before, but had made enough comments that it didn’t feel like a revelation now. It still made Bucky’s heart ache for his husband.
“I’m glad you had each other. Have each other; he’s not gone yet.”
“Not gonna be long,” Clint whispered out. “I can see how tired he is; he’s not eating anymore. Can’t even tempt him with pizza. He’s barely drinking water.” When a sob broke free from Clint’s tense form Bucky moved to lie with him on the boards and curled around him and the pup he was clinging to. “I’m not-not-not ready.”
“I know, doll. I know.”