Chapter Text
Steve checks his phone for a text he’s beginning to think will never come. He tried to check in on Bucky two days ago - called him once, messaged him a few hours later. Nothing. He tried again yesterday, and a third time this morning, to no avail. It’s only been two days, but he’s already on edge.
Who’s to say something hasn’t happened? Steve would probably be the last person to hear about it, considering how Bucky has managed to skirt every attempt he’s made to see him since Thanos.
He calls again. The line rings six times and he’s greeted with an old recording of a robotic female voice telling him that the user’s voicemail box hasn’t been set up yet.
He tries another text.
Hey, is everything okay?
The message joins a string of similar unanswered sentiments, occasionally broken up with “I’m fine.” or “I’m busy.”
Steve sighs, setting his phone on the counter and considering his options. He could wait. Probably the most rational thing to do. But something doesn’t feel right about that.
If anything happened to Bucky, he’d never forgive himself.
He decides to wait four more hours, and if he doesn’t hear back, he’s going to visit him himself.
-
Exactly four hours have passed since the last message Steve sent, and nothing has come through. He decides he’s had enough and sets off to Bucky’s place.
He doesn’t live far; it’s a ten minute walk for Steve, which is one of the most frustrating parts of the whole arrangement. They could be catching up. Steve could be seeing him every day. Just to know he’s alive. He’s got no idea what Bucky’s so busy with since getting back to New York, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s hurting him.
The brisk walk helps settle Steve’s nerves so that by the time he reaches Bucky’s place, he’s clear-headed enough to hold a conversation. He climbs the stairs to the top floor, knocks on the door, and waits.
He’s not sure if he expects a response, but he doesn’t get one. It’s utterly silent inside the apartment, which would be worrying if Steve wasn’t used to how quiet Bucky’s become since HYDRA.
He knocks again, this time louder, and leans against the door for a moment before shifting his weight back.
“Bucky?” He tries.
Something clatters to the floor on the other side of the door, followed by a muted “fuck,” as footsteps shuffle closer to the entrance.
“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice rings out, oddly hoarse.
“I wanted to…catch up,” Steve says, keeping his tone flat.
The chorus of several locks clicking cues Steve to step back a bit.
Bucky opens the door by about six inches, and one look at him tells Steve he made a good choice coming over. His friend is sporting several days’ worth of stubble, bloodshot, watery eyes, and hair sticking up in three different directions.
“It’s not a good time,” he says gruffly.
“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” Steve asks. “I tried to call you four times.”
Bucky’s eyes widen at that and he breathes in sharply. “Phone’s broken,” he explains, an edge of something frantic to his voice.
“Do you need a new one?” Steve asks, his gaze catching on a disassembled light hanging from a few cables in the middle of Bucky’s ceiling.
“No. Don’t…” he notices Steve glancing inside, squeezes through the gap in the doorway, and shuts the door behind him. “You need to leave, Steve.”
“What are you doing in there?” Steve asks, his curiosity having gotten the best of him. “I might be able to help,” he suggests.
“Absolutely not. Look, can you just…come back another time, or something?” He asks, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s really not a good time.”
“You mentioned that,” Steve says, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a long day.”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
Bucky stares at the ground, working his jaw. “You need to leave,” he whispers.
“Buck, do you need anything? I’ve got nowhere to -”
“No. You…you’re not supposed to be here, I…how do you know where I live?”
“...Buck, you told me,” Steve answers, trying desperately to keep the worry out of his voice. “Do you want to sit down?”
Bucky doesn’t reply to that, too busy staring behind the wall Steve’s created with his body.
Suddenly, he swings the door open and yanks Steve inside, slamming it behind both of them.
In one motion, he shoves Steve into the nearest wall and pins him there. Steve can’t help but notice the odor of stale sweat from this close.
“Who sent you?” Bucky demands, his voice much steadier than Steve had expected.
“ Sent me?” Steve asks, baffled. “I just wanted to check in on you, Buck. There’s no one else.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Jesus, why would anyone send me here?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” His voice shakes slightly but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Steve for a second.
“Did someone put you up to this? Because I can promise you, if you just…” he shrugs away from Bucky enough to pull his arms free and flip his pockets inside out. “I don’t have any weapons on me, Buck. There’s no one else here.”
“You think someone put me up to this?” Bucky steps back, reaching for a Glock he’s set on the entryway table.
“Buck…”
“You think I can’t…” his eyes dart to the sound of footsteps echoing above them. “You think I can’t…what? Can’t…do anything by myself, right? Someone’s always gotta be putting me up to something, can’t just…” he freezes, blinking a few times before he sets the gun back down.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, running a hand over his face.
Steve finally tears his eyes away from Bucky and takes a look at the apartment.
Every single light has been torn out of the ceiling along with the electrical outlets, and tangles of exposed wires hang out of the holes in the walls. His couch is tipped on its side and the cushions are nowhere to be found; the TV screen is shattered in two different places. The ground is littered with broken glass and chunks of drywall that look to be torn out of one large hole in the wall in the center of the room.
“What happened in here?” Steve asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.
Bucky mumbles something Steve can’t make out, and when Steve asks him to repeat himself, he stares around the room like he thinks someone is going to jump him before stepping closer.
He grabs Steve by the shoulder, more to steady himself than anything. Then, he leans in, whispers so quietly Steve can still barely hear him.
“They bugged my place,” he says, breathing heavily. He moves back and runs his hand through his hair again, walking further into the apartment. Steve follows him wordlessly until they reach his kitchen counter, where he has neatly laid out four wires and four disembodied cameras.
Steve stares at them, picking one up to examine it closer.
“Every room,” Bucky continues, slumping over the bar with his head in his hands.
“Bucky…” Steve rests a hand on his shoulder.
“They’re never gonna stop,” he says, empty.
“Who’s ‘they’?”
Bucky shakes his head. “Could be anyone.”
“What if you stayed at my place?”
Bucky drops his hands and looks at Steve like he’s the stupidest person to ever walk the face of the earth.
“You think they’re not…” he looks around the room again, eyes darting to the window. “You think they’re not just gonna follow me? Really? It doesn’t matter where I go, doesn’t matter where you go.”
“What about a hotel?”
Bucky sighs. “What, you want me to lock myself in a room until this blows over? I left to get groceries. I was gone for an hour. And I come back and…” he trails off. “I don’t know how the hell they did it so fast.”
“I could stay with you.”
“Jesus, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That’s not - look, I’m not saying this is a permanent solution. But I could stay inside whenever you go out. That’s it. You could get some shuteye and-”
“I don’t need sleep,” Bucky says, but the bags under his eyes betray him.
“When’s the last time you slept?” Steve questions him.
Bucky shrugs.
“Last night?”
“Are you serious?”
“Alright, how about two nights ago?”
“Fuck you,” Bucky responds, exasperated.
“Three nights?”
“Look, I don’t know, okay?” Bucky cuts him off. “I just…I got back and tore everything apart and everything after that, it’s not there. I can’t sleep here but I can’t leave ‘cause they’ll just come back and I’ll have to find them all again. I can’t do it again. I can’t leave, I don’t even know what they want, I was just getting groceries…,” he stops short, turning to face Steve, speaking quietly. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Stay with me. We can find someplace as far as you want, I don’t care. Move every day if you want to. Just until we work something more permanent out.”
“It’s never gonna work,” Bucky replies, exhausted.
“It can’t be any worse than staying here,” Steve mentions.
Bucky takes his time considering the options, which seem pretty slim at the moment. “Give me two minutes,” he finally says.
Steve waits by the door while Bucky gets his things together and throws on a jacket and baseball cap. He shoves past Steve, waits for him to follow, and locks the door behind both of them.