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Bucky liked to believe that he was caught up with the times, and had done so fairly easily. In the time after Hydra fell apart, it wasn’t like Bucky had wandered wantonly. There wasn't much to do when he remembered- or rather figure out through experimentation- that he couldn’t get drunk, and there was no way in Hell that he’d be chasing a high in someone else’s body, not when the one he wanted for some inexplicable reason had been across the world, not when he had that monstrous weapon hanging off of his body. He had been curious, and so there was nothing better to do than to research.
When Bucky was curious, he threw himself in wholeheartedly. So he survived for that period, got himself into a shabby apartment, then found the public library near the city center, and camped. Books upon books with information about the stars and stripes that had pulled him out of his funk, pictures of the blond in the 1940s, with Bucky just alongside him. He learned more and more, about his origins, his family, his life… his feelings.
Memories came back with time, with patience, not that he had much. By patience, he really meant crying in frustration when he tried to call upon something he knew was on the tip of his tongue. A simple nickname, trying to explain to his neighbor that his best friend, uh, oh right! Stevie was working, and Bucky ain’t got no other friends, so that’s why he wasn’t seen.
In truth, he was still learning so much about himself and about the new world he found himself thrust into. He adapted with ease, naturally; it was part of the gig of being a super soldier and all. The Asset had been trained to handle any type of situation, forced to experience every scenario they could think of to minimize the shock effect. The skill implemented into the soldier transferred over to Bucky, their consciousness in the same concubine, and he decided to use it in nearly every situation. From the first time he drove out to Louisiana for the Wilson boat repair, an unknown southern scene that made his nerves buzz even after so long, to the sideways smiles he sent strangers while walking the streets of Brooklyn to visit Steve’s grave, he used his stealthy skills originally meant to kill to weave himself back into the society he used to know inside and out.
Even now, as he walked through the automatic doors of the mall to meet Sam by the food court, he swept his eyes over the crowd. They were in Texas, the southern part of it at least, just on the outskirts of Houston, and it was the complete opposite of what Sam had introduced him to when in Delacroix. A city, hot and bustling even in the humidity, the traffic even worse than what Steve had complained about in New York, with highways spanning the length of a football field filled to the brim with cars. He hadn’t seen anything like it, had never even been past the Mason-Dixon line. Never had the time for it, nor the money. Sure, his family had been better off than most during the Depression, but that really only afforded them the luxury of books and posters to hang up on his bedroom walls, and a car for the family to use when absolutely necessary.
Road trips weren’t exactly in the budget, and it wasn’t like they were stationing him on the coast of Florida, not when the Nazis were about to seize the entire territory of the Eastern front.
The parking garage had been a nightmare in itself, winding up in a spiral until leveling out, cars speeding past as if one wrong turn wouldn’t fling them crashing into the pavilion showcasing a band straight out of the old western films he’d force Steve to watch. But he handled it with finesse, despite the lack of an audience to watch him analyze the road and pull into an empty spot without a sweat, though his heart hammered into his ribs. Sometimes, he was incredibly grateful that Steve had gone, because unlike the rest of the general population, he’d know just the anxiety coursing through the brunette’s veins.
His bare metal fingers drummed against his thigh as he entered, hearing the gas hiss in the hydraulics of the door, sighing in relief when cool air blew across his slick skin. They were in town for a mission, he and Sam, an oil site becoming the grounds of a shootout between Cap and his buddy, and the two parties exchanging cash and female bodies along with a case of what Steve liked to call his midnight medicine- heroin. Bucky was too familiar with it all- the drugs, not the trafficking ring, or well, not on the buyer end of it at least. He and heroin went way back, helping Steve inject it into his elbow, tying a rag around his bicep as a makeshift tourniquet when searching for the vein in his brittle arm.
The mission flashed briefly in his mind when his sneakers squeaked on the white tile, making his heart skip a beat and his neck tense. He looked down in frustration, his next step taking in a manner to avoid the sound. He wasn’t on the run, nor was he afraid, but he’d like to be able to slip away easily, and with a crowd like the one he just stepped into, chatting and laughing, he could do that with silent shoes.
Making a mental note to buy new shoes, Bucky took a good glance at the board detailing the map of the mall, instantly heading in the direction of the smell that hit his nostrils the second he turned right into the main length of the mall, multiple levels stacked upon each other with the center cut out, overlooking the ice skating rink at the bottom of it all. He was passing by the banner, his flesh hand sweeping across the railing, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Halting and moving to the edge, he leaned against the railing, chills running up his spine from the icy breeze from the rink two floors below him, and it didn’t help that he was so close to a ledge. Bucky reached for his phone. It was Sam, and he frowned in confusion, but took the call nonetheless.
There wasn’t even a second to question him, Sam’s voice instantly connecting through, “What’s with the face? You ain’t happy to see me?”
“Huh?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, unable to comprehend just what his friend was talking about.
“Turn that frown upside down, Buck,” Sam laughed, and he sounded winded, short gasps of air interrupting the call when he paused. Bucky turned in his spot, placing a hand where his hips had been resting. He scanned the floor, Sam nowhere in sight, then he tried the upper floors. If Sam could see him, then Bucky could see Sam. His forehead wrinkled with the tension created in the craning of his neck, his jaw tightening when a chuckle mocked him from the other end.
Trying to listen for any signs on Sam’s end, Bucky opened his ears up and dialed in on the speaker pressed to his cartilage, pressing his lips into a frustrated, firm line. “Try looking down, you may look young for your age, but that angle ain’t doing nothing for ya,” Sam told him, and as a soldier always does, he followed the advice.
Directing his gaze down, Bucky’s analytical eyes instantly zeroed in on Sam standing on the bottom level, or rather, skating. The infamous Captain America balanced upon two thin skates, one hand waving around in the air as the other pressed the phone in an identical fashion to Bucky’s. The old-fashioned man raised his metal arm to Sam, barely waving in hopes to quell the man’s enthusiasm that never seemed to drain. They didn’t need to draw any more attention to themselves, jeez, if Steve had done this during their excursions to the fair, they’d be leaving with their eyes peeled for any stragglers looking to cause trouble. The last time Bucky remembered being so open in public was waving down a gal he’d asked out to get the suspicion off of him.
Sam finally dropped his arm as Bucky stated, “That’s not the food court.”
“You took forever so I decided to have some fun,” Sam explained, doing a loop around the rink with his eyes stuck on Bucky. He sighed, beginning to rejoin the crowd to head down the stairs.
“Fun,” Bucky repeated.
“Yeah!” Sam explained, “Y’know, life doesn’t have to be so serious. Have you ever skated before? Did they have that in the forties? It’s great, you should try, I bet you’ll learn fast.” Sam started to ramble, and Bucky half listened as he moved down the stairs, avoiding bumping into strangers as he got down to Sam’s level. “Where’d you go?”
Bucky spotted Sam halting in the center of the rink, still staring up to the space that Bucky had just been in, confused as to where he could have gone in the last few seconds. Bucky approached the edge of the rink, leaning on the tall railing that overlooked the ice before speaking into the line, “Turn around.”
Sam huffed on the other side, struggling to spin his skates, but started shaking his head, “How the Hell do you do that?” Instantly, he started skating over to Bucky, tilting his head as he got closer to the wall. Just as Sam got within hearing distance, he hung up the call, “You’ve gotta stop doing that, you scare me.” Bucky shrugged, shoving his phone back into his pocket, “Good.”
Children passed by, swerving to avoid the obstacle, “I’m surprised they haven’t recognized you yet.” Bucky stared down at Sam, noting the freshly shaved jaw, and the gold chain hanging under his low-cut shirt, embellishing his defined collarbones that Bucky remembered resting his head on in the daze that Steve and Sam carried him from the river in during Berlin. Sam wore jeans, just like Bucky did, but they were baggier, as though worn for fashion, not that Bucky was complaining- they looked good. When he first got the chance to buy his own clothes, he’d searched for clothes that hung loosely on his frame, to make his bulky body look smaller than it was, but each time he found it hugging his scarred skin. Sam didn’t struggle with the fluctuating sizes, he’d remained the same since 2014, save for stronger arms and thighs that came in the form of definition rather than stocking up on muscle. It was why Bucky had completely stopped the intense regimen he’d kept while on the run once in Wakanda, he was supposed to be out of the game, there was no need to be strong, he hadn’t wanted to survive it and the serum running through his veins never really let him become frail and weak like he’d wanted to.
In truth, his body suffocated him.
The pure muscle, the tight clothes that gave him no choice but to feel every inch of himself that he inherently hated. It was as though the blood on his hands had solidified into a layer coating his entire being, never letting him forget, never letting him move on. In the time from Wakanda to Brooklyn, Bucky lost half of his mass, along with his strength and skill that came with the natural beat of his aging heart.
It was when they first tracked down the Flagsmashers in the woods, the highway fight with John rudely interrupting, that Bucky realized just how out of shape he’d been. Not noticeable against humans, sure, he still fought like a machine, and he would have won, but he was trying. When he heaved against Sam’s chest in that field of flowers, staring down at the man he really just couldn’t bring himself to hate, Bucky made a mental promise to train again. If not to protect himself, then Sam. It was him who saved the soldier hanging from the base of the eighteen-wheeler when it should have been Bucky who’d ended the fight right there and then.
So, Bucky had filled out his figure once again. And now his pants were tight around his thighs and calves, snug around his hips, and the warm brown shirt he’d chosen because they matched the color surrounding Sam’s pupils stretched with each inhale but it wasn’t suffocating anymore, not as much because Sam was smiling up at him, and he’s realizing that he’d been inside his thoughts for far too long and hasn’t been listening to his friend.
“You should skate with me,” Sam offered as Bucky broke himself out of his thoughts.
Bucky shook his head, goosebumps erupting along his flesh arm, “Nah, I’m good.” His sleeve is tight around his bicep, the mall’s starting to get smaller, the crowd swelling around him and he forced his eyes to wander over the people skating across the ice. Young children, slipping and shrieking in fear as the ice burned their skin through their pants; teens with their phones up in the air, taking pictures with their friends and their parents leaning against the rink watching with smiles, on the phone or talking to their spouse.
Sam asks, “You scared you gonna fall, I’ll catch you, Buck.” He’s joking, though Bucky can’t really tell. There are couples moving in sync, holding hands and laughing when the other tugs them down with a slip. A man and a woman share a kiss, watching their child in front of them.
There’s a pair of women, clutching their jackets and holding onto each other tightly. A blonde and a brunette both tip their heads back when they bump into each other. It reminds Bucky of him and Steve, if this is what they looked like to the rest of the world.
His heart then leaps into his throat when the brunette leaned over to plant a firm, messy kiss on her cheek, laughing into her skin, her teeth scraping lightly without trepidation. None of it afraid, and his eyes widened just a bit, chills ran down his spine as he looked around in fear for them, they must be sisters. Yes, that must be it, because no one seemed to notice, no disgusted reactions.
Definitely sisters then. He brushed it off, tried to keep himself calm, but Sam knew him all too well and noticed, following his line of sight to the women. Bucky shakes his head when he hears him chuckle, “You find ‘em cute?”
“No,” Bucky scoffs, looking away, “No, man, come on, I need to buy some shoes. Can we go?”
Sam looked back at him, eyebrows furrowing when he noticed the stress etched into the soldier’s otherwise youthful skin that he so desperately despised yet needed to caress. His voice turned soft, the way that Bucky hated because it made him feel like he was falling into the pitying line that seemed to grow everywhere Bucky paced, and nodded, “Sure, Buck, gimme a sec.”
Bucky didn’t say another word, opting to take a seat while waiting for Sam to join him. He adjusted his pants, pulling on the legs to smooth them out. His ears perked, everyone’s conversations surrounding him muddling until his brain picked out a male voice, “I love you so much, you know that right?”
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really didn’t, but even after decades he still had a hard time trying to rein in his heightened senses. But the words made his canals shut out any other noise trying to infiltrate his mind, zeroing in on the voice, expecting a woman or a child to respond. But to his surprise, another man responds, “I love you, too.”
Involuntarily, his body turned towards the men, craning to get a glimpse, and his stomach twisted when he caught them hugging each other close, their hearts beating together in sync as their muscular arms wrapped around their bodies. He noticed the shorter one tilting his head so the taller man could rest his head in the crook his his neck. Bucky looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, afraid once again. But no one, not a single soul batted an eye, even smiling at the scene before them.
“You ready?” Bucky nearly jumped, instantly biting his tongue as he spun back to find Sam towering over him. His metal hand clenched into a fist, yet his nodded, pushing himself up.
Side by side, he and Sam started walking towards the escalator, “I, uh, I need to buy some shoes, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure, Buck,” Sam threw an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing his flesh bicep, “I’ll do you right, man. Those sneakers ain’t doing nothing for ya,” he kept his arm fit snug around the super soldier, as if it didn’t matter, as if no one was watching. It wasn’t that Bucky minded, he’d longed for that kind of touch, but Sam didn’t swing that way, and they weren’t allowed to do that kind of stuff in public. It had been an unwritten rule, keep that shit private and we won’t hurt you.
Out of habit, he tensed, and forced himself to reply, “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“If you don’t think they’re ugly, why are you buying new ones?” Sam raised an eyebrow as they stepped onto the first step in sync, almost like they did in the field. It was impressive to anyone else, how the two moved as though they could read each other’s minds, and it was the same thing every time. With Steve, the public, the generals couldn’t wrap their heads around how quickly they learned to work with each other. Bucky could have been across the field, keeping their enemies at bay and with one glance to Steve, he’d be running across to slam his shield into the line of men, covering his best friend to run to the next location. It had been no different with Sam, missions going along smoothly even if their comms went out halfway through. Working of the same mind, Bucky knew how Sam computed information and since Sam had studied him like a lab rat, he did too.
A well oiled machine, and Bucky was consistently apart of it, either on his own or by Captain America’s side. Bucky didn’t loathe it as much when it was Sam’s arm around him. He wasn’t malicious with it, wasn’t looking at him with those sad, grieving eyes. Steve probably didn’t mean it, Bucky at least hoped so, that he was simply afraid.
Bucky finally responded as they stepped off onto the next floor, his shoe proving him right as he said, “They’re loud.”
“Really?” Sam guffawed, “Dude, we’re not on a mission, we’re at Galleria.”
“They gave me away,” Bucky argued, referring to earlier that morning. He had a pained expression, looking back to the people walking behind them. His heart was racing, Sam had to let go, this wasn’t safe. They’d target him. Bucky could handle it, he’d managed to outrun a couple of dimwits at the boardwalk, tugging Steve behind him until they hid behind a dumpster. But he didn’t want anyone calling Sam anything he knew he wasn’t just because Bucky was beside him. He remembered Steve’s pinched face that flinched everytime he heard someone shouting, “Fag!” even if it wasn’t directed at him. Bucky didn’t think he’d be able to take it if he saw Sam do the same.
Reminded of the mission, and the crease between Bucky’s eyebrows, Sam glaned down to his side, “You still hurtin’?” Oh, right. He was injured. Finally, he did Bucky a solid by pulling off, only this time he pulled him to the side. “You told me you were fine, it would heal in a few hours.”
“I’m fine,” Bucky responded, relishing the space put between their bodies, allowing him to breath. The aching in his side had subsided about an hour before, it was a simple fix, he wasn’t worried. His shoes had squeaked when hiding behind an oil tank, giving him away to the traffickers that jumped him. It was just a bit tougher to handle five men all by himself, but he got them down. Unfortunately, the tense situation made him forget to disarm one. A clean shot when his back was turned embedded into his right side. To resolve it, he spun on his hell and brought his foot sweeping across the man’s temple. He didn’t bring it to Sam’s attention, no, they finished the mission, got the women into safety in bed of an ambulance before the shield clattered to the ground with a gasp and hands pulling at the blood stained fabric sticking to his muscular back.
Bucky brushed him off, promising it was an easy fix, begging Sam to turn away as he reached back. Sam refused, watching him intently, shouting when his fingers dug into the wound, wriggling around the metal to pull out with a minuscule grunt as though he was simply digging out a splinter. “The Hell are you doing, man? Are you crazy?”
“We both know the answer to that.”
Bucky couldn’t fight Sam’s strong hands spinning him around by his shoulders, didn’t really want to, lifting his shirt by the end to view the gauze taped onto his pale, scarred skin. Instinctively, when he felt the cool air of the icy rink brush his waist, Bucky caught his wrist and tried to tug it away. But Sam reprimanded him, “Buck, let me see.”
He rolled his eyes, yet loosened his grip, dropping his hand to his side, “Sammy, it’s fine.”
“I wanna see with my own eyes.”
Always so worrysome, Bucky wondered if it came with the title,but he knew he’d always been like this, even when he hated him. No matter how much Sam denied it, Bucky knew he’d been wary of Bucky, disliked him because of the atrocities he’d commited. It was obvious Sam didn’t understand why Captain America was defending such a dangerous assassin only curated by the devil himself, not that Bucky blamed him. He’d kept himself out of sight to keep Steve from instantly dropping everything to join him. It was just that Bucky didn’t understand why his perspective had changed, there was nothing urging him to do so, no shared past, no feelings, nothing, and Bucky hadn’t changed. He was still as vile as ever.
Sam’s calloused fingers pulled the tape to the side, and he felt the puff of his warm breath when the gauze revealed the ugly wound still stitching his muscles together. His teeth gritted together, and Bucky could imagine in his mind the gap that made his smile so identifiable, the light he searched for in his nightmares. “Buck… this ain’t even close to being healed.”
He would heal in a few hours, but if Sam kept his wound open then he’d be dealing with a nasty infection tripling the time necessary. So it was Bucky’s turn to grit his teeth and push the gauze back into place, reapplying the tape as he turned to face Sam, “I misjudged a bit.”
“Just a bit?” Sam exclaimed.
Bucky rolled his eyes, “I got a better look at it when I was going to take a shower, grazed my spleen-”
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s fine!” Bucky told him while readjusting his shirt, regretting the short sleeves when chills erupted over his forearm, his fingers tingling, “It’ll be fine by the time we’re on the plane tonight.”
“So you’re not fine,” Sam twisted his words and Bucky fought the urge to strangle him. “I don’t feel anything, Sam, I’ve dealt with worse.” Sam knew that, he’d seen the scars littering his skin, he’d seen Bucky walk off with slashes oozing blood down his back, whipping wounds that would have paralyzed anyone else. He’d seen the videos of them training Bucky, desensitizing the Asset to any physical wounds possible. He knew, and he was making this bigger than it was.
Bucky started to walk off, agitated beyond reason, and he knew he was being unfair, that Sam was just worried like a friend would be, but it was the arm around him, the touching, the dangerous amount of affection he was displaying as a friend that could be taken the wrong way, putting himself into danger the same way Steve always did long before the serum. Now his heart was aching at the sight of any couple holding hands, kissing, any pair of men or women holding hands as friends with no one doing a damn thing about it, why was no one saying anything? What was this? Some sort of haven he’d spent his entire life praying for?
Sam hustled to keep up with his pace, “I’m not apologizing just cause I care about you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Bucky responded, keeping his eyes on the exits in case he’d missed anyone furious over their touches. Shame rose in his chest, blood heating his throat and cheeks. It never went away, not with Steve, not with Sam, with none of the women he’d been with in hopes he’d convince his body to change, hoping that it was only their curvy figures that got him interested, but as infatuated as he was with them, the stocky build that the muscle formed on Adonises kept his eye just as well. “You shouldn’t worry about me, I can handle it, you know that.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Come on, man,” Bucky complained, nearly whining as they entered a store lined with shoes, “Can we just do what we came here for? I don’t wanna talk about something that can’t be changed.”
The snappy tone Bucky spoke with finally made Sam take the message, pursing his lips, “Fine, but it better be good by the time we board, I’ll be checking.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you, buddy,” Bucky responded, his Brooklyn accent creeping in with his perturbation, rolling his shoulders.
It was quick, Sam picking out his options and Bucky trying them on with the sole intention of testing out the silence. In the back corner of the store was where they lurked, Bucky uncomfortably rejecting the help the employees offered, trying his hardest to be polite when they kept walking by to make sure he didn’t need any help until Sam took over for him. He handled public interaction so easily, like Bucky did militaristically, breaking no sweat when speaking to strangers whether at a cookout or standing behind a podium addressing the nation.
They were in and out, bag in Bucky’s hand as they made a beeline for the book store. Sam chatted randomly, pointing out various signs and laughing as he made a stupid joke. He wasn’t feeling any of it anymore, the sisters on his mind, those two men who’d confessed their love, hugging tightly in the center of the crowd. They weren’t dating right? They couldn’t be.
A quiet atmosphere settled around the partners when they headed into a Barnes and Noble, Sam cracking up when he asked, “You sure you don’t own part of it? You hiding generational wealth from me, Barnes?”
He slapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the other wrapping around his torso as he wheezed, blindly following the man into the aisle of novels just by the windows open to the rest of the mall. Bucky didn’t respond, his heart wasn’t in it anymore, and his eyes glanced over the chapter books fit for a new tween, moving to the side for Sam to get a good look, pointing at titles he found interesting that he knew his younger self would have been infatuated with.
Then the same pair from before passed by, walking hand in hand and in that split second they wandered past the window Bucky analyzed them. The taller man, sported a full grown beard, dark and groomed as his shaggy hair fell into his eyes. Tattoos lined his neck, disappearing under his thin shirt and reappearing in a sleeve all the way down to the silver band weighing down his ring finger clutched tightly in the brunette’s, his eyes crinkling as he laughed, hiding the color while the green eyed man watched him with adoration. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat, seizing as his eyes trailed down and spotted a matching ring on the brunette’s ring finger, the weight of the world slamming down on his shoulders, draggin his heart through his feet when the jet black kissed his neck.
“What about this one?” Sam asked innocently, holding out an I Survived book out to Bucky, unaware of the soldier choking on his own saliva.
“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.” Bucky vigorously shook his head, trying to readjust and turn his attention to Sam.
“Are you still thinking about those heels from before?” Sam smirked, straightening up to look his friend in the eye, “I’ll buy ‘em for you, I think you’d rock ‘em, you’ve got the legs.” Again, Sam thought this was hilarious, cackling loudly in the quiet store, and Bucky’s face flushed. He really didn’t get it, did he? Because he added on, “You don’t have to worry about paying me back, just put on a show for me when we get back home.”
Bucky snapped, the last jab being his last straw, “Can you shut up?” His voice had rose a few levels, the anger in his body expressing in the form of words as he placed his hands on Sam’s collarbones, shaking him. Sam’s eyes widened, brown shriveling as the white bloomed. Bucky caught himself, instantly retracting his hands back to his sphere. He looked around to see if anyone heard Sam, before meeting his eyes with humiliation apparent in the blue seas science would assign as his eyes, “You can’t just say that, Sam, people will hear.”
“So?” Sam’s face scrunched up with confusion and annoyance, “What’s your problem? I’m just kidding.”
Bucky was shaking his head fervently, placing his hands on his hips before bursting, “It’s not a joke! They’ll think, they’ll think…” His voice died off as he couldn’t say it, someone would hear, they’d kill him.
“Think what?” Sam asked, stepping into his space, leaning into his face and Bucky blinked, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the tears burn at his lashes.
“Stop,” He murmured, “Please just stop, for your safety.”
“What the Hell are you talking about, man?” Sam was angry, Bucky could tell because his eyebrows were raised, and his lips were taut as he lowered his voice, almost as though he were giving Bucky another chance to say something else, almost as though her were pleading. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let another person he loved get hurt, he couldn’t take another secret, another rendevous hidden from plain sight. Not when he’d barely survived the first.
“You can’t,” Bucky licked his dried lips, “You can’t talk like we’re something.”
“What do you mean, Buck, be honest with me.”
“Like we’re more than friends!” Bucky clarified, his eyes squeezing shut once again and he turned his head away, moving away from the tension between them. He couldn’t trust himself to be so close. “We can’t do that.”
“And why is that? You don’t believe in that?” Oh God, he thought Bucky didn’t think it was right. He thought he was like them.
“No, no Sam! I don’t care, I don’t care what people do, I never have.” Bucky dragged his hands through his hair, clutching the long waves that he’d let grow out as he stared up to the ceiling, praying to whatever existed outside of the human world to give him patience, “Sam, if they suspect anything, they’ll hurt us, hurt you.”
He didn’t expect the laughter that escaped past Sam’s full lips, stretching his cupid’s bow flat as a puff of air fully released the offense that he’d been feigning since Bucky’s outburst. Bucky’s expression scrunched in confusion, and Sam instantly answered, “Buck, that ain’t a thing anymore.”
Now it was Bucky’s turn to be perplexed, dropping his hands to his side, “What do you mean?” His heart was hammering against his chest, and the world was spinning. He was about to throw up if he truly understood what Sam was saying.
Sam sobered immediately when he noticed how pale the soldier had became, the fear lurking behind his eyes, “Bucky, you know that right?”
“Know exactly what?” Bucky bit out, forcing his voice to be quiet, and Sam huffed.
“Buck, it’s legal, no one gives a damn about whether you’re gay or not. Most of the general population at least,” the captain told him and Bucky stared at him completely frozen in spot with that look in his eyes that told Sam that he hadn’t known, that this was news to him. Bucky liked to think he knew just how much the world had changed, but his friend had proven him wrong, and now it was getting harder to breathe. He bit down, tensing his jaw and he looked around, avoiding Sam’s concerned gaze.
He couldn’t deny it, no he couldn’t. “So that’s why those guys from before had matching wedding rings?” He asked softly, eyes stuck on the window where he’d last seen them. Sam had no clue what he was talking about, but nodded, “Yeah, man.” Upon hearing his reponse, Bucky’s heart shattered, splintered and stabbed at his lungs. His lips pressed inward, taking a shaky inhale as tears lined his lashes once again, pooling despite how much he tried to hold it together. Bucky croaked, “And the girls on the ice rink?”
“They were together, I thought you knew that,” Sam sighed, “Isn’t that why you said you didn’t want them?”
Bucky shook his head tightly, sighing. It took him a few seconds to finally meet Sam’s warm brown eyes, just another moment to gather himself together as he finally rasped the devastating question, “Did, uhm,” he swallowed painfully, “Did Steve know?” It was then that Sam understood everything, the pained expression, the tears, the tender subject they avoided in the name of the late Captain America who’d passed on the shield to him, why Bucky couldn’t bear to talk about his past life and the romances he’d ventured on. But he couldn’t lie to Bucky, he didn’t have it in him to lie when that was all Bucky had heard his entire life: lies. Despite how much he wanted to say what he wanted to hear and protect him from the ugly truth, he just couldn’t.
Bucky was strong enough, he believed so, stronger than them all, and so he braced himself as he finally uttered barely above a whisper, “Yeah, he did.” Completely ashamed for having to deliver the horrid news that he knew would tear Bucky apart, and he just knew that he had been completely ignorant of the changed law, the newfound freedom, when Steve had stepped on that pedestal with no intention to come back because when his lips formed the words, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and let a tear slide down his chiseled jaw sprouting dark stubble, and he knew the wound in his side couldn’t compare to the knife cutting into his heart.
Sam never knew, never knew the history that compelled Steve to search for so long, unaware as to why he cried when he first found the files entailing the torture the Asset- Bucky- had been subject to, why he’d locked himself in his room, sobbing. He knew they were connected, best friends from the exhibit he’d paid so many visits to, and thought that was the extent, but now he was realizing just how stupid he’d been. Suddenly, Bucky’s metal fist slammed into his own chest trying to jumpstart his deadweight heart, and running the palm over his sternum, wheezing, “I- I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Sam stepped aside for Bucky to move past him, and he took his exit as gracefully as he could, but not before his friend grabbed his wrist, tugging him back. Bucky looked back at the regretful expression, giving a curt nod when he asked, “Are you gonna be okay?”
“I ain’t got no choice,” his voice cracked, and he was off, quickly retracing his steps out of the cool mall, nearly breaking off into a sprint when he entered the parking garage. His shoes, he couldn’t hear them over the blood rushing in his ears, the wind whipping through his hair as he approached his car, panting that wasn’t from the cardio. Frantically, he searched for his keys, and unlocked the door to throw his shoes in the back seat and slammed himself in his cage. Huffing, Bucky’s chest heaved, his dog tags absorbing the burning heat his skin let off under his shirt.
Then an embarrassingly disturbed shake of his shoulders wracked his body, a soft whimper leaving his lips as he repeated what Sam told him. His hands tightened where they rested between his thighs, slouched in the chair where he could feel his skin rolling over, suffocating him just like it did before. Another weak shudder, and his tears are sliding down his face, tracing his skin the way he’d dreamed of Steve doing on those nights that he’d be freed from himself. He shakily breathes out a weak sob, years of hiding flashing behind his eyes that fuels his rage that brings his fists pounding down on the leather steering wheel.
He hits the dashboard, grunting, and screaming as he lets out the emotions jittering his bones, searing his muscles, boiling his skin in rivers streaming down his neck from his eyes. His hands clamp down on the wheel just like the one he’d ripped out of Sam’s grasp, using it to jerk himself around the car, rocking back and forth violently, slamming his head back into the headrest, wishing reality wasn’t what he sat in. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have missed that?
He should have checked it during his researched, should’ve asked Steve while sharing a bed, asked anyone. He should have noticed, but he’d been so stuck in his head, so afraid of himself, he let Steve go. Let him leave without knowing that he could have found love in the present. He thought he was doing his best friend, his lover a favor by sending him off with a smile rather than a scene, screaming and begging him to stay, he thought they couldn’t have what they want. Thought it was still a crime. It was why he’d pulled away from Steve every time he heard a branch twitch, a leaf shuffle, kept his distance. Why hadn’t Steve told him? Why?
The only thing Bucky could come up with in his grief induced rage while throwing himself around the car, clawing at his neck and tugging at his hair as he sobbed, was that Steve wanted him to be a secret. He wanted to leave him. Steve knew the whole time, was aware of the life they could have had, but went back to Peggy, went back to the love everyone knew about, the easy way out, the guaranteed happy ending without Bucky. With ease too, just like Bucky took pain with ease, took orders, took his punishment. Steve packed his things, no, he rather left everything behind, including Bucky, and left.
It was Steve who held him back from Sam, from letting himself feel anything, the anger at the rest of the world for hating something so pure that kept him going. It was knowing that they had no control over their fate that had kept Bucky alive. But Steve hadn’t even wanted him. Bucky wasn’t worth staying, and that sobered him up when he finally pulled out his phone to search up what Sam revealed to him years after he’d been released into society. And he was met with parades, rainbows streaming in the air in the form of flags and banners, tears of joy at the legalization of marriage between man and man, woman and woman, just two years before Steve realized his was alive.
Was this the same reaction he’d had? Did Steve sob like he did when the news came out and Bucky was too dead to celebrate it? Did he resign himself to the future without the happy ending he’d fought so hard for? Did it linger in the back of his mind when he gingerly pressed his lips to the fading pink filling the down-turned triangle inked into skin of Bucky’s flesh wrist by his captors?
When Bucky finally turned the key in the ignition and drove aimlessly towards the hotel, he felt himself enter a blank headspace, his questions bouncing against his skull in electric jabs that he considered worse than the shocks delivered in the throne made specifically for his frame. He wandered in a daze up to his hotel room, unaware of how he didn’t crash on the highway. In the darkness of his room created by the blinds drawn shut, Bucky prepared himself for the trip home, spiraling silently as he realized Hydra had failed to prepare him for this.
This time he couldn’t adapt.