Archive of Our Own

It’s December 1932 when Bucky has his best and worst idea all in one evening. Steve’s been sick before but never like this. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between regular sick and whatever this is, but the doctor’s face gives it away. This is after Steve, the idiot, who must have already been feeling terrible, put on some dumb brave face, and threw snowballs at Buck on the sidewalk after school (and being sick and going to school and walking home he must have already felt awful in the cold, Bucky thinks later) and then he started coughing and fainted dead away right on the spot. This is after Bucky watched Stevie pack fresh powder between his mittened hands until he stopped suddenly, swaying there. This is after Bucky noticed how red Steve’s lips are in winter. This is after Bucky ran down the block from his make-do snowfort on the corner, after he saw Steve fall down and not get back up. This is after he saw Steve motionless on the ground; that red red blood trickling out of his open mouth and bright atop the white white snow. This is after he picked up Steve in his arms and the weight was nothing at all, and he carried him to the Rogers place and Mr. Planski saw Bucky crying and carrying the Rogers boy up to the front stoop and took over and told Bucky he was a good young man and that he would call the doctor right up because Mrs. Rogers wasn’t home from the ward yet and did Bucky have a key? This is after Bucky stood in the Rogers kitchen and watched the doctor speak to Mrs. Planski as they waited for Mrs. Rogers to get home and after Bucky saw the doctor’s grim face and heard the soft murmurs that meant bad news and after Bucky started trembling there in the kitchen and couldn’t make himself still. It’s after the doctor left and Mrs. Planski said they should put camphor on Stevie’s chest and Bucky bolted into action because that was familiar; Steve was always needing camphor on his chest. And it was a good thing to do because then he didn’t have to think about the soft murmurs or the drops of blood in the white. Bucky’s best and worst ideas occur to him after Mrs. Rogers comes home and speaks to Mrs. Planski and looks to Bucky right away with her kind eyes. Everything occurs to him after Sarah sings softly from Stevie’s bedside and puts her hand out and Bucky knows to go to her, that he’s the other son or something like it. And Bucky’s got a mother and sisters and love and warmth at home too, but he would step in front of a bus for Sarah Rogers, so he comes forward and lets her put her arm around him as she kisses Stevie’s hand.

Everything important and terrible occurs to Bucky after Sarah whispers, “I’m so glad he has you, James. I’m so very glad. You’re an angel, you know that?”

I’m no angel , Bucky thinks, I just love him something awful.

And that’s the first thing, the best thing, that comes on like a rocket, fiery and undeniable.   

He’s fifteen and he knows now looking down at his friend who might die tonight, that he is desperately in love.

The worst thing occurs to him after his sister Becca stops by to see where the heck Bucky has been and Bucky sends her back to tell ma that he’s staying at Stevie’s tonight because it’s Friday and Stevie’s sick, ma will understand. He thinks of it after he watches Mrs. Rogers make him a plate of cold ham and potato after he insisted he was fine but she should eat, after they both sit in the dark room and Sarah lights a lantern and Bucky watches her shadow, tall and somehow solid on the wall, and sees how her profile is rather like Steve’s now he thinks of it. It’s after Steve shudders and sweats in his bed, and after Mrs. Rogers starts to pray and asks Bucky to pray too, and he mutters prayers unders his breath and watches Sarah kiss Stevie’s hair. It’s after they both fall asleep and Bucky dreams of a knight, a big golden figure with a sword and a shield who slays all the dragons like too cold and not enough food and sick and holes in shoes. It’s after Bucky wakes up at four o’clock in the morning with a jolt and thinks that he needs to be that knight and then thinks of nothing at all because Steve is wheezing in the dark and Bucky remembers seeing a flick where a fella talked about the “death rattle” and he thinks he hears a rattle in Steve’s throat, he thinks, he thinks, he thinks, and he takes Steve’s cool sweaty hand in both of his and kneels there by the bed.

These are the best and the worst things Bucky ever thinks:

“Please God, please God save Stevie. Please. Save him for his ma and save him for me too, please please. I love you, I love you, Stevie please don’t die, please. I’ll do anything, anything… I know it’s not...I know I can’t… God please, if you save him I won’t do nothin’. Please save him, please let him get better and not get sick anymore and I won’t do a thing wrong, I swear. I won’t ever tell him, and I’ll be good. I’ll marry a girl and have children and I’ll be good, God, please, if you just save Stevie.”

About eight-three years later, Bucky will remember this moment when the smell of mint at a vegetable stand in Prague reminds him of the smell of camphor, and the emotions will overwhelm him to such an extent that the world spins around him and he has to sit down.

But in the morning of that December in 1932, Steve awakes and his fever has broken, so that Bucky is deceived for a very long time as to which thought was good and which was bad.

“Buck…” Steve whispers.

Bucky fell asleep crying, sitting at a bad angle on the floor, clutching Steve’s left hand, while Sarah slept on and held his right. He’s sore and somehow more tired, but Steve’s eyes are open and his skin isn’t so white. He doesn’t look well but he doesn’t look dead and Bucky’s been to church after all.

“Stevie… How do ya feel?”

“Like I got socked a lot.”

“You oughta know what that’s like better’n anybody.” Bucky chuckles weakly but everything’s alright, everything’s fine now because Stevie’s fever broke. Mrs. Rogers confirms it when she wakes up. She goes to the kitchen to fix Bucky oatmeal and broth for Steve. And Bucky sits atop the covers and feels he’s lived a couple years in one night, the truth of epiphany still fizzing in his head.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Steve says, smiling a little.

“Well...Becca and Ruthy.” Bucky shrugs it off. “They drive me nutty anyway. So…”

“It got close didn’t it?” Steve says, soft as a feather. “Down to the line, I felt like.”

“What’re you kiddin?” Bucky says. “Don’t gotta make a big deal about it, punk.”

“Buck…”

“Shut your mouth, Rogers,” Bucky says, too serious.

“No, listen. It’s important. You gotta promise me somethin’.” Steve’s still got dark dark circles under his eyes. Maybe that’s why he suddenly looks so much older than fourteen even given his tiny body and his sweaty hair and his big baby blues. “You got to.”

“Anything for you, pal.”

“If it ever gets down to the line again-”

“Steve-”

“Shush. Listen. If anything happens to me, Buck, will you watch over my ma?”

He wants to tell Steve to stop talking like that, but he knows better. The two of them without their fathers know the holiness of looking after your buddy’s ma. It’s tantamount to a blood oath. Bucky nods and makes sure to look Steve in the eye. “Yeah, I will. You know I will, pal.”

Then Mrs. Rogers comes in with breakfast and Steve and Bucky act casual, all smiles, as if they haven’t just become men. They eat, casting each other knowing looks, until Mrs. Rogers leaves to buy groceries if she can beg a little more credit from Mr. Campbell.

“Lemme read you something,” Bucky says, hopping up from the bed, because he feels edgy and restless and now that they’re alone together that truth of epiphany is heavy and bright and sharp in Bucky’s heart, but he made a promise.

Will it always be so hard to keep this promise?

He reads to Stevie from A Princess of Mars but Stevie gets sidetracked asking Bucky what he thinks life might really be like on Mars and then he wants to draw and Bucky sits beside him on the bed and watches his bold brave friend mumble about martians and what they eat as he doodles.

“You think people will ever go to Mars?” Steve says, mouth turned up into that smirky smile. Bucky’s been accused of teaching him that and it makes him proud because it means they don’t know Stevie as well as he does if they think that was taught.

“I’ll take ya to Mars,” Bucky says loftily.

“Yeah? When’re we goin’?” Steve puts his drawings aside and pays close attention.

“Mmmm spring,” Bucky says. “Ya can’t go to Mars when it’s snowing. The ice up in the sky’ll kill ya.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Don’t believe me?” Bucky says, grinning now, his heart taking flight in his chest. He stands up and goes to Steve’s dresser where the toy zeppelin sits. It’s just a little tin zeppelin and originally it was Bucky’s but Steve kept messing with it every time he visited so Bucky finally just handed it over. “We’ll take the zeppelin here.”

Steve rolls over and lies on his side and Bucky watches the way the sun plays off his hair. He looks happy and sleepy, he hardly looks sick at all. “Ya can’t take a zeppelin to Mars, dummy,” Steve says.

“Who says we can’t?” Bucky says and plops onto the bed and lies down on his side facing Steve. “It’s a very special model see,” Bucky whispers, as if this is all top secret information. “It shoots up into space. But real slow like.” He has the zeppelin take off from the sheets at a snail’s place and starts to fly the zeppelin towards Steve bit by bit. “That way you get a good long time to see earth get farther and farther away… Then boom you’re up in the stars…” Bucky swallows because suddenly he and Steve are inches apart, the zeppelin hovering over Steve, who appears to be paying more attention to Bucky’s mouth than the airship, and now Bucky’s run out of poetry, though he thought he had a pretty good run there. He lands the zeppelin at Steve’s shoulder and absently traces circles with it over the sleeve of Steve’s pajamas.

“Is it just us goin’ to Mars?” Steve whispers.

“Yeah. Just us,” Bucky smiles a little and his voice cracks. “The martians are there. But they don’t pay us any mind.”

“I wish we could,” Stevie mutters and then he says, “Buck.” And that’s before he leans in and kisses Bucky, his mouth unexpectedly cool even if he tastes a little sweaty, and it makes Bucky jerk like he’s stuck his finger in the light socket, but he presses his mouth to Steve’s and feels his heart in his chest both too big and too small as he breaks away and gets to his feet. “I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says quickly, and he starts to sit up. “Aw, I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I-I was just bein’-”

“No no no.” Bucky inwardly wills him to stop. “I know. Everything’s fine, Stevie. Honest. I’m just gonna see if your ma needs help with…” And he turns away.

Three days later Bucky takes out Millie Morgan who is a brunette and whose lips don’t turn too red in winter.

Bucky keeps his promise for a long long time. It’s not like it’s so much of a hardship to spend time with girls. He likes girls and their curves and his hand between their knees if they’re up for it. It’s not their fault that they’re none of them Steve Rogers but he tries not to think about that and he gets used to not thinking about it. He gets used to other things too once he finishes school, like working til he feels he’s about to drop to make sure his sisters are in coats and his ma can buy a cut of beef once in awhile and Steve’s got a good pair of socks if Bucky happens to notice they’re wearing thin. He gets used to finessing an easy laugh around his family so they don’t see his exhaustion and his fear. He gets used to tossing a charming wink at a new gal, the casual arm around a shoulder while glancing back to make sure whoever Steve’s with is kind (he’s lost his temper a couple times with dames who were rude on a double with Stevie). He’s already used to jumping into fights on Steve’s behalf and now he gets used to throwing a better punch. Bucky gets used to lots of things and then Sarah Rogers dies and Bucky hones in on his man, ready to do battle with sword and shield for whatever Stevie needs till the end of the line.

Then Pearl Harbor.

Then Camp McCoy.

Bucky gets used to the idea that he’s a good soldier, that he’s a crack shot, that he can lead men. He gets back from training and Brooklyn already looks a little smaller but Steve looks just the same.

Bucky gets his orders and puts on a good face for the girls and ma. “Hey, don’t look so glum, ma.” Bucky hugs his mother. “I’m gonna win the war for ya. Then you can buy sugar whenever you want and Ruthy won’t have to draw her nylons on anymore.”

His sisters attack him with kisses and soft arms and, “Oh Bucky, be careful.”

Bucky tips his cap and gives them his easy laugh but leaves for the evening and walks to St. Francis, lights a candle and kneels at the altar, though he hasn’t been to church in a dog’s age.

There’s a war on which means there are people in the church but nobody’s too close. Bucky clears his throat and says an “Our Father.”

Then he gets down to business.

“Alright, boss, now I got somethin’ to say,” Bucky whispers, shutting his eyes because he feels pretty goofy. “I know I haven’t been down in here in a while, but I’d like to think since I’ve been a good guy, maybe you can cut me a break. Now here it is. I made you a promise. Maybe it didn’t mean nothin’. Maybe you’re not even there. But I made it and I kept it anyway. I kept up my part of the bargain. So I expect you to keep up your end. I dunno if you’ve noticed but there’s this war on. And now I gotta go fight. And I’m not sorry to do that because it’s the right thing and I believe in it. But that means I gotta leave some people behind who I’m pretty used to looking after. My ma, my sisters...and...and th-that dumb punk I just can’t seem to get rid of… “ Bucky bites his lip and wills the tears back. “So here’s the deal, boss. I’m gonna go take out as many of those godless sonsabitches as I can and maybe I come back and maybe I don’t. And in return you give Steve Rogers a good life. You give my sisses every happiness, you give my ma comfort if I don’t make it. And you give Steve Rogers somebody he loves and a new best buddy if I’m not there to fill the position. You make him healthy. The rest he can do himself. Cause Steve’s up to any damn thing if given half a chance. Sorry for the language. So that’s the deal. That’s...that’s the deal.”

It’s only partly the thought of dying that keeps him kneeling there a while. But the thought of dying is coupled with the thought that after tonight he may never see Steve Rogers again.

“Son,” a gentle voice says behind him. A hand rests on his shoulder. “You’re shipping out, I’d guess.”

The Father gives him a nice blessing and asks who his family is. Bucky’s ma still tries to make it to mass when she can. The priest promises to keep track of the family.

“You should have yourself a nice time tonight,” the priest says.
“Plan to, Father, thank you.” He stops himself from winking.

He read about the Stark Expo in the paper and the thought had given him chills. He thought of taking Steve to Mars...

Bucky leaves St. Mary’s and begs a cigarette off a man in a phonebooth. A uniform can get you a lot these days, he’s finding out. He both started and quit smoking at fourteen. The first time Steve coughed at the smoke, Bucky never considered smoking anywhere near him again. But occasionally on a date he’ll have one, if he knows he won’t see Steve that night. He should be seeing Steve inside an hour, but this time he can’t help himself. He smokes on the corner, looking out at the city, and wonders how long the war will last. Will the city look different if Bucky ever sees it again?

Finally he puts his smoke out and gathers himself. He goes off to look for Steve.

They’re supposed to meet in front of a newsstand on eighth, which probably means Steve has challenged somebody to a goddamn duel in the alley on ninth. Bucky waits around and finally hears the sound of a trashcan clatter.

There he is.

“I should be going.” Steve says, when Bucky tells him he’s got his orders.

What gets to Bucky more than anything these days is the way that Steve in no way sees himself as a man not fit to serve, 4F or no. If he did he wouldn’t keep going for it. Steve, undersized, asthmatic, boney, sickly Steve Rogers sees himself as no less than the biggest man in the U.S. Army and what took Bucky another second to see was that Steve Rogers saw everybody else as no less than the biggest man in the U.S. Army too. In general, Steve’s like that.

“Fair play,” Steve once said to Bucky, after getting in a fight because a guy spit on an elderly Chinese man just walking down the street. “Why should anybody get treated any different because they were born somewhere else or they look different or whatever it is? This is America. I mean...right?”

“Sounds good to me, Rogers,” Bucky would say, dabbing at that split lip with a wet cloth.

The thing is that when Steve talks that way and barrels into a fight because the other guy wasn’t playing fair, Steve, to Bucky’s eyes, is the biggest man anywhere ; a knight with a sword and shield. Sometimes he actually feels sorry for other people who can’t see what he sees when he looks at Steve Rogers.

Bucky takes Steve on a double to Stark Expo (it’s fun-that Stark guy is a character) and if he wasn’t almost completely positive that Steve will come up 4F again and again no matter how many times he tries to enlist, and never get any closer to the theater of war than a newsreel in an actual theater, he’d be angrier at Steve then he gets when Steve wanders off to enlist again . But it’s fine because no army will take Steve no matter how good and brave he is so Bucky says goodbye and doesn’t get too dramatic about it and throws em’ back that night until it’s just him and his date, Bonnie, in a cozy little corner with a bottle of bourbon.

“Are you scared?” Bonnie says, taking his hand.

“Only a little.”

“My brother shipped out,” Bonnie says. “And my father told him he had to have somebody to be thinking of. He said when it’s rough, you might stop thinking about yourself so much, but if you’re thinking of somebody else you work harder to get back to em’. Do you have a somebody?”

“Well, I got you, don’t I, doll?” Bucky winks.

Bonnie fixes him with a serious expression. “You got somebody. I can tell from how distracted you’ve been all night. You don’t want to leave her, right?” She presses her palm to his heart over the thick wooly material of the uniform. “You keep her right here. And you keep her right in front of your eyes. That’s for when it gets real hard and you need to remember who you want to come home to.”

He’s sobered up quick and he squeezes her arm. “Thank you, Bonnie. I’ll do that. Honest. Thanks for that.”

Bucky keeps Steve right in front of his eyes.

And then Azzano.

Hydra is confusing at first. Bucky and his men are pinned down and for a second he thinks: I hope ma and the girls are okay. Steve will look after them or they’ll look after Steve.

Then there’s blue lightning and for an instant Bucky thinks maybe that Stark guy pulled out a miracle for the Allies. But soon enough it’s clear that Hydra is not on their side, even if they did kill a few Nazis who were in their way.

“I ain’t doin’ it,” Bucky says, when they tell him how much gunpowder to pour where and how to test that the cap is welded correctly. He’s favoring his right leg. They were marched for miles through the Alps and Bucky’s shoe was already wearing down. On the trail, prodded to keep jogging by the butt of a machine gun, Bucky messes up his foot badly enough that he doesn’t want to look at it. Looking at it will make it worse somehow. He’s pretty sure there’s an infection. So he limps along and the pain worsens until, within a mile of the Hydra weapons facility, their new home away from home, Bucky passes out. Dugan doesn’t miss a beat, he hears later, and throws Bucky over his shoulder. The two are tossed in a cell with the mixed nuts gang that later becomes the Howlies, and given some slop full of bugs. In the morning, Bucky wakes up to find that his foot’s been bandaged with the sleeve of somebody’s shirt and quasi-disinfected with alcohol somebody’s been keeping stashed for emergencies. But it hurts so badly he can’t stop sweating and shaking.

Not that it matters, he’s still sent to work.

He can’t quite see straight. There are two Colonel Lohmers standing in front of him.

Bucky’s known Colonel Lohmer less than an hour and he doesn’t much like him.

The other guys are begrudgingly going to work like they’re told and maybe it’s because Bucky thinks he’s probably on his way out anyway that he takes a stand, if only to remind the men what they’re all fighting for. Morale is important, even when it hurts like hell.

“I ain’t doin’ it,” he says again. “I dunno who you are but you ain’t on our side. I’m not buildin’ your stinkin’ bombs.”

“You’re favoring your right leg, Sergeant,” the Colonel says in perfect English. “The pain is so bad it is making you to tremble. You can feel the poison in your blood.”

Bucky just stares him down. That’s before the Colonel abruptly takes a good whack at the heel of Bucky’s bad foot and brings him to the ground. It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt. Years later it won’t even crack his top ten for worst pains ever felt.

He’s unable to stand and he’s taken to medical where they dress his foot properly, because he’s supposed to be a worker after all. Even so, he feels like he’s dying when they send him back out to the floor. Bucky has no intention of going to work on their crazy bombs that make blue lightning, but somehow the Colonel has sized him up.

“You’ll follow your orders, Sergeant,” the Colonel says. He nods at two guards who grab a Private Fogel, gripping him by the arms. Private Aaron Fogel is young, so young that Bucky suspects he lied on his enlistment form. He looks about sixteen, but he’s tall and lanky. The kid’s a stick topped with a mop of dark curly hair and two big brown forever startled eyes. He doesn’t much know what he’s doing but he looks up to Bucky and listens carefully and is as brave as any other guy. He’d follow Bucky into hell. Has followed Bucky into hell. “Maybe you do not mind as to whether or not you suffer. But I think you mind if your men suffer.”

“Don’t,” Bucky says under his breath, knowing very well it’s useless.

Lohman sticks his baton into Fogel’s gut and twists and sparks like the blue lightning that got the Nazis at Azzano now engulf the kid who flails, jerking wildly, screaming.

The other men keep working, watching the scene play out in the middle of the weapons manufacturing floor. Morita and Jones shout and get hit. Bucky steps forward. “Cut it out!”

Lohman hits Fogel with another shock and Bucky looks on, horrified, as the veins in the kid’s neck turn increasingly bright blue, his eyes rolling back as he wails in pain.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!” Bucky puts his hands up. He whips around and starts pouring the gunpowder, grimacing when he puts too much weight on his right leg. He spills some powder, his hands are shaking so badly.  But he has to be careful not to get even a speck around the cap or the thing will blow when he welds the cap to the shell. “Alright! I’m workin’! Alright?”

Lohman holsters his baton and Bucky glances over his shoulder as the kid drops to the floor, half-conscious. “I knew you and I would come to an agreement, Sergeant Barnes,” Lohman says crisply. “But I think for the foreseeable future it would do well for us to keep this young man...as a kind of collateral. A reminder. Of where you stand. Or rather, where you kneel.”
I’m sorry, Fogel. I’m so sorry, Fogel.

He keeps on, going through the careful motions of assembling each shell, even as behind him the guards are chaining Fogel up to hooks on a wall next to the bucket of water where the men can take a drink every couple of hours when ordered to.

I’m so sorry, Fogel.

He wonders what Steve would have done.

At the end of the night they march the men back to their cells and give them more slop.

Fogel they leave chained to the wall.

Bucky sits in a corner with his plate and now the pain in his foot is a blessed distraction from the thought that he’s as good as killed the kid. Dugan tries to talk to him and Bucky waves him away. Everyone falls asleep on their straw mats and Bucky curls up on his side and embraces the hurt.

From what Bucky can tell, Fogel gets no food or water the next day. Bucky feels so guilty he can’t raise his eyes to look at the kid every time he takes a ladle of water from the bucket. After the second time he gets water as he’s welding a cap, Bucky thinks of the night before Azzano when they were all holed up on the edge of a hill planning their attack. Bucky took a minute to go have a smoke and get out of the muggy tent, feel the air on his skin. He found Fogel taking a leak and offered him a cigarette when he was done.

“You’re doin’ good, kid,” Bucky said, giving him a light.

“Thanks, Sarge,” Fogel mumbled around his cigarette. He was squinting up at the stars.

“How old are you really anyway?”

“Heh. Age is just a number yeah?”

“Huh. Sure.” Bucky had laughed, taking a good deep drag.

“Anyway, I had to fight. I got...I got family. In Poland. They couldn’t get out. Ya know? They’re probably… Well, we dunno. How they’re doin’ I mean. They’re probably dead.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed. But he felt humbled by it. Maybe some part of him had started to feel a little too important for fighting this war. But here was a kid flouting the rules to defend his own family.

“I’m sorry about that, Private. I wish I could… Well, I’m real sorry about it.”

“You’re from Brooklyn, right Sarge?” Fogel said, looking up, hopeful.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I’m Brighton Beach.” He smiled then. Even given everything. It made him look yet younger.

Bucky patted him on the shoulder at that. “Tougher than we look, huh?”

“That’s right.”

On Bucky’s tenth hour of work on the floor and his third trip to the water bucket, Bucky raises his eyes to look at Fogel. The kid doesn’t look good; he’s gaunt and his lips are cracked and white. He’s muttering under his breath, but Bucky can’t hear what he was saying. He thinks it’s a prayer.

“I’m sorry, Fogel,” Bucky says softly.

“S’not your fault, Sarge,” Fogel whispers. “They’re fucks.”

Bucky speaks as quietly and as quickly as he can because nobody’s stopped him so far. “I can slip you water. Might make things worse but if you want me to risk it-”

“ Please .”

Bucky moves faster than he has since before Azzano and gets a ladle of cool water to Fogel’s mouth and most of it goes down before the baton connects with his heel and Bucky’s still gasping when he feels a boot on his throat. He can hear the other men shouting and being efficiently quelled by the guards.

“I thought we had an understanding, Sargeant,” Lohmer says.

“It’s been two days!” Bucky wheezes. “He could die if-”

“And serve as a warning-”

“I have information,” Bucky glares up at Lohmer. He’s been paying attention. This place doesn’t just make regular weapons. The gunpowder looks and smells different. He’s sure it all has something to do with that blue lightning stuff. Men in white coats come and go. This place is some kind of laboratory as well as a weapons base. Bucky’s got nothing. But he has gotten better at poker since going to war. Now he plays his biggest bluff.  “I have information on top secret scientific advances within the U.S. military.”

Lohmer appraises him, raising an eyebrow while pressing his boot. “How do I know you’re telling the truth, Sargeant?”

“You won’t know. Unless you let Fogel down. Give em’ food and water. Else I won’t tell you what I know-”

“This is absurd-”

“What I know about...about Howard Stark!” The name pops into his head like a beacon of light. It has nothing to do with reality to any degree that he knows. It’s just his quick thinking brain scrambling for something to do with science and coming up with: STARK EXPO. That character with the mustache, the flying car… He can spin all kinds of tales with that. He’s seen Stark in the paper even before talking about new technologies yadda yadda. Certainly they would have heard of Howard Stark so maybe...maybe…

“Howard Stark...” Lohmer says.

He watches Lohmer fall for it right before his eyes. He can’t believe his luck. He feels a thrill of victory.
“Let the boy down,” Lohmer says, pointing to the guards. “Take him to medical. Feed and water him. Get this one to interrogation. I will be there shortly.”

In the interrogation room, under a hot light, Bucky invents entire worlds of false information. He tries to couch things with just enough truth; things he’s read in the newspaper, or in the pulp magazines he and Steve read as kids. He uses military language and spits out random dates as if they’re hard evidence. Lohmer questions him for hours. He hasn’t eaten all day and the food he’s had since they arrived hasn’t been exactly nourishing. He starts seeing things and slurring his words.

At the end of it they throw him into a cell and outside occasional bread and water, he’s all but forgotten for days. He doesn’t know how much time passes. He sleeps on cold stone. He dreams of Coney Island and he dreams of eating rock candy on the front steps of his building with Steve and his littlest sister, Wendy, hopping up to sit on his knee so he’ll jiggle it around like he’s a wild pony, Steve egging her on and shouting, “Hi-yo Silver!”

One day Lohmer appears in his cell and tells him he knows everything Bucky said was a lie.

They drag him down a corridor but when they pass the manufacturing floor, Bucky sees Fogel looking healthy and working alongside Dugan and Gabe and that’s enough, that’s enough.

They take him outside and it’s pouring rain.  In a mud floor pen surrounded by high concrete walls they beat him until he all but forgets where he is.

When they’re finished, Lohmer says, “If it’s punishment you like, Sargeant. I’ll be happy to oblige. It’s no trouble. You remind your men of what they are losing. That only makes them more willing to work. They have no other choice. Your ever so noble failures are why HYDRA will triumph.”

In the mud and rain, Bucky lays bleeding. Eventually his mind clears enough so that he wonders how Lohmer, who must have some intelligence to have risen up in the ranks of this apparently powerful organization (whatever the hell it is) can know so little about the minds of good people.

It’s why they’ll lose, he realizes. The thought is comforting.

He’s pretty sure he’s dying. He wonders if this is how Steve felt that night he had that bad bout of pneumonia, the night Bucky realized he was in love with his best friend. Bucky thinks of that now as the rain beats down. Bucky’s head feels heavy and sharp with pain but he puts Steve in front of his eyes again. He imagines another world without these massive evils and this war where he and Steve love each other and nobody minds it. He imagines living in Brooklyn with Steve in a big beautiful townhouse. How they can afford it doesn’t matter, because Bucky is bleeding in the rain and he gives himself this fantasy; Steve sitting by a window drawing, Bucky dancing around the room to records, breakfast in bed with the paper on a Sunday and Steve warm and naked under him and both of them safe and laughing and in love.

He was wrong, he thinks now. There was never a bargain that needed to be made. Shit just kinda happens, he thinks as he lies in the mud with his pummeled guts. People get sick or they don’t. He could have kissed Steve back when he was fifteen. Then he could have kissed him again and again.

He could have said, “I love you, punk.”

“I don’t want to set the world on fire…” Bucky mumbles the song, raindrops cold on his lips. His eyes feel so heavy. “I just want to start a flame in your heart…”

Bucky shudders and the high concrete walls blur around him. He dreams of a knight with a sword and shield. He dreams of snow and blood.

“He’s a sniper.”

“A sniper...hmm.”

Voices fade in and out.

“...He’s an example to the men.” That’s Lohmer. “No other foot out of line since this incident.”

Bucky doesn’t know where he is. He’s lying on something hard again.

“Or you’ve created a martyr,” says the voice.

“Disappear him if you like. I think he works best teaching the others a lesson.”

“He’s smarter than you, Lohmer. To have fooled you so easily with his stories about Stark. I need a new specimen. And intelligence is an asset. The men you bring me are weak. They keep dying. This one should be dead by now so he must be strong too. Get him to the isolation ward.”

They get Bucky warm and healed.

Then things get much worse.

They inject him with strange substances, they fix electrodes to his head and there’s blue lightning, blue lightning… He hears them talk about how to make him forget himself. The thought is terrifying. Bucky doesn’t want to forget. All he’s got are his memories.

Time means nothing.

Sometimes they shock him and for a couple days he can’t remember certain facts like his father’s name or where he’s from and he starts muttering to remind himself who he is just in case. Any time Zola isn’t in the room. Zola was the other voice. Zola is the monster. They’re trying to turn him into something. Bucky doesn’t know what, and he hopes he dies before he finds out. Lohmer was nothing. Lohmer was training wheels.

A lot of the time they just keep him strapped to a table and all he can see is the ceiling over his head but he keeps Steve in front of his eyes.

“Sergeant...Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes…three two five five...seven...zero…”
What’s the rest? What’s the rest?

“James...Sergeant James Barnes...James Buchanan Barnes...three two five five…”

“Seven zero three eight.”

“Sergeant James Barnes.”

“James...James Buchanan Barnes...three two...five five...seven...zero...three eight…”

“Bucky… Oh my God…”

The knight doesn’t even register at first and when he does, Bucky thinks he’s hallucinating. Then he comes back to ground and it’s Steve, it’s Steve towering over him, and Bucky still isn’t completely convinced any of it is real until they’re marching away from Hydra and Steve slings a bigger longer arm around his shoulders.

“I thought I lost ya, pal,” Steve whispers, and runs a hand through Bucky’s greasy messy hair as they trudge through the forest. “Goddamn, Buck.”

Bucky has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from losing it and he focuses on the march. Lucky for him, Hydra needed him functional and healthy once they’d decided to experiment on him. He’s exhausted and wringed out but that’s pretty par for the course since he started with the 107th.

“You gonna tell me how this happened?” He looks Steve up and down, and allows himself to lean in closer as they walk, reveling in Steve’s arm still around him. “I know you were a late bloomer but this is pretty old for a growth spurt even for you.”

The weirdest part of it is how quickly Bucky gets used to Big Steve. And stranger still is that he doesn’t even look that different, not to Bucky. Maybe it’s a trick Bucky plays on himself in his head. When he looks at Steve Rogers he sees the little Steve and this new big Steve and they’re the same and they’re perfect.

Steve tells Bucky stories as they march. Erskine and Howard Stark. Steve looks away shyly when he mentions Peggy Carter and he’s downright embarrassed when he talks about the U.S.O. shows; Steve wearing that goofy get-up socking a Hitler every night, lifting toy motorcycles over his head, Steve the showgirl. Bucky laughs so long and so loud, he looks like he’s losing his mind and Steve has to hold a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t attract too much attention as they march quietly through the woods.

It’s a blessing, it’s everything, it’s the best he’s felt in a year.

He does abruptly sober a bit when Steve mentions Howard Stark and Bucky’s blood runs cold when he thinks how close he was to truth as he spun his lies to Lohmer.

Back at base they shove Bucky into a medical tent and it’s grueling. They make him tell them every injury he can think of and poke and prod and tsk and murmur.

“Do you know what it was they injected you with?” The doc asked, looking vaguely horrified.

“I think it was green,” Bucky says shrugging. “It stung a lot.”

This leads to a lengthy debriefing in Colonel Phillip’s tent where he has to go over every detail again, but it’s not so bad when he keeps it objective, his eyes trained on a pen sitting there on Phillip’s desk. He can’t look at Steve, who sits next to him, his fist clenching tighter and tighter as Bucky speaks. Bucky leaves out what got him into the isolation ward in the first place. He focuses on the weapons he saw and how they were made, the experiments and what they might be for. He tells them everything he knows about Zola especially.

“I had an interesting conversation with a Private Fogel,” Phillips said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Said he and every man in your unit owe you their lives ten times over even before Azzano-”

“Sir.”

“Said you stood up to those Hydra bastards but good too,” Phillips says. “Saved Fogel’s life-”

“I wouldn’t say so, sir. I’m the one that got em’ in trouble to begin with.”

“Not quite how I’m hearing it,” Phillips says, but he doesn’t push. “Your men said you kept em’ going. Kept em’ in fighting spirit. You’re a damn good soldier, Barnes. And a good man.”

“Who knew,” Bucky mutters.

“ I did,” Steve says.

Afterwards Bucky needs a smoke and he finds a quiet place to sit with Steve for a bit. Steve keeps staring at him and Bucky can’t even quite read what it is. It feels like pity, pride, and admiration with a good dose of: I fuckin’ told you, didn’t I?

“You better stop givin’ me that look, punk,” Bucky says around a drag. “Or I’m gonna have to test the limits of that tough guy juice they gave ya.”

“Buck.”

“What-”

Then Steve is crushing him into a hug and even if he doesn’t look a whole lot different to Bucky, he sure feels different. But it’s good , it’s so good. And neither lets go for a long long time until Bucky shivers and they break away, tentative.

“Do you have any news about ma and the girls?” Bucky says, so he won’t start bawling.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, wiping his eyes. “Becca’s in the nurse corps. She’s stationed in the Philippines last I heard. And Ruthy’s doing clerical work for the army but she’s in New York. And Sylvia’s engaged. And Wendy’s doing alright in school. Your ma is well. Keeps the rations in line.”

Bucky nods, processing. Of course, Becca’s an army nurse. He’s surprised she didn’t try for combat. “Wait, Sylvia’s engaged? To who?”

Steve laughs and says, “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Oh God, not that George-”

“He’s a perfectly nice guy, Buck”

“Dumb as a box of rocks.”

“Your ma says he’s good to her.”

“He serving?”

“Flat feet.”
“Hmm.”  He feels a pang of hurt missing home. Ma and the girls feel impossibly far away and he scoots closer to Steve, stubbing his cigarette out, and they talk about nothing important until they’re told to go to bed and nothing is everything.

At the pub with Steve and the boys and Agent Carter, Bucky gets the picture loud and clear. The thing is, it’s not so bad. Peggy’s a pip. If he could pick anybody for Steve who isn’t him, it would be this woman. When she walks in wearing that red dress, Bucky looks to Steve and suddenly there are two planets in perfect orbit. He feels a little like an asteroid barreling through in the wrong place. But that’s alright.

He mulls it over as he drinks his beer and discusses the coming campaign with Steve.

In the flicks, there’s always a guy who’s heartbroken because his girl loves somebody else. But it’s not always like that. If you get to be near your love and see them happy, that’s enough, that’s enough…

“Maybe she’s gotta friend,” Steve says.

Maybe she does. Hell, maybe they’ll all get married after the war and have half-British super spy babies and live next door to each other and play Bridge on Saturdays and maybe that will be enough too. Maybe that’s the bargain after all.

Falling from the train, Bucky has a sliver of an instant to remember: Bargains aren’t real. Shit just kind of happens sometimes.

March 10, 2017

Just about every morning Bucky wakes up now it takes him a minute to remember where the hell he is. Or when the hell he is. Every morning that he opens his eyes in a bed his ears perk up to listen for Steve’s breathing because in the old days if Steve wasn’t breathing well in his sleep, Bucky would turn him over so his airways opened up a little. It’s alike and different from the old days. He does live with Steve in Brooklyn, but their place is huge. Steve says it’s a townhouse. Bucky doesn’t call it a townhouse because he can’t quite process the idea that they live in a townhouse.

Sometimes it’s like he has to relive his entire life every morning just to get up to speed.

That can get dark.

But it ends well enough: The triggers are dead, I can’t hurt anyone unless I want to, I’m safe here with Steve.

The third one isn’t always totally convincing and it often makes him roll out of bed and pad over to Steve’s door if Steve isn’t up yet. He’ll either find Steve asleep and drooling on his pillow, or a note on the door that says he’s gone running or he’s away with the Avengers. This morning, there is neither. Bucky hears noise in the kitchen and finds Steve up and cooking. Which is not like usual.

Captain America is making pancakes.

Bucky plops down at the kitchen table and leans on his shiny vibranium arm, watching, slack-jawed. “What’re you doing?”

“Flapjacks!” Steve declares. He smirks over his shoulder at Bucky, tossing him a wink.

“Since when do you cook?”

“I cooked plenty back when,” Steve says. “The Howlies loved my cooking.”

“Pork and beans on toast. You culinary genius.” Bucky says, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Plus by the time you were cooking for us, we were used to gruel with a dollop of maggot. Our bar was set pretty low.”

“Well, set your bar higher,” Steve cracks. “Flapjacks, melon, sausage, eggs-”

“Over easy-”

“Over easy so you can dip your toast in the yolk. Like I don’t know.”

Breakfast is good. Breakfast is so fucking good. Bucky can’t believe how good food tastes. Fresh fruit was one of his chief pleasures when he was off on his own, getting his memories back and relearning how to be human. Sometimes he marvels at how people just seem used to food tasting so good.

He also doesn’t understand how everybody doesn’t groan a little bit when they eat.

Steve just watches him, unable to contain his giddiness.

“I love watching you eat,” Steve says.

“Sounds like a fetish,” Bucky says, taking a swallow of juice.

“Might be,” Steve says.

Punk.

They’ve been flirting since they moved here, back to New York. There was the long stay in Wakanda, and helping T’Challa out with whatever they could to attempt to make up for what he had given them. There was Tony Stark reaching out to Bucky specifically (after lengthy renegotiations with Steve over the concept of oversight that put Bucky to sleep) with some new understanding he gained after learning more about the Winter Soldier than Bucky wanted anyone to know. But it was the for the best. Stark had become his staunchest defender right under Steve Rogers. Wonders never cease.

It’s only been a few months of this new status quo where Bucky has friends, has Steve, has the freedom to decide what he wants to do with the rest of his life. He’ll fight with the Avengers if the threat is important enough, but it’s a case by case basis. Most days he’d rather work down at the VA alongside Sam or write (he’s been writing a lot) or go on walks or read and wait for Steve to get back from whatever he’s doing. But he’ll fight if they need him.

And in between there’s been this...flirting.

He doesn’t know what it means, there’s so much to think about and do and feel now, this is just another thing.

It’s a nice thing though.

It feels like sparklers in July.

“So what’s all this for?” Buck says, his eyes growing big when Steve reveals a bowl of strawberries and cream. “And trust me, I’m grateful.”

Steve laughs and says, “I knew you’d forget.” That startles him and Steve sees it immediately. “No no. Sorry, not like that. I mean anybody would forget. If they’re us anyway.”

Bucky sits and racks his brain for a second. He wouldn’t forget the Fourth of July, Steve’s birthday among other things. And it’s not VE Day, that’s May. He and Steve have both discussed how unfair it is that they managed to survive the war yet miss out on VE Day.

“It’s March tenth,” Steve says, smiling softly.

Oh.

“Happy hundredth birthday, Buck.”

“Wow.” Bucky sits back, surveying his melon rinds, and takes a sip of coffee. “Rarified air I’m in, I guess.”

“Don’t look a day over ninety, old man.” Steve says.

“How happy were you when I showed up again and you didn’t have to be the oldest guy in the gang anymore huh?” Bucky grins, laughing. Everything isn’t always golden, it’s not for anyone. But he laughs a lot around Steve.

“ So happy.” Steve says. But Bucky can see the heartfelt truth of it and he nudges Steve’s knee under the table.

“Oh God, there’s not a party is there?” Bucky winces. He likes Steve’s friends, truly. He wouldn’t even mind a mellow gathering. But there’s been a lot of press on him, good and bad. He fully plans not to go near the internet today and see his whole life rehashed via tweet, even if it’s in his favor. There’s every chance Tony or someone might have suggested some big gala type thing. Yikes.

“No,” Steve says firmly. “Tony would like a dinner par- dinner gathering . Whenever you like. But nothing major.”

“Not today,” Bucky says, hopeful.

“Nah.”  Steve crosses his arms. He seems slightly nervous. “And...I took the week off. Barring, I dunno, alien invasions. But I told them it would have to be big for me to work this week.”

“A week?” Bucky says, perking up. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No! I mean… Well, everything’s been moving so fast, we haven’t had a chance to just...relax. Ya know? Have a little fun. So, it’s your birthday. Let’s do whatever you want this week. Sky’s the limit.”

“A whole week?” Bucky says.

“Just you and me,” Steve says nodding. “Or I mean, certainly if you want to invite Sam and Natasha along whenever… But yeah.”

Bucky feels like he’s fifteen again. Sitting on the front stoop in summer. Eating rock candy with Stevie. In love.  

He nods slowly, thinking. He has written down the odd thing that would be fun to do with Steve. They always seemed to be things for another time, somewhere in the future. Because Steve is right, everything has been moving so fast.
“Coney Island!” Bucky says, slapping his hand on table. “I know it’ll be cold, I don’t care. And we should go into the city. One of the art museums, that’s for you. And I want to go the Museum of Natural History. I like the diorama things with the cavemen. And the dinosaurs bones.  And then we can go to the park and walk around. And Sam told me about some place in the Village where they make gigantic milkshakes so we gotta go there. And a whole day of just watching old movies. Tony gave me a big stack. And we have to break in the record player. And you haven’t drawn anything in awhile. And...that’s it.” His cheeks are warm and he sits back, suddenly a little bashful.

“That all sounds perfect,” Steve says.
“Also I… I haven’t gone to see ma and the girls yet.” He stares down at his fingers. They’re all buried at Evergreens. Wendy was the last. She died in 2009. When he thinks about it, it’s an ache. But he can’t help but be a little relieved that to them he was a war hero who died bravely so long ago. They never knew what was done to him. They lived pleasant lives. There were children of course. Bucky’s got all kinds of nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews. There’s a man who works for Stark in charge of fielding calls and letters and emails to Bucky and Steve. He figures if they want to get in touch with them he’ll let them. Maybe someday he’ll reach out. He’s not sure about it yet.

Steve reaches over to squeeze his hand. “Alright. Absolutely.”

They sit and lazily finish their coffee and Bucky tells Steve about vets he’s met down at the VA lately. He’s as curious about them as they are about him. The relief of it is that they know enough to only ask about the war itself or Steve or the Howling Commandos and Bucky doesn’t mind that. He likes talking about the Howlies. It’s civilians asking about Hydra or the Winter Soldier that grate on him. But vets know better. Those conversations happen too but their private and quiet. Sometimes he has to bring his darkest demons out to show some kid they’re not alone. He wears a glove when he goes down because he feels weird about his fancy arm when there are amputees around who aren’t close friends with the king of Wakanda, but they always know and they always want to see it and they only ever tease and give him shit in a way that makes him grin.

Of course, the best is when Steve visits too and Bucky gets to give him shit in front of the younguns for dancing around in the tights before he started fighting. The kids get a real kick out of that.

“You really love it down there don’t you?” Steve says fondly.

Bucky nods. He’s told Sam again and again how grateful he is to be let down there. Sam is always baffled by that. He acts like Bucky is doing them a favor. But that’s never how it feels.

They decide to do Coney Island first. It’s cold but that means it’s not crowded, which is worth it. They go on a couple of rides and Bucky teases Steve mercilessly about that time he threw up. The best part is stumbling upon a store that sells vintage candy and toys. They find stuff they haven’t seen since the 30’s.

“Oh, I got somethin’ for ya,” Steve says as Bucky examines a tin robot. He hands Bucky a hundred dollar bill and smiles.

It takes him a second. “A hundred buck. You are so corny.”

“Gettin’ cornier all the time. I got a real present for you later.” He looks a little nervous about it. Bucky’s racked with curiosity.

They come out of the store with bags full of sugar and nonsense.

“I would not use the hand buzzer on Natasha,” Steve says. “She might kill you.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Sam sure.”

The thought cracks him up. “And then Tony. And Thor .”

“Thor will die .”

They walk on the beach and Steve slings his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. They watch the sunset and talk about what they would have done with a hundred dollar bill in 1930.

Back at home, Bucky asks about his present.

Steve hedges.

Bucky thinks it must be pretty good then.

The next day they choose for lazing around and watching old movies: The Wizard of Oz, His Girl Friday, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington ... Sam and Nat come over for a while. Bucky tries the hand buzzer on Sam who reacts appropriately: by swearing that he will never ever ever forgive Bucky for this crime. He throws gumdrops at Bucky’s head and demands to be there when they try it on Tony.

They order pizza and Sam and Nat disappear for a bit only to return with a massive strawberry ice cream cake.

The cake says:

Happy 100, JBB

Til the end of the line.

Bucky swallows the big lump in his throat and sits through “Happy Birthday,” scowling at Steve the whole time.

He’s watching funny animal videos on YouTube with Sam and eating his third piece of cake when he notices Steve having a hushed conversation with Natasha in the corner. They’re whispering. She’s smiling but she keeps smacking him in the shoulder. Steve looks abashed.

Bucky’s antenna is raised high.

He asks about his present again.

Steve says tomorrow.

The next day they go into the city and wander around the Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Bucky insists on buying Steve a totally overpriced drawing set in the gift shop. Then they walk around Central Park and everything changes.

“STEVE!”

There are dogs.

There are dogs up for adoption.

There are puppies .

Bucky has a thing about dogs. When he was a kid, of course it was totally unrealistic to have one for himself. But he’d go up to them all the time, even the mangey mean looking ones eating out of the trash in alleys. He thinks whatever it is that attracts him to mutts is also what attracted him to the scrappy beat up kid throwing punches at bullies.

Steve knows all this.

Steve says, “Oh no.”

“We’re getting a dog,” Bucky declares.

Their building has a communal yard. Other people there have dogs.

This is very doable.

The problem is deciding.

Bucky bypasses all the fluffy adorable dogs that the kids are looking at and goes straight for the ones who look like killers. He pats a pit bull on the head after asking permission from the handler. “Hey, buddy.” The pit bull bows and looks up at him with hopeful eyes. “Oh man…”

But there’s also a German Shepherd...and a Doberman mix…

All Bucky sees are tiny sweet babies who need love.

“Bucky!” Steve says. Steve’s kneeling  at one of dog pens. He looks up at Bucky, his eyes huge. “This puppy has a bad leg. Poor guy.”

The puppy is a Boxer with a wonky eye and a nicked ear and his left leg is crooked so that he walks a little funny. The handler tells him he was rescued from a mill upstate where the animals were treated terribly, that his leg was malformed when he was a baby because of the way he was squeezed into his cage, that the rest of his litter died, that people always want puppies but often not one with a wonky eye and a bad leg. She says he’s sweet as pie and still active despite the leg. Sometimes he walks into walls but otherwise he’s alright.

Bucky kneels down next to Steve and the handler hands the pup over to Bucky.

The puppy licks his face and Bucky shakes the bad paw with his own vibranium arm.

“We’re takin’ him,” Bucky mumbles. The puppy licks his face excitedly as if he understands and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and says, “Yep. Comin’ home with us, pal.”

This changes the scope of their evening and probably the rest of the week.

After the paperwork, the handler admitts she knows who they are and begs for selfies with Captain America and Bucky Barnes and their new dog. Then they have to go to a pet store and stock the fuck up.

“What are we namin’ him?” Steve asks, as they stroll through the pet supply store. They got a collar and a leash from the adoption people, which hardly matters since Bucky hasn’t let the puppy out of his arms for half a second.

“Lefty,” Bucky says, as if it’s too obvious to discuss.

Steve nods and picks out a chew toy that looks like a hot dog. “Lefty it is.”

Bucky breaks his “no social media for my birthday” rule and posts several pictures of their new guy on Instagram. He smirks while posting a pic of Steve holding the dog and comments under it: He looks just like his daddy.

By the time they get home with their giant bags of dog supplies, Lefty is trending on Twitter.

But they’re too busy to acknowledge that nonsense, as they have a lot of googling to do on the subject of proper puppy care. Also, Stark has seen Lefty all over the internet and is begging to come over.

Stark becomes Stark and Rhodey which becomes Stark, Rhodey, Thor, and Banner and then Sam and Nat and Clint want to join of course and Wanda and Vision don’t want to be left out… Darcy shows up with a keg. Scott Lang Ubers over with Peter Parker even though it’s a school night.

Bucky inwardly shrugs. It’s suspiciously like a party but since the dog is (supposedly) the main attraction, he doesn’t mind it.

Bucky lies on their living room floor, the puppy climbing all over him while everybody mills and around and laughs and eats crab cakes since Tony doesn’t show up at an impromptu gathering at anyone’s townhouse without caterers. Steve’s on the couch ignoring whatever Banner and Tony are saying next to him, his eyes only on Bucky.

Bucky really can’t decide what day has been the best so far.

“Hey, what about my present?” He says, the dog licking his ear.

“Ya gotta hundred bucks and a puppy, ya brat. What else do you need?” Steve’s grinning at him. That’s not to mention gifts from the others. He wasn’t expecting that.

They’re making eyes at each other, that’s the only way he can put it in his head. Bucky thinks he has so much already. Even if there aren’t bargains and shit just kinda happens, it feels like pushing his luck to ask for anymore than he’s got when he’s got so much now.

“I’d like to propose a toast!” Tony’s just drinking apple juice out of a wine glass (he’s been on a health kick and drinking wheat grass a lot, he can’t stop talking about goji berries). He clinks his glass with a fork and everyone else begins clinking to quiet the room.

Bucky groans and lays back on the floor, hoping no one will actually look at him.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Tony says, gazing down at Bucky. “I have to do it. Just eh...lie there and think of England.” He clears his throat. “So...you all might remember that a while back we all had a bit of a...falling out.” Everyone titters, tense. “Words were exchanged...shields were dropped...the spider kid freaked everybody out but he’s a good kid, we can all agree.” Behind Tony, Thor tousles Peter’s hair which makes the kid stumble for a second. “Now you might ask...Tony, why are you making everyone awkward and uncomfortable. Well, because that’s what I do .”

Everyone laughs at that, the tension is released.

“The point is this… So when I was a kid,” Tony says, “my dad liked to tell a story about the Howling Commandos at dinner parties. It was always some epic tale of bravery and colorful shenanigans, but there was one guy he always singled out. He talked about how brave this guy was, how endlessly loyal he was to his friends, how he’d never leave a man behind, quick with a joke to raise the morale, great dancer… He loved to tell this story because the punchline was everybody waiting for him to say Captain America. And he’d say, no you assholes, I’m talking about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tony pauses for effect. And it’s a heavy one. The last time Bucky heard him being this serious they were alone in a room and Tony was telling him that he understood, it wasn’t Bucky. Not really. Bucky wasn’t that guy. It had made Bucky feel as if he was truly forgiven. He feels like that moment was the real beginning of his new third life in the world.

Bucky pets his puppy and pretends everyone isn’t staring at him with affection.

Tony gazes down at him, that smirking but genuine smile on his face. “I’ve known a lot of good people in my day. The best ones are in this room. The worst ones are in this room.”

Everybody chuckles and Natasha cuffs Tony in the head.

“Look, I’ve said it before to him, he knows it. You can see how incredibly uncomfortable he is right now, look look, his face is purple . But I want to say again, for emphasis. I’m glad to know you, Bucky Barnes. My dad was glad to know you. I’m happy to be your friend. You deserve every happiness.” He raises his glass. “To Bucky Barnes!”

“To Bucky Barnes!” Everyone shouts.

Bucky sits up and focuses on his dog as everyone ambles over one by one to pat him on the shoulder and wish him a happy birthday. Steve plops down next to him and the arm comes around the shoulder again.

“Those goji berries are really workin’ for him,” Steve says.

Later that night, Bucky tries the hand buzzer on Tony. Tony barks a laugh, rambles about the mechanics of hand buzzers, and gives Bucky a big wet kiss on the cheek.

The night he talked to Tony alone in a room, Bucky confessed to spinning yarns about Howard Stark to Hydra as a way to stop a Jewish kid from getting tortured, and how scared he’d been after that it might have gotten Howard in trouble after all. Tony just cried and hugged him.

By the end of the night, their townhouse is a mess. They go out to walk the puppy, arm in arm, Lefty trotting along in front of them, his leg doing a little jiggle when he walks on it.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Bucky says.

“Good.”

“So why’re you holding on me with that present huh?” Bucky says. He nudges Steve, who sighs and scratches his head.

“It’s a big one,” Steve says quietly. “Afraid you might not like it. Might change things.”

“We did just get a dog.”

“Might change more.”

Maybe it’s the big bursting supply of happiness that Bucky’s been allowed all week that’s giving him confidence now. He has a pretty good idea about things, he thinks. He reaches down to squeeze Steve’s hand.
“I think you should give me my present,” Bucky says in a low voice.

By now it’s sunrise and they’ve been up all night. Bucky sits on the front stoop as Lefty snoozes on a step. Steve brings out coffee and a small silver box tied with white ribbon and sits down next to him.

“Every once in awhile” Steve says, “I go snooping around to try to find things from our old place or my ma’s place or your ma’s place. So um… One of Tony’s people tracked this down. I don’t know how they did it.” Steve hands Bucky the box and hides behind his cup of coffee.

Bucky takes a breath and unties the ribbon and gently opens the box with great import.

Inside he finds a very old, gently rusted tin zeppelin.

“Oh my God,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s...it’s the same one,” Steve says. He reaches over and turns the zeppelin upside down. The undercarriage is carved with both their initials: JBB SGR.

Bucky was forever scratching his initials into his things because his sisters swiped his stuff. When he gave the zeppelin to Steve, he made his friend do the same.

I’ll take ya to Mars.

Yeah? When’re we goin’?

“Do you remember that night I had that bad bout of pneumonia,” Steve says softly.

“Y-yeah…‘course I do. It was thirty-two.”

Is it just us goin’ to Mars?

Yeah. Just us. The martians are there. But they don’t pay us any mind.

I wish we could.

“I...I made a deal with God that night,” Bucky says. Steve’s playing with his fingers, the zeppelin cradled in his palm. “I thought you were gonna die so I made a deal.”

“You did?” Steve won’t look away from him. “What was it?”

“I... Well, I…”

“Was it before or after I kissed you?” Steve says, and leans in to kiss Bucky’s temple and his hair.

“Ah… it was before,” Bucky whispers. “I told God if you were healthy, if you were happy… if you were alright, that I would be good, that I wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Steve murmurs into his cheek and kisses his chin and Bucky can hardly breathe.

He watches Steve lift his vibranium arm and kiss the tips of his fingers. “That I wouldn’t...be with you. That I wouldn’t tell you that I loved you. That I love you. I... that I love you so much, Stevie.”

Steve cups Bucky’s cheek and smiles, way too smug. “That was a real dumb idea, jerk.”

“Yeah, I figured that out later. Shit just kinda happens.”

“‘Specially ‘cause I love you too.” Steve kisses the tip of nose his top lip and his bottom lip and Bucky closes his eyes. “I don’t even know how to tell you how much I love you.”

Bucky tips his chin up and meets Steve’s lips with his and the sun is rising. They kiss slowly and sweetly and Steve traces circles on Bucky’s shoulder with the zeppelin and says he’ll take him to Mars.

Bucky leans his head on Steve’s and holds him tight. “Mars is fine. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Steve nods at the soft orange sky and whispers, “Daybreak.”

All Bucky feels in reaction to the word is love from head to toe.