Chapter Text
Bucky pushed open the door to his apartment and stepped into the hallway, squinting against the fluorescent lights.
Five days.
He'd been inside for five days straight, living off instant coffee and whatever he could scrape together from his mostly empty cabinets. He was out of bread now. Out of coffee, too. So here he was.
The second-floor hallway was quiet. A few doors down, someone had stuck a paper skeleton to their door. Another apartment had a small wreath made of fake autumn leaves and tiny plastic pumpkins. He wrinkled his nose but kept walking. People did weird shit with their doors.
He took the stairs down -never the elevator, not if he could help it- his boots echoing in the concrete stairwell. When he got to the bottom and stepped into the lobby, he stopped dead in his tracks.
What the fuck?
The hallway looked like it had been attacked. There were cobwebs stretched across the corners, plastic skeletons dangling from the ceiling, and jack-o'-lanterns -bright orange, grinning like idiots- lined up along the baseboards. Fake bats hung from the light fixtures. Everything was orange and black and aggressively festive in a way that made his jaw clench.
It was October 4th. Why the hell was the building decorated like a damn haunted house already?
He stood there, staring at a particularly offensive plastic pumpkin sitting on the narrow table near the mailboxes. It had a huge, cartoonish grin carved into it, the kind of smile that was supposed to be fun but just looked… wrong. Too wide. Too happy.
He tilted his head back to get a better look at it, frowning-
And immediately felt something catch in his hair.
He froze.
Then reached up slowly, brushing against something soft and sticky clinging to the back of his head. He pulled at it. It stretched. Clung tighter. He pulled harder, and it wrapped around his fingers, tangling worse than before.
Fake cobwebs?
Of course.
He yanked at it again, twisting his wrist to try and shake it off, but it just balled up and stuck to his palm. It was in his hair, on his fingers, probably on his shoulders too by now.
He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
He stood there in the middle of the hallway, hands half-raised, cobweb clinging to him like some kind of shit Halloween prank, and seriously considered just turning around and going back inside. He could last a couple more days on nothing. The serum would keep him upright even if his stomach felt like it was eating him alive. It wouldn't be the first time.
The building door opened behind him.
He turned his head just enough to see an older woman step inside, a canvas grocery bag slung over her shoulder. She looked up, and he saw it. That flash of recognition in her eyes. She knew who he was. Or knew of him, at least.
She looked him over: the too-long, tangled hair now half-covered in fake cobwebs, the unkempt beard, the wrinkled jacket and jeans that looked like they'd been slept in. And his face… yeah, he knew what his face looked like right now. Pissed off. Hostile. Like he was two seconds away from putting his fist through the wall.
She changed her expression. Not quite fear, but close enough. Then, she gave him a tight, strained smile and sidestepped him as wide as the narrow hallway would allow, pressing herself against the wall like he might lunge at her if she got too close.
Bucky watched her go, with his hands still half-raised like he'd been caught mid-crime. The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, pressed a button, and stood facing forward with the kind of stiff posture that screamed please don't follow me.
The doors started to close.
For a second -just a second- he was tempted to walk over there. Step inside with her. Stand too close. Watch her squirm. Give her a reason to be scared.
She already thought he was dangerous, right? Already saw him as something threatening, something wrong. So why not give her what she expected? Why not be the thing she was so desperate to avoid?
It would be so easy. He wouldn't even have to do anything. Just stand there. Let the silence stretch between them. Let her panic fill the space.
He could do it. He wanted to do it, in some bitter, spiteful part of himself that he didn't like acknowledging.
But he didn't move.
The elevator doors shut with a quiet ding, and she was gone.
He exhaled through his nose and turned back to the cobweb situation. He could deal with his hands, didn't really care about them. But his hair was a mess, half of it tangled up in the sticky fake webbing. He reached back with his left hand and tried to pull it free, but the glove just ended up smoothing the shit further into his hair instead of actually removing it.
He switched hands. Tried again. Worse.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, dropping both hands. Starvation it is.
He turned toward the stairs-
The building door opened again.
He looked up, already bracing himself for another round of poorly-disguised awkwardness, and froze.
It was her.
Pushing through the door with a cart in tow, one of those rolling shopping carts old ladies used, except hers had a handmade cloth lining covered in yellow and orange flowers. It looked exactly like something she'd have.
She looked up, saw him standing there with cobwebs in his hair and murder on his face, and her expression immediately shifted to something between sympathy and amusement.
"Oh no," she said, wincing. And then, without hesitation, she let go of the cart and walked straight toward him. "Hold still."
Bucky blinked. "Wait-"
"Just- hold still," she repeated, already reaching up toward his head. She was close now. Close enough that he could smell that damn apple shampoo again. "You're making it worse."
He went rigid but didn't move. Didn't step back. Just stood there like an idiot while she carefully started pulling the cobwebs out of his hair, working gently through the tangles.
He kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind her. Didn't look at her face. Didn't say anything.
"You're probably gonna have to wash your hair to get all the residue out," she said after a moment, her tone light and conversational, like this was a completely normal thing to be doing. "This stuff is sticky as hell. Whoever put these up used the cheap kind."
He grunted in response.
She worked in silence for a few more seconds, carefully picking out the last of the webs and wiping her fingers on her jeans. When she finally stepped back, she tilted her head and looked him over, clearly trying not to smile.
"There. Better." She paused, then couldn't seem to help herself. "How did you even-?" She gestured vaguely between his head and the cobwebs still hanging from the ceiling and walls.
Bucky clenched his jaw. He scratched at the side of his neck and muttered, "I was looking at the decorations."
She tried not to laugh now, he could tell.
"I'm getting the sense you're not exactly a fan," she said, glancing around at the flamboyant deco.
"It's October 4th," he said flatly, like that explained everything.
She just looked at him.
He pressed his lips together, working his jaw like he was chewing on something bitter.
She hesitated for a second, weighing whether or not to push. It could be stepping on a landmine, she knew that. But she asked anyway, keeping her tone light. "It's more commercial than it used to be, huh?"
He made a low sound in his throat. Not quite agreement, not quite a growl.
Then, quieter, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud: "Halloween wasn't... this."
His stomach decided to make itself known at that exact moment. A low, unmistakable growl echoed in the quiet lobby.
He went still. Didn't look at her. Didn't move. Just stood there as if he stayed motionless enough, maybe she wouldn't have heard it.
She tightened her grip on the handle of her cart, and he could see her biting the inside of her cheek, clearly fighting the urge to say something. She glanced down at the cart, then back to him, then away again, like she was weighing her options.
Finally, she cleared her throat. "So," she started, tone careful and deliberately casual, "I just went shopping." She nudged the cart slightly with her knee. "And I'm really curious about this whole ‘Halloween wasn't like this' thing you just dropped."
She paused, then added, almost like an afterthought- "So, if you are up to it, I'll trade you. Food for the full story. How it used to be."
He didn't answer right away. Just stood there, looking somewhere past her shoulder.
Then-
"You really wanna hear a 106-year-old man complain about festive decorations?"
He said it like a joke, but he still held himself tense, and his tone was flat enough that it could've gone either way.
She smiled. "…and share some coffee, yes. Besides, you look way better than most of the grandpas around the block." She paused, then added, with the smallest hint of mischief: "Respectfully speaking."
He felt heat creep slowly up his neck. He looked away, scratching at his jaw. "You don't have to-"
"I know," she said, cutting him off gently but firmly. "But I'm asking anyway."
He stood there for another second, working his jaw, clearly trying to find a reason to say no and coming up empty. Finally, he exhaled through his nose.
"...Okay."
It came out rough. Reluctant. Like the word had to be pried out of him.
He shifted his weight, glanced at the stairs, then back at her, like he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do with himself now that he'd agreed.
She turned toward the elevator, pulling her cart along, but paused when she realized he wasn't following. She looked back over her shoulder. "You coming?"
"I, uh-" He cleared his throat. "I gotta make a call real quick. And take the stairs."
She looked at him for a beat, and he could tell she didn't quite buy it, but she didn't push. Just nodded. "Okay. I'll leave the door unlocked. Come up whenever."
She then stepped into the elevator, gave him a small wave, and the doors slid shut.
Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the elevator doors. Then he exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face.
Pathetic.
He'd been willing to get in that elevator just to make some old lady uncomfortable, but he couldn't handle sharing the small space with her. With someone who was actually being nice to him. Someone who smelled like apples and didn't look at him like he was a menace.
He pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw.
These were the cards he had. This was what he was working with.
At least she didn't push, just let him be weird about it.
He exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and headed for the stairs.