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in january of 1933, at fifteen years old, Bucky barnes had realised that he was wholly, irrevocably, completely in love with Steve rogers.
He had been in the kitchen of Steve’s apartment, stirring a pot of potato stew (that arguably should not be allowed to be called a stew at all, it being almost nothing but potatoes and water), in a weak attempt to do something other than sit and stare helplessly at his friends frail coughing form withering away under a pile of worn down blankets on a mattress made almost entirely of metal and nothing else.
the stew would barely help, he knew, and that frustrated him so badly. Steve needed proper medical care, he was on the brink of death, and their meagre recourses would do nothing for him.
Bucky wanted to properly help him so badly it hurt. He wanted to give him the world on a silver platter. but with barely a penny to their name a watery stew and some blankets was all he could do, and that made his heart ache.
and while stirring the wooden spoon around in the pot, yearning for it to be filled with so much more, Bucky realised he cared so deeply for Steve, and maybe, that wasn’t just out of friendship.
the thought made him stop stirring, staring blankly out the window at snowflakes gently falling on the lampposts below, his mind racing with thoughts too jumbled to pick apart, and he diddnt notice as the bubbles started to become bigger and bigger, until they were spilling over the edge, and some of it caught his hand, burning it.
he cursed, jumping to take the pot off the stove and move it over to the countertop.
He heard steve faintly call “buck? What happened?” From his room, and quickly rushed to reply “nothing Steve! just a clumsy idiot, as always”
he heard a faint, weak laugh ring out, and with that he forced the thought to the back of his mind as he started to pour the stew into three bowls, covering one with a dish cloth to keep it warm for Sarah. she wouldn’t be back from her shift for a few hours, but Bucky felt bad making food from her recourses and not saving her a portion.
he grabbed two spoons, carefully placing them in the bowls, before filling a glass of water, balancing it under his arm and picking up one bowl in each hand and heading off in the direction of the bedroom, a door down a small hallway with a little step he had to manoeuvre around to avoid spilling everything he was holding.
he pushed the door open with his shoulder, smiling at Steve who smiled right back at him as he placed everything on the small nightstand by his bed.
Steve pushed himself up to be sitting, and Bucky sat himself down next to him on the bed, giving Steve a worried look as the movement made him groan.
“how you holding up?” Bucky asked, grabbing for his bowl on the nightstand as Steve did the same.
“fine. I can think straight now, being able to actually think coherent thoughts is a truly wonderful thing”
Bucky snorted, and Steve coughed.
“so you’re not dyin anymore?”
Steve smiled “never was. Can’t get rid of me that easily”
he coughed again, this time so hard that when he pulled his sleeve he had used to cover his mouth back, the thing was stained with blood.
“fine, huh?” Bucky said, offering him the water that he took, taking only a small sip before placing it back on the nightstand, completely ignoring Bucky’s question.
Bucky smiled a small pained smile, and said faintly “I worry about you, yknow? you’re always acting like everything’s fine because you don’t like being mother henned, but I’d rather you tell me the truth than try to act tougher than you are and end up worse off for it”
Steve sighed “I am fine, buck, really. I promise.”
Bucky gave him a look, and Steve gave him a look back, and Bucky sighed, turning and staring into his soup.
all he could think was how much he wanted to say you’re such an idiot that i worry about so much and i have this horrible realisation dawning on me that these indescribable feelings i have for you- the worry that makes me sick and the wish that i could give you the world and the annoyance that you would never take it because you are the most annoyingly selfless guy on this earth- might just be love, like actual romantic love.
and he couldn’t say any of it. Steve wouldn’t feel the same way. He would look at him like he was mad, and he would never talk to him again.
Bucky couldn’t bear that thought.
“you alright?” Steve was looking at him, worry written all over his face.
“yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he smiled that big toothy smile that everyone said shone like the stars themselves, “now eat your stew or i will force feed it to you”
Steve laughed, and scooped a spoonful of potato into his mouth.
fuck, Bucky thought, I am so, so in love with that stupid laugh.
-
in 2015, the soldier- for he was still the soldier, neither the name written on the plaque at the museum nor the name Steve rogers had called him quite fit- has a vague memory of the smell of potatoes and a deep, crushing, all encompassing feeling.
he’s hiding out in a rural town in Brittany (because who the fuck would look for the winter soldier in northern France, of all places), in an empty house on an empty street, with a stray cat he had named alpine and something that resembled an actual normal life.
the house had clearly been empty for a while, with cobwebs somehow in every single crevice and ivy seeping through some of the windows, but it was still mostly homely, some of the furniture had been left behind and all of the walls and floors, carpet and all, were still intact. it’s the closest thing the soldier had had to a home in a long, long time.
he should have moved weeks ago, staying in one place this long was beyond dangerous, but honestly he was sort of forming an emotional attachment to the place, and the food here was amazing. he made a trip to the local carrefour every two weeks just to feel the joy of discovering yet another food he felt he had always needed in his life.
he had just gotten back from one of said trips, and was packing away the food in the kitchen, alpine sauntering around the countertops like she owned the place.
he was slowly packing each item away, each in their rightful place in the miraculously intact kitchen, and when he reached for the last item in the bag, potatoes, he remembered what he had thought in the store earlier- that maybe he could use them to make a stew, and then he could actually cook something for once, instead of just his usual instant meals.
he hadn’t thought anything more of it then, but now it gives him pause. now the idea reminded him of something long forgotten, an echo of a realisation, something wonderful and horrible all wrapped into one.
he couldn’t place his finger on it. damn it. Damn hydra and their stupid fucking chair.
and damn Steve goddamn rogers for probably being in that memory he couldn’t reach, for giving him emotions massive and all consuming that the soldier couldn’t even describe in any other way than a big, burning star growing inside of him, an ache of missing something when he didn’t even know what that something was.
Steve goddamn motherfucking rogers.
the soldier would be doing so great right now, if it wasn’t for these stupid memories and stupid emotions and the need to understand them on any level above the utterly indescribable feelings they left him with.
he angrily shoved the potatoes to the back of the cupboard, vowing to leave them there until they became so mouldy and rotted that they morphed into part of the wall.
he had to do something about this Steve rogers problem. the man was halfway across the world and still haunting him, still in his head in ways the soldier diddnt understand, and he needed to understand or else he would somehow go even more mad than he already was.
as he slowly uncurled and stood from crouching in front of the cupboard, an idea so horrible and completely irresponsible came to him, washing over him like a wave as his face dropped, then morphed into something pleading and he turned to stare helplessly at alpine as if she could warn him against this terrible idea.
she just meowed at him.
“you’re no help” he frowned at her, and all he got in response was yet another meow.
he sighed, continuing to stare at her “it’s a really bad idea, isn’t it?”
“mrrroww?”
“yeah, yeah I shouldn’t do it. you’re right.”
he stared at her for a few seconds, squinting his eyes. “should I?”
“mrow.”
his face split into a slow grin “yeah, I’ll do it”
-
thirty seven hours later, and he was in a New York taxi cab on his way to avengers tower, nothing with him but a small backpack that was mostly holding a big fluffy white cat.
getting here had been a complete blur of stress, speed walking, and almost backing out and completely abandoning the idea at least twenty five times. this was a terrible idea. This was the worst idea he had ever had. he was about to walk into a heavily guarded partially government building as one of the most wanted men on earth. Probably the most.
he was so fucked.
he looked down at his wriggling backpack, a small pink nose poking out of the top sniffing the air curiously.
this is your fault he thought, staring at the bag with what he hoped was enough intensity to create a telepathic connection.
the cat didn’t say anything, continuing to sniff the air in complete obliviousness.
you’re no help.
“right, we’re here!” the driver shouted from the front, and the soldier gathered up his bag and ducked out of the car onto the busy street.
he sucked in a breath at the immediate overwhelming influx of things happening around him, the people constantly walking past, the chattering, car horns honking, all potential threats and potential targets and the noise was drowning and deafening and he couldn’t see and he couldn’t think and he needed out he needed out he needed out.
he held his backpack tighter, and rushed forward into the building, not taking the time to consider those he bumped into, instead focusing on his mission- get away from the noise.
he stepped through the glass doors, and let out the breath he was holding as the volume went from completely overwhelming to slightly louder than necessary background noise.
he immediately, instinctively, assessed his surroundings. two visible exits, five visible cameras- likely high quality with audio, thirty six civilians, two receptionists, three security guards on two metal detectors, five more security guards placed at strategic points, four elevators-
no mission. no target. some danger, but danger he was expecting and could handle.
he sucked in a breath, then breathed out. and did it again. and again. and then alpine started moving in the backpack in his arms, and he took it as a signal to get a fucking move on.
he walked up to the receptionist, a nice looking older lady with her hair tucked back in a neat bun, red lips forming into a smile as she looked up to greet him.
A smile that dropped as soon as she took in his long dark hair, old hoodie pulled tight over his head, a backpack that definitely looked suspicious as hell, and what was probably a manic look in his eye.
“um-“ she started turning her head to try and get someone’s attention.
“James barnes, here to see Steve rogers.” he spoke, harsher than intended, voice clipped.
she turned her head back, brows crinkling in confusion as she opened her mouth, presumably to ask him to repeat what was clearly an insane and improbable sentence, but she was cut off by the sound of a gun safety clicking off.
“hands behind your head!” one of the guards shouted from behind the soldier, and yeah, he should’ve expected this.
he turned around, clearly showing each of his movements as he placed alpine down on the ground and held his hands in the air.
the other guards had caught on now, and were gathering around him in a loose imitation of a circle, clearly all too frightened to get close.
“…winter soldier?” one of the guards asked.
the soldier nodded, slowly. this was going as badly as it could’ve possibly gone.
all their eyes seemed to widen simultaneously at the gesture.
“dude, I thought i was just seeing things, what the hell?” the first guard hissed to the man next to him, and was met with a shoulder shove and a “shut up”
“what’s in the bag?” yet another guard spoke.
“just my cat.” he nodded down to the bag, and right on cue alpine started to wriggle her way out of it.
they all instinctively pointed their guns at her, and the soldier scowled. bastards.
“she’s not dangerous.”
as they all lifted their guns back to point at him, one of them rolled their eyes, whispering under his breath “you say that about cats all you want until you have to experience getting swallowed by a flerken”
the soldier only caught it due to his supersoldier hearing. he wondered what a flerken was.
“right. well.” one of them spoke, then nodded at another who pulled a pair of handcuffs off their belt and started slowly walking towards him.
the soldier waited patiently, and fought all of his instincts as the guard carefully put the handcuffs on him and helped him to be standing.
it was fine. they were normal handcuffs, he could break out of them easily if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to because then he wouldn’t get to speak to Steve and he would never figure out the jumbled mess that was his emotions.
he repeated this thought like a mantra as the guard led him out of the lobby flanked by three others, with the rest of the people there trying and failing to hide the fact they were staring, and as he was led into an elevator, to a basement level, pushing the immediate panic and no exits too many threats no escape route- to the back of his mind, continuing the mantra, and letting himself be led to a small interrogation room.
the guard attached the cuffs to the table, and left.
he hoped they were treating alpine alright. he should have refused to leave her. she was probably so scared and alone and- fuck. what the fuck had he done? all this just to get some stupid answers about his stupid fucked up brain.
he wished he was back in France. he wished he had never come here. His throat constricted and he felt the overwhelming urge to start crying.
he hadn’t cried in over sixty years. he had probably forgotten how.
the thought made him frustrated and that made more tears that won’t come want to well up in his eyes, and he started fidgeting with the chain between his wrists to distract himself.
suddenly, the door flew open so aggressively it almost got ripped from its hinges.
two hundred something pounds of pure muscle and bright blonde hair and eyes the colour of the sky burst into the room, at least five guards behind him talking over each other and grabbing at him in a futile attempt to get him to stop.
his face split into the widest smile the soldier had ever seen, and then, finally, the tears started.
his smile faltered only slightly, and he rushed forwards to wrap him into the tightest, warmest hug possible, awkward around the cuffs, but he didn't seem to care “Bucky. Oh my god Bucky, I knew you would remember me, I knew you would come, I knew it, they all called me insane but I knew it-“ he broke of his babbling and pulled back, tears streaming down his face too now, and Bucky started laughing through his own tears.
“Steve. Steve-” he swallowed, then started giggling again, feeling everything he had felt before, only now amplified by a million, and coming to the realisation that he now knew exactly what that feeling was, and completely unable to stop laughing at the absurdity of it all, he choked out
“I think- Steve, I think I’m in love with you.”