Chapter Text
The pitter-patter of rain drops smacking against the lid of the dumpster rang throughout the Brooklyn alleyway, accompanied only by the low, whining cry of a small kitten. She was curled up in a small ball underneath the dumpster, the hairs on her back sticking up as the thump of thunder attacked the earth. The storm withered on for hours and hours, turning the already cold night unbearable.
The kitten didn’t know where her mother was, she couldn’t remember the last time she saw the rest of her clowder. Well, that was after that car had flown down the street, catching them all by surprise—perhaps that was the last time she saw them. The memory was a bit fuzzy. Still, the kitten couldn’t understand why they would leave her alone. Why would they abandon her to the cold and the storm?
She’d run underneath the dumpster the moment the first drop of rain clashed towards the pavement, and she’d been stuck underneath it ever since. Fear clutched her by the scruff, carrying her every thought. Oh, how she hated the rain. Hated it.
Heavy footsteps running down the alley sent the cat’s heartbeat racing. They slowed, the sounds of panting breath taking over.
She peaked her head out from beneath the dumpster, trying to get a better look at the person standing above her, clutching the brick wall next to the dumpster. The kitten hissed, trying her best to scare off the predator like her mother would. Of course, her mother was far better at it. If only she was here.
Where was she?
The man crept down on all fours—the kitten scrambled backwards, pressing herself against the wall as far away from the man as she could get.
“Hey, hey—I’m not gonna hurt you,” he insisted. His voice was low, still slightly choppy from being out of breath. “I just wanna see if you’re alright, okay? Maybe get you outta the rain.”
A hand reached out, curling around the kitten’s chest. She flailed in his grasp, digging her claws and teeth into his hand with all the force she could muster.
She was met by the metallic taste of metal.
Warm metal though. After a moment of panic, she couldn’t help but lean into the touch, the heat was so nice against her drenched fur. It was safe, it felt like. If only for a moment. The same safe that her mother always made her feel. A trill broke out from her, she could get used to this feeling. To him.
The beat of gunfire broke the spell—bullets running out into the night and through the rain. She hissed, once again squirming to get out of the metal embrace.
“Shit—” the man muttered.
In an instant the kitten was shoved inside his jacket as he took off running again—a dozen other men and women chasing them through the alleyway.
She couldn’t see much, so she poked her head out as much as she could, her chin flopped over the zipper of his jacket. The man jumped on top of a motorcycle. Engine railing as they took off.
The kitten hissed, shoving her head back into the jacket—too fast, too fast, too fast.
“It’s okay, kitty. Almost home.”
The cat curled into the warm man’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut.
They dove through traffic and took turns too quickly, the engine buzzed and their tires zipped down the many roads they traveled on. But soon enough the crack of bullets disappeared behind them and they slowed to a halt.
The man pulled over, finally letting his bike rest. He jumped off the seat, taking the kitten with him.
He wandered into a large building, a slight jogging to his pace. He zipped his jacket up a little higher, hiding the cat from view, yet she could still manage to hear everything that passed them by.
“Mr. Barnes!” a cheery, elderly, and feminine sounding voice called out once he entered the apartment complex. They stopped. “Did the rain catch ya out there?”
He hesitated. “Something like that.”
She sighed. “It’s just raining cats and dogs, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, I’ll let ya get on with it. Have a good night, young man.”
A beat. The cat waited for him to keep moving but he didn’t.
“Hey, Ms. Johnston? Do you have any spare cat litter or any of that kinda stuff?”
“Cat litter? Are you and Sam thinking about getting a pet?”
It was that moment the kitten decided to worm her way half-out of the jacket. She peaked her head out of it, catching the elderly woman’s eye.
Ms. Johnston’s face lit up. “Oh, I see, my boy. You go on and get the poor thing dried off. I’ll drop whatever I can find by your door in the morning, yeah?”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Of course, anything from a little fur ball like that. Have a good night, Bucky.”
“Yeah—yeah. Night.”
The woman disappeared and the man—“Bucky”—reached into his jacket, his hand shoving past the cat, into a small pocket. He produced a set of keys, sticking them into the lock, letting them into the apartment.
Bucky set her down on the hardwood floor. She didn’t like the sounds her claws made on the flooring (all clicking and clacking) but when she found her way to the rug, she settled a bit. Able to appreciate its softness—able to appreciate the whole room really.
They immediately walked into an entry way which led to a small kitchen and living room. Down a hallway were other rooms—the bedrooms and bathroom. The walls were painted gray, but the furniture was mostly a collection of various shades of warm brown. A few pictures were hung on the walls, yet that seemed to be the only hit of this apartment being more than a showroom.
“Sam won’t be home until tomorrow,” Bucky explained, following the wandering cat. “Sam’s my roommate, my friend. He’s, ah, Captain America, though I suppose you don’t know what that means. Just know that he’s important—good. But, em, I guess you wouldn’t care about any of that. Unless you do.” He hung back by the kitchen island, fiddling with his fingers. “Let’s just get you dry, little one,” Bucky declared.
Bucky offered a quick smile as he wandered off. The cat settled down on the couch—it was stiff and brown, with hard angles and soft cushions—letting a pool of rain water spread out beneath her. When Bucky came back he didn’t seem mad, though. He simply scooped her up in a towel, patting her damp, rain soaked fur.
“You need a name,” he decided. “I can’t just call you Cat—well, I guess I could but you don’t look like a Cat to me. I mean, you do look like a cat, just not a cat called Cat.” He paused. “How about…Aragorn?” The kitten shot him a pointed look. “No? Hm, what about Nellie? No, no. Not that.”
Bucky looked at her for a long while, his metal hand gently running through her white fur. The towel was wrapped around her now, no longer actively drying her, but cradling her tightly.
“What about Alpine?” he suggested. She liked the sound of that one, she purred in response. “Yeah? You liked that one? I do too.”
Alpine. The name curled through the kitten's mind like honey in a cup of tea: sweet and tasty, dissolving into every nook and cranny, changing the flavor into something better. She’d never had a name before. She liked it quite a lot.
The numbers on the wall clock grew bigger than smaller, and as time passed by the newly named Alpine rested comfortably on Bucky’s chest, a wet towel covering them both. Alpine liked it here far more than she liked life underneath the dumpster. And it was in this moment, with a clicking tock and the distant rain noise, that the kitten knew, really, truly knew that her mother was long gone. Even if she was alive, she’d never find her in this place. So, she had two options: stay in the dry apartment with the warm man who bothered to name her, or risk it all by venturing out into the storm to find someone she wasn’t even sure was still alive. Alpine knew which option she picked even before she thought of the options.
Safety. Warmth. Bucky. She liked it all quite a bit, and as sleep began to take her the kitten decided maybe it was worth staying for.