Summary:
Dawn is coming, open your eyes.
(Stucky 5+1, T/PG)
I.
It was cold. Even wrapped in a pile of blankets he was still freezing. Steve blinked his eyes open. The room was dim but that could be the curtains - no. They didn’t have curtains anymore, not since they moved here –
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky said.
Steve groggily traced the source of his voice and found Buck slouching in a chair by the foot of his bed. Bucky looked like hell, actually, even from what Steve could make out in the poor light from this distance, messy hair and dark circles under his eyes. With a wry smile he said, “Took you long enough.”
“How long was I out?” Steve croaked.
“Three days,” Bucky’s mouth twisted a little. “Thank god the fever broke last night. Got me worried there, pal.” Shit, three days. Of course Bucky would be a mess.
“Sorry.”
Bucky shook his head. ”Only you would apologize for being sick.”
“Don’t think you look that much better than me. You slept?”
“Yeah I did.”
No you didn’t. Steve wanted him closer so he could have a better look. Or just closer, honestly. Instead of asking he bit his dry lips.
“And sorry to say, hotshot, my face would beat that stupid mug of yours any given day.” Bucky smirked.
“Jerk.”
“Punk. You gonna go back to sleep?”
“Who knows.”
II.
There’s a slight nudge at his shoulder. The cold dampness had seeped through his clothes. Steve blinked his eyes open. It’s dark but – oh, right. It was his turn to take watch.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky said quietly.
Steve got up and gave Bucky a little pat on the arm. Bucky looked as if he could drop dead any moment. The sight made Steve purse his lips, but that was what Bucky wanted so he didn’t say anything other than a muttered “Get some rest.”
At least Steve hoped so.
Bucky always took the first watch, though more often than not, by the time they decided to call it a day the others had been too exhausted to protest. But not Steve. He had tried to talk Bucky out of it because the serum allowed him to stay vigilant longer, and he thought it should be him instead. But Bucky insisted, and reluctantly confessed later that if he got tired out of his mind it would be less likely for him to dream afterwards.
So Steve let him, even though he didn’t like it. Everyone had nightmares these days, but Bucky worse than most. His little gambit usually worked, but on a bad day nothing could help.
Not into half an hour Bucky started writhing.
This was one of the bad days, then.
Steve scooted closer and ran his hands gently up and down Bucky’s arms, trying to coax him into deeper sleep. Bucky did lean into the touch but it didn’t get better. A strangled cry escaped his lips. Steve tried calling his name as loud as he could without waking the others, shaking his shoulder, but it wasn’t working and it didn’t get any better and –
Bucky’s eyes snapped open, disoriented and panicked. His hands flied up to cup Steve’s face, frantic, smoothing his forehead and Steve was pulled into a fierce hug. Bucky sobbed silently into his shoulder and burst into a wave of broken whispers. “I got you. I got you, Stevie. I won’t let them take you. I won’t, ever – “
Steve opened his mouth, something soothing on the tip of his tongue and the next thing he knew –
Next thing he knew, Bucky was kissing him.
Next thing he knew, he was kissing Bucky back. Clumsily, teeth bumping teeth but he’s too dizzy to care…
They broke apart for breath. It was almost as if his asthma came back and Bucky’s chest is heaving, too, he was frowning a little when Steve asked, softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
At that Bucky’s face blanched.
“Shit. This isn’t a dream, is it,” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and started pulling away.
“Buck?” Steve said, slightly alarmed. Bucky forced a tight smile. “Just. Forget it. Nothing happened, okay?”
“What?!”
“Better off this way, for both of us. You wouldn’t want to get into this mess, believe me – ”
“Says who?” Steve cut in, incredulous and suddenly furious.
“Voice down, pal, you’ll wake the others,” Bucky sighed, wearily rubbing his face.
“Well, I don’t get a say in this, then, do I?” Steve’s voice dropped to a low growl.
“Just. Drop it, Steve. Please.”.
“Drop it? All my life, Bucky. All my life. I wanted ‘it’ so much it hurt and it hurt even more just trying to move on, and you’re telling me to drop it? Why did you never, ever think to tell me – ”
“’Why didn’t you tell me,’ he asked,” Bucky mocked. “Why didn’t YOU tell ME, then?” He laughed bitterly, his voice shaking. His whole body was shaking. “Oh. I know. You didn’t have a choice. I know. I get that. Because neither did I. What makes you think I had a choice, huh? You want me to risk the only good thing I’ve ever had? What if you don’t – ”
“But I do,” Steve whispered, all the fight in him gone. “Bucky,” he pleaded, “I do.” The silence stretches heavily between them. Steve tentatively reached out, taking Bucky’s hand in his and Bucky sagged against him, probably too exhausted to argue any further.
“Where do I end up, now?” Bucky sounded lost.
“With me,” Steve ventured. That prompted a humorless laugh out of Bucky. “What about that little picture you got in your compass? What about Carter? You can’t tell me there’s nothing going on between you.”
“It’s not…” Steve trailed off. It seemed to be what everyone, himself included even, expected of him now. Him and Peggy. He liked her and she clearly liked him. It was nice to know there was a possibility that he could love someone and build something good, since Bucky didn’t –
Bucky did, though, as it turned out.
“We’ll work something out,” Steve decided. “Can’t have the others find out – ”
Bucky snorted. “They know.”
That was a lot to take in.
“…they know?”
“About me, anyway. They’re not complete idiots, you know. But still. Never even thought about selling me out,” Bucky sounded tired but fond.
Steve thought about how hard it was to keep the brass from picking on Jim and Gabe. “They sure wouldn’t, would they.”
“No,” Bucky leaned into him, and for a while they said nothing.
Suddenly Bucky laughed, again, but more lighthearted this time. “Oh, Steve. You were supposed to take watch.”
“I am. Taking watch, I mean.”
“You totally aren’t.”
“No, I’m not,” Steve agreed.
“You, slacking off. Get the word out. Never thought I’d see it in this life.” Bucky smiled wryly.
“I don’t see anyone coming. Do you?”
“What happened to Captain America’s sense of duty?”
“You, apparently. You come first,” Steve said, meaning every word.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew that. Thought the whole Europe know that now,” Steve smiled wryly. “The world will survive ten minutes or so off my watch.”
Bucky chuckled a little, a reassuring weight against him. It’s just like how they always were, finding comfort in simply being together. But now there’s more. There had always been the potential for more and they were turning a blind eye to it, afraid of losing what they had. And now they’re at war, a war they’d probably never come home from. They had no time.
No, not exactly ‘no time’. After all these wasted years, they might still have a chance to make it right in what precious little time they had. Steve turned and inched hesitantly closer to Bucky’s lips. Bucky just kept watching him all the while.
“…may I?”
“Seriously? Now you’re asking?” Bucky huffed and closed the distance between them.
III.
It was warm. Maybe a bit too warm but he wasn’t gonna complain, after seventy years of ice and everything. A familiar weight was kind of cutting off the blood flow in his arm. Steve blinked his eyes open. Bucky was there, right in front of his eyes, a tiny smile curling his lips.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky said, his long hair still messy from last night. Steve couldn’t help but lean in to taste that smile of his.
And to pull his arm out from under Bucky, move forward and bury his face where Bucky’s neck met his shoulder. He was about to drift off again when Bucky laughed. Steve just grumbled something, annoyed. Not even he knew what came out of his mouth. “No, I ain’t gonna just let you sleep on after you assaulted me with your horrible morning breath.”
I don’t have a morning breath, Steve wanted to say. He wasn’t sure what made it out of his mouth.
“You totally do, buddy,” Bucky told him. Steve growled a little , and that got a snort of laughter out of Bucky. “Thought that goddamn serum would make you a morning person.” Steve sighed. There’s no going back to sleep now. “It’s not even morning,” he complained.
“No, but dawn is coming and I guess it counts.”
“Keep talking and I’ll assault you some more,” Steve muttered.
“Well, I don’t actually mind, so. Go ahead.” So Steve did.
It might be a dream, a really, really nice one, one he’d had far too many times before, but he wouldn’t worry about that. Even if it was a dream he’d wake up to more or less the same thing. He got Bucky back, after all. He got him back.
IV.
There’s a crick in his neck. Slowly and painfully, Steve tried to move and groaned. He blinked his eyes open. The light from the television screen illuminated the room, the program on silent.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky said from somewhere under (Somewhere under?) and then Steve registered the weight in his lap and looked down at the head resting there. Bucky wasn’t even looking at him, eyes still fixed on the screen.
“How right you should doze off like a proper senior citizen,” Bucky sounded dryly amused.
“What’s wrong with a bit of sleep?” Steve countered and felt Bucky tense a little.
“What follows,” Bucky tried for nonchalance but failed.
Okay, that wasn’t a very bright thing to say. Nightmares. Unfortunately, those hadn’t changed and if anything, they got worse. Bucky talked about them sometimes, but then there were times when he didn’t even want to speak, just wandering around the apartment or clinging to Steve as if his life depended on it.
“Quit it, dumbass,” Bucky scoffed all of a sudden.
“What?” Steve said, startled out of it.
“If I want to feel like shit and drag somebody down with me, I certainly wouldn’t pick you. You sulk even harder than me.”
Steve pondered for a while about what to say and settled on, “How could you tell, anyway?”
“Tell what?”
“Whether I’m asleep.”
A bit a silence and Bucky said, “I can always tell.”
Steve could hear the smile in his voice. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Bucky shifted to meet his eyes. “In this case, it’s your thighs.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “My thighs?”
Bucky looked smug. “They’re more relaxed when you’re asleep. Serve as a better pillow.”
“Aren’t they too firm for you?”
“Wow. Now are you genuinely curious or just showing off?”
“Could be both, I guess,” Steve shrugged.
“Asshole,” Bucky shook his head and smiled, then he turned, facing a particular area between Steve’s legs and started nuzzling.
Steve should have seen it coming but well. That ain’t so bad.
V.
There’s a shift in the mattress. The door creaked a tiny bit. Steve drifted in and out of consciousness after that and then: the scent of chocolate and Bucky. Steve blinked his eyes open – it was 4 am at best.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky said softly, head cocked, sitting cross-legged on the carpet near the bed, a mug in his hand.
Well, that explained the chocolate.
“Sorry I woke you,” Bucky lowered his gaze to the floor.
“’S fine,” Steve blinked blearily. “Bad dream?”
“More like a weird dream,” Bucky cradled the mug closer to his chest, a wistful smile on his face. Now that Steve was looking more closely, it wasn’t the shaken look he usually got after a rough night. He just seemed…sad. Steve frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Bucky forced another smile.
“No, tell me,” Steve insisted.
“Just forget it. It’s stupid.”
“More stupid than jumping off a plane without a parachute?” Bucky had been nagging him out of his mind on that one. Worth it, though. At least that smile got less forced.
“It’s just that…do you ever want him back? My old self?” Bucky ventured.
Steve felt his heart clench.
“You are him, Bucky.”
“Do you?”
He’d be a fucking liar if he said no to that.
He got off the bed and sat next to Bucky, their sides pressed together. Of course he missed the “old” Bucky. He missed everything, that easy grin of his, the cheerful air he was always trying to create around Steve and his joyful, carefree eyes after a dance night. Of course he missed all those.
And of course, he wouldn’t say it.
Too late, though. Bucky could read his silence too well. Bucky slumped against the nightstand and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Why the hell should you be sorry? It should be – ” me, I am sorry. I should have known. I should have looked for you. I should have looked for you no matter what – “them. It’s not your fault they took that from you.”
“I know, but they took that from you, too. And I – I can’t get it back for you.”
Oh, Buck.
Steve reached for his metal hand and wrapped it in both of his. “Look, I…I like the now-you just fine.”
“Yeah?” Bucky smiled wearily, sounding unconvinced.
“I’m not lying. You can tell when I’m lying, right? Look me in the eyes.”
“I know you aren’t,” Bucky shook his head. “It’s just…nevermind. It’s stupid. Told you it’s stupid.”
There’s no simple solution. God, what he wouldn’t give to undo all Bucky’s suffering, to erase every act of torture out of time, to smooth all those lines of pain off his face. But all of it had already happened, and there’s nothing he could do to change that. If only – all he wanted was just for Bucky to be happy but –
And it suddenly dawned on him that it was all that mattered, Bucky being okay. The changes wouldn’t hurt as much if they weren’t constant reminders of how Bucky had suffered through all those years. He missed the past, but more so what it meant – that Bucky was okay, which he evidently wasn’t at the moment, but he’s slowly getting there. It was no doubt impossible for him to go back to his vibrant self in the 30s, wouldn’t and couldn’t ever after what he’d been through. But from the moment he walked out of that cryo tank in Wakanda till now he’d come so far, they made it so far, he almost found peace with who he was now and that, that was all Steve could ever ask for. All that mattered.
Suddenly another thought was probing at his mind, though.
“Bucky.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you miss the old me, too?”
That obviously caught Bucky off guard. Bucky searched his face and admitted, “Sometimes. Why?”
“When did you forgive me for taking that from you?” Because it was Steve who took it from him, wasn’t it? Bucky stared at him. “It’s not the same.”
“Just answer the question.”
“I…the first time I took out that son of a bitch who pointed a gun at your head.”
“Because I didn’t change that much.”
“Yeah, because that stage voice and Greek god physique aside, you’re still a reckless, stubborn bastard who needs someone to watch his six. I don’t have to worry about your body helping you getting yourself killed, at least,” Bucky paused, frustrated. “Look, I see what point you’re trying to make here, but this is different – ”
“Yes, it definitely is, but not in the way you think. How, in your opinion, is it different anyway? Other than that my situation took a turn for the better and yours was exactly the opposite?”
“Seems you don’t really need me to tell you,” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that exactly what’s happening here?”
“No. I was making a voluntary choice to risk my life – which, thanks to you, I know it perfectly now – where you didn’t have one. And you forgave me without me even realizing that I’d hurt you with this conscious choice. Now why are you even sorry for something out of your control?”
“So you’re an expert on what’s going on in my little head now, huh?” Bucky mocked. “Go be a shrink, why don’t you. You all talk the same nonsense, only yours makes even less sense. Don’t all of you talked this way?”
“Bucky – ” Steve interjected irritatedly.
“I take it back,” Bucky said, exasperated. “I fail to see where you’re going with this now.”
“What I’m trying to say is, you have nothing to be sorry for. I refuse to hate your scars. Not saying I like that they were there in the first place, but they prove that you survived. They prove that against all odds, you still came back.”
Bucky’s mouth slammed shut. Opened, and shut again. Steve cupped his jaw, pulled him closer, and looked him straight in the eye.
“I…I’m just grateful that I have you back at all.” Tears were stinging his eyes. “After all they’d done to you, you still came back.”
“To you,” Bucky whispered, choked. “For you.”
Steve pulled him into a fierce hug, tears running freely down his cheeks. He resisted the urge to sob and managed after a moment, “If that was you trying to get rid of me, it was lame, Bucky Barnes. Lame as all hell.” Bucky barked out a wet, disbelieving laugh and muttered, “You’re impossible, is what you are.”
“You’re not pulling that off, Barnes, you hear me?” Steve said, a poorly feigned playfulness in his voice. “You’re stuck with me for life. I’m not gonna love you any less for even one second, just because you’re strong enough to piece yourself back together again – ” it’s only gonna be more so it’s okay, don’t you get it, all that matters to me is making you happy and I’ll try my very damn best, Steve had wanted to say, but before he got out any of that Bucky pulled back and caught his lips, ferocious and fervent, and the rest of the world can go to hell for all Steve cared. Belatedly he noticed a sound that might have been Bucky’s mug dropping on the ground.
“You smug little punk, look at you,” Bucky breathed between the messy kisses landing on Steve’s face. “You’re a fucking miracle.”
(and the one time he didn’t)
It was cold. It was so cold even the pain was numbed to a blur. Something was pressed hard against his neck. Steve tried to blink.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky whispered into his ear, panicked and desperate.
Sorry, he thought.
And then there was nothing.
…
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
…
All targets down. Injuries affecting normal function. Assessment: 5 stab wounds (one to the thigh, possible damage of major veins judging by the rate of bleeding, pressure applied, potentially fatal. One to the gut, with internal bleeding. Others inconsequential), shot wound in the shoulder, 2 to 3 cracked ribs, minor fracture in the right shin. Vertigo presumably caused by blood loss. Concussion –
Steve.
Steve. Steve was down.
Steve was –
Bucky staggered towards the makeshift barricade. He was the last one standing in the room. Then his legs buckled and gave out, and he wasn’t anymore.
Bucky crawled over, and Steve was just where he left him minutes ago, slumped against the heavy crates, eyes closed and breath shallow, one hand dropped from the deep cut on the side of his neck while the other loosely pressed on his abdomen, keeping his guts from – Jesus – blood was oozing from his head wound, from the cut near his throat and from between his fingers and pooling beneath his body and –
“Steve,” Bucky tried, voice rough, though he knew it was no use. He wasn’t loud enough and Steve was unconscious. Steve was
Bucky could tell. Bucky could always tell.
“Send help, quick,” he rasped into the comms. Whatever response he got was nothing more than a distant ring in his head.
Steve. Steve was
Not the time. Bucky gritted his teeth and tied his garrote around his own thigh as a tourniquet. A quick glance told him there were several penetrative wounds on Steve’s torso – he could barely make out the colors on his uniform, Christ, no, nonononononodontdothistome – from his abdomen up his chest. Shot from the back, his mind supplied. He didn’t have the time to let the fucker who fired a whole clip into Steve die a much, much slower death. There wasn’t much he could do without risking worsening Steve’s injuries (he was failing. He was FAILING). Right now he had to worry about that neck wound, so Bucky pressed his hand to Steve’s neck to try and stop the bleeding. The metal one, which wouldn’t give out even if he did, and wasn’t he doing just that. Steve’s face twisted, just a tiny bit.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky whispered into his ear, kneeling in a puddle of blood. Mostly Steve’s, mixed with his own. His little greeting went unanswered.
Don’t you go dying on me. Don’t do this to me. Please. Please –
He wanted to go put every bullet left into the bastard who had done this to Steve but he couldn’t even get the fuck up. None of it had mattered and it wouldn’t matter now, his howl as Steve collapsed at the other side of the room, his useless snarl for backup that couldn’t make it here, his blind rage. He was supposed to watch his back. Now he was as much help as he had been when watching a tiny Steve battling his illness.
His Steve.
Bucky lifted his head in a haze of pain and nausea. He kissed Steve’s bloodied temples, gently, then his red-stained blonde hair, his eyelids, his cold lips. He surely didn’t want them to die here, but if they were to go like this…
Well. There’s little left unsaid between them. If they wouldn’t make it out of here, as long as it was together, he guessed he didn’t mind so much.
Anywhere Steve went, he wouldn’t be far behind. That’s how it worked, always.
Bucky closed his eyes and synchronized his breathing with Steve’s until it was the last thing he knew.
…
He could hear the soft beep of the machine. He’s on drugs, that was for sure, whatever they gave him reduced the pain to an annoying itch. The unpleasant hospital smell is everywhere –
Steve.
Steve, Bucky thought, and his eyes snapped open. Not until he heard one of the beeps stutter and quicken – that was his own – did he realize there was two, previously a matched set and the sync now broken by his panic.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Steve slurred, his voice coming from his right. Bucky turned his head so fast he jostled his bandaged shoulder and ow, that thing hurt like a bitch – and saw Steve smiling blearily, propped up in a bed next to Bucky’s. Before he knew it, Bucky was grinning so hard his face hurt.
“You look like hell,” Bucky told him.
“Bullshit. My face would beat that stupid mug of yours any given day.”
“Hey, punk, that’s my line.”
“I say wha’ever I wanna whe’ever I wanna, jerk.”
So it was gonna be all right, after all.
Everything was gonna be alright.
-The End-
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