advanced | For Steve

For Steve

[It's been fourteen months, six weeks, and four days since the Soldier pulled Steve from the Potomac and ran from everything he had ever known. Since he had begun to realise which parts of the world he'd been fed were lies, but hadn't quite managed to pin down which were truths. He knows that Steve has been looking for him. Not just him, but his friends too, most of the Avengers have been roped into Steve's unceasing search.

They never find anything.

He's too good, he knows how to hide. He's seen them - Iron Man once, Falcon four times, Steve twice - but they've never seen him. He's a ghost, just rumours that dry up on the wind. He's not too sure if he wants to remain this way for the rest of his life, he knows he's not ready for anything else, and this feels almost comforting. Anonymous. But something in him has pulled him back to America. He hears on the news what's been happening with the Avengers, he sees that there's a new 'compound' that they're using as a base, though none of the news channels know where it is.

It doesn't matter, he finds it.

There's security systems, of course, but he bypasses them all. He slips close enough past Falcon that he can smell the aftershave he used, but he isn't noticed. He finds Steve's room, easy to tell it's his because of the shield inside the door and the way that the whole place is military precision. Not a habit easy to break even once the army is done with you. He isn't even sure why he's here, just that he's following the instincts of his mind at the moment.

He takes a seat on Steve's bed, cross legged, and he waits.]

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[He's almost given up so many times. For all of his outward consistency, his unwavering dedication that makes him seem almost unreal to his teammates, inside Steve Rogers is a roiling mess of confusion and doubt. He knows Bucky is out there. He knows he has to find him. He just isn't sure that he deserves to. He could have jumped. He could have fallen with him and then maybe things would be completely different. No matter what happens in the future, Steve Rogers will always remember that he left his best friend for dead.

He wouldn't blame Bucky for never wanting to see him again, although he wasn't even certain that Bucky understood what had happened. He didn't know what he remembered. Some part of Steve was in love with the idea that Bucky might never remember that night on the train. The problem being, of course, that Steve would never forget it. He never forgot anything.

And Bucky's existence is not the only source of anxiety in his life. The more you involved yourself in trying to rescue people, the more people you got to see die because of your shortcomings. He knew he ought to be used to it, but every time was like a brand new shiny dead spot on his heart. He wondered why the Hell he'd ever been picked for this, and if Erskine might have made a mistake all those years ago.

Then he would scold himself for being a coward and put it all aside. His insecurities were irrelevant. He still had to do what had to be done, however he might feel about it.

He was in a dark place after Sokovia, though it had been a couple of months. He'd been keeping to himself a little, catching up on the never ending list of things he'd missed. The Avengers compound was a good place for that. He was deep in thought when he stepped into his room, never thinking for a moment that there would be an intruder in such a secure place. It almost seems like a mirage for a moment as he raises his eyes to the figure on the bed.]

Bucky?

[Bucky's head snaps up as soon as the door opens. It should be Steve, this is Steve's room, but he has to be prepared for anyone else. He has a hand almost curling around the hilt of a knife before he sees who it is and lets it drop; not that seeing Steve makes him relax, he's just a little less certain this will end immediately in a fight or flight situation.

His brow furrows at the name.

He knows it's his now. He's seen it in the Smithsonian attached to his face, he's seen it in history books next to anecdotes about the Howling Commandos, and he has a few precious memories that are all his own. But he's still not sure that he's ready to claim it as his name, it feels like wearing a dead man's clothes. Bucky Barnes, who he was before, died when he fell from that train. Or perhaps a few months later when they finally broke him through torture.]

Don't.

[Don't use that name, don't approach, don't-- just don't.

He hasn't moved from the bed, still sat cross-legged as he watches Steve intensely.]

[It feels like his heart has stopped beating for a long moment. 'Don't?' Don't what? He's afraid of what Bucky is there to say or do, but he'd not going to fight him again. He'd let Bucky kill him if that was what he wanted to do. No one else's life was in danger this time.

He stepped forward warily, but just one step. He could read the terrain, and Bucky was coiled tight. He had a million questions, but he waited. The silence ticked by for an eternity before he cleared his throat, thinking of and rejecting a dozen inane questions.]

Are you all right?

[It was more an entreaty than anything else. He wanted to do anything that might work towards making Bucky all right, in any way that he was able to.]

[That one step forward has him finally moving, pushing back off the bed and to the opposite wall in one fluid movement. He leaves the bedsheets rumpled and spotted with blood that's soaked through his clothing. He doesn't act injured, though, but that's because he has many years of training on how to push through 'malfunctions'.]

No.

[His eyes never leave Steve.]

I don't know why I came here.

[Steve tenses up, but he freezes in place, recognizing that his advance was what caused the abrupt retreat. He raised his hands slowly and took a step back.]

Whoa. It's okay. I'm not going to come near you if you don't want me to, I swear. Where are you hurt?

[Steve wanted nothing more than to tackle and subdue Bucky, even knock him out if he had to, to get him some proper medical care, but as strong as Bucky was, there was no guarantee the tussle wouldn't worsen his injury.]

Please. I'll do whatever you want. I just want to help you, pal.

[It's a good thing that Steve backs off, it eases a little of the tension from Bucky's shoulders. It might be obvious now that he's stood up that his metal arm is hanging fairly dead at his left side, and most of the blood seems to be peppered around the collarbone and shoulder of his shirt at that side too.]

I can't get the bullets out myself.

[Maybe it says something that his instinctive place to turn for help is Steve, even despite how dangerous it is to come here.]

...I think I remember you, bits of you. You were smaller.

Yes. I was smaller. We've been friends since we were kids. I used to be scrawny little guy.

[He didn't know what to say to gain Bucky's trust, but he had to try. He was desperate to try.]

I can help you, if you let me. But I have to come closer to do it.

[He had administered a little field first aid before, and he'd dug the occasional bullet out of himself if they were in accessible spots. The prospect was still intimidating as hell, but better that than letting the schrapnel get healed over.

More importantly, though, he wondered who shot him, and where they were now.]

[In some ways he almost feels like this Steve is the wrong Steve, most of the memories he's managed to recover have been of a Steve half this size and ready to pick a fight with the world to save the guys just as small as him or smaller from bullies. Or perhaps it's just because if Steve had still been that small then it wouldn't feel as threatening, he'd know that he couldn't be held against his will.

This requires more trust.

He just stares at Steve for longer than is probably socially acceptable, inscrutable and considering. Eventually, after nearly a full minute of silent, he nods slowly.]

Okay.

[He takes a half step forwards.]

I can't use the arm, I think the shot hit some of the electrics.

['Baby steps,' he thinks to himself. Apparently sometimes that was literal. He knows Bucky must remember some things or he wouldn't have come at all. But he wants him to feel secure.]

Can you get your shirt off? You're gonna need to at least sit down.

[He knew that Tony could probably fix the arm, but he didn't think Bucky would be ready for the next level of trust for a while. There was still Tony's AI, which would of course report back to Tony, which it was going to do no matter what happened. Still, it could probably talk him through any repairs that didn't require an engineering degree, if he had the equipment. Which he didn't.]

Your arm... is a little beyond my skillset. Let's worry about the flesh and blood parts first, okay pal?

[He had a million questions, and three reasons he couldn't ask them. Bucky didn't trust him. Bucky might not remember the answers. Steve might not want to know the answers. Where had he been? What had they done to him? What did he remember?]

[Every time Steve calls him pal it feels like a hook into his skin, both pleasant and terrifying, and he can't help but wonder if that's why Steve is doing it. Maybe he thinks that if he calls Bucky 'pal' enough then he'll become the man who fell from the train so many years ago, like it would be that easy to get back someone who may as well have died.

He's still half ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but he does move to sit back down on the edge of the bed. It takes longer than he'd like to get his shirt off, his left arm is heavy and useless which makes it awkward, and the blood is sticking the material to his wounds in a way that tug sickeningly. But eventually he's naked from the waist up. There are three bullet wounds, relatively fresh, and blood coating his entire torso.

The first shot is clearly the one that's messed with his arm, as it's right on the shoulder connection. The entrance wound is at the back and there is no exit wound. The second shot is closer to his collarbone on the same side, and that one is a straight through-and-through wound. The final one is in his ribs on the right side, again with the bullet still inside somewhere.

He stares up at Steve with no sign at all that he's in any pain, this could just be a normal meeting between friends for all the reaction he has.]

I have a knife if you need one.

[To dig the bullets out, he means.]

[Steve knew it looked worse than it probably was. It would have done more to cripple a normal human being, but even enhanced, he knew Bucky had to be in pain. He knew that he had to be very careful with him if he wanted to actually be allowed to help him. He didn't move closer yet.]

I have some first aid stuff in the bathroom. Is it... it's right there. [He pointed at the doorway not far from the bed. Bucky's body would recover quickly from any kind of infection, he was sure, but it wasn't just antiseptic. He was pretty sure he had a set of forceps in there, too, not to mention bandages. But he wasn't just going to disappear into another room without Bucky's approval. He might come back to find the room empty except for a trail of blood.]

[He doesn't really like anything that comes too close to proper medical equipment because it reminds him too much of being in maintenance with the HYDRA technicians, but he's pretty sure that he can keep Steve separated from that in his head. So he nods, silent agreement that Steve can go into the bathroom and bring out what he needs.

He doesn't move while Steve is gone, eyes darting around the room to take in all the little details instead. But at least Steve's fear of an empty room and a trail of blood don't come to pass. Yet.]

[Steve went, trying not to make any sudden moves. He emerged from the bathroom with an armful of stuff. He walked to the bed, moving slowly and deliberately. Medical care wasn't really one of his better skills, but he'd had a little experience during the war. More observing than doing, but he was motivated to help his best friend. And no matter how he'd changed or what he'd forgotten, Steve was always going to consider Bucky his best friend. He was always going to see his Bucky under that long, unruly hair.

He laid out everything on the bed beside him. He started by wiping away the blood with a damp cloth. He felt like he wanted to say something, distract him somehow from what he was doing.]

I'm sorry. This is probably gonna hurt.

[He glanced up at Bucky's eyes before he looked more closely at the left shoulder wound. He cleaned off the area, and paused for a moment.] Do you want something to... bite down on? [He knew there was very little that would be able to dull the pain if Bucky's metabolism was anything like his own.]

No.

[It's an immediate response. Maybe it will hurt more without something to bite down on, but that reminds him too much of being reprogrammed so he'd rather go without and get a bloody tongue if it comes to that.]

I can handle it.

[He's endured a lot worse than having a few bullets dug out of him, especially by someone who actually cares if he's in discomfort from it.]

[The answer was so quick that Steve had to believe there was something significant behind it. He filed it away with other clues about Bucky that he had yet to untangle, a list that was growing quickly.]

Okay. Just try to stay still.

[He braced his hand carefully on the front of Bucky's left shoulder and leaned over to see the entry wound. Wincing, he pushed the forceps in until he felt metal on metal. He felt sick, almost as if he could feel the pain of it personally, though Bucky barely seemed to be breathing, he was so still.]

Sorry, Bucky. [And then he grabbed the slug and pulled it out as quickly and carefully as he could. As soon as he had it out, he grabbed a bandage and held pressure on the wound. He inhaled a shaky breath.]

One down.

[It hurt like hell. Just because he'd been trained how to hold a perfect calm during even worse pain than this, it didn't mean that he magically ceased to feel it. He's still human, still flesh and blood, and he can't quite hide the way his jaw tenses when the first slug is pulled free.

He feels ragged around the edges, and he's a little worried that he might react on instinct if this goes on too long and lash out. That Steve now will become too mixed up with a HYDRA medical technician of the past, so he deliberately clenches his right hand in an attempt to keep it still. At least his left is useless now.]

Go faster.

[He spits the words out, low through gritted teeth. Better to be fast and done, even if it's more painful and less precise.]

[Steve winced at Bucky's tone. It was obvious he was hurting. He needed to get the other bullet out quickly. He understood that. Like ripping off a bandaid. He moved around to the other side. It was trickier, because it looked deeper and closer to more important things.]

I'll do my best.

[He had to sit on the bed next to him and lean back to get the closest look at the would. He wiped away some of the blood to get a clearer look at it, then he just went for it. With anyone else, he wouldn't have dared. But he knew that Bucky had some form of the serum that he'd had, and therefore he would recover from any small medical infraction Steve might inadvertently inflict. He slid the forceps in and felt the tap of metal to metal. He grabbed hold of it and pulled it out, wincing again.] I'm sorry, Buck. Are you okay?

[He's utterly silent as the second bullet is pulled out, clenching his teeth against the wave of nausea that spikes through him strongly. He can feel his vision blackening at the edges, though he refuses to give into such an impulse, especially not when he's somewhere so vulnerable.

It takes him nearly a full minute to focus back on Steve when they're done, the question filtering slowly through the fog of his thoughts. Maybe it's the pain, maybe it's the creeping blackness, but he accidentally replies in Russian.]

Functional, sir.

[Steve knows a few Russian words, mostly swear words he'd heard Nat say, and he'd looked up on the internet. He doesn't know the ones Bucky has just said. Sitting next to his best friend on the bed that is now looking a little like a crime scene, he waits for a good long moment before he ventures any conversation.]

Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you want something to eat or drink? Water? Vodka? Do you want to sleep?

[Mostly Steve just wanted Bucky to stay. He would offer him just about anything that he could think of.]

[It doesn't take long for him to regain control of himself. He knows how to push through pain and injury, so he's focusing on Steve again even before the question is asked of him.

It's such a weird thing. Do you want? He hasn't been asked that in a long time, choices are still new and interesting to him, and his lips quirk ever so slightly upwards.]

Are you going to tell the others that I'm here?

[Steve was 99.9% positive that Tony already knew. The new AI, Friday, would have informed him, but Tony could sometimes be surprisingly discreet. Some part of Steve thought that Bucky probably knew there was no getting around everyone finding out, but at least he could reassure him that no alarm was being raised.]

Tony could fix your arm, but I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do. I just want you to be safe, Buck.

[He doesn't know about Friday, he thinks that he's managed to get in undetected because surely if he'd been seen then an alarm would have been raised. His brows are immediately knitted in a forbidding scowl.]

No.

[He pushes up to his feet abruptly.]

They can't know.

Okay. Okay. No one has to know.

[He looked up at him, not making an effort to physically stop him, only because he'd never get him to stay voluntarily then.]

Please stay. I'll stand guard while you rest for a while. I can get you a meal. We can go somewhere else, somewhere lower profile. I have a motorcycle and an apartment in Brooklyn we could go to. If you want. [He didn't know what would convince him, but he had to try.] Please. I've been looking for you for so long. I only want to help you.

[He doesn't take any more steps towards leaving, but neither does he come back towards the bed. His expression is inscrutable, his tone neutral.]

You've been looking for someone that used to share my face a long time ago. Bucky Barnes, I know, I went to the museum. But that's not me, I don't remember that.

[Well, that was a kick in the ribs. But Steve's no quitter. Despite his own doubts and fears that Bucky's words were true, he knew that Bucky was still in there.]

Why come to me, then, if you're not Bucky? Why pull me out of the Potomac if you don't remember anything? You must remember something. Whatever they did to you, you're still James Buchanan Barnes whether you remember or not.

[He wasn't sure if his argument was compelling enough, but Bucky hadn't left yet. He rose to his feet slowly so he could look at him eye to eye.] If you could remember, you'd want my help. You wouldn't want me to give up on you. And you'd protect me no matter the risk to yourself. So I have to believe that some part of the man I knew is in there.

[He's right, of course he's right. There's a piece of him that's deeper than memory, deeper than thought, that just can't let Steve die. Even before the helicarrier, he'd missed all the shots he'd taken. He was a sniper, the best shot in the army even before the Soldier, and the only bullets that hit Steve were in non-vital places.

His brow furrows further and he closes in on himself, swallowing hard past a sudden lump in his throat.]

You're wrong. I came here to tell you to stop looking for me.

[Not true.]

I can't do that, Buck.

[Steve was discouraged, painfully so. It felt like a personal rejection, but his own feelings were not important in this situation. He wasn't going to give up on his best friend until one or the other of them was dead. And even then, he wasn't sure he could. He'd left Bucky for dead once, and that was how they got into this situation to begin with.]

I just want to know that you're safe, and you're clearly not safe right now. If you don't want to see me... well... I guess I can learn to live with that if I know that you're somewhere secure. But as long as I don't know that? I'm never going to stop. I'm sorry.

[It hurt to look at him, to just want to pull him into a hug and hold him. He'd failed the very last person he'd ever loved so spectacularly that he almost welcomed the pain of it. As punishment.]

How do you know I'm not safe?

[He's free, isn't he? He's managed to stay free and out of the grasp of the people that are hunting him for a long time now, how could he be any safer than that? It sounds like Steve wants him in some kind of facility, or is delusional that Bucky could ever just settle down in suburbia and live a normal life.

His choice are to be imprisoned, to run, or to die. There's nothing else.

He fixes Steve with a hard expression, though his gut is churning for the pain he can see clearly on Steve's face, waiting for an answer.]

Showing up in my bedroom with three bullet wounds doesn't really suggest that you're that safe.

[It's a fair question, though. And it makes Steve think about it for a moment. The only way he's ever going to feel reassured that Bucky is safe is if he can personally guarantee it. Even as he thought it, he realized that it was probably unfair. He couldn't exactly bring Bucky in as part of the team. He doubted Bucky would want that, anyway. The thought of letting him slip through his grasp, though, was difficult.]

If you want me to go with you, wherever you're going, I will.

[He shakes his head at once, refusing the offer without even thinking about it. Nor does he address how being shot makes him unsafe, because bullet wounds are negligible in his opinion if they don't kill him.]

They'll look for you. They need you.

[Otherwise he might take Steve and hide away somewhere, figure out who the hell he might be. But he's not involving the rest of the Avengers.]

[Steve was prepared for Bucky to stay, or for Bucky to leave and for Steve to go with him. He was not going to settle for him staying and Bucky leaving without a fight.]

Well... I could... stay in touch. Not just run away, but make them all think I just need some time to myself. Then they won't come looking.

[He wasn't completely sure that would work. They were a nosy bunch.]

It's too risky.

[He knew when he came in that there was no way of them both walking out, or him staying, but still he came. Stupid. But he couldn't help it, like he can't help the tiny worm of disappointment that he can't take Steve with him.]

I shouldn't have come.

[Now he does push up off the bed, metal arm hanging awkwardly with the damage at the moment.]

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For Steve

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sorry for the delay!

np!

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