captaincentenarian | for freightcars

There are two windows, but the bathroom window has grated, reinforced bars. He could tear them off but he doesn't, thinks anyone shy of Steve's strength wouldn't be able to either. It's an escape if necessary, and defense against invasion, otherwise he'd be tempted to skip the front door and go straight in the back.

No, he stalks the place like a panther. Waits until Steve checks in, and waits two hours more just in case he has any late-arriving backup or unknown tails. Nobody comes, the parking lot remains otherwise deserted, and just before nine p.m. he knocks on Steve's motel room door.

He has questions.
He has memories like flower petals, scattered and unconnected and beautiful.
He has feelings that he thinks can't be right, not in 1940.

Musing on them after staring Steve in the face so closely made it all too clear what they were.

But were they real? Are they still?

It's not a bad place, as these places go. Reasonably secure, decent line of sight.

Steve unpacks the food he has with him, and investigates the little minibar. It's appallingly expensive, and stupid luxuries, as well. Things he would've been shocked at before he went into the ice. Back during the war. But now, he has more money. If Bucky wants something from it, one of these mini soda cans, or a tiny packet of pretzels, he can have it.

Wow, Steve, he thinks to himself. That's really generous.

Steve looks up, then pads over to the door. (No shoes inside, when he can, because he was raised right.)

He opens it without asking who, but the chain catches the door before he takes it back too far. When he sees Bucky, there's a brief smile of relief, a brief check behind him even though he trusts Bucky, then he takes the chain off.

"Come in."

He locks the door, and puts the chain back on, once Bucky's safely inside.

"What do you need to know?"

He's smart to check, Bucky says nothing about it. Silently accepts the closing and reopening of the door, and slides in warily. Eyes the room from corner to corner, fixates on the bathroom door and the emptiness beyond it. Checks to make sure the curtains are drawn. Only once he's satisfied and the door's been latched again does he turn his attention to Steve.

Takes him in from bottom to top.

(You got taller. Did it hurt?)

Bucky's seen his form before in movies, on TV, at the smithsonian. He's read everything there is to know about Captain America, and mentally disputed a few "facts" without knowing why or how he knew them to be false.

He learned all there is to know about James Barnes too, but he's just a footnote in history. He doesn't really feel like that guy anymore.

The things he needs to know aren't easy to spell out; he knows all the facts. He knows their story. He needs to know the feelings behind it, he needs to know the stuff that wasn't written down.

More accurately, he needs to know if the stuff he thinks he remembers is true.

He doesn't say that though, no, he just shoves his hands uncomfortably in his pockets and announces, "You look different in person. Those murals are a terrible likeness. They make your lips look stupid."

There is... there is so much work to do.

Steve watches with guarded dismay as Bucky does everything right, checks all the exits, checks the curtain. It's not that he expects - or even wants - Bucky to just stroll in like nothing could ever go wrong. But does he ever relax? Can he?

His eyebrows go up a fraction as Bucky gives him a full once over. Does he remember anything about when Steve got big?

"I do? - Bucky." Steve snorts a surprised laugh at the last comment. "Will you sit? Please? I'll tell you anything you want to know. You can even look as closely at my lips as you want."

Okay, for the first time Bucky's own lips quirk up a little. It's half a smile, it barely counts, it's gone as quickly as it appeared. As closely as he wants, huh? Wow, Steve, what an asshole.

Reluctantly, he obeys. Gives a tiny nod and wanders in a little farther toward the second bed, furthest from the door. Hesitates, and then carefully strips his coat off. Whether he wants to or not, his gut is screaming at him to trust, and he thinks... for once, he thinks he'll listen.

He thinks if there's only one person on the planet he's supposed to trust it should be this man, and if he can't let himself do that he doesn't see the point in even carrying on anymore.

The jacket gets discarded onto the bed, and he lowers himself onto the corner of it. There. He's sitting.

There.

There, that - that was almost a hint of a smile. Steve manages not to throw his arms around Bucky, given he'd prefer not to have Bucky's reflexes throw him through a wall.

"Thank you. Really. I'm gonna have something to eat. I hope you'll join me. You can tease me all you want about being food-obsessed, but I'm assuming you haven't eaten for a while."

He spreads out his paltry offerings on the middle of Bucky's bed, then takes a protein bar and a bottle of water. He feels like an idiot for pushing food on someone who's a deadly competent adult, but then again he suspects that Hydra never took any real care of their 'asset' and showing even the tiniest of kindnesses might help.

"You used to bring me food, you remember?" he says casually, after he's taken the first bite. "Back when I was small, and had to stay home a lot. Soup from your mom, or you'd pick me up a bagel and some apples or a banana. Man, I miss how bananas tasted back then."

He wonders what this is, what it's supposed to be. Are they having an interrogation, or a meeting, or a god damn picnic? He eyes Steve's spread and has to admit to himself that he hasn't had anything but the coffee he'd made it half way through before meeting Steve. Too paranoid to stop, too focused to eat. After a second or two of hesitation he reaches out and snags himself a chocolate peanut butter protein bar.

He had a handful of these in his own pack. Apparently they have similar taste in survival food.

Deft fingers peel the wrapper back, he pretends to be consumed by the process but really he's listening keenly and thinking back a hundred years.

He remembers.

His ma practically loaded him down with food to take to Steve's. They were a little better off money-wise, it was the least they could do. In turn, Steve's mom did most of their sewing when something needed hemmed or mended.

"They were better," He agrees quietly, after a moment. "I remember that. They're weird now, they're all..."

He trails off, and stuffs a bite of protein bar in his mouth instead.

Bucky looks suspicious, but he's looked suspicious about everything.

Steve doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's read up on PTSD, he's been to boards with messages on the internet, thanks to Sam. He's spoken to Natasha, now and then. None of that's turned into knowing exactly what to do here, now. He should know. Bucky's his best friend, no matter what.

He guesses he'll just keep adapting to whatever happens. Trying to get Bucky to relax a little.

Bucky takes one of the chocolate peanut ones, which are Steve's current favorite flavor. Steve chews on his own, letting the silence hang between them while Bucky thinks about what to say, then he nods.

"Just one of the strange things about this time," he says lightly. "I still can't get over newspapers costing more than a nickel. You were a good friend to me, Buck. Even when I wasn't exactly receptive."

He chews slowly, contemplatively, listening to Steve and simultaneously deciding on his next move. Steve's doing his best to probe gently, to call back to what he remembers. To tentatively poke at their past.

He appreciates it, it's validating things he's wondered to himself.

Steve's sentiment trails off for a second, and Bucky swallows.

"Can I stay here?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere. It's tentative, careful, uncomfortable. "Tonight, I mean."

He doesn't know why. He has a hotel room already paid for, he has an exit strategy, but if he's honest with himself he hasn't slept in days and...

...And he's starting to remember.

Carefully, he looks up. Decides to call back something of his own: "I could shine your shoes. Take out the trash."

"Can you-" Steve's water goes down the wrong way and he splutters for a moment before recovering. "Yes. Yes, please stay."

There's an open, completely unguarded smile on his face at that particular comment. He brushes ruefully at the water on his t-shirt. "Long as neither of us have to sleep on the floor."

He takes a risk, and leans over, telegraphing every move so it's obvious he's not trying to attack. Lightly squeezes Bucky's shoulder, just for a moment.

"I can stay up for a while so you can get some sleep, if you like."

Good job, Barnes. After all this time you manage to kill Captain America by accidental drowning. Really puts your reputation as the Winter Soldier under scrutiny if all it takes is Aquafina and a startling question.

There's a keenly amused tilt to his eyebrow at the attempt at brushing off water, but he says nothing. Isn't quite ready yet, isn't quite comfortable enough yet to give into the instinct to tease. He thinks he might have done it before, but not now. Not yet.

And besides, it would completely ruin the moment wherein Steve reaches out. He does his best not to tense, does his best to gracefully accept that hand on his shoulder. It's warm and familiar and intimately... real, and it makes his heart jump into his throat. It sticks together with a soft clicking, and he has to drop his eyes. Has to look away.

He nods slowly, carefully.

Sleep sounds... really fucking good, actually. He hasn't been sleeping well. Go figure.

"Yeah, I um-" He licks his lips. Crumples the protein wrapper absently. "I just have one more question."

Bucky could probably do it just as easily with a bar of soap on the floor of the shower.

He looks so familiar like this. Quieter, not gleefully insulting Steve just to see Steve make a face. But it's still him. It's Bucky there, Bucky's amusement at Steve being not quite as smooth as he wants to be.

Bucky looks away. That's okay. That's normal. They can't push everything too quickly.

"I'll put the lamp on and read my exciting magazine," Steve says, nodding to the lamp with the cracked shade over his bed. He can manage a few hours staying up. He hasn't exactly been sticking to a 24 hour cycle lately himself anyway - he's been sleeping when he can, when he can make himself - and it won't exactly kill him.

"Shoot. Anything."

He doesn't have to stay up, truth be told Bucky's the lightest sleeper on the planet. If a car so much as pulls into the spot outside he'll be awake in an instant; it's more about just sleeping with company. Knowing Steve's there, awake or asleep, is a quiet sort of comfort that he's been lacking since coming back to himself.

He can't meet Steve's eye as he asks his next question, settles his gaze on that cracked lampshade and tries to parse through the feelings he has attached to certain memories that don't quite add up.

"You said we were friends," He starts, throat catching on a few of the syllables. "...Is that all we were?"

He doesn't remember anything more than that.

But he remembers feeling something else.

Thinks he might still feel it now.

Bucky probably doesn't need the help, but Steve's willing to stay awake. If it'll make him feel more comfortable. If. If, if, if. So many things he doesn't know.

Steve nods to confirm their friendship, even though Bucky doesn't need it. His throat works as he swallows. This is a difficult question. Not because the answer is complicated. It's just a 'yes', if he's being literal.

It's difficult because he wanted everything else, too, and he doesn't know if confirming that will make things worse.

Steve runs a hand down over his face, and similarly looks at the floor for a while as he gathers his thoughts. There should be some good way to say this, something eloquent that'll get the message across, leaving Bucky room to react in whatever way he needs to. There should be. There isn't.

"First, I wouldn't say 'all we were' is exactly how it worked with you, Buck," he says with painful warmth. "Your friendship is pretty valuable."

Next part. Come on, Rogers, get it out.

"I wanted more. Never found the courage to ask."

Initially, he thinks it's a no. More than friends in the sense that they were brothers, family, closer than two people generally get. He thinks it's going to leave him stranded and alone with the ideas he's been harboring about what they might have been. And then Steve chokes out the truth, and it leaves Bucky with parted lips and a blank mind, trying to wrap his head around it all.

He thought so.

He wasn't sure, but he thought so.

Slowly, carefully, he nods. Were they two normal, healthy people now might be the time to act on it. As it stands, this is so... tentative, he isn't even sure who he is anymore, let alone who Steve is, and so he doesn't. Just nods like he understands, and then tears his eyes away.

He needs to think about it all.

Slowly, carefully, he starts unlacing his boots. Murmurs a soft, "I think I'm gonna... try to sleep."

It's too much, isn't it. He should've stuck with small, simple memories from growing up together. Going to Coney Island. Steve throwing up everywhere. The time Betsy Henderson kissed Bucky in the bushes behind the ferris wheel, and Bucky still came out after Steve because he heard Steve going into a full blown asthma attack.

...but he couldn't lie.

Not about this.

Bucky looks about to break. "You bet," Steve says quickly, switching on the lamp. He gets up, flicks on the lamp, flicks off the main room light. Finds a spare blanket, realizes he's fussing far too much, and awkwardly places it on the end of Bucky's bed anyway.

Considering he's slept on benches and rafters, train stations and abandoned homes, trenches and foxholes the extra blanket really is overkill. He doesn't need it, but he appreciates the gesture. His boots get abandoned at the foot of the bed, and while Steve fiddles with the lights Bucky disappears into the bathroom for a while.

Has to breathe to himself, runs the water for the sound of it. Scrubs his teeth for too long with a cheap plastic complimentary tooth brush and probably ancient tooth paste.

Realizes eventually that he's stalling, and comes out to a quiet room. Pulls back the blankets, and then hesitates.

"Thanks." He says, before he can stop himself. "For looking for me. For everything."

It's ridiculous. Steve isn't exactly in need of great luxury when he sleeps either. He lives a more comfortable life, generally, than they did back in the war, sure. He's slept in better places most nights than Bucky has. But he still has to sleep on the floor in some hotel rooms if the bed's too soft.

He sits on his own bed, and focuses on breathing while Bucky's in the bathroom. He realizes after a moment that he's also focusing on the sound of Bucky brushing his teeth, on the evidence that the other man isn't escaping through a window because he can't handle being around Steve. "Stop it," he murmurs to himself. He has to trust. He has to trust in Bucky's trust.

Steve blinks, and his eyebrows twitch in a small confused frown. "It's okay. You'd do the same."

Slowly, uncertainly, he nods. He thinks he would, probably, if the situation were reversed. He pulled Steve out of the river in the end, after all, didn't he? Overcame the stronghold they had on his mind, undid the brainwashing implanted in him because of Steve.

Silently, he settles into the blankets. Slides a metal arm under the pillow, stares at the ceiling, then forces his eyes closed.

Minutes tick by.

He murmurs, "I can feel you staring. Don't make it weird."

Steve turns, shifts his feet up onto the bed. The magazine's in his lap, but he hasn't opened it. Bucky's so quiet. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassures Steve that he's still actually breathing.

Bucky comments, and Steve starts guiltily.

"It's weird enough already," he agrees, voice rueful. "Sorry, Buck."

He opens the damn magazine, and forces himself to start reading. First article. Forwards, then backwards, then he starts trying to make himself memorise it. It's boring as anything, when what he wants to do is crawl into bed next to Bucky and hold him all night, make him feel safe. He's not stupid enough to actually do that, but the want is thrumming in his blood. Bucky's here, he's coherent, and Steve wants.

He picks up his water, and takes another sip. His swallow sounds unnaturally loud.

He's hyper-aware of everything on a normal day, but this only seems a thousand times worse. He can hear every page flip, every exhale, every swallow. He can hear the thump of the water bottle onto the night stand, he can hear the crinkle of the plastic.

It's loud and painfully attention-consuming. He sighs, cracks an eye open after nearly half an hour of trying.

"Just lay down, you're giving both of us a hernia."

"...fine," Steve grumbles, and carefully pushes down the marveling at that. He doesn't have time to pause and reflect at every single little thing that reminds him of how it used to be, like a starry eyed idiot. He has to deal with what's here, what's real, what's in front of both of them.

He supposes he could try to sleep.

He flicks off the lamp, and places the magazine on the night stand. There's enough dim light through the shuttered window that he can still see a little. He makes himself comfortable, the bed springs squeaking softly under him, and closes his eyes.

With the light off and both of them settled, still, and quiet, something peaceful descends over them. There's a quiet whirring of the air conditioner's fan running beneath the window, circulating air and taking the edge off of the silence. There are gentle inhales and exhales from the pair of them. There's a soft blanket of darkness, a companionable quiet.

Eventually, hours pass. Eventually, they sleep.

Eventually, Bucky's dreams become disjointed and violent. Ugly and electric, filled with screams and straps and harshly barked Russian.

Reset him. Prep him. Reset him. Prep him. Reset him, prep him.

"желание ржавый семнадцать рассвет печь девять добросердечный возвращение на родину один грузовой вагон."

At quarter past 3 in the morning Steve will wake to a weight pressing onto him, to Bucky straddling him, to a hand on his chest and the gentle point of a knife at his neck. Wild eyed, lost, muttering in panicked Russian, "Почему я здесь? Каковы мои заказы?"

What are his orders? What is the mission?

It's incredibly peaceful. Steve starts to realize just how little sleep he's been running on, and he surrenders to it after a while.

Steve's eyes snap open at the weight on his stomach. There's something sharp at his throat, and Bucky speaking in Russian. Steve understands a little now, thanks to Natasha - but only a very little. He can pick out 'orders'. He can't respond in Russian. He leaves his hands exactly where they are at the moment. His eyes are wide.

If he speaks back to him normally, will Bucky respond? Will he wake up from this flashback or nightmare or whatever it is? "Bucky," he says quietly, as calmly as he can. "Bucky, it's me. You're safe. There are no orders."

The name seems to make him flinch, eyes wide and alarmed, senses on fire. His mind is a litany of curses, of russian whisperings and the yelling of people in charge. It's a puzzle with all the pieces scattered, desperately trying to fit themselves back into shape but the ends aren't lining up quite right.

He is the Winter Soldier.
He is Bucky Barnes.
He is the Asset.
There is always a mission.

He presses the knife into the neck of a man he doesn't recognize (he recognizes, he recognizes). Presses the point in just enough to draw blood, the faintest little nick. Friend or foe, threat or not? A small voice whispers captain, he's outranked, he's just a sergeant. No, yes, is that right?

"Bullshit," He whispers harshly, fingers of his metal hand curling into Steve's shirt, gripping him by it tightly. "Каковы мои заказы? What do I do? What are my orders?"

Because if he fails to deliver, if he fails his mission, they will reset him and the punishment will come.

"I don't want to be reset- I don't want to be reset- Каковы мои заказы?"

for freightcars

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject