for freightcars

[captaincentenarian]

Sam's chasing a lead in Mexico. Nat last checked in from somewhere around Venezuela. And Steve?

Steve's sitting in a corner cafe in a little country town in the midwest, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He knows he's still recognizable, but there's only so much he can do. He sips at his cappuccino morosely. There's no point in getting down about this. He'll find Bucky. He will. Just because no one around the clock tower knew anything about Bucky doesn't mean that Bucky hasn't actually been there.

It'll happen.

He opens the newspaper again. He needs to check the Google on his special untraceable Stark phone, too, but right now he's more comfortable with paper and pen on the scratched surface of the cafe table.

Comments

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

"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."

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

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."

[freightcars]

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.

[captaincentenarian]

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."

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

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.

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

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."

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

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.

[freightcars]

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."

[captaincentenarian]

"...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.

[freightcars]

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?

[captaincentenarian]

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."

[freightcars]

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?"

[captaincentenarian]

Bucky winces on top of him. Steve can only see his face dimly, but he doesn't need to see every nuance of expression to know just how confused and distraught the other man is. Not with him on top of Steve like this, not with Steve's hyper awareness of every single muscle.

His nostrils flare as the knife presses further into him. There's a tiny dot of warmth. It's broken the skin.

Bucky's in an utter panic and Steve is about ready to deck him if necessary. If, y'know, it wouldn't involve the knife going through Steve's throat. He's prepared to try to grab it if he has to, but it's better if he can talk Bucky through this one way or another.

..............oh.

Oh, no.

That's what it's about.

Steve feels his brain whir into furious thought, with a layer of glacial stillness and focus on top of it. He can't get this wrong, because if he fails to respond correctly Bucky will break completely.

"You're doing well," he says firmly, putting a snap of authority into his tone. "You're a good soldier, Bucky."

He won't call him an Asset. Can't do that. (Maybe... maybe later, if Bucky needs it.)

"Your orders right now are to get off me, and to stand down."

[freightcars]

He breathes quickly, his chest heaves. He stares at Steve like a drowning man in search of air, and seems to hesitate at the command. Was this a test? Is this a test? The authority in Steve's voice leaves no room for question, though. Slowly, tentatively, he retracts the knife.

Stand down is barked, and that one's a familiar enough order.

Carefully, gracefully, he extracts himself from the bed. Backs away from it slowly, though the knife doesn't leave his hand. He grips it with white knuckles, his shoulder blades touching the hotel's door, his eyes practically glowing in the darkness thanks to the reflection of light behind the curtains.

He's panicked, he's lost, he's adrift and he doesn't recognize the room he's in.
He's been thawed, then, reset already, he's got a mission, he only ever wakes up somewhere new when he has a mission.
He waits for orders.

[captaincentenarian]

When Bucky needs to think, to make a decision, he looks poised on the edge of a razor blade. Lethal and bleeding and about ready to crack.

When he knows what to do, he moves with the grace of a big cat. Steve takes that in, tucks it away. All information he needs. He knows enough about flashbacks (or whatever the hell this is) to know that arguing with Bucky, trying to push him into reality, won't work. He has to work with what's going on. He has to blunt it, to redirect it, to help Bucky calm down.

Which means he needs to give Bucky orders. Orders that will make him safe, and won't hurt him.

Steve rolls to his feet, and dabs a finger at the spot on his throat. It's already stopped bleeding.

Is this -

Hell.

He'll have to try.

"Your mission is to stay by my side and do what I need," he says calmly, because he trusts that this soldier in front of him will do as he's told. He has to trust. "Your mission is to tend to me. Whatever I tell you to do for me. Understood, soldier?"

[freightcars]

Secure and protect, guard. He's done that before. That makes sense, that's familiar, and it's a relief. It's easier than killing, defense leaves no room for failure. His grip on the knife seems to loosen just a little, his shoulders seem to relax, but he's still a guarded machine. A barely-tamed animal, something distant. Someone other than the man he'd been a few hours ago.

"солдат будет подчиняться." He murmurs finally, accepting.

A second passes, a tense second of silence, and he has to ask, "What do you need?"

[captaincentenarian]

If Steve keeps him awake purely to guard him, then Bucky's going to stand there on the verge of attacking all night, isn't he. And possibly when housekeeping comes in the morning, he WILL attack. That won't work.

Steve needs some way to calm him down. Especially since he's not sure what that Russian means. He needs to bring Bucky back as much as he can, gradually, gently.

"Get me a water from the fridge," Steve says, nodding at it. Ridiculous. Bucky - all versions of him - knows where the damn fridge is. "Get yourself one, too, and breathe, soldier. Breathe."

If he can't keep Bucky calm then he might have to - have to kiss him. There's an uneasy stirring in his gut at this. If he can't keep Bucky occupied with doing things himself, such as relaxing, guarding, then he'll have to make him do something with Steve.

[freightcars]

It's true, he's wired. It seems like even the few hours of sleep had been enough, or perhaps the adrenaline coursing through him from the nightmare is what's eradicated all sense of exhaustion from him. He's vigilant, his heart beats a frantic rhythm in his chest.

Having a purpose seems to calm him. Order in the chaos, knowing what it is he's supposed to do. Following obediently is the only surefire way he could avoid pain, it's ingrained into him. It is an anchor in the storm. He moves, grabs the caps of two bottles with deft fingers. Holds one out to Steve in offering, and once it's taken, uncaps his own and drinks. That order was implied, not outright stated, but he's an over-achiever.

Once done, he caps it again and exhales.

Breathe is order number two. His eyes drop, fixate on the floor, and he inhales slowly. Exhales equally as slowly, though it shakes through the tightness of his chest. His hair falls in his face. Eyes flutter closed.

His hands are shaking.

He is Bucky Barnes.
He is the asset.
Isn't he? He isn't anymore, is he?

His hands continue to shake. Who is he anymore? What is his purpose? He doesn't know what he wants, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know independence anymore, the world is overwhelming in it's possibilities.

[captaincentenarian]

Bucky's twitchy as anything. It's like when they were kids, staying up too late, drinking precious coffee so they could make it to part-time jobs as well as school and attempt to get homework done as well.

He gets the water, and Steve takes his. Okay, that's good. He's drinking. He's able to manage domestic things like this when ordered to do so. Steve doesn't have anywhere near enough domestic work to give him, though. Steve sips at his water, watching Bucky intently.

Breathing now. Good. It's not about to fix this, but it'll rub a little of the edges off Bucky's tension.

...his hands. He's shaking.

"I'm going to touch you now," Steve says, in a tone that brooks no disagreement. What the hell is he going to do? He'll figure it out as he goes. First step is to take Bucky's hands, then slide his own hands up Bucky's arms and around him.

He holds him lightly for now. Don't want him to feel trapped. "Do the same to me."

[freightcars]

That's not an order he's familiar with. This isn't a situation he's familiar with, not in the context of objective or mission. Steve's arms come up around him and he freezes momentarily, statuesque and stiff. If anything, he breathes a little more quickly, a hair under hyperventilation.

It's soft. It's gentle. It's comforting. A choked sound forces it's way out of his chest and the water bottle in his hand drops. Clatters to the floor, bounces around unspilled, rolls under the bed.

He obeys. Wraps his arms around Steve's waist.

His eyes clothes. Breathe, soldier, he's ordered. His eyes squeeze shut, and there they stand, embracing each other in the darkness, Bucky trembling like an addict withdrawing, but accepting despite that.

"I... don't..." he murmurs into Steve's shoulder, and cuts himself off abruptly. Loses his words.