Just Say That I’m A Friend Of Yours
The ceiling was moving. It shouldn’t be moving, considering it’s a goddamn ceiling.However, the plain gray ceiling was moving. Spinning, swirling, closer, farther, side to side, it just wouldn’t stay still. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense in this new century, and Bucky was damn near sick of it.
iPhones (however those worked, he’d never know), the Internet (just read a book, seriously), new slang (why change it? It was great in the 40s), and FRIDAY. FRIDAY made absolutely no sense. What, was she stuck in the walls or something?
…
Is she making the ceiling move?
No.
That’d be stupid. Steve had tried his best to explain to Bucky how FRIDAY worked, but none of it made any sense. It was frustrating, to say the least. He’d always considered himself to be smart, especially in school. So what if he was confused by this high-tech all around him?
And so what if these advancements made him feel like he was in a HYDRA base? And so what if he hadn’t slept in weeks because of this new century?
He wanted to go back, back to the 40s, back to asthmatic Steve. Now these thoughts, he’s had before. The gnawing need to see that little punk again, if only for a few moments. Sure Stark had placed pictures in his room from back then, but that didn’t count. It didn’t help muffle the voices in his head, screaming and crying and missing everything.
Bucky missed his baby sister, his momma, his papa, his life. He hated that he’d missed everything of Becca’s. Her wedding, her children, her birthdays, her death. There was an odd feeling of something close to guilt, however not quite that, settling itself in Bucky’s stomach. He knew it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t there for her, it was HYDRA’s, but maybe it was.
Perhaps if he hadn’t joined the army, if he hadn’t made himself known on the train, or if he had knocked the other soldier out quicker, he would’ve been there for everything.
You would’ve lost Steve, one of the voices poisoning his mind rings out, Never would’ve met Sam.
Bucky could live with that. Sam was barely a friend, and as long as he lived long enough for Steve to visit him, like with Peggy until she passed away he’d be fine. No. That was a lie, and he knew it. He didn’t want to be without Sam Steve. He didn’t want to live his life never truly having him near.
There was no need for him to have been tortured for 70 years. He could’ve lived out his life, maybe found a nice woman to settle for with, have kids, watched them grow old, and died a peaceful, harmless death. That would’ve been nice.
But no HYDRA just had to push him out of a train, take him into captivity, and then continuously torture him and make him kill people they didn’t like. Well fuck them over and over again.
As Bucky looked around his room, his eyes got caught on the books that Stark left there. He hadn’t touched them yet, hadn’t dared, thinking that Stark had probably put them there for decoration. Not for him to enjoy, never to enjoy. It wasn’t in his programming to enjoy anything anymore. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t even enjoy sleeping. His one escape from this godforsaken cumgutter existence, and they ruined it.
He flexed his new prosthetic, curling his hand into a fist and reveling in the fact that he could feel the cool metal throughout his body. Moving on auto-pilot now, he stood and slowly walked over to the desk. His metal fingers brushed across the hardcovers, flowing through the dips of the engraved Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
He felt the material, closing his fingers around it, careful not to stab through the pages with his grip. Still subconsciously moving, Bucky found himself on the kitchen floor, curled up, with the book cracked open and his eyes scanning the page.
Never had he ever heard of the series before so he didn’t know what exactly to expect. But he guessed that Harry was the main character and that he wasn’t as normal as the Dursleys clearly were. It seemed redundant how much this author needed their readers to know that the Dursleys were normal people, living in a normal town, with other normal people, doing normal things.
Hopefully the book would improve along the way.
And it actually did end up being really interesting. Bucky found that he was having a hard time trying to put it down and stop reading, a problem he’d only ever had with The Hobbit. That was the only book he’d ever considered worth his money to actually buy from the bookstore in Brooklyn.
And now he was laying down on cold kitchen tiles, fighting his exhaustion to avoid his nightmares and not finding out what happens to Harry. Bucky was so entrapped in the book that he didn’t even notice the figure standing over him until it spoke.
“What the hell are you doing on the floor?” Sam - Bucky could recognize that voice tinged with annoyance anywhere - asked incredulously. For once, Bucky had no snarky comeback, no scowl on his face, he simply laid the book on his chest and stared blankly up at the man.
“Reading.”
“I see that, but why aren’t you in your room? And what’re you even reading? And why the kitchen? You wanna leave your room, why not lay on the gigantic couch Stark gave us?” Questions, questions all the time with this guy. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to do anything more than frown and shrug.
Obviously, Bucky knew why he was laying on the freezing tiles. But it just sounded so stupid, even in his head. The fact that a part of HYDRA brung him comfort was just insanity. Yet, it was also reality. He knew what would happen if he told Sam that he still performed some of his HYDRA routines even when he didn’t mean to. He’d be shipped off. Back to Wakanda, maybe. More likely he’d be stuck in the Raft because they’d be terrified that the Winter Soldier was posing as Bucky to get closer to the Avengers or some stupid shit.
He didn’t want to be dragged off somewhere, not again. Wakanda hadn’t been too bad but he had missed having two arms, and having someone near that never believed he was a bad person.
Maybe he was a bad person. He did kill all of those people. Granted, he didn’t want to or mean to, but he still did it. The metal arm still had to be wiped of the blood after missions. His mask too. So many sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, cousins, wives, husbands, in-laws, friends, partners, died because of him. And that was just crummy, it sucked a black hole in his stomach.
Or, it made him a black hole. Luring in and killing whatever came close. That’s what his name should’ve been. Who even came up with Winter Soldier? Could’a called him the Black Hole. Would’a suited him better. The black they painted around his eyes, black outfit, black mask, they had his hair dyed black for a few months - in what Bucky believes was the 60s - before realizing how much work it took to upkeep that.
A snap in front of his face pulled him out of his rabbit hole thoughts. Sam was now in a sitting position, right next to him. Close, so close, too close. He looked…concerned. Which confused the living hell out of Bucky. He’d never seen that look on Sam, at least never when Sam was looking at him, once before he’d seen it when Sam was worried about Steve. But never when Sam was worried about him.
He didn’t deserve to have someone worry about him, he knew that much. Sam barely knew anything about him. Couldn’t trust him, and didn’t. Bucky could tell Sam was a little hesitant to touch him the first time they’d met (not when he was still the Winter Soldier). Now, Sam laid a hand on his shoulder with no second thoughts, squeezed it like he would with Steve and smiled at Bucky. A nice smile - given that it wasn’t a sarcastic one, that’s what Bucky meant by nice - that sent an electric shock from Sam’s hand to Bucky’s heart.
“You back with me now?” Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice to speak up. There really wasn’t any need for him to speak anyway. Sam always seemed content to just talk and talk and talk. Normally Bucky would shoot him glares or growl at him to shut his trap, but now he just sat silently, wanting for Sam to launch into one of his tangents. But he didn’t.
He laid his head on his arm that lay atop his knees, sighed, and inched closer to Bucky. With a start, Bucky finally noticed that Sam was to his left, meaning that his hand was laid on his metal shoulder. The one that could hurt him. Sam didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he just didn’t notice. It was dark, and he was tired, maybe he thought that he was touching the flesh arm.
“Thanks, Sam.” That got his attention. Sam straightened, staring blankly at the ex-assassin. Then, a smirk broke out across his face and Bucky instantly regretted ever even thinking the words. “No, no, no..”
“Well, this is just a revelation, you are capable of manners!” Sam exclaimed, mockingly smiling at the older man. Bucky scowled at him but there was no heat behind it like before.
This - what they had now - felt nice. He still didn’t know what to call Sam. A friend, a co-worker, a partner. Or maybe they were just two guys with a mutual friend. Maybe he was reading too much into this interaction. Maybe Sam was trying to be friendly for Steve’s sake. God, did that put a damper on Bucky’s mood. His stupid fucking brain always started up at the exact wrong moments. There was no need for him to ruin this, but he had.
“Always have been, Wilson.” Bucky said, wishing he could go back in time and change the tone with which he said it. Sam recoiled as his face dropped, the smile gone, replaced by a frown. His hand gripped Bucky’s shoulder and the agent silently wished that Stark wasn’t so smart, and didn’t let Bucky feel. Because he didn’t want to feel this, didn’t want to get used to the warm feeling of Sam’s hand, the comfort of his squeeze. He didn’t want to have it and lose it.
Sam looked about ready to bolt, leaving Bucky alone on the kitchen floor. And that’s not what Bucky wanted, not even in the ballpark. He didn’t want Sam to leave him, but knew he couldn’t keep the Falcon close enough to hold without hurting.
But he didn’t. He stayed and watched as Bucky hesitantly restarted the chapter he was on, his mind having blanked completely on what was going on in the book. Something about a large man breaking into the house and twisting a shotgun. This book was so confusing.
A few minutes later, Bucky had already gotten through that chapter and the next, Sam shifted. He’d been completely still for the whole time. So Bucky quickly analyzed the movement as him getting ready to stand and leave. And he was right. The man stood silently, looked down at Bucky for a moment, sighed in a different way than the last time (Bucky couldn’t put his finger on the specifics), and walked back to his room.
“Sam-” Bucky whispered, his voice barely audible as it was caught in his throat. There was no way Sam had heard him without super hearing, that fact still not bringing comfort to Bucky as the other man didn’t turn around.
No way Bucky could continue reading now. What, with the voices poisoning his brain again? Leaving him clutching his flesh arm in his metal hand. Why’d he have to go and piss Sam off? Why couldn’t he have played it cool? Maybe started a conversation instead of going non-verbal on him. He didn’t like being silent, it was how he was trained. Programmed. Puppeted.
If he hadn't spoken out with the tone that he had, maybe Sam would’ve kept the conversation flowing, maybe then he would’ve started one of his rants. But this is what Bucky did. He ruined things, he failed missions, and he hurt people. That’s who he’s been for the past 73 years, and it’s really hard to turn that off. Especially so soon, so suddenly. Even back in Wakanda, he barely interacted with anyone outside T’Challa and Shuri, and even with them he stayed mostly silent. Sometimes when he did speak, he would say things with a bite to them, and then immediately cower under the pretense that they would hurt him.
They never did, of course. The Wakandans were harmless, gentle leaders and they rarely ever even yelled at him. Unless they were ordering him to do tasks that forced them to yell, or they wanted him to quiet down.
Sitting up, he leaned against the cabinets behind him. The metal handle dug into his back, sending his mind back to late January of 1943, when HYDRA first punished him for speaking out of turn. They like whips, he found that out very quickly. Audibly, he winced and hastily stood up. Looking around the deserted kitchen, he hoped that nobody had heard him. The comforting silence met him, allowing him to relax his muscles as slightly as possible.
Bucky snapped the book closed, laying it down on the counter. He didn’t want anyone to come out and see him again. Being left alone for the rest of his already long enough life sounded like paradise. If only he’d just died when he fell off the train. Maybe he’d die if he jumped off the Tower. It doesn’t go nearly 100 km per hour like a train does, but he figured the stark difference in height would make up for that.
Would anyone stop him from jumping off the tower? If he went to the roof right now, would FRIDAY alert anybody? Would FRIDAY care? Bucky doesn’t think she would. If he went now, while everyone else was asleep, he could make himself just another mess on the streets of New York City. There was trash all over the place, what’s one more piece?
If he did die, would he go to heaven or hell? His heart said heaven, Bucky’s never done anything wrong. He’s a war hero, who gave his life for his country. But his brain, his stupid, poisoned brain said hell. He was the Winter Soldier. Now and forever. He killed hundreds of people, and looked forward to it, so that he was rewarded by HYDRA.
H.
E.
What came after that for him? L or A? There’s only one way to find out.
Bucky’s eyes flicker towards the elevator, tilting his head at the metal door that could take him to whichever floor he wanted. Other than floor 92 of course. He wouldn’t dare intrude on Tony Stark’s privacy. He didn’t need to give the man more reasons to hate him. The fact that he killed his parents and was now living in the same building as him was more than enough.
Before he could think on it, his legs started moving towards the elevator.
Steve is asleep. You only bring him pain. Sam is asleep. He hates your guts. Tony is asleep. He hates your guts. Natasha is asleep. She barely knows you. Wanda is asleep. She doesn’t care. Rhodey is asleep. He’ll be glad you’re gone. Scott is asleep. He doesn’t care. Vision is asleep. He doesn’t like you. Bruce doesn’t even know you, didn’t even spare a glance at you when he came in.
The door opens for him, silently allowing him access to the elevator. He stands there for a moment, reflecting on his life, on if this is the best choice. And he makes a decision.
“Miss FRIDAY, take me to the roof please.”
Peter watched the elevator start up, yawning as he scrawled an equation on his chemistry homework. He’d only ever met Bucky once, so he wasn’t good at reading the Rogue. But he could tell that he wasn’t going up to the roof to watch the sunrise, that much was obvious.
The boy glanced at the clock on his desk. 3:47, October 17, 2016. What the hell was Bucky doing up at that time anyway? Peter’s face flushed as he realized that he was also up at the horrendous time of 3 in the damn morning. But he had an excuse, he had homework to get done that Wanda had distracted him from.
While he appreciated that she kept him company, and was younger than all the others in the tower, she was a troublemaker. She convinced him to pull a prank on Tony, for which he took the fall for, not wanting to get her in trouble. She always knew how to pry him away from his homework. And she really just didn’t follow rules very well.
The elevator was almost to the roof, when Peter’s sleep-deprived brain finally caught up. He’d seen this before. Saved people from jumping off of buildings, talked them out of it. He’d just have to do the same for Bucky. No big deal, just talking an ex-HYDRA assassin out of killing himself. No biggie, normal, normal, normal day.
“FRI, stop the elevator on my floor.” While there was no audio playing, he saw Bucky’s mouth move as he furrowed his brows, wondering why the elevator had stopped before the roof. Peter cut the feed, standing up and walking out to the living room of floor 93. His home, his penthouse, his sanctuary. Not a lot of people had been up here before. Peter wasn’t keen on inviting people into his private space, but he let it slide when it was someone he or Mr. Stark cared about.
Or, you know, someone who - if he hadn’t stopped him - would’ve been splattered on the sidewalk outside the building. That counted as well. FRIDAY opened the elevator door and, once again, Peter was face-to-face with James Buchanan Barnes. He still remembered their first meeting. Albeit awkward and violent, it was one of the best experiences of Peter’s short life. Bucky could not say the same.
Immediately, Bucky’s internal alarms went off. Who the fuck was this kid and why was he stopping Bucky’s ride to the roof? He looked young. No older than 17. There was a sense of familiarity in the air as well, as if he’d met the kid before. But he couldn’t have. If he met him as the Winter Soldier, the kid’d be dead. If he met him as Bucky, then he should remember.
He shook the feeling off, labelling it as him going crazy. Or maybe the fact that the kid looked almost exactly like Stark was a factor in the whole thing. His chocolate brown eyes, dark brown hair, the smile he was giving Bucky.
“Hey, it’s Bucky, right?” Little Stark asked, waiting for the nod that Bucky gave him. “You don’t have to stay in the elevator, dude, come on out!”
Little Stark then proceeded to make his way over to the couch, laying down without a care in the world. Bucky hesitantly followed his lead. He sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, turning his torso to stare at the young boy.
“Why’d you stop the elevator?” Finally, jeez man, took you that long to find your voice? It’s a kid. Why the hell are you so scared? You could probably crush him in a millisecond. Oh. Maybe that’s why he was scared to be around him.
“Because I don’t want you jumping off the roof.”
“How-?”
“I’ve stopped people from doing that before. So.. what do you wanna do to get your mind off of it? You got a favorite movie? Mine is Star Wars, so we can watch that if you can’t decide on a favorite. Blade Runner is okay, Jurassic Park is pretty cool! Dinosaurs and stuff! Um.. I’ve never finished the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but I’ve watched the first one and that was pretty good!” Little Stark rambled on and on, only catching Bucky’s attention with Lord of the Rings.
“Lord of the Rings has movies?” Bucky mumbled, never having been told about the movie. Little Stark’s jaw dropped, before his face lit up, and he started laughing. Bucky recoiled, thinking that the kid was making fun of him. “What?”
“Prepare to have your mind blown, Bucky.” Little Stark replied, trying to stifle his laughter. Bucky settled into the sofa, watching the kid interact with FRIDAY to get Lord of the Rings to start playing. As soon as it started, Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, the quality and the coloring of the film. He’d only ever seen one film in color before the train accident, Wizard of Oz, and that was one of the best flicks he’d ever watched. Steve may call him crazy, but it was insanely interesting.
Little Stark whispered to him every so often. Facts about the actors, the props, the directors, the filming, and the sets. Bucky didn’t mind all that much, the young boy's voice was calming, helping him relax into the couch. Before he could stop himself, his body betrayed him, leaning heavily onto the boy.
His eyes fought to stay open, to see the end of the movie, but he lost that fight as well. Darkness consumed his vision, and he slept for the first time in months.