Let's Go on Dreaming

ix.

The air felt different. It was heavy, somehow. Thick and foul smelling. Bucky took a step forward. Something hard hit him. He stumbled to the side and fell to the rough ground. Water splashed up around him.

“Shit.” A door slammed. Feet hit the pavement. Each footfall sounded like it needed to unstick from the ground. “Are you okay?” Someone knelt beside him. Backlit by the yellow lights, all Bucky could make out was blond hair and blue eyes.

Angie? No.

“Please tell me if you’re okay,” the voice said again. It was a man. “Because I really don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.”

“Is this often how people meet here?” Bucky asked. Pain lanced through his back, and he groaned.

“Let me bring you to a hospital to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said. He pushed himself up, a hand on his ribs; his bruises from the giant still hadn’t fully healed.

Rain flattened the man’s hair and dripped down the crooked slope of his nose. “Then can I at least drop you off anywhere?”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Bucky said. He couldn’t remember why he’d been so calm when the King showed him the portal.

“Then I’ll take you to my place. You can dry off, use my phone. But we need to go—I have a bedtime we need to stick to.”

The King had told him this land was untamed, that its occupants were wild and uncouth. The longer they went without someone to rule them, the faster they would destroy themselves. This man was nothing like the picture the King painted.

“Thank you.”

The man held out his hand and Bucky took it. Rough callouses were built up on the pads of his fingers. He followed him to a small carriage and copied how he opened the door and slipped inside.

“Daddy?” There was a young girl in the back.

“It’s okay, Bug. He’s just going to come home with us for a minute.”

When they started moving, Bucky closed his eyes, his fist clenched.

The rain had turned to a light mist when they stopped. Bucky waited on the pavement as the man helped his daughter out of her seat. Tall brick houses rose up from the street, windows like a hundred blinking eyes covering the exterior. A light illuminating one switched off.   

“I’m a couple floors up,” the man said when they got inside. One of the lights in the ceiling flickered and sputtered out. “The elevator hasn’t worked in years, so I hope you’re okay with stairs.”

Bucky nodded wearily and followed the girl as she ran ahead.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” the man said as he unlocked a door. His daughter scurried in and kicked her shoes off in the middle of the floor. “Sarah, put your shoes away, please! They don’t go in the kitchen.” 

Frowning, the girl came stomping back, grabbed her shoes, and put them by the door. 

“The bathroom is through the hall here, first door on your left.” The man pointed down the hall. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll grab you some dry clothes and you can get changed.” 

The floor of the washroom was made of tiny white tiles. A small rug lay at the side of a tub.  Bucky took off his jacket and tunic and folded them to set on the counter. Always be neat. That’s what his mama taught him. Two toothbrushes sat in a pink cup that had a large scaly creature wearing a skirt. 

There was a soft knock and the man pushed open the door, carrying an armful of clothing. “Here—oh, I’m sorry.” Pink tinged his cheeks and he looked down. A horrified expression crossed his face as he saw the bruises on Bucky’s ribs. 

“They aren’t from you,” Bucky told him. “Your concern isn’t needed.” 

“Here.” He held up the pile of clothes again and put them on the counter. “If you want to shower, go ahead. The warm water takes a bit to come in, but if you jiggle the handle back and forth, that usually helps. The towel there is clean.” 

Bucky nodded.

“I’m Steve, by the way.” 

“Bucky,” he murmured. 

“Hmm?” 

“My name,” he said louder. “Is Bucky.” 

Bucky emerged from the washroom warm and dry, wearing the clothing Steve provided. The sleeves were too long, and he’d needed to fold the cuffs several times to have use of his arms, but it was soft and comfortable. If he ever returned to the forest, he’d see if he could craft something similar. 

But he wouldn’t return to the forest. At least, not to live. He was going to marry Angie. 

Bucky missed her, like breathing glass that pierced his heart with every breath. He missed the flowers that surrounded her, and her laugh, and the way her soft palms felt against his. He missed the way he felt drunk around her. 

Complete the mission. Find the key and destroy it. 

Steve was in the kitchen, setting a tray on the counter. He wore an oversized tunic like Bucky, though his had a hood and had the words Brooklyn Dodgers embroidered on the grey fabric. Sarah sat on a chair, her head pillowed in her arms. Her blonde curls spilled over.

“Yellow or pink?” Steve asked, holding up plates. He hadn’t noticed Bucky yet. His home was disorganized but not messy. It spoke of something Bucky was intimately familiar with; of carving himself into a space and refusing to leave. Two tiny windows opened the back wall to the outside world. A burnt orange sofa with a patchwork quilt and a small table took up most of the living room, and an easel was squeezed by one of the windows. 

“Yellow,” Sarah said. 

Steve huffed a laugh, dished the food, and slid the yellow plate in front of her. “I made enough for all of us, if you’re hungry, too,” he said, looking over at Bucky. 

Not unnoticed. 

“I shouldn’t intrude further.” 

Steve laughed. It seemed to bubble out of him, and it surprised Bucky with how genuine it was. “I hit you with my car. Making sure you’re okay is the least I can do. So please.” He gestured to one of the empty seats. “I’d feel terrible throwing you out, especially knowing you said you didn’t have anywhere to go.” 

Bucky wanted to argue. He wanted to go out and start his search. He wanted Angie. He looked outside and saw the rain. “Thank you.” 

Steve took out a blue plate and set it in front of him, keeping the pink one for himself, and sat by his daughter. Bucky sat at the very edge. 

He picked up an animal-shaped object on the tray.  “What is this?” 

Steve’s eyes glimmered when he looked over. “A chicken nugget. Dinosaur-shaped. One of my specialties.” 

Bucky didn’t have the energy to ask what a dinosaur was. It matched the shape on the bathroom cup. He nibbled on the corner, found it simply to be chicken coated in something crispy, and kept eating. Steve smiled to himself and turned back to his own food. 

When Steve insisted he stay the night, Bucky was too exhausted to argue. The rain still came down, heavier again and punctuated with rumbling thunder. He lay on the settee, his legs curled to fit and the quilt pulled up around his shoulders. Patches of light traveled across the wall and disappeared, matching the muffled roar and sputtering of wheels against wet pavement. Lulled by the pattering of rain against glass, he fell into a quick, dreamless sleep. 

He woke to early morning light against his face and the sound of sleepy feet padding in the kitchen. Steve leaned against the counter, a mug cupped between his palms, steam curling upwards in lazy patterns. His hair stuck up, and he blinked owl-like. A smudge of toothpaste dried at the corner of his lips. Bucky joined him.

“Coffee?” Bucky nodded, and Steve poured another mug. “I didn’t know if you’d stay,” Steve said, passing it over. 

Bucky took it from him, the ceramic uncomfortably warm. “I didn’t either,” he admitted. “Don’t know where I would’ve gone, though.” 

The lock on the front door jiggled. A woman with a paper bag on her elbow walked in, pushing dark glasses onto the crown of her head. 

“Peg? What are—” Steve’s question was swallowed by a yawn. 

She put the bag on the counter. Steve kissed her. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast, but I didn’t realize that you’d be awake. Or have guests.”  She looked at Bucky with narrowed eyes. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I hit him with my car last night,” Steve said. “Figured the least I could do was give him a place to stay. It’s what Ma would’ve done.” 

“Your ma wouldn’t have hit him in the first place,” she said, finally pulling her scrutinizing gaze off Bucky and unpacking the bag. 

Steve flashed a quick glance toward Bucky and shrugged, a small smile quirking his lips up. Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.  

x.

The first few days, he kept close to Steve’s building, not wanting to risk getting lost in the maze of streets and buildings. He wandered into shops and browsed their wares, looking for any reaction that an owner might recognize his search. Most of the time, he left empty-handed, his frustration growing with each failure as he returned to the small motel that gave him lodging in return for cleaning.

Bucky tried to stay away, but he gravitated towards Steve’s apartment. The first time he knocked, Steve wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise but insisted on making them a cup of tea when Bucky mentioned leaving. His daughter hid behind his legs, peeking out with curious blue eyes and a curtain of golden curls. He and Steve sat on the settee, cupping warm mugs between their palms. 

Every night after days of fruitless wandering, he looked up at Steve’s window. He didn’t always knock, but when he did, Steve let him in with a tired smile and went to heat the kettle. Sarah got bolder with each visit. 

“Whenever I pick her up, she always asks me if you’re going to come over,” Steve told him one night after she’d gone to bed. His thick books and reams of notes lay forgotten on the table. 

“What do you tell her?” Bucky asked, grabbing one of the cookies Steve had presented. Apparently, they were from a box and all he’d needed to do was put them in the oven. He needed to wash it down with tea. 

Steve winced in sympathy. “Sorry. I’m not very good at baking. Or cooking, for that matter.” 

“My mama made sure I knew my way around a kitchen when I was a boy,” Bucky said, smiling at the memories of warm sunlight and the smell of fresh bread. It was shattered by a loud siren outside. Bucky jumped. 

He saw the question building before Steve gathered the courage to ask it. “I know it’s none of my business,” he said, “but where are you from?”

“Somewhere that feels like magic compared to here,” Bucky replied. He hadn’t been commanded to keep quiet about their world, but it felt like he needed to, like if he let it go, it would slip from his fingers and he’d never return to Angie. He looked down, his heart hurting. 

“You love someone there.” 

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Is it that obvious?” 

Steve smiled. Despite the exhaustion etched in dark circles beneath his eyes, he looked content. Bucky couldn’t help but think he was part of the reason. “Love is magic.” 

There was no point in lying, so Bucky nodded. His heart grew ever more bruised. He didn’t know if it would ever heal. 

“Tell me about them?” 

The handle to the front door rattled. Someone at the wrong apartment, maybe. 

“Her name is Angie,” he said, unable to help the soft curl of his lips as he said her name. “She’s my everything. Her hair is like summer’s wheat, and her eyes like the purest sapphire. We’re going to marry as soon as I’m able to return.” 

The door opened, and Peggy slipped inside. 

Steve frowned. “You make it sound like you’re stuck here.” 

“I—her uncle—” Bucky faltered. He couldn’t speak about the King. His job was to pave the way. A soldier. Nothing more. “I’m looking for something.” 

“You’ll find it.” 

“How do you know?”

“Because,” Steve said, keeping his gaze on Bucky, “if we lose sight of hope, what do we have left?”

xi. 

He walked down the street, having just bought an ornate silver paintbrush from a shop filled with curious items. It was the only thing that called to him. He’d seen it and thought of blonde hair, blue eyes, and long, graceful fingers. 

“Bucky?” Peggy walked towards him. He slowed to let her catch up. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” 

He let her lead him into an alley. “What do you need?” 

There was a flash of steel, and before he blinked, Peggy had him pinned against the wall with a dagger against his throat. 

“Did the King send you?” 

The hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck rose in alarm. Every fiber of his being screamed to keep quiet or lie. “I don’t know any king.”

“It does you no good to lie,” she hissed. The blade was sharp against his throat. “You were sent by Alexander Pierce. He promised you riches if you completed one small task for him.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

“You spoke of Angie. He promised you could marry her, didn’t he.” 

Bucky froze. His breath hitched. “I don’t—” 

“It’s a lie. He won’t give you anything. And she—” Peggy looked away, emotions playing across her face. “She is not who you think she is.” 

“She loves me,” Bucky hissed, angry now. 

“Believe what you want,” she said, looking tired. “Just stay away from Steve. He has enough going on. He doesn’t need to be distracted by you.” 

His fear disappeared. In its place was cold focus. He was the King’s Soldier. His work would be a gift to this world. Nothing would stand in his way. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I have no qualms slitting your throat. Hard to get married if you’re dead.” 

The blade nicked his throat. She walked away. By the time Bucky emerged from the alley, she’d been swallowed by the crowds of New York. 

Sam flew, swooping down amongst the crowds to observe faces. Once, he thought he saw Bucky in the back of a horse-drawn carriage. When he landed on his shoulder, the man shooed him away. It wasn’t Bucky, just someone with a similar face. 

He landed on a branch in a park. Frustrated as he was, he had to admit there was something fascinating about this world. It had no magic like the kind that infused home, but it had something . A large group of people passed below him, singing, led by a woman with long red hair. A confused man followed. 

It was something Bucky would’ve loved. Traveler’s would’ve flocked to his tree, their tongue full of different details. Bucky would’ve given them bread and tea in trade of stories. At least, the Bucky he’d known would’ve. The King’s Soldier, he wasn’t sure. 

Sam needed to find him before it was too late and he never got his friend back. 

His wings rested, Sam took flight. 

Bucky tried to stay away. He wandered the streets hunting for anything that might have the power to prevent the King from exerting his control. He thought about Angie until his heart almost seemed to bleed with how much he missed her and his dreams were filled with blond hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile. When he grew too restless, he let himself walk without thought. He found himself at Steve’s door. 

Peggy was on the staircase when he left. Her hand went to her hip. Bucky kept walking. He felt her gaze on him until he left the building. 

The air was sticky and the street was wet. Branches rustled above him, cutting the night sky into pieces. A bird followed him. He walked past flower beds, inhaling their sweet scent. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend Angie was next to him. The hand he imagined slipping into his was broad and calloused. 

He thought of Peggy’s palpable fear in the stairwell. 

Before walking through the portal, Pierce had told him the key wanted to be found. He’d told Bucky he was the only one who could. Basking in the King’s attention, Bucky had believed him. 

He remembered how Peggy had said Angie’s name. 

Maybe he wasn’t the only soldier the King had sent through to pave the way. Maybe Peggy had already found the key, and rather than destroying it, decided to protect him. 

Steve. 

He wondered how Pierce would reward him when he delivered both: the betrayer and the unknowing insurrectionist. 

Sam followed Bucky until he entered another building and disappeared. The look on his face disquieted him. He’d seen a lot of expressions line Bucky’s face; he’d never seen that cold satisfaction.  

He searched each window, hoping to find a glimpse that would tell him which room was his. Most were shaded so all he saw was his own reflection. 

“Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked Angie. The water wheel continued to turn. 

“I can’t leave,” Angie told him. “Not without risking losing everything we’ve fought to gain. You’ll need to do this by yourself.”

“But he loves you!” Sam protested. “Surely he’ll listen to you.” 

Angie shook her head. “He’s infatuated. Seeing me will only make things worse. But you? You’re his best friend, Sam.”

Sam landed on the pommel of her saddle. “What if something goes wrong? What if he finds whatever it is your uncle is looking for? What if he succeeds?” 

“Then you message me, and I’ll come through.” She searched her saddle bags and came out with a tiny disk. “It’s something Sousa and I have been working on.” 

Sam landed on a branch and used a wing to brush against the disk. It grew warm against his feathers. He waited until he was sure it wouldn’t work and then some. A man walked a dog below him. 

There was a clashing of steel and shouts. “Sam?” Angie’s voice was hoarse. 

“I think he found it.” 

The clamor grew louder. “Sam, I can’t hear you.” 

The connection broke. 

xii. 

Bucky never realized how easy it was to cement himself in someone’s life. He learned Steve’s schedule, and from there, it was simple: borrowing a cup of flour here, bringing over a cake or plate of cookies there. Once, he saw a toy in a shop window and bought it because he thought Sarah would like it. She loved him for it. Steve, cheeks red and voice unsure, asked him not to. 

He often saw Peggy following him. She was usually alone, but on occasion, a bird followed her. There was something familiar about it that scratched at his memory. They’d yet to do anything to prevent his work, so he ignored them. If it came to it, it would be easy enough to dispose of them. In a city this large with its constant movement, it would be simple. Pierce had told him to complete the mission no matter the cost, and he’d be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams. 

Complete the mission and he would have his love. 

Bucky didn’t want to kill Steve, but if it brought him back to his love, he would do anything.

Steve sat on the floor, his legs stretched out beneath the coffee table and his work spread out in front of him. Sarah played quietly in the corner, having tea with the doll Bucky had bought for her. She took it everywhere now. She kept asking when he was going to come back. Steve didn’t want to admit he’d been wanting to know the same thing. 

He knew Peggy didn’t like him. They’d argued about it one night when she’d seen him leaving the apartment. She thought he was dangerous. Steve had wanted to laugh. 

He rubbed his eyes and tried to go back to his reading. Two more months of school and then a month of frantic studying for the bar exam. Two years ago, he would’ve been bursting with excitement at having gotten this far. He and Natasha had planned on changing the world, one kid at a time. Endless exams and papers and sleepless nights later, his heart wasn’t in it anymore. The only child’s life he wanted to change was his daughter’s. 

Two more months. 

Bucky asked him why he kept going when it brought nothing but anxiety and stress, and then asked if it was worth it, following through with something he didn’t want to do for the end result. 

Steve sighed and closed his textbook. His gaze drifted to the easel he’d shoved in the corner. The painting on it had sat untouched for close to a year. There hadn’t been time between school and Sarah and trying to have a life. Now, Steve wondered how much of that had been a choice. 

Peggy and Natasha had tried to help him find a balance since he’d started school. He didn’t know why a man he’d known for a couple weeks had more of an influence. 

He moved the painting off and produced a new canvas. 

“A part of me wondered if I’d ever see you there again,” Peggy said. Steve had no idea how long she’d been behind him. He hadn’t heard her come in. 

“I couldn’t sit and read anymore.” He finished the line work and put his pencil down. As always, Peggy looked perfect; red dress immaculately creased, and her hair impeccably curled. For the first time, it didn’t thrill Steve. No one was meant to be perfect all the time. 

Bucky had reminded him of that. 

It was still a comfort to see her, though. He opened his arms and she sat on his lap. He breathed in her familiar scent of hairspray and bergamot. 

“You’re painting him.” Steve hadn’t realized it at first, letting his mind go blank and his pencil do what it wanted. As soon as he had, he’d realized it felt right. There was something comforting about trying to get the precise bow of his lips and the strong slope of his nose. 

“Sarah? Why don’t you go get ready for bed, okay? I’ll come in a bit later and read you a story.” 

He expected a complaint and got a kiss on the cheek instead. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear. Steve ruffled her hair and pushed her towards the hallway. Doll in hand, she scampered away. 

“Why don’t you like him, Peggy?” 

Her lips thinned into a tight line. “I don’t trust him.” 

“Why?” Steve didn’t have the energy for this, but he was tired of seeing her nostrils flare whenever he talked about him. It was worse if she saw him leaving. 

A million answers flashed through her eyes. “He’s dangerous, Steve.” 

This time, Steve did laugh. “Yesterday, he apologized for bumping into a table!” 

“He’s not who he says he is.” 

Steve rubbed his hands up her arms. “Do you know him? I wouldn’t care.” 

“No,” Peggy said, voice clipped. “But I know his type.” 

Steve snorted. “His type? You don’t like him because you don’t think he’s my type? Peggy, you’re the one who keeps telling me to find more friends.” 

She stood and walked a few paces away, her back to him. “I just want to protect you, Steve. Sarah already doesn’t have a mom. She doesn’t need to lose you as well.” 

Steve stood as well. “Everything I do is for her,” he said, voice low. “Don’t I get to make a few decisions for myself?”

Peggy looked at him. Her gaze revealed nothing. “Sometimes you’re too trusting, Steve.” 

“And you don’t trust enough. He’s my friend, Peg. Don’t I get those?” 

As if conjured by his thoughts, there was a knock on the door. Shaking off her hand on his arm, Steve went to open it. Bucky stood outside, flour dusting his shirt and hair. He held a plate of cookies in his hand. 

“I made cookies,” he said unnecessarily, holding up the platter. “I didn’t realize how many the recipe made, and by then it was too late. They’re apple.” 

Steve’s mouth was already watering. “Have I told you apple cookies are my favorite, or did you just read my mind?” 

Bucky laughed. “They’re one of my mama’s specialties. But I may have slipped in a little something that’ll make them unfit for Sarah.” 

Steve touched his nose and took the plate. “Very thoughtful. Do you want to come in? I need to put Sarah to bed, but you’re free to wait.”

“I thought you had that big paper you needed to finish.” 

Steve waved away his concern. “I couldn’t care less about it at the moment. And Peggy was just leaving.” 

She didn’t kiss Steve on the way out. Her bag clipped the edge of the plate and the cookies spilled to the floor. 

It was the first of many arguments with Peggy. She wanted to move in and fully cement herself in Steve’s life; she wanted to have more evenings together out of the apartment. She wanted and wanted and wanted. 

Steve didn’t know how much more of himself he could give before he had nothing left. 

He began taking refuge in the campus library, writing the papers he’d put off in lieu of painting. It was long, tedious work, but he was alone. There were no arguments over spilled cookies or him being too trusting. 

He pulled a piece of scrap paper closer and started doodling, sighing in frustration when the face became familiar. 

Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and looked out at the quad. It was the first beautiful day they’d seen in a while, and the lawn was full of undergrads stretched out on blankets. He and Natasha had done that once, and Steve had fallen asleep. His sunburn had lasted a full week. 

Steve blinked. Bucky read on the steps. A piece of hair fell into his face, and he tucked it back behind his ear with a careful turn of his wrist. Something warm uncurled low in Steve’s stomach, and he quickly packed his bag. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked when he got outside. The air was warm and smelled like new grass. “We didn’t have plans, right?” 

Bucky carefully marked his page and looked up, smiling. Steve couldn’t help but smile back. “No, nothing like that. I just remember you saying the other night that you sometimes forget to eat when you go to the library, so I thought I’d bring lunch.” 

Steve could kiss him. Bucky tucked his book into his back pocket and followed him across the lawn, where they found a partially shaded spot beneath one of the oak trees. Steve lay down with a sigh. A red-winged blackbird sat on a branch. Bucky scowled at it. 

“This thing has been following me everywhere,” he said. “It won’t shut up. I haven’t had a moment of peace and quiet for a week.” 

Steve sat up. “So you bring it here to ruin the one moment of peace I get?” 

Bucky turned his scowl on him. “You want me to leave? I’ll take the food with me.” 

Steve grabbed his hand. “Stay. Please.” They both looked down. Steve swallowed. 

Bucky reached into the bag and grabbed a sandwich, handing it to Steve. “Ham, gouda, and homemade apple butter,” he said, unwrapping his own. “Another of my mama’s specialties.” 

Steve didn’t even get a chance to take a bite. The bird swooped down and grabbed the sandwich. As he flew, it fell apart, landing in a sad trail towards the edge of campus. They both watched as it became nothing more than a pinprick, leaving Steve sandwich-less and just as hungry. 

Silently, Bucky gave him half of his. 

Silently, Steve thought it was the best lunch he’d ever had. He didn’t know if it was the sandwich or the company. 

Bucky brought him lunch for the rest of the week. 

xiii.

It was surprisingly easy to craft a rift between Steve and Peggy. All Bucky needed to do was pull on the already fraying thread. They did the rest of the work. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Steve said. “I don’t want to break up with her, but all we do these days is fight. She keeps saying she wants to protect me from you. I just—” Steve sighed and took a draught of his beer, his lips curling over the lip of his bottle. Bucky watched the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. 

“You love her.” 

“I thought I did.” 

They were on the roof of Steve’s building, staring up at the murky sky. On occasion, a breeze blew away the sticky clouds, revealing the imprint of a star. They were tired here, as if they’d burned themselves out and had only a little left to give. 

“You can love someone and still be mad at them.”

“She’s making it hard for me to remember that right now. I still can’t believe she threatened you. She put a knife to your throat. I just—” Steve shook his head and took another drink. 

Bucky had told him a few nights ago. Peggy had walked in on them. Their fight only ended when Sarah came out and Steve had to put her back to bed. 

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to understand why she did everything.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve turn his head. “You telling me that she’s right and you’re actually here to kill me?” He grabbed a cookie and took a bite. 

“Out of the two of us, who’s come closer to killing the other?” 

Steve snorted. “I am sorry about that. But to be fair, it did seem like you popped up out of nowhere.” 

“To be fair, I’m sure you don’t generally thank someone for hitting you with their car.” 

Steve laughed. The sound tucked itself into a corner of Bucky’s heart. “No,” he agreed. “And the driver most certainly shouldn’t be happy, either.” 

“Have you ever given any thought on how you’d like to die?” 

Steve turned his head to look at him again. “You ask all your friends this?” 

A smile turned up the corners of Bucky’s lips. “Only the ones who nearly kill me.” 

The silence was tripped by a lone car making its way down the street. “I’d want to die in the arms of the one I loved.” 

Steve finished the cookie and ate another. Bucky thought about his answer for a long time.

Steve was sick that night. When he was able to drag himself away from the toilet long enough to text Bucky about the vicious case of food poisoning, he was quick enough to blame the sketchy take-out sushi they’d had the night before.  

xiv.

Bucky had come to accept that the bird was a part of his life now. It followed him everywhere, sometimes even going as far as to sit on his shoulder and poke his ear. There was something familiar about it that scratched at the edge of his memory with the faintest ideas of laughter and fond annoyance. Sometimes, Bucky thought he heard it speak. He always seemed to forget what he was doing when that happened. 

Currently, it sat on his windowsill, watching as Bucky floured his hands and punched down his dough. The bread was for Steve. He and Peggy hadn’t officially broken up, but Bucky knew Steve wasn’t hopeful for their future. Every night now, after Sarah had been put to bed, they talked on the roof. 

His dreams had become a confusing mess of broad hands, empty canvases, and Steve’s laughter.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“Saying my name over and over again isn’t going to prove I know you.” 

Bucky didn’t know if birds could roll their eyes, but this one certainly did. “Do you remember where you lived before you came here?” 

Bucky turned the dough onto his flour-dusted counter. “I also don’t see how that would prove anything. I don’t know you, and the fact that I’m speaking to a bird is enough to make anyone think I’m crazy.” 

“Maybe if we go home, you’ll remember. Can we do that? The air here is too dirty. I need to clean my feathers at least four times a day.” 

Bucky snorted. It sounded like something one of his old friends would say. 

“Let’s just go back to living in the forest, sweeping acorns and making trousers for ogres. It was a pleasant life.” 

“I recall you just sat on my broom and made it your mission to annoy me, Sam.” It slipped out without thought. The bird stared at him. Bucky stared at the bird. Sam. 

Of course, it was Sam. Who else could be so effortlessly annoying? 

He blinked, confused. 

A bird sat on his windowsill. 

Steve had no idea what he was doing with his life anymore. 

He didn’t know if he still wanted to be with Peggy. 

("I’ve always told you the truth, Steve. I’m trying to keep you safe," Peggy said. It was what she always said. Steve was getting tired of it.

“Safe from what, Peggy,” he shot back. “Being happy? You’re doing a pretty crack-up job right now.”) 

He didn’t know if he wanted to do anything with the law he’d spent the last three years of his life learning. 

He did know some of his favorite moments were the ones spent on his roof with Bucky. Steve learned that he’d grown up at the edge of a forest and he’d learned the basics of most trades at the feet of his parents. Sometimes, he spoke about his fiancée. Mostly now, he talked about his friend Sam and how he thought Steve might like him. Steve spent most of the nights just listening. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to do more than just sit on the roof of his building and talk. 

“Have you ever been to Coney Island?” he asked one night, completely cutting Bucky off mid-sentence. 

Bucky looked at him and blinked. “No.” 

“I was wondering—I mean, you can say no if you don’t want to—” God, why was this so hard? He wasn’t asking the man on a date. “They’re having an art show on Saturday, and I was wondering if you’d maybe want to go with me.” 

His heart pounded and his palms started to sweat. 

“What about Sarah?” 

“She can stay with Natasha for the day. I can pick her up on our way home.” Normally, Peggy would take her, but he wasn’t going to invite another fight. Natasha would just pester him for details and tell him it sounded like a date. 

It wasn’t a date. Bucky had his fiancée, and he had Peggy. Even in his head, it didn’t sound convincing. 

“Okay,” Bucky finally said. “Show me.” 

It wasn’t a date. 

If Steve spent the night smiling more than usual, it was only for him to know. 

He had dinner with Peggy on Thursday. Neither of them spoke much. Steve spent most of it thinking about Bucky. 

“Angie!” 

She barely heard Sousa’s hoarse cry over the battle and looked up. Her uncle slipped a hand in his robes and took out the Tesseract. Time slowed. Everything went quiet. She lunged forward. 

The blue of the portal seemed brighter here than it did in the throne room.

She was seven again, hiding behind musty drapes and listening to the soothsayer tell her uncle about the parallel world. She saw the hunger on his face. 

He smiled at her and stepped through. Time returned. Steel clashed too close to her ear. She ran. 

The portal closed behind her. 

xv. 

Natasha was leaning against her doorframe when Steve dropped Sarah off Saturday afternoon. She ruffled Sarah’s hair as she dashed past her and then turned her gaze to Steve. 

“You’re absolutely sure this isn’t a date?” 

“It’s not a date.” It wasn’t. 

She didn’t look convinced. “Do you want it to be?”  

“That doesn’t matter. I’m with Peggy.” 

She pursed her lips. “Remember when I told you to find a balance and enjoy the things you have while you still have them?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “What am I supposed to do, Natasha? Even if Peggy and I break up, he has a fiancée. We’re friends. That’s it.”

Sarah came back out onto the porch and Steve lifted her onto his hip for a hug. “Can you bring me a bear?” she asked, whispering the request into his ear like a secret. 

“You know I’m not very good at those games, baby,” he told her. “But I’ll do my best.” 

“I know.” She blinked, her eyes bright blue and filled with way too much wisdom for six. She hugged him tight. “That’s how I know you love me.” 

He kissed her hair and put her down. She scampered back into the house without so much as a goodbye. 

 “Are you sure it’s not a date?” Natasha asked when he started back to his car. 

Steve looked back and hesitated. Her hand shielded the sun from her eyes. 

“No.” 

Bucky’s eyes were huge from the moment they stepped off the train. Flags of every color whipped in the wind, adding to the excitement instilled by the smell of fried food and carnival music. Steve tried not to laugh at how his head seemed to be on a swivel, drinking in everything. The clowns with balloons, the screams of people on the roller coasters, vendors hawking their wares to passersby.

Steve bought them hot dogs and, when he laughed at other people wearing them, Bucky a foam Statue of Liberty headpiece. Bucky put it on like a king would adorn his crown. He wore it until a gust of wind blew it off. 

At the art show, he often caught Bucky looking at him. He looked away as soon as Steve caught him and busied himself in examining a piece in front of him. Sometimes, he asked a question and Steve let himself get absorbed in the answer. Bucky smiled the entire time. 

Angie had heard her uncle speak of this land without magic countless times before, but she’d never truly been able to picture its scale. She’d heard of the towering buildings and metal birds high in the air; he’d failed to mention the constant noise and the smell. 

She saw him for a second before he melted into the shadows and disappeared. 

The sun had just started to slip below the horizon when they exited the art exhibits. Steve was full to bursting with new ideas and techniques he wanted to try, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Bucky kept smiling at him. Like it was something secret. 

Tents and games were just starting to turn on lights, and the scape around them dotted to life like fireflies taking flight. 

“I’ll buy your ticket, come on,” Steve said, gesturing to the Wonder Wheel. 

Bucky paled at the sight of it. “I’ll keep my feet on the ground, thank you.” 

“Trust me, come on.” 

“Steve.” 

Steve took his hands. “Trust me. Please.” 

Bucky held onto the edge of his seat until his knuckles were white and kept his gaze firmly on the floor. When the ride stopped with their car at the very top, he threw a terrified glance his way. 

“Look,” Steve told him. He shook his head. “Bucky, trust me, okay? Look.” 

Bucky peeled his gaze away from the dirt-stained floor and peeked over the edge of the car. Almost immediately, he gasped and scooted closer to the edge, wonder etched across his face. Steve couldn’t look away from him. He wanted to paint him. Wanted to trace the way his hair fell across his cheeks, to capture the cautious curve of his lips as he carefully peered over the edge of the cab. Wanted to forever remember the way his hand automatically grasped for Steve’s when the wind caused the cab to sway. 

They both looked down. Bucky took his hand back. Steve tucked his own under his thigh to keep from reaching out again. This wasn’t a date. It didn’t matter what he wanted. 

“This must be how Sam feels all the time,” Bucky murmured, looking out over the glittering lights of the island. “I could never understand the appeal of flying until now. It’s beautiful.” 

“It sounds like you two were pretty close.” 

Bucky nodded, a mask of sadness and guilt washing over his face. There was something else, too, that Steve couldn’t decipher. He decided he didn’t want to. “It was like he just showed up one day and then never left.” 

“Kind of like you?” Steve didn’t mean to say it, but Bucky laughed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Kind of like me.” He licked his lips and looked back at the park spread out below them. When he turned back to Steve, the expression of guilt and something else was back. “Steve, I—”

The wheel started again. Steve moved his hand out from beneath his thigh. This time, Bucky didn’t take it. 

Image: "Trust Me.” || Art by: PottersPink

Angie ran, lost and afraid until a bird landed on her shoulder. 

“Please tell me you found him, Sam.” There was no time for pleasantries.

“I did,” Sam said, “but before that, I think there’s something you need to know.” 

She shook her head, frustration and fear rolling off her. There was no time. “My uncle—” 

She never finished. The steel of the dagger was cold against her throat.  

They ate corn dogs and walked along the boardwalk. The sun lingered on the horizon, casting the pier in shades of dusty pinks. A singular star had already claimed its spot in the sky. Steve kept his gaze fixed on it. Different conversations ran through his head. All of them ended with him blurting out that he was falling in love. Steve could never tell him. It would already be hard enough when Bucky returned to his fiancée. Steve couldn’t risk them leaving on bad terms. 

Bucky was the one to break the silence, saying how the sky reminded him of the sunsets back home. There was such a wistful tone to his voice and his expression was filled with so much longing it was painful to look at. He described the way the mountains became silhouettes of themselves, and how Sam always said it was his favorite time to fly. 

He stopped at that, his brows furrowing. Steve stopped walking, leaning against the railings and looking out at the water. When soft skin brushed against the side of his hand, he closed his eyes. Fingers closed around his. Steve stopped breathing. Bucky’s skin was warm and the calluses on his hand matched some of the ones Steve had; artist calluses. 

There was something in the depths of Bucky’s eyes that Steve had never seen before, something raw and terrified. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over Steve’s face. At the last second, Bucky pulled away. 

Their hands were still together. Steve took his back and shoved them in his pockets. Bucky looked at his own hand like he’d never seen it before. The confusion and sadness in his expression was gone so quickly Steve wondered if he’d projected his own feelings. 

“I told Sarah I’d try to win her a stuffed bear,” he said, trying to sound like nothing had happened. “Do you want to help?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. And that was that. If, while they were walking, they found themselves holding hands again, that was only for them to know. 

“Has he grown so desperate that he’s sent you, too?” Peggy asked, her expression dreadful. Angie had almost forgotten how her words turned up at the end just so.

“I always held onto the hope that you were alive,” she whispered. She closed a hand around her delicate wrist, almost fearing she would find Peggy to be nothing but an apparition. Her pulse ticked beneath the soft skin. “Everyone told me to give up, even Sousa, but I never could.” 

Peggy’s knuckles grew whiter and the dagger nicked Angie’s skin. “Why are you here?” she hissed. “Were your assassins not enough? Has he truly grown so desperate for this world?” 

Her beautiful Peggy. Years apart hadn’t managed to erase her longing. She wanted nothing more than to drink her in. The blade against her throat reminded her of what was more important. 

“My uncle came through. I came to stop him, Peggy. ”

Blood drained from Peggy’s face. The dagger left her throat. “Angie, what have you done?”

“What I needed to do to find you,” she said. She touched Peggy’s face, her thumb tracing the bow of her lips. Peggy closed her eyes, her breath trembling at the touch. “But I never thought it would come to this. I thought distracting my uncle would be enough. I thought I could end this without anyone else getting hurt.” 

Peggy smiled sadly at her. “It’s too late for that, Angie.”

On Natasha’s porch, moths fluttering around the lights, Bucky handed Sarah a bear dressed in a blue jacket and black eye mask. “Your dad tried really hard, but I was the one to win the bear. I hope that’s okay.” 

Sarah took it from him and hugged it close. Bucky glanced at Steve, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The coy look said see? I told you . Steve chuckled. 

“Now, a bear like this needs a name,” Bucky said, kneeling down in front of her. 

“I already know it,” she told him and beckoned him closer. She scowled when Steve tried to lean in, too. Bucky made a little shooing motion. Steve raised his hands in surrender. Let them have their secrets. He and Sarah had their own. 

Looking at them, their heads bent together conspiratorially, his heart ached. What was he doing? Forget about his own, it would break Sarah’s heart when Bucky left. 

Steve needed him to leave before he did anything stupid. 

“His name,” Sarah whispered loud enough for Steve to hear, “is Bucky Bear.” 

Bucky grinned at him. Steve tried to smile back. 

Who was he kidding? He’d already done something stupid. 

He would forever hold onto the memories of carnival lights and laughter and the feel of Bucky’s hand in his. 

The King sat in his Soldier’s room. Waiting. 

xvi. 

Steve’s eyes were red when he opened the door for Bucky. 

“I broke up with Peggy,” he whispered as soon as the door shut behind them. “I thought—but now—” He looked lost. 

A cold flicker of satisfaction rose up in him. Bucky drew Steve into a hug, and Steve held onto him as if he were a lifeline. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” 

“She came up with another woman and tried telling me they were from another world parallel to this one. She told me that you really were sent here to kill me. I was tired of her lying to me.” 

There was an envelope on the coffee table that Steve kept looking at. Someone had opened it. 

( The King stared at him, eyes ice blue and cold. “You want some milk?” 

Bucky stayed silent, fear cutting through the pure happiness that had just filled him. Steve had insisted on dropping him off.

“The timetable has moved. I want confirmed death in ten hours.”)

“There’s a ball tomorrow night,” Steve said. “This big formal event that the city hosts for all its museums. I bought tickets a while ago to surprise Peggy; she’d always talked about wanting to go. They cost a fortune.” Bucky couldn’t stop looking at his hands, how they folded over themselves. There was something familiar about it. Something inside him fought to come out. 

“I told myself I’d never tell you this. You have a fiancée.” 

(“Soldier?”)

Bucky reached out and took his hand. Steve stopped talking at once. 

“I don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?” Steve hadn’t taken his gaze away from the hand in his. 

“Have a fiancée. Not anymore.” He felt Steve stop breathing. “We were an arranged marriage,” he said. “I thought I loved her. Maybe I did, in a naïve way.” 

“But now?” Steve finally looked up, tentative hope lining his face.

(“Understood.”) 

“You have an extra ticket to the ball,” he said. 

A smile grew on Steve’s lips.  “I do.” 

Bucky wiped away the tears staining Steve’s cheeks. Something inside coveted the touch.“I may not be a prince, but I do know how to dance.” 

Steve leaned into the touch. “So let’s dance.”

Sarah helped him pick out a suit to wear. Something inside him made him scribble on a scrap of paper. 

Bucky tucked a dagger into his belt.