Chapter 4
Then
Steve had driven Bucky to therapy and dropped him off. Bucky didn’t even have a driver’s license yet. It was awkward between them still. They’d been best friends for so many years, and all that history was still there - but under it, a current of tension, like an electric wire, buzzing around n the background of their friendship. Steve knew about some of the things Bucky had done, and he knew Bucky was ashamed. He could see it on Bucky’s face when he looked at him. Like a dog that’s been kicked and is waiting for the next blow.
Steve had waited in the car across the street for Bucky to emerge. He had nothing better to do, and he liked the break. He people watched - the government hospital was always bustling with activity. It was a huge building, walkable from the metro. He liked to see the veterans and their families, coming for medical treatment, or just on their way to work. He liked to see everyone living their normal lives. It reminded him of what he had to keep fighting for.
It had only been 40 minutes, not the full hour, when there was a rapping on the passenger window. Bucky was knocking. Steve unlocked the door and Bucky nearly threw himself in the passenger seat. He was hyperventilating. His face was buried in his hands.
“Buck, what—“ Steve reached out to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Don’t,” said Bucky, recoiling at the touch like it was a hot poker. “Don’t touch me, Steve.”
“Okay,” said Steve. “Okay. I won’t. It’s okay. Do you want me to call someone?”
“No,” said Bucky. “No. I’m fine.” His voice trembled.
“Buck,” said Steve. Bucky was silent, his body shaking. Steve stared at him. Bucky was crying. Sobbing, actually. He’d never seen him this way before, so vulnerable. It was frightening.
He sat there silently. He’d never been good at this. He wanted to jump into action, wanted to fix something. But Bucky didn’t want that. He didn’t need Captain America. He needed Steve. Steve wanted to just put his arms around Bucky and comfort him. Just hold onto him until whatever thoughts were making him feel like this evaporated. But that would make it worse.
“How bout a drink?”
“Okay,” Bucky choked out through tears.
“Okay. I know a spot,” said Steve.
They drove out to the woods, outside of town. This was a spot where Steve liked to come to think. It looked like a maintenance road, meandering through the trees. There were no other cars on the road. When they reached the end of the road, Steve motioned for Bucky to follow him. Bucky had stopped crying by then. He still looked like a ghost of his former self. Whatever had happened in there with the therapist, it had gotten to him.
Steve went around to the back of the car and grabbed a pint of whiskey from the trunk, where it was tucked away in the emergency kit in the trunk. He’d noticed the bottle when changing a tire, and thought maybe Stark had stashed it there, or maybe Natasha. Steve himself wasn’t much of a drinker, but he figured this qualified as medicinal.
He and Bucky sat side by side on an old tree root atop a small cliff, looking down at the river below. They passed the bottle back and forth - Steve taking careful, measured sips, Bucky tossing it back like it was a canteen of ice water in a desert.
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
Bucky was silent.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’m not your therapist. But just so you know…you can tell me anything.” Steve took a sip of whiskey. “I’m a good listener, and you know anything you say will just be between the two of us.” He passed the bottle to Bucky.
Bucky sighed. He took another long belt of the whiskey. Then he spoke for the first time since the hospital.
“Do you ever feel like you’ve been cursed? Like their serum gave you life, but - it made you, like…rotten inside?”
Steve raised his eyebrows. It sounded incoherent to him. “Cursed is a strong word,” he said. “I always thought of it as a gift. But there have been times I wished I could return it.” He chuckled, and then instantly chided himself for making jokes at a time like this. “You’re not cursed, Buck,” he said, more seriously.
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” said Bucky, simply, sadly.
“I know nothing you’ve done is so bad that you can’t be redeemed,” said Steve. “You deserve a shot at a normal life, just like anyone. Just like the rest of us.”
Bucky sighed. “Do you really believe that?”
Steve nodded, solemnly. “I do. You’re a good person and a good friend. You deserve a good life. You’ve been a soldier long enough.”
“You and I both know,” said Bucky, “that you never stop being a soldier.”
Steve nodded. “Well, you got a point there.”
They sat for a few more moments and Bucky said, “I’m really sorry that I snapped at you.”
“It’s okay,” said Steve. “You didn’t mean to.”
“Sometimes I hate myself for the way I react to people,” said Bucky. “That shrink was just trying to help. I put my arm through her drywall.”
“Well…hope she knows a good handyman. I’ve seen firsthand the damage that arm can do.”
That got a laugh out of Bucky, at least. A profound sense of nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks. All the times they had laughed together. All the scrapes they’d been in. So much shared history between them.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Bucky didn’t say anything, just took another belt of whiskey. For a long time he didn’t say anything. Steve wasn’t about to push him. But then he took a rattling breath, and began. “It was years ago. In Ekaterinburg.”