Bucky was born into a storm. A storm of wind and rain and sleet. Grey clouds; grey eyes; red mouth. That was the only speck of color. And remained so until he’d been saved from the wintry mountain cliffs. In the meadows and valleys he'd come to know, his skin lost the spectral look that had haunted him, and his wings were brittle no more. He still needed his left side, arm and wing, to be supported, wrought together with metal, but now they could be spread, soft and silky; as he’d remembered his mother’s.
Bucky only remembers his mother. He concluded that she and the rest of his family had died during the fungus plague about ten years ago. Bucky can never grasp anything more than the smell of her wings, lavender and lemongrass. He knew, he...he thinks he had siblings. Goodness, he wished he knew their names and faces.
What he did know was that he'd done terrible, terrible things. Hurt other fairies, other creatures. Steve had gotten him out; found him and told him, again, again, again, that he was Bucky. Bucky Barnes. He sat out in the fields, and slowly let his wings spread. The left one pulled on his shoulder, the metal stretching under his skin, but it felt lovely, to let the sunshine hit them.
Stark, the man with wings long as he was, had told him that he was definetly a valley fairy. Stark was lying to him. That's what Bucky believed at the time. He was born into the winter winds; harsh and cold. Was why his wing was so torn; his mind so blank.
His actions so cruel. He’d cast storms on villages, sending torrents of rain onto peaceful farming lands, washing away a year’s harvest, shoot lightning down onto the water of sirens. Twisters ripped through forest, Bucky forming cyclones where they never should form.
But Stark had made it sound so right. Too right. Made his hands spark and thunder rumble. Stark had just raised his eyebrows and smirked.
“Never seen a winter creature create rainstorms before.” Steve had flown between them, eyes on his shield; an enchanted glass that directed his magic through; creating swirls of red, white and blue whenever he held it.
“Besides, wings from the mountains are never that fragile.”
Bucky had flown away after that, his storms building up while in flight. Stark was right again. How could this man know? That he had weak wings that needed smoldered strips of metal to keep together, and bound wires dug into his skin just to keep his magic active? He'd made himself up on a thunder cloud, the storm protecting their master from the chill and wind.
Steve had found him an hour later, the clouds had cleared a bit, with Bucky's anger. Steve was a fae of the earth, soil and rocks and everything stable. It was a miracle to Bucky that they were friends. Storms never stayed; always fading and surging with the same spontaneity, never staying still. Yet, they did need each other. For rain needs somewhere to fall, somewhere to land; and earth needs love and change. Things rarely provided within the ground, but from up above.
They'd stayed up their awhile, Bucky on his pillow of clouds, Steve hovering beside him. Being so connected to the earth, the idea of being supported by just water and air frightened him.
That pained Bucky; he wasn't exactly sure why that pain was so deep, leaving him so forlorn, but it left him feeling disappointed. He'd tried to let it go, and had for some time, but now that he was finally alone, almost at peace in the field, it crept back into his thoughts. This time, the memory clear as day.
"C'mon Stevie, it'll be fun! I go up there all the time, watch the birds fly by." Bucky had smiled at Steve, handful of teeth lost and growing in. Steve had relented, shrugging his small shoulders that swam in the sweater his ma had scrounged up for him.
Bucky had grabbed his hand and begun to fly up, up towards the sun. As they went, he stuck his hand out, clouds gathering 'round them. Steve had stiffened, always a bit afraid of Bucky's magic. But, he kept beating his wings to keep up with his friend. He'd always had trouble flying high; the thin air affected him more than most. Tired him out.
Once they were high enough, for Bucky's standards, where they could see the top of every tree, the mountains cresting to peaks, he stopped. With ease of a storm fairy, Bucky sat before the clouds had even settled. Still flapping his wings, not moving towards the cloud, Steve looked Bucky in the eye. "M'not sure Buck." He mumbled, wringing his hands. Bucky smiled, and leaned out, holding his hand out. Still smooth, still perfect.
"I won't let you fall." Steve hesitated, and then moved towards Bucky, hovering over the storm with wide eyes before lowering himself down. "See? S'alright." Steve worried his bottom lip, not able to look anywhere but the ground that was so, so far below. Bucky gathered more clouds around them, not in any defined shape, he wasn't that strong yet; but put a protective barrier around them. Steve visibly relaxed, and his wings stopped their nervous fluttering.
Then there was a gust of wind. Not Bucky's. It was too strong, too sharp to be a young fairy's. It pushed Bucky's wings flush to his back, starling him. Steve, scared as hell, lost his balance and fell through the mist.
Bucky never knew who propelled that wind into motion.
"No!" Bucky dove off the cloud, his wings whipping back and forth fast as he could make them.
"I got you, Stevie!" He stopped flying, letting himself drop, falling was faster than flying in these circumstances, and then caught himself when he was under Steve.
"I gotcha, gotcha Stevie." He had Steve in his arms, the poor boy's heart beating hard. Bucky's eyes were wet, and consequently, being the inexperienced fairy he was, a misty rain formed around them. Steve was shaking, shaking so terribly.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry." Was about all Bucky could say the rest of the day. Month, more like. When they'd reached the ground, Steve had told him s'alright, but then said he ought to go home.
Bucky resurfaced into the present with a strangled breath and a heavy fog curling around him.
He'd let him fall. Bucky had let Steve fall. Even before their fight, when Bucky had pulled the fairy up just to clear him as a threat; tearing his wings from their roots in his spine, dropping Steve from his thunder when he realized who he was.
This memory had struck him in one gust. The following wind blew him onto his back. Bucky stood up on uneven feet, and flew up a couple of feet; the metal tearing at his wing. When he got memories like this back; in such full detail, more always poured in. It tired him out; and Steve hated finding him passed out under some tree; or up above on a hurricane cloud.
****
Bucky flew across the plains and straight towards the the cave Tony Stark, a fairy of minerals and gemstones, had outfitted with defenses he himself had crafted from the strongest metals; dug up from the core of the earth. He was never sure how Tony Stark felt about him. One one hand, the man had allowed him, a fugitive, to stay in his fortress. Fed him; promised he'd work on crafting a better skeleton for his arm and wing, but also never seemed quite comfortable with him.
It also didn't help that the two fairies, Tony and Steve, never go a day without arguing. As a good friend and a loyal fairy to the man that had saved him from the clutches of the serpent people, Bucky always felt that he owed it to Steve to take his side. Many times, though, he found himself secretly agreeing with Tony, but much too afraid of punishment to speak out.
Hydra had turned him into both a villian and a weak winged fairy. Bucky never spoke without thinking it through, and wouldn't dare take something without asking. These new traits made Steve furrow his brows and mumble about needing to go to his garden; but some of the other fairies seemed to take it in stride.
Tony, surprisingly. Nat. And Sam. Sam truly lived up to his angelic wings. Such a wonderful man, and a brave one too. Had fought in the war, alongside Steve and Natasha.
Bucky had as well. Just on the wrong side. Shrouded by a cloak and scarf over his mouth, Hydra had kept his identity hidden for years. Syphoning Bucky Barnes out of his own consciousness with their venomous magic; whenever he began to resurface. The structure came into view, and he began to slowly lower himself down, softly landing a patch of grass to the left of the front door.
“Buck!” Steve looked up from his garden, grinning bright. He flew up from the dirt to Bucky’s side, shining expression dimming a bit when he met his eyes. His disoriented grey eyes. He began to guide Bucky into the bunker, Bucky not paying much attention to anything except the constant image of Stevie falling, falling out of the clouds he'd created. Both as the soldier he was now and the kid he had been.
“I let y’fall, let y’fall, fall Steve.” Bucky mumbled, fog forming around him. It drew the water from the air, making it dry. Steve coughed into his elbow. Bucky realized what he was doing; and quickly released the moisture back into the atmosphere. Steve sighed and joined him on the floor where Bucky had curled up. Soft moss spread across the wall and onto the floor, cool to Bucky’s touch.
“You weren’t...you didn’t have your memories then.” Steve said, with his sad eyes. They were like ponds, a mix of sky blue and navy. Bucky shook his head.
“When we were kids, Stevie.” Bucky pursed his lips, swirling a mini storm over the moss with his fingertip. “I brought you up to the sky and let you fall.” Steve reached over and squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s okay Buck.” His grip was solid and steady, his wings, thick and brown; beat slowly behind his back. Watching them move was grounding. So, so grounding. Bucky leaned back.
“We were kids; neither of us had much control over our magic. And,” He lightly shook his shoulder, it startled Bucky, made him freeze, but he hid that from Steve. Steve never knew how to handle him in his new state. Still saw him as the young fairy who fell into the wintry mountains during the first war. Couldn’t see the metal in his arm or on his wing, his refusal to give his opinion.
It was why Bucky had gravitated to Sam. To Natasha, and Tony. Yes, even Stark. They didn’t treat him like he had glass wings. Would goof around; play with their magic, let him come down to the workshop and sometimes Tony would let him tinker with some safe prototypes.
Steve was too cautious to play with him. Too scared; too nervous he’d break his best friend.
Bucky understood that as Steve Rogers not trusting him. And that hurt.
“I’m gonna go to my room.” Bucky said, not looking at him and standing, flapping his wings a couple of times, Stark had built this place within many caverns; and it was much easier to fly from place to place. Bucky flew into the main hall, a rocky tunnel aglow with enchanted gems. Bucky found it beautiful. So much better than the dark clouds and sickening lightning that he carried.
He found his room, an open space, with an alcove. He’d been given it specifically; having access to the sky comforted him; but sometimes he needed to lock himself away from it. Brought back the fear of Hydra. It was heinous, what they’d done. Made a fairy fear their own magic.