Stucky One-shots

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

"Bucky! Grab my hand!" Steve's desperate voice rang in Bucky's ears as the train sped past the snow. Bucky yelped as the pathetic bar— his single lifeline— broke off halfway. Steve shook his head, his mind unable to comprehend the alternative if he couldn't grab Bucky's hand, stretched out towards him.

A slow trickle of blood ran down Bucky's left arm, like a horrible foreshadowing of his inevitable fate. His face was contorted with fear as he attempted to swing forward and grip Steve's hand. Steve took a step forward, on the edge of death, as Bucky attempted to grab hold of his best friend's outstretched hand.

It was too late.

With a bloodcurdling scream, Bucky's hand lost friction on the cold metal bar. He fell from the train into the deep cold abyss. He reached his hand out, as if still hoping that Steve's hand would hold on to him. Steve let out a soft sob as Bucky's form got smaller and smaller.

To Bucky, it was almost as if he was watching himself fall. All around him was cold. He was falling so fast that he could barely even feel it. Hopelessness consumed him as he watched the train speed by, unable to stop. He closed his eyes, his voice broken from screaming all the while. At that moment, he just wanted it to end. He knew, somehow, that it might have been better if he had died in that fall. Bucky fell silent in that split second; and hit the snowy ground with a thud.

*****

A cold night, a lucid moon. In the interminable morass of black, heaven's eyes shone, as divine as a watchful mother. Frost grew over the windows as a thick blanket kept the duo warm. Bucky watched the ice-crystals grow for a while, allowing his brain to be empty, content to exist and be calm. The radio played soft music in the background as he found Steve's hand and held it. For the longest time, he had had to hold Steve's hand every time they went someplace high-up. At the top of Stark Tower, Steve's hand was like a beacon, guiding him away from reliving the trauma of that fall into the snow in 1945. And it didn't help that it was now winter, either.

Steve knew that the morning would bring forth the beauty of the ice: that crunch under one's boot and the bold greeting cold air brings. He held on to Bucky's hand, a woven blanket of hearth-spun grey, a comfort to his soul when he dreamt upon such icy nights. Bucky knew that Steve needed to hold his hand when they fell asleep because Steve would have nightmares of him not catching Steve's hand when he fell.

That fall plagued their minds in their sleep, and it was like a ghoul that waited for their most vulnerable moment to attack.

"Stevie," Bucky whispered, "You okay?" It was only in that moment that Steve realised that his grip on Bucky's hand had tightened. Steve shook his head, burying his head into Bucky's chest. Bucky hoisted himself up into a sitting position as his lover played with his long brown hair. "Hey, Stevie, come on. I'm right here," Bucky whispered softly, embracing Steve. Steve nodded, "Thank you, Buck."

Bucky smiled softly as the two of them snuggled back down, in each other's arms. He didn't think he deserved a thank you. How many times did Steve have to comfort him after a painful memory came to his mind? How many times did Steve have to hold him close as he broke down? How many times did he need to be embraced in Steve's arms after a horrible nightmare? Comforting the love of his life was the least he could do.

"I love you so much, Buck," Steve whispered, wrapping his arms around Bucky lovingly. Bucky chuckled softly and leaned against Steve. "I love you too, Stevie."

That night, was the type of coldness that reaches into their bones, as if their heart were a door left wide open to the icy wind, slamming it shut only for it to open again. "You wanna get ice-cream later, Stevie?" Bucky murmured.

"Yeah," Steve grinned. His pale blue eyes lit up. "Absolutely." Bucky smiled, shaking his head, and muttered affectionately, "Once a punk, always a punk." Just as Steve was about to counter his lover with "Jerk", a song started to play on their radio.

There's a calm surrender

To the rush of day

When the heat of a rolling wind

Can be turned away

Bucky smiled softly, looking at Steve, who muttered, "You're still a jerk..." Hugging Steve tightly, Bucky whispered, "It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you." Steve sighed, content in Bucky's arm. "It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far..." he whispered adoringly.

"I love you..." Bucky murmured, a wave of fatigue washing over him. Steve sighed. "Love you too." The two of them lay side by side in bed, their legs tangled together, hands clasped tightly together. There was a rhyme and reason to the great outdoors when their hearts beat in time with each other. Bucky closed his eyes, breathing in the enchanted moment.

Steve closed his eyes too, bringing Bucky's body closer to him. The song continued playing as they drifted in and out of dreamland.

Finally, after such a long time, they were together.

"Hey, Stevie?" Bucky murmured, the sleep evident in his voice. Steve eyes snapped open and met Bucky's steel blue irises, like Cerulean depths. "Yeah, Buck?" Steve enquired. Bucky sighed, looking at Steve. He smiled a real smile, experiencing an unencumbered moment of joy. Something he hadn't had in what seemed an eternity.

"I can feel the love tonight."