Mostly short one shots covering Bucky Barnes in different situations and AUs, from the 1940s to the present. Some will be soft, some dark, and some hopefully humorous.
Previously published on Tumblr. All MCU characters are the intellectual prope...
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There was always a certain level of anxiety present whenever Bucky had to wait for something. Perhaps it was because of all those years of being forced to be silent and still while he waited for a target to enter the cross hairs. Or maybe it was just his thoughts overwhelming him and the nervous tics manifesting physically; the sniff of his nose, the intense stare followed by the pulse of muscle in his cheek, or the intense scrutiny of his hands. It was obvious to Sam that as the private jet got closer to England that Bucky might be reaching the point where he would change his mind about this meeting.
"Tell me about her," he said, to the man who had become his friend. Bucky glared at him, knowing damn well that Sam knew about Helen, as it had been reported in every fucking newspaper in the United States and England since the news about him and her went public. Sam shook his head and leaned forward, fixing Bucky in his gaze. "No, I mean, tell me more than what I've read about."
The former Winter Soldier sighed and looked out the window of the jet. He thought back all those years to when his ship landed in Liverpool, at the end of June 1943, disgorging the thousands of American soldiers it carried, into that port, where trucks were waiting to distribute the arriving men to various bases, waiting for the next leg of their journey to the front. He looked Sam in the eye, noticing a serious demeanour rather than his usual joking manner. He nodded, then began talking.
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It was raining the day the Americans arrived, not a pouring rain but a soft drizzle that slowly soaked everything it came into contact with. Helen Fletcher, a Wren Clerk in the Women's Royal Naval Service, was waiting beside one of several trucks with a clipboard of names of the soldiers who were being transported to Sefton, a small village on the Merseyside, northwest of Liverpool proper. Even with her raincoat on and holding an umbrella over her head, she was soaked. These men were only going to be at the base for a few days before boarding another transport ship that would take them elsewhere, as their destination was classified. Given the rumours going around it was likely they were heading to Sicily, as part of the invasion force of Italy, but Helen knew better than to share that information. The driver of the truck nearest to her put up a sandwich board on the bonnet, high enough for the men of the 107th Infantry to see they had to check in with her. As the steady stream of men disembarked in the drizzle, other clerks in front of their trucks checked in the soldiers for their dispersal to other bases, some of them being driven directly to the train station to transport the men deeper into the heart of England. It was strange how Helen would always remember hearing the opening lines of You'll Never Know at that exact moment, blaring from a speaker that was broadcasting a steady stream of music.
