THE SOLDIER & THE SHIELD, stucky

01

IT WAS A QUIET NIGHT.

Steve had turned in early, bored of everything on TV and of his surroundings. Shacking up with Sam was getting old fast. It often left Steve exhausted by the end of the day, mostly because Sam wasn't actually living at Steve's place, he only dropped by often enough to make it feel that way. He and Bucky usually spent their days drinking on Steve's couch. The two of them had become practically inseparable since Sam had overcome his initial discomfort with having Bucky around.

Since Bucky was technically homeless—aside from his musty apartment in Romania that was undoubtedly still under surveillance—Steve was more than happy to have taken him in. Any opportunity to keep an eye on his lifelong partner was one that Steve would take. It hadn't been easy convincing Bucky to stick around or to get Sam to trust him. Somehow, things had worked out in Steve's favor.

It was nights like these that he wished Sam still held a bit of contempt for Bucky, if not for any other reason than for the benefit of Steve's rest.

Despite trying for hours, he couldn't find sleep. He had laid in bed and listened to the drunken banter between his two best friends in the living room. He didn't realize how tense he had been until he heard the front door close, followed by the sound of a very tipsy Sam Wilson hailing a taxi on the street below.

Only then could Steve keep his eyes shut for more than a few minutes. He didn't even realize that he had dozed off until he was jolted awake several hours later. The room was still dark when he opened his eyes, unsure of what had interrupted his much-needed slumber..

It didn't take much. Often, it was something as small as a stray cat jumping onto the fire escape, the toilet flushing, or a passing siren.

Steve pried himself from his mattress and silently pulled his shield from beneath the bed. His feet hit the hardwood floor noiselessly as he crossed the room. He opened the bedroom door without a sound and began to creep toward the kitchen, trying hard to keep his breathing even and his heartbeat steady. He could make out a few small noises; cups rattling, bare feet moving across the tile. Though he couldn't make out who was making them or why, especially at the late hour.

Steve peeked around the corner to see one of the kitchen lights on. Bucky stood beneath it in front of the stove.

"Buck?" Steve whispered, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

This had happened before. A subtle sound in the middle of the night after Sam had left that woke Steve from a dead sleep. Bucky had been lurking around the apartment with a loaded gun, trembling, mumbling a mess of English and Russian. It ended with a bullet grazing Steve's ear and Bucky leaving for nearly a month and hardly speaking when he returned. Things had just started getting back to some kind of normalcy, and Steve found himself dreading a repeat of the incident.

The Winter Soldier was still hibernating inside Bucky Barnes. Lurking, preying on moments of weakness and springing at the opportunity for an assassination attempt. As good as they all were getting at keeping him at bay, he still came out in the dark of night after everyone had gone to bed, usually in the form of violent night terrors.

"Bucky?" Steve said a little louder. He took a couple cautious steps into the kitchen, his shield raised to protect his head if needed.

The shadowy man at the stove recoiled, a ceramic mug slipped from his hand and dropping to the tiled floor, subsequently shattered.

"Jesus, Steve!" Bucky hissed as he ripped a pair of headphones from his ears. He turned to look at Steve, a rollercoaster of emotions washed across his face. His eyes seemed to trace his best friend's tensed facial features and body language before locking on the shield. "What are you—?"