Stucky Things

Once Upon a December

Dancing Bears, painted wings; things I almost remember. And a song someone sings, once upon a December

The Asset's world was in agony. His head felt like it was splitting in half, which was painful enough. But worse was the ache in his chest. Steve. Stevie.

Pictures flashed behind his closed eyes; bright colors, faces, a shield, a small, frail body uncovered, pressing against him.

Wings. A painted pigeon, as if there weren't enough of the real ones scattered around Brooklyn, greedily snatching up crumbs and gobbling them down, cooing sharply, startled, when someone happened to walk too close to them and their nests for their comfort.

A stuffed bear, rocking side to side, a thin, almost sickly hand conducting it. Behind it was a face, gaunt-looking shadows under the cheekbones and eyes, but happy, laughing. The sound of happy shrieks filled the air.

Steve. Steve! STEVE.

An empty, snow-covered street. A black car passing by, it's foul gas burning his nose. The gleam of a new, unfamiliar arm. A sad, solitary song coming from the voice of a drunkard staggering on the sidewalk. A burning pain upon seeing the printed image of a man in a tight, blue suit bearing a shield, covered in graffiti-ed messages in Russian. HYDRA taking him. Being wiped, then frozen. The tune of a song echoing throughout his thoughts.

Someone holds me safe and warm--horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully across my memory

Now he's in a back alley in Washington D.C.. It's good here. No one pays any mind to him, even when he shrieks aloud as white-hot pangs of pain stab his brain. Memories. Sweet, painful, sad memories.

He recalls wartime. Curled up in a pair of well-muscled arms, obviously belonging to another man. A feeling of safety, of home, of love washing over him as warm breath ghosted across his neck.

Love. The man doesn't know how he knows what that feels like. He doesn't even know who he is--no longer is he HYDRA's asset, but the name the man on the bridge called him, Bucky, didn't seem right, not yet.

Hooves pounded. Another memory. This time, he's sitting alongside others, their loud cries of joy and anger blocking out everything but the sound of horses sprinting across a dirt track. But he's not focused on the stallions. His eyes are trained on a couple sitting in a private booth. A small child is peering over the edge, an excited gleam in his eyes, as the woman keeps her cautious ones trained on him. Another man, older than the boy now tipping precariously on the railing, rubs her arm soothingly, a small smile tugging up at the corners of his mouth. They were his targets, the parents. Howard and Maria Stark. The names pricked at the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Showing he was close to remembering something meant being wiped again. Meant another round of pain.

It's Germany. He's sitting on the sidelines, watching elegant waltzes with bored eyes. He's there not of will, but for a mission. Mission. The word didn't hold as much contempt as it does now. This seemed... well, not right, but not quite wrong. He spots a man in a nazi general's outfit, surrounded by women in fine ballgowns and expensive make up that they like to believe masks their more lewd desires. Target spotted. His hand reaches down towards his pants pocket, and--

His head feels like it's trying to split in half. His body is curled into a fetal position, his hands clenched together so tightly, he half-wonders how they aren't broken-- either in the sense that his flesh hand's bones were shattered and that his metal one wasn't crushed like an aluminum can.

Or who knows. Maybe they were broken, but his pain-riddled brain took no note of it.

Far away, long ago, burning dim as an ember. Things my heart used to know things it yearns to remember

He's curled up in the alleyway still, memories from long ago flashing through his head. It hurts. It hurts so much. Each thought, each memory burns like an ember but together it feels like all the fires of hell are raging throughout his head and he just can't take it. 

He hears steps passing by him, and instinctively he curls himself up even more, forming an even tighter ball. And then he hears a voice that makes his heart stir with something he used to know, something he wants to know more, and he can't help the half-sob that passes through his lips. "Stevie?"

And a song someone sings. Once upon a December

Footsteps pause. He can hear a female's voice, also familiar, trail into silence as she notices the Captain was no longer walking beside her. Tentative steps approaching him. A word whispered breathlessly. A name. "Bucky?"

He feels himself shake, with what he didn't know.

"Oh my god, Bucky."

A hand is set on his shoulder and he flinches away. Oh, god, please, don't hurt me. He didn't realise those words slipped through his mouth until he heard Steve's voice soothing him. 

"Shh, it's okay, Buck, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay."

Bucky whimpered weakly as he felt himself be picked up by strong arms. A part of him wants to protest, but the other part feels safe, at home, and the conflicting emotions cause him to let out another small sob. "Stevie." He curled himself into those arms, so safe, so warm, and he felt at home for the first time in seventy years.

As they walked down the dirty streets of Brooklyn, Steve hummed a tune soothingly, a tune that brought back the faintest hint of a memory. It's the late thirties and Steve is sick, the December cold cruely affecting his weak health. It's one of those times he feels really and truly scared for his best friend, and all he can think to do is hum a song to the frail body beside him.

And even as he remembers the tune, he feels Steve's chest vibrate against him, identical.

~~~~~

Four months. This took, like, four months. 

Okay, to be fair, a lot of that time is because Wattpad was blocked on my laptop for a while, but the rest of it is just because I'm a lazy fuck.

*dissatisfied author sounds*

Okay, so, this wasn't too hardcore ship-y, but there was some vague hints at Stucky sexy times, and also I am just so full of Bucky Barned feels I don't know what to do with myself. Okay. Meh. *sobs bc Bucky*