Not Without You: Book 1 (Canon-Divergence Stucky Fix-it-Fic)

Five

"You don't have to let us sleep in here," Scott argued as Steve pulled out spare sheets and a lightweight comforter from the bench's cubby.

Pointedly handing them to Scott, Steve assured, "It's okay. I'm used to sleeping on the ground."

And while not untrue, it also wasn't completely true either. But Steve wasn't going to tell them that he was lucky if he even got an hour of sleep, even if he was sleeping on the relatively softer mattress of the camper. Hell, he wouldn't even tell Natasha that. Not that she didn't know his poor sleeping habits already, but that was entirely beside the point.

Taking a tent out from underneath the other bench, Steve slipped it under his arm and stood upright again. Cassie was already making herself comfortable on the fresh bedding of his bed, and Steve gave her a small familial smile when she pulled the sky blue comforter up to her chin and grinned at him. Reminding him of Morgan or Lila. Reminding him of how much he missed his nieces who were here... or taken.

Moving out of the way so Scott could make up the pull-out bed, Steve informed the pair, "If you need me, I'll be right out there."

"Thank you," Scott graciously accepted and pulled Steve into an embrace.

For a moment, Steve just stood there. Not realizing how touch-starved he was until that very moment. Sure, he knew that it was his own choice not to be hugged by anyone other than Morgan. But even with an acquaintance, Steve could already feel his muscles start to relax at the touch.

Before he could let himself become too comfortable though, he removed himself from Scott's grasp and suggested, "Get some sleep. We should leave by seven, at the latest."

"In the morning?" Cassie questioned, raising up on her elbows as she gave Steve a scrunched face look of displeasure. One that reminded him of Becca Barnes and caused his chest to clench.

As though he had come face-to-face with a ghost, Steve cleared his throat and confirmed, "In the morning."

Without another word, Steve exited the camper and crossed the field to set up his tent. Making sure that he'd be able to see if anyone came up the gravel drive. He'd like to blame it on his protectiveness. But really he knew that it was just plain paranoia.

Once the small, one-person tent was set up, he just looked at it for a moment. Remembering when the tent was bought. It had been an accident. Bucky and Steve had been on the run and decided to quickly grab some shelter. However, as soon as they started setting it up, it became all too obvious that it wasn't something that was meant for two individuals, let alone two super soldiers.

"Fuck," Steve groaned in annoyance as he took a step back from the tent. Dramatically throwing his head back, he sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face as he repeated, "Fuck. Fuck me."

"It's not that bad," Bucky chuckled, crawling into the comically small shelter.

"Sure, Buck," Steve deadpanned while he shook his head even though a small uptick to his lips. Placing his hands on his hips, Steve questioned, "How exactly do you plan on both of us sleeping in there?"

"Well," Bucky pointedly trailed off as a salacious grin split his face while he arched his brows suggestively.

Crossing his arms now, Steve quirked his brow and deadpanned, "Really? We're supposed to be in hiding and you're thinking about fucking?"

"What else is there to do?" Bucky asked, crawling back out of the tent, but remaining on his knees as he looked up at Steve.

Giving Steve those eternal bedroom eyes that always made him lose his resolve. And Bucky knew that. He knew that and he used that to get exactly what he wanted. Which just happened to be something that Steve had no problem giving to him. Especially not when Bucky tenderly placed his hands on Steve's hips and affectionately pressed kisses along the waistband.

Clenching his jaw, he tried to keep the tears building in his eyes at bay. Not wanting to think about -- Well, about anything really. But especially not that. Steve wanted to keep those memories locked away in a safe space for the rest of time.

In these moments, the compass felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket. Heavy and hot against his thigh, reminding him that it was there. Reminding him of what he lost. Of what was taken.

Making sure that the Langs were in the camper and no armed assailant was going to attack, Steve crawled into the tent. Laying on top of the unrolled sleeping bag, Steve reached into his jean's pocket. Grasping the brass circle in his hand, he carefully pulled it out.

Holding it above himself, he caressed his thumb over the top the same way he'd caress Bucky's cheek. Popping it open, he looked up at the old, fading picture of Bucky in his army greens. He was always so damn handsome, and everyone knew it. Especially Bucky, himself.

It was always a shame back when he had to cover the photo with Agent Carter's, so no one would figure out what was really going on between the Captain and the Sergeant. But late at night, whenever Steve was by himself, he'd remove Peggy's picture and gaze at the man he loved. Had always loved. Would always love.

Silently, tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. Trailing down his temples before soaking his shaggy hair. Gazing up at that picture like it was his true north star guiding him home. And he prayed that Scott could come up with a way to fix all this. A way to bring everyone back. Bring Bucky back. Let Steve finally go home.

Until then though, Steve brought the compass to his mouth. Pressing a tender kiss to the picture, Steve closed his eyes and pretended that wherever Bucky was, he'd feel it. Same way he did during the war. Same way he did after Bucky fell. All he could do was close the compass, set it on his chest, over his heart, and pretend that Bucky wasn't really gone.