fic: Body Memory (Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg)
Body Memory
Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,845 words
In which Bucky goes into caretaker mode when Steve gets whammied and reverts to his pre-serum state.
Written for the prompt: I Put A Spell On You (by Annie Lennox) + Steve x Bucky = fanfic request by an anonymouse on tumblr. Thanks to
snacky for looking it over.
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
Body Memory
Barnes (an asset is a thing, not a name; "Bucky" is unreachable; and "James" is an ill-fitting suit, a guise of respectability he has never worn) knows that the Captain and the flying man are tracking him. He leads them on a merry chase across North America and through Europe, blowing up HYDRA bases and destroying their safe houses, routing their scientists out of bed and leaving them for Rogers to find. Sometimes, he gets so far ahead of them that he circles back around behind, taking out their enemies from a thousand yards away.
There's something familiar in the task, some thought or memory he can't catch hold of, when the Captain looks in his direction and salutes. He'd prefer it if the Captain paid more attention to the people trying to kill him, and that feels familiar, too.
Slowly, slowly, he acclimates to being on his own, no chair, no cryo, and no mission, no targets he doesn't choose himself, and his memories start returning too, in faded fragments that may or may not be real. He knows the redhead in Odessa was the Widow, is Rogers' friend Romanoff, but he doesn't know if she's the same redhead from Minsk ten years earlier. He knows his memory of assassinating a French general in Saigon is real (he looks that one, as well as a few others, up on the internet), but can't confirm that he and Captain America actually shared a bedroll in the Hürtgen (or before, back when the Captain was ninety pounds soaking wet and willing to take on the world), doesn't know if the memory of the Captain's bright smile and rattling cough is real, though he can't imagine why HYDRA would have implanted it.
He knows the Captain could answer his questions--is eager to answer them--but he's not ready for that yet. So they play their game of cat and mouse, and which means he's in a position to see it when a weird guy in the black robes pops up out of nowhere and flings something at Rogers, who goes down hard, but he's not close enough to do anything about it except shoot the weird guy. Which he does. And then he tumbles out of the tree he's perched in to race towards the Captain, who's lying still on the ground, his suddenly smaller body swimming in his uniform.
Barnes drops to his knees beside the Captain--Steve, his brain insists (he finally looks like the Steve from the memories Barnes is pretty sure are real, the ones from before the war)--automatically checking his pulse and his breathing. His ribs feel fragile and his skin is already chilling in the cold air. Barnes glares up at Romanoff and the flying man (Wilson, he reminds himself) and spits, "What the fuck?"
"Magic," she says. She doesn't look surprised to see him.
"Shit." He points at Wilson. "You're a pararescue. Check him out."
Wilson kneels on the Captain's--Steve's--other side, and gives him a thorough, professional once-over.
"He seems okay," Wilson says, "nothing broken."
At that, Barnes scoops him up off the ground and cradles him close, ignoring the startled way Romanoff and Wilson stare. "We need to get him somewhere warm."
They've only taken three or four steps when Steve stirs in his arms. He rubs his face against Barnes's chest and mutters, "Aw, Buck, no, I can walk."
"You're gonna get yourself killed," Barnes replies.
"I had 'em on the ropes," Steve protests, but he doesn't do more than squint up at Barnes before he sighs and relaxes.
"I know you did," Barnes says, the answer automatic, like breathing. He doesn't stop to think about any of the things he does next--making sure Steve is comfortable in the backseat of the truck he and the others have been driving around in, tucking away the long sleeves and legs of his uniform and wrapping him up in a musty smelling plaid blanket he finds on the floor, and then brushing his hair off his forehead, which feels warm and sweaty but not feverish once the heat in the truck comes on.
Romanoff looks like she wants to say something, but Barnes doesn't want to hear it. "Drive," he snaps at her, and she does. Wilson carries the shield and flies on ahead of them.
The hotel she takes them to is a perfectly fine Hilton Garden Inn in Stuttgart, but they don't have much in the way of a first aid kit in with their gear. Which is not surprising. Barnes somehow knows the Captain--Steve--has always thought he was invincible.
Wilson is pacing in the hallway outside the room when they arrive, already on the phone arguing with Stark (Barnes can't hear the individual words, just a steady, staccato stream of them like machine gun spray, and Stark's the only one Steve knows who talks like that anymore), so Barnes ignores him and lays the Cap--Steve on the bed. He unwraps him from the musty blanket and starts unzipping and unbuckling his uniform. Steve doesn't protest, which is a little worrisome, but he's smiling a small private smile, so Barnes lets it go for the moment.
Instead, he turns to Romanoff. "You're about the same size," he says. "You got sweats or something he can wear?" He expects that, at least, to get a rise out of Steve.
"Yoga pants," is all Steve says, though. "And that gray hoodie."
Romanoff's mouth curves in a knowing smirk. "You and the yoga pants," she says, shaking her head as she digs into her bag and comes up with the items in question.
She tosses them over and then locks herself in the bathroom, preserving Steve's modesty.
Barnes turns to Steve. "You okay with free-balling it?" He realizes suddenly that the term is something Rumlow used to say and he tenses at the memory, but Steve barks out a laugh.
"Well, I'm not borrowing her underwear."
"Wise choice," she calls through the bathroom door. "Though I bet you'd look cute in a pair of lacy blue panties."
Steve blushes and Barnes watches in fascination as it spreads down his throat and over his bare chest, which is bony now, the way it is in his clearest memories, ribs standing out sharply beneath fair, freckled skin.
"Just get dressed," he says, his voice a low growl. The clothes are soft and they fit Steve better than his own at the moment, so Barnes considers it a win. "You need to sleep?"
Steve shakes his head. "I'm okay."
Barnes grunts in response but resolves to monitor the situation closely. The Steve in his memory always tried to push beyond his limits and got testy if anyone pointed it out.
Romanoff rejoins them, perching on the edge of the desk where she can keep them both in sight, and Wilson comes into the room. "Tony's sending a jet. It'll be here in about an hour." He looks at Steve. "You wanna tell us what happened?"
Steve shrugs. "Guy just appeared out of nowhere, said something in Latin, and everything went weird and prickly for a few seconds. I blacked out, and then I woke up like this." His mouth twists ruefully. "Not exactly Beyoncé."
Wilson laughs. "Nah, man. You're still flawless."
Barnes knows this is not factually true; he finds he can rattle off a list of this Steve's medical conditions with perfect clarity, but he holds his tongue, because Wilson is not wrong, either. Not in the ways that once mattered most to him, the ways he wants things to matter now.
He does have one criticism, though. "Your situational awareness was piss poor. You let yourself get distracted."
"The guy materialized out of nowhere," Steve argues.
Barnes grunts. It's true but it doesn't make him feel any better. He gets up and goes to the window, making sure there's no one outside watching them. The view is frustratingly circumscribed and he goes to the door.
"Don't go," Steve says urgently.
"I'll be back. Someone has to do recon. I'm going to secure the perimeter. Pack up and be ready to leave for the airport."
"Be careful."
Barnes doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't say anything, and the door closes behind him with a click.
The area is free of enemies, to the best of his knowledge, and when he gets back to the room, the others are packed and waiting.
"Let's go," he says. He's not sure why they're listening to him--surely Romanoff should be in charge if Steve is not--but he's not going to give up control until they make him, not while Steve is vulnerable.
Steve stands, and that's when Barnes realizes that he did not in fact think of everything. Steve's feet are bare. They haven't shrunk as much as the rest of him (Barnes's memory tells him that Steve's hands and feet were always larger than his size warranted; for the first time, he wonders what Steve would have looked like if he'd grown up with modern medicine and good nutrition), and while the Captain America boots are too big, the Widow's shoes are too small. It's cold out and there's glass and stones in the parking lot.
Barnes moves forward to sweep Steve up into his arms again, but Steve says, "Wait. How about a piggyback ride instead?"
Barnes takes a moment to process that and then nods. "Okay." He crouches, and Steve scrambles onto his back and rests his hands lightly on Barnes's shoulders.
"Is this okay?"
The weight is nothing, he's carried more in equipment on his back for longer marches than here to the parking lot. But usually the only time he's in such close contact with a person for any prolonged period of time is because he's killing them. He is not killing Steve.
He wraps his arms beneath Steve's knees to hold him steady and takes a deep breath. "Yes, but no sudden movements, okay?"
"Okay," Steve says. His voice is right against Barnes's ear, and so are his lips, if the shiver that runs through Barnes's body is any indication. He isn't sure what that means, so thinks it's probably best to get this over with as soon as possible.
Romanoff and Wilson look amused but are smart enough to keep quiet about it.
The drive to the airport should take about forty minutes in light traffic, but Barnes thinks he could do it in twenty-five if he had to. The quinjet is there when they arrive, parked outside an unused terminal.
"We'd have been here sooner," he says to Rhodes as they board the quinjet, "but Wilson drives like my dead grandmother, god rest her soul." He's not sure where the words come from, but they make Steve snort with laughter, so he doesn't question it.
"Hey," Wilson says, but he doesn't sound angry when Barnes brushes past him to deposit Steve on a seat.
Steve smiles at the two people who are already strapped in. "Vision, Wanda, this is my friend Bucky."
Barnes nods at them as he settles into the seat next to Steve's. "Call me Barnes."
They nod in response and then Vision--the robot, or whatever he is--says, "Thor is waiting in London. We believe he may be able to identify what was done to you, Captain."
"Thanks," Steve says.
"I'm glad your quest was successful," Wanda says. "I know you've been looking for him a while."
Romanoff snickers. "More like Barnes found Steve."
He glances at her. "How long did you know?"
"Since Alaska," she says.
"And you never said?" Steve yelps.
"He wasn't trying to hurt you, so I didn't see why I should. You noticed a few weeks after, so it wasn't for that long, and I figured he'd let you find him when he was ready. And I was right." She leans back and grins. "I usually am."
Barnes nods. Seems reasonable to him. He puts his hand over Steve's on the armrest. It's unlikely that they'll be attacked in the air, and he can wake quickly enough to protect Steve if he needs to, so he allows himself to fall into a light doze so he'll be refreshed and ready when they land.
*
Thor is waiting at his girlfriend's apartment, with his girlfriend and her intern. Barnes knows them all by name and by sight, though he's never met them.
Thor is even bigger than Steve was in his serum-enhanced body, and he radiates warmth and good fellowship. Also, from what Barnes has seen, he's really hard to kill, which makes Barnes like him even more. Between the two of them and Romanoff, Steve should be safe here, even though it's just a regular apartment somewhere in the city.
"Steven, are you well?" Thor asks, his giant hands engulfing Steve's. "Aside from your current condition."
"Aside from that, yeah, Thor, I'm fine."
"And I see you found your shieldbrother." Thor turns to Barnes. "It is good to meet you Sergeant Barnes. Steven has told me much about you."
"Just Barnes," he says. "Good to meet you too." He's a little overwhelmed, to be honest. This is more new people than he usually deals with in a month.
Jane's intern has ordered Chinese food for them, and they gather round the kitchen table to eat. Barnes would rather have gotten whatever examination Thor is planning out of the way, but Steve looks hungry, so he plants himself on Steve's good side, so he can whisper in his good ear if he needs to, and fills his plate with kung pao chicken and roast pork chow fun. Once he's begun eating, he finds he's ravenous. He can't remember the last time he ate more than MREs or protein bars. He wants to live on steamed dumplings from now on.
Halfway through the meal, he plucks a carton of shrimp lo mein out of Steve's hands.
"I was gonna eat that," Steve says plaintively.
"You're allergic to shrimp," Barnes responds.
"You remember that?"
"You almost died."
"That doesn't really narrow it down much, though, does it?" Steve says with a small laugh.
Barnes shakes his head. "It really doesn't." He'd like to say he's remembering more, but it has the feel of muscle memory more than anything. His body knows what to do with this Steve in a way it didn't with Captain America-sized Steve.
After dinner, Steve repeats whatever the weird guy in the robes said to him to cause him to revert back to being his old self.
"Hmm," Thor says when he's done. "The spell is similar to one I've seen used by the Vanir, which attempts to return broken or worn items to their original state."
Steve swallows hard. "Is it permanent?" Barnes reaches out and squeezes his hand.
"I do not believe so. Not in the manner in which it was cast upon you. It should wear off in a few hours."
Steve exhales, and Barnes knows he's not the only one who can see the tension ease in Steve's shoulders.
"You can stay here while you wait," Jane offers. "We have a guest room, and that couch pulls out."
"Thanks," Rhodes says, "but Tony's got a suite for us at Grosvenor House."
"We'll stay here," Barnes says. Steve gives him a surprised look, and he shrugs a shoulder. "Fewer strangers coming in and out."
That leads to a discussion of who'll stay and who'll go to the hotel, but Barnes tunes out of it, instead doing an assessment of the apartment's sightlines and safety features.
In the end, Barnes, Steve, and Romanoff stay with Thor and Jane and Jane's intern, who tells him her name is Darcy ("yes, just like in Pride and Prejudice") while Rhodes takes the others to the hotel.
"Are you sure?" Wilson asks Steve softly. "'Cause I'll give up staying in a thousand dollar a night suite if you want me to."
Steve laughs. "Go, eat the twenty dollar snacks in the minibar and charge it to Tony. I'll be fine."
They leave, and Romanoff and Darcy leave with them.
"I thought Romanoff was staying."
"Darcy and Natasha are going to buy some new clothes for Steve," Jane says. "Just in case."
"Makes sense," Steve says, and then yawns hugely.
"Come," Thor says, "let us make up the guest room."
Thor helps them put sheets on the bed--Barnes had not expected him to be so domestic--then disappears down the hall to get extra pillows.
Steve unzips his hoodie and crawls under the covers.
"Are you going to be warm enough without it?" Barnes asks, holding up Romanoff's sweatshirt.
"I'll be fine," Steve says, patting the colorful comforter.
Barnes grunts thoughtfully. "Shove over."
Thor comes back with pillows then and stops when he sees Barnes climbing into the bed. Barnes wonders if he's finally made a critical error, if his body remembers something incorrectly, the way his mind sometimes does.
He's already moving off the bed when Steve's hand curls around his wrist. "It's fine, Bucky. But maybe shed the armory?"
Barnes realizes the buckles and bulges of his tac vest and weapons must be poking Steve in delicate places, so he nods. "Oh, yeah. Right."
"And your boots," Thor says gently. He hands Barnes the extra pillows. "Rest well, my friends. I will keep watch."
"I like him," Barnes mutters as he slides into bed beside Steve.
"It's hard not to," Steve answers drowsily. "He's a good guy." He pulls Barnes's arm around him and presses his back to Barnes's chest, and Barnes holds completely still, afraid that any movement will startle him. "Relax, Buck. Get some sleep."
Barnes relaxes his body one set of muscles at a time, keeping his breathing slow and steady. Steve smells familiar, and that helps, though Barnes can hear the occasional wheeze in his exhalations, and if he listens closely, the occasional arrhythmic beat of his heart. This, too, is familiar, more so than his own name has been until today.
As he lies awake counting Steve's breaths, Barnes is remembering all sorts of new things about this smaller Steve. The way he always got back up after he'd been knocked down. The way he'd fought bullies and thugs in their old neighborhood, guys twice his size who picked on him and others, or didn't treat other people with respect.
He remembers the warmth that floods his chest now, the tight ache of strong emotion that he always felt when he looked at Steve, and how it's melting the last of the ice in his blood now. He feels pleasantly warm and useful, like watching over Steve has always been his mission, his purpose, and he's been successful today, when Steve was less able to protect himself.
He would never wish this return to form, with its attendant aches and pains and illnesses, on Steve permanently. But he's glad to see him again, to know that the Steve he remembers still exists inside the less familiar Captain.
It was never that Barnes--Bucky, then--hated Steve's new big body. He'd been thrilled that Steve was finally healthy and fit and that his outside finally reflected the great man Bucky knew lived within. No, Bucky hadn't been angry that Steve was now a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. But he'd been livid that the moment his back was turned, Steve had signed on for an experimental procedure that could have killed him, and when it worked, he put himself in the crosshairs of the enemy army. (Bucky either didn't remember or didn't care about the four month interval when the only sights Steve had been in belonged to a bunch of USO girls and Hollywood types.)
Steve coughs and shifts in his sleep, and Barnes hums softly, hoping the vibration in his chest will settle Steve down.
He can hear Romanoff and Darcy return, the soft conversation between them and Thor, and the way the women coo over Steve's fine-boned beauty.
"I'd seen pictures," Jane says, "but they never seemed real, you know? I didn't think he'd be so adorable."
"He's very cute," Romanoff agrees, "and yet still very Steve."
Well, sure, Barnes thinks. This is who he always was.
"I wouldn't mind cuddling him," Darcy says.
Barnes huffs. That's his job and he's not planning to share it with anyone, not even a girl who looks like she should be gracing the nosecone of a B-17.
"Barnes is handling that admirably," Thor says. Barnes knew he liked Thor. "He is a fine shieldbrother for our captain."
"You really are," Steve murmurs, rolling over so he can bury his nose in the crook of Barnes's neck. "Though I don't remember the dames back in our day thinking I was adorable like this."
"Carter did," Barnes replies. "The rest were idiots."
Steve laughs, his breathing puffing warm against Barnes's skin. "You always said so, anyway."
"Like Romanoff, I'm usually right."
Steve hums skeptically, but he's too sleepy to argue, and soon his breathing evens out again.
Barnes sleeps on and off during the night, his usual nightmares kept at bay by the need to protect Steve.
He wakes up early in the morning blanketed by the full-size chest of Captain America. Talk about purple mountains' majesty. He pokes experimentally at Steve's left pec and Steve jolts awake.
"Bucky? Time is it?"
"Dunno. Can't see the clock. Your giant head is in the way."
Steve's eyelashes flutter and he comes more fully awake. "Hey, I'm back to Cap-size."
"Yeah. How're you feeling?"
"Hungry."
"There should be some shrimp lo mein left over," Barnes says. "Unless Thor had a midnight snack."
"Come on." Steve rolls them out of bed, Romanoff's yoga pants stretched obscenely tight over his ass and thighs. Barnes stares a little. It's kind of impressive. Steve notices and glances down at himself. "Ugh, Nat's gonna kill me for stretching them out."
"Maybe you should keep them." Barnes isn't sure why his voice sounds like he's been strangled but it makes Steve snicker.
"You would say that. You made me keep the original tights, too."
Barnes gets a flash of memory--Steve with his USO uniform tights pushed down his thighs, his cock hard and slick in Bucky's mouth--and flushes.
"You remember that?" Steve asks, watching him closely.
Now Barnes can't even talk. He lets out a surprised gurgling sound that makes Steve laugh out loud.
"Yeah, I guess you do," he says delightedly. "Even if you don't, I'm happy to refresh your memory." Then he sobers. "If you want. I mean. I don't want to push you into anything. I know you might not remember everything and that's okay."
"Shut up, Rogers." Barnes slides the fingers of his right hand over the tight waistband of the yoga pants and tugs Steve close enough to kiss. Both of them have morning breath, which makes it kind of gross, but Barnes doesn't care. It's the best second first kiss of his life.
end
~*~
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~*~
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Captain America; Steve/Bucky; pg; 3,845 words
In which Bucky goes into caretaker mode when Steve gets whammied and reverts to his pre-serum state.
Written for the prompt: I Put A Spell On You (by Annie Lennox) + Steve x Bucky = fanfic request by an anonymouse on tumblr. Thanks to
snacky for looking it over.
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
Body Memory
Barnes (an asset is a thing, not a name; "Bucky" is unreachable; and "James" is an ill-fitting suit, a guise of respectability he has never worn) knows that the Captain and the flying man are tracking him. He leads them on a merry chase across North America and through Europe, blowing up HYDRA bases and destroying their safe houses, routing their scientists out of bed and leaving them for Rogers to find. Sometimes, he gets so far ahead of them that he circles back around behind, taking out their enemies from a thousand yards away.
There's something familiar in the task, some thought or memory he can't catch hold of, when the Captain looks in his direction and salutes. He'd prefer it if the Captain paid more attention to the people trying to kill him, and that feels familiar, too.
Slowly, slowly, he acclimates to being on his own, no chair, no cryo, and no mission, no targets he doesn't choose himself, and his memories start returning too, in faded fragments that may or may not be real. He knows the redhead in Odessa was the Widow, is Rogers' friend Romanoff, but he doesn't know if she's the same redhead from Minsk ten years earlier. He knows his memory of assassinating a French general in Saigon is real (he looks that one, as well as a few others, up on the internet), but can't confirm that he and Captain America actually shared a bedroll in the Hürtgen (or before, back when the Captain was ninety pounds soaking wet and willing to take on the world), doesn't know if the memory of the Captain's bright smile and rattling cough is real, though he can't imagine why HYDRA would have implanted it.
He knows the Captain could answer his questions--is eager to answer them--but he's not ready for that yet. So they play their game of cat and mouse, and which means he's in a position to see it when a weird guy in the black robes pops up out of nowhere and flings something at Rogers, who goes down hard, but he's not close enough to do anything about it except shoot the weird guy. Which he does. And then he tumbles out of the tree he's perched in to race towards the Captain, who's lying still on the ground, his suddenly smaller body swimming in his uniform.
Barnes drops to his knees beside the Captain--Steve, his brain insists (he finally looks like the Steve from the memories Barnes is pretty sure are real, the ones from before the war)--automatically checking his pulse and his breathing. His ribs feel fragile and his skin is already chilling in the cold air. Barnes glares up at Romanoff and the flying man (Wilson, he reminds himself) and spits, "What the fuck?"
"Magic," she says. She doesn't look surprised to see him.
"Shit." He points at Wilson. "You're a pararescue. Check him out."
Wilson kneels on the Captain's--Steve's--other side, and gives him a thorough, professional once-over.
"He seems okay," Wilson says, "nothing broken."
At that, Barnes scoops him up off the ground and cradles him close, ignoring the startled way Romanoff and Wilson stare. "We need to get him somewhere warm."
They've only taken three or four steps when Steve stirs in his arms. He rubs his face against Barnes's chest and mutters, "Aw, Buck, no, I can walk."
"You're gonna get yourself killed," Barnes replies.
"I had 'em on the ropes," Steve protests, but he doesn't do more than squint up at Barnes before he sighs and relaxes.
"I know you did," Barnes says, the answer automatic, like breathing. He doesn't stop to think about any of the things he does next--making sure Steve is comfortable in the backseat of the truck he and the others have been driving around in, tucking away the long sleeves and legs of his uniform and wrapping him up in a musty smelling plaid blanket he finds on the floor, and then brushing his hair off his forehead, which feels warm and sweaty but not feverish once the heat in the truck comes on.
Romanoff looks like she wants to say something, but Barnes doesn't want to hear it. "Drive," he snaps at her, and she does. Wilson carries the shield and flies on ahead of them.
The hotel she takes them to is a perfectly fine Hilton Garden Inn in Stuttgart, but they don't have much in the way of a first aid kit in with their gear. Which is not surprising. Barnes somehow knows the Captain--Steve--has always thought he was invincible.
Wilson is pacing in the hallway outside the room when they arrive, already on the phone arguing with Stark (Barnes can't hear the individual words, just a steady, staccato stream of them like machine gun spray, and Stark's the only one Steve knows who talks like that anymore), so Barnes ignores him and lays the Cap--Steve on the bed. He unwraps him from the musty blanket and starts unzipping and unbuckling his uniform. Steve doesn't protest, which is a little worrisome, but he's smiling a small private smile, so Barnes lets it go for the moment.
Instead, he turns to Romanoff. "You're about the same size," he says. "You got sweats or something he can wear?" He expects that, at least, to get a rise out of Steve.
"Yoga pants," is all Steve says, though. "And that gray hoodie."
Romanoff's mouth curves in a knowing smirk. "You and the yoga pants," she says, shaking her head as she digs into her bag and comes up with the items in question.
She tosses them over and then locks herself in the bathroom, preserving Steve's modesty.
Barnes turns to Steve. "You okay with free-balling it?" He realizes suddenly that the term is something Rumlow used to say and he tenses at the memory, but Steve barks out a laugh.
"Well, I'm not borrowing her underwear."
"Wise choice," she calls through the bathroom door. "Though I bet you'd look cute in a pair of lacy blue panties."
Steve blushes and Barnes watches in fascination as it spreads down his throat and over his bare chest, which is bony now, the way it is in his clearest memories, ribs standing out sharply beneath fair, freckled skin.
"Just get dressed," he says, his voice a low growl. The clothes are soft and they fit Steve better than his own at the moment, so Barnes considers it a win. "You need to sleep?"
Steve shakes his head. "I'm okay."
Barnes grunts in response but resolves to monitor the situation closely. The Steve in his memory always tried to push beyond his limits and got testy if anyone pointed it out.
Romanoff rejoins them, perching on the edge of the desk where she can keep them both in sight, and Wilson comes into the room. "Tony's sending a jet. It'll be here in about an hour." He looks at Steve. "You wanna tell us what happened?"
Steve shrugs. "Guy just appeared out of nowhere, said something in Latin, and everything went weird and prickly for a few seconds. I blacked out, and then I woke up like this." His mouth twists ruefully. "Not exactly Beyoncé."
Wilson laughs. "Nah, man. You're still flawless."
Barnes knows this is not factually true; he finds he can rattle off a list of this Steve's medical conditions with perfect clarity, but he holds his tongue, because Wilson is not wrong, either. Not in the ways that once mattered most to him, the ways he wants things to matter now.
He does have one criticism, though. "Your situational awareness was piss poor. You let yourself get distracted."
"The guy materialized out of nowhere," Steve argues.
Barnes grunts. It's true but it doesn't make him feel any better. He gets up and goes to the window, making sure there's no one outside watching them. The view is frustratingly circumscribed and he goes to the door.
"Don't go," Steve says urgently.
"I'll be back. Someone has to do recon. I'm going to secure the perimeter. Pack up and be ready to leave for the airport."
"Be careful."
Barnes doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't say anything, and the door closes behind him with a click.
The area is free of enemies, to the best of his knowledge, and when he gets back to the room, the others are packed and waiting.
"Let's go," he says. He's not sure why they're listening to him--surely Romanoff should be in charge if Steve is not--but he's not going to give up control until they make him, not while Steve is vulnerable.
Steve stands, and that's when Barnes realizes that he did not in fact think of everything. Steve's feet are bare. They haven't shrunk as much as the rest of him (Barnes's memory tells him that Steve's hands and feet were always larger than his size warranted; for the first time, he wonders what Steve would have looked like if he'd grown up with modern medicine and good nutrition), and while the Captain America boots are too big, the Widow's shoes are too small. It's cold out and there's glass and stones in the parking lot.
Barnes moves forward to sweep Steve up into his arms again, but Steve says, "Wait. How about a piggyback ride instead?"
Barnes takes a moment to process that and then nods. "Okay." He crouches, and Steve scrambles onto his back and rests his hands lightly on Barnes's shoulders.
"Is this okay?"
The weight is nothing, he's carried more in equipment on his back for longer marches than here to the parking lot. But usually the only time he's in such close contact with a person for any prolonged period of time is because he's killing them. He is not killing Steve.
He wraps his arms beneath Steve's knees to hold him steady and takes a deep breath. "Yes, but no sudden movements, okay?"
"Okay," Steve says. His voice is right against Barnes's ear, and so are his lips, if the shiver that runs through Barnes's body is any indication. He isn't sure what that means, so thinks it's probably best to get this over with as soon as possible.
Romanoff and Wilson look amused but are smart enough to keep quiet about it.
The drive to the airport should take about forty minutes in light traffic, but Barnes thinks he could do it in twenty-five if he had to. The quinjet is there when they arrive, parked outside an unused terminal.
"We'd have been here sooner," he says to Rhodes as they board the quinjet, "but Wilson drives like my dead grandmother, god rest her soul." He's not sure where the words come from, but they make Steve snort with laughter, so he doesn't question it.
"Hey," Wilson says, but he doesn't sound angry when Barnes brushes past him to deposit Steve on a seat.
Steve smiles at the two people who are already strapped in. "Vision, Wanda, this is my friend Bucky."
Barnes nods at them as he settles into the seat next to Steve's. "Call me Barnes."
They nod in response and then Vision--the robot, or whatever he is--says, "Thor is waiting in London. We believe he may be able to identify what was done to you, Captain."
"Thanks," Steve says.
"I'm glad your quest was successful," Wanda says. "I know you've been looking for him a while."
Romanoff snickers. "More like Barnes found Steve."
He glances at her. "How long did you know?"
"Since Alaska," she says.
"And you never said?" Steve yelps.
"He wasn't trying to hurt you, so I didn't see why I should. You noticed a few weeks after, so it wasn't for that long, and I figured he'd let you find him when he was ready. And I was right." She leans back and grins. "I usually am."
Barnes nods. Seems reasonable to him. He puts his hand over Steve's on the armrest. It's unlikely that they'll be attacked in the air, and he can wake quickly enough to protect Steve if he needs to, so he allows himself to fall into a light doze so he'll be refreshed and ready when they land.
*
Thor is waiting at his girlfriend's apartment, with his girlfriend and her intern. Barnes knows them all by name and by sight, though he's never met them.
Thor is even bigger than Steve was in his serum-enhanced body, and he radiates warmth and good fellowship. Also, from what Barnes has seen, he's really hard to kill, which makes Barnes like him even more. Between the two of them and Romanoff, Steve should be safe here, even though it's just a regular apartment somewhere in the city.
"Steven, are you well?" Thor asks, his giant hands engulfing Steve's. "Aside from your current condition."
"Aside from that, yeah, Thor, I'm fine."
"And I see you found your shieldbrother." Thor turns to Barnes. "It is good to meet you Sergeant Barnes. Steven has told me much about you."
"Just Barnes," he says. "Good to meet you too." He's a little overwhelmed, to be honest. This is more new people than he usually deals with in a month.
Jane's intern has ordered Chinese food for them, and they gather round the kitchen table to eat. Barnes would rather have gotten whatever examination Thor is planning out of the way, but Steve looks hungry, so he plants himself on Steve's good side, so he can whisper in his good ear if he needs to, and fills his plate with kung pao chicken and roast pork chow fun. Once he's begun eating, he finds he's ravenous. He can't remember the last time he ate more than MREs or protein bars. He wants to live on steamed dumplings from now on.
Halfway through the meal, he plucks a carton of shrimp lo mein out of Steve's hands.
"I was gonna eat that," Steve says plaintively.
"You're allergic to shrimp," Barnes responds.
"You remember that?"
"You almost died."
"That doesn't really narrow it down much, though, does it?" Steve says with a small laugh.
Barnes shakes his head. "It really doesn't." He'd like to say he's remembering more, but it has the feel of muscle memory more than anything. His body knows what to do with this Steve in a way it didn't with Captain America-sized Steve.
After dinner, Steve repeats whatever the weird guy in the robes said to him to cause him to revert back to being his old self.
"Hmm," Thor says when he's done. "The spell is similar to one I've seen used by the Vanir, which attempts to return broken or worn items to their original state."
Steve swallows hard. "Is it permanent?" Barnes reaches out and squeezes his hand.
"I do not believe so. Not in the manner in which it was cast upon you. It should wear off in a few hours."
Steve exhales, and Barnes knows he's not the only one who can see the tension ease in Steve's shoulders.
"You can stay here while you wait," Jane offers. "We have a guest room, and that couch pulls out."
"Thanks," Rhodes says, "but Tony's got a suite for us at Grosvenor House."
"We'll stay here," Barnes says. Steve gives him a surprised look, and he shrugs a shoulder. "Fewer strangers coming in and out."
That leads to a discussion of who'll stay and who'll go to the hotel, but Barnes tunes out of it, instead doing an assessment of the apartment's sightlines and safety features.
In the end, Barnes, Steve, and Romanoff stay with Thor and Jane and Jane's intern, who tells him her name is Darcy ("yes, just like in Pride and Prejudice") while Rhodes takes the others to the hotel.
"Are you sure?" Wilson asks Steve softly. "'Cause I'll give up staying in a thousand dollar a night suite if you want me to."
Steve laughs. "Go, eat the twenty dollar snacks in the minibar and charge it to Tony. I'll be fine."
They leave, and Romanoff and Darcy leave with them.
"I thought Romanoff was staying."
"Darcy and Natasha are going to buy some new clothes for Steve," Jane says. "Just in case."
"Makes sense," Steve says, and then yawns hugely.
"Come," Thor says, "let us make up the guest room."
Thor helps them put sheets on the bed--Barnes had not expected him to be so domestic--then disappears down the hall to get extra pillows.
Steve unzips his hoodie and crawls under the covers.
"Are you going to be warm enough without it?" Barnes asks, holding up Romanoff's sweatshirt.
"I'll be fine," Steve says, patting the colorful comforter.
Barnes grunts thoughtfully. "Shove over."
Thor comes back with pillows then and stops when he sees Barnes climbing into the bed. Barnes wonders if he's finally made a critical error, if his body remembers something incorrectly, the way his mind sometimes does.
He's already moving off the bed when Steve's hand curls around his wrist. "It's fine, Bucky. But maybe shed the armory?"
Barnes realizes the buckles and bulges of his tac vest and weapons must be poking Steve in delicate places, so he nods. "Oh, yeah. Right."
"And your boots," Thor says gently. He hands Barnes the extra pillows. "Rest well, my friends. I will keep watch."
"I like him," Barnes mutters as he slides into bed beside Steve.
"It's hard not to," Steve answers drowsily. "He's a good guy." He pulls Barnes's arm around him and presses his back to Barnes's chest, and Barnes holds completely still, afraid that any movement will startle him. "Relax, Buck. Get some sleep."
Barnes relaxes his body one set of muscles at a time, keeping his breathing slow and steady. Steve smells familiar, and that helps, though Barnes can hear the occasional wheeze in his exhalations, and if he listens closely, the occasional arrhythmic beat of his heart. This, too, is familiar, more so than his own name has been until today.
As he lies awake counting Steve's breaths, Barnes is remembering all sorts of new things about this smaller Steve. The way he always got back up after he'd been knocked down. The way he'd fought bullies and thugs in their old neighborhood, guys twice his size who picked on him and others, or didn't treat other people with respect.
He remembers the warmth that floods his chest now, the tight ache of strong emotion that he always felt when he looked at Steve, and how it's melting the last of the ice in his blood now. He feels pleasantly warm and useful, like watching over Steve has always been his mission, his purpose, and he's been successful today, when Steve was less able to protect himself.
He would never wish this return to form, with its attendant aches and pains and illnesses, on Steve permanently. But he's glad to see him again, to know that the Steve he remembers still exists inside the less familiar Captain.
It was never that Barnes--Bucky, then--hated Steve's new big body. He'd been thrilled that Steve was finally healthy and fit and that his outside finally reflected the great man Bucky knew lived within. No, Bucky hadn't been angry that Steve was now a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. But he'd been livid that the moment his back was turned, Steve had signed on for an experimental procedure that could have killed him, and when it worked, he put himself in the crosshairs of the enemy army. (Bucky either didn't remember or didn't care about the four month interval when the only sights Steve had been in belonged to a bunch of USO girls and Hollywood types.)
Steve coughs and shifts in his sleep, and Barnes hums softly, hoping the vibration in his chest will settle Steve down.
He can hear Romanoff and Darcy return, the soft conversation between them and Thor, and the way the women coo over Steve's fine-boned beauty.
"I'd seen pictures," Jane says, "but they never seemed real, you know? I didn't think he'd be so adorable."
"He's very cute," Romanoff agrees, "and yet still very Steve."
Well, sure, Barnes thinks. This is who he always was.
"I wouldn't mind cuddling him," Darcy says.
Barnes huffs. That's his job and he's not planning to share it with anyone, not even a girl who looks like she should be gracing the nosecone of a B-17.
"Barnes is handling that admirably," Thor says. Barnes knew he liked Thor. "He is a fine shieldbrother for our captain."
"You really are," Steve murmurs, rolling over so he can bury his nose in the crook of Barnes's neck. "Though I don't remember the dames back in our day thinking I was adorable like this."
"Carter did," Barnes replies. "The rest were idiots."
Steve laughs, his breathing puffing warm against Barnes's skin. "You always said so, anyway."
"Like Romanoff, I'm usually right."
Steve hums skeptically, but he's too sleepy to argue, and soon his breathing evens out again.
Barnes sleeps on and off during the night, his usual nightmares kept at bay by the need to protect Steve.
He wakes up early in the morning blanketed by the full-size chest of Captain America. Talk about purple mountains' majesty. He pokes experimentally at Steve's left pec and Steve jolts awake.
"Bucky? Time is it?"
"Dunno. Can't see the clock. Your giant head is in the way."
Steve's eyelashes flutter and he comes more fully awake. "Hey, I'm back to Cap-size."
"Yeah. How're you feeling?"
"Hungry."
"There should be some shrimp lo mein left over," Barnes says. "Unless Thor had a midnight snack."
"Come on." Steve rolls them out of bed, Romanoff's yoga pants stretched obscenely tight over his ass and thighs. Barnes stares a little. It's kind of impressive. Steve notices and glances down at himself. "Ugh, Nat's gonna kill me for stretching them out."
"Maybe you should keep them." Barnes isn't sure why his voice sounds like he's been strangled but it makes Steve snicker.
"You would say that. You made me keep the original tights, too."
Barnes gets a flash of memory--Steve with his USO uniform tights pushed down his thighs, his cock hard and slick in Bucky's mouth--and flushes.
"You remember that?" Steve asks, watching him closely.
Now Barnes can't even talk. He lets out a surprised gurgling sound that makes Steve laugh out loud.
"Yeah, I guess you do," he says delightedly. "Even if you don't, I'm happy to refresh your memory." Then he sobers. "If you want. I mean. I don't want to push you into anything. I know you might not remember everything and that's okay."
"Shut up, Rogers." Barnes slides the fingers of his right hand over the tight waistband of the yoga pants and tugs Steve close enough to kiss. Both of them have morning breath, which makes it kind of gross, but Barnes doesn't care. It's the best second first kiss of his life.
end
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