[Captain America] Counting Backwards
Counting Backwards
Steve/Bucky | PG, 1935 words
Written for this prompt at capkink, aka. the cutest prompt in the history of ever. Based in and out of canon with heavy nods to the movie prequel comics (issue #1 is the cutest thing ever).
-10
"Where did you get it?" Steve asks, bright-eyed. It's not yet his birthday, and even if it were, the others at the orphanage aren't nearly as generous. He holds up the model plane to the light of the sun -- it's a shiny, new red.
Bucky grins, all teeth and charm and full of mischief. He sits down next to Steve on the footpath, back to the cold brick wall and makes sure their arms are pressed together. "Well," he starts and doesn't finish. He begins to laugh.
Steve's head snaps around. "Oh boy, you didn't...?"
"I won it," Bucky clarifies. He tucks his arm through Steve's, linking them tightly and rests his head against the wall. "Nobody knows how to fight around here. They're all such babies."
Babies that Steve can't beat, no matter how hard he tries. Babies that Bucky has essentially rescued Steve from on numerous occasions, even in the short time they've known each other. He frowns, though he realises Bucky means no harm.
"Do you want to fly?" Bucky asks idly, yawning. The sun's slowly going down. They should get inside before the real cold sets in.
A scrap of paper picks up off the ground, caught in the wind, and flutters away. "Maybe. I don't know."
-9
Steve figures he must have done something in a past life to anger the powers that be. This is just cruel. He stands in front of the mirror, pulls his shoulders back, stands straight and-- not tall. Never tall. Never ever tall.
But it's okay. It's not going to stop him. Bucky and him -- they're going to enlist. They're going to fight for their country. He's going to be a soldier, like his father, make him proud. He's not going to let a few minor physical disadvantages get in the way of--
"Steve," comes Bucky's voice, casual, slightly amused.
When Steve turns to look, Bucky is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
"Quit being so serious all the time," he continues as he walks into the room and stops at Steve's side, turning to face the mirror.
"You could fit me in one hand," Steve says quietly.
Bucky sighs, wraps his arms around Steve and simply says, "Not exactly in one hand. Close though."
Steve laughs softly and eases up, twisting until his head is tucked under Bucky's chin and he can knot his arms around Bucky's waist.
-8
The girl on Bucky's arm is undoubtedly pretty -- conventionally, Steve supposes. But strangely, he thinks Bucky looks better.
Or maybe it's not strange. Bucky's quite a looker.
Then again, that's not really a thing for a man to say.
It's not like he wants to date his best friend or anything, he's just capable of appreciating all of his qualities.
"What happened to Nancy?" Bucky asks, setting himself down on the bench next to Steve.
Uh. "Who?"
Bucky's girl laughs as she hovers in front of them both, and Bucky just drops his head, grinning. "Steve," he says, not really waiting on a response.
-7
"You're not allowed to blame me," Bucky tells him seriously. "You can try, but I won't listen."
Steve lets out a single, involuntary sob as he holds the ice pack gingerly to the side of his face. His nose is still bleeding all over the place but he doesn't have enough hands to do anything about it. "It was your fist," he tries to argue, only blood gets in his mouth and it comes out more like, "Ib woth your fish." He coughs and spits it out.
"You asked me to train you," Bucky shrugs and holds a bunch more tissues to Steve's nose.
It's true. And Steve really can't complain. But god, does he want to.
"I could try and kiss it better. I'm told I have magical lips." He adds a wink for good measure.
Steve goes with the one-skeptical-eyebrow-raised approach for his response. It only gets him a snort and a look that's somewhere oddly stuck between companionship and sympathy and he changes his answer to: "Sure."
He really does. Kiss it better, that is. Or at least he kisses Steve's temple and the tip of his nose, but the better part is yet to be seen. Bucky pulls back but not all the way, and he hovers there for an eternity just studying Steve's eyes and face.
-6
It's a particularly mild night out, and for once you can see the stars.
Bucky puts his hands on Steve's shoulders, just at the base of his neck, and holds there. "You'll join me eventually, won't you," he says, not at all a question.
"Of course," Steve nods. No one is going to stop him from getting to the frontline, no matter what they try and tell him.
Bucky smirks and then kisses him, this time on the lips, chaste and fleeting. "Idiot," he says fondly, then he spins around, drapes his arm over Steve's shoulders and tells him, "Let's walk."
-5
One-oh-seven.
The numbers repeat in Steve's head, over and over, galloping about and prodding at his brain till the point where he can't stand it anymore. He needs a distraction. Something that will make him think of anything other than Bucky going off to war without him.
How long has it been? Suddenly he can't even remember the last time he was without him. Maybe he hasn't been, not once since that day in the alley, back in the September of 1930. Over ten years now.
He laughs at himself. Pitiful. Got to move on, Steve. Keep trying.
-4
He can't stop staring. Whenever he looks down, it's like his own body has been switched out and someone else's body has been glued there instead.
When he hears that Bucky is missing (missing, not dead, he tells himself), he doesn't spare a single moment in deciding that he's going in. He doesn't care if he has to run the entire distance on foot, and he doesn't care if they try to kick him out for it, because this is what matters now.
After years of relying on Bucky for help, he can finally do something to repay him.
He's got this body, and he's damn well going to use it.
-3
"I thought you were smaller," Bucky says, and everything is turned right-way up.
Steve's heart thumps with adrenalin and anxiety and maybe a little bit of something else as he slings Bucky's arm over his shoulder and hoists him up.
He's alive. Bucky's alive, and nothing else matters.
The heat from the fire prickles at his skin as he jumps across the gap, blind faith in ability he's never even used, isn't sure if it even exists. Bucky's eyes are wide and scared and admiring, and they waste no time getting the hell out of there.
He's alive. They can be together again. They can drink and joke and laugh and Bucky can pick up every dame in a ten mile radius and Steve won't even complain.
Once they've cleared the building and everyone's a safe distance from it, Steve gathers Bucky up into a tight hug, face pressed into his neck and Steve thinks maybe he'll never let go.
"Bucky," he says, breathing in deep the smell of chemicals and smoke and something else he can't quite place.
"Mm," Bucky replies.
-2
When Bucky scrambles into Steve's bed, Steve doesn't even think to ask why. He just tilts his head to the side, smiling softly until Bucky grins back.
"Shove over," Bucky tells him. "My body is sore and you're taking up all the space."
Steve chuckles at that but obliges (like there was ever a chance he wouldn't), and Bucky tucks himself under the covers and slides an arm around Steve's waist, snuggling up close. His fingers are warm on Steve's skin, and Steve waits until his breathing evens out before closing his own eyes.
And when Bucky wakes through the night, tossing and turning with his brow furrowed and tears glued to his eyelashes, Steve wakes him gently and kisses him on the ear before pulling him into his chest protectively.
-1
He can't reach.
He can't fucking reach, and--
zero
The air is different in the 21st century.
He can still barely get his head around it. Seventy years -- a new millennium. Technology has advanced inconceivable amounts and he can barely see the sky; it's all just towers of flashing colours, covered in faces he's never seen promoting products he's never heard of.
He doesn't know this city, although it claims to know him.
And he's alone.
1
It's strange to think that even if Bucky hadn't-- hadn't fallen that day, Steve would still be without him now, all the same.
It doesn't make it any easier though. If anything, it's harder to cope with. Because now it's not only Bucky that's gone, but everyone and also everything. His whole life, already over seventy years ago. He wants to cry and yet he can't, not right now.
Sometimes his breath catches and his eyes sting and he thinks he just might be able to, and then he doesn't.
2
A week and Steve is still waking up, wondering just where on God's great earth he is.
Two weeks and it stops taking an hour to remember he's not in the 40s anymore, and starts only taking about fifty minutes. A great improvement.
3
After two months, he can remember half of the names of places that Tony's told him about.
He knows now that the giant yellow M that he sees everywhere is McDonald's, and he can get "fast-food" there.
There's also that bar down about two blocks where he can "pick up the hottest chicks". He's forgotten the name of that one.
4
Sometimes not being able to get drunk is helpful, and other times it just downright sucks. Right now it's value is... undecided.
"Was he your boyfriend?" asks Tina, the undeniably inebriated sales assistant who introduced herself earlier in the night.
"I- w- what?" Steve splutters. Bucky isn't- wasn't-- Why are they even talking about this? Steve doesn't have an excuse.
"No? But you loved him, ya?" She scoots over closer to Steve on the bench. "I think they've got a name for that now." She frowns for a second, takes another swig of her wine, and then shrugs. "Nah, can't remember it."
Steve's heart rate speeds up impossibly. God he misses him.
5
Bucky looks older than Steve remembers him, his hair a bit longer, jaw set harder like he's been through a lot more than Steve knows.
"He's been with... the Russians?" Steve asks. "For how long?"
Fury nods curtly and then says, "It's hard to say exactly; he doesn't know himself."
Steve alternates between frowning with worry and grinning like a maniac. His eyes well up and he thinks, Really? Now of all times?
Bucky pulls him into a hug that lasts way too long, ignoring when Fury loudly clears his throat.
Steve refuses to let go, notions of appropriate time and place be damned. It's been over seventy years and he loves this kid, whatever that means. He honestly doesn't care in the slightest.
-11
Hell's Kitchen. September, 1930.
"Good to know you, kid," says the boy, bright blue eyes gleaming.
Steve takes his hand, and politely ignores the fact that this boy seems to think that calling him a shrimp in the middle of a compliment is an okay thing to do.
"James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky."
Steve/Bucky | PG, 1935 words
Written for this prompt at capkink, aka. the cutest prompt in the history of ever. Based in and out of canon with heavy nods to the movie prequel comics (issue #1 is the cutest thing ever).
-10
"Where did you get it?" Steve asks, bright-eyed. It's not yet his birthday, and even if it were, the others at the orphanage aren't nearly as generous. He holds up the model plane to the light of the sun -- it's a shiny, new red.
Bucky grins, all teeth and charm and full of mischief. He sits down next to Steve on the footpath, back to the cold brick wall and makes sure their arms are pressed together. "Well," he starts and doesn't finish. He begins to laugh.
Steve's head snaps around. "Oh boy, you didn't...?"
"I won it," Bucky clarifies. He tucks his arm through Steve's, linking them tightly and rests his head against the wall. "Nobody knows how to fight around here. They're all such babies."
Babies that Steve can't beat, no matter how hard he tries. Babies that Bucky has essentially rescued Steve from on numerous occasions, even in the short time they've known each other. He frowns, though he realises Bucky means no harm.
"Do you want to fly?" Bucky asks idly, yawning. The sun's slowly going down. They should get inside before the real cold sets in.
A scrap of paper picks up off the ground, caught in the wind, and flutters away. "Maybe. I don't know."
-9
Steve figures he must have done something in a past life to anger the powers that be. This is just cruel. He stands in front of the mirror, pulls his shoulders back, stands straight and-- not tall. Never tall. Never ever tall.
But it's okay. It's not going to stop him. Bucky and him -- they're going to enlist. They're going to fight for their country. He's going to be a soldier, like his father, make him proud. He's not going to let a few minor physical disadvantages get in the way of--
"Steve," comes Bucky's voice, casual, slightly amused.
When Steve turns to look, Bucky is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
"Quit being so serious all the time," he continues as he walks into the room and stops at Steve's side, turning to face the mirror.
"You could fit me in one hand," Steve says quietly.
Bucky sighs, wraps his arms around Steve and simply says, "Not exactly in one hand. Close though."
Steve laughs softly and eases up, twisting until his head is tucked under Bucky's chin and he can knot his arms around Bucky's waist.
-8
The girl on Bucky's arm is undoubtedly pretty -- conventionally, Steve supposes. But strangely, he thinks Bucky looks better.
Or maybe it's not strange. Bucky's quite a looker.
Then again, that's not really a thing for a man to say.
It's not like he wants to date his best friend or anything, he's just capable of appreciating all of his qualities.
"What happened to Nancy?" Bucky asks, setting himself down on the bench next to Steve.
Uh. "Who?"
Bucky's girl laughs as she hovers in front of them both, and Bucky just drops his head, grinning. "Steve," he says, not really waiting on a response.
-7
"You're not allowed to blame me," Bucky tells him seriously. "You can try, but I won't listen."
Steve lets out a single, involuntary sob as he holds the ice pack gingerly to the side of his face. His nose is still bleeding all over the place but he doesn't have enough hands to do anything about it. "It was your fist," he tries to argue, only blood gets in his mouth and it comes out more like, "Ib woth your fish." He coughs and spits it out.
"You asked me to train you," Bucky shrugs and holds a bunch more tissues to Steve's nose.
It's true. And Steve really can't complain. But god, does he want to.
"I could try and kiss it better. I'm told I have magical lips." He adds a wink for good measure.
Steve goes with the one-skeptical-eyebrow-raised approach for his response. It only gets him a snort and a look that's somewhere oddly stuck between companionship and sympathy and he changes his answer to: "Sure."
He really does. Kiss it better, that is. Or at least he kisses Steve's temple and the tip of his nose, but the better part is yet to be seen. Bucky pulls back but not all the way, and he hovers there for an eternity just studying Steve's eyes and face.
-6
It's a particularly mild night out, and for once you can see the stars.
Bucky puts his hands on Steve's shoulders, just at the base of his neck, and holds there. "You'll join me eventually, won't you," he says, not at all a question.
"Of course," Steve nods. No one is going to stop him from getting to the frontline, no matter what they try and tell him.
Bucky smirks and then kisses him, this time on the lips, chaste and fleeting. "Idiot," he says fondly, then he spins around, drapes his arm over Steve's shoulders and tells him, "Let's walk."
-5
One-oh-seven.
The numbers repeat in Steve's head, over and over, galloping about and prodding at his brain till the point where he can't stand it anymore. He needs a distraction. Something that will make him think of anything other than Bucky going off to war without him.
How long has it been? Suddenly he can't even remember the last time he was without him. Maybe he hasn't been, not once since that day in the alley, back in the September of 1930. Over ten years now.
He laughs at himself. Pitiful. Got to move on, Steve. Keep trying.
-4
He can't stop staring. Whenever he looks down, it's like his own body has been switched out and someone else's body has been glued there instead.
When he hears that Bucky is missing (missing, not dead, he tells himself), he doesn't spare a single moment in deciding that he's going in. He doesn't care if he has to run the entire distance on foot, and he doesn't care if they try to kick him out for it, because this is what matters now.
After years of relying on Bucky for help, he can finally do something to repay him.
He's got this body, and he's damn well going to use it.
-3
"I thought you were smaller," Bucky says, and everything is turned right-way up.
Steve's heart thumps with adrenalin and anxiety and maybe a little bit of something else as he slings Bucky's arm over his shoulder and hoists him up.
He's alive. Bucky's alive, and nothing else matters.
The heat from the fire prickles at his skin as he jumps across the gap, blind faith in ability he's never even used, isn't sure if it even exists. Bucky's eyes are wide and scared and admiring, and they waste no time getting the hell out of there.
He's alive. They can be together again. They can drink and joke and laugh and Bucky can pick up every dame in a ten mile radius and Steve won't even complain.
Once they've cleared the building and everyone's a safe distance from it, Steve gathers Bucky up into a tight hug, face pressed into his neck and Steve thinks maybe he'll never let go.
"Bucky," he says, breathing in deep the smell of chemicals and smoke and something else he can't quite place.
"Mm," Bucky replies.
-2
When Bucky scrambles into Steve's bed, Steve doesn't even think to ask why. He just tilts his head to the side, smiling softly until Bucky grins back.
"Shove over," Bucky tells him. "My body is sore and you're taking up all the space."
Steve chuckles at that but obliges (like there was ever a chance he wouldn't), and Bucky tucks himself under the covers and slides an arm around Steve's waist, snuggling up close. His fingers are warm on Steve's skin, and Steve waits until his breathing evens out before closing his own eyes.
And when Bucky wakes through the night, tossing and turning with his brow furrowed and tears glued to his eyelashes, Steve wakes him gently and kisses him on the ear before pulling him into his chest protectively.
-1
He can't reach.
He can't fucking reach, and--
zero
The air is different in the 21st century.
He can still barely get his head around it. Seventy years -- a new millennium. Technology has advanced inconceivable amounts and he can barely see the sky; it's all just towers of flashing colours, covered in faces he's never seen promoting products he's never heard of.
He doesn't know this city, although it claims to know him.
And he's alone.
1
It's strange to think that even if Bucky hadn't-- hadn't fallen that day, Steve would still be without him now, all the same.
It doesn't make it any easier though. If anything, it's harder to cope with. Because now it's not only Bucky that's gone, but everyone and also everything. His whole life, already over seventy years ago. He wants to cry and yet he can't, not right now.
Sometimes his breath catches and his eyes sting and he thinks he just might be able to, and then he doesn't.
2
A week and Steve is still waking up, wondering just where on God's great earth he is.
Two weeks and it stops taking an hour to remember he's not in the 40s anymore, and starts only taking about fifty minutes. A great improvement.
3
After two months, he can remember half of the names of places that Tony's told him about.
He knows now that the giant yellow M that he sees everywhere is McDonald's, and he can get "fast-food" there.
There's also that bar down about two blocks where he can "pick up the hottest chicks". He's forgotten the name of that one.
4
Sometimes not being able to get drunk is helpful, and other times it just downright sucks. Right now it's value is... undecided.
"Was he your boyfriend?" asks Tina, the undeniably inebriated sales assistant who introduced herself earlier in the night.
"I- w- what?" Steve splutters. Bucky isn't- wasn't-- Why are they even talking about this? Steve doesn't have an excuse.
"No? But you loved him, ya?" She scoots over closer to Steve on the bench. "I think they've got a name for that now." She frowns for a second, takes another swig of her wine, and then shrugs. "Nah, can't remember it."
Steve's heart rate speeds up impossibly. God he misses him.
5
Bucky looks older than Steve remembers him, his hair a bit longer, jaw set harder like he's been through a lot more than Steve knows.
"He's been with... the Russians?" Steve asks. "For how long?"
Fury nods curtly and then says, "It's hard to say exactly; he doesn't know himself."
Steve alternates between frowning with worry and grinning like a maniac. His eyes well up and he thinks, Really? Now of all times?
Bucky pulls him into a hug that lasts way too long, ignoring when Fury loudly clears his throat.
Steve refuses to let go, notions of appropriate time and place be damned. It's been over seventy years and he loves this kid, whatever that means. He honestly doesn't care in the slightest.
-11
Hell's Kitchen. September, 1930.
"Good to know you, kid," says the boy, bright blue eyes gleaming.
Steve takes his hand, and politely ignores the fact that this boy seems to think that calling him a shrimp in the middle of a compliment is an okay thing to do.
"James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky."