[for Steve] happy birthday

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky Barnes is an early riser. Between his growing commitments to the school and the ITF, he wakes most days before the sun, even when he wasn’t working the night before. His morning routine runs like clockwork. He starts from whatever nightmare his mind graced him with that night and shakes off the sleep that lingers to his bones. He gets in a quick workout and a light meal. He feeds Virginia and goes for a run. He comes back in time for a heartier breakfast, maybe a cup of tea, and a shower. He dresses for the day.

This morning is different. Bucky’s quiet by nature, like a ghost, but the only sound to be heard is Virginia getting restless in her stable next door. The house itself shows no sign of life. The window slats are shut, keeping out the light of dawn. There’s no evidence of anyone entering or leaving, everything seemingly untouched except for one glaring intrusion.

Sitting in the center of the sparsely decorated living room is a large tank that arrived some time during the night. The shadowy figure of Bucky Barnes floats inside, the odd air bubble escaping to the surface the only reassurance he’s still alive.

Today's his 89th birthday and the Island's wasted no time in delivering his present.

Comments

[onlyforthedream]

It's about that point in the morning when Bucky's wrapping up his routine. It means I won't be dragging him away from anything pressing, or anything that grounds him, in order to celebrate. I've got a six pack with me, procured from one of the island's stalwart drinking establishments. Not much planned this time around, but there's always going to be something. Birthdays matter. They always will.

The sense of something being off hits me before I'm even at the door, and it feels like a long walk from the path to the threshold. I keep the bottles, tucked in their lightweight wooden crate, under my arm and push the door open. I don't knock.

It takes a split second for my eyes to adjust, scan, and then the crate's broken on the ground and I'm coming up short in front of- of- I know this, saw the pictures in the file, it's the goddamn tank the soviets kept him in- my hands hitting the glass as I brace myself against it.

How does it work? How does it unlock? It doesn't matter, no time. I slam my elbow into it and it cracks. I could do it two more times and shatter its entire face, but I economize- lean right, grab a barbell without bothering to check the weight, and bring it up in a hard fast arc to hit once. The glass shatters and the water pours out, and before the tank's half empty I've thrown the bar away and am pulling him out of it.

God damn it. God damn it.

"Bucky," I say loudly, the soul shaking rage at this happening pushed down and out of the way. There's no room for anything but concern. I get him to the floor, cradling him carefully, checking him for obvious injury from the glass or otherwise.

"Come on, Buck, wake up."

Next to the rage is the knowledge that the person who wakes up- God help me- it might not be him.

It might not be him.

"Bucky, can you hear me? Come on, partner, wake up."

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky's naked as the day he was born, dead weight and dripping in a man's arms. Broken glass bites into his legs, his feet, and it's that initial discomfort that wakes him. He coughs up fluid, his lungs burning for air like a drowning man. The man's too close, crowding him the same as the tank, and gasping, Bucky pushes him away.

Instinct kicks in before higher reasoning, his body three steps ahead of his brain. His hands find a weapon -- a long, jagged piece of glass -- and he blindly lunges forward with a wordless yell.

[onlyforthedream]

It barely knicks me- Bucky's so fast, even half conscious- and I don't disarm him, merely catch the wrist to stop his momentum.

"Bucky! Bucky, it's me," I tell him, my other hand having found the forearm of his other arm, holding him- not to restrain him, just to stop the attack, hoping to God once his sense clear he'll do it on his own.

"Buck, it's me, it's Steve, you're safe."

[onlyapassenger]

The man's voice cuts through the fog in Bucky's mind, sharp and clear. The fight leaves him on the rush of an exhale.

"Steve--"

The name comes out as half a sob. The glass clatters to the ground, breaking into smaller pieces, and Bucky stops struggling against Steve's grasp. His legs are unsteady under his feet, and he leans into the touch, still disoriented. He can't seem to get enough air, each breath a loud gulp.

"Where--"

[onlyforthedream]

"The island," I tell him, getting my arms around him to support his weight, getting us a few feet away from the glass but not as far as the sofa before I kneel, helping him down with me.

"We're still on the island. I found you in that damn thing- but you're safe. You're safe, now."

I keep him close, keeping a hand moving over the back of his flesh and blood shoulder.

"I'm right there."

[onlyapassenger]

He's only dimly aware of his bloody feet, but Bucky's grateful to sit, grateful for the anchor that is Steve's hand at his shoulder. Bucky rubs at his own chest, like that'll help the air go down better, but each inhale still burns. From what he can remember, the extraction from the tank was usually a slower process. Under the circumstances, though, he can't find it in himself to blame Steve for speeding things up.

"How--" He swallows, his throat thick. "--how long?"

[onlyforthedream]

"No more than twelve hours. I saw you last night. Are you all right?" I ask him, starting to gingerly check him over.

I'm such an idiot. I have no idea if there was a better way to do that- there had to've been, the Soviets kept it up long enough- but I didn't stop and try to find it. I just had to get him out.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky nods dumbly, finally thinking to look around. The damn island got him in his own frigging house and he's too exhausted to work up any surprise, the adrenaline rush already dissipating. It's difficult to focus on what's right in front of him, his mind all too eager to serve up a torrent of memories best left forgotten.

"M'cut," he adds several moments later, lifting a trembling hand in slow motion to the bottom of his foot, where a piece of glass sticks into the meaty part of his heel. He hisses as he presses as he drags a thumb over the edge.

[onlyforthedream]

"Don't, I'll get it," I tell him, tugging him a little so his weight's up against my front and I can keep an arm around his back.

"I'm gonna carry you to the kitchen, okay, pal?"

[onlyapassenger]

Again, Bucky nods without saying a word. It's just a cut, he wants to say, just a bit of glass. He can walk no problem, he's lived through worse. A million excuses are at the tip of his tongue to save him this added bit of humiliation, but his mind's too far away, locked in a different world, a different language. His eyes stay locked on his foot, but it's not what he sees. He blinks away the phantom image of a Soviet doctor checking his vitals and stares at the floor.

"I can--" He drags his hand over his face, blinking hard. He loses his train of thought.

[onlyforthedream]

"Hey," I say gently, touching my hand to the back of his neck to get his attention. I want his eyes on me.

"Hey. I know you can. You don't have to. I'm here, all right? It's just me, Buck."

We both have our pride. We've both taken hits most people couldn't walk away from. God knows it can be hard, but we've always had each other, so when we take those hits, even if our pride is hurting as badly as our bodies, he has to know it doesn't mean anything, not between us.

"I've got you."

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky shuts his eyes, shaking his head. His breaths are finally starting to slow, and it takes him a minute or so to work up the courage to look up, Steve's face swimming in to focus.

He shouldn't be seeing this, Bucky thinks.

And then, to counter, He's already seen a lot worse.

He looks away, shifting to get his knees on the ground. He holds out one arm, and mutters, "Make it quick."

[onlyforthedream]

I frown, jaw tight, because I know that look. I'm not always sure what he's trying to prove to me- I respect and admire James Barnes in a way I do relatively few others, but I'm not sure that's ever really sunken in.

I pull a clean rag out of my back pocket- something I carry with me most days, just in case, and this is a fairly clear indication it's not a misguided notion- and reach down.

"Two, three," I murmur, and pull the piece out and drop it to the ground in one deft motion. Immediately I press the rag to his heel and wrap it twice around his ankle, then tuck the ends in.

"It's deep, but I don't think it hit a tendon." I tuck my arm back around him and get my knees under me to brace us both, take our weight as I get us standing.

"Water?" I ask as I pick our way around the glass and into the kitchen.

[onlyapassenger]

"Think I've had enough for one day," Bucky murmurs, though even as he says it, he has to admit he's thirsty. His throat's still raw from coughing, and water's the quickest fix. His face pinches and he nods, almost annoyed. Annoyed that he needs the help. Annoyed that Steve has to see this. Annoyed by the blood-soaked rag wound around his foot. The cut hurts enough to keep his mind off his wounded pride, giving him a focal point.

"Yeah," he grits out. "You know where the glasses are."

[onlyforthedream]

I get him to a chair, first, lowering him carefully into it and squeezing his shoulder briefly before I pull away. I get the glass, fill it and set it down on the table beside him on my way to his bedroom. I grab the blanket off his bed, a t-shirt and some sweats, and drop the clothes on the table as I pull the blanket around him when I come back in.

Economy of movement, speed. Whatever gets me into the chair opposite him as fast as possible. I lean forward, watching him closely.

"I panicked," I murmur, grimacing a little. He wouldn't be this roughed up if I hadn't.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky dresses without standing up, squirming in the chair to pull up the sweats and shifting the blanket long enough to put on the shirt. His skin's still damp, but some sense of modesty is called for now that the worst of it has passed. He readjusts the blanket once he's done, and takes a slow sip from the water, knowing Steve'll chide him otherwise. The clothes return some sense of normalcy.

Setting down the glass once he's swallowed, Bucky's lips twitch in a wry smile that doesn't meet his eyes. "I figured." He scrubs a hand through dripping hair. "Can't say I blame you."

[onlyforthedream]

"What can I do?" I murmur, reaching over to rest a hand on his shoulder.

I'll clean the place up, obviously, but if there's something he needs now, in the moment, I want to make sure he gets it.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky falls silent. It's a hell of a question, and he doesn't even know where to begin answering. He eyes the hand on his shoulder, glad for the contact, but not having the words to thank Steve.

He presses his lips together, trying not to shiver now that he's finally getting some warmth. His expression shuts down as he withdraws into his own head.

"...just." His voice cuts through the quiet, almost surprising himself. "Sit. For a second."

[onlyforthedream]

"All right," I say quietly, and stay right where I am: Leaning forward, one forearm resting on my knee, the other lifted between us so my hand can stay where it is, clasped to his shoulder.

The mess can wait. Everything else can wait.

[onlyapassenger]

"God."

It comes out in an explosive rush, his frustration ringing clear. Bucky buries his face in his hands, blunt nails pressing into his forehead as he sucks in a deep breath.

How many times? How many times do I need this friggin' reminder? Like I've forgotten where I came from.

He lets his hands fall into his lap, his gaze gone distant.

"Spent decades in that thing."

[onlyforthedream]

It's something between instinct and decision- when it comes to Bucky, those things admittedly blur together. We've been too close too long for that to not be the case. I slide forward until I'm only on the edge of my seat, and tug him firmly but with extreme car into a hug. He's shaken as deeply as I've ever seen him, even if it's understated, and he's shivering to boot.

"We won't let that happen again."

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky lets out a harsh laugh, turning his face into Steve's shoulder to muffle the sound. There's no such thing as promises in this place. Tabula Rasa: the one thing in the known universe that could make Steve Rogers break his word.

But Bucky's past shame, eating up the embrace even if he doesn't return it. He blinks back tears, screwing his eyes shut to keep some semblance of dignity, his lips pulling back into an angry grimace.

[onlyforthedream]

It's not that Bucky's unbreakable. He gets broken over and over and over again. The insane thing is that no matter how badly he is, or how many times, he's never done. He's strong, he's the definition of tenacious. It's a hell of a way to fight through life, but Bucky is a fighter by nature. I grip the back of his neck then smooth my hand over it. Seeing him floating there, the idea of him so isolated and alone for so long, conscious or not- there's reasonable impetus to be tactile. I keep my other arm strong around him. He can shake apart despite himself and I won't budge. I won't abandon him, not ever.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky's every movement is slow, deliberate, almost tortured, like it's painful to admit he needs this -- the warmth, the contact. It takes him a minute to find the courage to hug back, keeping his metal arm limp at his side he snakes the one made of flesh and blood around Steve, grabbing onto his shirt with a tight fist, knuckles turning white.

[onlyforthedream]

"It's okay," I say, barely managing a whisper. I don't move, just keep a grip on him, move my hand soothingly over his shoulder.

"It's okay, Buck."

[onlyapassenger]

Keeping his face buried in Steve's shoulder, Bucky shakes his head a little in silent denial. None of this is okay by any stretch of the imagination, but there's not a damn thing they can do about it. There's no enemy to kill, no person to blame -- there's just these moments of hell and the mocking peace that follows. He stays put regardless, and after a few minutes of breathing in the now-familiar smell of Island-brand detergent, an almost absurd thought occurs to him.

"It's my birthday."

[onlyforthedream]

"Yeah," I say quietly, not pulling back.

"That's why there's the remnants of a six pack by the door. I'll clean it up later."

[onlyapassenger]

"Let me guess," Bucky murmurs, easing back a little. His hand's numb from squeezing so tightly.

"You panicked."

[onlyforthedream]

"Twice," I admit, not loosening my grip but moving my arm with him. He never lets himself ask for anything, so I'll just keep offering it and hope he takes me up on it. It's clear as day that he needs the contact, though, and I understand that, very well.

"In a very short period of time. Not my best." I bring the hand that isn't steady on his shoulder up to briefly ruffle his hair, then leave it there, gently digging my fingertips in. I know he gets headaches, probably has a hell of one right now.

It should be Natasha doing this. Staying with him, keeping the nightmares at bay. I wish to God she was. As it is, I hope our friendship is enough. It was good when he had even one other soul he'd let in.

[onlyapassenger]

A low noise sits in Bucky's throat, his eyes fluttering shut. The touch reminds him he's got a small supply of aspirin in the bathroom that he'll probably end up depleting just to get through the day. For the moment he stays put. Without adrenaline to push him forward, he's not sure he can get back on his feet just yet anyway.

"Not like I did much better," he replies. He keeps his eyes closed a second longer, no matter that it invites bad memories. "Sorry. For taking a swing."

[onlyforthedream]

"Hey," I say gently, dropping the hand to his shoulder and leaning back enough that he can lift his head to make eye contact.

"No apology necessary. You were disoriented. I've done the same thing. Are you warming up?"

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky's almost disappointed to lose the hand in his hair. That the thought alone makes him embarrassed is incentive enough not to say anything. Instead he pushes his own fingers back over his head, kneading his scalp in a practiced gesture. He nods after a moment's hesitation.

"Might take a quick shower," he murmurs, then huffs out a laugh at the absurdity of the plan. "Already had a bath."

[onlyforthedream]

I grimace a little, not indulging in the gallow's humor but not about to rebuke it. I merely nod, and stay where I am, leave my hand where they are.

"Feel free to take a long one. I'll have this cleaned up by the time you're out, then we can get some food into you."

[onlyapassenger]

"Might be able to donate the raw materials to Stark," Bucky says, frowning a little. He'd rather see the whole damn thing ground into smithereens, truth be told, but there are considerations to be made in a place with limited resources.

"...after I take a bat to what's left," he adds, regardless.

[onlyforthedream]

"Sounds like a plan." There are things Tony could use it for, I'm sure. The fact that the tank was designed to keep someone in stasis, in perfect health, for such long stretches of time- it's probably useful technology.

I would just as soon melt it down or dump it in the ocean. I don't care. I want it gone.

"However you want to deal with it, we will. All right?"

[onlyapassenger]

"I want it destroyed," he admits, but part of him wonders if that isn't a lie.

At least when he was inside that damn thing nothing hurt. There was no fear or pain or heartbreak. Just nothing, for decades. It's a different kind of prison than the island, but maybe, when all is said and done, it's more humane.

He sighs, digging his fingers against the inside corners of his eyes. "Maybe I should just take care of it."

[onlyforthedream]

"Not now," I say squeezing the back of his neck a little. He looks so tired. Wearied. It honest to God hurts to see, knowing how much everything weighs on him, what those bastards did, what he's gone through- and then knowing I can't really help. That I was actually instrumental in putting him this position.

"Take that shower, eat something, then we'll figure it out. Together. Okay? I'm not going anywhere."

[onlyapassenger]

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Cap," Bucky says, regretting his words the moment they leave his mouth. His face turns contrite, and he grimaces in apology.

"Sorry." He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out as a harsh, short laugh. He's trying so damn hard not to unravel at the seams, but he's still fraying. "Christ, you got me out of there, I shouldn't've-- I know what you meant. Thank you."

[onlyforthedream]

"Hey-" I say roughly and pull him back into another embrace, trying not to squeeze too tightly.

"Don't. It's okay. No more apologies."

[onlyapassenger]

The new embrace catches him off-guard, but Bucky relaxes back into it, taking a steadier breath. In a few hours, he'll be back on an even keel. He's got enough practice at this song and dance to know. But for the moment, his eyes start to sting. He screws them shut to hide the evidence, keeping his face pressed to Steve's shoulder until he thinks it's safe to pull away.

Even then, he keeps his gaze to the floor. "Any more where that beer came from?"

[onlyforthedream]

"I can scrounge up some more. But," I say, ducking my head a little to try and catch his gaze, "how about I hold off, hang out here a while. Then we'll go find some replacements together."

I don't want to leave him, and I know Bucky- It's too hard for him to ask, but I don't think he wants to be alone, either.

[onlyapassenger]

"I've got a bottle of vodka in that cupboard over there," Bucky murmurs, eyes flicking away from Steve's to indicate the cupboard. It's an excuse to not hold his gaze too long.

"Not as, ah, celebratory, but..."

[onlyforthedream]

"Something a little stronger can't hurt," I say.

"All right. I'll get the glasses."

I don't actually move, though.

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky's torn between being grateful and annoyed. He should be able to shake this off, but Steve's gentle insistence that he help is making it too tempting for Bucky to take a moment.

It feels a little like playing chicken: who's gonna blink first?

"Pretty impressive trick you got there," Bucky says, dragging a hand back over his face. "You been holding out on me all these years? Telekinetic and never told me?"

He shifts in his chair, testing some of his weight on his bandaged feet. He wants to scrub his skin 'til it's red and raw, but the bandages add a kink to the plan. Maybe he should just skip right to the drinking. He's already dressed.

[onlyforthedream]

"I'm old," I point out, "I move slow."

It's hard to get Bucky to accept the most innocuous gestures of help at the best of times. If I offer him a hand to get him to the shower to she does have to put weight on his foot, he might take another swing.

"Think it's going to need stitches? We can do that, first."

[onlyapassenger]

Bucky snorts.

"I'm old, too," he murmurs, following up the reply with a nod. "I've got a kit in the bathroom. Should probably put a real bandage on this thing, at the very least. Give you back your hanky."

He sucks in a breath to steady himself and stands, holding back a wince as he gingerly puts his foot down. His first step doesn't go quite as planned, and he catches his weight against the wall. He takes another stubborn step regardless.

"About that vodka..."

[onlyforthedream]

I'm up with him, and go to the cupboard to grab the bottle in on deft motion so I can get back to his side, shouldering under his arm and tucking my own around his back to take his weight.

"Got it."

[onlyapassenger]

"One of these days," Bucky says, leaning against Steve in spite of himself as they walk towards the bathroom. "One of these days, I'll help you clean up one of your messes."