Chapter Text
It’s a sunny day, which is ironic, really. A mid-November, cold kind of sunny, but a beautiful day nonetheless. The wind is blowing just hard enough to warrant a coat and a scarf, but the sun is warm on Steve’s face as he makes the walk to Natasha’s apartment. His hands are a bit cold, but that won't matter in a few minutes anyway.
It always hits Steve hard that there aren’t many people walking about the city. He exits his apartment and expects to be swept away into the waves of people going every which way to work or school or wherever, but not anymore. Not since the news aired two weeks ago.
Not since the virus.
It still makes him nervous, going outside, but he figures that he has six years of military training under his belt and that gives him a leg up on the Infected.
He doesn’t like when people call them zombies—it sounds like something out of a horror movie. It makes him feel like he’s living in a fantasy. And, nope, this is definitely real life. The conspiracy theorists are having a field day with this one. And Steve can't really blame them, if he’s honest with himself. It is insane. Zombies in New York? When he’s first heard it, he hadn't believed it.
He’d been with Natasha and Sam watching a football game when a breaking news banner had popped up on the bottom of the screen.
Breaking: Virus Infects New York Lab
“Hey, turn this up!” Sam had called, making grabby hands at the remote. Natasha’d changed the channel to the news and turned the volume up.
“Well, Karen,” the reporter was saying. “I’m standing outside of the hospital right now where our sources say there’s a virus spreading at break neck speed inside. The virus is said to kill within the first two hours, and actually resurrect it’s victims as a kind of brain-dead zombie.” And then just as the reporter had started to laugh, a dark-skinned man had come up behind him and literally latched his teeth into the man’s neck and pulled out his jugular. There’d been a lot of screaming and then the camera had cut off.
Apparently one of the “zombies” had gotten out of the hospital. It’d only killed the reporter before an on-scene policeman had shot it—in the head, of course. Everyone’s seen the cliché zombie movies—but it’d been enough to send everyone into a panic.
The next day, similar stories of the Infected, as people liked to call them, started popping up all over the globe. Quarantines in LA and San Francisco, lockdowns in Beijing, airports shutting down in England . . . Germany shut off its borders to any incoming flights or immigrants.
The world literally shut down in a matter of hours.
So that’s why it’s weird when Steve goes outside—not very many people do, anymore. The schools have shut down along with most work places.
No one wants to risk being bitten. No one wants to risk their children, their families. No one wants to risk going out.
And then there’s Steve, who walks the streets like he owns the place. He’s almost to Natasha’s when he hears a bang. He turns sharply, pulling his gun from its holster at his side, pointing it with elbows slightly bend, eyes sharp. But it’s just a stray dog, and he relaxes, laughing shakily at himself. You didn’t live this long for nothing, he tells himself. There were multiple times during his three tours when he would’ve died if it weren’t for his acute hearing and sharp reflexes. So as Steve heads up the stairs to Nat’s apartment, he thanks his lucky stars that he has the skills that he does.
He texts her that he’s outside, and then knocks on the door—the special knock that they had when they were kids. Three swift knocks and then two spaced evenly apart. He waits for exactly three seconds before he hears someone walk to the door.
“Steve?” Natasha calls from the other side of the door.
“Open up, Widow,” Steve calls back, hiding a smile. The door swings open and Steve steps in, quickly shutting the door behind him.
Natasha’s place is spacious and tastefully decorated—all black furniture and marble. Steve’s always loved it here since his place is so small. Sam’s sprawled across the couch looking totally relaxed until he sees how many guns Steve has hidden on his body. Sam’s expression tenses immediately.
“We goin’ back to war, Steve?” he asks, trying for a joke and failing miserably. Steve huffs a sigh and rolls his shoulders back, standing up straighter.
“You guys ready?” he asks, looking over at Natasha. She nods and Sam gets up, coming over to stand next to them.
“Well, let’s go,” Natasha says, grabbing Sam’s hand. Steve looks at them together, then down to the ring on the redhead’s hand and can't help but smile. They’d gotten engaged six months ago and now the wedding probably isn’t going to happen with everything that’s going on. With New York on quarantine and no one being let in, their families wouldn’t be able to come, but Steve thinks that maybe they’re going to do it anyway. Go to the courthouse or something—have a small ceremony. It’s better than nothing.
But instead of dwelling on all the things that won't happen, Steve makes himself move toward the door, leading the way out onto the street and to Sam’s SUV. They get in, Steve in the back, and head out. There are a few people out on the roads—not as many as normal, but enough for traffic. Mostly, people trying to get out as soon as they can or going out to the store. Wal-Marts, Costcos, and Targets are the only stores that are still getting trucks in, so those are the only stores that still have everything in stock. Natasha is impatient as she weaves in and out of traffic, drumming on the steering wheel with her thumbs. Steve just sighs and looks out the window as the redhead makes her way through traffic and to the shopping centre with the Target in it. Natasha finds a place to park—which isn’t hard, since almost no one is here—and they all pile out.
Steve grabs his backpack out of the back and hops out, ready to go. He’s not nervous, exactly, but he is anxious to get in and get out. They’d seen at least two packs of the Infected on the drive over. He doesn’t want to get caught in the Target with nowhere to go. So he leads the way in, Sam and Natasha behind him, planning to get in and get out as quickly as they can. Steve’s backpack is fully stocked with bullets, guns, knives, hatchets, and a first aid kit, so even if they do get trapped by some twisted fate of God, they’ll be okay.
They walk quickly into the store and split up to cover more ground. Steve goes straight to the food while Sam and Natasha go to the hiking equipment. Their phones are both of high volume, so if something does happen, they’ll be able to find each other. Surveying the aisles, Steve picks one to go down and starts tossing things in his basket. Bread, flour, sugar, and some candies he knows Natasha will appreciate. He also gets soups and canned vegetables, knowing they’ll need those for later.
Because this epidemic is just that—an epidemic. It isn’t going away any time soon.
So when Steve exits the food section and goes to meet up with Natasha and Sam at checkout, he’s every surprised to see none other than Bucky Barnes standing in line ahead of him.
Steve and Bucky work together at the coffee shop Natasha runs. They’re both veterans looking for some sort of income in the terrible economy that is America in 2015, and they’ve become relatively close. They hang out at work sometimes and have movie nights with the rest of their friends—Tony, Thor, Bruce, Clint, Sharon, Peggy, and Maria. Steve’s very happy to see Bucky alive and well, but when he taps Bucky on the shoulder, the older man jumps and flinches away.
“Hey, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, pulling his hand away. “It’s me, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes finally focus on Steve and he visibly relaxes, letting out a strangled laugh.
“Scared the shit out of me, Steve,” he says, smiling that tiny smile that leaves Steve’s stomach in knots.
He’s been in love with Bucky Barnes since he met him almost two years ago.
“Sorry about that. You here alone?” Steve glances around and spots Natasha and Sam making their way over. He waves his hand in the air to get their attention and then looks back at the brunet.
“Nah, the rest of the gang is in here somewhere. Figured we’d stock up, what with the fuckin’ zombie apocalypse and all.” Bucky shrugs and moves up in line, Steve shuffling behind him.
“Where have you been staying? I heard the blocks around your place were Infected.” Bucky’s gaze darts around before meeting Steve’s eye again.
“I’ve been staying at Tony’s. He has more than enough room.” Natasha and Sam finally reach Steve, and he’s about to greet them when all hell breaks loose.
There’s a commotion at the doors and all heads turn to see what it is. Steve tenses, hand going down to pals at the gun on his belt. One lone Infected makes its way through the double automatic doors and before Steve can do anything, it’s ripped into a woman making her way out. There are screams all around and people rushing for the doors only to be blocked by a seemingly never-ending tide of Infected pouring into the store. Steve takes one look at his friends and takes off for the doors.
“Lock the doors!” he yells to anyone who will listen. A few people follow his orders, shoving the Infected back and trying to get the doors to close. Steve finally makes it over, gun in hand, and starts to shoot, clearing the doors as best he can.
There’s got to be at least twenty of them—fast and strong and reeking of death. Flesh hags off their bodies in chunks, blood caked on their bodies from where they were bitten and killed. Their clothes are torn and tattered, fingernails dirty and broken. It’s like something out of a bizarre horror movie.
People finally catch on that you can close the doors by shoving them shut, and one by one, the doors get locked and people flee back into the building. Steve glances around, trying to assess the situation. There are about fifteen Infected in the building, more piling up at the doors. People are running in all different directions and the ones that aren’t are trying to take on the Infected with anything from baseball bats to golf clubs. There’s blood all over the floor—human and Infected. Steve searches for his friends in the chaos, and can only seems to spot Natasha and only because of her fire-engine red hair. She catches his eye and motions to the back of the store. It takes Steve a while, but he finally understands.
The back of the store. The intercom system and security cameras are controlled from back there.
“You’re a fucking genius, Natasha Romanoff,” Steve mutters, taking off toward the back. She flashes him a smile and a wink as he runs past, cutting an Infected’s head off in one fell swoop with a hatchet she’d had somewhere on her body—Steve doesn’t know where. He focuses on getting to the back room, ignoring the carnage around him. If he stops to help, he’ll cause more harm than good.
But then he sees Bucky.
And three Infected.
Steve stops dead in his tracks, spins on his heel, and rushes to his friend’s side. His heart is pounding so hard that he can feel the blood rushing in his ears as he makes his way down the aisle to the open space Bucky’s in. He can't just leave him there weaponless.
So he clutches his gun a little tighter and runs for it, stopping three feet away.
Stop. Aim. Fire.
The shot rings in his ears, but he's used to the gunfire of war. This is a different kind of war, though. An all-inclusive war. It's not just against one country or people—it's against the human race. It's the human race on the line here.
And if he can save Bucky, that's a win in Steve's book.
So he aims again, and this time the Infected goes down. Bucky looks up, and it gives the Infected time to claw open a gash on Bucky's forearm.
Oh God, no. Not Bucky. Anyone but Bucky.
But the when brunet glances down at the blood, he looks more annoyed than anything, and then hits the thing over the head with a lamp he'd grabbed from the shelf on his left. Steve shoots it as it stumbles, and then there's only one left. Bucky takes care of it by swiftly knocking the thing down and driving a shard of glass from the lamp through its forehead.
When Bucky stands, he's covered in blood and grime, but he sends a goofy smile Steve's way. Steve smiles back, and then, on a whim, reaches out and takes Bucky's hand.
"Help me," Steve says, squeezing Bucky's hand. The older man squeezes back.
"Anything." Turning on his heel, Steve pulls Bucky with him and they begin to jog to the back of the store. No Infected have made it this far, so there's no one Steve would feel guilty about not helping.
They bust through the double doors and into the back room, Bucky still holding Steve's hand and Steve isn't sure if the pounding of his heart is from adrenaline, Bucky, or both. Probably both. But he does what he came here for regardless--searching until Bucky drags him to a door.
"I used to work at a Target in high school," he explains as he opens the door. "They're all the same. You can access the PA system from here." Bucky shows him the button and then steps back, letting go of Steve's hand.
"Thanks, Buck." And then Steve gets to work. He presses the button down and begins to speak slowly and clearly.
"Attention. My name is Steve Rogers, a captain of the United States Marine Corps. If you have children with you, get them to the very back of the store. You will see two double doors. Bring them there. Sergeant James Barnes will be waiting to direct you to a safe place within the store." Steve glances over at Bucky who nods and exits the room. "However," Steve continues. "If you wish to leave, leave now. I will be giving instructions to barricade the doors in five minutes. Exit out of the loading docks. Be careful. Be safe. Be alert." He sits back, tapping his fingers and watching the clock as five minutes tick by.
He can hear the voices of women and crying children from outside of the door and he has to fight himself to not get up to help. Bucky's got this. He looks back at the clock and presses the button down again.
"For those of you left, find a woman named Natasha and a man named Sam near checkout. They will split you into two teams. One team will be sent deeper into the store to pick off the Infected still inside while the other team will barricade the doors. Listen to them. They know what they're doing." Steve takes a deep breath. "This is what we will do to survive. Either take your chances out there, or be safe here with us. The choice is yours, but make it quickly." Steve then shuts off the intercom and pushes away from the desk.
"Women and children are secure," Bucky says from behind him. Steve jumps a little and turns around, blushing. The brunet graces him with a small smile and reaches out his hand. "Let's go see how they're doing out there."
They walk through the store hand-in-hand, surveying the damage. It doesn't look like more than five human lives were lost, where as the floors are littered with Infected corpses. Steve's heart is still pounding when he sees Natasha and Sam standing with Tony, Thor, Bruce, Sharon, and Maria. The doors are barricaded with dressers and chairs and night stands. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax.
But as Steve allows Bucky to lead him down towards their friends, he realises something.
They're trapped.
His throat closes up and his brain screams at him to get out, but he knows that would be stupid. They’re all safer in here than they would be out there.
“That was a nice speech,” Sam says, coming up to him. “Did you write it down first?” And Steve can't help but laugh, which must have been Sam’s intention because he relaxes. He also glances down at Steve and Bucky’s hands, still clasped. Steve just shrugs at him. Natasha looks pleased.
Except it doesn’t mean anything.
They’re in the middle of a fucking apocalypse and Bucky only wants him because there’s no one else to want.
Or maybe Bucky doesn’t want him at all. Maybe the hand-holding is platonic and only for reassurance.
Either way, Steve is making himself sad, so he decides to focus on more important things. They have to do inventory and find sleeping places and take a headcount. They have to find a place to store the bodies. They have to establish rules, they have to . . . God, they have to do everything.
“So what now, oh Fearless Leader?” Tony asks, smirking. Steve fixes him with a hard glare and looks over at Natasha.
“Nat, do inventory of the food we have,” he tells her. She nods, and takes off. “Sam, toiletries. Bruce, pharmacy. Tony, electronics. Thor, find sleeping places for everyone. Clear out the clothing sections so they have a carpeted place to set up. Then go get all the bedding you can find and hand it out. Sharon, go gather everyone and figure out who is allergic to what and what medicines everyone is on. If they have a mental illness, if they’re sick, if they have asthma. Make a list.” Everyone goes their separate ways, leaving Maria and Bucky standing next to him.
“We need to make contact with the outside world,” Maria says to him. Steve nods.
“I’ll get Tony on that as soon as we figure everything else out.” Maria nods heads off to help out where she can. Steve looks over at Bucky and realises that he’s still bleeding.
“Let’s go get your arm cleaned up, yeah?” he asks. Bucky nods, but then stops and takes Steve’s face in his hands.
“I know you're worrying, so don’t,” Bucky murmurs, looking deep into Steve’s eyes. “You’re doing the right thing. And I'm with you. Till the end of the line.” Bucky smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and Steve is no longer sure what’s going on between them, but he doesn’t care. They don’t need a label. They can just be.
So Steve leads Bucky over to the pharmacy section of the store and cleans up his arm, thinking that as long as he has Bucky, as long as he has his friends, this might be okay.
He might just survive this.