Work Text:
Steve’s used to waking up in less-than-pleasant ways. He’d been a soldier, after all, no matter how little the army had wanted him to be anything other than a showpony.
So, all things considered, it’s not the most surprising that it could be, waking up with a hand crushing his windpipe. It’s not like he didn’t think something was going to happen after Fury’s warning, though he’d thought it would be after he refused to cooperate with whoever’s replacing him. Not something to think about now, of all times; Steve acts on instinct even before his eyes are open, kicking up and feeling as though he makes contact with a brick wall for all the good it does him. Something else then, anything to dislodge his attacker and get enough breath that he can think clearly. He rolls to the side and off the bed, using its weight as well as his own to force the arm holding him into an awkward angle where it’ll either break or pull back. The attacker chooses the latter, and Steve gasps in a breath, two breaths, opens his eyes —
And sees Bucky looking back at him.
“What the fuck?” Steve says, and Bucky looks at him with blank eyes, a black mask covering the rest of his face so Steve can’t make out whatever expression is there. “How are you not dead — hrk —”
He’s more startled by the hand coming from Bucky than he was when it was a completely unknown assailant. But he’s awake enough to catch more details than he could before. The hand on his throat is metal. It’s still the dead of night. He’s still in his apartment. Bucky doesn’t recognize him, because he would never do this if he did. Not with this much force, anyway, it was always a lot more playful than —
Steve panics and headbutts Bucky.
He’s pretty sure he breaks his own face more than he breaks Bucky’s, but it’s enough to get him free again, and then Steve’s off. He’s never run from a fight when he could avoid it before, much to Bucky’s consternation, but whatever Bucky is now is strong and willing to murder him, which means Steve wants him as far from any civilians as he can get him. Out of his apartment and to the roof, and then…shit, he’ll figure something out.
Steve doesn’t hear Bucky following him, but a quick glance back confirms not only that he is, but that he’s a lot closer than Steve thought. He ducks another attempt at a grab and faces forward, though the look back was enough to confirm that Bucky’s well-armed.
Why isn’t he just shooting Steve? Not that Steve’s not glad he isn’t, but clearly trying to kill him isn’t an issue. Why just with his own hands? It’s kind of — oh, nope, not thinking about that now, either.
Steve turns to face Bucky once they make it to the roof, glad that DC’s chilly outside tonight rather than the heat and humidity that’ve been lingering the past few weeks. The whole situation feels dreamlike enough without that. Bucky stops once Steve faces him, but there’s still that same blank look in his eyes. A standoff, not a conversation.
But it’s not like Steve can’t at least try. “Bucky,” Steve says, tone more like he’d use to talk to a wild animal than an old friend. “How are you here?”
Bucky doesn’t answer. He also doesn’t lunge forward and try to kill Steve again, which is what he’d been worried he might do. He just…stares. Stares with murderous intent, sure, but that’s all.
“Kind of unnerving,” Steve says, trying to inject a little levity into his tone. “You not talking for this long, I mean. You used to be a regular chatterbox.”
Bucky blinks. It’s the most non-murder reaction Steve’s seen from him in—God, a half-century. He tenses again when Steve takes an instinctive step closer, so he stops, holding his hands up to show he’s not going to fight him.
“'Course, I always used to talk enough for both of us, anyway,” Steve babbles, almost unaware of what he’s saying, hoping for another sign of life from Bucky. “And to people I shouldn’t. You always said I was gonna end up in trouble you couldn’t save me from one day, and then it turned out the other way around. You asshole.”
Bucky blinks again. Steve thinks he can see the faintest outrage in the furrow of his brow. Steve almost wants to cry at the sight, but he’s not sure how this new Bucky would react to it. There’s something almost feral about him even in the tight control of his movements, especially in the tight control of his movements. He reminds Steve a little of the dogs everyone knew were for fighting no matter how much their owners denied it, pulling taut at their leashes and baring their teeth, all but daring someone to get close and see what’d come of it.
Steve had always wanted to. Not to get bit or to do something dumb as fight a dog, but to see what they’d do free of that leash. Turn on their owners, if he was lucky. Run free, even if only until they were caught again. Bucky’d never let him, muttering that of course he’d be fool enough to invite getting mauled by a dog, just Bucky’s luck, huh?
“Look, I don’t know what’s happening with you, but I’m not gonna leave you now I know you’re here,” Steve says. “So you might as well tell me, Bucky.”
“Bucky,” Bucky says, the voice muffled and oddly intoned behind the mask. “Who the hell is Bucky?”
Oh, boy.
Things at S.H.I.E.L.D. are off, after that, but it doesn't descent into hostility the way he'd thought it would. People seem almost scared of him. For reasons other than the super-strength, he means, since he's used to that moment of hesitation before people shake his hand. No, he'll feel eyes on the back of his head and turn to find a dozen staffers he doesn't know well staring at him.
He'd like to imagine it has nothing to do with Bucky, but he kind of doubts it.
Bucky hasn't left. When Steve leaves his apartment, Bucky follows him, but not staying at his side like a friend might or trailing him like a bodyguard. He's there one moment and gone the next, but he appears the moment they're alone again. Even in the middle of what should be one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the country, Steve steps into a room for some peace and quiet and Bucky's there next to him.
Steve's always relieved to see him. It's been so long (practically an entire century, technically) and he's not the man he used to be, but he's still Steve's Bucky, and he's still here. He's always here, really. Steve goes to sleep and Bucky lies at the foot of his bed, always awake when Steve falls asleep and when he opens his eyes again in the morning. Steve heads to the bathroom and feels his friend looming, even if he doesn't see him. People in the streets steer clear of him, and Steve turns to see...no one, but knows that Bucky's close somehow, anyway.
It's everything Steve could have asked for after Bucky fell. He'd have given anything.
That's not to say it's without its issues. Bucky lying in his bed like his dog makes something awful happen in Steve's guts, all longing and hunger. It's not an unfamiliar feeling. They'd spent plenty of nights at each other's homes when they were growing up, after all, and Steve felt this same thing then. What if he reached out across whatever gap was between them in the bed they were sharing? He couldn't imagine Bucky ever leaving him, but he couldn't imagine it going well, either. Bucky was charming and the girls all loved him, so why the hell would he need to tie himself to Steve in an even more dangerous way than the way he always followed Steve into danger?
It's hard to picture what would happen here, too. Steve always feels like Bucky's a second from strangling him if he moves too quickly. Something in his eyes, maybe. The whites of them show a lot, that hit-dog look that makes Steve's gut twist.
With disgust, obviously. Nothing else at all. (He almost believes himself.)
This equilibrium lasts longer than it probably should, which means that Steve lets himself get complacent. Stupid. It's just that he always feels safe with Bucky, even when Bucky's the reason he's in danger.
That is to say, the second assassination attempt comes as a surprise.
Steve doesn't wake up with a hand around his throat this time. Instead, his ears ring and he coughs out a cloud of dust before he even opens his eyes to see that the wall of his building's been blown out and there are armed, masked men streaming into his apartment. Bucky's already up and vicious. Steve can't help but take a second just to watch how he moves, smooth, utterly assured of his own combat acumen.
But it's a lot of men, and it takes only a moment for Bucky to all but disappear in the crowd of men. Steve grabs his shield then and gets into the fray himself.
His shield to their head, a kick to a gut, Bucky taking that advantage to slam his metal fist into someone's skull with a sickening crunch so the person crumples like a puppet with its strings cut. It feels good to fight beside Bucky again, but it's yet another reminder that this isn't his Bucky. (His friend, his friend. He has to remember that.) Still, with both of them it's easy, and the apartment's full of nothing but them and the knocked out and the dead.
"I don't suppose you know who these are," Steve asks, resigned to more silence. Bucky hasn't spoken except for that first time.
Bucky tilts his head and opens his mouth. Steve's heart thrills.
As it turns out, one of the attackers isn't actually fully out yet. There's another resounding boom and Steve's thrown back through another wall and into his neighbors' place. He doesn't stop to see if they're okay, just barrels back through the him-shaped hole to see Bucky.
No Bucky, though the attackers are definitely all dead now, given how none of them react even as flames lick up their body. Steve looks around, frantic, and sees...well, DC and the wide gap in the wall they'd created first.
Steve doesn't hesitate. He jumps down and aims for a couple branches to make the fall just painful and not life-threatening. It works, though Steve'll probably have to take a break from running for a day or two. Not that he'll be leaving Bucky's hospital bed anyway.
Because Bucky wasn't quite so lucky, and he's a mess. His metal arm seems okay, and none of his limbs are twisted in a direction they shouldn't be, but he seems like he might've hit his head on the way down. It's only a few floors, so it might not kill him, but it's got to be bad, especially with whatever else was going on with him before.
Steve picks him up bridal style and jogs away. Every step is agony, but they've got to get the hell away from his place. There has to be somewhere safe they can get to. Not Fury's place...Natasha's, maybe? Sam's?
They've not gotten even a mile away before Bucky stirs, opening his eyes. It's not the same near-feral look as before, just confused like he used to be if Steve ever woke him a little too early. "Huh...where am...?"
"Bucky!" Steve doesn't stop moving, but he gives Bucky a wide smile. "We're getting somewhere safe. It'll be fine."
"Who the hell is Bucky?"
Steve sighs. "You. You..." He flounders, unsure what happened to him before, actually, so he sticks with the simpler answer. "You hit your head."
Bucky nods, which is more Bucky-like than he has been, even though his expression twinges with pain when he moves. "I'm Bucky. I'm yours?"
If this were back then, before things got so complicated, Steve would say yes and then poke fun later when Bucky woke up enough to know how sappy he's being. "Yeah, Buck. You're mine." Because they've always been each other's, haven't they? Never saw Steve without Bucky, never saw Bucky without Steve. Living in each other's pockets even if they were only ever friends.
Bucky relaxes in his arms. It wasn't difficult to carry him before, but it does make it easier. At least, until Bucky nuzzles his head against Steve's chest like an affectionate cat which makes Steve nearly trip over his own feet. "Feels right," Bucky says. It's not flirtatious. Steve could handle flirtatious; he'd had to build an immunity after so long spent with him. It's just...self-assured, utterly sure of his own conclusion. And Steve's, he supposes; I'm yours has a different meaning than what he meant.
He should clarify. But it's just...it's been so long. They'll have to get Bucky his mind back somehow anyway. If Bucky followed him around as some kind of super-assassin, he won't leave Steve for a little white lie like this. Besides, Bucky said it felt right. Steve always wondered if Bucky ever felt anything similar to he did, and now he's got his confirmation that at least one version of him does. If anything, it'd be crueler of Steve to take away the first thing that got Bucky to talk, wouldn't it? Steve'll stay by his side just as much.
"Yeah, Buck," Steve says. He feels guilty about the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he's felt guilty about Bucky every moment since he first fell, so he shakes it off. "I've got you."