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[pnmrks]

it always ends in a fight

Steve’s words rocked Bucky to his core. He took two short steps toward the cabin and leaned a shoulder there, his arms crossed tightly. Steve’s eyes stayed trained on the ground, hands tucked securely into his pockets. The crowd was gathering out front by the lake for Tony’s send off, but suddenly Bucky wished to be anywhere else.

“You can’t be serious,” he finally said. “You’re joking.”

“Someone has to take them back, Buck,” Steve said.

Words: 1516

read it on AO3 or below the cut

in which bucky knew

“Why does it have to be you?” Bucky stepped away from the cabin and let his hands drop to his sides. “Why does it always have to be you? Why is it, that every time you get a chance to rest, you have to jump back into the fight?”

“Buck—”

“No, listen to me.” Bucky stared at Steve until he lifted his gaze. “You said you might not make it back. What does that mean? Banner made it sound easy, like he’s got it down to a science. What’s the concern?”

Steve exhaled slowly and turned away from Bucky, toward the cars that lined the lane leading up the Stark residence. Bucky wanted to scream, demand answers, but he bit his tongue and waited for the answer he was dreading.

“I thought maybe...” Steve said. “Maybe I could stick around and make a few things right. More than just the stones.”

Bucky had to close his eyes to stop the scream from leaving his lips. His hands curled into fists and the burning in his throat had become unbearable. When he opened his eyes to see Steve still only half-facing him, his vision was blurred.

“Why?”

It was the only thing he could think to say. Steve shook his head and took a step closer, but Bucky reflexively stepped back.

“Why can’t you just rest? Why can’t it be over?” Bucky wanted to reach out and shake him by his shoulders. “You’ve lost so much, Steve. Why isn’t this enough? What’s left, what’s here?”

Steve let out a huff and crossed his arms. His tone was even, but tight.

“It’s just something I have to do.”

Bucky shook his head and rubbed his chin. His tears hadn’t spilled over, but they were certainly still threatening to.

“Is there anything else?” Steve said. “The service will be starting soon.”

Bucky scoffed and threw up his hands. That was it, then. End of discussion.

“No, I think it’s fine if we leave it at that,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “Please, just… Think about this.”

“I have, Buck,” Steve said. This time, he sounded a bit softer, a bit more sympathetic to Bucky’s frustrations. “And it’s something that I have to do.”

Bucky watched as Steve turned his back and walked back around the side of the cabin, his hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his dress pants. There was a gaping, aching hole in his chest. He didn’t know how he could go follow after Steve and pretend that the prior discussion had been normal or acceptable in any way.

He swung out with his metal arm and left a scar in one of the planks of the cabin. He could hardly muster the energy to be embarrassed when he looked up and locked eyes with Bruce Banner, who was peeking around the corner where Steve had left.

“Hey,” Bruce said. “Everything alright? It looked a little intense.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes and cast his gaze elsewhere.

“It was,” Bucky spat. He crossed his arms and looked back to Bruce, his shoulders a bit slumped. “I’m sorry. I’m not… Thank you for checking in.”

Bruce offered a soft smile and took a few more steps forward.

“It’s alright, I get it,” he said. “I take it you aren’t happy about Steve taking the stones back.”

Bucky didn’t know how to respond. The stones weren’t the issue, not really. If he thought he could trust Steve to take them back and come home, his frustration would be existent but not as furious. But he knew Steve, and he knew what this meant.

“Yeah,” he said in the silence while he struggled for the words. “It’s… It’s not the stones, really. If I knew less about the way he does things, I might believe him when he says he’ll be right back. But… I know him. When he says he might not make it back, it’s not just a formality.”

“I see.” Bruce scratched his chin and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there is a chance he doesn’t make it back. We saw that in New York, it’s half the reason we got redirected—”

“But you know it, too,” Bucky said.

Bruce looked at him, then, really locked eyes with him, and let out a long sigh.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Who are we to stop him? After everything, maybe he deserves a vacation.”

“That’s not—” Bucky ran a hand through his hair and looked back at the mark his metal hand had left in the cabin’s exterior. “He does. We all do. But not… not like this. He’s running. He’s always running from something.”

“Maybe,” Bruce said, a thoughtful expression carved into his green skin. “Tell you what, if you can change his mind, I’ll take the stones back myself. I offered to do it already, but he insisted.”

“Of course he did.”

Bruce chuckled and slapped a heavy, green hand onto Bucky’s shoulder.

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a scoff. “We’ll see if he’ll even participate in the conversation after the one we just had.”

The funeral was smooth enough, as funeral’s go. Bucky had spent a little too much time sulking, and ended up standing toward the back with Sam and Wanda. He couldn’t help but feel like he belonged there instead of in the front of the group with Steve. After everything that had happened, after Siberia, he wasn’t sure he could bear the idea of holding that space.

Steve seemed to cope with it well. Maybe it was in anticipation of what was to come.

The misty-eyed crowd broke off into smaller groups that convened at the waterfront to watch the sunset. Bucky caught Steve’s eye and the two of them managed to slip away to their own corner of the lake front to finish their discussion.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He placed a firm hand on Bucky’s human arm and smiled earnestly. “I shouldn’t have just… dropped that on you. I guess I was expecting… I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m sorry, Buck.”

“I just want you to put more thought into this,” Bucky said. He searched Steve’s face for any sign that he would budge on the issue and found nothing. “I want you to stay, Steve. Stay here with me and Sam and Wanda and… and everyone. Stay.”

“Bucky—”

“Bruce and I talked.” He couldn’t keep his words to himself if he tried. “He said that he offered to do this and he still would if you’d let him. Please, Steve. Whatever you’re running from, we’ll help you. The way you helped me. When I didn’t know who I was and all I knew how to do was run.”

Steve dropped his hand from Bucky’s arm and offered a flat smile. His eyes darted around Bucky’s face. Maybe he was searching for some understanding, too. Bucky didn’t have the heart to feel sorry that he wouldn’t find it.

“I’ve made up my mind, Buck.” Steve said. Though the words were expected, they still hit Bucky square in the gut. “I’m doing this. But I promise you, I’ll be back. I will do everything in my power to make it back.”

Bucky shook his head and turned away, looking toward the sinking sun. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to think of anything he could say to guilt Steve into staying. He knew what Steve would do when he got back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. He'd made the mistake of recounting the experience to Bucky, who could read the excitement and pain on his face like an open book.

“You have to go back for her,” Bucky muttered. “Even after she told you to move on.”

“Buck—”

“No, like you said,” Bucky turned back to him, jaw clenched and shoulders set. “It’s something you have to do. You have to know. I get it. It’s the uncertainty that you’re running from. You don’t think you can live with it, so you’re risking everything to know.”

“I…” Steve blinked. He looked like he wanted to take a step back. “Yeah, that’s… Yes. That’s exactly it.”

Bucky nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

“You can’t just rest. You can’t just be happy with what you have left.”

He took one last long look at Steve before he brushed past him, headed back toward the dock. Sam caught his eye for a moment, but quickly turned away.

“Buck…”

He stopped and half-turned back to Steve.

“There’s nothing else to say, buddy,” Bucky said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[pnmrks]

Brooklyn, Brooklyn

“I and Love and You” by the Avett Brothers is the ultimate stucky anthem end of discussion 

“three words that became hard to say” 

ao3 or below the cut

The days since Sarah Rogers’ death seemed to drag on for weeks, if not decades. By the time the funeral had finally come and gone, Bucky was sure that Steve had aged several years. In a way, he really had.

As the realization was beginning to hit them, how alone Steve truly was, they both began to feel suffocated by the weight of it all.

Bucky spent every night he could on the Rogers’ couch, waiting for Steve to need something, anything. Though they both knew he was too stubborn to ever ask for help, Bucky wouldn’t give up.

“You don’t have to keep sleeping here, Buck.” Steve stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed and shoulders slumped. “No use wasting your time here with me before you ship out. You should be with your family.”

Bucky rolled onto his side, arms still crossed over his chest. He gave Steve a once-over.

“I am with my family.”

Steve was clearly caught off guard by the statement, but it didn’t show in much more than a slight widening of his eyes. Bucky waited for him to say something and remained unmoving on the couch. Nothing came.

“I don’t want you to be here alone, Steve. I’ll stick around as long as I can, but I can only help if you tell me what you—”

“Yeah, well, we both know that’s not going to happen,” Steve said in a huff as he pushed off the wall and moved over to the couch. He pushed Bucky’s feet aside and settled in on the opposite end, his body nearly consumed by the cushions. “I’m fine here, Buck. I just need… time, I guess.”

“That’s alright. That’s normal.” Bucky grunted as he pulled himself up and stretched out his stiff shoulders. “I’m just worried about what you’re going to do around here after I leave.”

The two friends shared a glance, a mutual understanding settling between them.

“I’ll find something,” Steve said. His eyes fell to his lap. “I’ll… figure something out. Always do.”

“Steve.”

“No, I will, Buck. You don’t have to—”

“Steve.” Bucky turned so he could face his friend full-on. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to worry about… that. The fighting.” Steve shook his head once and tangled his fingers together tightly. “I’m not that stupid.”

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky murmured. “I just don’t want you to fall into a slump. That’s all. Maybe you can stay with my folks until I get back, you know?”

Steve sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

“Bucky, I already told you I’ll be—”

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in his seat. He’d reached his limit of Steve’s stubborn nature this week.

“Look, we both know I’m not leaving here until we figure something out, so how about you drop the act?”

A pang of guilt immediately racked through Bucky’s entire body when he saw the change in Steve’s face. He seemed to deflate more than Bucky thought possible. It had only been four days since the kid had to see his mother put in the ground. Maybe he was nagging too much, pushing too hard.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. His voice was much softer as he moved down the couch and threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Stevie. You know, I can’t help it. I know there was some time to prepare for this but it still came way too fast and—”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. He hadn’t moved at all, hardly even acknowledge Bucky’s touch. “Way too fast.”

“And I’m… scared for you.”

It was Bucky’s turn to pretend like he didn’t know his friend’s eyes were on him. He could almost hear Steve’s taunting voice.

Bucky Barnes, scared. I can’t believe it.

“Buck—”

“I can’t have you going and killing yourself while I’m gone.”

The words were finally out, and even Bucky was surprised that they had fallen out of his mouth. He’d been hanging onto them so tightly, biting his tongue so consistently. But now they hung in the small space that was left between him and Steve, suddenly more real than just a recurring fear that had haunted Bucky since Steve started getting rejected from the Army.

“You think I’d do that?” Steve had turned away from Bucky’s arm around his shoulders, but he turned back, his brow furrowed deeply and lips pressed in a tight line. “Buck, you think I’d do that to you?”

“Don’t—” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it about me. It’s not… I’m worried about you.”

“It’s always about you,” Steve said quietly. He dropped his chin to his chest. “Always.”

Bucky’s heart wrenched.

“Hey…” He leaned into Steve again, tried to get some eye contact. “Hey, don’t say that, alright? You know you’re not really invisible, right? Steve.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve said. He shook his head and stood from the couch. “Nevermind. Forget it.”

“Hey.” Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand reflexively. “Hey, come on. What is it?”

Steve sighed and turned his hand over in Bucky’s. Neither of them shied away from the touch and a sad smile pulled at the corners of Steve’s mouth.

“It’s always about you…” Steve took a heavy breath and closed his eyes. “For me. It’s always about you, for me.”

Bucky shook his head, still trying to grasp what exactly Steve was trying to say.

“Buck…” Steve opened his eyes and pressed his lips together. “Everything I know about life, about myself, about… other stuff… it’s all because of you. It’s all… you’re just…”

“Hey, hey, hey, get over here,” Bucky said. He pulled Steve back down to the couch and wrapped both his arms around him just as he started to fall apart. “Come here, come here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

He rocked back and forth slowly, still trying to wrap his head around what exactly Steve was trying to say. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to understand, not right at that moment. They still had some time before Bucky left, and they’d have all the time in the world when he got home.

“Just breathe, okay? Take a deep breath, Steve. I’ve got you,” Bucky said. He tilted his head down and rest his nose on the top of Steve’s head. Steve’s shaking shoulders relaxed a bit and Bucky could feel his breathing slow and deepen. “There you go. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

[pnmrks]

MALICIOUS (HYDRA x OC)

❝They forced her to be ruthless, cruel, and malicious. That's exactly what she became.❞ 

In which we learn more about the girl S.H.I.EL.D. couldn't keep up with and HYDRA left behind.

This story is a spin-off from my story, “Cruel Intentions,” and was a Camp NaNoWriMo project for April 2019 with a word count goal of 10,000 words.

AVAILABLE ON AO3 AND WATTPAD.

[pnmrks]

Cruel Intentions (Bucky Barnes)

❝She had nothing but cruel intentions.❞

In which he is on an unstable path to recovery and she will stop at nothing to drive him off the rails

Read more on AO3, Wattpad, or below the cut. 

[ plot adopted from tinkertaydust on wattpad. ]

(gif courtesty of yesalltheships)

There was nothing pure about Savannah King. Everything she touched turned to ash. All her life she had wanted to destroy. Even as a child, she had an insatiable hunger for destruction. Her parents could see the darkness in their pretty daughter's eyes and feared the worst.

The worst came when she set fire to their family home. She wanted to feel the fire lick at her skin and watch it tear their lives apart. She heard her parents screams in the early hours of the morning and watched in silence as the flames ripped open her own flesh.

Everything once normal about her vanished on the winds of smoke. Savannah became a murderer that night. Scars still littered her skin.

A long-forgotten organization paid her a visit before she had even recovered from her self-inflicted injuries. They had been watching her for years, keeping tabs on her destructive tendencies.

Savannah didn't require their intensive brainwashing procedures or threats to comply to their bidding. All they had to do was place a body in front of her and she would sink her nails in because she had nothing but cruel intentions.

When a new face pops up in her life, a man they said had been asleep for many years, she couldn't help her own curiosity.

This man was from the past and blood tainted his soul.

She watched him grow. She watched them tear him down.  Over and over. He was strong, always fighting back. Savannah helped create the weapon that was The Winter Soldier. She enjoyed watching the torment they inflicted on his mind,  the way they ripped him apart and put him back together in the wrong order each time.

But when Bucky Barnes flips a switch, his memories come flooding back. Parts of his old soul fight to return to the surface,  and it's Savannah's chest that cracks open with pain.

The man she thought was her equal, the man she had always felt so connected to because she believed they shared the same dark heart, vanishes into thin air. It is her mission to find him and bring him back into the fold.

Dead or alive.

[pnmrks]

Save John Watson

PROMPT — John & Mary didn't have Rosie, but Mary is dead and John blames Sherlock. Sherlock blames himself, it's all a mess. Despite his underlying resentment toward Sherlock, John can't bear to live in the flat he and Mary shared. He's been living back at 221B but he and Sherlock rarely speak because of the tension between them regarding Mary's death. 

TW: suicide ideation/attempt, intense and severe emotional content.

Word Count: 2,573

Read it on Wattpad in my one shot book 

John took the stairs up to his bedroom with dragging, labored steps. It'd been a slow, long day, but he wasn't sure if it was the lack of patients or his own drudgery that made him feel that way. His work bag hit the floor with a thud, the open zipper allowing his spare clothes to spill onto the hardwood floor.

It was his first week back to work after Mary. It'd been two months. He hadn't had any intention of going back, ever, but Mrs. Hudson had been the one to push him.

"Oh John, but you love the clinic. You're a lovely doctor and you'll drive yourself mad if you keep sulking this way."

Sulking. He scoffed aloud as he lowered his aching body onto the edge of his mattress and worked at untying his shoes. This was more than sulking. It was more than grief and mourning.

John's days were filled with emotional rollercoasters. The hills were peak lividity, anger that burned white hot and made his entire skeleton vibrate. The valleys were deep, dark, cavernous pits of guilt that dragged him down like quicksand and the more he worked to get out, the deeper he fell in.

Nights were spent lying awake with his eyes glued to the ceiling because if he looked anywhere else, he was afraid of what he'd see in the shadows. The alternative was a blackout stupor, which Mrs. Hudson had expressed her discomfort with on multiple occasions.

He'd started sleeping with headphones in because when he didn't, he could hear Sherlock walking the floors at all hours of the night.

More than once, John had been jolted awake by a creaking at the stairs, and he had been positive that Sherlock was standing there on the landing watching him sleep. Nothing ever came of it. John still slept with the door closed after that.

There had been days that he had to walk past Sherlock to get to bed, or to fetch a cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson had called them both down for. Those days were starting to get closer and closer together. John had to think it was entirely Mrs. Hudson's doing.

Despite her efforts, a single word still hadn't been exchanged between the two since John had asked if he could move back into his room.

"Don't shoot me if you hear me take the stairs tonight."

"Hmm?"

"I'll be coming back tonight. Don't shoot me."

"Ah, right."

"Mm. Right, then."

At times, John wanted to come home from work, walk into the living room, and sit down across from him. He wanted to brush it all off, forget any of it happened, and move on. He wanted his life back.

When he thought too hard about wanting those things, the anger flared up again and John found himself uncomfortable even being in the same building as Sherlock. He didn't want to blame him the way he did. He didn't want to hate his best friend.

"John, love?" He jumped at Mrs. Hudson calling from the bottom of the stairs. "Did you want that cuppa? I've just put the kettle on."

"That's all right, Mrs. H," he said, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank you."

John had been sitting on the edge of his worn-down mattress with his handgun for twenty minutes. With shaking breaths and trembling hands, he'd pressed it to his head in every way possible. Against his temple, under his chin, against the roof of his mouth. Each time, his finger hovered over the trigger, but he didn't have the gall to pull it. Finally, he gave up.

The flat was still silent. The sun was setting. The evening was coming to a close. A gunshot would make noise, cause a disturbance. Not to mention the mess.

The thought of Mrs. Hudson coming upstairs to discover his befouled room made him sick. He didn't want to think about Anderson cleaning his brain matter off the ceiling and walls when the police got there. Or Molly, conducting his post-mortem and having to cover his head because she couldn't stand to see him in that state.

"Christ," he muttered, finally finding it in himself to hit the safety and discard the weapon onto the floor. He'd never thought it'd be this hard or come with such an emotional burden.

John had always imagined his own death as being fast, painless, over in a blink of an eye, no questions asked, no extended thought processes involved. There was no need to for dramatics or a note or a body that could be shown at an open casket funeral.

He always thought that choosing to end his own life would be just that: his choice. A selfish choice without consequence because he'd be gone and it wouldn't fucking matter anymore. But there he was, thinking about the ins and outs of what putting a bullet in his head would do for the people around him. He'd be burdening them even after he'd gone, and that was enough to put him off.

He and Sherlock had investigated suicides before, messy ones in particular. Often they turned out to be murders. Regardless, everyone close to the deceased was utterly traumatized and even though he didn't want to, John couldn't help but think about his friends going through the same thing.

And he hated that. He hated that in the process of trying to kill himself, he was still sitting there trying to give himself permission to do that to his friends.

He decided to sleep seemed a much easier option. Less noise, no mess. Less likely that whoever found him when it was over would be wrecked forever by the image of his mutilated corpse.

"I tried, love, but I'm sure he's caught onto us by now." Mrs. Hudson heaved a heavy sigh and discarded John's unclaimed cup of tea. "He will come around, you know."

Sherlock's pointer finger traced around the edge of the teacup, the lukewarm liquid inside untouched. He wasn't quite used to feeling so helpless, so unsure of what the right course of action was.

"I'm beginning to doubt him," he said without thinking, then caught himself, tripping over his tongue. "Not him, of course. But perhaps the state of our—Whatever's left of—"

She was at Sherlock's side in a moment, squeezing his free hand between both of hers.

"Sherlock, won't you just speak to him?"

"Oh, don't be foolish, Mrs. Hudson. If John had any interest in—" He caught himself again, bringing his dull gaze up to the woman standing above him. "This is really how this works, isn't it? He pretends to resent me but really he's waiting for me to speak first?"

Mrs. Hudson gave him a small smile and patted the back of his hand before she returned to her puttering.

"I do believe he's the one who told you he'd be coming back."

"Oh, that doesn't count! That—"

"It's your move, Sherlock, dear." She flipped a dish towel over her shoulder and turned her back. "Now, get on with it won't you? I expect to be eating together like civilized adults by morning."

Sherlock took the stairs slowly, cautiously, trying his hardest not to drag his heels. There were so many times he crossed the landing in front of John's room and paused, just for a moment, to consider the very thing he was about to do. He'd only had to reach out to John a select few times. The last time he'd done so was immediately after Mary's death, and he had been rejected with a stinging,  "don't you dare."

He hadn't tried again since.

But now, Sherlock had every intention of extending a hand to John, to pull him back from whatever dark place he'd fallen into over the course of the last several weeks. John had done it so many times for Sherlock, and perhaps that was the only thing helping him swallow his pride now.

He cleared his throat, knuckles grazing the wood of John's bedroom door. Sherlock gave two gentle knocks that were met with silence.

"Uh, John, I-I know you're in there, you just called down to Mrs. Hudson not an hour ago. If you don't mind, I'd like to... Talk."

Silence. Sherlock raked a hand through his hair, torn between storming back downstairs or barging in.

"Well, I'm opening the door now. I understand you're angry with me, but please don't shoot..."

As the door slid open and light was cast across the floor and onto the bed, Sherlock's stomach flipped and immediately heaved. In the first few moments, he was sure that he'd disturbed John in the middle of sleeping. By the next moment, he realized that John was entirely too still, too relaxed to have just laid down and fallen asleep. As he crossed the room with numb legs and heavy feet, Sherlock sent tiny, white pills skittering across the hardwood floor.

"John?" Sherlock managed a single syllable through his quickly-closing throat, but after that it came spilling out in a stream as he found himself at John's bedside, shaking him by the shoulders. "John. John... John? John!"

And finally, more words came, but Sherlock no longer recognized them as his own.

"MRS. HUDSON!"

She was already at the door, looking just as confused as Sherlock had been when he'd first entered. "Sherlock what in bloody—"

"Call an ambulance, NOW!"

While she screeched and ran for the phone, Sherlock continued to paw at John's limp form, looking for signs of hope. There's was hardly a pulse that Sherlock could locate with his trembling hands. There was no indication of vomit—no indication that John's body had rejected the shock to its system and tried to save him. No indication that there was any time at all to wait for an ambulance to arrive in central London.

"They won't be here fast enough," Sherlock muttered, already scooping John up and slinging him over his shoulder. He met Mrs. Hudson in the doorway again. This time there was no confusion. She was alternatively whimpering and wailing at Sherlock, demanding to know what he was doing. "They won't be here! I have to—"

"What, you have to what?!" She shrieked, following after him as he took the stair two at a time on the way down, John's head bobbing behind him. She caught up with him in the living room and managed to grab an arm and slow him down in the hallway. "Sherlock Holmes, if you don't—"

"You'll not want to witness this, please just trust me."

Sherlock ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He gently laid John in the bathtub, his skin looking eerily similar to the porcelain. Sherlock took only a moment to close his eyes and collect himself, to force himself to stay focused on what had to happen and block out Mrs. Hudson's weeping on the other side of the door.

"Right now, John. It seems your body isn't doing the best job trying to save your life," Sherlock whispered. He sat John up as straight as he could get him, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso. "So, I suppose I'll have to help it along. There's no easy or clean way to do this, so apologies in advance for making sure you survive."

With his free hand, he reached up and turned on the showerhead, blasting them both with cold water. With chattering teeth and shaking hands, Sherlock secured himself and pushed two fingers to the back of John's throat. The reaction was delayed, but moments later, the contents of John's stomach were washing off his lap and down the drain.

"Come on, now, John." Sherlock leaned further into the tub, sitting him up, slapping his cheeks. "Come on."

Another wave of vomit came before John was caught in a coughing fit.

"I know, I know," Sherlock hummed. "It's okay. You're okay now."

John reached for nothing, still unconscious, but much more alive. Sherlock pushed his hands back down and held them there, if only for his own sake.

"It's all right. Take your time. Take your time, just breathe."

The rising and falling of John's chest were much more noticeable, much more normal. Sherlock kept an arm wrapped around him and the water on. He was not out of danger, but at the very least, what was left of the poison was running down the drain. Through chattering teeth, he continued to remind John that it was all okay now, that there was no hurry, that it would all get sorted out. He just had to hang in there for the ambulance.

"Yes, right in there! Oh, please, please hurry!"

Though he heard them coming, Sherlock was still stunned when two paramedics burst in the bathroom door. He was pushed aside, though he was still latched onto John. As they pulled him off, Sherlock thought he felt John's fingers tighten around his own, if only for a moment. That was enough for him to back out of the room and let them go to about their work.

"He will be all right, you know," Lestrade muttered. He stood beside Sherlock, just outside of John's hospital room. "You did the right thing by not waiting."

"I know." Sherlock adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. The condition of getting to stay so close to John while the monitored him, which he didn't entirely mind. He was sure they'd both been hypothermic. A chill still ran through his bones. "Can't trust London police or ambulances with a damn thing."

"Sherlock."

"Oh, don't take it personally."

"No, Sherlock." Lestrade stepped in front of him, forcing his focus away from John's sleeping body. "He'll be all right. Unconscious for a day or two probably, but—"

"Thank you, George, I don't need a medical lesson. We just went over that I was the one who saved his life."

Lestrade sighed heavily and stepped aside again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, resigning from the discussion for now. Silence settled over them while they watched nurses attach seemingly endless IVs to John.

"Well I think I'll be getting back to Mrs. Hudson now," Sherlock said. Lestrade turned to him, shocked.

"You're sure? I can head over there, make sure she's—"

"Like you said, he'll be unconscious. I'll come back tomorrow after I've taken care of the hysteria that waits for me back on Baker Street." Sherlock had already turned away. "If he wakes before I make it back here, don't tell him what happened."

"Wait, Sherlock—"

He turned back, a sudden sadness in his eyes. "I'll tell him when we speak. But please, Greg. Let him hear it from me."

"R-right. Right, yes, of course." Clearing his throat and shaking off his shock, Lestrade straightened his back and gave Sherlock a nod. "Try and get some sleep."

"Never do," Sherlock called as he disappeared around the corner.

[pnmrks]

pizza one shot

PROMPT: a snarky introvert, the basement of a pizza place, and a mysterious piece of metal.

Steve wasn’t sure how long the long-haired man had been sitting alone in the corner booth. All he knew was that it was late and his t-shirt was covered in salt stains and he wanted to go home. He didn’t want to kick the poor guy out because it didn’t really seem like he had anywhere else to go, so he saved cleaning his table for last.

“Hey there,” The man didn’t look up. “If you don’t mind…” Steve motioned toward the shiny, red surface of the table where the man rested his arms, but he didn’t get a response.

His head was down, hair in his face, and he made no move to suggest he’d noticed the six-foot-two man standing beside him.

“Excuse me,” Steve tried again, this time touching the man’s shoulder with a cautious hand. The man nearly jumped out of his seat. Immediately Steve felt guilty as he pulled an earbud from each ear.

“Shit.” He shook his head to himself and wiped at the corners of his mouth. “Is it closing already? I think I fell asleep.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled quietly. After a short pause, he motioned to the table with the rag in his hand. “You mind?”

“By all means,” the stranger said before he pulled his stiff body from the booth. “You got a bathroom?”

“Yeah.” Steve pointed behind him to the green door painted “men’s” and watched as the dark-haired man disappeared.

It was strange how many nights Steve saw people like him around the shop after hours. In a place like Brooklyn, he wasn’t sure why there wasn’t something better to do than sit in a pizza place listening to music. Of all the places he’d been, the most interesting people always ended up under Steve’s nose here. By the time the stranger had emerged from the bathroom, Steve had turned off the “open” sign and begun stacking chairs.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” he started when he realized the man had taken to stacking the chairs as well.

“Just you here, right? Thought you could use the help. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Steve gave the man a once-over. He seemed to be pretty bundled up for the middle of a New York summer. He had near-shoulder-length hair and a face full of scruff that Steve thought had to be torturous given recent weather conditions.

As if his facial features weren’t dark and sharp enough, he was also dressed in a black pullover hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. Steve thought he had to be boiling under all that. He opened his mouth to comment, but decided to hold back on the account of tact.

They continued to stack chairs on top of tables in silence that was only broken by the staticky pop music playing in the back.

“Anemic,” he finally said. Steve stopped short, his back turned. “I do know that it’s a hundred degrees outside. I’m, uh, anemic… or whatever. So… I’m always cold.”

Steve turned his head and let his eyes dance across the man’s broad shoulders, bulky arms and sturdy legs. Hardly the picture of an iron deficiency. One eyebrow cocked, Steve allowed himself a smirk.

“Whatever works, man.”

He started back toward the counter in silence, more than ready to go home to his bed. It had been such a long day and he needed a nice, cold shower and more sleep than he was going to get.

“Hey, uh, did you pick up a wallet while I was in the can?”

Steve turned back around and rubbed his tired eyes until his vision was blurry. “No, sorry. Why? Are you missing one?”

The stranger patted himself down quickly and glanced back to the booth he’d been sitting in.

“Fuck, I guess I am.”

Everything in Steve was screaming at him to offer an apology and bid him goodnight. His limbs were heavy and the tried sweat on his shirt made the fabric stiff and uncomfortable. He smelled like a fryer.  He just wanted to lay down. Working at the pizza place had never made him this tired until recently. His doctor had attributed it to not sleeping enough and his friends liked to tease that it was old age creeping up on him.

Steve thought it was probably just depression, coming back in another wave like it always did and had been doing since his mother died. He was drained to the last drop, especially because it was the end of the week. Despite all that, something else in him couldn’t let the man leave.

“You said you’ve been here a while, right? Maybe you dropped it and somebody else picked it up before I got here. They probably tossed it downstairs.”

Gratefully, the man followed him into the back and down a set of rickety wooden stairs. It was much cooler in the basement, so Steve couldn’t bring himself to be completely miserable as he began to dig through the small cardboard box that sat amongst the crowded shelves and old furniture.

“You got a name?”

“James.”

“Steve.” He held up the only wallet he’d come across, black leather. “This you?”

Something resembling a smile painted across the stranger’s scruffy face as he sighed in relief and tucked the wallet into his back pocket. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure. Is there anything else I can do for…”

Steve paused upon seeing the glint of metal under the stranger’s sleeve. He studied him again, stared for a moment until he realized the man was wearing a glove on one hand. How had he missed that before?

This is it. This is how I die. In the basement of my dead-end job, shot in the head for trying to help a guy find his wallet.

“Look,” Steve chuckled nervously as he took a step back. His eyes scanned the room desperately for any kind of weapon. If this guy had a gun, a cardboard box full of long-forgotten belongings that no one ever came back for was not going to do him any good. A knife he could probably fight off and even survive some stab wounds if he was lucky. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll give you the key to the—”

“What?” James interjected, his face completely contorted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Steve gulped and rubbed the back of his neck, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He motioned shakily to the man’s left arm, where he thought he had seen something indicative of a murder weapon. James’ brow furrowed deeply, his right hand coming up to touch his left, as if he was trying to shield himself from Steve’s line of sight.

“I thought I… I don’t know… I—” Steve stuttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and struggling through the humiliation. “Look, it’s been a long day. I—I think we both should… leave… immediately… and never come back…”

When Steve mustered up the courage to meet James’ eye again, he saw something strange there. He looked troubled, confused, and just as tired as Steve felt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Honestly, I’m—”

Steve was cut off as the glove over James’ left hand slid off and revealed a shiny, silver-plated hand. It was nothing like Steve had ever seen before, at least not in the real world.

Sci-fi movies, maybe but never—

“I, ah… lost it… two years ago, I think? Maybe three, could be four. I don’t keep track anymore. Memory’s kind of going.” He swallowed thickly and Steve flinched when the fingers flexed. “Overseas. We got blown to shit.” He clicked his tongue and even laughed a little. “I got the least of it. There wasn’t a ton they could do other than amputate, you know? They kept telling me I was lucky because some of the guys—”

He stopped when he saw how intensely Steve was staring at him.

“Anyway.” James sighed. “That Tony Stark guy in New York? He got a hold of a bunch of us when we got home. Most of us didn’t want a damn thing to do with him, but I think some of his stuff is cool, you know? He’s kind of a genius so I thought I’d give him a chance. I signed up to be one of his guinea pigs and he gave me… this.”

Steve just blinked, still trying understand the words he was hearing. The man in front of him had been in the military, fought for his freedom, and Steve had just assumed the worst of him. Not only that, but this poor man also felt the need to explain his situation. Steve was overwhelmed, at a loss for words.

He had no idea what to say now that he’d made an ass of himself. What could he do? Buy the guy an apology pizza? Write “I’m sorry I assumed you were a psychopath” in pepperoni?

“Don’t worry about it.” James chuckled softly. “I shouldn't act so squirrely when people notice it. Just kind of attracts more attention.”

“Let me call you a cab,” Steve offered, desperate to make up for his foolishness. “Uber, something.”

James laughed and followed the blond back up into the pizza shop. “Really, it’s okay. My place isn’t that far.”

Steve’s cheeks were immediately tinged in pink.  “Okay then, I’ll walk you.”

What was he saying? His day had been long enough. Far too long. But there was no taking back his words now, and somehow he was okay with that.  

The two blue-eyed men stared at each other for a long moment before James cracked a warm smile and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I guess I can live with that.”

“So,” Steve offered quietly. “Have you lived here forever or did you decide on Brooklyn after the Army?”

James scoffed and ran his human fingers through a mess of unwashed hair. “Does anyone actually choose Brooklyn?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“What have you been doing since you’ve been home? You said it’s been a few years, right?”

James smiled a bit but it didn’t seem to touch his eyes. “A lot of drinking,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s really it. I tried to keep a job for a while but I… I’m not…”

“You’re not the same,” Steve said softly. “That’s normal and completely alright. You can’t force yourself into something you’re not ready to do. Neither can anyone else.”

Their pace slowed at the same time as they looked over at each other with an understanding. The rest of the walk was silent but comfortable, which was something James wasn’t used to feeling at all. Most silences were a result of people noticing his arm and it was always awkward. James had to admit, Steve’s reaction had been one-of-kind.

When they reached the door of James’ apartment, neither of them were sure what to do. Steve cleared his throat more than once as they stood awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“Well—” they said in unison before flushing and trying to laugh it off.

“Do um…” James chuckled. “Do you wanna… come up? I can make some coffee or something, give you a granola bar for the road…”

Steve smiled warmly and shook his head.

“No, really, that’s alright. You’ve—You helped with the chairs and everything, we can probably call it even.”

Despite Steve’s decline, neither of them moved.

“Well, you did stay over to dig for my wallet and you walked me home. So really, I owe you one. Come on up.”

They both knew that Steve wasn’t going to turn the offer down a second time but neither of them were exactly sure why. They were strangers and would probably continue to be strangers after tonight.

“Thanks.”

Steve sighed deeply as he took the steaming mug graciously from James’ hand. He was completely drained from the week and being able to sink into a soft couch with a warm cup of coffee was everything he needed. James flopped down on the opposite end and flicked on the TV.

“Any preference?”

“Oh, god, no,” Steve coughed as he recovered from practically choking on his coffee. “Don’t let me interrupt your night.”

James smirked and settled back against the cushions, his own cup clutched loosely in his metal fingers. For a while Steve couldn’t stop staring at the arm and he prayed that James wouldn’t notice, though he thought there was no way he couldn’t have.

After an hour of bad late night television, Steve had grown used to the quiet mechanical noises to his left that came with each sip of James’ coffee. He could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone focus on the TV or the super-arm.

Before he could even form the conscious thought to get up and walk himself home, Steve was slouched into the arm of the couch, drooling and snoring.

He awoke in the morning to a terribly stiff neck and an empty couch. As he looked around, mildly startled by his surroundings, the night before slowly came back to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Despite feeling terribly guilty and like he’d overstayed his welcome, it took Steve several moments to pry his stiff body from the soft piece of furniture. He found himself hovering awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, dazed.

He had to do something in return for crashing on a stranger's’ couch and he felt like making a pot of coffee definitely wasn’t sufficient.

James awoke to the smell of eggs frying and the sound of cups and plates clinking. He cautiously made his way out to the kitchen, beyond shocked to see Steve standing there. He was still pulling his t-shirt over his torso when the blond turned and noticed him standing there.

“Oh,.” Steve chuckled. “Hi… I was hoping you would—” He took a deep breath and spun in a full circle, spatula still in hand. “This is weird. This is very weird. I’m sorry. I—”  

“So, pizza isn’t your only talent.” James laughed quietly and crossed the room toward the stove. “May I?”

Steve flailed insistently toward the frying pan. James seemed impressed or at the very least flattered by Steve’s gesture of making breakfast.

“Looks awesome,” the long-haired man said. “Can’t wait.”

Steve turned back to the stove to hide the pink on his cheeks.

“This is great,” James laughed through his mouth full of scrambled eggs. “You should open a restaurant. Forget pizza, you could make a killing with this stuff.”

“Nah, it’s just eggs and pancakes. Nothing spectacular.” James practically choked on his food. Steve’s cheeks reddened as he looked down at his own plate. “Thank you though. I just… felt bad for crashing. You should have woken me up. I didn’t mean to—”

“First of all,” James coughed. “These eggs and pancakes nothing short of spectacular. Second, it’s not a big deal. You and Sam are friends, so I trust you.”

Steve was smiling and nodding along, mostly half listening until he heard Sam’s name. He immediately turned to look at Bucky, who didn’t seem to understand the significance.

“You know Sam?” Steve inquired. He was blown away by the connection, if not a little freaked out. “Wait, so—”

“Oh.” James snorted, realizing Steve’s reaction. “He—He must not have mentioned—That’s… Why would he, though? Sorry, I just… assumed, I guess.”

Steve was beyond confused at that point, completely dumbfounded. James was still stammering, which didn’t help much either.

“I just remember him talking about working at the pizza shop. His friend, Steve, this great guy. I was there last night waiting for him to show up, but I guess I passed out and missed him.”

The blond smiled fondly and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch. “No, you didn’t miss him. Well, I mean...you kind of did. He quit last month.”

“Last month?” James choked out, eyes wide. “Jesus, I’ve really been out of the loop. I guess that’s just how it goes.”

“How what goes?”

James’ shoulders fell in the same moment his eyes did. Steve couldn’t ignore the change in demeanor but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t have to wait very long for James to speak up again.

“We were a…” he said slowly. “We were something. I don’t want to say… dating… exactly, because we weren’t really—”

Steve’s heart caught in his throat at the realization, Sam’s voice echoing in his mind.

“His name is James—Well, technically, but he likes Bucky a lot more.”

“Bucky? That’s a little southern, even for you.” Steve joked.

They were sitting across from each other at the pizza parlor after hours, drinking coffee and finishing leftovers. Sam had been buzzing all week, waiting to spill everything to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam scoffed, his face overtaken by a warm smile. “Something his friends used to call him. ‘Cause James was a little too formal, and his middle name is Buchanan—”

“Buchanan! Like Tom and Daisy? In that case—”

“Come on, man.” Sam chortled. “He’s great. A vet, too. We’ve been hanging out a ton, watching a lot of movies. It’s weird, you know? Being with a dude. I never thought…”

“Bucky.” Steve nodded to himself slowly. James turned slowly, a smile spreading slowly across his face. It didn’t touch his eyes. “Huh. I guess I didn’t…”  

Things had ended badly. Steve remembered it clear as day.  He’d never say it to his face, but Sam had definitely done some damage. Even only hearing one side of the story, Steve had enough information to know Sam had done a great job of leading Bucky on and then dropping him on his face when it got too serious.

“I have my problems too, you know? I’ve got my own demons, my own nightmares, my own PTSD. And now all the sudden he starts spending the night and he’s like a different person and it’s fucked up. Like a switch.”

“Sam, I’m not a shrink, but I think that might be called opening up.”

Steve heaved a sigh as he stared into a half-empty mug of cold coffee. It made him sick to hear Sam say things about someone who had had such a similar experience to his own.

“If that’s the case, maybe I’ll just stick to one night stands. No development of trust or ‘opening up’ involved there.”

“Ah.” Bucky flopped back against the couch. “So you’ve heard the sob story. Great. Even better.”

“I don’t agree with… How it ended.” Steve blurted, his cheeks burning. When Bucky turned to look at him, Steve dropped his gaze to his hands. “It wasn’t—He shouldn’t have done that. He should’ve left sooner or stayed to try to fix it.”

“There’s no fixing this.” Bucky scoffed. “No way in hell.”

“That’s not…” Steve shifted to face him more. “That’s definitely not what I meant. I meant… fix the situation, the relationship. Figure something out. Communicate instead of just running.”

“That’s what he does,” Bucky said. “Just runs until he can’t anymore. Ran away from this mess, ran away from the job he knew I could find him at. Probably ran away from Brooklyn, too.”

Steve’s heart sank. He didn’t think it had shown outwardly, but when he heard Bucky inhale sharply, he knew he’d caught it.

“Went back home?”

Steve nodded silently, the furrow in his brow was starting to give him a headache.

“I um… I should go.”

He was halfway to the door when he jumped at the cool sensation on his right arm. Steve turned hesitantly and his eyes flicked from the metal arm up to Bucky’s face. They looked at each other for a long moment  until Bucky’s bionic fingers slowly relaxed away from Steve’s burning skin.

Before he could really process what was happening, Bucky had cupped Steve’s face in his sweating, human palm and pulled him close until their lips were pressed together.

The tall blond pulled back immediately, a stuttering mess. Bucky cracked a smile, a fire lit behind his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen since they’d met.

“See you around, maybe?”

Steve blinked back at the long-haired man, completely thrown off.

“Y-Yeah. I mean—Yeah, sure. You can… come by, anytime, to, you know, pizza.”

“Come around and lose some more personal belongings?” Bucky’s smile grew and a hearty chuckle rattled his chest. “I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

“I’m hardly ever not at the shop,” Steve said, finally able to form a coherent thought. His lips still tingled and the adrenaline pumped through him, but at least he could speak.  “Unless you wanted to, um… Not see me all sweaty and smelling like fryer oil. Because in that case… I mean, if you…”

Steve’s eyes fell to the carpet as he tried to hide his own smile.

“We could, um, get some other food sometime. Better food. I could.” But then, turning more serious and meeting Bucky’s eyes, he rethought. “If you’re worried about him, Sam, I could catch you up, you know? We still talk a lot.”   

Bucky’s eyes lit up again, but there was still sadness there that Steve wished he couldn’t see. “I think both of those things sound really great, actually.”

Steve flushed even deeper, unabashedly. He grinned and gave Bucky a once over as he headed for the door again. “Cool. Then I’ll… see you?”

“You definitely will.”

[pnmrks]

how mary’s posthumous video should’ve went

(sherlock is standing beside the couch, john is sitting, they’re both looking generally confused and bewildered as mary appears on the screen)

mary: i am very aware of the story that was interrupted by sherlock’s death. i’m also painfully aware that that is the only reason john and i found each other. listen, you two, and listen well. i know i can’t control you or your emotions, but i would hate for that story to be unfairly halted once again because of my death. john, don’t blame him. sherlock, don’t blame yourself. i don’t care how it happened, i don’t care who was involved. if i’m dead, it’s not either of your faults and you need to get the hell on with becoming who you really are.

(the video ends without any of this “who you really are doesn’t matter” bs)

john: (still looking generally bewildered but is also wide-eyed and blushing profusely, speechless)

sherlock: (blushing profusely) what is she… john? what is she talking about?? (because obviously he knows how much he loves john. but?? john married a woman?? he loves mary????? surely john would never and could never reciPrOCaTe????????????? his feelings?)

john: (looks up at him, incredibly soft & disgustingly fond) jesus. never thought i’d see the day sherlock holmes was made to look like a fool. (he stands very slowly)

sherlock: (?? what is breth??) john?

john: (finally fuckin kisses this bloke very softly and slowly to make sure he understands that yes, i fuckin love you)

sherlock: (shocked and offended, breathless, dumbfounded, completely caught of guard because of course he is) you…?

john: christ, sherlock. you do remember i killed a man for you, less than 24 hours after we met? (he smiles and kisses him again because, wow, that’s really nice and why didn’t he do it sooner?? he’s never gonna stop doin that) it doesn’t take a master deductionist to figure out what’s going on here

sherlock: well obviously,

john: oh, shut up.

(they fuck on the couch and probably in john’s bed and then go back to 221b and fuck there too because they should have been doing this for 7 years and they have a lot of catching up to do okay??)

[pnmrks]

A Place To Call Home

"Because sometimes, home is not four walls and a roof, but two eyes and a heartbeat."

John Watson is a single father struggling to be there for his daughter in the wake of his wife's death. He sees a therapist that he lies to, his psychosomatic limp has returned and he's floundering under the weight of the world crashing down around him.

Sherlock Holmes is a transient, recovering addict and a man struggling to cope with the aftermath of things out of his control. Nightmares still haunt him and his guilt shrouds his entire life.

This story is still under-developed & very much in progress, but I wanted to post it today. Happy Anniversary, boys. 

Wattpad OR Ao3 OR Below the cut

THE SCREECHING of tires on wet pavement rung out into the quiet night.

His seatbelt stopped his limp body from catapulting through the windshield. He laid draped over the steering wheel, wide eyes staring out the shattered driver-side window. There was one other vehicle he could see, crumpled and dented like a piece of tin foil across the way.

A child's empty car seat tumbled into the middle of the street.

All was silent but his wheezing breaths as he pushed them forcefully out of his aching chest. They turned to a cloud of vapor and dissipated before his heavy eyelids. He kept his eyes fixed on the other vehicle for as long as he could, but sleep was coming much too easily.

The wailing cacophony of sirens jolted him awake again. Ambulances, police cars, flashing lights, radios, shouting—so much shouting. Men screamed orders at each other, a woman was crying, but no one was coming for him yet. They were all congregated around the other car.

And then static. It was all he heard before the blissful comfort of unconsciousness swallowed him entirely.

[pnmrks]

No One

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes

Word Count: 1,613

Read it on Wattpad

Read it on Ao3

“Haven’t touched your tea,” John said, sighing as he flopped into his seat. He kicked his feet up on Sherlock’s chair, momentarily scorned by the lack of response. “Sherlock?”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking back and forth across the screen of his laptop.

“Your tea?” John leaned forward to peer around the laptop screen, but Sherlock immediately closed it with a loud snap.

John huffed and fell back against his chair. Clutching his mug in one hand, he slurped the tepid liquid. As soon as his attention was diverted to the newspaper, Sherlock opened the laptop again. Though this time, he seemed less, well… neurotic about it. He’d picked up his tea and brought it to his lips, only pausing when he noticed John’s narrowed gaze.

“Problem?”

“What the hell are you reading?” John let out a dry laugh before his face fell into a frown and he leaned forward again, only to have Sherlock tilt the screen down. “Is this some sort of secret case I’m not allowed to know about?”

“If I said yes, you’d continue to pry.” Sherlock gave him a flat smile. “So, no.”

“Liar.”

“Prevaricator.”

“Will you just—” John jumped up and grabbed the computer off Sherlock’s lap before the curly-haired bloke had a moment to react. “What the hell is…”

Sherlock was sipping his tea in silence, his eyes cast faraway.

“You got a new baby monitor with… a camera?”

“Excellent deduction, John. May I have my laptop back now?”

John ran his eyes over the device in his hand and turned away from Sherlock when he reached up to take it from him.

“This is my laptop!”

“What’s mine is yours, et cetera, et cetera…”

“What was wrong with the monitor from before?” John turned back to Sherlock, the furrow in his brow growing impossibly deeper. “Why didn’t you just—”

“Oh, please, John.” Sherlock spun in his seat. “The previous monitor situation was completely inefficient considering how often we leave Rosie—”

“While she’s sleeping!” John closed the laptop and tossed it onto his chair. “We don’t just leave her unattended in her room while we’re on cases, Sherlock! What do you—”

“John,” Sherlock said, patient as ever. He looked up at him, still sitting comfortably, the shadow of a smirk dancing around the corners of his mouth. “This was in no way an attack on your parenting. I just think—”

“Really? Not an—Oh, well, as long as it wasn’t—”

“Yes, obviously, it wasn’t an attack. I was just trying to do the best for your child, that’s all. I’ll connect the camera to my own laptop if that would make you feel less… attacked.”

Sherlock was holding back a laugh, his tea cup held in front of his mouth in a very poor attempt to hide his smile. John scowled and scratched the back of his neck, working through Sherlock’s words slowly.

“So, you—”

“Yes.”

“If I could finish.”

“Of course.”

John nodded and made his way back to his chair and sat reluctantly. His hands ran over the computer on his lap as he chewed on the inside of his lip.

“So you just… watch her sleep?”

Sherlock scoffed and turned his head away. “Well, when you—”

“No I’m… I’m serious. You set this up so you could watch her sleep, then? Why? There’s a chair right in—You specifically moved a chair in there for the purpose of putting her to bed and watching her sleep. I don’t understand.”  John pointed back toward the bedroom that Sherlock had demanded on converting from his own to Rosie’s. “You know she’s right… there, right?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock said, unmoving, cup of tea still hovering in front of his mouth. He was some kind of strange statue that insisted on making a point that John hadn’t quite gotten to yet.

“So what’s… the point?”

“Oh, so you did want an explanation.”

Sherlock set his cup of tea aside and folded his hands in his lap. John threw his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, prepared for a high-speed, whiplash-inducing lecture that surely he’d only catch half of.

“I just thought it would be easier on you,” Sherlock said.

That was it. John waited for more, but nothing came until several moments later when he finally opened one eye.

“Easier for me? How?”

“Well, it seems to trouble you when I’m constantly rushing to Rosie’s bedside at all hours of the night, so I went ahead—”

“It doesn’t trouble me, Sherlock.” John chuckled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I just don’t want you thinking you’re the only one who has to run to her aid whenever she makes a sound in the middle of the night.”

“Well, this way it’s easier to keep an eye on her and be absolutely sure without disturbing the entire building. The stairs are awfully loud, this saves us both a noisy trip.” Sherlock nodded in John’s silence, clearly unsure what to make of his prolonged, loving stare. “Right, then. Now can I have my laptop back?”

“It’s my laptop, Sherlock.”

“Yes, but I was in the middle of something quite important so if you don’t mind—”

John stopped him mid-reach with a gentle hand on his chest. “Sherlock, she’s been asleep for fifteen minutes. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“As am I, but this way—”

“You’re doing a great job, you know that right?”

Sherlock’s gaze darted across John’s face before zeroing back in on the closed laptop in his lap. John’s hand hadn’t moved, still keeping Sherlock a bit less than arm’s length away.

“John—”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. I’d be… quite the mess.”

“Yes, you—” Sherlock bit his tongue and met John’s gaze, his face more open and soft than John had seen in awhile. “You’d be doing just fine, John. I’ve no doubt about that.”

“I never would’ve thought to have a baby monitor with a camera on it.”

“True, but that’s probably because you’d never leave her side if you didn’t have someone else here.” Sherlock paused, his face suddenly falling more solemn, his eyes welling up. “Come to think of it, if it weren’t for me…”

“No,” John said, his hand falling away from Sherlock only so he could point in his face. “No, don’t do that. Do not. We’re not… We’re past that, Sherlock.”

“You’d be better off doing this with her mother.” Sherlock sat back in his chair and let his cheek fall into one had. “Not her weird… uncle person.”

“Mm, no.” John snorted and set the laptop aside. “Not uncle, certainly not.”

“What?”

“Uncle is far too… weird.”

“What? Why is it—”

“Sherlock.” It always baffled John that the man who could see through anything and anyone still failed to see the obvious. At this point his laughter could no longer be sarcastic or entertained, it was just sad and dry. After everything, Sherlock still needed to be reminded, needed it spelled out loud and clear. “I… You’re not…”

Rosie can not call the man I love with her uncle. Just say it, damn it.

“I’m not…” Sherlock said with a smack of his lips, clearly leading John to say whatever it was that was on the tip of his tongue.

“We share a bed, Sherlock. You’re not her… uncle.”

“Obviously not biologically, but—”

“Sherlock,” John said, a smile tugging at his mouth. Sherlock blinked back him, expectant. “In any sense.”

“Well certainly I’m not… I wouldn’t be…” John’s smile splashed across his face then, shamelessly and completely. Sherlock seemed alarmed at first but soon his wide-eyed blink turned into a curious smile of his own. “Her… father?”

“Well, for all intents and purposes—”

“John, I hope you don’t feel like you need to be saying this to—”

“No, I’m saying this because it makes me grossly uncomfortable to think about my daughter—our daughter—” Sherlock froze at that, if it was possible to become more frozen than a statue. “Sherlock, you do know if we’ve been raising a child together for the past four months?”

“Well… I—” Sherlock sputtered incoherently until finally he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter in his seat. A strange look occupied his face, and if John didn’t know any better, he’d think the man of stone was on the verge of… happy crying?

“Are you… all right?”

“Yes, of course I’m all right.” He cleared his throat again, averting his eyes despite John’s pointed gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“You look—”

“Emotional? I know, a disgrace, truly. Honestly, John, I’m fine.”

John shifted in his chair as the slow and heart breaking realization dawned on him. He scooted forward and place a hand on Sherlock’s bouncing knee.

“Sherlock.”

Finally, John was met with crystalline, teary eyes and a tender smile.

“Well, if I never expected to be your best man, how could you expect me to… to… know that…”

“That I’d be honored to share my daughter with you?” John chuckled and absentmindedly ran his thumb over the fabric of Sherlock’s pajama pants. “Sherlock, there’s no one else in this world I’d rather raise her with. Not a single person.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could think of someone. You have plenty of friends.”

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock broke into a tearful laugh, which finally broke John, too. He inhaled a deep breath, as deep as he could despite all the space in his chest being occupied by unadulterated love for the man sitting across from him.

“No one else,” he said as he leaned forward to clasp his hand around the nape of Sherlock’s neck and pull their foreheads together. “Not a single person.”

[pnmrks]

SOLDIER & THE SHIELD EPILOGUE

ao3  wattpad

NAT TOLD ME NOT TO DO THIS BUT I AM ANYWAY JOURNAL: ENTRY 1.

Buck,

Nat has me watching all these movies tonight. She wanted me to finish off the list I made a couple years ago. She started a new one for movies we have to watch when you’re here.

I couldn’t talk her out of   Manchurian Candidate , so you’ll have to sit through that one as soon as you’re conscious. Sorry.

The first one we watched tonight was The Notebook . She picked it on purpose, I’m pretty sure. It’s definitely a chick flick and you’ll kill me for saying this, but I cried a little. It hit a little too close to home at the end. It really got me thinking a lot about everything. About us.

We both have the serum in us, you know? You survived that fall off the train, I’ve survived… a lot of things. So sure, we can handle physical things that should kill us, that’s made itself pretty abundantly clear.

I just can’t stop thinking about what that will be like thirty, fifty, a hundred years from now.

You said it yourself, who knows if we can age?

We’ve both spent a lot of time frozen. And while for me it wasn’t in some fancy scientific cryotube, what if that has something to do with why we haven’t aged yet? Is that going to catch us to us at some point? Nat told me not to worry about this stuff and that we can talk to Tony and T’Challa’s doctors about it sometime. She wanted to ease my mind and I’m sure it’s because she knows what I’m thinking.

I’m sure you do too at this point.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d go back under with you. If I’m going to start aging while you’re asleep in there, I don’t want to be out here saving the world anymore.  If it’s going to take a few years for them to develop something that can flush HYDRA out of you—God forbid a decade or so—I don’t want to keep going with my life and have you come out to see a middle-aged man waiting for you.

We can talk about all this in December when I visit for Christmas, I guess. I’m really looking forward to that. You’re going to get such a kick out of this bracelet they gave me. It’s like an ugly, clunky watch.  I’ve already tried to get it off, so you can forget about that. I can’t make it do anything without a fingerprint from authorized S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel.

Oh, S.H.I.E.L.D., right. That’s a little harder to explain. I might just save it until we talk to face to face. It’s complicated. They’re not HYDRA anymore, but from what I can tell they haven’t changed much. There’s obviously a new Director and everything. I don’t know a lot about how it works. I want to know as little as possible, you know? I don’t want to be in that deep ever again.

I’m glad not to be Captain America, the man who’s more than a man, the legend, the war hero. I don’t want to try to live up to that anymore. It’s just Rogers now.

‘Agent Rogers,’ technically.

Like I said, I want to stay at arm’s-length, do as little as I can without them getting on my back. I’ll always help people. There’s no denying that. I guess I’m just having a hard time with being under the Accords. That’s all. I never wanted to see the world come to this, but then again I never knew what kind of world I was waking up in until recently.

I admit, I’m still disappointed with some things. The fact that you’re still in this world makes it a hell of a lot better.

When you get out, you, me, Sam, and Nat should take a road trip. See if we can’t find out where Nick Fury ended up after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. I know you never knew him, but I think you’d get a kick out of each other, especially when you’re more yourself.

I love you, Buck. See you soon.

Steve.

[pnmrks]

SOLDIER & THE SHIELD CHAPTER EIGHT

Word Count: 3,222

ao3 wattpad

“SERGEANT BARNES is being prepped as we speak.”

Steve’s heart panged with something a bit more solemn than excitement or nervousness.

“Bucky,” he said. Natasha and T’Challa both turned to look at Steve, surprised but not particularly offended. Steve’s tongue dried up more and more with each passing moment. “You can, um… just Bucky is fine. It’s what he prefers.”

“Of course,” T’Challa said. His face showed no trace of judgment. He was always quietly understanding of Steve and Bucky’s needs and for that, Steve would be forever grateful.  “How have you been, Captain? Other than a fugitive.”

“Things have been… rocky. Hopefully, today will solve some of that.” Steve crammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

He found some comfort in the cool metal that awaited his right hand.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Stark told us you decided to sign onto the Accords. I’m glad to hear that, really. It makes your visits a bit less… complicated.”

Steve nodded, a flat smile working its way onto his face.

“That’s the goal.”

He and Natasha exchanged a quick glance. She gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t do anything for his hammering heart.

Steve stopped short in the doorway of the room that T’Challa had led them to. It was familiar; Steve had been there so often that it had started to feel like a second home. The armchair and desk still sat across from the Bucky’s empty cryotube.

“Hey, you okay?” Natasha’s voice sounded like she was speaking to him underwater. A cold hand was touching his forearm, but Steve couldn’t break his attention away from the empty cryotube. “Steve, hey. It’s okay.”

He shook his head shortly and ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his head. The fog over his brain was so strange and seemingly impenetrable.

“They’ll bring him out in a minute.” Natasha rubbed her thumb across Steve’s clammy skin. He hardly felt it. “You should sit down for a minute, you’re not looking so hot.”

Steve gave her a stiff nod and moved robotically across the room to the desk. All he could do was perch himself on the edge. He didn’t want to sit down. He couldn’t relax enough to sit down.

“What’s up?” Natasha’s wide eyes blocked Steve’s field of view as she stepped in front of him. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m okay,” he said automatically. Then, before Natasha could voice how ridiculous he sounded, he tried again. “Just… nervous, I guess. If this is going to be the last time I see him for a while, I want it to be good. I want it to be right.”

“Cold feet?” Tony called from across the room. Steve raised his head slowly. He simply didn’t have the energy to engage with him. “They say that’s normal. Though your circumstances are bit—”

“Can you just give it up?”

Steve whipped around at Bucky’s voice, astounded by how well-rested he looked. He’d cut his hair short and shaved his scruff. It was like looking at one of the old pictures that Steve kept in his wallet.

Bucky crossed the room silently and stood next to Steve, who still couldn’t make his mouth form a coherent sentence. Bucky wore the same white tank top and black pants as every other time Steve had visited.

He looked so well. He looked happy. He seemed to shine more than ever. He didn’t look ragged and burnt out anymore. That is until his focus shifted to Steve and his smug smirk turned to a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, soldier. You’re not looking too hot.” Bucky reached out and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s hand. “You doing okay?”

Steve forced himself to smile and gave Bucky’s fingers a squeeze. “I’m okay. This is just… hard. I’m glad you waited until I could be here.”

“I wouldn’t just go back to sleep without saying goodbye. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Steve knew that Bucky’s jovial nature and short haircut should have sparked fireworks in his stomach and made his skin ignite. He knew that he should have been flooded with nothing but happy memories of simpler times. But he couldn’t tap into any of that. He could only sit and stare at Bucky’s beaming face, gripping his hand like it was the last thing keeping him grounded to Earth.

“Here, I, um…” Stomach churning, Steve reached into his pocket with his free hand and produced two pairs of dog tags. “I wanted you to have them. I meant to… I should have given them to you before, but I—”

“Wow.” Bucky’s face fell into a nostalgic stare as Steve dropped the pile of silver into his open palm. “They look… new.”

Steve shrugged, trying to remain placid. “I tried to keep them nice. Didn’t want them to get dusty. Figured we might want them back someday.”

“Wait.” Bucky snorted and turned over the tags in his hand. “Didn’t these… Aren’t these supposed to be on mannequins in the museum?”

“Stealing from the government never hurt anyone important.” Steve grimaced at Tony’s interjection. Bucky lifted his head and gave Tony a flat smile, but Steve couldn’t entertain him for another minute. He’d nearly forgotten that they were surrounded by a room full of people and the reminder of Tony’s presence did nothing for his bad mood.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve strained, choked by a knot of tears. He cleared his throat, hoping he could put off crying for a few more minutes. “I just asked them to mail them to me. They said it wouldn’t be a problem to replace them with replicas.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pulled together tightly as he ran his thumb over the engraved letters of Steve’s name and identification number. “How long have you had these?”

“I had them both on me when I went under.” Steve closed his eyes and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. When he opened them, Bucky was staring at him just as intently. “I guess they wanted them for the Smithsonian exhibit so they just kind of…”

“Stole them from you,” Bucky said. He let out a long breath through his nose and pulled the chain over his head. “Well, they’re in the right place now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah.” Steve sniffed and turned over Bucky’s tags in his hand. His ran his thumb over the letters of his name before he put the chain around his neck. “I thought it’d be a good thing for you to have. Even though you won’t… you know.”

Bucky jumped a bit when Natasha cleared her throat. He met her eyes but Steve couldn’t face her. They exchanged a knowing glance and the sound of hurried footsteps followed as the room was cleared of everyone but the two men and one Wakandan doctor.

“Hey.” Bucky gripped Steve’s sweaty fingers again. “You know this isn’t forever, right? It’s not even goodbye. I’m just going to take a really long nap and when I wake up, things will be so much easier.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak, he’d start crying again. He wanted this to be a good experience, not a sad one. “It’s just tough to think about losing you again for some undetermined amount of time. That’s all.”

“Steve.” Bucky chuckled quietly and brought their hands to his chest. “Hey, listen. You’re not losing me. That’s the exact opposite of what this is. We’re doing this so we can all be safe and, someday soon, happy.”

Steve let out a tearful laugh and pulled his hand out of Bucky’s grip to lay it on his smooth cheek. It was strange after feeling scruff there for so long, but it was also so painfully familiar.

“It sure feels like losing. Like giving up.” Steve tried to blink away his tears but the way Bucky’s face shifted as he fought off his own emotions broke him. The wetness on his cheeks brought a burning sense of embarrassment over Steve’s entire body. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“I know.” Bucky sighed heavily and pulled Steve’s head down to his shoulder. He had a firm grip on the nape of his neck, but his thumb moved in soft, soothing circles. “I know. It’s messed up. It’s not supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to be like this. I was supposed to go over there, kick some Nazi ass, and come home. You were supposed to stumble through life and probably die of a disease that’s preventable now.”

Steve huffed and turned his head toward Bucky’s face. “You’re terrible at this, you know that?”

Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes. He leaned his head into Steve’s, sending shivers down his spine as his breath tickled his skin.

“It’s not supposed to be like this, but it is. Here we are. What are we gonna do about it now?” Bucky sniffled and planted a soft kiss to Steve’s temple. “This isn’t giving up. The only thing we’re giving up is selfishness. We can’t pretend that keeping me around isn’t endangering people anymore.”

“You were doing fine.” Steve’s voice was hoarse. He was trying to keep his crying under control but it was getting harder. His body was beginning to shake with sobs that didn’t go unnoticed. “You weren’t hurting anyone, it was fine. We were—”

“We were. Not everyone else, though.” Bucky used his grip on Steve’s head to pull them apart so he could look him in the eye. Bucky’s face was distorted by Steve’s tears, but he could make out his furrowed brow. “You can’t keep saving the world if you’re worried about what I’m doing.”

A single sob escaped Steve’s lips. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make it any less real.

“I’m okay with that. I’ll do anything—”

“That’s the problem, Steve.” Bucky cracked a small smile and pressed their foreheads together. “I know you’d do anything. I’d do anything, too. Anything to make sure we can have the life we deserve. That’s why I have to do this.”

“I don’t want to leave you here, Buck.” Steve was hysterical, hardly able to keep his eyes open long enough to take in Bucky’s face like he knew he should. “I’ll go under, too. We can both come out when—”

“Shh, don’t talk like that.” Bucky kissed Steve’s nose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Don’t say that. You know that can’t happen. They need you.”

“I need you more.” Steve sucked in a ragged breath and brought his hands to Bucky’s cheeks. “Please don’t make me do this without you.”

“I’m right here.” Bucky touched the dog tags through Steve’s shirt. He wrapped his arm around Steve and pulled him off the desk and onto his feet. Though they were both a bit wobbly, their bodies met at the lips, where they fell into a long, impassioned kiss.

“Right here,” Bucky breathed when they finally broke away.

A shadow of a smile made it’s way onto Steve’s face for the first time that day. He held Bucky close for a long moment, breathing him in deeply, trying to savor the little bit of time they still had left. When they pulled apart, they realized, much to their chagrin, that there was still a nurse waiting patiently in the corner of the room.

“S-Sorry… um…” Bucky struggled, face immediately flushed beet red.

Steve was caught off guard by Bucky’s stuttering more than he was by the realization they weren’t alone.

“Not to worry, Sergeant Barnes. All in your own time,” the nurse said. He bowed his head and took a step back, hands folded neatly in front of him.

Bucky looked back to Steve, flustered, and they both broke into unadulterated, unapologetic laughter. Even when they composed themselves and Steve’s stomach and cheeks were sore, it felt so good. Everything suddenly felt a little more normal. Bucky looked like himself again. They were laughing.

Never mind that was a team of doctors patiently waiting to get Bucky back under cryofreeze for an indefinite amount of time.

Never mind that Steve had signed onto the Accords less than twelve hours ago and his name would soon appear on a register of Enhanced People that would allow the government to keep tabs on him at all times. Never mind that Steve knew when he got home, he’d be filled with loneliness again.

The most important thing was that moment, when his stomach hurt from laughing too hard with the only person who mattered.

“The longer we drag this out…” Bucky was still catching his breath from laughing, but his face was fading back into a broody, furrowed frown.

“I know.” Steve heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I know.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before either of them made a move. Steve took a deep breath and gave Bucky a quick peck on the lips. He told himself it was the type of kiss someone would give a spouse before they went off to work.

It wasn’t forever. It wasn’t really even a goodbye. It was just a reminder, a routine. Although Steve and Bucky weren’t fortunate enough yet to have the sort of routine they both craved, Steve could try.

“I love you,” Steve mouthed, a true smile pulling at his lips.

Bucky mirrored his smile, though it turned into a full-out grin on his face as he mouthed back, “I know.”

The nurse in the corner of the room quietly stepped forward. This time, Steve was as ready as he knew he’d ever be.

All at once, Tony, Natasha, and three other doctors had joined them.

“King T’Challa has told us that we must make it explicitly clear to both of you that while Captain Rogers is welcome to visit whenever he pleases, Sergeant Barnes cannot be brought out of cryofreeze each and every time.”

Thought the words struck Steve straight in his chest, he could see in Bucky’s stoic posture that he’d already been told that. They each gave the nurse a short nod of understanding.

“It’s not because we want to take anything away from you. It simply has to do with interrupting Sergeant Barnes’ cryostasis as little as possible.” The nurse glanced around at his fellows. They all nodded in agreement. “We’ve come to an agreement that Sergeant Barnes can be… thawed out, so to speak, every third month until our research is conclusive enough to counter his HYDRA programming.”

Steve had to let that sink in for a moment. This wasn’t as permanent as he’d thought.

Three months between being able to talk to Bucky would feel like lifetimes, he was sure, but it was better than not at all. It wasn’t a terrifying, indefinite amount of time.

“Captain Rogers? Is that all right with you?”

Steve stood to attention at T’Challa’s inquiry. He nodded a little too enthusiastically in response.

“Y-Yes. Yes, of course. That’s—”

“More than you expected, huh?” Bucky bumped shoulders with Steve before pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Won’t be so bad after all.”

Steve’s eyes welled up again, but this time he was overwhelmed with all of the euphoria he should have been feeling when Bucky first entered the room.

This was the way he’d wanted it to go. End on a good note. Go out smiling. Send Bucky off into sleep with good memories to dream of.

“Whenever you’re ready, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You did great, you know.” Natasha delivered Steve his cup of coffee and snuggled up at her end of the couch. “I didn’t expect you to be able to let go, but you did. You actually smiled. You both looked incredibly happy in the end.”

Steve nodded and held his steaming mug close to him. “I did better than I expected. There were a few moments…”

“Which is completely okay. That is totally normal. Today was a lot. You deserve a breather.”

“Yeah.” Steve tried to take a sip of his coffee but immediately recoiled when the near-boiling liquid made contact with his tongue. “A breather with the government tracking my every move.”

“It’s for your own safety. For everyone’s safety.” Natasha eyed the wristband Steve had been assigned when they’d landed back in New York that morning. “Though I will admit, they could have made them a little prettier.”

“Yeah, yeah. Yak it up, Romanoff.” Steve blew on his coffee, desperate for it to cool down enough for him to get a caffeine fix. “You’re lucky you didn’t get one of these.”

“Look, it’s not my fault you willingly volunteered to become an enhanced individual four-score and seventy-five years ago.” Natasha tossed her head back. “Besides, they took away all my toys. Without those, I’m just a helpless little lady.”

“A helpless little KGB master assassin.” Steve sneered and nodded toward the television. “Unmute that, will you? We’re missing the movie.”

Natasha cackled and reached for the volume remote.“I cannot believe I am getting Steve Rogers to watch The Notebook.”

Steve rolled his eyes melodramatically and set his coffee aside, giving up on the notion of being able to drink it anytime soon. He just hoped he’d remember to pick it back up again later.

“Anything is better than Manchurian Candidate.”

“Hey! I thought you’d appreciate the irony. ”

Steve shot her a glance, fighting off a sarcastic smirk. “It was way too soon.”

“It was funny.” Nat scoffed, flipped her hair, and threw her legs across Steve’s lap, her focus turned back to the passionate love scene on the TV. “Barnes will appreciate it when he wakes up.”

“I’m sure he will,” Steve remarked fondly. He tilted his head at the screen. Before Natasha could make a comment about how virginal and pure he was, he spoke up again. “He’ll definitely appreciate this Ryan Gosling guy.”

It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes at him.

“Please, he practically is this Ryan Gosling guy.” Steve shot her a look of pure amusement and disbelief. Natasha sat slack-jawed for a moment.  “C’mon, you’re joking right?”

Steve shook his head, a short laugh escaping his mouth.”

“Pretty boy falls in love with a pretty girl he can’t have. Parents don’t approve, he leaves to fight in the war, everything is sad for a long time. Eventually, everything is mushy-gushy albeit tragic in the end.”

Despite the heat in his cheeks, Steve shook his head and pointed at the screen. They’d finally stopped having sex. Not that Steve entirely minded, but it was a bit weird to watch with Natasha. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, trying to look as pouty as he could.

“Nat, you just spoiled the entire movie. What kind person does that?”

Natasha flashed him a smile and leaned forward to pat his shoulder. Steve looked away from the TV and swatted her hand away, his face still contorted in a full-on pout.

“The kind of person who wants to remind you that happy endings aren’t unrealistic. They just take time.”

Steve broke. He couldn’t help it. A warm smile splashed across his face and for the first time in months, it wasn’t even a little bit contrived.

[pnmrks]

SOLDIER & THE SHIELD CHAPTER FIVE

Word Count:  4,961

ao3 wattpad

"WHERE'D HE GET the new arm, Rogers?"

"Stop," Steve panted. His forehead glistened with a fresh sheen of sweat. "Just...leave him alone."

His eyes followed Tony across the room. Steve couldn't make out much , but he could see the glint of Bucky's metal arm.

Steve glanced at his hands and jerked for the hundredth time against the restraints at his wrists. From what he could tell, the metal chair was bolted to the floor and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. A loud groan escaped his mouth with the strain of trying to break out of the confinement, and when he didn't succeed his chin fell to his chest in defeat.

He was discouraged, exhausted, confused. Tony's intentions weren't clear, but Steve didn't like the way the night had played out up to that point.

The room was dark and damp. The smell of mildew hung heavily in the air and Steve had to guess they were in some kind of basement. With another glance down at himself, he saw that he was in uniform. The white star was dirtied with dried blood—his own? Tony's? He couldn't recall.

"You know..." Tony taunted from across the room. Steve didn't bother to respond. "If you don't tell me, I'll have to get answers out of him."

Steve snapped to attention at the sound of the repulsors charging up again. Bucky's face appeared from the shadows in the glow of the Iron Man suit.

Steve's shoulders trembled as he tried to lunge forward, but the restraints wouldn't budge.

"No!" he sobbed, helpless. "Stop! Stop!"

He jerked again at the sounds of the repulsor blast and Bucky's outcry, but he was powerless. "You gave us the blueprints!" He slumped in his seat. The rest came out in broken sobs and gasps of breath. He couldn't stop repeating himself.

The same sentence ran into itself, over and over like tumbling dominoes until Steve gained some kind of composure. He took a deep breath and tried to lift his head with little success.

"Wanda," he said, his voice a bit steadier. "We took Wanda to the Tower and she...We used her. We used Wanda to get you to give up the blueprints because we knew you never would do it yourself. She got you to tell us who to talk to in Wakanda about vibranium and she made sure you wouldn't remember any—"

Tony's footfalls bounded off the cement walls and grew unbearably loud by the time he approached Steve and hovered over him. Steve sucked in a sharp breath as he faced the cold eyes of someone he once considered a friend. A teammate. Someone whom he couldn't help but feel betrayed by.

However, Steve knew that Tony had been betrayed, too. He'd never deny that.

"After everything," Tony started slowly, voice shaking with the effort of stopping himself from screaming. "You still didn't have enough. I let you have Barnes alive, pretended not to know anything about your breach at The Raft. You had to take more. You always have to—"

"He was helpless," Steve said. He narrowed his eyes at Tony and threw himself forward again. "You're the one that took his arm from him in the first place. That's the only reason Wanda helped us, because it was your fault."

Steve's chest heaved as he twisted his wrists, trying his hardest to gather any kind of strength. His skin burned, rubbed raw from his efforts. The repulsors were charging up again but Tony was silent. Steve braced himself for a blow until he realized Tony's hand was aimed back toward Bucky.

The metal of the chair groaned under Steve's weight as he lurched forward in a final attempt to stop Tony, only to find himself sitting up in bed, trembling. Vision blurred and throat burning, he brought his t-shirt to his face and wiped away the sweat and tears, shaken to the core by the nightmare.

"Steve..." The blond jumped at the sound of his name. Bucky was sitting beside him, his eyes wide and full of concern. "You were screaming."

"What..." Steve whispered, his voice hoarse as his eyes surveyed the bright room. "What time is it?"

"Seven—" Bucky's voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again. "It's seven in the morning. Do you...Can I—" he stuttered, tripping over his own tongue. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his own panic. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Steve shakily pushed himself to the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, chest still rising and falling too quickly. "I just...need a minute. Or five..."

"Can I do anything?" Bucky asked after a moment. He wrung his hands as he watched cautiously. "Steve?"

Steve made a short noise of protest as he brought an uneasy hand to his forehead. "I'll be okay. It was just...intense. That's all. Uh...you want coffee?"

"I'll get it," Bucky blurted.

They both jumped from the bed at the same moment. Bucky was halfway to the door when Steve's knees buckled beneath him, leaving him a defeated heap on the floor.

"Oh, my God." Bucky was immediately at his side. "Steve—" "I'm fine," Steve hissed. He waved Bucky off. "I'm fine...I just...it's...It was real. I could feel it." He rubbed his wrists, his eyes darting back and forth across the floor. "Tony..."

Bucky laid a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. He tried his hardest to offer a smile but he was far too troubled by Steve's current state for it to be convincing.

"It wasn't real. Tony isn't going to do anything. It's all just a show. A big man in a suit of armor, that's all."

Steve lifted his head to look Bucky in the eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Who told you about that?"

Bucky tilted his head in confusion, which elicited a quiet chuckle from Steve as he pulled himself off the floor.

"A couple years ago when we started working together, we had this spat. It was before New York, everyone was on edge. He was trying to mess with Banner, set him off. I'd had enough of it." Steve laughed again and looked over at the long-haired man who was obviously still perplexed. "That's exactly what I said to him. 'Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?'"

Bucky snickered at Steve's imitation of his own voice. "Nobody told me about that. I definitely would've remembered."

"That's funny," Steve whispered absentmindedly. He smiled at the memory. Tony had made him so angry that day. His stomach had twisted in knots every time they had to share a space together with the effort of keeping an even temper. All of that paled in comparison the rage he felt at the mention of his name.

"So, what'd he say?" Bucky inquired playfully. Steve cocked a brow and Bucky bumped shoulders with him. "What is he when he takes off the suit?"

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes into his head. He straightened his back and pretended to button a suit jacket. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

"Philanthropist!" Bucky managed through a hearty chuckle. "Right, right. He is the shining embodiment of selflessness."

"Yeah," Steve said quietly as his eyes fell to his lap. "I dunno. Sometimes I wish it was easier. Which I guess it would have been if I would've just signed. Everyone else would have followed my lead. This whole thing..." He paused to glance back up at Bucky's new, shining vibranium arm. "I could've stopped all of it before it even had to happen."

"Maybe," Bucky offered. He scooted closer to Steve and threw his good arm around him, giving him a squeeze."But if you did that, you would have been in the UN building with Nat when the bastard tried to blow it up. You would've missed Peggy's funeral and you wouldn't have found me in Bucharest."

Steve looked over at him, the shadow of a smirk hovering over his face. "You know I would've done that anyway." Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I would've found a way to Peggy's funeral. It all would've worked out somehow..." His face fell before he went on. "Just maybe without so much pain."

Bucky smiled fondly and kissed Steve's temple in an attempt to shift his mood. "How did you find me? I was so careful about everything and then you were just...there."

"A magician never reveals his tricks." Steve laughed quietly. Bucky rolled his eyes again and pushed him away playfully. "Okay, okay, fine," Steve said, pulling Bucky back by his good arm. "We were with Sharon when we saw it on the news in London, after the funeral. Sam and I may or may not have followed her to Vienna. She may or may not have given me a file they'd been putting together for the past few years. From there, we just followed Task Force."

"Just." Bucky snorted. "You just followed them. Christ, Steve." "Well, chased them, I guess." Steve couldn't help but laugh at Bucky's shocked expression, but he continued anyway. "We had to get ahead of them, and after, we realized where they were going. So Sam dropped me on the balcony of your apartment and there we were."

"Timing was crazy." Bucky laughed sadly. His eyes were wide and misty as he stared down at the mattress. "God, I was so scared. I knew they were coming for me when I saw the newspapers. I should've kept running, booked it to the Philippines or something. That would've been the smart thing to do, you know? But I had to go back."

They were quiet for a moment, both of them looking down into their laps. "For the journals," Steve finally said. He let out a long breath through his nose and his slid his hand into Bucky's.

Bucky shook his hair into his face and swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. Even after it was all done and over with, the thought of losing all of his progress made him nauseous. Everything he'd went through in those two years—all the Smithsonian visits, nights spent scribbling down the bits of memories as they came back to him. It could have all been gone had he not returned to his apartment in time.

Roger, Roger, Roger... I don't know anyone named Roger.

But do I?

No. It's not right. That's not right. No good. Someone else. Something else. Another name.

Days later, after he'd settled into a temporary safe house in Florida, the name came to him. He was lying on the floor of an abandoned warehouse with a lumpy Jansport under his head. The name Roger ran behind his eyelids like movie credits, driving him mad.

Steve. Steve Rogers.

The name had brought bubbles to the pit of Bucky's stomach, sent him scrambling in the dark for his journal, desperate to write it all down. The name, the feelings, the burning in the back of his throat.

Steve. The man on the bridge. The hovercraft. The river. Captain America. Steve Rogers.

He could have lost all of it if he had continued to run. Surely whenever he was caught, they'd use it against him. Taunt him. He was glad Steve had been the one to find the journals that day.

"I couldn't just leave," Bucky finally said. He was choked up more than he wanted to reveal, but he knew it'd be obvious to Steve."Not without you."

Steve drew in a sharp breath, unsure of how to respond. The feelings were still fresh in his mind; the way his heart had stopped, his brain completely scrambled when he had opened Bucky's journal to a picture of himself. Flipped through the pages, weighed down with ink, to see his own name scribbled over and over amongst the colored sticky notes and highlights. It was obvious, even then, how hard Bucky had worked at regaining his memory.

"They were all I had," Bucky continued. "I visited the Smithsonian as much as I could before I couldn't stand staying in the US anymore. I tried to move around. Florida, Texas, Washington, New York. It didn't matter. I was paranoid no matter what. So I went to Europe, decided some travel couldn't hurt, right?"

He sneered. "What a joke. I knew better. Just thought that it might help something, you know? I knew traveling was something I used to like. I still had that piece of myself and I wanted to take advantage of that. Expand on it, see what memories it would lead me back to. All I did was get you and your friends into all kinds of trouble."

"Hey," Steve said. He gave Bucky's hand a reassuring squeeze. "We did that to ourselves. The Accords would have happened regardless."

Bucky pursed his lips and squeezed Steve's hand in return. "I'm just glad you were there in Bucharest. I wouldn't have put up a fight if you hadn't been. As much trouble as this whole thing has caused..." He looked down at his metal arm for a moment and then back up at Steve. "I think I'm pretty okay with how it turned out."

"If I hadn't gone under—"

"Stop," Bucky whined. He rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed dramatically. "If they would've thawed you out any sooner, the rest of the world might not even be here, let alone be the way it is now. If the world had lived long enough to see the Battle of New York, they'd be shit outta luck without Captain America."

"I could've stopped the Winter Soldier. I would have gotten you out of there and everything would have gone back to normal."

"There is no normal, Steve." Bucky groaned. He massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands. "You're a fucking super soldier. You're Captain America. You have an exhibit in the Smithsonian, for Christ's sake. Sure, maybe you could have stopped me earlier. Maybe you could have grown old with Peggy and had a thousand little babies and then died before the Avengers were even an idea."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat when Bucky pulled himself up into a sitting position and grabbed tightly onto his cheeks, thumbs pressing firmly into his heated skin.

"But who's to say you even can grow old? Or conceive children? What kind of life would that have been? My God, you'd have been a wreck. Even more a wreck than usual. It would have ruined you to watch her grow old and die while you stayed twenty-five." Bucky paused to look back and forth between Steve's oceanic eyes now brimming with tears. "This is exactly where you're supposed to be, numbskull."

Bucky leaned in and pressed their lips together, but their kiss was interrupted by Steve's unadulterated laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Steve laughed against Bucky's mouth before he pulled away slowly. "You ruined the romantic speech when you capped it off with an insult."

Bucky rolled his baby blue eyes, hands falling away from Steve's face. "You are such a punk." He began to stand from the bed but Steve pulled him back, their lips meeting heatedly on the way down.

"Jerk," he said against Bucky's mouth before giving him another long kiss. "That better?"

The two men stared at each other for another prolonged moment after they'd separated, both amused and more than pleased with themselves.

"I'm glad we can finally do that," Steve said softly, his fingers catching Bucky's again. "It's...nice."

"We've always been able to do that," Bucky said as he pulled Steve up onto his feet and wrapped his arms around him. "It was just a matter of being ready for it."

"Trust me," Steve said. "I was more than ready for a very long time."

Bucky snorted against Steve's t-shirt, still damp with sweat. "Trust me, I know."

Steve scoffed and pulled away so he could look Bucky in the eyes again. "You did not. You were far too busy with...being Sergeant Barnes. Stealing all the ladies, cutting their food with your jawline, all that stuff."

"Steve," Bucky cooed. His tone bordered on condescending. "I've known you since you were two. You are not subtle. Or a good liar."

"Whatever," Steve huffed, pulling Bucky in for another hug. "We've made it this far and that's what matters. Granted, things just keeping more and more complicated, but..."

"We've got each other." Bucky smiled against Steve's shoulder and planted a gentle kiss to the blond's neck. "We can do anything if we've got each other."

The compound itself hadn't changed much since the last time Steve had been there. It was the changed atmosphere that made his skin crawl. Everything was quiet, but that wasn't necessarily the strange part. Things weren't peaceful or serene; it was loaded silence. As if something or someone could explode at a moment's notice.

"Homey," Bucky drawled. He spun around on a barstool across the kitchen from Steve. "Don't know why you'd ever leave."

"It's not usually this..." Steve's face contorted as he searched for a word. "Eerie."

There was always something going on there. Music, pool, an argument, or even a game of chess.

"Dunno why it's so quiet," Steve continued, eyes scanning the open room for any clue of something gone wrong. Everything was untouched, like no one had been back there since before things had turned. It felt like a dream. He half expected to see the thick volume of the Sokovia Accords sitting on the coffee table where he'd left it the last time he was here.

Steve's train of thought was interrupted by the tapping of a someone's toe against the tile floor. Steve spun on his heel and found himself facing Tony and Vision on the other side of the living room. He guessed they'd been standing there for quite some time.

Realization washed over Steve like a suffocating ocean wave. His eyes fell and so did his heart; he'd never felt so played and foolish.

"They're not here," Steve said. "They're not here and you were never going to bring them here."

"What?" Bucky cut in, standing noisily from his barstool. "What are you talking about?"

Steve shook his head and let out a dry laugh, his blood boiling at the sight of Tony's smugness. Vision stayed behind him, his head bowed respectfully. Steve assumed he was there for backup.

"So." Steve took a few steps toward Tony, his hands spread wide. "What now, Stark? Where are they? Take 'em back to the Raft?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Tony nodded, looking Steve up and down. He was relaxed and apparently amused by it all. "I wouldn't recommend trying anything, Cap. Looks like we've both got our guard dogs. My money's on Vision if it comes down to a fight."

"Where are they?" Steve hissed, his jaw clenched tightly. "You have no right to do this. You don't hold any authority over any of us."

"Maybe not, but I'm definitely the only one playing by the rules."

"Your rules," Bucky said. Tony tipped his head to look at him as he came up behind Steve. "You're playing by your own rules. That's hardly fair."

"Hmph," Tony chuckled, giving Bucky a once-over. "Life isn't fair, Barnes. But you know all about that already, so I'll spare you the lecture."

Steve stepped in front of Bucky, blocking Tony's line of sight. "Let them go. They didn't do this."

"You're right! They didn't. You did, Rogers." Tony let out a cold snicker that sent another wave of rage over Steve. "Too bad for them, though, considering you're one stubborn little shit."

"What do you want?" Bucky blurted, his brows pulling tightly together. He stepped around Steve so he could make eye contact. "You've put on this whole show—you obviously knew he'd come here to check on them—so what's the point? What's your endgame?"

Tony was silent, his eyes still trained on Steve whose face was growing more and more pink with each passing moment.

"You," Steve muttered. His eyes didn't leave Tony's. He wanted to see some kind of falter there, something to prove him wrong. There was nothing. Only a tilt of the Iron Man's head and a deepened smirk.

"What?" Bucky turned on his heel to look at Steve again, then back at Tony. "What do you mean?"

"He wants you. He's trying to make me choose. You or everyone else."

"Trying," Tony scoffed, fighting off a laugh. "I'm not trying to do anything. Every day that you let them live in danger or in a prison cell, you make a choice. I'm giving you a second chance here. To help out everyone involved."

"Not everyone," Steve snapped. He couldn't bear to look back at Bucky as they turned and walked away. "There's another way to do this, Tony. There's always another way."

"Steve Rogers, ever the hopeful!" Tony sang after them as they trudged away. "You know what they say! The star-spangled man with a plan!"

Tony's words rang in Steve's skull hours after he and Bucky had left the compound. The drive up from Brooklyn had been a lengthy one, but somehow the ride home felt even longer.

"You can't save everybody, Steve," Bucky said. "You know that better than anyone."

Steve tried to pull himself out of his head long enough to form a coherent response, but the best he could muster was an absent mumble of agreement. He tried to loosen up his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel to give his cramped fingers some relief, but he didn't get much.

"Why don't I drive? You can stretch out in the back seat, catch a couple Zs. I'll shake you when I'm ready to trade off or when we get back home."

Home.

The word made Steve's chest bubble with warmth but didn't stop him from being angry. A smile fought at the corner of his pink lips but didn't spread into anything more.

He didn't know it was possible to feel such strong, contrasting emotions at the same time. The fact that Bucky had consciously called Brooklyn his—their home—was a bigger step than he probably realized. Still, Steve didn't say anything. He glanced to his right in an attempt to acknowledge his best friend's presence but he couldn't do much more than that.

"Steve."

"I'm fine, Buck," he said. "I just need to think about this for a minute. I'll deal with it...I just don't know how yet."

There was a long pause. The radio was silent and the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the whir of the AC.

Steve had to admit he was tired. His eyes itched and it certainly felt like he could close them, but he wanted to sleep in a bed. With Bucky. He wanted to sleep all of this off and forget it happened and curl up with the love his life tucked under his arm, right there where he could kiss him if he wanted to.

"You can think out loud, you know. You don't have to try to figure this out by yourself. I'm right here."

Steve rolled his eyes and gave a short shake of his head. "There's not a lot going on up here right now. I mostly just want to get home."

Bucky snorted and threw his head back against the seat. "That's bullshit. There's always a million things going through your head."

"Whatever." Steve chuckled and gave Bucky the side eye, reaching for his metal hand. "I just get wound up too easily. Same old."

"It's not just same old," Bucky said. He gave Steve's hand a squeeze with his metal one. "This whole thing...it's been insane. Tony is—"

"He's not." Steve sighed. "He's not crazy. That's the worst part about all of this. He's not crazy and everyone knows it. This is how it's always been—Tony figures out what works best and we all follow suit because he's the genius and we're not."

"Yeah, some genius. He can't even figure out how to keep the people he calls his friends out of prison."

"Buck."

Bucky ran his free hand through his hair and shook his head, a refusal to take it back. Steve couldn't help but laugh, though it was a sad one at that.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if he's the genius, why are you the one scrambling to figure something out?"

Steve shrugged and shifted in the driver seat. He didn't have the answers that Bucky wanted to hear. He couldn't agree that Tony was completely in the wrong. He couldn't completely side with Bucky and decide that every move Tony made was the wrong one. Steve knew he was guilty of things, too.

"It's just..."

"It's what you do. You take the fall. It tires you out. Look at you! You can hardly hold a god damn conversation because you're too busy trying to figure out Tony's game. This is bullshit. It's all—"

Bucky cut himself off upon realizing how tightly he was gripping Steve's right hand in his metal one and he instantly recoiled as if he'd been burned. Steve's jaw was visibly clenched, but he kept his eyes on the road and tried to be subtle about flexing his fingers to regain blood flow.

"I don't know why—"

"It's okay," Steve said quietly, replacing both hands on the wheel. "It wasn't as bad as you think it was."

"It's not okay. I should...I thought I was getting better about that." Bucky turned in his seat so he was looking at Steve full-on. "Let me drive. You're exhausted."

Steve knew that Bucky wasn't going to give it up. As much as he wished he could ignore him and keep staring straight ahead, he knew it'd do nothing but upset him. Begrudgingly, Steve pulled over and abandoned the driver's seat.

"You can stop pouting any time now," Bucky shouted over the wind, his hair whipping wildly all around his face.

"I'm not pouting," Steve grumbled into the seat. He knew Bucky couldn't hear him, but of course, he still got a reply.

"Relax! We'll be home in no time."

The smile in Bucky's voice was contagious. Steve didn't want to fall asleep, but it didn't take long for the movement of the car to lull him into unconsciousness. He awoke to the gentle shaking of his shoulder and soft kisses pressed to his temple.

"Mm," Steve whined, swatting Bucky away. "You wanted me to sleep and now you're waking me up, what's that about?"

Bucky chuckled quietly, running his cold, metal fingers over Steve's brow. "I'm going to bed. I'll leave the door unlocked."

"Sounds good," Steve said. He turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling of the car, already feeling much better than he had when he fell asleep.

Steve always felt better when he woke up to find that Bucky was okay. It was easier to pretend that things happening with Tony weren't real, easier to forget the nightmares.

He laid in the car for nearly an hour before he finally got a text from Bucky asking if he was ever going to come inside. Tired as he was, the idea of crawling into a warm bed was much more appealing than the sleeping on leather seat he was currently stuck to.

Sure enough, the front door was left unlocked for him. Steve slid the deadbolt into place when he got inside. He turned slowly to the darkened room and scanned the area, looking for signs of a stealthy best friend waiting in the shadows. Steve figured Bucky would spring out from behind the couch or around a corner to try to scare him. That is, until he made it safely to the bedroom and heard the familiar sound of Bucky's soft snores coming from within.

An overwhelming sense of calm washed over Steve as he stripped off his jeans and climbed into bed beside the snoring heap of warmth in the middle of his king-sized mattress. Bucky didn't stir in the slightest as Steve settled in next to him and carefully laid his head on the brunet's right shoulder.

"I made it," he said softly. "I thought for sure you'd lock me out."

Steve nestled in closer to the heat radiating off from his best friend's sleeping body, a small smile working its way onto his face. Despite the long nap on the drive home to Brooklyn, Steve didn't have any trouble closing his eyes and sliding into unconsciousness nearly immediately.

His sleep was fairly peaceful, undisturbed even by dreams. It wasn't until a chill ran across his body that Steve was tickled awake. He sat up sleepily to pull the covers over him, only to be abruptly halted by something much colder than a draft slamming him back down.

Steve gagged as he hit the mattress, struggling out of his half-asleep haze. His eyes adjusted quickly and for a moment he wished they hadn't.

"Buck—" Steve choked, pressing his palms forcefully into Bucky's shoulders. That didn't get him anywhere. The vise around his windpipe only tightened.

Bucky's eyes were bulging out of his head, the irises almost entirely consumed by his dilated pupils. He was muttering in Russian, hot breath washing over Steve's face with every word. From what Steve could tell as the oxygen left his body, Bucky was still asleep, trapped in a night terror as the Winter Soldier.

Steve let out a final, wheezing plea. "Please...Buck. St-Stop..."

The silhouette of his best friend swam before his eyes as his shaking hands stopped fighting, squirming body fell still and his eyes closed as he descending back into a peaceful slumber.

[pnmrks]

back to my normal schedule of “i am so sorry for not updating for a month i am very stressed and in college”

i am very sorry and i just started college pls dont hate me

[pnmrks]

New Chapter!

Chapter four is on the way. I’m so sorry for the wait. I’m already working on five, so hopefully it won’t take so long but I can’t make any promises. A lot has been going on lately but this story continues to be my stress outlet. See you soon!

[pnmrks]

I am taking a bit of a break from posting for a while. I'm going to concentrate building foundations for a few other stories. I know I'll definitely still be working on chapter four for the stucky fic, but it will definitely be a bit before you guys see it.

I've just been kind of stressed lately and I need to take some of the pressure off myself, and that's the only reason I'm doing this. I know I just need to slow down and take a breath and reevaluate some things. I’ll still be posting one shots and writing prompts as I write them, and you can read those here and also on my ao3.

Thank you for your support, and I hope to see you soon.  xx

[pnmrks]

This Would’ve Been A Lot Easier A Week Ago.

PROMPT: “if you ever feel sad just think about the fact that Steve probably gave Bucky mouth to mouth after he pulled him out of the water”

and because of that I found myself wondering what the heck happened between the helicopter scene and Steve and Sam taking Bucky to that abandoned warehouse so here we are.

Read it on ao3

They hit the water hard. The impact alone was enough to make Steve’s head spin even after he made it to the surface. Gasping and sputtering for breath, he spun in circles, looking for any indication that Bucky had made his way up as well. There was nothing. Pieces of the helicopter were still sinking around Steve, threatening to pull him back down. He used that force to his advantage as he plunged back down into the dark and swirling water.

His limbs were throbbing, muscles beyond fatigued. He had to find him. It was hard to see in the cloudy water, Steve’s stinging eyes scanning for any sign of life. There were bubbles everywhere, the helicopter was still sinking and Steve wasn’t gaining any distance. He getting lightheaded just as the glint of metal caught his eye.

He poured everything he had left into the final stretch, shattering the window and pulling Bucky’s limp body from the cab. The swim was an uphill battle but it was worth it when he broke the surface with Bucky’s shirt wound tightly in his fist.

“Goddammit, Buck,” Steve panted after pushing a third breath of air into his best friend’s lungs. “C’mon.” He pressed his head to Bucky’s chest, desperate to feel it rising and falling with shallow breaths. It didn’t. “Come on. We didn’t get this far for you to drown. This isn’t where it ends, dammit.”

Steve tried again, pushing as much air from his own lungs as he could into Bucky’s. He was lightheaded again, short of breath, and really beginning to doubt the abilities of the super solider serum.

“C’mon, please. Please, Buck. I need—”

Steve jumped as Bucky drew in a sharp breath and his chest began to rise and fall at a steady rate. He was still unconscious but Steve would take it. From there it was waiting game.

Steve didn’t know how long it would take for Sam to find them or how long it would be until Bucky woke up. Steve wasn’t sure if he would be himself or if the Winter Solider would come back out on a murderous rampage. All he knew was that Bucky’s head was in his lap and they were both breathing and that was enough. Selfish tears burned Steve’s eyes as he ran his fingers through Bucky’s dark, tangled hair.

“God...” He tried to swallow the blade in his throat but it wouldn’t go. The last few days had been far too much for Steve. Everything was slipping through his fingers too quickly to process. Tony, Peggy, Sharon, Natasha, the team; he was losing them all to the Accords and Bucky had almost gone down the drain with them. “How did this happen? How did we get here?”

Steve screwed his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to stop the tears, but they flowed freely regardless. His broad shoulders shook uncontrollably as he sat on the riverbank, Bucky in his lap and the rest of the world crumbling around him.

He wanted nothing more than to be back in Brooklyn, safe from things like this. He wanted Bucky to come home. He wanted his friends to be safe. He wanted Tony to understand. He wanted quiet and peace and love.

Steve was a sobbing mess for a long time. He rocked himself back and forth, Bucky’s unconscious body clutched tightly to his chest as he cried inconsolably. By the time Sam found them, Steve had wiped his tears but Sam knew from the redness in his eyes and congestion in his voice how long he’d been crying.

Sam always knew but he would never say so. He was silent in helping Steve get Bucky off the ground and to safely into a nearby abandoned warehouse. He left them alone after they got the metal arm tightly secured in a vice.

“I’m sorry.” Steve crouched beside his still-unconscious friend and swallowed thickly, his eyes threatening to spill over again. “We’re going to get you out of this. I promise. I promise you, I’ll pull you out of here.”

“It’s no use beating yourself up, man,” Sam sighed. Steve turned and immediately stood, embarrassed that Sam probably had heard him. “He’s dangerous. I understand wanting him alive but we have to keep everyone else—”

“I know.”

Sam nodded slowly as his eyes drifted from Steve to Bucky and then back again. “Why don’t you get some air? Keep an eye out? Or just sit down, take a breath. You look like you need a couple of those.”

Steve scoffed and allowed himself the shadow of a smile.

“I’ll keep an eye out. You…” He huffed and gestured to Bucky. “Just let me know when he wakes up.”

“Depending on how he’s feeling, I might not have to.”

Steve didn’t laugh and Sam was only mildly apologetic. He had seen more than enough of what the Soldier could do and he wasn’t entirely supportive of Steve shielding that person from harm’s way. But Sam also knew that nothing in the world would stop the captain at this point. Steve had his mind made up and the only way to change it would be with extreme measures, ones that Sam would let Tony carry out.

He was still okay with helping Steve with this. It usually warranted a lot of travelling, which Sam could sometimes enjoy. He’d gotten around a lot while following dead end trails. He would always hold it against Steve to an extent, but some of the places he had been dragged to chasing cold leads had been fun when they weren’t life threatening.

Now that Bucky was here, the game was more complicated but Sam could only hope that meant it was closer to being over. The Accords had made things harder for everyone but Steve had faith that there was a way out. Sam had believed him at first but given the way things were going, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Steve stayed at the opposite end of the warehouse for a nearly an hour, carefully looking out every time a helicopter passed. Sam had been hoping that he would sit down and relax for at least a few minutes but all he did was pace.

Nearly two hours later, Bucky finally began to stir.

“Hey, Cap!” Sam called.

Steve immediately turned and jogged the length of the warehouse to meet him. He took a deep breath and waited as Bucky lifted his head, apparently confused by the pressure on his arm.

“Steve...”

“Which Bucky am I talking to?”

“Your mom’s name is Sarah…You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”