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cratlord · 10 months

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Prince of the Seas - Chapter 15

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Summary: Things did not get better for Bucky Barnes after he and Sam had their adventure. They got worse. After years of living only through stolen moments of his own life, he is given a chance to build a life in a whole new world. The catch? That life is going to be a very, very long one. This is the tale of the life built in the Realm that will one day be known as Misthaven, or the Enchanted Forest.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

The body had long ago dispersed into ashes. There was nothing left of the woman who had given her every moment to him. He stood next to the stone, staring at the fire which refused to go out, despite having run out of flesh to consume. The flames continued to lick up the side of the sacrificial alter before flickering up into the air where the breeze carried them up and out of town, where they twinkled a rainbow of colors amongst the stars.

There was nothing left. She was gone.

Bucky felt his knees hit the ground, the impact creating a jolt of sensation which shattered every vestige of calm carefully built up around his heart. His ribs felt like they were trying to suffocate him. Every gasp of breath only served to stoke the flames pouring out his eyes in time with the sobs they pushed out his throat. Every feeling he had pushed aside regurgitated itself all at once, leaving him feeling somehow like he was burning away to nothing but freezing to death at the same time.

Blue was the only one left by his side. The townsfolk had long since gone home for the night, tactful enough to give the grieving god space once the last of his wife burned away into the heavens. Even his children had gone reluctantly back to their home, the Inn their mother had so loved, at the Fairy Queen’s quiet insistence. Blue had known Bucky long enough to know what her friend needed.

She kept her movements slow and predictable as she approached him, finally kneeling so she could hold him in her arms. And she held him. And he cried.

When the sun finally rose, he barely noticed. His head was cradled in his friend’s lap with his eyes still glued to the white fire. His tears had slowed, more from dehydration than any relief in the unrelenting pain. The fluffy blue dress Blue wore was softer than he had ever really expected, even now, crusted as it was with his tears and less savory fluids.

“I am the goddess of hope,” the gentle fairy said softly as she carded her fingers through Bucky’s hair. “These last decades though, I must admit that it has been you who has given me hope.”

The raising sun cast the sky in innumerable hues as the townsfolk began to stir again. The sounds of them raising and beginning their days floated through the town commons and to the two still next to the burning stone.

“Long ago,” she continued quietly, “my name was Reul Ghorm. When I arrived in this world, the primordial forces from the sundering had not yet settled. Somehow, it had ended up with myself in the position I now occupy, though there were many I arrived with. I fear I am the only one now who still remembers those times.”

There was no rush between the two immortal gods in the grass. Both of them could feel the eyes of the curious townsfolk on them. Both of them could hear the gossip of the people discussing the still flaming stone and what it could mean.

“I was never one really for the desires of the flesh, but that doesn’t mean I am immune to the need for companionship. To see you down here, living in such bliss with people you love, people who love you… it has rekindled my own love for the people of this world.

“It’s hard though. I am torn, because to love these humans is to want to help them. To use my power though, I must feel my sorrow at their pain. It feels sometimes like it is the price of my godhood to suffer this way, and it feels particularly unfair sometimes when I consider it is a burden I never asked for.”

Bucky rolled onto his back so he could look up at Reul. “It’s grief for me,” he rasped up to her. “My flame burns on the pain of all I have lost.”

They were quiet for several minutes while they both just watched the sun rise. Their conversations often went like this. Little bubbles of words with stretches of silence between.

“When I was a young man I wanted a family more than anything.”

His eyes were so dry. He closed them to keep the sandy feeling from burning even more.

“As I grew older, and the world grew darker, I lost hope that true love was ever something I could have,” he whispered into the warm morning air.

Reul turned her curious gaze down to him. “You mean your old world?” She kept carding her fingers soothingly through his hair. “You never talk about it. I didn’t want to ask if it brought up bad memories.”

“That whole world is a bad memory,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I probably should talk about it though. I got too much pain, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Blue smiled sadly down at him. “I’m here to listen.”

Bucky thought back to all of the therapists over the decades who had pestered him to talk. It had always seemed like a fun game to tell them to fuck themselves, or feed them some line of bullshit. The well intentioned friends over the years asking him to talk had been harder to blow off. He’d never intended to keep Sam, Yelena, and so many others at arms length, it was just… he’d always known deep down that unloading on them wouldn’t fix it. Not when so much of his problem was how he had a nasty habit of outliving everyone, no matter how much he’d wanted to die at times.

Reul was different though. She was actually older than him. She wasn’t someone he would ever watch die. There weren’t any painful feelings when it came to her. She would never judge him.

“Would you mind if we had this conversation with a drink?” he asked. “I’m parched, and to be honest, if I’m going to talk about this I’d rather do it with a beer.”

Reul nodded, and they both pushed themselves up (her far more gracefully). Fifteen minutes later they were in the White Candle, sitting at the bar with a foaming mug of ale in each of their hands. The tavern was closed, considering nobody in their family was really up for keeping it opened at them moment, but Elanor and Teddy were still downstairs, looking about as put together as Bucky did. She was in a stool next to Bucky while Teddy was behind the bar, his own mug in hand half empty.

Nobody spoke for some time. The kids seemed to be in a silent sort of shock, with their mother being their first family member lost to death. His heart ached to know that it was a feeling they would likely experience many more times, if their lingering youth was anything to go by.

“I was born in a world called Midgard,” he began, his tone loud enough to signal to the kids that he didn’t mind if they heard.

Elanor blinked rapidly and turned her head to him. Teddy’s eyes widened and he abandoned taking a drink of his ale with the mug hanging halfway there. He couldn’t blame them for their surprise. He’d never told them anything before.

He took a gulp of his own ale and pushed himself to keep going. “I was born in the middle of the greatest war my world had ever seen. Ma told me it had felt like the whole damn world was tearing itself apart. I was still a baby when it ended, but I still remember how for the first years of my life, people were acting like the world was cursed, like they needed to get theirs before it all went to shit again. I didn’t really get it, cause my family was too poor to be acting foolish and taking risks like that. We didn’t have the luxury of bargaining the future.

“One thing my Ma wouldn’t compromise on was my education. Our government provided schools for all the kids if they wanted it, but that wasn’t good enough for my Ma. She wanted me to go to the same school she did. It was run by a Church and taught very particular views on how a person should be. As a kid, I didn’t really know any better, so I just took their word for it.”

Teddy seemed to snap out of his shock at hearing Bucky actually talking about his past and furrowed his brow. “Is that place why you don’t like churches?” he asked.

Bucky nodded. “It’s one of the reasons. I didn’t hate that place so bad though. It’s where I met Steve…” he trailed off wistfully as the memories of getting into trouble with his best friend reeled across his minds eye.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” roared Sister Mabel.

James sent one last mean mug to the boy on the ground who now had a satisfying trickle of blood dripping down his face from his nose before turning to look at the irate nun. His chest was still heaving from the fight and his knuckles stung from hitting the older boy, but he didn’t regret a thing.

Sister Mabel looked less than impressed. Of course, the fact that he was barely fifty pounds and only six was certainly a factor. “You can rest assured that your mother will be hearing about this. Brawling in the schoolyard is unacceptable behavior. There is never a reason to turn to violence!”

“But Sister Mabel,” piped in the small blond boy who sat next to him in class, “Billy was being mean.”

“That is enough from you, Steven. Don’t think I didn’t see you’re part in this,” the nun hissed at the smaller boy who had planted himself by James’ side.

James glared up at the woman scolding them. “If you could see his part, then how come you didn’t do nothing to stop Billy from pushing Mary?”

Several of the kids still standing in a loose ring around the spectacle chorused an ‘ooo’ at his declaration.

Sister Mabel’s finger waggled down at them. “Now don’t you talk back, Mr. Barnes. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“And how come Billy ain’t in trouble? He’s the one who was being and asshole,” James sputtered out indignantly.

His head spun as a sharp slap echoed through the school yard. His cheek burned with the sting of the strike. “I said that is enough out of you, boy.” The nun stepped around the boys and grabbed an ear of each of them. “It’s to Father Donovan with both of you.”

James knew he was going to ask Steve to play with him later when he heard the smaller boy mutter from the other side of Sister Mabel.

“I thought there was never a reason to turn to violence.”

“Who’s Steve?” Elanor asked, speaking for the first time since the previous morning.

He smiled at her sadly. “My first love.”

Blue hummed softly under hear breath. “I didn’t know that about you,” she said before taking a drink of her mead. “He must have been something quite special. You always had an eye for quality people.”

“I met Steven Grant Rogers in first grade when I was six years old. Even at that age, that scrawny, sickly little fuck managed to find every single bully’s fist within six blocks with his face. He had a real talent for pissing people off.”

He chuckled to himself. He could still see Steve wiping his bloody lip saying ‘I had them on the ropes’ after the countless times Bucky had bailed his ass out of the fire. He shook his head and took another drink.

“I had to learn how to win all his fights just so he wouldn’t keep getting his ass kicked. Even after school, when we were full grown, he was barely 90 pounds soaking wet. He’d had asthma his whole damn life, and scarlet fever twice.” He smiled fondly. “Even so, he was always willing to fight if he thought it was the right thing to do. That puny little shit had more balls than any man I ever met. Between that and his gorgeous blue eyes, I was sunk.”

“Steve,” he whined. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the start of the picture!”

It was Friday, and for some reason, Steve was loitering by the gates to the school instead of fleeing with the rest of the sane kids eager to start their weekend. Bucky just shook his head at his friends odd behavior.

“Just a minute, Bucky,” Steve replied, as if every 8th grade boy just loved standing by a fence and doing nothing on a Friday afternoon.

No sooner had Steve said that than the Bucky realized exactly what stupid reason Steve had for wanting to stand next to the damn gate for ten minutes. The classes for the day had been let out an hour ago, and now the last of the clubs were getting released. The doors to the chapel opened and the girls choir bustled out.

Bucky let his eyes pass leisurely over the girls, flashing a cocky grin at a few of them as they passed by and dispersed onto the sidewalks into the city. He got a smug satisfaction when a few of them actually batted their lashes and giggled back at him.

He turned a snarky grin at his friend which faded the moment he caught the look on Steve’s face. It was a particular dopey eyed look he’d seen on any number of their classmates right before they’d gone all girl crazy and been absolutely insufferable. His stomach fell. Steve had a crush on a girl. Suzie by the looks of it, based on where his eyes were glued.

Why did it hurt so bad?

His expression fell. “Course, two men loving each other was frowned upon on my world. Seen as a perversion. Between that and the fact that Steve only like girls, I just kept it to myself. It wasn’t so bad at first. I just pretended I didn’t feel anything, and tried my best to find a nice girl. I never really wanted to string a dame along though, and it didn’t really feel right trying to use them to forget about him. Eventually, I tried just avoiding him.”

Bucky closed the door behind himself as he let himself out of Steve’s room. The little punk had finally gotten to sleep. It had taken a few hours, but Bucky had patiently read to him until he nodded off. The damn cough didn’t help.

He set the dreadfully boring philosophy book from the library onto the table in front of the short couch. Sarah Rogers was sitting tiredly on the couch reading a book of her own, a steaming mug of tea in a cup on the side table next to her. She set her bookmark and closed her book as he approached and patted the couch next to herself.

As soon as he sat down, she leaned over and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I take it he’s finally asleep,” she whispered into the silence of the room.

Even the clock had been stopped because the ticking had irritated Steve’s migraine. The windows were all tightly curtained and the radiator was on as warm as it would go to fight off the early spring cold snap. The room was as clean as Bucky had ever seen it, as Sarah had obsessed over getting rid of the dust just in case it helped with Steve’s cough.

He wrapped an arm around the woman he considered an aunt after all these years. “He’s out like a light.”

Sarah fidgeted her fingers as tension rolled through her body. Finally she shifted away from him and looked up into his eyes. “I remember a time when I had to look down to talk to you.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re all grown up now. In a few months you’ll graduate and go out into the world and make your fortunes.”

A tear escaped her eye.

“Hey, Aunt Sarah, none of that. Steve will bounce back from this. No problem,” he said with a gentle smile, doing his best to sound like he believed it. He looked slightly down at the kind face of the short woman who by this point had basically half raised him. She wasn’t looking at her son’s room. She was crying while she looked at him. “What’s the matter?”

She bit her lip, her strong eyebrows so like her son’s when they bunched up in the middle of her face. Another tear slid out.

“Bucky, I would like to say something to you, but I want you to promise you won’t flip your lid, and that you’ll listen till I’m done before you interrupt.”

It was clear in every terse line of her body that she was very serious about whatever she wanted to say. Bucky had no tolerance for crying dames, especially Steve’s Ma, who was about the sweetest lady he’d ever met. He nodded, then wiggled his butt on the couch to signify he wasn’t going anywhere while he mimed zipping his lips.

She collected herself before she finally reached forward and grabbed his hand which was closest to her with both of hers. She met his gaze earnestly. “Buck, I know you’re in love with my son,” she started.

He instantly made to pull his hand back but she only tightened her grip. Tension roiled through his back and abdomen. His eyes felt like they were going to burst out of his face and his ribs seemed unwilling to expand to facilitate any sort of meaningful breathing.

More tears slipped out of her eyes as she saw what he knew was a clear confirmation of her statement in his reaction.

“Thank you.”

The statement only confused him. His mind didn’t seem to want to comprehend that she had just thanked him for… he opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. About a million thoughts were jumbling themselves in a heap between his ears. Before he could say anything, she held up a hand.

“I’m not done yet.”

She carefully wiped the wetness from her eyes then held his eyes hostage with the kindness in her own. Despite himself, he felt his shoulders begin to droop as his chest finally loosened up enough to let a shuddering breath in. His own eyes began to burn with the complicated mix of shame, guilt, and grief that so often plagued him when he thought about his feelings for too long.

“Thank you for seeing in my boy what I do, for recognizing what a great man he could be, the strength in his heart. You’re a good man, which for a man as young as you is no small thing,” she said with confidence, even if it was barely above a whisper. “You’re a good friend to Steve, and just good for him in general. Nevertheless, I wish you would stop doing this to yourself.”

He couldn’t keep holding her gaze anymore. He turned away and looked at his own knees. He didn’t try to escape again, knowing she would only pull on his hand if he did, but that didn’t mean he would be a willing participant in this conversation.

She wasn’t willing to stop though. She took a breath and forced herself to continue. “I’m not upset with you. I’m honored that a man like you would take such and interest in my son.”

She reached a hand forward and hooked her fingers around his jaw so she could pull his face around again to look at her. “Bucky, there is nothing wrong with you, no matter what those blowhards at that school say. You are not broken, you are not a perversion, and you are not unnatural. This sort of thing ain’t nearly as uncommon as people like to say.”

Everything she said sounded so nice. So tempting. It felt like a knife slipping slowly into his chest. For the first time in years, he felt tears falling down his face.

She continued relentlessly on. “But just because it’s not wrong, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

She let go of his hand completely and grabbed his face with both of her hand, pulling him forward until she was certain he couldn’t avoid her words. “Steve is going to die.”

He pulled back out of her hands and stood up, retreating several steps away from her. More tears poured down his face as he shook his head.

Sarah was crying freely, but in a way that sent shards through his heart. Her shoulders were slumped and her hands collapsed in her lap. The grief pouring out of her expression said everything he needed to know.

She had lost hope.

“Bucky, there is no point denying it,” she said softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “Even if he makes it through this, he will never get any stronger. His heart is weak, his lungs barely work, his spine is curved, and he’s half the weight he should be. His list of ailments is longer than most seventy year olds.”

“On top of that,” she paused and bit her lip for a moment. She took a fortifying breath then continued on. “On top of that, he will never love you the way you love him, and you deserve better than that.”

Her words carved out a hollow place inside him. He knew she was right. The tears kept coming, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what she was saying. Steve liked girls. Only girls. He had never once even entertained the notion that he’d ever thought about the idea of men being attracted to men, let alone shown any attraction to one himself.

And he was dying. It would be a miracle if he saw twenty-five.

Sarah crossed the room while he was having his internal meltdown. Her hands delicately framed his face, letting her thumbs wipe his tears away. “You’re a good man, and you deserve to be loved by someone as fully and deeply as you love them, and I’ve seen how deeply you love people.” She sniffled wetly. “Nobody would blame you if you took a step back, gave yourself some space. Broken hearts hurt real bad, but they do heal if you allow them to.”

“How?” he whispered brokenly.

She patted his cheeks. “You just leave. I love you like a second son, Bucky, and I want what’s best for you. I want you to leave, and not talk to Steve for a while.”

He licked his lips. “But…”

She shushed him. “I am his mother, and I will take care of him. And you need to take care of yourself for once.”

He nodded silently. She shooed him and without another word he left with nothing more than one last brief glance back.

“Did it work?” Elanor asked, blinking innocently at him.

He pursed his lips. Both of his kids had never really shown any interest in settling down. He wasn’t sure either one of them had ever had more than a passing crush on someone. It was odd considering how he was… but it could just be that they were normal and he was the odd one. He did tend to hold onto people a little too tightly.

“Not as well as I’d have hoped,” he said before downing the rest of his beer and gesturing for Teddy to pour him another. His throat finally a bit wetted, he continued on with his story.

It had been eight months since a classmate named Sal had invited him to his uncle’s boxing gym. Apparently it had gotten around the school that he hadn’t been in a fight in a few months, and Sal figured he’d want to keep up his form.

Turns out, he was pretty good. Sal’s uncle Tommy was a trainer and took an instant shine to Bucky, said he had a lot of raw talent. As he sat on the bench unwrapping his hands, he pondered what it meant to have talent at this sort of thing. He hit hard, fast, and with an accuracy that belied the number of times he’d been in fights with fellas way bigger than himself. He was also very good at dodging.

More than that though, he had anger. And grief. It had been nearly a year since he stopped hanging out with Steve. Almost a year and he wasn’t sure if he was getting any better. Every attempt at relationships had flopped pretty miserably, to the point that he had started going out to get laid more than to actually make any real efforts.

He had made a lot of new friends, something that had been more difficult when he hung out with Steve considering Steve’s habit of pissing people off by pointing out all their hypocrisies. His new friends didn’t really feel like friends. He knew if he told them something about himself they didn’t like, they would be out the door faster than he could blink. He was starved for good conversation too. Turns out, most men didn’t really talk about anything of substance.

He could play the part of vapid playboy well enough, but it was kind of exhausting. It didn’t really feel like anybody knew him anymore. It felt like all he did was work, read, and hit things. And now Sal was asking if he would consider hitting things for money.

He put his bandage ball in his bag and pulled out his fresh clothes to hit the showers. He pondered everything that had happened in the last year as he washed the sweat away in the frigid water. The cold never really seemed to sink in. Or maybe he just already felt cold. It was hard to tell.

After a quick bye to Tommy and the boys, he slipped out into the cold winter evening. He hustled down the sidewalk in the direction of home, head down and collar up like everyone else on the street. He barely saw the others on the sidewalk as people. It kind of felt like nobody was a real person anymore. Or maybe they were real people, but he didn’t feel like one. All he did was work and hit things.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a dark little miserable lump on his stoop. The lump looked up at him with familiar big blue eyes as he approached. He looked like absolute shit. He was even thinner than he had been when he was sick and his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. His hand was clenched around a bottle shaped paper bag.

“Becky told me where you lived,” he rasped out. “I didn’t know you’d moved out.”

Bucky nodded and gestured to the door. “Yeah, several months ago. Lets get inside before you catch a cold.”

Steve pried himself up off the cold steps then shivered as a frozen gust of wind pierced his shoddy thermal defenses. They both meandered through the door then Bucky led the way up the creaking stairs slowly, knowing Steve wasn’t much for cardio. He was on the fourth floor and he didn’t want him to keel over before they got there.

Steve stood listlessly behind him as he got the door open. Neither one of them spoke as they entered the shit hole apartment.

“It’s not much…” he trailed off, trying to think of some way he could build on that statement. “Yeah. It’s not much.”

And it wasn’t. It was a studio with barely enough space to be considered more than a closet. There were two cabinets and a counter with a sink next to an old fashioned ice box and oven. He hadn’t used either much and the dust on them showed. There was a single radiator next to the bathroom door, with his small single sized bed on the other side of the door. His clothes were at least kept up, with the clean ones hung neatly, the folded ones in a medium sized chest next to the rack his shirts and pants were on. In the center of it all, pushed up against the foot of his bed, was a small two person couch that had really seen better days with a stack of library books beside it. It was off green with the fabric near worn through in a few places, and so lumpy you could see the dips and bulges long before you experienced them.

“Why?” Steve asked, finally breaking his thousand yard gaze to look into Bucky’s eyes.

The overwhelming grief in Steve’s eyes left little room to pretend he didn’t know what the vague question was referring to. Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he gestured to the couch as he made his way into the room and tossed his shed coat onto the bed. Steve kept his on for the moment, but still made his way to the lumpy couch. He sat, then shifted several times attempting to find a comfortable position, gave up, and just leaned his head back miserably to stare at the dingy ceiling.

“You’re couch is shit,” he mumbled.

Bucky didn’t bother commenting. The couch really was shit. He sat next to Steve and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork out and taking a swig. He shuddered and had to force himself to finish swallowing. “This gin is shit.”

Steve shrugged. “It was cheap.”

They were both quiet for several minutes. Just when Steve was ready to give up on this whole thing, Bucky finally spoke.

“You were asleep. Your mom and I had a…” he trailed off. There was a lump in his throat thinking about it. He swallowed it down and continued, ignoring the sting in his eyes, pretending he couldn’t feel the cold tracks down his face. “Tough conversation,” he finished delicately.

At Steve’s curious glance, he clarified.

“She verbalized a few things I’d been avoiding thinking about for a while.”

Steve looked away and bit his lip. His eyes followed the line of a crack through the plaster wall all the way to the ceiling. He looked back when he heard Bucky sniffle. His stomach sank. He’d kind of suspected but they’d never really discussed it.

He grabbed the bottle from Bucky’s hand and took a swig himself, forcing the foul swill to stay down. “So all those girls, were they just for show?”

Bucky wilted even further into the couch, becoming one with the lumps. “No. I do like girls. I just…” he shrugged, “also like fellas. It’s more like, I’m more attracted to the whole person instead of only the equipment.”

He turned the full force of his own puppy dog eyes on Steve. “How long did you know?”

“Puberty,” Steve replied crisply. He shrugged. “I could never prove it. You were always more subtle than most people, but we’ve been friends a long time. I suspected.”

Bucky’s chest felt like it was going to cave in. Steve knew. He’d basically always known.

“You don’t hate me?” he asked in a quivering voice.

The sounds of his neighbors fighting drifted through the silence between them. They could make out a few of the words and neither party sounded like they were behaving like they wanted a resolution.

Steve brushed off the vulgarities drifting in from the wall and turned back to Bucky. “You’ve been my best friend since first grade. There’s not much that would make me hate you, and even less that I would believe you actually did, if that makes sense. I don’t care if you like men. I know you would never force yourself on someone who didn’t want it, and that’s all that matters to me.”

He reached over with the bottle offering it back to Bucky. “What happened to you?”

Bucky grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, the third one going down far smoother than the first had. “I made it home after talking to your mom. Dad could tell I’d been crying. We got into a fight. He said he didn’t have a son. I only got my stuff cause Becky packed it for me and carried it out into the hall while Mom told him I at least needed some clothes so I could hide my shameful nature.”

“Your own parents kicked you out?” Steve said indignantly, his usual passion shining through his expression for the first time in their discussion.

Bucky’s voice sounded flat, despite the tears running down his face again. “Downstairs neighbor heard the whole thing. Had a fella over at the time who’d had a similar experience when he’d been my age. He let me crash on his couch for a few weeks while I got some scratch together for this dump. They didn’t unenroll me, so I just kept going to school and pretended like everything was normal. Becky covered for me a few times till graduation, then I went to working full time. Haven’t talked to them since.”

Steve tightened his fists in his lap. He bit his lip and looked down to his own knees. “They shipped Mom off to Riverhold last week. She died this morning.”

The next morning, Steve helped Bucky pack up his apartment of his scant few possessions so they could move him into Sarah’s old room.

El’s head gently rested on his shoulder and he lifted his arm to wrap around her. “Papa, that wasn’t fair for you.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head then leaned his own head on it. “My love life hurt, but it was the least of my worries. When I was twelve, the global economy collapsed. The reasons are complicated, but that didn’t make the hunger any harder to understand. There just wasn’t enough to go around, and even years later, keeping enough food on the table for me and Steve, especially when he was sick, was almost more than I could handle. I ended up boxing professionally for a while on the weekends just to make some extra cash. I was actually a champion. The money helped, but it always managed to get sucked up in bills or food or something.

“To top it off, the whole world was going to shit. After over a decade of desolation, people snapped, and another war started. My country was deciding still if they wanted to join with their allies or try and stay out of it. I read about the invasion just a few days before my title match. I remember cause that was the day I found out my Ma was going to die. She got cancer.”

The bell rang.

He stood looking down at his opponent. Hank was a good guy. He felt a little guilty for the concussion he clearly had. He was writhing on the floor completely unaware of his surroundings. He’d get better… probably.

He felt his arm lifted and the world suddenly hit his senses again. The crowd was screaming their heads off and Dizzy’s voice was echoing through the arena announcing his win by KO. Tommy would certainly be giving him an earful about his lack of showmanship on this one.

Usually he was one to give the crowd a show, but today his heart just hadn’t been in it. The last few days had barely felt real. Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and it left him feeling disconnected. He knew this was just the quiet in his head before the oncoming fist collided with his face. He felt a lot like… like Hank, writhing on the floor unaware of where he was.

At least he’d made a bet on this one. He locked eyes with his bookie as he felt the robe being placed over his shoulders. Tommy was holding up his new trophy. Third one Bucky had brought to Tommy’s gym. Bucky was more excited about that payout. He’d get a bonus for winning the Championship, then he’d get that sweet cash from the long shot bet he’d placed that he would KO Hank before the end of the third round.

He stood there while Tommy grandstanded for a minute, going through the motions. He smiled for the camera, cracked a few shitty jokes, smoozed a bit. Finally, Tommy threw his arm around his shoulders and started leading him out of the crowd and in the directions of the showers.

The noise of the crowd crested again as they hit the door out of the arena show floor as Dizzy started talking again. Winning the world championship in his class was great and all, but it didn’t change the fact that all most people cared about was the heavyweight class. He could win three championships in a row and most people still didn’t know who he was. That bet though. That bet was real money. That money would spend well. All Steve’s doctor bills would get paid, rent was taken care of for the month, and there would still be a few dollars left over.

For one brief moment, they were caught up on everything. He wished he was in a state to appreciate this rare event. Instead, everything only felt more surreal as the doors closed behind them and the noise diminished even further. Everything got more quiet as they made their way down the stark white hall towards the furthest locker room.

Tommy pushed his shoulder down guiding him to sit on a bench across from the showers. He looked Bucky up and down then squatted down in front of him to put his face in Bucky’s line of sight.

“Hey Kid,” he started in a subdued tone. He sighed and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I know shit’s rough for you right now, so I get why you ended that so quickly. I ain’t mad.” He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist. “Don’t keep all that bottled up, kid. Come by the gym and hit the bag for a bit. Let it all out. That shit will kill you otherwise.”

He gave his mentor and coach a weak smile. “Thanks, Sal. I’m gonna get cleaned up and head out of here. I got work tomorrow still, and we’re three hours from Brooklyn.”

Sal nodded and pushed himself up from his knees, then left the room.

It was silent in the locker room. Quiet enough to hear a dripping faucet in the showers. He leaned forward and let the quiet sink into his bones. Everything had been so loud lately. Europe at war. Title match. Other things.

He felt the tension cinch his back and took a deep breath to try and head it off. He was still in the damn arena. Not the location to fall apart. He undid the straps holding his right glove on with his teeth then pulled it off in the crook of his elbow. With one hand free, he took off the other glove and set them aside. He rested his elbows on his knees and began the slow ritual of rolling up his hand bindings. The familiar motions soothed him better than anybody’s words could.

“For a three time world Champ, you don’t look too thrilled,” came a cocky, but mildly familiar voice, followed by the creak of very nice shoes on the smooth concrete floors.

Bucky looked up to see two men file into the locker rooms whose very appearance made his gut plummet. One was an older gentleman, clean shaved, a touch of gray at his temples. His crisp dark green uniform showcased the bars of a colonel, and his eyes betrayed his years of experience. His expression was neutral, but it was clear he was focusing intently on taking everything in.

The other man, the one who had spoken, was Howard Stark, genius millionaire weapons developer, scientist, and owner of Stark Industries. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with a well shaped and uniform length mustache and big, dark eyes which were an endless fountain of curiosity and energy. All that sitting on top of a perfectly tailored suit and shoes so shiny they looked entirely out of place in a grimy locker room in Philly.

Bucky took all this in with a stoic gaze before going back to unwrapping his hands. “What can I do for you fellas?”

The older man stepped forward and extended a hand down to Bucky to shake, which he did.

“My name is Colonel Chester J Phillips. I’d like to speak with you privately regarding a job offer.”

Mr. Stark bounced on his toes in his position behind the colonel. “Yeah, so get cleaned up and we’ll give you a ride back to New York if you like.”

He untucked the end of the wrap on his other hand and started the process of rolling it up. “Okay. I’ll just take a shower and meet you in the hall.”

He listened to the two men exit the room and sighed as he tucked the rolled bandages into his bag. He pulled out his street clothes and hit the showers.

Barely twenty minutes later he was opening the door to the hall, bag in hand, to meet the two men who were, unfortunately, still waiting for him. They looked up at him as he walked through the door and stopped their whispered conversation.

“I gotta grab some cash from my bookie, then I’ll be your captive audience till we get back home,” he said with a twitch of a smile. With that, he led the way back down the hall and through the arena, now filled with fans screaming Joe’s name. Bucky ignored all that and made a beeline for Ken. One hushed conversation later, and he was carefully tucking a sizable wad of bills into his jacket pocket.

He nodded to the Colonel, who was surprisingly waiting patiently. As soon as he got a signal, Colonel Phillips turned and led the way out a side door where a long black car was waiting. A well dressed gentleman inclined his head as they approached and opened the door to the back for them. The two other men nodded their heads in thanks as they slid in, then Bucky followed, tossing his bag in first to the seat facing backwards across from where Phillips and Stark were. He slid in next to his bag and waited quietly for the two of them to say their peace.

“You know, there are guys who say you might be the best fighter the ring’s ever seen,” said the Colonel as the car started and began to pull forward onto the street. “Between your speed and power, you also got accuracy and a flawless form. I can tell by watching you though, the real reason you’re so good is cause you learned to fight before you learned to box. You got the instincts of a man used to fighting with higher stakes than a trophy.”

Bucky shrugged. “You got good eyes, Colonel.”

The older man leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “We did some digging on you.” He reached his hand to the side and Mr. Stark handed him a manila folder. He opened it to a details page with a picture of Bucky at the front. “Graduated from St. Mary’s top of your class on a school granted scholarship. Tell me son, why did your parents stop paying for school? It was one of the best in the state, and I know they could afford it still.”

Bucky forced himself to breath through the sudden sharp pain through his chest. “We had a philosophical disagreement, and I was disowned. I haven’t spoken with them since.”

Stark looked at him curiously. “About that. Your whole building knows about some big fight you had with them, but nobody would say what it was about.”

“It’s because I like fucking men,” he stated bluntly, too tired to beat around the bush. “My parents are very Catholic. I’d already strained our relationship by coming out as an atheist. Then I had the audacity to actually read Marx and develop an opinion on socialism that didn’t stop at saying it was evil. Them realizing I was in love with a man was the last straw, and now I have no parents.”

Colonel Phillips pulled a pen out of his pocket and started taking some notes on the paper in the folder. “So, you’re a homosexual?” he asked casually, holding his pen steady and waiting for an answer.

Bucky froze. He’d never actually used that word out loud about himself. He’d never really used any label. He licked his lip and bit it while he considered what he would describe him as.

“Well…” he started, tone uncertain still, “I wouldn’t say that. I do actually prefer dames, and I have been with a lot more dames than I have fellas. Every now and then though, a fella just stands out. More the exception than the rule.”

The Colonel just nodded, like he’d just shared his favorite color or brand of tea, then jotted down a quick note and looked back up at him. “Would you call yourself a communist?”

“Eew,” he accidentally blurted without thinking. He blushed slightly at his outburst and the smirk Stark gave it. He cleared his throat. “No, sir. I do believe that Capitalism is a more feasible system, especially considering out cultural norms and diversity of our population. I’m not sure communism could actually work in a population which wasn’t homogeneous, and I don’t believe there is any ethical way to take the steps which would be required to solve that dilemma. But I do also believe there is a lot of middle ground between the two systems. Some industries are just so cumbersome, yet essential, that in my opinion it just makes more sense to have them owned and ran by the government. Things like the mail and the railroads. I think an argument could be made for healthcare as well.”

He was slightly confused at the calm and dignified way the man was just taking notes about his answers. He wasn’t freaking out, making faces, scooting away from him, or making any indication that anything he’d said was abnormal at all. He’d just blatantly admitted to being a man fucking socialistic atheist, and he was just calmly writing it down like this was a normal job interview.

“What special skills to you have?” Phillips asked, again giving Bucky an emotionless and bland look. “And please be specific. All skills can be useful in the right context.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and considered what would count as a skill. He ignored the bumping of the car as it made the last turn till it entered the highway. The road was still relatively new so once the driver had made it there, it was quite smooth still. He looked back to the well dressed men across from him.

“Well, boxing, obviously,” he said, watching as they both nodded and the colonel wrote it down. “I’m a carpenter, real steady with a knife, and I got some mechanic skills for all the machines we use. I have to fix them pretty often. I play the piano, have since I was five.” He thought about what else may be useful and shrugged. “I’m a good endurance fighter, not that I really showed that tonight, but cardio is actually my strong suit. Um… I am proficient in Italian.”

“Any other languages?” the colonel asked.

“No sir, but I would love to learn more.” He twiddled his thumbs and readjusted his feet in the space between them. “I’ve been working on my Italian for a few years now, and Sal and Tommy say I pick it up fast. I always dreamed of being a polyglot someday.”

“Any other skills you can think of?”

Bucky looked out the window and began thinking several less appropriate thoughts. “Not sure if I would brag about it, but I am good at blending in when I want to. I got the ability to direct people’s attention where I want it usually. Sounds kinda manipulative to word it like that… And I’m pretty good at math. Geometry and trig, to be specific.”

The colonel wrote that down, then asked the next question. The questions ranged from broad, like asking his skills, to extremely specific, like asking his thought processes in very particular situations. Sometimes the questions were very personal, like where he’d stayed when he’d been kicked out, and other times it had been his opinion on specific events or people. He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of all of it was, or why he was bothering with it, when he didn’t even know what the damn job offer was. He was far too tired to bother lying about anything though, so he just kept it brief and sometimes painfully honest.

They were over two thirds of the way back to Brooklyn when the Colonel finally put the damn folder away. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. All the questions had left him a bit off footed and raw, and he was very much looking forward to his bed. Unfortunately, there was still nearly an hour left in their drive and was stuck in the car with these two nosy bastards.

Phillips readjusted himself in his seat and kicked his feet forward, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back comfortably in the well padded seat. “I know I mentioned this is a job offer, and that interview was the last step. Congratulations, Mr. Barnes, you passed.”

Stark, who had been staring out the window looking miles away shook his head and turned to fact Phillips. “Oh man, you’re finally done. My turn?”

Phillips rolled his eyes, but gestured for Stark to go on.

Stark grinned. “About time,” he muttered as he rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to peg Bucky with an intense stare. “Let me tell you about our organization, then I’ll let you know about what I want you to do.”

Bucky gave him a quizzical look, but just rubbed his eyes and nodded politely.

“We are starting an international intelligence organization, funded and manned by the US and her allies. Our purpose is to discover, predict, and counter as many of our enemies scientific and intelligence advancements as possible.”

Stark was well known for being a charismatic businessman on top of being a genius. Bucky was two sentences into his pitch, and he already understood the man’s appeal. The more interested he was in the subject, the more attractive he looked. He did his best to ignore the thought and pay attention to what he was being told.

“In order to accomplish our goals, we need the best of the best. We need men and women with a variety of skills and abilities, to fill all roles. Considering the complex and delicate nature of some of our specific objectives, we need people who are more than just brainless fighters. We need smart people, who can think on their feet, and most importantly, stay alive to give their reports.”

His grin stretched even bigger and he was nearly bouncing on his seat. “And we want you to help us build that team.”

“Build it?” Bucky replied, the skepticism clear in his tone. “You sure I’m qualified for something like that?”

“Mr. Barnes,” interrupted the Colonel before Stark could get going again, “you may be one of the most qualified men your age I’ve ever seen.” He laced his fingers together and looked intently forward at Bucky. “You are the best fighter in any class, and I’m half convinced you could take down the damn heavywieghts. On top of that, your academic record is impressive, even with your personal issues. Your teachers, even after five years, still rave about how brilliant and quick witted you are. Every man you have ever worked for has similarly enthusiastic compliments about your work ethic, problem solving, and leadership potential. I don’t think you realize how rare all those qualities are in a man who can fight as well as you do.”

Bucky’s eyes couldn’t get any wider if he wanted them to. That they had already talked to his teachers and bosses had him a bit floored. He wondered at how long they had been watching him. And they had gotten good reports from them. Even his teachers. His teachers who had regularly told him he would burn in hell. Those teachers had told the army he was brilliant and quick.

“Oh,” was what his stalled out brain came up with as a response. He turned back to Stark who was giving him an encouraging look. “So, what exactly would I be doing?”

And there was that million dollar Stark grin again. “Officially, you would be part of the 107th, in the Army. Really though, you and your immediate subordinates would travel with them regionally, blend in with them when you aren’t needed, but when you are, you would break off and fulfill missions for the SSR before returning back to the 107 to report. The regular rank and file of the 107 wouldn’t know a thing, so you and your boys gotta blend in. While you’re there, you need to work on making your boys as good in a fight as you are. You got a leg up, and we need a combat specialist with your people skills.”

A bubbling suspicion rose in his gut. “And what kinds of missions would these be?” he asked hesitantly.

The colonel jumped in again. “Mostly going behind enemy lines to acquire supplies, intel, or human resources.”

“It’s very dangerous work,” Stark conceded, “but it’s work that really needs doing.” At Bucky’s uncertain look, he continued on. “It ain’t like you’d be dodging bullets tomorrow. We ain’t even in the war yet. None of us are naive enough to think we won’t end up in it though, and you got till then to get your team as ready as they can be.”

Bucky was silent as he thought about it. The Colonel and Stark seemed content to let him mull it over, so he did. What followed was a rather depressing series of conclusions.

First, Aunt Sarah had been right. Distance would have been way better for getting over his feelings for Steve. He’d been living in her old room for over three years now, and nothing had gotten any better. If anything, he was even more hung up on the scrawny little fuck. It hurt. It hurt every day.

Second was the conclusion that he really didn’t have any real reason to stay. His job was alright, but also something with consistent enough demand that he could pick it right back up. More importantly though, nothing he made at work was really what he wanted to make. He loved creating things, but most of what he made was plain and boring shit which took minimal skill and resources. He had no family, or at least none that would be caught dead talking to him. His friends felt more like acquaintances really. The only thing he really gave a shit about in Brooklyn was Steve, and that was kind of the problem.

Third, he didn’t like what his life had become. All he did was work, read, and hit things. When he got home, the best he could hope for was that he would be too exhausted to think too much. He wasn’t proud of his life or anything he’d accomplished. Sure, he and Steve had plenty of good memories together, doing fun stuff and being mischievous hooligans, as single young men should, but when the time came every night to lie down in his bed, all those memories brought him was a deep aching pain. Pain that he would never have what he wanted most. Pain that he knew Steve was falling apart, getting more sickly every year. Pain that his own parents didn’t love him.

His mind flickered to the letter he knew was at the bottom of his bag. The letter Becky had written to tell him that her mother was dying. She had implied that the stress of his sinful ways and the shame it brought her had somehow contributed, but that was fucking stupid and he knew it. Stress didn’t give a person cancer. It hurt to know that Becky thought of him that way though. He had hoped that someday his sister would grow out of the bullshit their parents spouted, but instead she had just fallen in line like a good little Catholic.

This job though… it could be a fresh start. Something new, something different. Maybe even something he could be proud of, if he survived. If he didn’t, well, he’d be dead. Dead men didn’t give a shit one way or another. If he survived though, being an officer could open a lot of doors for him. Maybe he could leave Brooklyn, have a whole new life somewhere new. Maybe this SSR would even go on past the war and he could do neat intelligence things, which sounded a whole lot like cool spy shit.

It wasn’t really a choice. He looked up to meet Stark’s eyes. “Sure, why not. I’m in.”

Bucky shrugged. “I was shipped off to training within the week, and an officer on the front lines less than a year after that.”

His voice stuck there. It was hard enough talking about Steve and his family. Hydra was a dark place in his memory. He turned his attention to his drink instead.

Silence filled the room as everyone muddled their thoughts. Outside he could hear the bustle of town, unchanged from the events of the previous day. It had been the same on Earth in that regard. No matter how his world crashed in on itself, everything else just kept going relentlessly forward. Time just kept marching on, leaving him further and further behind.

He pushed his freshly empty tankard forward and silently bid his son to fill it. Teddy nodded and turned to refill it with Bucky’s preferred ale and set the foamy beverage back on the counter.

Bucky was lost in memories of blood and mud. “I made it through three battlefield promotions fighting through the closest thing to hell I think any man can get without dying first. The weapons on Midgard had advanced to the point where they were almost too effective. Everything died in their wake: the men, the trees, even the weeds. Fire and explosions rained down from the sky and our enemies shot projectiles at us which could tear a man to pieces from hundreds of yards away. Between battles, the pained cries of the wounded were even worse than the dying screams of the men left on the field.

“But our enemies were such that we couldn’t turn back. Tyrants who saw people as obstacles in their path to a utopia where everyone left alive looked and thought exactly like them. It was a war for the very soul of our world.”

His words trailed off as his gaze lingered off into an invisible middle distance. “I was captured for a while, but I’d rather not talk about that.”

Blue smiled at him, sensing that this was his limit for the night. “Thanks for sharing, Bucky.”

Teddy looked up at him with the same big eyes that always spelled disaster for Lis’ restraint. “Will you tell us more later, Papa?”

He shook his head. “Well, I don’t know why you would want to know. It’s pretty ancient history. Not even this world’s history. Also, almost entirely depressing.”

“Please!” El begged, her own eyes getting big.

Between the two of them, he knew it was only a matter of time.

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Chapter List

#james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu crossover #once upon a time #once upon a time crossover #flashback time

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