we wrapped our wounds with burnt leaves and revolution.

[battleaxe]

WHO? bucky (1922) & steve (metabolic).
WHAT? all that changes is that steve won't be following him into war. pre-serum, c. late 1941/early 1942.

[ when the united states of america declares war on japan, germany, and italy, the story that follows is a familiar one:

james buchanan barnes is nineteen years old and itching for a fight. that's just how he is, all edges and smiling bloodied teeth, knuckles split and bruised five days out of the week. he's a good man, a good person, who'll stand up for what he believes is right, but he grew up rough dealing with rough people, and none of that changes when he enlists in the united states army.

all that changes is that steve won't be following him into war.

hell will freeze over — twice — before bucky ever admits that he's relieved, but he sees how steve takes the news, like a hard hit to the gut that sucks the life right out of him. part of him wants to grip his shoulder and tell him that, hey, kid, it's all right, and the other part of him, the thoughtlessly rational part, wants to shake him until he's red in the face, because christ. what did he expect?

the real truth is that bucky doesn't know what he would have done if steve had enlisted, if he'd been accepted as a soldier, as private steven rogers, but confessions like that are hard and cold and too plain, and bucky doesn't know how to be that honest, not like that. especially not with steve.

the real, real truth is that he wants to kiss every easily left bruise on steve's skin, or trace the trembling in his ribs with his tongue when he coughs, but he doesn't. he wants to grip him until he can't breathe, then kiss the air back into his lungs, but he doesn't. he wants to take his face between both palms and say i love you, i do, i really do, but he doesn't.

he wants to hold his hand like he did when they were children.

but he doesn't.

instead he takes steve drinking, then brings him back to their apartment at a relatively reasonable time, well after they're both a shitfaced mess of wobbling legs and obnoxious laughter. steve takes his liquor better than bucky takes his, and sometimes steve is the one supporting bucky as they walk home together, listening and laughing to bucky's drunken singing, to bucky's drunken stories, like all best friends are supposed to do.

when bucky takes him out tonight, steve doesn't do much drinking — or much talking — or much of anything, really, so bucky doesn't drink much either. he talks to fill the silence between them, both in the bar and on the way home, the kind of incessant rambling that's birthed from tense uncertainty.

though steve shoots him a halfhearted smile every now and then, bucky knows an act when he sees one. he may as well be talking to a wall.

but, hell, bucky has enough cheap whiskey in his system to feel a good buzz, and he's too warm despite the frigid brooklyn winter, and he's got steve (quiet, possibly sulking steve) right beside him, so. he lets steve duck inside their apartment before he follows, gracelessly kicking the door shut behind them and dropping an arm over steve's skinny shoulders to roughly drag him in against his side. ]

What's with the face, Rogers?

Comments

[metabolic]

[ disappointment curls like smoke in steve's chest and he smiles thinly through it, steam hissing behind his teeth, creeping up his throat with a searing ache that reaches down to his ankles, sinks into his bones, makes every limb feel remarkably heavier. he has the strength to keep his composure because he's never learned how to lose it, the control for congratulations, buck and a small smile while volunteering a toast, lifting a skinny wrist, holding a lukewarm beer.

he has the strength for this but not to throw his body into the war, apparently, not to fight for his country but to swallow down cheap drafts and listen to bucky fill the silence. there's an effort not to sulk and it fluctuates, feigning bullshit and fueling the conversation with encouraging laughter (however slight and short, not the kind that has him doubled over and watery eyed from bucky's twist on some tale, the laughter paralyzing) and polite nods; never quite insincere.

nothing really distracts him from the inevitable distance, the ferry that will take bucky away, strong enough to make a difference, all slender muscle and bared teeth, purple knuckles that look a little crooked these days, weathered and tough. steve doesn't let his thoughts linger too long on how bucky can fill out the uniform that would sag and bunch around his own sharp elbows and thin limbs, hang too loose and have to be belted too tight around his waist. it doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter —

(see steve knows something about strength, knows it's not just muscle and a sharp right hook, split lips and heavy boots. bucky can pull enough weight for the both of them in a fight but that isn't what makes him strong. steve knows that.)

but it's the frustration that stings the worst, the hope he's pinned on himself, his capability to help, to defend, the rejection senseless and cruel, bruising darker than any time he's stood up to a guy four times his size because he can't sit down while cruelty snarls and boasts.

not having bucky at his side — he doesn't think about that much, either.

he's shivering by the time they make it back to the apartment, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. steve knows he hasn't convinced bucky of anything, thinks maybe the conversation won't tilt in his direction despite his efforts to keep bucky talking himself in aimless circles, the whiskey making his voice slur and his accent thicken. the familiarity should be comforting but there's enough distance to cover an ocean between them now.

it's too cold to kick off his shoes and shrug off his jacket the moment he steps inside so he leaves it all on and sighs audibly when bucky's arm falls over him, not bothering with the effort of pulling away and not wanting to. ]

Calling me ugly, now? [ it's bucky's attitude he mimics but it comes out weak, less than halfhearted. inside their apartment he allows himself to sound tired, just a little, fitting against his side too easily, slight shoulders tucked against bucky's chest. ] I'm alright, Buck. [ it almost sounds honest, hard at the edges, an obvious suggestion that he doesn't want to get into it, not now. ]