1938 - 2014
Before CATFA - CATWS
Bucky P.O.V
Walking down the street, in search of a punk, I check the alleyway.
No one's in there. I check the next one, but still no one.
I find a lady staring down an alleyway with an almost horrified expression and sigh. I shoo her away before going down to check whether it's Steve getting his ass beat.
It is.
I walk over to break up the fight, or well, beating. Steve is on the ground and bleeding. Not much of a surprise there. I pull the other guy off of him and help him stand up.
"I swear, I had him that time," Steve complains.
"Right. That totally explains why you weren't on your feet," I reply sarcastically. "One of these days, you'll get yourself killed."
Steve rolls his eyes as I drag him back to our apartment.
We're not that far from it.
.
.
.
I made Steve sit on the bed before moving to grab some bandages for him. Then walk back into the room to find him smoking.
"You want?" Steve asks, holding a cigarette up for me.
"Sure."
I sit down beside Steve, letting him put the cigarette in my mouth and lighting it with his own. My hand comes up to grab his face and inspect the damage.
I feel my cheeks heat up.
I pull away and start tending to his wounds like nothing was wrong. I start to berate him like I normally do when he's being stupid.
"I don't know why you ever think it's a good idea to start fights with people twice your size. You know you won't win, so why bother?" I ask. "You're always acting like you have something to prove."
"And? What if I do have something to prove?"
"What would you be able to prove? Seriously, Steve, I don't get it. You pick a fight, get your ass beat, and for what? What do you expect to happen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes! It does! You're getting yourself hurt over and over. That's not normal or okay. You've gotten really lucky so far because some of those guys could actually kill you," I point out, giving Steve a worried look.
He only narrows his eyes and frowns. Then he pulls away when I finish bandaging him up.
I watch as he gets up and walks off.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
"Don't worry, I'm not leaving. Just calm down."
I sigh, taking a drag of my cigarette as I lay down and close my eyes. I don't sleep. I'm not tired. I just think.
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My eyes shoot open as I wake up, realizing I fell asleep by accident.
I sit up and see Steve sitting on his bed. He's glancing at me, obviously beaten up again very recently. But he's just drawing when he notices I'm awake.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he greets.
"Where did you go when I was asleep?" I ask.
"Not looking for trouble. We just needed something from the store."
"Why didn't you-"
"You needed the rest," Steve interrupts.
I sigh and stand up to grab the bandages again.
"I'm not a kid. I don't need supervision."
"Sometimes I think you might be. You act without thinking, you pick a fight because you can. You steal, lie, and fight. You're constantly getting in trouble! You-"
"I'm not going to listen to you whine and complain all the time."
Bucky glares at Steve, pulling him back up to inspect and bandage him again.
"For a small guy, you really seem to like picking fights with people you can't win against," I tell him.
Steve doesn't respond and instead stays quiet.
I lean back when I'm finished. Then, looking down, I notice Steve's sketchbook.
"Do you mind if I look?" I ask.
He shrugs and looks away.
I grab his sketchbook and flip through the pages, admiring his art. A lot of them, I notice, are of me. Some I remember posing for, some I do not. I find myself not minding it.
"You're pretty good at this whole drawing thing."
"Thanks. You make for a great model."
I shrug and continue flipping through the pages. Then I notice a bookmark. I'm not sure why it took me so long to notice.
"What's the bookmark fo-"
Steve quickly pulls the sketchbook away from me. He's blushing slightly.
"Not for your eyes," Steve interrupts.
I give him a curious look.
"It's just art stuff, don't worry about it."
". . . If you say so."
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.
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"Soldat."
I look up to my handler, waiting for my instructions.
"Did you complete your mission?"
Looking back down, I shake my head. I wait for the slap as I think.
"I knew him."
"What was that?"
"The man on the bridge."
"You saw him on your last mission."
"But before that. I knew him before that."
I tense as I hear the next few words.
"Prep him."
"But he's been out of cryo for too long."
"Then wipe him and start over."
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832 word count
A.N. - Starting over sucks.
Have a good day/night and stay safe!