the above video is the song that inspired this fic. i honestly love sleeping at last so much, and i think everyone needs to appreciate them more.
summary: bucky and steve stargaze. the stars are the only thing that never change, but bucky and steve will find each other anyways. always, always, always.
tw: lil light murder, not incredibly graphic, but some description of blood
1934
the gravel sticks to bucky's back, itching against an old cut from some fight. his arms are by his side, the back of his hand pressed against steve's, the sweat slick on their pale skin.
"there!" steve exclaims, pointing at the sky with one hand. his face breaks out into a grin as he turns to glance at his friend. "did you see that one?"
bucky turns to look at steve, eyes soft and so, so, so, in love. "missed it again," he murmurs.
steve turns away, still smiling. "you're not even watching for them."
bucky hums a response, memorizing the cut of steve's jaw, and the way that the moonlight glimmers on his skin.
"watch," steve insists, not looking back at bucky. "we gotta wish on one together."
"what're we gonna wish for?"
steve shrugs. somewhere, sarah rogers pulls together what little food they have into a meal for the three of them. a boy with dirt streaked across his cheek chases a dog with his tail wrapped in a tin can. and above it all, the two boys hide where the world can't find them. the roof is a sanctuary, where the sun leaves burnt skin but stitches together the scabs on their elbows.
"you decide," steve says.
bucky has so many things that he wishes for. so many things that he wants with everything that he has, with every cell in his body and breath in his lungs. so many things leave a kind of ache in the back of his head, a kind of bruise that steve rogers couldn't put some ice on and heal. so many things, but in the end, they all boil down to the beginning, middle, and end of his world.
i wish you'd kiss me. i wish you wanted me the way i want you. i wish you would hold my hand just now. i wish we were never apart. i wish you would never get sick again. i wish the world would let me love you the way i want to. i wish you would let me.
"i - " bucky stops. "i don't know. you come up with something."
"i came up with something last time," steve says stubbornly, and bucky wants to taste that insistence on his tongue and let it dry there the way that sugar candies do, wants to bite down on those words as if they had no meaning because what bucky wishes for is wrong, and he's not supposed to hurt steve like that.
there's something in steve's eyes when he turns to look at bucky. there's something unreadable there, as if steve knows every secret bucky's never told, as if he has unending faith that everything is going to be okay.
they lie there for a moment, the kind of moment that you could live in forever. the night air rests on their exposed skin, and bucky shivers under the weight of the sky. the stars flicker above them, and there is nothing between the two boys and heaven. god is watching them, bucky knows, but in that moment, all he can feel is the bravery in steve's eyes. the every day courage that heats steve's veins, the constant craving in his lungs, the constant battle that is wanting and needing.
steve turns away as soon as the instant ends, as soon as thoughts seem to permeate the air and filter between their teeth. as soon as it gets too dangerous to breathe.
bucky turns away then, too, but that something in steve's gaze settles in his stomach, warming his muscles until he is on fire, he is burning, and he has so much to lose, and all of that is pinning him to the ground.
"there," bucky says, motioning with his chin towards the sky. it's a defiant move, as if bucky is daring the world to take this from him. "you see that one?"
"yeah," steve says. his voice is a fragile as the night air, as the china in old mrs. fogsworth's tenement. "what did you wish for?"
bucky doesn't answer. his heart stops, and he can hear the flatlining as a slow ringing in his ears, as a rush of blood to the head. his fingers reach out, reach for anything, and find steve. always, always, always, steve.
his hands are warm, heated by the glare of the sun, foreign to the night air. bucky doesn't breathe as he intertwines their fingers and feels all of that bravery, all of that courage, all of that wanting and needing burn a tragedy through his skin.
"steve?" bucky asks, choking on the word.
"yeah?" steve asks, not a moment of hesitation left to stop bucky from breaking his own heart.
"i wished you would kiss me," bucky whispers.
it's as if the entire city stops and takes a breath. the entire world has stopped for this moment, because these boys are not stopping for the world.
"close your eyes," steve murmurs, swallowing.
bucky complies, and he hears the gravel shift and grumble as steve moves to his side. he grips bucky's hand tighter, bringing their clasped hands to his chest as he leans over the other boy. bucky is still, as if he is made of marble and steve is the artist crafting a masterpiece out of nothing.
when steve's lips touch bucky's, everything that is good blooms before bucky's closed eyes. everything warm spreads through him, like holding hands on summer days and the rush of a rollercoaster you're not quite brave enough for but did anyways, like dancing to something slow while the radio sputters in and out, like starting fires with old schoolwork and roasting marshmallows somewhere in the woods.
when they break apart, steve's eyes are wide and terrified, as if he's not entirely sure of what he just did. the world is moving in slow motion, but bucky's smile is instant, like the first color when you open your eyes.
"i should wish on shooting stars more often," bucky whispers, and steve laughs a little breathlessly, exhaling every nerve wracked with emotion.
"can we do that again?" steve asks, the familiar glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.
bucky joins steve in sitting up, letting go of his hand to touch his face. steve's skin is soft under bucky's fingers, slender and starved, but all too human and alive. "yes please," bucky murmurs, and kisses him again. above them, a shooting star falls.
//
1956
the night air tastes familiar to the soldier, as if brooklyn's nighttime is something he has cared for before. the soldier shakes the feeling off, tightening his grip around his knives. in and out. simple mission. this is what he excels at.
you are nothing
he slips onto the fire escape unnoticed, the red metal seeming to shine in the purple darkness.
you are no one
the soldier cracks open the window without a sound, the tip of his knife slicing through dried paint easily. it swings open with a harsh push, and he enters the tenement. apartment. what was a tenement?
comply
the soldier walks silently. the floorboards don't dare to creak in his presence. he's in the kitchen, where the air feels stale and overused. a picture is taped to the refrigerator. a child's drawing - captain america.
the soldier frowns. the air is cold around him, as if it freezes where he stands. the specific heat of titanium is 0.544. he's not supposed to know that.
your work has been a gift to mankind
the soldier turns the corner, heading to the bedroom. kill this man. no witnesses. that's his mission. he never fails. he will not fail this time.
his knife is like a star, he thinks. it stands out in the darkness.
comply
he doesn't look as he slits the man's throat. the blood pastes itself to his metal arm, sticky and wet. there is metal grinding in his head, like train wheels spinning off the track over and over again. it's building up in his head, the pressure gaining on him. it takes 150,000 atmospheres to turn graphite into diamond. he's not supposed to know that.
the wife hasn't noticed him. there is too much screaming in his head and not enough in the room. the soldier wants everything to sound like what it sounds in his head. there is not enough electricity in the world to light the same fire behind dead eyes.
he crosses the room to the other side of the bed. the woman's neck snaps. the sound does not compare to the screaming in his head. there was a child's drawing in the kitchen. there is a daughter.
you are nothing
he wipes his knife off on the bedspread. it's patterned with daisies. he covers them in dark blood, slick with the life it used to hold. it pastes itself to the sheets, and the soldier thinks about sweat. he thinks about stars. about holding hands.
you are no one
he is silent when he goes to the child's room. she is sleeping as if her dreams are not made of screaming. children are always more aware than adults are. the soldier does not know how he learned this.
comply
she wakes up when he enters. "dada?" she whispers, rubbing at her eyes as if the ghost in the doorway is going to disappear.
the soldier does not speak. he strides towards her bed, and her throat is so small within his hands. the metal glints like wolves' teeth in the dark. her hair is the color of an exploding star. he is on fire when she screams. it hurts, somewhere in the back of his head.
he squeezes harder. he wants it all to stop stop stop please make it stoppp
are you ready to comply
yes
the soldier does not know when the girl stopped screaming.
//
2018
they are watching the stars. the gravel digs into his back, but he does not mind. there are worse pains in the world.
"do you remember shooting stars?" steve asks quietly. steve is quieter now, he thinks. he remembers a spitball kind of fire jumping at every opportunity to prove himself. maybe the calmness has come with a resignation to life's harder experiences. he no longer wants to prove himself.
"no," he says quietly. he wonders if he is supposed to. he remember looking at the stars, once. he wonders if it was with steve.
"oh," steve says quietly. his hands are behind his head, and he moves them to his side. one brushes next to his hand, and he flinches. "bucky?"
bucky. that is his name. he forgot.
it's so easy to lose the simple things. the little ones that you're supposed to know innately. without reminder. it's hard to watch a single star, he thinks. bucky thinks. the stars keep flickering like christmas lights.
"yes?"
"nothing."
bucky watches the stars blink in and out. they die so quickly, like fireflies, but he knows that they're living on millions of light years away. he feels as if he and steve are a million light years away from each other. bucky, who can't remember the things he is supposed to, like the stars. and steve, and who can't stop remembering things he doesn't want to, like the stars.
"we used to go stargazing," bucky said, clawing at the depths of his mind as if it will make the memories come faster.
steve nodded slowly. bucky can feel his warmth pressed up against bucky's flesh and blood arm. it's nice. he had forgotten that touch could be warm. he hasn't been warm in so long.
"we went up to the roof every time there was a meteor shower," steve told him, when bucky didn't offer up any information. "we looked for shooting stars and wished on them."
bucky swallows. "what did i wish for?"
he can see, out of the corner of his eye, steve close his eyes as if he's in pain. his lips twist up in the kind of smile that's meant to mask the knife in your beating heart. bucky's been on the receiving end of that smile so many times now. he wonders why steve cares this much.
"it changed every time," steve said, opening his eyes. "you didn't always tell me."
"oh," bucky said, as if that would change things.
"there's one," steve whispered weakly, pointing at the sky.
"i wish i would remember," bucky said quietly. he knows that he is breaking steve. he is breaking himself too. everything hurts as if he is a thousand stars dying, imploding, burning. he is like the ashes of letters thrown in the fire. he is like the memories he wants so desperately to get back.
"sometimes wishes come true," steve murmurs. he glances at bucky, then turns away.
something is wrong. it's not right, like this. they're watching the stars, bucky knows, and that is supposed to be familiar. and in some ways, it is. the gravel under his back, steve at his side. but steve is so far away.
and bucky is reaching out, reaching for anything, and he finds steve.
their fingers intertwine as if there is nothing wrong at all. he finds steve. always, always, always.
"if your wish doesn't come true," steve tells him, turning to glance at bucky. "we can make new memories. if you want."
bucky watches that glimmer of hope in steve's eyes, and this feels right. "i'd like that," he says.