Alone. Bucky was so alone. The only company he had was the small smelly family of mice that frequented the rotten darkness beneath the stove in the kitchen and the spiders that lurked in every corner. Sometimes the mice would peep out, their tiny black noses sticking out of the darkness and sniffing the air before retreating again, and seldom would they ever make a full appearance into the daylight that poured in through the gaping hole in the roof. But they could almost always be heard, scuffling about on the wooden floor with their clawed feet, scratching at the wall and squeaking in their tiny voices. The spiders paid him no such companionship, merely hanging about in their intricate gossamer webs, perched in their nest awaiting an unfortunate bug to come flying be to devour. Nasty things, with too many legs, too many eyes and hair on their back - Bucky tried to avoid them if he could.
He quaked like a mental patient at a lunatic asylum as he hid. He had his knees bent up against his chest and his arms secured around them like a noose around a neck. He clutched his trembling frame, trying to supply himself with heat, with his teeth chattering in his skull. Januaries in New York City were freezing cold, it didn't help that he was sleeping rough in a broken building.
With every gust of blustery wind the structure seemed to shudder with him, it creaked and swayed around him. The roof above him would croak under the burden of trying to hold itself up: the eaves were unsecure in their rotting foundations. Small amounts of sawdust would spill down the walls as it moved, as the eaves chafed in their frames, moved and eroded. He didn't entirely trust the building to stay grounded.
Bucky was rife with paranoia, at every timid unwarranted sound he would snap his head around, and listen. He questioned every unusual shadow, ones that he was certain weren't there before, ones that didn't appear to have a source. The neighbourhood in Brooklyn in which Steve and he used to reside was a rough one, worn down with lowlife people: down on their luck, unemployed and desperate; they weren't afraid of using a knife and a few threatening words to get their hands on things. He pitied them of course, but he was afraid in equal measure.
He feared it would only be a matter of time before a neighbour would smash the door down and assault him, and he was in no fit shape to fight back; his body had diminished with starvation: he was frail, bony and pale. He had managed to pilfer a bottle of water from a nearby convenience store along with a sandwich, but that was all he had to live on.
He could hear the children in the street playing below, and wondered if any of them were ever going to come up there to explore, or to beat him, like those adolescents had done before. The laughter and joy of the children was mixed with the whines of stray dogs, howling in their dingy alleys and the hisses of stray cats who chanced upon their company.
He had remembered his home fondly, but right now it seemed nightmarish, uninviting and foreboding. Memories of him and Steve haunted him as he looked around: ghostly images sometimes danced before him of times before, flashbacks replaying through his mind. Every object seemed to carry a memory, something to taunt him with how it could've been; flaunting the good days and reminding him of the hell he was living.
He needed a saviour. He needed someone to rescue him from his suffering, to stop the pain and as time drew by suicide seemed more and more appealing; it would be something to end it. He wouldn't be scared any more, he wouldn't be starving anymore, he wouldn't be tired anymore or sad. But then his mind went back to Steve; his suicide would slaughter Steve, it would slay him if he was ever to find his body. It would be one more selfish act of defiance that might strike Steve in a way that he couldn't recover from. He wasn't willing to hurt Steve; that was all that was holding him back.
He was questioning his decision to leave Steve every second. He wished he hadn't, but he also wished there was another way. He couldn't cope with seeing tears running down Steve's face again, tears caused by him.
He couldn't cope with the idea of surviving without him either. He had become so dependent on Steve during his recovery that he'd almost forgotten how to be self-sufficient. And he had nothing; he had no money - no bank account - no passport, no credit card, no ID card... He had no way of getting a job and no way of getting away from Steve. He could trek across America, but what good would that do? Distance was arduous and pointless on foot, it would take him endless days to get anywhere. And something held him back from running. There was something in the back of his mind which prevented him from truly running from Steve, and resisting that temptation to run back to Steve was wearing weary.
He just clung to his fatigued, hungry and cold body and tried to conceal himself from the world, hiding away in his shack.
~
"Morning, Cap, Morning, Brucey!" Tony sung merrily, strolling into the living space at a reasonably energetic pace. He was dressed in his usual colloquial style, a pair of skinny jeans and a band t-shirt: today's feature was The Rolling Stones. As he swanned into the room he hummed Paint It, Black and tapped out the rhythm on the work surfaces.
"Good morning, Tony," Bruce responded, smiling sleepily, smiling wearily at his science buddy. He was already showered and dressed; ready for work in his discoloured lab coat, his glasses already propped up on his nose.
Steve and Bruce were sat at the breakfast bar, perched on stools and tucking into the first meal of the day; Bruce with a bowl of cereal, and Steve with a couple slices of buttered toast.
Steve just gave Tony a curt military nod whilst chewing his food, not wanting to forget his table manners.
"Steve, don't freak out; but you've made front page news again..." Tony told him, slamming down the gossip magazine on the table, the laminate print paper making a loud slap as it hit the table. "Pepper was kind enough to get it to me this morning, whilst skimming through mags at the newsagents downtown." Tony stole a slice of toast off Steve's plate and took a generous bite out of it. "Mm, this is good..." He mumbled with his mouth full, placing the half-bitten slice down again.
Steve rolled his eyes exasperatedly and with a sigh, dragged the newspaper towards him with dread already stirring within him.
CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVES INTO STARK TOWER
Boyfriend nowhere to be seen.
Lover's tiff? Pages 6-7.
With a pair of fingers pinching the bridge of his nose stressfully, he flipped through to the pages. There was a cruddy low definition picture of him with his suitcases, wheeling his luggage into the foyer with many words printed over it in white. The shot had clearly been taken on a camera with a long range lens and there was something slanting across the photo in the foreground, as if the photo had been taken from behind a wall of some kind.
"How do they even get these photos?" Steve huffed, faced with a terrible picture of himself; his face looking exhausted and his eyes puffy from crying.
"It's amazing, I know," Tony commented, strolling over to the fridge and frowning in dissatisfaction at the nearly empty larder he was harbouring. "There's one of Pep on page 10 when she went to DC to a business meeting; something about working women and clothes... I don't know... She assures me its trash."
"Trash is the word for it..." Steve agreed, his eyes skimming over the text.
Captain America, the brave blond beauty, the patriotic face of our nation was seen entering Stark tower this week with his suitcases. Sources say the New York residing hero has taken residence in Stark Tower with commendable scientist and fellow Avenger Doctor Bruce Banner and the genius Tony Stark. He has abandoned his nearby accommodation, so sources say, and exchanged it for the deluxe tower in the companionship of his friends and colleagues.
Captain Rogers hasn't been seen with his alleged boyfriend (see top left) since taking up residence. Could this spell a breakup for the Captain? His mystery boyfriend has been out of sight and out of mind. Could this mean Captain America is back on the market? But ladies, beware, he isn't after you voluptuous women anymore-
Steve cringed as he read the article, feeling sick in his stomach and his face gave away his repulsion.
So men, on your marks... See who we think are his potential suitors:
Steve shut the disgraceful demeaning magazine and tossed the disgusting thing across the room. He couldn't read anymore of the vile script and he wasn't even to dare himself to read the list of men they'd picked out for him.
Tony and Bruce were both startled by the sudden fluttering of pages and the slam as it smacked into the wall and the slap as it dropped onto the flooring.
"Not good?" Tony assumed, gulping thickly, rather unnerved by Steve's brutal unreserved action; he wasn't acting like himself.
"That's one way of saying it..." Steve hissed, clenching his fists and disregarding his breakfast. His appetite had been stifled. "And for the record, I'm not gay, I'm bisexual... If anyone was still wondering." His blue eyes flicked between the two other gentlemen occupying the room.
"Makes sense, I suppose," Tony added. He had managed to dig out two strawberry poptarts from the back of the cupboard and was popping them into the toaster. "After all that stuff with Peggy Carter and all..."
Bruce could see the discomfort of the subject in Steve's face, whilst Tony had his back turned, he could not; Bruce saved him the displeasure of any continued chatter about his widely disputed sexual orientation.
"Tony, any news on the Bucky search?" Admittedly it wasn't that great a change of topic, but Steve seemed to perk up slightly, his eyes widening a little more as his attention was drawn in.
Tony turned around, he visibly seethed as he went to reply and his brows were lowered cynically. "No... Unfortunately, not," he replied in a guilty voice, frowning apologetically, a glimmer of sympathy sparkling in his deep brown eyes.
"I don't get it..." Steve muttered in objection, looking down at his plate. "You two have the whole of New York City-"
"The entire state, actually," Tony interrupted inappropriately. "Sorry..." He said, clasping his hands before him politely and smiling reservedly at Steve. "Carry on."
"As I was saying," He glared at Tony edgily, slightly irritated about the intrusion. "You two have the whole of New York..." He paused and Tony gave him an appreciative nod, smiling that he acknowledged his hard work. "Bugged... Phones and CCTV right?"
"Right..." Bruce agreed.
"But you can't find him... I mean, surely CCTV covers everywhere? Right? Where doesn't it cover?" Steve asked in all seriousness.
"Uh..." Tony huffed and puffed with thought. "Building sites... Some alleys... Parks... If there's not people there, then they don't bother, because why bother?" He dragged his hands down his face as he tried to make his brain work first thing in the morning. "Junk yards, abandoned buildings, uh, sewers-"
"Abandoned buildings..." Steve whispered, his eyes wide and dreamy, his mind present on a different plane of consciousness. He shook his head. "Of course..." He jumped off the stool and dashed to the door, ignited with passion and realisation.
"I don't get it..." Tony muttered. "Bruce?" He checked, making sure that the other genius in the room didn't follow too.
Bruce shook his head and his eyes followed Steve as Steve raced across the room and pressed the elevator button frantically.
"Our old flat!"
A/N - Dedication goes to EnticeTheNaivety! x