Bucky sighs again, trying not to get too frustrated too quickly. His head rocks with a slight nod, arms crossing defensively as if that alone can bolster the decades of emotions he can't quite vocalize.
"Yeah. Sure." There's a slight huff through his nose. "Whatever you want."
But where to even begin?
"It's not easy, you know. Living in your shadow. I'm sure you already know. Or if you don't, then. Now you do."
"Buck," he says, because he can't fix that. He can't just give up being Captain America, because that's what he does. That's just what he's a natural at. And he knows Bucky was by his side. He's Bucky Barnes, he also gets his own museum exhibits. But Steve understands.
"You know I didn't want you there. I want you by my side, not behind me," he says, because of course, in his mind, he always faces the sun.
"And... when have you ever cared what everyone else thinks?" he asks. He knows it's not easy. Steve, on the flip side, had never really cared about being in Buck's shadow, back when he was. In those days, he'd just been happy to have Buck pay him any attention.
The reality is that Bucky hadn't survived on the scraps of attention Steve had, instead having thrived in the spotlight, favored by friends and teachers, excelling in academics and athletics. Then, he was just a number in a war, a war he wasn't likely to survive, as it usually went for the soldiers deployed to Italy. Steve didn't really understand that either, didn't know the same horror stories that were rife during basic without being part of the 107th. But at least he and his company had each other, right? They were going into the shit together.
Back then, he hadn't cared because it hadn't mattered. He was still Bucky Barnes. He could do whatever he wanted, and people still loved him, wanted to be his friend and favored his attention.
Now, he's not even worth sparing a glance at. The world moved on decades ago. The only relic they care about now is Steve, and. Steve didn't become one of the most feared weapons in the world that killed mercilessly, leaving only a trail of blood in his wake. All the talk is too much, none of them ever knowing the real him. There are some who think he'll turn again any day, others still that only think Bucky's pardon came because Steve's fucking him, neither of which is true but only proves how little of an identity he really has anymore, so much of his past already disseminated as public knowledge, against his will. Especially his time with HYDRA.
"I didn't care because I was still somebody, back before." He shifts slightly in his chair, feet shifting to cross at his ankles. "But no one knows who the hell I am other than Cap's best friend. And. They don't really care who that is anyway, not when Captain America is the only voice that matters."
Head dipping, the sting digs sharply into his chest.
"You've always been just Steve, to me. But. You're Cap, too. To everyone else. You're. Everyone's now. And I'm. Just." No one.
Fuck. He just can't say it. The telltale sting is in his eyes, so he turns away, looks down to the floor.
Steve shakes his head, and then seeing Bucky look down like this, he walks over and pulls him into a hug. He'd never been shy with physical contact with Bucky before, and he isn't about to start now. "What, you're just mine? That's it?" Because he hadn't thought he'd care all that much. He used to be HYDRA's, he used to be an assassin. But he isn't anymore. And yeah, maybe he has to be associated with Steve, but that's just the stepping stone, right? That's just until people realize that that assassin he was is gone. The HYDRA in him is gone.
But they'd already done that now. He's got his pardons, and though everyone still expects the Winter Soldier to be a little dangerous, most people now at least don't think of him anymore as the Winter Soldier.
So okay, maybe keeping him around had been selfish, even if Steve had just thought they could fight together again, just like in the old days. Yeah, he was missing most of the team, but it didn't matter, because they'd all moved on, had lives, had children, and their children had children. But these two were left.
He takes a breath. "You want me to move out? You could... go solo for a bit. You could be a single agent again. Pick up a new moniker." He'd struggled to get away from Captain America for a little bit there, but he hadn't really had to deal with it for very long before taking it back up.
Bucky isn't particularly shy either, with contact, but these days Steve seems to reach for him more than the reverse. Somehow it feels different, when Steve does it, like things will actually be okay, and he won't have to struggle forever, trapped by all the burdens that still weigh on him. It's the only real comfort has, a reminder that he isn't really as alone as he feels, even if maybe that's what he deserves.
Stiff at first, gradually he sinks into Steve's hold, sighing in attempt to rid himself of the discomfort that's built up in his chest.
The words Steve offers to fill the blank don't sound any better, coming from him. It's not accusation that there's anything inherently wrong, being someone important to Steve. But it still sounds like it, even if it's more about how there's no one else, and he has nothing else to really rely on, no one who's patient enough or conscious enough to be patient enough.
To the suggestion of moving out, Bucky flinches, draws back from the hug sharply as his gaze flicks to Steve's face, response immediately, "No—" How can he even suggest that? What was the point of fighting to keep him if the end result was just to abandon him again?
"You. That's not." He huffs, the hurt and frustration gripping his throat, and Bucky sinks in his seat. "You'd want that?"
Steve is so confused at this reaction, but his response is immediate: "No," he says, taking Bucky by the shoulders. "I only want to do that if you want - if you think it'll help." Because he wanted to find his own identity, right? And how was he supposed to do that if Steve was around?
Because that's the thing. Steve can't just tell everyone to stop paying attention to him, or to tell everyone to forget that he's Captain America. He can't just dull his shine, because to him, that means doing a bad job. Or retiring. And he's not sure he can do that, even for Bucky.
Especially not while watching Bucky do the job he's supposed to be doing.
Uncrossing his arms, Bucky's hands hover at Steve's sides, hesitant. Eventually, he tosses them gently, not wanting to opt for the awkward positioning, and they smack haphazardly against his legs.
"If you go, who do I even have left, Steve?" His voice cracks toward the end, his gaze dipping away in humiliation. Is this really the only option? How? Why?
"I. I'm not." Likeable. Normal. Worthwhile. Someone to look up to. Steve. He's not Steve. And everyone needs Steve. Even him. It didn't matter, how useful he was as a weapon. He's supposed to be more than that, now. He's meant to be more than just that. But he isn't. It really is no wonder that Steve can't trust him to do the right thing without guidance. Maybe it's altogether too late to fix what's left.
He takes a deep breath. Because he knows it's frustrating for Bucky, but it's also frustrating for Steve because he doesn't know how to address this situation at all, and everything he proposes seems to go from bad to worse.
"I won't," he says, curling an arm around Bucky. "I wouldn't, not unless you wanted me to go." And that's the truth: he'd do it for Bucky, but only if he said so. Only if that's what he wanted, or needed, even if it would hurt Steve to comply. But Steve... hard as it is for him to live in this modern world, adapted. and that's what he was trying to do with Bucky, but maybe that's just because he only knows how to do it the way he did: join a team, go on missions, make some friends.
"Do you think we could," he says, finally, with a pause. "Call your therapist?" He thinks maybe they need a mediator. He's never felt so out of sync with Bucky before, like he can't reach him.
He listens, waits as he doesn't even know what he can say that won't muddle things more. How can he even get into the details when they will only hurt Steve? Bucky doesn't want that. They've both been through enough already. Bucky doesn't want to be the newest problem in the long line of endless trouble.
There are few things that could make him feel as broken and helpless as Steve suggesting Bucky contact Raynor. His shoulders sink, eyes averting.
"She's not really my therapist anymore. That was. Just for the pardon. I don't. I'm not a client of hers anymore."
Well, that was a horrible decision, he thinks, to have let her go and to have made her not Bucky's therapist anymore. So he heaves a sigh and says: "we could get you a new one. Or maybe, we both should go."
Because he does want Bucky to know that they should go together, like couple's therapy or something, for friends. It seems to have worked with him and Sam, at least a little bit. And Steve feels like this is no longer something they can just settle with the two of them.
Things have just gotten complicated.
"I can set it up. We can even call your old therapist, see if she'll take us on as clients." Since he seems to have liked her, and there's not really a way he can see wanting to start over with someone new and have Buck not trust that person.
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no subject
"Yeah. Sure." There's a slight huff through his nose. "Whatever you want."
But where to even begin?
"It's not easy, you know. Living in your shadow. I'm sure you already know. Or if you don't, then. Now you do."
no subject
"You know I didn't want you there. I want you by my side, not behind me," he says, because of course, in his mind, he always faces the sun.
"And... when have you ever cared what everyone else thinks?" he asks. He knows it's not easy. Steve, on the flip side, had never really cared about being in Buck's shadow, back when he was. In those days, he'd just been happy to have Buck pay him any attention.
no subject
Back then, he hadn't cared because it hadn't mattered. He was still Bucky Barnes. He could do whatever he wanted, and people still loved him, wanted to be his friend and favored his attention.
Now, he's not even worth sparing a glance at. The world moved on decades ago. The only relic they care about now is Steve, and. Steve didn't become one of the most feared weapons in the world that killed mercilessly, leaving only a trail of blood in his wake. All the talk is too much, none of them ever knowing the real him. There are some who think he'll turn again any day, others still that only think Bucky's pardon came because Steve's fucking him, neither of which is true but only proves how little of an identity he really has anymore, so much of his past already disseminated as public knowledge, against his will. Especially his time with HYDRA.
"I didn't care because I was still somebody, back before." He shifts slightly in his chair, feet shifting to cross at his ankles. "But no one knows who the hell I am other than Cap's best friend. And. They don't really care who that is anyway, not when Captain America is the only voice that matters."
Head dipping, the sting digs sharply into his chest.
"You've always been just Steve, to me. But. You're Cap, too. To everyone else. You're. Everyone's now. And I'm. Just." No one.
Fuck. He just can't say it. The telltale sting is in his eyes, so he turns away, looks down to the floor.
no subject
But they'd already done that now. He's got his pardons, and though everyone still expects the Winter Soldier to be a little dangerous, most people now at least don't think of him anymore as the Winter Soldier.
So okay, maybe keeping him around had been selfish, even if Steve had just thought they could fight together again, just like in the old days. Yeah, he was missing most of the team, but it didn't matter, because they'd all moved on, had lives, had children, and their children had children. But these two were left.
He takes a breath. "You want me to move out? You could... go solo for a bit. You could be a single agent again. Pick up a new moniker." He'd struggled to get away from Captain America for a little bit there, but he hadn't really had to deal with it for very long before taking it back up.
no subject
Stiff at first, gradually he sinks into Steve's hold, sighing in attempt to rid himself of the discomfort that's built up in his chest.
The words Steve offers to fill the blank don't sound any better, coming from him. It's not accusation that there's anything inherently wrong, being someone important to Steve. But it still sounds like it, even if it's more about how there's no one else, and he has nothing else to really rely on, no one who's patient enough or conscious enough to be patient enough.
To the suggestion of moving out, Bucky flinches, draws back from the hug sharply as his gaze flicks to Steve's face, response immediately, "No—" How can he even suggest that? What was the point of fighting to keep him if the end result was just to abandon him again?
"You. That's not." He huffs, the hurt and frustration gripping his throat, and Bucky sinks in his seat. "You'd want that?"
no subject
Because that's the thing. Steve can't just tell everyone to stop paying attention to him, or to tell everyone to forget that he's Captain America. He can't just dull his shine, because to him, that means doing a bad job. Or retiring. And he's not sure he can do that, even for Bucky.
Especially not while watching Bucky do the job he's supposed to be doing.
no subject
"If you go, who do I even have left, Steve?" His voice cracks toward the end, his gaze dipping away in humiliation. Is this really the only option? How? Why?
"I. I'm not." Likeable. Normal. Worthwhile. Someone to look up to. Steve. He's not Steve. And everyone needs Steve. Even him. It didn't matter, how useful he was as a weapon. He's supposed to be more than that, now. He's meant to be more than just that. But he isn't. It really is no wonder that Steve can't trust him to do the right thing without guidance. Maybe it's altogether too late to fix what's left.
no subject
"I won't," he says, curling an arm around Bucky. "I wouldn't, not unless you wanted me to go." And that's the truth: he'd do it for Bucky, but only if he said so. Only if that's what he wanted, or needed, even if it would hurt Steve to comply. But Steve... hard as it is for him to live in this modern world, adapted. and that's what he was trying to do with Bucky, but maybe that's just because he only knows how to do it the way he did: join a team, go on missions, make some friends.
"Do you think we could," he says, finally, with a pause. "Call your therapist?" He thinks maybe they need a mediator. He's never felt so out of sync with Bucky before, like he can't reach him.
no subject
There are few things that could make him feel as broken and helpless as Steve suggesting Bucky contact Raynor. His shoulders sink, eyes averting.
"She's not really my therapist anymore. That was. Just for the pardon. I don't. I'm not a client of hers anymore."
no subject
Because he does want Bucky to know that they should go together, like couple's therapy or something, for friends. It seems to have worked with him and Sam, at least a little bit. And Steve feels like this is no longer something they can just settle with the two of them.
Things have just gotten complicated.
"I can set it up. We can even call your old therapist, see if she'll take us on as clients." Since he seems to have liked her, and there's not really a way he can see wanting to start over with someone new and have Buck not trust that person.