Via Weheartit

via weheartit

Hey guys, this is my entry for @whothehellisbella ‘s Cool Times Summer Jamz Mix writing challenge, and also my first fic! Thanks to Bella for hosting the challenge. You’re beautiful and awesome. I used the song “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers. Story under the cut! - Sydney

Word Count: 1893

Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat, another nightmare. Chest heaving, surrounded by darkness, he rolls over and throws his feet off the edge of his bed, gently resting them on the floor. Slowly, he clenches and unclenches his fingers on his right hand, then on his left, to make sure he still has control over his entire body. The moon outside his window tells him it’s somewhere between 2:30 and 4 am, which means Tony is the only person who might still be up, and even if he is, he’d be in the lab. Slowly, he stands up. If he were still a normal human, his body would be protesting the movement after all the training he did earlier. However, his three or so hours of sleep, no matter how restless, have left his body feeling fine.

Once he comes to his senses, Bucky notices a soft noise playing from the living room. It’s a man’s voice, but not a familiar one, which sets him on edge. Making full use of his assassin skills, he sneaks out of his room and into the living room, where he finds the flat screen TV blaring some good-fortune gospel preacher. As he moves around to get the remote off of the coffee table, he notices you, fast asleep on the couch. One of your legs hangs off the edge, and one of your arms reaches over your head onto the arm of the couch. After he turns off the TV, he drapes your blanket that had fallen to the floor back over your body, then heads out onto the deck.

This floor of the tower has a deck with an outdoor entertaining space, plants, warm lights, and a few lounge chairs for catching sun. The early April night is still a bit chilly as he walks over to the railing and looks out at the skyline, trying to keep his mind away from his violent past. He doesn’t want to think about the people he killed, or the time he spent frozen in between. He thinks instead about the Irish pub he found last month that servers champ the way Steve’s ma used to in the 20s when they had a little more to go around. He also found this little studio in the Upper West Side that has swing dancing every once in awhile. They hire a live band, play music he knows, and some of the girls dress up like it’s the 40s again. He hasn’t danced yet, but he’s thinking of taking you with him next time. He marvels about modern science for a while, how far it’s come outside of weaponry, about all the things Bruce and Tony have shown him on good days. There’s a tightening in his chest when he thinks about Tony, and how he’s so much like Howard, yet so different. He remembers the 40s, and all of the times he and his other friends would chase girls and booze while Steve had to stay home. He thinks about little Steve, and how they might’ve ended up together if things went a little differently.

After he woke up in Wakanda, he knew he couldn’t be with Steve unless he sorted himself out first. Going back into cryofreeze had seemed like the only option at the time, but when they let him out on his hundredth birthday so he could have cake, he realized that he was just hiding. Sure it was safe, but it also meant that he wouldn’t be able to live until they found a way to fix his brain, and that meant he might not wake up again until after Steve died. When they had brought him his cake, he decided that he would apologize to Tony, and after a while, he ended up living in the tower with everyone else. It was around then he decided that he wanted going to get better, even if it meant doing it all by himself. Suddenly, he hears the door open behind him and it pulls him out of his head. It’s you, rubbing your eyes, hair tousled from sleep.

“Hey,” you say, “thanks for turning off the TV. I really gotta stop doing that.”

“No problem,” Bucky says. “What are you doing up?”

“Same thing as you, I presume: trying to clear my head.” You walk closer to him and put your hand on the point where his metal shoulder meets his flesh. He flinches a little. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah, same as usual.” He stares at your hand, enjoying the feeling of being grounded that comes with it, while also marveling at the fact that you put your hand on his bare chest where all his scars are exposed. The single point on his body that he despises most is where you chose to place your hand, and he knows you did it on purpose. When you make no indication of moving it, he relaxes a little and asks you if it was your dreams that woke you up too.

“No. I was actually having a really good dream, for a change. The crick in my neck is what forced me to open my eyes and get off that couch.” You roll your head side to side in an attempt to loosen your muscles. “What’s on your mind now that you’re awake?”

“I was just thinking about back when I was younger, before I knew what loss was, before everything I thought was permanent got thrown away. Now that everything’s changed, I want to get better.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you sigh, moving your hand from his shoulder to wrap him in a hug. “You have gotten better, at least since you’ve been in the tower.”

“I know, doll. I know,” he hugs you back after a couple seconds. “I just feel like I have so far to go before I get to where I want to be. And it’s not like I’ll ever be normal. I’m pretty sure this metal arm stops me from doing that.”

“Hey, the new arm seems better than the old one. That’s a bonus. And if there’s anywhere you’d have a chance of feeling normal, it’s definitely New York. These people are so used to seeing ridiculous and fantastic things, a metal arm probably won’t even be noticed.”

“If you say so,” he shrugs.

“How about this, Sarge: you work on your goal over the summer, and I’ll work on mine. We’ll track our progress together.”

“Sounds fair,” he calls after as you start heading back inside. “Hey, what is your goal anyway? You didn’t mention it.”

“I’m gonna learn Russian. I want to know what you and Tasha are saying behind my back,” you wink as you open the door. “Night, Buck.”

---

Bucky slowly wakes up to early morning light streaming through his bedroom window. It’s not common for him to sleep through the night, but it happens now more often than it used to. His super senses pick up the strong smell of espresso, letting him know he’s not the first one up. Either that, or Tony pulled another all-nighter and ran out of coffee in the lab. He rolls out of bed, pulls on some basketball shorts, and makes his way out to the kitchen. While he doesn’t see anyone, there is a fresh pot of coffee and the espresso machine gleams like it’s just been cleaned. He pours a cup and walks out onto the deck, only to find you.

“Mornin’, doll,” he greets you with a voice a bit deep from sleep.

“Morning,” you smile at him as he takes his spot beside your side. “You know, it’s near the end of the summer. How are you progressing with your goals?”

He knows you know very well how he was doing, you kept the whole goals thing going, but he also knows that you’re being light about it because that’s the only reason he kept going. You know he’s naturally competitive, so you turned everything you could into a competition or a game. When the therapist suggested writing things down, both good and bad, to help him remember and process his grief, you bought him a unicorn notebook with a rainbow pen to make him laugh, even about his nightmares. He thinks about all that he accomplished this summer with his therapist, with Steve, with Tony, and especially with you. You showed him how to move his life from the darkness of his past. You were with him every step of the way; you helped him get better. He’s still got a long ways to go, sure, but he’s made monumental progress this summer because of you.

“I’d say things are going pretty good,” he throws an arm around you shoulder and stares at the magnificent view in front of him. “What about you? Как идет Россия?”

//How’s the Russian going?//

“Все идет неплохо. I even managed to learn another language, too.”

//It’s going pretty good.//

“Oh yeah? Which one?” he teases.

“Farsi. And a little Welsh, but that one’s less practical.” You smile back.

“Pwy sy'n gofalu am ymarferol?” He laughs, and you laugh with him. “Honestly, Y/N, I couldn’t have done this without you. I mean, I was okay on my own in Bucharest, but I didn’t realize how lonely I was there until I met you here. We’ve come so far together, and I hope you’ll stick with me.”

//Who cares about practical?//

“Of course, Sarge. But first, I have something planned. Be ready at five thirty. Traffic’s gonna be terrible.”

“What’re we doing?”

You smirk. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

---

At five thirty, Bucky is standing in the lobby of the tower, waiting for you. When you step out of the elevator, he thinks you look gorgeous in a loose dress and victory rolls. He notices you’re carrying something besides your purse and asks, “What’s in the box?”

“I’ll tell you when we get closer, now let’s get in the car.”

The tower valet pulls your car around, and while you’d usually let someone else drive you in their car, you want it to be just you and Bucky with the top down in your convertible M6. You tie a scarf around your hair and slide on some round sunglasses, really playing the 40s look.

When you’re about five minutes away from your destination, you tell Bucky to open the box.

“Y/N, are these… dancing shoes?”

“You bet, Buck,” you say, loving the look of surprise and excitement on his face.

“But wait, how did you know my shoe size?”

“I asked Steve. Who else?”

“And he didn’t tell me what you were up to? That little punk.” He grins.

“Well,” you announce, cutting the engine, “We’re here.”

Bucky looks up to see the club he found earlier this year but never got around to bringing you to. “How do you know about this place?” he asks while you two walk inside and up to the bar.

“Oh, I found it a while ago, and after you showed up and we started hanging out, I wondered how long it would take you to ask me to come with you. I just got impatient and decided to bring you instead.”

“You’re amazing, Y/N.”

“Trust me, I know. Now let’s have a toast. To getting better.”

“To getting better.”

"Do not come to me with apologies flowing from your mouth like the rivers from my eyes used to, for I will no longer accept them. You left me in the cold for too long, and now my heart has frozen over. If you had come to me before my feelings were replaced with a dull numbness, maybe I would have taken you back. Maybe you could have warmed my shivering soul until we were two carefree spirits basking in summer's glorious glow. But you didn't, and now I am moving to a place where the weather complements the rock that has replaced a once-vital organ, and I don't want your tanned hands to follow me. So keep your sunscreen apologies. I have already been burned, and SPF is no use where the sun doesn't shine."

6/2/15 // sc

MORNING

Death orders a plate of bacon, black coffee, and fresh ham. Life orders a plate of scrambled egg whites and a stack of strawberry pancakes with whipped cream. She even asks for soy milk with a smile that could conjure sunshine.

“You’re dead to me.” Death says wearily, as their waitress shoots them a glare that could melt the diner windows.

Life’s lips curl, and she puts out a brown hand on the table, tilting it so the diamond ring on her finger glittered.

“Tough; you’re stuck with me for life.” 


MIDDAY

Life pumps the breaks the moment she sees the next souvenir shop and hops out of the car as soon as Death says she’ll do the obligatory gas check. As Life orders the garishly colored Kansas magnet piece and snacks for the road, the woman at the countertop eyes the way her gold bracelets flash against her dark skin.

Life smiles. “They aren’t for sale.”

“Who gave them to you?” The shopkeeper asks lightly, the unspoken question of did you steal them heavy in the air.

“My wife.”

The woman starts. She looks out the window to see Death leaning against the hood of their car, blonde hair tangled in her loose tank top. Life’s brown eyes dance with amusement as the shopkeeper struggles over what to say. It’s the grating noise of the receipt machine that saves her from answering, and Life soon saunters out of the shop, magnet and goodies in tow.

NIGHT

Death leans down to make sure Life can tie the beige ribbon around her head, but Life wipes away the dirt and grime from her forehead before she does.

“You must be exhausted.” Life whispers, pressing a kiss on Death’s cheek that burns even after she pulls away.

They’re in the vacant parking lot of an old strip mall with Life looking at her like she’s about to collapse.

Death leans back on the driver’s seat and gives a tired, but grateful nod. “It’ll get easier.”

Life doesn’t answer; she only leans her head against Death’s shoulder and closes her eyes. 


— ROADTRIP || Kat K.

2017 was a lot of things. Thank you to everyone who was a part of it. I hope 2018 will be even more. Here are a few of my favorite stills from this year and my favorite piece I wrote: "This will be my small rebellion: To feel everything so deeply that I can never be numb again." Lots of love this new year.