Chapter Text
The Winter Soldier stood in the smoking ruins of the building that had once been the main base of HYDRA. His clothes were torn, dirty and drenched in blood; the metal plates of his arm whirred as they calibrated and recalibrated into place.
He calculated fifteen minutes until someone would react to the sudden radio silence. Plenty of time to get away.
There was a mission. One last mission, before he would leave and never come back.
Cut off one head, two more will grow in its place.
But he had already ripped out the heart and now the creature was dying. All he had to do was give it the final blow.
He looked at the ground to the backpack that contained his life. His new life. Clothes, weapons, food, a new identity.
He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He was James Buchanan Barnes, born on the 3rd of October, 1984, and he was going home. Wherever that was.
Steve would, to his dying day, deny any responsibility for what had happened. Seriously, it wasn’t his fault that people were assholes. It certainly wasn’t his fault that this particular asshole had never learned the meaning of the word ‘no’. So, what had he been supposed to do?
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked while the woman quietly slipped away out of the alley, “She said ‘no’, fucking respect that you fucking asshole.”
“What’d you just call me?”, the Asshole growled, taking a step towards Steve who stood his ground.
“Want me to say it again?”
“I dare you”
“You’re a pathetic, pitiful, selfish, bastard who is so absorbed in his so – called masculinity that he can’t see beyond his own dick.” Steve explained, not even caring that the guy was easily a foot taller than him and twice his weight, or that Steve was still recovering from the bruised ribs he had gotten in his last fight a few days ago, or that his inhaler was lying on his coffee table at home, or – the punch came before Steve could react, hitting him square in the face and the familiar crack, followed by a warm wetness trickling down his chin, told him that his nose was broken. Again. Sam’s gonna kill me, he thought but raised his fists nonetheless and successfully dodged the next blow. He managed to get a hit of his own, which probably hurt his fist more than the Asshole’s face but whatever. This was a matter of principle. Another punch knocked Steve back on his ass and the Asshole grinned, “Not so tough now, are you?”
Steve stood up and was just about to retort something witty when a shadow landed in front of him, followed by a pained whelp, “Are you?” the shadow snarled, glaring at the Asshole on the floor who was scrabbling back on his feet and quickly making his exit.
“Where the hell are you going, you coward?” Steve yelled after him, “Get the fuck back here, I wasn’t finished with you yet!” he moved forward but a single arm on his torso held him back. A strong arm. A firm am. “Let go off me!” Immediately the arm vanished and Steve took a closer look at the shadow. Well, it was a man. A tall man, clad in black jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled into his face, “I didn’t need you help, I had it under control.” Steve snapped at the man and from what Steve could see of his face, it stayed completely blank while he stared at Steve, “Jerk.” Steve muttered before walking straight past the stranger and making his way home.
James Buchanan Barnes had landed in Washington D.C. of all places. He didn’t even know why, but it seemed as good a place as any other. Washington was big and anonymous and made it easy to vanish in the crowd. No one as much as looked at him.
James had only been in the city for a week but had already memorized the outlay of every street and side alley. He slept in a different place every night, and stole food from small shops or vendors at random. It was a start and James could concentrate on figuring out what the end goal was.
Until he met the blonde guy, that was.
James had just been sitting on a roof top, eating an apple, when he had heard the commotion from underneath. A small, blonde, young man and a tall, bulky one. James watched for a few seconds, wondering why they would fight, why the blonde guy wasn’t running, getting to safety – he obviously couldn’t fight. There was no technique, no finesse. He held his fists all wrong and his feet were planted to the ground like a tree. He was obviously an idiot. The idiot received another blow from the big guy and fell to the ground and James could hear the words that were being spoken, “Not so tough now, are you?”
James didn’t know why, he honestly didn’t – this wasn’t his fight – but he slid of the roof onto the fire escape without making a sound and landed between the idiot and the big guy and gave out one single punch that had the big guy reeling back. It hadn’t even been a hard punch.
“Are you?” he asked and saw with grim satisfaction as the guy’s eyes went wide with fear before he ran.
“Where the hell are you going, you coward?” the idiot screamed and started following but James didn’t let him. For some reason he couldn’t let him. The idiot yelled and cursed and claimed that he had had ‘it under control’. He was angry.
Anger was something James understood but the reason behind this particular anger? That was a mystery to James. A mystery he wanted to solve.
“Jerk” the idiot muttered before walking away and James registered the way he walked, as though he was in pain but didn’t want to show it. He held himself straight, his chin raised high in confidence and James could almost see the challenging look in his eyes; daring people to judge him. To fight him.
The idiot was a mystery to James. A mystery he wanted to solve.
It happened again. Not the fight – well, that too, but that wasn’t the problem because Steve was always involved in some kind of fight – no, no what happened again was the weird stranger appearing out of the blue and taking Steve’s fight away.
“Are you serious?” Steve asked, the anger in his voice getting lost in the wheezing of his breath, “I had ‘em on the ropes.” Again, the stranger didn’t respond, simply looked at Steve with wide eyes, as if he was trying to read Steve, “What?” Steve snapped, almost hoping to get something out of him because this, this silent scrutiny, was just creepy. But there was nothing and after another moment of staring, Steve simply huffed and walked away.
Once he was home, he stepped out of his clothes and into the shower, enjoying the warmth of the water on his skin. He still had ten minutes left before Sam would come over for their weekly dinner and movie night. When he stepped out the shower, Steve quickly took care of his cuts and bruises and put on some clean clothes and was finished just in time as Sam let himself in with his spare key Steve had given him months ago.
“Seriously?” the taller man looked less than impressed when he saw Steve’s busted lip, “Again?”
“He was being transphobic.”, Steve said defensively but Sam just shook his head and muttered something that sounded like “Whatever” and “Stupid white ass”. Coming from anyone else, Steve would have started another fight but with Sam it was different. They had met during Steve’s first year in college four years ago, on a protest for LGBT rights. Sam was a few years older than Steve, a war veteran working at the VA, and just as much for social justice as Steve, just not as aggressive. He usually did his best to keep Steve away from the big fights – not very successfully, mind you, but he tried.
“What’d ya bring?”, Steve asked, eyes the plastic bag in Sam’s hand with the take out.
“Indian.” Sam answered, “And Pulp Fiction.”
It was a tradition for them, every Friday night Sam came over with food and a movie and the two friends would stay up until late stuffing themselves with whatever Sam had brought, talking and laughing and watching TV. Steve didn’t even remember anymore how it had started but it had stuck and now Steve wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“You set up the movie, I’ll get the rest,” he said and wandered into the small kitchen.
They had watched Pulp Fiction at least ten times already but it was still one of their favorites and soon enough they found themselves quoting the lines along with the actors. It was nice. A good night. And Steve almost forgot about Handsome and Broody. But only almost.
On some level, James was aware that what he was doing was not okay. From a social norms point of view, anyway. But James was also aware that those norms only applied to people and he didn’t really see himself as one of those just yet – so here he was - sitting on the fire escape of an old building looking into the window of the opposite house, specifically the second window to the left on the third floor; apartment of Steven Grand Rogers, 22 years old, studying art at the George Washington University.
James had been watching Steve for the past week, ever since he had interrupted that first fight. There had been more fights. But only today, had he decided to step in again because it looked like Steve had gotten himself into something he couldn’t possibly win. Steve was an intriguing person. Despite his small figure he had more courage than anyone James had met, he seemed to have clear opinions and values – both things James didn’t really understand but he was determined to learn. Steve was also a kind person. A helpful person. He was passionate, yet gentle and soft. A complete idiot, yet incredibly intelligent.
He was an oxymoron. An enigma wrapped up in a riddle, and James found himself captivated by this odd, beautiful man.
The third time it happened, it didn’t happen at all. It had been a month since Steve had seen the strange guy but sometimes his mind still wandered back to him. Wondering.
The third time it happened, it was Steve who came to his rescue.
He was just walking home from work when he heard the noise. Distinct sounds of a fight. And because Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he had ignored it, he went to check. What he saw was not what he had been prepared to find; there were four men lying on the ground, unconscious or maybe dead, Steve didn’t want to think about that too closely. There was a fifth still standing, weapon drawn and pointed at a man slumped down against a wall, a pained expression on his face, “Game over, Soldier.” the man with the gun said. The other one raised his head and Steve had to suppress a gasp when he recognized him. He was wearing different clothes this time. No hood to cover his face. But it was the look in his eyes that made Steve react – defeat, fear, weariness.
Picking up a pole from the ground Steve walked up to the guy threatening Steve’s stranger and aimed for his head. With a low groan, the man sank to the floor, but Steve had already directed his attention back to Handsome and Broody.
“Shit,” he cursed, “You’re bleeding.”
Unsurprisingly the guy didn’t respond, but he also didn’t fight back when Steve pulled him up and practically dragged him away from the alley, across the street, towards Steve’s apartment.
Inside, Steve laid the guy down on his sofa, not even caring for the blood stains that would definitely stay behind, and rushed into his bathroom where he kept his first aid kit. Once again, he thanked every entity out there that his mum had been a nurse and taught him everything there was to know.
“Hey! Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.” he demanded when he got back, “Come one, pal, stay with me.”
The guy muttered something under his breath that sounded like Russian but Steve didn’t speak Russian, so he couldn’t be sure.
“Alright, let’s have a look at this, shall we?”
Despite his heart that was beating in his throat, Steve’s hands were steady as he cut through the fabric of the shirt, revealing a shot wound in the shoulder. Through and through.
“See? That doesn’t look so bad,” Steve muttered, ignoring the death glare he received while reaching for the rubbing alcohol, “Now, this is gonna hurt like a bitch. But you look like a tough guy, so that shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Another death glare.
Please don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me.
For the guy’s credit, he didn’t scream when Steve started cleaning the wound, simply let out a sharp hiss through his teeth.
“Almost done.”
There was an almost soothing familiarity in this, treating someone’s wound, even if it was usually his own, and soon enough the guy had a clean bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Steve didn’t receive a ‘thanks’, not that he had expected one, but it would have been nice.
“You wanna drink something? Eat something?” No answer. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”
Five minutes later, Steve set down a glass of water and a sandwich in front of the guy; he didn’t touch either.
“Right…”, Steve shifted on his feet awkwardly, “I guess I’ll just…you can stay the night if you want.”
He made his retreat to his bedroom and locked the door, just in case.
James waited for Steve to leave the room before turning towards the food. He was a bit confused. Why had Steve helped him?
The fact that someone had found him wasn’t even that surprising. It had had to happen sooner or later and James wasn’t all too worried. He had dealt with them. Now, Steve rushing in with an iron pole…that was something else completely. Something stupid and reckless. James kind of wanted to lecture him on self – preservation.
It took almost an hour until the thirst and hunger in James won over the suspicioun and he carefully sipped at the water and nibbled at the sandwich and before he knew it both was gone, along with the painkillers that had been lying on the table.
I should leave, James thought.
But the apartment was warm and the sofa comfortable and…he felt…safe?
He was certain that Steve did not pose any threat and even if – even if Steve wanted to hurt him, he could have done so already. Could have just left him in the alley. Could have just walked away. But he didn’t. And for some reason James trusted him.