Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes
Word Count: 328
Summary: “It doesn't feel solid yet, you know? Like any day now something could happen, he'll just slip away like smoke.” (Or, a ficlet about Steve getting used to life with Bucky that is much less serious than the summary suggests.)
Warnings: Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, naughty language.
Disclaimer: Named characters and certain plot elements in this story are © Marvel Entertainment and Walt Disney Pictures. All content is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.
Notes: A birthday ficlet for regonym, the semi-permanent leaseholder of my soul. Un-beta'd.
Posted to avengers_2k.
This story also available on AO3.
~ ~ ~
Steve's new place is across the street from a park, which gives him a convenient arena in which to whoop Sam's ass on the daily.
Afterward, stretching on the grass and watching Steve's neighbors emerge with their dogs into the morning light, Sam jerks his chin at the brownstone and asks, “How's he doing?”
Steve exhales long and slow and considers how to answer. “Better,” he decides on. “Not great. Good, maybe...not all the time, but some of the time. He's remembering more and more, and he smiles, and he cracks jokes. He sleeps through the night, as often as not.”
“I sleep through the night sometimes, too.” Steve's lips twist, wry, at his unfunny joke. “It doesn't feel solid yet, you know? Like any day now something could happen, he'll just slip away like smoke.”
They cross the street and climb the stairs, the imagined taste of bacon and coffee on the backs of their tongues, when a loud crash and an angry shout from inside the apartment turns Steve's heart inside-out. There's another crash and Steve tears through the door, blood boiling and ready to throw his life down for Bucky's, to do whatever he must to keep Bucky out of Hydra's hands.
The apartment is a wreck, furniture knocked over and books spilling from the shelves, lampshades askew. Bucky is wide-eyed and furious and utterly alone, and wielding a flyswatter.
“Dude,” Sam says, and then again, “Dude.” When Steve tore through the door, he literally tore through the door. He drops what's left of it with a thud, only gouging his floorboards slightly.
Steve hears a buzzing sound. Bucky's eyes track wildly back-and-forth, and with a strangled yell he launches himself toward the kitchen table, flailing the swatter. Sam nearly falls down the stairs laughing.
Sam buys the World's Most Feared Assassin a Bug-A-Salt. Bucky tells him to “go fuck yourself Wilson” and pretends not to hug it covetously to his chest.
~ ~ ~
((You guys have heard about Bug-A-Salt, right?
Title from the American folk song "Shoo Fly!"
I asked regonym for a birthday ficlet prompt.
regonym: ummmm Steve/Bucky, flyswatter :D
regonym: It sprung into my brain in a crackfic sort of way, like, 'what if bucky had a vendetta against houseflies? 8D'
regonym: AND THEN IT ALL ENDED IN TEARS AND PROPERTY DAMAGE
Oops I forgot to make it Steve/Bucky, really? I guess at this point if there is a Steve and there is a Bucky one just has to assume.))