Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Asset was using his metal arm to tow the man, Steve, his scrambled brain reminded, behind him as he waded out of the water. He dropped him none-too-gently onto the muddy, pebbly bank of the Potomac River. He spent several seconds staring down at him, watching for signs of life.

The Asset was well versed in the measures needed to revive or save someone. Given the nature of most of his missions, these weren’t skills he used often, but if a member of HYDRA required care, he would provide it. He was preparing to perform CPR when he noticed a stream of water trickle out of the side of Steve’s mouth. His former mission coughed before gasping in a few breaths.

With those small movements, the Asset knew Steve would be okay, and that he was safe to be left alone. Steve’s eyes were still closed, and he knew he needed to make himself scarce before they had a chance to open, to see him, to silently beg him to stay.

The Asset glanced around, looking for any approaching enemies or rescuers. He doubted he’d be able to tell the difference between the two. He could still see the wreckage from the Triskelion and helicarriers burning away in the background across the river. 

The Asset began trudging in the opposite direction, holding his right arm stiffly and awkwardly. Steve had really done a number on it. It would need time to heal. Hopefully, it would heal correctly. He had basic first aid training, but working to heal or fix himself had never been permitted. That was reserved for technicians or doctors only. Oftentimes, they would delay treatment as punishment for failed missions. He had certainly failed this latest mission.

It was only a matter of time before his handlers came looking for him, looking to dole out the appropriate punishment he had earned. The Asset gave an involuntary shudder, thinking on what horrible torture he would be subjected to for such an atrocious performance.

He didn’t want it. He may deserve the punishment, but he didn’t want it.

Wanting, or not wanting, was something new for him. Something that had only been roused by Steve minutes ago when they’d been fighting atop the falling helicarrier. Fighting wasn’t really the right word for it. The Asset had been delivering a one-sided beatdown while Steve refused to defend himself. 

The Asset hadn’t wanted to hurt Steve, just as Steve hadn’t wanted to fight him. The only difference between them was that Steve had acted on that desire. He had refused to fight. When the Asset realized that following one’s own will was possible, his conditioning had been fractured. That ideology, paired with the unknown, yet somehow familiar phrase: “I’m with you to the end of the line,” had shattered the rest of his programming, and had reawakened his humanity. He was no longer a mindless killing machine. He was a person.

Now, the Asset had his own thoughts, his own wants, his own desires, his own will, his own missions to guide him. And now that Steve was safe, the Asset’s current wants were strictly focused on avoiding more pain. Surely that couldn’t be all life had to offer, but it was still a step in the right direction for him.

In order to remain free from HYDRA and the pain they would surely bring, he needed to get out of here. He continued his slow trek, keeping his back to Steve, and vanished into the tree line.

…

Before the Asset could flee the nation’s capital, he had a few errands he needed to run. Just two, really. He’d spent the majority of the afternoon and evening hiding out in the woods bordering the river, biding his time. His body had needed the reprieve, and was finally able to rest and heal. He was waiting for the concealment nightfall would provide before he completed his next mission.

The sun had finally set a few hours ago, and the Asset had deemed it safe enough for him to reemerge back into the city. He wandered the streets, keeping an eye out for his first target. No, that wasn’t right. There were no more targets, only destinations. Ironically, his first destination was a Target.

The Asset perched himself on a large, red, concrete ball sitting out in front of the store, planning out his next move. By now, it was well after midnight. A small sign plastered across the front of a glass door declared that the store had closed at 10:00pm. All of the lights inside the store were off; only the lights on the outside logo still shone brightly. There were large, black dome security cameras inside and outside the store.

The Asset didn’t see the point in trying to cover his face given his metal arm was still on full display. That’s what the current mission he’d given himself was all about: obtaining a proper disguise. With all the chaos that had happened earlier in the day, it would be awhile before the city recovered enough to care about this footage. By then, the Asset planned on being long gone.

The Asset was fully prepared to bust through the front door, but jumped back in surprise when the automatic doors slid open for him. The store wasn’t locked up, and hadn't been properly closed. The workers had likely abandoned the store in a panic while all the fighting had been going down. It was good news for the Asset: there was probably still money left in the registers, not locked away in a safe.

As the Asset walked in through the open doors, motion detecting lights flickered to life, momentarily blinding him with their glaring fluorescence. The white and red color scheme of the store did nothing to help his growing headache.

Before he rooted through the registers, he wanted his disguise first. The Asset looked up at the ceiling, reading the various signs, before heading towards what was labeled as the “Men’s Section.” He wasn’t vain, and he absentmindedly grabbed the first thing he could reach that he knew would fit him: a jacket and a black undershirt. A rack of hats got the same treatment.

Coincidently, what he had picked out for himself looked to be a matching set of a gray-green jacket and a gray-green ball cap. He snagged a pair of jeans for himself too. A quick peruse of the shoe section led him to opt out and just stick with his combat boots. None of the store’s selection looked very sturdy for a life on the run.

He had to abandon the clothing area to look for gloves. He wanted a strong leather work glove to fit over his metal hand. He found what he was looking for in some sort of outdoor, gardeny section. The gloves obviously came in a pack of two, but the Asset just ripped the pair apart before casting the right one aside. He only needed the left one.

The Asset read labels and directions for bathrooms and fitting rooms, but didn’t bother. He just started changing out of his tac gear right there in the middle of the store. There were so many cameras that it didn’t seem worth it to waste time trying to hide.

His wet clothes had dried and stuck to him as he had baked in the hot sun all day. Taking them off was proving difficult and uncomfortable. The dried, dirty river water left his skin feeling scratchy and itchy. Pulling the warm clothes on provided some much needed relief.

The Asset swung back around to the front of the store to rifle through a few registers. He pocketed a few different bills and headed for a back exit. Deep down, there was some part of him that knew stealing was wrong, but surely a corporation as large as Target could afford to lose a few hundred dollars, right?

He exited the store out a back door labeled “employees only.” It emptied out into a garbage dock. The Asset made sure he still had plenty of his knives before tossing the rest of his ruined gear into a waiting dumpster.

So far, he had to say things were going pretty well. Mission report: disguise successfully obtained. It was on to the next mission.

…

The Asset had one final stop to make before he fled the city. He was planning on paying the Smithsonian a visit. The museum wouldn’t officially open until morning. The Asset could just break in, but he’d likely run into tighter security measures than Target.

With more time to kill, the Asset hunkered down in a nearby alleyway. He found a nook devoid of any suspicious puddles, sat down with his knees tucked into his chest, leaned his head back against the brick wall behind him, and closed his eyes. He still didn’t feel safe enough to sleep, wouldn’t until he put D.C. in his rearview, so resting would have to suffice for now…

The Asset must already be getting rusty, because he’d evidently dozed off. He was jolted awake by the sounds of children screaming. He tensed immediately, looking around for the threat. Wait, those weren’t screams of pain or fear like he was used to. Rather, those were screams of excitement, mixed in with giggles and laughter.

The Asset rose on unsteady limbs that had fallen asleep during his impromptu nap. He shook out the feeling of pins and needles, looking over to see what all the commotion was about.

There was a long line of people standing outside the front doors of the Smithsonian. What else should he have expected? Apparently, everyone's love for their favorite hero, Captain America, had been rekindled by yesterday’s events.

The Asset knew he should get in line, but the idea of being around so many people was overwhelming. What if somebody tried to talk to him?! He decided to wait until the museum opened and the majority of the waiting museum-goers had made it through the entrance before he joined the line. It’s not like it wound up making any real difference.

Inside, the museum was absolutely packed. Everyone had flocked to the Captain America exhibit. There were too many bodies, all packed in like sardines. There was too much noise, everyone trying to get a word in or talk with their neighbor.

The Asset was loathing this entire experience, but he forced himself to stay. There was something he still needed to do, and he refused to fail this mission.

Even wearing his new long sleeves and glove, he kept both hands firmly tucked deep in his jacket pockets. He kept the brim of his hat dipped down over his eyes. The stealth really wasn’t necessary, as nobody was paying any attention to him, but he kept the act up anyway.

Everyone only had eyes for the various exhibits on Steve Rogers, so the Asset was able to approach a little plaque off to the side with relative ease. He studied it for a long time. There was a name and a photo of James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. That was supposed to be him, right? That was what Steve had called him: Bucky.

Bucky could kind of see the resemblance if he looked hard enough. In a way though, he still didn’t think this man looked too much like him. Maybe more like a distant relative?

Bucky read over the little synopsis about him. Again, it felt like he was reading about a relative, or even a stranger. He couldn’t remember many of the events this plaque was claiming happened to him. It also didn’t help that the curators had gotten a few details wrong, like the date of his “death.” This plaque needed some serious amending.

After Bucky had committed this brief summary of his life to memory, he made his way over to a set of mannequins depicting him, Steve, and the rest of the Howling Commandos. Hard as he tried, none of the faces of his former teammates meant anything to him. Only Steve’s, and that was likely due to the proximity principle more than anything else.

Bucky stared at the outfit being worn by what he assumed was his mannequin, if the mural of their faces behind the display was anything to go by. Did I really use to wear that?! Bucky was used to black or gray or other neutral colors, not a deep navy blue. Hmm. I guess it’s not… too bad. He was appreciating and admiring the jacket more and more the longer he looked at it. He could see why he used to like it.

The mannequin that used to hold Captain America’s suit was now bare. Supposedly, Steve had stolen it sometime yesterday. Stealing wasn’t the right word, considering the suit was rightfully his. Maybe Bucky could get away with the same thing. That jacket was his, and he wanted it. No, no. That’s stupid. That would get me caught for sure.

Bucky gave the jacket a final longing look before turning to leave. Mission report: information on James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes successfully obtained. Former identity successfully reinstated. Now, it was time to disappear.

…

Bucky was waiting for his bus at a shoddy old greyhound station. His ticket had set him back eighty bucks. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was considered cheap or expensive, but he was now wishing he’d stolen a bit more from the Target he’d raided.

He’d decided on a bus to Indianapolis. Bucky couldn’t exactly pin why he’d chosen that particular city. He wasn’t even sure if he’d wind up staying too long. But, the Midwest was as good a place as any to disappear. It wasn’t as flashy as either of the coasts either. He’d stay for as long as he could get away with, then leave the city or state or country if the need arose.

He’d have to transfer to a new bus somewhere in Pittsburgh, but that shouldn’t be too bad. Indianapolis would be far enough from D.C. or New York to avoid suspicion, but close enough that he could get to either city in a day if the need arose.

The bus station held several newspaper racks, and Bucky had caught sight of the front page of The Washington Post: SHIELD Secretary Alexander Pierce Among the Undercover HYDRA Agents Killed in Yesterday’s Attack.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to feel about this new revelation. Sure, that was one threat eliminated, but someone else would just replace Secretary Pierce. Bucky still hadn’t seen any official word on Commander Rumlow or Commander Rollins. There were still plenty of HYDRA agents left who could be after him.

Bucky was getting antsy, his leg shaking, as he waited on the bus. He really needed to get out of this city. He was still keeping his ball cap pulled down over his eyes, but he couldn’t erase the paranoia. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on him. Judging him, ready to call the authorities on him or turn him over to his handlers.

Bucky’s anxious thoughts were interrupted by an embarrassingly loud growl coming from his stomach. These rumbling pangs had struck him a few times now, sometimes hitting so hard he was left feeling violently nauseous. He hadn’t eaten anything since the protein shake his handlers had provided him yesterday morning. By now, he was starving and he still couldn’t figure out what to do about it.

Since he no longer had access to the flavorless, calorically dense drinks he was given by his handlers, he had no way to sustain his monstrous metabolism. He would need to figure out a suitable alternative.

“First call: now boarding Bus 192: D.C. Union Station to Pittsburgh Intermodal Station to Indianapolis Bus Station. Now boarding Bus 192.”

Bucky rose from his seat and made his way outside the station to where Bus 192 had just parked in the loading dock. He couldn’t afford to worry about food at the moment. He’d take care of that once he was in Indianapolis.

Bucky flashed his ticket at the attendant, climbed up the small staircase of the bus, squeezed himself along the thin middle aisle until he reached the back, and sat down in the very last seat. This would ensure nobody could sneak up on him. He familiarized himself with the several emergency exits, knowing the bus driver would just go over them too with all the other passengers before the bus departed.

Bucky eyed each rider as they got on, but he never recognized any HYDRA agents. He wasn’t about to let his guard down just yet though. Not even when the doors sealed shut and the bus pulled away from the station with a loud hiss of the engine. He was basically home free, but he’d need to remain diligent throughout the rest of his journey. 

Mission report: successfully boarded bus. Now leaving the nation's capital. New mission: obtain sustenance upon arrival in Indianapolis.

Chapter Text

Bucky was caught in a vicious cycle. The bus rides to Pittsburgh and then Indianapolis had gone well enough, but it had all gone downhill from there. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to get anything right.

For starters, he couldn’t get a job. He was a wanted fugitive after all, and he didn’t exactly have any IDs on him to pose as a different alias. Furthermore, keeping the metal arm covered during the entirety of a work week would be next to impossible. Somebody would notice something fishy eventually, would find out who he was.

Since Bucky couldn’t get a job, that meant he couldn’t make any money. Since he couldn’t make any money, he couldn’t afford to live in any kind of apartment or home. He’d spent one of his first nights in the city at a shelter, but that one night was all he could handle. There had been way too many people, and not enough privacy.

Most of the people utilizing the shelter were nice enough people who were just down on their luck for one reason or another. However, some were prone to getting into altercations. Bucky didn’t want to risk having to defend himself in front of so many eyes. He could hurt or kill somebody on accident, and then he’d be back on the run.

Without money, Bucky also couldn’t buy any necessities. He was currently roughing it when it came to food, water, shelter, and toiletries. He had run out of his Target money weeks ago.

The entirety of his situation was a brutal textbook example of a Catch-22. He sustained himself by pickpocketing, shoplifting, or getting lucky finding money on the streets or in fountains. A stroke of good luck for him meant misfortune for someone else. He wished it didn’t have to be that way.

Currently, Bucky was shacking up in the room of an abandoned motel that sat back along a loud, busy interstate. The constant flashing of headlights leaking through the threadbare curtains, and the sounds of horns, screeching tires, roaring semis, wailing sirens, and booming bases kept him up all night. Still, it was a step up from being outside with no protection.

Sometimes, there were other squatters who had the same idea as Bucky, but he managed to shoo them all off pretty easily. He wasn’t scared of any of them, even the ones armed with knives or handguns. And why would he be? The ones he’d scared off so far hadn’t called the authorities on him. They were likely in trouble with the law too, or weren’t willing to get tangled up in it.

The water and electricity had been shut off from the building, so Bucky was stuck in a hot room with no air conditioning, and no means of taking a cold shower to cool himself down. Most days, he’d strip down to just his boxers whenever he was in his room, but he was forced to wear his jacket and gloves whenever he had to go out into the heat.

Along with his ramshackle living conditions, Bucky couldn’t seem to figure out how to take care of himself. His first mission when he arrived in Indianapolis had been to acquire sustenance. He had given the mission his all, but it had ultimately ended in disaster. He had completely failed…

…

The bus stop had been stationed across the street from a White Castle. When Bucky caught sight of the fast food chain sign, it had triggered the inkling of a memory. There had been White Castles in New York back before the war. Him and Steve had made several trips, often eating themselves sick on pay day. Armed with the memory, Bucky felt confident he could figure this out.

He walked into the store and that confidence immediately tanked. The menu was a lot bigger than he had remembered. There were different kinds of sliders, some with beef and some with chicken. There were sides. What in god’s name are chicken rings?! There were combos. There were desserts. There were Coke products. Back when Bucky knew White Castle, there had been four items on the menu: sliders, Coca-Cola, coffee, and apple pie.

He stuck with what he knew and ordered thirty sliders. The young employee looked at him like he’d grown a second head, but honestly, Bucky felt like he was holding back with his order. He paid a handsome sum, and had to wait on his order longer than he would’ve liked, but it was a lot of food to prepare.

With his order in hand, he settled into a corner booth and dove right in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed to chew anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted something this good!

He had his meal finished in under ten minutes. Again, that was with him showing some restraint. He caught the eye of the employee who’d taken his order trying not to stare at him while he inhaled his meal. He balled up the used napkins and greasy paper wrappers before dumping them in the trash and leaving the establishment.

The sliders… did not sit well for long.

Bucky’s stomach revolted against him. How dare Bucky eat something so hearty and delicious after decades of nothing but bland protein shakes? The pain eventually grew so severe that Bucky couldn’t even walk. He found sanctuary in an alleyway, doing his best to suffer in silence through the cramps wreaking havoc on his abdomen. 

It felt like there was a brick lodged in his stomach. A hard, heavy brick wrapped in barbed wire that was throwing itself against the walls of his stomach, trying to escape. The brick’s attempts at escape were eventually successful.

Bucky fell to his hands and knees, vomiting up the partially digested remains of his dinner. The taste he’d loved less than an hour ago was nowhere near as good a second time. The bread and the beef felt like they were clawing up the back of his throat as they erupted out of his nose and mouth. The scrapes weren’t soothed by the stomach acid that came tumbling after.

Once he’d gotten everything up, he panted from where he was crouched over, spitting out strings of saliva as his heaving stomach began to settle. He could hear various people passing by the entrance of the alleyway. Most ignored him, some judged him, some laughed at him, some had sympathy for him. Some joked that he was having a bad trip, whatever that meant. Some seemed to feel sorry for him, but also too threatened by him to try and help. He was all alone.

Once he recovered, he knew he would need to try eating again. His stomach couldn’t bear the thought of a new attempt so soon though. He spent the night in an alleyway a few blocks over, needing to escape the smell of White Castle and his sick.

That next morning, his attempts at breakfast at another fast food joint didn’t go any better. He couldn't seem to keep anything solid down! By lunch time, he was ready to try again. This time, he ordered a simple vanilla milkshake. He kept it!

It wasn’t really much of a victory though. Calorically, in order to sustain himself, he’d need at least ten large ones every day. They cost more than he could afford, and he knew they weren’t the best for him. Their protein content was limited, and he knew he’d grow weary of the sugary taste in a few days' time. He had to make it work though.

…

Though Bucky now had his food issues held weakly in check, he ran into other snags when it came to self-maintenance. His access to water was pretty limited. Without running water in his motel room, he could only get it where he found or stole it. There were drinking fountains in parks, but he refrained from using those unless it was dark out. He looked like the kind of person folks should be scared of, and he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

Keeping himself clean and well groomed just wasn’t high on his priority list either. However, even as hardened as he was, his body odor was starting to get to him. Even HYDRA would hose him off with ice cold, highly pressurized water every week or two. He’d been wearing the same clothes every day without ever washing them or himself for a few months now.

His hair was incredibly unkempt, but his hands had trembled too much whenever he even considered bringing a blade up to try and hack it all off. He was stuck with his unruly rat nest. Surprisingly, he managed to clean up his facial hair. While he couldn’t cut his hair, his brain had no qualms with using his knives as razors to get rid of too much beard growth. Bucky couldn’t understand the way his brain worked. Knives near his hair were a no go, but blades near his face were fine, go figure.

His brain loved to torture him in all kinds of different ways through all hours of the day. Night had to be the very worst though. If he managed to doze in his loud, bright, uncomfortable motel room, he’d often scream himself awake before getting a worthwhile amount of sleep. 

He suffered through countless nightmares and night terrors. Some were about his actions within HYDRA as the Winter Soldier, others were about his times during the war, fighting or being imprisoned in Azzano.

So, yeah… all in all, Bucky wasn’t doing so hot. Things had started out smooth enough, but as the weeks and months had passed, he proved time and time again that he was incapable of taking care of himself.

He spent the majority of his days hiding out close to his base at the motel. One silver lining to his shitty situation was that the motel and accompanying interstate were located near a large shopping center. It made for easier pickings.

He would busy himself digging newspapers out of trash bins and then tearing out any clippings that ever mentioned Steve or any of his Avenger friends. He kept these little treasures in an empty drawer in his motel room. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to achieve by holding onto them, but it helped him feel closer to Steve.

As rough as these summer months had been, Bucky held more fear for the coming winter months. What would he do then?

Everything just felt like so much effort. Too much effort. This wasn’t a life worth living. He was merely surviving. Just taking up air and space. Stealing from law-abiding citizens. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t justifiable.

HYDRA had forced him to live. They hadn't allowed him to die. Without them acting as a barrier, there was nothing left to stop him from putting an end to it all. He didn’t know if he had it in him to continue on his current path, and god forbid he ask anyone for help.

…

Then, one afternoon, Bucky unexpectedly came across what would ultimately be his salvation.

A group of rowdy teenagers were loitering around the shopping center. Well, Bucky was loitering too… in a way… but his way was less disruptive and obnoxious. Ugh, kids these days are so annoying. Shouldn’t they be in school or something?

One of the little snots must’ve caught sight of something, because suddenly they were pointing animatedly before disappearing into an alleyway. The rest of the gang followed in a similar manner like a herd of sheep.

Bucky couldn’t see what they were chasing after so frantically, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good. He was suddenly struck by several memories all at once. Different instances of him saving a pint-sized Steve from gangs of bullies in various alleyways, locker rooms, playgrounds, and parking lots. When he came back to himself, stumbling a bit, his instincts kicked in. Those rotten brats better not be going after somebody! He was going to make them wish they hadn’t.

Once Bucky reached the mouth of the alleyway, he caught sight of the kids hurling little rocks and pebbles at…

Well… it wasn’t a person… but what they were doing still wasn’t right. Judging by the sad, noisy meows coming from the end of the alleyway, they were tormenting some poor little cat that they’d backed into a corner. God knows what they would do if they actually managed to get ahold of it.

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice cracked embarrassingly from disuse. It’s not like he’d had anyone to talk to these past few months. “Leave it alone!”

Voice crack or not, the kids took one look at Bucky and went running for the hills. Unfortunately for them, they couldn’t leave the alley without getting past him first though. He towered over them, fixing them with his meanest glare. “Yeah, how’s that feel, to be cornered like a bunch of rats?! Not so good, huh?! Now, get the fuck outta here before I really lose my temper!” He stepped aside, and they sprinted past him, one nearly falling in their haste to get away.

Bucky kept them in his sights until they were clear on the other side of the shopping center. Once he felt they had gone far enough, he turned back to where the little cat had been, expecting it to be long gone…

It wasn’t! It was still there! Bucky couldn’t help the little thrill that went through him.

Bucky could finally get a good look at it. The little cat was white as snow. Its paws and parts of its body were stained gray or brown from trouble it must’ve gotten into out here on the streets, but it was definitely a little white cat.

Bucky dropped into a crouch, inching closer and closer to the little cat. He held his right hand out to it, keeping his metal one clutched to his chest. “Psst. Here, kitty kitty. C’mere, little kitty.” He kept snapping his fingers and clicking his tongue, trying to gain the little cat’s trust.

Now that Bucky was closer, he could see a light pink collar that contrasted with the little cat’s big blue eyes. The pairing made Bucky think of cotton candy. The pink collar also made him think that this little cat must be a she.

She must have an owner. She could be lost… or she could’ve even been abandoned. He now had his next mission: save this little cat, and return her to her owners.

The little cat was clearly familiar with humans, but still not up to trusting anybody so soon after her run in with those teenagers. Bucky altered his approach, sitting down a few feet away from the little cat. He stretched his hand out as far as it would go, offering it to her in as friendly a manner as he could.

The little cat made no moves to get closer. Bucky could see how hard she was panting and shivering. He rose from his crouch and opened up the least smelly dumpster lining the walls of the alleyway. It still wasn’t pretty inside, but he managed to find a partially gnawed on chicken wing and a half-drank bottle of water. 

Bucky rolled the bony wing towards her, scaring her only the slightest bit. He searched the garbage bin for some sort of container he could pour the water into. An old lid to a jar of peanut butter did the trick. He filled it and pushed it out as far in front of him as he could.

The little cat gave the air a good sniff before slinking over to the chicken bone. The way she kept bobbing her head in trepidation made Bucky laugh. The noise startled him as much as it startled her.

The little cat licked on the bone for a while, hopefully getting some tiny bits of meat or nutrients from Bucky’s meager offering. She came closer for a few sips of water. Bucky felt brave enough to try reaching his hand out.

The little cat reared back a bit, but reapproached to sniff at his hand. She rubbed her face up into his palm, breaking out into a raspy purr at the same time Bucky’s face broke out into a smile. “That’s it, good kitty.”

After a bit more careful petting, Bucky was able to wrap his hand under the cat’s little belly, and draw her in close to his chest. She was absolutely tiny! She couldn’t weigh more than six pounds!

“What’s your name, little kitty?” Bucky was squinting, trying to read the fancy, swoopy cursive writing adorning the tag on the little cat’s collar. Alpine. Bucky didn’t necessarily like it. It wasn’t what he would’ve picked. If it were up to him, he probably would’ve named her Sugar or Snowball or Marshmallow.

Marshmallow…

There had been a big, old, grumpy white cat named Marshmallow living at the apartments he and Steve had resided in before Bucky was shipped off to go fight in the war. Marshmallow had been incredibly unfriendly. He would wander the halls, hissing and scratching at everybody unlucky enough to cross his path. Nobody knew who he belonged to, but he was titled as the honorary apartment cat.

Bucky was excited by this newfound, regained memory. A memory that was relatively pleasant for once. He’d been reliving plenty of the unpleasant ones every night when he tried to sleep.

“Alright, Alpine.” Bucky readjusted his grip on the little cat. “Let’s go and see if we can find your owners.”

…

Bucky spent the rest of his day wandering the streets surrounding the shopping center. He kept Alpine tucked into his chest, and she was tired and content enough to stay curled up in his jacket, dozing and purring.

Bucky studied every pamphlet and flier pinned to various telephone poles, trees, and bulletin boards, but while there were announcements for plenty of other lost and found cats and dogs in the area, none of them matched Alpine’s name or description.

Bucky didn’t have the means to put up any kind of “found cat” sign himself for Alpine. He didn’t have any paper. He didn’t have a writing instrument. He didn’t have any contact information. What was he supposed to do? Put up a sign that said “Hey, I found this little white cat named Alpine! If she’s yours, please see the former brainwashed assassin at the abandoned motel by the interstate!”

Even if it was likely the most successful option for reuniting Alpine with her owners, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to enter a veterinary clinic or animal shelter either. There would be too much conversation and human interaction associated with the action. There was also no way he could leave her in somebody else’s hands. Who knows what could happen to her?

Bucky knew from experience how miserable it was to be locked away, and he couldn’t handle the thought of poor Alpine being stuck in a cage or kennel. Worse, they could put her down if nobody ever came to claim or adopt her.

All Bucky knew was that saving Alpine had felt… good. It had made his chest warm up for the first time in weeks. He wanted to keep that good feeling going strong. He wanted to see Alpine’s care through. He had no choice but to keep her and look after her.

Mission report: Alpine’s owners unidentifiable. New mission: care for Alpine until further notice.

Chapter Text

Over the course of the next few days, Bucky discovered a few crucial pieces of information about Alpine. For starters, she was completely deaf. Whenever Bucky called her name, she paid him no mind.

At first, Bucky just thought she was being sassy, and was ignoring him on purpose. It certainly fit her personality. However, other modes of grabbing her attention didn’t work out too well either. Similar to their first meeting in the alleyway, he’d click his tongue, snap his fingers, or hiss out a “psst” or a “here kitty, kitty” to no avail.

What really sealed the deal on Bucky’s suspicions was that whenever he screamed himself awake at night, she wouldn’t stir. He’d be panting and gasping, covered in sweat, his eyes darting around the motel room looking for danger, and she’d still be curled up in the corner with her eyes closed and her tail twitching lazily, none the wiser.

While she was deaf, Bucky adapted quickly, and came up with other ways to call her. She responded well to vibrations, so he’d either stomp a foot if he was standing or smack a hand against the ground if he was sitting. 

He’d pair the movement and vibration with a call of her name, because everyone deserved to have a name, even if they couldn’t hear it. She’d always bound over happily whenever she knew Bucky was trying to get her attention.

Another notable characteristic Bucky realized was that she was declawed. He had been holding her one day, rubbing on the cute little pads of one of her paws when he realized no amount of pressure would unsheath a claw.

Bucky could assume her previous owners had done it to protect their furniture or make her safer for playing with babies or children or whatever, but the act still seemed cruel to him. The amputation of any appendage, whether it was an entire limb or a mere digit, didn’t sit right with him for obvious reasons.

Without her claws, how could she have properly balanced herself? How could she have climbed to avoid danger? How could she have fended off enemies? Sure, biting was one thing, but claws were definitely necessary for a cat to defend itself. It was a wonder she hadn’t run into trouble earlier. 

The discovery only made Bucky happier that he’d found Alpine when he did. Ultimately, taking care of her is what saved him. He found himself having to do more and more to care for her. Having to step outside of his comfort zone. Her wellbeing was now his top priority, and he’d be damned if he let anything happen to her.

…

Their first evening together, Bucky noticed right away that Alpine needed a bath. Her white coat was still covered in the dirt of the city. Without access to running water in the motel, Bucky took her out to a fountain that acted as the centerpiece for the shopping center. He did it well after hours, using only the luminescence of a half-moon and a few flickering parking lot lights, to guide him. 

Alpine was decidedly not happy about the arrangement. This was the only moment Bucky was actually thankful that she had been declawed. While she couldn’t hurt his body, she sure could hurt his ears. Deaf as she was, she knew how to make a ruckus.

The whole process was almost as torturous for Bucky as it was for Alpine. It tore him up inside watching her scramble to get away from him and the water, only to be stopped in her efforts by her little padded paws that failed to give her any purchase.

She yowled and cried for the first few minutes of Bucky cleaning her, then resigned herself to the process, shivering and trembling, her little heartbeat going a mile a minute. She looked so sad and pathetic that eventually, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore.

He climbed into the fountain and continued washing her while getting soaked to the bone himself. The sharp cold of the water was nearly intolerable to sit in, and the crisp autumn night air didn’t help either. No wonder Alpine was so miserable. “See, now I’m in too. That’s fair, right? We’re both cold. We’re both wet.”

Once Alpine’s fur was back to its pure, white-as-snow color, Bucky sat her on the edge of the fountain. She gave a little shake, then started licking at her fur. Honestly, Bucky was just glad she didn’t outright run away from him in terror. What he’d just done to her was probably worse in her eyes than what those teenagers were doing. She deserved so much better. She deserved warm water, or to have never gotten so filthy in the first place.

Bucky took the opportunity to clean himself. This was the first time he was finding himself submerged in water since his impromptu swim in the Potomac. He dipped his head underwater, rubbing at his face and combing his hands through his hair. Plunging headfirst into the water was awful, but so was being as dirty as he was.

Once Bucky considered himself cleaner-ish, he stood up and stepped out of the fountain. He took Alpine into his arms and held her close, trying to help her warm up. He trailed water behind him all the way back to the motel.

Bucky dropped Alpine off at his room, then made his way to a linen supply closet. Luckily, as abandoned as the inn was, the closet was fully stocked with hand towels, body towels, washcloths, bedsheets, blankets, and uniforms for the housekeeping staff.

Bucky gave pause when he spied the uniforms. They weren’t tasteful, but again, it’s not like he was vain, and he’d take anything over the sopping wet clothes he was currently wearing.

Bucky grabbed a set that looked like they would fit him. Most of the uniforms were pretty small in size, but then again, he had been losing a lot of weight lately. The milkshakes he tried sustaining himself with just weren’t enough.

Bucky returned to his room with a few towels and a uniform. He quickly undressed, dried himself off, and got redressed with the uniform so that he could direct all of his attention to getting Alpine warm and dry.

He wrapped her up and rubbed at her fur to speed the drying process up. She was still trembling in his arms even long after she dried, so Bucky spent nearly an hour just holding her, promising her that as long as she never got into anything, he’d never have to bathe her again.

As for himself, Bucky planned on taking a dip in the fountain at least a few days a week. As it got colder, he’d figure something else out, but this whole experience had him realizing just how gross it was of him not to clean himself or his clothes. He wouldn’t let it get this bad again.

Once Alpine finally stopped trembling, Bucky let her go. Her fur was sticking up in all kinds of goofy ways, and it made him laugh. His hair was likely in the same condition, maybe even worse. He should fix that.

Bucky ventured back out of his room in search of a cleaning supplies closet. He eventually found one, and went to open the door. This one, unlike the linen closet, was locked. Given that it likely held various chemicals, that didn’t come to much of a surprise to Bucky. He used his metal arm to give a quick, strong tug on the door, breaking it open. 

Inside, he quickly spotted the object of his desire: a vacuum. Rather, a brush attachment from the vacuum. Bucky grabbed it and pulled off the fuzz and hair collected in its bristles. Bucky supposed he should find this gross, considering the vacuum had been used to clean god knows what, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Back in his room, Bucky groomed Alpine’s coat until it was shiny and tangle free. Now that she was cleaned up, it was clear to see she truly was a beautiful little cat. She deserved better than a vacuum attachment, and Bucky vowed to pick something up the next time he went shopping or shoplifting.

Bucky brought the brush up to his own head and worked out the knots and tangles. His hair was a lot worse than Alpine’s was, and it took him nearly an hour to work through. When he was finished though, he knew all the effort was worth it. Being cleaner and more kempt had him feeling more like a person again. It was definitely something he planned to keep up now that he knew how to do it.

Mission report: Alpine successfully cleaned. Improved cleanliness also obtained for self.

…

Their first morning together, it became clear pretty quickly that Alpine had made a mess in the motel room. On one of the stacks of newspapers about Steve that Bucky kept no less! It really shouldn’t have surprised him. They were the stereotypical designated bathroom for animals in all the cartoons and comic strips.

Bucky scolded her at first, but quickly stopped himself. For one, it’s not like Alpine could actually hear him. For another, even if Alpine could hear him, it’s not like she could comprehend what he was upset about.

Alpine was looking up at him with a look that said “What else was I supposed to do?” or “Hey, I could’ve gone somewhere more unpleasant! At least I went on something easy to clean up and dispose of!”

Bucky gave a tired sigh. “Okay, you’re right, it’s my fault.” Never mind the fact that he was talking to a deaf cat. “Let’s get this problem solved.”

It took Bucky awhile to figure out a way around Alpine’s little litter box problem. A tub of litter wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to sneak out of a store. Plus, while it was a necessary responsibility when it came to caring for an indoor cat, it’s not like he wanted to spend time cleaning out a litter box. He couldn’t just leave the door of his motel room open all the time to let her come and go as she pleased either. Too much of a security hazard.

After a bit of brainstorming, Bucky came up with the perfect solution. After nightfall, he made his way to a nearby construction site. The lack of overhead lights told him that no overnight work was occurring, and he was safe to explore the vacant site. 

There were piles upon piles of sandbags littered everywhere. Bucky didn’t quite know what this construction crew was building, but surely the workers wouldn’t mind if a few went missing.

The weight was no issue, but the bulky, awkward size of the bags made them difficult to carry. Bucky made a few trips back and forth, nearly depleting an entire pile of sandbags before he felt he’d gathered enough.

Back in his room, he busted open the door to an adjacent motel room, and began filling the room with sand from the bags. Once the room resembled a beach, he deemed it an acceptable size for Alpine. The arrangement should last her months, and Bucky wouldn’t have to clean up anymore surprise messes. Win-win.

Mission report: Appropriate bathroom measures now in place for Alpine.

…

Since he’d begun staying in the abandoned motel, Bucky had always slept on the floor. The bed in his room was perfectly fine, albeit a bit dirty, but he never slept in it. He hadn’t slept in a bed since before he was drafted.

Alpine deserved better though. She deserved a real place dedicated to sleeping. She had grown attached to the corner closest to where Bucky slept on the floor, but there was no way that could be comfortable for her.

One night, Bucky pulled a pillow off the bed and wedged it in the corner for her. Alpine approached it with the same goofy head bobbing action she displayed whenever she encountered something new… and refused to sleep on it. Worse, she didn’t lay on it, or even sit on it!

Bucky pulled the other pillow off the bed and wedged it under his head to demonstrate. “Like this, Alpine. Trust me, it’s a lot more comfortable.” It was a lot more comfortable. Bucky had forgotten what he’d been missing, going without one for so long. He spent that night sleeping with his head on a pillow.

The next night, Bucky dared to move things a step further. The pillow had been so pleasant to sleep on, he wondered what the full setup would be like. He returned the pillow to its place, clambered into bed, and buried himself under the covers. 

At first, he tossed and turned, not remembering how to fall asleep somewhere that wasn’t a cot or the ground or the floor. His thoughts were too loud and his body wouldn’t stay still long enough for him to drift off. A thrumming hum grew louder as little paws marched up along the bed to his head.

Alpine was purring as she began kneading her paws at the top of Bucky’s pillow. She eventually settled, wrapping herself into a ball with her warm little body pressed into his hair. He reached up and stroked her fur, and her purrs grew louder. The steady sound provided the perfect lullaby, and he was out in minutes.

Bucky was still jolted awake by nightmares from time to time, but having Alpine so close helped him immensely. She was always within reach, and always happy to be cuddled and snuggled whenever Bucky needed to calm himself down. Over time, the nightmares even started to decrease, in both their intensity and frequency.

Bucky didn’t know what had been stopping him from seeking out these available comforts like a pillow or blankets or a bed before. The only thing that had changed was the addition of Alpine to the equation. Her presence was enough to break down the barriers Bucky hadn’t even known he’d put up. She was just as good for him as he was for her, maybe even more so.

Mission report: suitable sleeping arrangements procured for Alpine and myself.

…

Alpine wasn’t a kitten. Small as she was, she still had the certain look of a fully matured feline. She was definitely young though, given how much energy she still possessed. At random moments, for seemingly no reason at all, her fur would fluff up, her eyes would widen, and she would pinball around the motel room, shooting off the bed, chairs, and drawers. It never failed to get a laugh out of Bucky.

During his outings, Bucky started looking for little trinkets he could use as toys for Alpine. She couldn’t hear anything, so something crinkly or jingly wouldn’t do anything for her. In the end, he came up with the perfect toy: receipts.

Now, whenever Bucky bought his milkshakes, he would ask for the receipt too. The paper for his order was long enough to be worthwhile, and he would crumple it up on his way back to the motel. Alpine had come to expect a new wadded up receipt whenever Bucky went to get his milkshakes. 

Typically, Alpine would go everywhere with Bucky, but he kept her in the motel room whenever he went out to get his milkshakes. He hated leaving her alone, but carrying ten milkshakes without dropping one was no easy task, and holding Alpine would only complicate the matter further.

The small offering of a crumpled up receipt after every outing was enough for Alpine to forgive Bucky for leaving her all alone for the insufferable length of fifteen minutes. She’d rush to the door whenever Bucky returned, weaving between his legs and meowing loudly.

“Oh, you just want the toy, dontcha? You don’t even care about me,” Bucky would throw the ball and watch Alpine dart after it. She’d bat it around, carry it, drown it in her little water dish, bat it around some more, and eventually deliver it to Bucky for him to throw in a silly game of fetch. She was perfectly content.

Bucky wished he could get bright, shiny, colorful toys for Alpine, but they weren’t something he should spend the limited money he found on, and he didn’t like stealing things. Alpine deserved better, but at the moment, the little balled up receipts were all he could spare.

Mission report: sufficient entertainment provided for Alpine, and inadvertently myself.

…

The final aspect of Alpine’s care that Bucky continued to struggle with was feeding her. Comparing their size ratios, she had a voracious appetite that nearly rivaled his own, and it was hard to know how much of what to feed her when.

Bucky had started by offering her a portion of one of his milkshakes every day. Alpine loved the treat, but she needed to eat more than once a day, unlike Bucky. She also needed more than what liquid calories could provide, unlike Bucky. 

Well, Bucky needed some real calories more than once a day too, but he still didn’t know how to go about that. At the end of the day, milkshakes alone were not good for Alpine. They weren’t good for Bucky either, but Alpine deserved better.

Bucky tried varying up the locations he would shop or “shop” at, but unfortunately, in all of those stores the pet aisles were located near the very back of the building. Bucky preferred to dip in and dip out of a store as soon as possible, and never chanced venturing inside that far.

Luckily, the canned food aisle was usually pretty close to the entrance, no matter what store he was in. Bucky both bought and pocketed a few tins of tuna and a few cans of cream of chicken soup.

When he first offered the tuna to Alpine, she dove right into it like she’d been starving. It made Bucky feel bad, knowing he’d been depriving her of some of the protein and nutrients she needed. The cream of chicken soup was met with more hesitance.

“C’mon, Alpine. Just try it. You’ll like it.” Bucky coaxed to no avail. “I know it’s new, but just because something’s new doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

When Alpine still made no moves to try the condensed soup, Bucky moved on to the next tactic that usually worked. “What if I try some? Then will you eat it?” Alpine just stared at him.

“Fine, here we go.” The soup and tuna both had pull tabs to open them, given that Bucky didn’t have a can opener. He used the top of the soup can as a spoon, and dipped it into the condensed soup. It had the color and consistency of banana pudding.

He brought the lid to his lips and licked off the soup. After nothing but sweet, sugary, cold milkshakes, the salty, savory, room temperature soup was like a breath of fresh air. It was by no means delicious, but it wasn’t awful either. There were even a few bits of actual chicken laced throughout it too. More importantly, the soup stayed in his stomach where it belonged.

In the end, Alpine never came around to the chicken soup, which surprised Bucky given that he’d first lured her with a chicken wing, but she did enjoy the tuna. They each had something new they could eat now: fish for Alpine and chicken soup for Bucky.

Mission report: more nutritious sustenance acquired for Alpine and myself.

 …

Bucky and Alpine were headed for their designated aisle in their favorite store. He really wasn’t supposed to have her with him. There was a sign clear as day on the glass sliding doors that said only service animals were allowed.

Bucky had only run into trouble with that once when he had been strictly told, “Hey, you can’t bring that cat in here!” Bucky hadn’t returned to that particular store.

Here though, at a rundown mom-and-pop shop, he never got into any real trouble, which is why it was he and Alpine’s favorite store. Most of the employees here didn’t care. In all honesty, they likely thought Alpine was cute anyway, and didn’t want to kick her and Bucky out.

Even though this was his favorite shop, Bucky was worried people were starting to catch on to the fact that he only ever paid for about half of what he grabbed. They either felt bad for him, or again, Alpine was scoring him some brownie points by being so cute. Regardless, he was grateful most people treated him with kindness. 

The tuna went straight into his pockets while the soup went in the basket. That wasn’t so bad, right? He was paying for about half of what he was getting… maybe a little less than half… but that was still better than stealing everything, right? 

It’s not like shoplifting was that bad of a crime, right? It certainly wasn’t the worst crime he’d ever committed. Still, no matter how hard Bucky tried to justify it to himself, the act always left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew what he was doing was wrong. 

What he’d been doing for months in every aspect of his life was wrong. He couldn’t face it though. He couldn’t face what he was doing, and he knew he could never face Steve. Steve never would’ve wound up like him. He wouldn't be doing the unlawful, pathetic things Bucky does.

Steve deserved a better friend than Bucky, just like Alpine deserved better than what Bucky could give her.

Chapter Text

Bucky was returning from one of his daily milkshake runs. Lately, he’d been trying to keep things eighty/twenty when it came to his chicken soup and milkshake consumption. Essentially, that meant eight cans of soup to two shakes of milk.

With a milkshake in each hand, he struggled to turn the doorknob to his motel room, but managed to pop the door open. He bumped the door the rest of the way open with his hip, expecting Alpine to come running to try and trip him like she always did when she knew her latest balled up receipt was coming. “Hey-”

Bucky stopped short, dropping both milkshakes at his feet, when he looked up to see that the room was full of HYDRA agents, all with guns trained on him. Frankly, it was embarrassing that he hadn’t seen this coming. It had only been a matter of time.

Bucky wasn’t scared for himself. Not in the slightest. The only face with any rank he recognized belonged to Commander Rollins, and even he had never gotten high enough clearance to hear or learn Bucky’s trigger words. He was scared for Alpine though.

Bucky did a quick visual sweep of the room. To Rollins and the rest of the STRIKE team, it probably looked like he was sizing them up. In reality, he was looking for Alpine. He didn’t see her anywhere. Hopefully she’d darted out the door when they’d first busted in.

“Mission report.”

Instantly, the broken part of Bucky’s brain that felt compelled to answer Rollins’ request tried to take over, but Bucky refused to let it happen. He wasn’t the Asset anymore. He wasn’t something they could just order around. He was goddamn James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes!

“Go fuck yourself!”

One of the STRIKE team members might’ve actually tried to disguise a laugh as a cough. Rollins just scoffed. “So you’ve got a mouth on you now? Don’t you worry, we’ll get that fixed right up when we get back to base.”

Images of the Chair and the Mask flashed behind Bucky’s eyes. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m coming with you.” Why did he even bother? Of course Rollins was out of his mind.

“I’ve got a feeling you’ll be willing to cooperate.” As Rollins said it, a hidden STRIKE team member emerged from the attached bathroom holding Alpine by the scruff.

Bucky hoped the flicker of horror that briefly passed across his face was missed by Rollins. He tried laughing off the threat of them hurting Alpine. “A cat? That’s what’s supposed to make me fall in line? Where’d you even find that thing anyway?”

“Gee, then I guess you were right, Smith,” Rollins said, bored. “Must’ve just been a stray that wandered in. Shoot it.”

One of the agents, presumably Smith, raised a gun up and-

“No!” Bucky reached up, and all the guns trained on him clicked in warning.

Rollins smiled, knowing he’d called Bucky’s bluff. “Aw, you made a wittle fwiend, didn’t you? Figures it would be some mangy little cat. You don’t know how to act around people anymore, do you?”

“Just let her go. Please. She’s a cat for fuck’s sake! What the fuck is wrong with you people?!” What wasn’t wrong with HYDRA?

“Oh, we’ll let her go alright, so long as you agree to come quietly.”

Bucky refused to be HYDRA’s puppet again. However, he had promised himself he would keep Alpine safe no matter what. He needed time to think of how to create a diversion large enough to get Alpine and himself away. He would have to try and stall for as long as possible.

Rollins didn’t even give him the chance. 

“I won’t go with-”

Rollins nodded to Smith, who reached down and crunched one of Alpine’s back legs in his grip. Alpine screeched as her hind leg was brutally broken, and Bucky started screaming too, jamming his hands over his ears. He couldn’t bear to hear the sounds of her suffering.

“Stop it! Stop it! Please, just stop it! Stop hurting her! Please!”

Alpine was kicking and scratching at the arm of the man holding and hurting her, but without her claws, she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t get free.

Bucky dropped to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes and pleas spilling from his lips, “Please! I’ll go with you! I will! I’ll do anything! Just please stop hurting her! Please! I’ll do anything! Please!”

Bucky had no idea if Rollins was going to have mercy or take pity on him or not. All he knew was that Alpine was screaming, until suddenly, somebody else was screaming. 

Alpine had gotten enough leverage to turn and bite down hard on Smith’s hand. Smith had yelled, and then threw her off of himself, straight at Bucky. Bucky pulled his hands away from his head at the last second to catch Alpine and clutch her close.

Bucky was slower to move since he’d been on his knees, but he turned as quickly as he could in his crouched position as several guns all fired off at once. Bucky didn’t even allow himself to acknowledge any pain. He just took off running as fast as he could.

Bucky ran until it felt like his lungs were going to burst, which was really saying something considering he was a super soldier. Either he’d really put his endurance to the test, or he’d taken a hit to the chest... or two. He wasn’t really sure. He still hadn’t allowed himself the time to catalog any of his own injuries. All that mattered was Alpine.

Bucky sat hunkered down in an alleyway. God, it felt like he’d spent most of his life in alleyways at this point. Saving Steve numerous times, sleeping near the museum, throwing up White Castle, rescuing Alpine from those teens, and now, rescuing Alpine again, this time from HYDRA.

With bated breath, he pulled her out from where she’d been tucked inside his jacket. He was terrified at what he would find. It was worse than he ever could’ve imagined.

His mouth dropped open in horror. Her silky white coat had been nearly completely stained crimson! She’s dead! They got her! She’s dead! There’s no way she could’ve survived this! Oh god! Why?! Why her?!

Bucky’s breaths picked up as he slipped into a panic. At Bucky’s distress, miraculously, Alpine’s big blue eyes popped open. She chirped out a confused meow, as if asking Bucky “Hey, why’re you crying?”

Now, Bucky could see that the blood wasn’t coming from Alpine at all! It was all just his blood! What a relief! Her leg was still a twisted, mangled mess though. Bucky grew nauseous and lightheaded just looking at it.

Alpine needed help. Bucky needed help too, but he was still failing to realize it. There was only one person in the world who he knew he could trust when it came to needing help: Steve.

…

Bucky had been keeping tabs on Steve. He knew Steve had left DC a few weeks after everything had gone down, and had moved back to New York. Bucky wasn’t sure exactly where Steve was living in New York, but he had a hunch it was somewhere in Brooklyn.

Bucky had limped to the nearest bus station, gaining all kinds of funny looks, and bought a ticket. He knew he looked terrible, and he knew he was bleeding heavily, but his dark clothing was hiding it well enough.

Thankfully, he and Alpine didn’t have to wait long for their bus. They were on their way within the hour. Once he finally got the opportunity to really sit down and rest, the pain hit him like a freight train. Based on where it was radiating from the most, Bucky concluded that he’d taken three bullets: one to the left thigh, one above the right hip, and one somewhere in his abdomen. He was lucky it hadn’t been worse. A few had probably plinked off his metal arm.

The one to his gut had to have been what had gotten Alpine so messy. The gut wound was still leaking like a faucet. He cradled Alpine in his right arm while applying as much pressure as he dared to his stomach with his metal arm. The sharp stab of pain had him groaning and shifting weakly in his seat.

Alpine, again noticing Bucky’s distress, broke into a loud, rumbly purr. Tears sprang to his eyes. Hurt as she was, she was still trying to comfort him. She still loved and trusted him, even after he’d failed her so miserably.

“S’Okay, Alpine. ‘M okay. We’re okay. ‘M gonna get us some help.”

…

Nearly nineteen hours later, in the early morning hours of the next day, they were in the Big Apple. The healing Bucky’s body had managed to do during their trip was enough to stop the bleeding. He might still have some bullets lodged in him somewhere, but he wasn’t concerned about it.

Alpine didn’t have any enhanced healing abilities to help her. She would need the care of a veterinarian in order to stand a chance. A crucial amount of time had passed, but there was nothing Bucky could do. He didn’t have money, and he currently didn’t have the mental clarity and stability required to converse with a doctor of any kind. He would need Steve for that, but first, he had to find him.

When HYDRA had assigned Steve as his mission, he’d been given intel that Captain America frequently went on early morning runs. If Bucky knew Steve, and he did, deep down he knew he did, he guessed Steve would go running through Prospect Park.

They’d spent a lot of their youth in that park. Bucky playing baseball with the other boys in the neighborhood, and Steve watching from the dugout. His health struggles never left him in any kind of condition to play, but he had fun hanging out with Bucky all the same.

The park was over five hundred acres, so it was still a long shot. Hopefully, Steve would be moving fast enough that he’d make a few rounds, and Bucky would be able to track him back home. This was all assuming Steve even showed up. 

Bucky collapsed against a park bench, pulling Alpine out of his jacket to check her over again. She’d started trembling, and Bucky was worried she was going into shock. His sticky blood she was covered nose to tail with was likely making things worse. She had to be freezing in the Brooklyn winter air. Bucky tucked her safely back inside his jacket, where she could keep warm. 

Bucky looked around from where he was seated, trying to see if there were any fountains nearby. If he could just get Alpine a drink of water…

There was Steve! Huffing and puffing like the big engine that could! Holy shit! I actually found him! Obviously that had been Bucky’s goal, but he hadn’t expected to get so lucky so soon. Now that this was happening, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do. He’d had an entire bus ride, and the thought of preparing for how this interaction would go had never even crossed his mind.

It’s not like he had much time to come up with anything either. At the speed he was going, Steve would be arriving at the bench Bucky was occupying within the next minute. Bucky slowly rose from his seat, his body having gone stiff, and staggered to the center of the pathway, putting himself directly in Steve’s eyeline.

As Steve got closer, he started to pull up, noticing the figure blocking his path. Steve put his hands on his hips, his panting breaths made visible by the cold temperature. As he caught his breath, he was studying the figure, and a strong wave of déjà vu washed over Bucky at Steve’s confused utterance of his name, “Bucky?”

In addition to the déjà vu, the name brought on a tidal wave of other strong emotions, nearly sending Bucky into hysterics. “Um, yeah. It’s me, Steve. Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

Steve looked like he wanted nothing more than to wrap Bucky into a warm, secure hug, but he held himself back, taking in Bucky’s disheveled appearance. Instead, he held out his hands placatingly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I get it. But are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Um, no. Not really. It’s not me.” Bucky was reaching into his jacket. Steve backed up, worried he was pulling out a weapon. Instead, Steve was surprised when he pulled out a tiny red cat. “It’s her. It’s Alpine. They hurt her. They hurt her leg real bad.”

“Who?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer.

“HYDRA.”

“Let me see her.” Steve reached out, and Bucky handed the cat over easily, trusting Steve wholeheartedly. Upon closer inspection, Steve could clearly see that the cat’s leg was broken. He couldn’t find a source for the blood though. “Bucky, where’s all this blood coming from?”

Bucky opened up his jacket enough for Steve to see the dark stains on his stomach and above his hip.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Shit, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“No.” Bucky gently wrestled Alpine from Steve’s grip and pulled away. “No, I don’t need a hospital. We need to get Alpine to a vet.”

“Bucky, you need help, now. A cat can wait.”

“No! We have to help Alpine first!” Bucky was shouting at this point.

“Shh!” Steve whisper-yelled as he brought a finger to his lips, looking around as the park was starting to fill up as the sun began rising higher in the sky. He didn’t want anybody recognizing him and asking for a photo or an autograph, and he definitely didn’t want anybody recognizing Bucky and calling the cops on them. “Okay, okay. We’ll help her, but then you have to let me help you, alright?”

“Okay, but Alpine first.”

“Yup, Alpine first,” Steve reassured. Honestly, he was concerned by Bucky’s attachment to this little cat. Steve loved animals too, but he was shocked that her injury was affecting Bucky this much. Affecting him enough that he was putting her needs above his own. There had to be more to this story, but he’d have to wait until Alpine was taken care of to hear it.

…

Steve was sitting in a waiting room… at a veterinary hospital. He would much rather be sitting in a waiting room at a human hospital, while Bucky was getting the treatment he so obviously needed, but instead, he was waiting on a cat.

Bucky was not sitting. He was pacing around, limping heavily, which told Steve there was at least another injury he hadn’t yet revealed to Steve. He looked like a caged animal, and Steve was glad there was nobody else in the waiting room to feel threatened by Bucky’s menacing demeanor.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck. I’m sure Alpine will be fine.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He was still beating himself up inside for letting Alpine get hurt in the first place.

Steve patted the chair beside him. “Here, come sit by me. It really looks like you shouldn’t be moving around on that leg.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh, but then begrudgingly slumped into the seat next to Steve. He buried his head in his hands. “I keep messing everything up, Steve. I keep doing everything wrong.”

Steve rested a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky flinched and Steve pulled away guiltily. “Hey, you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Bucky looked up. “I wasn’t alone. I had her.”

“You’ve got me now too.”

Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes, processing, but then dropped his face back into his hands. “She deserves better. You both do.”

This time, when Steve put his hand on Bucky’s neck, Bucky let it stay. “You did the best you could. She knows that. I know that. The only person blaming you for all of this is yourself, and you deserve better too. You’ve deserved better for years.”

Before Bucky could say anything self-deprecating, a vet emerged from the surgical area. “Alpine?”

Bucky shot out of his seat. “Yes, yes. That’s us. Is she…?”

The vet gave a soft smile, “Alpine’s gonna be just fine.”

Bucky could’ve collapsed in relief. There was something he still had to know though. “And the leg? I mean… Did you have to-? It wasn’t-? You didn’t have to-” Bucky couldn’t even get the words out.

The vet nodded, able to piece together what Bucky was asking about. “We didn’t have to amputate. We were able to save the leg. She’ll have to be in a cast for awhile, but with how young and healthy she is, she should make a full recovery…”

The vet was still talking, but Bucky’s brain had short circuited, and he wasn’t hearing anything about payment or at home care or anything. She still has all her limbs. They didn’t have to take anything. And she’s healthy. The vet had just said that Alpine was healthy. I must’ve been doing something right.

Suddenly, as if no time had passed at all, they were alone again in the waiting room. Steve was waving his hand in front of Bucky’s face, his voice filtering in slowly. “... with me? Hey, Bucky?”

Bucky rubbed a hand across his face, feeling dizzy. “Sorry. I’m with you.”

“You’re really worrying me, buddy. It’s time we got you checked out.” Steve was starting to lead Bucky towards the door.

Bucky stopped short. “Wait. What about Alpine?”

Steve was patient. “The vet said we could take her home tomorrow morning. They want to at least keep her overnight.” The hospital’s probably gonna wanna keep you overnight too.

Bucky was letting Steve lead him, but he kept turning his head back around. “But what if she gets lonely, or she’s scared, or she thinks that I abandoned her?”

“Bucky, she’s not gonna think that. She’ll be fine. She’ll probably just sleep all day anyway, which is what you need to be doing too. Now, c’mon.” Steve pulled Bucky by the hand. “It’s your turn to get sorted.”

Chapter Text

A couple of months had passed. Bucky was sprawled out on the living room floor of Steve’s apartment, playing with Alpine. Steve was still trying to help Bucky understand that this was their apartment, not just Steve’s apartment anymore. Bucky would get there eventually.

Bucky tossed a wadded up receipt across the room, and Alpine shot after it like a rocket. Her little pink cast had come off a few weeks ago, and she was happy to be playing again. The time with her cast had been tough, as Alpine hated the scratchy, itchy thing almost as much as she hated sitting still, but they’d all made it through.

Alpine came galloping back to Bucky, her little padded feet thumping along the hardwood floor. She had the receipt firmly clasped in her jaws. Steve had bought her all kinds of fancy toys, which she did enjoy playing with, but nothing beat a crumpled up receipt.

The door to the apartment opened. Weeks ago, Bucky would’ve startled, but now he knew it would only ever be Steve coming through the door. “I’m home!”

Bucky grunted as he pulled himself off the floor, his hip still giving him a little trouble every now and then. It just needed a little more time to heal. He met Steve in the kitchen, ready to help him put groceries away.

Bucky had been getting a lot better lately with food, especially now that he had Steve’s help. Steve had gotten him in touch with a dietician who helped the Avengers, and he had started putting some much needed weight back on. They were actually planning on starting him on some solid foods this week, hence the larger grocery run.

“... and I got Alpine some food too.” Steve pulled a large box of canned cat food out of a brown paper bag. The box’s description boasted about savory chicken pate.

Bucky groaned. “I told you, Steve. She likes the seafood flavors, not the chicken flavor. You bought the wrong one.”

Steve took the box from Bucky’s hands and squinted as he read the label. “Bucky, I swear this box said ‘seafood selection’ when I put it in the cart!”

Bucky laughed. “It’s okay. She’s still got plenty to last through the rest of this week. You can just return it and get the right one tomorrow. Did you get more litter?”

“Yup.” Steve manifested a tub, handing it to Bucky.

“Sweet, I’ll go load the thing up.” Bucky went into the laundry room where they kept Alpine’s litter box to do just that. Steve had bought her a self-cleaning litter box, so neither of them ever had to deal with any mess. It worked out a lot better than the small beach Bucky had set up for her way back when.

“I also got her a new bed we can try!” Steve called from the kitchen.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky called back. Steve had already bought Alpine several beds, trying to encourage her to sleep in her own spot and not up near their heads. She never wound up using them though. She continued snoozing away at the top of their pillows. Bucky was never bothered, but Steve was usually awakened at least once or twice a night, spitting out fur from the tail Alpine habitually draped over his mouth.

“Yeah, I think she’ll like this one. All the reviews said it was the most comfortable for their cats.”

“Sure, we can try it.” Bucky knew full well Alpine wouldn’t use it, no matter how comfy it claimed to be. To her, sleeping up at Bucky’s head was the comfiest spot.

His task completed, Bucky wandered back into the kitchen where Steve was loading up the fridge. “How’d the meeting go today?”

Steve stiffened minutely, then visibly relaxed before answering. “Look, I don’t want you worrying about any of that stuff.”

“I’m not worried.” That was a total lie. Bucky was worried. He was worried he’d be taken away from Alpine and Steve. Worried he’d be locked up for the rest of his life. “I just like to stay in the loop.”

“It went alright. We’re still working out a few things, but you’re not going anywhere, alright?”

“Okay.” Bucky dropped the subject, knowing how anxious it made Steve. He knew Steve didn’t like talking about all the legal issues surrounding Bucky because he didn’t want Bucky to stress. Bucky tried his best not to. Since he was still allowed to be in Steve’s, their, apartment, he figured everything was going well enough for now.

Bucky longed to go outside again, but house arrest wasn’t all that bad, especially when his home was a warm apartment and not a frigid abandoned motel room. Bucky could tough it out, just like Alpine had with her cast.

A crash came from the living room where Bucky and Alpine had been playing, and Steve cursed. He saw the destruction before Bucky did. In Alpine’s frenzied antics, she’d knocked a vase to the ground, shattering it. “C’mon, Alpine! That piece was brand new! Pepper was nice enough to get it for us!”

“Don’t yell at her!” Bucky rushed over and picked her up, mindful of the glass. His tone changed immediately as he addressed her. “Are you okay, Alpine? That ugly vase didn’t hurt you, did it?”

“That vase wasn’t ugly, Buck.”

Bucky ignored Steve, and started rocking and bouncing a purring Alpine in his arms like a baby, cooing at her. “Let’s just agree to disagree, Steve.”

Steve removed the larger pieces of shattered vase and then brought over a dustpan and broom to sweep up the rest of the mess. “She’s always getting into trouble!” Steve grumbled aloud to nobody.

“It’s ‘cause she’s lonely. She needs a friend.”

“She’s got a friend. She’s got two, actually: you and me… Well, maybe just you right now. Personally, I’m not too happy with her at the moment.”

“We don’t count. She needs a friend of her own species.” Bucky’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Let’s get another cat!”

“No.” This was not up for debate.

“C’mon, Steveeee!” Bucky drew his name out annoyingly. “Why not?”

“We’ll think about it.”

Bucky grinned. They were so getting another cat.