Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey Buck, 

How have you been doing? I was so relieved to receive your letter. I haven’t had any news from you in so long, I thought something had happened… 

Congratulations on finishing up high school. I knew you'd have no problem doing so (you’ve always been more talented at studying than I was.) Becca also told me you were already setting up your new place for that athletic program scholarship deal you scored in Florida? I think you’ll do great there. I hope you won’t miss Brooklyn too much, and hopefully you’ll have some time to come back (I know some of the girls there will mourn your departure.)

I was happy to hear you finally started dating (that’ll leave more people for the rest of us), although that Zemo guy sounds like trouble to me. Always prioritize your safety, Buck. You’ll be happy to know I met a girl at the military base; her name’s Peggy, she’s British, and a real badass. I think you would like her, possibly try to flirt with her too, lol.

Do you have any plans for summer break? I was told new recruits in the military don’t have a traditional "summer break”, but there may be some scheduled leave or downtime during my training. I’ll definitely keep you updated on that. I miss hanging out with you a lot, it feels so long ago since we last met up. I wish I could see you to properly catch up… we’ll meet again soon, I promise.

The training program has been getting intense recently. Our colonel is all about “physical fitness, military skills, discipline, and teamwork”, but I’m not supposed to talk about it since it’s kind of classified information. All I can tell you is that I’m still doing my best so I can make a change! 

I’m looking forward to your next letter. You should write to me more often, reading your letters helps me remember all the good times and the fun adventures we’ve had back then, in Brooklyn. Honestly Buck, it’s those memories that keep me motivated through the tough days of training.

I love you, buddy. Take care!

Steve Rogers

Hi Stevie, 

I’m doing okay, although moving from NYC to Florida with that heat has drained me of all my strength. I thought Becca and I would kill each other by the end of the road trip (the only reason we haven’t was thanks to Dad.) I do plan on coming back to Brooklyn sometimes, but I expect my schedule to be packed for the rest of the semester... 

As you might know, I’ve spent the whole summer getting used to my new place while trying to avoid the deadly sun outside. I think I’ve only had to fight against raccoons twice this week for the contents of my trash can, and I’ve spent more time at people’s places than my own. There are a lot of opportunities to party out there, but don’t worry, I’m still staying safe.

Of course Becca told you about Zemo… One of the first things he told me was that he’s some European royal from a country I’ve never heard of before—a hell of a pickup line. He’s a great boyfriend that always gives me presents and sends me good night texts; I should consider myself lucky. He’s always taking me out to do some new, exciting stuff around the city as well. We met at a student gathering, and luckily, we're going to go to the same university at the end of break (he's a junior.)

I just remembered, it’ll be one of your first birthdays that you’ll have without the Barnes family around this year. I hope you don’t feel too bummed about it… Does your base allow you to receive packages? 

Wishing you good luck on your hardcore training, and make sure to keep me updated if you ever get downtime. I hope that you’re making new friends out there and I'm looking forward to hearing more news about your new crush Peggy ;) 

I’m sorry about not writing to you more. I’ve been so busy recently, I feel like I don’t even have time to breathe with the whole relocation process. I promise to send you more stuff though.

Reading your letters always makes me happy as well. I feel like it’s been ages (I still keep that picture of you after I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island and you threw up lmao.)

Love you, man. Take care of yourself as well, and happy early birthday <3

Bucky Barnes

Chapter Text

–911, what’s your emergency?

–I saw a guy fall from a building! He’s still breathing, but his arm is completely shattered, there are bones sticking out of it, and he’s bleeding from everywhere. Oh my god…

–What’s the location of the emergency? Just stay calm and make sure he is still breathing.

–Yes, we’re downtown next to the Bayfront Park Station. I think he’s trying to wake up. It’s okay, I called an ambulance, man. Stay with me. I think he hit his head extra hard too, it’s bleeding as well.

–Do you have anything to tie around his arm to restrict the bleeding? You need to apply a tourniquet with something like a belt or a cloth.

–Okay, I'll use my jacket.

–Dispatch should arrive in 10 minutes at your location; you need to keep him awake until then.

Bucky slowly wakes up; his first realization is that he's lying in a hospital bed. He attempts to straighten his back and stiffles a groan, his awareness gradually focusing on the nearest tangible object within reach.

"Hey man, I'm Sam Wilson." The person sitting beside his bed extends his hand towards Bucky in greeting, out of practiced habit.

Bucky is unable to speak; he feels as though he has swallowed cement, and his head spins uncontrollably, as if he were intoxicated or under the influence of drugs—or possibly both at the same time—it's a struggle to move.

Sam promptly withdraws his hand, undeterred by Bucky's lack of response. "They said your name was James. How are you feeling?" he inquires with a sympathetic smile.

Bucky attempts to speak again, but his throat stays firmly sealed shut, leaving him to silently gape at Sam.

Sam seems to understand; he retrieves a small plastic cup filled with lukewarm water and offers it to him. Bucky makes a silent, grateful gesture before taking a sip.

"'m Bucky," he finally manages to say. After another gulp and a deep breath, he asks, "how did I end up here?"

Sam gently places the cup back down and explains that he witnessed Bucky fall from the top of a building a few hours ago and promptly called an ambulance—leading him to urgent surgery due to his multiple bone fractures.

"Sorry if I gave you trauma or something, Sam," Bucky responds, still bewildered by the news, and noticing the openly concerned expression on Sam's face. He's unable to recall falling from anywhere, along with most of his memories from the past month. Everything seems kind of  hazy.

"I'm really sorry about your arm, Bucky," Sam says, looking sorrowful.

"My what?" Bucky then looks down painstakingly, realizing that half of his left arm is missing, with the remainder carefully bandaged like a bad rendition of mummy's wrapping for a Halloween costume. He inwardly gets the urge to thank the medical professional taking care of him for keeping him sufficiently high on pain medication to prevent immediate panic.

"I'm not a leftie, anyway," he weakly attempts to deflect.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly.

Chapter Text

There are echoes of people cheering, clapping, and whistling in the stadium; the anticipation for the moment both teams will finally come out on the rink is palpable. The stands are practically vibrating under the bustling energy of the crowd; the loud thumping of the corny hyping anthems isn't enough to drown out their excitement.

Chills of anticipation go through John’s spine as he lets himself bask into the glory of it.

This is the last playoff game of the season to qualify for the American Collegiate Hockey Association National Tournament. They're gathered in the locker room, and Coach is giving out some last advice with the usual passive-aggressive motivational speech to get the team in the right mindset; there's no room for losing this one.

Representatives from their main sponsors and advertisers will be in attendance today. They have been keeping a close eye on the team captain for some time now; everyone is aware of it—John himself acknowledges it as well.

John takes a deep, calming breath as his best friend Lemar mouths some encouraging words at him, battling the poor acoustics of the room—he's sitting on the bench across from John, already geared up to go. They smirk at each other for good measure as one of the officials enters the locker room, telling them it's go time.

They finally step—skate out on the rink and he deeply breathes in the scent of fresh ice. 

The ice feels appreciatively crisp and smooth under the blades of John's skates as he inspects it—he quickly hollers for his team to gather around him in a circle before the game starts; it's their own good luck pregame ritual. They're holding each other's shoulders tightly, carelessly butting heads with their helmets on in a cacophony of bonks . 

Muffled behind them, the crowd's exhilaration is flagrant by the sound of them rhythmically pounding against the glass surrounding the rink—John can even recognize his girlfriend Olivia's straining voice among the enthusiastic cheers.

The other team is eyeing them anxiously; they all know the UOF Hockey team has a generational reputation to keep—they can't compete against that.

The referee tells them to get back in position for the debuting faceoff, and then the buzzer loudy signals the start of play.

“Didn't know you liked hockey, dude.” Two UOF students sit at the very top of the stands while the match is occurring—they are maintaining a somewhat low profile away from the lively crowd. 

“Nothing gets me going like grown men wearing skates and sweating,” Bob deadpans at the young woman. He hands over a filled packet without looking down, his hand carefully concealed by the wooden benches.

Ava hastily grabs it and exchanges some rolled up bills in return. “Do people ever tell you you're a weirdo, Bob?”

He casually grins at her,  contrasting with the mild reproach she just gave him. “Only when I'm high,” he responds with a mellow tone.

Someone scores back down on the rink, catching Bobs's attention.

“You're always high though,” she remarks, unimpressed.

“Yeah Ava, exactlyyy…” Bob slowly nods as he watches the UOF team celebrating their goal. 

“There's a party tonight at that Stark kid's place, it's pre-planned in case our team wins this. Just a pretext, really,” Ava shares.

Bob redirects his focus back to the other, “can't miss this.”  

Chapter Text

From: @UOFInfo-noreply

Subject: 《 UOF Newsletter from Olivia Vries 》

○ Big Win for the UOF Hockey Team! 

The University of Florida Hockey Team has solidified their success by once again qualifying for the ACHANT following a resounding victory last Thursday. 

Captain of the team and standout player, John Walker, showcased his exceptional technique and leadership prowess, leading the team to victory.

Anticipation is high for the team's upcoming matches, and we encourage everyone to show their support!

The celebratory festivities and post-game gathering will be held tonight at the Tony Stark villa, where all students are cordially invited to join.

○ Fine Arts Students’ take on UOF's History 

Drop by the main cafeteria to explore the captivating new exhibition highlighting our University's rich history throughout the ages.

Uncover remarkable achievements of our esteemed alumni, and their incredible feats as well as the athletes and prodigies of tomorrow.

○ Live Concert Experience featuring UOF's very own Music Band

Don't miss out Atta Boy's highly anticipated debut performance at a concert next week, marking their first live event outside campus. 

Let their unique, comforting, and yet aching blend of pop-Americana captivate you for a chill evening next to the seaside.

Get your tickets and event location on the UOF's official website.

Exclusive offer for University of Florida students: Enjoy a special 20% discount on all snacks and beverages during the event. 

Chapter Text

"Sir, this is not a good idea," Jarvis advises his lifelong client's son.

"C’mon, old man, my whole campus is already aware of this party," Tony answers huffily—he's busy throwing bicolored party balloons into an Olympic-sized pool. “It's very much happening at this point.”

The Stark family's esteemed butler sighs resolutely at the current condition he left the estate to evolve into—Jarvis cannot help but wonder how terrible it will become once the guests have settled in.

"And you get to enjoy your night on time off, released from your duties, aren't you thrilled about it?" he pointedly raises his eyebrows at the butler.

Jarvis keeps quiet for a moment, he is trying to figure out the gentlest way to point out the obvious. "I'd prefer if the event was far more reasonable, Mr. Stark," he finally settles for, in a stiff tone.

"I’ve been blessed with a giant villa by my dear parents; it would be a shame not to use it," the teen shrugs doggedly. "Speaking of organization, where's the food guy? Didn't we order for a food guy?"

"The caterer has already delivered the food this morning. It's stocked in the main fridge, sir," Jarvis informs him about the food's location for the third time that day.

"Right." The young man is now testing out the different remotes linked to the light arrangements around the impressive garden area, carefully checking each glow pattern of the LEDs.

After Jarvis reluctantly leaves the premises, the party preparations steadily continue—several party suppliers come and go around the estate while the sun slowly sets. It's the perfect weather to celebrate, the student thinks, and the perfect weather to mobilize that very skilled freshman so she can discreetly smuggle some booze over before the festivities begin.

Describing Tony Stark as completely hung up on college functions would be an understatement compared to the reality of things. The young man’s justification for these events is that they offer an entertaining way of networking opportunities—or at least likes to convince himself of that.

The self-indulgent lifestyle hasn’t hindered the 17 years old junior from excelling in his studies in the slightest. Tony voluntarily maintains his genius reputation with his brilliant grades; a requisite to leave his parents out of the equation.

He ceremoniously confirms that everything is in place, then casually sits down on a decorated sunbed next to the pool, taking out his phone in the absolute quiet before the storm.

–Belova, good evening.

–What do you want, Stark?

–You know the drill, I have a party tonight, the usual.

–You know my prices.

–Done, I want those jocks to have the time of their lives.

–Eugh.

–Maybe you'll finally score with that archery chick tonight. Lighten up!

–You're a pain in the ass, I'm hanging up.

Chapter Text

“Remind me why we're here again.” Bucky asks, anticipatorily exhausted.

The sound of music coming from the Stark villa can be heard from two neighborhoods over—it's common knowledge no one will get a wink of sleep tonight, but it seems everyone around has gracefully embraced the nuisance.

“You've been a hermit since you came out of that hospital, Buck,” Sam rolls his eyes at him; he's looking equally fatigued by the garish celebrations. “It's time for you to go out and have fun.”

“And this is your definition of fun?” He looks around at the animated crowd, then grins back at Sam.

“Not really, to be honest.” Sam smiles back as well and gently elbows him on the side.

Bucky gets his hands on some boozed-up fruit punch before he quietly settles back in a corner of the house, where he's sure no one will bother him. Sam has temporarily abandoned him to greet some of his fellow football teammates.

“Oh, wow, is that Bucky?” Yelena spots him from across the crowd and excuses herself from the people she was talking with to stumble closer. “I thought you were dead, man. I've heard you tried to jump down from a building because your boyfriend broke up with you.” Her eyes are wide, openly lingering at his half-missing arm. She has a puzzled expression plastered on her face and fidgets drunkenly with the hem of her t-shirt.

“Huh, hi. Yeah, I survived?” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “And no one has broken up with me as far as I'm concerned.”

“Nat has been asking about you, why aren't you answering your phone?”

He frowns. “I don't like phones, I'm old school. I'll send her an answer, though, no worries.” Bucky conveniently omits that his phone had been completely broken by the fall and he didn't have the funds to buy a new one yet.

“You better!” She half-scolds him, “I'll be on my way, have fun.” She waves and totters away.

Bucky sighs.

“Why the fuck is this guy here?! I know what you did, Barnes,” Stark immediately barks at him, obnoxiously pointing fingers as Bucky enters his line of sight.

Getting loudly accosted by the host of this party hadn't been on his bingo card. “What did I even do to you now, Stark?” Bucky doesn't like the fact that the other's outburst has attracted the attention of everyone standing around them.

“Oh, you don't remember breaking into my parents' house and destroying the place last summer? How convenient.” There are some shocked gasps coming from the prying onlookers.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Sam jogs back towards them, alarmed.

“He and his little partner in crime decided to vandalize the place last summer break,” Tony crosses his arms, jaw clenched.

“I know the house alarm was triggered, and you,” he pointedly looks at Bucky, “made sure the cameras were deactivated while you went in, but I hacked into the surveillance footage from down the street–”

“Isn't that super illegal?” Someone pipes in.

“Um… never mind. Worst thing is that he didn't even take anything,” Tony announces to the awaiting crowd. “You just rearranged the furniture, threw everything in the pool, and tagged the walls.”

“Listen, I don't know what you're talking about–”

“Who was the other guy? Was it your European boyfriend, Zemo?” Tony cuts in.

“My what?”

“Are you playing dumb?” He says. Tony lets a few seconds pass, a concerned expression slowly overtaking his features. “I think you have a serious brain problem, Barnes.”

“Piss off, Stark, I'm outta here.”

Chapter Text

“Damn, what was that all about?” Lemar barely holds down a snicker at the uncanny scene.

“Don't know, don't care,” John deflects; he's a bit buzzed despite telling himself he wouldn't drink at all tonight. “Homos being dramatic, as always,” he settles for, seeming satisfied with his own answer.

“Enjoying the party, champs?” Olivia asks cheerfully; she's back from the buffet area with a paper plate piled full of snacks.

John tries to snatch some of the potato chips balancing on it. “I bet you're going around, enjoying all the gossip, Liv.”

She looks at him amused while trying to push back his prying fingers from the food—John eventually grabs her by the hand and kisses her knuckles to settle the scramble.

“Talking about gossip, have you seen this guy wandering around the party and selling drugs?” Lemar grimaces as he speaks.

“Yeah, this guy's name is Bob,” Olivia casually declares in between two pretzel bites.

John frowns, increasingly displeased. “You tell me you've interacted with that dude?”

“Not particularly,” she shrugs.

“Is he selling stuff to our team members?” he inquires, his mood expeditiously sent on edge.

“I think I've seen him–” Lemar starts, but before he finishes his sentence, John has already sprung into motion, joining the party crowd.

Bob and Ava are sitting back on the decorated front porch, where they gain the advantage of having some semblance of privacy, further away from the energetic party people. They both find the event overwhelming and completely over-the-top, but they also know the implicit importance of socializing at college parties for their own reputation.

Bob takes a lazy puff from his joint. “Never asked you before, Ava,” he lets some of the dense smoke slowly seep out from his nose, “but why are you always buying from me? You don't strike me as the addict type.” He hands her the remaining stub.

She takes it and stays silent for a long minute—Bob fully accepts he's not getting any answer.

“Helps with the chronic pains,” she finally admits, “and it's way cheaper than getting anything the legal way.” He quietly nods.

There's a sudden commotion around the pool, drawing their attention from the confession—Bob still decides to store the information away for later, and internally chastises himself for asking such a personal question unprompted.

“You're the drug dealer, aren't you?” John towers over both Ava and Bob, expression tight and tone disdainful.

Bob looks him up and down, still sitting on the porch, unperturbed. “Depends who's asking.”

“That's John Walker, captain of the hockey team,” Ava whispers, not-so-discreetly into his ear.

“Oh, right, what'd you want?” He awkwardly stands up to face him.

“Listen, buddy, you're gonna leave this place and never come back,” John commands.

“What the hell, why would I even listen to you?” Bob looks back at him incredulously, as if he has grown a second head.

“No one wants your druggie ass here, Bobby.” John grabs him by the hem of his shirt, pulling Bob closer to frighten him off.

At that, Bob's brain suddenly goes blank—he's not sure the next thing he does comes entirely from his own reasoning; he clutches Walker's T-shirt as well, and pushes him away from the porch.

“You're an asshole,” he growls.

There are surprised gasps around them for the second time tonight, and before Bob can fully comprehend the situation—as they both struggle for control over who's grabbing who—he can't feel the ground under his feet anymore and he gets pulled down into the pool by John's steel grip.

The shock of feeling the fresh water briskly surrounding them startles the teens—Bob quickly tries to pull back and go to the surface to catch his breath, but John still firmly holds onto him as they sink to the bottom of the pool.

They can't make out much of their surroundings, but John knows they have reached the bottom, as his back hits the tiled floor. He feels Bob starting to struggle on top of him, but decides to keep holding him underwater, convinced by a revengeful whim it will scare him off for good.

When Bob's struggle rapidly turns into panic, John finally decides to let go, but the other viciously grabs him by the neck instead of going back up, and then starts to squeeze—He tries to choke him underwater, and it is now John's turn to become helplessly scared in a sudden turn of events.

John sporadically releases air bubbles out of his lungs in uncontrolled, panicked bursts, it angrily pops at the surface, whilst his hands blindly try to push away Bob's tightly clamped fingers over his neck.

The only thing John is able to perceive in his sunken state, as a crawling sense of dread seizes him, is the other's blurry silhouette shadowed from the backlights of the party's LEDs.

In an instinctive surge not to drown, John frantically scrambles to punch Bob with all the strength he can muster—effectively knocking him unconscious, still underwater.