Chapter Text
Once upon a time, waking up warm and safe had been a given in his life. Before he had been drafted to the war effort, it had been normal to wake up with a skinny body pressed against his; Steve had reluctantly allowed his best friend to sleep in the same bed as him with the excuse to let his mother and siblings have the only bed in their own apartment. In the mornings when Sarah Rogers made her way out of the apartment to her job as a nurse she would pass by both boys and run a hand through Bucky's hair in silent thanks, Steve's lungs were not all that good and the extra heat kept him from falling sick as often as he otherwise would, of course, Steve didn't have to know that.
After years of dragging Mr. Backalley Hero out of dumpsters, the war broke out, at first it looked like the voluntary recruiting was going to leave them safe in their own homes but then it got violent and as the war dragged on the voluntary initiative was not enough to fuel the need for soldiers. Drafting became the norm and Steve could not for the life of him back down when he was rejected that first time. Bucky thought he was safe, he would keep Steve from getting thrown in jail and help his ma raise his little siblings.
His draft letter came in at the worst of times, Sarah Rogers passed away after an unsuccessful battle with tuberculosis.
He dragged a near hysterical Steve Rogers kicking and screaming back to the apartment, he just needed Steve to listen. Because Bucky had limited time to arrange for his absence, goddammit Rogers was not having it, He screamed and raged for what felt like hours; finally, the brunet had enough he pushed the blonde with enough force to have him land on the couch completely stunned Don't you think I know! Of course it's unfair! Sarah who had seen his little sister Rebecca successfully beat the sickness that claimed her own life, had she been sick then? Did she die because she was too busy taking care of Rebecca to take care of herself? The medicine was costly and Sarah had been the one to get it with the money Bucky had provided for her, had it been too costly for her to buy some for herself or had she lied and paid for it herself. Steve would have done that, and Steve got everything from his ma.
That had been it, hadn't it? Sarah Rogers had taken a look at Rebecca and then at herself, both sick, and both equally important to their loved ones; but she chose Rebecca. If James was honest with himself he doubted he could have made the same sacrifice, a bullet he would take gladly for his friend and anyone of his family, he would die in a flash if it meant they would be safe; but to die of sickness?... she must have suffered, she must have hidden her symptoms so well that they didn't notice until it was too late.
Why?
"You know why" Steve's voice brought him back to his head, it sounded even more broken and defeated than before. The anger had burned out, in its place there was only sadness and realization "We were breaking our bodies to pay for that medicine" he sunk even lower into the couch were he had landed, defeat didn't look good on him "I in the factories and you...you did whatever it took Buck". James Barnes had done everything he could to bring back enough money for that medicine, but regular work didn't cut it. Steve was right, he had done all it took to make money... even some things he wished he could erase from his head.
Right around the time Sarah had begun to finally show her symptoms, the hard work of the factories caught up with Steve and the little blonde was bedridden for 2 weeks. She claimed to have the flu and banished her son from her room in an effort to prevent him from getting sick too, they should have known it was a cleverly placed lie to get them both distracted enough that by the time they realized that it was not the flu there was nothing they could do to help her, nothing but to make her comfortable and wait. It was a matter of days.
"Steve"
Their eyes connected across the room.
"I want you to punch me"
Of course Steve refused, but it was never terribly difficult to make him angry enough to throw a punch. He let himself fall backwards with the momentum of it while his best friend stood above him panting and red-faced in anger, that anger was vanishing as quickly as it had come. Bucky reveled in the feeling of heat on his cheek and the burning behind his eyes, finally all the tears that had been kept locked away for the sake of his best friend and his family, they fell like waterfalls down his face. Sobbing broke free and he just couldn't anymore, why had he had to trade one life for another it wasn't fair. Not a moment later another body laid on top of his, his shirt absorbed tears and his chest shook with his own sobs and those of Steve who could not hold any longer than Bucky had. Before he had been angry but now he was heartbroken. They both wailed like newborn infants at the loss of the Angel that had been Sarah Rogers.
Bucky still had to arrange for his absence.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The memory had been one of the longest he had received in a long while, usually things with such emotional weight tended to come to him in snaps and pieces so he had to reconstruct them himself, like a puzzle.
He couldn't quite remember what happened next but he must have talked to Steve about his draft, all he remembered of that last scene was feeling warm after the cold had penetrated his bones at the funeral.
Warmth like the one he was feeling now.
He was warm and comfortable.
Why? What had he been doing before this?
Hadn't he helped someone, and then .... what?
I'm telling you Scotty, Thor could totally beat Superman in a fight.
Voices, young voices were filtering into his head. He had helped a boy, hadn't he?
Yeah yeah, whatever what I want to know is who would win in a screaming match Lydia or Black Canary?
Why would anyone hold a screaming match, people were noisy enough on a regular basis.
Please Scott, there is no contest there. Lydia would wipe the floor with both Black Canary and Silver Banshee at the same time.
Black Canary and Silver Banshee? those sounded like wrestling names, why would wrestlers hold a screaming match?
JAJAJA, maybe you are right, she would definitely defeat Silver Banshee on principle alone.
Bucky grabbed hold of the voices floating around his head and used them to pull himself back to the world of the conscious, opening his eyes just a sliver he found himself laying sideways in a small living room, in front of him there was a low table and sitting on either side of it were two teenage boys. Both seemed to not notice his awakening and he took advantage of that to study them and take stock of himself. Both teenagers looked like the regular teens he saw often in his rare ventures into cities to resupply, baggy clothes and not a clue of the danger that was so close to them. Threat level: Minimum.
His own body was feeling better than it has ever been, his numerous bruises and barely healed bones didn't ache anymore. The deep set of cold that had been an ever-present constant in his life was gone as well, to say it in simple terms he was... fine.
It has been decades since the last time he felt fine.
Suddenly a loud thump and laughter snapped him out of his own head, apparently the kid he had helped had just leaped over the table and tackled the other one to begin a tickle attack. Slowly he sat up just as the one on the receiving end of the attack reached his breaking point.
"Stiles! Stiles! I yield! I yield!"
Stiles?
"What is a Stiles?" both teens looked over in surprise at his voice, low gravely as usual.
"Oh hey! you are awake, man thanks again for the save back then" the one he saved stood up and started a flurry of activity, keeping up the chatter as he moved. In no time James found himself sitting down on the floor with the other two eating a bowl of soup.
He learned 3 things in that time.
One, the one he saved was a Stiles, his name was "Unrponaunsable polish so I'll save you the headache"
Two, the other one was Scott, "We have been BFF since kinder, the crooked jaw is the result of an incident with a jawbreaker" "Stiles!! Not True"
Three, they appeared to pay no mind to his arm.
It was in plain sight as his own clothes were in the washing machine, they chattered to one another while he slowly ate from the bowl in front of him. Their arms waved as they spoke, specially Stiles' adn the topic jumped from comics to school, to girls to movies and so forth and so on. It was nice.
He was honestly baffled, the current response to his predicament was unlike anything he had ever done. Training dictated that he asses the situation so he could slip away, leave no trace that he was ever there. Those instincts had kept him away from his pursuers but now they were not present, nothing in him made him want to leave.
"Can it get wet?"
The arm, they were finally talking about the arm, he just nodded.
"Good then, the shower is this way"
Just like last time he found himself complying with whatever the one he saved said, with what Stiles said.
Never once did he feel in danger, not even when the one with the severe eyebrows arrived. "That one is Derek" apparently he was wearing his clothes.
Derek chivied the younger males into behaving more calmly, gave him toiletries and a shaving kit "Feeling clean is important" was all he said, the young man had the same eyes that he saw in his squad so many years ago, eyes that had seen much sorrow.
Perhaps his instincts were correct in shoving his training to the back burner for now, this was ... nice.