Work Text:
The first time Steve hears about The Winter Soldier, he doesn’t think much of it.
He’s sprawled on the couch in Sam’s apartment, Nat on his left, Sam on his right, drinking beers and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, when Natasha’s phone buzzes. She picks it up nonchalantly, not even bothering to tear her eyes from the screen, perfectly comfortable where she’s sitting with her legs draped over Steve’s lap, her feet planted on Sam’s left leg.
In the summer heat, her cold-to-the-touch skin is welcoming.
Sam starts babbling about how the character of Edward Rooney somewhat reminds him of Fury, when suddenly, Natasha’s legs are gone from their personal space, and Sam and Steve find themselves glancing over with worry in their eyes. She’s sitting forwards on the couch, clutching the phone. Steve will never get used to how fast she can move. He tentatively reaches to touch her back. “Is everything okay?”
It takes her a moment to turn back and look at him. “My maker’s back in town,” she says, worrying her bottom lip between her pointed teeth. She’s usually so stoic-faced that her perturbed expression almost catches Steve off guard.
Sam looks between them for a moment, before settling his gaze on Natasha. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Well, no,” she says, looking back to the phone. “But it’s not exactly a good thing.”
Steve hears what she isn’t saying. “Was your maker a bad person?” he asks.
She takes in a deep breath, considering her response, before she shakes her head.
Sam shrugs. “Then it can’t be all that bad. I mean, unless the guy wants to start up some crazy vampire army made of all the people he’s turned, then I think you’ll be okay.”
Steve had met Nat when she applied for the nightshift at the bar he worked at, and they struck up a friendship from that point on. She’d kept it quiet for a few months before she finally told him that she was a vampire, secure in the fact that Steve was an accepting kind of guy. Although he was at first puzzled and somewhat disbelieving, her hunch had been right, and Steve had been quick to help her out in any way she needed. Natasha had assured him that although she’d been down dark paths, she was strictly vegetarian now, and in times of absolute necessity, her boyfriend, Clint, could help her out.
“You don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head. “He’s not evil. And he won’t want to start an army. But he’s not a guy you mess with.”
“I’ll say,” Sam laughs. “I ain’t never met a vamp that you can mess with, Nat. I mean, come on. If this guy turned you, what’ll he be like, huh?” He turns to look at Steve, who meets his gaze. Sam cocks an eyebrow. “Come on, man. The girl’s ruthless. This guy’s gotta be ten degrees worse.”
Natasha throws a pillow at him. He ducks it.
“Has he got a name?”
“He goes by The Winter Soldier,” Nat tells them.
“Wow,” Sam mutters, “’cause that doesn’t sound evil at all.” Natasha glares at him and bares her fangs ever so slightly. Sam just laughs it off.
Steve rolls his eyes and turns back to Nat. “You think he’ll come looking for you?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs softly and runs a hand through her hair. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe?”
“I reckon if he’s texting you to let you know he’s in the neighbourhood, he’s gonna want you for something, right?” Sam says. They both look at him, prompting him to continue, and he shrugs again. He takes a long swig from his beer bottle before he says, “All I’m saying is that I doubt he wants to go for a coffee and a catch up.”
“You’re right,” Nat says, standing from the couch. She picks up the beer bottle that she’d sat down on the coffee table and drains the last of the liquid. “I should probably go.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t he going to be out there, looking for you?” Steve asks her. “You can stay here, if it’s safer, right, Sam?” He looks to Sam for reassurance, and he’s already nodding.
Natasha just shakes her head again. “Steve.” She says it in that tone of voice that means ‘don’t be an idiot, Rogers’. He opens his mouth to say something, but she raises an eyebrow at him. “If he wants to find me, he will. I’ll just be putting you in danger if I stay here.”
He knows better than to argue with her.
He looks at her for a good while longer than strictly necessary, making sure that she’s firm in his decision. Steve never wants to leave his friends, especially not when they’re vulnerable. And definitely not when there’s a superior vampire out looking for them. “Alright,” he murmurs, reluctantly, after a solid minute of eye contact. “But call me if things start going south, okay?”
“Me too,” Sam pipes up. “You ain’t leaving me out of a fight like this.”
Her mouth quirks up into a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, and before they can say anything else, she’s out of the door.
Sam and Steve exchange a look, and then turn back to the TV, just as Cameron Frye begins beating at his father’s blood red Ferrari.
The first time Steve meets The Winter Soldier, he isn’t scared.
He’s locking up the bar around 3am, just finishing up in the stock room before he makes his way out towards the front. The chairs have already been put up on all of the tables, but there’s a shadowy figure sitting in one of the booths by the door.
He’s used to stragglers trying to get another drink or two out of him past closing time, but tonight, Steve is tired and just wants to go home. “It’s closing time, sorry,” he says as he makes his way towards the exit, not really paying any mind to the intruder. “Come on, pal.”
The figure stays where it is, unmoving.
“I’m serious,” Steve warns.
He hears a scoff.
Steve furrows his brow for a moment, looking back towards the shadow. He flicks the lights on, and sees a man with long matted hair sitting on the red leather seat in front of him. He’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt, a long-ish leather coat that falls halfway down his thigh, and a pair of heavy combat boots, metallic buckles glistening under the amber lights of the dive bar.
“Is Natalia here?” the man asks, his voice croaking.
Steve folds his arms across his chest, defensively. “Who’s asking?”
“The Winter Soldier.”
His breath hitches a little, but if there’s one thing he knows about vamps, it’s that they can smell fear. It’s a good job then that he isn’t afraid at all.
He stands his ground and puffs out his chest a little, shoulders back. “What do you want her for?”
The Winter Soldier stands up and looks at Steve for the first time since he made his presence known. Steve notices that the man’s eyes are a pale blue, shining like broken glass, but not full of enough life to be human.
He makes his way over and stands three or four feet from Steve.
“We’re old friends.”
Steve doesn’t move a muscle. “I’ve heard,” he says, not breaking eye contact. It feels like a challenge. Maybe it is.
“Oh,” The Winter Soldier laughs, bitterly, “she talks about me, does she?” His mouth curls up into a smirk.
“Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. It’s not my place to say.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Enough with the small talk, huh? Where is she?”
Steve looks the man up and down, trying to figure out whether he’s armed or not. He’s fairly good at hand to hand combat, but he realises that if he had to go up against a real life vampire, hands probably wouldn’t be the weapon of choice.
“Not here.”
“I gathered.” The Winter Soldier sounds like he’s slowly losing patience. “You gonna tell me where she is, pal? Or do I gotta drain it out of you?”
Anyone else would flinch at the threat, but Steve doesn’t bat an eyelid. He keeps perfectly still and shakes his head. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“Fuck,” the man laughs, exasperated. He shakes his head, brow furrowed, though he’s still smiling. “Kid, it’s like you want me to bleed you dry.”
“You make threats like that and then wonder why I won’t tell you where Nat is?”
“I ain’t gonna hurt her.”
“And I ain’t taking that risk.”
Suddenly, The Winter Soldier is in Steve’s face, seemingly without even having moving. Steve always forgets how fast vampires move; it still scares him when Natasha appears beside him at the most inconvenient of times.
The man studies Steve’s features; his blue eyes, his strong jaw, his pink lips. Steve watches as The Winter Soldier’s sharp eyes flitter over his face, and takes the opportunity to take a good look at the man who turned Natasha into what she is.
He’s paler than Natasha is, with tired, purple-ish circles under his eyes. He looks ill. Tired. Hungry. His dark hair hangs limply around his face, falling past his jaw but not quite meeting his shoulders. His lips are bright red, and Steve isn’t sure if he wants to know whether that’s their natural colour, or if it’s something else. Something fresh. Metallic.
He doesn’t look as human as Natasha does.
Steve commits The Winter Soldier’s face to memory, in case he ever needs it again.
“You’re willing to die for her?” the vampire finally asks, his eyebrows creasing together again.
“I’d do anything to protect a friend.”
The Winter Soldier scoffs, and looks at Steve like he expects him to laugh too, to break this façade he’s keeping up. Steve doesn’t so much as twitch. The Winter Soldier’s face drops. “Friends?” he repeats, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. As if he doesn’t understand the very concept of friendship.
“Yes,” Steve says, sternly.
He’s still for a moment. “I see.” He takes a step back, out of Steve’s personal space, and folds his own arms across his chest, mirroring him.
Steve looks at him for another long moment, before he finally breaks eye contact. He runs a hand through his hair and lugs his bag over his shoulder. “Look, pal, I wanna go home. You gotta get out.”
He expects a fight, but doesn’t get one. The Winter Soldier simply nods and walks out of the front door, leaving Steve to turn out the lights and head out after him. Steve’s just locking the door when the shape appears next to him again, leaning casually against the brick wall beside him.
“Bucky.”
“What?” Steve murmurs, looking up at him.
The Winter Soldier shrugs for a minute, the smirk from earlier curling onto his face again. “My name. It’s not The Winter Soldier. It’s Bucky.”
“But Nat said-“
“Nat doesn’t know,” he says, and then turns away and leaves, gone in a flash.
Steve stands there for a good few minutes, looking dumb.
The first time The Winter Soldier bites him, Steve knows it’s coming.
It’s his night off, around eleven at night, and he’s walking back from Sam’s place. He offered for Steve to crash on the couch, but Steve said he had an early start, and he’d rather just go home. The walk usually only takes twenty minutes, and he takes the time to appreciate the beauty of the city at night.
The sky is an inky blue with a smearing of smoky clouds still floating low in the sky, covering the few burning stars that are visible despite the light pollution that hangs over Washington D.C. He can still hear traffic, despite the hour, and there’s a gurgling coming from one of the drains that he passes as he walks along the sidewalk.
Suddenly, he hears something else. A scream. Steve’s running before he can even think about stopping himself. A few moments later and he finds himself in a dark, dank alley, running towards two figures. There’s a girl against the wall, pushing at her attacker, but Steve is surprised to find that her assaulter isn’t holding a weapon, or grabbing at her clothes, like some of the other guys he’s seen harassing women. She pushes frantically at his shoulders, where his face is buried in the crook of her neck, but he won’t relent. Steve wastes no time in storming over, grabbing the man by his collar, and pulling him away.
“Go,” he says to the woman, still standing in front of him.
“Oh god, thank you,” she manages to stutter out, before she picks up her purse from the ground and hurries off, her heels clacking on the concrete as she goes.
Steve takes a moment to look at the man in front of him, and notices his face. The same pale, tired face.
His mouth is clean; there’s no blood yet, so he hasn’t started to feed. His pupils are blown, eyes bloodshot , his chest heaving. He looks like he’s somewhere between crazed and ill. Very ill.
Steve is by no means stronger than a vampire, so he is almost surprised when Bucky lets himself be pushed against the brick wall of the alleyway, Steve’s hands fisted in the front of his shirt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he spits at him.
Bucky swallows thickly, just watching the way Steve’s lips move. It’s like he’s mesmerised.
Steve shakes him, knocking him back against the wall again. “Huh?”
“Please,” he says, and it comes out weak. “I’m so hungry, please. I gotta feed... You just gotta let me.”
He sounds so desperate that Steve almost loosens his grip, but manages to refrain. He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “You can’t just go around killing people, okay? That never works out for anybody. Those people have families and friends. You can’t do that.”
Bucky shakes his head, eyes tightly closed. “You don’t understand,” he mutters, voice hoarse. His chest is still heaving. His hands are shaking with it. Shaking with the need. “I wasn’t gonna kill her. I just have t-... I have to feed.”
“Not on an innocent person, you don’t.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Bucky opens his eyes and they’re watering. He’s genuinely beginning to cry. Steve isn’t sure if this is some kind of vampire trick, but if it is, Natasha’s never used it. Bucky’s head is lolling from side to side, and he’s swallowing thickly, his broken glass eyes looking more like shrapnel.
“I’m gonna die if I don’t, please,” he pleads again, helplessly, looking up at Steve. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his fangs just showing where they’ve retracted from his gums. His breathing is ragged. “Please, I need to.”
Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard such urgency or anguish from another person before.
He slowly lets go of Bucky, and backs away a little. He stares at him for a long period of time, trying to work out whether this is really something he needs to do, but Bucky can barely meet his eyes, so Steve makes the decision for himself.
He rolls up the sleeve of his jacket and begins undoing the buttons of his shirt cuff.
Bucky’s eyes flicker to his wrist, and he looks up.
“What’re you doing?”
“Getting you by,” Steve says as he exposes his skin. “You look like shit, so you clearly need your damn strength. I’m only letting you take a little bit, okay? Just to help you out. And then you’re gonna stay off the good stuff.”
Bucky watches him for a minute; it’s as if he’s torn between draining Steve right there in this alleyway, and kissing him just for offering to help him.
Steve is strangely relieved when Bucky opts for neither.
He offers him his bare wrist, pushing it towards Bucky. “Go on. Take it.”
Bucky looks at him for a moment, testing to make sure Steve isn’t joking. When Steve looks down at his wrist again and shakes it in Bucky’s direction, he gently wraps his cold, clammy hands around Steve’s forearm and pulls it closer. His mouth is warmer than it should be as it closes around his flesh, and suddenly there’s the sharp pang of teeth piercing the skin.
It doesn’t hurt as much as Steve thought it would.
Bucky lets out a contented sigh as the blood fills his mouth, and he drinks it down, his tongue lapping at the open wound on Steve’s arm. Steve watches, fascinated, as a real life vampire swallows his blood, Bucky’s pale throat moving with every gulp.
He feels like he’s staring, and he probably shouldn’t be.
After a minute or two, once the initial bleeding has begun to stop and Bucky has to physically suck to draw more out, Steve pulls his wrist away. He expects a fight, but Bucky lets go immediately, moving to wipe the blood from his chin and lick his hands clean.
“Thank you,” Bucky says, voice breathy and sated. He looks at Steve for just a moment, his eyes already looking a little more alive, a little bluer. He turns on his heel, the sound of his combat boots heavily echoing through the alley as he pads away.
“Steve.”
He stops. Turns back around slowly. Looks over at Steve, eyebrow raised. “What?”
“My name. It’s Steve. I figured you might want to know that, after you... y’know. Drank my blood, and all.”
Bucky smirks, slow and playful. “I’ll see you around, Steve.”
He’s gone before Steve can say anything else, and he’s left stood there by himself, once again. His gaze flickers to the two neat puncture wounds on his right arm, and he knows he's gonna have to hide them from everyone he loves.
The first time The Winter Soldier comes to Steve’s apartment, he doesn’t even know how he found his way there.
Steve and Nat are in the kitchen of his apartment. He’s washing the dishes (he made meatballs for dinner) while she sits on the counter, kicking her legs against the cupboard door. He used to find it annoying. Now it’s strangely endearing.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved tee in mid-July. Nat’s perceptive anyways, but he can’t help but think that a big vampire bite mark on the inside of his wrist might raise a few questions.
“You heard anything from your maker?” he asks her.
Natasha shakes her head, her feet still producing a steady thump, thump against the cupboard. “Not at all, actually,” she says. “I thought I’d be seeing him everywhere I went. Thought I’d have to fight him off. But I haven’t seen him at all.”
Steve frowns, and turns to look at her as he rinses the suds off one of the plates. “Really? I thought he came back looking for you.”
“Maybe.” She lifts one shoulder in an easy shrug. Thump, thump. Her gaze falls to Steve’s arm. “Or maybe he came looking for help.”
He rolls his shoulder. “You think he found it?” The thump, thump of Natasha’s small feet sounds more like a heartbeat now he thinks about it. Or maybe it’s his own.
He’s never liked being under her scrutiny, but he finds himself there a lot more often than he’d like.
She meets his eyes again, a small smirk curling up on her lips. Familiar. Bucky must’ve taught her that too. “I’m sure he did.”
She leaves not twenty minutes later, claiming that she wants to see her boyfriend for a few hours before the sun comes up, and Steve makes his way around his apartment, turning off all the lights before he heads to bed.
He makes his way into the living room, only to find Bucky lying on his couch as if he belongs there, his leather coat thrown hastily over a nearby armchair.
Steve doesn’t so much as act surprised. He merely sighs. “She knows you came to me,” he says, as a way of greeting.
Bucky shrugs, stretching his legs out along the expanse of the couch. “Of course she does. She can smell me, and she can smell blood. She put two and two together. Sue the gal,” he grins, moving his hands to cushion his head.
“You don’t sound particularly bothered.”
“Should I be?”
Steve looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs a shoulder. “I guess not.”
He turns off the television set and makes his way back into the kitchen, wiping up the counter. Bucky’s at his side in an instant, just watching him. He leans his elbows on the counter, propping his head up in one of his hands.
“Are you actually gonna go see her?” Steve asks, turning to look at him. Bucky’s eyes are bluer than he’s ever seen them before. Full of life. Human again.
“I don’t know. Probably. Although she’ll know I’ve been here, next time she comes over. Scents linger days after they should. She’ll probably come looking for me. Askin’ why I’ve been spending time with you,” Bucky explains.
“And what’ll you tell her?”
“The truth.”
Steve scoffs. “What, that I caught you tryna bite some young woman, so I let you take some of my blood instead?”
Bucky nods, his plump lips barely suppressing a shit-eating grin. “Pretty much.”
“And you think she’ll be okay with that?”
The vampire rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter whether she’s okay with it. I’m her maker. I don’t need her approval,” he points out with a lazy grin. He moves around the counter to stand in front of Steve, watching him carefully.
For some reason, Steve doesn’t feel quite as tense when Bucky’s the one staring at him.
“Why’re you here?” he asks, after what feels like an age.
“We’re friends now.”
“Are we? Is that how it works?”
One of Bucky’s eyebrows rises so high that Steve thinks it might join the matted hair at the top of his head. “You’re serious?”
Steve falters, unsure what the issue is here.
“Oh my god, she doesn’t tell you anything, does she?” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “When a human willingly gives blood, for the sake of the vampire, not just to save their own skin, it’s a pretty big deal, Stevie.”
He shakes his head. “It was just a random act of kindness.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm,” Bucky murmurs, although he’s still smiling. Steve knows he doesn’t believe him.
“This isn’t some creepy vampire law, is it? A human gives blood and suddenly they’re bound? Like we don’t have to get married now, or anything?”
“Well,” he sighs, “actually we do. It’s a shame you don’t sound so enthusiastic. I’ve already got the chapel booked.”
“Can vampires even set foot in chapels?”
Bucky rolls his eyes and lets out an audible sigh. “Wow. You watch too many shitty movies, pal,” he mutters, moving away from Steve and going back to his place on the other side of the counter, leaning on his elbows again. “I’m kidding. We’re not bonded or any of that hocus pocus bullcrap,” he says, waving a hand. “Just, y’know. You kinda saved my life. And I don’t like owing debts.”
Steve narrows his eyes at Bucky, his eyebrows creasing together. He folds his arms across his chest, and watches as Bucky tracks the movement of his right hand with his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe not. But in my world, it’s an eye for an eye, buddy. You saved my ass, so I’ll save yours,” Bucky shrugs, pushing himself away from the counter and heading towards the door.
“So that’s it?” Steve calls over to him, unmoving from his spot in the kitchen. “You come to tell me that, and then you’re just gonna leave?”
Bucky stops for a moment, turns to look at Steve, and nods. “Yeah, pretty much,” he smirks, pulling the door open and stepping out of Steve’s apartment.
Once again, Steve finds himself standing alone, lost and lonely. It’s a regular occurrence, and not one that he wants to get into the habit of.
He doesn’t notice that Bucky left his leather coat until the next morning.
Steve hangs it up on a hook by the front door, next to his own jacket.
He tries not to think about how at home it looks there.
The first time he and The Winter Soldier fight, Steve doesn’t want to.
It’s around half two in the morning, and he’s cleaning up the bar before he locks up. He hates Saturday nights (or Sunday mornings, whatever) because there’s always loads of empty glasses to deal with. Saturdays are the busiest night, and they’re always open latest.
He’s putting all the liquors back on the shelves that they came from when he hears combat boots on the tiles behind him. Steve is used to Bucky stopping by – he’s done this several times, sometimes even when the bar is still open. He orders a glass of seventy year old scotch and sits there at the bar, sipping at it, watching Steve carefully as he potters around, serving other customers.
He doesn’t come in on the nights when Natasha’s working.
“Can I help you?” Steve hums, without turning around. He reckons Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.
“You can try,” Bucky grunts, his voice throaty. He sounds a lot like he did when Steve first met him; ill, and frail, and hungry.
Steve turns around to look at him, and he’s greeted with a pair of steel-grey eyes instead of the usual bottle blue. The worry sets in before he even has the chance to think about it.
He sets down the bottle of vodka that he was holding and leans heavily on the bar. “Is everything okay?”
Bucky shakes his head. He doesn’t look sad, or desperate, like he did before. His eyes aren’t bloodshot, but the tired circles are back. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face – an emotion that Steve hasn’t seen him wearing yet.
“Does it look like everything’s okay?”
Steve shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. What’s wrong? You have to tell me.”
Bucky’s eyes snap to look at him. “I don’t have to do anything,” he says. Steve is taken aback, only slightly, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, and picks up a cloth, beginning to wipe down the bar.
“You gonna ignore me?” Bucky asks, irritably.
“I don’t know how you expect me to help if you don’t tell me what the problem is.”
“I never said there was a problem.”
Steve looks up at him. “You just said that everything’s not okay, so there’s clearly something. Are we gonna play stupid mind games or are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on here, pal?”
Bucky rolls his shoulders back, reigning in his anger. His expression is that of disgust, nostrils flaring, like he can smell something rancid in the air. “I ain’t your pal.”
Steve watches Bucky for a while, before shaking his head and letting out a slow sigh. “Alright.” He tosses the cloth over his left shoulder and moves away from the bar - not in defeat, but more out of determination not to have this conversation while Bucky’s in a mood like this. Steve doesn’t even care what his reasoning is anymore; he just knows that he doesn’t want to get involved.
Apparently Bucky wants to involve him.
He follows him around the bar.
“So now you don’t even care?” he asks as he tails Steve, watching him collect glasses from the booths around the sides of the room, but never offering to help.
“I never said that.”
“You ain’t acting like you care.”
Steve grabs the cloth from over his shoulder and throws it down on to the table of the booth he’s standing in front of. His hands move to his hips, and his jaw is clenched again. “I don’t know what you want me to do!” he spits at Bucky.
Bucky’s mouth begins to curl in the corner, but instead of the playful smirk he’s used to, Steve sees a wicked sneer. He hopes he never has to see it again.
“I don’t want you to anything. I don’t need your fuckin’ help, okay?” he growls, just as sternly as Steve had. “You keep waiting up for me. Don’t think I don’t notice, because I do. And you don’t need to. I ain’t gonna keep showin’ up.”
Steve exhales through his nostrils, keeping his mouth firmly closed so he doesn’t shout at Bucky. The vampire can sense it, he must do, because he just loves to get some kind of reaction.
He carries on. “I don’t need you, okay, Steve?” Bucky spits, and he says Steve’s name like it’s poison in his mouth, like it’s bitter and burning at the back of his throat, like it’ll kill him if he lets himself swallow it down. “I don’t know why you think I do.”
“So all that stuff you said,” Steve says, fingers digging into his hips so he doesn’t lash out, “about us being friends because I saved your life. That was bullshit?”
Bucky scoffs. “Of course it was. Why would I be friends with you?” he asks. He looks Steve up and down, that disgust-filled expression on his face again. “In what way could I possibly benefit from a friendship with you?”
“Oh,” Steve starts, sarcasm thickly laced in his voice, “so you only base your friendships on what’s in it for you, huh?” Bucky grunts and shakes his head. Steve continues to stare at him. Suddenly, an idea hits him. “Is that... is that why you stuck around at first?” he asks, brow furrowing. “Did you think I’d give you more of my blood? Is that what this is all about?”
“No,” Bucky says, his own eyebrows creasing together. For the first time during this entire conversation, he sounds honest. “No, of course not, you fuckin’ idiot. I ain’t a junkie.”
“No, but you’re a vampire. And that’s ten times worse.”
Bucky narrows his shrapnel eyes. “Like I’d want your blood anyway.”
“You seemed pretty keen the first time.”
“Because I was desperate!” Bucky shouts. His eyes go wide, bloodshot again. His mouth curls into a sneer, fangs bared, his chest heaving. Steve doesn’t get angry easily, but he can feel it bubbling up inside himself from somewhere deep down. “I’d been starving myself, and I was desperate, and I took whatever the fuck I could get. You offered, I took. That’s all it was. It was nothing important,” he spits. “It didn’t have some sacred meaning. You weren’t special to me, Steve. I didn’t choose you. You were just fuckin’ convenient, okay? Stop flattering yourself.”
It feels like a kick in the teeth.
Steve tries his hardest not to let it show.
He picks up the towel again and walks away, back towards the bar. He wipes down the surface again, even though it’s already spotless. Bucky’s loitering in front of him again, but Steve pays him no mind.
“I don’t need you,” Bucky says again, somewhat calmer.
For a second, Steve isn’t sure whether Bucky’s trying to get that point across to him or to himself.
“Of course not,” he grumbles, putting the towel down and grabbing his bag, shoving it over one shoulder as he heads towards the exit of the bar. He holds the door open, and pointedly looks in the other direction. “Get out,” he says, not even watching as Bucky complies, and Steve follows him out.
“I mean it,” Bucky says, hovering by the brick wall outside the building.
“You’re lying to yourself, Buck,” Steve finally says, looking up from the padlock on the door and meeting Bucky’s eyes. “Of course you need me.”
Bucky seems almost taken aback; he clearly wasn’t expecting anything more from Steve, especially not that. “Why do I?” he asks, suddenly not his cocky, angry self, but a strangely vulnerable creature, much like the desperate man he had been in the alleyway.
“Because you need to remember how to be human. You need someone to ground you. You need a friend,” Steve tells him. “Natasha remembers her humanity. She remembers how she used to be, and that’s why she’s okay.”
“What if I don’t want to remember?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve with a wary expression, like he’s almost terrified of the answer.
Steve feels both responsible, and unfazed. Bucky’s outburst brought this on himself.
“Then I can’t help you,” he says, and turns in the other direction to walk away. He can’t help but feel like a bit of an asshole for leaving him there. But maybe a little tough love is what Bucky needs right now.
Or maybe just love in general.
The first time The Winter Soldier goes looking for redemption, Steve is the one he goes to.
It’s nine o’clock, and Sam’s at Steve’s apartment, lazily listening to a compilation of soul classics as they sprawl out on the floor. Sam’s a little tipsy, but Steve’s as sober as they come, and he’s smiling fondly as his best friend mouths along to the lyrics of some top ten hit from the sixties by a band called The Temptations.
There’s a knock at the door, and Sam stops mid-sentence to turn to Steve, eyebrow raised. “You invite Nat as well? ‘Cause you know she hates this music, man.”
Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t, no. But I’m sure she can deal with it,” he says as he gets to his feet, setting his beer bottle down on the coffee table amongst all the empties that Sam has already drained.
He opens the door, and sees Bucky there, leaning against the door frame. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes; he instead opts to stare at the floor. Steve’s eyes go a little wide, surprised that the vampire even dared to show his face, and he shouts a quick, “One sec, Sam!”, before he shuffles into the hallway of his apartment complex and closes the door behind him.
He leans against his door and folds his arms – it seems to be his standard position these days.
“What’re you doing here?”
Bucky presses his lips into a thin line as he finally looks up, into Steve’s eyes. “I came to apologise,” he murmurs. He scratches at the back of his head, awkwardly. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Apologised?”
“Had a friend.”
Steve feels his breathing stop for a moment. He looks at him for a long time, before Bucky shrugs a shoulder.
“I am sorry, though,” he says. “What I said... it was horrible.”
Steve wants to forgive, but he’s always been a stubborn kind of guy. He shakes his head, and looks away for a moment, moving his hands back to his hips. “I really don’t understand why you said all of that in the first place.”
“It’s complicated,” Bucky murmurs.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Bucky stares at him for a while, and Steve sighs softly. “You know I can’t just let this slide.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“We’ll talk about this at some point.”
“That’s fine by me,” Bucky shrugs. He looks at the door behind Steve’s head. “Any chance of me coming in?”
Sam almost sobers up when he sees a strange man all in black wander into Steve’s apartment. However, he is drunk enough not to ask questions, and Steve introduces them to one another. The three of them sit on the living room floor, drinking beer, and singing motown for another hour, before Sam starts to drop off. Steve helps Sam into the bedroom, settling him down on the bed and putting a glass of water and a couple of Advil pills beside him for when he wakes up.
By the time he’s back in the living room, Bucky’s on the couch again, his combat boots sitting on the floor beside him. Steve moves to sit beside him, and doesn’t even complain when Bucky casually plops his feet into his lap.
“You’ve still got my coat,” he says, after a moment, the sound of Sam Cook crooning in the background.
Steve looks over to the hook by the front door, and sees the long leather coat hanging beside his own jacket. He nods slowly. “You left it here. I thought you’d come back for it.”
“That’s why I’m really here,” Bucky murmurs. “I didn’t come to apologise at all. I just came for the coat.”
“I knew it.”
Bucky laughs, a slow, smoky chortle in the back of his throat.
After a moment, he sits up straight, moving his feet from Steve’s lap and shuffling to sit closer to him, swivelling his body to the side so he can face him. Steve stays where he is, but turns his head to look at Bucky.
“I said those things,” he says after a while, “to try and convince myself that it was true.” Steve’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything, letting Bucky carry on. “I didn’t want to need you. I’ve never needed anybody.”
“Not even Nat?”
Bucky swats at Steve’s bicep. “Let me finish.” Steve presses his lips into a thin line again, and turns his body to mirror Bucky’s position on the couch. “I turned Natalia because she had the qualities of a good vampire. I knew, just from watching her – the way she holds herself, her perceptions of others, the way she just knows things – that she’d make a better vampire than a human. She was my prodigy, and I taught her almost everything I knew.” Bucky gets a look in his eyes; a soft, fond, reminiscent look, as if these memories come from a very long time ago indeed.
“You, though,” he says, turning to Steve and pointing at his chest, “don’t have those qualities. I mean, don’t get me wrong, pal, you’d make a fuckin’ awesome vamp,” Bucky tells him, his smirk curling back onto his face. “But you make a better human. You’re just a genuinely good person. And being one of us... it just wouldn’t suit you. You’re too kind to chase victims into alleyways and bite ‘em. You just ain’t that sorta guy.”
Steve is kind of flattered, in a weird way. He smiles to himself, but doesn’t interrupt.
Bucky drags a hand through his long hair, sighing softly, as if it’s genuinely hard to get his words out. “The thing is... I just... I dunno, I just don’t want to turn you. I’m this close to you, this damn fond of you, and I don’t want to turn you. That’s a pretty big thing for a vampire, Stevie.” He sighs to himself. “Everyone else who I’ve forged some kind of... bond with... I’ve always wanted to make them one of us. So that I’d be their maker. So that they’d be with me forever.”
Bucky swallows thickly and looks directly up into Steve’s eyes. “But I want to be with you forever in a completely different way. I don’t want to force you to stay with me. I want you to choose to be here.”
Steve takes a moment to register what Bucky’s saying, and he smiles softly at him. He reaches over, and takes Bucky’s hand in his. “If this is your super romantic way of telling me you actually want to take me to that damn chapel, I’m listening.”
Bucky hits him again. Steve laughs.
“I’m serious,” he says, moving closer on the couch so their thighs are toughing. “I’ve already gone vegetarian, so I’m not gonna kill nobody. And it’s only in life or death situations that I’ll ever need to drink. So... y’know. You won’t be in danger if you stay with me.”
“You really want me to stay with you?” Steve asks.
Bucky looks at him, a genuine smile forming on his lips instead of his cocky smirk, and he moves his hand to Steve’s jaw. He strokes his thumb against the side of his face, and Steve finds himself leaning into the touch. “Of course I do.”
It’s Steve who leans in, pressing his warm lips to Bucky’s cold ones. Bucky kisses him fervently, with the same desperation he had when he drank from Steve’s wrist. He holds his face between his icy hands, keeping him close as he drinks him in, kissing like he’s drowning and Steve is his only source of oxygen. Perhaps he is.
When Bucky finally pulls away, Steve is light-headed, eyes slowly fluttering open.
They curl up together on the couch, and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Nat and Sam find them there in the morning. Bucky has his back to them, still bundled in Steve’s embrace, a pair of strong arms around his middle.
“Should we wake ‘em up?” Sam whispers to her, his arms folded as he stands there in yesterday’s clothes.
Natasha knows Bucky is listening to every word, but she just shakes her head and smiles. “Nah. I think we can give these idiots a little longer.”
“He’s got all the time in the world to cuddle up to Rogers. The beauty of being a vamp.”
“That’s so not the point.”
Sam scoffs. “Yeah well, maybe if you cuddled me like that, I’d understand.”
The noise Sam makes as Natasha hits him wakes Steve up.
He makes them all pancakes for breakfast, and Bucky and Nat babble in Russian over the kitchen table, while Sam and Steve look on with puzzled expressions.
Nat and Sam leave afterwards.
Bucky stays.
Forever.