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Bucky isn’t exactly proud that he’s a grown ass man sitting on the sidewalk of a haunted house because he’s too chickenshit to go inside. Natasha and Clint are already in there – been in there for what felt like forever – as he sat down and waited for them to appear.
He’d gone in, obviously – but he’d not expected the small, dark spaces to freak him out so much. Enclosed and pitch black, he’d been unable to shake the panic. He’d spent too long in the dark, too long not knowing if he’d see light again, and he wasn’t about to spend his free time revisiting the fear that gripped him. Fuck that.
Of course, Natasha and Clint knew he’d been held by insurgents. Although most of the operation was classified, he’d been allowed to tell them that much. He just hadn’t been able to tell them much else. So he took the ribbing of how much of a coward he was and laughed along with them, not taking it too much to heart.
His costume was awesome though. He’d decided to go as The Terminator – because he had the awesome arm already, metal and cool as fuck, thanks to Stark Tech. He already owned the leathers and he’d shown up on his bike, all he needed to buy was the sunglasses and a little awesome make-up (Clint knew his way around a make-up sponge like a pro – Bucky wasn’t exactly sure where he’d picked up that particular skill) and he was good to go.
Natasha was wearing a Silver jumpsuit with a Star Trek badge pinned on it. She had told him she was… six of something. Nine? Something like that, but he couldn’t remember.
Clint was Robin Hood. He’d wanted Natasha to be his Maid Marion but she’d threatened to knee him in the balls if he ever suggested matching costumes again.
The haunted house was supposed to be awesome. They had ‘live zombies’ and ‘real terror’ and Bucky paid the $25 dollar admission only to find himself sitting outside less than five minutes in. His mother would be turning in her grave if she’d known he’d thrown that kind of cash away. She’d been able to feed a family of 5 on that for a week.
He’d eaten a lot of pasta and rice as a kid – anything that would fill you up fast and long. Not a lot of meat, not a lot of veg, but she’d done her best. She died with undiagnosed cancer – too poor for the trip to the doctor – the week after he’d sent his first pay check home. His sisters went to live with his aunt Ira, a kind hearted but woeful substitute for a mother. He sent money to his sisters every month until Becca wrote to him and told him to stop. She married a nice guy, a mechanic – lived three blocks away from him now, and was a nurse at a private hospital. His other sisters moved away, Texas, Iowa. He barely spoke to them at all – knew that they blamed him for not being there when they needed him. Becca only forgave him because she thought the sun shone outta his ass when she was little. Probably still did, cause she was always a sucker for a lost cause.
He shook his head, wondering why he’d gotten stuck in such a fucking miserable mind-set when all around him people were dressed up and having a great time. Well, aside from the couple behind him, arguing.
“Seriously, go on.”
“It’s not gonna happen Steve, man.”
“Sam, seriously – it’s a haunted house, the haunted house you’ve been harping on about forever. Go on. I’m perfect able to wait out here for you.”
“I’m not ditching.”
“Sam, I’m gonna sock you right in the jaw if you don’t go in this thing.”
Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little, especially since he’d had almost the same argument with ‘Tash and Clint. Eventually though, the one called ‘Sam’ admitted defeat and went inside. His friend shouted a “Try not to piss yourself!” before laughing and then sitting his ass down beside Bucky. “Nice costume, man.” He said, and Bucky turned his head to see…
“A power ranger?”
The Power Ranger laughed. His outfit was blue and white and he was about the same height as some of the kids Bucky had seen around. In fact, if Bucky hadn’t heard his voice (deep, masculine) he’d have thought this guy was out after curfew. Even the outfit, plastic and padding, wasn’t helping this scrawny dude look anything other than seriously underfed.
“Don’t knock the Power Rangers, you jerk!” He laughed, and when he talked, he waved his arms in the over-exaggerated way that Bucky remembered from Saturday morning TV. “They were awesome.”
“If you say so,” Bucky laughed. “I’ll stick with my costume.”
“Yeah?” The Ranger said, clutching at his skinny knee and using his other hand to scratch at his head comically. “Robocop?” He paused, and then snapped his fingers – again, larger than life and enough to make Bucky grin from ear to ear. “A Biker Mouse from Mars?”
“Punk.” Bucky snorted. “Biker Mice from Mars? Seriously? How old are you, like 90? That shit was old when I was a kid.”
“Well…” The suited ranger said, looking at his non-existent wrist watch and then back to scratching at his helmet. “I guess I’m older than you.” The laugh inside the helmet echoed a little, and then turned into a cough. “I’m 27, so not exactly John Conna.” He tried to make his voice sound like the Terminator, but it didn’t really work. Regardless, Bucky laughed – this guy made him forget for a moment that he was sitting on the sidewalk outside a haunted house he was too chickenshit to go inside. “What about you? I’m not sitting here talking to an overgrown 16 year old, am I?”
Bucky took off his sunglasses just so he could roll his eyes and put them back on. “I’m 26, you utter freak.” He replied, grinning when the Ranger made a big show of being shocked.
“Really? With your old man talk I’d have thought you were at least 80.” He paused, and held out his hand. “Steve Rogers, Blue Power Ranger at your service.”
“Bucky Barnes. Terminator.” Bucky said, a little taken aback by how strong and firm the handshake was. “And only old men shake hands.” He pointed out, but he didn’t let go right away.
“You’ve got me.” Steve Rogers, Blue Power Ranger, said. “I’m really a 90 year old, been taken out of the home for a night of mischief making and shenanigans with the young ‘uns.” He slapped his knee. “You young scallywag, you’ve scunnered my hi-jinks.”
Bucky was grinning so much his jaw was starting to hurt, and behind him, someone in the house shrieked.
“That’ll be Clint.” Bucky said at the same time Steve said: “Sam.” Knowingly.
“So, Clint your boyfriend?” Steve asked, casually. Without being able to see his expression, and his voice just a little distorted by the helmet, it was difficult to know just how casual the comment was. Bucky shook his head.
“Nah, he’s in there with his girlfriend. She’s got bigger balls than both of us combined. Sam your fella?”
Steve shook his head quickly. “Sam’s my best friend who’s been going on about this place all year. I brought him all the way over just so he could go inside and then he changed his mind because I couldn’t go in.”
“Why not?” Bucky asked, looking over his shoulder at the house. The queue was pretty long by that point, people dancing nervously from one foot to the other. “It’s supposed to be intense.”
“Yeah, I heard that.” Steve shrugged. He wasn’t making as much of a big deal of his gestures anymore and Bucky found his tone difficult to read. “They suggested anyone with a weak heart not go in.” Another scream and both men nodded at the same time. “What about you?” Steve said, nodding at the stamp on Bucky’s wrist that showed he’d paid to get in. “What did you think of it?”
“Oh, I got about as far as the lobby before I had to get out.” Bucky admitted, going for casual and probably missing it by like, a million years. “PTSD is not as cool as they lead me to believe.”
“Really?” Steve said, hands on his hips, superhero style. “Those filthy liars.”
“Got an awesome arm out of it though.” Bucky said, showing off his new prosthetic. He was so proud of it, a prototype tech that he was helping to test out for other amputees – it had a full range of motion, and even some feeling: pressure, hot and cold. It had changed his life. He didn’t have phantom pains in his missing arm any more, crippling aches that kept him up all night. He didn’t feel like he belonged in a freak show, felt confident again. Sure, the scarring sucked, but the fucking robotic arm more than made up for it.
“Now, that is awesome.” Steve said, leaning closer and almost whacking Bucky on the chin with his helmet. “Seriously cool. I thought it was part of your costume.” He admitted, and Bucky smirked.
“Loads of people have.” He said, grinning. “But it’s just me.”
“Hey, you ever thought of modelling?” Steve said, leaning back and once again nearly knocking Bucky’s teeth through his head. His helmet was obviously hindering his situational awareness.
“I’ve been picked up way smoother than that before.” Bucky admitted, leaning back a little. “Like, 3 out of 10 for originality, dude.”
He didn’t know if the guy in the suit was blushing or not, his laugh had Bucky grinning though. “Jerk,” He wheezed. “I mean, have you actually ever done it? I mostly do like, comic-book stuff, but I do like commissioned pieces sometimes.”
“Comics?” Bucky asked, trying not to look to sceptical. He wasn’t a huge fan of them, although he knew that Clint had a proper collection, because he got really defensive when Natasha told him to throw them out.
“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “I um, I have my own one? Captain America?” He sounded a little hopeful, under the mask.
“Sorry.” Bucky shrugged. “But I’m not a huge comic guy. I like my sci-fi and stuff like that.”
“Aw, it’s not that a big deal.” Steve shrugged, and his costume bunched up a little when he did. “But – seriously on the modelling. I um, Sam has my wallet.” He said, “But when he comes out I’ll give you my card and if you want to you can call me. I’ve got a website on there too – so you can check me out: prove I’m not a freak who wants to show you my etchings.” He paused. “Or you can just tell me to fuck off, you know.”
Bucky shook his head and smirked. “I think I’d be a great model. I mean, look at me.” He leaned back a little, flexed – and then pulled the most ridiculous duck-face he could manage. The laughter from inside the helmet was infectious and Bucky was soon caught up in the cycle of almost being able to stop laughing, until he heard a tell tail snort of laughter from inside Steve’s helmet and that would start him off again.
He felt drunk, despite never having a drink. His head was woozy and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much in years – not even Clint and his sometimes hilarious side quips had him laughing so hard that his eyes were watering and his stomach ached.
“You think we should just leave them here?” A voice he didn’t recognise said, from behind him.
“I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t even notice.” Natasha’s voice said, sounding highly amused.
“Especially since we’ve been here for a good 5 minutes and neither one of them have spoken a single word.” Clint’s boot poked him in the back. “Seriously, man, what’s the joke?”
“Uh,” Bucky started, completely unsure how he was going to explain why a perfectly normal conversation would be quiet so hilarious to anyone else.
“What do you call a sleepwalking nun?” Steve said from inside his helmet. At the blank faces all round, he snorted. “A roamin' catholic.”
And Bucky fucking lost it.
When he’d finally stopped clutching at his chest and braying with laughter, which took him way longer to do than he’d like to admit, Natasha was giving him a look that clearly said that he was being an idiot. An adorable idiot, but an idiot all the same.
“We’re heading to Red Room.” Natasha told the man who Bucky assumed was Steve’s friend Sam, and from the corner of his eye he saw Steve’s padded shoulders slump a little.
“Oh, man, we’ve got tickets for the Shield party.”
Both clubs were hosting Halloween themed events and the tickets for both had been sold out for months in advance. Clint had wanted to go to Shield but both Natasha and Bucky had been to Red Room a few times in the past and had insisted. Now he wished that he’d let Clint get his way.
“Oh.” Steve said, although his helmet hid his expression, Bucky was pretty sure it would have matched his. “Well, um.” He paused. “Sam, you’ve got my wallet, right?”
Bucky noticed for the first time that Sam was wearing a pair of stylised wings, pure white, and a pristine suit. He fished around in his pocket before handing Steve a beat up leather wallet, the type that Bucky’s old man had. It took a few moments for Steve to pull out a white card. His gloved hands were not ideal for the task. “Um, if you wanna think about what I said earlier – just email me or whatever.”
Bucky didn’t remember much about Red Room, or the party they spent far too much money on tickets for. Next time he was going to let Clint win the argument and they’d go to Shield. The thumbing base and dark colour scheme did nothing but hurt his head and his eyes, and because the damn drinks were so overpriced and so weak he couldn’t even get drunk.
He’d gone back to his place after seeing Clint and Tash into a cab – removed his make-up (it took longer than he thought it might) and his outfit, and fell face first onto his bed.
The result was this: He woke up at 10.30am with three text messages from Natasha, one teasing him for being a loser about the haunted house, one asking if he wanted to join her at the gym (he didn’t) and the other asking if he was gonna call Power Ranger guy.
When he’d gotten home, he’d carefully put the card down on the kitchen table so he wouldn’t lose it. As he padded through, barefoot and wearing his rattiest pair of sweat pants ever, it was still there. He shot back a text to Natasha as he made his coffee and looked at the card.
It was made of thick white cardstock, with a name (Steven G Rogers) a website and an email address. On the back of the card there was also a handwritten mobile phone number. Bucky might have already committed it to memory.
He had a shower and washed his hair. Natasha had wanted him to cut it off for his costume, but that was a step too far for him, especially since he’d got it just the way he liked. The hair on the top of his head was pretty long, long enough that he could pull it back into a band or a messy bun thing, and the back and sides were shaved close – not to the skin, but almost. The overall look was kinda punky and he really liked it – a far cry from his military style. If he wore a baseball cap you could only see the shaved back and sides, and if he wore his hair down it just looked long. Mostly he didn’t care too much about his appearance, and just tied it up quickly. While he waited for his hair to dry, he booted up his laptop. He probably needed to buy a new one soon, as the one he had was a few years old, but he didn’t want to replace it when it still worked.
Once it finally kicked in, he typed in the address on the white card Steve had given him.
The website was… well, it was fucking awesome is what it was. The layout was clear and crisp, and easy for him to navigate. He could see samples of Steve’s work, as well as listed stockists of where you could buy his comic ‘Captain America’ and a list of galleries that stocked some of his larger paintings. A quick google search confirmed this – Steve’s last painting had been something of a collectors piece, and had been bought by Tony Starks agent, Pepper Potts for his private collection. A guy with that kind of money didn’t buy just any crap. He sent a text to Clint about it, and got an almost immediate response.
Hawkeye: Captain America? Yeah, I’ve heard of those, dude – awesome stuff
Hawkeye: Why? You wanna read them? I can lend you them, but I want them back
WinterSarg: Nah, just wondering.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Haunted House
Hey Steve,
It’s Bucky from last night – not sure if you remember – we met at the haunted house?
Anyw
“Aww Shit!” Bucky said, as his finger slipped and he sent the mail far too soon – in the middle of a word. He glared at the screen for too long before starting a new message. He was about half way through typing when he got a notification that he had mail from a new contact.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Haunted House
Hi Bucky,
Yeah, I totally remember you from last night – hope you had a good time at Red Room. Sam and I had way too much to drink, kinda feeling it this morning.
I’m not sure if maybe I got your mail right because it cut off, but if you wanted to talk about maybe sitting for me so I could draw you, that would be awesome. Obviously I’d pay you for your time.
I’m not sure if the card I gave you had my number on it, but I’ve added it below so you can call me or text if you like.
Thanks,
Bucky read the mail twice and wondered if maybe he’d gotten the wrong idea from the night before. He’d thought that maybe the whole model thing was a come-on, but if Steve wanted to pay him for it, then maybe it was just a genuine offer. He didn’t want to feel too bad about it, he didn’t even know what Steve looked like or anything. For all Bucky knew, he was wearing the helmet so people didn’t have to look at his third ear or something. His reply back was (he hoped) pretty cool and not as flirtatious as his original was going to be.
Steve replied within minutes – his address and apartment number.
Steve lived in a slightly cooler area of Brooklyn than Bucky, the kind of place where people ate organic and wore their grandparents’ clothes, beards that looked like they’d popped right out of the depression, girls with pin curled hair and skinny jeans.
He’d tried not to think too much about what he was gonna wear – his favourite jeans were well worn but clean, and hung on his hips just low enough to be intentional, but not low enough to show off his underwear. He’d tried on three different shirts before settling on the black one Natasha said made him look kick ass – he’d pushed the sleeves up to his forearms and shoved his feet into his old boots. His hair he’d pulled back and tied into a quick bun, and going on the look of the other people walking through the area, he fit right in.
Maybe Steve was some kind of uber hipster – a beard to his knees or a pipe he didn’t smoke. By the time he got to the building, he was ready to turn around and leave again. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that Steve had actually text him as he got to the door with a “The buzzer is broken; you can just come right up.” And Bucky knew he couldn’t just leave after that. He might have been too scared to go through a fucking haunted house, but he wasn’t going to let that fear go any further. Besides, Steve was a great laugh and Bucky knew already that they got on okay – he might not laid, but he could get a new friend, and that could actually be better.
With that, he pushed open the door and took the stairs up to Steve’s floor. He wasn’t a huge fan of elevators and their habit of breaking whenever he got in them.
Steve’s apartment was easy to find – he lived on the top floor and there were only two doors up there, one was bright red and the other was a dull grey. Taking those two options, he let out a breath and rapped on the bright red door.
Behind the wood, he heard a dull thump, a smash and a “fucking shit!” before the door opened – and Bucky Barnes saw Steve Rogers for the first time.
He was short, but Bucky already knew that – thin and a little paler than was probably healthy. He had blond hair that was probably in a neat side part before he’d pushed his long fingers through it, messing it up. He had a square jaw and bright blue eyes and Bucky was so seriously fucked, because he didn’t have a beard, or a third ear, or any of the things Bucky had expected.
He was fucking gorgeous.
“Sorry!” He said, and without his helmet distorting his words he sounded good, voice way deeper than Bucky expected for a guy of his size, and he waved a hand over his clothes, dripping with water. “I tripped over my stuff.”
Although his clothes were wet, he’d obviously made some kind of effort to look good – dark blue jeans and a red shirt that was rolled up past his elbows. Both had dark water marks down the front.
“You okay?” Bucky managed, trying not to sound like he was having some serious fantasies about the man in front of him.
“Hm?” Steve said, standing back to let Bucky through the door. “Oh, yeah, I’m way tougher than I look.” He smiled, and Bucky felt his stomach flip over at the way it brightened his whole face. He walked inside, and Bucky followed him in the same way a comet gets caught in the gravitational pull of a planet – completely unable to do anything else but get pulled along.
“So, um, you still wanna draw me?” Bucky asked, looking around. The apartment was mostly open plan, and a lot of space was taken up for some kind of studio. Canvas frames hung on the walls, some looked unfinished. When Steve saw him looking, he shrugged. “Sometimes I run out of drying racks and it’s easier to throw them up till I can finish,” He looked around, “I um, never really think how it looks.”
“I like it, actually.” Bucky shrugged. “It’s pretty cool, you know? See the ‘in progress’ stages.” He smiled. “My buddy Clint, he reads your comic.” He added. “Pretty big fan, he offered to loan me his copies.”
Steve laughed a little self-consciously. “It’s not a big deal really.” He shrugged. “I mean, I love it, but I’ve kinda lost my… drive?” He looked over at Bucky, and smiled. “You still wanna sit for me?” He said. “I know we didn’t talk much about the kind of thing I’ll need.”
Bucky shrugged. “You want me to strip off?”
“Yes.” Steve said instantly and then blushed a deep crimson. “No! I mean, um, shit.” He said, looking down at his feet. “I mean,” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I just need you to pose some, maybe if you feel okay with it, shirtless, so I can look at the arm better? I don’t need you to get naked.” His blush was so deep that he was almost beat red, and Bucky found it fucking adorable. “I swear to god, I didn’t ask you here to look at m etchings.” He said, before covering his face with his hands. Nice hands, Bucky noted, long fingers.
“I’ve already seen your etchings.” Bucky said, waving a hand over the art on the walls, and he laughed at the mortified groan that Steve let out. “You were much more confident last night.” Bucky grinned, and Steve shot him a look through his fingertips.
“Last night I was in a mask.”
“Doesn’t make a difference.” Bucky grinned, and then grinned wider at the scowl he got in return. “Well? It doesn’t.”
“It does if you’re me.” Steve said, rubbing his face and dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t feel like myself.”
“Well, I like yourself.” Bucky pointed out. “Yourself wants me shirtless while you draw me like one of your French girls. Yourself and I are working towards the same goal.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, looking as sceptical as a person can when their face looks like a tomato.
“Yeah. Getting at least one of us undressed.” Bucky grinned, “Sounds like a fucking great idea to me.” He looked at Steve and grinned wolfishly, the kind of grin he’d been told by more than a few people had the effect of wetting panties and dropping pants. “Although first you might wanna get out of those wet things.”
Steve’s laugh was sudden and brilliant and Bucky wanted to pat himself on the back for being the one who made it happen.
“Can you put your hand over the arm of the chair?” Steve asked. He was wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a hoodie that was a few sizes too big and covered in paint.
Bucky was shirtless and barefoot, his jeans shucked just a little lower than he normally wore them. He’d taken off his underwear when he’d been in the bathroom getting ready while Steve set up his supplies, so the faint trail of hair was visible, leading below the waist of his jeans. Steve had swallowed deeply when he’d watched Bucky swagger into the room, proud of his body even though some people might feel bad about the scars and the metal arm. Not Bucky – he liked them, his badge of honour. He could have done without all the other stuff, like the nightmares and the panic attacks, but his body – he knew how to work that.
Sitting for Steve was actually pretty dull, the guy obviously loved his work – as soon as he got behind the easel, he was in the zone. He watched as the shadows around the room moved and lengthened, just as zoned out as the guy drawing him.
“So, you wanna get something to eat?” Bucky called through to the main part of the house as he pulled his shirt back on. Steve had been apologetic that he’d kept Bucky pretty much all of the day – it was actually starting to get dark outside.
He was doing up his buttons on the shirt, still in his bare feet, as he walked through to the main room. Steve was still drawing, adding some extra lines to what looked like a pretty decent sketch. He looked up as Bucky walked through, his eyes lingering for a few moments longer than they should have over the strip of skin Bucky was covering with each button. He blushed when Bucky smirked at him. “Or you, know, we could get back to you showing me your etchings...” Bucky said, hands falling from his shirt, leaving half the buttons undone. Steve was blushing hard again, and Bucky wondered just how far down that blush went.
6 hours later he knew it went all the way down to his navel, and when Bucky bit on his bottom lip he whined.
Hawkeye: You’re dating Captain America and he put you in his fucking comic?!
WinterSarg: It’s not me, it’s Cap’s new sidekick.
Hawkeye: You are dead to me. Winter Soldier? Metal arm? Filthy mouth? It’s fucking YOU
WinterSarg: Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Hawkeye: Fuck you. I love those comics. You’ve ruined them for me. I know Cap’s sleeping with his sidekick.
WinterSarg: Pretty sure he’s gonna add you in
Hawkeye: Really?!!?!?!
WinterSarg: Well, Tash for sure, at least.
Hawkeye: Fuck you both.
He did, of course – Hawkeye & the Black Widow arrived a year after the Winter Soldier, in a special edition of Captain America. Halloween Edition.