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I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous. I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded. But under the surface, I feel berserk.
Under the surface, I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service.
Steven Rogers was broken. His body didn’t work right, he was held down by problem after problem, diseases on top of diseases, and things that were so wrong, no one even wanted to talk about them. Especially not after his mother died.
The list went like this:
Asthma.
Scarlet Fever.
Rheumatic Fever.
Sinusitis.
Chronic or frequent colds.
High blood pressure.
Palpitation or pounding in heart.
Easy fatiguability.
Heart trouble.
Nervous trouble of any sort.
And that was just what stopped him from joining the army, there were a few more random ailments thrown in for shits and giggles. At the end of the day, it was clear, Steven Grant Rogers was broken.
Except, if you asked Bucky Barnes, Steven Rogers was the furthest thing from broken. If you asked James Barnes, Steven Rogers was funny, and kind, and loving. He was beautiful, with the lightest shade of blond ever seen. A boy with sandy locks and a brave heart, and no one knew him better than Bucky. The thing no one knew was that Bucky was one more thing on his list of problems.
That list went like this:
Asthma.
Scarlet Fever.
Rheumatic Fever.
Sinusitis.
Chronic or frequent colds.
High blood pressure.
Palpitation or pounding in heart.
Easy fatiguability.
Heart trouble.
Nervous trouble of any sort.
Strange feelings in stomach around, and when thinking of, Bucky Barnes.
Under the surface, the little boy who just wanted to fight for what was right, and yet ended up like fractured glass every night, was in love with his best friend. That was the worst thing because everything inside him, it just made his life harder, but he wasn’t any less human.
Wanting, needing, Bucky Barnes wasn’t human, and it broke Steven a little every time he saw his best friend kiss a dame. It broke him a little every time Bucky came home with tales of his sexual escapades.
It broke him, and broke him, and when they took him out of that ice, Steven Rogers was still broken, only now, he wasn't allowed to be. Now, Captain America was expected to run into the line of fire with raging confidence, sandy hair, and a brave heart. He did as he was asked, he led missions, let his body be slashed, and let himself bleed a little longer every time an enemy broke his skin. When Natasha tried to set him up with someone, he ignored the part of his mind that would beat like his heart, reminding him of the boy he still loved, the boy he’d never see again. It always broke him a little more.
On the bridge that day, Steve’s heart stuttered, tripping in its beats for the first time since he stepped into that lab. For a moment, he was a teenager again, walking down a dusty street, hand in his pocket to keep it from reaching out and wrapping around Buck’s fingers. For a moment, he was that man again, letting go and watching as his purpose, his soul, his heart, fell into the snow and hit the hard, hard earth.
“Bucky?”
“Who the hell is Bucky?”
Steven Rogers would always be broken.
Bucky Barnes put things back together, it was what he did, it started when he was a teenager working at the docks. When the stove in their apartment stopped working, Steve just walked around complaining about it, and Bucky looked at it right and the thing was good as new. Bucky fixed things, but when he finally appeared in front of Steve again, on that street only a few blocks from their old apartment, it was Steve’s turn to fix. He tried to be a stable shoulder to lean on, tried to hold every burden, his, Bucky’s, and the Avenger’s. He was made to be strong, to be powerful, and he was desperate to prove he could do it all without a crack in his mask. Do it without showing the grimace behind the smile.
He wasn’t as broken anymore, every crack had been filled with hasty patches and the lingering touches he felt as he helped Bucky wash the blood from his hair. With careful hands and a steady hard, Steve was putting himself back together by imagining he wasn’t sick anymore. By pretending the serum really had taken everything rotten in him away.
But it didn’t work that way, and at night, instead of counting sheep, he thought about every illness he’d used to have and didn’t anymore.
The new list went like this:
Asthma.
Scarlet Fever.
Rheumatic Fever.
Sinusitis.
Chronic or frequent colds.
High blood pressure.
Palpitation or pounding in heart.
Easy fatiguability.
Heart trouble.
Nervous trouble of any sort.
Strange feelings in stomach around, and when thinking of, Bucky Barnes.
He was still broken, even with Bucky back, because he’d never get to have his best friend in the way he wanted him, and he’d never get rid of the butterflies in his stomach that flapped around whenever Bucky’s fingers brushed against his skin. Maybe that was the worst part, because despite everything, sometimes he wished Stark could have left every problem he had, and taken his heart. Sometimes he wished he’d never met Bucky. Sometimes he wished he’d died in the ice, and never had to be broken.
“I loved you. I-I love you.”
Steve shook his head, walking out of Bucky’s room and leaving his best friend behind, leaving Buck sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the ground as he'd whispered those words. Those goddamn words. Steve clenched his hands into fists and stormed into the kitchen, Bucky on his heels, and he closed his eyes, leaning against the counter.
“No, Bucky. We… I can’t.”
“You can.” Bucky whispered, and he stepped toward Steve, slowly, loudly, so both of them knew what was happening. Steve turned, eyes flickering across Bucky’s face, his vision clouded over as tears formed in his irises. “We can, Stevie. It’s not wrong, this could never be wrong.”
He pressed forward, hands moving to grab at Steve’s jaw, and he gave him plenty of time to pull away. Steve didn’t, just leaned against the counter and let himself kiss Bucky back, soft and innocent. He whispered those words too, against Bucky’s lips when they broke away.
“I love you.”
The list went like this:
Asthma.
Scarlet Fever.
Rheumatic Fever.
Sinusitis.
Chronic or frequent colds.
High blood pressure.
Palpitation or pounding in heart.
Easy fatiguability.
Heart trouble.
Nervous trouble of any sort.
And the new list, the list of things that weren't wrong with him, went like this:
Strange feelings in stomach around, and when thinking of, Bucky Barnes-Rogers.
Steven Rogers had never been broken at all.
Under the surface, I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us. I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this? If only I could shake the crushing weight of expectations.
All we know is-