I got this image in my head while riding home from the beach and it didn't leave so this happened. Hopefully this isn't absolute crap. It ended up be much longer than I thought it would be. Enjoy!
Bucky pulled his arms closer to his shivering body, pushing forward through the dark, freezing rain toward the promising abandoned building in the distance. He reached the large wooden doors, pulling on the doorknob with no luck. Taking a step back, Bucky cocked a foot backward then kicked the door open. It crashed to the ground with an echoing thump and as Bucky stepped over the door, he frowned to himself. Maybe kicking the door in wasn't the best idea. The soldier lifted the door and awkwardly balanced it over the exposed doorway then turned to investigate the ground floor of the building. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, scanning over an old couch with moldy stuffing spilling onto the ground, a broken coffee table covered in a thick layer of dust, and a small moldy chair nestled in the corner. The grime covered windows are vaguely cover by scrappy, moth eaten curtains that hardly cover the glass. Bucky took a step forward, the old wooden floors creaking under his weight then with a loud crack, the pank snapped underneath Bucky's foot. He crashed to the ground, one leg stuck between the floor planks, the other awkwardly folded under his body.
Bucky pulled himself up, out of the hole with a grunt, taking a cautious step forward. When the floor appeared to hold his weight, Bucky moved forward, down the long hall. On the walls hung a few old frames, but Bucky was unable to make out what pictures are held in the frames. A loud crack of thunder shook the building, the frames rattling against the walls. Bucky paused uneasily, waiting for the building to resettle then let out a small breath of relief. If the building collapsed on him, Bucky knows he'd survive, but it wouldn't feel particularly pleasant and he'd be back out in the freezing rain looking for somewhere else to take cover against the intense storm.
Suddenly, a rustling noise from upstairs forced Bucky to freeze in alarm. He listened carefully then the noise stopped. A set of stairs a little further down the hall caught the soldier's attention then he slowly treked to the top of the staircase, listening for any further noises. The scurrying of feet caused Bucky to stop again, his head snapping in the direction of the noise. At the end of the hall, a tall, dark door stood. It's moments like this when Bucky vaguely wishes he had a gun, but after evacuating his last hiding place on short notice, Bucky only left with the clothes on his back and the backpack he takes everywhere with him.
He metal arm balled up tightly, prepared to fight, then Bucky kicked open the door. Though he was unsure what awaited behind the door for him, the last thing Bucky expected to be greeted with was terrified cry of alarm. Bucky immediately spotted the source of the sound, curled into a corner and shivering. Eyebrows furrowed, Bucky carefully approached the lump, still on guard. He reached a hand out and pulled away the blanket covering the figure. Bucky's hand recoiled in alarm at the revealing of the figure.
It's just a kid, Bucky's eyes widened in shock. The little boy huddled in the corner can't be any older than four.
"P-Please don't hurt me," The little boy whimpered, his head buried in his arms, quiet sobs shaking his tiny frame.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Bucky promised softly, crouching down to the same level as the little boy.
He reached a hand out to touch the little boy's shoulder but right as he made contact, the little boy flinched severely. Bucky pulled his hand back quickly.
"It's okay, I'm going to help you," Bucky quietly comforted the little boy.
A pair of striking blue eyes with red rims slowly looked up at the soldier, and suddenly, Bucky found himself staring at a young Steve Rogers. The little boy has the same blonde hair matted to his head by dirt, dark blue eyes, thin face, and long nose. Bucky blinked hard for a moment as the memories come rushing back of the pre-serum Steve.
"Don't take me back to Mommy and Daddy," The little boy begged, tears threatening to spill over.
What? Bucky asked himself, his eyes running over the little boys tear stained, dirty cheeks, then his eyes landed on the little boy's skinny arms. Dark bruises littered his tiny arms and he appeared extremely under fed. Bucky's jaw clenched as he took in the sight, piecing together the puzzle.
Bucky's metal arm unconsciously formed a tight fist. The little boy's eye widen, pushing himself further into the corner at the sight of the angry soldier. Noticing the boy's returning terror, Bucky took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. You're scaring him he chided himself.
"It's okay," Bucky quietly told him. "I'm not going to take you back to your parents. What's your name?"
"James," The blonde boy whispered.
Bucky smiled to himself at the name.
"I'm Bucky," Bucky told the little boy.
"Okay," James responded in a small voice with the ghost of a small smile playing on his lips.
"Let's find something to eat," Bucky suggested, holding a hand out to help James up.
James shyly stared at Bucky's hand for a moment, frowning at his leg. His eyes followed James' gaze, and Bucky realized the little boy is holding his leg at an awkward angle.
"I hurt my leg," James quietly explained. "It hurts to walk."
Bucky eye's fill with sympathy, then he held out both arms toward James. James complied, lifting his skinny arms up. The soldier carefully lifted James off the ground, attempting to avoid jolting his leg at all, supporting James with his right arm. James' tiny hands curled into Bucky's wet sweatshirt, leaning heavily on the large man. Bucky lifted the blanket James was curled in off the ground and wrapped it around the tiny boy's body then walked out of the room back to the hall. He's about to begin his slow descent down the stairs when a loud growl ripped through the air.
Bucky spun toward the source of the noise, his grip on James tightening, turning his body so that James is the furtherest away from the large German Shepherd growling at the pair. Both of James' fist curl tighter into Bucky's hoodie, his small frame cowering as he hid his face against Bucky's chest. Although Bucky wasn't fond of the idea of hurting the dog, Bucky would not let this dog hurt James.
The dog, all of it's hair standing up on its back and baring it's teeth threateningly, lunged at the pair. Bucky easily slammed his metal arm against the dog's body, the German Shepherd crashing against the wall with a loud whimper. It's body fell to the ground, the dog unmoving.
"James," Bucky called softly to the little boy curled against his chest. He brought his metal arm, covered by his sweatshirt and a leather glove up, running his fingers comfortingly through James' blonde hair. "It's okay, the dog is gone."
James slowly looked up, a gasp escaping his small lips.
"Is… Is it dead?" He asked in a small voice.
"No, I don't think so," Bucky replied honestly. "I'm going to put you down for a second, okay?"
James vigorously shook his head, his fingers tightening into Bucky's sweatshirt.
"No," He whimpered.
"I'm just going to move the dog," Bucky promised. "I'll be right here."
James stared Bucky down, scanning his face for any sign of lying then slowly nodded his head.
Once insuring James is comfortably on the ground, wrapped in his blanket, Bucky lifted the unconscious dog then dropped it in another room, shutting the door behind him. The soldier turned back to James, picking him up once more, then walked down the stairs.
At the end of the hall Bucky was originally walking down before hearing James and the dog upstairs was a run down kitchen. The cabinets were broken, dusty, and empty, small gas stove nestled between two long counters, and a round, dust covered dining table was tucked in the corner. After checking the stability of the table, Bucky set James on the table, his bruised legs dangling off the side. Bucky shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and took a dry shirt of out of his bag. Without a second though, Bucky pulled his soaked hoodie, gloves, and t-shirt off. The little boy inhaled sharply, eyes wide as Bucky's head snapped his direction.
James stared in amazement at Bucky's metal arm, which Bucky noticed with a small smile and held his arm out toward James. The little boy ran his fingers over the careful groves, tracing Bucky's palm with his own small hands.
"What happened to your arm?" James breathed out.
"I… Uh…" Bucky cleared his throat, attempting to figure out the best story to tell the little boy. "I fell off a train."
"Ouch," James face scrunched up at the thought, arising a small laugh out of Bucky.
"Yeah," He agreed with a smile. "Ouch."
The soldier pulled the dry shirt over his head, laying the wet hoodie and shirt on an old chair to dry. Bucky hunted through the kitchen, searching through the drawers for candles. After a few minutes, Bucky finally discovered four tall candle sticks, which he strategically placed throughout the small kitchen in order to get the most light and lit with a lighter he kept in his bag. He then reached into his backpack and pulled out a white paper bag with a few sagauges he bought a few days earlier.
After lighting the stove with assistance from the lighter, Bucky began cooking a few of the sausages, handing one to James who hungrily scarfed it down. Between the two of them, they ate seven, Bucky four and James three.
Bucky cleaned up their small dinner then frowned at James' crooked leg.
"James, do you mind if I look at your leg?" Bucky asked.
James shook his head, watching the larger man carefully examine the injured leg. Definitely broken Bucky thought to himself, glancing around the room for something solid in order to make a splint. The remains of what once was a chair in the corner caught Bucky's eye. After breaking a few pieces into smaller, solid sticks and the use of some medical tape Bucky carried with him, Bucky fashioned a small split for James leg to at least keep the little boy's leg somewhat stable. He needed a hospital, but how Bucky was going to get him to one was still a question hanging in the back of his mind.
As Bucky finished cleaning up the small mess he made in the kitchen, James curled up in his blanket, beginning to drift off into a peaceful sleep. Bucky smiled at the scene of the little boy, gently scooping him up and carrying him up the stairs. In the room Bucky found James in, there is a bed. Once pulling the dust covered bed spread off the bed, Bucky went to lay James down, only to find that Bucky's shirt got tangled into the four year old's tight grip.
Some careful coaxing and a few quiet Russian swear words, Bucky managed to free himself while James curled into a pillow on the bed. The soldier headed back downstairs, knowing fully well he wasn't going to sleep tonight. James' presents awakened a certain protectiveness from deep inside Bucky that he hasn't experienced since the 40s. While James slept soundly, Bucky busied himself with an inventory check of his supplies, making a mental list of things that need to be picked up soon. Suddenly, a loud crash followed by familiar crying quickly shot Bucky to his feet, climbing up the stairs by two.
He yanked the door open to find James tangled up in his blanket on the floor, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
"James, what's wrong?" Bucky asked, scooping the four year old off the ground.
"I… I woke up and-and you were gone," The blonde boy sniffled.
Bucky smiled sadly at the boy. It's strange how quickly James latched onto Bucky, he's not use to this sort of affection, especially from a child.
"I'm right here," He reassured the little boy who nuzzled his head into the soldier's neck.
James sniffed, his small fist seizing handfuls of Bucky's shirt while Bucky gently rocked the four year old, trying to sooth him back to sleep.
"You're not leaving?" James quietly asked, his head resting on Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky's chest tightened at the little boy's words. It's been a very long time since anyone has been anxious about Bucky leaving them.
"I'm not going anywhere," He replied, rubbing James' back.
"Promise?"
"I promise," Bucky retrieved James' blanket from the bed, wrapping it around the little boy curled against his chest.
Between the steady movement of being carried around the room and the sound of Bucky's heart beat, James fell back to sleep in minutes. Instead of bothering to try to break James' iron grip on Bucky's shirt, the soldier sighed, and sat down in the old arm chair tucked in the corner of the bedroom. His metal arm curled around James protectively while his right hand carded through James' dirty blonde hair. A few minutes of feeling James slow breathing against his chest and sitting in the arm chair, Bucky began to realize how tired he truly was. When was the last time I actually slept? The soldier questioned himself, blinking heavily. A flash of the most recent nightmare Bucky experienced flashed in his mind, causing Bucky to wince at the painful memory. That's why. He grimaced to himself, his grip tightening on James. Despite trying to keep himself from nodding off, Bucky's head fell backward against the chair after twenty minutes of fighting off sleep.
When Bucky opened his eyes, it had stopped raining outside and sunlight was shining in on his face. How long did I sleep? I was sleeping… right? Bucky questioned. It didn't feel like sleeping. Probably because he didn't have a… nightmare. Bucky sat up a little straighter at his realization. He actually slept through the night without any sort of nightmare. Is that even possible? James began to stir on Bucky's chest before sleepily blinking, staring up at Bucky with his big blue eyes.
"You hungry?" Bucky asked the four year old who nodded sleepily in response.
Bucky stood, vaguely wondering what he has to eat as he walked down the stairs, carrying James, then he thought of an idea.
"James, have you ever been to a farmer's market?"
After helping James clean himself up as best as possible with limited resources, Bucky stood outside the house, backpack clipped on, baseball hat on his head, holding James. Bucky walked along, searching for the farmers market he saw empty stalls for on his venture through the city while James absentmindedly played with Bucky's metal fingers. He'd put his gloves on soon, once they get closer to the heart of the city, but for right now, Bucky left his metal hand uncovered. A few minutes more of walking later, James and Bucky reached the farmers market.
They pasted the stalls, stopping at a stand ran by a little old lady selling fresh bread and homemade jam.
"Why hello," The woman greeted, smiling at James who nervously tucked his head into Bucky's neck. The woman laughed heartily. "What's his name?"
"James," Bucky replied, gently bouncing James. "Why are you being shy all of a sudden?"
James doesn't respond, instead he nuzzled into Bucky's dark hair.
"He your son?" The woman asked.
"Little brother," Bucky lied smoothly then the woman noticed the splint on James leg.
"Uh oh," She said sympathetically. "What happen to your leg?"
James shyly looked down at the broken leg.
"I fell…" He muttered, gathering a small handful of Bucky's hoodie.
The woman frowned, noticing a few bruises on James arms as his sleeves rode up a little. She shot a sharp look at Bucky, who cleared his throat nervously, instantly knowing what this looks like, then carefully phrases the next question.
"Where did you fall from?"
"The stairs," James murmured, pressing closer into Bucky, his small form starting to shake nervously.
A lump formed in Bucky's throat at the boy's response. How many times has this four year old had to formulate a lie to protect his parents? Bucky protectively tightened his grip on James, the woman watching the action thoughtfully.
"Jam?" He asked, glancing at the jars and changing the topic.
"Yep, all homemade along with the bread," The woman smiled proudly.
"We'll take a loaf of the bread, and," Bucky nudged James. "What kind of jam do you want, James?"
James peaked his head out from behind Bucky's long hair, and looked over the jars in front of him.
"Is that strawberry?" He asked shyly, pointing at a jar filled with a light pink jam.
"Sure is, do you want to try it?" The woman offered, reaching behind the stall and producing an already opened jar. She held the jar out to James who tentatively dipped a finger in, tasting the jam.
He smiled at the taste.
"You want that one?" Bucky asked, seeing James' pleased expression.
The four year nodded in response, a small smile playing on his lips. The woman smiled at the sight of the little boy, grabbing a white bag from behind the stall to put the jam and bread in. After paying, Bucky and James head away from the farmers market toward a covered eating area. Bucky spread some jam on a thick slice of bread and handed it to James who happily chomps away at the bread while Bucky grabbed himself a slice. They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the homemade food. When James finishes, his tucked his feet up on the bench and leaned against Bucky who wrapped arm around the little boy. A few minutes of silence while Bucky finished his breakfast passed then James quietly admitted to Bucky.
"I don't like it when people ask me about my boo boos."
Bucky frowned at the little boy who was staring at the table, playing with the end of his sleeve. The shirt was actually Bucky's, but he rolled it up a significant amount, something he recalls doing for Steve when they were younger, so James could wear something dry and somewhat clean.
"Did you actually fall down the stairs?" Bucky cautiously asked.
When discovering James' broken leg, Bucky didn't dare to ask what happen. He understood the desire of not being questioned about injuries.
"No… Daddy pushed me," James told him quietly.
Under the table, Bucky's metal hand formed a tight fist, his jaw clenching at the thought of someone harming James. Bucky pulled the little boy on his lap, instantly wrapping his arms around him while James buried his face into Bucky's chest, a small sob racking James' body.
"I don't wanna go back to Mommy and Daddy," He begged tearfully.
"Don't worry, you're not going back to them," Bucky promised, placing his head onto of James'.
"Thank you," James murmured into Bucky's chest.
Bucky's chest tightens at the sentence, holding James impossibly closer to him. The idea of someone hurting an innocent little kid makes Bucky's blood boil. There is absolutely no excuse for harming a child, and Bucky's going to be damn sure that no one else hurts James again.
Since Bucky discovered the little boy hiding in the house, he's wondered what he's going to do with James. Clearly, Bucky can't bring him with him, it'd be way too dangerous. But Bucky can't just leave him somewhere. He needed to get James to a hospital to fix his leg. The longer it goes unattended, the worse it'll get. But Bucky needed to insure that James doesn't go back to his parents and he may know someone who can help him. An idea begins to formulate in his mind as Bucky mentally assembles the items needed to carry his plan out.
Finding a cell phone wasn't hard, nor deciding where to call. He could really call anywhere. Since his fiasco on the bridge with Steve and killing of the director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Bucky knew someone was going to be looking for him so Bucky decided to call Stark Tower. While working under Hydra, Bucky found out about all the Avengers, including Tony Stark who is not so secretly Iron Man. Getting S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention will blow his cover so Bucky will have to cover his tracks carefully, but if it means insuring James' safety, it will be worth it.
Once finding the closest hospital, Bucky told James to wait on a bench outside the hospital while Bucky makes a call. He stepped away from the little boy, watching him closely while waiting for the ringing to stop. A brief interaction with Tony's receptionist, and Bucky managed to talk his way into speaking directly to Tony.
"Hello?" Tony asked on the other end, skepticism etched in his voice.
"I know you're tracking this phone call so I'll save you some time," Bucky instantly begins. "I'm standing outside of Northwest Hospital & Medical Center on 115th Street in Seattle, Washington. In that hospital, there is four year old name James Tarner. He requires medical attention. Once receiving medical attention, he needs a new home. His parents are abusive. I know you can find a better suiting home."
"Who is this?" Tony sharply cut in.
"The Winter Soldier," Bucky replied then crushed the phone in his metal hand.
He walked back over to James who looked up at Bucky eagerly. Squatting down to eye level with the sitting boy, Bucky sighed then said
"I have to go, James, but some people are going to come get you and take you somewhere nice, okay?"
"But…" James' eyes filled with tears. "I… I don't want you to leave."
"I know," Bucky smiled sadly. "But it'll be for the better."
James launched himself at Bucky, wrapping his tiny arms around Bucky's neck tightly. Bucky returned the hug, hold James close to his body. He pulled away, and reached into his backpack, pulling the blanket he originally found James curled up in and wrapped it around the little boy's shoulders then stood up, taking another flip phone out of his pocket. Bucky dialed the hospital number, requesting help from outside the hospital then looked at James one last time. Bucky pulled James in for one last hug, running his fingers through James' blonde hair and gently kissed to the top of James head. He sets James down on the bench, squatting in front of the four year old, his hand resting on James' check who stared at him tearfully. Bucky pressed a kiss to James' forehead, whispering
"Good bye, James."
He stood up, hearing a medical team coming their direction and pulled his hood up, walking away from the boy, his chest tight, and a lump in his throat. As Bucky walked away from the little boy, he found himself doing something he hasn't done in a very long time: his steel blue eyes began watering.
Natasha Romanoff stood in the blond hair, blue eye four year old's hospital room, her arms crossed as she watched the little boy sleep. Since receiving a tip of the little boy's location, he has been fitted with a dark blue cast and received medical attention for his dozens of other injuries. When they were told that the little boy comes from an abusive home, they weren't exaggerating.
The spy watched with a small smile on her face as the little boy curled tightly in his blanket and a shirt the hospital found him in. For some reason, James refused to give up either item. Clint Barton walked into the room, handing Natasha a cup of coffee.
"Tony said the Winter Soldier told him about this little guy?" Clint asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Yeah…" Natasha replied slowly.
"Huh," Clint raised his eyebrows. "Who would've thought that the Winter Soldier had a soft spot?"
Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading!