House of M-A Man for all Seasons.
If you recognise it, it's not mine.
Daffodils.
He was trying hard not to scream, harder than he had fought when Zemo sent a whip over his back. But it was hard when every muscle, every sinew, every cell in his body wanted to scream at Steve "That's Not Me!"
Couldn't' Steve tell? Couldn't he see the way Davis's hand (metal, his true one lost during a mutant suicide bombing at the stadium and hidden beneath the artificial skin) moved stiffly and unnaturally? Didn't he notice that rather than his usual (banana spilt with extra whipped cream) Davis had ordered a coffee?
And most importantly, didn't Steve know he'd never turn his back on a friend, never abandon Toro?
"Get him out of here." A voice and he couldn't see who it was snarled at him. "If he loves mutants so much put him with them."
He lay like a rag doll in their arms, not thinking, not really feeling. Steve wasn't coming to rescue him. How could he when he didn't even realise he was missing?
Collapsing as they flung him into a cell, James Buchan Barnes drew his legs up to his chest and fought harder than he had done in nearly 20 years to keep the tears inside, to be brave.
"Kid?" The voice sounded raspy, like it hadn't been used for a while. Bucky couldn't blame him. What was the point talking when no one listened?
"Kid?" It was a bit more persistent this time, and he could see the speaker. Black hair in turfs like a lion's mane, blue eyes staring at him out of a face that looked old and tired. "What are you doing here, kid? You ain't a mutant."
And in spite of his best intentions, James Buchan Barnes found himself crying. Weeping at the fact that this man, who'd met him maybe three or four times knew him better than the man he'd thought of as his big brother.
Heat of summer sunshine.
"Won't be long now, kid." He wasn't sure if Logan meant till they were shot or till the fever killed him. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually heard the words, or if he'd just translated the grunts and animal noises Logan made. It had been too long since anyone actually spoke to him.
The guards talked, but they either talked at them, or as though they're deaf or stupid.
It's been three days since the power went out and the guards stopped coming.
He turned groaning softly, seeking the last bit of cool from the water Logan had poured on his face. Or where he'd licked him, he wasn't quite sure which one.
Suddenly Logan stiffened, his head cocked like a dog's.
Bucky strained his ears into the distance, realising he could hear it to, the faint hum of voices, the stomp of feet coming closer.
"How many?"
"Three, I think."
"Powers?"
"One's got a healing factor and claws. Another, the kid can fly and shoot blasts. I don't know about the third, he's just always been there."
If he was going to be taken out and shot, he was going to face them on his feet. Jess, the little kid Dum Dum had flung in with them after Fury was summoned to Washington, back up against the wall. Logan's claws were out and he was growling, furious at anyone trying to hurt his...pack was the only good description.
He heard the sound of a key in the lock, but wasn't quick enough to shield his eyes, as the light from the outside world came rushing in.
"Dear God." He heard, and noticed the feet that he could just see through the edges of his vision were webbed.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
"Bucky is dead."
"I know that, and I ain't arguing with you about that."
Could have fooled me James thought, as he watched the mutant take devour the meatloaf.
"All I'm saying is that don't mean you have to be."
James shrugged, managing not to wince as he swallowed the piping hot coffee. "Don't know what you're talking about."
Logan snorted. "We're been out of that pit for a year now, have you even looked at the world outside?"
"Have you?" He shot back, almost immediately regretting it, as he felt the eyes of everyone in SHEILD cafeteria on them. Logan glared and everyone immediately went back to what ever they were doing.
"I know it's hard, feeling like a foreigner in your own land, but you don't have to do it alone." At Bucky's rolled eyeballs, he slapped him on the back of the head. "Don't take that attitude with me, kid, I saw Tasha making eyes at you."
Bucky grimaced. "In case you've forgotten, she's at least ten years younger than me."
"What's that got to do with it?" James had to acknowledge that for Logan, ten years was nothing. "She's smart, beautiful, a heck of a fighter…"
"And suitable for me, cause she's a Sap." James shot back, bitterly. He watched the sorrow in the mutant's eyes as he looked him, a look almost identical to Steve's when he saw Bucky hurt or returning from a mission.
"That's not what I said or thought, kid."
"No, but it's what everyone else is." He got to his feet, suddenly feeling sick. "You're an exile returning home, Logan. I'm just a refugee here."
Winter Soldier.
It was a little morbid, probably visiting your own grave. Seeing the words that someone else had chosen carved on a tombstone with your name above it.
He'd heard about the funeral of course, and Logan had even persuaded some one to show him the news footage of it.
Steve hadn't said anything, he didn't know if it was because he wasn't allowed to, or he simply couldn't.
He wasn't sure he cared.
Squatting by the grave, he traced the caved stone letters spelling out "Bucky."
He smiled softly. It seemed fitting. He wasn't Bucky anymore; he was the Winter Soldier, even if Logan had to stop himself busting a gut every time he said it.
Bucky didn't think a guy called Wolverine was in any position to point fingers.
He gazed at the stone, wandering if he should apologize. But he couldn't feel guilty. Davis had known the risks.
Slowly, he got to his feet, dusting the earth from his knees. Logan was right; it was a mistake to come here. What he was seeking, a connection with someone, anyone, in this world wasn't here.
He was about t move off when a voice came from behind him.
"Bucky?" He turned his head, cursing at the automatic response, to see a young man with black hair staring at him.
"Bucky!?" He barely had a moment before he was grabbed into a bear hug. "It is you. What happened? How did it happen?"
He opened his mouth, ready to deny everything that Toro was saying to him, when he realized this was what he was seeking. A connection with someone.
"It's a long story."
Toro shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to be."
He nodded, slowly, as Toro's arm was flung over his shoulders. For a moment he resisted and then he lent into the touch.
"It wasn't me." He said, softly. Toro nodded. "I know."