HUD: I know what you're thinking: 'Why the FUCK is she doing another chaptered fic when she has, like, 6 to finish?!' And, in my defense, this wasn't meant to be chaptered, it just...happened. So enjoy. :)
WARNING: Mentions of PTSD and anxiety, in case that's a trigger for you. Be prepared.
James 'Bucky' Barnes never thought he'd be normal again, never thought he'd be able to function after everything. Relearning mobility in his left arm at twenty-eight had been difficult. He'd had the entire thing taken off in an IED explosion overseas that landed his ass back state-side, but luckily he had some friends in high places that secured him a metal prosthetic. He was the first for the new test model, which was in of itself a pretty high honour, but even that reminder didn't help when the damn thing froze or clamped up around a ceramic mug that never stood a chance. Bucky went through quite a few plates and glasses those first weeks. He still wasn't fond of any gentle activities with his left hand, even almost a year later.
In fact, he was even more surprised to be where he was. His therapist had suggested a pet of some kind, something for Bucky to take care of and was entirely dependent upon him. Bucky fought long and hard against the idea; he had enough trouble taking care of himself, let alone a dog or whatever. Mrs. Keith said he would be fine, that she believed in him and that she thought he was ready.
Standing outside of a pet store made it feel a little too real, and he suddenly felt like he had no reason being there. The stress and anxiety of even being there was starting to close in. He'd barely left his apartment for the last few months except to frequent the twenty-four hour grocery store a few blocks from his apartment and to see Mrs. Keith.
Here he was about to adopt a creature that would require care, and love, and Bucky, well, Bucky hadn't really had his head screwed on right for a little over a year.
A woman and her child brushed by him and into the shop. Bucky blinked, coming back to himself. Sure having an essential life crisis almost directly in front of the door to a pet store was a little inconvenient to others, but Bucky couldn't think of a better time, really, to have his little moment. Maybe if he left now, walked back to his idling cab, he could ignore Mrs. Keith's concerns for a few more weeks at least -
"Hello?"
Bucky barely contained his surprise, this time. He looked at the now held open door to see a young girl, maybe in her mid-teens, making as much eye contact with him as he'd allow.
When he didn't answer, she continued: "Were you wanting to come in?"
Bucky gave a jerky nod, which prompted a wide smile to spread on her face. She held the door wider, even, and waved him in. "Awesome! My name is Karen, and I'd love to help you today."
Karen was sweet, albeit awkward with a few of Bucky's muttered answers to her questions. Her heart was in the right place. Bucky had originally entertained the idea of fish or whatever, something easy, but Mrs. Keith shot it down faster than some of Bucky's own sniper shots. Karen suggested a hamster or a gerbil; just the idea of something so small made Bucky's metal hand clench. Even in his long sleeves and gloves, the whir was unmistakeable, but Karen never asked and they moved to something bigger and much, much less fragile.
Bucky was about as antisocial as they come (which was odd for him; before the accident, he'd been a regular busy body) so a dog was totally out of the question. They were too needy, would require more of Bucky's stability than he could really afford to give. While Karen cooed at a few puppies, calming them from their excitement at seeing a new face, Bucky felt eyes on the back of his head.
Immediately the hairs on the base of his neck twitched and prickled. Bucky took a measured breath, tuning out the yaps and caws of distraction to zero in on what had spotted him. It was an old habit, a good habit, but he'd been a civilian for over a year, and despite all his anxiety and nightmares, no one was after him.
In this case, he'd been right - someone was watching, or rather, something. Over his shoulder he spotted bright blue, staring right back at him. Beautiful. A cat, snow-white with a single black patch over her left ear. Her eyes tracked his movements; he shifted his weight, stepped around Karen, even moved towards the hamsters again. Her eyes seemed to only be for him, and that thought brought a warmth to Bucky he hadn't felt in some time.
"Karen," he muttered. The teen stood up abruptly, quickly used to his low voice. "That cat."
Karen looked the same direction Bucky did, his eyes still locked with the white cat. Karen hummed, a wide smile on her young face. "I don't know why I didn't just start here!"
She walked over to the cage where the cat sat, her gaze wavering for only a moment to Karen as the girl unlocked the door. Karen held her hand out first, which was inspected with a light sniff, before waving Bucky over.
"She's young, we believe around eight months," Karen said when Bucky stood beside her. He swallowed, listening to the teen prattle on. Everything she said matched the card on the cage: eight months, spayed, female, friendly, sweet, doesn't like being held. Bucky swallowed.
"Go on." Karen smiled at him, again, and nodded towards where the cat seemed content to wait. "She's awfully friendly, even to strangers. She probably won't let you pick her up, but she loves being scratched under her chin."
Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. The cat's sky blue eyes were fixated on him, on his every motion. He swore she probably watched his throat work for a solid five seconds before looking back at Bucky's eyes. Carefully, he reached his right hand out. She stood up for him, met his fingers (she hadn't done that for Karen, no, Karen had to come to her) and eagerly rubbed the side of her face against Bucky's calloused fingers. Bucky felt a small smile grace his lips as those gorgeous eyes closed contently and a loud purr vibrated against his fingertips.
He heard Karen sigh beside him, almost drowned out by the loud purring. "I believe we've found your Forever Home, girl."
Bucky left shortly after the paperwork was signed with a cardboard carrier, light in his grip. The occasional curious mew chirped on the cab ride home, but otherwise the cat was content.
Oddly enough, so was Bucky.
Bucky had to cat-proof his apartment. He settled his new housemate into his bigger-than-average bathroom and immediately left to gather supplies. A trip to PetSmart and $350 later, Bucky had more than enough essentials to last a long few months. He carefully set up her litter box in his laundry room, her dinner dishes on the kitchen counter, her bed by the door to his room, and her myriad of bright and jiggling toys in a box by his entertainment unit. He even bought her a collar, a bright blue that stood out against her soft fur and almost matched her eyes (Bucky stood there embarrassingly long comparing blue collar to blue collar to get as close as possible, and finally broke down and asked an attendant, which was a mild break through for him).
Finally, he sat on his couch after opening the bathroom door, and watched. She came out immediately, stepping proudly around Bucky's living room. From what Karen said, this was unusual. Karen explained that cats take longer to get used to new surroundings and to not be upset if she didn't actively explore. That seemed to not be the case.
The cat was still so young and still so kitten. She climbed over every piece of furniture she could, losing her balance only a few times. She couldn't quite make her way to the kitchen, where her food and litter were, so Bucky stood up and guided her. She followed him effortlessly, and when he tapped his fingers on the counter, she jumped up without a second thought. Bucky felt a rush of affection for the little cat, her eyes so wide and her little stump of a tail twitching.
It took a week for Bucky to name her. He went out for a quick trip for a pack of smokes with a spoken promise to her that he'd only be gone for twenty minutes, tops. Her little tail and ears twitched, her face contorting into something akin to concern. Bucky assured her again and was surprised to see the wrinkle on her forehead ease. She rubbed against his legs when he stopped to pat her back.
When Bucky returned (in fifteen minutes), his little purr monster was no where to be found. Bucky had a good few minutes' worth of panic as he rucked up his bedsheets to see if she was stuck under the bed (again), checked behind the couch, in his closet, and when he started back for the door to make sure he hadn't left it open when he came in, he heard her purring.
Bucky listened and followed and found her in his fridge. Somehow, she'd gotten the door open and wormed her way inside, the door shutting behind her. Bucky blinked at her, and she blinked right back at him amongst his milk jug, apples, and beer bottles. Bucky sighed but smiled, reaching in carefully to see if she would let him rescue her. She did, surprising Bucky to no end when she seemed to go limp in his grasp as he pulled her to his chest and shut the door with his hip.
"Damn, cat, you're 'bout frozen," he murmured, grinning when she swatted lightly at his long hair. It was a lazy swat with absolutely no heat to it, her soft and cold paw settling against Bucky's nose. Her white fur was chilled, but she didn't seem hurt. "Your feet're chilly, too, like winter."
It clicked. Bucky blinked, looked back at the icy eyes staring out at him with an obvious mischief and contentment. "You're Winter. Ya like that?"
He was answered by another playful swat and a purr so deep Bucky felt some of the ice around his own heart melt.
Bucky stood, adjusting Winter's collar to settle snug but not too much against her slim throat, leaning back once he was finished. She sat up proudly, her chin raised for his inspection. Bucky chuckled, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "Lookin' good, doll."
Winter purred, tilting into his touch. The kitchen lights reflected off of the tag riveted into her collar. WINTER, in all caps, above his cell number in case the worse happened. She was microchipped by the pet store, but Bucky didn't want her to end up at a pound when he could just be called.
Winter stepped over to him from her perch on the kitchen counter, putting her delicate paws on his chest. Bucky smiled; for a cat he was told didn't like to be held, Winter certainly wasn't above begging for it. He carefully wrapped his right arm around her and hoisted her up to his shoulder. She settled in quickly and he walked them to the couch.
It was a bit of a struggle for Bucky to get Winter to use her cat bed. She took naps and played with a few toys there, but when Bucky was settling down for the night she was practically connected at his hip. She was warm and pliant when they sat together on the couch, but Bucky was awake for that. The idea that he may have a bad night with her so close and possibly hurt her was too much to handle. Bucky told himself it was for Winter's own good that she stayed out in the living room, even if the pathetic meows haunted him.
He persevered, and for good reason, when during the second week Bucky had one too many flashbacks for his liking and woke up in a cold sweat with a pillow clenched too tight in his metal hand. Bucky heard light scratching on the door but ignored it. The pillow was a glaring factor, all he could think of was it being Winter's soft fur clenched under his fist.
Bucky rolled over and ignored the way his heart hurt from the insistent scratching on his door.
The second time it happened that week, Bucky wondered if he adopted a ghost or a cat. He woke up panting, gasping, his vision black at the edges with gunfire still ringing in his ears. When he sat up, something warm settled against his side, his left hip. His first instinct was Remove, and as his left hand settled over it a soft mewl snapped him back to the present. Bucky blinked and looked.
Winter was there, pressed against his left side, beneath his metal palm. Bucky felt a frisson of fear jolt through him at what he had been about to do. Winter, chucked across the room with the force of a semi, flashed a vision Bucky immediately screwed his eyes closed to. The cat in question only purred, all of her trust unwittingly placed in Bucky. Bucky sighed, feeling the tension in his body begin to seep away.
The metal arm was made incredibly well. Bucky could feel pressure and temperature, could perform day-to-day activities, hell, he could even crochet if he wanted to. But he couldn't feel Winter's fur. He could feel her, her warmth and the rise and fall of her back as she breathed, but he missed the softness of her fur.
Still, having his hand over her back prompted him to pet her, and just the action was soothing. Winter didn't seem to mind the difference from his right hand, either. Soon her purrs traveled up his fingers and made the metal vibrate. Bucky chuckled, despite himself, finally relaxing.
If his little delicate kitten didn't mind his metal monstrosity, perhaps he could, too.
Every time Bucky went to see Mrs. Keith now, he brought with him photos of Winter. She was largely photographic, perching perfectly or tilting just so that Bucky had dozens of pictures to show off. Mrs. Keith's proud smile was more than worth the extra effort, even if it wasn't even that, either.
Winter made Bucky remember what he was like before he left, before the last tour that went so horribly. Mrs. Keith suggested seeing if Winter would take to walking, and Bucky grinned so wide his face hurt. He stopped by PetSmart again to ask a few questions and left not too long after with a matching blue harness and leash to compliment her collar.
Winter, for all of her curiosity, was so easy to leash train Bucky almost cried. He took her with him to check his mail, picking her up when he took the stairs instead of the elevator, took her out when he went for his smokes, and, if he felt daring, when he went grocery shopping.
Mrs. Keith signed a note to have Winter be a certified service animal, which Bucky immediately cashed in. He got a laminated card for his wallet and a special tag that hung proudly from Winter's collar. She loved going outside, to the store, to visit Mrs. Keith (who always had a treat for her); anywhere Bucky went, she was there.
Winter made Bucky feel more like himself, something he'd almost lost. Anytime they were out, if something made Bucky feel less like himself or his trauma flared, she was suddenly there. Pawing at his jeans, rubbing his knees, asking to be held, meowing softly until Bucky came back to himself. He loved and needed her as much as she did him.
They were sitting on a park bench under a tree, Bucky propped against the armrest with a book in his left hand, his right idly stroking Winter in his lap. There was a cool early fall breeze, stirring up leaves enough to distract the cat. Soon she jumped down only in her harness, stalking closer to the swirl of leaves. Bucky looked over his book to keep an eye on her. Her leash was in his jacket pocket, but he wasn't worried about her taking off. They'd been together a few months, now, and she never went too far without him.
Winter crouched low to the pavement, her little rump and stump of a tail in the air. Bucky watched her butt wiggle, her tail twitching. She was off in a split second, front legs spread wide with claws extended. Bucky chuckled as she caught a few of the dead ones, crumpling under her mighty attack. Bucky clapped enthusiastically, drawing her attention. Her pupils were so wide with adrenaline that the blue Bucky adored was nearly gone. She twitched her black ear at him before taking off after more leaves. Bucky smiled and settled back with his book.
Winter made enough noise that Bucky knew where she was without looking; he only glanced up when a jogger cruised by or someone cooed at her. Winter continued to play, allowed for a pat or two, before moving back to the death of the leaves.
One jogger in particular caught Bucky's attention, breezing by everyone else, including himself and Winter. He was tall, taller than Bucky's just under six, dressed in gym shorts and black sneakers with a grey shirt that was maybe a size too small. His sneakers hit the pavement rhythmically, propelling his muscular form with an ease that spoke of routine. Bucky had long put his book down as he watched Winter and now moved his gaze to the handsome jogger.
He didn't stay in Bucky's sight for long, so when he came back around the track ten minutes later Bucky looked his fill. Broad shoulders that tapered down a ripped chest and abdomen into narrow hips, finishing with strong thighs and legs that made Bucky swallow and bite his bottom lip with each echoed slap on the pavement.
Since his return, he'd hardly looked at anyone else, let alone found anyone even remotely attractive. This jogger was the first person to catch his eye, and Bucky had to fight down his grin. Having Winter really did do wonders for him, dragging him out of his shell of a home to the outside world that continued on whether Bucky was ready for it or not. Him ogling this guy was nothing new to Bucky before, but a lot had changed over the years, even more the last few months. Yet another thing he owed Winter.
The jogger ran the track three more times (yes, Bucky did count) during Bucky's stay. After the jogger's fifth lap, Bucky called for Winter to come back, feeling hunger set in. The cat sat up, stretched and yawned, before lazily crossing over the pavement to Bucky. She was covered in bits of her enemies, leaves stuck to every patch of her fur and turning his white cat calico. Bucky grinned and shook his head; she'd be getting a bath later, for sure. A gust kicked up more leaves on the path, distracting his dirty cat again.
Winter was a good ten feet away when Bucky heard that familiar rhythmic pounding of sneaker on pavement. He was surprised to see the same jogger again, the sun glinting off of his blond hair and turning it gold. He was looking down at his phone, presumably changing the song he was listening to, and heading straight for Winter. Bucky felt his heart sink.
There was no way he'd be able to get to Winter in time; the jogger was going too fast. Winter looked up, hearing the other person approaching, and rolled over. Bucky wanted to scream, cursing all those other people who had touched his cat during their stay and made her feel comfortable enough to lay down on the pavement.
"Winter!" Bucky called desperately; she twitched and sat up, but the jogger was too close and Bucky had to do something.
He sprinted over and intercepted the jogger, wrapping both of his arms around the man's waist and taking them both down. It'd been a lot time since Bucky had tackled someone to the ground, and it brought an uncomfortable tightness to his chest that didn't stop even as their bodies collided with grass.
The man landed under Bucky with a cough and a curse; Bucky had practically launched himself at the poor guy. It took a few seconds for them to stop skidding. When they did, Bucky attempted to free himself from the tangle of their limbs.
The jogger flipped Bucky over and under him in a second flat, both of his hands pressing Bucky's arms to his side. Bucky willed his body to relax, but the shift from protecting his cat to now protecting himself was too much too soon, and Bucky could feel his anger and fight or flight flaring up. He screwed his eyes shut.
"What the hell, man?" The jogger had a deep voice, slightly breathless from Bucky's assault. Bucky swallowed but didn't answer, keeping his eyes shut. The pressure on his arms lessened, but Bucky pressed his lips together in a thin line, breathing in and out of his nose.
Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. The pressure building in his chest, the echoing of his blood pounding in his ears, the need to fight or die, it all just stopped. Bucky focused, tried to figure out why (because right then, this, was not something he'd come along enough to combat on his own) when he felt it.
Soft nuzzles on his left hand, his metal fingers. A low merr, a questioning noise, an Are you okay? And suddenly, he was, because Winter was there. She pressed against his fingers again, bumping her head and mewling along to his wrist. His breaths came easier, and he allowed himself to open his eyes.
The jogger was still over him, still pinning his arms, but his attention was on the little white cat with a bobbed tail in the blue harness and collar, slinking up Bucky's left. She moved along until she could reach his face, a ritual they'd started when Bucky had a bad night and had trouble grounding himself, and bumped his nose. He felt a small smile grace his lips as his heart finally slowed.
"What's her name?"
Bucky blinked and moved his gaze from his cat's beautiful eyes to those of the man's above him and felt his throat clench.
His eyes were the same blue as Winter.
"...Winter," Bucky answered, ignoring how rough he sounded. The jogger smiled, then, and leaned back off of Bucky to sit in the grass a foot or so away. Bucky sat up himself when Winter patted his shoulder with her paw.
"She's gorgeous," the jogger complimented. Bucky nodded and scratched under her chin. Her purr vibrated through his wrist.
"Thanks," Bucky answered, feeling another smile tug. He kept his eyes on Winter, unsure about looking at the man he'd just tackled. He felt awfully nervous.
The jogger seemed content to not speak, watching Bucky's fingers work behind Winter's ears and under her collar. The metal Service Animal tag clinked against his steel fingers. The sound was soothing, urging him to finally speak again.
"I'm, uh, sorry. For tackling you," Bucky ventured, as if charting new territory. This, after all, was the longest conversation he'd had with a stranger since Karen the pet store clerk.
The jogger chuckled, a sound that started deep in his chest. Bucky felt warm. "It's alright. I should've been paying more attention. I saw her earlier, when she was playing with the leaves. Shoulda been watchin' instead of messin' around on my phone."
Bucky took in his posture, sitting with his legs up and his arms over his knees, one hand holding the other at the wrist. His body language was open and kind, his blue blue eyes still watching Winter. Bucky followed the line of earbuds along his neck and down his chest, ending in his left pocket. He was glad he didn't have to explain.
"I called for her," Bucky answered. Winter opened her eyes, sensing the conversation was still about her. "She can be stubborn, sometimes."
"Looks like she was goin' for a kill," the jogger teased. Winter took that moment to give a shake, ridding her fur of some of the dead leaves. She nudged against Bucky's hand where it had stilled its stroking, standing up and crossing over to the jogger. Bucky watched his eyes light up as he held out a hand, palm up, for her to inspect. She sniffed the pad of his fingers and thumb before unceremoniously diving in for a petting.
Bucky listened to that low chuckle again as the blond scratched under Winter's collar, as Bucky had. She turned to putty in his palm, his large hands making her look much smaller than her age. Bucky could hear the purring from his seat and smiled.
"I'm Bucky," he said, offering his right hand. The jogger looked up, his eyes crinkled from his bright smile. He swapped his petting hand for his left and took Bucky's hand in his right, his arms crossed comically.
"Steve," he answered. Steve's smile seemed to get impossibly brighter as they briefly shook hands. Bucky felt a grin to match Steve's growing and he may have kept his hand a touch too long.
Later, when Bucky clipped Winter's leash on and they began their walk home, Steve jogged by them with a wave and smile, his earbuds back in place. Winter swatted at his legs and trotted to keep up as much as her leashed allowed. Bucky just waved back with a soft smile, watching his cat slow with an audible huff. Once she was back by his side, Bucky watched Steve.
He tried not to think about how warm his hand had been in his, or how strong his chest felt when they slid through the grass. Bucky followed the lines of grass stains along Steve's left, grimacing slightly from guilt. He'd apologized, though, and he'd do anything for Winter, no questions asked. Those stains would come out, but Winter was irreplaceable.
She gave him comfort, love, reminded him of who he was, and even gave him the courage he needed to talk to people he wouldn't normally, not now, because he wasn't who he was before, but Winter made him want to be.
Bucky watched until he couldn't see shining blond hair anymore and closed his eyes against the sun.
A/N: Thoughts? :) Also, I now have a tumblr *gasp* and have no idea how to use it. www . tumblr blog / zombified419 But you can follow me! :)