Bucky's Dream; Bucky Bear
AU; Bucky stays with Steve after CA; TWS
I crashed onto the bed, not caring if Steve had any room. I heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor, stopping at the door frame. I heard him sigh, I was too tired to look up at him, that last mission was tiring for me.
"Buck, could ya move?" Steve asked me.
"Hrmmm," I replied. I heard Steve's footsteps echo in the room and felt the bed heave as he sat down next to me. The soft feeling of a blanket draped over me and I heard Steve's footsteps again. The light clicked, and all went dark.
"Night Buck," Steve said.
"Bucky Bear! Bucky Bear! Wake up!" I heard a childish voice next to me, and I opened my eyes to a young Steve.
"He's awake!" Steve cried. We were back at Steve's childhood apartment, back in Brooklyn, back in 1926. There was no way I was back with him, no way. It can't be true, could it?
"Steve, your friend's here," a woman appeared at his doorway, holding a neatly folded dishrag in her hands. I recognized her instantly as Steve's Mom, a kid stood beside her, he was oddly familiar to me, I racked my brain for who it could be. He looked up at her and smiled, she smiled back.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rogers," the kid said.
"Anytime Bucky, make yourself at home," she said casually. That's when it hit me, who the kid is. That kid is me, better yet WAS me. His short brown hair made him cuter than any eight-year-old should be, and his eyes were pale glacier blue, just like mine. He jumped onto the bed next to Steve and stared right at me, then he picked me up.
"Woah Stevie, you got a nice birthday present," he said, scrutinizing my features. This was when I also realized what I was. Looking down I saw a stuffed bear clad in a blue and red uniform with four, big, red buttons on the front. I was Bucky Bear, Steve's eighth birthday present from his dad.
"What'cha name him?" young Bucky asked Steve, turning to him. Steve smiled slyly and did his best to hold in a giggle.
"Bucky Bear, duh!" He said, grabbing me from young Bucky. I was engulfed in his thin arms for a weak hug, it was the best Steve could manage.
"You punk!" young Bucky said, scooting in to wrap his arms around Steve. We sat there for a minute before young Bucky pulled away.
"I gotcha something too," Bucky said, remembering what was in his pocket. He pulled out a flat object wrapped in butcher paper and tied with brown string.
"Happy late Birthday, Stevie!" He handed the present to Steve, who tossed me aside, so he could unwrap his gift. Young Bucky propped me up on the bed as Steve shook the flat box
around, listening for a clue of what it could be. Finally, he ripped the paper off the box and opened it, a look of surprise and happiness became Steve's expression. In awe, he pulled out a brand-new sketch book with a pencil set, including the sharpener and eraser.
"Woah! This is amazing Buck! Thank you!" Steve exclaimed, turning the notebook in his hands. Young Bucky smiled, proud that his friend liked the gift. Mrs. Rogers appeared in the doorway again and smiled.
"Look ma! Look what Buck got me!" Steve said, waving the sketch book in the air.
"Oh, Steve it's a wonderful gift, have you thanked Bucky?" She asked.
"Yes ma'am he did," young Bucky said. "And I was wondering if we could go outside today," young Bucky added.
"Of course, but first Steve needs to change out of his pajamas," Mrs. Rogers said.
"Right away ma," Steve said, jumping off his bed and closing the door.
Within minutes, Steve was changed in his usual clothes, a pair of corduroys with a cream T-shirt and a brown jacket.
"Let's go!" Young Bucky said, flinging open the door. Steve was just about to rush out the door with Bucky before he looked back at his bed at me, still propped up on the sheets. He grabbed me and rushed down the stairs after young Bucky.
"Be careful Steve!" Mrs. Rogers called. Bright light flooded my eyes, I knew where we were, I could walk Steve's street with my eyes closed. We were just outside his apartment by the back door to the stairs, in the alley. I saw young Bucky waiting for Steve, who was leaning on the dumpster.
"C'mon Ste-" that's as far as he got before young Bucky was pushed down onto his knees by an older kid who had popped up behind him. A whole crop of them materialized from the alleyway, coming out of crevices and doors, surrounding us. Steve rushed over to young Bucky, who was trying to get back up on his feet.
"What do we have here?" One of the older kids asked. A kid came from behind Steve and pushed him on the ground.
"Steve!" young Bucky exclaimed. He rushed over to Steve, who was clutching me as hard as he could.
"Are you hurt?" young Bucky whispered to him. Steve got back up and stood there, face to face with the leader of the group.
"Aww, you still have a teddy bear?" The kid taunted. Suddenly, young Bucky was in between Steve and the leader of the group.
"Leave us alone Jim," he said. Jim, the leader, heaved his fist at young Bucky and I saw him fly to the side, blood pouring out of his nose.
"You're next Rogers," Jim said, cracking his knuckles. He grabbed for Steve, and just in time Steve pulled away, but Jim got ahold of my left arm. He was pulling hard, and Steve didn't want to let go. A loud ripping sound dispersed through the air as both Steve and Jim fell back. Steve looked at me, tears welling up in his eyes. Jim was furious, he was cussing and yelling.
"I'll bump you off!" Jim screamed. A bunch of kids' dog piled Steve and me, pinning him down and taking me from him. Jim was up on his feet, hand outstretched for me. One of the kids gave me to him and he looked right at me and scoffed.
"Give him back!" I heard someone say. Young Bucky was back on his feet, fists clenched in anger. Jim held me out to Steve, who was restrained by the other kids.
"This- this is shit," Jim said, throwing me behind him. I landed in a pile of trash and blacked out.
"Hey Buck, you awake?" I hear Steve next to me as I opened my eyes. I sat up suddenly, surprising Steve who jumped off the bed.
"You alright?" He asked me. I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion.
"Yea, I'm good, I'm good. Don't worry bout' me," I say. I fold my arms around my knees, trying to hide the metal one from my sight. I realize that Steve was holding something behind his back, when he sees me notice, a sly smile crosses his face, same smile he gave me on his eighth birthday.
"What the hell is that," I say, gesturing to the thing he was holding.
"S.H.E.I.L.D found some of our stuff from when we were kids," Steve said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Remember this guy?" He asked. Steve pulled Bucky Bear out from behind him and held it in front of me. The left arm was still stitched up from when Mrs. Rogers fixed Bucky Bear after the fight. I hold out my hand to take it. Steve carefully placed the old toy into my hands. The colors were faded, and the left arm was permanent dirty from 1926.
"Bucky Bear," I say, smiling at the toy.