STEVE
Steve woke up the morning of his eighth birthday, and the first thing he did was look down at the soul mark that had appeared overnight. His mother had told him that he needed to go to sleep, because he had been sick the past week and needed to regain his energy, so he hadn't seen it at midnight like his friend Bucky had four months before.
And then, he could only stare in shock, because where he'd expected to get the normal yin-yang pattern, he had the same one that Bucky had. The hexagon in the middle, with six other slots around it. And more than that, he saw that the design in the hexagon – the one that clearly represented him – was the same one that had been above Bucky's. The white star in the center, surrounded by blue, and then the red stripes at the top and the bottom. If his birthday being on the Fourth of July had told him nothing, this one clearly showed him that he was destined for patriotism and loyalty to the United States. And then, in the shape above his personal mark, was Bucky's mark – the golden yellow background, with a red star in the center. And even though he was only eight, he was very smart, and he quickly pieced together that he and Bucky were each others' soulmates – or part of a group of soulmates with each other, apparently.
He remembered the day he'd met Bucky – less than a year before, on the first day of school, when some other boys had beat him up, and Bucky had chased them away. Steve had been resentful at first, thinking that the bigger boy thought him weak and incapable, but Bucky had only been kind, and they'd grown to be best friends in no time at all. Seeing the soul mark now that matched Bucky's, he supposed that it was because they were soulmates, so it would make sense that they would click automatically.
He knew that he shouldn't go telling people he had six other soulmates, though – that was just asking to get beat up. Even Bucky was hiding his own mark, and he was big. Only Steve and his mom and Bucky's immediate family knew how many soulmates Bucky had, and Steve knew how important it was to keep it quiet. Anyone more than a couple would just be persecuted, though some people were beginning to cry out for triads to have the same rights as couples as they grew more common.
At least there wasn't an issue of same-sex couples, his mother told him later. That was something that had been legal since the 1600s. The Barnes and Rogers families had come together after Steve's mark had shown up with Bucky's, and they had agreed that Steve and Bucky would pretend that they were each others' soulmates, and no one else's – at least for the time being. They didn't know what would happen if and when they met any of the other five, but for now it was easier and safer to pretend that Steve and Bucky were just a couple, rather than part of a group of seven.
It was rather easy to be Bucky's soulmate, Steve thought frequently in the coming years. With the confirmation on their chests that they would be together forever, there was no confusion with other people and other girls – they knew that the other would be with them always. They grew ever closer in the following years, and Bucky defended Steve more fiercely from bullies as time went on, and it only caused Steve's love and admiration for him to grow. They shared their first kiss when they were twelve, giggling a bit the whole time in excitement as much as awkwardness, not knowing exactly what they were doing but knowing that it felt right.
And then the war came, and Bucky was enlisting, and no matter how hard Steve tried, he couldn't join, because of his stupid health problems, but his soul mark told him that he needed to serve his country, and he wanted to join Bucky, but he couldn't because he was too sick.
And then Bucky went to England, and he got the serum, and everything moved in a whirlwind until he found out that the 107th had been captured, and he could finally do something meaningful for his country, but he didn't care because he just wanted Bucky. He wanted Bucky to be safe, and he didn't know if he would've been so adamant to rescue the troops if there hadn't been the chance that Bucky was there, too.
But they were safe, even though Bucky had been hurt, and they were okay, and they went back to the General, and everything was okay when they were taking down the HYDRA bases around the continent, and this was it, this was real. He was living up to the mark on his chest – he was serving his country, and he was doing good, and he was proud.
And then none of it mattered, because Bucky was gone – he'd fallen off a train, and Steve could only scream and scream because he was gone and he wasn't coming back, and a portion of his soul had fallen off the train with his very best friend and lover.
He didn't look at his soul mark after that – he couldn't bear to see the spot where Bucky's colors of red and yellow would turn a dull grey, where it would illustrate for all to see that Bucky was gone forever.
Afterward, on the plane, he didn't mind dying, because he hadn't met the other five whose marks were on his chest, and he couldn't imagine loving anyone else the way he'd loved Bucky, and he just wanted to stop hurting.
What felt like hours later, like he'd just taken a nap, he was waking up in a new place, and it was the 21st century, and he hadn't slept for just a few hours but seventy years.
And he saw the mark on accident once while he was getting dressed, and he could only look at it blankly, because it wasn't a dull grey all over – he could still see the red star there, and the yellow behind it, like it was being seen through fog. He supposed it must be because he had basically been reborn, and this was his second life, and he wasn't going to see Bucky again in this life – not until he died.
He studiously ignored the days when it would lighten, when it looked as it did when they lived together in Brooklyn, because it hurt too much to consider the impossible idea that somehow, by some miracle, his best friend had lived.
And then, with the disappearance of the Tesseract, he had a whole new load of problems to worry about than a defective soul mark on his chest that just wouldn't turn grey.
BUCKY
The Winter Soldier had no use for soul marks. In the few times he saw it when he changed himself rather than his handlers doing it while he was unconscious, he thought it a curious marking but had nothing to associate it with. It was something his owners had deemed unimportant for him to know, so the knowledge of such markings was removed from him.
But sometimes, when he looked at it, he would get a lost and confused look, and seeing the red, white, and blue design would make him remember a face. He would remember a small, waifish boy he felt protective over, as well as the same face on a bigger body – a body taller than him and stronger than him, but still the same person. And it was confusing, because he was the Soldier, and he didn't feel protective for anyone. He protected his owners and his handlers, but that's what he was made for. He didn't have…feelings for anyone.
But a small voice popped up in the back of the Soldier's mind sometimes, telling him this was a lie, and he would get a brief flash of himself kissing the blond man, of holding him close in his arms like it would protect him from the world – but then his handlers would return, and he couldn't help asking about the man, even though something told him he'd asked these things before, and another man would hold out a mouth guard, and in instinct, knowing he would need it and knowing he would be unable to escape, he took it and bit down on it, and all he knew was painsomuchpainpleasemakeitstop, and when he awoke he would remember nothing else.
Until one day, when he awoke, he knew something was different. Because even though he didn't remember the mark until he saw it, he knew with certainty that the red hourglass surrounded by a pool of black had never been there before. And he knew that his handlers wouldn't take kindly to more questions, let alone the knowledge of another mark showing up. Not after the last time – what happened last time? – when he asked about the blue triangle with red inside.
So he said nothing about it, being forced to push it to the back of his mind as he was sent out on more missions, because even though something told him these marks were important, his missions took precedence. Nothing would stand in the way of what he was meant to do.
Until one day, something – or someone – did.
He'd shot a black man with an eye patch from the apartment building across from his, and there was a familiar-looking man chasing after him moments later. He wasn't his mission, so he was not going to kill him, because that was not his job, but something niggled at him that he wouldn't have, anyway.
He caught the shield that was thrown at him with ease, and he had to pause and stare at that face – that achingly familiar face – and then quick flashes of memory went through his head. Memories of kisses, of lying in bed talking quietly in the dead of night, of laughing together while making a simple dinner, of patching up the smaller boy – didn't he used to be so much smaller? – after he'd been beaten up in an alley, of holding each other for comfort, of tracing each others' soul marks on their chests while wondering aloud to each other who the other five were and what they were doing, of loving the blond man standing in front of him.
And then the memories slipped away as quick as they'd appeared, like water through a sieve, and he was only left with the feelings that had accompanied the memories. And he couldn't handle it, so he threw the shield back to the man with force, and disappeared while he was distracted.
He was confused with what he was feeling, and lost, and he began to wonder again (though he didn't remember the other times he'd doubted) what exactly his purpose was.
Then they were sending him out on another mission, to kill the blond man and the redheaded woman – don't I know her? – and he agreed, and he was trying to kill them even though it felt so wrong, and they were fighting back –
And then his mask came off, and he turned, and he saw the recognition on the blond man's face, and it only confirmed what he'd begun to doubt –
"Bucky?"
"Who the hell is Bucky?" he returned, because he didn't remember a Bucky, even though it felt familiar, and he was just the Soldier, the Asset, he had no name because he only had one purpose but was that really the right purpose?
But he followed his orders, and raised his gun, but then he was knocked over by someone else flying behind him, and then something shot in his direction and exploded, and he knew he had to get out of there and escape.
And then back in the chair, while the man worked on repairing the arm that the blond man had damaged in the fight, more memories filtered back. It was like that word – Bucky – had turned on the faucet to his memories.
He remembered a little boy, a boy who looked like he was six for how small he was but somehow knowing he was eight. He remembered how the boy had showed him the circle on his chest that had appeared in the night, all black save for two shapes – a hexagon with such a patriotic U.S. theme, and the shape above it that matched the design on his own chest.
He remembered kissing the boy under the slide at the park, both of them giggling with teenage awkwardness as they held hands.
He remembered a quiet night, lying in bed while the smaller boy slept, both of them naked and limbs entwined together under the covers while car lights flashed over the window, dimly illuminating the room.
He remembered wearing a uniform – army, his mind whispered – and scaring off an older man punching the boy he loved in an alley.
He remembered waking up in a room with the man – so much bigger than before – trying to wake him up and get him to follow him out.
He remembered falling off a train, with the blond man screaming out to him in a broken voice while he tried reaching out to catch him and then so much cold.
He remembered waking up with a metal arm, an arm that wasn't real but worked normally and was perfect for squeezing the guy's throat because I'm not safe here needtogetawayescapefindSteve.
Back in the present, he shot up in his chair, instinctively lashing out at the ones there because even though he didn't understand and his mind was so broken up and disjointed, he knew that the ones there only wanted to use him and hurt him and he needed to getawayescapefindSteve.
He had to stop himself moments later, because the guards were pointing guns at him and he knew that without weapons he was no match, so he sat there and let his mind replay and filter the memories through his head, trying to make sense of them even though he knew it was impossible.
"Mission report," he heard a voice demand distantly, but he couldn't speak, because he didn't understand and nothing was fitting together in his mind. It was like a pile of puzzle pieces but they were all wrong and didn't even belong in the same puzzle because the Winter Soldier wasn't Bucky (and wasn't he Bucky?) but he couldn't be because he was the Winter Soldier but Bucky felt right and who was he?
"Mission report," the voice said again, more firmly this time, and then the man backhanded him across the face, but he was grateful for it because it shook some of the pieces into place and he's had so much worse.
He remembers the pain of electricity flowing through his brain, remembers how he could only have a mouth guard for relief as he was held down with solid metal around his arms, remembers how after that he wasn't Bucky he was just Soldier.
So he pushes his confusion to the back of his mind, allows the Soldier to come forward, and he reports. Because he doesn't want to forget Bucky again.
And he wants to help this blond man, because he seems good, and maybe he can explain what the hell is going on in his head. Maybe he can explain what's real and what's not. Maybe he can fit the puzzle pieces back together.
As he lets the Soldier direct his body, following orders as trained, he, Bucky - or the part that's Bucky - only repeats the few words that make sense at the moment. He repeats them like a mantra in his head, because he can't forget this time.
Not safe here. Need to get away. Escape. Find Steve.
...
I considered not having Bucky's part of this soul mark story in here yet, because I will be going through some of the happenings in the Avengers, but then I figured it would flow better with the story? Maybe? I don't know. Bucky will be back, but it will be after some Avengers stuff, and after we see what happens with Wanda and Pietro (which will also be after Avengers stuff). Oh, well. Sorry if Bucky's part and the end of Steve's part is a bit disjointed – I was trying to show how confused they are, especially on Bucky's part. That's why there are so many run-on sentences that make my inner Grammar Nazi scream, but oh well.
Hope you enjoyed – please leave me feedback, and I'll get the next chapter up soon! Thanks for reading!
