A/N:
If you like this story, please check out the Kickstarter for my book. It was made a Project We Love, but I still need all the help I can get.
The link is on my profile page, because this site won't allow external links.
Steve had a hard time letting Bucky go to his first therapy session alone, but he recognized that there was a line between overprotective and codependent, and he and Bucky had gotten to the end of that particular line about seventy years ago.
He watched on the security cameras instead. Out of respect for Bucky's privacy, he didn't turn on the audio.
Of course, Clint had been teaching him to read lips.
"Why did you enlist?" asked Dr. Strange.
This time, it was Steve who had a flashback.
Bucky was lying on the couch. Steve didn't know if he'd fallen asleep or passed out. Bucky usually tried to hide the worst of it from Steve, but this time he was wearing his undershirt, shorts, and nothing else except a bloody dishcloth. It was tied around a gash on his arm, which had probably come from the class ring his father had refused to sell it, even in the middle of the Great Depression, when he hadn't had a drink in two days, and Bucky hadn't eaten in four
There were bruises up and down his chest. Probably cracked ribs again. The beatings were getting worse.
Steve went to the kitchen to get some ice from the cooler and a clean dishcloth. He pressed the makeshift icepack to Bucky's cheek.
"S'okay, Steve. 'M fine." Bucky's speech was almost as slurred as his old man's.
"Come stay with me."
Bucky licked his split lips and coughed. When he spoke again, his speech was clearer, and Steve stopped worrying about a concussion.
"We talked about this, Steve. You got a hard enough time paying the rent since Sarah passed. The old man may be an asshole, but he's an asshole with a steady job. At least I ain't gonna' starve."
"Not for more than a few days."
"I can handle it."
"You shouldn't have to."
Bucky started to shrug, but then seemed to regret it. Steve moved the ice to his shoulder.
"I think you should join the army."
"What?"
"You gotta' get out of here, Buck."
"I can't leave you, Steve. You're..." He didn't finish, because he didn't have to.
"I'll enlist too. Maybe we can get stationed together. Even if we can't, we'll both be over there, fighting the good fight, and then we'll come home with some money."
"Steve, you got asthma, scoliosis..." He trailed off again. Steve realized it probably hurt to talk. "You're basically a walking hospital bill."
"Look who's talking."
"They probably won't let you enlist, buddy."
"Well, then I'll just keep trying. As long as it takes."
"Steve-"
This time Steve didn't let him finish. "I'm afraid he's going to kill you, Buck!"
Bucky laughed. "So you think I should go fight people who are actually trying to kill me?"
"Yes!" he said. "Maybe then you would actually fight back!"
Bucky stopped laughing.
Steve pulled his nebulizer out of his knapsack. He was out of breathe. He wasn't used to yelling so much.
"You always fight for me," he said. "You never fight for yourself."
Bucky gave him a wry smile. "If I did, he really would kill me."
"Not if we're trained soldiers. We could stop him."
Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve's nebulizer, and he put it back in his knapsack.
Steve didn't want him to leave either, but it was for the best, and not just because the beatings were getting worse.
Bucky was changing. His Bucky was brave, cocky, and loud. He got all the girls, won all the fights, and told the worst jokes in the best way. This Bucky was different. He was quiet. He always followed orders, not trusting himself or anyone else enough to challenge them. The only people he still fought were Steve's bullies, and Steve was pretty sure that was more out of habit than anything else. Steve was afraid that even if Bucky didn't die, he was still going to lose him.
"Just come to the recruitment office with me and check it out."
"Alright, Steve. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll check it out. No promises."
Steve had won, but it didn't feel like much of a victory.
This Bucky always followed orders.