Author's Note: Hello! ;) Thank you for taking a look at this story. I'm not overly happy with the way it turned out, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway. ;)
*Small note though, I don't own a therapy dog—or a dog—so all of this is from research or speculation.
This was requested by TactfulLizard, whom I thank graciously for their patience. Sorry this took so long, my friend! I hope that you enjoy it! ;D
Summary: How Bucky getting a therapy dog accidentally causes Loki and Bucky to become friends. (Post-Winter Solider AU)
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Pairings: None
Warnings: Some PTSD, anxiety, mention of past animal death. No slash, no smut, no incest, no non-con. Language is all K.
Everyone please stay safe and healthy! I hope you enjoy! :)
For your information, this story is cross-posted on Archive Of Our Own under the pen name of "Galaxy Threads".
Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)
Moose:
Steve is making that face again. Bucky doesn't know quite how to describe it. His eyebrows raise as his lips twist with displeasure and general unhappiness. His fingers will clench as he looks almost bored when he's not, and then he'll narrow his eyes and then the fury will start to spill out. Whether it's with his fists or his mouth.
Usually, it's not directed at him though.
The fists are clenched. Bucky's just waiting for the anger. When the silence keeps passing, he releases a slight breath and sighs, burying his face on top of his knees, hidden away from the Avenger. Like it will help. He feels like a child.
"You can say it." Bucky submits, still waiting.
Steve releases a pinched breath. There's the slightest shifting of debris as Steve takes a seat beside Bucky, squished up against the counter as the NYPD sweeps through the disastrous remains of the cafe. The broken glass and turned over tables make it seem like a war zone.
Maybe it was.
He can't remember.
The strange urge to laugh bubbles up in his chest. He bites it back because he's afraid that if he starts, he won't stop.
Why is Steve being so quiet? He was dragged out of bed at seven in the morning because Bucky was trying to get a coffee and instead got himself arrested and a whopping bill on property damage. That's the way these things go, though, isn't it? This isn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier anymore, where he could pretend that he was normal as he shifted through paperwork and valiantly ignored any of their psychologists attempts at "helping."
No. Existing within a normal populous has made a mess of any progress that could have happened. So here he is, hiding beneath the countertop after Steve got them to release the charges and waiting for the inevitable release of Steve's temper to reign death and fury upon him.
Bucky lifts his head. Steve is looking at him. The depth of the studying stare makes Bucky want to flinch and pull away, but he forces himself to remain steady.
"Steve," he prompts. The word sounds funny on his lips. He doesn't address people by name. Still. Even after all these years. They're supposed to be titles. Captain. Target. Handler. Not names. People don't have names. They have purpose, and that's—
Bucky shakes off the Soldier and tries to focus on the Avenger. The world is slightly fuzzy around the edges, the frantic need to run still pulsing through his muscles. But he holds it down. Because Steve needs him to, and he can't take apart another Starkbucks.
"I'm not angry." Steve says at length.
Bucky scoffs. Tell that to the police officer Bucky was mildly concerned Steve was going to remove the head of when he arrived to see the poor sod handcuffing him. All it had taken was a flash of some card bearing the Avengers logo and then Bucky was released, but it doesn't feel like it should be that simple.
"You should be." Bucky rubs at his face with his right hand, keeping his left clenched into a metal fist against his stomach.
"Bucky," Steve sounds pained. The thought of having the emotional conversation against the cashier's counter in the middle of a "crime scene" appeals even less than actually getting popped down to the station for some paperwork. A sudden surge of energy washes through him and Bucky clambers up to his feet.
The manager of the shop, still talking with an officer, visibly flinches as he sees Bucky move and he grits his teeth. Witness, the Soldier hisses.
Shut up, he growls back.
"Buck—" Steve tries, clambering up after him. Bucky ignores him, setting a scowl onto his face and pushing through the crowd of people. As expected, seeing his bulk and expression causes everyone to all but leap out of his way. Bucky slips between the police officers keeping everyone away from the scene and begins to storm down the sidewalk, no real destination in mind beyond away.
"James." Steve calls in exasperation, still behind him.
Bucky twitches, but doesn't respond or stop, continuing to move forward, through the interested spectators. Steve wiggles his way through the group easily enough, but Bucky has his doubts they recognize the Avenger as what he is. Given the fact that Steve is dressed in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a jacket that probably belongs to Thor—Romanov's fault, Bucky suspects, because since moving into Avengers' Tower a few weeks ago, he has learned that the woman has a habit of stealing everyone's clothing without remorse and then not returning it, leaving everything up for free game—it's not all that surprising.
Steve manages to catch up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Bucky flinches, the Soldier rearing forward. His hand is already moving to wrap around the younger man's throat, but he stops it sharply, clenching his metal fist and tucking it close to his side.
Steve presses his lips together, but doesn't comment. Idiot. He should be running, but if there's one thing that Bucky has learned since waking up, it's that shaking Steve Rogers off when he wants to cling to something is nigh impossible. Especially when he has access to JARVIS.
"Bucky, stop." Steve tries to placate. "Honestly, it's no big deal."
"'No big deal'?" Bucky repeats, and tries to find the source of this sudden fury. He points back at the flashing police sirens. "That's no big deal?"
Steve makes that face again. Bucky is rapidly beginning to hate it. "It wasn't your fault."
"It was."
"You couldn't have known it was going to happen. No one was hurt beyond a few bruises." Steve tries, but there's a fire in his eyes and, by all that is good above, Bucky wishes he knew who the super soldier was angry with. Is it him? The Starbucks? The Russian couple, now laying in an ambulance and likely to never understand what really happened? Who? And when Steve does figure it out, will he stop making that stupid face and just yell then be done with it?
"I broke that man's arm." Bucky is still walking. The admittance of the crime makes him pick up the pace. Steve, unfortunately, keeps up without a problem.
"That wasn't you. It was—"
"We are the same person." Bucky grits between his teeth. Steve keeps trying to separate them, like Bucky is some sort of angel and the Soldier is a devil. Like they're as different as night and day, easy to distinguish and easier to be. But it's not like that. His mind is a jumbled mess. Where Bucky ends and the Soldier begins is as clear as mud.
Steve hesitates, then drops any false pretense and sighs, "What happened?"
"You heard it from the police." Bucky snips. He takes a sharp turn, not wanting to bother with a crosswalk. Steve nearly runs smack first into a businessman who gives him a nasty sneer, shouldering past Steve pointedly. The Soldier rouses in a protective rage, but Bucky bites on his tongue to try and focus on something else.
Steve isn't in any mortal danger. The man is just being a prat.
"But that's not the same thing as hearing it from you," Steve recovers himself quickly, stepping back into pace. Bucky scowls into the gray, smog-covered sky and wonders yet again what he did to have God curse him with this loyal idiot. Personally, Bucky rather thinks they should stuff him in some unbreakable container, throw away the key and be done with this whole thing. S.H.I.E.L.D.—what's left of it—has rooms for the Hulk. They can figure out something for him.
"I went to order the coffee. I heard the couple talking in Russian. I panicked and destroyed their shop. Simple as that." Bucky keeps his sentences clipped on purpose. He doesn't want to admit that even hearing them say a few scarce sentences has left him feeling cold and slightly nauseous.
Steve seems to pick up on it anyway. Always so perceptive. He's frowning.
Bucky wants to tear out his hair. He turns to the man whose supposed to be his friend, but he's not allowed friendship, and spits, "So there. You see? Your magical plan to slowly slip me back into the public without an incident has failed. You can give up on your experiment."
"You're not an experiment." Steve says flatly. "You're my friend."
No. He's a machine. A malfunctioning, messy machine. He never thought he could miss the numb, listlessness from the missions, but he does. Sometimes he aches for it. Everything hurt a lot less when he couldn't feel anything anyway.
He holds back a sneer.
Can't even buy a coffee. He was trying to be nice. Steve forewent a run at some ungodly hour of the morning because Bucky had asked him to wait so they could go together. Bucky had planned this whole stupid thing for days. He'd been feeling a little better. He was making some progress. He'd planned to prove it, by showing off like a little kid that he could buy coffee now, look, see, I'm not as insane as everyone says, but that failed. Miserably.
Instead the anxiety had threatened to eat him, and he couldn't even get the order off of his fumbling tongue before his brain fuzzed out and he snapped back together when he was slammed against the side of an NYPD car.
He should probably be more concerned about the missing time, but it's so habitual now that he can't even find it in himself to be a little annoyed. Mostly he just feels...empty.
Steve sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Bucky represses a wince. He hates to ask, but he has to. "What are you going to do?"
Steve makes a slight face. "I don't know yet. I think...I'm going to talk to Sam, if you're okay with that. He might have some ideas that we haven't thought of."
Right. Because therapist Wilson is going to have something that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't.
Bucky moodily shoves his hands into his pockets and he and Steve continue to walk down the street. Steve makes the next turn, and Bucky follows by habit. Later, there will be more messy law to deal with, and probably the media, but for right now, he ducks his head and tries not to cry with frustration.
Are you crying again, Soldier?
000o000
"You took apart a Starbucks?" is the first thing that Stark says when he and Steve enter the Tower the better part of an hour later. After some pushing, Steve had dragged him up to the communal room to "help me make breakfast for the team", but Bucky had really only humored him.
No, he didn't want to be alone, but admitting that means he's weak, and the Soldier isn't meant to be weak.
Steve twitches, moving towards the counter even when Bucky stops at the entrance to the kitchen. "Good morning, Tony." Steve sighs.
Stark lifts his eyebrows up somewhat, eyes boring into Bucky like he expects him to snap. All things considered, this is better than the outright animosity that the Avenger was giving him before, but it still isn't much of an improvement. The man is holding a phone and leaning against the counter, nursing a cup of probably straight black coffee if the smell is anything to go by. Bucky resists the urge to throw something at the glass.
"I'm serious, did he?" Stark asks, deciding to ignore Bucky in favor of following Steve around the room with his eyes.
"There...might have been an incident." Steve admits.
Stark hums. "Sounds like an exciting morning. An arrest before seven. You trying to show us up, Elsa?" Without waiting for an answer, he continues, "Because I can think of much safer, less dangerous ways you can do that. NYPD's pretty done. So's that manager, threatening to sue."
Great.
Steve's hands still on the milk jug he was holding. Stark snorts. "Relax, Steve. I'm not about to let your pet project get run to the ground that easily. Stark Industries already agreed to pay for any expenses plus a little extra. He's keeping his mouth shut now."
Well. There's that. Bucky briefly wonders what it would be like to be in such a position of power. Then a thought occurs to him—Pet project? Is that really what Stark things this all is, even after everything? He knows that Steve explained about Bucky's...hand in the man's parents' death, but he really thinks that Steve is just doing this because he's bored?
...What if…?
"Don't call him that." Steve snaps, slapping the jug onto the counter. "The entire thing was an accident."
Tony hums knowingly, shooting one final look towards Bucky before tucking his cup closer to his chest and pocketing the phone. "Next time, just use the coffee maker. If you know how. Makes a lot less of a mess. Well, it might not, given this is you, but y'know. It's the thought." He gives a tight grin and shoulders past Bucky towards the elevator. Bucky watches him leave, his lips twitching into something unhappy.
Steve sighs, shaking his head. "Sorry about him."
Bucky rolls his eyes, taking a seat on the other side of the counter. "Don't be. I'm used to it."
Steve's face flits with something unhappy. "You shouldn't have to be. He'll come around, I promise, he's just...adjusting."
Yeah. So's he. But it doesn't help. Nothing helps.
000o000
Bucky doesn't exactly know when he got unofficially promoted to accountant, but the long year within S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facility as he tried to put himself together accidentally got him hired to the part. He has vague memories of some sort of education regarding this, and quietly concluded that he must have been apprenticed to someone or going to school for the job. He was drafted. It wasn't his decision to join the army in the first place.
But the point is, although S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't trust him to keep a rock alive, the mess of programming within his head doesn't interfere with his ability to count. He's only one man working between dozens of others to keep S.H.I.E.L.D.'s finances in check, but he was hired. Because he accidentally stumbled across someone's desk in the midst of trying to run away from the psychologists talking with him on the Helicarrier and instead of walking like he should have done, he stopped because he knew that the math was wrong and he needed to correct it.
The work does help. It's a quiet reassurance that he's good at something that doesn't involve shooting or killing things. Although it can be a bit of an annoyance sometimes. His fingers often ache around the pencil with the need to be moving, but he forces himself to sit still and count. Numbers don't lie. They don't rip apart your brain and stuff something else inside without any regrets.
Bucky takes the assignments from S.H.I.E.L.D. as often as he can, and after the Starbucks, he does so with a furious passion. It's how he pretends that nothing happened, even though he wants to crawl into bed and not move for a year.
It's the better part of a week before Steve comes to him with Wilson's suggestion. Bucky knows from the moment when Steve arrives with Romanov in tow that he isn't going to like it, and is proven correct when Steve hesitantly starts talking.
When he's done, Bucky looks up from the paper he's been working through, trying to understand where this huge chunk of money is going—some facility in some field in west New York, but he doesn't know why because it's been abandoned for the better part of three years—throughout the entire conversation and scowls. "No."
Steve slumps, "Buck, we haven't tried this yet. It might help. Clint had one for a while, Lucky. He said that it helped."
Bucky raises an eyebrow, "So where's Lucky now?"
"Dead." Romanov says flatly, looking down at her nails as if uninterested. She feigns it well, but not well enough. "Murdered, actually."
That's a story he doesn't want to know. The Avengers are an enigma. He knows about them both from living with the odd group and the research he did while working for HYDRA. But their backgrounds and the stories that he knows have painted them in a dark light. Everyone on this team has far too many skeletons hiding in the closet. Enough that the fact that a dog was murdered doesn't even surprise him.
Bucky lifts a hand in her direction. "Which proves my point. I'm not adopting some therapy dog so I can kill it in a fit. I'm already dangerous enough to humans. I don't want to be the reason that—"
"You won't harm the dog, Buck," Steve sounds exasperated. "It has teeth. And it can run. The goal would be to help you. We're not having you adopt the animal so you'll harm it. You can keep the dog safe."
Bucky groans in a rare show of verbal agitation and presses his hands up against his face. "I can't even take care of myself. What makes you think that I'll be able to keep the dog alive?"
"Confidence," Romanov says smoothly. "And the fact that if you don't, Clint will murder you. He's got a soft spot for animals." Bucky lowers his hands to glare at her. She smiles. So he's supposed to do this on threat of his life? Great motivation.
"I'm not doing this." Bucky says flatly. "This isn't a problem that an animal can solve."
Just a well-aimed bullet.
"We can just try it for a few weeks," Steve mediates. He crumples somewhat, clearly out of other ideas. "Please, Buck, for me?"
Bucky grits his teeth. Steve clenches his hands guilty, fully aware that he pulled that card. Bucky sighs and closes his eyes heavily. "Fine."
But if this dog dies, it is Steve's fault.
000o000
The therapy dog is a pit bull. A black and white patched, female pit bull. It looks like a prison dog, and Bucky is immediately wary of how friendly she is. Bucky has never been overly fond of dogs, and therefore doesn't know much about them, but Romanov volunteers at an animal shelter on the weekends and promises to help him keep the dog alive.
"Moose." Bucky repeats dubiously, looking up at the employee with some doubt as he holds the leash that was just shoved into his hands and tries not to throw up. Steve, of course, is gushing over the pit bull with obvious enthusiasm, petting her and making stupid voices that the dog—Moose—is clearly milking.
"Moose," the girl agrees, smiling at Steve before looking at him. "Her original family had to give her up when their newborn had a deadly allergy to all dog hair, but their little girl named him. They went camping a lot, apparently."
The story draws up vague memories that slip away too fast for him to catch. He thinks he hears one of his younger sisters, but it could just as well have been a horn outside. He shakes his head, trying to focus. Moose.
Not much better than James Buchanan if he's being honest.
Steve stands up from his squat, a bright smile on his face. Bucky's stubborn resolve relaxes somewhat at the expression. If having this stupid dog means that Steve is going to smile a little more, then maybe the entire fiasco will be worth it.
He doubts it.
He looks at the dog and tries to tell it telepathically, Sorry. But you're only going to be going home with me for a week at most. I hate dogs.
000o000
Bucky proves to be a horrible owner from the moment he signs the papers. Well. According to himself. Steve says that he's doing fine, but that's because he and Steve live on the same floor so when Bucky forgets to feed Moose or clean out the water, or take the dog for a walk, Steve takes care of it.
Steve is being a caregiver, because Bucky is absentminded even when he promised not to be. Between Steve and Barton, Moose is spoiled and probably going to get fat very quickly. So even though she should dote after the two Avengers, she doesn't. She follows him everywhere. Steve gushes over her enough that Bucky silently pleads with the animal to take a liking to the super soldier and fret after him instead, but she wont. She seems just as stubborn as he is about this whole thing.
The first week is the hardest. He hates having something trailing after him, and pulls a gun on her three times only for Moose to blink up at him with an unimpressed stare and then continue to glare at him until he slowly pockets the gun and they both pretend nothing happened.
He manages to take her for a walk after the first couple of days, and even feeds her twice. But it's still weird, and he still doesn't like it, and she sleeps at the end of his mattress like if she leaves him alone for one moment he's going to have a heart attack and give up the ghost.
"Your dog's hair is floating in the air," Tony complains to him once, picking up a stray piece and frowning in disgust. But Steve already convinced everyone within the Avengers to agree to this, so Bucky knows that Tony isn't nearly as annoyed as he pretends to be.
But still, if Bucky reaches down and swipes a hand through Moose's fur, just to be passive aggressive, no one has to know. That's about the total amount of affection that Bucky gives her, just because he doesn't really know how.
So as Bucky has gotten good at the last few weeks, he ignores the problem with math.
Moose will sit at his feet, sometimes sleeping, more often watching him work until he finally relents and moves to the ground so she can nuzzle up next to his leg. It's weird. His muscles are stiff, but he forces himself to focus on the pencil and ignore the dog trying to help him. Honestly, the only way she's helping is by providing a distraction big enough that he doesn't have time to focus on his head much anymore.
Bucky runs through the math, ignoring the calculator Banner gave him in an effort to help, and—That stupid warehouse again. It must be some sort of mistake. But Bucky has run through the math over a dozen times now and come out with the same answer. Why is S.H.I.E.L.D. focusing so much money here?
Bucky frowns, tapping the pencil across the ground as he thinks.
The warehouse is in New York. He could...just stop by and see if there's actually a miscalculation, or S.H.I.E.L.D. really does need to keep pouring so much funding into it. Wouldn't be that big of a deal, would it? It's not like he's on house arrest. Just implied house arrest.
He'll just...no. He'll never get out of the Tower if JARVIS doesn't know where he's going, a protocol that Steve doesn't know Bucky asked Stark for. He doesn't want to leave as the Soldier on accident and come back with more blood on his hands.
Bucky grits his teeth. How does he—Moose shifts against him and he glances towards the dog before tipping his head back, not sure whether to groan or thank God for the animal.
Fifteen minutes later, Bucky is walking from the Tower under the pretense of taking the pit bull for a walk, and trying to make it seem like he's not about to break into a government facility. As himself, this is really the first time that Bucky can remember doing something illegal since Steve found him. Well. It's not illegal. The warehouse is empty. Supposedly.
Moose seems all too happy about the physical activity, but sticks close to his side as if trying to guard him. Bucky snorts quietly at the thought. If HYDRA does come for him, the most Moose will be able to do is make an agitated noise before they blow off her head. Bucky's stomach churns at the thought and the fact that HYDRA is still out there, and them coming after their asset is a possibility. Probably even likely.
Best not to think about this right now.
It takes the better part of an hour before Bucky reaches the warehouse, and this is even after he ropes a taxi into taking him and Moose. The driver prattles on about something Bucky doesn't really care for, and it's a relief when he's allowed to leave the car and she can take herself somewhere else.
He waits until the car is gone before he moves in on the warehouse. Moose follows after him happily, not seeming the least bit concerned about Bucky's behavior. She's not loud, but she isn't exactly quiet, either, and Bucky finds himself scowling at her more than once in an effort to silence her breathing. It doesn't work, so he adapts.
He can't very well leave the stupid therapy animal out here, but the thought of doing a building sweep with a happy puppy trailing behind him makes his stomach churn with discomfort. Not that he gets much of a choice. And if it really is empty, there will be no one to see the Winter Soldier and his therapy dog.
Bucky goes in through the front door. It buzzes loudly, but doesn't lock. No alarm bells go off. It just seems to recognize that he's there and then move on. He frowns somewhat at that, and then shoos Moose forward through the doorway when she hesitates. He pulls one of the guns he brought from his waist band and raises it, keeping a half eye on Moose as she trots ahead of him, sniffing and trying to see everything at once.
The building is, for the most part, completely empty. There's a few broken aircraft sitting still, but obviously haven't moved in the better part of a decade. A newer model is parked near the back, but it has a light coating of dust on it, suggesting that it hasn't moved in at least a year or two. No one has been here for months. Moose's paws leave prints through the dirt and grime coating the concrete floor.
Bucky wiggles his hand through his pocket until he finds the penlight he keeps in there and flips it up and on to get a better look at the dark space. Nothing sticks out any more than it did before. He worries his lip between his teeth. So S.H.I.E.L.D. has spent all this money on maintaining an empty building. With empty aircraft. And dirt. Are they trying to take care of the dirt?
"Weird," Bucky mutters under his breath, but to whom he isn't sure.
Moose scratches at something sharply and he flinches, whirling to face her, weapon raised. There's no one there but her, looking back at him. She turns her gaze towards the ground. Bucky tilts his head somewhat before walking up to her. "What is it?" he asks rhetorically, kneeling down beside the pit bull.
She nuzzles at his hand somewhat, releasing a soft, low whine as she gestures with her head to the floor. Bucky follows her gaze, noticing a slight dip, then a crease. A trapdoor. Ah. The planes must be a facade to keep everyone out.
Bucky shoves his gun back into his belt, running a finger along the crease, looking for a latch. Something catches against his skin and he fumbles with it for a second before finding a handle. He puts the penlight in his mouth and grabs the handle with his left hand, yanking it open with one sharp tug. A shower of dirt and small rocks go sailing into the dark abyss below.
Bucky tilts his head to shine the light down a long metal ladder and sighs. Moose pokes her head over the edge and Bucky grabs on her service vest to keep her from tumbling down into the pit. She looks up at him, and he sighs, pulling the penlight from his mouth. "You tell anyone about this and I'll see you shaved," he promises in a grumble, hefting the dog into his arms. She's heavy, but not as heavy as he was expecting.
This is so stupid. No one carries their dogs down into dark holes and hopes that nothing happens. Barton is going to murder him very slowly for even thinking of bringing Moose into this type of situation.
Bucky adjusts his grip so it's only with one hand and then grabs onto one rail of the ladder, swinging his body into the hole. Moose releases a slight noise, and he looks down at her. "If you didn't want to come, you shouldn't have insisted," he warns.
But his hand around her is trembling somewhat, and he realizes with a slightly nauseous feeling that he doesn't want to be down here and more than she does. Moose rests a paw on his arm in support and he represses a snort. "Thoughtful. Thanks."
He slides down the ladder, his metal hand scraping much louder than he'd wanted. His feet hit the ground about fifteen seconds later and he nearly loses his balance. He keeps Moose in his arm as he lifts up the penlight and flips it through the space.
It's a long hallway. There are no adjoining rooms, just the hall with a single padlocked door at the end. They're what, fifty, sixty feet down? And all S.H.I.E.L.D. has here is a...safe? That would make sense given the money they keep dumping here, but he can't see S.H.I.E.L.D. really leaving their finances out in the middle of nowhere.
Moose wiggles somewhat in his grip, lifting a paw towards the door almost urgently. Bucky grips her tighter, suddenly very stupidly afraid that if he lets go she's going to vanish. He forces his stiff muscles to move and walks towards the door. There's a keypad, but Bucky makes pretty quick work of that, as he tears off the front and hotwires it. Things that shouldn't seem possible, but are because HYDRA forced him to know how.
The door clinks, but doesn't open, and Bucky very hesitantly sets Moose down on the ground before shoving against the door. It must weigh a good ton, because he struggles and slips, nearly falling on top of Moose a few times.
When he's finally got it open enough to allow human access, he and Moose slip into the space. It's dark and smells of human suffering. He bites back a gag, but Moose doesn't seem deterred, shooting like a bullet away from him. "Hey," Bucky hisses, "Moose, get back here!"
He follows after her, realizing that the room isn't very big. It's certainly enough to pass for a cell, but not a safe. It's still very, very dark, though, and Bucky's nerves are heightened with a growing panic.
HYDRA left him in the dark. When they started. He spent so much time in the dark.
"Moose," Bucky hates how weak his voice sounds, but the presence of other life suddenly seems very comforting. There's a slight scuffle and he twitches before Moose suddenly appears against his legs, rubbing soothingly as if trying to calm him. He bites on his lower lip and squats down in front of her, running a hand over her fur.
She keeps rubbing against him. Licking at his hands. It's gross, but oddly comforting.
When his head is a little more clear, she only leans against him and stares off into the dark. He follows her gaze, drawing in a breath. He gets to his feet and moves forward, flicking the penlight into the dark to try and find what Moose was so frantic about. After a few more sweeps across the room, he sees it. Or, rather, him.
Bucky swears softly.
A dark-haired man is squinting into the light of Bucky's admittedly dim penlight, hand lifted over his eyes as if it's paining him. He's dressed in a grey shirt and pants with no shoes or socks, and a thin cream blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's pale. And thin. Bucky has seen better looking corpses.
Moose slips away from him again to rub up against the prisoner, whining softly. The prisoner flinches away from her, but Moose is persistent, and a pale hand is slowly extracted from the blanket to rest a ghostly touch on Moose's head. Bucky tries to get his tongue to work, but all he's doing is making slight clicking noises.
Who is this man? How could S.H.I.E.L.D. have just left him here with no food or water or caregivers? What did he do to deserve to be left alone in the dark and forgotten?
Green eyes flick up from Moose to Bucky. Tired eyes. The man wets his lips before he speaks, and his voice is hoarse, but oddly...hopeful. "Has your organization finally decided to execute me at last, Agent?"
Bucky blinks. Then he gives a low shake of his head. "No. No, I'm not here to kill you."
Moose rubs against the man as he visibly slumps. Animals are always better at gauging the trustworthiness of someone than people are. And Moose is trying to comfort the man. Bucky remains where he is, even though he wants to get closer because his curiosity insists so. "Who are you?"
The man seems somewhat surprised by the question. He opens his mouth to answer the question, but Moose takes that moment to stuff her face against his and he makes a sound in the back of his throat, shoving her away. "Will you call off your demon?"
Bucky bristles somewhat. "My sobaka isn't a demon." He mutters in protest, but nonetheless calls for the service dog. Obviously disappointed, she trots back to him and remains by his feet.
The man wipes at his face. "Have you any water, Agent?" he asks softly.
Bucky twitches. "No. Sorry. I, um, wasn't expecting anyone to be here. I would have brought some if I did."
The man stares at him. "How...do you not work for S.H.I.E.L.D., then?"
"I do." Bucky bites on his lower lip. "But I'm more like a part-time consultant...who are you?"
"Loki." The tone is flat, the name almost delivered as a threat. Bucky's world crumples a little. Oh. He knows that Asgard never agreed to take Loki back for punishment, so S.H.I.E.L.D. had played jury, he just didn't realize that their verdict was to stuff him in some warehouse in the-middle-of-no-where New York. Has he really been down here all that time? It's been over three years since he tried to conquer Earth.
And he hasn't broken free. That padlock isn't exactly going to stop a sorcerer. If Loki wanted to leave, he would have. Bucky frowns somewhat. Loki tilts his head, green eyes seeming to flash in the light.
And—wait. Bucky read the file after Thor explained about his sibling to him. He'd been curious, and he was still in the middle of the Helicarrier at the time. His memory isn't as good as Steve's, or even Tony's, but weren't Loki's eyes listed as blue? He saw footage. The vivid wildness of them struck him as a little unearthly.
And now...that's...weird. Maybe it's an Asgardian thing. What does he know about aliens?
"Why are you here, Agent?" Loki asks softly. He doesn't shift from his position up against the wall, legs tucked close to his stomach and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Bucky debates for a moment. "I was investigating something."
Loki's lip twitches. "I see. And did you find what you were looking for, Agent?"
"Don't call me that." Bucky snaps. "My name is Bucky. And I did find it. Why are you still down here? You could have left a long time ago, don't play stupid. The door probably couldn't hold a Level One if they were persistent enough."
"Mmm." Loki muses. "It seemed only fitting. I deserve a punishment. You should leave. You know what I did, Bucky."
He does. He wasn't awake at the time, but he knows. He read, he saw, he heard. And he remembers thinking there was something so terribly off about the whole thing. Loki, who was meant to be some sort of master strategist spouting off his plan to anyone who would listen.
And Moose…
When he looks back on this whole mess, he still doesn't understand completely why he does it, only that he does it. Bucky stands there in silence for a moment. "I do." Then he makes his decision, "I'll be back with some water soon." Loki's expression flits with that surprise again. Before he has an opportunity to answer, Bucky nudges Moose with the side of his boot. "C'mon Moose."
Bucky turns towards the door.
"Why?" Loki sounds lost.
Bucky glances back at him. "No one's been down here for a while. And I know what it's like to be left alone to starve. If S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to kill you, they should schedule an execution."
He leaves the door open, but somehow he knows that Loki's still going to be there when he comes back.
000o000
It's, well, weird. A secret between him and Moose, because Bucky doesn't really want to explain what he's doing or why. Because he doesn't really know the answer to either. He's not trying to be Loki's friend. He's not trying to wean him to the "good" side. He's just...Moose wanted to help him. So Bucky is going to.
That could have just as easily have been me, the knot of horror in his stomach says. I could have been left alone to rot and no one would have cared. That could have been me. That should be me, if I didn't have Steve.
It starts with a waterbottle, and then a homemade sandwich from the Tower. Then Bucky is dropping by at least three times a week to check on him, and offer food and water, and sometimes company. Loki doesn't talk much, and neither does Bucky.
They don't really need to. There's not much to talk about.
Moose seems to enjoy the whole thing, though, oddly. She's taken a very clear liking to the Asgardian for reasons that Bucky doesn't understand, and Loki obviously doesn't either. Asgard doesn't even have dogs. At least, not by that name according to Steve who got his information from Thor.
000o000
It's a little over a month from when this whole thing started that Loki says more than a few clipped sentences to him. And it's because of Bucky's prodding. He's never closed the door, but Loki has yet to leave. It's like he's remaining here stubbornly, or has no where else to go. Bucky suspects some form of both. "You can leave, you know," Bucky says at length. "I don't understand why you're still here."
Moose lays between them, happily snoring softly.
Loki shifts somewhat. He's quiet for so long that Bucky doesn't think he's going to answer. "I have nowhere to go. Who would shelter a man like I?"
Thor. But Bucky doesn't say that. Instead he shrugs, "You could make do on your own. I hardly think that you're not capable." Loki laughs softly. He doesn't answer. Bucky bites on his lower lip for a moment, drumming an anxious hand against his thigh. The ground is hard and cold, the only light being the flashlight Bucky has balanced in the middle of the room like a torch.
"You don't want to leave."
Loki flinches. "No."
"Why?" Bucky tries to keep some of the disbelief from his tone, but judging off of how Loki's face closes off, he fails. "There's nothing for you here but a cage—"
"And would you have me wandering among your people as I am?" Loki interrupts, voice soft, but deadly. "I'm dangerous. I've murdered, remember?"
This could have been me. Bucky looks away from him. "I have, too."
Loki's gaze bores into the side of his head. Since conversation has been meager between the two of them, Bucky has really only revealed that Steve saved him and he's an acquaintance of the Avengers. Any personal information has remained strictly absent.
"I see." Loki's voice is almost mocking. "So as long as you shoot the bullet at who S.H.I.E.L.D. wants you to in the end, they proclaim you a hero? How quaint."
"I'm not a hero." Bucky snips.
"Then you're in good company. Is that, I wonder, why you continue to come here? Exhausted by pretending to play pretend for your captain?" Moose shifts, agitated. When Bucky doesn't answer, Loki releases an amused breath, "I see. You understand very little of how the world works if you think that I'm going to pity the blood on your hands."
"The blood wasn't my fault." Bucky hisses. "I didn't choose—"
"Choice is irrelevant."
"Isn't it!?" Bucky doesn't quite shout, but it's close. "I didn't want them dead. I didn't even know what I was doing until I would wake up and read what I'd done later. But now? I remember all of them. Every bullet fired, every breath I stopped. I know what I did and I didn't choose any of it."
Loki is quiet. Bucky chances a glance at him and doesn't see the laughing, broken man anymore. There's something haunted on his face, and understanding gleaming in his eyes. Bucky bites on his lower lip and releases a heavy breath, tearing his gaze away from Loki and running an unsteady hand through Moose's fur. "HYDRA. They captured me. Kept me alive so they could destroy me. I killed…"
Everyone. All of them. He never failed a mission until Steve; even if that meant shooting through Natasha.
"I don't understand," Loki tips his head, "you blame your handlers, not yourself?"
Yes. No. Both? "I…" Bucky frowns, "I'm not sure. I know that deep down I wouldn't have chosen to do anything they told me. That's...what keeps me going. It doesn't fix what I did and the lives I destroyed, but I know it wasn't me. It was them."
It's weird. A year ago when Steve found him in that hotel room in Washington DC, Bucky never would have thought that he could have gotten here. Everyone he spoke to on the Helicarrier for the next year or so would have agreed. But living with the Avengers has...changed things. They're different. Real. They understand what it's like to regret.
The Soldier is still Bucky, and Bucky is still the Soldier, but who they're becoming isn't what they were.
A thought occurs to him. "Why?" He looks at Loki. "Why would you care in the first place? We don't even really know each other."
Loki anxiously tugs on the blanket. Moose raises her head somewhat to look towards him, as if trying to assess if he's well. "Your conviction surprised me. I don't understand it. I...I have experienced something similar. The Chitauri...well, we were hardly allies."
Bucky blinks. Blue to green. Moose's mothering. Oh. "The staff...and everything...that wasn't you?"
"No." Loki admits. His voice sounds far away. "I, too, wouldn't have chosen that. I've remained here because I killed hundreds that day, and they would not grant me execution, but I didn't know how to fix it. I still don't."
"Me either," Bucky says. "It's...hard. To move on."
"If it's even possible." Loki sighs.
"Soldier on." Bucky says, "It's how I've kept going. I'll never make up for what I did by wallowing or dying." He runs a hand across Moose's head and she moans happily, flopping her head back to the dusty ground.
"No," Loki agrees. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."
They don't stop talking there. It's...odd. Loki gets it. The frustration of having lost yourself, only to wake up and realize that what's left isn't enough to build a person out of. Only a shadow. And a shadow can't become substance; not without a lot of work.
000o000
In the end, Bucky is really surprised it didn't come up sooner, but he really expected more tact than this. It's a week from his and Loki's strained conversation about mind control and Steve is sitting across from him reading through Lord of the Rings before he suddenly stops and looks up.
"How's Loki?"
Bucky nearly chokes on the plum he was eating. He half expects Moose to rub against his legs, concerned, but remembers that Natasha and Clint stole her to take her for a walk an hour ago. Swallowing stiffly, he looks up at the super soldier. For all his training, all he can think to say is a startled, "What?"
Steve lifts an eyebrow, which says everything and nothing. "Bucky," he sighs, "I'm not stupid. You're gone for more than four hours at least twice a week for the last six weeks. We all know that Moose likes walks, but she's not that enthusiastic."
Bucky sets the plum down, resigned. "How did you...know, though? I didn't say anything."
Steve flips back a few pages to steal his bookmark—a shoelace that Bucky really doesn't want to know how he came into possession of— and moves it forward. "You didn't have to. JARVIS, remember? He saw you working with the paperwork and was coming to the same conclusion that you did. Tony just, uh, did a swipe through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s records instead of going out on foot."
"Oh."
Steve's eyebrow climbs higher. He closes Lord of the Rings. "'Oh'. That's all you have to say about it?"
"What do you want me to say, Steve?" Bucky asks. He doesn't know what Steve wants. He rarely does, because so often what Steve wants from him is nothing. And whenever he does "want" something, it's just in teasing, or the sincere wish for Bucky's well-being. After all this time, it still confuses him.
"How is Loki?" Steve questions again. "We've been meaning to stop by, but you seemed to have things well under hand. We didn't know he was there. Thor wasn't happy. Had to talk him down from bringing the legions of Asgard down." He grimaces.
Bucky rubs at his forehead. "He's...fine. A little tired, but fine. Did you…" he worries his lip between his teeth, trying to figure out how to phrase this question, but coming up blank. Finally, he relents, "did you know that he was under the control of the staff when he invaded? That it was mind control? Like me?"
Lord of the Rings makes a dive for the floor, landing with a hard thump. Steve stares at him, mouth agape. Then he seems to recover himself somewhat and asks, stiffly, "What?"
000o000
Bucky comes to the conclusion over the next week that he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of Steve's wrath. He's pretty sure that Director Fury doesn't want to, either, but that doesn't become a reality. Bucky doesn't really know what he expected Steve to do if he made a mention of Loki's condition to the Avenger, but this...wasn't really it.
It's not exactly a pardon, but it's not imprisonment, either. It's some sort of awkward in-between. It probably would have just stayed as imprisonment, but Steve and Thor's wrath combined is rather...persuasive is the nicest word Bucky can peg to it.
But Bucky makes it to Friday and realizes that the entire thing was an accident. He accidentally got Loki released from the cell and on a sort-of house arrest without any plans to, or any expectations. He just brought it up because he was going to explain how talking about it with Loki was oddly comforting, because Loki understood.
That's not how it went down, though. Not that he has regrets, he doesn't. It's just...oops?
Thor rents an apartment in the city and agrees to be Loki's babysitter for the next little while until S.H.I.E.L.D. can decide what to do with him. Loki seems none-to-happy about this, but doesn't complain.
Bucky still visits, Moose in tow. They're close enough that Bucky really can take her for a walk without a taxi now, so that's nice. Moose still fusses over Loki, and Loki and Bucky still sit in heavy silence that isn't uncomfortable, but seems like it should be.
"Thank you," Loki says once, Moose on his lap and contently sleeping. Bucky gives a slight nod, distractedly scribbling down the memory of one of his younger sisters chasing after every wild dog in Brooklyn and happily giving them kisses or food.
Loki doesn't explain what for, and Bucky doesn't ask. Their friendship is largely drawn up in silence. Bucky's okay with that. It's nice not to talk sometimes.
000o000
After much pestering and outright complaining, Bucky manages to weasel Loki from Thor's apartment with Fury's permission. Loki walks around the city, breathing in air like a man who hasn't see the sky for three years. Moose happily trails between the two of them as they wander restlessly through the city.
Eventually, Bucky forces Loki to take a seat outside of a Starbucks and goes inside to brave another attempt at an order. He grits his teeth throughout the entire thing and forgets to ask it in English the first time, but he doesn't destroy the building and send anyone to the hospital. Instead, he walks out with two coffees he doubts either of them are going to drink, and sees Loki slipping Moose dog treats.
If anyone else attempts to feed her those, she is going to gain twenty pounds before the week is out. Bucky is the only person who feeds her normal food. He raises an eyebrow towards his friend.
"You trying to steal my sobaka now?" Bucky questions flatly. Loki looks up from Moose to him, a shameless smile on his face as he answers: "Of course."
Bucky sets the Starbucks coffee cup on the table and scoots it towards Loki. The Asgardian doesn't touch it, grimacing at the smell. "Is this some sort of poison?"
Bucky takes the seat opposite him and lifts an eyebrow. "If I was going to poison you, don't you think I'd do it a little more inconspicuously?"
Loki shrugs. "Hard to say."
Bucky waves Moose over to him, running a hand through her thick fur and smiling softly. He takes a small sip of the coffee and then looks up at Loki. "Get your own therapy dog. Moose is mine."
Loki smirks, obviously taking that as a challenge. "We'll see."
"No. We won't." Bucky promises, but Moose leaves him in favor of more of Loki's treats, and the Asgardian's face is smug enough that Bucky considers hitting him. Instead, he sticks out his tongue in a very childish manner and hides a smile behind the coffee cup.