It was his first night since moving to Brooklyn where he had time to explore the city, and yet he decided to walk to the nearest bar and spend his night drinking.
After the battle with Thanos and his army and its aftermath, Bucky Barnes wanted to return to his hometown. The last time he was in Brooklyn was in the early 40s. It felt like a normal night with Steve: visiting the newest attractions in the city as a double date, Bucky enjoying the flirting with his date while Steve struggled to interact with him. It was partially awkward, but now, it was sentimental.
He decided that Steve made the right decision by going back to be with Peggy, to start a family with her. But the back of his mine was always pondering. Deep jealousy floated around, an anger that his dearest friend, the only person that was alive and understood him, was gone.
Bucky wanted to find a romance for himself. If only he hadn't spent the past seven decades being brainwashed by a Nazi organization, his recent escape from his killing ways affecting his mindset. Dating was a wish for him, but doubts always overcame those temptations.
He desired to return to his home. Upon arriving, he was met with complete changes. Technology had developed into a form that was unrecognizable to Bucky. Even the people themselves seemed to transform. Steve had given him a list of places in New York City to visit. Every time Bucky attempted, his mind froze over.
Maybe he should have considered his options more, but Bucky was too stubborn to admit confusion.
At night, whenever Bucky looked at the back window, he saw the flashing of a sign that read "SideCar Tavern." Its blue font competed against the neon signs and flashing lights of many other businesses. The oak embellishments and its rustic feel were soft, yet, ironically, it caught Bucky's eye.
So why not, for the first exploration of his changed home, go to a bar that reminded him of his former time?
The cool November air, with a hint of a chill, met his face when he stepped out of the apartment complex. He stuffed his gloved hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. Being chilly was surprisingly sentimental, an evocation of his youth where he was raised in poverty. He never thought he would slightly yearn for that era, though he did not miss having to stuff his shoes with newspapers.
The outside of SideCar was exactly as it appeared from his window several blocks away. The wood, however, was shinier at a closer distance, yet it maintained an authentic oak feel. Unlike the bright purples and pinks of surrounding establishments, the outside of the bar was lit up with average, warm light bulbs. Its logo, defiantly modern in Bucky's perspective, still coincided with the soft tone of the exterior. It contained two drinks, a beer in the appropriate glass and a bright yellow drink with a hint of orange, clinking, despite no visible hands making them connect.
He opened the door with his right hand - the fear of bystanders seeing the lemon indents of his vibranium arm made itself at home during the month he had it - and was transported to his original time.
The bar setup itself was eerily similar to "Lounge Bar'', the bar closest to his former Brooklyn apartment, where he would spend his nights drinking with Steve. The stools were the ruby red of diners, and the shelves of alcohol were set up the same, albeit with modern liquor brands. He was accustomed to small tables and there was some in sight mixed in with bigger tables. The walls were a lighter wood than the exterior, but the homey feel continued to be translated well. Admittedly the wood could only be seen in spaces between the many pictures and posters that lay on the walls. The history of New York could be learned through the walls, as flashbacks of each decade were posted. Bucky recognized the baseball games of his time and felt confused about events after he 'died'.
He had a non-sentient life for over half a century. He should have remembered a familial life during the Cold War, fought against the inequality within his home while being outraged about worse occurrences many miles below. Politics and ethics violated were never something to enjoy, but he felt like he should have been one to fight against it with his morals, not to unconsciously cause them.
"Hello there, sir. Can I help you?"
Bucky met the face of a woman, presumably a waiter at the bar based on her uniform. Her curly brown hair was tied back, the tips, dyed teal, hidden behind her back. She held menus underneath her arms. A hostess then.
"Uhh, I don't think so," he uneasily responded. He suddenly noticed the filled tables, the chattering among the customers. Had he just now realized that he was not alone? He must have looked like an awkward fool, and possibly worse if anyone recognized him.
The bar area itself was rather empty. Only a bartender behind the counter and a woman with strawberry hair sitting on a stool.
"I was just looking for the bar area," he finished answering. His grin to the hostess was pronounced and kind but felt forced. She didn't seem to notice.
"I'll leave you to that then. If you want anything, just ask the bartender, David."
The stools of the bar were sentiments of classic diners, though the leather-like fabric was dark green instead of the traditional red. Bucky didn't mind; the jade matched the mood of the bar more.
The staff was quick to respond to their guests, as the moment he sat down, the bartender greeted him.
"Hello there, sir. Do you want to see our menu?"
Bucky prevented himself from sighing and putting his hand on his face in annoyance. Although these were simple conversations, Bucky wanted to pull his hair out.
Am I really nervous about looking at a menu? he thought. It's not like the font will be freakily futuristic. Ah, maybe I'll just order a Jack Daniels. Wait, I don't want something that strong. I just wanted a simple drink. Wonder if any 40s beers are still around today.
"Do you have a draft Heineken?" he asked the bartender.
"Of course. I'll get that prepared for you."
The bartender went to the other end of the bar. Bucky was curious about whether the pouring of beer had changed, but a side commentary distracted him.
"Should have realized that there were draft Heinekens sooner," the redhead several stools away said under her breath before taking a sip of her bright red drink. Bucky deduced from the color and cherry on top that she was drinking a Dirty Shirley.
Bucky never thought he would feel sentimental about a cocktail. He remembered when the drink was introduced. People would request one from a bartender to appear popular and beyond the times, surprised when they took their first sip and discovered that the cherry cocktail hit their tongues with sweetness and sourness in the most pleasant way.
The color of the woman's jacket caught his attention. Its shade, an extremely dark brown, had not been seen since his days in the war. Every soldier wore a dusky uniform, though even shades managed to be visible. He didn't miss crawling through mud and being jailed into dirt-ridden cells. In retrospect, perhaps being covered in soil was better than how he spent the next few blood-drenched decades.
The thread of the seam at the cuffs was slightly loose, the tip of the tan thread touching the glass of the cocktail. The hems of the jacket were noticeable, reminding Bucky more of the fashion of his original time. Even the buttons, wide in radius and shiny, transported him to the 1940s.
"Is there something on my sleeve?" questioned the woman.
Bucky met her eyes, a cloudy sky blue with hints of a sly expression. She seemed confused and curious by his gazing at her jacket. One eyebrow was raised, further emphasized by the flick of her red hair.
"Uhhh, no," Bucky responded, shifting nervously. "It's just… your jacket, it reminds me… of, uh, my childhood."
Well, that was a shitty answer. He recognized it the most the words left his mouth, and by the woman's tightening of her eyebrows. Bucky needed to clarify himself quickly. Couldn't run the risk of the woman discovering who he was when he attempted to leave his controlled ways behind.
"My family has a history of serving in the army," he lied with ease. "I wore a jacket like that when I was little."
The confusion left the woman's face, a small smile gracing her gentle face.
"Ah," she responded. "I don't know if anyone in my family served in the army. I do know a fair amount about World War II, however."
"Are you a history buff?" Bucky had heard of regular people becoming fanatics of history, specifically eras of war. The events he witnessed and participated in were rather interesting, so he could understand their fascination.
"Uh, kind of. I like reading books, so I've absorbed information from historical fiction. Probably why I became a librarian."
"Librarian? That sounds like a nice job. Fulfilling, peaceful."
The woman huffed a laugh. "You would be surprised about the people that come into my library."
A yellow-tinted drink came into Bucky's view. The bartender had returned, placing the drink down on a wooden coaster. The glass was peculiar to him: skinny at the bottom before it curved in the middle, widening for a centimeter or two before settling its radius. Certainly a more modern design. Bucky couldn't even determine where a handle would be placed.
"Here you go sir," said the bartender.
Bucky watched as he diverted his attention to the many dirty glasses behind the counter, not noticing the woman as she left her seat in favor of the stool next to him.
"How does it taste?" she pondered, eyes wide and lips curved with anticipation.
He tapped his metal hand on the glass and then took a sip. He processed the taste, letting the beer hit his tongue. The glass made little sound as Bucky placed it back onto the coaster.
"It's pretty good," he responded, lifting the drink and tilting it as if observing its look would assist him in determining the taste. "A bit bitter than that average lager, but still alright… Do you read books about alcohol while on the job?"
She giggled. "No, not on the job. I usually look up recipes online. Most cocktail recipe books are older, and all I can say is that some ingredients are quite peculiar."
"So do you think you can make drinks better than the workers here?" Bucky asked with a jest.
"Oh god no. I just like making drinks, especially cocktails. Maybe I can show…"
She trailed off, glancing downward and breaking eye contact awkwardly. Perhaps she felt that she was moving too fast. Bucky could tell that she was about to invite him to her place, stopping when she realized that they had met only minutes ago. They were practically strangers.
Bucky feared that someone would recognize him or that he would lose his temper when he first entered the bar. But the best had happened, as he was talking to someone with ease. He didn't feel the most comfortable in social situations after his decades with Hydra, but he couldn't let this opportunity to at least form a friendly relationship pass.
With all the confidence he could muster, Bucky lifted his hand and held a bright smile.
"I should have introduced myself sooner. I'm Bucky."
The woman glanced up at him, blinking a few times as she took a deep breath before a grin graced her face. She shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm Cailin."
Cailin was easy to talk to. She listened to every word he said with a soft, interested nod and interrupted with entertaining comments, letting him continue afterward. Her laughs felt genuine. She had such a wonderful way of telling her interests and small aspects of her life. Bucky almost felt bad for lying to her at points, especially with how he lied with such ease.
The night passed quickly. Once their drinks were finished they ordered one another's. Cailin seemed to like the draft Heineken as soon as it hit her tongue, while Bucky realized that sweeter drinks were not his favorite, although he drank all of the Dirty Shirley.
Having two drinks did not make them drunk and prevent them from leaving on their own. The weather, however, was not in Cailin's favor. Once she finished her Heineken she outside the window, immediately seeing the tree branch struggle to stay in place against the wind.
"Ah shit," she sighed. "I live a thirty-minute walk away."
With hesitation, Bucky made an offer.
"You can stay at my place for the night."
He never intended his invitation as a romantic offer, but as they unintentionally walked close to one another as they went to his apartment, awkward silence as they made flirty glances, he should not have been surprised when they walked through the entrance, stared at each other for a minute before closing the gap between them with impassioned kisses.
It wasn't long before he felt his back hit the wall, Cailin's sweet lips making him amorous. Both their hands reach to remove their clothes, making Bucky go stiff.
His arm. She would know about his arm.
The arm wasn't the typical prosthetic that most veterans had. Certainly, his metal arm and its intricate patterns would alarm her.
"Cailin… Cailin… wait," Bucky said between pants. "I need to… to show you something."
"What is it?" she asked, not entirely picking up on his worry.
"My arm, it's not exactly… normal."
I have to do this now, he thought. Show her the arm and then she can give consent.
As Cailin stepped back and processed his warnings, Bucky slid down his left sleeve, exposing the black vibranium with its hidden yellows. He saw her eyes widening at the arm. Her irises moved erratically, struggling to focus on a specific area, perhaps distracted by how surprisingly vibrant it was.
When her eyes settled, it was not focused on the vibranium. She breathed heavily as she processed the skin where the arm was connected. Bucky didn't have to look down to know that she was shocked by its scratchiness, rough pink that could never properly heal. The memories of his brainwashed self attempting to claw the arm off was too vivid. The blood spilling onto the metal he hated, torn tissue on his fingers.
"Were you…" Cailin said before shaking her head. "Sorry. I shouldn't ask something like that."
"No, no, it's fine," he reassured. "I was injured when I was young. Badly injured." Not a complete lie.
Every reaction to him by a normal person was gazing with fear or confusion. He expected Cailin to run out the door, phone in hand as she reported him to the authorities (he ignored the fact that he was pardoned). If some of the Avengers were wary of his presence, then certainly the general population would feel the same.
Cailin eventually approached him, her steps gentle, expression warm. Her body felt relaxed as she wrapped her arms around him, her head fitting perfecting in his collarbone.
"I know that it must be hard," she said. "But you are beautiful. You are a beautiful man."
He stopped the tears from falling. Acceptance from his fellow superheroes was satisfying, but somehow acceptance from someone he just met yet deeply cared about was even more satisfying.
No hesitation was felt as he embraced her with both arms.
Instead of both of them rushing to the bed, clothes coming off in a frenzy, they calmly walked to Bucky's bedroom and removed their clothes. Turns out the condoms that came along with his clothes would be useful much sooner than he thought.
Cailin made herself comfortable on the bed. She smirked upon seeing Bucky's firm cock, and he couldn't help but smile back.
He placed himself over her, putting his hand on her hip, leaning in to whisper: "just tell me what you desire."
She nodded, putting her hand on his head, directing him downward. Bucky wasn't familiar with oral, but he felt no pressure as he opened his mouth and licked her g-spot. She lightly moaned, instincts telling her to lift a leg and wrap it around his waist. Bucky sighed on the inside, glad that he was able to pleasure in a way that was comfortable for both of them.
His tongue returned to his mouth with a flick. He crawled forward, his metal hand still stroking her hip while his flesh hand robbed circles around her nipples. She accepted his change in movements and placed a hand on his back. Her head swiftly leaned back into the pillow when she felt his penis enter her quim. Her fingers settled themselves on his buttcheek, squeezing it firmly yet gently upon his first thrust.
Bucky was embarrassed at his sweaty back, but Cailin didn't seem to mind, as she was dragging her fingernails down the creases of his back. After a few thrusts, they began to moan together. The sweat was building on their bodies, the increasing heat being a comfort. Cailin provided soft, wet kisses to his lips.
They climaxed together smoothly. The thrusts stopped as Bucky and Cailin lustfully stared at one another with heavy breaths. The woman provided a light smile, clearly pleased with Bucky's performance. Smiling was sometimes a struggle for him, as he felt like he often had to fake his happiness, but a genuine smile formed on his face without thought.
He stroked her cheeks as he flipped himself to the other side of the bed. There was a hint of exhaustion in Cailin's gleeful expression, so he was certain that his smile must have shown some wariness.
Cailin tilted her head against his shoulder. She shut her eyes. With a joyful sigh, Bucky did the same and felt sleep consume him seconds afterward.
The sound of the shot from his gun was almost music-like, the recoil a simple rhythm that thumped against his hefty chest. Blood was the most familiar shade of red, so the screams in reaction to the blood spilling from his target were confusing, though the screams were mainly a common echo after so many missions.
He wanted to yell, find first aid to the soon-to-be deceased, but his mind was satisfied with the execution of the job.
With a blink, the body transformed. Blood laid below a blackened body, appearing charred. Everyone was ignoring it, walking along the streets like everything was normal. No one cried like before.
"Future threat terminated," said a Russian voice in his ear.
He nodded in satisfaction, aware that only two or three people would mourn the target. Their influence would not spread far. It would not interfere with Hydra's plans.
Another blink. He was laying on a bed, unfazed by the sounds of other agents rambling about the predictions of Zola. Hydra was sophisticated with its methods, but the lower agents were brainless. If they failed to understand the far-reaching plan, they would be disposed of. Usually, a successful assassination was enough to dissuade their doubts.
He laid on his side, right side of his head against a pillow with hardly any fluff, yet somehow it still felt like a cloud. The springs of the mattress were audibly rusty and sneaking their rough texture onto his hip. Despite the stiffness, he could feel his body sink into the mattress. Fear kept his muscles in place, prevented him from moving.
The mattress was thin but his sinking was never-ending. His mouth would not open for screams. He reached his arm out, hoping that someone would grab his hand and lift him into the light...
Bucky's body shot up in a sweaty panic.
Every muscle tightened against his heavy pants. His surroundings were blurry; all he could observe was the soft feel of whatever surface he was on, creasing in reaction to his body.
Suddenly, he heard a light snore next to him. His vision cleared as he looked down to his right. A lady underneath the same blanket as him laid fast asleep. Cailin. Now he remembered everything, especially after he wondered what was the sticky substance on his cock.
The sex was secondary to his thoughts once Bucky realized he was on his bed. His bed, empty for the past two weeks, finally had company. Bucky was surprised that he could fall asleep against the clouds, that his PTSD did not make him relocate on the floor.
The last time he fell asleep on a bed felt like eighty years ago, yet tonight he slumbered on a mattress like it was the smallest of feats.
He couldn't fall back asleep now where he was, he knew. The nightmare prevented him from sleeping next to Cailin. He didn't want to leave her alone in his bedroom, but he feared that he might scare or hurt her if he stayed put.
Bucky winced as he removed the condom, throwing it into the trash next to his dresser and grabbing the underwear hastily placed on the top. It was too hot to wear any pajamas, even if his body cooled down.
Exiting his bedroom, he saw a blanket draped over a cushion of his couch. He sighed, remembering that it was the same blanket. He put the blanket on his shoulder. He settled the cushion on the ground. It was comfortable enough and did not make him feel like he was sinking.
He laid his head on the cushion and draped the blanket over his body. Adjusting his position till he was cozy, he took a deep breath and tried to rest his eyes, but his mind was agitated.
Perhaps he had completed a step in healing, though he was considering it more of a failure. He was unable to fulfill a connection with a normal, seemingly accepting person. A sexual interaction was followed by his trauma, and he put the fault on him. He knew his therapist would recognize that his anguish was not of his creation, though he couldn't stop those thoughts from occurring.
His mind became hazy. The thoughts were too similar, simply him blaming himself without recognizing the mind control. Time did not exist as he laid there, too tired to fall asleep.
"Bucky?"
His head snapped to the other side of the room. Cailin stood against the doorway, wearing her t-shirt from the previous night and underwear. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were blinking rapidly, clearly getting accustomed to being awake.
"Cailin… uhh, sorry!" he exclaimed, now sitting up in guilt.
"No, no, don't be sorry," she said, quietly defending him.
She approached him, kneeling in concern. Bucky hated the pity though closest to him felt. They knew all of what he went through for many decades, and it was difficult to separate himself from that. Yet her pity felt understanding. Well, that was different.
"I've heard of this," she whispered. "Trauma can prevent people from sleeping on regular beds, depending on the situation."
Bucky nodded in response, too shocked at her observational skills to notice.
"Is there anything I can do?" asked Cailin. "Sorry if I'm assuming."
"No, you're right," Bucky reassured. "I don't… I don't think there's anything you can do. Nothing really can at the moment. It takes time. Sometimes it feels like too much time."
A wave of determination reached Cailin. She confidently nodded as she pulled up his blanket, moving next to him and laying down.
Was she… was she going to lay down with him on the floor like it was nothing?
"Cailin, you don't have to do this."
"Bucky, it's fine. You said this takes time, so I'll wait with you."
He almost cried as a smile graced his face.
"Really?"
Cailin gave a smile in return.
"Really."
Bucky had only felt tears of joy many years ago when Ayo had read to him the dangerous hypnotic words and how his body did not crave violence afterward.
Finally, someone was willing to work through his trauma, willing to look past his PTSD. Others would try to talk him through it and give him advice, but he never met someone that would be there for him as he attempted to improve himself and give him words of comfort.
This feeling of acceptance was refreshing. Something he thought he would never have in this modern age.
Despite being on the wooden floor, Bucky fell into the most blissful sleep of his life. His body relaxed and fell into slumber as he stroked his fingers through Cailin's silky hair, her head placed comfortably on his chest.