Trigger warning: brief, non-detailed mention of sexual assault in the first paragraph.
Chapter 34: Wheezy Smurf's Revenge
Steve's—well, Wheezy_Smurf's—tweets went viral. Bucky did his part, too, in informing all of Amputeam's following that Alexander Pierce was only pretending to be an ally, and using his supposed relationship to Bucky, a relationship which had actually consisted of nothing but ridicule, to boost his popularity. The rest of the Internet also contributed, and the buzz about Pierce resulted in several people, both men and women, from his private high school and college coming forward with sexual assault accusations. Bucky and Steve didn't think they could hate him more than they already did, but that definitely accomplished just that. Needless to say, his campaign ended before it even really began.
Steve felt more accomplished than he had in a long time. This was as close to vanquishing evil as he'd ever get. Jim, Timmy, and Gabe were equally as excited. He didn't realize until after they talked to him and Bucky about it that they'd been following the story without him having told them he was involved.
"Did you guys see what happened to Alex?" Timmy texted. They didn't use it nearly as often anymore, but they still had a Howling Commandos group chat.
Steve decided to have fun with it and play dumb. "No, what's going on?"
"He was running for the house of representatives, but apparently someone on Twitter dug up some old dirt, and that led to a discovery of new dirt."
"Someone on Twitter?" Jim wrote. "Tim, are you really that stupid?"
"What?"
"The handle was Wheezy_Smurf."
"Ohhhhhh."
"Idiot."
"Steve was that really you?" Gabe asked.
"Yeah," he confessed. "I wanted him to know who it was without the whole world knowing who it was."
"Clever," Jim said. "I can't believe he got even worse after he left HC."
Steve scoffed. "I can."
"He has a point," Gabe added. "I'm just glad it worked and he'd out of the running."
"Me too."
~0~
Last year, Steve promised they'd go all out for Bucky's tenth stump-iversary since the ninth had been so unbelievably shitty. "As far as I'm concerned, as long as I don't have to get cut open, it's going to be a good anniversary," Bucky said.
"I know, but I don't want you to have a good anniversary. I want you to have a great one," Steve countered.
"Whatever you say." Bucky had no idea what his husband might be planning, but he didn't doubt it would be excessively earnest. What he didn't expect, however, was it being a complete surprise. Steve kept his plans under wraps and refused to tell Bucky anything about what they'd be doing. The party wasn't until the weekend after March twenty-sixth, but Steve still acknowledged it on the day of.
"Do you ever miss it?" he asked after they turned out the lights for the night.
"Miss what?"
"Your arm."
Bucky didn't really know how to answer that. He'd been plenty old enough when he lost his arm to remember life before amputation, but after ten years of living with his disability he was so used to doing things his way that sometimes it slipped his mind that it used to be easier. People didn't stare at him or offer unwanted assistance or ask invasive questions without so much as introducing themselves first. He could tie his shoes in under ten seconds and do up a standard zipper without cursing at least three times because it didn't cooperate. There was no little dance and borderline contortion act to get his pants on and off. If he had two arms, he'd probably spend a lot less time on the floor holding jars between the soles of his feet to open them because Steve tightened them so hard that nonslip kitchen mats couldn't keep a grip strong enough for him to twist the lid off one-handed.
But whenever any task annoyed him, he didn't immediately think, "I miss my arm; if I still had it this wouldn't be so hard." He reacted the same way most non-disabled people did when faced with mild inconvenience: muttered swearing and occasionally just hitting the object in question before taking a deep breath and trying again.
"No, not really," he admitted. "I know that seems strange, but in the grand scheme of things it didn't take all that much from me except, you know, a few dozen bones and all that. I've still got soccer and I've still got you. What's there to miss?"
"When you put it like that it makes sense. But whenever I think about what it might be like, I imagine I'd miss it every day."
"I did at first. I guess I've just gotten used to it. Do you ever miss your lungs?"
"Those old trash bags? Hell no. The only thing I miss is the lack of survivor's guilt that comes with being a transplant recipient."
"My arm was sick and had to go, same as your lungs."
"Yeah, but I got a replacement. You didn't. I think that's the key difference."
"I elected not to. So many people either asked why I didn't want a prosthetic or straight up told me I should get one, but I was just never interested in replacing that arm. It was gone, and I moved on with my life."
"Good for you."
"Thanks." In five more years, he'd have lived with one arm for as long as he did with two. When he put it like that, it seemed crazy. Being an amputee for half of his life. He remembered the days before that surgery so vividly that it could've been last week, but at the same time he felt like he'd been like this forever. That party Steve and Nat threw for him had been exactly what he needed to distract him from the image that stuck in his head of someone taking an ax to his shoulder like a lumberjack to a log. He knew it would be executed more delicately than that, but for some reason imagining an actual surgery with sterile drapes and tubes all over him had only made his heart pound harder. It had been easier to picture it as a one-and-done chop.
God, they'd had so much fun at that party. He still had that collage of hand turkeys; he kept it folded up in a box on the top shelf of his closet with other treasured memories. That box contained mostly drawings Steve had given him over the years. Steve didn't know about them. Like any artist, he was embarrassed by his earlier work that didn't live up to his current standards of perfection. Bucky loved those early pieces all the more because of those flaws. The box also contained a letter, barely recognizable as Steve's handwriting because he wrote it in the early days of his lung transplant recovery when the anti-rejection meds made his hands shake. It wasn't even a particularly interesting letter, just an update about what was going on in his life—including that fact that he needed his sternal wires removed because he'd somehow managed to snap them, the idiot—but he'd sent it while Bucky was away at school. That was a hard year, being so far away during such an important time in Steve's life, and finding that letter in his mailbox had brought the biggest smile to his face. He'd never told Steve that he kept it, and he probably never would. Bucky grinned imagining how red Steve's ears would turn if he found out Bucky saved his letters and drawings. He scooted closer and threw his arm over Steve's side.
Steve yawned and placed his own hand over Bucky's. "Good night."
"Night."
In his dream, as with all his dreams, Bucky still had two arms. Apparently, that was common in amputees. He wished that wasn't the case. It felt like somebody else's dream.
~0~
His tenth stump-iversary party ended up being a paired MarioKart tournament at Tony's place. Bucky hadn't played MarioKart since his Gravesen days. Neither had Steve. However, they still got off to a pretty solid start because hardly any of their friends had played either.
"Last time I played MarioKart was in college," Tony said. "I never won, though. Harley's a beast at MarioKart."
"He's unbeatable," Parker agreed. "There was one time Ned nearly beat him, but he got decked by a blue shell just before he crossed the finish line."
Playing in pairs only served as a harsh reminder of those who weren't here anymore. Thor, Natasha, and Nick hadn't been able to make it, the first two because they were out of the country and the latter because he had a cough and couldn't be around Steve. Still, Bucky remembered who they paired up with the first time they played like this. Natasha and Clint dominated, big time. Thor and Quill never stopped arguing. Damn, what was Quill up to these days? The kid literally vanished off the grid after his discharge from Gravesen. Bucky just hoped he wasn't dead.
At least he still had his partner. Although Steve was very much a wheel hog. Bucky at least got exclusive control of when they threw objects, since he was the right hand and that's where all the buttons were. Steve's right hand was slung around Bucky's waist to keep them close together while his left helped steer.
After they'd played every track at least twice, Tony and Parker were the clear frontrunners. Steve and Bucky came in second, though, with Bruce and Josiah, who Bucky hadn't even known Steve was inviting until he greeted him with a bro hug and slapped him on the back so hard Bucky felt the wind knocked out of him, came in third. In their defense, they'd barely even met until now. Jim and Timmy were late, so they didn't officially count in the ranking since they missed the first three races, but they would've placed ahead of Steve and Bucky.
"So, how's it feel?" Josiah asked. His tenth stump-iversary had been several years ago. He and the rest of the team spent it getting drunk. Lemar had to confiscate Walker's crutches because he reached that stage of intoxication where he thought himself invincible and he kept trying to do handstands. He could do them sober, and could even flip completely around like a foosball player—Bucky had seen it—but he did not retain those abilities after a few too many beers.
After MarioKart, they threw back to Bucky's Farwell to Arms party and had a shoe-tying race. Except, this time, nobody was allowed to use more than one hand, Steve explained. "Wait, isn't that a bit unfair?" Bucky asked. He'd had ten years of practice doing just that, but most of the people here had probably never even attempted it.
"It's your party, if anyone deserves an unfair advantage, it's you," Parker pointed out.
"Okay."
Bucky didn't win. Jim did.
"What the fuck?" He watched in disbelief as Jim deftly tied the shoe with one hand and pulled it so tight one never would've known it wasn't tied normally.
Jim shrugged. "I've practiced this before."
"More than me, apparently." Bucky only tied his shoes when they came undone by themselves, because all his shoes were Under Armour adaptive ones with collapsible heels.
"May I ask why you practice tying your shoes with one hand when you have two that work perfectly fine?"
"So I can tie both at the same time."
"Are you serious? Prove it," Bucky demanded.
Jim untied both of the sneakers on his feet and retied them, each hand working independently. Bucky had never seen anything like it.
"Fucking unbelievable," Timmy scoffed. "Show off."
"When you play piano most of your life, you get pretty good at doing different things with each hand simultaneously."
"I'll say," Steve said.
"This was an…unexpected development," Josiah muttered. "That's impressive, man."
"Thank you."
"Who wants cake?" Tony asked.
"There's cake?" Bucky hadn't known about this.
"Well…sort of," Steve said with an enigmatic grin.
Tony and Parker brought out a tray covered in cupcakes in the shape of a stick figure, its left arm missing. Bucky instantly started laughing. However, there was more. Bruce followed them out of the kitchen with another tray. This one contained what must've been the figure's arm, and these cupcakes had the candles in them. He instantly understood the humor.
"Wait a minute—is this because they probably incinerated my arm when they were done with it?" he asked.
Tony smirked. "Maybe."
"What do you mean when they were done with it?" Timmy questioned.
"I donated it to science, so they could look at my tumor cells and whatever else scientists do with severed limbs," he explained.
"Maybe it's now attached to a Frankenstein's monster type creation that they're working on bringing back to life," Parker suggested.
"Hell yeah, that would be awesome."
"If it also had my leg, I'd help you face it in combat," Josiah said.
They high-fived.
"What are you gonna wish for?" Steve asked as Bruce set the candled cupcakes down in front of Bucky.
"I can't tell you, or it won't come true."
On his birthday, his wishes were usually selfish. But since this was an entirely different occasion, he decided he ought to wish for something better than that. He wished for a less toxic and hopefully more effective treatment for Ewing's.
~0~
The weekend after Bucky's party, Steve's dad invited him to a new World War II exhibit that just opened at the Smithsonian. It told the stories that didn't appear in history textbooks, those gathered from letters, journals, and first-hand stories from the surviving relatives of soldiers. The two of them spent hours reading about these incredible people. Some of them reminded Joseph of things he'd seen his own comrades do in the army. Steve paid even closer attention to his stories than he did to those presented in the exhibit. He never ceased to be amazed by the things his father had done in service of this country.
Throughout their time in the museum, he couldn't help but notice that his dad spent more time looking at him than he did at any of the placards, displays, or photographs, usually with a look of sheer wonder on his face. Steve's facial expressions were nearly impossible to read through a face mask, so it was easy to disguise his confusion and slight unease. Not until the drive home did he finally learn what had been on Dad's mind the whole time.
"Steve, I've known a lot of courageous people in my lifetime," Dad said.
Steve should have known that a conversation like this would happen in the near future. People wanted to tell him things they'd been thinking about forever but never said before they lost the chance to do so. While he appreciated the genuineness and the honesty, it unnerved him to have his loved ones talk to him like this. Like he was dying. It made it feel more real.
Dad continued, "But nobody has ever amazed me like you do."
Steve turned away to hide his blush. "Thanks, Dad."
"I mean it. Before you could even talk, it was evident how stinking brave and tough you were. I used to look at you and wish I could have half your resolve. Still do, actually."
"I think you've got more than half," Steve assured.
Joseph shook his head. "Not even close. Throughout this whole journey with CF and transplant and everything, it was you who led the way, who set the tone. There were so many situations that you handled with more grace than your mother and I combined." He hesitated, and Steve knew the next words out of his mouth would probably make him cry. "Especially this one."
Oh God. Steve didn't even want to think about the sorts of conversations his parents had had with each other since they heard his news. He'd never been a parent, couldn't even begin to imagine the agony of losing a child—and an only child at that. Mom and Dad were the only reason he lived as long as he did, and to have two decades of effort prove futile sounded like the worst slap in the face the universe could possibly offer. Of all the reasons Steve had come up with over the years to wish he'd been born healthy, that was probably the strongest. Saving his parents from this anguish.
Dad sighed heavily. "I just needed you to know that. It's a parent's job to tell their kids that they're incredible, but when I say it to you, I mean it more than I've ever meant anything."
"I appreciate it. But if you turn this into anything about how much you're gonna miss me, I'm going to stop you. I don't want to be hearing that right now. It's too early."
"Okay. Anyway, I think you already know all about that. We've lived this before, but last time we were fortunate enough not to make it to the end."
"Yes." Steve would never run out of gratitude for his donor. So far, they'd granted him five of the best years of his life. He was terrified of what the next however-many-more would bring.
