Whenever Bucky's apartment got too quiet, he walked. On the streets of Brooklyn, he was just another guy. It helped that people tended to avoid eye contact in general these days, not like when he was growing up on the same streets. Back then, people looked at you and gave a nod when they passed. Sometimes, they even said "hello."
He zipped up his jacket to ward off the chill of the February air and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting too long again. Soon, he'd either have to cut it short himself, or grit his teeth and go to a barbershop or salon. He couldn't stand the buzz of the clippers, or having another person hovering around his head, behind him, with sharp instruments.
It made every inch of his skin crawl. The last time he went to get his hair cut, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly, he broke one. That ended up being a very expensive day.
He wasn't particularly fond of the long hair. It got into his eyes and mouth, and when he looked in the mirror, he saw the Winter Soldier staring back at him. Having short hair wasn't much better. The face looking back at him reminded him of the man he would never again be. It reminded him of all he'd lost.
The short hair required much more frequent upkeep, which meant scissors or electric clippers. So, for now, until he felt like it was a good enough day that he could force himself into a barber's chair, he was letting it grow.
He picked up food from his favorite Korean barbecue place and headed back home. Food was one of the few joys he had these days. He'd been deprived of its pleasure for 70 years, subsisting on a nutrient concoction Hydra made him guzzle and the cocktails they'd pumped through his veins.
Fortunately, his metabolism meant he could indulge in culinary pleasure as much as he liked. Unfortunately, it also meant his food bill was outrageous.
He decided to take a different path home, veering into an old neighborhood, one full of memories. So much of it had changed over the last 80 years that little of it was recognizable.
He passed an alley. His ears picked up a faint whimper. An echo from the past stopped him, something familiar tickling his brain. These two buildings…he knew them. He glanced at the street name. This was the same street—the same alley where he'd found Steve getting pummeled by a guy twice his size on the day before Bucky shipped out to England.
The buildings were different now, having been remodeled and refaced, but this was the place. He glanced inside the alley, catching a glimpse of something white on the other side of the metal dumpster. A stray dog, no doubt.
A blocky white head peeked around the dumpster, hanging low with dark eyes that studied him apprehensively.
"Hey boy."
A thump-thump of something hitting the dumpster came in reply—the wag of a tail.
Bucky took pity on the creature and opened his bag. He remembered what it felt like to be on the streets, the gnaw of hunger in his belly. He grabbed a few pieces of beef from his container and tossed them into the alley. "There you go. Hope you enjoy it. It's fresh."
Closing the container back up, he resumed his journey to his apartment. A few moments later, he heard the soft patter of feet behind him.
Uh-uh.
He turned and eyed the dog, which immediately stopped following him, tail wagging low and steady, head slightly bowed as though he were wary of coming any closer. A pang of sympathy twisted in Bucky's chest as he took in the dog's condition. There were old and new wound marks around his face, his ribs were prominent, his right front leg was gone, and his ears were cropped so poorly, it had to be a home job.
He knew a little something of what it was like being on the receiving end of that kind of brutality, but still….
"Look, Pal, I'm pretty sure I can't have you in my apartment, even if I were in the market for a pet."
The dog tilted its head upward and sniffed. Its wagging tail picked up speed.
Bucky sighed as he met those dark, hopeful eyes. The dog was thin and in poor condition. He wouldn't last much longer on the streets by himself but taking him home was out of the question.
-000-
The woman at the shelter seemed nice enough. Her face melted with sympathy when she looked at the dog, and she said all the right things. Still, Bucky felt as though he were betraying the creature.
Being locked in a cage was no way to live. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for long.
"What are his chances of adoption?" he asked her after she handed the dog to a tech who coaxed him through a metal door.
"We're a no-kill shelter," she said, handing him the surrender receipt with the dog's animal ID. "We only euthanize for health or behavior reasons. He'll be assessed, and if he's suitable to be placed up for adoption, he'll be here until he gets adopted. We also have a network of foster homes, so dogs often get to spend some time in a home environment."
Bucky took a breath and nodded, his eyes going to the door where the dog had disappeared. "If he's determined not to be suitable for adoption….?"
She looked up at him, her expression matter-of-fact but her eyes betrayed a certain fatigue. Still, when she spoke, there was compassion in her tone. "If the dog has aggression issues, sometimes we reach out to rehabbers, but those spots are rare. If we cannot find a place for him, he'll be humanely euthanized."
He's a vicious animal. He should be put down. Bucky blinked at the memory. Berlin. Guards talked, and with his enhancements, he heard more than he wanted to.
He didn't want the dog's last days to be in a cage. "If you're going to euthanize him, can you contact me before you do?"
She nodded, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "I've made a note in the system. What's the best number to reach you?"
He rattled off his cell phone and thanked her. With a final glance at the metal door, he folded the printout and stuffed it in his pocket as he left the building.
-000-
Bucky spent the next couple of days in his routine. His only friend in the world was Sam, who was currently off on a mission with Torres. As Bucky made his way up the stairs with his laundry basket, he thought about the absurdity of his life. He'd survived over and over again when he shouldn't have, and for what? All he was doing was taking up space, breathing air, and trying not to fuck up and hurt someone.
He wasn't doing a great job with that. He and Steve had been two sides of a coin. They'd started out so different. Everything went right for Bucky and poor Steve got the short end of the stick, but he never once gave up. Then he got the serum, and it was like the coin flipped. Whatever Bucky touched turned to shit. That mission on the train. The next seventy years. Two years on the run. The Avengers, torn apart. Thanos. The Blip.
Steve.
He couldn't blame the guy for leaving. Bucky had trashed Steve's life, and there was nowhere for either of them to go after Thanos. Tony was dead. If the Avengers continued, Bucky sure as hell couldn't be a part of them, and Steve couldn't spend the rest of his life carrying the burden of Bucky's sins.
At least one of them got their happy ending. If he thought of Steve back in the 40s, building a life with Peggy, living through the fifties and sixties and getting to experience all the things he missed and desperately wanted, it lifted some of the heaviness in Bucky's chest.
The edges of his mouth curled upward as he thought about it. That little punk from Brooklyn finally got the woman of his dreams and the life he always wanted…after fighting Nazi's, androids, and aliens.
What a life you led, Steve. Your Ma would be proud.
He made it back to his apartment and headed toward the bathroom in the hallway. He kept a dresser at the end, set the basket on the floor, and busied himself putting away the few clothes he had. Sam kept telling him he needed to diversify his wardrobe, but there wasn't much point in that. The only places he went were restaurants and grocery stores, and restaurants were almost always take-out these days. He hadn't eaten lunch with Yori since….
He closed his eyes as RJ's face haunted him. Don't go there.
A hot shower might help. It was another small pleasure he could still enjoy. After decades in Siberia getting hosed down with ice-cold water, he would never get tired of the feeling of hot water drumming against his skin, loosening his muscles, and easing the stiffness of what remained of his left shoulder.
In the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The eyes staring back at him were older, no longer bright and full of confidence like they used to be when he was in his 20s. They were filled with shadows. Sam was right. He did have a creepy stare.
The hair cascading around his face made him look even more intimidating. He studied the reflection, dipped his chin a bit, and assessed the guy in the mirror.
The Winter Soldier.
He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I'm James Bucky Barnes.
Whoever the hell that was these days.
His phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see a text from Sam.
Mission wrapped up. I'll be in your neck of the woods tomorrow. Wanna get a beer? Maybe food, too? I'll buy the beer, not the food, not with your appetite.
You've got to nurture friendships, his therapist had said. He was trying, but lately, even that seemed to be pointless. Sam was a good guy with his own life, and in some ways, whenever they were together, it felt like the only thing holding them together was the ghost of their mutual friend.
For a brief moment, after the Flag Smashers, Bucky thought maybe he'd find a purpose in life, making sure the legacy of the shield continued and watching Sam's back, but Sam didn't need him. He spent much of his time training Torres, fighting bad guys, and playing politics.
No one wanted the former Winter Soldier in the mix. The liability was too great. One wrong move, and he'd be in the center of the next PR disaster. They didn't want to risk another John Walker incident.
He read the text again, his fingers hovering over the phone, and finally texted. Sure. Sounds great.
There. He'd done the thing he was supposed to do, like a normal human being. He could meet a friend for beer and food, smile, tell a few jokes, and pretend to be a guy who hadn't killed almost everyone he'd ever met…
He's a vicious dog. He blinked back the memory, and the stray dog came to mind. He hoped it was getting food and medical care. His phone was still in his hand, and he typed in the shelter's website. It had a listing of adoptable dogs. He went there first, but after scrolling through a few pages of photos, there was no sign of the white dog.
He clicked into the stray dog section and there, on the second page, was the white dog, looking curiously at the camera, head slightly bowed, tail a blur.
-000-
"Why didn't you want to go to Izzy's?" Sam studied the menu in the Terriyaki place. "I've been wanting to try it since you mentioned it."
Bucky kept his eyes studiously on the menu, though he'd be ordering the same thing he always ordered. "I'm not going back there."
"Oh?" There was a note of suspicion on Sam's tone. "Why?"
Bucky took a breath and raised his head, giving Sam a long look he hoped would be enough to end that line of conversation.
"Okay." Sam leaned back and raised his hands. "I can take a hint."
Finally. Bucky exhaled some of the tension that had been building up. The waitress came and they placed their orders. She was already used to his—a double order of the teriyaki chicken over rice with a side of noodles.
They chatted easily after that. Sam mentioned what he could about the latest mission, which wasn't much, but talked about Torres and how well he was doing in his new role with the wings. The conversation drifted to Sarah and the boys. Bucky found himself relaxing even further. It was nice to be part of their lives, even if vicariously.
He didn't have much to add to the conversation, so when Sam asked about what was going on with him, he lied and said he was planning to do some traveling, see a few of the sights he missed. It was easier than admitting he was nothing more than a body taking up space in society.
Sam asked him what sights he wanted to see, so he thought more about it. The Grand Canyon. Yosemite. Yellowstone. There was a place in Death Valley that supposedly had the best sunrise in the world. It was warm there, and he liked it warm. That would be nice to see.
Maybe a road trip wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
They were just about finished when Bucky's phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the number. It was the shelter. His throat went tight as he answered. "Yeah?"
"Mr. Barnes, this is Katie from the shelter. You dropped off a stray Pit Bull and asked to be notified if he wasn't being put up for adoption."
Shit. "Yes, I did."
"He's over his three-day hold, and he hasn't passed his evaluation. He'll be euthanized tomorrow."
Euthanized…a fancy word for killed. Not that he blamed them. He understood they had to do what they had to do. It's not like they had unlimited shelter space. "Why didn't he pass?"
"He's aggressive toward other dogs. A sweetheart with people, though. We think he was either fought by someone or got into some scrapes on the street. He's got quite a few old and new scars. Given his breed, we can't adopt him out with that aggression. He's quite stressed in the kennel environment here, with all the barking dogs. Are you wanting to reclaim him?"
"How long do I have to decide?"
"If he's not reclaimed by the end of the day, he'll be euthanized tomorrow to open up kennel space."
What the hell was he going to do? His apartment didn't allow pets over 20 pounds, and the stray dog was most definitely over 20 pounds. Why was he making this his problem? The dog didn't belong to him.
Except that he had taken it off the street and turned it into the shelter. He'd been on the streets, running for his life, trying to survive and avoid capture.
Damnit.
He took a breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose, glancing at Sam long enough to see the curiosity in his gaze. "Okay. I'll be there. What's the latest I can get him?"
"We close the adoption counter at five."
"I'll be there before then." He hung up and pocketed his phone.
Sam leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. "What's that about?"
"You wouldn't happen to know anyone who wants a slightly crazy dog, would you?"
-000-
After a stop at a pet store, Bucky headed to the shelter with Sam—who looked far too smug when he said, "After spending two years trying to find the world's biggest pain-in-the-ass stray, I have to see this for myself, just in case this dog gives you half as much trouble as you gave us."
Bucky finished the paperwork at the front desk, glancing at the name someone had entered into the system. It was based on his color. Well, he couldn't fault them for being unoriginal given the number of dogs that went through their system.
The metal door opened, and the white dog appeared, straining at a tenuous shelter slip lead, hacking as he pulled toward Bucky, rear end wiggling and tail going like it was propelled by an overjuiced motor, occasionally slipping as he overbalanced due to the absence of his right front leg.
"Thanks." He swapped out the shelter slip leash for a martingale collar the pet store employee had recommended and clipped a blue leash to it.
"A tripod, and a Pit Bull? Well, that's just too perfect." Sam looked at the dog and then at Bucky with wide eyes as a smile blossomed on his face.
"Why is that perfect?" Bucky leveled his best glare at Sam, who had the good grace to stop smiling and look as though he were reconsidering his words.
"You know," Sam tilted his head toward the dog. "He's got a missing limb and he looks like he was probably used to fight, and his breed, they're used for that, I mean, it's not his fault, of course, but you can probably relate to one another."
Bucky had to admit that, on the surface, there might be some similarities between him and the stray, but he did his best to look insulted. "You're comparing me to a dog?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, your nickname is White Wolf!"
Another strange coincidence. Bucky had to smile at the irony of it all, and Sam visibly relaxed.
"You're messing with me, aren't you?" Sam shook his head and grinned again. "Wouldn't it be something if we could round up a metal arm—or rather, leg—for him? And he's white! We have got to name him Winter."
This was getting ridiculous. "Not gonna happen."
"Well, you've gotta give him a name. You're a pet parent! Congratulations!" Sam leaned forward to pet the dog, but it jumped up a little too enthusiastically and almost head-butted him.
Bucky smiled. Good dog.
He'd have to find a responsible home for the dog and somehow figure out how to keep him on the downlow in his apartment. That wouldn't be easy, considering he'd have to walk the dog several times a day for potty breaks.
What had he been thinking?
The dog jumped on him next, getting white hair all over his dark clothes. He sighed and brushed as much of it off as he could. Why couldn't he have run across a black stray dog? It would've gone so much better with his wardrobe.
"You're lucky I'm here." Sam said, walking with them out of the shelter. "There's no way you'd get this dog home on your motorcycle, but I'm not sure the rental company is gonna appreciate white dog hair in the car."
-000-
They trudged the dog and supplies up the stairs for the sake of stealth. Sam carried the dog bed and a bag of supplies, while Bucky managed the dog in one hand and a bag of food in the other. Fortunately, there was no one in the hallway on his floor, so they made it into the apartment without anyone noticing.
Sam deposited everything on the floor and Bucky let go of the leash.
"Don't pee, please." He'd given the dog ample opportunity before entering the building and got him to mark a few trees. Bucky hoped that was enough for now. He had no idea whether the dog was housebroken.
He really hadn't thought this through.
The dog meandered around the sparse apartment. Bucky had upgraded his pile of blankets and sheets to a mat that was more than sufficient for him and didn't take up too much space in the studio apartment. The mat was currently rolled up next to the yellow loveseat, and the dog hovered over it, sniffing intently, making crescent-shaped movements around it.
"Don't you dare!" Bucky took a step forward. The dog skittered away, head hung low. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest and he eyed Sam, who was shaking his head softly.
"You have your work cut out for you." Sam patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck! I gotta head out."
"Thanks for all your help."
"Don't mention it." Sam hovered in the doorway. "Let me know how it goes."
Then he left, and Bucky was alone with his new three-legged roommate.
"Okay, so, there are some rules." Bucky set the dog bed in the corner of the room. "This is yours." The bed was thick and soft, much better, actually, than the mat he was using for a bed. "Don't pee on it or chew it up, please. These things are ridiculously expensive." He still couldn't believe he paid fifty bucks for a dog bed.
The dog sniffed the bed, then started digging at it.
"Hey! You ruin that, you get the floor." He kept his tone lighter than he had last time, not wanting to risk startling the dog again. "Are you hungry?" He wasn't sure when the dog had eaten last. "The lady at the pet store guilted me into buying some ridiculously fancy high-end food that's probably more nutritious than anything I've put into my body, so I hope you like it."
He fished the dog bowls out of the bag and set them near the bed, then got the scoop and opened the bag of kibble. The stuff smelled like fish. Great. His entire apartment was going to smell like fish.
He put two scoops into the bowl. The dog went for it immediately, scarfing it down so fast that Bucky was worried he might actually choke. The canine hacked a few times, but in seconds, the bowl was clean.
"I'm glad you like it."
Why am I talking to the dog like he understands English?
With a grin at his own silliness, Bucky resealed the bag and slid it into the kitchen.
He had a few hours to kill until it would be time to turn in, so he grabbed a couple of slices of leftover pizza from the fridge and opened a beer. He set himself down on the loveseat with the plate on his lap and turned on the TV.
The dog hopped up next to him. He still reeked of the streets and shelter, which meant, damnit, that he'd need a bath.
"Oh, no you do—" He grabbed his plate almost a second too soon, twisting it away as the dog made a play for it. "Stop!" He put enough oomph into his tone that the dog backed off but sat there staring at him with wide, beseeching eyes. A line of drool hung from one of his jowls.
Gross.
"Off." Bucky pointed to the floor. When the dog didn't budge, he gave him a gentle push.
The dog hopped down and sat on the floor facing him, eyes fixated on the pizza.
"That's not gonna work on me." Bucky leaned back and found something to watch, steadfastly ignoring the dog's unrelenting stare.
When he finished his pizza and beer, he gave another long look at the dog. He couldn't delay any longer. The dog needed a bath.
"Come on."
Tail wagging, the dog followed him down the short hallway into the bathroom. There was a tub and shower combo with a hose that would things easier. The dog was a bit wary going in, but with a little encouragement, complied. Bucky grabbed the hose and started the water, settling on his knees and keeping the spray away from the animal until it was warm enough to be comfortable.
He didn't have dog shampoo, so he'd have to use his own. He hoped that was fine. He doubted it could do much harm.
He found out quickly that the dog wasn't a fan of water. The moment he turned the gentle, warm spray onto the dog, his three feet slipped in chaotic panic as he tried to escape.
"Okay! Okay!" Bucky struggled with him, trying to avoid the dog slipping on his one front leg and ending up taking a header into the porcelain.
It would be a miracle if he didn't end up getting bitten. He kept his metal arm in the forefront just in case.
The dog gave him no signs of wanting to bite, but he very much wanted out. The hose was rolling around in the commotion getting everything, including Bucky, soaked. He got a face full of spray at one point.
"This is enough." He turned off the water and sat there, dripping, while the dog eyed the doorway. "Look, you need a bath." He hoped a gentle tone would work. Maybe if he got some more food, he could bribe the dog. "Stay."
It was stupid to think that would work. The moment he got to his feet, the dog leaped over the edge of the tub and skittered past him, leaving a trail of drips and wet footprints.
"Shit!" Bucky followed, finding the dog in the living room. "Don't you dare!"
The dog shook, sending a spray of water in every direction.
"I swear to God…." He was an idiot. What was he thinking bringing home a strange dog? He'd never had a dog before. The closest he'd ever gotten to having pets were the goats in Wakanda.
He went to the fridge and grabbed a slice of pizza. He picked off all the topics and threw the in the trash just in case there was anything a dog couldn't have. The bread, cheese, and sauce were probably safe enough.
Were dogs lactose intolerant?
He sighed as he eyed the creature that had been living off discarded food. If the garbage he'd been eating hadn't killed him, a slice of pizza sure as hell wouldn't. He headed back to the bathroom, waving the pizza near the dog's head as it followed him.
The pizza made things a hell of a lot easier. Bucky worked quickly, offering pieces of culinary goodness every few seconds. He worked the shampoo into the dog's coat, and after a minute, the dog began to relax, even tilting his head back when Bucky scratched behind the ears.
Gently, Bucky worked his hands over the old and new scars. He found a scab from a fresh wound under the dog's jaw and eased his touch. Once all the suds were gone, he grabbed his towel—the only one of two that he had—and, with a grimace and a groan, used it to dry the dog as thoroughly as he could.
"At least you have short hair." Thank God for that.
He let the dog dry out on the new bed while Bucky watched more T.V. When it came time for bed, he rolled out his mat, got his pillow and blankets, and, after re-directing the dog to its own bed a few times, he settled in for sleep.
He was barely falling asleep when the heard the tip-tap of feet on the hard floor. "Go back to bed."
A moist, cool nose pushed into the back of his neck.
"Hey." He batted the creature away.
And promptly found himself with a face full of tongue. "Stop!"
He rolled away, unable to stop the bubble of laughter as the dog persisted. "Fine!" He relented at last, patting the floor beside him and shifting onto his back. "The mat's only big enough for me, though, so you're getting the hard floor.
With a sigh, the dog plopped down next to him, close enough that one side of his body was in contact with Bucky and set his blocky head on Bucky's shoulder. It felt…nice. The dog's warm breath pooled in the crook of his neck. Within minutes, he was asleep.
-000-
He was strapped to a table. The buzzing of the saw was loud in his left ear. One man hovered at the head of the table, two more were on his left. Another observed near the doorway.
His heart raced. He could barely get air into his lungs. He struggled, but the metal clamps held. The drugs made everything strange. His body felt like lead, his head like a bag of sound.
His vision was reduced to the rotating saw. It would cut into him. He could feel everything. He would feel everything.
There was something wet on his face, the faint smell of fish, and a pressure on his chest.
He opened his eyes with a gasp. A pair of dark eyes set in a white, blocky head peered down at him, and then the wet thing came again. A tongue.
"Ugh." He groaned, sitting up and running a hand over his damp face. He grabbed the sheet and wiped off, and as the dog leaned into him, pawing at his chest, Bucky brought his right hand up and ran it over the soft, white hair. "Thanks."
The dog draped itself over his lap, the presence reassuringly solid and warm.
It took him a while to get back to sleep. The nightmares always left him rattled, and in the dark hours of early morning, the loneliness was sometimes too much. He stared up into the darkness and listened to the dog's soft snoring. He shifted onto his side, and the dog stretched out against him. He draped his arm over the dog and rested his forehead against its warm neck.
Soon, he was asleep, and the nightmares left him alone.
-000-
Bucky's awakening wasn't the most pleasant. A wet, slobbery tongue catapulted him to consciousness. He groaned and turned away from the dog, blinking against the darkness. It wasn't even close to dawn. He grabbed his phone from the arm of the couch, where it was plugged in, and glanced at the time.
3:49 a.m.
The dog pawed at him and whined.
"Okay, okay." Buck sat up and stared at the dog. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
He really hoped this meant the dog was housebroken. If so, that was a pleasant surprise. He had no idea how to housetrain a dog. "I'm getting up."
It made him wonder about the dog's background. The shelter hadn't found a microchip, and no owner had come looking for him there. The ears were an obvious home crop job, so whoever had him before were assholes.
Maybe the dog changed owners? Maybe, at some point, the dog had been in a home. He'd likely never know.
He got to his feet and threw on a shirt and pants, then grabbed the leash and snapped it to the dog's collar. The bag from the pet store was sitting on the wood chair near the kitchen, and he fished out the poop bags.
This was going to be fun.
Given the early hour, he shouldn't run into anyone. He opened his door, and sure enough, the hall was quiet. He made his way to the street. They walked a couple of blocks. The dog's leash manners were atrocious. He pulled and gagged against his collar, and while he might have presented a challenge to anyone else holding the leash, Bucky had no problem holding him.
The dog was underweight. His shelter paperwork had put him at 45 pounds. He probably had another 10 pounds to gain before he was at a healthy weight. Bucky had carried around 48 pounds on his left side for decades, and the dog weighed less than that.
His vibranium arm, of course, was both lighter and more functional. He'd always be grateful to Shuri and T'Challa—his chest twisted at that loss—for giving him the prosthetic.
Finally, the dog did his business. Both. That was a relief. Bucky cleaned up after the dog—which was gross but apparently the law these days—and headed back to the apartment.
"Good boy." The dog looked back at him with a grin.
-000-
When morning came, he decided to get an early start on a few errands. He wasn't sure how often the dog would need to go to the bathroom, but he had to figure out something soon. He couldn't hide the dog forever.
His apartment had a rear balcony with a fire escape. He decided to do one more potty trip before he left and take the back way out. Unfortunately, the dog wanted nothing to do with going down the metal stairs. Bucky couldn't blame the dog. Paws weren't designed for that kind of climbing.
"You know, you're a hell of a lot of trouble, Pal." Bucky lifted the dog in his arms and trotted down the steps.
He headed east, going a different route, hoping the dog would do his business quickly, but when a Jack Russell Terrier and its owner—a girl who looked barely out of her teens—came round the corner, everything went to hell.
The Terrier started it with a growly bark, puffing his chest with all the attitude of Steve when he was five-foot-four and taking on guys twice his size. The counter reaction was instantaneous. If Bucky hadn't kept a good hold of the leash, things would've gotten bad real fast.
"Hey! Hey!" He yanked the leash back, pulling back the rabid hyena suddenly on the other end of his leash. The girl took off in the opposite direction.
Everyone was looking at him. The stray he'd barely gotten to know was fixated on the retreating dog, barking and growling with high-pitched sounds that Bucky imagined a Tetradactyl might have made. The dog hopped back and lunged forward a few times, and Bucky noticed the collar was too loose. The dog almost slipped it, but before he did, Bucky scooped him up and headed back up the stairs to his apartment.
By the time he got inside, the dog had calmed down. Breathing heavily from the sudden adrenaline rush, Bucky looked down at the dog. The shelter hadn't been exaggerating.
"You're an asshole."
The dog was panting, whining slightly, gaze flickering to the balcony door.
Bucky wasn't sure what the dog's story was, but the scars indicated he'd seen a few fights. Whatever his history, he obviously had an issue with other dogs. Maybe it was fear. Maybe he'd been attacked a few too many times. Or maybe he was just wired that way.
Whatever the cause, potty time was going to be a hell of a lot more complicated.
"I gotta go to the store." He poured some kibble in the dog's bowl and rolled up the bag, shoving it into the corner next to the cabinet. "If you pee in here while I'm gone, I won't be happy."
Bucky grabbed his keys and headed out. The pet store down the block was probably just opening. He needed to get better equipment for the dog. Maybe a harness, something he could grab and something the dog wouldn't keep choking himself on. Some books on dog training wouldn't hurt…
What was he thinking? He wasn't keeping the dog. This wasn't his project.
He had to find a home for the dog. Maybe a rescue. Something.
The young lady behind the counter of the boutique shop smiled at him when he entered.
"Hello." He put forward his friendliest smile. "I'm uh…fostering…a dog. He's a puller. I need something for him. Maybe a harness. Something secure and strong."
"Of course!" She headed toward an aisle. "How big is he?"
"He's about 45 right now, but he's gonna have to gain a few pounds."
"Are you looking for a no-pull harness?"
They made those? "I guess so."
"Here's one I recommend because it's a Y-shape in the front. That's better for the dog's gait."
There was a selection of harnesses packaged individually in hard plastic. They came in three colors—black, red, and blue. He picked a couple of the blue packages. One seemed to be the right size, according to the dimensions, and the photo of the dog on the package was a Boxer. That was close enough.
"Do you know of any rescues in the area that work with Pit Bulls?"
She nodded. "I do. I think they mostly run full. I can write down their info for you at the counter."
"Thanks." He followed her back to the register, paid, and she scribbled down the name of a rescue organization. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and, with an appreciative smile, headed out.
His next stop was the corner store. He got a bag of groceries, then picked up a breakfast burrito from the mom and pop shop. He didn't want to be gone too much longer since he wasn't sure how the dog would do by himself.
The dog who had a name, he reminded himself, even if the shelter gave it to him and he probably didn't respond to it. But he wasn't keeping the dog, and whoever ended up with him might want to give him another name.
He made it back to the apartment quickly. That was one thing he loved about Brooklyn. So much of the area was walkable.
When he opened the door, the stench of fish almost gagged him. It took his brain a moment to process what he was seeing.
"Oh no." He sighed and closed the door.
The dog bolted up to him, tail wagging happily, belly so big he looked like an oversized wormy puppy. There was kibble all over the floor, and the bag of dog food was in tatters.
He should have seen this coming. It's not like he could blame the dog for this one. Still… "You really are an asshole, you know that? I could've let them kill you, and this is the gratitude I get?"
The dog jumped on him, grinning, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
Despite the mess, Bucky couldn't help but smile. The dog was ridiculous. What had he gotten himself into?
He grabbed the broom and dust pan and set to work. As he cleaned, the dog licked up a few pieces of kibble, but it was obvious he was stuffed. He wasn't looking forward to picking up that load once it came out the other end.
He hated to throw out all the dog food. It was a new bag. He salvaged as much of it as he could, rounding up a plastic storage bin from the hall closet to put most of it in. The bits that were dusty or soggy he threw away.
"I might as well try the harness on you." If it didn't fit, he'd have to exchange it. He didn't want to take the dog out for a walk without it.
He grabbed the package and went to the kitchen. The dog followed happily, tail wagging. Bucky grabbed the scissors from the kitchen drawer. Suddenly, there was a chaotic cacophony of nails scratching the wood floor, and Bucky looked up to see the white dog skittering across the room.
"Hey…" Bucky followed, scissors still in his right hand.
The dog was sheltered on the other side of the yellow loveseat, trembling. When Bucky approached, the dog leaped onto the loveseat and over the other arm, then vanished into the hallway near the bathroom. Bucky followed but stopped at the beginning of the hallway. The dog was in the corner near the far wall, partially obscured by shadow.
"It's okay." He looked down at the scissors in his hand.
His stomach did a somersault. Fucking assholes. If he ever found out who had harmed the dog, he might have to violate the doc's second rule.
He gave the dog space, moving into the kitchen and placing the scissors back in the drawer. He remembered what it was like to be in that place—encountering something that threw him back to a dark time, the sense of not being safe, that any second someone would walk through the door and….
He went back to the hallway and sat on the floor, his back to the wall, leaving enough space that the dog could get by if he wanted, but being visible.
"Hey, there, buddy, it's okay." He kept his voice low and gentle. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The dog stayed put, the sound of its panting loud in the quiet apartment.
"You know, they gave you a name at the shelter. Alpine. I thought it was a bit unoriginal at first, but I like it." He did, surprisingly, even though he didn't have the best association with the Alps.
He talked to the dog for a while, but Alpine gave no sign of moving. Finally, Bucky got to his feet and went to the loveseat. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television, keeping the volume low, and settled on watching the news.
About half an hour later, he heard the soft tapping of the dog's nails on the wood floor. Bucky kept still, casual, only glancing at the dog out of the corner of his eye. The white figure approached slowly, and when Alpine slinked onto the small space next to him, Bucky smiled.
A moment later, a snout nudged its way beneath his elbow. He lifted his arm and the dog slid beneath, laying its blocky head on his lap.
"I know how you feel, Buddy." Bucky gently stroked the dog's side. "I'm not a fan of sharp things around my head, either. I didn't mean to scare you, but now I know. No more scissors."
Alpine twisted until he was lying upside down on Bucky's lap, his belly exposed.
"You like this?" Bucky gave the dog a few belly scratches, and Alpine stretched appreciatively. "You like the belly scratches, boy? Oh, you're such a good boy. Yes, you are. How are you even this cute?"
Why the hell was his voice doing that?
CHAPTER 2
His eyelids started feeling heavy as Alpine snored softly on his lap with the low drone of the television lulling Bucky toward sleep. He hovered in the twilight area of sleep, vaguely aware of things around him. He sensed the dog shifting.
A moment later, a hacking sound had him jerking awake, finding the source instantly. "No! No! No!"
But it was too late. Alpine was hunched in the middle of the room over a massive pile of vomit composed of partially digested kibble that smelled like decayed fish. The stench turned his stomach, and he struggled to keep the contents of his own stomach down.
"Christ." He ran a hand through his hair and headed into the hall to find supplies for cleanup.
-000-
Bucky and Alpine spent the rest of the day inside, with Bucky looking up dog training videos on his laptop, focusing on leash manners and how to make your dog not go ape-shit when it sees other dogs. Eventually, it was go-time. Alpine gave signs that he needed to go outside. Pacing, circling….it was obvious he was looking for a spot. Bucky was grateful the dog hadn't yet lifted his leg to mark anything.
Thank heaven for small favors.
Bucky had freed the harness from its evil packaging without the use of scissors, and now it was time to try it on. Alpine was easy enough to work with inside. He didn't put up a fuss when Bucky tried to figure out the harness. It took a couple of tries of looking at the photo, but he got it on, adjusted it, gave it a couple of tugs, and determined it was a good fit.
He fished out the last frozen hot dog he had and nuked it, then waved it in front of the dog. Alpine perked up, his nose sniffing the air, and he leaped toward it, but Bucky pulled it out of the way.
"This you get if we pass a dog and you behave yourself."
Bucky slipped on a dark hoodie and carried Alpine down the fire escape again. He knew this wasn't a long-term solution, but for now, he was doing it day by day, like he had most things since walking away from the riverbank of the Potomac. He kept his eyes and ears tuned as they walked, taking care when approaching corners to avoid another surprise.
A man with a Golden Retriever walked out of a building across the street. Bucky tensed, the hot dog in his hand, but though Alpine noticed the dog and whined a little, he gave no other reaction. When the dog and its owner turned the corner, Alpine set to sniffing the base of a tree as though he were considering doing his business.
"Good job." Bucky offered Alpine the hot dog and let him take a chunk out of the end.
From that point forward, he had the dog's full attention the rest of the walk to the point where it was becoming counterproductive. "Look, boy, I really need you to do your business out here and not in my apartment. We've had a nice accident-free streak going, so let's not break it."
Alpine was staring at him as though he could telepathically maneuver the hot dog into his mouth.
The hot dog was going to have to go away, and Bucky groaned at that realization as he stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie. At least it wasn't his leather jacket, but it meant he'd be doing another load of laundry soon unless he wanted the hoodie to smell like hot dogs the next time he wore it.
Alpine wasn't fooled and instead just shifted his gaze to the pocket.
Bucky started walking. "You do your thing, and I'll give you some."
It took a few more minutes, but Alpine eventually peed. Bucky was hoping for complete success, and given Alpine's gluttony earlier, he hoped for more. How long did it take food to move through a dog's digestive system?
He saw a German Shepherd coming from the other side of the intersection. Alpine did too, his body tensing and his eyes focused. Bucky pulled the hot dog out of his pocket and suddenly, he had Alpine's full attention.
"Good boy." He let Alpine take another bite, leaving about a third of the hot dog left.
As Bucky turned to head in the opposite direction, back to the apartment, the German Shepherd reacted, straining at its leash and giving a whine that built into a frustrated bark. Alpine forgot all about the hot dog and lunged, doing his best hyena impression in his attempt to throw it down with his newfound nemesis.
"Come on!" Bucky grabbed the dog's harness and picked him up, giving the guy an apologetic wave as he headed back to the fire escape at the end of the block.
"What's up with you?" Bucky set the dog down in the living room. "Is it only dogs that talk smack to you that get your goat? You know that dog was bigger than you, right? I mean, I get it, the German thing. I got my own issues on that front, but you can't hold that against him, you know?"
Alpine looked up at him, wagging his tail.
"That's not gonna work on me. You're pissing me off, you know that?""
Alpine nudged Bucky's pocket with his nose. "It's not there, Buddy, and it's your own damn fault." He must have dropped the hot dog in the altercation. Oh well, lucky for the German Shepherd.
Bucky removed Alpine's harness and set it on the counter, then slipped out of his hoodie and went into the hallway to throw it into the laundry basket outside of the bathroom. He used the sink to wash his hands and took a moment to look at his reflection. His hair was down to his chin, and his bangs were becoming a nuisance. He could try to cut it himself like he had the first time, but he did a terrible job on his bangs, and he couldn't get the back of his head easily. It had ended up looking like a chopped mess and he'd broken down, gritted his teeth, and got out the electric clippers to even it out.
The buzzing seemed to vibrate through him, setting his teeth on edge. The fact that he knew it was only clippers and he was the one holding them helped marginally—enough to let him get through the haircut.
First things first. The hair could wait. He had to look into a trainer for the dog. Maybe if he could get Alpine over his dog PTSD, he might be able to find him a good home or, at least, a rescue that would take him in. Perhaps he could sweet-talk them with a donation. He had enough from his veterans benefits and the money Steve had left him, so he could probably swing a generous sum.
"Decision made," he called to the other room had he headed out the bathroom, "I'm gonna look up trainers, and—"
The smell hit him first, and his eyes found the pile in the center of the living room a moment later. "Goddamnit, Alpine." He sighed. Another cleanup. "I kind of hate you a little bit."
He thought back to Berlin. Sam had said something similar to him. Bucky had a whole new kind of empathy for what Sam had been going through back then. He might owe the man an apology….
'Can you move your seat up?'
'No.'
'They cleared the bionic staring machine and he's killed almost everybody he's met.'
No. No, he didn't.
-000-
Bucky spent the next day doing research on dog trainers and classes. He didn't relish the idea of group classes, especially with Alpine's issues, so he sprang for a private trainer to get started. The woman showed up a few minutes late, and she brought something called a clicker with her that seemed overall absurd until she explained about operant conditioning.
He was familiar with the concept, more so than he'd like to be. At least she used a carrot and not a stick.
Their session took them outside, and that was the riskiest part of their hour together. It was the middle of the day, and he couldn't very well climb down the fire escape with her. So, he took a chance on the hallway and told her he was working on getting his steps in as an excuse to take the stairs and meet her on the street below.
The first session wasn't a miracle cure, but he did learn a few things. She taught him how to backup Alpine's equipment so he couldn't escape, something called LAT, which she explained was short for, Look At That. She taught him about the importance of keeping Alpine under threshold, a concept he'd learned from Dr. Raynor, along with what kind of treats to use.
Not that Alpine was picky, but apparently too many hot dogs weren't good for dogs.
Together, they were able to confirm that Alpine would react most adversely when another dog exhibited aggression toward him. The trainer couldn't know for sure, of course, but she suspected Alpine's reaction was the result of being attacked by dogs previously or forced to fight.
Bucky knew a little something about that, too.
They spent the last half of the session finding places where they could encounter dogs at a distance without being surprised by one while they worked on the techniques. Alpine's ability to be bribed made the process a lot easier. Bucky made a mental note to stock up on chicken or steak.
The dog was going to end up eating better than he did.
The session gave Bucky hope, but the lift in his mood was short-lived. A few moments after he got back to his apartment, there was a knock at the door. Alpine barked.
"Shh!" Bucky waved him silent, throwing his best death glare at the dog.
Alpine tilted his head.
Bucky hurried to the door, listening. No one ever knocked on his door. Was it the trainer? Had she forgotten something?
"Hang on." He moved to the side of the door, away from any potential line of fire.
Alpine came trotting up, sniffing at the crack beneath the door. The damn dog was in the mix.
"Who is it?" Bucky asked.
"It's Omar. You got a dog in there?"
Damnit. The building's owner. "Just a minute."
He hurried away, calling Alpine, and contained him in the bathroom, then hurried and opened the door. "Yeah, I do, but it's just a dog I'm watching for a few days." That was in the vicinity of the truth.
Omar had a weathered face and no-nonsense eyes. He never gave Bucky any trouble, even after realizing who was moving into the building, but Bucky had been a model tenant up until now. He couldn't afford not to be. Having a stable residence was a condition of his pardon.
Omar leaned to look beyond Bucky. "Where is it?"
"I locked him in the bathroom so he won't be in the way."
"You haven't declared him, and you know the rules. He needs to go."
Bucky nodded. "He'll be out of here in a couple of days."
Omar looked at Bucky, giving him a solid once over, then huffed and shook his head. "The dog needs to be gone. No more pet-sitting after that."
Bucky nodded, not bothering to correct Omar's impression. "Understood."
When Omar left, Bucky sighed and closed the door, locking it behind him. He'd have to figure out something with the dog soon.
He released Alpine, who was whining and scratching at the door, from the bathroom. The toilet paper that had been on the roll was all over the floor, much of it in shredded bits. He sighed as Alpine skittered past him.
"Well, all things considered, I guess I shouldn't be surprised." At least it was just a roll of toilet paper. He cleaned it up and went back into the living room, where Alpine was curled up on the yellow loveseat.
Bucky gave him a long look. Maybe dogs had developed cuteness as a defense against being murdered. "You know you're a pain in the ass, right?"
-000-
"So, how's it going?"
Bucky finished loading the clunker of a hatchback he'd purchased used and closed the trunk, leaning against it as he talked into the phone. "It's…going."
"Have you named him? Are you keeping him?"
"The shelter gave him a name. Alpine. I guess that's good enough for now. I'm not keeping him. I've worked a bit with a trainer, and I'm going to take him to the cabin for a while, let him decompress, and work on some basics with him."
"Wow. You're really taking him on as a project? Good. I'm glad. I think it's a good thing that you're doing."
Considering all the things people had done for him, he'd be a hypocrite if he gave up after minor inconveniences. "He's not that bad. He needs some house manners. He's reactive if dogs react to him. It could be a terrier thing, but given his butchered ears and scars, the trainer thinks he might've been used to fight. Maybe he's got the dog version of PTSD."
"Man, that's…awful. People suck. But, hey, trauma is trauma, in animals or humans. How long are you planning to be at the cabin?"
"Not sure." He didn't have a timetable. That was one of the luxuries of his current situation.
"I think Steve would be happy to know the cabin he left you is being put to good use."
"Yeah, I suppose he would." He had checked it out once after Steve left, but staying in it had been incompatible with his mandated therapy. The place was in the middle of nowhere, outside a small town and four hours away from Brooklyn.
"Have fun with your dog."
"He's not my dog."
"Okay, sure." Sam chuckled. "Talk to you later."
"Goodbye, Sam." Bucky pocketed the phone and headed back into the apartment to grab Alpine. He hoped Alpine hadn't gotten into trouble in the few minutes it had taken Bucky to load the car.
-000-
With traffic, it took him almost five hours to get to the cabin. Nature had been doing its thing, and the area around the cabin was a small jungle. He got out of the car and stretched. The grass and weeds enveloped his ankles.
The first order of business would be getting the old push mower out and clearing an area around the cabin. He hooked Alpine's harness to the leash and lowered him out of the car. With only one front leg, Alpine rarely made graceful dismounts, though he seemed to be unbothered by the lost limb and was impressively agile.
Alpine sniffed the ground with gusto, then kicked up some dirt with his rear legs and shook off the long car ride. They'd stopped only once for a break, and Alpine did remarkably well. The car managed the trip well enough. It had heat and an old radio, but was otherwise frills-free, with worn, stained upholstery and windows that needed to be rolled down manually. It ran, however, and that's what mattered. Overall, it was cheaper than renting a car for an undetermined period, since he had no idea how long he'd be at the cabin, and he couldn't very well pack Alpine and all their stuff on the motorcycle.
Alpine did his business, and Bucky grabbed his backpack from the backseat, bringing it and Alpine into the Cabin. He left them both there long enough to get the rest of the stuff. Traveling with a dog certainly complicated things. He had two bags of dog food, a couple of dog bowls, the bed, a long line he'd fashioned out of rope and a carabiner, and, at the suggestion of the trainer, a plastic crate for the dog.
He didn't like the idea of caging Alpine. When he'd first looked at the selection of kennels online and imagined forcing Alpine into one of them, the air got heavy and, for a moment, he thought he could hear the clang of a baton against bars. He pushed that to the dark recesses of his mind in the graveyard where he'd buried most of the horrors from the past 80 years and settled on a ventilated plastic kennel that, according to the trainer, would make a good "den" for Alpine.
Inside the cabin, he situated the crate against the back wall of the cabin with the bed inside. He left the crate door open and hoped Alpine would take to the crate easily. The rest of the stuff he set outside the small bedroom, which amounted to an alcove big enough to hold a Queen-sized bed that had a curtain for privacy—not that he needed any, but it also served to block morning light.
The place was bare-bones, but more than sufficient for an extended stay, with a matchbook-sized kitchen and a no-frills bathroom. A woodburning stove was set against the wall opposite a dusty couch a few feet away from the crate. Alpine was already on the couch, christening it with his white hair.
-000-
It was getting warm when Bucky finished mowing the grass with the old push mower. The blades were barely sharp enough to get the job done, but he was able to make up for that with speed. It only took an hour to clear an area around the cabin.
He'd worked up a light sweat and took his shirt off, using it to wipe at the back of his neck. Alpine was watching him from the porch, tethered on the long line to the railing of the small porch.
"You wanna go for a dip in the pond?"
Alpine perked up, tail thumping on the deck.
"Okay, hang on."
Bucky pushed the mower toward the shed when a rustling from the edge of the treeline caught his ear. Alpine was on his feet, tail straight and high, gaze focused on whatever it was that made the sound.
"Hey, settle, Al—"
Alpine shot off the porch like a bouncing rocket, moving surprisingly fast despite having only one leg. When he hit the end of the line, the wood rail snapped, and Alpine was loose, heading into the treeline.
"Damnit, come back!" Bucky abandoned his mower and gave chase.
Alpine disappeared into the brush, and Bucky followed, following the chaotic crunch and rustle of the chase, occasionally catching a glimpse of white.
I'm gonna kill you, dog!
He could outrun the dog. Bucky picked up speed, seeing the dog's tether flying over the ground. He reached down, still running, and grabbed it, bringing Alpine to a halt and reeling him back. Alpine emerged from the brush full of dirt, leaves, and spiderwebs with a big grin, his tongue hanging out the side of his jowl.
Bucky glared at him. "Okay, Pal, it's time for boot camp."
-000-
Bucky spent the next few days working on Alpine's manners. He knew magic wouldn't happen overnight, but with lots of steak cut up into tiny morsels, he made progress. Alpine was taking to the crate, too, but there hadn't yet been any need to lock him in it. Bucky left the door open and would feed Alpine in the crate and hide treats and chews in there. Most of the time Alpine preferred the couch, but he often took to settling in the crate on his own, too.
Overall, things were going well. It was a lot easier for both of them in the country, and they were enjoying the peace. After dinner one night, Bucky cleaned up and brushed his teeth. Looking in the mirror, he studied his reflection. The hair was getting longer, and his five-o'clock shadow was a full-fledged beard. He needed to clean up the beard and trim the bangs out of his eyes.
He closed the bathroom door so Alpine wouldn't venture in and grabbed a pair of scissors from the cabinet beneath the sink, then set to work on his bangs, cutting off enough that they stayed out of his eyes. He clipped the longer edges of his beard, cleaning it up. He wasn't sure why. It's not like there was anyone to impress out here.
The patter of rain banged against the cabin, and Bucky cleaned up the hair and returned the scissors. He'd have to work on desensitizing Alpine to the scissors.
A clap of distant thunder intruded, muffled by distance. Bucky headed back into the living room just as another clap of thunder broke. Alpine paced and panted. There was nothing Bucky could do to comfort him as the storm rolled in. When it came time for bed, Alpine buried himself under the covers and curled up against Bucky's side, trembling each time a clap of thunder and lightning intruded.
The storm lasted longer than most, but finally, all that was left was the patter of rain on the roof of the cabin. Even that passed after another hour, leaving a silence so thick that the only things Bucky could hear were Alpine's panting and his own breathing until, finally, he fell asleep.
He woke cold. Still half asleep, he tried to grab the covers to bring them higher, but they weren't there. Shivering, he opened his eyes and looked down. He was naked except for the boxers and his dog tags. All the covers were in a twisted mound near his knees. Alpine was nowhere to be seen.
"Alpine?" His eyes went to the front door, panicked for a moment, but it was closed securely.
The blankets shifted, and a black nose jutted out. Bucky breathed a relieved sigh and lifted up the edge of the blankets to see Alpine blinking at him.
"Blanket thief."
Bucky swung his legs over the bed and headed into the kitchen to start on breakfast and coffee. Alpine stayed buried in his mound of covers until the kibble hit the bowl, then he slid off the bed and padded toward his crate for breakfast. He scarfed down his food. Belly full, he went to the front door and pawed at the wood.
"Okay, okay." Bucky finished the last of his eggs at the kitchen counter, got dressed, stuffed some treats in the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed Alpine's harness and long line.
Once Alpine was suited up, Bucky opened the door. Alpine ran out, bouncing down the porch. Bucky let him drag the long line around in the clearing. He wasn't trustworthy yet off leash if critters showed up, but Bucky could run faster than him, and the long line made him easy to catch.
The ground was wet from last night's storm, and Alpine took his time exploring the damp terrain, lifting his paws every few steps as though he were offended by getting wet. Bucky smiled as he watched, even though the line was being dragged through the mud. He didn't know anything of Alpine's backstory, but he doubted the dog spent much time in nature.
Alpine finally did his business. Bucky slipped his hand in his pocket and grabbed a treat. "Alpine, come!"
The dog bounced up to him, immediately going for the morsels in Bucky's hand.
"Good boy!" Bucky scratched at Alpine's fat jowls. "You're learning."
Alpine's feet were already dirty. A wipe-down would be in order. He got to his feet. A hawk soared overhead, and there was another rustling from the treeline. Bucky quickly grabbed the long line.
"Alpine, sta-"
Alpine took off, losing his balance as he jumped off the porch, but that barely slowed him down. When he hit the end of the thirty-foot line, something snapped and Bucky found himself holding a line with nothing attached to it.
"Damnit!"
Once again, he found himself chasing Alpine through the brush.
"Alpine, come!"
The dog ignored him. Bucky spotted a wild turkey hen on the other side of a mud pit that might be a pond if they got more rain. He didn't think that was what Alpine had been chasing, but Alpine's attention shifted to it immediately. The turkey flapped its wings, and as Bucky made a grab for Alpine, the dog was gone, bounding through a muddy patch toward the bird.
"Oh, come on!" Bucky watched, dismayed, as Alpine sloshed through the mud.
The Turkey made a slow escape upward onto a tree branch. Alpine stopped at the base, putting his one front paw on the trunk as he barked what Bucky could only assume was the canine equivalent of trash talk.
"This is not how I wanted to start my morning."
Bucky went up to Alpine, who was now brown instead of white, dripping with mud, his harness caked it in. He shoved some treats in Alpine's face, and finally, the dog turned his attention away from the Turkey and scarfed a few morsels.
"Come on!" Bucky tried to entice Alpine away from the tree.
The dog seemed reluctant to go, hovering near the trunk and giving a few more barks.
"Alpine, come!" He remembered what the trainer told him. Keep his voice happy.
Alpine ignored him, fixated on the bird in the tree.
"Look, you missed your chance to catch us a turkey dinner. Don't make me pick you up."
Alpine circled the tree, trying to find a better view. The turkey gave a few excited yelps. He'd dropped the long line back at the cabin, which sucked, because it looked like he was going to have to physically grab Alpine.
"Fine, you asshole." Bucky grabbed the dog's harness, noticing the D-ring was broken.
Cheap piece of shit. He'd have to make something more substantial.
He lifted Alpine and carried him like a suitcase back to the cabin, getting his pants filthy but trying to keep the rest of him clean. Alpine gave a few grumbles, twisting to look back at the tree and getting in a few final protests. Once he made it back to the clearing, he grabbed the long line and snapped the carabiner around the fabric of the harness handle.
He'd have to figure out a way to bathe Alpine outside. The cabin was on a well, so the water pressure wasn't the greatest, but he was pretty sure there was a hose in the shed. Heading that way, he kept hold of the line, bringing Alpine with him, but Alpine was still excited from his run, hopping around Bucky and getting the long line wrapped around Bucky's legs.
He tried to extricate himself, almost slipping on the wet ground, when the Turkey's distance yelp carried to the clearing, and Alpine took off again.
"Fuck!" was all Bucky managed when one foot was taken out from under him.
He landed face-down with a wet plop onto the cold ground. The line tugged against his foot, and he grabbed it, unwinding it and reeling a bouncing, chattering Alpine back.
"Listen you little shit, I've had about enough of you this morning." Bucky got to his feet, picked up Alpine, and carried him to the porch.
He roped the line through another section of the dog's harness as a safety measure and then double-tied the other end to a couple of the wood rails of the porch, leaving only a couple of feet of slack.
"Stay!"
He marched over to the shed and fought through spiderwebs and a collection of tools to find a hose hanging behind a stack of rakes and shovels. He extricated it and straightened up, then headed back to the cabin.
Alpine was gone.
What the hell?
Bucky bounded up the steps. The line was chewed. He was just about to take off toward the tree where the Turkey had sheltered when he heard movement inside the cabin. The door was hanging open.
Oh no.
He walked inside. There were muddy footprints on the floor, and Alpine was sprawled out on the couch. Bits of mud were splattered everywhere—on the walls, the floor, and even parts of the kitchen counters.
How on Earth…?
Alpine hopped off and trotted toward Bucky, tail wagging. He stood, looking up, using the pleading eyes he implemented when he wanted treats.
"Hell, no, you little asshole."
Alpine shook his head and then…
"Don't you-"
…shook his entire body, flinging mud everywhere. Bucky got pelted with it—his clothes, face, and hair. Some even made it into his mouth.
When it was over, Bucky kicked the door closed a little harder than necessary and glared at Alpine, who was looking up at him, grinning, tail wagging.
Bucky sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair, mud and all.
The cabin was a lost cause, so he stripped out of his clothes, took the harness off Alpine, and went to the bathroom. Alpine followed. The shower was small, but it had just enough room for both of them.
Chapter 3
It took Bucky all day to clean the cabin. He paid silent thanks to Steve that the old couch cushions had zippered covers. He washed them and hung them out to dry in the afternoon sun. It was almost dark by the time they were dry enough to be put back on.
He took the time to work on Alpine staying in the crate while he cleaned. He closed the door a few minutes at a time, and for the most part, Alpine seemed unbothered, whining once or twice and settling with a bully stick.
Bucky made the mistake of looking up what those were when he'd bought the pack of them, and instinctively the muscles in his groin tightened. Alpine seemed to enjoy them, and Bucky doubted he'd care one way or the other what part of the bull they came from.
They turned in early, and the next day, Bucky rose early. He was running low on supplies, and he had to buy new hardware for Alpine's harness. There was a town 20 minutes away, but he hadn't left Alpine alone inside the cabin for more than a few minutes, and he didn't want to lock him in the crate for that long without knowing how well he'd handle that.
The day was cool, so leaving Alpine in the car for a few minutes shouldn't be a problem. He eyed the dog, sprawled out and taking up two-thirds of the couch as if he owned the thing.
"Alpine…"
Alpine spiraled around and rolled off the couch, landing on his side and twisting until he was on all three paws, tail wagging as though he meant to do that.
"If I take you into town with me and leave you in the car, are you going to chew up the interior?"
Alpine trotted up to him.
Bucky sighed. He was probably going to regret this. At least the car was a clunker.
He got Alpine loaded in the back seat of the car and ran the seatbelt through the harness to keep him from pushing his way to the front. Twenty minutes later, he was on the main street of the small town and found a spot in front of the general convenience store beneath a tree.
Bucky twisted to look at Alpine. "This is a test. Pass, and you get to come in the future."
Alpine wiggled his whole body, grinning from the backseat.
Bucky's phone began dinging as he got out of the car. He pulled it out of his pocket. Well, at least there was cell reception in town. There were half a dozen missed calls and texts from Sam.
Hmmm. Was something up?
Bucky cracked a few windows. It was a mild day, with a cool breeze, and the car was in dappled shade. He locked up and gave Alpine a long look through the glass. The dog was staring at him expectantly but otherwise seemed to be behaving himself.
Making his way into the store, Bucky stepped inside. A bell announced his arrival, and a thick man with a speckled beard looked up from a laptop behind the register. Bucky gave him a nod and made his way down the aisles.
He found a mountain climbing carabiner, a roll of paracord, a coated metal tether, and a ground anchor. He could work on getting Alpine used to hanging out in front of the cabin while Bucky was out there without risking the dog running off. He hoped.
The place was part feed store and part convenience store, which gave Bucky just about everything he needed, including a second harness just in case, a bag of dog treats, and a few more chews. He paid for his stuff and headed back to the car, setting the items in the rear and throwing one of the chicken jerky chews to Alpine.
The upholstery looked untouched, and Bucky gave the dog an approving nod. "You earned that reward. I'll be back in a bit."
The next errand was the small grocery store across the street. He was in and out in twenty minutes and loaded the groceries in the back. Alpine had finished his chew and was trying to hop in the back, but the seatbelt held him relatively secure. He had room to shift position, but not enough room to jump the seat.
Bucky slid behind the wheel and pulled out his phone. He read through Sam's texts. They sounded casual.
What's up?
Hey man, where are you?
Answer your damn phone!
Bucky dialed.
"It's about time," Sam answered.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Why have you been ignoring my texts again?"
Bucky started the car, put the speakerphone on, and set the phone upside down in the cupholder. The car was old enough that it didn't have Bluetooth. "There's no signal at the cabin. I'm on a supply run now, so your messages popped up once I hit town. What's up?"
"Oh, that makes sense. I have some downtime and I thought I'd check in. You want any company? There's a lake near that cabin, isn't there? We could do some fishing."
Sam wanted to actually hang out with him? "Overnight?"
"Maybe a couple of days, if you have the room. It'd be nice."
"Sure." He smiled. It would be nice to do some fishing and have someone besides Alpine to talk to, not that the dog wasn't a good listener. "The cabin's a bit small."
"You got a couch, right?"
"Yeah, but it might not be long enough."
"I'll bring my mat and sleeping bag just in case."
"Bring some beers, too."
Sam chuckled. "You got it. Anything else you need?"
"Nope."
They finalized the details, and he gave Sam directions, then hung up and looked at Alpine as he put the car into reverse. "Sam's coming tomorrow. Don't embarrass me."
Alpine leaned forward to lick at Bucky's face, but the seatbelt held him back.
-000-
Back at the cabin, Bucky put the groceries away and attached the mountain climbing carabiner to Alpine's harness while Alpine chewed happily on a Nylabone in his open crate. That done, Bucky set to work on making a new long line out of the paracord, braiding it tightly and fastening it to the rock-climbing carabiner on the original line that Alpine had chewed. The paracord wasn't skin-friendly, but his vibranium hand couldn't get rope burn. It wasn't chew proof, but it should hold up better than the other one. For that particular problem, the coated metal tether he'd gotten should be up for the job.
He eyed the dog, whose head was poking out of the crate as he worked on the bone. "I'm outsmarting you, Pal. You're gonna have to learn not to go running off into the wilderness. One of these days, you're gonna find yourself pissing off a bear or bobcat."
Alpine looked up at him briefly, a steady thumping coming from the crate, then he resumed his work on the bone.
Bucky finished and inspected his handwork. The paracord was thin and light, three lines braided together, thirty feet long. He decided to work on the tether next and went outside, closing the door and keeping an ear out in case Alpine decided to get into trouble.
He selected a place at the bottom of the short steps and pounded the anchor deep into the ground with his vibranium fist, then gave it a solid tug. He snapped the metal line on and tested the swivel to make sure it rotated smoothly. There was nothing around it to get in the way, and he walked the line up to the porch to see how far Alpine could go. He had enough slack to be comfortable on the porch or hanging at the bottom of the short stack of steps. It should work well, and Bucky would be out here with him whenever he was on the tether, so it should be safe enough.
Maybe he'd even be able to teach Alpine to stay within a perimeter and not go chasing after every critter that dared come close. Bucky went back inside and suited up Alpine, then grabbed a pocketful of treats and went outside. He clipped Alpine to the tether and gave him a treat.
"Good boy."
He spent the next thirty minutes letting Alpine get used to, and occasionally pull and gnaw at the tether, rewarding him whenever he was calm. Alpine peed a few times, marking the area, but when he finally settled down on the ground, Bucky gave him a few more treats and sat down next to him, stroking his blocky head.
"See, that's not so bad. I don't like having to tie you up, boy, but this way you get to enjoy the outside with me while I'm working in the yard, and it keeps you safe."
Alpine leaned into his leg and looked up at him with the very definition of puppy dog eyes.
"Here." Bucky gave him the rest of the chicken and unclipped him. "This was just a trial run. Let's go back inside, Buddy."
Happy with how the first session went, Bucky decided to try for another success. He poured a quarter cup of kibble in Alpine's bowl to keep him busy, then went into the bathroom and retrieved the scissors, carrying them behind his back as he went into the living room. The moment Alpine was done eating and looked at him, Bucky put them on the tiny kitchen counter with an inch of the handle hanging over the edge so it would be visible to Alpine.
The dog's reaction was instantaneous. He hurried into his crate and curled up in the very back.
"It's okay buddy." Bucky went to the refrigerator and pulled out the baggie of diced chicken, then headed over to the couch with it. He sat down and tossed a few pieces in front of Alpine's crate. Alpine didn't take the bait. So, Bucky waited.
About thirty minutes later, Alpine snuck his head out, looked around cautiously, then eyed the kitchen counter as he scarfed up the chicken and withdrew back into his sanctuary.
"Good boy." Bucky threw more pieces of chicken and waited. It only took five minutes before Alpine's head came out.
He worked on that for the next two hours until there was a trail of chicken to the kitchen counter and Alpine was getting brave enough to follow it, snatching up the morsels, then returning to his crate. Bucky waited Alpine out until the light filtering in through the kitchen window made its way across the room. When dinner time was approaching, Alpine cautiously emerged from his den, head low, side-eyeing the counter as he moved toward the couch and slithered up to curl next to Bucky.
"Awww, it's okay, Pal." Bucky stroked his head. "You're a good boy. Very brave. I know those are scary scissors, but I promise they're not gonna hurt you."
Alpine's tail thumped against the back of the couch and he scooted onto Bucky's lap, burying his snout in the crook of Bucky's other arm.
"You're so cute." Bucky wrapped his arm around Alpine and scratched just below his ribs, at the edge of his stomach. "How'd you get to be this cute? Do you work at it, or were you just born this way?"
Alpine scooched so that his entire body was on Bucky's lap and rolled onto his back, his head nestled in the crook of Bucky's elbow.
Bucky couldn't help but laugh. The dog was ridiculous. "This is too much cuteness, you know. You need to tone it down." Bucky gave Alpine's tummy a good scratch, glancing at the scissors on the counter. Alpine hadn't looked at them once in the last few minutes.
That was progress.
-000-
Sam arrived the next day around noon, his arrival signaled by the crunch of tires against the unpaved ground. Alpine hopped off the couch, cropped ears tilted forward, tail high, giving a little "woof" as he made his way to the door and tilted his head.
"Sit." Bucky said, and when Alpine obeyed, he grabbed a biscuit from the box on the counter and handed him one, then opened the door and stepped out quickly, throwing another couple of biscuits at Alpine and telling him to wait.
"Hey there!" Sam closed the car door with his foot and walked toward the cabin, backpack over his shoulder. A sleeping bag and mat were rolled up, hanging from one hand, and a case of beer was in the other. "You're beginning to look like an actual mountain man, just like you did in Wakanda."
Bucky rolled his eyes and smiled. "I know. I'm way past due for a haircut."
"I thought you weren't a fan of the long hair, didn't want people being reminded of the Winter Soldier?"
Yeah, there's that. "I haven't gotten around to cutting it."
There must have been something in his voice or on his face because Sam's eyes narrowed, and he gave him a long look. "Oh? Okay. Any reason? I mean, hey if you like it this way, that's one thing, but I get the sense something else is going on?"
Bucky sighed and tilted his head toward the cabin. Sam was too perceptive sometimes. "Come on in and set your stuff down."
Sam followed Bucky into the Cabin. The moment Alpine saw Sam, he was all wiggles, his tail thumping against Bucky's leg like a whip as he hopped excitedly on his one front leg.
"Hey, there, boy! Remember me?" Sam set his things on the floor and knelt down to pet Alpine, who promptly hopped up and gave Sam's face a slobber bath.
Bucky smirked as Sam grimaced and stood up, using the front of his shirt to wipe his face. "That was gross. Cute, but gross."
"He likes you. I guess that proves not all dogs are a good judge of character."
Sam scowled, but his eyes crinkled. "Obviously not since he hasn't bitten you yet, has he?"
"He loves me." Bucky leaned down to scratch Alpine behind the ears.
Sam crossed his arms and tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "So, are you keeping him?"
"Just whipping him into shape, working on his manners. He's got some trauma from whatever happened to him, so I'm working on that, too."
Sam didn't look convinced. "Well, you know all about that, so I guess you're the right person to help him." He jerked his chin at Bucky. "So, are you channeling OG Thor in your new look, or…"
Bucky scratched at his beard. Maybe Sam could give him a trim. It would be easier and a lot more comfortable than going into a barber shop or salon and explaining why he didn't want electric clippers or why he was rigid as a stone when the blades of the scissors danced around his head.
"The last time I went in for a cut, I broke the arm of the chair and left before it was finished, just threw some money on the counter and left. I went home and finished it myself."
Sam huffed, part amusement, part sympathy. "That explains your bangs. Is that why you never cut your hair in Wakanda?"
Bucky shrugged. "There wasn't much reason to. I was living in a hut."
Sam eyed the scissors on the counter. "I'm no hair stylist, but if you like, I can do my best. It'll probably be passable, and if it isn't, wear a hat. It'll grow out again."
Bucky smiled, a hint of heat in his cheeks. "I'll take you up on that offer. Thanks."
"Sure? When?" Sam grabbed the scissors and pointed them casually at Bucky, the metal glinting off the light, much the same way scalpels had when he was strapped to a table, with masked men standing over him, lights in his face.
The throaty, booming bark Alpine gave made Sam jump. It startled Bucky. He was about to tell Sam to put the scissors down, expecting Alpine to take off into his crate, but he couldn't have imagined that sound out of Alpine. Even when Alpine was trash-talking other dogs, he never sounded like that.
"Put the scissors on the counter, Sam," Bucky said.
Alpine was alternating between backing up and moving toward Sam as he continued barking, tail tucked, ears back, giving low growls in between, the hair on his back standing up from his shoulders halfway down his spine.
Sam set the scissors on the counter and held his hands up, avoiding contact with Alpine. The dog settled down, panting, and stood in front of Bucky, leaning against his legs, trembling.
"What was that about?" Sam asked, his voice soft and steady.
Bucky knelt down and ran a soothing hand down Alpine's back. "It's okay, boy." He looked up at Sam. "These ears of his weren't done by a vet, that's pretty obvious."
"Shit." Sam grimaced, his eyes going wide then glinting with anger. "That's messed up."
"Yes, it is." He took a breath, flashing back to being on the table, awake, the buzzing of the saw, the layers of agony as the blade cut into his flesh.
"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked.
Bucky nodded. Okay was a relative term. "I've been working on desensitizing him to scissors. He usually just runs, though."
Sam nodded. "He was protecting you."
Bucky blinked and looked down at Alpine, into dark eyes that were focused on him as though he were the only thing that mattered in the world. A tingling warmth spread through his chest, and he blinked back a sudden and unexpected heat in his eyes. This dog that was terrified of scissors had faced the thing he feared the most—put himself within inches of it—just to protect Bucky.
That fear….Bucky knew it to his core. How debilitating it was. That it defied all reason, no matter how much one part of his brain screamed he was safe, there was another, more primal part, that would not believe it. Despite that, Alpine hadn't even tried to bite Sam.
If Bucky were in the same situation, faced with someone waving an electric bone saw at him, he was positive he wouldn't have shown such restraint.
Alpine was staring at him in a way that made Bucky wish he could change things for Alpine—to make him feel safe and live the kind of life a dog should have. A happy, carefree life fetching balls and sleeping on soft things with a warm body nearby.
He'd never had a dog, so this was all new to him, but he could decipher all the emotions flickering behind that gaze. Alpine was scared and anxious. He didn't know what was going on, but he thought something bad had almost happened, and he could sense their discomfort.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Alpine." Bucky scratched behind his ears, and Alpine buried his snout under Bucky's arm. "It's okay. You want a treat?"
Alpine pulled away and looked up, his tail giving a low thump on the floor.
"Okay." Bucky got up and went to the refrigerator. This called for more than a biscuit. He grabbed a stick of string cheese and tossed it at Alpine.
The dog caught it and devoured it in two chunks as though he hadn't eaten in a week, despite having had a full breakfast a few hours earlier.
"Is he gonna hate me now?" Sam asked. "I don't want him locking his jaw onto my leg."
Bucky shook his head and patted Sam on the arm. "He seems to be a very forgiving fellow. Don't worry about it. I mean, he's just a three-legged dog, and pit bulls don't have a locking jaw, Sam. I swear, the things people come up with."
Sam glared at him. "Yeah, and you're just a one-armed man whose bark is worse than his bite. I just hope Alpine is the same way."
Bucky reached down and scratched Alpine behind the ears. "You and Steve didn't give up on me." The dog leaned into his leg, tail thumping contentedly. Bucky looked back up at Sam. "I'm not giving up on him."
Sam's expression softened, his shoulders dropping. He put a gentle hand on Bucky's shoulder. "In the interests of full disclosure, I gave up on you after the steering wheel thing. Steve knew from the get-go that you were still in there, that you'd know him, even if you didn't remember him."
"Is that so?" Bucky nodded, lips quirking upward as he batted around several replies and settled on, "Well, Steve bailed, and you got his hand-me-downs."
"Yeah, a bulky frisbee I have to carry around and an old WW2 vet with one arm." Sam sighed heavily, shaking his head. "What an asshole."
Bucky laughed and stood up. "Huge one."
-000-
The sun danced off the surface of the lake. Bucky and Sam sat on opposite ends of a canoe that had been sitting at the edge of the water for who knows how long. It was something he'd spotted on one of his hikes with Alpine. The lake was state property, so he wasn't sure whether the canoe was a free-for-all or someone had left it behind, but it floated, and that's what mattered.
Alpine was standing in the center of the canoe next to the cooler, head hanging over the side, barking and whining whenever he saw something move. The fish weren't biting, and Bucky was pretty sure Alpine was the cause. Sam was good enough not to say anything.
Suddenly, Alpine leaped over the rim of the canoe and landed in the water with an ungraceful splash that sent water into the boat and over their shoes.
"Goddamnit, Alpine!" He hadn't expected the dog to go into the water considering how unhappy he was about rain and cold puddles. He and Sam reeled in their lines to avoid hooking the world's most clueless dog.
Alpine swam in chaotic circles, having a hard time paddling with only one front leg, occasionally dipping his head in the water as if searching for whatever he was after. A fish jumped behind him, tail flapping against Alpine's rear, and the white of Alpine's eyes were immediately prominent as his paddling became almost frantic. He turned his body toward the canoe and swam with all his might.
He couldn't get in, of course. His front paw scratched at the wood as his rear sank. It was sad and comical at the same time. Laughing, Bucky shook his head and reached over, grabbing Alpine's harness and hauling him in. He knew what was next and closed his eyes.
Sam was too busy laughing to realize what was about to happen. Alpine shook from head to toe, sending a spray of water over them both.
"Oh, come on!" Sam shielded himself with one hand.
When Alpine was done, he hunkered down in the bottom of the canoe, head on his paws, eyes rolling sideways toward Bucky.
Bucky wasn't sure it was possible for dogs to be embarrassed, but if Alpine could blush, Bucky was pretty sure he'd be red in the face. "One of these days, boy," Bucky reached over to pat Alpine's rump, his hand making dull splat sounds against the soaked hair, "you'll get some common sense."
Sam chuckled and set down his line, then grabbed a beer from the cooler. "Well, I'm pretty sure that scared off everything for a few minutes." He glared at Alpine. "If we go home without any catches, you're obviously not getting fish tonight."
Alpine popped his head up and tilted it, looking quizzically at Sam.
"I mean it." Sam pointed at him. "I'll—"
Before either of them could react, Alpine was on his feet, body wiggling like a happy, dumb idiot, and hopped onto Sam with such unbridled enthusiasm that Sam was caught off-guard, arms pinwheeling almost comically, which just made Alpine all the more excited as he surged upward, licking every inch of Sam's face, tail wagging frantically.
Bucky was too busy laughing to do a thing when Sam flailed backward into the water, but he did manage to grab Alpine's harness just in the nick of time to prevent the dog from taking another dip.
"I hate your dog!" Sam yelled as he oriented himself and grabbed onto the edge of the canoe.
"Hey!" Bucky took his phone out of his pocket. "Those are fightin' words."
Sam hauled himself into the boat. He was dripping wet, glaring like a wet cat. "You know, you're as much of an asshole as Steve was. I saw you go for the dog and not me."
Bucky smiled and snapped a photo of Sam. "Sam! I'm shocked at you."
"Delete that photo!"
Bucky smiled as he eyed the one bar of signal and texted it to Sarah, hoping it managed to get through. Without looking up, he continued, "Alpine can barely swim with three legs. You saw how hard a time he had."
"Who are you sending it to? I thought there was no signal out here?"
Bucky pocked it. "He could've drowned. How would that look in the press?"
"I mean it, Barnes…."
"Captain America drowning a poor formerly abused, three-legged rescue dog?"
"I hate you, too."
Bucky laughed and grabbed a beer from the cooler. Alpine's tail thumped against the side of the canoe.
Sam pulled out his cell phone from his soaked jacket and nodded. "You're lucky this thing is waterproof, otherwise you'd be buying me a new phone."
-000-
"So, how do you want to do this?" Sam asked that evening, after they'd cooked the fish they managed to catch—despite Alpine—and had a few beers.
Alpine was on the long line, sniffing the ground around Sam's trunk, exploring the vehicle and cataloging scents, making his way to the trunk. His tail picked up speed as his nose worked.
"Hey, don't you jump on my car!" Sam yelled.
Alpine huffed and trotted back to them, then plopped on his back and rolled in the field, the epitome of happiness. Bucky smiled as he watched the dog. He wished he could be like that—put aside the trauma most of the time and just live in the present, enjoy the moment, get the hell out of his own head.
He was getting there, little by little. Things were better than they had been. That gave him hope.
"I'll put Alpine inside." Bucky stood and called the dog.
Alpine twisted onto his feet and came trotting expectantly.
"You got a most of a fish and you're still looking for more?" Bucky reached into the pocket of his zippered hoodie and took out a biscuit, tossing it to Alpine, who caught it mid-air. "Let's go, boy. Inside. I need a haircut without you trying to take on Captain America."
"I'd win!" Sam piped up.
Bucky smirked and unhooked Alpine, then took him inside, gave him a Nylabone, and put him in his crate. He closed the door so the dog wouldn't get into trouble while they were outside. He grabbed a comb and scissors from the bathroom. His heart sped up as he carried them outside.
It was stupid to be anxious about a haircut.
"Might as well do it out here to avoid having to clean up a mess." Bucky handed the items to Sam and slipped out of his hoodie and shirt to avoid getting hair on them.
Sam stood as Bucky grabbed the old wooden chair in the corner of the porch and dusted off some spiderwebs. He plopped himself down, swallowing hard and studying the sliver of sun peeking over the treeline.
Sam stood behind him. The hairs on Bucky's right arm stood straight and a chill ran down his spine.
"How short do you want it?" Sam asked.
"Short." So I don't have to do this again anytime soon. "A little longer than how it was after the last time I cut it." Butchered it, was more like it.
He caught the movement of the scissors out of the corner of his eyes and stopped breathing. He realized he stopped breathing when his chest got tight, and he forced himself to release a slow breath.
"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked.
"It's just a haircut. Yeah."
"You know you're a terrible liar."
"As far as flaws go, I'll take that one."
Sam slid the comb through Bucky's wild locks and started snipping. The soft metallic clink of the blades sliding against one another near his left ear made him suddenly unable to breathe. His gut twisted. It felt like someone was squeezing his chest.
"Hey." Sam pulled the comb and the scissors away. "You need to breathe, man."
Fuck. Bucky forced the air out of his lungs.
Sam gave him a few minutes, chatting about Sarah's upcoming birthday and his problems figuring out what to get her.
"I was thinking a spa package or something," Sam said, "but there's nothing in Delacroix. She'd have to go into town. I think she'd appreciate it, though. Or maybe I should just get her a gift card. It's still a couple of weeks away, but if I don't figure out something soon, it's definitely going to be a gift card."
Bucky remembered birthdays and Christmas, the joy of figuring out presents. The fun of watching someone open your gift. The frenzy of Christmas morning when he was a kid. He missed having loved ones to buy presents for, watch their expression as they unwrapped one, especially one that landed well.
He didn't know Sarah well, but he'd spent a little time with her. He was observant even before Hydra and the serum, but his years as the Winter Soldier gave him an additional advantage. "She likes to cook, right?"
"Yeah, she's a great cook."
"But money's tight, and spices are expensive." He'd noticed her spice rack in the kitchen, with a few old spices that she obviously rarely used but didn't want to replace. "Get her a subscription to something related to cooking, like a spice of the month thing."
"That's a great idea."
"I have them occasionally."
"What kinds of presents did you give your sisters for their birthdays?"
He thought back to the year he'd gotten Becca a model car for her tenth birthday. He was sixteen, and it was the middle of the depression. Money was tight, but he managed to pick up enough odd jobs and save enough money to buy Tommy's old toy car with the broken wheel. He'd cleaned it up, fixed the wheel, found a box, and wrapped it himself. It was red with a key in the side.
He saw the way she watched the boys race cars down the hill, but his folks didn't want to encourage her to run around outside with the boys, getting dirty, so they bought her dolls, dresses, and bake sets. She liked the bake sets, but most of her dolls sat forgotten in the closet, except for one cherished teddy bear she'd had since she was three years old.
When she'd unwrapped the gift, her face was pure shock. Her eyes darted to Ma, who gave Bucky a long-suffering look, but even though his mother's mouth was tight, the edges of her lips curled upward. After a moment, she sighed and rolled her eyes.
'I swear James Buchanan, you're a bad influence.'
"Don't hurt yourself trying to think back that far," Sam prodded.
Bucky smiled. "I got my sister a toy car once for her tenth birthday. It vexed my mom a little, but Becca loved it. After we ate, she changed into a romper and ran outside with me. We raced cars down a hill for hours."
"You know, kids need to do more of that these days. They spend too much time watching TV or playing on phones."
"That's the truth."
"All done back here," Sam said, patting Bucky's shoulder.
What? He'd been so into his own memories that he hadn't even noticed that Sam had resumed cutting.
"Want me to see what I can do with your bangs?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
-000-
Bucky stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Not bad, Sam. It wasn't a perfect haircut, but he liked it. It was short, clean, and he had enough bangs that they didn't stand straight up, yet they were well above his brow line and out of his eyes.
He'd trimmed as much of his beard as he could with the scissors, but it was time for a clean shave. He grabbed the foam from the sink and lathered up, then picked up the razor and set to work on his beard. When he finished and washed up, the face looking back at him was more familiar. It was older, with creases framing his eyes and a few more lines on his forehead, but it was his face, his eyes, and no matter how hard he looked, he didn't see the Winter Soldier.
When he went back into the living room, there were two packages on the kitchen counter, encased in colorful paper, one more expertly wrapped than the other, with bows on top. Next to them sat a platter of lumpy chocolate chip cookies stacked to resemble a small cake.
He stopped in his tracks.
Sam was on the couch, playing tug of war with Alpine, and he let go of the rope and pushed to his feet. "Happy birthday, Buck."
Bucky blinked back the sting in his eyes, took a breath, and gave Sam a sideways look. "This is why you called me out of the blue to come hang with me here in the middle of nowhere?"
Sam grinned, arms clasped behind his back, and shrugged one shoulder. "What? You thought I wouldn't remember your birthday? The whole world knows your birthday, man. The prettier one is from Sarah."
Bucky's cheeks stretched with a smile. The last time he'd celebrated his birthday was March of 1944, on the frontlines, and it barely qualified as a celebration. The gift his folks sent him arrived a month late—a letter, a few pairs of socks, a couple of bottles of Coca-Cola, and a compact shaving kit.
"You gonna stand there all day gawking at them, or are you gonna open them?"
"Where'd you get the cookies?"
"Sarah made them. I packaged them up really well and hid them in the trunk." He brought his arm out from behind his back, a candle in his hand. "I couldn't find enough candles, and they don't make those numbered ones over 100, so this'll have to do."
Bucky shifted on his feet, feeling suddenly self-conscious and a little awkward. "That's more than good enough."
"Okay, let's do this!"
They did. He scratched Alpine on the neck, made a wish—that he'd find the perfect home for Alpine or a place that would let him keep the dog—and blew out the candle. He opened the presents. Sarah had gotten him a three-pack of Henley shirts in different hues of blue with a card that said the color brought out his eyes. He smiled brightly while Sam shot him a mock glare that vanished the moment Bucky opened the second present.
Sam's present was unexpected. A stack of achingly familiar well-worn journals with colored tabs. His vision blurred and he blinked as he swiped a hand over his eyes. How was this possible? When he looked up, Sam was watching him, face serious, eyes somber, though there was a hint of a curl to the edge of his mouth.
"Being Captain America gives me some clout now. It's been long enough. They got what they needed from the journals. Most of what's in there is decades old. They couldn't hold on to the national security excuse any longer. I rattled a few cages."
These journals were the story of his life, bits and pieces scribbled down in random order. They chronicled his agonizing transformation from the Winter Soldier to the kid from Brooklyn who went off to war and never returned home.
Bucky cleared his throat. "Thank you, Sam."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
That's all folks. This is open-ended, of course. Usually, when I write a story, I have a general outline-a beginning, middle, and end, along with a list of pivotal scenes. With this story, I simply had a concept: What if Alpine was a white, three-legged dog with a history of trauma that found Bucky and, together, the two of them started a journey of healing?
FYI, I'm not entirely sure how much longer I'll keep dual posting to FFN, but if I stop and you want to keep up with my works, you can find me over at AO3, different pseud /users/dcangst/works
