#anyway this turned half into a ficlet and half into disorganized headcanons alfkjdslfkajdslkf

[turtle-steverogers]

Hey pal, I'm a bit sad, so if you're up for it kill me with saaaaad stucky headcanons because you're absolutely awesome at them. (No pressure tho, love ya <3)

hello friend! love ya too! i'm sorry to hear that you're a bit sad-- i'm here if you'd like to talk!

after some deliberation, i have decided to use this particular headcanon of mine:

-So one day around the holidays, Steve and Bucky go out on a little day trip to some shops in upstate New York

-It's a cute little outdoor mall type place with coffee shops and string lights and an ice skating rink at one end, which is a much needed change of pace from the usual bustle of the city

-Of course, they get some treats at one of the cafes and take to the streets after, bundled in similar winter sweaters and walking at a leisurely pace, arm in arm and hands warming around hot coffee cups

-They window shop a bit, deliberate over gifts, and enjoy the peaceful air, and all in all, it's a nice area but it's not until they come across an antique store at the end of the strip

-It's a humble looking store with three levels-- an upstairs and a basement-- and a warm glow to the whole establishment. Books are grouped in one corner, a sign near the basement boasts clothes down the stairs. Old jewelry lays in cases along the middle of the store

-Naturally, they veer off from one another, taken by different things within the store. Steve finds himself wandering through the old record section and into the art supplies, which enthralls him for a while as he combed through old products that didn't seem so old to him. Except now they're worn and delicate-- another thing allowed to grow through time naturally while he was cursed to miss it

-Just beyond the room, there's a section filled with children's toys-- old rocking horses and wooden toys, still somehow more modern than what he grew up with. There's a section with dolls and dollhouses and he barely registers that he's moved before he comes back to himself holding one of the small dolls

-Steve turns over the doll, running his thumb over the worn features of its face. It is dressed in a colorful pink and yellow smock, a pink bonnet secured over its blond ringlet curls. He recognizes it as a Lenci Doll; Becca had some that she'd let Steve play with her when he'd come over the times that Bucky wasn't around. He'd wanted a set of his own, loving the idea of nurturing and loving something so sweetly, and he'd asked one day while out with his ma and pa-- a rare outing they'd taken as the three of them to the shops if his pa were sober for once. He winces, remembering the disgusted look on his father's face, the reservation on his ma's. It was the first heartbreak he could truly remember, and he didn't understand why it was so wrong to want a doll. How different was it from his teddy bear? Or army men?

I'm telling you, Sarah. He's gonna turn out a little queer.

Eyes suddenly burning, he grips the doll tighter.

"Got a whole collection of those, we have. A big find."

Steve jumps, blinking away the wetness in his eyes as he glanced to the side. An older man is standing next to him, dressed in a red sweater vest and sporting horn rimmed glasses. He has a name tag on, clearly an employee there.

"Oh, cool," he says, unsure of what else to say.

"Got a niece or something? I bet she'd love that."

Okay, so he hasn't recognized Steve. Thank god, honestly. He can't imagine what it would be like to find Captain fucking America holding a goddamn baby doll.

"Oh, uh, just-- just looking. It, uh, reminded me of my ma," which isn't exactly a lie. He looks back down at the doll, stomach aching. Would his ma have even wanted him to have the doll? His father had made it clear enough, but he can't read the memories of his ma all the time. What she might have thought of his queerness.

"How sweet," the man says. "Well, we sell them for cheap considering how much they go out for on the market-- only twenty dollars."

Steve shifts his feet, nodding. He doesn't want this man talking to him anymore. He feels oddly exposed.

"Cool," he says again.

Luckily, Bucky catches up to Steve then, holding a stack of dime store sci fi novels, and an old leather jacket that reminds Steve of one George Barnes used to wear. He wonders briefly if that's why Bucky had chosen it

Hastily, he puts down the doll before Bucky can see, but Bucky knows him better than anyone and he catches the movement

"Whatcha got there, pal?" he asks, reaching past Steve to pick up the doll.

Steve blushes, scuffing a shoe.

"It's nothing, it's dumb," he says, quickly, eyes landing back on the doll. He wants to reach for it again. "Just... Becs used to have those, remember?"

Bucky's eyebrows furrow and he glances down at the doll, thumb smoothing over the cheek. "Yeah, she was real protective of them. Never let me touch them unless I was helping her fix the tangles from one's hair."

Steve frowns, an old, irrational tinge of jealousy curling around his gut. He wishes he'd had one to be protective of. "I used it play it with her when I was real young still and-- and I'd come over when... you weren't around," he says. "Used to want one of my own..." He bites his lip, frowning. "I asked for one once when I went out with my ma and dad." Shrugging, he laughs dryly. "Definitely didn't get a doll that day."

He shakes his head, eyes downcast. It really was dumb, ruminating over this now.

"It's okay," he says, giving Bucky a brave smile. Bucky's watching him with an unreadable look on his face-- Steve thinks it might be anger, but there's a certain sadness there, too. "It doesn't matter, um... I'm going to check out the clothes."

-The subject is left alone for the time being. Steve clearly doesn't want to talk about it, but Bucky stays behind, watching Steve's retreating back. He looks down at the doll, smoothing his thumb over the cheek again, and thinks of Steve-- six or seven, maybe-- hoping for a doll. Innocently asking, only to be denied. He doesn't know much of the specifics about what went down in the Rogers' household, but he knows there was a lot of pain. A lot of denial. A lot of anger. He glances one more time at Steve, across the store now, and tucks the doll under his arm, hidden in the jacket.

-Christmas morning comes with a quiet morning together. Breakfast prepared while snow falls outside their apartment, personal gifts exchanged, and some soft music playing in the background.

"I think there's one more gift, honey," Bucky says, pointing to a small bag under the tree.

Steve frowns and reaches for it. It's not heavy, but it clearly has some weight to it. He glances up at Bucky, a questioning frown on his face, even as a smile lights his eyes. He carefully unpacks the tissue paper and reaches inside and--

Oh. Oh.

His eyes fill with tears as he looks down at the doll, her blonde ringlets still tucked underneath that pink bonnet. Her weight is warm in his palm. Instinctively, he holds her to his chest.

"It isn't dumb," Bucky murmurs after a long moment. He'd wanted to say that that day, but Steve had walked away. "You deserve her, Steve. You deserved her then, and you're allowed her now. You always should have been. I'm sorry you were ever not allowed to be yourself."

Steve is crying now as he reaches for Bucky, and then they're hugging, his face tucked into the crook of Bucky's neck. A doll won't fix the pain his father inflicted, but Bucky will always be his safe place. That space where he can be authentically and undeniably himself.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you."

Bucky holds him tighter. "Always."