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bluejaywuzhere · 2 months ago

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Collisions of Then and Now

For the Flufftober prompts: Days 4, 11, 13, 14, 18, 28, Alt 1, Alt 2, and Alt 3: Market Day; Ingredients & Spells; Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room; Fantasy AU/Mundane AU; Bewitched; Lucky Charm; “I’ve got you”; Rainy Day; “Wait, you love me?” - “I always have”

- - - - - - - - -

James Buchanan Barnes hadn't always been of the magical world. He had been normal, once. Before the war, before Hydra, before ice, he’d been a normal young man in a normal village with a normal best friend and housemate.

Well, he supposed his housemate wasn't the most normal. Stevie had always had health problems, and despite his best efforts, it’d been hard on him and his mother’s finances. When Ms. Sarah passed (bless her soul) and Stevie needed help with managing the house, Bucky moved in to help his buddy out. Yeah, sure maybe it wasn’t the most normal of situations, but it worked for them and they were happy. And then their kingdom of America declared war and everything got a lot more complicated.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky said he’d volunteered (that was a lie. The royal guard had threatened his sister). He said he was fighting for his kingdom (that was also a lie. He was fighting for his sister. He was fighting for Stevie. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't give a damn about America). He said he’d be back soon (he hadn't meant that to be a lie. It was).

- - - - - - - - -

His entire troop was captured by the other side, instead of being slaughtered (at the time, he was thankful. But later, Bucky decided he would have preferred death to the hell they put him through).

- - - - - - - - -

It was a league of witches, witches who called themselves Hydra. They were experimenting with spells and potions and runes, combining all three into dangerous magics that they hoped would help achieve immortality (and if not immortality, enough power to win the war). Bucky became a test subject (it felt like they were pumping lava into his veins sometimes, turning his skin inside out other times, and some of the worst times it felt like all the warmth was being leeched from his insides. He wasn’t surprised that everyone died, he was only surprised that he had survived).

- - - - - - - - -

Steve (brilliant, wonderful, idiotic Steve) rescued him. Steve had signed up for an American experimental program and had become extremely strong and fast and tall and healthy. Steve had barged into Hydra’s little lair and stolen Bucky away. Steve, who used to be fifty pounds soaking wet and couldn't run more than six feet before wheezing. (Stevie, who made the most fantastic paintings and had the biggest heart ever for such a tiny body. Stevie, who fought guys three times his size in back alleys, on the justification that “he was attacking her, Bucky” and “he can’t just say that about the men who’re out there dying for us”). Steve, who their kingdom called Captain and lauded with glory, who didn't care beyond the muscle and blonde hair, who girls fawned over and littered with kisses. Steve, who meant no more to America than a glorified weapon. (Steve, who Bucky knew better than himself and who he would die for a thousand times).

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky didn't know it, but Hydra had stuck magic inside him. America had done the same with Steve. Magic that would keep him alive. Through tortures, through swords, through ice.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky fell. Hydra found him. And this time, they made sure that he could never resist them again.

- - - - - - - - -

Seventy years. They kept him spelled him, tested things on him, and made him a murderer. He was their puppet for seventy years.

- - - - - - - - -

Stevie saved him. Stevie always saved him (true love broke the most powerful of curses).

- - - - - - - - -

After everything was said and done, Bucky left America. He established his own little hut in the forest, bought spellbooks, and tried to make a living for himself. After a few years, Stevie hesitantly showed up on his doorstep. Bucky, like always, welcomed him with open arms. It was five years before anything disturbed them again.

- - - - - - - - -

After almost a decade of practicing magic (or well, ninety-something years if you counted the mindless Hydra puppet years, which Bucky did not), Bucky Barnes was getting used to being a witch. And he humbly considered himself to be fairly decent at it. So, when a traveler asked for a luck charm, Bucky deemed it an easy request to answer.

“Steve, we’re out of yarrow again!” Bucky yells over his shoulder, frowning at the empty space where the dried yellow flowers were supposed to be.

Steve pokes his head through the wide open doorway separating the kitchen and the sitting room, furrowing his brows as Bucky rifles through the cupboards.

“You sure? I swear we just bought some three suns ago.”

Bucky sighs and shakes his head, his grown-out hair swishing strangely around his face.

“Yeah, I did! Where’s it all gone?” He complains. Steve thinks for a moment, walking into the kitchen and resting his big blonde head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Well, if we’re really out, then the market is open until sunset tonight. You have a deadline, right?”

Bucky groans, thunking his temple against Steve’s head. “Yes.” He grumbles, turning his face into Steve’s fair hair. Bucky distantly notes that it smells faintly of grass and fresh linen. “I have seven suns as of today. It takes two to brew the potion, and then it has to soak for three. ‘M already cutting it close as is.”

Steve smiles into Bucky’s shoulder before pulling away, reaching around Bucky’s head to close the open cabinet.

“Well then, you better get to it, Mr. Magic Man.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and swats Steve’s shoulder, nodding towards the door.

“You gonna come with me?” He demands, and his acerbic tone would have sounded terse and harsh to anyone else, but Steve knows it was simply Bucky’s way of hiding (whatever it was that it was hiding). Steve beams at him and whacks his shoulder as he passes. “Of course! I need to get some more sorrel anyway. I’ll grab the umbrella.”

- - - - - - - - -

One accomplishment of Hydra’s experiments with Bucky was diluting the effects of what Hyrda dubbed ‘wasser-seele-korrosion,’ literally, ‘water-soul-corrosion’. A common consequence of gaining witch powers was that fresh or running water would erode one’s core of magic, destroying them from the inside out. Hydra’s efforts to reverse the side effects were not entirely successful, but they did manage to reduce the fatalistic nature of water to witches: instead of the water eating away at one’s soul, it would eat away at one’s skin. Thus, instead of killing the subject, it would merely cause them unbearable pain. Needless to say, Hydra saw this as an outstanding breakthrough and tested it on a live subject at the first opportunity. Specifically, the super-enhanced, bewitched live subject they had helpfully in custody.

- - - - - - - - -

When in the process of changing, Bucky resolutely avoided the mirrors. After nearly a decade of being free from Hydra’s control, he still wasn’t able to look at his patchwork of scars without feeling sick. Especially his arm- god, every time he caught even a flash of metal, he had to stop and breathe for a moment.

- - - - - - - - -

In another one of their experiments, Hydra had turned his left arm into solid metal. They spelled it to feel normal, to move like normal, to feel no different than his arm made of flesh and blood and bone, disregarding the fact that they had irreversibly transformed skin and muscle into steel. They then made him use that arm to spatter blood and crush bone.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky takes a breath and pulls off his shirt, flinching as sunlight glints off the metal. He closes his eyes and breathes, feeling the air in his lungs and the wooden flooring beneath his feet. He pulls on a new shirt, the feeling of his fingers scraping over his pockmarked back sending shivers of revulsion down his spine. Eyes still closed, he grabs a glove to fit over his metal hand. Only once the entirety of his left arm, from his shoulder to his fingertips, is covered, only then does he open his eyes and breathe freely. No panic attacks, then. A good day.

- - - - - - - - -

Steve smiles brightly when Bucky emerges. If he notices Bucky’s shaking shoulders and the way he grasps Steve’s arm a little too tight, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, Steve starts chattering about his paintings. Bucky knows that Steve mostly paints for himself, but he’s recently received his first commission, which he’s working on now. Steve talks about the difficulty of certain pieces and how hard it is to get the colors right, but also about how good it‘s turning out. Bucky relaxes bit by bit at the sound of Steve’s voice. Warm, familiar, soothing, and above all else, safe. Then Steve says something that makes Bucky tune back in sharply:

“Hey, do you mind if I draw you sometime?” Bucky shoots him a sharp look, mind whirling. Steve just gazes at him, expression open, honest. Bucky doesn't know what to say. He’s… he’s thought about Steve drawing him. He’s always squashed that thought down though, because… well, that’s not really something friends do. And Bucky‘s long since buried any hope of being anything more than friends with Steve.

“You want me to… you want to draw me?” Bucky hedges, still eyeing Steve for, well, he doesn't know what he’s expecting. Steve doesn’t seem like he’s joking, or playing some kind of prank, but Bucky can't quite believe the words coming out of his best friend’s mouth (best friend, that’s what Steve is, dammit, and that's all he’s ever going to be, Bucky has to keep reminding himself). Steve is still smiling, oblivious to Bucky’s overthinking.

“Yeah! You have a very pretty face. I’ve wanted to draw it for a long time, but I wanted to be able to do it justice. Now, I think I can draw you right.” Steve says sheepishly, and well, how can Bucky say no to that?

- - - - - - - - -

The market is surprisingly busy, considering it’s past mid-sun and barely halfway through the lunar cycle. It is always busy on a full or new moon, or solstice, or at night, but to be this busy in the sunlight on no remarkable moon is… odd. Bucky finds himself uneasy. Something’s wrong. Steve feels it too. There’s something different in the air, and it’s making them both nervous. Instead of splitting up like they usually would, by unconscious and mutual agreement, they stick together. Bucky pays for the yarrow with quick hands and a strained smile, every hair on the back of his neck sticking straight up. When he bids hasty farewells to the yarrow seller and looks around anxiously, he accidentally locks eyes with a strangely familiar-looking guy across the square. Bucky has a moment to wonder where he’s seen him before, and then Steve brightens and hurries over, beckoning Bucky to follow him.

“Sam!” Steve whisper-yells and the guy nods tersely, glancing around.

“Oh yeah, I remember you,” Bucky realizes, finally remembering glowing red wings that appear and disappear at will. Sam nods hello, then turns back to Steve.

“America’s rounding up anyone magic. Everyone, actually. The king sent out the whole royal army, they’re sweeping every house within a three-sun journey. Word on the street is that we’re all gonna be killed. Be careful.” Sam warned. Steve nods seriously, sharing a nervous glance with Bucky.

“We’ll be careful. You be safe too, okay?” He asks, and Sam smiles. “Hey, I’m not the one with a damn metal arm, for Christ’s sake.”

Bucky tries not to flinch, Steve takes his hand, and Sam notices. “You two take care of each other now.” He says, a not-so-subtle smirk tugging at his lips. Steve, for some reason, blushes. As they leave the market, Bucky’s mind lingers on it because what the hell was that?

- - - - - - - - -

It’s a long walk back to their hut: Bucky chose a pretty secluded spot deep in the woods, which is a little inconvenient for trips to and from the market, but it’s rather protected. They have plenty of time before the soldiers get there. Nevertheless, Steve and Bucky begin preparations. There have been raids in the past, usually lawless flash mobs with torches and pitchforks. Not much danger if one knows a simple concealing spell. But the king's royal army would be a much more formidable force. Their armor is constructed to see through enchantments and their blades are sharpened to slice through any conjured barriers. No, against this foe, Bucky and Steve have but three options: they can either stay and pretend to be nothing more than simple peasants (difficult, considering they’re a fair distance from the nearest village and Bucky has a solid metal arm), they can abandon their home and flee into the woods until the guards move on (problem is, neither of them wants to leave), or they can split up, with Bucky hiding in the woods and Steve staying behind to watch the house (no way in hell). After too much time spent deliberating, Bucky finally sighs.

“Steve, there's nothing for it. We're gonna have to jump ship.”

“Buck, we can't just leave. Our lives are here, we have to stay and fight.” Steve, unsurprisingly, is being stubborn, but Bucky’s made up his mind.

“No, Steve, listen. I can hide the magic stuff. We can pack a bag each, fill ‘em with what we can’t leave behind, and we can go.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky presses on, reaching out and gripping his arm.

“Steve, Stevie listen to me. We can leave the house. The house doesn't matter, what matters is that we don't lose each other again, okay? That's what's important.”

And well, Steve can’t seem to argue against that.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky’s in the middle of transfiguring the cauldron when a rough thunk-thunk-thunk sounds at the door. Bucky knows that noise. It’s armor on wood. It’s the royal guard, hours early. Some bastard must’ve let slip about the witch in the woods, and now the royal army is seconds away from knocking down Bucky’s front door and he’s not ready, they aren’t supposed to be here yet, why are they here-

“Breathe,” Steve’s voice cuts through Bucky’s panicked spiraling, and he blinks, suddenly staring into Stevie’s blue blue eyes.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We need to go, Buck,” He says, calm and sweet as molasses candy on a Sunday morning. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Come on Buck, that’s it. One foot in front of the other.” Steve gently leads Bucky over to the back door, snagging both their bags as he goes and quietly turns the handle, slipping out into the wild as the soldiers finally break down the front door.

- - - - - - - - -

There’s a tree hollow that they’ve hidden in before. When the nightmares were too much, when the walls were closing in, when Bucky found himself awake at night, he’d make his way out to the little tree hollow and let nature lull him to sleep. Crickets and frogs drowned out the venomous spells that slithered around in his mind, and he could finally close his eyes peacefully. He often awoke in Steve’s arms, the blonde curled protectively around him even in sleep.

That tree hollow is where Steve and Bucky hide, trusting good old-fashioned vines and leaves to artfully hide the entrance from view. They crouch there for what feels like hours, still as stone and hardly daring to breathe as soldiers clomp and stomp and yell and grumble, searching the undergrowth for the duo, at times mere inches from the witches in question. And when the soldiers finally, finally leave, the heavens open wide and dump the heaviest rainstorm of the season. Safe to say, Steve and Bucky aren’t going anywhere.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky keeps pale blue eyes fixed on the deluge outside, hugging his knees to his chest and leaning his head on Steve’s solid shoulder. He knows Steve well enough to know that the blonde is very nervous about the sound of hammering raindrops against wood. They’re both more cautious of rain nowadays. Bucky doesn’t know what to do to help though, so he drops his soft brown head on Steve’s shoulder and breathes.

“You know I’m shit at emotions and stuff, but I’m here, okay Stevie? I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve sighs but relaxes minutely and rests his head on top of Bucky’s.

“I know. Thanks, Buck,”

- - - - - - - - -

Two days later, the house is more or less completely fixed, the royal army has moved on to bully some other witch, and Steve and Bucky are finally getting back to some semblance of normal. Then Bucky remembers the lucky charm he was supposed to make for the traveler and groans.

“Steve, do you remember if we stored that yarrow?”

- - - - - - - - -

“Buck, could you grab the crushed buttercup for me?”

“Stevie, pass the hare fur.”

“Sweetheart, I needed oregano, not mint.”

“Ooh, hand me the goldenrod, doll,”

- - - - - - - - -

Miraculously, they brew the potion, soak the charm, and have the package ready in time for the traveler to pick it up.

Honestly, Bucky doesn't know how they did it. But hey, the traveler paid up generously (enough money for Bucky to get a nice new pack of paints for Stevie’s birthday), so Bucky wasn't about to complain over a job well done.

After the whole soldier fiasco is over and the potion is delivered, Bucky decides to be productive and make a little hidey-hole in the cellar. When Steve comes down with a drink, a cool rag, and a few questions, he gives answers.

“Don’t like seeing you scared. We can just hide down here next time bad guy come a-knocking.” Bucky mentions flippantly, wiping dirt off his forehead.

Steve feels a tender warmth welling up in his chest, and he can’t contain a smile. “I love you, Buck.”

They both freeze.

It's the first time it’s been said out loud.

Bucky’s heart is pounding too loudly in his throat, and he coughs, trying to dislodge it from where it’s very stubbornly hanging out by his vocal cords.

“Wait, you- you love me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and crackly, scarcely believing what he’s hearing.

Steve swallows, and for a terrifying moment, he can’t speak. Everything freezes, his lungs seize up and his mouth won’t move. Bucky’s face shifts. He suddenly looks… frightened. Scared. No, terrified. It’s that heart-wrenching look that snaps Steve out of his frozen trance. He has to say something, anything to get that awful expression off Bucky’s face. “I- yes. God yes. Of course I love you, Buck. I always have.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, a blinding smile illuminates Bucky’s face. It's one of those rare, precious smiles that Steve treasures, hoards like valuable gold. Bucky’s sky-light eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curl up, his skin turns a lovely shade of pink, and he smiles, brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars in the sky.

Steve would kill to keep seeing that smile.

Bucky strides forward and grasps Steve’s head between his two hands, one flesh one metal, and presses their foreheads together. Steve closes his eyes, breathing in the orangy smell of Bucky’s soap, the slight tang of iron from his arm, the mildewy odor of the basement, and the woody, earthy scent of his magic that seeps from his being. Bucky’s flesh hand grazes against Steve’s jaw, and the blonde half-opens his eyes to find Bucky gazing at him, open, curious, hesitant, eager. He gently tugs Steve’s chin just a hair closer, then stops.

Steve glances down at Bucky’s lips, red as an apple skin and half-parted. A most tempting invitation; one that Steve cannot find a single reason to refuse.

- - - - - - - - -

A few truths of the universe:

One: Bucky Barnes has been, is, and will always be weak for Steve Rogers.

Two: Steve Rogers has been, is, and always will be weak for Bucky Barnes.

And three: strengths and weaknesses are often one and the same when it comes to Bucky and Steve.

- - - - - - - - -

Soon, the walls of Steve’s art studio are covered with Bucky’s face, in acrylic, in watercolor, in pencil, in charcoal, pale blue and chestnut, lashes, lips, eyes and a little quirk of a smile.

Steve is in Bucky’s arms, and in Bucky’s bed and in Bucky’s heart.

And he stays there.

- - - - - - - - -

Thank you for reading!

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