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rambleonwaywardson · 11 days ago

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First Christmas

A Clegan Astronaut AU One Shot

Summary: Takes place ~15 years before To the Moon and Back, at the very start of Gale and John's life together. It's the end of their first semester of college, and they're leaving for winter break. John takes Gale home with him for Christmas.

Author's Note: I have no concept of if I'll ever write a prequel or if anything pre-TTMAB will be confined to little one shots like this. But here's a small something. Happy holidays ❤

---

“Fuckin’ finally!” Bucky sighs dramatically as he tosses a suitcase onto the bed. Gale’s bed, actually, since his is the lower bunk in their too-small-for-two-grown-men dorm room. With little to no rhyme or reason, Bucky starts pulling clothes out of his small dresser and even smaller closet – jeans and sweatshirts and sweaters and mismatched socks. He tosses them into or around the suitcase in a haphazard way that would never lead a single person to believe that he was in ROTC.

It’s the end of their very first finals week, and John and Gale both have just stumbled back into their dorm room after a hell of a physics exam. No final, they have decided, under any circumstances, should be scheduled for 4-6pm. Especially not one as hard hitting as fucking physics. First year engineering students are exhausted enough as it is – it’s cruel and unusual punishment to expect them to perform well under these circumstances.

They don’t call it a weed-out class for nothing.

“My brain is mush,” Bucky complains. “I don’t think I was even readin’ right by the end of that exam. None of the numbers made sense anymore. Hell, I could barely remember the kinematics equations. I’m sure you were just fine. Me? Let’s just… hope and pray I even make a passing grade.”

Bucky pauses long enough to glance over at Gale, who’s sitting casually in his desk chair, twisted around with his elbow propped on the back and his chin in his hand as he watches the spectacle that is his roommate. He kind of smiles tiredly at Bucky and shrugs, and that’s all Bucky needs to go on. He knows he’s right. No doubt Gale barely batted an eye at the questions that had Bucky drumming his fingers on the too-small lecture hall desk in a panic.

“What’s done is done,” Bucky says, shoving clothes into the suitcase with zero organization. It almost makes Gale physically wince. Like most teenage boys, he’s not always the most organized guy in the world himself, but there’s something to be said for keeping some semblance of tidiness. That, and his father raised him like a military man. Clean room, neat corners, smooth fabrics… He has half a mind to shove Bucky over and pack for him, save his nicer shirts from the criss-crossed creases that are sure to form the way they are now. He also wonders if he should bother telling Bucky that he actually found the exam hard, too. Would that comfort him or would he think Gale was just trying to make him feel better?

Bucky doesn’t notice Gale’s general air of consternation. He’s too busy trying to move on, move forward with his life, get away from here. Gale tries not to take it personally. Just because he has nowhere to go doesn’t mean Bucky can’t be eager to leave for break, like every other student on campus.

“God, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Bucky says, like he’s read Gale’s mind. He really should’ve packed last night like Gale urged him to, instead of waiting until the very last minute and just hoping he remembers everything he needs, but he was too hyper-focused on trying not to fail the exam today. “Gonna see my dog, my family. Eat a real home-cooked meal.” He stops his frantic packing and looks up at the ceiling, inhaling as if he can smell Christmas dinner or a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. “Five weeks of not having to think about any of this. Can’t fuckin’ wait, Buck.”

Bucky steps back over to his dresser and grabs some underwear, which he dumps into the suitcase, and then his hands freeze. He looks over at Gale, squinting. His roommate is still sitting at his desk, which is adorned with books and notes, a model plane, a small model of the solar system. He’s a little more slumped now, eyes trained on the floor. Bucky stares at him for a while without him noticing.

Bucky realizes that, even though he urged Bucky to pack, Gale hasn’t made any move to pull out a suitcase of his own. Hasn’t set out any neatly folded clothes to stow away for a trip home. He hasn’t expressed any relief to be leaving this college town, to be heading back to his family, or to anyone at all.

He thinks about the very little Gale has ever talked about his family. Small anecdotes here and there. His mother is gone, Bucky knows. No siblings, just his best friend Marge. He doesn’t talk much about his dad. He wonders if Gale even has a dog.

“Hey.”

Gale looks up, blinking away some deep thought that he masks behind an arched eyebrow and tired but curious eyes. He motions to Bucky’s suitcase. “Your clothes are gonna get all wrinkled like that.”

Bucky glances at his scrambled luggage, scrunches his brow, decides it doesn’t matter, and he looks back at Gale. He doesn’t really know how to ask this delicately. Delicacy has never been part of the John Egan repertoire of charm. Neither has subtlety. He frowns and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You, uh… you’re not goin’ home are ya Buck?”

Gale shakes his head quietly. “Don’t got much of a home to go to.” His voice shakes a little, like he doesn’t want to be saying this, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile as he looks at the floor again, and Bucky catches the incorrect grammar, the little slip into a western drawl that he’s learning only comes out when Gale is stressed or upset or really fuckin’ tired.

“Why didn’t ya say?”

Gale shrugs and kicks his shoes off, leaving him in socked feet, a final, decisive move that confirms it: he’s not going anywhere.

Bucky leans against the post of their bunk bed, crossing his arms. “So, what? You’re stayin’ here? Alone?” Bucky can’t stand the idea of staying on this campus when it’s a ghost town, none of their friends around and limited access to the dining halls. He can’t stand the idea of staying here for any longer than he has to.

But he has somewhere to go.

Gale nods. “Yep. Got the approval and all.”

“No,” Bucky finds himself saying. He doesn’t even take a second to think about it.

Gale almost scoffs. “Don’t got much choice, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t stay here alone, Gale. I won’t let you do that.”

“S’not a big deal.” Gale turns away, towards his desk. Too deliberately, he starts peeling sticky notes of definitions and physics diagrams off the wall. The result of hours and hours of studying.

“What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” Bucky pushes. He marches across the room – two whole steps across their tiny dorm – so he’s standing beside Gale’s desk, close enough to be in his line of sight again. He reaches out and puts a hand on Gale’s, stopping him from unnecessarily shuffling his notebooks around his desk.

Gale freezes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, his eyes locked on their hands. He doesn’t really mind the idea of being alone on campus. It’ll be quiet, peaceful. He can catch a bus to the grocery store or the movie theater or head downtown. He can read and study and keep up with his exercise regimen. Go for walks around campus. Really, it’s fine… He’d rather be here, after all, than spend five weeks in the same house as his father. He’ll miss Marge, sure. But she’ll forgive him. She wouldn’t want him to go home either.

“Gale.”

“It’s fine, John.”

They sit in a tense silence, Bucky hardly aware he’s still holding Gale’s hand and Gale hyper-aware of it. Bucky’s fingers are warm compared to his. They’re softer than he’d expect. He likes the contact. It sends something fluttery through him.

“Come with me.”

Gale’s eyes shoot up to Bucky’s. “What?”

Bucky nods, squeezing Gale’s hand tighter. “Come with me! You can- you can just come home with me. Mom will take good care of you, and we can just relax and have fun for a few weeks. Buck…” Bucky sighs. He smiles, and Gale doesn’t quite like the look of sad pity hidden behind it, but it’s sweet enough to make his heart beat too fast anyway. “You can’t be alone for Christmas. Please.”

“I-I couldn’t.”

“No one will mind. They’ll love you more than me, even. Adopt you like another son.”

Gale looks again at Bucky’s suitcase. His chest swells with the idea of spending Christmas with a family. With John. With people who don’t smack him around if he burns the pancakes or asks the wrong questions or sleeps in too long.

Bucky grins and ruffles Gale’s hair. “Yep. You’re comin’. Come on, we leave in an hour. Get your suitcase out.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry the first time he walks through the front door of the Egan household. It’s a stereotypical farmhouse, with a simple but lovely exterior, a stone front walk, and a fresh Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. There’s a dog watching them through the window, and, not for the first time, Gale wonders about the difference between a house and a home. He shuffles in, shy and awkward, behind a boisterous Bucky, who flings the door open and loudly calls out “we’re here!” with such a lack of decorum that it makes Gale flinch, his brain still wired to the house in Wyoming.

“Hi honey!” A light voice drifts through the house, and it’s not unlike Gale’s mother’s voice. The way he remembers it, at least.

That, combined with the smell of cookies baking in the kitchen, shoves a lost memory to the surface of tugging on his mother’s skirt until she offered him a spoon of raw cookie dough. It has him so taken aback that he doesn’t notice the dog running at him until it’s too late. He nearly gets knocked off his feet by the force of two big golden paws colliding with his torso, causing him to stumble back a step, wide eyed.

“Down boy!” Bucky reprimands, but he’s laughing, his commands futile. “That’s Buzz. He likes people.”

Gale can’t help but smile despite his nerves, and he kneels down to the dog’s level, scratching his ears and letting Buzz lick his face. He manages to just barely keep his balance against the way the golden retriever surges toward him. “Buzz Aldrin?” He asks, trying to avoid the dog’s tongue as he glances at Bucky, and he can’t quite understand the look in his roommate’s eye.

“Finally!” Bucky says. “Someone who understands that it isn’t Buzz Lightyear.” Then he yells out, “Ma?”

A short middle-aged woman comes frantically around the corner, and Gale shoots to his feet, trying to smooth out his sweater and jeans again. He tries to remind himself to hold his head high, shoulders straight, make a good impression.

Without even a second thought, though, the woman bypasses her own son, her eyes landing right on Gale. No appraisal, no critical eye toward what he’s wearing or if his hair is too shaggy. She just beams at him, reaching her hands out to immediately pull him into a hug. “You must be Gale.”

Gale awkwardly returns the hug. “Yes ma’am.”

He does not cry at the feeling of a warm, motherly figure who smells like cookies wrapping him in her arms.

When she steps back, she rests her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It seems a little awkward with how tall Gale is, even if Bucky won’t let him forget the small size difference between them. He finds it amusing how, with Bucky being even two inches taller than he is, his mother can’t surpass 5 foot 4. But Mrs. Egan doesn’t seem to mind, and Gale wonders how often she does this to her own son.

She looks him up and down, studying him, and Gale tries not to feel too embarrassed or nervous. Stand up straight, he reminds himself. He’s military after all. It shouldn’t be hard. He braces for some critique, some conclusion that he isn’t good enough. For what, he isn’t sure. To be here, perhaps. But it doesn’t come.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Mrs. Egan gushes instead, shaking her head fondly. She lifts one hand even higher to cup his cheek, and Gale raises an eyebrow, letting himself smile back at her.

“Thank you?”

“Ma, you’re embarrassing him,” Bucky groans. He’s never seen Gale blush so much.

She shoots a glare over at him before looking back at Gale. She squeezes his shoulder gently. “We are just thrilled to have you,” she says. “John talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Oh,” Gale says. He looks over at Bucky, who is rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. Gale’s smile gets a little wider, a little less meek. “Thank you so much for letting me join you for the holidays,” he tells Mrs. Egan. “It means a lot.”

Bucky’s mom gives him another quick hug before turning her attention to her son, hugging him tight and bombarding him with questions about school that Bucky insistently avoids, saying they can talk about everything later, after he helps Gale settle in.

—

Gale doesn’t cry over the way the Egans move mountains to make sure he feels comfortable and welcome in their home.

They set him up in the guest bedroom, which is just one door down from Bucky’s room, which is not unlike his half of their dorm room with the exception of several more remnants of a happy childhood. Bucky’s bedroom is adorned with space travel posters and baseball posters, and Gale can even see where some are missing – the ones Bucky chose to take with him to college. There are little gold baseball trophies lining a bookshelf in the corner, and a photo of him and a couple of his teammates in high school, boyish grins on their faces and sweat soaking through their hats, fresh off a championship win.

Gale wanders around the room when Bucky leads him inside, inspecting the trophies and the photographs. There’s a lego set of the Saturn V rocket, glow in the dark stars pasted to the ceiling, stacks of books about history and science and adventure strewn around the bed and the desk. All the little pieces of John Clarence Egan, a whirlwind force of nature with his eyes on the unknown.

There’s a dog bed on the floor for Buzz, but the dog takes to jumping up on the bed in the guest room instead, keeping Gale company every night.

Bucky wonders what it is about dogs that help them know which people need a little extra love.

Gale marvels at the fact that even the guest bedroom feels homey and cared about. The queen sized bed is the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, with a nice mattress, a selection of pillows, and warm blankets. There are original paintings hung along the walls, beautiful images of the forest and the lake and countryside done by some mysterious artist. There are family photos framed on a bookshelf which is filled with an assortment of books, from science to romance and everything in between. There’s even a string of Christmas lights strung around the room, which Bucky turns on for Gale, looking all giddy about it.

Gale doesn’t cry over how Bucky is patient and kind in a way that isn’t exactly unexpected but also isn’t exactly expected. He lets Gale cling to him, whether it’s sitting down for dinner with the family or hiking through a snow-dusted countryside to watch the sun set or sitting sprawled out on the living room couch with a couple of good books and mugs of hot chocolate. Bucky asks Gale if he needs any extra blankets, and he’s gathering them up from the closet before Gale can even answer. He asks Gale what he likes to eat for breakfast, and the next morning Gale’s favorite cereal is in the pantry and there’s even some fresh pastries – which Gale never would have dreamed of asking for – sitting on the counter. Bucky asks Gale if there’s anything he wants to read, and the next day the book he sheepishly mentioned has appeared on the coffee table.

He brags about Gale to his parents, telling them all about how smart he is and how much he’s helped Bucky this semester. He tells them about how Gale is already excelling in the toughest major in the school all while impressing everyone in ROTC, keeping Bucky in line, and being a humble, easy going guy to boot.

Gale doesn’t cry when Mr. Egan expresses genuine interest in all of his astronomy and physics knowledge at the dinner table. Gale’s own father always wanted him to be a pilot. He never cared much for the rest of it.

He thought academics made his son too soft.

Mr. Egan tells Gale it’ll make him unstoppable.

—

Gale doesn’t cry when he accidentally drops a glass of water in the Egans’ kitchen, sending it shattering across the tile floor in a splash of crystal constellations. He comes damn close, a hot wave of panic rising in his chest at the same time that biting pain blossoms across his skin. His cheeks heat up as he blinks rapidly and tries to figure out how to go about cleaning up this mess all the while bracing for some kind of punishment. And those tears sure come close to actually falling when Mrs. Egan whisks into the kitchen with worry all over her face, wanting to know what the racket was. When she sees the mess, she reaches for Gale. Gale winces, closing his eyes, but all he gets is a firm, guiding hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a gentle voice. “Oh honey, you’re bleeding.”

Gale blinks his eyes open, the tension on his face beginning to drop away as he looks down and realizes all of a sudden that his feet are bare. He doesn’t remember his feet being bare. He vaguely wonders if the red on his pale skin is associated with the stinging feeling in his foot, radiating up to his ankle.

“Don’t move quite yet,” Mrs. Egan says. Her hands are still on the sides of his arms, keeping him standing in one place. “Don’t want you stepping on any sharp bits.” She turns as John comes rushing around the corner. “Johnny, can you get Gale some shoes to-“

Before she can even finish, Bucky, clad in old ragged Converse himself, marches right up to Gale, flakes of glass crunching under foot, and plucks him out of the center of the debris. Just picks him up in the air like he weighs no more than a feather before marching him to the kitchen entryway and plopping him down. Gale stares at him in shock, his brain not quite catching up with everything that just happened.

“I’ll get the vacuum,” Bucky says to his mother, but he’s looking at Gale as he says it, some sort of mischievous little smile on his face, and Gale feels his cheeks turning pink again.

When Bucky leaves the kitchen in search of the vacuum, Gale tries to step away from the wall he’s been placed next to, holding a hand out toward Bucky’s mother. “Mrs. Egan, I can clean-”

“Nonsense.” She waves her hand dismissively, then looks down at his feet, still bare. “You stay right there until John comes back with the vacuum.”

“I’m so sorry about the glass. I didn’t mean-”

“Gale, darling. I don’t give a damn about the glass.” She steps over to him and clasps one of his hands between both of hers. He doesn’t cry at how genuine and concerned she looks. “Let’s get your foot cleaned up and make sure you don’t need any stitches.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry when, on Christmas morning, as all the presents under the tree are being handed out, there’s a few with his name on them. He, John, and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are gathered in the living room, all still in their pajamas. Even Buzz, who can’t seem to sit still and has been making rounds around the room with his tail wagging, has a green and red Christmas bandana around his neck. He keeps stopping to look at the stockings above the fireplace, where he has his very own, filled with dog treats that he has to wait until the end to get.

Bucky, who is passing out the gifts from under the tree, is wearing a Santa hat along with his gray sweatpants and blue Yankees sweatshirt. Gale laughs a little bit every time Bucky makes any sudden move and causes the pom pom on the end of the hat to whip around. Bucky tried to put it on Gale, but was adamantly shoved away. It looks far better on him anyway.

Gale, in green and gray flannel pants and a dark gray university sweatshirt, is sitting on the floor beside the Christmas tree, where Bucky said he himself usually sits. He tries not to ask for the third time if Bucky is sure he doesn’t want any help. Having found himself increasingly comfortable with the Egans over the last week, he instead scratches Buzz behind the ears and laughs as Mr. Egan sings along to the Christmas music playing on the radio. He doesn’t really know what he expected out of this morning – being included is enough; being with a family on the biggest holiday of the year is enough.

So when, once all of the gifts have been passed out, Bucky stands in front of Gale with a stack of wrapped boxes, Gale just blinks dumbly up at him. When Bucky insistently shoves the collection of gifts at him, Gale looks around the room, then starts to shake his head in confusion as his hand falls away from Buzz’s soft fur. “A-Are these for me?” he asks, genuinely confused as he takes the small stack from Bucky and stares down at the name tag on the top package.

“That’s your name ain’t it?” Bucky teases. He takes his seat between Gale and the tree, where he’s amassed his own collection of presents.

Gale nods and looks over at him, eyebrow raised. Bucky tilts his head toward his parents, who are sitting cuddled up on the couch, watching with kind smiles on their faces.

“Couldn’t leave you with nothin’ to open on Christmas morning,” Mr. Egan insists. “You’re family, now.”

Gale swallows thickly, tracing his finger over his name, written in neat script. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he’s worried it didn’t come out at all.

“Well you better open one,” Bucky laughs. He’s sitting so close their shoulders nearly brush. “Youngest goes first.”

Gale tears into the pretty red and white wrapping paper of the first gift. He feels his heart beat too fast in a terrifying but exhilarating way as he peels back the paper, revealing a beautiful, hardcover edition of A Brief History of Time, complete with illustrations. It’s the exact type of book that he would have stared at longingly in a bookstore, knowing he’d probably never have it. He looks up at John’s parents, who are watching him eagerly, and he doesn’t cry at the joy on their faces or the kindness of the gesture. “This is amazing,” he tells them. “Thank you so much.”

He’s so taken with the book, staring down at it and running his fingers gently along its spine, that he barely registers the new video game John gets, or Mr. Egan’s new sweater, or Mrs. Egan’s new romance book. It’s only when they circle back to him, Bucky shoving another gift into his hands, that he really comes back to himself, and he wonders what he did to deserve such kindness.

By the time they’re on their final gifts – Gale had been told to save a specific one for last – Mrs. Egan stops him and Bucky before they can start unwrapping. “Now, Gale, we have a tradition,” she explains. She points to the Christmas tree. “Every year, we each get a new Christmas ornament, and we hang them on the tree. There are ornaments up there from almost every year of John’s life.”

Gale looks at John, then back at the tree. This piece of knowledge runs through his head again, and again, and his eyes fall back to the last little box, wrapped in silver snowflakes. He blinks at it. “Is this-”

Gale almost flinches when Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. The touch has become familiar. He knows it’s safe. “We got you one, too,” Bucky whispers, and Gale nods.

Bucky slowly unwraps his own ornament, and Gale starts to follow his lead. He watches Bucky pull out a little astronaut with a gold visor, sitting on a crescent moon. And oh so carefully, Gale’s fingers loop through a gold string, and he lifts out a matching astronaut, this one with a blue visor, sitting on a crescent moon of its own.

“Would you look at that.” Bucky grins, and he bumps Gale’s shoulder as they hold their ornaments up beside each other.

“Thank you,” Gale finds himself saying again, and he wonders if his voice sounds thick to anyone else. He doesn’t even comprehend the fact that he’s standing up, stepping over to Mrs. Egan. She readily accepts his hug, though, and she lets him cling on, the astronaut resting against the back of her shoulder where it’s clutched in his hand.

He and Bucky hang their ornaments side by side, two little astronauts shooting for the moon.

—

Gale doesn’t cry later that morning, when Mrs. Egan places a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him and tells him that John mentioned those were his favorite.

He doesn’t cry that afternoon, when Mr. Egan asks to take a look at that book, or when Mrs. Egan asks if he wants to help her with the final batch of Christmas cookies, or when Bucky tries to teach him how to play his new video game.

He doesn’t cry when they ask if he wants to watch a Christmas movie with them, and he finds himself curled up on the couch munching on a cookie with Bucky’s head on his shoulder and Buzz splayed across his lap.

He doesn’t cry at dinner, when Mr. Egan includes him in his prayer, asking the lord to watch out for both of “their” boys.

He doesn’t cry when Mrs. Egan says goodnight to them both late on December 25th, gently kissing the top of Bucky’s head, and then doing the same to Gale.

He holds it together pretty well, he thinks. He laughs, and he finds himself smiling, a warm feeling trying its best to settle in his chest as the good and the bad memories go to war with the perfect reality he’s been met with today. He pushes down the lump in his throat and lets himself, just for a little bit, feel loved and cared for and protected. He loves them all back. He lets himself act like he could be a part of the family, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.

—

Late on Christmas night, after his parents have gone to bed, Bucky steps quietly into the hall and creeps toward the guest room like a child up past his bedtime. He knocks on the door with one knuckle, listening closely.

“Come in.” Gale’s soft voice sounds off, a little uneven. Bucky frowns as he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

Gale is curled up at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard with his knees pulled to his chest, his pillow laid neatly on top of the one beside him. Buzz, having officially traded Bucky in for Buck, is sprawled on his side with his head resting on Gale’s bare foot, right over the bandage from the water glass incident yesterday. The lights are off, and Gale is staring up at the colorful Christmas lights lining the room, as if it’s a sky full of stars.

“Buck?”

“Mmm?”

Bucky walks around to the side of the bed. It’s only when he gets close that he really notices: Gale’s been crying. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy. When he lifts a hand to rub at his face, Bucky notices that he has the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his fists, wet spots marking the fabric.

What’s wrong? Bucky wants to ask. Are you okay? Why are you crying? Did I do something? Do you need anything?

He doesn’t ask any of those questions.

He shoves the pillows down next to the dog and climbs into the bed, settling back against the headboard so close to Gale that their shoulders touch, his legs crossed in front of him. Buzz stretches his head forward to lick his knee, and he reaches out to stroke the dog’s head in return.

“He reminds me of my dog,” Gale says. “He was a mutt, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Dunno if I’ll ever see him again.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of their eyes trained on Buzz. “Why not?”

Gale takes a deep, sharp breath as his whole body tenses, and Bucky worries it was the wrong thing to say. They sit in silence as the seconds tick by. “I haven’t had a Christmas this nice since Mama died…” Gale finally says, something like nostalgia, or maybe resignation twisting through his voice. Sometimes, the line between those two is quite thin. “Well. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Christmas this nice.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. What is he supposed to say? He thinks he’s put enough pieces together over the last few months to understand a bit about his roommate’s home life since his mom died, but Gale’s never said a thing about it out loud.

Gale shrugs uncomfortably in response to Bucky’s silent question, which hangs in the air between them without any words being spoken at all. “Dad wasn’t a… well… I-I guess…” His breath shakes. Bucky presses closer against Gale’s side, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. Gale sinks his weight into the hold, and Bucky finally looks directly at him when he hears quiet sniffling, feels Gale’s fingers latch onto the front of his shirt.

“I don’t plan to ever go home again,” Gale says quietly. His face twists into something angry and sad, but he fights against the expression like he doesn’t want Bucky to see how he’s feeling at all. Bucky wonders if it’s the first time Gale’s ever said this out loud, the first time he’s let such an idea be heard by the world. He wonders how long Gale’s been thinking about it in silence. Days? Weeks? Months? Maybe since the moment he closed the door behind him when he left for college.

“I’m not goin’ home,” Gale says more firmly. “I… I don’t think I’d mind never seein’ him again.”

Gale’s shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly with rattled, unregulated breath, and when he goes still, it takes Bucky a moment to realize that he’s not breathing at all anymore. He’s holding everything in to keep himself from shaking, from crying, from feeling.

Bucky wraps both arms more fully around him, holding him tight like he’s trying to hold him together, trying to hold some invisible weight so Gale doesn’t have to. Like maybe if he takes the burden of keeping Gale in one piece right now, then there will be enough space to breathe again. “You need to breathe, Buck,” he whispers.

Gale turns toward Bucky and wraps his arms around him, and his fingers curl into the back of Bucky’s shirt like he’s grasping for something steady but half expecting it to vanish. His breath hitches when Bucky stays, and his fingers curl tighter into the fabric. Buzz whines and crawls further up the bed, pressing his nose against Gale’s thigh.

“Breathe,” Bucky says again. He rubs Gale’s back in what he really hopes is a soothing way. He hasn’t often found himself in this type of situation, having to find a way to make the world keep turning for someone else. He didn’t know he ever could be that person. “Just breathe.”

It takes a few minutes, but Gale’s breathing evens out, his grip on Bucky’s shirt loosens, and the silent, stubborn tears that he so obviously didn’t want Bucky to see clear out of his eyes. By then, he and Bucky have slid down so that they’re laying on the bed, Gale’s face buried in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky finds that he doesn’t mind, not one bit. When Gale shifts away, no longer trying to hide, Bucky grabs the pillows and puts them back under their heads where they belong. And they stay there, just them and the dog, staring up at the Christmas lights.

“I’m sorry,” Gale says eventually. The sound of his voice is clear again, but still quiet. Bucky looks at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s officially December 26th, no longer Christmas day.

Bucky shifts so his arm is behind his head, and he glances over at Gale. “For what?”

Gale isn’t looking at him. “It’s not your job to-“

“That’s ridiculous, Gale.” Because it is. Ridiculous.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

Bucky frowns and squints up at the lights. He wonders how he’s supposed to say that he doesn’t care without it sounding weird. He wants to see Gale in every mood, every condition, every emotion. He doesn’t care. He wants to help Gale through everything. He wants to make him feel better when he’s sick or tired or scared or putting himself down. He wants to take away any pain he ever feels. He wants to protect him from everything bad that’s ever come his way even though he knows full well how strong and capable he is on his own.

It’s a lot for a college freshman to feel about a person. It’s more than Bucky’s ever felt about anyone before, and he doesn’t really even know what he’s supposed to do about it. So he reaches out and puts his hand over Gale’s, and he fights back a smile when Gale turns over his palm and lets Bucky rub his thumb across his fingers in reassurance. “I’m glad I came to check on you.”

He hopes that says enough.

“Thank you for… everything.” Gale finally looks over at Bucky, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“This really has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had I think. I- I can’t… thank you for including me.”

“You’re family now.”

Gale’s face goes blank, and Bucky knows he has no idea what to say. So he squeezes Gale’s hand once, and he looks back up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

They fall asleep like that, laying on the bed and looking up at colorful, LED stars that reflect off the ceiling and the walls, the light bathing their faces in red and green. Gale’s head rests over Bucky’s chest, where he can hear his heartbeat, steady and calming.

That’s how Bucky’s mom will find them in the morning. She’ll knock softly on the door after realizing her son isn’t in his own bedroom, and then she’ll quietly push it open. She’ll see Bucky, asleep on his back with Gale curled against his side. Bucky will open his eyes tiredly, looking at his mom in confusion as he realizes where he is. His mom will nod, closing the door quietly once again, and then she’ll lean against the wall outside the guest room. She’ll smile to herself, and she’ll thank the universe for bringing her boy someone good, someone to love and to love him.

Bucky will look at Gale beside him, and he won’t even be able to imagine everything that comes next. He’ll hope, and he’ll wonder, and he’ll give it his all, but he won’t know for sure that this was only the beginning. Their first perfect Christmas.

#happy holidays #can you spot all the little references to their dynamic in TTMAB?#kind of an origin story for some of their behaviors here #I actually have a lot of little ideas about this AU #we'll see if I actually get it together #clegan astronaut au #clegan #mota #masters of the air #to the moon and back #john egan #gale cleven #clegan fic #buck x bucky #buck cleven #bucky egan

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