The story of the Winter Soldier's trial, told mostly via court transcripts and news reports. It worked for me, except for the interspersed texts/tweets. Overall, I enjoyed it a lot.
Long, excellent, heartwrenching story of how Steve getting de-aged finally gets Bucky out of his own head. Oh my heart. *sobs* I especially like Pepper here, and her friendship with Bucky around the edges.
"When I found this place, I thought Steve would like this. And, well. Now I can show you." Steve couldn't speak, mostly because when he'd first come out of the ice, it had happened to him all the time. Bucky would love this. I can't wait to show it to him. And then there would come the awful knowledge that he couldn't. In time the raw grief, so powerful he thought he'd die of it, had scabbed over to a dry and painful ache, so much a part of him that he no longer knew what it would feel like not to carry it around with him. Until that day on a DC freeway overpass. And then he'd been in a strange kind of limbo, grief and loss and anger all wrapped up into a snarled ball where his heart used to be. Because he hadn't known, couldn't know until he found Bucky how much was left of his friend and how much was still to be mourned, and he'd been living with that phantom-pain missing-limb grief for so long at that point anyway that he wasn't sure how to not feel it anymore. All this tied together in his throat until he managed to swallow it enough to say, "I love it. Thank you for showing it to me." Bucky reluctantly teams up with Steve and Natasha on a mission, and everybody has a lot of emotions.
“Steve, I love you,” he’d said. To many Steves. Not to this man, maybe, but to the jumble of different Steves that existed inside him. The same Steve. But also all the different measurements of Steve, the different sizes he’d occupied. To every one, he’d said the same thing. Bucky tries to remember what it means, to love Steve. Oh my heart.
“Sometimes...” He sighs again. “Sometimes, I... I’m so sure this isn’t real. That I ain’t real. That I’m, I’m having a dream and I’ll wake up in the TB ward, or on-- or like Buck, on Zola’s table, maybe that’s it, maybe he’s experimenting, trying to get me to give him classified information with my dreams--” His voice is rising, growing tighter with each word, but Sam just nods. He’s learned that, in conversations like these, you let the vet take the lead. Steve is looking at him, though, expecting him to say something, so he does. “That sounds tough,” he says honestly. Steve let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s one word for it. But I’d never-- this ain’t something I could dream or hallucinate. The showers on base weren’t hot, and there sure as hell weren’t any in the trenches. Maybe on leave, you might go to a hotel or a brothel, and once we were billeted in this English country house, but it isn’t something I’d ever got used to. So-- so this must be real. I couldn’t imagine it.” Oh, Steve.
your bones are mine to save (my bones are yours to break) by
If there was only one reason he's your best friend, it'd have to be his heart— the enormous, unbelievable, incredible expanse of it. So when he grabs your shoulder and digs his thumb into your collarbone, anchoring you to the ground, eyes staring bright blue holes into your face, pleading for you not to go at it on your own, you stop. You listen. And you try to remember. I'm not crying, you're crying. *sobs*
I could read a million variations on this "Hydra made clones of Steve and/or Bucky and now Steve (&/or Bucky) has to take care of them" thing that's suddenly popular, and this is a particularly sweet version. ♥
“Oh, Captain America,” Bucky calls, voice a dangerous sing-song. The edge of a blue shoulder and elbow he can see don’t move an inch. Stopping completely about four feet away from the tree, Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, feeling utterly unimpressed. “I can see you,” he calls, to a response of nothing. “Steve. You're behind a tree that isn't as wide as your shoulders. I can literally see you.” Finally, Steve moves. He appears from behind the tree, thumb tucked in his belt and expression carefully nonchalant, smiling at Bucky like he wasn’t an idiot who had just got himself shot. “Oh hey, Buck.” "Don’t you," Bucky begins, voice threatening as he scans Steve and spots a new tear in his uniform, across the side of his calf. "Don't you ‘hey Buck’ me," he tries, but Steve is still looking at him with a stupid winning smile fixed firmly in place, and it’s no good, Bucky is starting to laugh. "Stop grinning at me, punk, I'm mad at you," he insists. "Oh my god, you were hiding behind a tree, how have you survived this long-" "Dumb luck," Steve says. This is adorable.