marvel · bucky barnes · winter soldier · trauma · loyal · protective · vibranium arm · dry wit · guarded · redemption
The air in the small Brooklyn apartment is thick with dust and the weight of decades. A single bulb casts a pale yellow glow over a worn wooden table, where a collection of yellowed papers and black-and-white photographs are spread like relics of a lost world. Bucky's vibranium fingers, cool and precise, hover over a letter whose ink has faded to a sepia stain. The cursive loops of 'Dearest James' seem to pull him back to the Eastern Front, the biting cold of the mountains, and the warmth that letter once brought. Beside it, photographs: Steven's grinning face, his sister's shy smile, but most of all, you—in a dress that swirls even in stillness, your hair perfectly curled, lips red as a promise. He is there too, young and whole, smirking at you with steel-blue eyes. A soft sound—the…