all men dream

ALIAS: --- Tracked Tag: aliaswinter [ this is a sideblog for major alternate universes for the blog codenamewinter ]

[soldierofliberty]

verse: world spin, home spun

closed || codenamewinter, cordeliabarton, soldierofliberty

there’s a price to pay when you join the Army.  for some, it’s nightmares. for others, it’s limbs.  but for all of them, there’s a communal price to be paid. they lose time with those they love, and those they loved.

When Cordelia, James and Steve have served their 8 years of service, it’s time for them to set down their guns, and return home. When home is an unnervingly foreign concept to them, they decide to move in together, carrying their burdens from service and living together. It’s a process of healing when you try to integrate yourself into the way home works. But when you’re broken, you cling onto what you can, and hope for the best.

[antisocialworkaholics]

Fifty grand now and the rest when you get me what I need to know.

[aliaswinter]

Christ, you're not playing around pal. 

You've got a deal    what d'you need?

[outoftheice-archive]

  Hey yourself, Bucky. Don’t worry. I won’t expect poetry from you if you don’t expect it from me. And the only reason my penmanship is any good is because I’m trying really hard. I’ve got chicken scratch most of the time. How’d you get that nickname, anyway? I like it. Most people call me Steve, except for Father O’Malley and Mrs. Andersen from upstairs. I’d like it if you called me Steve, too, was the point of that. I don’t take offence, but I dunno about all that. I’m not very official, and I’m just as Irish as I am American. It takes a lot to offend me, besides. I guess this is the part where I give you the run-down on me, isn’t it? It’s not much to tell, so I’ll make it quick. I’m from Brooklyn myself. We could’ve known each other! I’m twenty-one, just turned this July. We celebrated by going up to the roof to watch the fireworks (being born on Independence Day has its benefits), or at least that’s what I think happened. Apparently, the point of that evening was to get me drunk and I’ll say they pulled it off well. Sorry. Anyway, I tried to join the army, but asthma and a heart murmur ended that dream pretty damn fast. I work as an artist when I can get a commission, and in a grocery shop when I can’t. Which is often. Unless it’s familiar from back home, the only reason I can think of that it’d be familiar would be on some care packages I send out every month or so? I try to do my part; my father was a soldier, and I just think someone should try and make you all more comfortable. I can’t do much, but if there’s anything specific you want, well, I guess you’d get penpal’s prerogative. I could send it to you. Takes more than a letter to scare me off, Sargeant, Steve Rogers ( P.S. I promise my next letter will be better. I re-read this one before I mailed it and I’ll ask you more questions next time. Here! I’ll add some. What’s… what’s your favorite color? Got any family? What did you wanna be, growing up? Is that enough? I don’t want to overload you, here. - Steve ) (P.P.S. I’m out of practice with letters, too.)

[aliaswinter]

Steve it is, pal. Ain’t any old lady and definitely not holy enough to be a priest. You religious?  As for me, I’ve had the nickname since I was a kid – guess it came from coming from a neighbourhood where everyone got something and ‘Buchanan’ was stupid enough to merit shortening. Haven’t grown out of it yet, though.

Brooklyn kid too? Small world! Seriously, a birthday on Independence Day? Most patriotic day of the year; must really be something else. Takes a lot to get me drunk, but that sounds like a helluva lot of fun. Not too many chances to get pissed out here. Think I spent the fourth cleaning the latrines; punishment for somethin’ or other. ‘M not an insubordinate or anything, just that the desert ain’t the funnest place.

Jesus, you still tried to join? That kinda builds on the whole ‘patriotic’ image I’ve got going on right now. Only a real stubborn punk would still try, y’know.

That’s it – I’ve seen your care packages all the time. They’re heaven, buddy, and I can say my whole squad is thanking you for them. So, uh, thanks. A lot.  Does this mean we’re penpals with benefits? You should send me a drawing of something from home, maybe. Homesickness can get a guy down sometimes. If that’s okay?

I’m gonna admit that your questions made me laugh. Not in a bad way, but my humour’s on a whole different level. Favourite colour’s blue; no family, my dad was in the army too an’ died in a training exercise, rest of ‘em are dead. Christ that sounds sad. I’m usually funnier. Uh, I could only think of being a soldier when I was a kid, so we’ve got even more in common.

Yeah, those questions are enough. I should ask you some, but I’m pretty unimaginative so – back at you, pal. Same questions.

-           Bucky

( P.S – We can practice on each other ;) )

[aliaswinter]

Each fibre felt too light; too cotton soft over the underlying map of scars.

The absence of Kevlar and the scratch of uniform left Bucky oddly naked, vulnerable to the bullet side-glances fired from the eyes of intrigued townsfolk. There had been enough of a stir created once the Barnes boy had enlisted on afternoon of turning seventeen, pity oozing from all sides for Winifred that had spent so many years single-handedly rearing that young army brat only to find the military’s clutches were difficult to flee entirely.

The IED incident had driven half the town into funeral preparations as Sergeant James Barnes lay, scarlet and mangled, several thousand miles away; upon stumbling back into the stereotype of forgotten settlement, Bucky could practically taste the deflation of disappointment at the lack of tragedy.

There was something sickeningly morbid about people burdened with boredom.

Even three weeks later, the spotlight of curiosity burned worse than the heat. Yet there was an itch under Bucky’s skin, a build-up of frustration with every hour that passed wandering through the streets or ‘recuperating’. A need to work. The advertisement for the local mechanics garage had been far from a blessing, but it was enough. Just enough.

“Hey.”

Peering around, squinting into the shade, Bucky tried to clear the roughness in his voice.

“There was an ad for work here.”

[aliaswinter]

Hi there, I'm

Hey,

Uh, Jesus, I've got no clue what to write. Haven't written a letter since middle school when they taught the whole 'yours sincerely vs truly' crap. My handwriting is as shitty as ever, sorry 'bout that. 

Name's Sergeant James Barnes, but most call me 'Bucky' 'cause my parents had some attachment to some unknown president and strange names. Letter said I'd been paired with a Steven Rogers; sounds kinda official and wholesome American.

Fuck, don't take any offence to that. I don't have any filter for this sort of thing. My Ma would shake her head at me, I'm tellin' you. Guess I need to get the hang of this thing. 

Half a page in and I still haven't introduced myself properly. So, I'm a Brooklyn kid, through and through. 22 years old and, if you can't tell, wasn't exactly the boy with the book smarts. Joined the army about a year and a half ago, still alive so I think I'm doin' okay. 

What about you, Steven? Gotta say, your name sounds damn familiar, but maybe it's just one of those names.

Hope I haven't scared you off yet,

Sgt J. Barnes

[pitynotawidow-archive-deactivat]

[ It’s no mistake that her head lolls to the side, in an effort to distance herself from the will that diminishes with each touch; with each plea, and with him begging her to look at him once more. To offer another chance, as if she hasn’t been generous enough to relinquish an independence in life for their marriage. ] 

     ”James––––”

[ And a kiss, then, to soften the deal. She isn’t about to have it, and she means to struggle free, pushing him back, holding him at an arm’s length. It’s fair enough that she cook them a meal, but her chain will not be tugged like a dog for the calling. ] 

     ”You stay here. I’ve got a two o’clock with Peterson; he’s got me a job.” 

[ And her shoulders tense once more with the prospect of murder. ]

[aliaswinter]

[ As Natasha's shoulders stiffen with tension, James' slump as disappointment siphons the hope still holding any lingering composure intact. Yet there is a stubbornness that holds its ground despite delicate foundations, an unyielding factor that had chipped away at Natasha's own resistance over endless months and hours. 

Surely there is still scraps of warmth left to thaw the ice. ]

"We have time."

[ Peterson might reschedule if James directed them both to their tally of favours, but suggesting such would only ignite flames that are less warmth than they are destruction. There have been enough times that Natasha has been the one left behind; memories still sharply bitter. ]

"Please." 

[ That word, again. That voiced plea. 

Movements tender, James half attempts to draw Natasha back, fingers catching on outstretched wrist. Another kiss, pressed on the still soft palm. This plea is silent, but no less deafening in their home. ]

[pitynotawidow-archive-deactivat]

…

[ Words of bitter exchange have plagued them long enough, and the warmth and the affection of their courtship has drained through the riddled holes of their marriage. Natasha’s gaze remains fixed on the work before her ––– on the simple task of cooking, leaving a trained killer reduced to the work of a simple woman of the house. Of their home, devoid of the love she’d been promised; that she’d been expecting. ] 

"I see." 

[ Yet she defers, with the weight of their masters around them. For all she knows, his companions will round the corner, leaving him to be prosecuted and her to be audience to that fact.  

But still, silence reigns. ]

[aliaswinter]

[ James could not have been expecting a more encouraging answer; would have been a fool to. Yet since the echo of their wedding vows faded, James has been nothing but. Chest tightening at the curt words murmured in a voice that had once been laced with love, whispered in the shadows as they lay tangled among the silk of sheets, the shackled man resists the urge to reach for the glass tumbler at hand. 

Instead, James moves from the threshold, closing the distance between them physically even if the void remains. The calloused pads of tentative fingers trace Natasha's wrist, arms framing a much more slender build. ]

"Please." 

[ James Barnes has never begged. Only charmed, flashed soul capturing smiles, and weaved persuasive words. Yet the word is uttered as a plea, close enough. Lips press to the curve of Natasha's neck, breath bated. ]

"We can go anywhere. Do anything you want."

[bangstarbrainiac-blog]

[aliaswinter]

[ There's no stag party or general duty acting as an excuse for Bucky this time as the flashing lights and seductive hues swallow the man whole. It's a fucking mistake, doomed from the moment that Bucky had blurted out the incorrect address to the taxi driver and caught the knowing smirk on the stubbled face.

The staff there, clad in their inappropriate outfits that are no more than glittering scraps of cloth, clearly know how to deal with a newcomer. Ghost hands just seem to guide and steer until Bucky is slumped in a seat with the murmured promise of 'Steve will be out in a moment' in his ear. ]

[aliaswinter]

                              "Hey."

[ A soft greeting, hesitant still. The chill of their fight and of Natasha's fury still poisons the air despite the days that have passed. Bucky is attempting to glue the fragments together again, but there is no telling how long it will last before it breaks at their hands. ]

"I took the day off. Thought we could visit the places we used to go. We can go anywhere you want."

[codenamewinter-archive]

[ Twisting away, James’ fingers grope for the crystal tumblers and the curved neck of the bottle. Amber liquid sloshes against the arced surface with barely enough time to settle before it is knocked back in one motion. The whiskey sends a streak of fire down the man’s throat, spreading a warmth that has become sickeningly familiar through chilled veins.

Once, their lives have been tinted gold, for a few brief months before the sunlight was obscured by clouds. James hadn’t clung to alcohol, hadn’t sought anything else for satisfaction when Natasha’s smile had been warmth itself. 

James reflects on that time just after their wedding as the whiskey’s burn dulls, the bottle lighter in the man’s clasped palm. It isn’t fair     that part is bitterly clear. It wasn’t fair that those promises were cast away so quickly when the memory of Natasha’s lips curving up as James repeated them for their wedding vows was still branded fresh and vivid. 

Yet they have no way out.

Other options have been considered, in both a drunken haze and on the nights which were painfully crisp. All of them were risks and all of them meant Natasha would be the focus of the hunts that James has been a part of. It’s the image of it all that means James considers no further.

The bottle is almost empty and James finally sets it down again, as if it’s not such a sin if the crystal isn’t drained dry. Feet unsteady, Natasha’s silent path upstairs is retraced until James is braced against the door frame, eyes following the curve of a body under the sheets. There is no moonlight filtering through, but the man can almost see the red tint of locks spread on the pillow. 

Cutting a clumsy path, the man yanks off the suit that feels too silken, but each movement slows to careful caution whilst sliding into the bed. For a moment, they’re just two strangers, unfamiliar and tense in a space meant for lovers. Then James shifts to close the distance, breathing out a sigh as one arm tentatively curls around a slim waist. Neck bending, lips press against Natasha’s neck and upper back, a gentle littering of kisses. ]

"I’m sorry."

[ They’re two words, whispered into the darkness as they have been a thousand times before and will be murmured in the years to come. ] 

[pitynotawidow-archive-deactivat]

[ She’s almost asleep; almost lost to a world of escape, where they aren’t trapped; where they aren’t collared and caged and made to sit like good dogs in a pound. There are promises of wealth, when drawn into families like these. Yet they have no time to bask in it. They have no time, between their exhaustion and their growing desperation.

The weight that settles on their bed, however, tells her that he returns for her again. Out of loyalty, and out of what she wants to believe is love. They don’t have much else to themselves, in the privacy of the dark. His lips feel chapped and dry, and her skin smells of the expensive soap they’d been gifted for their anniversary. A poor reminder.

Her silence greets him.

Natasha takes her time with the relief of his mistake, and it feels like an hour of them lying in bed, in a twisted vigil of quiet, until she lifts her hand to rest on his arm. ] 

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

  "Blowin’ your smoke in my face."

[aliaswinter]

"Ain’t in your face."

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

"Was too. ‘N’ stop callin’ me dollface.”

[aliaswinter]

"What's wrong with it, dollface?"

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

"Quit it."

[aliaswinter]

"Quit what, dollface?"

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

"Blowin’ your smoke in my face."

[aliaswinter]

"Ain't in your face."

[aliaswinter]

Bucky,

God I miss you. I haven’t heard from you in so long and I’m so scared. I’m scared that you hate me for what I told you. I’m scared that you’re hurt or…dead and I’ll never see you again. I’m just so scared Bucky. You’re my everything and I need you to come home safe. Even if you never want to speak to me again just please come home.

I know what I did was unforgivable and I’m a terrible person for working in the Brothel but I did what I had to. I had to keep you safe and healthy and I wanted you to be okay. I still want you to be okay. I just want to take care of you and make sure that you come home safely. I want you to be sage and whole and come home to me Bucky.

Please, even if you never want to hear from me again or even talk to me just write your mom a letter. She’s going crazy with worry Bucky. We all are. I…I can’t sleep without knowing you’re okay. I just need to hear from you. Please. Please baby. Please write back to me. Please just let me know you’re alive.

I love you so much and I’m so sorry. 

Please come back home to me. Please.

Always and forever yours,

Your Darce.

[ The letter barely makes sense    although Bucky knows that it must be because of the one left ruined and indecipherable by the rain. Regret aches deep at the idea of Darcy's own guilt stemming from the lack of reply, but consistent communication has been difficult with a rifle slung constantly over one shoulder. Sliding down on a makeshift crate, the soldier searched for a pen, eager to at least write a note to explain. ]

[aliaswinter]

Bucky,

I haven’t heard back from you since my last letter and that scares me. I’m so afraid you’re going to hate me for what I’ve done. I’m so sorry Bucky. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…I wanted to take care of you and make sure that you were safe while you were over there. I’m sorry that I’ve done this. I’m so sorry.

You’re my everything Bucky and I don’t think I could handle to lose you. What I did was so wrong. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. You’re mother has been taking care of me. She’s made sure that I’m okay. I promise you that I’m still yours. You are the only man I will ever want to be with, I promise you. Ive never been with anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about. I still want you to be my first.

I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, you have enough to worry about. Just…write to me soon so that I know you’re okay. I’m so worried about you. I love you Bucky. Come home soon.

Yours always,

Darce

[ Bucky never did get a chance to read the letter. Not whilst they were marching through the April showers that soaked every soldier to the bone, leaving a chill that wouldn't fade until Summer. By the time the paper was drawn out by eager hands, the ink had long run and Bucky had cursed, leaving it in a frustrated ball on the ground. ]

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

"Quit it."

[aliaswinter]

"Quit what, dollface?"

[cristinayang]

You know what luck is? Luck is believing you’re lucky, that’s all…