This is a fill for today's @februaryficletchallenge (Day 2 - Caught in the Rain) as well as the @buckybarnesbingo Flash Bingo 2023 U card - Unlucky.
Fandom: MCU/Marvel
Pairing: None (Bucky x happiness)
Rating: General
Tags: Internal monologue, post-FatWS, canon-adjacent
Word Count: 527
Bucky had always hated getting caught out in the rain, especially when it was a cold rain that fell steadily for hours on end, soaking whatever it landed on clear through and leaving puddles behind for the unwary pedestrian to step into. New York City always looked so gloomy when it was raining, the stone and steel skyscrapers fading into the grey of the sky.
Before the war, there was always the chance that whatever illness Steve was already fighting would get worse if he got rained on, or that he’d catch a chill and therefore be more vulnerable to something new. Either way, Steve would be miserable and gripe under his breath the rest of the day.
During the war, the rain was rarely their friend. It made it nearly impossible to get a good sniper shot in, and the less said about foxholes with an inch or two of water at the bottom or marching for miles through the mud, the better. Dum-dum’s loud, colorful string of curses upon opening the barracks door to a downpour was one of the first memories Bucky recovered from his time spent with the Howlies.
Of course the Soldier’s handlers hadn’t cared about the forecast when sending him out on a mission. He was expected to succeed regardless of any obstacles and his personal comfort was never a consideration.
During that time, he had recognized there were a few advantages to being in the rain; it muffled your steps when approaching your target and helped wash away the blood. But the rain only intensified the constant sensation of being chilled to the bone, and both his arm and his leather gear needed extra maintenance after getting wet.
While he was on the run, Bucky’s second most important possession that he carried in his backpack was a rain poncho. While it wasn’t perfect -- he still got wet from about mid-thigh down -- it folded up small enough to fit easily into one of the many pockets and had been sturdy enough to last him through the rainy season. His third most important possession? Clean, dry socks.
The first place that Bucky hadn’t minded being caught in the rain was Wakanda. Precipitation there was infrequent, and therefore welcome; it tamped down the ever-present dust and made the grass turn a vibrant green. His goats had always frolicked in the rain, and that in turn made him and the village children laugh.
The hut the villagers had built for him was snug and dry, placed on a slight rise so the rainwater ran away from it, down towards the stream, and the door faced away from the prevailing winds. He could sit, holding a mug of tea close to his chest and watch the rain fall without fear or worry.
The rain wasn’t too bad here in Louisiana, either. Sure, there was plenty of it -- plus the threat of hurricanes -- and the thick Delta mud clung to your shoes like nobody’s business. But when there was a warm, bright place to return to, a home filled with love and contentment, it was easy enough to shake off the gloom of a rainy day.
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