(ooc: i leaned post-cw, pre-iw. lmk if you want me to change anything because i am more than happy to re-write! i just yoloed haha. )
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[ Late at night, Steve dreams about the bunker in Siberia. He can smell the chemicals from the cryotubes, hear the drip of melted snow snaking its way into leaking seals, feel the weight of his shield sinking into the metal of a chest plate, and when he wakes? The fire of anger and desperation courses through his veins.
It's short-lived, and frankly, Steve rarely sleeps more than a couple hours. Better to chase the ghosts and guilt away with the dogged determination of work. It's all he's good for, these days; Steve Rogers the man was laid out on the German tarmac, left in a freezing bunker, changed over instead for the soldier. Cold armor fits better than warm, fragile skin. It's what makes Bucky's delivery to Wakanda easier— he can tuck away the bright-eyed Brooklyn boy that barely exists anymore, knowing that maybe, just maybe all the fighting would amount to something good for once.
It's been a week since their Wakandan getaway and being fugitive is no easier now than it had been at the start of the journey, when they were three wanted men instead of two. He's secured an abandoned flat just outside of Munich, it's not much, but it has four walls and doors, with plumbing that works haphazardly at best. It would feel incredibly isolating, were it not for Sam's banter, even in the quietest, coldest days.
He keeps him human, somehow, pries at the edges of the man hiding deep in his chest, not the soldier. It does nothing for the dark circles starting to form under his eyes, but it's a start.
Steve sits on one side of a lopsided couch, a tablet in one hand, looking first at a map, then swapping to some data on the screen. ]
We've probably got a few weeks here. [ A small huff, then he swipes back to the map. ] Looks like HYDRA has an old bunker about ten miles north that might be worth looking at. Might just be old munitions, but we've got time.
[ They have all the time in the world now, so long as they don't linger overlong, don't let eyes peer where they shouldn't. Steve raises his head when he hears something from the kitchenette across the flat. ]
... Are you still trying to get the stove to work? It's gas. You're gonna blow the place up.
[ Missions, stovetops, messages. They're all easier to deal with than everything they're running from, especially when they shouldn't have been made to run in the first place. ]
maybe i’m hiding behind metaphor, maybe my heart needs to break to be sure;
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[ Late at night, Steve dreams about the bunker in Siberia. He can smell the chemicals from the cryotubes, hear the drip of melted snow snaking its way into leaking seals, feel the weight of his shield sinking into the metal of a chest plate, and when he wakes? The fire of anger and desperation courses through his veins.
It's short-lived, and frankly, Steve rarely sleeps more than a couple hours. Better to chase the ghosts and guilt away with the dogged determination of work. It's all he's good for, these days; Steve Rogers the man was laid out on the German tarmac, left in a freezing bunker, changed over instead for the soldier. Cold armor fits better than warm, fragile skin. It's what makes Bucky's delivery to Wakanda easier— he can tuck away the bright-eyed Brooklyn boy that barely exists anymore, knowing that maybe, just maybe all the fighting would amount to something good for once.
It's been a week since their Wakandan getaway and being fugitive is no easier now than it had been at the start of the journey, when they were three wanted men instead of two. He's secured an abandoned flat just outside of Munich, it's not much, but it has four walls and doors, with plumbing that works haphazardly at best. It would feel incredibly isolating, were it not for Sam's banter, even in the quietest, coldest days.
He keeps him human, somehow, pries at the edges of the man hiding deep in his chest, not the soldier. It does nothing for the dark circles starting to form under his eyes, but it's a start.
Steve sits on one side of a lopsided couch, a tablet in one hand, looking first at a map, then swapping to some data on the screen. ]
We've probably got a few weeks here. [ A small huff, then he swipes back to the map. ] Looks like HYDRA has an old bunker about ten miles north that might be worth looking at. Might just be old munitions, but we've got time.
[ They have all the time in the world now, so long as they don't linger overlong, don't let eyes peer where they shouldn't. Steve raises his head when he hears something from the kitchenette across the flat. ]
... Are you still trying to get the stove to work? It's gas. You're gonna blow the place up.
[ Missions, stovetops, messages. They're all easier to deal with than everything they're running from, especially when they shouldn't have been made to run in the first place. ]