violent-darts:

Over time, Steve picks up tricks. Things that make everything a little bit easier. And the thing about most of the tricks is, over time, it gets to a point where he doesn’t have to use them so much anymore, or where using them ends up being a kind of joke.

That’s the big trick, after all. That these things can happen, and nothing bad happens after. That things are okay, over and over. That this is how it works now. 

That the other things, the other shit, it’s over, and over and gone for good. 

One of the tricks is that it’s a lot easier to get Bucky to actually take a nap if it’s on the couch or the futon, if Steve’s there, and if Steve’s plausibly doing something else, so that it’s not a case of Bucky asking Steve to come be a Security Steve, so Bucky can’t convince himself he’s keeping Steve from doing something else. 

Fortunately there’s a lot of fairly engaging stuff you can do sitting on a couch or a futon, especially since he was unwary enough to let Darcy talk him into looking up this game called The Room, which had two sequels and a lot of puzzles and is kind of driving him nuts. She’s gleefully announced that the cross-platform compabitility that Tony’s insisting on building into the StarkPads (which Pepper insists is not actually going to be their name) means that Steve should be able to get hold of something called “Myst” and its sequels, which are apparently the archetype from which all insanely aggravating and addictive games like this spring. 

When she’d said that, Steve’d given her a long look and said he wasn’t sure he liked her anymore. 

So today he sits glaring at the tablet’s screen, wondering where in the name of God he could have missed whatever the Hell it is he’s supposed to be using on the weird metal bracket on the railing up in the weird little tower. 

For a while, Bucky was messing around with trying to fold a complicated pattern for a fox. Steve’s not exactly sure when Bucky started messing around with origami, but he’s following his own established best practice, which is waiting until Bucky’s been doing something consistently for at least a month before he says anything about it. Meanwhile he just picked up a few packets of different sizes of paper from the craft store. 

It might just be a way of testing exactly how fine the motor control on his left hand is now, Steve thinks. One that doesn’t involve the risk of breaking something or someone. 

But he’d put the half-finished folded paper down on the table about five minutes ago, and briefly fussed with his phone until he threw that on the table, too, and the kitten took advantage of his lack of distraction to demand attention. 

Steve’s given it another five to ten minutes before Bucky falls asleep against Steve’s shoulder, and then awards himself a gold star – mentally – when he’s right. 

Then, very carefully, he puts the tablet on the side table and turns – still careful, and pretty slow – until he can shift over and move Bucky until he’s using Steve’s leg for a pillow, instead of his shoulder. 

Abrikoska scolds him for making her move, but then curls up in the space by Bucky’s stomach, now that he’s curled on his side, and goes to sleep. 

Moving him doesn’t wake Bucky up, not quite – when he stirs, Steve rests one hand carefully on his head and strokes down to the back and side of his neck, smoothing his hair back, and the frown on Bucky’s face eases a little, and he goes still again. 

Steve watches him for a moment or two, just to make sure, before he reaches for the game again. 

violent-darts:

When Morita pulls the blanket-cover aside, too-bright winter morning light stabs right down into the foxhole, but Bucky might not actually mind so much if Jim didn’t manage to get snow down the back of Bucky’s neck while he did it. 

Maybe he should blame the snow, though. Seeing as it managed to do it despite only being a little bit, and despite having to somehow get by Bucky’s coat which is draped over two layers of blanket over both him and Steve. Maybe it’s specially designed, evil HYDRA snow. Right now he wouldn’t put it fucking past them. 

Steve stays asleep, which is fine; he’s been taking watches to let everyone else rest and he’s starting to run out of margin, and Bucky’s not really interested in getting more precise about the edge of exhaustion where Steve starts seeing things. Ballpark is good enough, and they’re in the ballpark. And Steve can sleep through anything he decides to sleep through. 

Besides, he’s warm. Even with Morita standing there letting the damn warm out. 

And the thing is, using Steve as a heater actually works better if all available coats and blankets go over both of them, which is why Bucky’s actually in his shirt. The air on his face was already chillier than the rest of him; with Morita holding the covering blankets and tree-branches aside, Bucky has even less desire to do anything but hide under all the covers even more. 

Jim gives Bucky the sour look of someone who had a cold night. “Lucky bastard,” he mutters. 

“First off,” Bucky says, “you better not be waking me up without coffee. Second off, it’s not my fault you snore so loud Dugan won’t share a foxhole with you so you’re stuck with Monty. And third off, okay then, next time he starts seeing little flying fucking robots you can fucking talk him down.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Morita mutters, but Bucky notices the lack of volunteering. But he also does actually pass down a steaming tin mug of coffee. Which Bucky eyes for a long time before deciding it’s worth snaking one arm out from the warm to get. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, “why is it so fucking cold.” 

“Because God hates us and wants us to suffer,” Morita replies. “It’s 0700 and Major Whatshisnuts wants to see Cap at 0800.” 

“Major Whatsisnuts can go fuck a donkey,” Bucky mutters, and rubs his eyes. “Fine, go find something they’re passing off as fucking food around here and I’ll wake him up in half an hour or something.”