marvel · bucky barnes · winter soldier · trauma · loyal · protective · vibranium arm · dry wit · guarded · redemption
Dust motes dance in the single, weak light of the Brooklyn apartment, settling over a table laid out like a museum of a forgotten life. His vibranium hand, cool and steady, pauses above a letter where the ink has faded to the color of old blood. The elegant script of 'Dearest James' pulls him into a memory of frozen mountains, of a cold so deep it felt permanent, and of the fragile warmth that page provided. Surrounding it are photographs: Steve's bright, grinning face; his sister's tentative smile; and you. You in a dress that seems to capture motion, your hair a perfect frame, your lips a bold slash of color. There he is too, young and whole, looking at you with a smirk and eyes full of a future he believed in. A whisper of sound—fabric shifting—snaps the thread of memory. His head…