The Red Soldier: Rise of the Red Soldier

ISSUE #3

Bucky woke up with a shiver, uncomfortable in the clothes he had worn the day before. He cracked the bones in his neck, enjoying the way in which he could now turn his head more freely. The mattress he slept on in Bucharest wasn't the best, but at least it had springs. 'Perhaps there was a reason (Y/N) chose the sofa', he thought.

Only fine ash lay in the hearth now, a fine ash which emitted no warmth. Bucky looked down at (Y/N), watching as he shook beneath the knitted blanket thrown over him sloppily. An empty box of tissues sat on the floor beside him along with a now empty bottle of vodka. Bucky walked off in the direction of the kitchen, where he proceeded to fill the kettle with water and boil it. Whilst the kettle was boiling, he built a fire in the living room as quietly as he possibly could.

With the boiled water, he filled a hot water bottle, and made a cup of tea for himself, he wasn't a massive fan of the drink, but (Y/N) had no coffee in his cupboards. He wrapped the hot water bottle in a towel and then returned to (Y/N)'s side, pulling the blanket off of him and placing the hot water bottle against his chest. He tucked the blanket around him, fluffed the pillows under his head, and then, very gently, brushed the fingers of a gloved hand through his soft (H/C) hair.

(Y/N) woke for a moment, yawning before smacking his lips together. James Barnes, startled, stumbled backwards slightly, only getting up to his feet properly when he was sure (Y/N) would not wake up. He'd hurt him enough by returning to him, he didn't want to interrupt his sleep as well.

The Scottish Highlands were rather beautiful; a never ending moor stretching over steep hills and deep valleys. Bucky recognised the magenta coloured flower growing just outside the boundaries of (Y/N)'s land. His mother used to keep it in a small wooden box on her vanity, he always remembered her smelling of it when she tucked him in at night.

Once he'd lit a cigarette, Bucky hiked onwards, enjoying the sound his feet made as they crunched through the layer of snow on the ground. He'd smoked his way through half of his tobacco by the time he reached the bushes. James Barnes pulled out a small swiss army knife from his pocket and began to cut off parts of the plant with the brightest flowers, the scent of heather sending him back in time to his childhood.

***

'James! Are you ready for bed?' Winnifred Barnes called from the end of the hallway, 'James!'

'I'm in bed!' James Buchanan Barnes hollered back, just as the door to his closet-sized bedroom opened. His mother entered, a mug in one hand, and a hardback in her other. She smiled at him fondly, placing the mug of warm milk on his bedside cabinet before sitting on the edge of the bed. She had only just got in from work and saw the bruise covering his right eye.

'The kids at school still picking on your friend?' she asked. She'd been to see the headteacher with Ms Rogers that morning, hoping that he might have done something about the little bastards who were bullying her son's friend, but apparently that was of no use.

'I gave as well as I took,' James told her, 'I'm not going to let them hurt Steve, I don't think anyone should be mean to anyone.' Winnifred admired that about her son, his yearning to help those who couldn't help themselves. Only that morning had she needed to stop him giving a homeless man his pocket money.

'Is that Doctor Dolittle?' he asked in a small voice, changing the subject.

'It is,' nodded Winifred, opening the book to the first page. She had read him the same book every night for almost six months, and yet he was still not bored of it. She read the first twenty pages, and then, noticing James' eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, and his mug of warm milk had gone, she closed the book.