The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

ISSUE #15

Following the holidays, Steve thrust himself back into his work, setting up extra support groups and dedicating an even larger percentage of his time to those who were still struggling after the snap. (Y/N) L/N) hadn't been the only one to struggle over Christmas. Many more people were coming forward now and signing up to his sessions, only just noticing how lonely they truly were after spending another Christmas alone. (Y/N) had woken up about an half hour ago, and now Steve was walking him over to the garages to give him his late Christmas present. He'd hoped Okoye would've been able to send it by Christmas Day, but shipping such large cargo took some time.

         Steve lifted one of the garage doors, its hinges squealing as the panels slid up into the roof. (Y/N) stood still, stunned. Steve had expected him to rush to the red BMW he had bought in Wakanda, but (Y/N) (L/N) completely ignored it, instead approaching the jet black motorcycle which had once belonged to James Barnes, as well as the box of some of Bucky's other belongings which balanced precariously atop the seat. His fingers rang along the handlebars, picking off the dust and cobwebs from the breaks. 'He always liked it immaculate,' he mentioned, now turning his attention to the box.

'You don't have to look through all that stuff right now,' Steve assured him, afraid seeing more of Bucky's things might trigger a negative reaction from his friend. (Y/N) was only just beginning to recover. He'd put on a healthy amount of weight over the past couple of weeks since Christmas, and he'd cut down from drinking a whole bottle of Mitcher's every night, to only drinking half a bottle every other day.

'I want to,' he said, opening the box and rummaging through the items inside. He pulled out some records first: a Glenn Miller LP, a few Louis Armstrong Singles, and a The Mamas & The Papas LP (Y/N) had given him. 'He taught me to dance with this song,' he said sadly, pointing out the song on the back of the Glenn Miller sleeve, 'Soldier Let Me Read Your Letter'.

Steve let out a small  sigh, 'he always loved dancing, didn't he.' He could remember how Bucky would force him into going out every Friday night to sweet-talk young women into dancing with them.

'He was really good at it,' (Y/N) replied, putting the records back into the box and lifting out a brown leather pilot's jacket. The shearling collar was almost threadbare. The chevron stripes on the left sleeve were peeling away slightly at the corners, but the name 'BARNES' remained securely stitched into the breast pocket. 'I think I wore this jacket more than he ever did.'

'It was yours as far as he was concerned,' said Steve as (Y/N) shuffled himself into it, resting his hands in the pockets before walking over to his car. The eighties BMW M3 he had chosen for himself in Wakanda didn't have so much as a scratch on it. Steve and T'Challa had both tried to encourage him to choose a more modern car, but (Y/N) had his heart set on the sporty red BMW. 'Keys are in the glove compartment,' Steve told him as he opened the door and settled himself in the driver's seat.

(Y/N) reached into the glove compartment, retrieving the keys, and sticking them in the ignition, Steve Rogers glaring at him worriedly. 'I can still drive, Steve,' he remarked, shifting into first gear, and taking off the hand break.

'Just don't go too far,' Rogers warned.

(Y/N) simply shrugged, a mischievous smile spreading across the lower portion of his now beardless face. Natasha had done him a favour by cutting his hair, and then he'd done himself a favour by ridding himself of the scraggly beard he'd been growing since Thanos's snap. 'I'm only going for a quick drive Stevie, no need to worry about me,' he winked, pulling away quickly out of the garage and then driving out of the compound.

***

(Y/N) took a deep breath, watching as his surroundings swiftly changed from large, windowed buildings, into dense green forests. He'd left the constraints he'd been under for over a month. There was nothing particularly bad about living in the compound with Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers, in fact, he enjoyed his life there. It was a lot warmer than the castle at the peak of Wundagore Mountain, and he had people to keep him company, but it all had gotten overwhelming after a while; the constant question 'are you alright?', the relentless knocking at his door whenever he slept past noon, the way Steve Rogers flashed him concerned glances whenever he fixed himself a drink; all of that added to the fact that they both seemed to be walking on eggshells whenever they were in his company, made (Y/N) relieved that he could now leave the compound alone.