Stucky Halloween: 2020

Blue

Let's just get the "Blue (Da Ba Dee)" jokes out of the way early...

Also this one is more serious, so: TW for depression and brief self-harm. (If anyone wants to vent or anything my messages are always open, take care of yourselves, I love you all)

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Steve Rogers lived in a world of blue. The world saw him as the golden boy, and he never felt lower. The moniker of Captain America was one he'd never taken lightly and the world saw it as a mantle he was proud to carry. That's what they saw, and that's all he wanted them to see -- Captain America, beacon of hope. Captain America, never afraid, never backs down from a fight.

He'd never show them that Captain America is actually a depressed and anxious and PTSD-riddled twenty-something year old named Steve Rogers.

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He didn't realise how bad it truly was until during the middle of a mission, a raid somewhere in New Jersey, his mind a fog, he'd idly wondered what would happen if he just dropped his shield.

It fell from his grasp and Sam was quick to dive in, his wing pack bursting into action as a shield. He grabbed Steve's shoulders and yelled over the din of gunfire and raging flame.

"Did you get hit? You okay?"

Steve shook his head, tried to snap himself out of it -- "I'm good," he replied with a quick grin of this is fine.

Once he was finally home, his legs still shaky somehow from the battle even though it had been hours ago, he allowed himself a moment to sink against the door and drop his head.

The abandoned helmet and shield taunted him as if to wordlessly remind him that he was Captain America first, and Captain America was a super soldier, and Steve Rogers had to get it together and keep fighting.

Steve rubbed his eyes, pushed himself up, and grabbed the paperwork that Fury needed finished before the next briefing.

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Bucky woke slowly and felt fuzzy. He wasn't cold anymore. He quickly looked around for the familiar horrific sight of the inside of a HYDRA base. Instead he found a plain looking room with a vase of dead flowers and a tv, volume set low on some pointless talk show.

He sat up, glanced at his hands -- still metal, still human -- and pushed himself to his feet.

He had to find out if -- if his -- someone was okay. He didn't need to know their name; he could just feel it, like a tightness in his chest that refused to leave.

He would find them, no matter how long it took.

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Months flew by in a haze of blue and grey for Steve Rogers. After a particularly successful mission of wiping out HYDRA bases that had been kidnapping civilians for experimentation, Captain America was granted another medal of honour and prompted to give a short speech.

"What I do shouldn't be praised," he said. "What I do is help people and stand up to bullies, because if there's at least one person to make a stand, that can make all the difference." He paused for a second, finding the words he wants to say. "It's my responsibility to do what I can to help the community, and that's what I vowed to do. I don't intend to back down from that promise."

The audience cheered their approval, Captain America waved goodbye and Steve wondered if he and the famous Cap would ever be able to exist in the same universe.

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A silver hand brushed over his recently chopped hair. Bucky felt like  patchwork, piecing himself back together out of forgotten memories and the feeling of being a whole again.