Chapter Text
“I, um. I don’t think I’m supposed to have these.”
Clint hastily instructed Friday to pause the simulation in the range, surprised to hear that he had company. His own fault for turning his aids down too low, he supposed, but the frequency of the simulations often interfered with his reception. He’d have to get Tony to look into that.
When he saw that it was Bucky standing behind him, Clint grew even more curious. The soldier had just joined them at the compound last week, having been cleared by the Wakandan princess as fit to reintegrate. Clint hadn’t asked questions when Steve had briefed them about Bucky’s pending arrival, but he had taken it to mean that the Hydra coding had been successfully wiped and that Barnes wouldn’t go crazy on their asses in the middle of the night.
His assessment had proven to be correct. Bucky presented as the exact opposite to what Clint knew about the Winter Soldier. He was a bit timid, a little shy, staying as close to Steve as possible as he got used to the compound and the other Avengers. Which was why Clint’s jaw was currently hanging open stupidly in surprise that Bucky would approach him in the range, alone.
“Uh, what.”
There was a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes; Clint assumed amusement, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. Bucky held something out between them, changing the target of Clint’s focus. When Clint saw the stack of envelopes in Bucky’s hands, his heart stopped beating and he dropped his bow to the ground.
Shit.
“Shit,” Clint whispered, wanting to reach out and snatch the letters from Bucky’s grip, but unable to move due to the mortification flowing through him. “Did you read them?”
Bucky’s feet shuffled as he nodded slowly. “Most of them. I was real confused, thought maybe we had talked about some things before, at the airport, but they were addressed to me, had my name on ‘em.” Bucky swallowed and met Clint’s uncertain gaze. “I didn’t read the last one, though. Once you mentioned why you were writin’ ‘em, I knew they weren’t actually for me. I feel.” Bucky paused, licked his lips. Clint could read his body language as easy as he could do anything; Bucky was scared.
“I’m sorry.”
*
Dear Winter Soldier/James Barnes/Bucky,
Off to a great start. Don’t even know how I should be addressing you, and I’m not quite sure you would know how you want to be addressed. You’re probably all kinds of screwed up right about now. Steve said you put yourself back on ice. I figure you gotta be pretty screwed up to do that shit willingly. I guess that would make two of us.
The reason I chose you, I guess, is because of that. You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up too. We all are, I know, but I feel like maybe our fucked up is at least a little similar, being victims of brainwashing psychopaths and all. Shit, but you’ve had it so much worse. Maybe that’s the point of this little exercise, to recognize that I was fucked for a few days, killed some people against my will, but it could have been worse.
Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better. Actually makes me feel pretty fucking sad.
Fuck this.”
*
Howdy, James Barnes.
This is bullshit. I’ve been in trouble with the law before, sure, but being on house arrest at this damn compound is bullshit. Everyone has kissed and made up, the Accords have been ratified, but we’re still stuck here like criminals.
It’s been months since I’ve been up high. Seeing everything from the ground makes everything look all the same. Blend together. It’s so boring. I guess the highlight is that our merry band of misfits has been labeled as the “Rogues,” which sounds kind of badass.
I miss my dog. I know Kate’s taking good care of him, has offered to bring him around once or twice. I’m thinking of maybe taking her up on it if she offers again. That mutt might make this place feel more like home. Never thought I would really miss Bed Stuy like this.
You ever miss Brooklyn? Steve says that you’re getting some of your memories back from before Hydra and the war. You should see him talk about you. I gotta get someone to talk about me the way that Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, talks about you. Like the sun shines outta my ass. I might be able to get Nat to say that my sense of humor is terrible enough to get her to crack a smile, but that’s about it.
I’ve reached the point where this feels kind of pointless and it’s giving me all kinds of nostalgic feelings. Nostalgia is bad for me, Barnes. I’m gonna split.
*
Steve says you’re doing good, Barnes. He just got back from Wakanda looking like he just came home from Disneyland. Which, I gotta say, Wakanda sounds pretty fucking cool, even if Fury did have to babysit him the entire time because of his ‘house arrest.’
Shit. I wanted to go. They seemed to think that I would get myself in some kinda trouble, though. Typical.
I’m happy for you. Sounds like the Princess has done wonders, and Steve says that they’ve been putting you to work on the land. Sounds nice. Peaceful. I think Steve plans on bringing you here once you’re all clear. How he’s going to get Tony on board with that, I’m not sure. He barely tolerates having us here. I mean, I get it, and I’m grateful to have a place to go rather than the clinker. How did everything get so fucked up? One minute I’m sleeping on my couch with Lucky, the next I’m pulled back into everyone’s mess.
It might be a little bit your fault. I stuck with Steve because I believed him when he said that you weren’t the one setting off bombs. He said you weren’t like that anymore, that you were being framed. Hydra is a bunch of bastards, Barnes, and I know what it’s like to have people look at you like you’re about to snap and murder everyone, even though the bad guys aren’t playing around in your head anymore. It sucks.
So anyway. It’s good that you’re doing so good. Gives me hope that maybe I’ll start to do a little better, too.
Hawkeye out.
*
You ever get nightmares, Barnes?
The kind of nightmares that feel so real you wake up looking for the threat? The kind that leaves you feeling so cold that it takes days or hours to warm up?
That’s probably insensitive of me to ask you. Winter Soldier and all. Ha. I made myself laugh.
Just woke up seeing blue. You know who Loki is? I’m sure you’ll get the rundown on all of us before they throw you into this band of misfits, if that’s the plan. You’ll meet Loki in everyone’s files, especially Thor’s and my own. Loki is my Hydra. He’s a bastard. He made me murder a bunch of guys I’d been working with for years. Fucker still lives in my head when I sleep, and when I wake up I’m always kind of afraid the blue is gonna stick around.
It doesn’t. I guess I should be grateful for that.
Huh. I’m going back, rereading what I’m writing here in the hopes that my own ramblings will put me to sleep. Noticed that I wrote “He made me.” Might be the first time I put the blame on him, instead of on myself.
I think I feel okay enough to go back to sleep. Sweet dreams, Sergeant. Hope you’re warm.
*
Bucky,
You wanna hear some bullshit?
You’re an action figure now. You’ll probably learn this immediately once you come to the compound next week, because Tony created a castle of them on your dining room table. I guess that’s his version of a warm welcome. You’ll get used to him.
That’s not the bullshit part. You deserve an action figure, like the rest of us. I think it’s almost the USA way of apologizing for your imprisonment, and all the false accusations and whatnot.
ANYWAYS.
The bullshit part is that your action figures have almost outsold mine. Tony was kind enough to point this out over breakfast. You’ll get used to Tony, like I said, but the guy’s still a prick. Everyone laughed, hahaha, yeah, Hawkeye is a joke.
I laughed too even though that shit gets old. You know, I wouldn’t even care about being the least favorite/popular/famous Avenger or whatever. I like anonymity (this would surprise you to hear after you get to know me eventually. I’m loud and can be obnoxious and kind of careless, but whatever). I think it only bugs the fuck out of me because everyone else finds it cute, or hilarious. Like yep. Here’s the unenhanced team human who shoots arrows at the scary guys. He kind of helps and he got his own action figure and baby cult following. Adorable!
This is not the kind of shit that usually gets to me. It’s small and fucking stupid now that I’m writing about it to you. If you ever read these you would think that I’m an idiot, just like everybody else. And I don’t know why I would care, but I really think I would.
I’m going to eat pizza, drink coffee, and nap. In that counterproductive order.
Peace.
*
You in the sky yet, Bucky?
Steve and Fury left yesterday to bring you here. You got the all clear, so that’s pretty cool. Steve talks about you so much that I feel like I’m invested in you being okay. I won’t mother hen you, though. In fact, I’ll probably awkwardly ignore you due to the fact that I’ve been writing you letters for months in this journal thing. You won’t really know me, I’ll feel overly familiar, yadda yadda. So I’ll try not to be weird. Should probably stop writing these letters once you get here, too.
I gotta say, I thought my shrink was kind of batshit for suggesting that I do this once I got put on house arrest. I already told her that I’d tried journaling before, after Loki, and it didn’t work. She was right about choosing someone to ‘write to,’ though. I feel like you’re listening. Which is really fucking weird because you’re just a bunch of unsent letters that will never be read, but whatever.
Maybe I should get my shrink a Christmas present this year. I think she likes plants. I’ll get her a cactus. Something to remind her of my prickly disposition once I’m no longer mandated to see her.
Anyway. I’ll be seeing you real soon, Buck. I hope we make you feel alright about being here. You deserve to feel safe.
Clint.
*
“How did you even get these?” Clint asked after swallowing down the lump in his throat. “They were in my room.” Clint stepped forward and gently took the stack of letters from Bucky. Bucky withdrew quickly as though he had been burnt when their fingers brushed.
“One of Tony’s bots brought them to me. They were there to clean my room, I thought, but they handed them over as soon as they came in. If I had known, I wouldn’t have-”
“It’s fine,” Clint interrupted briskly. “You didn’t know. Don’t worry about it. Just...understand if I kind of avoid the hell out of you until I let this life-ending embarrassment die down for a bit, mkay?”
Bucky opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, or perhaps apologize again, but he closed it after a moment and nodded once, firmly. He turned to walk out of the range, and Clint leaned down to pick his bow back from off of the ground.
“Clint,” Bucky’s voice traveled across the range quietly, “you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I was readin’ your letters, and they made me feel...needed. Helpful. It was. It’s. I’m glad, and I think you’re a really fucking strong person.” With that, Bucky stepped out, letting the door close silently behind him.
Clint’s body warmed with the sentiment, and he basked in the feeling for a few moments before going back to his targets. He shot for hours, until his muscles screamed and his body was slick with sweat, and some of his anxiety about the letters had diminished by the time he made his way back to his room.
Well, his anxiety had diminished until he noticed an envelope propped up against his door in the hallway. It bloomed anew, mixed with a dose of giddiness when Clint gingerly picked it up to read the writing on the front.
“If it worked for you, maybe it’ll work for me, too.”
Inside, Clint found a letter.