Chapter Text

1: And so the story goes…

The night was warm and the air was wet. A heavy fog rolled over the green hills and slipped like hands reaching into the cities and villages; long fingers searching for hems of skirts and trouser legs. It was an ill and foreboding night, not a night for joy or happiness or even hope.

An owl called somewhere in the nearby woods. A very small church stood out against the fog on the outskirts of Dublin; beside it, headstones and statues of angels rose up from the mist to remind mortals of their limited time on earth. The church was quiet, empty as churches should be at the height of the witching hour.

Well, no. Almost. It was almost empty. It was almost quiet.

“Breathe, breathe, you’re doing wonderfully,” a church matron bade, in Irish, of a woman screaming in pain.

In a far back room, a young and unwed Omega was giving birth. The church matron and a midwife were at her side, but they were strangers to her. She was not a native of the parish but had walked – walked, with her womb heavy and swollen – from a village she refused to name a distance she refused to specify. She wore no ring and carried no Bible with her, only the clothes on her back and a blanket to swaddle the child she was bearing.

Outside the church, the nearest neighbor heard her screams in the night. He crossed himself and kissed his rosary, begging the Lord to take the cries of the banshee away from his wife and children.

Dawn eventually rose. She gave birth to a boy. The church gave her a coat and turned her back onto the street. She walked away from there with her newborn son tucked close to her breast.

That church never saw her again. In just a few months, she boarded a boat for Ellis Island. Ireland never saw her again. Her son, on the other hand, would soon storm the beaches of Ireland and more. All in time.

*

His hands were shaking. So were his knees and calves. His whole body was shaking. It was late, the sun had set long ago, it was much too late for him to be out on his own, slight and obviously a target for anyone brave enough to break the ten commandments on the doorstep of the house of God, but he was already almost there and he was determined.

Steve Rogers walked with a slow step, betraying his nerves. He found the doors of the church unlocked and entered. He stopped in the aisle to kneel and cross himself, then headed for the confessional booths. The church was silent, all the ghosts and angels held their breath as a whore trespassed upon holy ground. Steve felt their eyes on him. On the collar he stole when he fled his master’s house, the clothes that weren’t his, either, that he had no right to keep.

“Good evening, my child,” Father Elliot greeted him softly.

“Good evening,” Steve echoed. 

There was fear in his heart. But surround it was a thick apathy. He was tired.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he recited, voice quiet. “My last confession was two years ago. Since then, I have committed mortal sins.”

“Tell me, my son. Know that God has sent his Son to die for your sins, be they great or be they small.”

Steve held his hands against his stomach, which ached with hunger.

“I’ve avoided confessing this for a long time,” he whispered. “So far, I’ve been afraid of what repenting of this would mean.”

“And what would it mean?”

Steve was tired.

“I am living in sin, Father,” he admitted. “I – I’m a prostitute. I was, but for a while, a – a man took me in and – and took care of me, but – but living with him wasn’t any better than – than –”

Father Elliot fell quiet. Steve had known that would happen.

“I was collared up until a few weeks ago,” Steve said. “He was involved in the mob, I woke up one morning and found a dead man in our bathroom. So I ran away.”

“How did you meet him?” Father Elliot asked him.

Steve shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I ran away. Since then, haven’t been able to afford food,” Steve said. “I tried to get money by – by –” He cleared his throat. “But I’m sick.”

“To confess, you must be remorseful for your sins, my child,” Father Elliot told him softly. He sounded almost afraid.

“I’m remorseful,” Steve promised easily. “I’ve turned my back on it. It has been a week since I last whored myself. I don’t want to bother anymore. It’s killing me anyway.”

“My son, your words are worrying,” Father Elliot answered.

“I want absolution before I die,” Steve said, looking down at his shaking hands. “Can I – Can I still receive absolution if my life ends because of my own actions?”

“My son,” Father Elliot murmured, “to take one’s life is a mortal sin like no other.”

“I haven’t taken anything,” Steve said. “I won’t be jumping from any bridges. But – But I’m not going to stop my death from happening.”

“I do not understand, –”

“I’m starving, Father,” Steve reminded him. “I really am. And I’m ill and I – I don’t have anywhere to go; my home’s gone, I can’t – I can’t go back to Ronan, I'm afraid of what he'd do to me if I did.”

“Where are you staying?” Father Elliot asked immediately.

“Nowhere,” Steve said. “I think by morning – I think I’ll be done. It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

“There are rooms here you could take,” Father Elliot said in a quick tone, “you needn’t suffer, Steven –”

“I know,” Steve answered, lifting his gaze; through the slats in the door to the confessional booth, he could see the crucifix. “ ‘Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial,’ ” he quoted under his breath.

“Steven,” Father Elliot said, his voice a warning, “even if you allow your death to come passively, the Lord will know that you wished for it to come.”

Steve looked back at his hands. He drew in a sharp breath.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “If I take the money to keep myself alive, I’m living in sin. If I repent of that sin and reject it, I die in sin. There’s nothing I can do, Father.”

“The Lord will provide,” Father Elliot told him. “As we have been told, the Lord is with us always and his will will carry us on.”

“What if this is his will?” Steve asked.

“The Lord would not wish for you to starve and freeze to death, my son,” Father Elliot told him.

Steve took in another heavy breath. “I’m still dying, Father,” he murmured.

“You have repented of your sins,” Father Elliot reminded him. “You reject and regret them. You have suffered enough consequence for penance.”

“But –” Steve started.

“I absolve you,” Father Elliot cut him off. “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, your sins are forgiven.”

Steve bit his lip. 

He heard the confessional booth open on Father Elliot’s side, then the door in front of him opened. Steve looked up, sucking in a breath, and Father Elliot held out his hand.

“Come,” he said kindly. “The Lord provides.”

Steve’s eyes were wide. He took Father Elliot’s hand.

*

The radio went dead on him, but he’d said his goodbyes so it no longer mattered. The water was drawing ever nearer and Steve shut his eyes just as the plane broke through the ice.

 The glass burst, water rushed in, and he began to pray.

“Heavenly Father above, into your hands, I commend my immortal soul.”

Ice and freezing cold water swirled around his ankles.

“Holy Mary, pray for me. Saint Joseph, pray for me. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, assist me in my last agony.”

The cold rose to his knees, then.

Steve let go of the controls and backed up. He swung his shield off his back and lowered himself to the ground, sinking into the rapidly rising water and lying down. He settled his shield over his chest.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I pray for a soldier’s Last Rites.”

The cold swept over him at last, but he embraced the arms of death like an old friend. Steve had no tears for his own death, for it was by far late in coming. It was more like a relief. The water covered his face. He closed his eyes. It was a relief. Though his lungs begged for air and his heart beat wildly, he was relieved to drown.

He prayed that he would open his eyes to his mother’s smiling face.

“... and the crowd knows, with one swing o’ his bat, this fella’s capable of making it a brand new game again…”

Sarah Rogers did not welcome him into heaven. Steve opened his eyes in a new century.

*

The shrill beep of his alarm jerked Bucky from his altogether unsatisfying sleep. He sat up quickly, slapping wildly around until his hand collided with the snooze button, and then fell back against his pillows with a groan. He lay there for a moment, until he heard the coffee maker in his kitchen beep and the scent of it brewing drifted into his bedroom.

Bucky pushed back up. He slipped out of bed and stumbled, clad only in his boxers, out of his bedroom and into his kitchen. He grabbed his TV remote on the way and switched it on; already, it was on the local news channel.

“– after the Invasion of New York, the public is calling for more transparency from government agencies such as SHIELD, the FBI, and the CIA…”

Bucky ignored the news; he knew more than he wanted to about the aliens, seeing as he’d been one of the first responders after the National Guard was called in. He just poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to drink it black. He grimaced a little and checked the filter, then groaned again. He hadn’t put in enough grounds and now the coffee was weak.

Fuck it, he was bound to stop at Starbucks on his way to work anyway.

Bucky grabbed a protein shake from the fridge before wandering into the living room. He plopped onto the sofa, turned up the volume on the TV, and cracked open the shake. As usual, he grimaced at its taste, too.

“– SHIELD has released limited information on the special forces team that lead point against the Chitauri Invasion,” the news anchor said, “this team is a new addition to their ranks; the Avengers.”

Bucky took another swig of his shake, then let out an involuntary burp and grimaced a third time. 

“Gross,” he muttered to himself.

“The Avengers are lead by a familiar face; Captain America. The famous super-soldier Alpha was reported to have died in the line of duty near the end of World War 2, but as our sources tell us, Cap was actually cryogenically frozen in the Arctic Sea near Greenland. SHIELD discovered his body last year and successfully thawed him.”

“Freaky,” Bucky muttered, then grabbed the remote and switched to the Weather Channel.

“– cloudy skies with a high of 93 and a low of 79. Winds should be picking up sometime this morning and we should be getting rain by ten this morning. Right now it’s 68 degrees and foggy, so keep your headlights on.”

Bucky drained his protein shake. He checked the time, then pushed off the couch and headed to take a shower. It was only 3 AM, he had plenty of time before he had to catch the Metro to the ER.

Bucky showered and dressed in the next half hour, finally leaving the house in a pair of joggers and a tank top under a sweatshirt and his leather jacket. He grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone, then shoved his feet into his old combat boots before heading out without bothering to lace them. He yawned on his way down to the first level of the split brownstone he called home and pulled earbuds from his jacket pocket.

The apartment on the first floor had lights on. Bucky paused in the short hallway that lead to the stairs going up to his apartment and just looked at the door for #1. Someone had moved in yesterday while he’d been at work and he still hadn’t had time to introduce himself. Clint, his landlord, said it was a friend of his who'd just moved back to New York after a long time away, that plus the strategic neatness made Bucky's Army-dar ping.

But there were enough lights on inside that a bar of gold spilled out from under the door into the hallway. Bucky checked the time on his phone and wondered if his new neighbor had a weird AF schedule like he did and what their excuse was.

Bucky only contemplated it for a minute. He shrugged to himself and headed out, locking the front door on his way out.

The air was brisk but promised heat later in the day. Bucky plugged in his headphones and started up his early morning playlist as he started his walk to the subway.

As he turned the corner at the end of the block, Bucky was nearly hit by a jogger taking advantage of the cool air. He jumped out of the way in time, but the jogger skidded to a stop and grabbed the stop sign to hold himself up.

“Geez, watch where you’re goin’!” Bucky snapped.

“Sorry, sorry,” the jogger – a massive brickhouse blonde dude with shoulders way too broad for his tiny hips and waist. “There’s never anybody out at this time!”

“Yeah, good reason,” Bucky muttered, starting off again.

“Sorry!” the jogger called after him again.

Bucky just waved a hand. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept going.

On the subway, Bucky stared into the distance while his mind started to turn its gears slowly. Halfway to the hospital, something occurred to him. He took out his phone and Googled Captain America.

He ignored the news stories and looked for a decent photo. Bucky squinted at it for a while.

“Huh,” he muttered.

He’d almost been turned into a pancake by Captain America.

Bucky gave this train of thought exactly two more seconds of life before resuming his morning stare into space until he reached his stop and got off. Then he stared into space while walking until he got to Starbucks and ducked inside to grab a coffee and a bagel.

“Hey, dude,” Skye greeted him. “Usual?”

“Usual,” Bucky yawned.

America put down a cup in front of Bucky and saluted. Bucky grinned and picked it up to sip; perfect six-shot Americano with light Toffee Nut syrup and cream, like he always got.

“Remind me to propose to you one day,” Bucky told America.

“Nah, I don’t do Doms or Alphas,” America said calmly. “You got an Omega sibling in need of a Dom, hit me up.”

“I got a lil’ sister,” Bucky answered as he dug out change to pay for his breakfast. “She’s got two kids and a slobbery dog.”

“I’m in love already,” America quipped.

Bucky laughed and forked over the money. Skye put it away and handed him his change, which Bucky just dumped into the tip jar.

“Have a good morning,” he wished them as he grabbed his coffee and bagel.

“You, too!” Skye called.

Bucky continued to work. He drank his coffee and ate his bagel while walking. He scanned himself in, headed to the lockers, changed into his scrubs and tied his hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. He tucked his dog tags, which he wore only out of habit, under his shirt then headed out to start his shift.

Fourteen hours later, Bucky let himself back into his building, yawning the same as he’d left it. He aimed straight for the stairs and, having shut his eyes to yawn, didn’t see the massive brickhouse blonde who’d just stepped into the hallway.

“Shit!” Blonde Brickhouse gasped as he bounced back.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, grabbing his suddenly aching nose.

“Who ain’t watchin’ where they’re goin’ now?” 

Bucky squinted through the tears stinging at his eyes. Yep. That was Captain America standing in his hallway, rubbing at his sore shoulder and glaring at Bucky. Great.

“You’re the one who moved in?” Bucky asked gruffly.

“Yeah,” Captain America said. “Do you normally walk right into people like that?”

“No, usually I run them over,” Bucky grumbled. “‘Scuse.”

He headed for the stairs. He was fuck-all tired and didn’t really care that Captain America was now his downstairs neighbor. Bucky walked out of his clothes up in his apartment and into the shower, then from the shower into his bed without even bothering to put on boxers. He flopped down and squirmed around, grabbed a pillow and hugged it to sleep with; instinctively, he rubbed his face in it to transfer his scent onto it.

Somewhere in his brain as he started to fall asleep, Bucky noted that when he’d run into Captain America both times, he’d smelled like sweat and sugar, which wasn’t really what you’d expect from an Alpha in his prime. This thought lasted barely two seconds. Bucky was fine not wondering about non-fresh previously frozen All-American Beef in any form.

*

Downstairs, Steve lingered briefly in the hallway. He stared at the floor with a frown on his face as he rubbed at his shoulder. 

Maybe it was just the fact that he was tired, but his upstairs neighbor’s scent was messing with his head. Steve had actually just been upstairs, thinking that he could introduce himself, but hadn’t realized that his neighbor wasn’t home yet. Instead, he’d just stood in front of the door and breathed in the strong scent of Alpha on the doorway. That same scent was prominent in the hallway, too.

And now it was on him. Steve rubbed at his shoulder, which he’d accidentally driven right into his Alpha neighbor’s face.

Steve ducked back into his own apartment and went straight for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. His hands shook as he dug out a fresh packet of generic, over-the-counter heat/scent suppressants. He’d just taken a dose a few hours ago, but his scent gland was suddenly itching and Steve was afraid of what that meant. He emptied the packet, all eight pills, and swallowed them with a mouthful of water from the tap. 

He splashed his face with cold water. Steve straightened up and dried his face with the hand towel, then closed the mirror covering the cabinet and just looked at himself.

“You look like shit, Rogers,” Steve muttered to his reflection.

There were bags under his eyes. His face was thin. His nose was distinctly crooked against his prominent cheekbones and square jaw. He was pale, even his lips lacked color. 

No wonder his Alpha neighbor pushed past him without even introducing himself. Steve shoved away from the vanity and pushed out of the bathroom. No wonder Alphas and Doms ignored him; forget his reputation, he looked like shit. 

His stomach grumbled, aching with hunger. Steve ignored it, long since used to it. He re-tied his shoelaces and grabbed a zip-up hoodie, then his keys and he left. He meant to run, but ended up only walking. It was long since dark by the time he ended up back home; nearly 2 in the morning.

Steve entered the brownstone just as his upstairs neighbor stepped off the stairs. Steve froze like a deer in headlights, startled by the Alpha’s presence. His neighbor just gave him a weird look.

“Do you even sleep?” he asked.

Steve immediately got defensive. “Says the guy leaving at 2 AM,” he returned sharply.

“I’m an ER nurse,” his neighbor replied calmly. “What’s your excuse?”

Steve was suddenly tongue-tied with the urge to give a reasonable answer. His Alpha neighbor just pushed past him and left. Steve ended up just standing there; his neighbor had actually brushed by his shoulder, the same one he’d run into the afternoon before. Steve touched the spot, staring at the wall. 

His scent gland began to burn and itch. Steve almost bolted to the bathroom; he swallowed another 8 pills. The back of the box said to take no more than 2 every twelve hours. Steve had been ignoring that warning for months.

His phone beeped as SHIELD notified him of a mission. Steve grabbed his gear, swung his shield onto his back, turned right around and left.