the Russian language never brought him much comfort. all these cornerstones, growling sounds, this cold accent, everything reminded him of his time spent in Siberia at the hydra base. or about the red room, when he had to train little scared girls to kill grown men like him. Russia’s never seemed to be something attractive, capable of comfort and warmth.

that was until Bucky met you. oh, he'd like you to come into his life a little earlier, maybe back during the avenger’s civil war, to introduce him to this all-encompassing sense of security, something he expected from a completely different person, but never got. by chance, you’re his new friend, an absolutely spontaneous acquaintance, which Zemo is more to blame for. after all, you're Zemo's friend first and foremost. but, contrary to prejudice and negative expectations, you can really be relied upon. you’re calmness, you’re the silence in his head, you smell of pure oxytocin and chamomile tea, you’re the embodiment of healing. like a tear-free shampoo, you perform all the necessary functions and don’t cause irritation. it seems that you don't make unnecessary movements at all, you’re incapable of disturbing someone else's peace in any way at all.

at first, he couldn't believe that someone like you could even exist. safety is an alien feeling to James, his safety had blond hair, his safety left him and returned to the past, leaving the shield and their friendship behind. and yes, Bucky was snapping and bristling at first, just not to be fooled by you, just not to cling to that outstretched helping hand. but time after time, he heard your voice, and something inside him melted.

now that Karli was no longer a threat, and he had his short-term peace at Sam's house, Bucky could breathe deeply. you were there too, nearby, helping Sam with the reconstruction of his parents' yacht, because it turns out Russians can do absolutely anything, both cook borscht to please the local kids and launch the ship.

and it turns out you could sing too.

when the first notes of the acoustic guitar touched his ears, Barnes couldn't believe his ears at first: well, a person can't have so many talents. as it turned out, you could do everything from hand-to-hand combat to pulling the strings of his soul together, putting things in order in his head.

«я сижу и смотрю в чужое небо из чужого окна, и не вижу ни одной знакомой звезды,» the meaning of the words did not escape him, and Barnes even started up: it's amazing how your languid timbre could cheer up his mind, which had not yet completely shaken off sleep, «я ходил по всем дорогам и туда, и сюда, обернулся и не смог разглядеть следы.»

Bucky stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and watched as the children gathered around you, listening with ecstasy to your words and not understanding a single sound. for them, your Russian was akin to the eighth wonder of the world. of course, you've probably been to all corners of the world, while these kids were from the American countryside. and yet you sang and introduced them to a piece of your culture. you sang, and Barnes' heart fluttered in unison with the tempo of your guitar.

«но если есть в кармане пачка сигарет, значит, все не так уж плохо на сегодняшний день. и билет на самолет с серебристым крылом, что, взлетая, оставляет на земле лишь тень,» Bucky comes closer, mesmerized by your low voice and the depth of meaning that came out of your mouth with those beautiful, foreign words. for the first time in his life, he felt good because he knew russian – it’s really worth it.

«и никто не хотел быть виноватым без вина, и никто не хотел жар руками загребать, а без музыки на миру смерть не красна, а без музыки не хочется пропадать,» you look up at him and go back to the chorus, and Barnes involuntarily smiles with just his eyes. it's amazing how he seems to be here, in front of you, under the scorching sun, and the smell of salt and fish surrounds his sense of smell, but at the same time there’s only you and him now, the whole world is silent, and he hears only your singing.