The very moment he opens his eyes as he wakes in the middle of the night, Bucky knows that something is wrong. There’s a heaviness in his stomach that tells him he’s been riddled with stones of worry. There’s a sense of urgency to his actions as he gets up and dresses quicker than he ever has before. The wings that rest just beneath his skin writhe anxiously, ready to be released, to aid him in flight. The winds pick up outside his bedroom window, they drown out the sounds of life from the rest of his kin as they, too, ready themselves for a night amongst their kind. A time he usually would be present for, but this night he will have to miss. His heart beats frantically as the call on that disturbing wind wreaks havoc on his ears.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.
Such a strange mantra has been plaguing him ever since he was but a fledgling learning to make friends and how to fly. The murmurings dance around him as he wrenches his bedroom door open to flee down the halls of the apartment, if it could be called that. His building looks more like a couple of duplexes have been pushed together instead of the Brownstones where they used to live before his sisters were born. Now they live in a small town on the outskirts of Rockland County that is surrounded on all sides by Fox Forest. Most nights he can hear the fast moving currents of Sweetwater River just below the whispers that sing in his ear. Their taunting song propels him ever forward now, urging him to just get to Steve. There is only one reason he ever feels like this. It always happens when his best friend is extremely sick. They were just together yesterday too, hanging out like boys do, waiting for the summer to roll in and heat up everything it touches. Making it unbearable to wear much more than shorts and a t-shirt.
“Ma!” Bucky knows he shouldn’t be yelling across apartment but he can’t be bothered to worry about manners now. He’s already rushing out of the front door as he calls back over his shoulder. “Ma, I’m goin’ to see Stevie!”
The priest’s low-pitched tones are like barely there wisps in Steve’s ears. He can recognize that the man is speaking to him but everything else is muffled, as if he is underwater. The ache in him is bone deep, it seems to radiate from the center of his very being and outward. His back, his chest, his stomach and legs, nothing escapes the pain. Not even his fingertips. He tries to open his eyes but even that is difficult. He can barely scent the priest and the man is standing pretty close to him. He can’t even smell his own mother right now. He remembers her scent though, it usually brings him comfort when he’s feeling antsy and unsettled by being in his own skin. It’s a testament to her nature as a beta. The memories of her releasing the calming aromas of lavender and a hint of eucalyptus make a brief smile grace his lips for but a moment.
“Almighty God, Holy King, You are a river flowing in a desert and the shadow of a great rock in a sun-scorched land.”
Steve’s breath hitches as some of what the priest standing over him is saying seeps into his ears. He’s heard these words before, back during that fateful winter of ’28 when he almost didn’t make it. The fever had set into the bedrock of his entire body then, complicating his arrhythmia and his asthma. He remembers the look on Bucky’s face when he saw him that day. The tremble of that bottom lip alone made him want to fight to live even though it was so hard. He feels the same sentiments as his past self in this moment. He’s eighteen now, he never really thought that he would make it this far. To be honest, there was something about Bucky that always made him want to do more than merely survive. Bucky makes him feel like he can do anything. Hell, that he could even fly if he put his mind to it. He wishes he could just tell his best friend how he really feels… but he knows he’ll be yearning for that for however long he has left.
A brisk chill is creeping into his veins now, it slows his blood to a crawl. He hopes Bucky stays away this time instead of sprinting down the streets to see him as he usually does when he gets like this. The boy has an uncanny sense of knowing when things aren’t quite as they should be. A broken sigh makes his body shudder then. He hopes Bucky will be okay without him, he has to be.
Bucky races down the street toward Steve’s place. It’s a clear night, no clouds are in sight. His heart thumps wildly against his ribs within the gentle embrace of his chest. The feeling of those stones in his belly continues to grow, threatening to climb up his throat and settle there until the nausea makes him vomit his worries onto the ground. The winds continue to blow gusts through his hair, messing it up even more than it already is. The bite of the air is cold against his skin, it smells crisp and fresh because of the water in the river nearby. It seemingly takes plugs out of his cheeks as he runs. His feet slap rhythmically on the pavement as he continues his sprint. The moon has settled into the sky already, it shines down on him as he runs until he reaches Steve’s building at last. It’s another one of those oddly shaped tenements but he can’t be bothered to contemplate all of that right now.
He’s takes the steps two at a time to get to the top floor where Steve lives with his mother. Bucky never understood much of how he and his kin are different to Steve. He just knows that his friend has always smelled good, like the first breeze that blows through town at the beginning of summer. Oppressing and hot to others, but comforting to Bucky. It caressed his skin in a way that always made his wings shift, it made him want to reveal everything about it him to Steve. It smelled like oranges and clove, so intriguing he could have tasted it in the air. The scent of illness poisons the air now though, stripping Steve of that sharp citrus and the spice of those cloves, when he opens the front door. It’s always unlocked for him, he has never questioned that before. He doesn’t even think about it now. The scent of salt cuts through the noxious odor of death making him snap up, looking directly at Sarah. The tears he smells leave tracks on her cheeks. Just seeing her shake her head makes his own expression crumble like rocks underfoot. This— this is something out of his worst nightmares, an image conjured from his greatest fear.
“No.”
The word slips from his lips, a mere whisper being carried out on the wind because he left the door wide open. It mixes with the breeze from the open window not far from where Steve is lying down. The fresh air does little to cushion the blow that mortality comes for all that aren’t like him and his kin. He sees a man of the cloth standing over Steve, his Stevie, resting on that old lumpy couch they both loved to hate, and a hand comes up to cover his mouth. He just barely keeps the sob inside his chest, although it begs to be released like his wings. He can’t even speak when the priest nods to him and Sarah before leaving them with their mounting grief. There’s no way this is right. There’s no way he can let this stand.
His wings, delicate in some places, sharp in others, unfurl from his skin. They gleam in the overhead lights in the living room. He rushes forward, spurred on by the burning behind his eyes. Bucky scoops his friend up, grunting at Steve’s settling weight, and takes off. He jumps through the window, catching that same wind and riding the song that is still taunting him. His wings straighten out before flexing as the currents move with him, like they are supporting his endeavor to right what he believes is a most egregious wrong.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.
Bucky’s wings beat frantically against his back as he zips through the air above Fox Forest. The air isn’t thin but he knows he has to hurry. He can feel the tremors wreaking havoc on Steve’s body as he carries him. He feels heavier now. The tears falling from his own eyes are angry, but they get cast off his face with the wind. He has a mission and he can’t falter. The moment he does, he loses his best friend and that just isn’t acceptable. Bucky can’t even imagine a life without him, to do so would be cruel and he refuses to put his heart through that.
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is raspy, thick with the sickness that is slowly evolving into something beastly, something horrible. Something that itches to take the most beautiful person he has ever known away. It makes his tears come that much faster. “Where are you taking me?”
He sniffles harshly. “Someplace special. Don’t worry, Stevie. You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay, you’ll see.”
“Are those wings?” His voice sounds small but so awed, and enamored in Bucky’s ears. “I must be close then, if I’m really seeing this.”
“Hush, Stevie. Save your strength.”
The crisp, cool, air seems to get stronger and infused with something old the closer he gets toward his final destination. The moisture from Sweetwater River rises up to greet him as he crosses over it and into a different, deeper wood. Bucky knows this particular forest has always had a life of its own. The knowledge has been instilled deep into his bones by his mamochka, his babushka, and his bună on his tati’s side. His wings flutter shakily as he comes to the wetlands in the very heart of the wood. The birch and ash trees release a breath when Bucky lands, his feet slipping into murky waters. He rolls his shoulders, his wings shivering before settling back beneath his skin. He can feel eyes on them, watching, waiting. The waters are shallow here and now but all he has to do is wait but a moment. For the moon to reach its highest, for the light to shine just right. The wood welcomes him, yes, but he knows that it’s imperative for him to be careful here.
As if summoned by his heart’s deepest desire, a beam of light streams down into the marsh. The waters bubble, it’s not quite cold but it isn’t warm in here either. The wind picks up, goosebumps pepper his skin. Steve’s eyes pop open as he shifts in Bucky’s arms then.
“What’s happening?”
He sets Steve down, the water rising up to their waists now. It churns in the moonlight, the bubbles popping ominously. “You have to drink.”
“What? Bucky, I don’t understand.”
Bucky’s heart drops at the sudden whoosh of the wind through the marsh. The all encompassing silence that follows roars in his ears. His heart races, his hand snaps out to cover Steve’s mouth but the damage is already done. He should have explained, he should have thought this through, but Steve has already said his name out loud.
“Shit,” he whispers. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Stevie.” His voice is low as he moves in close, gathering the bubbling water and cupping it in his hands. “Please, you have to drink. It’s the only way.”
“I’m really dying this time, aren’t I.”
Bucky can’t bear to answer, he can only lift his voice in gentle supplication. “Please.”
Whatever is was that Steve sees in his eyes just then must have been enough because not a second later, he places his lips on Bucky’s skin. He shivers at the sensation of Steve drinking from his hands. His lips are cold, colder than the water, and that makes the tears start falling from his eyes again. He had been so close to losing Steve, he just can’t get over that.
When Steve’s slurps begin to slow, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple holds Bucky’s attention, hypnotizes him. The second Steve stops and looks up at him through those pretty lashes, the pit in his stomach finally settles. After what feels like hours and hours of worry, he is finally satisfied. He got his boy here, he did what he was called to do. Now, he just has to wait.
“I wish I had more time,” Steve says. “To thank you for bringing me here, for showing me who you really are. I know I don’t deserve all of this, Buck, but I’ll try to be worthy of all your efforts in the next life.”
“Steve, wait—
The sensation of those cold lips meeting his for the first time stuns him so much that he can barely move. The shock of an even colder hand gripping the back of his neck with a sudden burst of strength makes the smallest keen slip from his throat. He can barely react properly beyond wrapping his arms around his boy before Steve pulls away.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.
That mantra coils wickedly in his ears. The resulting smile that pulls at Steve’s lips is a sad one.
“Yesterday was the last time I saw the sun,” he says bringing a frigid, bitterly freezing, hand to Bucky’s cheek. “I’m glad I got the chance to see it with you.”
The moment the words leave Steve’s lips, they seem to crack open widely. His eyes widen when a firefly crawls out of Steve’s mouth. A second later, Steve is wrenched from his grasp. Or rather, he is torn from Steve’s. The trees come to life in a way that haunts him. Branches curl around his lithe frame, yanking him backward until his back slams up against the bark of the trunk. It seems to scratch his skin through his clothes. A horrible choking sound followed by a painful crack rips through the air like a shot from a long gun, the ones they used in the war his tati fought in. The branches keeping him manacled in place have a mind of their own, they grab hold of his chin and force him to watch.
The forest has a way of speaking without words but he can still hear them. He knows what they’re saying. He just doesn’t understand what they mean.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole. Watch and see, this is what your insolence has wrought.
Tears blur his vision but somehow he can still see clearly. Steve’s scream of pain pierces his heart. His body is changing, his bones are cracking in places and in directions that should never be possible. His muscles are melting into the marsh until he’s not even skin, barely bone. Horns protrude from Steve’s skull then. A staff of bark from another time, another place seems to materialize from thin air into what’s left of Steve’s bony hand. The other rises slowly, and points directly at him. It’s the eyes, or lack thereof that frighten him the most. Flames blaze in those sockets, holding him in place. They seem to sear his skin, melting his flesh to the bark he’s leaning on.
A life stolen, you will pay the price. He will yearn, you will burn, and I will always be watching you. I will never let you go. You both will always be mine.
Cruel, wicked, laughter assaults his ears as the branches suddenly disappear from his body. He falls onto his knees into the marshlands. The water levels are back to where they are supposed to be. His vision is plagued by ice and snow, by bright, painful lights, and the sound of trains racing across tracks. His mind’s eye sees a massive plane and murky waters. Through it all, the branches of the forest bleed into the images like threads of fate. He has claimed them both for his own and there is nothing Bucky can do to stop it.
“Bucky?” A familiar voice calls out to him. That voice is a beacon, it makes his heart clench at the sound. His consciousness is wading back to the present. Through the murky waters of his mind into the marshlands where he is currently kneeling. “You okay, pal?”
He looks up and a startled yell bursts forth from his throat.
“Me?! Steve, I thought— I thought you were dead!”
Steve is alive and… he’s big. Big like an eighteen year old is supposed to be, healthy and robust. A chirp erupts from Bucky’s chest at the sight. Then the scent hits him, hard, and the chirps keep coming. There’s this sound emerging from all around him, it’s base-like and cavernous. A rumbling so deep it could have come from beneath the very marsh he is kneeling in. Cloves and nutmeg cut down the middle of the aromas of the wood with oranges and heavy rain. This scent never smelled so potent before. Bucky shivers and not from the temperature keeping the air around them bitter and cold. It’s the sensation of Steve’s hand on his skin that makes him react this way, it makes his ass feel unnaturally loose and moist. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but he’s positive it has nothing to do with the marshlands and their perilous waters.
“Buck, what’s going on? ‘Cuz I think I was?” He watches Steve’s lips move as those big hands help him to stand upright. His legs tremble though, like a fawn still stumbling its way into the world. His lips try to move but the sounds come out slurred in his efforts to respond. His vision swims at the sound of Steve’s voice. The first time he heard it drop, he had to spend many a night bathing with ice chips. Now, that bigger drop hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s like he can’t control the way his pants are getting tighter and tighter. “How the hell am I alive?”
When he looks into Steve’s eyes, they’re completely black. Blue irises so icy that they pierce through the darkness, they glow like they are set aflame. The back of his pants feel drenched now and that rumbling comes back again. He realizes it’s coming from Steve.
Slowly, he feels himself being pushed until his back hits the trunk of a tree again. This time, the only thing keeping him stuck there is the strength of Steve’s arms. They wrap around him, pressing him tightly to Steve’s body, before one hand is dipping into his soiled pants to squeeze at his curves rhythmically.
“Steve?” He questions, shivers of fear and mounting desire wreaking havoc on his lithe frame. “Shouldn’t we talk about this first?”
A growl is the only response he gets, Steve has gone nonverbal somehow. He tries to break free but Steve’s other hand catches his arm. Nails sharper than normal dig into his skin making him hiss with the whistle tones in the air. His blood drips like sprinkling rain as it falls into the waters of the marsh. The energy in the air changes then, a charge seems to infuse it with a tension that can be cut only with a dagger blessed by he who rules over this wood. Out of the corner of his eye, that bony, horned, figure slinks through the trees. At the same time, he keens at feeling the pads one of Steve’s clawed fingers rubbing up against his hole. He can feel himself quiver like his wings do when that finger finally sinks inside. In and out it goes, caressing him sweetly with a sharp, roughened edge that makes his walls contract uncontrollably. He knows he’s got to be bleeding there now. The sound of his own voice crying out in the forest is loud, it makes the rumbling from Steve’s chest that much louder too. He can feel it through their chests, they’re standing so close there isn’t an ounce of space between them.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.
He finally understands what the mantra means, he finally knows the identity of the voice that has whispered to him for so many years. It’s a prophecy. He has always been meant to end up right here in the clutches of his best friend, in the clutches of an entity who will never forget what he has done. He can feel the weight of the being’s gaze bearing down on him. All of a sudden, everything else becomes so startling clear that he clenches abruptly on Steve’s fingers. Steve who has been steadily increasing the number of digits that are currently pushing inside of him, claiming him. Steve’s death, a transformation taken without permission, his own blood spilling into the waters. Names being whispered where they should not. All of it has the hallmarks of a sacrifice ready to be made. The price he is to pay for all of this is higher than the blood and slick that leaks from him.
He stares into Steve’s eyes before lowering his own in submission. The grin with sharp teeth pulling at Steve’s lips is the last thing he can truly comprehend before he is roughly turned to face in the opposite direction. The last thing he feels is something large, blunt, and hot forcing its way inside him. His clothes have been ripped from him and he doesn’t even remember when. Steve’s own warm and now naked flesh presses up against his back. The forest collectively awakens then, shaking their wooden limbs. The trees dance with the music only they can hear in the moonlight that feels heavier than it should on Bucky’s skin. The foliage, the water, even the mushrooms take on a sentience at the compulsion of he who Bucky struck a bargain with. Everything breathes with life, everything moves to the beat of the dark and enchanting wood. Even the deer, who have come to watch the spectacle of him being taken, bob and weave with the forest’s entrapping song.
Steve takes such command of his body, he is filled with heat that is almost too much for him to handle. The ache of his hole being used hurts, yes. The tearing of his flesh burns, definitely, but he welcomes the pain with a feral grin of his own as he faces the spirit composed completely of horn and bone. He wants to scream out loud, he wants to howl, he wants to dance. He has been set free in a way, free to just take what he is given, to feel it, to own it. The tree he has been using for leverage wraps its spindly limbs around them, they’ve been caught in a snare that will never forget and will never let go.
The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.
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