Old Earth (слэш)

“What are you doing here?” Bucky demands, and cocks the gun. The click is sharp. “I’m armed,” he says, pitching his voice to be heard over the ever-constant rumbling, and repeats it in Russian in the off-chance it’s another stupid kid from town.
The hand twitches on the banister. The fingers tighten momentarily on the wood, knuckles white and then pink again. “I just came in to get out of the wind,” the voice says.
That voice. Seized by a sudden, horrible hope that’s crushed immediately by the hard certainty of please, please and his fingers red against the earth, Bucky nearly drops the gun. He adjusts his grip, swallows. “Put your hands up,” he orders, “and stand where I can see you.”