When he fell off that train, James Buchanan Barnes died. When James Buchanan Barnes’ empty grave was filled with dirt, he was truly gone.
Steve would never see him again. He would never see his perfectly styled—‘but casual,’ Bucky had always reminded him—hair again. He would never stare into those beautiful steel blue eyes again. He would never bundle into Bucky’s warmth during the cold winter nights in Brooklyn in their occasionally shared bed. He would never smell that familiar scent, the pine trees with a hint of sandalwood and something else that was so inherently Bucky.
He would never feel the soft and warm touch of Bucky’s fingers against his chin as he helped Steve shave a spot he’d missed. Not that he grew much facial hair anyway. But he liked pretending that there was something to shave.
These days, he’s positive that he could grow a beard or a mustache if he really wanted to. Product of the Serum.
He doesn’t know how he feels about the Serum anymore. It feels like everything that came from it came with a price.
He can grow a beard now, but he has no hair on any other place on his body beside his head. And that’s literal; the only hair he has—his scalp, his brows, his lashes, his potential beard, and even his ear and nose hair.
He got what he wanted, too. A strong and healthy body. Strength. Speed. Quicker healing.
But the price for that was higher, too. He lost what he actually cared about. Bucky. His home in Brooklyn. Bucky. His peace. Bucky. Occasionally, his morals, too. Like when he was so eager for revenge on HYDRA. And he lost Bucky, too.
He didn’t know why he kissed Peggy. Part of him thinks that he did it because he thought he was expected to. But it wasn’t like he was in front of a crowd with the Star Spangled Singers, so who was he performing for?
Another part of him thought he was doing it because he liked her. Which he did, that wasn’t a complete lie. She was pretty, and smart, and confident. And she seemed to like him enough. And even before the Serum, she liked him more than any other woman had besides his mother. His Ma. He missed her. And he missed Bucky.
Even after his Ma died, he saw her everywhere. He saw her in the 40s, in the nurses who worked with the 107th after he rescued them. He saw her in some of the girls who danced on stage with him, their sparkling eyes and mischievous grins and their soft hands and faces when they were worried about him.
He saw her in the future, too. He saw her in pots of coffee, he saw her in mothers watching their children who sat next to him on the benches at the park as he was sketching the birds, he saw her in himself sometimes, too. In his blond hair, in his sense of right and wrong. Sometimes he felt like he was losing that.
But what seeing her in all of these places taught him was that even after people died and went to Heaven or wherever people go when they die, (Steve wasn’t really sure anymore, not after what he’d seen) they weren’t really gone.
He didn’t know if Heaven was real or not. He was raised Catholic, and even if his Ma couldn’t afford to feed herself some nights, she did make sure he got to go to church. When he was thirteen, he had a phase where he really didn’t want to go.
And his Ma didn’t make him go. He was lucky like that; some kids he knew (or knew of, he didn’t have very many friends during that time of his life) had rebelled against their parents and didn’t want to go, and their parents would beat them as a punishment.
His Ma never hit him. Intentionally, that was. Of course, she’d bumped into him a few times, but she’d never hurt him on purpose.
He knew Bucky’s dad beat him. Not all the time, only when he’d done something his father deemed ‘bad’ enough. Bucky didn’t like to talk about it.
In the future, such things are considered abuse, and people care about it. People can and do go to jail for it, now. Steve was glad.
He ended up going to church again a few weeks after the phase started and inevitably finished. He believed in it enough, and he knew it made his Ma happy.
But even so, it all didn’t seem to stick after he came out of the ice. He didn’t know if there was a God or not, but he guessed he’d find out later, right?
But it wasn’t just his Ma who’d he see in things. He’d see Bucky, too. He’d see Bucky in little boys who were pushing their sisters on the swings at the park, he’d see Bucky in guys who went to comic book stores and other ‘nerdy’ places.
He saw Bucky’s curious mind in Bruce, he saw his stress for the people he cared about in Tony. He saw him in Nat, who cared about him and his health. He saw him in Wanda, who cared and stressed so deeply about the world it occasionally gave her headaches or made her sick. He saw him in Pietro, too, when the kid was still alive. In Pietro’s charm, his flirtatious nature when he talked to the Sokovian girls he saved.
He saw his loyalty in Sam. He saw his marksmanship in Clint. He saw his cleverness in Scott.
He saw his intelligence in Thor. Just like Bucky, Thor was really, really smart. People would assume that he wasn’t due to the fact that he was Asgardian and not from Earth, or because he’s so handsome that even if he was as dumb as a rock it wouldn’t matter.
People in the forties knew Bucky was smart, he was well educated and he talked like he was smart, along with the fact that he knew a lot about a lot of things. He had to be smart to be a sniper.
But people never knew just how smart Bucky was. Bucky was much smarter than Steve ever was, and likely ever would be.
In that awful museum exhibit, they have a few small bits about him and Bucky. Not enough to show how much they meant to each other, and on that Steve was sure. They didn’t even talk about his Ma, besides mentioning that he was born to her. They had messed up her name, too. That made Steve angry. Not even angry, enraged, really.
His Ma was his biggest influence, one of the most important people in his life and not only did they not even care enough to talk about her, but they messed up her name. Her name was Sarah Rogers, not Sara Rogers.
It wasn’t the only error. A popular belief about him was that his birthday was July 4th. That wasn’t true. It’s what he’d said on one of his enlistment forms. Just like he changed his city and state, he’d changed his birthday, too. It would make it easier if he was caught. Nobody would believe that that many Steve Rogers were born on the same day. His real birthday was December 22nd. Nobody alive knew about that. The Howlies didn’t, Peggy didn’t, Commander Phillips didn’t, nobody did. Except for Bucky. And that secret was buried in his empty grave. None of those historians would’ve known it. Those historians sure liked to focus on him and Peggy, though. He didn’t know how he felt about that.
He only kissed her once. Which, he guessed, meant a lot, considering he didn’t kiss very many people.
If anyone asked him about his first kiss, he’d say it was a girl from Brooklyn. He made up a name for her and everything. Charlotte Darlene. He wasn’t sure if Darlene was meant to be a second first name or a last name, but nobody ever asked, so it didn’t matter.
But that was another lie about him. There were a lot of those, he realized.
The truth is that his first kiss wasn’t Charlotte Darlene. It wasn’t a girl from Brooklyn, either. It wasn’t a girl at all.
It was Bucky.
Bucky was a lot of Steve’s firsts. He was his first best friend, his first kiss, his first Coney Island buddy, he was his first housemate, and he was the first person to destroy him, too.
He could remember that kiss. That was the worst part.
They were having a sleepover at Steve’s house. His Ma was at work, she was wouldn’t be home until late. They’d built a pillow fort in front of the couch using it, its cushions, and the sheets off Steve’s bed. It was small, so the two 14 and 15 year old boys were pressed up against each other. They were talking about something stupid, like girls in their class that they liked.
Bucky was talking about how there was this pretty girl, Nancy Laurel, that he had a crush on.
Nancy Laurel was a pretty girl. She was thin, and her family was well off. So was Bucky’s, but then again so was nearly everyone compared to Steve. Nancy’s eyes were a bright blue, like the sky or the ocean on a sunny day. Her skin was pale, but when she blushed it made her cheeks a beautiful pink. Her hair was blonde, always neatly styled in soft and gentle waves or curls.
The air in the small blanket and pillow fort was hot from their laughter, and as they quit laughing for a minute, they just smiled at each other. Steve could remember what Bucky looked like, his cheeks a light pink and his smile wide. His eyes sparkled, and they were so beautiful it made Steve want to ask God to strike him down right then and there.
That was when Bucky quickly leaned in and kissed him. Steve knew he intended it to be a quick peck, but something made Bucky linger there for a minute before he pulled away.
Both boys stared at each other again. But this time, it wasn’t a small pause in conversation filled with bright smiles. It was a sense of fear shared between them. He could see the shame and instant regret on Bucky’s face; the poor boy looked like he was seeing the devil at that very moment. Steve didn’t think he looked like that. All Steve felt was shock, and a hint of fear. That was wrong, and he knew it was wrong. Boys don’t kiss boys, boys kiss girls and fall in love with them and get married and have kids. That was that.
Steve didn’t believe in that anymore, nor did he ever really believe in it back then.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry.” And then he rushed out.
It was a Friday night that night. Bucky and Steve didn’t talk until the following Monday, where Steve hoped he was making it clear that he just wanted to forget about it and pretend it never happened. And Bucky seemed to agree, because the 17 year old boy never brought it up again.
They didn’t have any more sleepovers until the following month after that. It was December when that happened. Steve’s last sleepover as a 16 year old boy was the most memorable one he’d ever had.
Steve found his grave a couple of months after the Battle of New York. He was buried in Brooklyn. His grave was nice enough. He was buried in front of an angel statue. She was a beautiful angel, with her head tilted slightly down as she looked upon the graves. Particularly, upon Bucky’s empty one.
“I see him everywhere,” He told Natasha as they stood on the roof of a HYDRA building they’d just cleared out. She said nothing at that.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. When we find him.” He confessed. She looked at him, a knowing look in her eyes.
“You’ll figure it out. I’m guessing you’re not going to hand him to the authorities? Or the government?”
“Hell no.” He huffed out a laugh. “I..I can’t force him to stay. But if he agrees to go back to the states with us, I’ll let him stay with me. Like we did back in the forties.”
“Steve.” She hummed, and he looked at her. She held his gaze as she continued. “I know you want to have him back. But the guy you’re looking for is not the same guy who fell from that train. I know you want him to be, but he will never be that again.” Natasha Romanoff was a good friend. She was a good friend because she was honest. Even if sometimes he didn’t want her to be.
He looked back out towards the woods the building was concealed by. He tried to ignore the stinging in his eyes and the burning in this throat as he answered.
“I know.” There was silence after that.