The war was won. Tony was buried, Thor was with the Guardians, Clint and his family had returned to the farm, Captain Marvel had returned to the stars.
There was only one thing left to do, and then they could learn how to move on. Once the stones had been returned, they could begin to heal.
Steve, being the stubbornly heroic bastard that he is, had of course volunteered to do it alone. He had gotten something in his head that being the first Avenger meant he had to be the one to finish this. If his carrying of Mjolnir proved nothing else, it proved he was capable of what life threw at him. Still, seeing him step onto that platform alone damn near broke Bucky’s heart. He desperately wanted to go with him, to protect his friend as he had tried to do for his entire life.
In the aftermath of the battle, Bucky was staying in Steve’s apartment with him. Before the snap, he had been in Wakanda, and he had long lost track of what had become of his apartment in Bucharest. Besides, he couldn’t imagine leaving his family at a time like this. Couldn’t imagine leaving Steve at a time like this
It was the first time he had been in Brooklyn since he’d returned to his own mind. The streets were so similar, yet the buildings were taller and there were so many screens and it was somehow even louder. He was still adjusting to all the noise, but when he looked around at the city - full of diversity, and music, and colour, and culture - he was pretty sure the difference was a good one.
Steve’s apartment wasn’t far from where they’d lived in the forties. He told Bucky he hadn’t been back yet, but couldn’t imagine living any further away from it. “I couldn’t go back.” Steve explained one night - rather, one very early morning, before going to bed and before the sun had risen. “I couldn’t go back, not without you.” His blue eyes sparkled in the light of the gas fireplace. He’d undone the top two buttons of his shirt, and folded his sleeves to his elbows. It was as messy as he ever allowed himself to get. The earnest intimacy with which he’d said this was almost overwhelming, and it had forced Bucky to look away, down to his single hand fidgeting in his lap. He looked up, over at where his metal prosthetic sat on the table. He’d removed it for the night - sometimes it was just easier to not have an arm than to have the reminder of what he’d gone through.
“Steve, we’ve changed so much. I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t - I don’t know. Some days I just miss the kids we were, you know?”
Steve studied him from where he sat at the other end of the couch. There was the start of a beard on his face - nothing like what had been there before the snap, but not the prim clean shave he usually wore. “I know what you mean, Buck. I miss that too. I feel out of place here - even after it’s been so long since I came out of the ice, I feel out of place.”
Bucky nodded carefully, and took his scotch glass from the coffee table. He sipped thoughtfully. He didn’t drink often, given Steve couldn’t get drunk, but he’d needed it tonight. “At least we’ve got each other now. We’ll help each other find our place.” He grinned ruefully, and couldn’t help but add: “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, remember?”
He couldn’t quite identify the expression that was on Steve’s face. But when they went to bed soon after, Steve joined Bucky in his bedroom, tucking himself into Bucky’s arms, back to chest, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. It felt familiar and safe. They both slept soundly, but in the morning, neither one of them mentioned it.
The old apartment wasn’t discussed for a few days after that. But then, it was suddenly the night before Steve was returning the stones, and over dinner he raised the subject once more. “Just in case something happens.” He said. “I have to see it, with you, again.” He was jumpy, and seemed lost in thought. After Bucky tidied the kitchen and started the dishwasher, he found his friend wringing his hands on the couch in the living room.
He crouched down in front of him. “Steve, pal, listen to me. Nothin’s going to happen. No one can do this better than you.”
Steve met his glaze, and the tears in his eyes made Bucky catch his breath. “I don’t want to leave you.” He whispered. He looked like his heart was breaking.
Bucky smiled at him gently. “Five seconds, that’s all it is. You’ll be gone five seconds. I’ll hardly have taken a breath and you’ll be back.” Steve bowed his head, and Bucky pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be waiting right where you left me, and then we’ll come home again. I’ll make you dinner, and you can tell me everything that happened.”
Steve let out a heaving breath that may have been a sob, and lunged forward to throw his arms around his friend. It was an awkward position, but Bucky didn’t move as his friend shook. It was rare to see Steve let himself be so vulnerable. After a moment, when he pulled back, he had that same impossible expression on his face from the other night. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” His voice was gruff. He stood, grabbed his coat. Bucky grabbed his leather gloves next to the door and made to follow him outside, but Steve grabbed his metal fingers. Even Wakandan technology couldn’t bring back the proper sensory touch of skin, but he could feel the warmth in his friend’s hands. “We go as we are.” Steve whispered. “We can’t return home if we’re hiding who we are.” Bucky nodded, and returned the gloves to their spot. Steve didn’t let go of his hand as they started down the street.
It was mere moments before they stood in front of the old apartment building. It had been restored to keep it’s old style, the only building on the block that hadn’t been redone in a modern way. A plaque read “Home of Captain America.” Steve pulled away from Bucky, digging in his pockets for something. As Bucky watched, he pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and knelt next to the plaque.
“Steve,” Bucky started, “What’re you-”
“They need to know about you, Buck.” He uncapped the pen.
Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “No, they don’t. Not after the things I did. It’s better they don’t remember me.” Even now, if he closed his eyes, he was taken right back in time. The Winter Soldier may be out of his head, but the nightmares and the memories remained. He could feel his knives in his hands, could feel how a throat column collapsed when he squeezed tightly enough. No, it was better that no one remembered the horrible man that he was.
Steve looked up at him, wearing that frustrating expression. “You saved my life. So many times. You were there for me when no one else was - there’s no Captain America without James Buchanan Barnes.” Without another word, he wrote on the plaque “and Sergeant Bucky Barnes.” He stood, and looked at the building. “You’re worth remembering.”
As they looked up at the old building, Bucky reached over with his metal fingers and linked them with Steve’s.
The walk back to Steve’s apartment was a quiet one. They stopped to get warm drinks at a coffee shop a block from home, and crossed a rainbow sidewalk. “While I was in Wakanda, I spent a lot of time with Shuri.” Bucky said suddenly, studying the bright colours. “She told me all about Pride, and all about the movement. We live streamed Brooklyn’s Pride Parade, just weeks before the snap. I learned a lot from that kid.”
Steve looked over at him, finally with an expression that Bucky knew. It was the same way he looked at a piece of artwork of which he was particularly proud. After a moment, he looked away. “I think that’s the best thing that changed while I was in the ice.” He finally said. “I’m glad we’re all allowed to love who we love, now.” He sighed, then pulled his hand from Bucky’s grasp to tug on the man bun at the base of his friend’s head. “This thing has got to go, okay? You need a haircut, pal.”
Bucky laughed, pushing Steve’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Internally, his mind was running beyond his control. Steve’s use of we - including himself, not just talking about the people of America - had Bucky’s gut churning. He’d brought up Pride without thinking it through, overwhelmed by Steve’s push to make him feel loved, overwhelmed by the feeling of Steve’s hand in his own. He’d spent his whole life being in love with the blond next to him, never knowing how to share or express his feelings. He knew, logically, they’d always been a little more than friends. Always looked at each other a little differently than they looked at the other fellas, were always touching a little too much, a little too close to explain away. But they’d never had to explain it, or at least, Bucky had never had to explain it, not until he’d met Shuri.
That whip smart girl had known him for all of four weeks when she’d bluntly asked him “Are you gay for Steve?” Bucky had choked on his coffee and asked her what the hell she’d meant. “I see how you look at each other. You are not subtle, White Wolf.” He must have looked a little lost, because she had led him to the nearest computer screen, sat him down, and spent the morning educating him on various sexual orientations. She’d explained what demiromantic meant, took one look at his face, and started laughing.
“I didn’t know anyone else felt like that.” He’d said sheepishly. “I always - I was always happy going on dates or dancing with dames, but it just - it never felt right - never wanted the same thing - I hardly knew those girls -” he had been rambling, but Shuri let him. “It was nothin’ like how I felt with Stevie,” he'd finally said, finally admitted to himself. “I liked dancing with the girls, liked having a good time with them, but I always wanted to go back to Steve.”
When he’d seen Steve again, before the snap, his heart had been racing. He had been so excited - he had the words to tell Steve how he felt, finally - but there had never been time. And then the snap, and then he was thrown right back into battle, and then, and then, and then.
And now, there they were, at Steve’s apartment, this place that was slowly starting to feel like home. Steve carefully hung his jacket on its hook, smiled at Bucky, and went into his bedroom. He closed the door behind him without a word. Bucky walked into the kitchen, staring out the window across the city. The skyline was so different from the one he remembered. He closed his eyes, let the warmer, happier memories come back. Remembered the feeling of how Steve fit against his chest before the serum, remembered the hours Steve used to spend drawing him, remembered quiet dinners in the evenings, remembered bandaging bruised knuckles after Steve had picked yet another fight. Maybe tonight was the night. Maybe, tonight, he could tell Steve how he felt. In this moment, he felt happy, and at peace.
“Bucky,” Steve said quietly behind him. Bucky turned to look at him. He looked simply beautiful in the light of the setting sun, as beautiful as one of his own pieces of art. He had shaved and showered, and wore a hoodie (one that Bucky was quite sure didn’t belong to Steve, but rather, to him) over soft flannel pajamas. He looked soft, and warm, and - heartbroken. His eyes were rimmed with red, tears threatening to overflow. “Bucky, I need to tell you something.”
“What’s on your mind, Steve?” Bucky asked gently, thoughts of his own confession long gone. He leaned against the counter top and opened his arms, allowing his friend to come in for a hug. This close, he could hear Steve’s heart racing and feel his staggering breaths. “What’s going on?”
“Bucky,” Steve started quietly. “Bucky, I’m not coming back.”
He didn’t understand at first. “What?”
“Tomorrow, I’m - I’m not coming back to this year.” Bucky froze. His mind was racing as he tried to formulate a response. Before he could, however, Steve kept talking: “I don’t belong here, Buck, I’ve been out of place since I came out of the ice. I need to go back to the time where I belong. I want - I want to go back to Peggy. Tony was always telling me to get a life and she - she’s the one I want that life with.” He seemed to be struggling to breathe, as if his asthma wasn’t long gone, and Bucky automatically began to rub his back.
Peggy Carter, the woman they had known for a matter of months before Bucky fell from the train and Steve crashed into the ice. Steve had never discussed his feelings about her with Bucky, but he hadn’t needed to. It had been obvious how they both felt.
Bucky felt like screaming. Steve was - leaving? After everything, after he’d fought so hard to rescue Bucky, after he’d thrown the shield at Tony’s feet in favour of Bucky - Steve was going to leave him? They’d only just gotten each other back, only just gotten home - as if Bucky didn’t missed the forties too, as if he didn’t missed the nights of drinking with the Howling Commandos and Steve and Peggy and Howard and - oh, god, Howard. He remembered killing Howard, a man whom he’d once considered a dear friend, a kindred spirit with the common goal of protecting Steve Rogers.
Steve had done a hell of a job making Bucky feel like he was worth something. But in the end, neither man could escape the effect that the Winter Soldier had had on their life. Bucky couldn’t escape the things he had done, the people he had killed and tortured. And Steve - well, he’d tried to kill Steve, hadn’t he? Decades of doing the best damn job he could to keep that scrawny kid from succumbing to the flu couldn’t balance out how closely Steve had coming to dying at Bucky’s own hands.
In the end, he couldn’t blame Steve for choosing Peggy over him.
“Bucky,” Steve begged. “Bucky, say something, please.”
Bucky pushed the tears down that had been threatening to spill. He refused to let his emotions get the better of him. “I understand, Steve.” His voice was low and shaking. He hardly recognized it. He let out a rasping chuckle. “You’ve been selfless your whole fucking life, Steve, I think it’s more than fair that you can have this.”
Steve pulled back so he could look him square in the face. Bucky looked back, trying not to show the hurricane of emotions inside. “I just don’t belong here, Buck. I can’t ever be truly happy here.”
But what about me? Bucky wanted to shout. Did Steve think that his friend somehow belonged here - did Steve think Bucky could ever be truly happy without him?
“I’ve got it all in order.” Steve’s voice was steadier now - the hard part was over for him. “I went to the bank, everything’s in your name now - the apartment, the motorcycle, my savings, it’s all yours, Buck.”
Bucky looked at him, shocked. “No, Steve, you can’t do that -”
Steve smiled sadly. “Course I can. Gotta make sure you’re taken care of, don’t I?” Bucky started to talk, but Steve cut him off. “I don’t want you to protest. It’s enough for you to live comfortably for a number of years now. And don’t - don’t cut yourself off, once I’m gone, okay?” His clear blue eyes searched Bucky’s. “I know you’re going to want to. But you can trust the team. Wanda, Sam - Sam is good people, Buck. I know you guys don’t always see eye to eye, but he’s a good man.”
He may have said more, but Bucky hardly heard him. He couldn’t help but feel like he should have seen this coming. Things were too good, too easy. He had been a fool for thinking that he could have Steve - that Steve would want to spend his life with him. He wasn’t that boy from Brooklyn anymore. There was something broken inside of him, something that would likely never heal. No one could ever choose him when given the option to spend with someone as whole and unbroken and good as Peggy.
“Do me a favour,” he said suddenly, interrupting Steve. At some point they’d moved to the couch, and were pressed so close to one another that it was hard to tell whose limbs were whose.
“Anything,” Steve promised. He wore that strange expression. Bucky thought he could almost name it - a mix of mourning, and sadness, and something like regret.
“I don’t want you to remember me like this.” Bucky was shaking, but his words came out steady. “Please, don’t remember me as the Winter Soldier, or as the shell of a man I am - please, Steve, when you remember me, remember the man I was. Remember the men we were, before the war.” He didn’t know which war he meant, but he could still picture two boys, living paycheque to paycheque but happy because they had each other. That was who he wanted Steve to remember.
Steve studied his face. They were inches apart, could feel each other’s breath. “Bucky, I don’t ever want to forget any of you.”
Bucky smiled softly. It almost killed him.
They spent the night together, of course. But it was different, knowing this was their last night together. Bucky held his friend’s body tightly, trying to memorize what it felt like to be so close to one another. They were both awake with the sun, but neither moved, just staring into each other’s eyes and staying quiet and close.
“I hope one day you can forgive me.” Steve whispered. They both knew they needed to move, to get ready for the day. Neither man knew if he had the strength to do so.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Bucky responded, equally as softly. And there wasn’t, not in his mind. He had meant what he’d said - after years and years of being selfless, of putting the world before himself, he was glad Steve was choosing a life he wanted. He just wished that the life that Steve wanted included him.
Steve was studying him. In the semi-darkness of his bedroom, Steve’s pupils were huge, but Bucky could still see that ring of beautiful blue. He was struggling to hold it together, knowing in a few hours he would say goodbye to his Steve for the last time. He took deep breaths to steady himself.
“Oh, Buck,” Steve’s words were hardly more than a breath, and then he was leaning in, pressing his mouth to Bucky’s forehead, his cheeks - his lips. He was still for only a moment, then he started to properly kiss him, and Bucky was like putty in his hands, his mind desperately trying to catch up to his body because oh my god, Steve was kissing him, this couldn’t be real and then just like that, it was over. Steve pulled back, eyes full of tears. Bucky tried to chase his lips, couldn’t help himself - whimpered at the loss of contact. “Bucky,” Steve whispered, and met his friend’s eyes. “Bucky, of course there are things to forgive.”
Banner and Sam met them at the spot they’d agreed upon. Steve wore his old uniform but carried Mjolnir. They set up the portal, reviewed the plan. Bucky felt numb, ignoring the storm of emotions - sadness, regret, pain. He heard Steve and Banner talking softly, and he thought they might be discussing Natasha. He heard Sam offer to accompany Steve, and heard Steve turn him down.
And then, the moment had come. Steve, his best friend, the only person who had ever truly known him, stood in front of him for the last time. “Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”
The familiarity of the phrase made him chuckle despite all he was feeling. “How can I?” He responded. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” His voice petered out at the end, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him, but he refused to show it. They embraced, and all Bucky wanted to do was hold on tightly, remember this feeling, immerse himself in it and never let go. But then they were pulling apart, and Bucky was patting his shoulder, and he heard himself say “I’m going to miss you, buddy.”
Something in Steve’s face softened, and for a moment he could see that skinny kid from Brooklyn clearer than he had in years. Bucky smiled. “It’s going to be okay, Buck,” he told him, but he knew Steve meant you’re going to be okay. He wasn’t sure that this was true.
And then he was stepping onto the platform, wearing the suit, carrying Mjolnir and the case, helmut on, going quantum… and he was gone.
The five seconds passed, and he didn’t return. The tiny part of Bucky that had hoped Steve would change his mind crumpled, and he took a deep breath. He heard Sam starting to panic, and heard Banner try to bring him back. He turned away from them, and there, on a bench by the lake, saw a man he was sure had not been there in the moments before. He studied the man for a moment, and although he was older than his Steve, Bucky recognized him, would have recognized him anywhere. “Sam,” he called, and sensed his friend coming up behind him. Together, they approached this older Steve. A few paces back, Bucky stopped. “Go ahead,” he said softly to Sam. Sam looked incredulous, but Bucky just smiled softly, nodding.
He could hear them talking softly, but couldn’t hear the words. He saw Steve hand Sam the shield, saw Sam look back at him, confused. Sam is good people. Steve had chosen a good man to pass on the shield to. Bucky nodded at Sam, tried to smile. Sam picked up the shield.
When they shook hands, Bucky saw the sun blink on a wedding ring. His heart hurt, even as he was happy for his friend. Steve had gotten life he’d wanted, and Bucky was glad for him.
Upon arriving home at the apartment that evening, Bucky didn’t know how to feel. It was too quiet, didn’t feel right without Steve there. He walked into his friend’s bedroom, took in the familiar scent of Steve, looked over the shirts neatly hung in the open closet, the photos of the two of them on his dresser. He sat down on the edge of the bed, put his head in his mismatched hands, and cried.
The days passed slowly. He spent much of his time with Wanda, who understood much of what he was dealing with. They talked, and watched movies - she introduced him to all of her favourite sit coms - and Bucky wondered if, had the two of them not been so heartbroken and so in love with other people, they may have grown to love each other. Regardless, she was dealing with just as much loss as him, and so neither had the chance to explore what might have been. She began to talk of getting Vision’s body back, and then one day she was gone. Bucky stopped by her place, asked around, but no one knew where she had gone. He tried not to worry too much, as he trusted she could take care of herself. But he knew the kind of grief she was going through, and worried nonetheless. Weeks later, when he learned where she had disappeared to and what had happened, his heart broke anew for her, understanding how it felt to lose the one you loved most of all and how it felt to be so out of your mind with grief.
He went to his court mandated therapy sessions, but didn’t feel they helped him. He tried to make amends for what he had done, but didn’t feel that it lessened his pain. He got a haircut. He avoided Sam, who kept trying to reach out and invite him for a drink. The time kept passing.
Pepper, despite her own grief, was doing her best to keep him from retreating into himself. She put him in touch with her brother, who owned an auto-repair shop that specialized in vintage cars. “Steve used to talk about your old job as a mechanic,” she told him. “I thought you might like to have something to keep you busy, and my brother is pretty used to the whole superhero thing.” It was a kind thing for her to do, something that reminded him of Steve’s mother, Sarah. He contacted her brother, went to the shop, and agreed to start working part time.
As Pepper had promised, her brother was very understanding about what he’d been through, and never once mentioned the metal arm. He was allowed to work in the back, away from customers. The work was more therapeutic than the therapy sessions.
It wasn’t enough. He continued to miss Steve, and had all sorts of emotions he refused to address. He had his routine: work four days a week, avoid Sam, rent movies from the public library and watch everything he could get his hands on, avoid Sam more.
He was drinking more. He was not allowed pills to help him sleep - no one had actually told him this, but he was quite sure it was to prevent suicide attempts - but he couldn’t get to sleep on his own so he was becoming rather dependant on alcohol to get him to unconsciousness. And he couldn’t sleep in the bedrooms anymore - he’d shared both beds with Steve too many times to sleep there on his own. Most often, he woke up on his living room floor.
It was one of those mornings - he was hungover, had removed his arm and thrown it across the room in anger, and was half dressed in a t-shirt and boxers on his floor, that Sam found him.
“Bucky!” Sam was pounding on his apartment door, which hurt his head. “Bucky, I have breakfast sandwiches and coffee, and I’m not going away until you open the door!”
Cursing and grumbling, Bucky stumbled to the door. He opened it. Sam looked like a goddamn ray of sunshine, way too bright at way too early in the morning, and it took all of his self control not to slam the door in his face. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam walked into the apartment. Bucky tried to reach out and stop him, but forgot he’d removed his left arm and so could do nothing. “Man, you look like shit.” Sam said to him, looking around the apartment. “And you smell like booze. Have you been drinking this morning already?”
“Good to see you, too, Wilson.” Bucky found his pajama pants and clicked his arm back into place. “Now, what do you want?”
“Just checking in on a friend,” Sam responded, dropping the bag of food on the table. “Hungry?”
Begrudgingly, Bucky joined him at the table. “How’s life, Captain America?” He couldn’t keep the venom from his voice.
If he noticed, Sam didn’t react, wordlessly handing him a sandwich and a coffee. “I’m not Captain America, Bucky. I don’t know what Steve was thinking, giving me that shield.” He took a bite of his own breakfast. “Did you know what he was planning?” Bucky was silent, so Sam kept talking. “You did, didn’t you? You weren’t exactly panicking when he didn’t come back right away.” Bucky simply watched him. “Alright, answer me this: did you try and talk him out of it?”
“Of course not.” Bucky answered right away this time. “It was his choice to make.”
“After everything you two have been through, it isn’t as if he wouldn’t have valued your opinion.” Sam was watching him thoughtfully.
Bucky stood suddenly, his chair thudding back. He glared at Sam, who didn’t flinch. “I’m happy he got the life he wanted.” His words were cold and emotionless.
Sam drained the last of his coffee and stood, too. “Alright, you don’t want to talk. Message received. But you’re allowed to be happy that he got what he wanted and still be angry with him for leaving, Bucky. Hell, I know I am.”
Without another word, he left the apartment, leaving Bucky to finish his breakfast alone.
Bucky didn’t hear from Sam once in the next two weeks. At the auto shop, he asked for more shifts and threw himself into the work, then let himself slip into an alcohol induced sleep at night. Some nights, he couldn’t shut his mind off and found himself staring at a photo of him and Steve taken in Wakanda by Shuri. He stared and stared at the two of them, looking tired but happy, holding on to each other like they couldn’t bear to let go. He’d just been so relieved that Steve had gotten through the war alive. Steve had invited him back to Brooklyn to live in his apartment with him - “We’ll get the second bedroom all set up for you, Buck, it’ll be great” - and they were going to have some time to themselves, finally. Finally, they would have a moment to look at one another, to get to know who they were in this century.
Bucky picked up his phone and dialled Sam’s number.
“Bucky, man, it’s 2 am.” Sam yawned, obviously having been woken by the phone call.
“I am angry.” Bucky said. “You were right - I am angry at Steve.” He paused, then asked, “Could I come over?”
“Now?” Sam asked. Bucky didn’t respond, still staring at the photo in his hand. “Yeah, of course. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thanks.”
20 minutes later, he was sitting on Sam’s couch, holding a glass of water.
“Did you drive here?” Sam asked him.
“Yeah, I brought the bike.”
“Bucky, you’re drunk. You should not have been driving.”
“I’m fine.”
Sam sighed. “So, you want to talk?” Bucky nodded but didn’t say anything. “Do you want me to start?” Again, Bucky nodded. He heard Sam shift but couldn’t look at him. “Steve was my best friend for years. He was the first person in my life that I was at all close with since - since Riley. He was the one who put me back in the position to help people, and I owe him for that. But I never wanted the shield. I liked being the one watching his back from the air. Steve was a good man, and he was Captain America. I don’t know that I can be that.”
Bucky took a careful sip of his water. “Steve didn’t do anything he didn’t believe in. He gave you the shield, so he must have believed in you.”
He knew Sam was studying him. “Why did you want to talk tonight, Bucky?”
He stood and stretched, setting his water glass on the coffee table and wandering over to the window. Words tumbled around in his head, but the lingering effects of the alcohol made him less afraid to face his feelings. “After you and Steve helped me escape from HYDRA, after the mess with the helicarriers, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no memories of before, but I knew Steve - or, I knew that he was important. I couldn’t kill him. I had this strong sense of “I need to protect this man”. I spent a long time at the Captain America museum exhibit, learning about who I was, who we had been. I traveled the world a bit, got my apartment in Bucharest, spent quite a few months there before the UN debacle. I was starting to get some memories back, but I was having a hard time focusing on what had happened before HYDRA given how ingrained the Winter Soldier training was. And then Steve came back, and he fought so hard for me, Sam.” He paused, caught up in the memories.
Sam let him think for a moment. “He would have done anything for you.”
Bucky turned to face him. “Then why did he leave?” He pushed on before Sam could answer. “It’s a living hell inside my head, Sam. I know the things I’ve done - I’ll never forget the things I’ve done. I don’t think that I was worth all the fight he put into saving me. But he did fight - again, and again, and again, he fought for me. He made me feel like maybe there was still a part of me that’s worth remembering. And just as I felt like maybe things could be getting better…”
Sam nodded. “He chose to leave us.”
“He fought Ironman to protect me. And won. And left the shield - he chose me over that fucking shield, and then he left.” There were tears in his eyes now. He was loathe to let Sam see him cry, but this was the first time he’d let himself mourn the loss of Steve. “Why would he leave me? After everything?”
“That was the decision he made for himself. He must have felt he’d brought you far enough that you would be safe if he left.”
“It was my job to protect him, not the other way around.”
Sam smiled sadly. “We all need to protect each other. I think you two had it down to a science.”
It wasn’t long before exhaustion set in. Bucky started to lose focus, nearly fell asleep halfway through a sentence. The adrenaline that had gotten him to Sam’s had worn out, and he was fading fast. Sam refused to let him drive home, insisting that he sleep on the couch. When he returned from the linen closet with blankets, Bucky was already asleep.
The next morning he woke with the sun, as he always did. From his spot on the couch, he could see down Sam’s hallway, and was surprised to see the shield leaning against the wall. It made him smile. He let memories of that shield fill him - good ones, warm ones. The Howling Commandos using it as a frisbee one day after Morita had made a joke that that’s what it looked like. Steve using it to shield Bucky from bullets time after time after time. Bucky closed his eyes, pictured Steve’s smile, heard his laugh in his mind. He remembered that stubborn kid who couldn’t stop himself from standing up for exactly what he believed in. The stubborn kid who believed enough good people could change the world.
In his head, Bucky began to compose a letter.
Dear Steve,
I’m doing okay. Or, I almost am. I think I turned a corner last night. You were right, of course - Sam’s good people. He didn’t give up on me, even when I pushed him away again and again. I don’t know what you told him about me that made him so determined, but I’m grateful, pal.
I miss you. God, I miss you so much. I think I’ve got a good life started, though. I think I’ll retire from superhero work - hopefully, the world doesn’t need saving again any time soon. If Sam or Wanda need my help, I’ll be there in a second, but beyond that I’m going to stick with a simple life. Pepper set me up with a job at her brother’s auto-repair shop; she said you had told her about my days as a mechanic. She reminds me of your mum, sometimes. Stark’s kid is in good hands with her.
You were right, again. I did need to forgive you. Losing you hurt more than anything HYDRA ever did to me. But Sam and I were talking, and he figures that you thought I’d be okay without him now. I think you gave me the supports to be okay without you, and I’m grateful for that, even if the life I would have chosen for myself would have involved you.
I know I’m not the man I used to be. I will never stop mourning the people I killed and the families I tore apart. But I think I’m ready to let myself heal now.
I want you to know that I really am happy that you got the life you wanted. You looked at peace, when we saw you after you took the stones back. That’s all I ever wanted for you - a life of peace, full of happiness.
I think I’m ready to want that for myself.
All my love, always.
Bucky