The Winter Soldier did not mean to fall into a puddle of glowing purple liquid. But when he opened his eyes to find himself standing in the Brooklyn that could only be found in his fuzzy, sepia-colored memories, his breath caught. He swallowed thickly, looking around.
Assess the situation. I am James Buchanan Barnes, call sign: winter soldier. I am alive in 2019. I am currently in Brooklyn. This Brooklyn is not my Brooklyn.
He catches his reflection in the window of a small shop. He swallows thickly, taking in his appearance.
His hair is pulled back into a neat bun, tucked into place for their mission. He is clothed in his tactical gear and is currently in possession of three guns and seven knives. He doesn’t wear the mask anymore; the avengers do not require a mask.
He shakes his head quickly, trying to gather his thoughts. He needs to get away from the shops. He needs to figure out how to get home.
The thought slices deep like the blade of his favorite knife, so sharp that you can only feel the following sting. This Brooklyn is not his home.
He needs Steve.
His feet are walking before he even really knows where he’s going. He slows near a man who is reading the newspaper, reading the date before scurrying off. He knows that he can’t go home to his own family’s tenement. He can’t risk seeing them.
He ends up in front of a tighter tenement, more run-down than his own house. He swallows thickly, lingering outside before looking up at the sky.
It is roughly four p.m.
He hears her before he sees her, shoulders tensing slightly.
She is humming softly, steps sure against the pavement. He turns to look at her, keeping his face neutral. She is wearing her work clothes, sandy blond hair pulled back in the same way that his is. She looks tired, blue circles standing out against her pale skin. The sickness should be coming for her any day now.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Rogers,” he says, voice wavering on the last syllable. It’s like looking at a ghost.
She stops then, eyes widening a fraction before narrowing. She has the kindest eyes of any person he had ever seen.
“Bucky?” She asks, voice uncertain, and he just nods, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t trust his voice. But he does trust Sarah Rogers, call sign: Steve’s Ma. He would trust her with anything.
“Yes ma’am,” he finally forces out. He is aware that his voice isn’t what it used to be. It’s coarse from years and years of nonuse, and his accent isn’t as thick as it once was.
“Well, c’mon,” She says, pushing past him and inside, not waiting for him to follow. He ducks in after her, making sure to create noise as he moves. He does not want to startle Sarah Rogers.
Once they are inside, Bucky kneels, untying his combat boots and setting them aside before standing.
She is humming again, moving to their small kitchen. She pulls down two glasses, filling them with water before moving to the small table, sitting down and looking up at Bucky expectantly. He moved to sit beside her, taking the glass with a small ‘thank you’.
“Forgive me, we don’t have much food in the house at the moment. By the looks of it, you aren’t going hungry anymore,” She says it so casually he almost gawks, eyes widening, “I don’t know what has happened to you, but I do know that you are not the same James that came to pick my boy up to drop him off at school this morning,”
He shakes his head jerkily, not knowing how to speak to her like this. He tries to conjure his old self, memories sifting through his fingers like sand.
“Why are you here, Bucky?” She asks then, and he frowns, looking away from her steely gaze, “I don’t mean it like that. I don’t know why you came here,” she explains, voice softer.
“Trust you,” he forces out, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, his flesh hand reaching up to trace the familiar letters of the tags around his neck, “I didn’t know where else to go. You always…” he trails off, afraid of telling her too much.
She reaches over, placing her hand over his left hand, the quiet mechanical whir filled the air between them. His eyes snap up, disbelieving. Even most of his teammates didn’t touch the metal arm.
“You’re always welcome here, Bucky. You’re the second child I never had. You know that,” she says, smiling reassuringly. He nods mechanically, sucking in a shaky breath. He feels like a livewire.
“Thank you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
His face pales when he notices that her eyes are lasered in on his hand where its holding Steve’s rusting dog tags.
“My… James Buchanan Barnes, I never put much stock in those science fiction pulps you always liked… but if I’m not mistaken, your time is far from mine,” she says, voice quieter now, and Bucky nods, taking the tags off and handing them to Sarah.
“We always wear each other's tags… when we’re out. I told him… told him that we couldn’t die wearing each others’ names. Told him that the universe wouldn’t let it happen. I haven’t been wrong yet,” he explains quietly.
Sarah’s small, nimble fingers trace the letters, “He’s alright then? And they let him into the U.S. Army?” she asks, frowning down at the worn metal.
“He is. He’s healthy. He gets a lot better, healthier than me, even,” he assures, nodding while he talks. She hands him the tags, watching him put them back on, handling them reverently.
“You better still be looking out for our Stevie, James Buchanan,” She says sternly, and Bucky looks up at her, frowning.
“Course I’m still lookin’ out for him! He’s a stupid bastard, your son. Runs headfirst into any fight he decides is worth his time. And I’m still there, watching his six,” Bucky promises, voice cracking at the end, “I wasn’t there for a while. I couldn’t be… but he’s got some real good comrades. So many people love him,”
Bucky Barnes had always been a crier. From a young age, anything could get him riled up. Sarah had always said that he had a heart the size of Brooklyn and twice as bold. He feels the familiar tightening in his chest, but he manages to tame it.
“Hm. No one quite as much as you, I reckon,” She says, voice level and Bucky’s eyes are wild for a brief second. He recoils a bit, and she chuckles, reaching out to touch his cheek, “Bucky, you look at my son like he hung every star in the sky. You always have,” she said, shaking her head, “And he looks at you the same way. I’d have to be blind not to see it,”
Bucky shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’s uh… okay now. Bein’ queer. People don’t care much,” he says, unease filling all of the empty places in his body, “They’ve even done studies and things. It’s genetic, they think. It’s in our DNA. We ain’t sick or nothin’,”
Sarah laughs, nodding, “I never thought you were sick, Bucky. If I thought you were sick, I wouldn’t have let you near my son,” she informs, “And I’m glad there is a kinder future where you can be loved the way you’ve always deserved,”
She looks wistful for a moment, nostalgic, “Joseph would be proud of him, serving in the army,” She says then, shaking her head, “Steve’s always taken after him,”
Bucky is quiet for a moment, “Sarah… I’m so sorry,” he says, tears finally falling down his cheeks. He doesn’t make noise when he cries now.
“Shh,” she says, wiping his cheeks, “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she promises, smiling, “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of. We’ve all seen terrible things. I cannot pretend to have seen and done the things that you have, but I know you, James,” she says it seriously, her expression fierce, “I know you better than most people, and I know that you did what you had to do in order to find your way back home. Have you found your way back?” She demands, and he thinks for a moment of golden blonde hair and striking blue eyes. He nods.
“I love him,” Bucky whispers brokenly, and she nods.
“I know you do. And if you haven’t told him, you’re a damn fool,” she chastises, and his cheeks warm.
“I’m scared… I’m tired,”
And he hadn’t realized just how true the words were until now. He hadn’t realized how heavy his feet felt, his eyes. He had been wandering for almost a century, searching for someplace to settle.
“I know, Bucky. I know,” she whispers, gulping her water before continuing, “If it makes you feel any better, there isn’t anyone on this earth that I trust with my boy more than you. You’re the only other person who’s ever really seen him,” she says, and he laughs. It’s a bitter sound.
“He’s always been the same to me… everyone forgot. When he got healthy. They forgot about Steve Rogers. They don’t look at him. They don’t try,” Bucky is obviously frustrated, and Sarah sighs.
“No one ever tries with men like Stevie. They think they understand him before he’s even entered a room. That’s what makes him so strong. He’s a wildflower, resilient even in its beauty. He refuses to die,” She says, the left side of her mouth tilting up.
“He misses you,” Bucky blurts out, then, “Every day,”
She smiles fondly, patting Bucky’s hand. She stands up, disappearing into her bedroom for a moment before returning with her small wedding band. It isn’t fancy, but back then, it had been the prettiest piece of jewelry Bucky had seen.
She walks behind him, adding it to the chain Steve’s tags were on.
“Give him that for me,” she says, smiling, “I don’t have much use for it and it won’t be long now,” She says, and once again Bucky is struck by how casual she is.
“Are you…” The silence hangs heavy between them until Sarah nods, expression grim.
“Yes, but I’m sure you already knew that,” she says, sitting back down, “I can’t imagine it’ll be much longer until I’m in a ward. And after that, well…” She shrugs, and Bucky’s eyes are filling again. He wipes them with the back of his flesh hand, letting out a wet laugh.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sarah. If I could-”
“None of that, Bucky. C’mon. We all have to get off at some point,” she said softly, “life doesn’t last forever,” she says, and when she continues, her voice is quiet and hopeful, “I can’t tell you how much it means to me… to know that I won’t have to bury my baby. That’s the worst thing a mother could ever have to face,” she says, and Bucky’s chest tightens.
He can imagine his parents and the girls grieving him. They wouldn’t have enough money for a gravestone, especially without having a body. He wraps his arms around his midsection.
“They’d forgive you, too. Your Ma. Your sisters. Even you dad,” she says, and he shakes his head. They wouldn’t forgive him. Not for the pain that he had caused so many families.
“I’ve done bad things… they all… they didn’t…” his breath hitched, and he let out a broken sob.
“James Buchanan Barnes, you can’t take it back now. All you can do is go home and do better,” she says, moving to hug him to her chest, “that’s all you can do,” she says, petting at his long hair.
“I’m sorry,” he cries again.
“Don’t apologize to us. Time keeps moving on, and eventually, she gets us all. But she hasn’t caught you yet, Bucky. You still have time to make it better,” she promises, holding him while he cries.
Once he’s settled down, she dips to kiss the top of his head.
“I’m not kicking you out. I would never,” she says seriously, “But Steve should be home in a few minutes, and I don’t know if you want to see him,” she says, and he stands immediately, pulling Sarah into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice thick with regret.
“No, thank you. Keep taking care of my boy for me,” she says, and he nods, murmuring his promise, “And Bucky, remember that time could catch up to you any day now. There’s no need to die with more regrets than you have to,” She says when he’s out the door.
He turns to thank her again, but the door is already closed. He squeezes his eyes shut, reaching up to trace the letters Steven G. Rogers on the tags before walking towards the street. He freezes when he hears heavy footsteps coming his way. He looks around the hallway, ducking into a corner and making himself as invisible as possible.
His Stevie stomps past with bruised knuckles and a healing shiner, eyes focused ahead. Bucky’s breath catches, and for a moment, he almost reaches out to touch him. He wants to hold Steve again, and he had loved him so much before they had gone and fixed him.
Instead, he watches Steve open the door to his home, watches Sarah Rogers pull him into a fierce hug. He watches Steve groan in protest but hug her back just as tightly, rambling about something mean Joe had said after school.
Sarah catches Bucky’s eye where he stands, staring in awe at the smaller man. She smiles at him, winking once before closing the door.
He isn’t sure how he got back, but he went from sitting down near the docks to back in the Hydra bass.
“Soldier. Do you copy?” he hears Natasha’s careful words come through his ear piece, immediately followed by
“God fucking dammit, Bucky. If you don’t answer us right the fuck-”
“Language,” he counters, pulling out a gun and a knife, moving out of the lab and back down the hall. He hears Steve’s relieved breath, and he smiles.
“Can you get the hell outta there, Buck? We have her rigger to blow, and we’re just waiting on you,”
Bucky nods, retracing his steps, heading through the maze-like bowels of the base, “Yeah, sorry. I got caught up with an old friend,” he says.
“Ah, got a sweet little vengeance kill, robocop?” he hears tony say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Something like that,”
As soon as Bucky is out of the building and a safe distance away, he gives the go ahead, watching the base go up in flames, the heat warming his face.
“Good work, everyone. Let’s meet up for departure home,” he hears Steve say, and he smiles to himself, making his way back to the rendezvous.
The ride back to New York is quiet, and Bucky takes his usual place, looking up when Steve comes to sit beside him. They don’t speak, sitting so close that their shoulders are touching. Bucky is grounded by the familiar feeling.
The debrief is quick, and Bucky doesn’t mention his detour, choosing to remain quiet until he and Steve are safely inside their brownstone in Brooklyn.
He clears his throat, taking off his necklace and pulling the ring off the chain. Steve stares at him with one eyebrow raised.
“I uh... “ he doesn’t know how to explain, so he just puts his hand out, the small band resting on his open palm.
Steve’s expression changes so quickly from confusion to disbelief before he cradling the ring to his chest. He looks at Bucky with wide eyes, not speaking for a long while until Bucky finally ends the silence.
“Sarah says hello. And that she loves you,” he says quietly, and Steve is surging forward, cradling Bucky in his arms, holding him as if he’s something fragile that might break.
“Buck…”
“I ended up in Brooklyn. In 35. You were at school. I didn’t know where else to go,” he explains, chuckling, “She uh… she had a lot of really nice wisdom. Forgot how blunt she always was,” Bucky says, and Steve pulls back to look at him with adoring eyes.
“She told me… to keep taking care of you for her. She told me it was okay… that I couldn’t always be there for you when you needed it. She said that she forgives me,” he says, voice thick with emotion, and Steve smiles.
“Of course she forgives you. It wasn’t even your fault, Buck,” Steve reminds him, but Bucky ignores it.
“She also said… that I shouldn’t die with more regrets than I have to,” he said, and Steve nods as if this was obvious.
And Bucky is surging forward then, cradling Steve’s face in his hands and pressing his lips to Steve’s.
The kiss is chaste, chapped lips pressing together innocently, but Bucky is certain that he has never felt something so perfect. He pulls back, blushing.
“Oh…” Steve says, his index finger brushing his full bottom lip.
“She also said I was a damn fool for not telling you that I love you. She said I always looked at you like you hung the stars… she said you always looked at me the same,” he whispers, and then Steve is kissing him. This time it’s sure. Steve is as bold and insistent as he always is.
When he pulls back, he grins.
“She’s right. I’ve wanted to do that since 33,” Steve informs, and Bucky grins wickedly.
“I’ve got you beat, Rogers,” he says, and Steve raises his eyebrows.
“That so?”
“The day we met, you were beaten black and blue, half of your face was covered in blood… you stood back up, raised your fists and told William to kiss your ass. I swear, I fell then and there,” Bucky says, still grinning.
“Buck, I was six years old,” Steve argued, and Bucky shook his head.
“You were six. I was seven, and that had been seven too many years without your reckless ass,” he informs, taking Steve’s hand in his own, “I was made for you, Steven Grant Rogers. I was born from your rib, made in your image,” he whispers, and he leans over to press a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek, “Everything I’ve ever done was… I did what I had to do to find my way back home,” he explains, and Steve pulls Bucky against his chest, burying his face in Bucky’s neck.
“You got it all backward, Buck,” he says, but Bucky just shakes his head.
“No, Stevie. I’m your sharpened knife, your loaded gun. I always have been. I was born to protect you, and I’m gonna do that till the day I die. I swear it,”
Steve kisses him again, lips gentle.
“It makes sense now,” He whispers against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky quirked an eyebrow.
“When Ma died… we couldn’t find her ring. I was pawning almost all her things. It’s probably good that we didn’t find it. I probably would have sold it,” he admits, and Bucky smiles softly.
“She gave it to you for safekeeping… just like she gave me you for safekeeping,” Bucky explains, and Steve chuckles.
“God, she was the smartest woman who’s ever lived. Rivaled only by Peggy and Nat,” he says, and Bucky nods.
“Y’know… we had a really interesting conversation. Right before she got sick… I think I finally understand it,” Bucky says, and Steve kisses his temple.
“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” he says, leading Bucky towards his bedroom, “But for tonight, we get some sleep, yeah?”
Bucky nods, stripping out of tactical gear and pulling on a soft pink sweater and a pair of clean boxer briefs before slipping into Steve’s bed.
“I love you, Stevie,” he whispers, and Steve smiles, pulling Bucky to his side, running his fingers down his side.
“I love you too, Buck. I love you so goddamn much,”