It wouldn't happen again. He promised.
Losing him was almost like a familiar ache now, his heart shattering into pieces it had shattered in before as he looked at how the ice swallowed him whole, the thin layer of glass and frozen water suddenly feeling way more than a fall into a freezing river and a fast-moving train then he felt was healthy.
He turned away after what seemed like ages, slowly walking out of the room and down the hallway, looking out of the large windows covering the left wall, giving him a view of the beautiful city of Wakanda and the jungle stretched out behind it.
He didn't know how long this would take. How long he had to live without his best man again.
But every minute felt like years and every day like a century had passed, every inch of him fighting against the urge to run, to go far away from this place to forget what had happened, to try to accept his death like he had tried and failed to before.
This wasn't what they come here for. They had come here to be safe, to try to build their lives again, to fight against the world by each other's side, as it had always been. As it was supposed to be.
***
It was cold, and the scarf his mother had made him from the last bit of scruffy sweater fabric didn't do much against the biting frost that sneaked into every opening and into every thin layer of clothing it was able to.
The first day of school after the holidays. It wasn't much of a change of the days before it, but now he was sick after having shovelled the snow off their part of the pavement as his mother had been too ill herself to do it.
"Hey, are you alright?" A cheery voice made him look up from the snow-covered pebbles beneath his stained and battered boots.
The kid he was greeted with was about his age, a thick scarf hiding most of his face and the coat beneath it making him appear chubbier than his face made him out to be. Cheeks flushed by the cold and eyes sparkling lively as he grinned at the smaller boy in front of him like they were best buds.
It took Steve a while before he realised the kid had asked him a question and hurried to answer it.
"Yeah. Mum said I'm sick but that's a lie. I get to go to school and she has to stay in bed so she's the one who's sick."
"I hope she'll get better soon! Oh! My name is James by the way. What's yours?" he said while holding out a gloved hand for Steve to shake.
He did so rather hesitantly, his own hands were red and shaky from the cold. The other boy shook it enthusiastically.
"Wanna be friends?"
"Sure."
"Okay great! Then call me Bucky, all my friends call me Bucky."
"Okay, Bucky. My name's Steve.
***
The wind was blowing steadily and the raindrops falling on the roof and rattling against the window drowned out the wheezing of his every breath as he shuffled higher up the bed, leaning heavily against the wall behind it.
He was sick again. Not that it was a new thing. And not that he was going to let it stop him from getting up and moving to get to the job he had finally been able to get (he still thought they had only given him the job because they took pity on him, not that he would take that for granted, anything he could do so he wouldn't have to sneak baked goods and apples into his jacket, he would do.)
That is, he would have gone, wouldn't it be for the kid that had just walked into the room, a steaming mug of what appeared to be tea in his left hand while the right one balanced two bowls of soup on it.
"Don't burn yourself, Buck. Wouldn't want your girl being mad at me for ruining the hand she likes to hold so much."
"Wouldn't worry about that Stevie. My face still hurts from that smack she gave me."
"You broke up? What for I thought you would get married and run off to Europe."
"Yeah well, she thought I would go running off with someone else. I wasn't spending enough time with her she said. Way to ruin the mood, I was gonna give her the bear I bought with my earnings for the month."
"Gotta be shittin' me. She thought you were cheating? "
"Not exactly."
Steve looked at him, a silent question lingering in the air as James sat down the tea and handed his friend the bowl. Steve feeling the familiar warmth spreading through him as their fingers brushed, as Bucky smiled at him so gently it made his bones ache.
"I don't get it."
"Think ya do pal. It's the same as last time."
"Oh for god's sake not again."
"Yeah sorry, pal."
It was no secret they were close, the relationship always considered more family then friendly. Sometimes people would yell at them about how they were faggots when Steve was leaning on Bucky after the man had to play hero and rescue him from the weekly ally fight the smaller male got himself into. They always stopped after seeing Bucky pull out the small pocketknife he was gifted by one of his friends though.
Now the closeness was nothing new since childhood since the current day, both 16 and Steve and Sarah now living with Bucky's family as his mother had become too sick and Steve wasn't able to take care of her all by himself.
What was new was Bucky's stream of girlfriends all letting him go because they claimed he spends too much time with his friend. Some saying he should just go smoosh him instead of them.
"Sorry for being the cause of the breakup again Buck."
"Ah, it's nothing. Ya didn't like her attitude anyway, wouldn't have worked out."
Steve chuckled at that, finally taking a spoonful of the soup and sipping it carefully.
Bucky had always been a rather good cook.
Bucky had always been a rather good friend.
Hell if he was gonna fuck that up.
But Buck had explained what it was like to be in love with someone last week. And he couldn't shake the thought of the description sounding painfully familiar.
And he couldn't shake the thought that this was extremely not okay in so many ways.
But hell if he wasn't going to ask what Bucky thought of it.
"Hey, Buck?"
"Yeah, bud?"
"Why you always so bothered about those idiot's calling us gay?"
Bucky's head snapped up, locking eyes with Steve who saw how the vein in his neck got slightly more prominent, how he clenched the spoon he had held up to taste the soup a bit tighter until setting it down carefully.
"Cause it's not an insult but they treat it as such. Those idiots think being called gay is the worst insult they could ever fucking use and it's not even a thing people can control."
And, after a short silence, the look he gave his friend changed, became softer, more vulnerable. And damn Steve hated how it made him feel. But, with what Bucky had said just now, maybe he didn't have to.
"Why you askin' Stevie?"
"It's... It's nothing Buck. Just curious."
"Whatever ya say."
***
"Ya couldn't have done more for her Steve. We both know that."
The funeral was held on a gloom day in 1936, the Steve nearly 18 and Bucky nearing 19, two men, just short of being called kids, sitting on a bench near the freshly buried grave. A simple wooden cross painted with the last bit of paint he could find to create the roses that now marked the wood marking the place where his mother now laid.
It wasn't fair.
"Come on in here you sob," Bucky said softly, spreading his arms slightly and ushering his friend in for a tight hug that Steve gladly accepted, the pang of his heart kicking into overdrive at the familiar contact only a dull ache now, numbed by the grief he should've been prepared for. His mother had been sick beyond repair for ages after all.
But it still hurt, seeing a coffin being lowered into the ground and knowing that was the final barrier, the last thread that held them together snapping and a wall he would never be able to climb rising between him and his mother, his and his last living relative.
Though he wouldn't say he was completely alone. Because Bucky took him to his old home, asking a million times if he didn't want to go over to his home so his father could make them coffee. If he would be alright like this. If he could do anything to help.
And Steve smiled at him sadly, shaking his head and declining every offer his friend made, them separating with a final tight hug and Steve repressing the urge to cling onto him and never let go.
***
Only a year later they buried Bucky's father near Steve's mother. An accident happened quite often in the army, they told the two young men as they opened the door to reveal a man in a full official suit and gear with a black envelope in his hand he offered them not long after.
Now they were alone. Bucky's younger sister had gone off to a boarding school as soon as the news got to them, she had supposedly always wished to do so. And with what little earnings their father had separated between them she packed her bags and went away.
He had told Steve house felt empty without the small noises of life that his sister always had provided, the smell of his father's cooking or the bad attempts of making the baked goods with what little supplies they had to do so.
And Steve found himself being over at his house almost constantly, the both of them sticking together like two magnets, the only family they had left being the one not bounded by blood but by lifelong friendship.
***
Why it took them three more years to officially get together he didn't know.
They had moved in after Steve realised he was over at Bucky's house more then he was at his own. After just another few weeks they decided to sell both the houses and rent an apartment together.
They agreed it'd be nicer to do so. That it would save them money and that it meant Steve might be able to get the education they had both dropped out of. Fine arts was a passion Bucky said he admired Steve having. So he pursued it, the apartment has an extra room which they turned into his studio, the large windows giving the perfect amount of daylight for the painting he did when not at work or spending time with his friend.
His friend, who had started getting more affectionate towards him since they had moved in with each other.
His friend with whom he cuddled up on the couch when the winters got too cold and the blankets to thin to provide enough heat.
His friend who had started going out more an more. Though instead of dating himself he made it a double date with Steve, the two woman they took with them a couple that hadn't been able to properly be together on a date without being harassed relentlessly.
So they went to the movies, the theatre empty and dark enough so the two could sit together and hold hands, Bucky and Steve stirring a few chairs away, not close enough to invade their privacy but close enough to step in if any of the people present in the theatre were to be disrespectful.
And Steve liked the change.
And the affection came natural and was welcomed with each time Bucky slung an arm around his waist instead of his shoulder.
Only on a cold day near Christmas was finally established that what he thought they had was real.
They had been curled up on the couch, Steve leaning against Bucky who had wrapped him up in his arms, head leaning on the smaller males head and the both of them looking at the small fire they had been able to make in the small stone fireplace Bucky had made himself after claiming it would give the house a homely feeling.
He had been right.
And as Steve sat in his arm, looking at the flames that were licking at the pieces of dry wood they had gotten from the junkyard, Steve small enough to fit through one of the holes in the fence, Bucky large enough to carry enough wood for a few weeks when Steve brought it back to him, he found the feeling that hadn't left him since he had been 16 when looking at the other, had gotten unbearable and yet he pushed it down. For his friendship to remain as close and comfortable as it was.
That is until Bucky turned to him, pushing him slightly so they could face each other fully before he carefully cupped the other's jaw with his hand.
The look he gave him would've been heartbreaking if it wasn't for Steve's own heart hammering so hard against his chest he was afraid it would burst out.
"This okay?"
"More than."
"So we really doing this aren't we?"
"Guess so."
The last sentence was whispered as Buck leaned closer, impossibly close but still so very afraid to mess this up, to mess their friendship up.
That is until Steve swore quietly and pulled him in with a hand on his neck.
It was soft and slightly awkward, both of them testing the waters for a moment before slowly pouring every ounce of unanswered love into that one kiss.
And damn it was heaven.
Bucky's lips were impossibly soft as they moved against his. And the tight knot in his chest seemed to finally unravel itself, making him vulnerable and open to whatever the other's plan was.
The plan wasn't as different from what he had hoped for.
As James pulled away again the fear of rejection had washed off of his face, hand still resting on Steve's cheek where it had settled the moment their lips had connected, eyes seeming to practically sparkle in delight and grin impossibly wide.
"Damn it Rogers why didn't we do that earlier."
"Absolutely no fucking clue pal."
"So... Do you want to be my boyfriend? As we're both going to hell anyway and I think I've finally figured out why we were both so clingy for the last few months."
Steve snorted at that. The last few months his ass. Not that he would tell Bucky about the more than 7 years he had been thinking about that very moment. His stupid childhood crush has grown into something bigger than had clawed itself into his heart and mind and wouldn't seem to want to let go.
"I'd love to. If I'm going to hell it might as well be for a damn good reason."
With that he pulled the other in for another kiss, again achingly sweet and embarrassingly soft, the both of them seem so afraid they would do it wrong that the best option they could think of was to barely touch at all.
"Well then, Stevie. Guess I finally get to plan an actual double-double date don't I?"
"Will Mary and Shirly be joining us again?"
"I think they will, the two are planning on a secret honeymoon yaknow?"
"Sounds fun. We should follow their lead sometime."
"Maybe a date first punk, then we'll see."
***
The utter glee he felt when heard his voice was quickly replaced with worry as he heard him mumbling numbers.
Though Glee did a good job of winning the upper hand as they made eye contact and the before unfocused eyes got a bit of their liveliness back.
"Steve?"
"Yeah, it's me, bud. Let's get you out of here."
He was alive.
That's what he kept telling himself as he helped him up, arms shaking, though not with the extra weight, more because of his body trying to comprehend that he was fine, they were fine.
He was alive.
Thank the heavens he was alive.
The few hours he had lived not knowing for sure if his lover had been either badly tortured or straight up murdered had eaten away at him like he were a Thanksgiving dinner. Muscles cramped from the pressure he had put on them by simply not being able to relax, trying to tell himself over and over again that 'he must still be alive, this can't be how we part.' and doing a fair job at it, wouldn't it be for the small voice in the back of his mind yelling the 'what if's ' at the top of its lungs.
But he was alive.
And they were alright.
And that's all that mattered.
And he would not lose him again.
***
The pain coursing through his body was almost surreal as he sat numbly at the table, the glass in his hand empty yet again, though the effects that the large amount of alcohol he had consumes should have had nowhere to be seen nor felt.
It wasn't like he hadn't lost before. The death of his parents still a faint ache whenever he dared to think of it. But this wound was brand new and incredibly deep, a raw mark on his body that would leave a scar that would never truly fade.
He hadn't slept in three days.
The first two were because of the mission, them having to keep an eye out for approaching enemies and on each other as a few of them didn't do well alone.
The last sleepless night because every time he dared to close his eyes or let his mind wander even just a bit he could feel the wind tucking at his hair, could still feel the metal rails he was clutching onto for dear life underneath his fingertips.
Could still see the expression of utter panic and fear on his lovers face as he fell into down and down and down.
He didn't see his body hit the rocks. Didn't see his skull split open as it made contact with the hard cold stone hidden underneath a thin layer of snow that would in no way prevent the fall from being fetal.
He didn't see it happen no.
But his mind was mighty fine when it came to the visual imagination. And the thoughts seemed to be making detail a priority because he was able to see it when he closed his eyes.
The body laying perfectly still as a large puddle of blood painted the snow red. Limbs mangled and twisted and torn and everything the man he had belonged to wasn't supposed to be.
He noticed how his hand was shaking as he lifted the glass to his lips again.
How teardrops trickled onto the table and his lap after they had fallen off his chin and jaw.
How the comforting tight feeling in his chest had been replaced by one he would describe as his heart being ripped out time and time again.
***
The Valkerie shot through the air smoothly and dizzyingly fast as he talked to Peggy, her voice coming out of the speaker all wrong and crooked like she had a cold or had suddenly aged seventy years and was now old and grey.
But still beautiful, he was sure of that.
And he heard her begging for him to wait so they could find another way. A way that wouldn't end with him dissolving himself and the ship in the freezing ocean and ice that lay beneath him as he finally pushed the handle, the nose of the ship pulling down and down until he was rushing towards the ice at an alarming speed.
And he understood why she wanted it to stay. He had loved her after all and he was positive she had loved him.
But his love ended with friendship, the kiss had felt wrong but him not having half the heart to tell her.
And he hoped she understood as well.
He hoped she understood that he was already late and he wouldn't want to leave Bucky waiting.
Because this was the end of the line and he had missed his stop already, his love patiently waiting at the station as he travelled a bit longer, a bit further. Tried to change the world a bit more before joining him again.
And his eyes closed as the Valkyrie was just moments away from hitting the ice and water beneath it.
He'd have to apologise for not bringing his dancing shoes and stepping on Bucky's toes once they finally came together in that first dance they should've been able to have ages ago.
But he knew Buck wouldn't mind. He never did.
***
The 21st century was loud and filled with bright neon colours that hurt his eyes when staring at them for too long. The internet was a wild and confusing place while at the same time being his biggest help in finding his way through the thick cloud of information that they expected him to know all about in record time.
And the people were different too.
The first time he saw two men holding hands he gaped at them, stunned to silence at their act of bravery as he jogged past them, one of the men giving him a polite nod while the other glared daggers at him as if daring him to say something.
A quick look on the internet as soon as he had come to the apartment they had him live in, showed him that it wasn't that odd at all.
That it may not be legal to hold a mans hand and call him your husband but the relationship was.
And that other countries had legalized gay marriage already and that people were fighting for them to do so in a lot of countries including the US.
And he was delighted by that, apologising the next time he saw the couple -they had a habit of walking the same route in the morning and he crossed their path with his jog almost daily- and telling them how happy he was for them. The apology gained him a strange look and a gleeful smile from both of them before, after saying their goodbyes, they continued going about their days.
-
The first time they asked him to do a press conference he had excitedly accepted, wanting to answer as many questions as possible.
The small part of him that feared the questions about his past and the people who resided within it was locked away within his mind.
The first few questions were the once he already knew an answer to because he had to give it so many times; 'what is it like being in this new age' 'how do you enjoy the 21st century' 'Did you really fly that gigantic aeroplane into the ocean' 'are you the real Steve Rogers and not just some lookalike they hired to gain money or popularity'
Most questions were easy enough.
He answered that he was delighted that women were now treated equally to men and that racial minorities were no longer oppressed or denied the right to vote.
That his current favourite 'new' music was the Beatles and that no he had not yet tried sushi.
When a question came about what he thought about people of the same gender now being allowed to at least be together a little bit of the thoughts trapped in his mind escaped and he smiled sadly before responding.
"I am happy beyond words that the LGBT community -I did my homework indeed sir thank you very much- have gotten more equal with the rest of the world. There is still a long way to go in forms of marriage equality and what not but for now, I think we are on a good path of striving for what is right; that all people will be treated the same regardless of gender, race or sexuality."
A round of applause came his way after he had finished speaking and the smile got a bit more genuine until a slightly angered sounding voice yelled from the back of the room.
"Why do you care so much for the gays, man? You're a homo yourself?"
Regardless to say the man was escorted out of the room mere seconds later. But the question still lingered and a few reporters shuffled closer with their microphones to get the best audio of the response they now seemed to be expecting.
The familiar pain in his chest gained a bit of strength as his mind seemed to play a slideshow of all the memories with his friend, his love, his Bucky, until he visibly shook himself, straightening his back and looking out into the room of eager faces and technology he didn't understand.
"I care so much about the rights of my people because I have strived for equality since the forties and we are finally so close to achieving that goal...
As to answer the other question stated beforehand... I do in fact identify as a gay man."
"No further questions!" was yelled behind him as he turned around and walked of off the little stage they had put him on, the room seemed to have exploded in yells of protest or support and questions he couldn't even make out with the number of voices yelling over each other. All of them trying to be the loudest.
After that he was told he wouldn't be doing any press conferences in the next two months, Fury told him that the crowd had to settle down first and that they had a numerous amount of supporting messages left at their doorstep, as well as the ones that threatened to hurt him or his ego in one way or another.
He found that after that interview had been broadcast, the couple he now greeted every day while on his jog acted just a tad friendlier.
If that was because they had realised he was a walking legend -or at least described as one- or that they had seen the interview and wanted to support him in whatever way they found needed he didn't know.
***
So Bucky was alive.
And he didn't remember him.
And the emptiness had turned into the dull aching again and god he couldn't take that.
The first time he had seen him again had been like a cannonball hitting him at full force in the chest, his breath was stolen from his lungs as he just stared, only realising he had said something when that painfully familiar yet unfamiliar voice answered.
"Who the hell is Bucky?"
The look he had thrown him after that had hurt almost just as much as watching him fall from the train so many decades ago. Almost.
He had looked like a caged animal, gone wild because of the bad and abusive treatment its caretakers had given it. Its only weapons against the torture being its claws and fangs, which he now seemed to bare against Steve.
It had been much like the period after Bucky had fallen once he had finally gotten to a room in which he was left alone with his thoughts.
Him sitting in front of a small table, a bottle of strong alcohol that wouldn't be strong enough to sooth the pain on the cool metal surface as he downed glass after glass.
To an outsiders eye, it might've seemed as if he were giving up. As if he had accepted that his lover was no longer there, just the shell of his body now being controlled by the one they called the Winter Soldier.
But the people close to him would tell you that was in no way true.
Steve Rogers was not a man that gave up easily if he ever did at all.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to give up on his best guy.
If he had to move mountains for them to be reunited he would. If he had to fling himself off of a moving train instead of Bucky he would do so in a heartbeat.
No, Steve Rogers wasn't giving up one bit.
But that didn't mean he wasn't practically falling apart with grief and guilt.
And all he could think of was how painfully familiar this felt.
How the realisation that he might've actually lost him this time tried chipping away at him until only the uniform remained.
***
There are loads of things a man can get used to once they happen frequently enough.
Losing James Buchanan Barnes was not one of those things.
Once the med team had found him, laid on the side of the lake like he was placed there on purpose, the ache had returned stronger than ever and he found the urge to beg whoever was putting an oxygen mask over his face to help him stop it harder to repress then it usually would've been.
But he still kept silent, and let them test his reflexes and responses to light shining in his eyes or someone pinching his arm. His eyes seemed to work like they normally would, the pinching he showed no response to, though they didn't seem to find that strange. An off comment about 'how captain America must not even feel such silly things anymore after being beaten and shot at numerous times.'
He could only agree with part of the statement.
Because yes he had been through far worse than a man pinching his arm carefully.
Though the responseless act was not caused by that alone. His mind had seemed to go offline, not registering whatever the men in the back of the ambulance did that would eventually help him, only focusing on how different Bucky's hands on his body had felt when he had pulled them out of the water. How his mind had screamed that this wasn't him, this wasn't his Bucky, while his body seemed to go into autopilot and respond to every gesture as it had done before the fall and before the ice.
Not that there had been a lot of contacts.
Bucky had simply pulled him out of the water, laid him on his back and sat by his side for a minute, confused and conflicted as he stared at the man that lay beneath him until said man gasped for air and spit out way too much water than would be considered humanly possible.
He had disappeared before Steve had been able to catch his breath enough to form even a single audible word. Leaving him to take in shuddering breaths and clutch his own sides, trying to refrain from thinking about how this was so comparable to the water that had swallowed him whole once the plane had crashed into it. He only remembered a second of that ice-cold feeling flooding his veins before he blacked out by the force of it.
Though it was hard to not let himself drown in that feeling now, calling his lovers name weakly as he tried to crawl towards where he thought the man had disappeared in.
***
The next time he saw him he was determined not to let him leave again.
The small abandoned seeming apartment was dark and smelled like old paint and concrete as he walked across the small room carefully, every step as quiet as possible as he took in his surroundings, a frown carving into his face as he looked at the barely there mattress and the treatable blanket laid upon it.
The kitchen seemed to be the only part of the house that had remained. The fridge a few newspaper cutout on it together with a picture that appeared to be Steve himself, the picture cut out of a magazine messily, edges snipped as if the person who cut it out either ripped it or had too little time to cut it neatly.
It portraits him in the cliché pose he was beginning to hate, in his original costume as to drive the fact home that it really was him. The big bold letters under it that spelt 'American hero' cut of partly as if the person has put it there didn't care for the status, rather for the picture itself.
On top of the fridge, under a few breakfast bars, lay a notebook.
As he picked it up, opening it in various places just to see a similar picture of himself be placed in the said notebook, Sam alerted him of special forces moving his way. Before being able to resume looking through the booklet he felt a presence, snapping his head towards the person that stood in the apartment, only a couple feet away from him, gaze dark, the confusion it had shown last time he'd seen it now slightly stronger.
Bucky.
"Do you know me?"
The question came out cold, a neutral tone in his voice seeming to almost effortlessly hide the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest so hard he was afraid it would burst out of its prison that was his ribcage. Seeming to hide the fact that he suddenly felt so close to tears it almost hurt. That he just wanted to hold him. To be held by him. To tell him that everything would be okay and for it not to be a lie.
"You're Steve... I read about you in the museum."
And there it was, Bucky breaking the stare-of they seemed to be having, eyes averting to the floor and for just a split second, a splitter of a moment, he was there; Bucky, his Bucky, the man he had known from before the serum and that had known him just as well.
The man with whom he had cuddled on the couch on cold nights because the small fireplace sometimes wasn't able to provide them with enough heat. The man who would blow raspberries on his stomach to get out of a pressing conversation or simply because he wanted to hear him laugh.
They didn't do that as much as they had these days. As much as they were supposed to be.
"They've set the perimeter" It sounded through his earpiece. And as soon as he moved Bucky was gone again. In the place came the confused, terrified man who only had bits and pieces of the memories he was supposed to have. Who just wanted, if not needed, to be understood, to have to not do this all alone.
"I know you're afraid... "
With every word he said and every word that came in return the ache got stronger. But he repressed it for his sake. For Bucky's sake. The man wasn't even sure who he was yet, let alone who Steve was. And telling him about their long-term relationship would not help him right this moment.
"This doesn't have to end in a fight Buck."
One last look before the eye contact was broken again, one last glance at the man he knew and loved trapped inside of his own mind, screaming from his subconsciousness to remember him, to remember them and what they were.
"It always ends in a fight."
***
Surprisingly, the time they had to spend together while Bucky's arm was trapped so he wouldn't be able to move, was the best time he had had since waking up a few years ago.
"... You used to put newspapers in your shoes."
The soft, breathy laugh that followed that statement was so familiar, so him that it brought Steve close to tears, a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth as he responded himself, Sam giving him a sideways glance before they continued.
The Falcon let the two of them alone after that talk, Steve carefully loosening the press so Bucky could wiggle his arm out of the hold and letting it fall alongside his side numbly before slowly looking up at Steve.
"How much do you remember?"
His question was barely above a whisper, scared of what the answer might be.
Bucky was honest with him, which he appreciated.
"Not everything by a long shot. But pieces are coming back to me slowly."
"Do you-...?"
"Get over here you idiot."
Steve exhaled shakily as he took the few steps towards the other and squatting down so they were on eye level with one another.
After that, he didn't move a muscle. Scared that one wrong move would result in something destructive or in James spiralling back into whatever mental prison they had created for him.
And Bucky seemed to be just as afraid, carefully cupping Steve's cheek with his flesh hand which was trembling heavily, giving him a halfhearted smile and a breathy 'This okay?'
And Steve was shaking as well. Breath caught in his throat and speeding up with every attempt of calming it.
"More than."
He couldn't help but lean into the touch more, face tilted to the side and eyes fluttering closed, terrified to open them again and find that Bucky had gone again.
But he didn't leave. And he felt the other move slightly and suddenly there was a pressing on his lips that seemed to erase the aching fully, replacing it with a warmth he had lived without for decades.
And his own hand cupped Bucky's jaw as well as he returned the kiss. It being as achingly sweet as it had been all those years ago, them on a couch in a crappy apartment in Brooklyn by their self-made fireplace, Steve wrapped in a blanket and Bucky's arms as he let himself be engulfed by the heat that seemed to spread under his skin and bloom in his chest solely by Bucky's touch.
And he only noticed that his cheeks were wet when the other pulled away and wiped the pad of his thumb over his cheek, asking if he was alright.
Instead of responding vocally he simply kissed him again, arms now wrapping around his waist, clinging to him as if he were a child clinging to its mother. And Bucky just put his flesh hand on the back of Steve's head, combing his fingers through the short hairs there in a gesture so similar to the one he had always used when Steve laid sick in bed that it brought an entire new flood of tears to his eyes.
And Bucky just hushed him, gentle touches and soothing words trying to tell him that he was alright, that he would never leave him again, that they were together. That he was there.
The last part he kept repeating and repeating until Steve took it upon him to say it instead, and suddenly he was the one comforting the other as Bucky seemed to finally snap, grabbing onto Steve tightly -the fact that his metal arm still hung loosely along his side, him seeming afraid it would hurt his lover in any way, making him wince- both of them simply holding each other for god knows how long.
They promised each other to stay together. to not leave each other ever again.
That promise would be broken in a matter of days.
***
Losing him was almost like a familiar ache now, his heart shattering into pieces it had shattered in before as he looked at how the ice swallowed him whole, the thin layer of glass and frozen water suddenly feeling way more than a fall into a freezing river and a fast-moving train then he felt was healthy.
He turned away after what seemed like ages, slowly walking out of the room and down the hallway, looking out of the large windows covering the left wall, giving him a view of the beautiful city of Wakanda and the jungle stretched out behind it.
He didn't know how long this would take. How long he had to live without his best man again.
But every minute felt like years and every day like a century had passed, every inch of him fighting against the urge to run, to go far away from this place to forget what had happened, to try to accept his death like he had tried and failed to before.
This wasn't what they come here for. They had come here to be safe, to try to build their lives again, to fight against the world by each other's side, as it had always been. As it was supposed to be.
Not to leave each other again after being reunited so very recently.
He walked down the hallway in silence, head bowed as he silently opened the doors on the other side, placing another barrier between them.
The only thing keeping him from mourning him as he had done twice before was knowing that, once Bucky was able to walk freely again, the weight of the 10 words that had picked him apart so easily no longer on his shoulders, they wouldn't have to lose each other again.
They had promised, Bucky had promised he wouldn't leave again.
And all he could do believe him on his word. And pray to god that that was a promise they would be able to keep.