Days Gone By

“Steve, we’re going to be late!”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve opened his bedroom door and popped into the hall bathroom, scrutinizing his reflection without actually giving two shits about how he looked. He knew his mom wouldn’t let him leave the house if so much as one hair was out of line, however, so he double checked before heading downstairs.

His black suit was perfect. It was tailored to fit his broad shoulders, which he still wasn’t used to even after over a year, while hugging his narrow waist without making him look like a triangle. He’d opted for a black shirt underneath the jacket and a black tie to round out the ensemble. In fact, the only color to be seen was his pale skin, flat blue eyes, and a yellow and black Hufflepuff crest pin on his lapel.

It seemed blasphemous to wear something so perfect when the world was ending.

Exhaling slowly, Steve took a moment to steel himself before turning off the bathroom light and descending to the first floor where his mom was waiting by the door. Her dress was also black, mid-length and modest as was appropriate for occasions like these. When she heard him approaching, she turned from where she’d been staring into the middle distance to smile weakly up at him.

“Come here, let me see,” she ordered, holding her hands out for him to take.

Steve rolled his eyes but obeyed with the best excuse for a smile he could muster, letting her guide his arms out to the side so she could examine the fit of his suit. For what she’d paid, it had better be fucking nice.

“You look great, sweetie,” breathed his mom after completing a thorough analysis. Her smile turned tremulous as she pulled him into a hug; these days she had to stand on her tiptoes to do that, so Steve leaned forward to make it easier for her. If he gripped her back just as tightly, neither of them would mention it.

Sniffling, his mom was the first to pull away and laughed wetly when she spotted his pin.

“Is it all right?” he inquired, not really caring about the answer. He’d be wearing it regardless.

His mom nodded, though, and assured him, “It’s perfect.” They just stood staring at each other in silence as they were wont to do over the last week once the tears abated enough to be replaced by stunned stillness, then his mother prompted, “We should probably get going.”

“Right,” murmured Steve, pulling in a deep breath and reaching out to loop their arms together. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Apparating, but at least it was quick.

After the brief, familiar trip through the vacuum of whatever void Apparition took you through, Steve’s feet hit the ground and they found themselves in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He’d never been here before, and he’d gladly give up the opportunity to see the splendor of the Ministry forever if it meant getting back what they’d lost.

That wasn’t possible, however, so Steve followed a step behind his mother as she led the way past the Fountain of Magical Brethren down the middle of the wide hall. Steve wasn’t sure if anything usually lined the walls; if there was, it had all been cleared away to make room for enough chairs to seat a football stadium’s worth of guests. Most of them were empty, only the very front spaces taken since the public wasn’t allowed in yet. This time was for friends and associates only.

Sam and T’Challa were already here, dressed in equally somber colors and not saying a word where they were sitting a couple of rows away from the front. Steve followed their gazes to the four caskets lined up at the head of the Atrium, each one closed with a picture on an easel beside it.

At first, Steve wasn’t sure if the pictures were new. Winifred and George’s countenances were exactly as he remembered from almost three years ago, not a new grey hair or laughter line to be seen. It wasn’t until he saw Bucky and Becca’s portraits that he confirmed the images had been taken long ago. Becca was about to turn eleven, almost a month to the day away now. A day she would never see. Her face, however, was that of the eight-year-old he’d seen at King’s Cross on September first of their third year at Hogwarts; chubby cheeked and bright eyed as ever, her grin was infectious as her picture stared out blankly at the assemblage. It was considered inappropriate to have moving wizard photographs at a funeral, so she was immobile as a statue, frozen in time three years before the end of her life.

Swallowing, Steve turned his eyes to look at Bucky’s picture. He remembered seeing that photo, albeit without color, in the Daily Prophet during the summer before their third year while Bucky was off campaigning with his family. Would anyone else here be able to recognize the fact that his grin was a counterfeit? Would anyone else know just how much he’d hated taking those photographs and would probably be rolling his eyes up in heaven if he knew they were using that today?

“That’s it—I’m moving to the middle of nowhere and never letting anyone take another picture of me ever again. I’ll tell them I think it’ll steal my soul or something,” Bucky had texted to him at one point with a little laughing emoticon.

There were a few other portraits gathered together off to the side, but they were no more recent than the individual pictures. It made sense: the house they had apparently been living in had burned to the ground, and nothing was left. Any pictures the Barnes family had taken during the last three years would have been lost, leaving only what they could take before going into hiding to choose from.

It left Steve wondering what his best friend had looked like before he died. Was he as tall as Steve? It was hard to imagine looking down at Bucky after spending so many years looking up to him, figuratively as well as literally. Had his eyes stayed the same shade of grey, or did the hardships of his life turn them darker, more serious? Had he smiled as much as he did when they were kids?

Wondering was no use. The remains contained in the coffins would be unidentifiable if what the Prophet published was to be believed. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about it. He’d never stopped, if he was being honest, and he probably never would. Before the news had come out a week ago, he’d finally gotten to the point where he could get through a day without thinking about the Barneses or where Bucky was now. In the wake of their sudden departure, however, Steve was sure he would never make it so far again without those same questions tormenting him, making him wonder what had happened to his friend and if he missed Steve as much as Steve had missed him.

“Hey, man,” greeted Sam quietly, standing up to give him a quick hug. T’Challa followed suit, and Steve gave them the best smile he could manage.

“Have you guys been here long?”

“We only just arrived,” answered T’Challa, glancing over his shoulder. Steve followed his line of sight to see his father speaking with a few Ministry officials toward the back of the Atrium, somber but clearly not as affected as his son.

“What about Clint?”

Sam shook his head. “He was traveling with his folks, remember? I tried getting in touch with him to see if he wanted to share a Portkey, but I never heard back.”

“I think he said he wouldn’t have cell service,” muttered Steve. He hoped Clint at least knew what had happened. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a Muggle-born and not have such immediate access to everything happening in the Wizarding world the way he always had through his mom.

T’Challa nodded sadly while Sam cursed under his breath. None of them articulated anything more than that—there really were no more words to be said.

By the time the service began, most of the people they knew from Hogwarts had arrived. All of their professors were there, including Heimdall, who had always been Bucky’s favorite and, in Steve’s opinion, had a bit of a soft spot for him as well. Tony was there with his father and Pepper Potts, appearing more sober than Steve recalled ever seeing him. At least for today, the haughty, energetic boy Bucky had gotten a kick out of (and been annoyed by in equal measures) had been replaced by someone who looked more like an adult than ever before. Thor waved to him from across the Atrium, and he spotted Daniel Sousa with his parents further back. Peggy arrived shortly before the service, kissing his cheek and hugging his mother tightly before they had to take their seats. Steve wouldn’t say a word, but he was secretly glad both of them were sitting on either side of him, letting him grip their hands tightly until it was over.

A few different people got up to say a few words, most of them either the priest or Ministry officials who had had the pleasure to work with former Undersecretary Barnes and meet her family over the years. It was difficult not to show how horrified he was to see that every word was about politics—what a loss the Wizarding world was suffering and how devastating it was that her children didn’t get a chance to fulfill their potential and follow in her footsteps and that they would live forever in the history books. A little red spark of anger ignited in Steve’s chest and refused to be extinguished before the first five minutes had elapsed.

Who was going to get up there and talk about how Winifred Barnes was someone who was dedicated to and passionate about everything she did, whether that was politics or raising her kids or anything else? Who was going to get up there and talk about how George Barnes was the kindest person in the world and instilled in his kids not just an understanding of responsibility but also caring towards others? Who was going to get up there and talk about how Becca used to snort when she giggled too hard and loved to steal something of Bucky’s every time he went back to school just to have a little piece of him around? (Not that Bucky didn’t know she did it, but he let her think he didn’t.)

And who would tell everyone about Bucky? Who would tell them that he was someone who cared for the little guy and pulled Steve out of so many fights he couldn’t win that he’d lost track? Who would talk about his sarcastic sense of humor and sharp wit? Who would lament the way the press had treated him during his mother’s campaign and admire how he soldiered on, leaning on his friends for support? Who would tell stories about the nonsense he’d get up to with Winter and how he loved the cat that didn’t get a casket more than life itself?

Who was going to stand up and tell people who the Barneses really were so their true legacy wasn’t forgotten forever?

The answer was no one. Minister Pierce, asshole extraordinaire, was the last to speak, his long-winded speech taking so long that he indicated there was no time at the end for anyone else to get up and say a few words the way they’d allegedly planned before the doors opened to the general public. They only just had enough time to do one last send-off.

The assembled stood in a line, filing up towards a group of officials distributing roses of various colors for them to leave on the caskets depending on their relationship with the deceased.

The deceased, they called them. As if they hadn’t been people a week ago.

When he reached the front of the line, Steve hesitated before choosing a color, glancing up to see what T’Challa and Sam had done. Both had gotten yellow roses and were laying them carefully over top of Bucky’s casket, pressing a hand to the dark wood momentarily in final farewell before stepping back to allow others a turn. Most of the people leaving roses for Bucky and Becca were choosing yellow, and there wasn’t a great deal more variety for Winifred and George. Steve couldn’t help thinking they looked like someone had pissed all over them.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Steve reached out for a pink rose instead. The little sign above the box the officials were handing out the roses from said pink stood for admiration, appreciation, and love by any definition. What else could possibly say everything he felt in just a few petals? Steve had admired Bucky for as long as he could remember, secretly wishing that he would someday be as brave and strong as his best friend. Despite how many times he’d neglected to say it, he did appreciate everything Bucky had ever done for him and even just the fact that he’d gotten to have Bucky in his life at all. They were best friends, brothers, and Steve loved him more than words could describe.

So he took his pink rose and laid it atop the bed of ugly yellow covering Bucky’s casket, pressing a hand to the wood above where Bucky’s head should be. There were so many things he should say, so many things he wanted to say that Bucky should have heard long ago. Time, however, had made fools of them all.

All he could think to say, whispering it for Bucky’s unhearing ears alone, was, “Come back.”