Chapter Text
A soft breeze was sweeping through Steve’s hair as he stood, both hands in the pockets of his jeans, on the grass next to the small, slight river - if you could even call it that - he knows like the back of his hand. As he clenches his jaw tightly, a heavy swallow following the action, Steve’s eyes, glazed over by memories of a far away, long forgotten child (friend, best friend, more. More.), travel along the scenery of his childhood sanctuary.
On shaky, unsure legs, he makes his way over to a small patch of grass, now even with the rest of nature, but dented with two familiar shapes in Steve’s memories. He kneels down - touching the spot he remembers to be his own, with a shaky hand - before taking a deep breath and laying down on it, closing his eyes.
He stays like that for a while, until his breath becomes shaky, until his eyes start to burn, until he notices that the trembling sobs he can hear, are coming out of his own mouth and that it hadn’t started to rain, but that the water on his face was coming from his eyes. He wraps his arms around himself, sobbing, (mourning, grieving,) the friend he once knew. As reality comes crashing down, he comes to realize that he might never get his friend back, that Bucky might stay away, might never remember, might never want him back the same way Steve yearns for - the same way he dreams of - he starts to curl in on himself when all of a sudden a hand comes up to push strands of wet hair out of his face.
„Don’t open your eyes.“, a voice says and Steve’s world stops - as does his breathing. He doesn’t open his eyes, scared that Bucky might leave if he does.
„Pretty sure that your lungs need air, pal.“, the rough voice of his best friend supplies amused. That snaps Steve back into reality.
„Smartass.“, he grumbles, smiling despite himself. A low chuckle can be heard from right behind him. If Steve really wasn’t hallucinating this, then Bucky had just laid down - at the same spot as he had done over a hundred times, all those years ago. Sucking a shaky breath in, Steve’s body starts to tremble all over again. Again, a hand comes up to rest on his face, this time not pushing any hair aside, but comfortably laying on the side of his head. A soothing gesture; one only Bucky would know would work for him. No one else was close enough to know all the ways to calm his body down when it started to tremble, when the coughs got so bad that breathing seemed terrifying, when he was too afraid of starting another fit that could possibly end his life for good this time. Only Bucky knew how to hold him when he wished the world was less cruel, to himself and to others as unfortunate as he once was. Only Bucky knew what to say - if anything at all. Only Bucky knew him like this. And now Bucky had lost all his memories to these monsters they had fought so hard against, all those years ago, back when it had still been Bucky and Steve side by side against the world.
He had thought that they had won - that, at least, Bucky’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. But not only had it been in vain, since HYDRA had prevailed; it hadn’t even been true in the way that he had physically died for the cause, but that something inside of him had died for it. Bucky had survived that fall, only to be turned into their Asset (weapon, tool, machine, monster).
But now Bucky was petting his hair, having moved to sit up and put Steve’s head in his lap - which Steve hadn’t even noticed. He raises a shaky hand behind him, tentatively reaching for Bucky, scared he’ll run off, but needing to hold him, to feel him with his own hands; just to assure himself that this was real. That his mind wasn’t making anything up.
Bucky’s hand stops moving in his hair and Steve’s breath catches. He had fucked it up, hadn’t he? Bucky would get up any second and leave and Steve would never see him again, Steve’s panicked mind supplied. But with a sharp breath in and a heavy sigh out, Bucky’s own trembling hand came to meet Steve’s, holding it just tight enough not to hurt, but ground Steve - fully knowing why Steve had reached out like he always knew.
Another sob escaped Steve and as he put his own hand on his mouth to stifle it, Bucky’s metal hand automatically comes up to rest on his hair as his flesh hand had before. He stops for a second, clearly afraid that Steve would pull away in disgust at the prosthetic he hated himself - but Steve just leaned back, trying to soak up as much of Bucky as he possibly could; which, with his enhancements, was a lot. He tried to memorize the way Bucky’s heart beat, the skips it made whenever Steve moved, the way it pumped against Bucky’s chest with an intensity as if it was trying to escape; trying to jump into Steve’s arms instead. He tried to memorize the rhythm of Bucky’s breathing, the way his fingers were dancing through his hair, the way his hand felt in Steve’s own. Steve tried to memorize the lines he could feel in the other’s hand, the way his grip was strong but gentle, the way the mechanics in his arm were rattling and grinding against each other. He tried to memorize it all, to keep himself in this moment, trying to keep it and treasure it and hold it and never let it go.
Bucky was also shaking all over, Steve realized. He forced his body to relax, to offer some form of steadiness to the brunette, but Bucky just huffed amused.
„Really, Stevie? Y’know I can hear ya heart skip several beats it should definitely not skip, right? You ain’t foolin’ nobody with ya forced relaxation.“, it wasn’t that funny, Steve told himself. But that didn’t stop him from letting a small, choked giggle escape from underneath the hand, still clasping his mouth. A surprised laugh escaped Bucky in turn:
„Did you just giggle?“, he asked incredulously.
„No- No, I didn’t!“, Steve exclaimed loudly, face flushed in a red blush, eyes clenched shut.
„Uh-uh, whatever you say, pal.“
For a second it was completely quiet, but then Steve heard rustling behind him, indicating that Bucky was moving. Steve’s heart picked up a few paces and his mind was screaming at him to not let Bucky go, to make him stay, pin him down and never let go of him, knock him out and just take him with him - but he knew Bucky wouldn’t want that, that Bucky needed space and time to recover, to heal (to remember). But Bucky wasn’t moving away, he was moving forward with his upper body and Steve could feel soft lips on his forehead, stealing what little breath he had left in himself - he felt like that little guy in Brooklyn again, losing his breath over another Asthma attack, but at the same time he welcomed this breathlessness - and the utter bewilderment it brought.
He didn’t dare open his mouth, didn’t dare ask the other if he remembered this gesture from 'the before' or the meaning behind it. He didn’t dare to ask Bucky if he remembered what they had been to each other, too scared that Bucky would start reciting the lie they had kept up for the public, now on display in the Smithsonian and every history book you could find. He wasn’t ready for Bucky to cock his head sideways, as he usually does - used to do, his mind supplies helpfully - when Steve’s being an idiot, and tell him that he’s silly, that they’re friends, (childhood best friends, brothers,) family in all the wrong ways, never the right way, never the true way - never their way.
So he kept quiet, only slowly releasing a shaky breath, forcing his face into something that might resemble a smile - or at least he hoped so.
It got quiet again.
„I’m sorry. That was outta line.“, Bucky’s rough voice spoke up after a while - quiet and unsure.
„What?“, Steve asked confused, holding on to Bucky’s hand, afraid that if he let go the brunette would see it as rejection and leave.
„I shouldn’t have kissed ya outta the blue like that.“, Bucky elaborated, his Brooklyn drawl sounding forced and his words careful - afraid of punishment, as Steve realized with a sinking stomach. He swallowed the lump in his throat, willing the bile that was churning in his stomach upon thinking of all the ways they had punished Bucky, to stay down, and spoke slowly and softly:
„It wasn’t out of- outta line. You’re alright, pal. I don’t mind.“, he reassures Bucky with a light, soft voice, adding his own Brooklyn drawl in, having not used it much since coming out of the ice as the others had repeatedly reassured him that they did not understand any of what he was saying sometimes. As a quick afterthought, he adds: „I never minded.“
Bucky took a shaky breath but didn’t say anything and the silence stretched between them as thick as the ravine’s air had been, when Steve had felt real distance built between them for the very first time. Not even when Bucky had left for war had Steve felt so distanced from him. Steve had been hopeful still, that he was somehow going to join him on the front or that Bucky would at least come back to him in one piece. But when he had watched him fall into the snowy Alps, Steve had felt like an endless void was building between them that he would never be able to breach. For the very first time, Bucky had gone somewhere Steve didn’t think he could follow - until he did; or at least tried to - failing even at that.
„Steve?“, he hears Bucky’s voice - adamant and concerned. Steve barely stopps himself from opening his eyes to see what Bucky wants.
„Yes?“, he asked, swallowing another lump in his throat.
„Where’s ya mind at?“, Bucky asks and Steve can hear the rustling of clothes, feel the shift of weight and he simply knows that Bucky just cocked his head to the side, the way he always does, - used to do, his mind supplies once again - with his upper body following the movement and shifting the balance of his entire body. He had always been expressive like that, but Steve wondered if Bucky was just getting accustomed to it again, thinking that HYDRA probably didn’t want their mindless Assassin (victim, Asset, machine, soldier. Victim.) to show any form of emotion whatsoever.
„Steve.“, Bucky spoke again, concern evident in his voice, now clearer. Bucky had stopped petting his hair and was now simply holding Steve’s head while tightening his grip on the blonde’s hand slightly.
„I’m sorry.“, Steve takes a deep breath, proud that it’s only slightly trembling as he lets it out. „I was thinkin’ of dark stuff.“, he supplies offhandedly, avoiding going deeper into the topic to not sour the mood any further.
As Bucky hums in understanding, Steve can feel the vibration in the other’s body, softly going over into Steve’s own, a frequency he latches onto, desperately trying to soak it in and keep another piece of his Bucky, his everything, with him, knowing that Bucky will not stay this time as he had not stayed when he had pulled Steve out of the Potomac.
Tears start to form in his eyes again at the thought and he moves his free hand - that had fallen to the side as he had zoned out - to cover his burning eyes, not wanting Bucky to see him cry pathetically - again.
„Stevie,“, Bucky said softly, „it’s okay. I’m right here. You can let go now. Stop trynna be perfect for one damn moment and let yourself mourn.“, and while that seems to be a push he needed, it was not the final push that would send Steve into another burst of tears. He’s better than this, he tells himself. He’s Captain-fucking-America. He won’t start crying in his long lost friend’s (best friend’s, lover’s. Lover’s.) lap again. But when Bucky slowly lets go of his hand, just to turn it around, hold it gently and start drawing circles on the back of it, Steve realizes that this is a battle he will not win. No matter how stoic he had always been, this one battle he had always lost, had never been able to 'do all day' as he liked to claim in fights, confident (arrogant.) as he liked to present himself. His face burning bright and hot red in shame and humiliation he first starts silently weeping, but then warm arms wrap around him and pull him to an even warmer chest, broad and muscular and just warm (familiar, cozy, comforting, reassuring, safe. Safe.) and all dams break.
Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there, Bucky holding him as Steve finally weeps and mourns for everything he has lost and all the time stolen from him, all the friends he had left behind (Dum Dum, Jones, Dernier, Morita, Falsworth, Peggy.), but as time keeps moving, Steve’s sobs slowly turn into sniffs, then exhausted and shaky breaths. Bucky had not moved other than petting Steve’s hair again, but when Steve tries to risk it and open his eyes, the brunette simply puts a hand over them.
„I thought I asked ya not to open them?“, he says in mock anger, playing it up a bit to show just how fake it is, making Steve laugh weakly, too exhausted to go into the full belly laugh he wants to. Steve buries his face into Bucky’s chest again, trying hard to take in his smell, trying to memorize it like Bucky’s heartbeat (bum. bum. Bum bum. Bum. Bum bum. bum. bum. Bum bum.).
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, doesn’t remember laying back down or moving at all from the comfort of Bucky’s broad chest and strong, grounding, and steadying arms, but when Sam comes looking for him, he finds Steve laying on the grass again. Alone.
„Steve? Steve, man, where are you?“, Sam yells, struggling to find a way to the clearing that he had followed Steve’s tracker to.
„Man, I go to take a nap and wake up to Jarvis telling me your tracker looks like it’s stuck in the river and unmoving. He thought someone had run you over and put you in a ditch or something!“, Sam had said jokingly, to lighten the mood once he had seen the red, puffy eyes Steve was sporting.
But Steve is simply staring at the spot behind him, untamed, untouched gras - no dent in it as there should have been. Bucky had sat right there, hadn’t he? Tears are forming in his eyes once more. Is he going crazy? He could have sworn- it had felt so real. It had felt so unbelievably real. And it had been too beautiful, too perfect to be true. Should’ve known, Steve thinks bitterly, wiping the tears out of his eyes, scowling at his wet hands with an anger that Sam had seldom seen on Steve’s face.
„Steve? You alright?“, Sam asks as he slowly makes his way over. „You look like you’ve seen a ghost.“, he says carefully and Steve lets out an amused huff, even though his face is still sporting that bitter grimace.
„You could say that.“, he answers and instead of explaining himself, he stands up and puts on that determined expression that indicates his battle readiness. Sam watches him for a moment, watches his stance and the way he crosses his arms in front of his chest, closing himself off - not only mentally but also physically. Unsure of how to proceed, Sam goes through his options. Then he speaks up tentatively:
„You know you can talk to me, right man? You’re not alone in this.“, he starts to reach out to put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder, but the cold, hard (broken, battered, shaken, sad, resigned, pained, angry, hurt. Hurt.) expression on his friend’s face makes him stop and makes his arm fall back awkwardly. Steve doesn’t seem to notice, staring off into the distance.
„Steve?“, Sam asks, unsure if Steve even heard him the first time. But when Steve’s gaze moves to him, without turning his head, Sam feels a cold shiver going down his back and for a second he wishes he never said a thing. Then the moment is over and Sam notices that this is Steve he’s talking about and looks closer, looking past the Captain America mask he knows Steve wears like a battle armor around himself, and sees the pain hidden in Steve’s eyes, the way his muscles seem to sag in on themselves, even as he tries to make them appear as strong as the tank he normally acts as on the battlefield.
Sam watches him and watches that unshakable fortress of Steve’s fall to pieces, but hold steady nonetheless, and wonders what had happened for Steve’s pain to be so raw and messy, when before it had been calm and silent. What had caused him so much pain that he now felt the need to close off from Sam of all people like that? Sam who had been there and had talked to him and had told him stories of his family, when Steve had woken up from a nightmare about the war and losing Bucky. Sam still remembers how Steve had shaken and how he had tightened the blanket around himself, looking so small and frail for someone with a body like his, finally getting his first glimpse of the Brooklyn boy hidden behind the battle armor.
„Steve, man. You gotta talk to me.“, he tries again, deciding not to step forward to give the other man some space, as to not make him feel pushed into a corner - which is a funny worry, Sam thinks somberly, considering that Steve is built like a berserker. He gets snapped back into reality when Steve answers him:
„I- I thought Bucky was here.“, the reply comes tentatively, quietly, and with so much desperation, Sam wishes he had chosen to hold his friend instead of giving him space, but Steve still looks like he really needs the space, so Sam doesn’t give in to his first instinct and instead tries to think of something to say.
„I didn’t see him when I came here. He must have been long gone.“, he says, even though he doesn’t believe his own words. He sees where Steve keeps staring at - sees the high grass Steve must’ve thought Bucky had been just a bit ago.
„But,“, he stops for a second, sucking a deep breath in and letting it out in a heavy sigh, „I can send Redwing to look around the area. Maybe he’s still here somewhere?“, he offers. He doesn’t like playing into delusions, but Steve looks shaken enough. Telling him he was hallucinating wasn’t very likely to help either of them right now. But Steve had seemed to come to the conclusion himself and was now merely watching the grass with distant eyes.
„The grass. I thought he sat there. But the grass is still high up and there’s no dent in it. I was hallucinating, wasn’t I?“, he says, more to himself than to Sam, but Sam chimes in either way, not wanting Steve to go down that rabbit hole, deciding to use this as a stepping stone in an argument he had been having with Steve for a while now.
„Steve, you haven’t slept for multiple days and I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten enough either. How about we take a break and go home for a bit? Just until we have an actual lead, okay?“, Sam tries to reason, but when he thinks that Steve will brush him off like he always does, Sam tries a different route, feeling bad about it, but knowing it is for the better in the long run:
„And man, I dunno about you, but I kinda miss my family and I bet the Team misses you too. What about that nice grandma that keeps inviting you to eat with her? She must miss you too! Sarah and my mom have now asked me to come visit 18 times and I will definitely get an earful if I don’t do that soon.“, Sam continues babbling, thinking of more reasons to come up with,
„And they kinda wanna meet you too, Steve.“, he then adds as an afterthought. He doesn’t think Steve will take him up on his offer, but he says it either way, to be polite and because he does hope Steve will accept it.
„Alright. Okay. You’re right, we need a break.“, Steve admits after about a minute of fighting internally with himself.
„But I gotta get some stuff done at my apartment. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m probably gonna get an earful of Ms. Smith for not sending her any letters like I told her I would.“, Steve smiles apologetically in the boyish way he always does, making Sam smile in return, relieved to have won this argument and to have set a better mood.
„Alright. But don’t you dare run off on your own. I need vacation, not no job at all, got it?“, he teases, stepping closer and elbowing Steve in a friendly manner. "And don't be a stranger, Steve. I mean it. I will find you and you'll get an earful so bad, you'll wish it was Ms. Smith telling you off!"
The blonde grins a sweet grin and goes on to tease him back, but Sam isn’t listening close enough to make out the words, still watching Steve’s eyes that now look dull and resigned, while Steve’s words and voice are excited and seemingly happy.
Oh, Steve, Sam thinks to himself, I just hope Bucky can put some real light into your eyes once we find him. I hope he doesn’t break you any more than you already are.
Sam guides Steve away from the place, looking it over once again. They were currently inside New York, in a small area he hadn’t known existed, but both of them had slept in a hotel room instead of Steve’s apartment - as Steve had said it wasn’t fair for him to return home when Sam couldn’t.
As Sam takes another deep breath in, only to let it out in a heavy sigh, he turns to follow Steve, trying not to think of all the ways this could break his friend to the point of no return.