Chapter Text
A lanky, golden boy, fighting in an alley. Fighting a fight he knew he wouldn’t win, but he was going to fight regardless. The taller, stronger, kid who’d come to tell him when it was over.
The lanky kid grew up. The gold turned to bronze and the pale, fragile limbs turned to steel.
Who was the stronger one now? It didn’t matter, because he still needed someone to follow him anywhere.
The dull, metal gray turns to rushing, rushing, blinding ice white, in what felt like a second. The brown haired boy grew up too. That didn’t mean he could be saved.
The blinding, cold white never quite goes away. It structures his bones, rips him a new skin.The cold is mixed with that warm, warm, bronze. It tears the sheets and cobwebs of ice right from his hands as he watches it fall into a rushing, rushing, river.
It never stops rushing away from him, faster than he can take it all in.
Wake up, wake up, wake up. Follow it. Go home.
The Soldier woke up in a shaky haze. His eyes wanted to block out the sun, but they were finally seeing again. He noticed the colors he’d been missing. The grass, the sky, the dark of the clothes he had not quite figured out weren't a part of who he was anymore. He averted his eyes, the sun was still too much. A little too bright for all the dark he was still carrying. The Soldier sat up and blocked out the light again, devised the first part of his plan. Should he have a plan? He didn’t think anyone was coming to get him this time. He looked down at the water that trailed next to him. He had walked until the river turned to a stream, and it didn’t feel quite so cold anymore. The Soldier looked down at his clothes. He should acquire new ones, but his weapons should be kept. Step one.
The Soldier.
Bucky.
Was that his name? It was what the man- Steve, had called him. The Soldier remembered enough of Steve to know he wasn’t lying about who he thought The- The Soldier was.
Who the hell is Bucky? Where do I find him again?
Clothes first, avoid arrest, find Steve, and Bucky, go home. Something like that. Easier thought of than acted on. Bucky stood on legs that were shaky from strain and recent disuse. The ache is his right arm had dulled to a muted throbbing. He’d have to do something about that. First, steal clothes, hide weapons, don’t fall- don’t fall.
★★★★★
Steve Rogers had only been out of the hospital for two days when Natasha Romanoff handed him a thick, yellowed folder with all the information on the Winter Soldier she could find. She left him with a soft warning about pulling on this particular thread. What she didn’t know, was that this was the only thread he had worth pulling on, and he’d already begun before she even turned around. He didn’t plan to let go, either.
★★★★★
The Soldier had found a place to hide, for now. A dark, semi-warm warehouse on the outskirts of the city. His new clothes had turned damp by the humid air. All of The Soldier’s possessions were held by a thick black backpack. Were they his? Those sharp, clean killing tools. Tools that worked, most of the time. Until Steve Rogers. The Soldier wasn’t sure if he had failed or not anymore, though. The Soldier wasn’t even sure his head was his own, but it was all he could remember ever knowing, ever feeling, if he was feeling anything at all.
The Soldier shook his head, dirty brown strands swaying. He found a corner- a good vantage point to scope the exits for activity, and sat. The Soldier felt the crawling sensation of waiting, but he couldn’t place what for. The Soldier figured it was safe to stay here for a few days, but after that was uncertain. Did he find Steve? Would Steve even want to see him? Did he need to turn himself in? No, not yet. Not before- not before he saw Steve. The Soldier needed answers, an explanation, something to tell him why he was really here- who he really was.
So he waited. Waited for Steve, or the agents Steve worked for. Or maybe just for the will to move again, to find what he was really looking for.
★★★★★
Sam was wrong. Fucking wrong .
“All I'm saying is, maybe you should let him go for a while. Take the rose colored glasses off and stop thinking of him as the Bucky you knew before. You gotta admit this dude is at least a little dangerous.”
Sam didn’t get to continue his reasoning, because Steve was already shaking his head, turning on his heel to pace the floor again.
“Sam, he didn’t ask for this. Whether or not he’s who I knew before, I still need to find him. He’d do it for me.” Steve sighed, lowering his face into his hands.
He couldn’t just fucking let this go, not now, not ever if he was being honest. Bucky was probably alone and confused and afraid and that wasn’t right. Not if Steve could make it better, even a little.
He’d do it for me.
“I know, man. Just don’t push too much. There are probably some things you don’t wanna see.” Sam was giving him that look. That silent understanding that made Steve feel like he wasn’t alone in this but also made Steve want to pull at his hair because did Sam really understand?
Steve had never told him, or anyone for that matter about who he really was. Who he and Bucky used to be. SteveandBucky. One cell, wrapped around each other until you couldn’t tell where the other one stopped or started. Steve couldn’t just let this go.
★★★★★
New York City, 1936
Bucky was drunk. Absolutely, positively, sauced . He’d strolled right into that bar after work, immediately making a beeline for the bartender. A few too many glasses of whiskey to count later, Bucky was stumbling through the front door of the tiny, worn down apartment he shared with Steve. Steve . The reason Bucky had gotten so drunk. He giggled at that, effectively alerting the skinny blond of Bucky’s presence.
Steve peered up at Bucky from over the top of his thick book.
"Hey Buck, what's goin’ on?” Steve questioned, setting his book on the rickety wooden table in front of him.
Steve’s big blue eyes were waiting for an answer while his perfect, plush lips were pulled down into a pout. It made Bucky want to cry and try to touch all at the same time. Bucky giggled again. God he was such a damned sucker.
“Nothin’ much Stevie. How's your date?” Bucky was slurring now, stumbling across the creaky floor to drop onto the other end of the threadbare couch.
Steve sighed and shrugged. That meant it must have been bad. That was good. For Bucky, at least.
“It was all right, sure, but every time another fella walked past she’d look at him all weepy, like she would've rather been with him.” Steve looked down at the hands tangled together in his lap, sighing again.
“Aw, Stevie, don’t get all upset on me. I'm sure she liked ya plenty. Who wouldn't, pal?”
Bucky really meant that. He couldn't see why anyone wouldn't love that kid. I mean, Stevie was everything. He was beautiful and kind and talented and quick as a whip. Steve Rogers was damn near perfect, and it was absolutely devastating. Bucky knew he should feel bad for hoping Steve’s dates didn't work out, he really did, but he couldn't help but hope they all went down the drain. That way, Stevie’d come home to Bucky and tell him all about it with that pretty pout and those big wide ocean eyes. That way, Steve wouldn’t find someone it was okay to love, and leave Bucky behind.
Jesus Christ Bucky was a selfish bastard.
The boozed up, giddy, Bucky Barnes didn’t seem to care much, though. He settled back into the stiff couch, watching Steve pout some more.
“Ah geez, Rogers look at that mug. It’ll be just fine, pal.”
Bucky leaned forward and slapped a sweaty hand onto Steve’s skinny shoulder, causing Steve to jump.
“Quit flappin’ your kisser, Barnes. It ain’t gonna be fine,” Steve snapped, he seemed more frustrated than sad, now.
Bucky frowned. If Steve couldn’t see it, Bucky would have to show him. Bucky hopped up from the couch, abruptly stumbling towards Steve’s end of it, effectively flopping gracelessly into Steve’s arms. Steve shoved him off and crossed his arms.
“Jesus you’re drunk, Buck.” Steve assessed.
“Huh. Hadn’t noticed.” Bucky smirked crookedly.
Steve sighed. “Shut it Barnes. I’m surprised you made it home without a ride in a black-and-white.”
“Aw, you gonna sing Rogers? Let ‘em can me?”
“No, idiot. You need water. And sleep. You’re ridiculous,” Steve got up and grabbed Bucky’s wrist, tugging gently. “Come on.”
Bucky suddenly remembered what he was attempting a few moments ago. He tugged his wrist back.
“No, no Stevie come on. C’mere.”
Bucky grabbed a hold of Steve’s shoulder again and steered him to their bedroom. He used Steve’s lanky frame to navigate to the window.The smaller man stepped aside while Bucky yanked it up, a little harder than necessary, and pulled Steve back over to him.
“Out ya go Rogers.” Bucky chirped, unceremoniously pushing Steve towards the rusted fire escape.
Steve gave him a look like he’d lost his mind, but went along with it nonetheless. Bucky crawled out after him, taking a deep breath of the cool summer evening breeze. The two of them wandered (tripped and cursed in Bucky’s case), up to the roof. Bucky plopped down on on the dusty shingling, yanking Steve down with him. From up there, you could see the stars a little on a clear night like that one. Bucky pulled Steve closer with an arm thrown around his wispy frame.
“Listen here, kid. Look at all those fuckin’ stars. They’re like you. They’re special and bright and people need ‘em around to live and shit. Those stars are really old but they’re doin’ just fine. You’re eighteen Rogers, you gotta lotta time ‘fore you’re an old star.”
Bucky nods to himself. A job well done. Steve needed to know just how damned great he was. How it was far from over for him. Bucky looked over a second later when he felt Steve’s body shaking silently. Had he made Steve cry with his comparison?
Steve was laughing. Laughing so hard tears were streaming out of his eyes already.
“Christ you really are sauced, Buck.” Steve gasped between breathless laughs.
Bucky just gaped at him.
“What’d I do, Steve?” It was Bucky’s turn to pout, now.
Steve caught his breath enough to respond, narrow chest still heaving.
“‘You’re like those stars’, Buck?” With that Steve fell into another fit of giggles.
Bucky removed his arm from Steve’s person and crossed it over his other one instead.
“You are, Stevie. Any dame’d be lucky to have you.” Bucky stared into those eyes again, waiting for the confirmation that Steve got it, that he knew.
Steve smiled this time. All soft and quiet. Bucky wanted to match that smile with one of his own, and slowly fit their lips together, all the puzzle pieces in place.
“Thanks, Bucky. That’s real nice of you to say. Really.”
Steve patted Bucky’s back gently, and Bucky smiled up at the stars. Steve really was a star. An explosive fireball, but beautiful all the same. And the center of Bucky’s universe.
Bucky leaned into Steve and rested his cheek lightly on top of the blond’s head. Steve leaned back and gave a little content sigh. Bucky’s heart grew a little more full at the sound. The brunet turned his head, eyes closing slightly at the feeling of Steve’s honey hair. Bucky laid a gentle kiss on his temple, savoring the feeling of the soft skin there. Steve just sighed again. He’d been doing that lately, though Bucky couldn’t deduce why for the life of him. Bucky smiled, Bucky had been doing that lately.
“You’re a star, Stevie.”
★★★★★
The Soldier jolted awake. The sun had gone down, and the moon cast soft lines of light through the slats in the boarded up windows. His eyes took a moment to adjust to their presence. The Soldier sat up and squinted. The stars could be seen from this vantage point. The Soldier could not seem to shake the thought of one star in particular from his mind, though. Steve used to look different, smaller. Bucky had too. But the stars were the same. Twinkled down over rooftops and rickety old fire escapes. Maybe
Steve had seen them too. The Asset couldn’t help but wonder.
Who the hell is Bucky?