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“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”
Steve chuckles, but Bucky has never meant anything more in his entire life. He wishes he didn’t have to leave — would give anything to stay with Steve, to protect him from the dickwads in alleyways and the flu and his weak heart. But Bucky didn’t choose the war... the war chose him, knocking down his front door with the cold hard print of a draft card.
More than anything, Bucky is terrified that he’ll come back and Steve will be dead. Who knows how long he’ll be gone... years, most likely. That’s plenty of time for Steve to suffer from any number of diseases — pneumonia, measles, mumps, the flu. Steve didn’t know this, but Bucky had asked his ma and his sisters to look after him while he’s gone. Steve is so proud, doesn’t accept help, won’t even accept Bucky’s dime to go get groceries for the month because Steve “didn’t earn it.”
But the truth is, Steve has never been on his own, and he shouldn’t have to be. He deserves the world, and he deserves the very best of care. Bucky has tried his best to give him that, even when it costs all of his money from hauling boxes at the shipyard for three months to buy Steve’s medication. It’s worth it, to make sure that Steve’s still alive, is still with him for at least a little longer. Bucky would give anything for that.
Steve smiles at him, a small, lopsided thing. All Bucky can think is, God, I love that boy.
“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”
Bucky wraps his arms around Steve as hard as he can, feeling his slight body warm and solid and alive . He never wants to let go. He sends up a prayer to a God he’s not even sure he believes in, but he’s desperate right now and he’ll try anything if it means keeping Steve alive.
God, please protect him. Keep him safe. Let him live.
***
“Let’s hear it for Captain America!”
The noise of the soldiers surrounding Bucky is suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides, growing louder louder louder. Everyone was thrilled to have been saved by the great Captain America, the larger than life hero who was... Steve.
Steve, who had always been a fighter but never won a fight, whose knuckles Bucky had taped and wrapped up when they were bloody and bruised. Steve who Bucky had watched with bated breath as he shivered on his bed, wasting away from his third struggle with pneumonia. The same Steve that, just yesterday, had broken into a German POW camp and saved hundreds of men single-handedly, while looking like one of the ripped men from a fucking Tijuana bible. Bucky still couldn’t wrap his brain around that.
But, even with the crowd of dirty, rambunctious soldiers pressing in on him, the reason he couldn’t breathe... could scarcely think , was the scene he was witnessing in front of him. Steve and this... this dame, who looked like every man’s wet dream, smiling at each other like there was no tomorrow.
Who was this Steve and what had he done with his friend? Bucky felt like an asshole for being so jealous, but that’s what it was. Pure jealousy. This dame probably hadn’t even known Steve before he had gotten all muscley, probably wouldn’t have even looked twice at him. Had she taken one look at his delicate bones and short stature and thought, I want to spend the rest of my life with him ? Because that was Bucky’s first thought, the day they met. It had been in his thoughts, in his very being , every day since.
Bucky looked at Steve’s face. He was in love. He looked at the dame as if she hung the fucking moon. Bucky should have known it would happen eventually, that Steve would find a nice girl that appreciated him for the perfect guy he was. And Bucky would get left in the dust.
All Bucky could think was, I don’t stand a fucking chance.
***
“After this is all over, I might even go dancing.”
Steve and Peggy only have eyes for each other. Bucky feels like the most uncomfortable third wheel ever, wishes he could pull himself away from the conversation to go have a good cry. He is so far out of his element here, with no one paying attention to him or even acknowledging that he’s there at all. Bucky tries to butt in, a desperate last-ditch effort.
“Yeah? Well, what are we waiting for?” Peggy doesn’t even turn her eyes in his direction, and neither does Steve. Bucky feels the crack in his heart grow deeper, the loneliness in his soul grow more poignant.
Bucky feels like he has a fucking neon sign over his head that says, Steve pay attention to me! He still isn’t used to this, the attention that Steve gets from people other than him, the feeling that Steve is entering a world of higher-ups and politics that Bucky can’t enter, can’t follow. And where does that leave him? For his whole life, his only label in life has been “Steve Rogers’ friend,” “Steve Rogers’ protector.” And if Steve doesn’t need that anymore, then what does that make him? Hopelessly besotted? Another fangirl, vying for his attention?
Steve and Peggy look at each other, both in love and affectionate. Peggy has the look of a woman who is determined to get what she wants... and she’ll get it too. Margaret Carter could take over the world with the bat of her eyelashes, if she wanted. Her gaze at Steve is made of steel, of titanium. She looks like a lioness about to pounce on her prey.
“The right partner.”
And just like that, she turns her heel and walks off, her red dress seeming to flow behind her. Steve gazes after her, a man in love.
“It’s like I’m turning into you — I’m invisible.” Bucky’s tone is joking, but he feels like he’s being shredded in half. He does feel invisible, like he’s not important in Steve’s life anymore, like he’s some relic from “pre-serum” Steve’s life that no longer belongs, now that he has shiny new people to love him, to pay attention to him. People that are whole and not broken, who don’t have nightmares about the time they saw an eighteen-year-old kid explode from the inside out after stepping on a bomb, who don’t smell the stench of blood and guts even when there’s nothing there, who don’t feel like they have nothing in them except war and destruction.
Steve lays a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his touch burns through Bucky’s skin, into his blood, into his bones. For a single moment, Steve’s touch is the most important thing in the world, and this is all that matters. A hand on skin, a soft smile.
“Don’t take it so hard. Maybe she’s got a friend.”
***
“Grab my hand!”
Even in the subzero temperature, Bucky’s grip is sweaty, slipping from the outside railing of the train. He knows, logically, that he can’t grab onto Steve’s hand, not without Steve falling along with him. Steve is strong, sure, but not that strong. And Bucky would never risk Steve’s life, not for anything. Definitely not for himself.
Bucky’s accepted it... Steve doesn’t need him anymore. He’s grown to be the man Bucky always knew he was on the inside, and now he had the outside to match. He was important. The army needed him, would never defeat Hitler without him. Steve would defeat the Germans and go down in history as the legend he rightfully was, then go home and live a happy life with Peggy and his future kids. Picket fence, and all that.
Bucky would be nothing more than a fond memory, an old friend from the good ol’ days. Steve would get over it with Peggy by his side. Bucky was expendable.
He let go.
“ Bucky!”
Bucky heard the wind rushing by and closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. If there was a heaven and hell, he knew exactly where he was going. He would never see Steve again. But it was worth it, for Steve’s happiness, for him to be able to live the rest of his life with the woman he loved. Bucky would gladly undergo torture for eternity if it meant Steve got a chance at a life well lived.
Idly, he wondered what hell would be like. He guessed he was about to find out.
His last conscious thought before he hit the ground was how fucking ironic it was, that his cause of death was falling for Steve Rogers.
***
“ Bucky?”
The asset does not know who Bucky is, but the name stirs some unknown part of him. Was Bucky a handler? A mission? What a ridiculous name , the asset thinks, and immediately wonders where that thought came from. The asset does not wonder. The asset does not have non-mission-related thoughts.
“Who the hell is Bucky?” It is possible the asset requires re-calibration. It does not speak unless spoken to, never speaks at all to mission targets. It does not use words like “hell.” This Captain Rogers, though... he brings out something in the asset that makes it uncomfortable. Makes it feel almost like a human being.
The asset fights as if on autopilot. It is having difficulty because every time it looks into Captain Rogers’ eyes it feels as if it had been punched in the chest. Hard. It can not stop thinking. Its brain is aching.
As the asset fails its mission and returns back to base, its mind is racing. It thinks... He thinks Bucky is him. He feels flashes of a life before the asset, before the mission. He remembers, more than anything, baby blue eyes and a smile that made him weak in the knees, a feeling that he can’t identify. He thinks it is love. Love is for children.
Perhaps, in the memories, he was a child. The thought is unfathomable.
The thoughts returning to him make him dizzy, make him want to throw up. He does not know why he can not remember his own family, his job, or his friends. All he can remember is Captain Rogers. Steve. Stevestevesteve. The thoughts blend together, hurt his head. He longs for re-calibration. He wishes to be the asset again, when thoughts were about the mission and nothing else. He needs to get Steve out of his head.
He sits on the chair, zones out as his handlers speak to him. He is broken. He needs repair. He closes his eyes and sees golden flax hair, baby blue eyes, perfect lips that he wants to kiss. He does not know what a kiss is. Can not remember. Remembers too much. He remembers whispered promises and shared smiles and “I’m with you to the end of the line.” He remembers feeling a hole inside of his chest, a gaping loneliness and bone-deep sadness. Jealousy.
“The man on the bridge... I knew him.”
Then comes the chair, and the familiar pain, and the asset knows nothing at all.
***
“I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.”
Captain Rogers drops his only weapon. He is an idiot.
The asset is burning with anger that it does not understand. It fights with animalistic fury. Captain Rogers must be eliminated. He is a mission, and nothing else. There are thoughts flying through the assets’ mind, too fast for him to understand. Why is Captain Rogers making him feel this way? It... he? It? Who is he? Is he a person? A machine? The asset is confused, and angry.
“You’re... my... mission,” the asset forces out. He is trying to convince himself more than Captain Rogers. He does not understand these memories racing through his head. Are they real? Why does he feel so attached to this man? Why does this feel familiar, like it’s happened millions of times before? The asset does not know what is real and what is delusion. The memories are hazy, unformed. In some, Captain Rogers is small and in others he is large and strong. That is impossible. That must be delusion.
The asset’s mind is a terrifying place. He wishes everything was blank and calm again.
“ You’re my mission!” The asset screams, over and over. Tries to drown out the pain of the memories, the thoughts overlapping and running and chasing around his mind.
When the asset kills Captain Rogers, the thoughts will go away. Right? If he is the source of the memories, he must be eliminated. The original mission no longer matters.
Captain Rogers — Steve , his mind screams — looks up at him. He looks like he has something important to say. For a moment, the asset stops, shaken. He does not know why. This would be an opportune moment to strike, to end the Captain’s life. But... he cannot. He sees blue eyes and golden hair and pale, beaten skin and feels powerless. Captive, even though, at the moment, he is the captor.
“Then finish it.” Yes, the asset thinks, I will. But then —
“‘Cause I’m with you to... the end of the line.”
And the asset... Bucky remembers everything. That one fucking phrase opens the floodgates. He remembers the war, everything that came before. He remembers the little things, like how he and Steve would share a bed in the winter to conserve heat and Bucky felt so fucking guilty for enjoying it more than he should. He remembers Peggy, the jealousy, the loneliness. He remembers the fall. He remembers falling for Steve, constantly, over and over.
His first thought is, Jesus, what have I done? He looks down at Steve, fully prepared to pull him up and drag him to the nearest hospital, then run as far away as possible.
But he looks down and Steve is falling. Fast.
No. Nononono. Don’t die on me, you fucking bastard.
Bucky doesn’t even think twice. He jumps in after him.
***
“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”
No, Bucky thinks, I know I’m not worth all this.
He knows the only reason Steve is helping him is to preserve what little he has left of his past, his old pal Bucky. But it’s a fool’s errand. There is no more of Bucky Barnes left. Bucky has been beaten down and tortured and seen unimaginable horrors, most of them at his own hand. He murdered the president. He murdered children. He is irredeemable.
The only parts of Bucky left are the war, and the devotion. He thinks the devotion, the love, whatever you want to call his crazy obsession with Steve, will always be there. He thinks it may be the only part of his old self left. It may be the only real part that ever existed. He would do anything for Steve, would kill thousands more, would go back to Hydra and be the winter soldier for all eternity if it meant Steve was safe and happy.
He really was one crazy son of a bitch.
The other part of himself, the war... well, that had wormed its way in before he had even fallen from the train. He had never figured out how to tell Steve that the only thing he had ever been good at was killing.
Bucky had the highest kill count of anyone in the Howling Commandos.
Bucky was numb to death long before he was the winter soldier. He was efficient, he was strong, he was deadly. Apart from loving Steve, war was all he was ever good at.
Killing was all he would ever be good for.
Bucky remembered every kill. He could not bring himself to feel anything at all about them, other than the grim acknowledgement that he was despicable. A monster.
“Buck, what you did all those years... that wasn’t you.”
Steve was so naive. So innocent and optimistic, even when he was running from the law as a fugitive. Of course it had been Bucky. It always had been. He was a killer long before he was Hydra. It was in his blood.
But Steve didn’t know that.
“I know. But I still did them.”
***
“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”
Bucky smiles a hollow smile, glances away. He holds back his tears. He has lots of practice with that.
Bucky knows Steve isn’t coming back. He had a second chance, a chance to live his life the way he always wanted to. With Peggy. Without Bucky.
Bucky was never delusional enough to believe Steve would stay. Bucky would never be a first choice, and he definitely wouldn’t be considered romantically. Bucky was okay with that. Sort of. Even though his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, but that was nothing new.
Compared to Peggy, Bucky was nothing to Steve. An old, worn out friend who wasn’t much of a friend anymore as much as a hollowed out shell. A murderer with war in his heart. A broken man who had nothing to give Steve except his devotion and love.
Love was not enough.
Love is for children, and Bucky is no longer a child.
Bucky was no longer anything at all. He had nothing left to give. He was dust and ashes, a broken down shell of a man that gave his all for nothing in return.
But at least he knew his lines.
“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”
***