Chapter Text
It is 1:25 in the morning Steve realizes as he turns over in bed to glare at his nightstand, his cell phone buzzing with a life of its own. It is 1:25 in the morning as Steve groans with irritation, calculating he has only been in bed for seventeen minutes. It is 1:25 in the morning and he was just starting to feel a not-quite-awake drowsiness taking over. It is1:25 in the morning on July 5th, therefore America's birthday (and his as well, ironically enough) should officially be over.
It is now 1:26 in the morning and his phone, despite his best efforts to ignore it, is still vibrating on his night stand like some small hyperactive animal who drank one espresso too many.
It is 1:27 in the morning when Steve throws his sheet aside, sits up and pulls his phone off of charging cord with a muffled sigh of defeat.
"Tony,-" Steve huffs his obvious annoyance into phone after accepting the call. He doesn't even bother checking the caller ID, because who else would be calling Captain America on his private phone this early the day after he turned 97? No one other than Tony Stark. "- I already told you, I'm not up for an after party. Or an after-after party!"
The only answer to the man's aggravated tone was muffled clinking of glasses, the blare of a far off sound system and heavy inebriated chattering. Tony was apparently, as to be expected in all honesty, still out partying.
"Listen," Steve started up again after several seconds of listening only to background noise, "I may be a 'super boy scout', as you once so creatively put it, but I'm still human. Humans need sleep the last I checked and I'm too tired-"
"Hap~ happy birthday~ Captain America!"
Cut off mid-sentence the man froze, his grip subconsciously tightening on his phone. He couldn't have just heard that voice, Steve reasoned, despite his gut twisting with something other than doubt. He must be more asleep than he thought or else someone was playing a very cruel birthday prank...but Steve knew that voice.
Steve whipped the phone around to check its screen. Unfortunately, it did nothing to reassure him as LOCAL: UNLISTED flashed brightly up into his sleep-deprived vision. So he returned device to his ear, feeling completely awake now, if not entirely all together with it.
"Who is this?" He demanded, using his stern 'superior officer' voice. It came in handy for getting answers very quickly almost every time. But apparently it wouldn't work tonight, because all Steve got in response was a drunkenly flat tone singing at him.
"Happy birthday~ Happy birthday~ Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you~”
For a second all the man could do was sit blinking at the darkness of his bedroom, listening to a rather slurred version of the birthday song being performed for him. Ridiculous as it sounded (in more ways than one) as the song went on Steve's sense of familiarity grew. This could not be a joke, because he knew that voice. He would know that voice even if it was fumbling its way through a one verse song about birthdays.
"~Happy birthday Captain Steven Will~Always~Be~A~Punk Rogers! Happy birthday to you!"
"Is that really you?" Was all Steve could manage to utter once the singing subsided. It was all he could dare himself to ask, if that voice on the other end of connection really was who he thought it was. "Bucky?"
"When Captain America throws his mighty shield~"
Without missing a beat, the person on other end of line started up again. This time choosing to belt the theme from a 1960s cartoon based on Captain America's heroics. Yet, as Steve listened to this verse, he caught the subtle difference in pitch. Even though voice on the other end of call was very much three sheets to the wind, it almost sounded slightly panicked. It was quite possible that Bucky only continued to sing in a desperate effort to avoid an actual conversation.
"~All those who oppose his shield must yield!"
"Bucky!" Steve attempted to interject before another lyric could begin. He was already out of bed, pulling on his boots, grabbing his shield, and heading for his apartment's front door, socks and shirt be dammed! Even if he had to search every bar in Brooklyn tonight only clad in sweatpants and his shield, it would be worth it if it meant finding his old friend. "Where are you?"
"If he's let to a fight and a duel is due~"
"Bucky tell me where you are!"
"Then the red and the white and the blue will come through!"
"I've been looking for you for two years Buck and this is how you want our first conversation to go?! How am I supposed to talk when you keep interrupting me! You sound like a dying cat!"
As he approached his front door Steve's voice snapped, his hand grabbing onto the threshold with such force he dented the knob. "Shup up you jerk or I'm not going to tell you it's all my fault!"
This managed to earn the man a moment of respite as the drunk slurring stumbled to an abrupt halt.
"Everything that has happened to you since 1945 has been all my fault." Steve spoke quickly. It had been two years since he last saw Bucky. Two long years of chasing cold leads and searching under every goddamn stone that looked as if it could hide a super soldier with a metal arm. At this rate, it would be another two years before Captain America heard from James Buchanan Barnes and he was not going to waste this chance to say what needed to be said.
"I should have gone looking for you, okay? After the train, after you fell. Even though I thought you were gone, I should have gone looking for what was left of you. I know should-haves aren't worth much right now, but you need to know that. I shouldn't have just assumed that Hydra was done for either. 'Real evil never truly dies' or something like that. I should have looked into it after waking up. Should have come across something that would have hinted at what became of you, but I didn’t... I didn't and I have never been more so-"
"Steve."
Steve stalled at the sound of his name being uttered with such force. For a solid minute there was mostly silence on the line, except for very loud, audibly uneven breaths coming from the other side. Then Bucky spoke in a rush, as if a dam had broken loose.
"Bananas aren't the same anymore. I don't like it." Before Steve could even process what had been said, there was a resounding click as the call was disconnected.
Steve stared mutely at the screen for several moments, trying to come to terms with what just happened. The time read 1:34 in the morning.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long suffering sigh before throwing his apartment door open and dashing outside. He was going to have to run seriously fast if he wanted to check every Brooklyn bar before last call.