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He’s wandering around a tiny bookstore in Brooklyn when he notices it. Even before he crashed the plane he’d been getting used to seeing his own face all over the place so he tries to ignore it. But as he turns away, he catches sight of a familiar face. From the window display, his best friend is smiling down at him, in his blue Howling Commandoes uniform and cocky grin and it’s all Steve can do to keep from choking out a sob. Sure it’s been almost 70 years but he never had time to grieve before he hit the ice.
It takes him a second but he pulls himself together enough to wipe his face and buy the book without making a fool of himself. He’s more than relieved when the girl at the register barely looks at his face before taking his money and bagging the book. He goes to the Starbucks down the street, orders a large coffee and sits down to read.
The Untold Story of Sergeant James Barnes of the SSR’s Howling Commandoes by Wilson Grant
He finishes the thick hardcover book, just as the cashier starts closing up her register for the night and politely asks him to leave. He stuffs several bucks in the tip jar and wipes his eyes as he leaves. As soon as he gets home he grabs a notebook and pen and sits down on the couch.
Dear Mr. Grant, he starts.
I wanted to thank you for telling Bucky’s story and tell you how well written your book was. But there were a few mistakes. Bucky’s folks were still around when my mom died. He actually invited me to live with him after that but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be a burden.
Oh and you misspelled his middle name on page 487. It’s Buchanan not Buchinan. Don’t be upset though. It took me years to figure it out too, I mean what kind of name is Buchanan? But his folks just called him Bucky so that’s what he wanted me to call him…
He always stuck up for me. I’d get into fights a lot as a kid, usually with bullies and he liked to joke that he’d started looking up and down alleys to see if he needed to come save me again. I didn’t believe he actually did it until right before he shipped out. He showed up in his spiffy new uniform and saved me from getting my butt kicked by a guy twice my size. He didn’t even have to do much. Just one punch and a kick to the butt and the guy took off real quick.
Oh and he was a better sniper than you give him credit for. From what I could get from his old SHIELD files, he had 412 kills instead of the cited 389 you have listed. One of those kills saved my life, when we were taking on Hydra. Bucky was always saving me.
You know, when I was on my way to save him and the rest of 107 was the most scared I’d ever been in my life. It’s funny thinking about it, but I was less scared of dying in a plane crash and fighting space aliens than I was of losing him. I couldn’t handle knowing that I’d finally made it into the army and across the ocean only to have him die alone as some mad scientist’s lab rat. It wasn’t until I found him strapped to that table repeating his name and service number over and over that I could breathe normally again. I was so happy to have saved him. But then he fell. And I couldn’t catch him in time.
I didn’t mean for this letter to get so long or depressing, I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am that you took the time to learn about him and tell his story. Thank you so much.
Sincerely,
Captain Steven Rogers
Looking over it, he makes a face at the several areas that are scratched out and sloppy because of how he was writing. But then he shrugs and folds it up and has to laugh at himself because it just occurred to him that he doesn't have any stamps, or know how much they cost or even where the post office is. He decides to ask Romanoff in the morning and heads off to bed.
For the first time in months, when he dreams of Bucky he doesn't wake up in a cold sweat. He dreams of the World Exposition of Tomorrow, of the peanuts and fireworks and Howard Stark’s red flying car. When he wakes up he feels like he’s just come out of the ocean again and wonders- maybe this is what healing is like. Maybe I’m learning to let him go.
Natasha doesn't laugh at him when he asks her the next day and leads him to the nearest post office. She does get that little smirk at the edge of her mouth though when he asks why there are so many options. Can’t you just fold everything up and put it in one envelope? And who would need a box that big? After waiting in line for a while and signing a little girl’s backpack with his name inside a shield, they walk out with his letter on its way to the author and a sheet of 19 more stamps in his wallet.
…
He and Will (as Mr. Grant insists he call him) continue writing back and forth over the next several months and Will even flies in to meet up a little Chinese place a few times for dinner. They spend a few days every other month or so, walking around DC or Manhattan or wherever he’s at this time and Will takes notes the whole time.
A little over a year and a half later, Steve’s unlocking his door with a pile of library books under one arm when his neighbor Kate rushes out to greet him, waving a small brown package. “Steve! I’m glad I caught you.”
“UPS dropped this off earlier and I didn’t want it to go missing so I grabbed it for you.” He smiles at her and puts it on top of his pile.
“Thanks. You’re- uh. You’re welcome to come in for a drink and some leftover pasta if you want.” He says, awkwardly. God, he thinks, Peggy was so right. Almost 95 years old and I still don’t have any idea how to talk to women.
“Uh. Thanks but I can’t, sorry. I’ve got a night shift.”
“Well have a good night.”
He sets his things down, grabs a nearby letter opener, and plops on the couch to open up the small box. Inside sits a new copy of The Untold Story of Sergeant James Barnes, 2nd edition. Under the title a new line is printed in smaller font: Revised with the help of Captain Steven Rogers, close friend of Sergeant Barnes. He doesn't notice that the glue sealing the box shut isn't as firm as it should be and couldn't possibly know that the book had been thoroughly checked and read before being carefully resealed.
He sits down to reread it and after breakfast the next morning he calls Will to thank him. They only talk for a few minutes before his phone beeps, alerting him that he’s needed.
…
He and Sam barely make it to Sam's place before they crash. He shoves Sam towards his bed, leaving the guest one for Natasha if she comes by in the middle of the night, ignoring his protests and stretches out on the couch. As he’s falling asleep he notices the book on the coffee table. The cover shows a handsome black man in a navy uniform. If he squints just right, it sort of reminds him of the cover of The Untold Story, sitting on the bookshelf in his apartment. The idea of Bucky watching over him, as he was before the fall is almost comforting.
He dreams of Bucky as he was, taller than him and wearing his spiffy new army uniform. They’re sitting in that burned out English pub drinking and they’re laughing at some joke as Steve’s vision starts to blur. It’s a dream, he realizes then, I can’t get drunk anymore. And when his dream-self looks at back Bucky his heart stops cold.
Bucky’s clothes have changed from the clean, ironed tan uniform to black leather and shiny metal. When Steve looks in his eyes they’re red and Steve realizes like a knife to the gut that he’s crying. Who the hell is Bucky? He yells. Who is Steve Rogers? He gets in his face, so close Steve could feel his breath if it wasn’t for his mask, his muzzle. Who are you? He shoves Steve lightly. WHO AM I? He shoves him again and then he’s dreaming of a fall again but this time he’s the one falling instead of Bucky. He falls and falls and falls, watching Bucky’s face the whole time. And when the wind starts to hurt his eyes, he closes them and relaxes and wonders again if the fall will kill him. The plane didn’t but could this? As soon as he hits the water, he jerks awake so fast he almost falls off the couch.
He just sits there for several seconds, his head in his hands, and sweat cooling on his bare back and shoulders. “Cap?” Steve startles hard, twisting in a way that makes his stitches burn. But he sighs when he sees Sam standing in the bedroom doorway. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, I’m-“ he rubs his hand over his face and stretches. “I’m alright.”
“You sure? Sounded like a hell of a dream.” Steve throws his arm over the back of the couch as Sam sits on the arm.
“Yeah, it’s okay. ‘M sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cap. I’ve seen it before.” He clasps Steve’s clammy shoulder tight. “We’ll find him, Steve.”
“How’d you-”
Sam shrugs. “You yelled his name.” Steve lets out a long sigh and digs his palms into his eyes letting his head fall back. Sam lightly taps his arm and moves to the kitchen. He returns a moment later with two glasses of ice water.
“I just… I thought I’d lost him 70 years ago. I was just getting…” Sam hands him one and settles into the chair across from him. “Not getting over it, but-”
“Learning to cope.” Sam helpfully supplies.
“Yeah. And then… and then he showed up and I froze. It felt like a dream. A horrible dream. And as much as I knew I needed to stop him. To keep Fury and you and Natasha safe, I… I need to save him, Sam.” He takes a long drink of water. “I can’t lose him again.”
“We’ll find him, Captain. We’ll help him. Try to get a few more hours sleep and we can start, okay?”
…
He’s already been gone for three days when they get a hold of the footage but Steve doesn’t care. He’d spent almost five days sleeping on that bench every night. Eventually one of the neighbors called the cops but the minister of the church next door had stopped by every morning to give him a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a sandwich. They spend about an hour getting as much information out of him as they can before they go to the bench.
He left nothing, as always but Steve feels like this place matters. He’s never stayed anywhere for more than two nights in a row. In the end, he grabs his copy of The Untold Story, wraps it in cling wrap provided by the pastor and leaves it on the bench. He takes a pen from the pastor’s desk to write on the inside cover.
You are James Buchanan Barnes and my best friend. Your parents and I always called you Bucky. I couldn’t save you when you fell but you saved me. Let me return the favor, Bucky. Let me help you. Your friend, Steve.
Next to his name he writes the date and draws a little shield, like the one he used when they fought together. He doesn’t want to but he knows that Bucky will never show up if they stick around so they leave soon after. He asks the pastor to keep an eye on the book and to call if he shows up again.
The next day, while he and Sam are having breakfast at Denny’s in baseball caps and hoodies, his cell phone rings. The pastor tells him that the book is gone but he didn’t see Bucky. But that there’s something he should see. They quickly shove their food into boxes and pay before rushing back to the bench.
The book is indeed gone, along with the wrapping but the pastor points them closer anyway. And along the edge of the metal seat is a mark, a dent. A dent in the shape of four human fingers. Steve sits down, puts his hand in the spot where Bucky’s was and lets his head fall heavily. The pastor and Sam walk a polite distance away and continue their conversation. He lets his tears fall unashamedly, back bowed and doesn't know that he’s being watched from across the street.