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Nobody other than Steve knew that Bucky secretly had a thing for sappy romances. After all, the only books around the house were Steve's drawing pads, a dictionary, and an old adventure novel that his father bought a long time ago. Not even his schoolbooks survived the years after his schooling. Then again, Steve was the studious one, not him.
Bucky could still remember the first time he had read a magazine. It was after that girl—Dolly was her name —had accidentally left behind a box of them at their house. She intended to sell them for a few extra coins, perhaps, but they sat on the table, neglected and forgotten. Out of a vague interest, he ended up reading one—maybe all of them for the stories. There was one that stuck to his mind; it was vaguely based off of a legend of some sort, about a pair of stars that were deeply in love, but the king of the stars did not want them to be together, and separated them to the opposite ends of the sky, only allowed to meet once a year when the birds bridged the milky way and the two were allowed to cross the river of stars.
Nobody besides Steve knew that Bucky had been so preoccupied by the article. After all, he was the one who found him, lying on the couch with the magazine clutched tightly against his chest, as if it was the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.
Bucky woke up, bleary-eyed and confused. Perhaps he was drunk the night before, or was he? He couldn't remember. His arms had been wrapped around—wait, where was the magazine? He could swear that he had fallen asleep near it. Perhaps he had been reading the night before?
"Steve?" he called out, looking around the living room. A small blond head popped out from the kitchen door.
"What?" Steve replied with an amused look, as if stifling his laughter at the mop of bed-hair atop of the brunette's head.
"I thought—there was a magazine around here before… do you know where it went?" Bucky asked, propping himself up on his shoulders, slowly getting up from the couch.
"It's in the box by the door. I thought you were going to sell the magazines, so I was about to do that after lunch," Steve replied dismissively.
Immediately, Bucky rolled onto the floor, getting up clumsily, tripping over the leg of a chair in his hurry to retrieve the box. Another chuckle was Steve's response. "Why's that so important to you?" he questioned, "did a girl leave you something in it?" Bucky didn't respond; he simply took the box and placed it back onto the table by the couch, relieved that he had woken up at the right time.
"Really though, what's so important about the magazines?" Steve asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he sat down on the other side of the sofa. Bucky turned to him with an embarrassed look on his face.
"It's nothing, just an interesting story I was reading up on," he replied, his face growing quite warm, "some article about a legend, you could read it if you want."
Steve smirked. "Don't worry, we all know you're a sap," he teased his best friend, "I won't tell anyone." Bucky simply rolled his eyes. The curious look Steve had on his face already told him that eventually, the blond-haired man would end up looking into it as well. He simply shrugged, giving Steve a pat on his back, before offering to help with preparing lunch, eager to get away from the topic.
Bucky could feel a pang in his heart. He knew it was strange and that Steve would probably roll his eyes and laugh at him if he confessed, but he had dreamt about the story. Dreamt of the story about the stars, of the bridge allowing lovers to reunite and confess their feelings. It was quite ordinary really, except the lover on the other side wasn't Dolly. It wasn't the girl from last week at the movies, or the one he went to the parade with.
The lover on the other end of the bridge was his best friend.
Steve could swear that he heard this story before.
It was the night before the big mission, and he wasn't the only one unable to sleep. The commandos had been awake until around one in the morning, when they slowly started to drift to sleep. Steve smiled softly, his hand brushing absentmindedly at Bucky's mop of hair next to him.
"You turning in any time soon?" a familiar voice came from his side. He turned, looking quite surprised to see Jacques walking towards them with two beers in his hand.
"Wasn't planning to," he confessed, taking the beer, "couldn't sleep."
His companion smirked, glancing at the way the captain sat, almost as if standing guard over his best friend. "Well it happens to the best of us," Jacques replied, downing the beer in a gulp.
Steve simply smiled, before returning to his distant gaze, hands never leaving Bucky's hair. The silence was quite comfortable, as the two sat watching the flickering flames fan into the sky.
"You know what my mum used to say?" Jacques commented offhandedly, as Steve turned towards the soldier, the words snapping him out of his stupor. "She used to tell me a story when I couldn't sleep, about a pair of lovers in the stars that were separated, and to take their minds off of each other, they would look down at the world and help people out; you know, encourage them to tell each other how they're feeling, things like that."
"Did the two ever get back together?" Steve asked, still staring off into the flames.
"They meet each other once a year," Jacques replied, giving Steve a smirk, "but that's why they want to help people, because they never get to spend time with their loved ones, so they encourage idiots like us to tell our lovers what we really feel."
The super soldier immediately blushed. His eyes were downcast, as he stuttered a few mumblings. "I- I don't love him like that, he's my best friend! Was that what you were implying?"
"Hey, I don't judge people by their relationships," his friend laughed, holding his hands up in surrender, "whatever you feel, just tell him, or if you don't, then tell him you 'enjoy his friendship' or something. Just remember to show him a little appreciation, because it seems like you only act like you love him when he's not awake to see it."
Steve snorted, giving the commando a look of utter annoyance. Jacques simply laughs at that and backs off in his usual, comical way. Steve just rolls his eyes once more, and sends him off with a wave, before looking up at the stars once more.
He couldn't shake off the thought that he had read this up somewhere, yet he couldn't remember where it was from.
Gone. Gone forever.
The emptiness of the hall reflected the hole within his heart. Even the voices in his head were mocking him. 'You should've told him,' they said. 'Even Captain America couldn't save his best friend,' they taunted, 'what good is he, really?'
Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist onto the table, willing, begging the voices to shut up. Just shut up. Even after the change, he couldn't tell anyone to stop. What good of a captain was he?
Footsteps. He could hear them outside, guards pacing and muttering among themselves. He could hear a voice, the colonel asking about him, asking them whether he would see anyone, whether he had talked to them, whether he would eat. The answers never changed.
"You need to snap out of this, you know," a familiar voice came from behind him. He turned; a bewildered expression met the collected brown eyes of Agent Carter. "He wouldn't want you moping around. He'd want you to step up and lead the others," she continued, "you know him, and you know it's true. He wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life mourning for him," she continues firmly.
Steve simply grunted, to show his acknowledgement in a dismissive manner. He didn't want to talk to anyone tonight. Peggy dipped her head, understanding very well that he wanted to be left alone, before exiting.
Another swig of vodka, and another slammed fist unto the table. The story—the one Jacques had told him a few nights before it all happened—somehow it was glued to his mind, as if there was something important about it. A humorless chuckle left his mouth, as he looked around the abandoned shack. He threw the bottle against the wall, the resounding crash of glass masking the sound of his own heart breaking.
Perhaps the story was about them, he thought. Perhaps it was a story about a person who never had the guts to tell his lover what he felt. Perhaps it was a story about how fate cruelly separates people from the ones they care for most.
The chair was knocked over as Steve Rogers left the old bar, head hanging on hands clenched into fists. Perhaps the story was his own, a story of Bucky and him, except unlike the two lovers in the story, he would never see James Buchanan Barnes ever again.
The twenty-first century allowed Steve an array of freedoms and conveniences. When he wanted a bite to eat, he could drop by any casual café without worrying about the price anymore. When he wanted to contact something, his cellphone (issued by Stark himself, of course) could be used any time he wanted. When he wanted to read a book—or read up on anything in fact—he could easily access the Internet and find the text he required.
It was to nobody's surprise that he took interest in different cultures, not because he wasn't already experienced meeting people from different backgrounds, but everyone could understand why he would enjoy learning about places he never got to learn about back in the war.
"Hey Natasha," Steve called out from the room he was staying, "what do you know about Chinese legends?"
"Why are you asking?" the voice came from another room.
"Not any particular reason, just curious," he replied, still scrolling down the page. He had been in a Chinese restaurant recently—courtesy to Tony and his mission to get Steve acquainted to proper foods in New York— and the waitress was quite friendly. They had started a conversation, and she had briefly mentioned how much culture and history China had. Quite interested, he had then searched it up on Wikipedia. Museums were quite helpful too.
"Not much, besides a few main ones, like the king with the army of stone soldiers and that one Disney movie Clint always watches," a small laugh comes with the sentence.
Steve smirks without replying, reading an article intently. His eyes lit up as he found a familiar article.
"In a Chinese folk tale, a silk-weaver, daughter of the celestial king, fell in love with a simple cowherd from the fields. They secretly met up, though it was forbidden for the two to fall in love due to the taboo of marrying a lower caste, and eventually, when they neglected their duties and the king found out, he banished the two, separating them and sending them to the two opposite sides of the milky way, separating them forever. However, the other gods pitied the two, and eventually, even the Empress' heart softened. Eventually, she allowed the two to meet under conditions. Every year, a flock of magpies would create a bridge to unite the family together for one day, and one day only. This day is then celebrated by the Chinese people as the Qi Xi festival."
He gasped. Wasn't this—he had heard this before, years and years ago, when— Bucky. He could remember clearly now, the night in front of the fanning flames, staring at the pathway of stars across the heavens.
"You all right?" Natasha's voice snapped him out of the flashback. He looked up, surprised, not realizing that he had been gritting his teeth and standing awkwardly, with an overturned chair at his feet.
"It's nothing, just a story I remember reading when I was a kid," he replied, dismissing her concern. It was quite obvious that she didn't believe it, but she left it alone. He glanced at the screen, before turning off the computer.
Why was this story constantly reappearing in his life?
The man on the bridge—no, not just any man, it was Bucky. It was definitely James Barnes, the man he literally grew up with.
"Steve, you know he's not the same man he used to be," Natasha reminded him softly, her hand on his shoulder. He knows that there's something different, but she's wrong. He'll find the man underneath all of it, he will. Then maybe he'll finally be able to tell him something he should've said seventy years ago. Maybe he'll make peace with his own past.
The super soldier secretly prayed to God—or even the two stars in the sky, whoever was up there listening to his prayers, that they would help him find his way, and find the man on the bridge, the man he never thought he would see again.
"Who's the man on the bridge?" a broken voice asked, as the Winter Soldier looked up at Pierce. A vague thought comes up. It seems like a nursery tale, a scene with his target, but why is he smaller? The Winter Soldier's heard a story of a bridge made of birds, but that can't be true. It must be a story, perhaps from a dream.
"No one you needed to know. He's your target," he replied coldly, motioning the scientists to wipe him and start over once more.
They were standing across each other, two sides of a spectrum, across yet another bridge upon the Helicarrier. Steve almost laughs at the irony of things; shouldn't it be two lovers rather than enemies going for each other's throats?
Then everything falls apart. The fight, his attempts to snap his best friend out of everything they've done to his mind. Steve knows that it won't do much. He tries everything, even repeating the words Bucky had said, words that had meant the world to the both of them a lifetime ago, yet were meaningless now. Perhaps there had been a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the soldier, but it had been the light shining through the glass, illuminating the brown eyes, but not elucidating the question of their past. The man he had once known as friend—the man who, even now, has the same determined expression as James Barnes, a man he once knew—was a complete stranger to him. Perhaps this was what it was like, when he first saw Bucky after being injected with the serum, he thought bitterly as they continued the stalemate.
Eventually something shifts. Eventually, something gives and Steve is unprepared, unsure of how to handle things, how to make Bucky realize that things should be different. Must be different, in fact. They almost die, of course, and Steve is so willing to give up his life to save him. Just meeting him again… he would give anything to do it under better circumstances, to just talk as old friends, to confess his feelings, to love him, because he deserved so much more, and Steve couldn't give it to him. He failed him once, and he's willing to trade his existence to make sure he doesn't fail him again.
The next thing Steve knows, he's awake, half submerged on the banks of a river.
Bucky, yes, that seems to be his name. He isn't sure of anything, even the things he's read up on in the large building—right, a museum was the place's name. He's confused, disoriented, and the memories were returning. Yet, he can't understand these fragments of his childhood. He knew they were pieces of a puzzle, yet he had no idea what sort of picture it was supposed to create.
The address comes to him like a gift. He hears things, here and there. An organization named SHIELD had fallen, there were questions whether some lady named Natasha Romanoff—a name that seemed to ring a bell—should be allowed to walk free. Then he heard of a man named Sam Wilson, and he eventually visits the place where he works. Slowly, but surely, the outer pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and he finds the home of this strange, blond man. Apparently, Steve Rogers is his name. The only thing he knows about him is from a tablet in the museum, and that he was a target. Bucky doesn't know why the man is so important to him.
He wants answers. Hydra didn't think he could understand anything but directions, yet the city and all of its wonders could not give him any direction at all. Now that he's finally found the place, the source of all of his troubles, he wants the prize he's been looking for.
The broken window had been an accident, but being pinned to the wall, strong arms around his neck and a strange man clutching him, sobbing into his chest, was the real surprise. The man is in his pajamas. It's not a surprise; the moon is out and he believes it's about midnight, perhaps even later.
He simply accepts it. The questions can be asked later. He's found the man on the bridge, the strange man that caused the mess, yet seems able to put things back together, and that's all right with him, for now. They stand like this for a long time, Bucky unable to move, not sure how to react to this. He fights the urge to throw the man off, to attack and take out this target.
"The stars helped me find you," the other man's muffled voice shakes him out of his stupor, "the bridge, it reunited us."
Bucky doesn't know what the riddle means, but he files that in his mind as something to question later on. He thinks of the bridge that brought them together, and he remembers a story of magpies, bringing two characters together again, and he wonders whether it has anything to do with Steve.
He looks out the window, wondering whether the man will be angry at how he smashed the glass. He looks at the darkened sky, finding it quite strange. The illuminated city often masked any light in the sky besides the moon. Two stars illuminate the sky, side by side, as if giving Bucky and Steve their blessing.
Bucky thinks that perhaps he's found the bridge in his dreams, the one that leads him across the universe. He looks down at the man in his arms, and reminds himself to ask about the story in his head later on.