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Bucky can’t stand to be in the city. The close quarters, all the people, indefensible positions, and too many places where he feels the imaginary crosshairs boring into his back. Worst of all, he imagines them aimed at Steve.
He needs to leave Brooklyn. Now.
He leaves a note for Steve, apologizing for being weak but ultimately says he can’t live in a place he feels wholly unsafe in. He takes off West. The more west he goes, the better he feels.
His heart aches for Steve, missing him deeply but knows the other man is better off without Bucky holding him back. He has friends. He’s set down roots with the Avengers. Loyalty and nostalgia being the only thing connecting Steve and Bucky. Bucky knows this and yet he still misses Steve.
He finds himself camping a lot. Enjoying it even. A memory of the Howlies and Steve washes over him one night, and he smiles in contentment. He remembers them, however small the memory, but they’re there.
His feet take him southwest. He laughs when he arrives at the Grand Canyon whose walls share the history of the land, whispering stories to any who would listen. Sadness dulls his happiness just a bit when he turns to share his excitement with Steve, only to find him not there. Of course he’s not. Steve has a life here and Bucky’s not a part of it. He shakes off the feeling and quickly makes his way to the information center, child-like giddiness has him grabbing every single pamphlet and info guide he can get his hands on.
On a whim, he buys souvenirs for Steve. A small hope he’ll see the other man some day, but he knows he won’t.
His next destination is the Redwood National Forest. His jaw drops seeing just how tall the trees are, awed disbelief has him letting out a shocked laugh. He’s never felt so small before. He laughs again. Bucky closes his eyes and listens to the ancient forest sing songs of a time before man, and pretends Steve is with him holding his hand.
The sea’s siren song has Bucky chartering a private cruise that promises the most wonderful stargazing offered in the Pacific Northwest. On a clear night, Bucky lies on the top deck and watches the stars dance thousands of light-years away. He swears he can hear their laughter and melodic voices.
Bucky ends up in a dance hall in a small town. The music fills his blood, drawing him in like a secret lover. He follows without hesitation. Eyes fall closed as a memory washes over him like a warm wave, completely swamping him and pulling him under. In his memory, he danced with dame after dame, laughter and heat muddling his brain but he doesn’t care. He spies a tiny thundercloud pouting by the far wall. Bucky weaves through the dancing crowd gracefully, his hand held out for Steve to take. They share one dance and then they switch to dance with others. He sees Steve laugh in delight when he successfully conducts a twirl without tripping.
Someone stands in front of him, not dancing, but also not a threat, so he ignores them and enjoys the memory. Bucky only opens his eyes when the person places their hands on his hips.
Steve.
They dance. Their eyes never leave each other. A thousand questions form in Bucky’s mind but the memory of him and Steve dancing blurs with the present. He let’s himself go and enjoys the moment. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him closer, grinning when Steve’s hands settle possessively on Bucky’s hips. They dance until the hall closes and they stumble outside, past and present blur even more for Bucky. He remembers doing this back in the 40s, his arm around Steve’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life because the ground threatens to boot his ass to space with every step.
He doesn’t want the moment to end. He doesn’t want to hear Steve’s pleas for him to return to New York nor does he want to see the hurt look on his golden guardian angel’s face when he says no.
Instead, of Steve asking for him to go back, he cups Bucky’s face, bringing him in close enough that one sway forward and they’re kissing. He doesn’t say anything at first, just drinking in the sight of Bucky standing before him unharmed. He buries his face into Bucky’s shoulder and whispers, “Don’t you dare leave me like that again.”
He promises to never leave Steve again for as long as he lives, but only if Steve promises the same thing.
Steve pulls back so he can look at Bucky properly. The stars dance above them and Bucky unconsciously sways in rhythm with them.
“Where you go, I go, Buck,” Steve says, his words sounding an awful lot like a vow. “Just don’t leave me. I can’t breathe when you’re gone. It’s like the string tying our souls together tightens into a vice around my heart and lungs, punishing me for not noticing how alone and scared you were. I’m so sorry, Buck.” He hugs Bucky impossibly closer. “Don’t go where I can’t follow, you hear me?”
Bucky nods, dazed. “I promise.”
The stars giggle and laugh above them. He laughs too, snuggling close to the not-so-little anymore punk that used to give him premature gray hairs, and Steve laughs back, undoubtedly hearing the stars as well.
“Where to next?”
Bucky shrugs, lacing his fingers with Steve’s. “Does it matter?”
Steve smiles, pressing a chaste kiss on Bucky’s lips. “No.”