Chapter Text
When Bucky wakes up on his floor from another nightmare, he subconsciously reaches over to his left for Steve. After a second of feeling the hard wooden floor and no Steve — there’s no one there, he curls his fingers back in, angry.
He lets out a shaky breath, trying to erase the images of his —no, the Winter Soldier’s victims from his mind. The memories play over and over, his arm raising, finger resting on the trigger. Again and again, he sees the terrified face of the other side of the gun, fear and pain reflecting his own.
And he watches as he pulls the trigger.
“Tell me about your most recent nightmare.” She says it almost as if it's a question, but it's clear she’s demanding, not asking.
James doesn’t respond, and continues to stare forward.
“James.”
He blinks.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’ve got your mind back, you’re pardoned . . . you’re free.”
“To do what?” It's the first time he’s spoken in an hour.
James knows that there’s practically nothing left for him now. There’s nothing left here for him if all his connections to his past are gone. Steve is gone. All the Howling Commandos are gone. He can’t even walk through his old neighborhood without all the noise, constant construction, and the continuous pressing of people around him.
They look at him weirdly too, parents who hold their child’s hand a little tighter, teens who watch the news, their eyes following Bucky as he walks down the street.
He’s old, he knows that. He can remember a few jokes he used to make with Steve when they were on the run, about how they should have been allowed residence in the history museums, they were practically fossils, why shouldn’t they live where the fossils were?
His heart clenches. He can’t make those jokes with Steve anymore.
James is free, but his question still stands. What is he left with? Who else is still here, who still cares for him in this world? Everything James is in this world is a sidekick, someone who stands behind the one receiving the medals, someone who supports and supports and supports .
He’s free to do what, exactly?
As the sun rises, casting long beams of light across the scuffed floor of his apartment, Bucky reaches for the remote, flicking through channels before landing on Good Morning America. He watches, as they initiate John Walker, pepper him with questions, making casual jokes about the title.
He can’t take his eyes off the screen. There’s a brewing sort of hate now, stewing in his stomach, but no matter how much anger Bucky has directed at this John Walker fellow, (he wouldn’t call him Captain America. Not yet, Walker didn’t deserve the title), he also knows that there’s no actual reason to hate Walker. His thoughts seem to fixate on one thing, and one thing alone the whole time, and he hears it over, and over, and over again in his mind. There’s only one reason he hates Walker already, but it's so consuming, filling up the cracks between his rare moments of peace and the other side of numbness that takes over his body.
Walker isn’t Steve. Walker isn’t Steve. Walker isn’t Steve.
With Walker, there’s something bright, something hopeful for America after everything the country has gone through, something new to look forward to. The period of the original Avengers is over, it's time for the new to come in. He makes it sound good too, when Walker praises the original Avengers and asks that they give him a chance too. Still, no matter how angry, Bucky stares, eyes transfixed on the new face of America. Walker makes it sound so hopeful too, and as the host lists Walker’s achievements, it’s clear they’ve thought about this for a long time, of what to show, what to say to have people feel confident in the new ‘Captain America’, and it’s working. Bucky knows that had he not been so angry at Walker, he would have believed it too, he would have faith in Walker and his new title.
Still.
With Steve, however, it’s better, and Bucky’s not just saying that because he likes Steve better. Steve was like the sun, bright and constant, a steady force of determination and drive so bright it would light up the night as if it was day. Still, Steve doesn’t make false promises or any statements that give false hope. Steve knows that he can’t do everything , he knew his limits and how far people used to be willing to go. Still, he would persist, keep pushing, and keep pulling people up. Walker only shines a light on the highlights of his work, but Steve constantly strives, he knows he isn’t perfect.
But he’s gone , a voice whispers in Bucky’s head. You can’t reverse that.
Bucky focuses back on the screen.
“I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe.” Walker nods as he speaks. The lower quality of the television degrades the sound of his voice a little, and while it’s petty, Bucky takes to interpret that as the speakers on his television not liking Walker either.
“Steve Rogers was the kind of guy that could do that, and he gave me hope,” Walker continues. Bucky tilts his head as Walker finishes his sentence. “Even though I never met him . . . he feels like a brother.”
At last, he turns away from the screen. Steve? A brother to Walker? Bucky stamps back the urge to do something violent stirring in his chest. Shaking his head, he closes his eyes and reaches for the remote. He lets out a scoff as the television clicks to black, staring at the outline of his silhouette on the dark screen.
Like a brother.
Bucky disagrees.
Even though I never met him-
Who is he kidding? Steve is gone, he’s not the Steve that Bucky knows anymore. Maybe now, not Steve and Walker could be brothers, since Bucky knows this new Steve just as well as he does Walker.
It shouldn’t even be affecting him this much, Steve has already made his choice, and Bucky accepts it. Why did this still hurt? He presses his lips together, clenching his jaw tight. What Walker says is wrong, no doubt about that, but still, Bucky can’t help but dwell on his words and cycle through the same thoughts over and over again.
Steve was definitely not like a brother to Walker, but Steve was basically a brother to Bucky. Hell, they were closer than that, but that wasn’t the focus, goddam. It hurts so much, Bucky can’t even begin to describe it. His insides twist up, compressing and crushing his ribs until his heart is flattened and his lungs are empty. When the replays of the interview play on the crappy television screens in the supermarket, he loses his breath, head almost dizzy with anger.
How dare Walker make that comparison. How dare he think he has the right to call Steve a brother when he doesn’t even know the brunt of the pain Steve’s gone through. He clenches his fists, fingernails almost digging into his palms if it weren’t for the gloves over his hands. It occupies his mind for three days, renewing old anger and a fresh surge of rage. Sometimes, he’ll think about how good it would feel to sock Walker in his smug smirk and crack his nose. Right after, he’ll imagine turning to his left — where Steve always stands, maybe giving him a smile, or laughing along, but—
The loneliness gnaws at his heart, sucking every trace of life and feeling left over from his time with HYDRA. Once, when he takes his gloves off for a second to clean them, he looks down at his hands, one made of the flesh and bones, remnants from a time of warmth and familiarity, and . . . the other, cold and metal, pulsing with pain and destruction. He clenches his fists and forces himself to look away from his fingers and arms, turning his gaze anywhere but at his own broken and marred body. His thoughts race, thinking, thinking, thinking about anything but Steve.
He’s gone. There’s no point in thinking about the past now, is there?