Chapter Text
It’s been years. The dirt was still the same. The air, the terribly blue skies, and the gentle breeze that came from the ocean not too far away. Everything was the same shade of green and dark brown. Trees hung their branches, low and full. Rocks covered in colorful moss and fungi, it smelled like spring. It always smelled like spring in Bull’s Bluff.
Hooves beat on the ground at a steady pace filling the quiet space with sound. From a distance, Steve could hear the sounds of people. Talking, laughing, carts creaking, and animals huffing. It’s been years. Bull’s Bluff is still the same as the day he left it. Well, it was actually bigger.
Steve rode in slowly. People pried themselves away from their conversations, from their porches and walks, to just stare. A small town keeps its small-town attitude even after it grows.
The main street was bustling, houses and markets filled the street like it would in any other town. Steve went in deeper, more stares, more whispers.
He stops at a tavern in a quiet part of Bull’s Bluff, hops off his horse, and leads them to a post. He ties the lead down and pats the golden fur of his ride’s neck. They let out a huff and blink gracefully at him.
Steve walks into the tavern, all talking in the bar stops. He takes off his hat and moves in. He’s covered in dust and dirt, his beard is scruffy and rough. Steve prays no one recognizes him, if anyone had no one speaks.
He sits down by the bar, the talking resumes, but it’s lower than it was before. Like they were trying to listen in but trying to not make it obvious. A man comes around the bar and stands in front of Steve from the other side of the table.
Dark skin glazed over with a thin layer of sweat, no doubt from the heat of the tavern.
“What can I get for ya, sir?” The man asked.
“Just a glass of water, please.” Steve’s voice was a rough gravel, dry from the long ride and heat.
“Of course, sir,” The man said. He quickly shined off a glass and filled it with water from the tap. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you,” Steve said as he took a large gulp. The water soothed his throat almost instantly. Not long after it craved more.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what’s your name? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.” The man inquired. Good, Steve thought to himself.
“You can call me Steve.” The man smiled and nodded.
“You can call me Sam then. So, what brings you around to Bull’s Bluff, Steve?” Sam spoke with a permanent smirk on his face and a joyful glint in his eyes.
“Visting,” Steve says as he puts down his empty glass with a clink. “A lot has changed since I’ve been here last.”
“Oh, you used to live around here? How long?” Sam takes the glass and fills it again.
“Long enough,” Steve whispered gruffly. Sam looks at Steve and nods gently as if he understood those words to the fullest extent.
“Well, ‘town isn’t what it was a few years ago. A lot has changed, you’re right, but all in all, it’s still the same gossip all around. Been around, what, twenty minutes in the town I guarantee people are already talkin’ about you.” Sam said with a gentle chuckle chasing his words.
“I have no doubt about that,” Steve mumbled into his glass.
The doors to the tavern swung open again. All conversation stalls for a second then resumes just as quickly. The man at the door was tall and tan. His beard was rough-looking, and he wore a uniform similar to a cop’s. A gold star that said “Sheriff” was pinned to his chest. He strolled right over to the bar Steve was sitting at. He didn’t sit down.
Steve clenched his glass a little tighter. He prayed to whoever above heard him that the man standing next to him didn’t recognize his face. The sheriff turned his head to face Steve, Steve stayed enamored with his cup.
“I’ll have a glass ‘a whiskey, Sam.” The sheriff drawled as he continued to stare down Steve.
“Right away, sir.” Sam hurried around behind the bar.
“What’s your name fella?” The sheriff asked, Steve, cursed in his head.
“Steve.” He replied.
“Steve? You got a last name there Steve?” He pressed.
Steve stiffly shook his head. “No sir.” The sheriff cocked an eyebrow. Steve’s heart hammered in his chest, he willed himself to not shake.
It was then that Sam placed the glass in front of the sheriff. He stared at Steve for a second longer before downing his glass in one swig. He placed the cup down with a loud clink and stepped away from the bar.
“Well, you stay out of trouble alright, Steve?” He extended the ‘e’ in his name as if he was mocking him. “You ever need anything you ask for Sheriff Brock down at the station, you hear?”
He didn’t wait for Steve’s response, placing his notes on the table as payment and leaving. The conversation in the tavern didn’t stop for a second, as if that quick interaction was normal. Steve let out a heavy sigh and let go of the glass he was clutching. A quick look onto Sam’s face could reveal to Steve that that was not a normal occurrence.
“I… Thank you, Sam. I’ll, uh, be on my way now.” Steve said as he placed some money by his glass and got up.
“Uh-huh…” Sam mumbled, still stunned.
Steve left the tavern back to his horse. The animal shook their mane as Steve untied them from the post. Steve mounted the stallion to ride off deeper into the town.
***
It was untouched, just like the day he left it. The house, deep into town where the houses are spread out much farther from each other. The house, that he had lived in so long ago. The house, that still had that large scorched spot on the side. The house, he used to live in with his love.
The windows and doors were boarded up, the steps to the porch were still creaky, almost dangerously so now. He tied his steed to a post outside of the house and walked towards the door. He pulled the boards away and reached towards his pocket. Cool and light metal, small and battered. The key to the house.
He opens the door only to get hit in the face with a wave of dust. Steve coughed and waved the dust away. He ventured deeper into the home.
On the floor near the entryway, the rugs were out of place and trampled. Furniture was overturned in some places. Shards of vases, wood chips, and ash cover the wood floor. And embedded onto the wood was the drag of blood that traced to the front door.
Everything was the same as the day he left it. The day he ran from it. Steve felt tears well up in his eyes. He closes the door behind him and sighs, coughing more of the dusty air. He went in deeper into the house, the living room. On the floor, there was a frame for a photo turned upside down. Steve picked it up, it was him and Bucky.
The mere sight of his face was enough to send a sob wracking through his body. He collapsed on the floor and let the tears stream down his face.
Closing the door to the house was Steve’s second favorite thing in the world. It meant privacy and being able to be alone with his first favorite, Bucky. The Bucky that was currently in the backyard working in the grass.
Green and full, with Bucky kneeling above the full, brown dirt and working. A small garden being carved out from the land by the hands of Steve’s love.
It was surprising how long they’ve been able to keep their secret in a town full of gossips. They’ve almost perfected the act now, lived so long under the guise of friendship they were able to mask easily.
Bucky turns around and smiles at Steve standing at the back door. The smile that would always bring light to Steve’s day.