Chapter Text
Storybrooke.
Steve had literally stumbled upon the sedate small-town at the coast of Maine.
One moment he’d been driving on his bike through the endless forest that seemed to cover almost the entire state, with no sign of civilization anywhere and the next moment he spotted a city limit sign. He could’ve sworn that there hadn’t been a town on his map in this area when he’d checked it an hour earlier.
But only a few minutes later he’d found himself in this quiet little town, driving around aimlessly, looking around even if with not much hope. Not here anyway.
He stretched his back and his shoulders popped slightly. Even his body protested after endless hours on a motorcycle. But Natasha had called him. She’d found a match on a security camera in Portland, Maine. And he hadn’t been able to not follow this lead.
With a last look he made sure that his bike was properly parked, his shield secured against its front, before he stepped onto the sidewalk, heading towards the only diner he’d spotted so far. He’d just pop in for a much needed coffee and a snack and then head on.
It was a nice and sunny day and people were enjoying it. A group of teenagers was sitting at one of the tables in front of the diner, talking and laughing animatedly. Not far away a young couple stood at a bus stop, feeding each other spoonfuls of ice cream. Down the street he saw a man taking a Dalmatian for a walk, waving at someone passing by on a bicycle.
That’s when he spotted the guy crossing the street, judging by his course he was heading for the diner as well.
Steve couldn’t explain what it was, but something about him draw his eye. His black jeans were certainly nothing special. With his dark green shirt and a black vest he stood out comparing to all the other people who were dressed more casually. The matching green cravat around his neck was indeed unconventional, but still, that wasn’t it. There was something else about the dark haired man who gazed down the street, away from him.
He was ready to let it slide when the guy turned towards the diner.
It hit him.
It hit him hard.
Could it really be that easy?
He felt his heart beat faster and his mouth reacted on instinct, his brain screaming about being careful, thinking this through, not endangering civilians, but it was already too late.
“BUCKY?”
His voice filled the street, making more than one curious head turn towards him. Not that he’d even noticed it.
The man on the street startled and stopped, looking around for the source of the voice.
Steve saw it first, wanted to warn him – his feet were already moving –, but the screech of a brake – one in desperate need of some oil – resounded loudly.
“Oy, watch it, man!”
Bucky startled again, jumping a step to the side at the sudden noise to his right where a young man on a bike came to a sudden and unexpected stop only inches away, cursing loudly. The cyclist waved his arm at Bucky in an angry manner before he rounded him and rode away, leaving without even waiting for an apology.
Bucky took the last two steps to the sidewalk, inhaling deeply with a hand against his chest. The fingers of his left hand wound into his short hair in a relieved gesture. He looked totally flustered.
And Steve realized his mistake.
That hand was flesh and blood.
No metal anywhere.
And all hope shattered again.
It had been too easy!
Of course this wasn’t Bucky. And if his hope for his friend hadn’t gotten in the way, hadn’t addled his brain, he’d seen the signs. Bucky was on the run, discretion was what he’d be aiming for, not sticking out in clothes like that. And Bucky wouldn’t look so flustered after a scene like that. The Bucky he’d known for all his life would have laughed it off, using his charm to placate the other man. And the soldier, the weapon, he’d been forced to become would have seen it coming or probably killed the cyclist on the spot. Maybe even both.
The thought hurt.
With a small shake of his head to get his thoughts straight again he quickly fell into a light jog towards the man with the cravat.
“Are you alright?”
The man looked up, his hand still in his hair. His mouth was slightly open and his blue eyes settled on him in a rattled expression.
Bucky’s eyes!
Steve was looking onto Bucky’s face. How was that even possible?
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
There was, however, no recognition in that oh so familiar face. At all.
There can’t be because he isn’t Bucky! Look at the arm! He’s not him!
“Sorry about that, by the way.”
Not-Bucky’s eyes narrowed a tiny bit. “Wasn’t your fault.”
Steve gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged. “Afraid so.”
Before he could say anything else the stranger’s eyes widened a bit. “You were the one shouting?” It didn’t sound right, as if he was aiming for annoyed but an undertone of curiosity got in the way.
With a sheepish grin he scratched his neck. “Yeah, that would be me. I’m really sorry for that. I mistook you for someone else. I didn’t intend to get you run over.”
The man just stared at him, the color suddenly draining from his face. He blinked a few times, swallowing hard, and dropped his left hand to his side.
It was trembling slightly.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve wasn’t sure what had just happened. Maybe the man had a weak heart and this little episode was a bit too much for him?
Whatever it was, Steve was responsible and he’d make sure that he was okay, even if it killed him.
Looking at him, speaking with him, with a man who looked like his friend but who wasn’t, while the real Bucky was out of his reach, who knows where, it was like torture.
The man blinked slowly and wetted his lips with his tongue. “Um… sorry? What was that? I didn’t… didn’t get that.”
Steve sighed inwardly, already regretting his decision.
“Why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee?” he asked, nodding towards the diner. “You look like you could need one.”
“Sure, I- I was heading there anyway. My name’s Jefferson, by the way.”
“Steve.”
He motioned for Jefferson to lead the way and followed him. He seemed steady enough so he ruled the heart problem out again.
Once they were seated in one of the few unoccupied booths a young brunette came over to get their order. The way her clothes hugged her curves very tightly reminded him of Natasha. Only if Natasha would look at him like that – all flirty and curious – he’d be in fear for his life.
Few minutes later he had a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, while Jefferson stirred his tea absentmindedly.
“So, you’re not from around, are you?”
Those stark blue eyes were scrutinizing him. He didn’t lift his head up from his cup of tea, he merely looked up, which made Steve feel as if this Jefferson was searching for something in particular on his face. Whatever that might be.
“Not really. I’m just passing through.”
“Visiting someone?”
“More like looking for someone.”
Jefferson lifted one eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. But it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something about that look he gave him, a strange kind of edginess. He absentmindedly rubbed his left wrist with his fingers. When he finally spoke, there was a wistful note to it.
“Must be someone special if you came all the way out here. In the middle of nowhere.”
That look on the guy’s face.
He had to fight the urge to embrace him, to chase that barely masked sorrow from his gaze.
This man isn’t him!
So instead he nodded, unable to keep the images of his friend away that his words conjured, unbidden.
Bucky laughing at one of his jokes.
Bucky showing off on the dance floor to impress a few girls, visibly pleased with himself at his success.
Bucky leaning over a map, discussing their strategy with him.
Bucky hanging from a metal bar in a destroyed helicarrier, watching him fall, that lost and almost fearful, painful look in his eyes.
Steve closed his hands around the too hot cup, letting the heat burn away the images from his mind.
“Very special. He- He’s my best friend. I need to find him again.”
Jefferson fished the teabag out of his cup, wringing it around his spoon and dropping it on the saucer.
“And you mistook me for your friend?”
Steve couldn’t help the snort, shaking his head in the process. “You have no idea! You really look just like him.”
And it was true, overall. It was the small things that were different. Bucky was broader around the chest and shoulders – especially since he became Hydra’s favorite weapon. Faint lines on Jefferson’s brow and a more prominent one between his eyes told of a life time of frowning rather than laughing. And even though Bucky had lived through some horrible stuff it had never marred his brow like that.
Jefferson pulled his hands around his cup, tracing random patterns across the china. Steve knew he did it to hide their trembling.
Maybe he had some other medical condition?
Or maybe he was just nervous. But why? Did he know something?
“Well, then he’s certainly not in Storybrooke. Two of me, that would have caused a stir already,” he laughed good-naturedly, playing with his spoon. Finally he grabbed his cup and took a sip. “What is his name?”
“Bucky.”
Jefferson opened his eyes wide in understanding and nodded. “Ah, so that’s what you were shouting out there. Bucky. Unusual name.”
Steve shrugged. “Well, you’re right. It’s short for Buchanan. Also not very common nowadays, I guess. Actually his first name’s James, but he never liked it.”
There it was again, that look. The other man’s eyes roamed his face as if looking for something. And then it was suddenly replaced by a tentative smile.
“I’m one to talk. Jefferson is hardly better.” He took another sip, tilting his head to the side, curiosity sparkling in those blue depths. “Why are you looking for him? Is he missing or something?”
Steve’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back heavily. “Something like that, yeah. I failed him. He’s always been there for me and I’ve failed him when he needed me most.” He exhaled audibly and rubbed a hand over his face. “I need to find him again. I need to make it up to him. Make things right again.”
When he finally glanced up again, Jefferson also leaned back, his hands limp on the table, a quizzical, yet intense and serious look on his face. The slight downward curve of his lips made him look sad.
“Tell me about him.”
Tell me about him.
How could he possibly find words that lived up to the man who’d always been at his side? Who’d protected him his whole life without ever making him feel weak. How could he describe a man who’d been the most loyal person he’d ever known? How could he put in words what he’d become?
Again images of their time together flashed before his eyes, warming his soul and making his stomach clench at the same time.
So he decided to start simple.
“We grew up together. He moved into the neighborhood with his family when we were six. You won’t believe me, but- I’ve been a pretty sickly kid.” A doubting snort and a raised eyebrow told him that his estimation had been correct. “One of the other boys had stolen my inhaler, taunting me by holding it out of my reach. Bucky punched him in the face and got it back for me. We’ve been inseparable from then on. He was the first one to treat me normal. He wasn’t mean to me, he didn’t laugh at me and most of all he wasn’t patronizing me. And I made sure he had someone when he felt lonely.”
“Lonely? I thought he had family?” Jefferson asked with a frown, coughing lightly after his voice failed him at the last words.
Steve took a deep breath. Talking about that stuff, about events that were gone for decades, it felt strangely good. Liberating.
“His family wasn’t his real family.” Part of him wondered why he told all this. To a stranger nonetheless.
Because you’re talking to him.
You’re practically talking to Bucky, that’s what makes it so easy.
He closed his eyes for a moment. That was it. He was looking into Bucky’s face the whole time, which made him feel at ease, made his tongue loose. He had to be careful. “His parents had adopted him only six months before I met him. He liked them, but sometimes, he felt alone and unwanted. I knew he missed something, but he barely ever talked about anything from before.”
He’d never spoken of this to anyone other than Bucky.
This was personal stuff, he shouldn’t…
A movement in front of him tore him out of his ruminations.
Jefferson stared at him, wide-eyed, one of his hands covering his open mouth, the other one hovering just above the table, unsure what to do. The raw emotions in those familiar blue eyes took his breath away. Something had happened, something…
Disbelief, joy, hope, caution.
It was all there, jumbled together, barely distinguishable at all.
Was it something he’d said?
“Bucky.”
It was barely more than a breath, a whisper.
Or a prayer.
Jefferson said that name the same way he did sometimes.
Tangled with memory, with love and hope and anguish.
And he just knew.
“You know him.”
Blue eyes started glistening as tears welled up in Jefferson’s eyes. Tears that he blinked away furiously while biting his bottom lip.
“He’s my brother.”
(TBC)