Work Text:
“Good morning!” James turned toward the cheerful voice in the hall behind him, careful not to spill the extra-large cup of coffee he was desperately in need of.
“Hey, Darce.” His neighbor was the closest thing he had to a friend after moving back to Brooklyn a few months previously; they mostly just greeted each other in the hallway and made basic chit-chat.
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You doing okay? No offense, but it looks like you need some sleep.”
“That’d be nice,” James muttered, and she frowned in reply.
“Anything I can do? I’ve got some melatonin you can have.”
“I don’t think that would help, but thanks anyways.”
“No problem.”
As Darcy turned to walk away, a long shot of an idea struck James.
“Wait, you’re a librarian, right?”
“Well, I prefer ‘research specialist’.”
“Sorry,” James apologized. “Could you look up the history of this building - see if there’s been any kind of tragic deaths here over the years?”
She gave him a confused look. “Sure, but … why?”
James was too tired to care if she thought was crazy. “I think my apartment is haunted.”
Darcy hadn’t blinked, simply saying she’d see what she could find out and to plan to meet at her place for dinner that night. James thanked her and headed off to work - doing his best not to sleepwalk through his day. There was a note posted on his apartment door: “Come on over - hope you like Thai – D”
He stashed his stuff in his place, then knocked on Darcy’s door. “Food’s on the way,” she explained, ushering him in. “So - feel up to telling me about your supernatural situation? Or do you want to hear what I found first?”
“You don’t think I’m nuts?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I have an open mind when it comes to the strange and unexplainable.”
“Okay - so it started a week or so ago,” James explained. “I woke up in the middle of the night and saw something – someone – standing at the foot of my bed. At first I thought it was just a trick of the light, or one of those hypnagogic hallucinations, but it keeps happening. Each day, he’s gotten more detailed.”
“He?”
“Yeah, best I can tell. Pale, skinny guy, on the short side and about my age. He just stands there, looking at me.”
“Do you sleep naked? Maybe he’s a perv from beyond the grave,” Darcy broke in with a smirk.
James rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t. And it’s not that kind of look. More like he doesn’t believe I’m there, but he wants to.”
“Hmmm,” Darcy hummed thoughtfully. “So, you wanna hear what I found out?”
“Anything that helps this make sense?”
“I’m not sure. This building was constructed in 1928 as a hotel,” she explained. “When the Great Depression hit, it became more of a semi-permanent residence - mostly for single men - up through the end of World War II. It fell into disrepair and was gutted in the early 1950’s and made over into a warehouse. It got converted back to a residential building just a few years ago.” She paused. “I didn’t find anything particularly newsworthy - no fires, murders or suicides - but I did find something kind of weird.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not the first James Barnes to live here.”
“Huh? How do you know?”
“I skimmed through the 1940 census out of curiosity and the name jumped out at me. That James Barnes was twenty-three, born in New York and listed his occupation as a dock worker.”
“I think he might be my great-grandmother’s brother,” James’ mind reeled at the coincidence. “Mom said I was named after him. He lived here in Brooklyn and joined the army after Pearl Harbor. He was killed in action overseas.”
Darcy frowned in confusion. “Wait - how come you have the same last name, if he was your great-grandmother’s brother?”
“Great-Grandma Becca was a bit of a spitfire, from what I’ve been told,” James replied with a grin. “She found out her husband was cheating on her while she was pregnant and caught the next train to Reno for a quickie divorce. She took her maiden name back and raised my grandfather as a single mom.”
“Good for her.” Darcy declared. “Anyways, James Number One shared an apartment with a Steve Rogers. Does that name ring a bell?”
“No. But let me give mom a call and see if she has any old photos.”
Winnie didn’t seem fazed at the request, saying she’d dig through the albums and let him know what she found. Darcy said to keep her updated, giving him her number as well as the leftovers from their dinner. As he drifted off to sleep, James found himself almost looking forward to his nocturnal visitor.
Sure enough, he woke up a little after two am to see the apparition standing there, that same look of longing disbelief on his face. But this time he tried to speak, lips moving with a scarcely-there whisper. “Bucky?” The figure then stepped forward, and James felt icy fingers brush against his just before he disappeared.
The next morning, James found a series of texts from his mother: pictures of pages from a family photo book. “I haven’t looked at these in years,” she’d typed. “I didn’t realize how much you looked like your great-great uncle.”
James zoomed in to see a face very similar to his, grinning out from a faded black and white photograph. He scrolled to the next image, where two young men stood together, the taller dark-haired one with his arm slung around a shorter, skinnier blond, glancing over fondly at his companion. The caption read “Bucky and Steve - 1938”
“I’ll be damned,” James breathed - Steve looked just like his ghost. Or vice versa, he supposed. James scrolled through the rest of the photos, several of which featured the mysterious Steve, with Bucky giving him the same affectionate look. James copied the photos and texted them to Darcy. She replied a moment later.
Is that him?!?
My ghost? Yeah - pretty sure.
And I think he thinks I’m James #1. He called me Bucky.
!!! 😱 Do you think they were a couple?
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
What’re you going to do?
Try to tell him the truth and see if that helps him move on
James had a tough time getting to sleep that night; he couldn’t help but worry at how his ghost would take the news. James had proof that he could make physical contact; would the shock make him vengeful? James had debated on whether to invite Darcy over – she’d done everything except come right out and ask – but part of him was afraid his visitor wouldn’t show up if someone else was in the room.
James finally drifted off - coming awake with a jolt at the feel of a cold palm on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see his ghostly companion leaning above him, nearly close enough to kiss.
“Bucky! You’re finally home!” The words were still so soft that James barely heard them, but there was no mistaking them for anything else.
James carefully scooted himself into a seated position. “I’m not your Bucky, Steve.”
The apparition blinked in surprise, then gave him a closer look. “No. No you’re not.” His voice was stronger, and James braced himself for a response; but instead of lashing out in anger, Steve’s face fell, his sorrowful expression tugging at James’ heartstrings.
"You love him, don’t you?” James asked, and Steve started guiltily. “It’s okay,” he added reassuringly. “The world needs all the love it can get, in my opinion." James paused for a minute. "Does he know?”
Steve shook his head. “Didn’t have the courage to tell him before he shipped out.”
“And you’ve been waiting for him to come home?”
“Yes.”
James took a deep breath; might as well rip the bandage off, so to speak. “Bucky isn’t coming home, Steve. He died in Europe serving his country.”
“I … yes, I remember now.” Steve replied slowly. He held out his hands, turning them over; seeming to realize for the first time his ghostly state. He huffed out a wry laugh. “I guess I didn’t want to live without him.”
James could read between the lines and simply nodded sympathetically.
“How long has it been?” Steve asked, looking around at their surroundings.
“Probably around seventy years,” James told him, not wanting to lie.
Steve shook his head in disbelief. “So what brought me back?”
“Maybe me being Bucky’s great grand nephew sparked some sort of connection.” James shrugged.
“So now what?”
James pondered the question for a moment. “Just a sec.” He retrieved his phone and scrolled until he found what he was looking for, then held the screen up for Steve to see. “Look at these photos. Look at Bucky’s expression. Seems to me he loved you too.”
A cautious smile lit up Steve’s face. “You think so?”
“I do. In fact, I bet he’s waiting for you, Steve,” James said as convincingly as he could “It’s time to go join him.”
“You think we’d be allowed to be together?”
“I do,” James replied firmly. “Love conquers all, doesn’t it?”
“So they say. Show me those photos again.”
James did, watching as Steve took a deep breath and looked upwards. “Okay. I’m ready.” He slowly faded from view.
It wasn’t until afterwards that James realized he could have made a tidy bundle recording the interaction and selling it to the highest bidder. Then again, his conscience never would have let him do it; Steve and Bucky’s story wasn’t his to tell.