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Steve held on tightly to the things he loved. Gripping Bucky's hand in dark corners and fisting at his shirt at night as they lay huddled together in their bed, made with only one person in mind.
He never clung quite as tight as he did when Bucky told him he had been drafted.
His own feelings were a surprise to him. Before dawn was in sight, he often woke with a start, reaching desperately to feel the pulse of the man beside him, the man he loved. He felt his bones shivering as he thought of nightmares that could very well come true. Because serving his country was the right thing to do but no one would watch Bucky's back like he did.
Bucky could hear the self-loathing that coated his words, more and more each day as approached the time for Bucky to ship out. The jealousy and longing. With every lost fight, either to his body or to boys who hadn't quite grown up yet, it grew. Bucky imagined just how magnificent Steve would have been had his body had the strength of his mind. He'd love him just the same but wanted for Steve to see himself the way he did.
Once or twice in the embraces that followed the wakefulness, Bucky's breathing had hitched. He had never before been without Steve. Just how long could he stay sane without Steve there to love him?
"Tell me to stay. I will," Bucky wanted to say but didn't. "Tell me to run. I'll take you with me," he wanted to beg but didn't.
The kiss Steve pulled Bucky in just before he left had been the gentlest one they had ever shared. Barely a press of the lips, fingers digging into each other's cheeks, teary eyes opening to gaze at his face, praying to never forget it.
"Go be a hero now," Steve whispered, pressing their foreheads together. The cold air made him shiver, reminding him that they were outside, exposed for everyone to see. He hoped the dark of night was shield enough but couldn't care less. Let them see. Let them see my love. "Kick those bastard Nazi asses. Kick some for me too." He moved Bucky's head in a nodding motion, making him let out a laugh. "Just until I get there," he murmured, pushing forward with his head. Then, firmer. "I'll be there."
"And if you're not?" Bucky's voice was choked up enough to call it a croak, almost indistinguishable.
Steve pulled back to shake his head and glare at him disapprovingly. "I will be."
Bucky shook his head with him, because Steve didn't understand. He would be there but what if Bucky wasn't? "But if you're not -"
"Then you come back," Steve interrupted him, voice deepening and scratchy, he looked like he was about to cry. "You come back to me. But I'll be there. I won't ever leave you."
"Goodbye, Stevie," Bucky said, reaching out to hold Steve's hand. He paid no mind to the couple walking by them, making disgusted noises and hurrying their steps. He lifted Steve's hand to his lips and kissed it.
Steve thought about turning their hands over and pressing his own lips to Bucky's hand. He dove forward instead, capturing Bucky's mouth, kissing with fervour, holding on tightly to anything he could reach. "See you soon, Buck," he whispered still against his lips, then let go.
Bucky turned on his heels, and it felt like Steve's heart had ripped itself right out of his chest and was walking away from him.
For all the newspapers and radio announcements that praised the battles, honoured the lives that had been taken, war was slaughter. It surprised Bucky how with all Steve's willingness he couldn't enlist as he saw young boys holding shotguns and dying. The ground they walked on was soiled even when it hadn't rained in almost a week.
He cleared his mind entirely when he had to shoot. He was a good sniper. One of the best. He relished the days when he could stay on high ground, shoot on sight, keeping the others' backs safe, not having to look into empty eyes.
Though at times, if a head dared to lift high enough, he'd see them there too. Dead holes on breathing bodies.
When he could close his eyes, he thought of Steve. Soft lips on his own and spitfire words sharply whispered into his ear. He'd hear him sometimes too, laughter mixed in the eerie ringing in his ears after a bomb dropped or some unfortunate fellow didn't check his steps carefully enough.
The one solace he had, was the knowledge that no matter how many soldiers died, no matter if he died, Steve was safe at home.
He didn't dare carry a picture but couldn't resist risking the letters. Over and over again he wrote the same words. He waited with the air stuck deep in his lungs until the courier brought him Steve's letters. When he read them, he did so in Steve's voice. He cried when he realised it sounded off. He could still hear it, but sometimes too deep or scratchy, like Steve had an achy throat. He pretended he was just sick again.
And so, when they got captured, with weapons capable of destruction like they had never seen the likes of before, he shot six men while they were pointed at him and dropped the shotgun only when they turned on Dum Dum. It had been Steve, simply the memory he held and cherished of him, that made him survive. He sat in the cell, cage really, knees to his chest and as Morita spoke of his brother or Dernier of his dame, Jones translating along with a smirk, momentarily hoping to forget of their location, he realised that very memory would be forgotten when he'd be gone. He could not let it die with him. His love deserved to be remembered.
"I'm in love," he blurted, a stark difference to his quiet and controlled mutters as he comforted the younger soldier and offered embraces to the ones skinny enough to match Steve. Bucky wondered idly if Steve still looked the same.
Dernier's brow jumped high, he looked smug, and Jones laughed, delighted. Several faces, known and unfamiliar turned to him. They had all learned to love stories. Would take them any day over the screams that punctured the walls.
"Do tell," Morita encouraged, motioning for Bucky to continue, letting his head flop back against the steel, the sound making him flinch along with a few others.
Bucky hesitated only long enough to swallow. "With a real punk. Curses like with no memory of going to church every Sunday when we were young. And our mas made sure we did. Skin and bones, that kid. Fighting men twice the size. Only ever runs into trouble, never away from it."
"A childhood sweetheart, eh? Whatcha like the most then?" a man whose face Bucky didn't recognise made a motion over his chest, mimicking breasts. Some others howled with laughter, whistling was heard.
A guard's baton hit at the bars on the next cage over and everyone seemed to huddle into themselves. When the guard left with snicked insults leaving his mouth, they all turned back to Bucky in expectance. Love, even simple stories of it, were a privilege.
"The art. The hands on that kid." Bucky sighed, regretting all the times he had nibbed at Steve for making him sit in an uncomfortable position too long. It made it all the more uncomfortable that Steve looked so adorable focused. He signed once more, his eyes lowered, falling closed of their own accord. "There ain't no one braver. Or kinder. Always standing up for the little guy. Doesn't like bullies." He laughed, sniffling at his own words.
"She must be really something, Sarge." a young soldier said in awe and suddenly it all felt like a lie. Because it wasn't a 'she' and it was wrong because they weren't. He shouldn't have to lie. He'll probably die in that cell anyway so why not be honest. If even one of them made it out, they'll remember.
His breath hitched like it did after Steve startled awake and curled so tightly against his ribs that they hurt when he inhaled. "His name is Steve."
He heard the curses and insults, felt the man to his right shift as far away as the cell would let him, as they recalled the stories he told of his best pal. He glanced up as he recognised the wetness on his knees as teardrops. Jones was staring at him with a hard gaze. It softened just as Bucky felt the hotness fall down his cheeks. "He must be a very special man. Your Steve."
"He is. My favourite fella. The reason I made it this far. Knowing that he's there. I can't - I won't - go without seeing him again. I just want to tell him how much I love him one more time. He has to know," Bucky whispered in rapid succession. Faces all around turned to look at him again and so many of them held flashes of understanding pity in between the dismay.
"I'm sure he does," Jones whispered back just as Dum Dum leaned down from where he was looming above them, his legs had cramped up before in the narrow space, to squeeze at Bucky's shoulder with no disgust or shame in sight.
Jones seemed to be explaining everything to Dernier, who when he got all the happenings turned to Bucky and winked. He regretted it barely twelve stories and a third as many hours later when the guards opened the cage and reached for him and Sergeant Barnes spoke over them. Screams followed too intelligible for anyone to distinguish but they fell on deaf ears and Barnes was taken in Dernier's place.
Most of the hatred vanished from the rest of the men's faces.
The stories came to a stop in the deafening silence. It had been Barnes who had spoken about his love and they had listened, even the ones who sneered at it. No one returned once taken by the guards like Barnes had been. They could only remember their Sergeant and the man he had loved.
The Sergeant had been gone for 7 days when the frantic shooting of Hydra's alien weapons started up.
"What's happening?" a young Private, Smithy, whispered frantically. The Corporal in charge of him pressed his teeth together, hissing at him to stay quiet. Still, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was only 31 but easily could have passed for the boy’s father.
"Whatever it is. We fight," Dum Dum said in a firm voice. His rage had long been stewing. Every four days they took another; every four days they knew another of their comrades had died. It had been 7 since Barnes had been taken. They hadn't come for anyone else.
"Are you mad?" A Brit hissed at him, eyes wide and hands clenched around the bars of the cage he was in.
"Way I see it. We either die passively or fighting. I know which one I want," Dum Dum snapped at him, pressing his face to the corner, trying to spy any sight of the fight. "They took enough of us, don't you think?"
An iron door slammed open against a wall. Every soldier tensed, their breathing stopped in subconscious attempts to stay quiet. Their bodies relaxed minutely as the fire outside stopped completely. It were the steps of only one coming towards them. A tall muscular man appeared, dressed in an army uniform. Carrying on his back a shield patterned with the American flag. He looked frantically around himself, his composure so very different from a moment before.
"Who the fuck are you?" Dum Dum asked as the man started unlocking the cages. "Mister Flag?"
The man briefly considered correcting it but settled for the answer he felt was more truthful. "I'm Steve. Steve Rogers." Everyone’s faces displayed shock, but he paid them no mind, his brain a one tier track. "Is there anybody else? I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."
The Brit that had asked about Dum Dum's sanity hesitated before answering him. "There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it." There was pity in his gaze as he looked at Steve.
The latter was taken aback by the trust and apparent familiarity they held to him. He ignored it all, discarding of it entirely. "All right. The tree line is northwest, it's eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find."
Some of the soldiers’ movements slugged, as if they wanted to warn him but none seemed quite up for it. They seemed to know he wouldn't ever change his mind. He ran as fast as his difficultly coordinated too-long limps would let him, arms practically flailing, through the firing of weapons and screams of dissolving men. Bucky was just out of his reach. All he had to do was hold him.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes 32557038
Over and over his mouth ran.
Steve. Stevie, I'm sorry. I'm not there. I'm not here. Stevie, I'm sorry. My Love, I'm sorry.
Over and over again his mind said.
His arms stung from all the needles. His blood was like boiling. The blurry sight in front of his eyes only ever changed in lighting. He wasn't sure how long he had been there. He tried counting by the change but somehow lost his place in it. Every little thing in his head seemed to be displaced.
"Sergeant Barnes," a voice, coated in a thick accent, called out.
Who was that again? And where is Steve?
"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes 32557038."
A contemplative hum followed by footsteps. His veins burned again, starting at the elbows and circling his body down to his very toes. His heart hurt. Where was Steve?
The light went away and so did the voice. He licked off his lips the blood that had slipped through the cracks, dried-up from the repetitive murmurs.
"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes 32557038." Footsteps again. Banging on the metal floor. Faster this time. We've got a runner.
"Bucky! God, you're okay. Sweetheart, you're okay." A voice called out. Loud but not sinister like the accented one was. There was no new pain in his arms.
Hands on his face. Gentle. Like Steve's were. Steve's were smaller. Steve wasn't there. His Stevie was home safe away from this madness, this pain.
"Sergeant James Bu -" His mouth stopped, jaw falling slack. It was quiet in the building, he only then registered, a shiver running through his body. He was freezing in his sweat-soaked clothes and clammy skin.
"Bucky, it's me. It's Steve. Your Stevie, sweetheart." Steve was home safe, but Bucky would recognise those eyes anywhere.
"Steve?" He was croaking again. Just like he had when they had said goodbye. Like he had never left. And, oh, he could move his arms now. Steve had unstrapped the restrains. Steve was here.
"Come on," Steve said and then he was pulling him upright. His body didn't seem to get the hint, as it tilted to the side, only the arms wrapped around it keeping him upright.
"Steve." A smile broke out. If it was a dream, it was certainly the best he had had in a long while. The sight was blurry, some sweat fell into his eyes, and it all whitened as agony shot through what seemed to be every cell of his body. His feet were on the ground, somehow in line with his shaky knees. It had been a while since he had been standing.
"I thought you were dead," Steve said and that was his voice and those were his eyes, but the body was muscular and tall, taller than Bucky.
'I thought you were safe,' Bucky almost said, but what came out was "I thought you were smaller." Then his knees went out for a moment, arms catching him again. And he had to stop thinking of them as just arms, they were Steve's. Steve's healthy arms.
Bucky filched at the explosions from outside and let himself lean forward, into the impossible warmth of Steve, blinking quickly. He felt Steve's eyes on himself, could feel the miniscule movements of his body as he glanced around the room.
"Come on," Steve repeated, softness in his tone mixing in with the relief and sadness.
Bucky's feet dragged over the floor; he wasn't able to lift them any higher. His balance was gone almost in its entirety, either due to being restrained for so long or the numerous drugs running in his bloodstream. Steve never let go, keeping him standing even if it meant being mostly doubled over for both of them. A laugh bubbled up but never surfaced as the thought of Steve's practically carrying him passed his mind, giddy and insane all at once.
"What happened to you?" he found himself asking.
"I joined the army," Steve answered and there was a disappointed kind of happiness in his voice, overwhelming. 'I wish you hadn't.' Bucky thought he could say but shouldn't. He followed his pulling, keeping his eyes mostly closed, his eyelids otherwise fluttering uncomfortably.
"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked as he thought for some reason, that he didn't care to waste his energy on figuring out less he fall down then and there, of the voices, and now he could remember it were Zola's words. 'A gift to the human race. A perfect soldier.' He shook more forcefully.
Everything was covered in a thick fog, from the dizzying steps down the dreaded hallway, it felt like the Earth turning backwards, finally the death nell stopped its ringing, simply because Steve had come for him, the sound had been a continued agony from when he had been dragged in the other direction down it, to the moment his arm shot out to grab at empty space in Steve's place as Steve - brave, righteous, fucking stubbornly stupid Steve - marched towards Johann Schmidt with his head held high.
After, it was the clearest Bucky's brain had ever been since all the madness began.
"You don't have one of those do you?" slipped his lips as Schmidt peeled off his skin - or what should have been it - to reveal a red layer of tissue tightly wound over his skull. Bucky's head fell forward for a moment, and he found he wouldn't mind if Steve did. A side-effect be damned, Steve was healthy and he was here. He only realised it was the ground shaking and not his legs when he caught sight of the fire quickly spreading.
"Come on. Let's go," Steve said and clasped a hand over his arm to direct him. Bucky would be annoyed had it now taken as long as did for him to focus his gaze enough to follow Steve's. There was a beam they could walk across some way upwards. A moment of forced focus cut sharply into the fog as Steve let go for the barest of second to help him up a steel staircase, he felt him behind him, his hands gripped his hips when he stumbled.
"You alright, sweetheart?" Steve whispered into his ear, letting Bucky rest against him, head leaning backwards onto his shoulder.
"I missed you, Stevie." A hand wrapped around his back to support him. They made quick stammering way to the beam.
"Let's go. One at a time," Steve said firmly just as Bucky leant his weigh on the railing, helping him over it. The metal was just as unsteady under his feet as it looked it would be. He glanced down briefly to see more explosions go off and the beam to shake threateningly. He had to leap for the railing, his ribs hitting against it painfully, as the metal creaked and fell apart and into the fire. He climbed over it and glanced back, stupidly expecting Steve just behind him.
Steve was looking around himself again, this time with less hope but also less desperately, as if it didn't matter as much now that Bucky had made it to the other side. "There's gotta be a rope or something," Bucky yelled to him.
"Just go!" Steve pleaded with him, hand moving in a dismissive motion.
"No! Not without you!" Bucky yelled again, losing any cool being strapped to that table had left him with, hitting the railing that was the only thing keeping him upright.
Steve seemed annoyed at his response for a moment, then managed to force himself to think about a way out he wouldn't have before. He bent the broken railing on his side outwards to free the way. Bucky felt his eyes widen in awe and panic. Steve jumped and the fire covered him.
Bucky heard himself scream but it wasn’t long until the flames parted and Steve emerged, unharmed. He would have missed the railing for a few inches had Bucky not reached out towards him, ready to catch him, always.
Steve hoisted himself to beside him in one smooth move, letting Bucky have a moment where his face was against his bicep. He let go off the railing to reach again for Steve instead, his body giving out before he could. Steve caught him in an embrace, pressing him tightly to his chest. Bucky was unsure which one of them clung tighter.
"You alright to walk, Buck?" Steve asked into his hair, his hurried voice not in accordance with his savouring movements.
"Yeah," Bucky assured him and tried to push himself away with not much luck. Steve seemed to take that as an answer of itself, hands slipping under Bucky's knees and around his back, lifting him into his arms. "I can walk," Bucky muttered stubbornly into his chest.
"Indulge me, I just found you." Steve sounded just as honest as he always did with Bucky. So he let him, wrapping his own arms around Steve's neck, eyes stuck over Steve's shoulder, watching for any stray, resigned to keeping watch over Steve's back.
It meant an immediate embarrassment as the rest of the soldiers caught sight of them, but they lowered their eyes, some coming up to report the victory that would have been obvious from the dead Germans lying all over the place.
Dernier and Jones met Bucky's eyes with reassuring nods and Dum Dum even leaned forward for a hug of his own, ignoring completely that he was already in Steve's arms or that Steve’s eyes were now narrowed and tracking him. He squirmed to get down, but Steve only clung tighter. The three other soldiers were joined by Morita and the Brit, Falsworth, the five of them created a sort of wall all around them, keeping the sight obstructed to the others.
"Go ahead and greet your fellow the proper way, Sarge," Dum Dum told him with a smug smirk.
Bucky felt Steve tense around him but before he could say anything, he pulled himself up by the arms around Steve's neck to capture his lips in a soft kiss. Barely a caress. Then deeper, soon only they existed and all they could feel was each other. Steve was here and he wasn't a memory. Bucky's fingers found his pulse like Steve's did his after he startled awake. He was alive. So very alive.
Bucky thought that even if he had died, every room they had stood in and every ground they had stood on would remember their love.
As they parted, they locked gazes and could only think of the words written and read over and over again. My Stevie. You’re my solace, my one comfort. You are the only thing I want to remember. My Love.
They looked away and decades passed but when Bucky finally stared back into those eyes, he could only remember.