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There he is.
Standing tall on his pedestal, his golden hue glowing in the evening sun.
Captain America.
Sam Wilson.
They've built him a statue in the city, one that was designed for a hero.
A fallen one.
Bucky comes by almost every afternoon, even if he doesn't like to admit that he does. He always sits on this bench, a little off to the side where he can just absorb everything happening. The park is filled with people.
An old couple holding hands and feeding the ducks, a girl listening to music while walking her dog, and a few families with kids running around while their parents sit on picnic blankets.
And in the middle of it all -
there's this big golden statue of Sam Wilson.
It's almost laughable how out of place it looks.
The fingers of his metal hand flex almost unconsciously at Bucky's side. He's watching the statue, the inscribed plaque at the foot of it.
"The greatest hero we could have wished for. A fearless leader, a brave soldier, and a true inspiration to all of us."
Fearless leader... Bucky thinks.
That's...
He gets snapped out of his thoughts by parents scolding their kids for climbing on the statue, and before he even knows he's doing it, he's walking up to them.
"Let them climb," he says gruffly. "Sam wouldn't have minded."
The parents stare at him for a moment before recognition kicks in.
What follows is a moment of awkwardness and apologies. Bucky can barely stand it, so he mumbles a quiet apology as well.
Or maybe it's a goodbye.
Before walking away again.
The giant monument almost haunts the city. Captain America is ever-present around here. Wherever he goes, he's reminded of the stars and stripes, of the shield and those who carried it. It was the same with Steve once, but it didn't feel the same.
It felt less wrong.
Bucky passes a dozen storefronts, and in almost every single one, there's a reminder of the hero that was lost too early, too soon. He catches his reflection in a window with the sun slowly setting behind him. The tired eyes. The unshaven stubble. God, Sam would've had some words about his look for sure. But since he can't hear them anymore...
Well, Bucky doesn't really care.
With a deep sigh, he enters the little pub that has become his regular spot for slow nights like this one. The bartender knows him and pours him a whiskey over ice. Nothing fancy, nothing special. Just something that burns a little on the way down and reminds the former soldier he's still alive.
Bucky nods and hands him the cash. A little more than necessary, tipping well.
A small kindness he can provide without having to actually talk to anyone.
The booth at the back of the place has become his sanctuary. No tables behind his back, a clear view of the door and the bar. He's gotten good at just existing in a place. Belonging, that's what he tells himself this is.
But it's not.
Not really.
A few sips into his drink, he overhears a couple of guys talking a little too loudly for his taste.
"That Sam Wilson guy... a damn shame. Went too early," one says before raising his beer. "To the man that didn't fear anything, not even death himself."
The other guys murmur their agreement before clinking their bottles together and drinking.
"I swear, they just don't make men like him anymore," another one starts. "The leadership type that could get anyone to follow him into the fucked-up depths of whatever needed saving."
Bucky's grip on the glass gets tighter, his knuckles turning white. His jaw is clenched. It's always hard when someone talks about Sam, but it's especially hard when they mean well and almost reduce him to being Captain America.
They always mean well.
And they're always wrong.
Dozens of memories flood Bucky. Lonely nights before he was shipping out on a mission. Nights where Sam doubted himself so much he nearly broke under the pressure of being Captain America. Nights where Bucky picked up the pieces of his shattered confidence with calm hands.
The night after Joaquin nearly died. Sam crying in his arms, begging every god that would listen for forgiveness, and Bucky trying to be rock steady for him.
Sam used to be so scared.
But whenever life tried to beat him down, when his fear threatened to drown him...
Sam got up.
He picked up the shield and went back out anyway.
He wasn't a superhero.
He was human.
With a soft clink and the rustle of his jacket, Bucky sets the glass down on the counter and makes his way to the door. For a moment, he considers saying something to the men.
But what could he say?
They're not wrong. Not really.
They're just...
They're blinded by the monument the public has made of Sam.
So he keeps his mouth shut. There's no use in arguing.
The outside air has cooled significantly in the meantime, and a cool breeze whistles through the tree branches. It's a quiet type of night, Bucky's favorite. He strolls through the streets almost aimlessly, but in his heart he knows where he has to head tonight.
The closer he gets, the more the breeze picks up. The wind doesn't bother Bucky at all. He mostly runs hot anyway. Slowly, the atmosphere seems to change, the sound of waves growing louder.
The docks.
That's where he's headed.
Bucky sits on a cobblestone wall, the stones still warm from the sun that shone on them all day, and looks out at the ocean in front of him. Watching the gentle sway of the boats at the dock and the foam of the softly crashing waves, he takes a deep breath. His nostrils fill with the smell of salt and summer.
“You know what, Sam?” Bucky murmurs softly to no one in particular. “I think it's ironic how the thing you worried about the most became the thing no one talks about anymore.”
He shakes his head and huffs.
“Nobody gives a shit if you were scared, buddy.”
There's a beat of silence before Bucky looks back up from his lap.
“But that statue... I gotta say, that didn't do America's ass justice. You would've probably had some strong words about that. Probably would've sent a strongly worded letter to the mayor,” he mutters.
The sound of a seagull echoes through the otherwise empty dock.
“You're everywhere, Sam. But it's not right.” He swallows. “It's not you. There's... there's posters and... and hoodies and even cups with your face on them. With Cap's face.”
It should feel silly, talking to Sam without him actually being there, but the weight that kept pressing down on Bucky all day seems to be getting lighter.
So he doesn't stop.
“Don't get me wrong, you deserve every bit of attention. Every way of remembering you. I just... I guess I just wish they were there with you after you lost that hostage in Paris.”
He laughs quietly.
“God, I sound like a sap. You would've had a field day with this.”
Biting his lip, Bucky looks up at the streetlamp.
To keep his misty eyes in check.
“Sometimes I still feel the tremble of your hand in mine,” he admits quietly, his voice smaller than before.
“You weren't brave because you were fearless. They're getting it wrong. You almost drove me crazy when you used to double-check your own harness and then mine. It always felt a little too tight when you were finally done with your routine,” he murmurs again.
“Every kid in the country wanted that shield for Christmas. The one you used to snap your fingers against before saving lives.”
Bucky gets up from the wall and starts moving closer to the water.
“Do you think I should've corrected those guys in the pub tonight?” he huffs. “No, you would've done the same thing I did. Probably would've said something like, 'Don't worry about it, Buck. As long as you know the truth, it's enough for me.'”
He stops where the wooden planks lead straight out into the ocean.
“It makes missing you so much harder. Watching how they turn you into something you were not,” Bucky admits to the darkness.
The moon reflects in the waves, the only bright light on the otherwise pitch-black ocean. Bucky swallows hard against the lump in his throat and looks at the different boats. He remembers fixing Sam's dad's boat in Delacroix.
Of course he remembers.
It's the one thing he comes back to voluntarily from time to time.
His eyes track over each one until they stop on one that looks similar.
Familiar, almost.
And then...
Just for a moment...
There he is.
Sam Wilson.
Sitting on the boat, laughing at something Bucky can't hear.
Sam looks unburdened.
He looks happy.
Not standing tall.
Just existing.