#scvrredhearts

The safehouse was empty. Not entirely - there were signs of life, remnants of food, blankets, some discarded clothing. Enough for Steve to realize that he’d been right. Bucky had been here. It was almost worse, knowing that he was just too late, that the hours and weeks and months of desperate searching had led him to nothing again. That was history, literally in the textbooks, Bucky falling and Steve not catching him. And here he was, decades on, failing him again. 

“Goddammit.”  The hiss came out before he could stop it, despair compressing his chest into nothingness as Steve kicked at the wall. It was a rare slip of his control. The wall dented, but the cavern left in the wake was only a reminder of how useless all his strength had been so far. He’d give anything for a Hydra agent right now, someone to blame, someone to take it all out on, someone other than himself that he could hate for every last horror Bucky Barnes had been put through in the last half century. Never had he wanted a fight as badly as he did right now, even though sometimes it felt like all Steve had ever wanted was fights. That skinny kid he’d been, raising his fists up like he could actually use them. He hadn’t known then what it was like to lose, not really. Every fight he’d ever picked had ended the same way. Steve knocked down, but not alone. Bucky had been there every time, finished the fight for him, helped him wash the blood from his knuckles before his mother could see. There for him, every time.  

No, not once, had he known it, real defeat. Steve had thought he had, angry and bitter about his weaknesses, resenting the whole world for them, but this was what losing really felt like. Bucky falling from the train. Waking up alone by the water, the Winter Soldier a ghost once more. Losing him, again and again, all their history was, all it seemed like it was was ever going to be. Steve couldn’t stand it, couldn’t breathe, resisting the urge to kick something again as his forehead fell to rest against the wall, for a moment not able to hold himself upright. “Dammit, Buck,” he said, under his breath. “Where are you?” 

Sofia always looked radiant, but right now in particular, she was a goddess waiting to be discovered. She’d wanted a family photo shoot, and Kingsley was happy to oblige, finding a photographer he trusted and meeting them in a particular sunflower field once he got Sofia and the kids from home. He watched fondly as a few photos were taken of just his wife and children, the three kneeling in the field surrounded by flowers, and when he was directed to Kingsley happily went over and sat right beside them. He took their daughter from Sofia and held her in his lap, raising an eyebrow when she squirmed, picked a sunflower, and put it behind his ear.

“Now you look pretty too, daddy,” she said, and Kingsley grinned.

“Do I now, princess? Definitely not as pretty as you or mummy, though.” He looked at Sofia, who was fussing with Blaise’s shirt, and smirked when she caught sight of him. “How do I look, darling?”

Sofia laughed. “You look wonderful, il mio amore,” she replied, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Kingsley grinned and turned his head, giving her a sound kiss.

The photographer took a photo, and later, that was the one that hung in the sitting room: their son wrinkling his nose at his parents, their daughter happily hugging her father, and husband and wife sharing a soft moment together, sunflower tucked safely behind his ear.

"Shut up." Steve’s words were as angry as they could be, given that he couldn’t speak in anything more than a hushed hiss. Alone, Bucky injured, in enemy territory, there was almost no way the situation could be worse. Except, Steve knew, if he’d lost Bucky. He darted his eyes around again carefully, keeping a protective watch, before leaning back over Bucky and going back to bandaging his wounds, hands shaking. The only thing hiding his scowl was the the dark shadows of the night, furious that Bucky would even suggest Steve might leave him behind.

 "I mean it, Sargeant Barnes. I outrank you. So shut your mouth. There’s no way I’m going anywhere without you."

Bucky’s eyes flickered down and over the star on his chest. Steve saw it and hated it in the same breath. Bucky was the only person who’d never treated him differently since he’d become Captain America. He knew Bucky had always been protective of him, but things were different now. Steve could more than handle himself. So while he barely understood it, the idea that Bucky thought his own life less important than Steve’s because of some stupid costume was enough to incense him. It meant nothing. It meant nothing at all, not in comparison to Bucky’s heartbeat, steady under Steve’s trembling fingers each time he checked on it. His jaw worked furiously. “Is that what this is about? Cap? Dammit, Buck, they can do without their figurehead if they have to. I’ll rip this star off my chest right here and now if you’re gonna be like this about it.”

Sure, Captain America might be everything Steve had ever wanted to be, the hero he’d never thought he could be, and he’d have said there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep it, but now, in this moment, he knew, he didn’t need it. 

Not like he needed the man lying on the ground, pale and desperately pleading with Steve to leave him behind. For him, Steve could throw it all away, and he would, if Buck’s stupid stubborn ass didn’t start showing some damn sense. Steve’s head shook, voice stern with all the violence he now knew he was capable of.

"We're both going home. Both of us, or neither of us, got that?"

His hand slid into Bucky’s, a touch he wouldn’t have dared normally, not when they were usually surrounded by the Commandoes, not when he usually had so many eyes on him. But right now, it was just the two of them, in the quiet and the cold. So cold that Steve could see every breath Bucky exhaled in the air around them. Thank god he was still breathing. Steve gripped his hand tightly, using more strength than he should have, really, but he couldn’t make himself let go.  He was sure Buck would be able to hear it in his voice, every last feeling Steve had ever tried to convince himself he didn’t have for him.

"Don't make me go home without you. I can’t. I can’t."

Steve almost froze, but the survivor’s instinct that had kept an asthma-ridden five foot nothing alive through New York’s coldest winters stepped in, using both hands to pull Bucky from the street into a dark cornered alleyway. Not that there’d been anyone around, but still, there was no such thing as being too careful. Not when he knew, knew bone deep, exactly what Bucky meant. 

“You can’t say things like that, Buck. People might … they might misunderstand,” he said, weakly, and then realised the position he’d put them in, Steve pressing Bucky against a wall, one hand against his chest.  The heat of Bucky’s skin travelled through and it did something to him, feeling Bucky so close. The way they lived, they were always up in each other’s faces but not ... not like this. 

It was impossible to stop his eyes falling down to Bucky’s mouth, wide and familiar, his own throat dry in response. Steve knew what he would do now if Bucky was a girl. Not that Steve’d ever had much luck with girls, but he’d had a lot of dreams, like anyone did, even five foot nothings. Bucky had been in a lot of them. His mouth on Steve’s, his arms around him, holding him close, until Steve woke up alone and aching. He wasn’t so sure that anyone had those kinds of dreams. 

But this was a lot like them. The way Bucky’s eyes were on him, heating him up from the inside. He wanted to kiss him, bad. For a moment, Steve let himself feel it, didn’t give a damn if it was wrong. I would go against the whole world just for this, he thought fiercely, staring at the curve of Bucky’s mouth. For him. But he wasn’t supposed to want this. Bucky wasn’t supposed to want him, whatever he said. He was good with girls. He wasn’t just everything Steve wanted. He was everything they were supposed to be. Tall and strong and the handsomest thing Steve had ever seen. So Bucky couldn’t, he just couldn’t, mean what Steve had thought.   

He forced himself to step back, wrenching himself away. “Course I love you too. Don’t matter that we don’t have the same folks, we’re brothers.” It was the worst lie he’d ever told Bucky, but he said it like it was true, and forced a grin. With some distance between them, it was easier to pretend he didn’t know, didn’t feel any of it, shaking his head.  "Geez, Barnes, you sure are more stupid than you are tall.  Let’s just ... forget it.” 

Like Steve ever could. He saw the moment Bucky’s expression shuttered over, watched him stalk away.  It flashed through his mind for one second more, had to bite his lip to keep himself from saying it. He could bury it. Steve had to bury it. 

But, Buck, you have to know. The whole damn world doesn’t mean half as much. 

Stan was glad the Knight Bus existed, because he’d been about five seconds from disapparating drunkenly to Zabini manor, and that alone was just begging for a splinch (or worse). He really needed to stop drinking, but he couldn’t keep himself from reaching for the bottle the moment he got home from visiting Gilderoy at St. Mungo’s. He couldn’t stand seeing him like that--Gilderoy larger than life, but now he didn’t even remember his life. 

This wasn’t a burden he’d place on his children, and Marie and Markus had their own lives going on. The only person who would truly understand the grief he was going through was the woman who hated him the most, and yet Stan went to her manor anyway, a half-empty bottle of scotch in one hand and the other keeping him from toppling off balance. He knew he made the right decision when Sofia showed up at the door, took a look at him, and invited him inside, the two of them quietly sharing in mutual grief in her sitting room. By the time he thought to speak they’d moved onto one of her more expensive liquors, one he didn’t bother looking at the name of. He simply raised his glass and took a deep, shaking breath.

“To Gilderoy,” Stan said. Sofia lifted her own and tapped it against his, the quiet clink ringing through the sitting room.

“To Gilderoy,” she repeated, and they both continued to drink. 

Another day at the Century, another day wiping down bars. Mags can't say this was where she saw her life heading when she was a kid; hell, once magic decided to skip over her completely, she didn't see much for her future at all. Stanley was a good boss, though, even if he was lenient with more... excentric clientele than she would've been. Merlin knew she would've kicked Gilderoy fucking Lockhart out ages ago, rent be damned. She also wouldn't have stood around while people called her business 'drab', but Stan was far more laid back than her.

The door to the casino opened, and in walked one of the instigators in question: Sofia. She always seemed to look at the place with a critical eye, as if appraising the place and finding it lacking. Mags was sure Stan would hear about it later, but that was none of her business.

"Buck..." Steve said, voice pained, phone pressed to his ear. Retirement had been difficult, but this was the hardest it had been so far. “Don’t talk like that. I hate it when you talk like that.” 

He could understand why Bucky didn’t want him to come, but the desperation with which he’d responded to Steve telling him he was going to be on the next plane out had surprised him. Bucky had been doing so much better lately.  All it made Steve want to do was be at his side even more. 

But they’d had this talk. They couldn’t be each other’s crutches. And Steve had to step back. He wasn’t Captain America anymore, was so, so proud of what Sam was doing with the shield. 

It was just hard, on days like these. 

“Steve, I need you to live... cause if you’re gone, then I don’t know what the point of it all is anymore,” Bucky said, voice despairing, and Steve closed his eyes, almost missing the old violence. He’d known how to protect Bucky with his fists. He didn’t know how to protect him from the rest of it. He couldn’t put his body between Bucky and the rest of the world and refuse to move anymore. That was the hardest part. 

“Okay,” he said, finally. Every word felt like he had to force it out. It was ground he didn’t want to give up, was tearing him inwards and out to not just go to Bucky’s side. “I won’t come. I said I trusted you and Sam to handle this, and I do. It sounds like you guys are working things out. Alright?” Steve managed to smile at last, a small one. He wished he could see Bucky’s face. It wasn’t easy being apart either, longing and anxiety tearing him in two. Maybe Steve needed to learn how to be apart from Bucky, too. Ever since he’d gotten him back, he hadn’t wanted to let go. 

“At least, I hope you’re not fighting each other anymore. So it’s okay. I’ll be here. Safe, at home. Our home,” he added, voice lowering further. Maybe that was all Steve could do, remind Bucky that he had something to come home to. Someone. It didn’t hurt to remind himself either, his smile stretching out further. The longing in his chest didn’t go away, but became a little bit easier to carry. “Waiting for you. Guess it’s time I did some waiting, isn’t it?”

Then his voice hardened, jaw tight and furious. “But tell Zemo if he touches you, I’ll make him sorry for it. He’ll know I mean it. I’m not playing his little game again.” 

The thought of Zemo anywhere near Bucky again made something dark and furious, something savage, take hold of him. Steve just waited to hear Bucky’s voice again, knowing it was the one thing that would calm him down. “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, Rogers,” he finally said. His voice was shaky, but growing steadier. Steve was so proud of him, unbearably proud. “The Wakandans are here. They might get Zemo before you can.” 

“I don’t know,” Steve said lightly. “I’m pretty motivated.” 

Though he went silent, Steve didn’t hang up, not yet. He stood there, not saying a word, just listened to Buck breathing on the other end of the line. 

“Hey. One last thing, jerk,” he said. “I love you.” 

Steve stopped, turning his back to the Quantum Tunnel. His expression twisted into guilty lines. He knew why Bucky would think ... well, why he’d think something else. Steve had been good at hiding it, what he felt, all this time, but it killed him to hear the plea all the same. 

"I'm just taking the stone back," he swore, words fervent, desperate to convince him "I loved Peggy. I did. But I threw our chance away when I crashed the plane. Maybe I could have done things another way if I hadn't already...” Steve stopped, then took a breath, pain laid bare in his eyes. He could still remember how much it had hurt, the darkness of the place he’d been at, knowing Bucky was gone. “Already given up. The moment you fell from that train. That was it for me."

Nothing had mattered. He’d wanted to keep fighting, to win the war, for Bucky’s memory and because it was the right thing to do, but beyond that, he hadn’t much cared. He hadn’t even been able to think about the end of the war, because what would Steve have done? Going home to Brooklyn alone would have been impossible, a contradiction in terms. Brooklyn wouldn’t have been home without Bucky. 

Nowhere would have been home without Bucky. Not even Peggy. 

He’d been done. That was the truth of it.  

Steve stepped closer, unable to keep from Bucky when he looked like that, hollow and hopeless and as disbelieving as Steve had made him, all these years, denying what he felt, lying about it. He hated himself for making Bucky look like that. 

He cupped Bucky’s face between his hands. “There’s so much I want to say to you. But it’s been one fight to the next, we’ve never had the time.” Steve almost laughed, the motion of it knocking his head forwards, against Bucky’s. “You did say you were gonna follow the little guy from Brooklyn too dumb not to run away from a fight. You sure were right about that, pal.”  He rested his forehead against Bucky’s, desperate to close the distance further, kiss him. They’d been waiting and wanting and pulled apart so long, he couldn’t do it now, when he had to take the stone back. He wouldn’t be able to leave, not even for the time it’d take, if he did. When he did it, he wanted to do what Bucky asked, and finally, finally, stay. 

“It’s been nearly a hundred years. Wait for me a little longer? Bucky, I swear, I’m coming home to you.”