NEVER COMING HOME

Home, Where I Wanted To Go

In every soldier, he saw James. In every handsome face, every witty remark, in the blue of a young man's eyes, or the slight chisel in a jawline, he saw James.
James, who had been the last hope for Steve. Who had been there when all else failed him. When the dames payed him no mind, when his shitty health gave way, James had been standing at his side, acting as a crutch for Steve to latch desperately onto. He remembered the long nights they'd spend on the roof, James usually holding a cigarette between his fingers.

'You can't have any, Stevie,' he said. 'you'll make your asthma worse, and then you'll die, and I really don't want you to die.'
'I'm not gonna die from one puff, Buck. Just give me the damn cigarette.'
'Quit askin'. I'm gonna keep sayin' no every time.'
'Just one!' Bucky rolled his eyes and brought the cigarette to his lips.
'Shut up.' He groaned.
'Oh yeah? Make me.' 

And God had Bucky found a way to shut him up. He'd been staring at the sunset when it happened. Bucky had grazed Steve's shoulder lightly with his fingertips, his eyes fixed on his friend's face as he tilted Steve's chin up and oh-so gently brought their lips together. It had lasted only a second, and Bucky had been off his rocker in doing so, but it had a been a kiss. A real kiss. Their mouths had touched and that was all that really mattered. Bucky had kissed his Stevie.

That was 1932, before the World War and before Bucky had been stolen from him. It had been a rather carefree time of their lives, besides Steve's constant need to fight older men in alleyways, and, for the most part, both James and Steve had been perfectly happy.
How quickly things could change.
It was eleven years later that Bucky fell to his death and Steve found he would never quite be the same again

*************

Steve found himself on his balcony, gazing wistfully at the moonlit sky.He wondered, on nights like these, what it would be like to join the stars. He'd never be able to. Not after he taking the serum. Death had no hold on him now, and Steve had never been so furious at his inability to fucking die. James had been so close. So damn close to making it. If he'd reached a little further, if Barnes had held on a little longer...
None of this would have happened.
If only Steve had had the guts to look for his friend's damn body, maybe James would never have felt pain as he felt it now. He never would have had to run. Never would have had his autonomy forcefully stripped from him as they clogged his precious mind with lies and half-truths and an untameable rage. Sargent into the Soldier. Man into a monster. It was an age old tale: the men who broke under pressure. The villains who'd lived a sad, sad life under the comfort of a hundred billion galaxies. What comfort had James been given? Forced back to stasis when he wasn't useful? His memories ripped from him when he dared to remember? What kind of comfort? To think that Steve had once dreamed of a happy ending. An ending of love and vows of undying fidelity. An ending of marriage and lifelong harmony. An ending that closed a story with anything but emptiness and horrifying, mangling agony. Where his heart had been was now a space devoid of light. It was all grief and all anger, all hopeless fantasies of a happy fucking ending.

Now, he broke into homes and ran wild across rooftops. Captain America, hero to the nation, a criminal. A fugitive. His back turned against his closest allies for the sake of his shadow. It had been such a long day without James. A day that seemed to have no end. The seconds had turned to minutes, which had turned into hours. The hours into days, into weeks, into months, and soon enough, before he could do as much as take another breath, it had been almost a century.
Death has no grip on me now.
He moved quietly across his bedroom, taking sanctuary under the many layers of duvets he'd accumulated over the years and burying his face between his pillows. From outside came the gentle patter of rain washing off the world, the streets baptised in the cool, wet glow of evening showers. The traffic in the distance lulled him into an uneasy sleep, and he woke in the early morning, feeling just as fatigued as he would had he not slept at all.

*****

That morning, he had stood in a lonely Bucharest apartment, mere metres away from one James Buchanan Barnes. He hadn't made the assumption that things would run smoothly. things never did if you lived as a nation's hero, yet somehow, Steve had let himself dream that for one second, chaos would halt itself. 
Turns out Chaos never halts for anyone. 
T'Challa had been racked with sorrow for his father's loss and unending fury for the man who caused it. The Winter Soldier. They'd said it on the news. They'd spat Bucky's name aloud for all to jeer at. Steve knew he hadn't done it. That Bucky could never have blown up the UN once he ran from HYDRA, yet all seemed so convinced. So damn convinced he'd done it. 
Steve could hardly blame them. Two years ago, Bucky had been nothing more than a weapon. He had been their wonderful asset. A tank that could walk, and talk, and breathe. A moving gun capable of bleeding, of putting its own life before all others. That's what Soldat had been trained to do. To throw itself in harms way if it meant the glory of HYDRA, to never once stop to think that it was more than just an asset. Soldat had had the curiosity stamped out of it from the moment it was hauled over HYDRA ground. 
'You are nothing more than an asset.' They'd said. 
'You will bring honour to our names.' 

Black Panther had found them, and tried to gun them down. His claws had pierced Bucky's skin, had tried to drag him from the safety of the roof. He was dangerous, Black Panther, and he was enraged. Wearing the symbol of his country, he avenged his father, battling The Winter Soldier as if it were a task no greater than getting out of bed. He would have won, too, had they not been caught. Had they not broken laws. Had those broken laws not brought terrible consequences. He would have won. 
Now, Steve stood tense in a room, Stark beside him. They watched Bucky on the small screen, his body bound by red belts, strapping him firmly in the glass box. 
'He is a danger. ' They'd said. 
'And he will hurt you. '
So, Rogers let him go. Painfully, he fixed his glare on Bucky and the man who accompanied him. He had an accent, whoever was talking. It sounded very familiar. Haunting, you could say. He was Sokovian. That's where he was from. His city had been destroyed last year, by the Avengers. He must have lost people in the tragedy. 
The man circled Bucky, a glint in his eye, anger laced in each word he said. He began to read in sloppy Russian from a small, red book. Steve could see the child-like joy in the man's demeanour. He was about to do something, and Steve was absolutely powerless to stop him. 

'Longing,' 
'rusted,"'
'furnace,'
'daybreak,'
'seventeen,'
'benign,'
'nine,'
'homecoming,'
'one..'
'freight car'

There was a deafening pause, a silence that rung throughout the entire building. Then, the man said very carefully, as if talking down to a little boy, 'Soldat?' 
With baited breath, Steve watched, dreading Bucky's response. 

'Ready to comply.' 

The Winter Soldier fought with no mercy. He was ruthless, cutting, cruel. He drove Steve back 'til he hit the wall, he sent Sharon to the floor. The soldier took off to the roof, his eyes set on the helicopter parked above. Rogers knew where this was headed, and he wasted no time in upping and following Barnes. He had lost him twice already. he was unwilling to do so again. 
Steve burst through the doors, the helicopter now risen above the ground. He gripped the legs and struggled, using all the possible strength he could muster to ensure it didn't get away. His calloused hands were beaded with sweat, his grip failing. His feet dragged pitifully against the tarmac, trying to keep him firmly on the ground. It was heavy, the helicopter, yet no so much as Steve's heart would be if he let it go. He couldn't let it go. And so he gathered all the energy his enhanced body could make and tugged it from the sky. It went down with a crash, Bucky falling with it. There was one thought on Steve's mind as he surveyed the wreckage. 

Please god, don't let him be dead.