NEVER COMING HOME

Ours Never Knew Peace

Bucky never thought he'd see the day where his worst enemy was something more than his own mind. There had been a cure to the programming HYDRA had wired into his brain, a way to untangle the mess that was Bucky Barnes. No longer was he The Winter Soldier.
Now, he was free.

Freedom was the peace of living in Wakanda. The country was beautiful in both scenery and in people, who had opened their hearts and arms to Bucky the moment he stepped foot on their land. They had given him sanctuary and a home. They'd gifted him the honour of peace. To be in Wakanda was to feel the glorious warmth that was joy. It was his hope for a better future, a life without the soldier tucked deep inside him. 
Now, he was Bucky. Just Bucky. 

Of course, Bucky had those nights that seemed to never end. Nights where his bed was cold and the ghosts would come back to haunt him. There was one ghost in particular that revelled in haunting Bucky, always coming late at night, always when he was least expected.
The ghost was a small boy, at the oldest nineteen or twenty, with a bashed, bruised face and blood matted in his golden hair. The boy was far too weak for his own good, having to pause every other word because his lungs threatened to collapse. He mostly came at midnight, his hand outstretched to Bucky, a smirk dancing on his lips, his tone playful and mocking.

'Bucky!' The boy would say. 'Bucky, why did you leave? You swore to never leave me!'

And Bucky would only scramble to hold him, desperately reaching out to wrap his arms around the boy's waist.

'You left me in Brooklyn! You went of to war without me! You swore you'd never leave, but you did!'

Bucky would cry. He would beg the ghost to forgive him. He would fall at the boy's feet, hiccupping through the unending wave of tears he was never quite strong enough to halt. The boy would offer no comfort. He would scream of Bucky's leaving him 'til the sun showed through the cracks in the door, and he'd slither back into the shadows, promising a next time.

Bucky tried to tell himself the boy wasn't real. That he was a mere figment of Bucky's overactive imagination, but as hard as he wanted to believe it, he couldn't. The boy bared too much resemblance to the Brooklyn punk Bucky had left behind, the boy who had been too dumb to give up on a fight.

The boy who had been too dumb to give up on his best friend.

~~
Steve hadn't seen Bucky since he'd gone back into cryostasis. He had wanted to, God, he had wanted to, but he'd thought it best to step away and let his James recover without Steve there to pester him. Steve had caused far too many problems for the both of them, and the fact he was an international fugitive on the run from a hundred-and-seventeen governments made nothing better. Would Wakanda even let him in their country? He was sure they would allow him to visit, should he ask, but no invite had been suggested, and Steve was content with the knowledge that Bucky was, at the very least, safe.

He just hoped he hadn't forgotten his old pal.

To say that Steve missed Bucky would be an understatement so large it was practically an insult. Steve felt Bucky's absence as he would feel the loss of oxygen, or the usage of his vital organs. Bucky was so intrinsically apart of him now that there was only a void where Bucky had once been. He was an ocean away. Steve's heart was a fucking ocean away, and there was very little he could do to amend that.

To make things worse, if that was even possible, the world was on the verge ending, courtesy of a purple space bastard, and Steve was so absolutely terrified he'd die before getting to hold Bucky in his arms once more. The very thought of feeling his warmth was enough to rise each morning, and when the end was foreboding on the horizon, it was the only thing Steve had left to cling onto.
~~
One night, a very lonely night, to the moon, Steve made a vow.

'Dear Moon,' he said, 'please don't let me die 'til I see him again.'

He trusted the moon. She'd been a good friend these last twelve months, never dulling her glow once as Steve poured out his heart and soul. 

America's Hero: A Criminal.

He wouldn't have changed a thing. He had grieved Bucky so long, so painfully, that even the thought of living out his days in a cold, damp cell or on the Raft seemed almost Heavenly. He grieved the man Bucky'd once been- the Sargent saviour, the handsome soldier who'd rescued Steve from back-alley bullies and dragged him time-and-time again from a cold, cruel death. Steve grieved the science fanatic, the ladies' man, the flirt who'd once offered Steve kissing lessons in exchange for a night away from his father. There was not a single second that passed where Steve didn't wretchedly wish there was a way, any way, he could turn back to the forties. Where he could go back to the days of familiar streets with familiar faces, where he could pass his hours with the only love he'd truly known.
In another life, perhaps, they'd never go to war, never get wrenched apart, never have to watch life go on without the other.

'In another life,' Steve thought, 'I won't let you fall. Won't let those bastards reach you first. We'll do it right. It'll be you and I, 'til the end of the line.'

Steve prayed that night for the first time since he'd fought The Winter Soldier. He bowed his head and put his hands together.

'God,' he whispered, 'please, let me go back. I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna be here anymore. I don't wanna stay anymore. Please, let me go back to then. Let me go back, please...

I just wanna do things - right.'

He'd dissolved into tears before he could finish his plead for mercy. To wake up from this nightmare would have been a dream come true. He wanted nothing more than to wake the next morning in the frail, sick body of Steve Rogers, the pale glow of dawn illuminating the oh-so pretty face of James Barnes, who had grown, by now, accustomed to sleeping beside Steve, whispering lies of a better future in his ear and drying the fever-sweat of his best friend's forehead. 
'I promise, Stevie,' Bucky murmured, 'It's going to get better. We'll be alright, I swear.'

Where were they now? Separated by a war or by the wickedness of humanity. Where was the better future? Where was the promise of tranquillity when the only thing left of the old world was ruins...

Bucky had promised a better future - a future where Steve wasn't threatened with constant sickness and disease - a future where the country they called home wasn't plagued with death and decimation. It was so fucking laughable now, eighty years later, that Steve had once believed it possible for him to see a better world. There was no better world, no better future. There was only the fragile tune of a lyric-less song and the phantom of the man he'd once known. He only saw the beauty of the past when it was lost; only felt the cost of breathing when it was like a dagger slashing at his lungs. He only knew a broken promise when his future had slipped through his fingers, the very moment he went under the ice, and what was left of it now, he held close to his chest, dreading the day that too would fall so far there was nothing left at all. 

So someone with your eyes might come in time
To hold me like water...

Or Christ, hold me like a knife 

Lyrics: Who We Are - Hozier 

A/N: Thanks for reading guys! I'm working really hard on this, and I'm proud to have gotten this far. I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a vote or a small comment - it would mean the world! Thank you everybody for reading!