Marvel Oneshots

Ao3 | Terminus

Angst
No ships
Vague description of Sam's dead body

It wasn't the easiest thing, finding someone who didn't want to be found. Sam had joined him on the road, but Steve sometimes wondered about the bags under his eyes, the tired responses. Maybe he'd leapt into something he wasn't prepared for; a goose-chase that could last decades. Maybe the best thing would be to send him home, or to somewhere where he'd be safe from HYDRA.

When he voiced those opinions, Sam had punched him. It really was all that needed to be said on the matter. Steve had dropped it, and continued to worry to himself, day in day out. It was something familiar as they went from town to town, searching for reports of a vagrant with a hidden left arm, or a man who had attacked someone.

There were more than a few of the latter incidence, especially as they got into smaller, more rural areas. People who didn't much care for outsiders, especially ones that didn't act the way other people did. Steve smiled when he read about Bucky beating a mugger up who was threatening a young woman - and later tried not to think too much about a schoolbus driver who had been accosted as he was coming home from work. There were reasons, he was sure.

There had to be.

Still, the further they got into the heartland, the more the trail picked up. Truck-stops and diners that had seen fights. Bars that had been cleaned out. Terrified wait staff who talked about a man with a metal arm who had broken limbs. A pole that had a set of knuckles imprinted into it when someone had ducked a punch.

"Your buddy's carving himself a nice little path, working out his frustrations." Steve couldn't help but agree. Bucky didn't seem to be on an even keel. They stopped hitting hotels to sleep, taking turns napping in the car, driving all night. Splitting up when they hit sites to cover ground faster. Sam looked like hell, but insisted they push on. Steve was grateful. He didn't know if he would have stopped if Sam had asked.

When they found Fountain Hills, Steve knew they were done looking. It was quiet. Peaceful. Home to the world's fourth tallest fountain. Completely out of the way and a place most would never have heard of it. It fit all the criteria, and was right in Bucky's projected path. Steve hit the diners, and Sam took the hotels.

As the sun was setting, he found Bucky.

He wasn't sure, at first. The man in the corner of the deserted diner looked completely different from the hard eyed soldier who'd fought him in D.C., and the smiling friend from the war. He'd grown a rough beard, and looked distracted. Confused. He kept fiddling with the food on his plate, as if uncertain why he ordered it. Steve stared for five seconds before abandoning the idea of calling Sam for backup.

He moved fast, walking over, hands up, calling over. "Bucky." He wasn't surprised by the reaction. One hand grabbing a knife, wrenching himself out of the booth, ready to fight his way to an escape. Steve kept his tone even, and didn't make any threatening movements. "I'm just here to talk. No guns, no shield. See?" He lifted the hem of his jacket, showing his torso, turning around. His shoulderblades itched for a long moment, waiting for a thrown knife, before he finished the movement. It was silent for a long moment, except for the dripping sound from the kitchen. Water falling into the sink.

"...Why find me if you're not here to kill me?" He seemed surprised by the vary concept.

"I don't want you dead, Bucky. I want to help you." He kept his hands up, stepping closer. Bucky flinched, but didn't move.

"I remember you chasing me on the roofs." Steve frowned. He had but...that was before he'd known.

"I saved your life, Bucky. Do you remember?" The blank stare was all the answer he needed. "We were on the helicarrier. It was being fired upon... A beam pinned you and then I dug you out. You beat me unconscious and we fell into the Potomac. You dragged me out." Bucky looked uncomprehending. Silence. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"..." The knife wavered. "That's a lie." It didn't make sense. He'd been there. How- Unless-

"...do you not remember? Are you forgetting things?" Bucky's face told him exactly how on the mark he was. A brief flare of panic, and the knife raised again. "I'm going to go out the door, and you're not going to follow. You say I saved you back. We're even. Let me go."

Steve tried and failed to keep desperation out of his voice as he watched his friend back away. "Bucky, please, I can help. You wouldn't have to see me. You can pick who you talk to. Please." The last pleading word stopped Bucky's retreat.

"Why do you care? What's in it for you? Are you with HYDRA?"

"I'm your friend Bucky. That's why. Just... Trust me. I'll let you keep a knife to my ribs. We can leave here and I'll help you. Somehow. Please."

The knife lowered, tip pointing towards the floor. "I'd have to be crazy to trust you."

Steve couldn't hold back a hysterical laugh. "Crazier."

Bucky stared, and then laughed too, surprised. He put the knife on the table.

"Can't be worse. Right? Follow me." Steve was on his heels. He didn't think about the bill. A dine and dash wasn't the worst thing, and he could come back and pay later. The town was almost deserted this late at night, everyone inside.

The motel he took him to was a run down little thing. Parking lot with grass growing through the cracks, and a beat up pickup truck parked outside one room. Bucky headed towards it, walking fast. "Things have been coming and going. I didn't even recognize you coming into the diner. Trusting you can't be worse than getting shot by HYDRA because I forgot what a gun was."

The room was dimly lit, furniture and carpet discolored and old, wet in a large patch from the bathroom. Bucky started checking through a duffelbag. Gathering his things. "Ignore the water. Broke the toilet earlier. I bet they've been coming after you too. HYDRA. I keep running into them, all over." Shirts, some with the pricetags still on them. A few weapons, probably stolen from cars he'd hotwired.

Steve moved into the bathroom, feet squelching on the carpet, heading to grab whatever Bucky might have stashed there. He could hear Bucky's voice as he went in. "But hey, two of us, we might stand a better chance, right?" Steve's response was frozen in his mouth.

In the tub lay Sam. He could only tell from the proportions. The head was a bruised, beaten mess, fragments of porcelain from the toilet sticking out of his cheek and neck. Defensive wounds on the hands, scraped knuckles. Steve's mind painted the picture, of an ambush as Sam swept the hotel room. Bucky kept talking, blithely. "I don't know how they keep finding me. They look ordinary too. Like people, but I can tell. They watch me."

Steve wanted to scream, to wake up. He already knew his options. Knock Bucky out. Get him into custody. Watch the trial and the show as they proved his guilt, and then a painless death by injection. He could be free of any responsibility. A good soldier who'd caught a killer.

But he owed Bucky. Owed him more than he knew. He didn't deserve some impersonal stranger injecting him with death in front of the cameras. Steve had sworn to him, months ago. Shirking that promise would keep him up just as much as the sight of Sam's bloody body and the smashed bathroom would. Whatever his mind would conjure up about that empty diner, or the people along the way who'd run into Bucky. Bucky deserved having someone who cared about him do the deed.

"Hey, you still with me?" Steve swallowed, and curled his fingers against his palm.

"Sure, Bucky." He sounded so calm, to his own ears as he turned. "I'm with you to the end of the line."