I'm Here | ✓

Prelude + Author's Note

It's post CA:CW. The Avengers have split, a mysterious organization is hunting down Bucky Barnes, and Team Cap is struggling with their loss of the fight. Instead of going to Wakanda, Bucky decides to stay with Steve for protection. Although everyone is struggling with how to move forward, Steve and Bucky are trying to figure out just how much they mean to each other, and exactly how much they're willing to sacrifice.

Author's Note: This story is written in the first person in the perspective of Bucky Barnes. I wanted to explore some fluff headcanons I've seen around without dropping the action/adventure element of the story. Short sentences in italics are Bucky's inner thoughts, while long sections in italics are Bucky's flashbacks or nightmares, unless otherwise indicated.

Huge thanks to cathieblack for all the support on this story right from the beginning, and also to my amazing editor robinbeechwood02!

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Nothing in that apartment really mattered anyway. I stare around at the carnage; ceramic mugs in shards, splinters of half-collapsed shelves scattered around, fragments of glass strewn across the floor. I had put this life together so carefully, and even though I knew it wouldn't be permanent, I felt a flickering sense of ownership. I disregard it as nothing more than a fantasy. All of this was a distraction, just me trying to grasp for some semblance of normalcy. I almost laugh at the thought. Normal. That's a word that never goes with my name.

I bend down to pick up a stray bullet shell off the ground, rolling it in between my fingers for a few moments. It glints dully back at me and I can't help but stare, mildly curious. Any one of those bullets could have ended this all. And yet, every single one missed their mark, leaving nothing but a casing like this and a hole in the wall. They intended to kill me. They failed.

I think about that. I don't know how I feel about dying. Relieved that all my sins have finally been paid for with my own blood, but I feel some sort of dim connection to this world. No, not the world, I decide. The people.

But I can't admit that. Not here. Not with Steve, my best friend since childhood turned celebrity, gazing around behind me.

"I'm sorry."

I wave my hand dismissively. "None of this is important." At some point it was, but I feel no particular attachment to the barren room now. The cracked tiles on the walls and the cheap, peeling wallpaper; it was all I could afford, but I'm almost embarrassed by the way Steve's looking at it. It's not disgust, it's more... pity. Regret, maybe. But I chose to make this what it is. It was the one bit of freedom I felt I still had.

"You were just trying to make a life for yourself. I just wanted to find you and didn't think about the consequences."

I crush the bullet shell and toss it out the smashed window. "There are always consequences to everything. I've stopped dwelling on it."

"You know, I have an apartment in Brooklyn..." Steve starts.

"I've been on my own for two years. I can make it for a while longer." Mentally, I wondered if I could. At first, nobody here had recognized my face, but now everybody would know me. I saw the horror-stricken glances as we passed on the street; I'm going to have to move to a place where no one has ever heard of such a creature as the Winter Soldier. A homeless shelter, maybe? I glance down at my dirtied jeans and beat-up sneakers. I'd fit right in, and hopefully, no one would look twice at me.

It won't work, a small voice in my head said. They know who you are now. You have no shot at redemption.

I chuckle disparagingly and keep my eyes trained on the floorboards. This is no way to live; it's just surviving. It was stupid to think I could stay here for more than a year.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks, sympathy reflecting in his eyes.

I scoff before I realize I'm doing it. "Have you ever known me to be sure about anything?"

"Once," he whispers. I can practically hear the rest of the sentence hanging in the air between us. Once, you were sure. When you were Bucky Barnes. Once, when you were my friend. Now, you're not my enemy, but I'm not sure what you are.

Whatever I am now, I am not the smooth, flirtatious talker he knew.

"I'm not that guy anymore." I kick at a piece of a broken plate, watching it skid a few inches to land near a warped curtain rod.

"You don't have to be. I'm not expecting this to end up like how it was in the '30s, because both of us have changed, and it's not fair to you." He brings his hands out in an innocent, well-meaning gesture, but I flinch unconsciously. He notices and draws his hands back to his sides. "All I want to do is put a roof over your head," he continues with a whisper. "I want you to be safe."

"You're not exactly the epitome of safety," I retort. Even I'm startled by the harshness of my words, but Steve gives me a sad smile.

"Never have been, either, but you're better off with me than you are alone."

I wring my hands together, contemplating his words. I'm never safe, but the few broken memories I have of Steve and me reminded me of a time when I might've felt comfortable in his presence. A time when I trusted him. That's not to say I don't trust him now, but I feel stuck at a dead end. If I agree to stay with him, am I being a burden? If I try to make it on my own, will I be able to?

It was a lonely two years, trying to piece together my memories while staying in hiding at the same time. I didn't have anyone to turn to. If I choose to go with Steve, I'll have somebody to talk to. An ally, but more than that, a friend. Guilt drags me down and I bite my lip. From what I remember, we were almost more than friends, and I rethink my choices about staying with him. I'm terrified that one thing might lead to another and we'll both wind up dead after all.

"I don't want to drag you into this," I mumble feebly.

"It's no trouble - "

"I have nightmares. Horrible ones. I tried to kill you more than once. Why do you trust me?"

And it was out there. Just one perfectly innocent, equally deadly question.

I can't look Steve in the face as the pause stretches, but I know he's conflicted. He wants to answer, he wants to say the right thing to get me to come home, but I'm already horrified about what's in my head; I don't need the good memories I have of us together to be tainted by the mangled person I am now.

"I always trust you, Buck. I trust you enough that if you want to walk out right now and never speak to me again, I'd let you. I trust you enough to take you to my apartment and try to do something to help, for once. You've saved my life countless times, and I still have to repay you for that."

"Debts don't count if I don't remember saving your life. I think they're void once I try to choke the life out of you."

"It wasn't your fault. I just..." Steve gives a weak sigh. "I missed you, Buck. I don't care that you're not the James Buchanan Barnes I knew from the '30s and '40s. All the time, I feel like I don't have anybody here, and it would be enough just to have you."

My eyes flicker up to meet his, and I wonder if he really means it.

"If I get there, and something happens, can I leave?" I ask meekly.

"You can leave whenever you want."

I blink in surprise at his understanding. I realize I'm not obligated to do this, and if I do, I'm taking a huge risk I might not be prepared for. But if I don't take this opportunity... I don't think I can live on my own for much longer.

I bite my lip nervously. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely." Steve gives a small smile, but I see the sadness in his eyes. He's happy I'm coming with him, but he doesn't really know who I am yet. Loyal, I suppose, but we haven't had much time to catch up. I'm not like any Bucky Barnes he's ever known, and we both know it.

"Alright," I say with a small nod. "Alright. I'll come with you, but only until I can get back on my feet."

Steve's smile warms. "You can stay as long as you'd like."