Archive of Our Own

Steve opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him. It wasn’t a familiar one. He sat up and looked around the small bedroom he was in. There was a twin bed in one corner with a thin metal frame. A desk sat under an open window. Steve stood up slowly and moved to the window, breathing in deeply when a breeze blew through it. He stared out at the vast field behind the house before closing his eyes. Everything was too sharp, too focused.

The floor beneath Steve’s feet was warm as he walked through the house. It was a small two story. The stairs creaked in an oddly familiar way as he walked down them. He found a back door at the end of a hallway and made his way towards it. A man was visible through the screen door. His back was turned toward Steve, but he knew exactly who the man was.

Well, sort of.

When Steve pushed the door open, the man peered over his shoulder and gave him a subdued smile. Steve nodded at him and moved to sit down. The sound of children swept over the two of them, though Steve was unable to identify from where it came. They sat in silence, looking over the field. It seemed to go on forever, stretching toward the horizon like the ocean.

“Is this your home?” Steve asked, glancing over at the man.

Steve and this man had been sharing dreams for months now, but they hadn’t been able to learn each other’s names yet. Whenever Steve had tried telling the man his name the dream would end suddenly. Generally, when that happened, Steve would spend the rest of the day in a fog. He stopped trying after the second attempt.

“I think so,” the man answered, sighing, “I- yeah, it is. I lived here with my family. Not that I can remember them. I had siblings, and both my parents, but that’s all I know for sure.”

The man peered over at Steve, before diverting his gaze back to the field.

“I know you too, I’m still trying to remember from where.”

“It’s alright,” Steve assured him, “Don’t think about it too hard. It’s like I’ve said: we’ve never met.”

The man nodded shortly.

“Still, we both know how bad my memory is, I just- really… I don’t know, but I know you,” he rambled, running a hand through his hair.

Steve watched the movement. He wanted to soothe the man’s worries. He wanted to tell the man who he was. He wanted to run his hands through the man’s long brown hair and comfort him. The problem was, Steve didn’t know if he had the right. This was far from the first dream they had shared, but it was always obvious to Steve that this man didn’t experience their bond the same way.

“I’m famous,” Steve hinted, knowing from past experiences he could get away with that much.

“You’ve told me that before, right?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

There was a considerable silence between them.

“I don’t think I know famous people,” he told Steve, picking at the skin on his thumb like he often did when agitated.

“It’s alright. We know each other here; I think that’s all that matters.”

The man laughed humorlessly. “We’re soulmates, but somehow when I’m awake I’m not driven to find you,” he started, his voice shaking, “There’s got to be something wrong with me, right? I know you feel it too, the imbalance between us…”

Steve placed his hand over the man’s. The sun was setting across the field, marking the end of their time together.

“Whatever is wrong, I don’t think it’s your fault. Even if you don’t have the drive to find me I’m trying to find you. I promise,” Steve vowed, “I’ll find you and I’ll help you if you need it.”

The man turned his hand over and laced his fingers in between Steve’s, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“I hope you do,” he said, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and Steve blinked awake.

 The tower was quiet, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Steve stood in front of one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows with his hands in his pockets. The city pulsed below him. It was still surreal for Steve to see New York. It looked nothing like it had in the 40’s, yet it still had the same feel about it. The buildings were bigger, taller. The people, though, were the same: busy trying to survive, and angry at the world for putting them in that position.

 Steve had been out of the ice for a few months and it finally felt like he was beginning to integrate into it all. Then the dreams began.

He knew about dream sharing because of the rumors when he was younger. It hadn’t been talked about as much in the 40’s, but things had changed after the war.  Soulmates themselves weren’t rare. Three in five people had one. Dream sharing, on the other hand, only occurred in one in fifty thousand pairs. Articles cited them as belonging only to soulmates who shared a profound connection. Steve figured his connection with the man in his dreams must really be profound to transcend seventy years.

When the first dream happened, Steve didn’t realize what was occurring. He figured he was dreaming of someone he had seen randomly. It wasn’t until their third dream together that Steve realized something was amiss. After they both realized what was going on, the dreams became something that Steve looked forward to. The two of them talked about whatever they could, though often things turned rather grey when the man couldn’t remember one thing or another. Whenever Steve was awake, he felt like the man had always been in his life and was now missing. There were times when Steve could swear he saw the man across a street or disappearing around a corner. Every time Steve would look for him and come up empty. Every time he would feel lost for the rest of the day.

In Steve’s mind, there was no doubt that the man was in trouble. The feeling was like instinct; from the moment Steve knew who the man was, he knew viscerally that his soulmate needed his help. He had hit dead end after dead end trying to find out who the man was. It was obvious that searching on his own wasn’t going to be enough, but he was hesitant to ask for help. Steve wasn’t sure how anyone would react. He eventually gave in and went to Tony, only able to provide a drawing of the man that he had done from memory. Tony, naturally, had given him a hard time about it, but when Steve explained what was going on, his tone changed. Tony hadn’t even made Steve promise to pay him back, he just assured Steve he would find out what he could.

It didn’t take long for Tony to figure something out.

 Steve was sitting with Nat in the Tower’s common floor when Tony sauntered in and dropped a file on the coffee table in front of him. Nat sat forward and started to reach for the file, but Steve snatched it up before she could. She gave him an unamused look but sat back.

“What’s that all about?” she asked, crossing her arms as Steve opened the file.

“Steve asked me to find someone,” Tony answered, when Steve didn’t.

Steve was too focused on the picture attached to the small stack of papers. It was a photo of the man from his dreams in modern Army fatigues, smirking at the camera. His hair was cut regulation short and his eyes gleamed. He looked younger than how Steve knew him, but it was still him, it was Steve’s soulmate. Steve scanned at the first page, his eyes staring at the name printed at the top.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he said quietly.

Nat leaned over his shoulder to peer at the paper.

“Yup,” Tony said, popping the ‘p’, “He was an Army Ranger. Sniper to be exact. Sergeant Barnes went missing in action in ’08. They deemed him K.I.A. in 2010 when they found his tags and three molars in a bombed-out hut in the middle of Iraq.”

Steve looked up at Tony. “That’s impossible. He can’t be dead,” Steve insisted.

“Does someone want to explain what the hell is going on?” Natasha asked.

Tony and Steve looked at her at the same time. “Steve thinks he’s dream sharing,” Tony answered.

“I am dream sharing Tony,” Steve retorted, glaring at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Look through the file Steve, he’s dead and has been since before you came out of the ice!”

“Then how did I draw him Tony?! Explain that!” Steve snapped, standing up and slapping the file onto the table, “I’ve read articles, they say you can’t dream a face you haven’t seen!”

Nat picked up the file while the two continued arguing and started to flip through it.

“I don’t know Steve, maybe you saw a picture of him somewhere? He’s an Army Ranger that died overseas, his face is probably everywhere,” Tony shot back, gesticulating wildly.

Steve balled his hands up into fists, ready to punch Tony in the nose, but Nat stepped in before he could. He had to regulate his breathing to try and calm himself back down. It wasn’t that Steve was unused to being quick to anger, he was just feeling less in control of himself.

“Tony, shut up. If Steve says he’s dream sharing he is. It’s not something you can confuse with a regular dream,” she affirmed.

Steve nodded at her. “Thank you,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

“Well then how do you explain dreaming about a dead man, Steve?” Tony asked, crossing his arms.

Tony was already breaking Steve’s tenuous calm. “I don’t- Jesus, Tony, I don’t know! But I am, and he’s… I think he’s in trouble, James. I think James is in trouble,” Steve stuttered.

“Bucky,” Nat said suddenly, drawing a confused look from Steve.

She shrugged at him. “He went by Bucky, according to his obituary. He’s from Shelby, Indiana.”

“He lived in an old farmhouse, there’s a field out back. He has siblings, but he can’t remember how many or their names. James, Bucky, he has memory issues. He knows who I am in the dream, well at least, that I’m his… um,”

“Soulmate,” Natasha provided, crossing her legs.

“Yeah. We can’t share personal information though. It’s like the dreams have stipulations. I tried telling him my name when we first realized we were dream sharing and it ended abruptly. I felt like shit the rest of the day,” Steve explained.

“It looks like the family sold it the year James was pronounced K.I.A.,” she commented, holding a piece of paper out to Steve.

He looked it over. The house had indeed been sold. It looked like the bank owned it now.

“I wanna go here,” Steve announced, tapping the photo of the house.

“What?” Tony and Nat asked at the same time.

“I wanna go to the house. No one lives there. I wanna see it. I need to know that it’s real,” he told them, swallowing thickly.

Nat nodded. “I’ll go with you. We can drive there,” she said, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, grasping her hand and giving it a small squeeze.

Steve was grateful for Natasha’s help after thinking no one would believe him. It would be a small consolation, but he felt like seeing the house might settle some of the unrest he felt. He hoped that being somewhere James once was might help to fill the void in Steve’s chest.

 The countryside passed by in a blur. Steve gazed out the window as Natasha drove, watching the never-ending expanse of farm land. It stretched out seemingly boundless , covering everything as far as he could see. The drive had been easy, filled mostly with open road. They ate up the twelve-hour drive in no time and Steve was anxiously counting down the miles until they reached where the house was supposed to be.

When they pulled onto the long gravel driveway the sun was starting to get low. Steve let out a relieved breath when he finally saw the farmhouse. He hadn’t seen much of the outside in his last dream with James, but it looked like what he would expect. The wood paneling looked as dated as the planks that made up the floor inside. It looked like a painted depiction of the perfect American life.

Natasha parked the car where it couldn’t be seen from the road and turned it off. They sat for a few minutes, watching the house before they got out. Steve headed to the back without a word, Natasha right behind him. He rounded the back corner of the house and saw the field from his dream, along with the porch he and James sat on. There were no markers of anyone living in the house, unlike the dream. A swing-set was missing from the backyard and the back porch was devoid of any furniture. He sat down on the top step of the porch and imagined James beside him.

It wasn’t the same. The warmth he felt in the dream was missing. James was missing. Steve felt a pit open in his stomach. He hated the feeling of helplessness he got when he thought of James. The feeling only grew now that he knew more about him.

Steve looked up when Natasha sat down and leaned against him. “You alright?” she asked quietly.

“We sat here in my dream,” Steve said softly, putting his head in his hands, “We sat here, and I could hear children playing and feel the heat of a summer day I had never experienced before. It was so real.”

“You’ll find him Steve, I’ll help you. You don’t have to do it alone,” Nat assured him, placing a hand on his back.

The kindness of her actions told Steve how fucked he probably was.

“He’s in danger. I just know it. He says that he doesn’t feel the drive to find me when he’s awake like I do. Like he should according to all the articles. His memory is all messed up too. The two of us should be going crazy to find each other, but it’s like he feels nothing when he’s awake.”

“I think someone is covering something up by making it look like he died, Steve. We just have to figure out what it is and who did it. But we will,” she promised with a sigh.

Steve looked up at her and had to blink back tears. “I know we will. I won’t let him down,” he vowed.

When sun dipped to touch the horizon, Steve swore he could see James standing out in the field, motioning for Steve to join him.

 The sound of a phone ringing in the hallway woke Steve. His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his old Brooklyn apartment. He rolled from the bed, which groaned under his weight like it never had in the forties. The floor was the same as it was seventy years ago. Dusty. Uneven. Steve felt like he could relate.

 It didn’t take him long to make his way into the living room where James was standing, staring out the open window. The air was hot and stagnant, but it didn’t choke Steve like it used to.

 James seemed to sense Steve’s presence, because he looked over his shoulder and caught Steve’s eye. His hair fell across part of his face, casting a shadow over it. The change caused the stark blue of James’ eyes to stand out.

“James,” Steve breathed, overwhelmed by his beauty.

A confused look fell over James’ face, before morphing a moment later to one of wonder. “That’s me,” he said, a blinding smile blooming across his face, “You found out my name?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, elated to see James smile.

Steve moved across the small room at the same time as James. When Steve stopped, unsure of what to do, James wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck. He flowed smoothly onto his toes to kiss Steve, who froze momentarily before placing a hand on James’ hip to help balance him. Steve pressed back against him, securing the kiss further. When James stepped back, a slight flush was on his face as he looked at the ground.

“Sorry, I hope that was okay. I just… You found out my name,” James said, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I told you I would find you, James,” Steve told him, cupping the side of his face to wipe at his cheek with a thumb, “I’m not quite there yet, but I won’t give up.”

James smiled sadly and tipped his head forward to rest it against Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t know my name until you said it just now. I can hardly remember anything about who I am.”

Steve placed a hand on James’ back, relishing in the warm feel of the man in front of him. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes. You’re an Army Ranger sniper who went missing in Iraq in 2008. The military, uh… pronounced you killed in action in 2010.”

James laughed humorlessly, his breath seeping through Steve’s shirt to warm his skin. “What was the basis for my K.I.A.?” he asked.

“Three molars and your tags,” Steve answered shortly, moving to sit on the raggedy couch.

Steve watched James contemplate his answer as he looked out at old New York. “I’m missing some teeth,” James mumbled, shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t know exactly what it means, but I’ll find out,” Steve said.

James sighed and dropped down on to the couch beside Steve, leaning into him unabashedly. Steve felt content with the weight of James against his side. They sat with only the noises from the streets below between them for some time.

“Where are we anyways?” James suddenly asked, glancing over at Steve.

“My old apartment,” Steve answered fondly.

“This place looks like it’s from the 1940s,” James commented, craning his neck to look around.

Steve laughed shortly. “That’s because it is.”

James gave him a skeptical look. “How are you from the forties when you look like this?” he questioned, motioning to Steve’s person.

“I didn’t always look like this,” Steve told him, hoping it would be enough of a hint to who he really was.

James took a moment to consider Steve before looking off to the side in thought.

“What did you look like?”

“Small,” Steve said, “Sick. My nose didn’t fit my face as well.”

“Wait,” James mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows, “Small, sick, and from the forties?”

“Yeah.”

James looked up at Steve in confusion. “Steve… Rogers? But you’re supposed to be…”

“They found me in the Arctic in 2011. The serum preserved me somehow,” Steve interrupted, joy blooming in his chest at hearing James say his name.

Steve smiled at James, whose face broke out into a huge grin. “Steve Rogers is my soulmate, holy shit.”

He grabbed one of Steve’s hands in his excitement.

“We know each other’s names now,” James announced, bouncing slightly on the couch.

“I wish it was enough,” Steve sighed.

“It’s more than we had,” he assured Steve, “And I believe in you Steve. Steve Rogers. If any of the stuff I learned in history about you is true, you’ll find me.”

Steve couldn’t help but to lean forward and give James a soft kiss, which was eagerly returned. James slid closer to Steve to deepen the kiss, bringing one of his hands up to lightly touch Steve’s jaw.

“I can’t wait to do that in person,” James said quietly when they separated.

“Me too,” Steve agreed, glancing over to the window to see the sun setting.

Steve moved in one last time, barely placing a kiss on James’ lips before he woke with a start.

Natasha was sitting up on her side of the king-size bed, a gun in her hand. She looked at Steve with alarm, relaxing when she woke up enough to realize they were safe.

“Steve?” she asked cautiously, touching his arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly.

“Were you with him?”

Steve nodded as he tried to calm himself down. Natasha rubbed his arm in comfort before leaning over and gently kissing his cheek. The gesture helped to ground Steve back in the reality of the waking world.

“We’ll find him Steve,” she told him.

“I know we will,” Steve said, smiling wanly.

They couldn’t get back to sleep afterwards, so they checked out early and hit the road back to New York. Steve offered to drive most of the way home to help keep his mind off James.

It didn’t work.

 Steve and Natasha returned to the Tower and a bulletin board that Tony made on James Barnes that would make any conspiracy theorist jealous. Tony had set up a whole area in his lab dedicated to tracking what he could find on James. It worried Steve a bit.

“I thought you would be grateful,” Tony scoffed, when Steve voiced his concerns.

“I’m worried about the legality of all this,” Steve told him.

“Oh,” Bruce interjected, “It’s all very illegal, but you’ll get the information you want.”

Tony shrugged when Steve shot him a look. “I found one of his old Army buddies,” Tony offered, “I set up a playdate for you and him to chat.”

“He’s okay with that?”

“Uh, yeah? I mean… I just told him that I was helping a journalist get interviews with Army vets, he seemed game.”

“So, you lied,” Steve groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“I stretched the truth!” Tony defended, pointing at Steve with a stylus, “How was I supposed to tell him that his dead Army buddy’s soulmate wanted to talk to him?”

Steve rolled his eyes when Tony crossed his arms in triumph. “He’ll be at the café on the first floor tomorrow at noon.”

Steve shook his head and started his way out of the lab. “You’re welcome!” Tony shouted after him.

The next day Steve was down in the café almost a half hour before the meeting time. He sat with a cup of coffee, watching the comings and goings of people through Stark Tower. Steve watched as Tony cut through the crowd with a young black man in tow. They walked through the small gathering of tables to where Steve was; Tony stopped only briefly to motion for the man to sit before leaving without another word. The man looked at Steve in a bit of awe, before wrangling his expression and raising an eyebrow.

“Something tells me you’re not a journalist,” he joked, smiling nervously.

He looked young to Steve’s eyes, but most people did. His hair was cut close to his scalp on the sides, but longer on top, with lines shaved into the sides.

“Sorry about Tony, he did this without my say,” Steve started with a sigh, “Steve Rogers.”

He reached across the table to shake the young man’s hand.

“Sam Sawyer, it’s an honor to meet you Captain,” he answered, shaking Steve’s hand, “I do have to admit that I’m unsure why you’d want to talk to me.”

“You served with James Barnes, right?” Steve asked, deciding to just jump into what would surely be a strange line of questioning.

Sam’s face screwed up defensively as he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I did, what of it?” he retorted, scowling.

Steve held his hands up, trying to convey that he wasn’t being hostile. Once Sam relaxed a little Steve leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“I know this may be difficult to believe, but I’ve been dream sharing with him. I was hoping to talk to you about him a little,” Steve explained.

“He’s dead, Sir,” Sam returned softly, “You can’t be dream sharing with him.”

“I don’t believe that he is. We think his death is a cover up,” Steve started, “I have no proof yet,” he rushed to say when Sam’s face lit up, “But I’m trying to find some.”

“Have you talked to his folks yet?” Sam asked.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to give them false hope. I can’t do that to them when I don’t have enough to find him,” Steve answered.

Sam nodded in approval. “That’s good then. His mother wouldn’t survive it if you couldn’t find him.”

“Do you know her?” Steve asked.

“I do, her name is Winnifred,” Sam murmured, “His dad is named George and he has two little sisters, Rebecca and Hailey.”

“What was James like?”

Sam smiled forlornly. “He hated being called James. He didn’t tell you that in your dreams?”

“He doesn’t remember much,” Steve mumbled, fidgeting with his cup.

“Oh,” Sam breathed, “Well, he preferred Bucky off-hours, ‘Sarge’ during ops. He was the best damn shot I ever saw. Bucky was the greatest, he was the guy who kept us all together. He saved my life more than once.”

Steve listened intently as Sam went on about his time knowing Bucky. He was told stories about their time overseas and during training. Bucky was a joker as much as he was the guy to shut up and get the job done. It wasn’t nearly as good as being able to talk to Bucky about this stuff, but it was the next best thing. Steve was desperate for any information he could get.

“He was nice, but he’d kick your ass in a heartbeat if you were actin’ a fool,” Sam finished, laughing to himself.

“Can I ask what happened? I mean, how he…,” Steve started.

“Got took?” Sam finished for him.

Steve nodded.

“Officially, it was an op gone wrong. He got spotted, that’s what they say,” Sam answered.

“Unofficially?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. “Some sketchy looking black op level bastards had been sniffing around him a couple of days before he went missing. I was told to shut up about it, but I think they took off with him. That’s why your idea of a cover-up ain’t that hard to believe.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Steve pushed.

“Nah, I didn’t think anything of them until after Sarge disappeared. Sorry Captain.”

“No, you actually gave me something good. I can look into any special agencies that were trying to recruit overseas.”

“I don’t know how that could explain Sarge’s memory issues though,” Sam pointed out.

“Me either, but I aim to find out,” Steve said, “I hope I can count on your discretion regarding all this?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I learned to keep my mouth shut after the Army booted me for talking too much about those spooky lookin’ fuckers. Can I make a request though?”

“Of course.”

“When you find Bucky, let me know? I wanna punch the bastard in his pretty little face.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. I can’t promise I won’t warn him that you’re gonna swing at him though,” Steve said with a laugh.

“Fair enough, Sir,” Sam agreed with a chuckle.

Steve and Sam sat for a while longer, ordering more coffee and some sandwiches as they chatted. When Sam left Steve had his contact information tucked away and a new lead to investigate. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than Steve had before he met Sam. He was confident it would bring him one step closer to finding Bucky.

 As soon Steve woke up he knew something was wrong. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. When he sat up from the floor and looked around, he felt his panic rise.

The room was made of concrete on all sides. There were metal tables strewn about with various devices lined up neatly on each of them. A computer was mounted to a rolling cart which was tucked in one corner. It had wires leading to a large metal chair with restraints in the middle of the room.

Steve whimpered at the sudden knowledge of what it felt like to be strapped into it.

A mimic of his own despair echoed from a corner of the room, where Steve looked to see Bucky curled up defensively. He was shirtless, his skin covered in scars. The most shocking thing though, was the gruesome tangle of scar-pocked skin on Bucky’s left shoulder where a metal prosthetic arm was attached.

Steve moved across the room, dropping painfully to his knees to try and comfort Bucky. Instead of leaning into Steve like usual, Bucky curled further into himself. He was terrified; Steve could feel it as if it was his own fear. The vivid emotion prevented him from attempting to touch Bucky, too afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Bucky,” Steve said quietly, trying to get the man to look at him.

Bucky didn’t cooperate, he only cradled his own head in his arms as he mumbled something. It took Steve a moment of listening to realize it was Russian.

“Bucky, please,” Steve pleaded, “Please look at me, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Steve tentatively reached out and placed a hand on Bucky’s arm. He flinched away from the touch, but otherwise didn’t move.

“I won’t hurt you Bucky, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Steve tried, carefully pulling Bucky’s arm away from his head.

The fear Steve was experiencing melted away as Bucky looked up at him, recognition clear in his eyes.

“Steve?” he asked weakly, looking around the room frantically, “You can’t be here.”

Steve moved closer to Bucky, touching his face gently. “Where are we, Bucky?” Steve questioned, desperate for answers before he was taken from Bucky again.

“Steve, please, you have to go. If they find you here they’ll hurt you too,” Bucky rambled, suddenly grabbing Steve’s wrists in a punishing grip.

It was far stronger than any normal person could manage.

“Who, Bucky? Who is hurting you?”

Bucky shook his head, tears spilling down his face. “Please, leave. They’ll make you forget too. You can’t forget me, Steve!” Bucky cried, pressing his face into Steve’s chest.

Steve shushed him and rubbed Bucky’s back, allowing him to cry into his shirt.

“It’s alright Bucky, we’re safe here. Please, try to calm down, sweetheart. I need you to tell me who is hurting you. That’s the only way I can find you.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place,” Bucky recited mechanically.

The words caused ice to run through Steve’s veins. He pulled back enough to look down at Bucky, who was still painfully holding Steve’s wrists.

“That’s impossible,” Steve whispered.

“So are we,” Bucky returned, glancing up at Steve with bloodshot eyes.

Steve stared at Bucky, the fear from before returning.

“It’s alright Bucky,” Steve assured him, “I’ll definitely find you now.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’m worth finding anymore Steve,” he said quietly, right before the door to the room was yanked open, flooding it with daylight.

Steve was out of bed and in the elevator to Natasha’s floor in a flash. She almost swore at him for pounding on her bedroom door, but her mood changed when she saw his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked flatly, stepping out of her room and leading the way to her living area.

“It’s Bucky, I know who has him,” Steve said, pacing the room as Natasha sat down.

“Who?”

“Hydra.”

Natasha stared at him from the couch, her face impossible to read. “Fuck,” she said suddenly, standing up and walking briskly to the kitchen.

Steve waited until she returned with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

“What’re you…”

“Sit,” Natasha ordered, falling onto the couch and dropping the glasses to the coffee table with a clatter.

Steve followed her directions. He watched as she poured two healthy shots of liquor and offered one to Steve.

“You know I can’t get drunk,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but I can, and I don’t want to drink alone. Down the hatch, Rogers,” she retorted, snapping her fingers.

Steve rolled his eyes but toasted with her and threw the shot back. It burned all the way down and made his cheeks hurt. He grimaced as Natasha started pouring another for herself and tossed it back as well.

“What makes you think it’s Hydra?” she asked, huffing a breath and sitting back into the couch.

“Bucky said ‘“cut off one head, two more shall take its place’”, when I asked who was hurting him. We were, in a nightmare of his, I think,” Steve explained.

“What did you see?” Natasha pressed.

Steve licked his lips and sighed. “A small room with a chair in the middle.”

Natasha leaned forward and poured them each another shot. Steve didn’t hesitate before throwing his back this time.

“That wasn’t the worst part,” he said quietly, “Bucky was… he was all scarred up. And his left arm looked like it was replaced with a metal prosthetic.”

The sound of Natasha slamming her glass on the table made Steve jump. He looked over to see her staring blankly ahead.

“Natasha?” he asked carefully.

“Steve,” she said tonelessly, “I hate to say it, but this just got a lot worse.”

“What?” he asked, alarmed, “Why? Natasha, what do you know?”

“He’s supposed to be a ghost story,” she said, “Something that the community has been whispering about for the past few years. No one who has faced him has lived to tell about it. He’s deadly accurate with a sniper and cruel in the way he kills. The only thing known about him is that he has a metal left arm,” she went on, still not looking at Steve.

“Who?”

“We call him the Winter Soldier.”

“And you, what? You think that’s Bucky?” Steve asked, standing up.

Natasha looked up at him with tired eyes. “It makes sense,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t!” Steve snapped.

“Think about it, Steve. James disappeared shortly before the Winter Soldier came around. He had a metal arm in your dream. Covered in scars. And I’d bet Clint’s left hearing aid he’s stronger than he should be.”

Steve sighed shakily and clenched his jaw. “Bucky wouldn’t… he would never kill someone, not for Hydra at least.”

Natasha shrugged. “What difference is killing people for the government versus killing for an organization like Hydra?” she asked casually.

“There’s a huge difference, Natasha. Don’t forget that I killed for this country,” he gritted out.

“Yeah, so have I. I’ve also killed for the Russians. They’re all the same when they want someone dead. They all think their reasons are sound,” she argued, finally looking at him.

“Bucky wouldn’t willingly kill for Hydra,” Steve amended, not wanting to fall into an argument about morals at the moment.

“You hardly know him, Steve.”

“Fuck off!” Steve burst out, startling Natasha, “You have no right to tell me that, Natasha.”

“Steve…”

“No!” he interrupted, “You’re either going to help me or you’re not.”

“It’s bigger than you and him now,” she said softly.

“I’m going to find Bucky,” Steve said vehemently, “And I’m going to burn Hydra out of existence. I thought I had once before, but I guess my death didn’t mean a fucking thing in the end.”

Natasha stared at him before sighing, “I’m going to help you. I want to help you. I need to know that your head is going to be in this though. It’ll be dangerous if you’re willing to throw everything away for James.”

“I am,” Steve said, “And that won’t change.”

“Fuck, you’re so frustrating,” Natasha breathed, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m frustrated,” Steve shot back, “I can’t get Bucky out of my head. It’s unnerving, the pull I feel toward him. I don’t think it’s normal even by regular soulmate standards.”

“It’s not,” Natasha agreed, “Your bond with him is incredible.”

“I don’t understand why he wants to find me when we’re dreaming but it goes away when he wakes up.”

“It’s possible that Hydra has done something to him to cause that,” she said.

Steve watched as she poured another shot. “What?” he asked, too impatient to wait for her to finish.

“The Russians, they had ways to turn people, to mess their minds up so much they could mold them into whatever they wanted. If Hydra has been around this whole time, they may have been involved with the technology.”

“Like brainwashing?” Steve wondered.

Natasha nodded solemnly. “Worse than Loki’s stuff too. A good hit to the head won’t fix these people,” she said.

“Bucky told me, in the dream… he said he might not be worth finding anymore,” Steve told her.

Natasha poured yet another shot and stood up, holding the glass out to Steve.

“He might be right. You should be prepared for that,” she said, not unkindly.

Steve took the shot from her and drank it, wincing at the burn. “I have to try. Even if I can’t manage to save Bucky, we can at least take Hydra down.”

The two of them stood in the silence of Natasha’s living room, absorbing the idea of the task they were about to take on. Steve was more than ready. He was going to find Bucky and he was going to kill anyone in Hydra who got in his way.

 “Remind me again why we’re driving to D.C.?” Steve said, glancing over at Natasha.

She had her feet kicked up onto the dashboard with her seat reclined. “We have to tell Fury about Hydra,” she answered simply, not looking up from her phone.

“And we didn’t take one of Tony’s planes because…?”

Natasha sighed loudly and sat up, “Because we don’t want them to know we’re coming. We can’t trust anyone, Steve.”

“But we’re going to tell Fury?”

“We can trust Fury,” she said firmly.

Steve was remiss to take her word for it, but Natasha didn’t trust easily, so he was comforted by that at least. They had been on the road for two hours already. Natasha had elected Steve to drive and promptly stretched out in the passenger seat, oddly calm. Steve, on the other hand, was an anxious mess. He felt like every mile closer to D.C. was a mile closer to Bucky. It was inexplicable, the feeling that Steve was getting physically closer to him, but he knew it was happening. The sensation made Steve fidget, which was earning him looks from Natasha.

They were finally nearing the capital when Natasha’s phone went off, breaking the silence they had lapsed into. When she picked it up Tony’s voice invaded the car.

“Someone at SHIELD has a very loose grip on accounting,” he quipped.

“What?” Steve asked, trying to focus on the road.

“I looked into the SHIELD accounts and some money is being moved to accounts outside of the organization,” Tony explained.

“Why were you looking into SHIELD accounts?”

“Because I asked him to,” Natasha answered.

“Yeah, well, anyway,” Tony continued, “I did some more digging after I found, you know, billions of dollars being slowly moved. Turns out it’s all by the same three IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asked.

Tony sighed. “We really need to get you to the local library for a computer class,” he snarked, “It means it’s the same three computers and likely the same three people moving the money.”

“What does…”

“I swear on Uncle Sam, if you ask me ‘“what does that mean’,” I’m going to remote shut down your car!” Tony snapped.

Steve glared at the roof of the car. Natasha snorted a laugh.

“Are there names attached to the computer?” she asked.

“Duh,” Tony sighed, “You have a pen and paper?”

Natasha pulled out her phone. “Yeah, go,” she ordered.

Tony listed off three names before hanging up without another word.

“What are you going to do with those?” Steve asked.

“Research,” Natasha responded, before kicking her feet back up on the dashboard.

Steve shook his head but decided to leave her be and concentrate on the drive. He could feel the miles pass underneath him with stark clarity. Bucky was somewhere in D.C., Steve was sure of it.

 Fury looked at Steve and Natasha with that familiar flat expression of his. Natasha was sat calmly in her chair after bringing Fury up to speed on everything. Steve felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

“What the hell makes you two think I’m going to believe any of this?” he asked harshly.

“Because you have no reason not to,” Natasha countered, her voice even.

Fury sighed and looked down at the information they had provided him. The three names Natasha has researched turned up a litany of underhanded money transactions that should have been caught but weren’t. That fact turned up the conclusion that there were more people in on the money laundering than just the three accountants.

“Well, all we can do is wait,” Fury said.

“Wait?!” Steve snapped, sitting forward in his chair, “We’re just going to sit back and wait to see if Hydra is back?”

“Captain Rogers, so far all I have proof of is money laundering,” Fury retorted.

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

“Your dreams aren’t enough evidence, Rogers,” Fury said sternly.

Steve scoffed and stood up, his chair moving violently as he did.

“Where are you going?” Fury demanded as Steve started to leave his office.

“I’m going to try and figure something out, which is a hell of a lot more than you’re doing,” he shot back.

Steve didn’t even bother to hear if Fury had anything else to say. He stormed down the hallway, agents all but jumping out of his way as he walked. Natasha caught up to him at the elevator. She didn’t say anything when the doors opened, and they stepped inside.

Agent Rumlow was tucked into a back corner with a few of his strike team agents. They all nodded in greeting, but otherwise didn’t say anything. Steve shifted as the elevator started back up again. He had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling in the back of his head. Behind him, Steve heard Rumlow tapping away on a phone. He could count the breathing of two of the agents. They were both breathing too quickly. Next to him, Natasha moved a fraction of an inch toward the elevator wall. The silence became tense a second before everything erupted around them.

The agent directly behind Steve barely moved before Natasha was rounding on him. Steve turned in just enough time to see her kick the agent’s knees out and take him down. She flawlessly moved on to attack the next agent as Steve caught the agent closest to Brock as he advanced. He grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back before slamming the man’s face first into the elevator wall. Natasha grappled on the floor with the second agent, the two of them knocking into Steve blindly.

Agent Rumlow used the distraction to wrestle Steve into a corner. He snapped a large cuff onto one of Steve’s wrists before activating a remote. The cuff magnetized and dragged Steve’s arm against the wall of the elevator with a heavy thump. He barely managed to fend off the punch Rumlow aimed at Steve’s face, his left cheek catching the brunt of it. Steve gritted his teeth through the pain and tried to analyze the next best move. He didn’t have to do much, because Natasha was suddenly on Rumlow’s back, wrenching him away from Steve. She kneed him in the kidney before wrangling him to the other side of the small space.

Steve was still struggling to pull his arm away from the wall when the first agent Natasha took down staggered back to his feet. He pulled a knife from his boot and came at Steve. The knife hit Steve low on his side, making him grunt in pain. Steve reacted with his free hand, grabbing the agent and shoving him the few steps into Rumlow. Natasha used the advantage to grab the fallen agent by the hair and smash his face into the glass wall. She twirled around quickly and punched Rumlow in the stomach, snatching the cuff’s remote out of his hand when he flinched away.

With his now free arm, Steve bashed his cuffed wrist against Rumlow’s head, watching with satisfaction as he fell limply to the floor. Natasha was breathing heavily next to Steve as the elevator came to a stop on the ground floor. They glanced quickly at each other before pressing back against the outer walls of the elevator. The chime went off, making Steve tense up. Two agents advanced into the space, guns drawn. Steve and Natasha attacked, using the element of surprise, and swiped their firearms before sprinting into the lobby.

They barely escaped into the garage of the building. Steve watched Natasha’s back as she hotwired a car. There were agents swarming the place, trying to prevent them from leaving. Steve and Natasha had worked silently, communicating only through looks and hand gestures. When they finally managed an escape from the building and were relatively safe on the D.C. roads, the pain from Steve’s earlier stab wound flared up. He hissed and fished around in the back seat for his bag, pulling out a shirt and using it to apply pressure to his wound.

“What the hell just happened?” he finally asked, looking over to see Nat intent on the road.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” she answered quietly, her breathing slightly labored.

“Are you alright?”

She glanced over at him for a split second. “I’ll live, you?”

Steve pulled the shirt away to check his wound. “I’ll heal, but we need someplace to lay low for a bit,” he said, pressing the blood-soaked shirt back to his side.  

“I know a place,” Natasha assured him.

Steve sighed and tried to relax into his seat. He now had a lot more questions than answers. Agent Rumlow was supposed to be SHIELD, so there should be no reason for him to attack them. There was only explanation.

“Rumlow is Hydra,” Steve mumbled.

“Yeah,” Natasha said shortly.

“All of those agents were.”

Natasha didn’t say anything at that, so Steve dropped the subject. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing through the pain in his side. As they drove he catalogued the turns that Natasha took, making sure he knew where they were at all times. He realized after forty minutes of driving that Natasha was doubling back and going in circles. Once he knew what she was up to he stopped paying attention to where they were and trusted her to get them where they needed to be.

They finally stopped after almost two hours of driving. Natasha had taken them around the city several times, before leaving and rounding back in from the opposite side. She parked the car on the street and reached for her bag in the back.

“Change clothes,” she instructed, yanking her shirt off with little care.

“Where are we?” Steve asked.

Natasha grabbed Steve’s bag and threw it at him. “Change clothes,” she repeated.

Steve sighed, but did as she said. Once they were done she fished a hat out of her bag and handed it to Steve. He put it on without question as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

They left the stolen car and walked. It took them about thirty minutes to reach the destination Natasha was looking for. She led Steve up to a non-descript house and knocked on the front door. A confused black man opened the door, taking in their disheveled appearance.

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Natasha said, in lieu of greeting.

He looked around. “Not everyone,” the man replied, opening the door to let them in.

Sam Wilson had a modestly decorated house, two guest rooms, and an easy disposition. Natasha refused to tell Steve how she knew him, but given the situation, Steve was remiss to argue. He showered and changed; being sure to check the wound in his side. When he wandered into the kitchen after, Sam invited him to sit and promptly shoved enough food at him to feed three people.

“Nat says you eat a lot,” Sam said when Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

“I do,” Steve responded, “And thanks for letting us hide out here.”

Sam shrugged as he sat down. “I figured Nat wouldn’t come knocking unless it was bad.”

“How do you two know each other?” Steve asked.

“Promise not to tell her I told you?”

Steve nodded, his mouth full of food.

“She was down here for a while last fall, we went on a couple of dates,” Sam said, smirking.

“Oh, I didn’t know she was, um, dating…” Steve managed.

“She’s not,” Natasha said from the doorway, startling both men.

Sam grinned sheepishly at her when she walked past him to grab her own plate of food. The three of them sat and talked while Steve and Natasha ate. Once they were finished Steve begged off to his room, exhausted. It took him almost an hour to relax, but once he did he managed to fall into a deep sleep.

When Steve woke up in his bed in the Tower it took him a moment to realize he was dreaming. He looked towards the windows where Bucky stood, looking down on the city. Steve climbed out of bed and went to him, stopping just behind Bucky and placing a hand on the small of his back. Bucky wordlessly rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” Bucky said quietly, his eyes not straying from the window.

“Me too,” Steve returned, finding one of Bucky’s hands with his own, “Our last encounter had me worried.”

Bucky turned around and rested his forehead against Steve, gripping his hand tightly. “I remember it.”

“I’m in D.C.”

“I know,” Bucky mumbled, “I can feel it when I’m awake, but I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Steve asked, rubbing the back of Bucky’s hand with his thumb.

“I don’t know what’s going on. I just know something feels off and I don’t like it.”

Steve stepped back towards the bed, pulling Bucky with him. He sat them down and tugged Bucky close. “I’m so close, I know it. I’m going to find you,” he assured Bucky.

“I know you will, Steve,” Bucky said, though he didn’t sound like it was good thing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Steve tried, only to have Bucky shake his head.

“Steve, can you promise me something?” Bucky asked, his tone setting off alarms in Steve’s head.

Steve looked down at Bucky, “What?”

“Promise me that if I don’t recognize you that you’ll kill me,” Bucky said, his face buried in Steve’s chest.

“Bucky…”

“Steve, please,” Bucky interjected, gripping Steve’s shirt.

Steve blinked back tears and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair. He guided Bucky’s head back, so he could look the other man in the eyes. “I’d die first.”

Bucky shook his head vehemently. “I need you to do this, Steve. I can’t continue like this anymore,” he pleaded.

“You’re my soulmate,” Steve breathed.

“So, you know how I feel. You know that’s how it has to be,” Bucky said.

“You’ll recognize me,” Steve affirmed, stroking Bucky’s cheek.

“Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll… try, Bucky. That’s the most I can promise.”

Bucky nodded solemnly, but didn’t push the issue further, instead he leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve responded in kind, pressing into Bucky and relishing in the feel of him against his side. Bucky licked along Steve’s bottom lip, pressing him to allow Bucky to slip his tongue against Steve’s. Steve cupped Bucky’s jaw in his hand, trying to pull him closer but Bucky fell to the bed, pulling Steve down on top of him with a soft smile.

“Bucky,” Steve said quietly, resting his weight on his hands.

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispered, reaching up to stroke Steve’s face, “I haven’t felt anything but pain in so long. I always feel so good when I’m with you, I want more of that.”

“I don’t want this to be…”

“I love you, Steve. I know that’s probably not right, because we’ve never met. I mean, hell, I don’t even know who I am half the time. The one thing I do know in all of this is that I love you and I want to feel close to you,” Bucky interrupted, wiping at a tear that slipped down Steve’s cheek.

“I love you too, Bucky. I wanted this to happen in person though,” Steve sighed.

“We might not get to, Steve, you have to understand that. This may be all we get.”

Steve closed his eyes and nodded. “I do understand,” he said sadly, leaning down to kiss Bucky softly.

Bucky sighed into the kiss, clawing at Steve to pull him closer. He went to Bucky easily, gently letting his weight press against him. Steve moaned quietly when Bucky arched up into him, deepening the kiss into something more desperate. Bucky was close to frantic as he pulled at Steve’s shirt, urging him to take it off.

Steve leaned back so he could pull it off and toss it carelessly away from them. He helped Bucky out of his own long sleeved shirt, taking in his naked torso for the second time. It was less shocking to see the scars that marred his skin. The metal arm was still jarring, but it didn’t make Bucky any less perfect in Steve’s eyes.

Steve ran a gentle hand across one of the largest scars that sat on Bucky’s chest. “I don’t know how I got any of them,” Bucky said, his eyes darting along Steve’s face.

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t get any more,” Steve vowed, moving to place a kiss on the raised skin.

Bucky scoffed, but cradled Steve’s head as he moved on to Bucky’s nipples. Bucky hissed sharply when Steve took one into his mouth, teasing it to a peak.

“Have you done this before?” Bucky asked, his voice strained.

Steve propped himself up on his elbows, so he could look at Bucky. “No,” he answered shortly, earning a soft expression from Bucky, “Have you?”

Bucky thought about the question for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I think. I mean, I know what to do, so I guess I must have,” he answered.

“Either way,” Steve said quietly, “I’m glad one of us knows what’s going on, I just want to make you feel good Buck.”

“Don’t worry, you will,” Bucky promised, before rolling over and reaching for Steve’s bedside table.  

Bucky opened the top drawer and pulled out Steve’s bottle of lube, smirking at Steve as he did.

“How did you know that was in there?” Steve asked, moving off Bucky when he motioned for him to do so.

“I know what you know, Steve, remember?” Bucky replied, hooking his thumbs into his pants to slide them off.

Steve helped him, discarding the pants and briefs, before taking a moment to stare. Bucky’s thighs were thick with muscle and dusted with a dark smattering of coarse hair. His cock lay swollen and red against the crease of his thigh, wet at the tip with pre-come. Bucky looked like a painting the way he was lounging on the pillows, looking down his body at Steve. He lifted one leg and rested his foot on Steve’s shoulder, allowing Steve a better view.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” Steve praised, turning his head to kiss Bucky’s ankle.

Bucky flushed and looked away bashfully. Steve moved forward slightly, Bucky’s leg bending as he did. “Hey,” Steve said, making Bucky look back at him, “Tell me what to do?”

“Here,” Bucky responded, holding the lube out, “You gotta stretch me out, but go slow, start with one finger. I’m assuming it’s been as long for dream me as it has real me.”

“This is real you,” Steve argued lightly, taking the bottle.

Steve ignored Bucky when he rolled his eyes at him and set about pouring a bit of the lube onto one of his hands. Bucky grabbed a pillow from behind him and settled it under his hips, angling them so Steve had a better view. Steve swallowed thickly, his pants uncomfortably tight, but he didn’t want to stop to take them off just yet. He carefully explored the tight ring of muscle with his slick finger, watching for Bucky’s reactions. When Bucky seemed to relax enough he pressed in, holding his breath as his finger slipped inside.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, worrying Steve. He looked up at Bucky with wide eyes. “I’m okay, ‘s just burning a little. Go slow, you’re doin’ good,” Bucky assured him.

Steve pressed on slowly. He could feel a swell of emotion that wasn’t his own and looked to find tears slipping down Bucky’s cheeks. When he moved to pull his finger out Bucky shook his head furiously.

“Don’t stop, please. Sorry, ‘m just…”

“I know,” Steve cut in, gently petting Bucky’s thigh, “I feel it too.”

Bucky covered his eyes with his metal hand and sniffed. “You can add another finger,” he urged.

Steve didn’t ask if he was sure, he just followed Bucky’s directions and pressed two fingers in smoothly. He scissored them slowly, happy to hear Bucky moan high in his throat. Bucky’s breathing grew short as he started to grind himself down on Steve’s fingers. He took that as a cue to add a third and was pleased at Bucky’s reaction.

“Feelin’ good?” Steve asked quietly, carefully taking Bucky’s cock in his free hand.

Bucky keened as he arched off the bed. “Steve, God… Please, m’good. I want you, baby,” he pleaded, writhing against the sheets.

“You’re okay, Bucky, I got you,” Steve soothed, pulling his fingers free of Bucky’s body.

Steve rolled off the bed to finally pull his jeans off, relieved to finally take the pressure off his dick. He sighed as he slid them down all the way and looked to find Bucky watching him with a glassy expression. When Bucky reached out Steve moved closer, so he could run his hand along Steve’s side. Bucky thumbed at the remnants of the knife wound and frowned.

“It’ll heal,” Steve told him, before kneeling back on the bed.

Bucky sat up and kissed the mark, spreading his flesh hand against the small of Steve’s back. Steve lightly took his metal wrist in hand and placed it on his own hip.

“I want all of you Buck,” he said with a soft smile when Bucky looked up Steve’s torso at him.

Hesitantly, Bucky slid his metal hand up to Steve’s shoulder and used it to pull him down to the bed with him. Steve went willingly and rested on his elbows, so they were pressed together, skin-on-skin. He buried his face in Bucky’ shoulder as he ground down, letting their cocks slide together, slick from the lube and pre-come. They both moaned loudly. Bucky’s hand on Steve’s lower back held Steve against him as he ground up against him.

“Steve,” Bucky whined, wrapping one leg around Steve’s waist as he kept fucking his hips against Steve.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve said, his cock sliding against Bucky’s relaxed hole, “Just let me find a condom.”

“Dream, Steve,” Bucky reminded him, “No need.”

Steve stilled for a moment at the comment. He had completely lost himself in Bucky and forgotten he wasn’t there. The revelation caused a wave of loss to wash over him. Bucky threaded the fingers of his metal hand in the short hairs at the back of Steve’s head.

“I know,” he said, “We have to take what we can get, Steve.”

“We’ll have more than this,” Steve vowed, dipping to kiss Bucky deeply.

Bucky ignored the promise and rolled his hips again, brining Steve back to their current engagement. Steve leaned back enough to take himself in hand, slicking up before he pressed the tip against Bucky. He tensed beneath him for a moment, before breathing out slowly, his body relaxing. When Steve pushed past the loosened muscle he and Bucky both sucked in a sharp breath.

“Bucky…”

“It’s fine Steve,” Bucky insisted, trying to press Steve in further with the heel of his foot.

Steve went with it, slowly pressing in, before pulling out slightly. He went on like that for a while, easing the way until he was seated fully inside of Bucky. They stilled for a few beats, looking at each other, finally connected.

“Steve,” Bucky said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know Bucky,” Steve replied, “I know. I’m here.”

Bucky closed his eyes and nodded, pulling Steve down for a kiss. Steve returned the kiss before moving back and licking his lips. He pulled out of Bucky slowly, causing the brunette to moan. When he thrust back in, putting some strength behind it, Bucky arched off the bed and cried out.

Steve did his best to keep the same angle as he quickened his pace. He dipped his head down to suck marks along Bucky’s throat as he found his rhythm. Bucky responded beautiful, clutching at Steve’s shoulders and tightening around his dick.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky hissed, “Steve…”

“I got you, sweetheart,” Steve responded, supporting himself to take Bucky in hand.

Steve worked Bucky over, matching the rhythm to his thrusts as best he could. He watched Bucky’s face as it screwed shut in pleasure. His heart ached for the man below him and Steve felt tears pooling behind his eyelids. When Bucky opened his eyes and looked at Steve, he did as well.

“’M gonna come, Steve,” he whined, biting his bottom lip.

“Go on, honey,” Steve whispered, quickening the pace of his hand along Bucky’s cock.

Bucky tensed, his mouth falling open as he eyes closed tightly. He arched off the bed with a cry and came all over his own stomach. Steve jerked him through the aftershocks, before gently releasing his dick. He pulled Bucky’s hips closer, hooking one of his knees over the crook of his arm. Bucky rolled his head, still blissed out from his orgasm, as Steve set about chasing his own. It only took a few quick thrusts before Steve’s hips faltered.

“Come inside me, Steve,” Bucky pleaded, “I wanna feel you when I wake up.”

Steve came with a low shout, burying his face into the pillow by Bucky’s head. He shuddered, breathing heavily. Bucky gently petted Steve’s hair, letting his leg fall from his hip. When Steve pulled out Bucky whimpered quietly. Steve glanced to the window. The sun was starting to set. He looked down at Bucky to see him quietly crying.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, chewing on his lip.

“Me too, Bucky,” Steve sighed, stroking his cheek.

Bucky looked up to Steve and opened his mouth to say something just as the sun slipped away.

Steve walked into the kitchen to see Natasha rummaging through a crate on the floor. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You look like shit,” she announced.

“Thanks,” Steve grumbled, falling into a kitchen chair.

When Steve had woken up he was crying and needed to take another shower. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all. The absence of Bucky was worse than usual. He had sat in his room for over an hour just staring at a wall.

“What is all this?” Steve asked.

“Tony over-nighted us some stuff,” Natasha answered, tossing his cowl at him.

Steve caught it and set it on the table, watching as Natasha pulled the rest of his suit out of the crate. “I’m assuming you talked to him last night?”

Natasha nodded and set her own suit on the table too. “He even sent a gift for Sam,” she said, hefting a large metal contraption out of the crate.

Sam walked into the kitchen at that exact moment and gasped. “Are those my wings?!”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Natasha in question but got only a folder shoved his way in return. He flipped through it while Sam gushed over “his wings”.

“The Falcon?” Steve asked, earning a gap-toothed smile from Sam.

“That’s me,” he said proudly.

Sam hefted the pack onto his back and started tightening straps here and there. Steve looked over at Natasha who was smiling slyly as she watched Sam. It took Steve a minute to process why Sam would need his wings and when he figured it out he frowned.

“We can’t ask you to help us Sam, it’s too dangerous,” Steve told Sam, his frown deepening.

“You’re not asking,” Sam returned, “I’m offering. I mean, come on, how am I gonna pass up a chance to work with the Black Widow?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at Sam’s comment, even though a small smile slipped past her lips. She was about to say something when Sam’s landline rang, making them all glance at each other in concern. Sam grabbed the phone off its cradle and answered, setting it to speakerphone before laying it on the table.

“Romanoff,” came Fury’s voice, tinny and crowded with static.

“Yeah,” Natasha answered, crossing her arms.

“Oh good, you’re alive. Is Rogers there?” he asked, seemingly unconcerned.

“Yes,” Steve ground out, leaning forward, “What the hell was that yesterday?”

“I’ve been suspicious that SHIELD was compromised for a while now, but I didn’t have any proof,” Fury started, “You waltzing in there spouting off about the Winter Soldier was apparently enough to shake things up.”

“How did anyone else know what we were talking about?” Steve demanded, wishing Fury was there in person so he had someone suitable to glare at.

“The room was bugged,” Natasha answered for Fury.

“Points to Romanoff,” Fury said tonelessly.

Steve clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth creaked. “You set us up?” Steve snapped, glaring at the phone.

“Don’t take it personally, I needed results, I got them. Hill and I barely got out alive ourselves.”

Steve dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighed. “Where are you now?”

Fury scoffed, “Hiding. We need to break back in to headquarters before Hydra tries to turn us into the enemy.”

“What good is going back?” Steve questioned.

“Whoever oversees Hydra is still within SHIELD. We need to find them and take them out.”

Natasha sat forward in her chair. “What’s the plan?”

“Hill and I will approach from the sky, we just need the helicopter pad secured for us,” Fury explained, “Once we’re inside we can figure out who is heading this up. Rendezvous point, and time will be sent on a more secure line.”

Fury abruptly ended the call at that, leaving the three of them staring at the phone.

“Is that a normal thing that just happened?” Sam asked suddenly.

“Sadly,” Steve breathed, looking to Natasha.

“Steve,” she said evenly, “I need to know your head in this.”

Sam looked between him and Natasha with a confused look. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, I’ll go, but it’s so I can beat answers out of someone,” Steve said, standing up.

“Remember what Bucky said, Steve,” Natasha warned.

Steve leaned on the counter and looked down at his hands. “Like I could forget,” he whispered to himself, before looking over his shoulder “Time to go. Suit up.”

The promised information from Fury came through and the three left for the Triskelion. Steve rode in the back of Sam’s car with his shield, foot anxiously shaking. Natasha kept stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror when she thought he wasn’t looking. They stopped a fair distance from the building and proceeded on foot.

When they reached the Triskelion, they found it crawling with security. There were agents patrolling the perimeter. Each was taken down, creating a hole to enter the premises. Steve led the team, with Natasha and Sam flanking him. They moved swiftly through the courtyard, taking out agents as they went. When they approached the front doors, they were blocked by a single combatant and Steve’s heart stopped in his chest. Even with his face covered by goggles and a muzzle, the metal arm was a dead giveaway.

“Bucky,” he breathed, eyes wide.

Natasha flicked her gaze over to Steve briefly, before returning it to the threat in front of her. “Steve,” she said, her tone warning.

Steve was frozen. Bucky was in front of him. In the flesh. He was trying to process what was happening when Natasha nudged him. “Steve,” she hissed.

“Go,” he said tonelessly, “I’ll handle this.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Natasha argued, not taking her eyes off Bucky.

“I don’t care what you think Natasha, I said go,” Steve snapped.

When Natasha didn’t immediately give in Steve worried he would have to fight her on his decision. Luckily, she relaxed her stance marginally and sighed.

“Steve, you can’t save everyone, just remember that,” Natasha told him, before signaling for Sam to follow her.

The two of them took off with cover from Steve when Bucky leveled his rifle at them and fired. Steve blocked the rounds with his shield and took a shaky breath in. He peeked over the rim of the shield to see Bucky with his rifle aimed at him.

“Bucky!” Steve called to him. It was only a few yards that separated them, but it felt like miles to Steve. He knew Bucky wouldn’t remember him now that he was awake.

Bucky fired again, causing Steve crouch down and duck behind his shield once more. He was glad the shield was made to absorb impact as he heard several rounds bounce off it in quick succession.

Steve steadied himself as much as he could before standing and throwing his shield at Bucky, who rolled out of the way with too-quick reflexes. Cursing, he sprinted for cover, calculating the rebound of the shield as he dove behind a barricade and sprang up to catch it just in time. He landed behind the concrete block and took a moment, listening for Bucky’s movements.

The sound of heavy steps told Steve that Bucky was advancing from the left. Steve rolled right, popping to his feet at the last second and flinging his shield a second time.  He winced when it hit its mark and the rifle recoiled to hit Bucky in the face as it snapped in two. Using the opening, Steve dashed towards Bucky, barely dodging the six successive shots that were fired from a sidearm. He kicked the gun out of Bucky’s hand, being careful not to use his full strength. Steve gritted his teeth together. His heart broke at the thought of his first contact with Bucky being violent. Bucky had no such qualms though, and twisted Steve into a punishing headlock, quickly cutting off his air supply.

Steve knocked Bucky’s knees out from under him, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground. “You know me,” Steve pleaded, as Bucky tried to get his hands around Steve’s neck.

Bucky said nothing. Steve used his weight to roll Bucky off him and sprang back to his feet. He saw more agents approaching from the east and swore to himself. His shield was some yards away, so he sprinted for it, reaching it and twisting just in time to block the rounds fired at him from the agents. Steve looked back to see Bucky stalking towards him with a large knife in hand. He quickly weighed his options and realized none of them were great.

The agents were distracting Steve from trying to help Bucky, so he decided the they needed to go. It didn’t take much to dispatch either of the agents, though he had to keep an eye on Bucky as he did. Once they were incapacitated he ran towards Bucky who lashed out at him with his knife. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid the attack.  Steve hissed as the blade landed in the same spot as his earlier knife wound and he couldn’t help but glance at Bucky’s face before dodging further out of the way.

The thought that Bucky subconsciously knew about the wound buzzed through Steve’s head, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He slammed his shield into Bucky’s face to get some space and winced when he heard a sharp crack. Blood quickly erupted from Bucky’s nose, but he didn’t seem to care. Steve sprinted away from the courtyard, waiting to hear that Bucky was following before he picked up his speed, leading them away from the opening in front of the building.

“Steve,” came Natasha’s voice over the comm.

“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly, glancing over his shoulder to see Bucky still following.

“We secured the helipad, Fury is on location,” she told him, her voice cool, “What’s your situation?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” Steve answered vaguely.

“Do you want back-up?”

“No,” he ordered, “Focus on finding who is in charge. Keep me posted.”

“You got it,” Natasha said, right before Bucky barreled into him from behind and sent him over the edge of the raised courtyard.

Steve fell onto his back, Bucky landing atop him, the weight of the other man knocking the wind out of him. He wheezed, trying to suck air into his lungs, feeling a lot like when he was small and helpless. Bucky pinned Steve down with his weight and reared back before landing a solid punch to his jaw. Steve cried out, pain blooming along his face as he put his hands up defensively.

The two of them struggled, Steve grabbing at Bucky’s goggles to disorient him, but only succeeded in knocking them off his head. Bucky froze with his fist in the air, ready to strike. His eyes wide and frantic. Bucky looked terrified. Steve felt his own heart pound in his chest; the two of them echoing each other’s panic.

“Bucky,” Steve shouted, “Please, sweetheart, you know me!”

“No, I don’t,” Bucky cried, his voice muffled through the mask as he brought his fist down once more.

Steve caught his hand, the force of his punch reverberating through Steve’s arm. “Remember Bucky, remember our dreams,” he begged, struggling against Bucky’s strength.

“Shut up!” Bucky screamed, pulling out a knife from somewhere on his person.

Bucky attempted to draw the blade down, but Steve blocked the attack and countered with a blow to the side of Bucky’s head. Disoriented, Steve was able to flip them and snatch the knife from Bucky.

“Look at me,” Steve ordered, trying to hold Bucky down, “You know my face.”

Bucky struggled underneath him, lashing out with his metal hand to hit Steve. The blow was weak and Bucky’s eyes darting around erratically. Steve grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pinned it under his armpit to hold it against his body.

“Steve,” Natasha voice crackled in his ear, “The Triskelion is secure, we got our guy.”

“Understood,” Steve answered, before ripping the comm out of his ear and throwing it aside; the task they came for was done, Bucky was his only priority now.

Steve tried to contain Bucky’s other arm with little success and gave up quickly, letting Bucky repeatedly strike him in the side in an attempt knock him off. He went for Bucky’s mask, struggling to get a firm grip on it. Steve wrenched the mask away from Bucky’s face, lifting Bucky’s head off the brick beneath him as he did so. His head snapped back to the ground with a sickening crack, but Bucky continued fighting, unfazed.

“You love me, Bucky,” Steve said, “You told me so yourself!”

Bucky shook his head vehemently and bared his teeth at Steve. He landed a heavy blow to Steve’s head, causing stars to erupt in Steve’s eyes. He felt something warm trickle out of his ear and cursed under his breath. When Bucky prepared for another swing Steve reached up quickly and yanked his own cowl off.

Below him Bucky stilled, the sudden change scaring Steve. He worried something was wrong, but when he looked down, Bucky was staring up at him with an awed expression on his face. His hair was fanned out beneath him, giving Bucky an ethereal appearance. When he reached up with his free hand to Steve, he didn’t flinch away, but let Bucky slowly cup the side of his face.

“Steve?” he asked, in a small voice of disbelief.

They were both breathing erratically, and Steve was sure his added weight didn’t help Bucky at all. He was too relieved to think about anything other than Bucky having said his name.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, fighting back tears, “It’s me.”

 End