Miles and Minutes

by LaylaBinx

"I feel like every minute I get closer to him, he puts another mile between us," Steve mumbles, a very small, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The closer I get, the further he runs." My take on what happened between CA:TWS and AoU. Mostly it's just Sam and Steve being bros and Sam being a ridiculous BAMF.

Ugh, I loved Age of Ultron, you guys; I really did. But this has bothered me ever since the movie came out. I just couldn't imagine a situation where Steve would willingly give up his search for Bucky and it really gnawed at me ever since. This story takes place pretty much immediately after the events of CA:TWS and treks forward all the way to the end of AoU (so there are a few spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet!) This was just my sort-of response/reason behind Steve's lack of involvement in the search for Bucky in AoU it so I hope you guys like it!

That being said, how great is Sam Wilson? I would seriously pay all the money to watch a full length movie of Sam Wilson doing his taxes. Sam is the best, guys. Sam for president.

Hope you all enjoy!

A/N: I don't own anything =/

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Three days after Steve is released from the hospital, he and Sam find themselves on a plane headed toward Boston. They don't have much to go on, a flimsy tip and the Manila folder Natasha had given them in the cemetery. It wasn't much but it was a start and that was all Steve needed to buy a ticket for the first flight out of D.C. to Massachusetts.

Sam thought it was too soon; the bruises, though faded, were still visible all over Steve's body and his movements were still a bit stiff occasionally when a wrong twist or turn would tug at the still healing bullet wounds. He tried to convince Steve to take it easy, to give it just a few more days and then they could jetset anywhere in the world for all he cared. His suggestion fell on deaf ears; Steve was a man on a mission and he was determined to get started as soon as possible. He'd lost track of Bucky after the fight on the helicarrier, he wasn't going to rest until he found him again.

They land at Logan International at just after 4:43 in the morning and Steve hails a cab while Sam gets them both a cup of coffee. He'd slept for about an hour on the plane and had only clocked in a few hours the night before. He's pretty sure Steve hasn't slept in at least 24 hours. He hands him the coffee cup wordlessly just as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Steve offers him a smile of thanks and slides into the back of the cab, Sam sliding in right beside him.

The cab takes them to an in-and-out diner in the heart of the city. Surrounded on all sides by tall buildings and gleaming store fronts, the diner looks woefully out of place but also like its earned every square foot it takes up. The man they meet up with inside also looks like nothing special, a nameless face in a city filled with faceless names. The tattoos on his wrist and the one that peaks out just above the collar of his grease-splattered shirt set him apart from the rest though, silently revealing a life he may or may not still lead. The wedding band on his finger leads them to believe he's maybe a little further removed from the shady syndicate he used to be associated with but is still close enough to bear their mark.

He eyes them critically as they sit in the small booth furthest from the door. The table is wobbly, the upholstery in the seats split and worn, the window beside them smudged and cloudy with grime from inside the diner and out. The few people who are in the diner this time of morning look about the same: dirty, run down, exhausted and on their last leg. The two men sitting in front of him are the cleanest things in literally the whole building and they stick out like a sore thumb. People don't come to this diner like they used to; now they come because they're desperate, they're lost, and there's no where else to go. These two aren't any different.

"He passed by here a day or two ago," the man tells them before they can even ask. His nametag reads 'Saul' but the thick Russian accent makes them wonder if it's more of an alias than an actual name. "He got coffee and left. I don't know where he went after he left here."

He gestures around the room with one hand before letting it fall back on the table with a heavy thump. "I believe he is still in the city. No way to be sure but I have the feeling he has not gone far."

"Did he say anything? Did he give any indication where he might be going?" Steve asks and the desperation for information is painfully raw in his voice.

Saul shakes his head once. "He did not speak. He was troubled, quiet...best not to bother people like that," he continues, pointing to a long, thick scar on the back of his arm as indication. "I know from experience."

Steve slumps back against the booth in defeat and Sam takes the opportunity to intervene. "If he stops by again, could you give us a call?" He scratches down his cell phone number on a napkin and passes it across the table to the other man.

Saul takes it, looks at the number scrawled across the napkin, and shoves it in his pocket. "I will call you," he tells him with a slight nod. "But I doubt he will be back. If he is still in the city, I don't think he will stay for long."

Sam just nods and tugs Steve out of the booth. "Thanks for your help."

Saul laughs then, loud and booming, the sound bouncing off the dirty glass and grease-stained walls. "I did not do it for you," he tells them, the smile on his face a little stiff. "One of your friends," he continues, weaving a finger in the air between them. "I owe her a favor. And I don't like owing people favors; particularly people like her. She is not the kind of person you want to owe a debt to. The sooner I get that off my back, the better."

They don't have to ask who he's speaking of. Natasha had been working for S.H.I.E.L.D for a long time but she had been a free agent even longer; her list of friends, allies, and acquaintances could stretch on for days. She also seemed like the kind of person who could rack up favors and debts with very little effort and could call them in at the drop of a hat. And if there was one thing both of them knew about Natasha, it was that she could be very, very persuasive.

"If you want a fun party trick," Saul continues over his shoulder as he pulls himself out of the booth and makes his way back to the kitchen. "Ask her what she can do with an ice pick and an industrial mixer."

Neither Sam nor Steve have any intention of ever asking Natasha what she can do with an ice pick and an industrial mixer.

OOOOO

They spend the next two days searching the city from top to bottom. The good thing about an agency like S.H.I.E.L.D is that they still have eyes and ears everywhere, even after the information dump online. This gives them numerous sources and leads, sightings and possible locations. They bounce from one lead to another, searching boarding houses and homeless shelters, bus depots and subway tunnels. Every search comes up empty.

It seems that for every sighting, Bucky makes a conscious and concentrated effort to disappear immediately after. Even with eyes all over the city, he never stays in their sight for longer than a passing glimpse. The more he's seen, the faster he disappears.

The sightings dwindle to little more than a handful after the second day and to almost none on the third. After the third day, all leads have gone cold and the sightings have stopped. If Bucky is still in Boston, no one knows where he is.

Steve and Sam stagger into their hotel room a little after 10:30 that night, another long day of dead ends behind them. If Steve had had his way about it, they'd still be out in the city, still searching for someone who quite simply didn't want to be found. But he knew Sam needed a break; as much as he wanted to find Bucky, it wouldn't do any good if Sam dropped dead of exhaustion along the way.

Steve has the advantage of enhanced stamina on his side thanks the Serum (he secretly thinks Bucky has the same thing going for him) but Sam doesn't have any of that; Sam was running on raw determination and a rapidly deteriorating energy supply. Steve had been searching almost constantly for the past three days, running on very little sleep and pushing forward endlessly. Sam had been right by his side the whole time, never complaining and following him from one lead to the next, but it was starting to take its toll and Steve knew it. So they ended up back at the hotel, Steve still buzzing with repressed energy and Sam about to fall asleep standing up.

Sam collapses on the bed closest to the door, releasing a tired whistle while staring blankly up at the ceiling. He's still fully dressed but he doesn't have the energy to change so he just decides to sleep in his clothes. Still, as exhausted as he is, he turns his attention to Steve and watches him carefully for a minute.

The other man is standing across the room, staring out the window that looks out across the city. He staring at the skyline intently, searching it like it will suddenly give him all the answers he needs. His shoulders are tight, posture stiff and rigid, and he looks like his skin is the only thing keeping him from going everywhere at once. Sam can't say he blames him; finding out your best friend is alive after believing him to be dead for the past 70 years would have that effect on anyone.

"We'll find him, Cap," he tells Steve, his words seeming to bounce off the other man's shoulders. "Don't worry."

Steve turns and gives him a small smile. "I know, Sam," he replies quietly, walking across the room and switching off the lamp between the beds.

The room falls into near darkness and Sam nearly falls with it. He's just conscious enough to look across the room one last time and see Steve sink into the chair beside the window. He flips open the phonebook on the table and pulls out his phone, methodically going down the listing of every hospital, church, and homeless shelter in the city.

When Sam falls asleep, Steve is speaking on the phone in a soft, hushed tone. When Sam wakes up six hours later, Steve is still on the phone.

OOOOO

Their next tip comes a day and half later from a bus driver in Cleveland. The driver didn't work for S.H.I.E.L.D nor did he have any affiliation with Natasha or Fury or anyone else for that matter. He was just a random bystander who happened to mention a strange man with dark hair and a metal arm to a co-worker. Said co-worker happened to be married to an agent who had worked for a branch office of S.H.I.E.L.D based out of Columbus who then passed along the information through the threadbare grapevine S.H.I.E.L.D still maintained. Sam and Steve get the tip at 10:30 that morning; by 2 pm they're questioning the bus driver in Cleveland.

The man is short, nearly bald, and doesn't look a day younger than 80. He squints at the Steve and then squints at Sam as they speak to him, peering through thick glasses and eyes cloudy with glaucoma. Sam seriously doubts this man could have seen anything clearly, let alone their missing person, but it's a lead and Steve will jump at just about anything right now.

"You're sure you saw a metal arm?" Sam asks again, watching at the man cleans his glasses for a third time on the hem of his shirt.

"Son, I couldn't make that up if I tried," the bus driver responds, leveling Sam with a slightly annoyed expression. "I've seen a lot of strange people on these buses but I ain't never seen anything like that." He taps a finger to his temple and glances at Steve. "A metal arm tends to stick out."

"Did he say anything to you?" Steve asks, his eyes locked on the bus driver's face.

"Nothing in English," the man tells him with a shake of his head. "He was mumbling something though, couldn't tell if it was in German or Russian but it was one of the two."

He rummages into his pocket and pulls out a gold watch, laying it on the table in front of them. "Tried to pay me with this," he says, nodding toward the watch as he speaks. "He didn't have any money with him but he seemed to know the bus ride wasn't free." The man chuckles a little and glances at the watch. "I'm pretty sure it was stolen; probably even came from one of the other passengers."

"You didn't report it?" Sam asks, looking from the watchon the table to the bus driver across from them.

"And tell them what?" the driver asks with another laugh. "That a Russian/German man with a metal arm tried to pay for a bus ride with a stolen Rolex?" He shakes his head and leans back a bit. "Son, I'm 83 and the department's already looking at taking away my license and forcing me to retire. If I start coming back from my shifts with crazy stories like that then they'll drop me faster than a hot plate."

He shakes his head again and glances back down at the watch. "Your friend, though, whoever he is, he's working through some stuff. I'm not sure what it is and it's none of my business but I've seen my fair share of lost souls in this city; I know the look."

The driver shrugs and picks up his keys, standing up slowly. "I'm not saying you should give up your search but sometimes it's better to let someone like that find themselves first. Might help it all make sense in the end."

He starts toward the door then, keys jingling in his hand. "I hope you find your friend," he tells them, his hand lingering on the door handle. "I'd keep an eye on bus stations if I were you; it's a lot easier to go unnoticed if you're traveling by bus." And with that he leaves, slipping out the door and walking back to his assigned bus.

And with that, once again their best lead turns out to be a dead end.

It's a little over two hours later when Sam finally convinces Steve to sit still long enough for them to come up with a plan. Steve's original idea had been to take the driver's advice down to the letter and track down every bus station in this city. That was going to get them nowhere fast and Sam knew it. He was determined not to have a repeat of Boston and figured that actually sitting down and working out a strategy would be their best course of action.

They end up at a coffee shop a few blocks away from the bus station, two cups of coffee sitting in front of them and map of United States spread out across the table. Sam decides not to comment on the fact that Steve is downing coffee like it's water and that he's pretty sure he's going on his fourth or fifth day without sleep. He knows how to pick his battles and Steve's sleep habits (or lack thereof) are not the ones he wants to tangle with at the moment.

"So we started here," Sam begins, circling D.C. on the map with a red pen. "And we ended up here," he continues, drawing a straight line up to Boston and circling the city. "And here." The line stretches out across the states, landing in a circle around Cleveland.

Satisfied with the work so far, Sam leans back a little to examine the map from a distance. "Now we just need to figure out what his next move is going to be."

"I think that's the problem though," Steve intones quietly, laying out a map of bus routes and major highways on top of the map Sam had spread out. "I don't know that we'll be able to predict it. The way he's moving right now, it's almost like he's running. He's not staying anywhere for longer than a few days, he's staying low on the radar…" Steve shakes his head as he continues to stare at the map. "It's like he just wants to keep moving."

"He's gonna have to stop sometime," Sam comments as he reaches for his coffee cup. He says it both as a fact and also as a hopeful sentiment. He's still wiped from their adventures in Boston and at the rate Steve is going, they're not going to be stopping again anytime soon.

"I don't know," Steve concedes with a small sigh. "Bucky has always been stubborn and headstrong; he'll probably just keep going if he has his way about it."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Sam retorts lightly as he folds the map back up. Steve almost smiles.

"I think your pals at S.H.I.E.L.D still have a few eyes scattered out across the country," Sam continues after a moment as he tucks the map into his pocket. "Might come in handy with our search."

Steve nods and downs the rest of his coffee before pushing the cup to the edge of the table. "S.H.I.E.L.D has eyes everywhere; information leak or not, that hasn't changed. We might need to call in a few favors after all."

They leave the coffee shop and travel a little further down the street before the find a hotel to stay in while they're in the city. Sam had made a comment once before about money being an issue but Steve brushed it aside; apparently being an iconic symbol with millions of dollars of merchandise attached to your name was super helpful in this day and age. Sam had no idea how much Steve was actually worth thanks to all the comics, action figures, and war bonds with his face on them but he was a little afraid to ask. Being America's Golden Boy definitely came with its perks.

In spite of Sam's best efforts, their trip to Cleveland ends up turns out exactly like the trip to Boston. They call in favors from S.H.I.E.L.D, follow every possible lead, and search the city from top to bottom. It's all in vain; despite everything they can't find a single trace of Bucky Barnes in the city. It's like he's disappeared in mid-air. Steve remains hopeful and Sam tries to remain optimistic but it doesn't help; they still don't find him.

OOOOO

They search like this for over three months. A new lead will come in somewhere halfway across the country, a sighting and a few witnesses, and Sam and Steve will be on the move again.

They mark each city on a map with the date they arrived and the date of the initial sighting. They circle the location of where Bucky was last seen, they write down the names of the people who saw him, they search every single city from top to bottom. They cover twenty-five states in the first six weeks.

Their search stagnates in Memphis and for almost two full weeks they don't have another lead. They find themselves camped out in a cheap motel with maps all over the walls and not a damn clue what to do next. Steve has already called and recalled every homeless shelter and mission in the city and Sam has exhausted all of their S.H.I.E.L.D resources and tips. They go back to the park Bucky was last seen in every day in the hopes that he'll come back. They search every square inch of the city but the end result is the same as it was in countless other cities: nothing.

Steve's seemingly endless supply of optimism finally starts to wane on a Tuesday when they've gone for three full days without a new lead and their search has proved fruitless once again. Sam finds him staring blankly at one of the maps on the wall, a pencil balanced between his teeth and at least half a dozen post-it notes scattered all over the desk. Some have been scribbled out, some are written in dark, bold letters, and some have been shredded to confetti in frustration. He's not at his breaking point, not yet, but it's getting close and Sam knows it.

"You keep staring like that and we're going to end up with a pretty sizable hole in that wall, Cap," Sam tells him as he walks over to the desk and sweeps the tattered remains of the post-it notes into the trashcan below the desk.

"We're missing something, Sam," Steve mumbles back, his eyes never leaving the map. "There has to be some kind of pattern...something we're not seeing."

Sam shakes his head slightly and pulls out a chair (which is equally covered in scraps of post-it notes). "I don't think there is a pattern, Cap," he tells him quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I mean you said it yourself; he's running. He's not going to stay in any one place for longer than he has to and he certainly won't be leaving behind clues. I don't think we're the only ones searching for him either; if any of those Hydra agents he's gone rogue and off the radar, they might try to track him down as well."

"Which is exactly why we need to find him, Sam," Steve stresses with an exhausted sigh. He slumps back against the chair and squeezes the bridge of his nose like he's trying to ward off a headache. It's the first sign of fatigue Steve has shown since they started.

Sam doesn't miss the gesture and continues on carefully. "I know, Cap, and we will. But driving yourself into the ground won't help. You need to get some sleep Steve, like honest to God sleep. Not the two hour naps you've been taking every three days."

Steve looks up like he wants to protest but Sam keeps going. "Oh yeah, I've noticed. I can count on one hand how many hours of sleep you've gotten in the past five days. And I know for a fact when you actually do sleep, you're not getting any rest because you fidget and move around constantly. You can't keep going like this, Steve. Super Soldier or not, you need sleep just like everyone else."

Steve is silent for a moment because as much as he wants to argue, he knows it won't help. Sam has been by his side the entire time, his loyalty and friendship growing by the day, and Steve knows he's just trying to help. He doesn't have any ulterior motives, no hidden agenda for wanting to help Steve find his missing best friend; he's helping because it's the right thing to do. Since S.H.I.E.L.D collapsed and took with it over half the people Steve thought he could trust, Sam has been the one constant in his life, the one thing that didn't change. He's forgotten what that's felt like for a long time.

"I'm fine," he argues weakly because he's still Steve Rogers and he won't let anything go without a fight.

"You're not," Sam counters gently, reaching over and carefully pushing the pile of post-it notes away from Steve in a silent gesture to give it a break for a while. "Get a few hours of sleep and then I'll let you get right back to it. Hell, I'll even keep up the search while you're down."

Steve hesitates a second or so more, indecision written across his face clearly. Finally he nods slightly and sighs again. "You'll wake me up if you find anything?"

"Hand to God," Sam promises, raising his right hand as he speaks. "You'll be the first to know, I promise."

Seeing that resistance is futile, Steve finally surrenders to the inevitable and pulls himself out of the chair. He makes his way across the room and sits on the edge of the bed, glancing up in time to see Sam take his place at the desk. The other man catches his eye and gives him a small nod. "Go to sleep, Cap."

Steve does as he's told and allows himself to relax back against the mattress. He briefly wonders if he'll be able to sleep at all with all the thoughts buzzing around in his head but that concern doesn't last. He's sound asleep and dead to the world within seconds.

When he wakes up later, the sun is down and the desk is even more cluttered with notes and papers. There are two pizza boxes sitting on the dresser against the wall and the TV is turned on to the weather channel. Sam is still at the desk, writing something down with one hand and circling something with the other.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," he says without looking up, still scribbling something across the paper in front of him.

"What time is it?" Steve asks, standing up and making his way across the room.

Sam glances at his watch and squints for a second. "8:57...so almost 9."

"I slept for six hours?!" Steve balks, completely horrified by the realization.

"You needed it," Sam tells him by way of explanation. "You also really need a shower but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Did you find anything?" Steve asks, ignoring Sam's other comment and turning his attention to the papers on the desk.

Sam shakes his head and looks back at them too. "Nothing we didn't already know. I tracked down a few more leads and checked in with all our contacts here again but didn't get any new information." Seeing the crestfallen expression on the other soldier's face, Sam continues. "Don't worry, Cap, we'll get something."

"We should go back out there," Steve mumbles, probably at a level he thinks Sam won't hear but he does anyway.

"With no new leads we'll just be running around in circles," he tells him quietly as he glances back toward the window. "Let's work with what we have here before we go back out there."

Sam stands slowly, gathering a handful of the papers and tucking them under one arm. "Besides, it's getting late and you could still use a few more hours of sleep. And that shower I was talking about earlier."

Steve opens his mouth to protest but Sam retaliates by shoving a piece of pizza into it and walking toward the door. "I'm going to make a copy of these downstairs. Try to eat something while I'm gone."

He comes back after about twenty minutes to find Steve sitting back at the desk with clean clothes and damp hair. He's reading over some of the notes Sam had taken while he was asleep, absently chewing on a piece of pizza crust. It's a small victory but Sam takes what he can get.

The rest of the night passes slowly, each of them pouring over the pages of notes and the various maps they'd gathered during their search. Sam manages to convince Steve to sleep for three more hours, bringing his grand total for the week up to thirteen, but it's a hell of a lot better than the seven he'd pulled the week before. All their leads still crash into dead ends but it's better than sitting around and doing nothing.

They finally get a new tip at 7:30 the next morning. A chirp on Steve's cell phone alerts him to the message and he pulls it up just as Sam gets done brushing his teeth. It's a blurry photograph of a man with a metal arm milling through a crowded street. The photo had been taken less than an hour ago, the location placing it somewhere in Hamburg, Germany. Steve has no idea how he managed to catch a flight overseas with no money or ID but it doesn't matter; they have a new lead and their search is back on.

While Steve books their flight, Sam goes downstairs to pay for their room and pick up a book on German. They fly out two hours later.

OOOOO

Steve glances at his phone again before ignoring the message and slipping it back into his pocket. It's the third time he's done it in the past hour and Sam doesn't let it go this time.

"You know, if you keep ignoring Natasha's calls she's going to track down your star-spangled butt and kick it straight back stateside."

Steve smirks a little and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the building they're staking out across the street. "She's fine; it's just a side mission. Besides, she has Clint with her."

"Yeah, but she's calling you," Sam stresses as he jabs an elbow into Steve's ribs. "And she has been for the past two days. It must be important if she's being that persistent."

"She can handle it," Steve insists, sparing Sam a glance over his shoulder. "Trust me, Natasha can handle pretty much anything and everything. If it were an emergency, a real emergency, we would know about it."

Sam can't really argue with that. Up until now, Natasha had been calling Steve on his personal cell phone, not that black, untraceable one he kept holstered right next to it. That was the emergency line, the one that sent out the SOS to every Avenger and trusted former S.H.I.E.L.D agent in the nearby area. No one ever called on that line unless it was a life or death emergency and Sam is equal parts curious and grateful he hasn't been around when Steve's gotten a call on that phone.

They're currently bunked down on the fourth floor an office building in Hanover. Although their search for Bucky was still proving to be a global game of cat-and-mouse, it had led them to the discovery of a Hydra base just on the outskirts of the city. It was small and crumbling, a shadow of the powerful empire it probably had been before S.H.I.E.L.D's internet file dump, but there were still enough members to cause a problem. One that Steve was all too happy to clean up.

The manila folder that Natasha had given him, the folder filled with stacks of redacted and covert documents that Steve had read and re-read so many times he had them memorized, was also filled with every single soldier and scientist who had been involved in the project Codename: Winter Soldier. It held the names of the people responsible, the ones who had brainwashed and controlled Bucky for decades, and Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little eager to exact some vengeance on his best friend's behalf. It wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't absolve all the damage that had been done, but it was a start.

There's a flicker of movement across the street, a shadow passing by a window, and both Steve and Sam are instantly at attention. A light flickers on and they can just make out the silhouettes of two men standing in the room. They're both dressed in civilian clothing and there's really nothing that would set them apart from anyone else walking down the street that evening but it's undeniable; they're both Hydra. No one enters that room unless they're affiliated with Hydra.

"Come on," Steve mutters, his eyes still locked on the two men across the street. "Let's move." He's up and across the room in a matter of seconds, Sam right on his heels.

They cross the street quickly and slip into the adjacent alley, scaling the fire escape quietly to the floor just below the one the two men were located on. It's easy enough to slip into the building unseen but it's a bit harder to get to the correct floor without being noticed. Hydra still had a massive wealth of technology and security at their disposal so getting past their defenses would require a bit more finesse. Or a general lack of fucks to give which Steve was currently running a dangerously low supply of.

So, rather than carefully and quietly ambushing the two agents in question, Steve opts for the more direct route of just kicking the door in. He's past the point of trying to keep a low profile; he wants everyone to know he's there.

The two agents are startled by the intrusion, jumping and immediately reaching for their guns. Steve never gives them the chance. He grabs the nearest one and slams him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, Sam coming in right behind him and apprehending the second one.

"Wer die Hölle...?!" the first one chokes out, trying to speak past Steve's hand clamped at his throat.

"Ihr Chef. Wo ist er?" Steve growls, effectively cutting him off with a quick shake.

The agent spits a bitter curse at him and Steve responds by shaking him so hard his teeth rattle. "Sagen Sie mir. Ich werde nicht wieder fragen," Steve warns, his grip on the other man's shirt tightening painfully.

Before the agent can respond, there's a sharp ping, the pop of glass breaking, and the agent in Steve's grasp slumps bonelessly as a bullet cleanly pierces his skull. Blood splatters across the wall and on Steve's uniform and it all happens so fast he's almost not sure what's happened until the agent goes limp. A second bullet punches through the window, striking the other agent just seconds after the first. This shot isn't nearly as clean though, or maybe the agent moved, but the bullet catches him in the upper chest instead of the head. He lets out a sound somewhere between pain and panic as he's shoved to the floor by Sam.

"Steve, get down!" Sam snaps as both he and the wounded Hydra agent crash the floor, the blood of the other dead agent pooling on the ground beside them. The bullets could have been meant for them, the Hydra agents unfortunate casualties in a surprise shoot out. For all they knew, Hydra knew they were coming and had planned this all along. "Get down!"

Steve doesn't get down though, he remains standing and staring out the bullet-pierced glass in front of him. If he's worried about another bullet coming through, he doesn't show it. Instead, he focuses all of his attention of the roof of the building across the street, the one they had just come from. It's too dark to see, the light pollution from the city diluting the outline of the roof, but he knows someone is still there.

As if to confirm his suspicions, there's a flash of movement and the shooter is disappearing into the darkness across the roof. Steve sees it though; there's no way he could miss it. In the split second between stillness and movement, Steve sees a flash of metal that resembles a hand. He's out of the room and running toward the fire escape before his legs even register the movement.

"Steve! Wait! Get back here!" Sam shouts from back in the room, his voice bouncing off the walls and hallways. Steve doesn't even slow down, making his way out onto the fire escape and clearing the stairs in a matter of seconds. He takes off across the street without a pause, ignoring the honking of cars and furious cursing that accompanies his sprint.

He doesn't slow down once he gets to the other building, bursting into the lobby and startling the few remaining workers who were still there. He rushes to the stairwell, clearing each flight in a matter of seconds until he makes it to the roof. The door flies open and Steve runs out onto the roof.

It's empty. There's no sign of a gun or the leftover casings of bullets. He doesn't see footprints or cigarette butts or any signs anyone was there at all. The roof is just...empty.

For a moment, Steve doesn't move; the realization that he'd hit yet another dead end feels like a punch in the stomach. He was so close, so damn close…

From the corner of his eye he catches a split-second flicker of movement on the roof of another building three down from the one he's standing on and he snaps to attention. Whoever it is is dressed in all black, a shadow moving seamlessly among the shadows. Or at least he would have been if the act of running hadn't pulled his sleeve back just enough to see a flash of metal where the left arm should be. Without hesitation, Steve takes off running again.

It's a desperate chase, one that takes him across rooftops and over fire escapes. Every step puts him closer but every step leaves him further behind; as fast as Steve is running, the other man is running much faster. Every rooftop Steve clears leaves two more between him and his target. Every one of his steps is twenty of the other's. Steve is fast but he's not fast enough.

"Bucky, wait!" he shouts after the other man, jumping the space between two buildings without hesitation. He stumbles out of the landing just a little but keeps running undeterred. "Stop!"

The other man doesn't hear him or ignores him completely, it's hard to tell which. Either way, he keeps running; never looking back and determined to put as much distance between him and Steve Rogers as possible.

The jump to the next rooftop isn't nearly as graceful nor is it nearly far enough. Steve lands on the ledge but his foot slips and sends him tumbling over the edge of the building. It's not a far drop, two-ish floors (he's certainly had worse), but he hits the ground hard and lands in a painful heap.

The groan that rumbles in the back of his throat is equal parts pain and frustration and he grits his teeth as he tries to push himself up onto his knees. Nothing is broken, not that he can tell, but the fall was hard enough to knock the wind out of him and he can feel blood soaking into the fabric covering his leg. From the sting and throb of it, he can tell even without looking that nearly all the skin on the outside of his leg has been scraped off from the heavy, skidding contact he'd made with the ground.

Steve grits his teeth again and glances up at the rooftop he'd just fallen from. For the split second, he thinks he sees a shadow on the edge, peering down at him as if reassuring itself that he's still alive down at the bottom of the building. Then Steve blinks and it's gone, fading into the night like it was never there. Steve briefly wonders if it ever was.

"Steve? Hey, Cap!" a voice snaps and he jumps slightly, forgetting the earpiece he'd been wearing this whole time. Sam. He'd left Sam. "You better get back here, man. Our sole witness isn't going to be around for much longer."

Steve glances up at the rooftop again, finding nothing but darkness and an empty ledge. He curses harshly under his breath and painfully pulls himself to his feet.

By the time he makes it back to the building he'd left Sam and the Hydra agent in, the bleeding in his leg has stopped but the pain has increased. It throbs with every step he takes and a few times his knee threatens to give out beneath him due to the damage. Steve ignores it and keeps walking even if he can't quite hold back the limp. The pain means nothing to him, it's just fueling his frustration even more.

The first Hydra agent is still crumpled on the floor where he fell, the pool of blood beneath his head beginning to darken and congeal. The second agent is still alive but it looks like he won't stay that way for long due to the amount of blood that draining out of the wound in his chest.

"I already called for an ambulance but-" Sam starts when Steve walks in but when he sees the other man's injuries he frowns in concern. "What happened?"

Steve doesn't answer, he just pushes past Sam and drops to one knee beside the mortally wounded Hydra agent. The man is pale and there are speckles of blood on his lips (the bullet almost certainly pierced a lung) but he's muttering the same thing over and over. "Der geist...der geist...es zurück."

Steve grabs two handfuls of the man's shirt and lifts him off the ground, ignoring the pained grunt that accompanies the movement. "Du ihn gesehen haben. Wo?"

The Hydra agent doesn't seem to hear him, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head as he loses his battle to stay conscious. "Der geist…"

Steve clenches his teeth and shakes him roughly. "Wo?! Sag mir!"

The command goes unanswered. The agent coughs once and shudders before going limp, his unseeing eyes fixed on a distant point in the ceiling. Far off in the distance, there's a tinny wail of sirens approaching. It won't do any good; the man they're coming for is already dead.

For a moment, Steve doesn't move. He forces his hands to unclench from the fists he'd had tangled in the Hydra agent's shirt. They're covered in dirt and blood, both his own and the dead man's on the ground. He looks between the two dead agents and feels his fists clench again.

"Steve," Sam says quietly, seeing the silent rage burning behind the other man's blue eyes. It's been coming for a while now, Sam has seen the signs, but Steve's always managed to keep it in check until now. Now though… "Cap?"

And then, just like that, the months upon months of useless searching catches up to him. The frustration of not finding Bucky, the desperation of losing him over and over again, the weight of defeat that's been building thicker and heavier with each passing day...it all comes crashing down all at once. That's right about the time Steve puts his fist through a brick wall.

Sam flinches just slightly when Steve lets out a frustrated growl and slams one clenched fist into the wall beside him, the bricks crumbling like they're made out of styrofoam. The bloody knuckles and broken fingers are enough to convince him otherwise, though, and Sam watches as every part of Steve just slumps and he slides down the wall to the floor.

"I was so close," he mutters quietly, apparently completely oblivious to the damage he'd just done to his hand and the still unexplained injuries to his leg. He shakes his head and pushes the cowl away from his face, sweat-damp blond hair falling across his face. There's a streak of blood that smears across his cheek but Steve doesn't seem to notice. "I was so close…"

Sam watches all of this unfold and lets it happen. This has been inevitable from the start even if Steve didn't want to admit it. He'd been acting reckless and dangerous, more so than usual lately, and Sam knew it was just a matter of time. Steve had been on a crash course for a complete breakdown for months now and there was nothing short of finding Bucky Barnes that would prevent it from happening. Or, in this case apparently, from making it worse.

Steve is sitting in the middle of a room, surrounded by dead Hydra agents and pools of blood that are not his own. He's strung out, hurt, and exhausted, and all he can say is, "I was so close…"

Sam takes a cautious step forward and drops down to crouch in front of the other man. "Steve," he says gently, rewarded when Steve spares him a blank glance. "You gotta talk to me, man. You gotta tell me what's going on."

"I saw him, Sam," Steve answers after a second or so of silence. "On the roof across the street. I saw him. I swear to God, I saw him."

Steve moves like he wants to stand up but Sam just reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, keeping him on the ground. It speaks to how drained Steve really is that he doesn't fight it in the slightest.

"I went after him. I thought I could catch him…" Steve fades off and shakes his head, broken fingers curling into another fist. It's not nearly as tight and the blood oozing from his knuckles in between each finger makes it harder to clench his hand but he does anyway. "I was too slow...always too slow. Too slow to catch him, too slow to keep him from leaving, too slow to keep him from falling…"

Steve shakes his head again and lets it tip back against the wall, his fingers uncurling slightly. His hand is shaking, either from adrenaline or shock from the injuries it's hard to tell, but each tremble causes tiny droplets of blood to freckle the floor beneath him, connecting the dots between the two pools from the dead agents on either side.

"I feel like every minute I get closer to him, he puts another mile between us," Steve mumbles, a very small, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The closer I get, the further he runs."

Sam says nothing for a minute, he just reaches out and rips the sleeve off of one of the dead Hydra agent's shirts. He's dead anyway, he won't be needing it. That thought process in mind, he folds the ripped fabric into something resembling a bandage and begins carefully wrapping Steve's hand. The bones in his fingers shift and move morbidly beneath the skin and Sam's not at all surprised to find that the bones across the back of his hand are shattered as well. Steve doesn't even seem to realize any of this.

Keeping his movements slow and careful, Sam takes a breath and settles on a decision he's been wrestling with for the past few weeks. "Steve, I think you need to take a break for a while."

"I'm fine," the captain responds mechanically, no real thought or emotion in the two word statement.

"No, Steve, you're not," Sam counters fluidly, leveling an unflinching stare at the other man. "You keep going like this and you're going to get yourself killed. You're too close to this, Cap; you're too close and it's making you reckless. Look around us," Sam says, indicating the room with a sweep of his hand. "Two dead bodies and you look like you just lost a fight with a dump truck. There were no winners tonight, Cap."

It's Sam's turn to shake his head and he lets out a soft sigh. "Look man, I know this is hard for you to hear but I think the best thing you can do for now is to remove yourself from the situation. Take a breath and take a step back."

Comprehension begins to dawn on Steve's face and he looks up at Sam in equal parts confusion and something resembling betrayal. "You're telling me to give up?"

"No," Sam interjects firmly, making that point absolutely clear. "I'm not telling you to give up, I would never tell you that. But I am tell you that you need to stop for a while. You want to find Bucky, I understand that, Steve, believe me, I do. But you're going at this the wrong way and it's getting you nowhere. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just stop and re-evaluate everything."

Steve just shakes his head and buries his face in his bloody hands. "You don't get it, Sam."

"Yeah, I do Steve."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't!" Steve shouts and Sam is not so much surprised by outburst but by the fact that there are tears in Steve's eyes. "I have to get him back, Sam, because this is all my fault. Everything he is, everything they made him, everything they did to him...it's because of me. It's because I wasn't fast enough and I didn't catch him when he fell from that train. He survived and I wasn't there and someone else found him and treated him like a monster for decades. They did this to him, they made him scared and confused and lost, and all because I wasn't fast enough."

The rage and guilt and anguish leaves all at once and Steve slumps again, looking every bit like a ragdoll forgotten in a corner. "I've let him down so many times, Sam...so many times...I have to get him back."

Sam just nods and places a gentle hand on his uninjured knee. "I know, Steve, and we will. You have my word. But killing yourself won't help. Just trust me on this one."

A long silence passes between them, nothing but the sound of Steve's ragged breathing filling the room. When he finally does speak, he sounds broken and unsure like a lost child. "So what do you think I should do?"

"Well, for starters," Sam says, reaching out and plucking the cell phone from Steve's hip. "I think you should take Natasha's call and figure out what she needs. Just a guess but I'm thinking getting a personal phone call from a fellow Avenger/Earth's Mightiest Hero is pretty important."

"Bucky is important," Steve challenges fiercely but the bite is lessened by his exhaustion.

"I know, Cap. No one is saying he isn't," Sam counters carefully, making sure Steve knows he's still on his side. "But Avengers important is usually more world-ending important; ignoring those calls is probably not a good plan."

Steve manages the barest hint of a nod but it could also be passed off as a twitch. As much as he wants to protest this decision, he's really too drained to put up much of a fight. "What are you going to do?" he asks finally, his voice sounding hollow and exhausted even to his own ears.

"I'm going to keep looking," Sam tells him simply because that had been his plan from the beginning. Steve looks up at him, slightly surprised by the answer, but Sam just shrugs. "I'll circle the globe as many times as it takes; I've got connections of my own I can tap into."

Steve is still staring so Sam feels the need to elaborate. "This guy is important to you, Steve; anyone with eyes can see that. And trust me, I know exactly what it feels like to lose a best friend. If I can help you, even if it's not much, well...it's something."

For a moment, Steve doesn't speak; he just continues to stare at Sam like he can't quite believe he's real. Then, after it passes, he just shakes his head slowly in disbelief. "Sam, I-"

Sam holds up a hand to stop him. "Don't worry about it, man. This is what I do; my job revolves around helping veterans reconnect with the world and return to their normal lives. And if this is what helps you, both of you, then I'm more than happy to do it." Sam offers him a small smile before he continues. "And don't take this personally, Cap, but you've been disconnected for a long time. I think you need this a lot more than you're letting on."

Steve almost smiles then, a small, watery thing that tugs at the corner of his mouth. It doesn't reach his eyes though; it never does. In all the time they've known each other, Sam honestly doesn't know if he's ever seen a real smile from Steve. He wonders if that will change once they find Bucky.

Steve doesn't say anything for another moment or two, his breathing still a little uneven and ragged. "My hand hurts," he says after another second passes, the words coming out almost as an afterthought.

"Well, that's what you get for punching walls," Sam tells him as he carefully pulls Steve to his feet. He eyes the dried and drying blood on his leg and the mangled fingers wrapped in the shirt and briefly wonders if he should nag Steve into going to a hospital. Then he realizes the wounds will probably be mostly, if not completely healed by the next day and that a hospital visit would be pointless.

Sam glances down at the dead Hydra agents one last time. There's really nothing they can do for them now and getting caught in a room with two dead men certainly wouldn't look good to the authorities. The sirens are getting closer which means it's time for them to leave.

They manage to slip out onto the fire escape just as the ambulance pulls into the parking lot below. Sam leads them down to the ground and through a back alley, away from the street and the office building and the bodies of the Hydra agents they had left behind. He doesn't miss the way that Steve glances up at the rooftops once or twice as they walk away and, if he's honest with himself, Sam looks too.

OOOOO

Sam gets the invitation when he's on a train in Austria. His phone chirps excitedly in his pocket and he pulls it out to see who's calling.

"Stark?" he asks, answering the phone with the swipe of his finger.

"Wilson," the billionaire responds easily once the other man's face comes into view. "Where are you?"

Sam blinks and glances out the window to his right. There are mountains on either side of the track and trees climbing up the slopes. Everything looks pretty much exactly the same in all directions. "Narnia."

"Smartass."

"Hey, you asked."

Tony gives him some kind of look but Sam doesn't have a name for it. "Seriously, where are you?"

Sam sighs softly and shrugs. "I don't know man, somewhere in Austria. Why, what's going on? Is something wrong?"

"There's a party tonight," Tony replies simply. "My place. 8 'o'clock. I need you to be there."

"A party?" Sam asks in confusion. "You're inviting me to a party?"

"Yes, Wilson, a party," Tony continues, dividing his attention between speaking to Sam on phone and jotting down notes on a tablet on the other end of the line. "Don't sound so surprised; this isn't a 90's bubblegum teen romcom. I'm not going to dress you up and prance you around because I took a bet with the school jocks that I could turn you into the prettiest girl at the prom."

Sam rolls his eyes at the comment. "Seriously though, why are you calling me? I know it's not to invite me to a party at your bachelor pad."

"Seriously though, I'm calling to invite you to a bitchin' party at my bachelor pad. There's a difference."

Sam frowns and shakes his head. "Okay, thanks for the clarification and the invitation and all but I'm kind of in the middle of something. Also, how the hell did you get my number?"

It's Tony's turn to roll his eyes and he does so with exaggerated relish. "Please, kid, I've had a bug in your phone since I met you in the hospital."

Sam frowns again and glances down at his phone. He remembers his first meeting with the infamous Tony Stark several months ago after the downfall of S.H.I.E.L.D. He'd stopped by the hospital once he found out Steve was there and spent the better part of the afternoon getting the full story from Sam. At some point in their conversation, Tony had taken Sam's phone and put his phone number in it ("never know when you'll need a good reference; although being bros with Captain America comes as a pretty high reference in and of itself"). He'd never stopped to think about it after that day but apparently Tony had also put a tracker on his phone while he was typing the number in. Sneaky bastard…

"Anyway, I need you to come tonight," Tony continues, completely unaffected by Sam's surprised expression. "Steve's been even more sullen and sulky than usual. He even told me to watch my language the other day. Can you believe that?"

"I can actually; not that hard to imagine." Sam glances back to the window again just as the mountains break off to deep valley on one side of the track. "Listen, Stark, I appreciate the offer but even if I wanted to come, there's no way I would make it there tonight. I'm halfway across the world right now and wouldn't be able to book a flight that would get me there in time."

"Which is why I booked it for you," Tony interjects, grinning triumphantly on the other end of the screen. "All you have to do is get to the Vienna International Airport by noon and I'll have a private jet waiting for you."

Upon seeing the stunned look on Sam's face, Tony sighs and relents. "Alright, look, I need you to come for Steve's sake. The old guy's been acting off ever since the whole S.H.I.E.L.D fiasco and he needs as many familiar faces as he can get right now. I know you're off playing hide-and-seek with an MIA ex-soviet assassin but I think Steve could use this too, you know? Come by tonight and I'll fly you right back out to whatever East European country you want to return to first thing tomorrow morning. Deal?"

Sam sighs and slumps a little. He hasn't had much more luck since their last run-in back in Germany when Steve had had his break down. And that had been nearly two weeks ago. One night couldn't hurt and if it would help Steve then he couldn't really say no. "Fine," he says with another sigh. "I'll be there."

"Great," Tony says with another triumphant grin. "We'll keep an eye out for you tonight. Besides, Clint is pretty stoked to meet you; he's turned into a total dork now that he's discovered he's not the only one with a bird-related code name anymore."

The call ends and Sam slides the phone back into his pocket. Less than an hour later, he's stepping onto a private jet with the Stark Industries logo plastered across the side of it. True to his word, the jet Tony had mentioned was ready and waiting when Sam walked across the tarmac, a beautiful, dark-haired stewardess meeting him at the top of the stairs to welcome him aboard. The jet is just as posh and classy as he thought it would be and aside from the stewardess and the pilot and co-pilot, he's the only one onboard. It only takes twenty minutes for them to clear customs and get the go-ahead to take off and Sam vows once again to never underestimate the power and influence Tony Stark has accrued over the years.

The flight is pleasant enough; a little long but Sam sleeps through the majority of it so it passes by relatively quickly. He'd been going just as hard as they had been before he'd forced Steve to take a break and in all honesty he's exhausted. If it hadn't been for the stewardess gently shaking him awake when they landed, he doubts he would have woken up at all.

The party is in full swing by the time he gets there and it doesn't take him long to spot Steve in the crowd. The Captain has surrounded himself with every veteran in attendance, some who are well into their 90s, but for some reason he looks more at ease with them than anyone else in the room. Sam joins him and the smile on Steve's face is genuine and that makes it all worth it.

For a while they don't talk about anything related to S.H.I.E.L.D or Hydra or missing ex-assassins or Avengers related missions. For a while they just enjoy the party and the company and the chance to forget everything temporarily. When he does finally bring it up, Sam breaches the subject as gently as a doctor breaking bad news to a patient.

"I'm still looking, Cap," he says once they finally get a moment of silence. "I haven't found anything yet but I'm still looking."

Steve just nods slowly like he had expected as much. "I know you are, Sam," he tells him, offering him another slow, sad smile. "I appreciate it more than you know, really I do." He pauses for a moment, silent and contemplative before he speaks again. "I never apologized for that night with the Hydra agents."

Sam blinks in confusion. "Say what, now?"

"That night back Hanover," Steve continues, looking back over to Sam. "The night I saw-" he stops and shrugs, physically forcing himself to move on with the conversation. "Well, anyway, after those agents were shot, I left you there. I ran off and left you without backup and that was really stupid on my part. And really dangerous for you."

Sam just shrugs one shoulder; to be honest, he'd never really thought about it that way. "I had it covered; wasn't a big deal."

"It was a big deal," Steve insists, looking at him evenly. "I put you at risk, Sam, and I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have left you in a situation like that."

Sam just laughs and shakes his head. "Steve, you and I have very different ideas of what is considered a "risky situation." Getting my car blasted off a freeway and trying to outrun a collapsing building? Yeah, that falls into the "risky" category in my book. Getting stuck in a German office building with one dead and one dying Hydra agent? Barely even blipped on the radar. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on, Cap; shootouts and ambushes kinda come with the territory."

Steve considers him for a few seconds before smiling and shaking his head. "You're a good man, Sam Wilson."

"I know," Sam tells him with a teasingly cocky grin. "I'm awesome, man, I keep telling you. But, you know, if you ever wanted to pass that information along…" His eyes drift over to where Natasha is standing behind the bar making herself a drink.

Steve glances back at her over his shoulder and then looks back at Sam. "I'll do my best, Sam," he tells him with a small grin. "But between you and me, it looks like she's leaning more toward the green end of the spectrum."

"Yeah, well, you never know," Sam says with a small smile, taking another drink from the beer bottle in his hand.

They fall into another comfortable silence, both content to simply relax and watch the party around them. It's a change from the life or death situations they've both been finding themselves in recently and it's a welcome relief. For a brief moment in time, it feels like everything is okay in a world that's constantly swirling in chaos.

Sam finishes his beer and checks his watch; it's just after 11:45 and he knows the flight back to Austria is going to be a long one. He flags down Tony as the other Avenger is passing by with a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and tells him he's ready to head back. Not that he wants to leave Steve on his own again but he still has a job to do and the Captain is counting on him. The sooner he gets back to it, the better.

Tony just nods when he tells him and pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and making a phone call. Ten minutes later, a helicopter lands on the roof, one of Tony Stark's pilots prepped and ready to fly him to the nearest airport to board the jet. Steve walks with him up the roof to see him off, hands dug deep in his pockets.

"Let me know if you find anything?" he asks hopefully, that damn lost golden retriever look appearing on his face as he speaks. If anyone in the world was ever capable of producing an honest to God puppy look, it was Steve Rogers.

"I will, Cap, I promise," Sam tells him honestly, holding up one hand like he's swearing in before a jury. "Promise you won't go around destroying any cities while I'm gone? I don't think Manhattan can handle another Avengers mission."

Steve smirks slightly and shakes his head. "I have no intention of destroying any cities anytime soon. Since we found Loki's scepter, I think a lot of these ultra dangerous missions will begin to dissipate. Hopefully I'll be back in the field with you soon."

Sam just nods in response. "Take your time, Cap. We'll find him."

And with that, Sam boards the helicopter and buckles himself in. Steve stays on the roof as the helicopter lifts up into the air, watching as it hovers for just a moment before balancing itself out. He waves to Sam and waits until Sam waves back before he turns and makes his way back to the door. Sam watches as he steps back inside and disappears into the Tower. He hopes Steve is right and that the dangerous missions have come to a close now that the scepter they had been searching for was found. With it out of the picture, the world was a much safer place.

Sam finds out about the battle in Johannesburg three days later.

OOOOO

Steve goes dark for over a week after that. Following the disastrous fallout of the showdown between Hulk and Ironman that leveled a good majority of Johannesburg, Sam receives a single text message from Steve from an untraceable number.

Massive security breach. Communication impossible. Going off the grid. Stay safe.

Sam reads and rereads the text message at least half a dozen times in the days following the battle. The number is useless and the message was sent from a server that was destroyed almost the instant it was made. Sam tries in vain to contact anyone who might have an idea where Steve and the Avengers may have gone. He tries to call Agent Hill, Pepper Potts, Natasha, hell, anyone. He even tries to call Fury but he knows better than to think the he'll actually get a response. No one answers, no one provides any information, there is absolutely nothing to go on. The Avengers have disappeared and there's no way to find them until they decide to reappear.

Sam tries to keep up his search in the meantime, anything to keep his mind off whatever Steve has managed to get himself into this time. He still has a few leads to follow up on, one in Geneva and another one in St. Petersburg, and it's better than sitting around and worrying himself sick. He sticks to his plan, however flimsy it may be, and continues his search across most of eastern Europe.

He's walking down a busy sidewalk in St. Petersburg a week later when every television in the city simultaneous switches over to a news channel covering the breaking story of the European country of Sokovia. There are endless reports, each newscaster and journalist speaking rapidly about the story unfolding. The entire country is being destroyed, pried from the earth and lifted high into the air like a toy. And the entire world is helpless to do anything but watch.

Sam stands frozen in the middle of the sidewalk and watches the news in rapt attention. All around him, other people are doing the same thing, stopping in the middle of sidewalks, in the middle of the street, stopping whatever it was they were doing and watching the news. The footage shows metal men, bolts of electricity and sparks of energy. There's gleaming metal and breaking glass and massive chunks of earth falling from the sky as Sokovia climbs higher.

People are gathering around now, crowding the sidewalks and clumping together in front of the windows to watch the news. Through all the murmuring and questions filling the crowd, Sam could swear he almost hears a low, distant rumbling like an earthquake threatening to rip the earth into pieces. From the footage on the TV, that doesn't seem to be too far off the mark.

The video on screen switches to another angle and God dammit if Sam doesn't catch a glimpse of something red, white, blue, and Steve-shaped flash across the screen. He curses under his breath as he watches the patriotic blur flash across the screen again, dodging falling cars and chunks of building and pieces of earth the size of minivans. Steve is right there in the middle of it, all of them are, and they're doing their damnedest to save as many civilians as possible from the aerial trap they've unwittingly found themselves in.

Sam watches as reinforcements arrive in the form of a S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier, extra agents filing out onto what little solid ground there is left to claim and ushering civilians onto lifeboats. He watches as boat after boat of passengers pulls away, watches as the Avengers stay there until the last possible second to ensure that everyone makes it off. He watches as Sokovia begins to fall, ripping through the sky like a meteor made of broken concrete and shattered glass. Sam watches as the country disintegrates and crashes back to earth, until he can't see any trace of Steve or Tony or anyone in the wreckage. He watches until he can't watch anymore.

Then he's running, cutting back across town to the boarding house he's been staying in while in St. Petersburg. He shoves his way through crowds and clusters of people still huddled around watching the news, ignoring the irritated insults that are tossed at his back. He runs as fast as he can to get back to the boarding house because he needs to go; he needs to get to wherever the helicarrier is taking the survivors because he needs to help and make sure Steve is alive.

He's halfway up the stairs to his designated room when the phone on his hip chirps. He jerks it out of the pocket much more violently than he means to and swipes his finger across the screen. There's a single text message from Steve and Sam feels like the ceiling is about to come crashing down on top of him.

We're alive. Don't worry. Accompanying survivors to safe location.

The relief of knowing that they're safe is enough to make Sam stagger a bit in the hallway. Security breach be damned. Sam swipes out of the message and dials Steve's number, waiting impatiently on the other line for him to pick up. The phone rings and rings and rings but Steve never answers. The logical, rational side of Sam's brain says that cell reception is probably shot in that area and getting through to Steve will be damn near impossible for the next few hours. The adrenaline ravaged side of his brain counters by dialing the number over and over again, each time getting nothing for his efforts. He keeps dialing and keeps getting nothing but the cycle continues endlessly.

He pushes open the door to his room and is about to dial Steve's number again when he freezes instantly, going statue still in the doorway. There's someone in his room, someone he's been looking for for months. Someone who felt that now the most appropriate time to appear again.

Bucky doesn't look at him when he enters the room, his attention is focused on the television Sam had left on before he left that morning. Predictably, the TV is tuned in to the local news station, nearly every channel playing some form of footage from the destruction of Sokovia. He watches the destruction blankly, eyes flickering back and forth slightly as the image shifts onscreen. The metal hand sits loosely in his lap but the fingers are contracting and flexing slowly, almost unconsciously, as he watches the story unfold on the TV.

"You've been following me," the ex-assassin mutters after a moment, still never turning his attention away from the screen.

Sam hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I've been trying," he replies slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the man in front of him. He remembers all too well how fast and deadly the other man could be. "To be fair, you haven't been making it easy for me."

The assassin's eyes flick over to him briefly and something unreadable passes over his face. "You're alone," he says simply and it comes out as both a question and a statement.

"I'm alone," Sam answers back honestly, holding up his hands slowly to show he's not holding any weapons (just a cell phone).

"Where is he?" Bucky asks, his voice unsure and just a little broken as he speaks. It's a fissured crack in solid marble, a spiderweb through bulletproof glass. Even after all these months, he's still not used to acting on his own without someone stepping forward to reprogram him.

Sam doesn't answer but his face gives away all the information needed. His eyes flicker toward the screen, catching repeated footage of the entirety of Sokovia crumbling to rubble as it falls from the sky.

Bucky catches his glances and comes to a conclusion instantly. Before Sam can blink, the other man is on his feet and clearing the space between them with a murderous look in his eye. Sam just barely has a chance to stop him before the metal fist comes up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he shouts, holding up an arm in front of his face to block the attack he knows is coming. "He's safe! He's safe! They got out in time!"

Bucky (no, the Winter Soldier) doesn't seem convinced and appears perfectly content to beat the truth out of him.

"He's safe, man, I swear!" Sam insists again, swiping the screen on his phone again to reveal the text message he'd received from Steve a few minutes before. "I've been trying to call him but I haven't gotten through yet. I figured with all the destruction I wouldn't be able to reach him for a few hours at least."

Bucky glances at the phone, his eyes darting over the screen as he reads the message. His expression is unreadable, eyes dark and conflicted. Finally, after a second or two passes, the metal fist lowers to his side, the fingers remaining clenched and balled in a tight knot. Something possibly resembling relief passes over his face but it disappears almost as quickly as it shows up. He takes a cautious step back and Sam lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Why are you following me?" the ex-assassin asks after another second of silence passes. He doesn't appear angry or agitated by the acknowledgement that Sam has been tracking him halfway across the world, just curious more than anything.

Sam sighs softly and shrugs one shoulder. "Just trying to pass along a message, man. Steve and I were searching for you for months and I more or less forced him to take a break before he drove himself into an early grave. He wasn't happy about it; he'd be here with me if he had his way about it but that," he indicates the TV with a wave of one hand. "Got in the way."

Bucky is silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. Finally, he shakes his head slowly and frowns. "You shouldn't have followed me. I'm dangerous."

"Yeah well, a lot of what I do is dangerous," Sam replies with a half-hearted smile.

The former assassin shakes his head slightly. "This is different. I've killed people, I've tortured them...I've hurt more people than I can count." His frown darkens a bit more and the muscles in his jaw tighten. "I hurt Steve."

Sam copies his gesture and shakes his head. "Trust me, you could beat Steve over the head with his own shield and he would still think the sun rose and set with you. Cap doesn't know how to take anything lying down, you know? The point is, regardless of what you've done in the past, Steve just wants you back in his life. He doesn't care about the things you've done, people you've killed, anything like that. He cares about you and just you."

Sam glances between the TV and the window outside. "Look man, I know you still have a lot to figure out and a lot of things to deal with. Going through what you did, it couldn't have been easy and no one would ever fault you for trying to get away from it all. All I'm saying is that Steve won't turn you away ever, no matter how terrible you think you might be. He's ready when you are, all you have to do is come back."

Bucky stands still and silent for a minute, staring at the floor blankly. He absorbs the information and filters it through his mind over and over. Finally, he shakes his head slightly and frowns. "I can't come back. Not yet."

Sam just nods. "I get it, man. I really do. Just know that you always have a home there."

A heavy silence falls between them for a moment, the sound of the news filtering into the silence in the room. There's a noise outside in the hallway and Sam turns his attention away for a split second. When he looks back, Bucky is halfway across the room and stepping out onto the balcony outside the room. He catches Sam's eye briefly but his expression is resolute.

"Keep an eye on him," he says simply and then he's gone, dropping onto the ground beneath the window and blending seamlessly into the crowd. Sam steps up to the window to look outside but Bucky is already gone.

OOOOO

Two weeks after the battle of Sokovia, Steve moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn. It's a modest brownstone, still more modern than he's used to but it's in a good neighborhood and it about four blocks from where he grew up so it doesn't feel quite as foreign. It's not home, not by a long shot, but it's as close as he can get for the moment.

Sam had come back with news when he met them at the new, secure Avengers headquarters. Well, news and more than a few strong words about Steve's stupidity and recklessness. Apparently the news footage had shown all the images of Steve hanging off the side of the bridge trying to rescue that woman in the car and also the images of him jumping (and damn near missing) from the plummeting remains of Sokovia onto the last available S.H.I.E.L.D lifeboat. Sam had seen all of it and he wasn't too happy with Steve's ridiculous behaviour because seriously, what the hell, Rogers?!

Once Sam had vented and grumbled and called Steve a star-spangled dumbass (twice), he told him about the encounter in St. Petersburg. Steve had been both excited and disappointed with the news; excited that Bucky had been the one to come to Sam but also disappointed that he had disappeared again. He's not upset with Sam though, Sam had done more than enough for his part and Steve didn't even know how to begin to repay him for that. Sam had brushed him off and told him it was no big deal because that was just the kind of person Sam was but Steve was in his debt, now and forever, and it was a debt he wouldn't soon forget.

Sam had told him he was ready to go back on the hunt whenever Steve was but the Captain just shook his head. He wanted to find Bucky more than anything in the world but he knew that Sam was exhausted and so were the rest of the them. With half their team gone and the other half still recovering from the battle, Steve figured the best thing they could do right now would be to stay together and decompress. Natasha was still trying to work through Bruce's disappearance, Vision was still trying to understand this new world he'd become a part of, and Wanda was still reeling from her brother's death. He had more than enough to take care of here for the moment.

Steve spends the better part of the next two weeks trying to make the new headquarters feel more like a home rather than a facility while still trying to incorporate the "new" Avengers into a team. In the middle of all of this, Maria finds him an apartment. Steve doesn't ask how/why but the lease has already been signed and the apartment is fully furnished when he takes the first step inside.

He didn't have many possessions to bring over from his old apartment back in DC, a few personal items but nothing that couldn't be replaced. He figured he'd just leave most of it out on the sidewalk for someone else who needed it more than he did. That was one thing that had carried over through the decades: there was always someone who could benefit from the things you didn't need.

When he officially moves into the new apartment, he has two cardboard boxes and a potted plant named Bob. Bob had been a housewarming gift from the woman who lived down the hall from him. When she'd noticed that Steve was living alone and didn't have any pets, she'd discreetly left the plant on his doorstep with a note that said: it's nice to come home to something that needs you.

Steve had thanked her for the plant but he honestly wasn't sure he could keep it alive; he didn't have anything resembling a green thumb and plants never did well when he was around. That had been almost a year ago and Bob the houseplant was still just as green and beautiful as ever. Steve doesn't bother to question it; maybe he was good with plants after all.

He walks inside the apartment and sets the two boxes on the kitchen table. Whoever had furnished his apartment had done a great job, managing to find a perfect balance between classic charm and modern style. The appliances are all new and chrome but the furniture has a comfortable, worn in quality to it. The kitchen table is made from polished cherrywood and there are a set of matching chairs pushed up around it. The art on the walls is a mixture of framed, vintage posters and beautiful black and white photos from around the city. Steve walks across the room and sets Bob in the window, looking out at the city surrounding him. Once again, it's not home but he thinks he could make it work.

He walks back to the kitchen table and starts unpacking the boxes. He has a few books and some framed photographs that he'd taken from the old apartment, the few things that couldn't be replaced. There's also a shoebox full of letters, a book filled with photographs and newspaper clippings, and a jewelry box from his mother. He unpacks each item very carefully and lays them out on the kitchen table. The old mixed with the new. Steve thinks about it for a second and almost smiles.

The knock at the door causes him to jump slightly. He looks over his shoulder to the clock on the wall, the hands turned to just past 8:30. Sam had said he'd stop by around 9 when he got into town; guess the traffic wasn't as bad tonight.

"It's open, Sam," Steve calls over his shoulder as he steps into the kitchen to grab a measuring cup to water Bob the houseplant. It had been a few days since he last watered it and he figured it was time to fix that.

The door opens just as Steve turns the faucet. "How was the traffic?" Steve asks from the kitchen, watching as the water fills the cup up to the proper line.

"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked," a voice which definitely doesn't belong to Sam scolds from the living room and Steve drops the measuring cup in the sink.

He remains frozen for a second or so more, the sink running continuously in the background. When he finally remembers to turn off the faucet, it feels like his hands are made of lead.

He steps around the corner to see Bucky Barnes standing in his living room. The former assassin stands motionless in the center of the room, metal arm covered by the sleeve of a dark grey hoodie. His hair is longer than Steve remembered, tied back in a ponytail that fell a little past his shoulders. His face was still covered in a layer of stubble but it looked like it had been shaved within the past few days. He looked different but the same, fundamentally changed but just as he always had been. It was the same man Steve had chased across the rooftops in Hanover, the same man he'd faced off against on the Helicarrier, the same man he'd lost back in 1943.

"Bucky?" Steve asks as he steps into the living room because he's not entirely sure the other man is real.

"Steve," the other man says, not a question but a statement of fact. His eyes are still wary but he doesn't look like he's about to make a mad dash for the door so that's a plus. Steve still approaches him slowly though, terrified that he'll scare him off again.

"We've been looking for you, pal," Steve tells him, speaking slowly like he's approaching a wounded and cornered animal.

"I know," Bucky replies quietly, glancing over at him. "I ran into your friend in St. Petersburg. He followed me to the city."

He frowns then, confused and troubled, and the muscles in his jaws clench a little. "He said I should come back here when I was ready...that you wanted me back."

"He was right, Buck," Steve tells him, taking a slow step into the living room. "I do want you back."

"Why?" The question is sharp and harsh like a gust of wind through a blizzard. "You know what I am, what I've done. Why do you want me back?"

"What you are is my best friend," Steve answers honestly, taking another step. "And I don't care what you've done. It doesn't matter, none of it. The only thing that matters to me is you."

Bucky frowns again and shakes his head. "I tried to kill you."

"But then you saved me," Steve counters easily. "There is nothing you could say or do that would ever make me hate you, Buck. Til the end of the line, pal. I meant it."

The former assassin's shoulders slump just slightly at the words and he seems to deflate right in front of Steve. "I'm dangerous," he insists weakly like he knows it won't have any effect.

"I'll take my chances," Steve tells him, clearing the last bit of distance between them and reaching out to carefully place a hand on the other man's shoulder. The miles collapse into inches and Bucky is right there.

"I don't want to run anymore," Bucky mumbles quietly and he doesn't sound angry or upset or wary; he just sounds exhausted. "I want to go home."

Steve smiles faintly, the first smile he's cracked in what feels like a lifetime, and gives the other man's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're home now, Buck. We both are. We're home."

---

Yay happy ending (because I'm a sap and this is literally all I've wanted since CA:TWS) Thanks for reading guys! :D