In the end, Sam was the one who talked him into it. Unsurprisingly, considering that Sam was well versed in mental health, he was the one to speak up as to how unhealthy it was to trek across the globe on a man hunt for two straight years. Natasha had only shrugged and said that she thought Steve was handling things pretty well considering, but had backed off when Sam gave her the stink eye. He was only giving himself a week of recovery before resuming the search. A week spent back in his Brooklyn apartment, with nothing to do but rest, and of course wallow in his guilt and self-pity.
Two whole years. Two long and taxing years had passed since Steve discovered The Winter Soldier. Two years since he found Bucky. Bucky Barnes...a ghost of the past that apparently that had begun not only hauntening his dreams, but his every waking moment. Steve slumped against wall of his apartment. Two years of following Natasha's leads and nothing. Not a single trace of The Winter Soldier. All Steve did uncover was the grueling torture that Bucky had gone through to become the drone he was. He uncovered how many years of pain and torment his Bucky had to go through all for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Years of digging, of fighting in dark alleys, of break ins and trying to stay hopeful, still he couldn't find the storm, only the damage left behind. Natasha was somewhat right, this was a thread that should have never been pulled. But Steve pulled it for Bucky. He told himself it was to rid the world of the fear of The Winter Soldier, but at its core, it was to find his only living link to the past.
Steve moved from the wall and decided to sit on the couch because that was the proper thing to do. Sit on furniture and not sulk by the wall in the corner. Heaving a heavy sigh, he threw his head back to stare at his ceiling. Bucky, I just found you...come back to me…
He didn't know when he fell asleep, but soon, Steve was lost in the world of dreams and the same recurring nightmare that had stalked him since that day on the Potomac. He still completed his mission, but Bucky shot him straight through the heart, completing his. And then the Soldier would let him watch, bleeding out on the helicarrier and unable to stop him, as he turned the gun on himself. As with every other time, Steve woke up in a cold sweat, panting, and terrified. It took him a moment to register the fact he was no longer on the couch, but somehow managed to enter his room. He never lost the feeling he was being watched.
Bucky tracked Steve's movements from the corner of the room, using his old mask and goggles to blend into the shadows. Two years of remembering, of gathering the courage to see him again. Captain America, his mission. His saviour. The light that pierced the brainwashed fog and allowed him a glimpse to who he once was. It was strange watching Steve. Stranger still to lift him from his couch to his bed, so he could sleep properly. He spared a small smile for the memory that came uncoerced of the times he had done similarly in their little Brooklyn apartment, only to have it disappear once more when he heard Steve whimper in his sleep. Bucky wasn't used to the new Steve, even after all that time on the frontlines. Several times Steve called out his name, screaming in desperation, while Bucky sat helpless in the dark corner of his tiny bedroom, not wanting to have his presence known, but unable to bear the sound of his friend in such obvious distress. He and Steve had always carried each other's pain, but now he feared they might collapse under the strain. Bucky clenched his hand at the thought of Steve trying to carry the weight of Bucky's sins. Steve deserved better than that, than being a prisoner of Bucky's past. Steve deserved everything.
Bucky only wished he could give it to him.
Sometimes, the memories of what he had done as The Asset were hidden behind layers of coping mechanisms, denial, and constant activity. However, there was no way to avoid the onslaught of feelings when Steve turned in his sleep and Bucky saw the tiny pink scar on Steve's chest, barely missing his heart. It was almost invisible to the naked eye, but Bucky's enhanced eyesight allowed him to see the evidence of the day he had tried to kill his best friend in HD. All at once, Bucky remembered the feelings of the gun in his hand as he took his aim, the recoil of the gun, the way Steve had stiffened and then collapsed forward onto the rails. And then again as Steve tried to place the last circuit board in the port and nearly failed. He was there, only this time he wasn't simply unstable and frustrated. He was screaming.
Steve's attention was drawn to the corner behind him as he heard a small sob. Blinking blearily as he instinctively turned toward the noise, Steve saw a vague figure in the darkness. Not making sudden movements, he turned around completely and positioned himself to take on the intruder. In an instant, he was lying on his back kicking and punching the attacker. He mentally chastised himself for being so slow on his reactions and fought hard to throw the attacker off.
Bucky didn't remember jumping Steve, or why he did for that matter, but he soon had him pinned underneath him looking him dead in the eye, thankful the room was dark enough to hide his face from view. Not yet, too soon. As if by some cruel trick of fate, Steve's hand reached out and touched Bucky's metal arm, and immediately the resistance stopped. Fearing confrontation, before Steve could say anything, Bucky tried to leave, but was held tight by Steve. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to.
"Two years. Two years I looked for you." Steve whispered. "I looked everywhere, Buck. I thought you were dead. I thought…" I thought I was alone again. The Winter Soldier, stoic and unspeaking, returned. This transformation had become natural over the past two years, and provided a safety net for whenever Bucky thought of this moment. He wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to deal with all that baggage. And most importantly, wasn't ready to watch Steve leave after explaining all that he's done over the years.
"I thought you were gone," Steve whispered shakily.
Bucky couldn't answer. He had shot this man, this glorious, righteous, stupid man only seconds, no years, it was years,ago. He had shot Steve.
"Bucky, answer me. Please. I lost you, to find you, to lose you again, to find you again. Talk to me." Steve all but begged. Bucky lowered his head and slowly turned around to look him in the eye. Using his free hand, Bucky took off the goggles, but left the mask on, still not ready to let down his guard completely. As the goggles fell to the floor, Steve got off the bed and moved closer to Bucky. "Bucky, if this is about this", he indicates the mark on his chest, "then don't worry about it. It wasn't you. It wasn't Bucky. It was The Winter Soldier. Please. Talk to me."
Bucky remained stoic, but the crack of Steve's normally unwavering voice caused the wall to falter. Steve was his constant, and it was obvious that Bucky had broken him. God, he could never undo this, he could never repent for all the ways he had shattered his friend. It was so, so selfish of him to want to try.
It was in that moment Steve took his chance and hugged his best friend. Needing to truly feel he was alive and that he was his Bucky. Hesitantly, Steve let go of Bucky's hand now that the danger had apparently passed. As soon as he did though, Bucky simply gripped his wrist tightly and whispered something unintelligible from under the mask, more of an animalistic whine than any real language. When Steve pulled back to remove the mask however, Bucky followed with a panicked flail, horrifyingly congruous with a drowning man. Steve leaned back immediately, working to undo the strap of the mask by feel with his free hand instead, and never letting his other hand stop or slow its steady, comforting motions along Bucky's back. He echoed Bucky's mutterings, sometimes in the little Russian he knew, but mostly in English, broken declarations of love and what he hoped were comforting promises.
Once he managed to remove the mask, he realized just how panicked Bucky was. He was screaming and sobbing, clutching Steve with the full force of his metal arm and his not-unconsiderable flesh arm, hard enough that even Steve would bruise for a good hour or so. It was his words, however, that chilled Steve to the bones and ripped his heart out of his chest. Bucky wasn't crying for himself, for the horrors he had endured, for the seventy years of pain he had endured. Bucky was crying for Steve.
"God, Steve, I, I, I coulda killed- I woulda killed you," he sobbed, "Shot you, can't forgive me for that, no one can, I don't deserve it, don't deserve you." He trembled, taking big gulps of air as he released the overwhelming emotion of two years running from the man that was written into his very being, the only thing keeping him running being the thought that Steve would be safer without him.
"Shhh Bucks, it's ok. Really. That wasn't you. That wasn't you. The person you are, right now, that's you," Steve continued to hold him, hanging on as if Bucky was a lifeline.
"Steve...The Winter Soldier is me. I may not be in the driver's seat but I see everything. I felt everything. I felt it when I shot you…" Bucky broke off into more tears as his flesh and blood arm worked its way to rest over the scar on Steve's chest. "I shot you. Right here." Pressing his hand over the now puckered and pink scar, he trembled with utter terror at the thought of what he had almost done. Even as panic consumed him, something quieted within him when he felt the steady rise and fall of Steve's chest beneath his palm. Sometimes, when the memories returned, he didn't know what order they belonged in, and he had almost expected to feel the uneven and rattling breaths of an asthmatic kid. But even that small comfort could not anchor him from the rip tide of emotion that was swiftly carrying him into full-blown panic.
Steve was barely hanging onto his composure himself. He had Bucky in his arms after two years of agony. Two years of searching, finally over. Steve put one hand over Bucky's, interlocking fingers, and rested his forehead against Bucky's head.
"I forgive you Buck, I forgive you. Now if you'll only forgive me…" Steve whispered into the darkness. When he saw the blank look in Bucky's eyes though, he quickly backtracked. "Lay down Bucky. Like old times. We'll talk more in the morning, okay? Please?" How could Bucky say no to that? Bucky did as he was told and laid down stiffly on Steve's bed. Steve didn't know what to think or how to describe the way he felt. He only knew he had his best friend back. Steve slipped into bed alongside Bucky, back turned to him so they faced away from each other. He trusted Bucky, until the end of the line.
This is my first fic (written with my friend) so please be mindful. There's more than just this. So many, many more chapters to come ^.^