This is the direct result of a grey, kinda chilly fall day, and listening to sad Irish songs at work.
BYU Vocal Point was my backing music, but also the Celtic Woman version.
Post-Winter Soldier
Written for EliotRosewater on Ao3
Steve heard it on a street in Brooklyn, of all places. It was late, it was cold, and he was alone.
Thanksgiving was coming, something he only registered from the displays in every storefront. It was so strange how impossibly different this world was now. The people, the cars, the phones, the shops, the clothes. And yet, staring into an old fashioned toy store, he half expected to see his mother's face reflected with his. Or Bucky's…
The end of another grueling search, a month hopping through Texas, one small town after another, the trail seeming to get warmer and warmer, until… Nothing. Vanished again.
This time Sam had insisted they return to New York, put his foot down, said if Steve didn't want to come, he'd make him. For the first time, Steve had not had the energy to argue.
And now, here he was wandering through downtown Brooklyn, unable to rest, unable to sit still. This wasn't the first time he'd come back 'home'. But it was definitely the darkest.
The stores had closed now. The streets were relatively quiet.
He stopped to watch four boys in a dead-end alley, bundled up against the chill, playing two-on-two basketball. A door opened along the side of one building, light spilled out, a voice of authority called, and the boys disappeared inside.
He moved on.
Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, not cold, but not warm either.
The notes of the violin reached him first. He could not identify the song, but it was quick, lively. He stopped to listen, before walking again, following the sound. It took a few minutes to track it and by then the song had ended.
Again, he stopped.
This time the music held him there. After an entire verse, a single sweet voice joined the song of the bow.
Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses fallen
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
Now he was moving, as if in a dream, drawn by the invisible strings the notes wove around his heart.
But come ye back, when summer's in the meadows
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.
She stood outside a restaurant/bar, about the only thing open at this hour, her long red hair falling around the shoulders of her black coat, the light a halo round her head.
Steve stopped, just in the shadows, unsure if he was dreaming or awake. And if he was dreaming, then he didn't want to wake up.
When winter's come and all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an 'Ave' there for me
The light spilling through the stained glass windows, a colourful pattern across the floor in front of the coffin. The people that lined the walls, their collective heat just comfortable on a cool October day. But Steve was cold inside, hardly aware of anything but the agony that gripped his chest, only Bucky's hand on his shoulder keeping him present. He leaned into Buck, just a bit.
But I shall hear, though soft you tread above me
And all my grave shall warmer sweeter be
And you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me
It was his mother's voice, and it was Becca's voice and it was all a twisted knot in his chest and he desperately wanted to bust out crying. But he was frozen as a fish at the market. Now Bucky tugged him against his side, a touch of warmth.
Oh, Danny boy, the stream flows cool and slowly
And pipes still call and echo cross the glen
Your broken mother sighs and feel so lonely
For you have not returned to smile again
There was a man's voice singing now, deep and strong. For a moment Steve was confused. Bucky couldn't sing.
No, it was 'Dum Dum'; of course Dugan could sing. He was the first to start in at the pubs, before he'd even finished his first mug. But this was different.
Hat in his hands, on the edge of an Alpine village, looking down a snowy mountain, the other men clustered around, just standing. And his voice, so soft, with a traitorous crack every now and then.
It was so cold. Even the tears on Steve's cheeks were cold. His last warmth, the last light… gone.
So, if you've died and crossed the stream before us
We pray that angels met you on the shore
And you'll look down and gently you'll implore us
To live that we may see your smiling face once more
There was a silence, broken by Frenchie. "Notre Père, qui es aux cieux…"
The other men's voices joined in a low rumble, "hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will–"
Wait. Who was playing the violin?
Steve opened his eyes, blinked, sniffed. Swiped his hand across his cheeks, warm to his cold fingers.
He heard voices, soft laughter. The musician girl was no longer alone, a man was with her, helping her scrape the money out of her violin case.
Steve took a deep, if shaky, breath. Stepped back to lean against the wall of an old brick building; it had been there before his time, quite likely to be there after.
Tried to anchor himself in the present.
The violinist and her escort were making their way down the sidewalk in his direction and he turned, not wanting to be caught staring like some creep. He had only taken a couple steps, before a hand on his arm stopped him.
"Hey." The girl smiled up at him, the nearby streetlamp revealing a long scar down the middle of her forehead and another slanting across one cheek. And yet, the glow about her made them hardly noticeable. "Did you enjoy the music?"
Steve nodded and found his voice. "Very much, thank you, ma'am." Then, feeling that was inadequate, he added, "It reminded me of something. Someone. A few things, actually."
"Aye," the girl nodded, a hint of Irish brogue in her voice. "I actually thought you were the man who was listening earlier today. He was standing off over here. He seemed to feel that song pretty deeply, too. But your hair's different. His was longer, and dark."
There was no reason, absolutely none…
"Dark brown? Not quite to his shoulders? Looked like he hadn't shaved in a while? Wearing gloves? Ball cap?"
The girl blinked. "Umm, I think so. Sounds right."
"And you were playing 'Danny Boy'?"
"Yes."
For the first time, the young man spoke up. "Someone you know?"
"Yeah. I think so."
When he was alone again, Steve moved back to his place in the shadows, staring at the lit front of the bar. Someone came out, bringing a burst of laughter and music with them. Two guys got into a taxi.
Bucky had been here. Less than twelve hours ago. He had stood here and heard that song and remembered. Maybe not everything Steve did, but something.
Oddly enough, Steve did not feel that wild urge to call up Sam and go hunting all across town in every nook and cranny. For the first time he felt… content. For this night, it was enough. To know he hadn't lost Bucky.
Bucky was out there. Steve would find him. And someday, he'd see his brother smiling again.
I promise, Buck, his heart called silently. I'll find you. Ain't getting rid of me that easy.
"'Til the end of the line," he whispered.
He headed back to the Tower, a small measure of warmth working its way through him to settle in his chest. Almost as if someone had been standing beside him.