"They're discharging you?" Steve sat halfway out of the Hydra Stomper but thought he might have to hop back in. Some kind of crazy talk, discharging Sergeant Barnes, the premiere sniper of the 107th. Not if he had anything to do with it.

"Blue discharge, yeah." Bucky smirked but Steve saw through it. "Papers came through this morning."

"Can you dispute it?" He wasn't sure of the proper protocols but that hadn't stopped him from becoming a pilot of sorts, from regularly taking command in missions above his station. "If we go to the corporal–"

Bucky shook his head. "Nothing I can do. It's signed by a physician, saying I'm not fit for service anymore."

"How can they do that?" Steve pulled himself out a little more, leaning out of the armor. Bucky wouldn't look him in the eye, and the only cure for that was getting closer. "You were one of Captain Carter's personal team. She trusted you."

"It doesn't matter. Even if she were here–" Bucky winced at the obvious fact, watching Steve's face. He didn't wanna recognize how much it still bothered him. But Bucky shifted his weight and changed his face, smug and smooth again. "It's really not so bad. They're sending me back to New York."

"After all this," Steve's hand brushed against the Stomper's oversized chest, "you're going back to Brooklyn?"

Bucky's eyebrows wrinkled, and his mouth pulled tight.

"You can't even go back home?" Steve said, figuring from Bucky's new face.

"It's the blue discharge," Bucky tried to defend. He was holding the cursed pages folded tightly in one hand, but he waved them for emphasis. "It's not bad, but it's not exactly good."

He was right the first time, just not for the reason he thought. Not that Bucky couldn't go home, but rather that he may not be welcome. Steve swallowed and hoped his silence said he understood.

"It's a chance to move, anyway," Bucky said lightly. His eyebrows were still creased worriedly. "I thought I might try closer to Manhattan."

"That's hardly a move," Steve agreed. "You'll still know your way around."

Bucky nodded. "It'll be fun. Not fun like this was, but at least nobody will be shooting at me."

Steve allowed himself to sink back into the armor, just his folded arms resting on its rim and his head on them. "Do you leave soon?"

"I'm making the goodbye rounds now," Bucky admitted. He shrugged and tried to smile more genuinely. "After you, I'm packing up."

"You didn't get any warning?"

"Wish I did."

Steve sighed. He drummed his fingers against the Stomper and hid his mouth behind one arm. Even if it was pouty he didn't wanna look at Bucky just then. Yeah, a surprise discharge wasn't Bucky's fault but he couldn't help being mad about it. Not even two months past the war's end and here they were, faced now with the reality that they had to do something with the rest of their lives.

Steve thought he might just keep piloting Hydra Stompers and whatever emergent tech Stark could cook up until they told him to leave. He hadn't actually accounted for the fact they may force him to leave so soon.

"Can I walk you out?" Steve said at last.

"I'd like that."

While he climbed down Steve wondered what made him fitter than Bucky. It had to be the Stomper and nothing more; Steve wasn't any ole soldier enlisted and discharged like the rest of them. Steve was recruited by the SSR specifically and since he wasn't biologically a super soldier his purpose was inside the metal shell. He was here because he was the only one who could fit, much as he wanted it to be his ace piloting and a war full of missions under Captain Carter.

But he looked up at Bucky, taller again from his own two feet. Sergeant Barnes, Carter's right hand on the ground and sharpshooter unrivaled. They must be letting Bucky go just to expedite the end of wartime, one easy way to ship as many folks as possible back home. That was the only reason they'd ever send Bucky home ahead of Steve.

Bucky smiled and held it while they walked. Steve knew faking when he saw it, a shallow face with eyes glassy staring straight ahead. His fingers around the discharge papers tightened with each step, crinkling the crisp edges, smearing sweaty fingerprints all over the typeface. Actually, the way Bucky folded it, all the words were contained inside. Steve didn't pry since this meant it was embarrassing, Bucky hiding it from all but close friends. But part of him did wonder if this was a discharge after all—anything could be on those papers.

They left the Stomper's garage and crossed the grounds. Steve still stiffened near the grass, thinking of mile runs and morning drills meant to gauge stamina and willpower that he'd managed to wheeze through. He didn't miss tests of strength like that. Bucky wasn't affected the same way, but he was still stuck the way he'd been. He could've had a gun at his back, pushed along by a hijacker, blackmailed or threatened from how mechanically he marched. Bucky was a good soldier but he wasn't quite this uptight.

"I'll visit, when you find a place," Steve offered. He couldn't bear seeing this poor imitation of his friend. "You can show me the new neighborhood."

"You don't have to do that," Bucky said, practically wringing his own neck to make the upbeat tone. "You'll be plenty busy here."

"Has Stark told you what he's thinking next?" He asked because he didn't know, and because he thought it might take Bucky's mind to a better place.

"Whatever it is, it sure beats flying cars," Bucky said nostalgically. He didn't know, but he did seem a little better.

"I can't imagine where he'll go from here," Steve continued. He looked up at Bucky eagerly, hoping to tug at his friend's old sense of whimsy.

"It'll be fun," Bucky said a little quieter.

Not deterred, Steve promised, "I'll write. You'll know everything as soon as I do."

"They'll never let you write," Bucky said. But his grin was bigger and more genuine. "All the SSR's secret weapons, out in the open thanks to the Hydra Stomper himself."

"Only if some stupid civilian in Manhattan tells everyone." Steve elbowed Bucky's ribs.

Bucky laughed and shoved him back. He was strolling now instead of marching, just in time to reach the barracks and pry open the back door that always creaked conspicuously. Steve tried to hold it for Bucky but Bucky never let him get away with it, would stand there all day waiting for Steve to get his ass inside already. Steve only waited a little bit, enough that his impish little shenanigans were as endearing as they were annoying, enough to make Bucky laugh. He wasn't this kiddish with anyone else; everyone on the base thought he was serious, quiet, and that was if they thought of him at all. But with Bucky he was a kid in the best way, in the way he couldn't be actually growing up.

He beat Bucky to his bunk, sitting on his trunk to keep it closed. Bucky lifted the lid anyway and dumped Steve back onto the bed, the corners of his eyes finally crinkling from his beaming smile. Not that there was much to pack but Bucky stashed away the few things he'd left lying around—The Hobbit, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, both of them suspiciously looking like some of Steve's copies. And if Steve really wanted to push Bucky around he'd grab the pair of civilian shoes off the top of Bucky's trunk and run away with them. He could force Bucky to stay a little longer, the pesky little brother all the way to the end. When Bucky shipped out he barely knew what to do with himself, all he wanted to do was follow and feel like he was doing his part. Where did he belong, back then, if not in Bucky's shadow?

And maybe things weren't that way anymore. Now he was something, even if it was just the guy in the suit. But as Bucky slung the bag over a shoulder it was home all over again, the same pangs of guilt and jealousy, the same empty fear. Bucky was the armor before the armor, strip him away and Steve was just a skinny punk.

"It's been nice," Bucky said in that classic farewell way. He said it with the same flippancy as if this was a weekend getaway and they'd only been friends that long.

Steve scrambled off the bed. "I will visit, when I get the chance."

Bucky looked away, one hand on the bag's strap, adjusting its position. "Look, Steve, it's not that I don't want you around."

"But?" This was pure nonsense, everything about the situation. The only times Bucky ever tried to keep him away was when the circumstances were too dangerous—even then, he'd known better than to think Steve wouldn't sneak in anyway.

"But you shouldn't follow," was all Bucky offered to explain.

"Can I write, at least?" Steve stepped forward and Bucky stepped back. "You'll let me know once you have an address?"

Bucky shook his head, staring at the wall with his chin tilted up. "It'd be better if you didn't."

"Why?" He tried to stand taller. "What's with you?"

It would've been easier if Bucky just turned around and walked out. He could be confused and mad for the rest of his life, but at least it would be an abrupt and total end. But Bucky stayed rooted to the ground, unable to justify himself. He frowned at the wall, pained like something was eating at him.

"It's the discharge," Bucky said. "It won't look good for you to have a friend who got blue discharged."

"But it's not your fault." He was mad because this wasn't a straight answer, but he was sad because Bucky was hiding things. Worse than being left behind, Bucky was deliberately pushing him aside.

Bucky's silence, his subtle wince at the statement, answered every question Steve had. All at once he wasn't mad at the circumstances anymore, but at Bucky directly.

"You knew?" He said it to be mean and he meant it. Bucky shut his eyes at first, but his shoulders sagged like he was relieved it was out in the open. "You knew they were kicking you out and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know if they'd kick me out," Bucky argued. His hand on the strap was shaking.

But here he was, the golden boy lying about something bad enough to get him pushed out of a gang of killers. Steve was furious. "What did you do?"

Bucky's hand clenched into a fist around the strap, still shaking. "I can't tell you."

"Can you tell me anything?" Steve took an assertive step towards him and finally felt bigger.

"I'm glad we got to fight together," Bucky offered weakly. He looked Steve in the eye. "I'm sorry I tried to keep you out of this."

"You still are." Steve was losing fire under Bucky's direct attention. "I've got your back. If you know what's wrong, maybe we can fix it after all."

"There's no fixing me–" Bucky's eyes widened. He corrected almost immediately, "There's no fixing it. This is the end of the line for me."

He asked desperately, "Does it have to be?"

"It does." In all their time together he'd never seen Bucky on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. But it's just the beginning for you."

Steve huffed, trying to act irritated instead of angry. "It would be better with you around."

"You're crazy." Bucky sighed and dropped the bag. He opened his arms and Steve stepped into them. "I'm gonna miss you, but I'm not worried about you anymore."

"This is really the end?" Steve mumbled, his head turned to the side and pressed into Bucky's chest. "You're gonna leave forever and not tell me why?"

"It's not so bad, Stevie." Bucky's arms held him tight, and released him too soon.

The old nickname broke his heart. If Bucky was gonna cry, so was he. Bucky, then Peggy, then Bucky again. How many times did he have to say goodbye on short notice, against his will?

Not one more time. If Bucky was leaving forever, he was leaving on Steve's terms. Steve grabbed the collar of his uniform and pulled him down—Bucky obeyed probably more from surprise than anything. And Steve kissed him.

It wasn't particularly passionate or even that deft, his lips pressed against Bucky's. Bucky's eyes were wide anyway, and after a moment of staring he threw both hands over his own face. "You can't do things like this. It's exactly why they're kicking me out."

"If they're kicking you out for it, they have to kick me out too." Steve pulled Bucky's hands aside, succeeding in revealing only a sliver of his red face. "So. You'll let me know when you have an address."

Bucky groaned and lowered his hands. Tears dribbled at the corners of his eyes but his smile was real, at last. "If you're asking to move in, I don't have much of a choice."

"You don't." Steve punched him in the ribs and grinned. "I'll see you when they kick me out too."