Bucky Barnes had done his best to prepare himself for a life without Steve Rogers. Hell, he'd been practicing that since pulling Steve from the Potomac, since the long vigils by Steve's sickbed throughout their youth. But when Bucky saw an aged Steve sitting on the bench overlooking the lake instead of reappearing on the time travel platform, he felt a crushing sense of loss and disappointment. That's when he knew somewhere, deep down, he had hoped Steve, his Steve, would return.

That's when he knew he could not stay.

He turned away after Steve handed the shield to Sam Wilson. Bucky was happy for Sam; he would make a great Captain America. Sam was a natural leader, charismatic and savvy. In the gaping absence left by the deaths of Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, and, well, Steve now, in a way, Sam would fill the void more capably than most.

Bucky quietly approached Bruce Banner, who still seemed concerned the machine had malfunctioned and was well on the way to blaming himself. Bucky did not know the man, but Steve had always praised his gentleness and bravery, and Bucky did not want to see him suffer after all the man had been through.

"This was his choice, Dr. Banner."

Bruce stopped his frenetic inspection of the platform to look at Bucky's face, and he saw the truth there on tragic display.

"You knew?"

Bucky didn't trust his voice and knew his understanding of Steve's decision would be difficult to convey, so he merely nodded.

"Wow. I didn't think Steve would do something so…" Bruce broke off and quickly looked away from Bucky. "It's just a surprise, you know?"

Bucky could not bear the pity directed at him, even with such kind intentions, and suddenly knew what he had to do. From somewhere in his past, he summoned up the appearance of confidence. "It's going to take awhile for him to get used to being back with all of us. I think I'll give him some space. Help Sam learn how to be Cap, you know?" And for good measure, "I don't want Steve to have to worry about me."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"I'll just head back to Wakanda for awhile, see how I can help the recovery efforts there, and get my stuff. I'll see you back at the Compound to help with the rebuild in a few weeks."

As Bucky started to walk away, Bruce said, "Aren't you going to stick around to talk to Steve?"

Bucky risked one final glance back to where Steve and Sam were talking. He caught a flash of gold on Steve's left ring finger. "We said everything there was to say last night."

Bucky trusted the man in front of him enough to know that Bruce would read whatever he needed into that sentence. They shook hands, and Bucky walked back towards the lane where Steve's motorcycle was parked. Steve and Bucky had ridden it together to the platform earlier that morning. That ride seemed eons ago in Bucky's mind. He pushed the bike far enough up the road that the engine noise wouldn't allow time for Sam to catch up to him, and then he drove as fast as he could, as far away as he could, for as long as he could.

The five years in the Soul World may have gone by in an instant for the Dusted, but it had left a physical toll. Bucky tired more quickly than he'd hoped, and he pulled off the turnpike at what he knew to be a moderately-priced chain motel. He patted down the jacket Pepper Potts had kindly given to him for the funeral and found a wallet with cash and cards. He'd be able to afford room and board for awhile, while he drove to an as yet undetermined destination. It wouldn't be Wakanda, and it couldn't be the Compound. Not yet, at least, if ever.

All he had was the bike and the clothes on his back, but the clerk at the reception desk didn't even blink an eye. He wondered if drifters were more common now than they had been five years ago. Bucky realized one of his top priorities had to be learning about what had happened in the world while fifty percent of the population was gone. An itch developed under his skin, in a positive way. Finding a way to be useful, especially in a chaotic world which had just lost its best defenders, could help guide him in this undreamt-of future he now lived in, one without Steve at his side.

He grabbed water and granola bars from the small store in the lobby, and then made his way to his room. A moment of cognitive dissonance caused him to hesitate in the doorway longer than he would normally consider to be safe. He forced himself to enter the room.

It was the artwork. Hotel artwork was always so mundane, inoffensive, repetitive. The uniformity of the artwork in hotels throughout the States had shaken his sense of reality after he'd pulled Steve from the Potomac. After a few days of sleeping rough, he'd braved a hotel with his stolen Hydra funds. That first night was fine. It was the days after, at other hotels, each one so similar to the previous, that exacerbated his fragile memories of being wiped again and again. Being in this room made him long for his cottage in Wakanda, look fondly back upon his flat in Bucharest. He'd carved out little bits of home in those places. But now he was on the run again, and he had no home. Steve had been his true home, but his Steve appeared to have been replaced by one who'd lived a life without his best friend at his side.

Bucky shook his head to clear it of such dismal thoughts. He may not have a home, but he had a life, a future. He needed to focus on that.

After a quick security check and drawing the blinds against the night outside, he settled down to the small desk and used the thin notepad and pen provided to make a list.

Disable any electronic tracking devices.

Eat granola bars and drink water.

Shower.

Sleep.

Eat free motel breakfast.

Ditch phone.

Obtain more cash.

Ditch cards.

Bucky hesitated, then crossed out that last line. His gut told him he could trust Pepper, that she did not have any ulterior motives, but was simply helping out someone in need in the simplest way she could right now.

Detail bike.

Obtain phone, laptop, backpack, underwear, jeans, long-sleeved shirts, gloves, small insulated food carrier, food, water.

Drive.

Help recovery efforts.

Bucky always felt better when he had a plan, even if it wasn't as specific as he'd otherwise prefer. An abundance of caution caused him to shred the unused pages of the notepad and flush them down the toilet. Not that he thought anyone would come after him tonight. Sam would be freaking out about the tremendous life-altering decision Steve had made on his behalf, Bruce would be checking and rechecking the platform, Pepper would be with those close to her, others would be returning home after the funeral, and Nick Fury would probably be debriefing Steve. Assuming Steve had stuck around. Who knows where he had been before appearing on that bench?

"Not your concern anymore, Barnes." He let out a self-deprecating sigh. "Talking to myself already? Alright, let's own this. Get to your list, Barnes."

Within an hour, he lay in bed, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Light filtered through the gaps in the curtains. Used to both the quiet of his cottage in Wakanda and the study hum of cities like Birnin Zana, the unsteady rhythm of random cars passing by kept him on edge. Instead of falling asleep, his last conversation with Steve repeated in his mind.

It happened just the night before. Steve had pulled Bucky aside. "I'm going to return the Stones to their appropriate times and locations."

"Who is going with you?"

"This is a solo mission."

"I'll go with you."

"No, no. It's bad enough there will be two of me in the timeline. Don't want to complicate it any more than I have to."

Complicate was not the verb Bucky would have chosen. And Steve wasn't looking Bucky in the eyes, one of his classic tells. Steve wasn't being honest, and Bucky feared he knew the reason. "Is it tempting to stay in the past?"

Steve shrugged, a casual affectation belied by the overall tension in his body. "It was weird to see myself in 2012. Kinda wanted to punch myself in the face."

Bucky laughed, as he knew Steve hoped he would, but still asked, "How about 1970? Anything complicated there?"

Because once Bucky heard about the time heist, he'd looked into the locales and times, and knew Steve may have crossed Peggy Carter's path. He wondered if Steve would talk about it if he had.

"People didn't recognize Captain America, but they were good at their jobs. They knew I didn't belong on base. We almost got caught."

Bucky waited silently for Steve to continue.

"I saw Peggy. She didn't see me. I ducked into an office to hide for a moment, and it was hers. She was in the next room." Steve smiled wistfully. "She was beautiful. In charge, full of purpose. I was grateful to have the chance to see her in her element."

"And now you're going back in time again."

"Yeah."

Bucky thought of how the missed opportunity with Peggy haunted Steve. How alone Steve had felt in this century. How he'd always wanted a large family when he was younger, and how he thought his duties prevented him from pursuing that life. "I know you'll want to stay with Peggy."

Steve bowed his head.

Swallowing down the urge to beg Steve to stay with him, Bucky reassured him instead. "It's okay to want that, Steve."

Steve kept his gaze towards the floor and asked quietly, "Isn't there anything about the past you'd want to change, if you could?"

Bucky thought of the years of torture he had experienced, all the lives he had taken, all the violence both inflicted by and on him. Shouldn't he want to rewrite that history? Was changing his past something he should hope for now? Finally, he shook his head. "No. I mean, I wish I'd never hurt anyone, of course. But I've worked too hard to get back to where I am, and I've come close to becoming human again. I wish it had all never happened, but it did, and I'm still here." Bucky was surprised how true the words felt as they left his mouth.

Steve finally looked up at Bucky and smiled. "I'm so proud of you, Buck."

Bucky's heart swelled at the praise. He feared he'd never stop hungering for Steve's approval. "I'm proud of you, too, Stevie. But you don't have to be Captain America anymore. You can stop."

"Maybe I will."

And the smile on Steve's face was the one he'd worn when thinking of Peggy. It was then Bucky knew.

Steve was never coming back. Not his Steve.

One brief hug, one unreturned miss you. That was all that remained.

Bucky didn't know how he could be so exhausted and so awake at the same time.

A text alert sounded from his phone. Not the first text since he'd left Bruce, Sam, and Steve by the lakeside, but the first coded to Steve alone. He had double- and triple-checked that all location services on the phone were turned off, and he planned on ditching the phone in the morning. Last chance to make a clean getaway. He had to tailor his responses just right. Might as well start now.

One text from Pepper.

Thank you for your compassion. It is more than I deserve. My sympathy and gratitude to you and your daughter.

A handful of texts from Shuri.

I'm fine. Would you please send a new phone to our drop-off location? I'll explain soon. Just be patient with me, please, and give me some time. Love you, my little sister.

Several from Sam.

Heading back to Wakanda for a few days to grab a few things. Then I'll stay with Steve awhile. Help him adjust back to our time. Give us a few weeks of privacy? And thanks for checking up on me. Maybe you're not so bad after all.

One from Steve.

Happy you had the life you wanted. Truly. I'll be at the Compound. Somebody has to keep Captain America in line, and that's usually been me. Please give me some time to adjust to my new sidekick. Take care of yourself, buddy.

Tears in his eyes, Bucky crushed the phone in his vibranium hand. No tracking devices, surprisingly. Knowing it would be impossible to sleep now, he took a shower to loosen his muscles and perhaps even relax enough to be able to sleep later. As the water flowed over his body, he once again marveled at the abundance of hot water in this century, that he never had to re-experience the cold baths of his youth or the punishing cold showers of the Soldier. As he used one towel for his hair and another to dry his body, he remembered threadbare clothes and unheated floors and unsealed windows, and he reveled in the warmth of the bathroom. And as he tamped down his sorrow and crawled under the covers to pursue a few hours of sleep, he focused on the good things the immediate future held for him: a clean bed to sleep in, breakfast in the morning, enough money to get by, the concern and comfort of friends, the freedom to go wherever he needed to heal this latest blow to his heart.

Bucky had a plan.

And he had a long journey ahead.

He wondered where it would take him.