Red, White & Blue | Bucky x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three

Using the fire escape at the back of the building, I sneak into my apartment through the living room window, Bucky following close behind.

"Here," I say, pulling out a kitchen chair. "Have a seat."

Bucky sits, and I move to his right side, carefully repositioning his arm before popping the dislocated shoulder back into place. He doesn't flinch. Instead, his brows furrow as he looks up at me.

"You... did this for me... before," he says, not quite a question, not quite a statement.

I nod. "What do you remember?"

Bucky's gaze drops to the floor as he tries to see through the fog in his brain. "Not a lot... Just the pop... and the sound of your laughter..."

I move to stand in front of him and he looks up.

"Back in WWII, you dislocated your shoulder while trying to win a drunken bet," I explain, suppressing a small chuckle as I remember that day.

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitches into a half smile, but it quickly drops as he tries to remember that time long ago.

"Uh... Could you wait here for a minute?" I ask before heading into my bedroom and closing the door behind me.

I open my closet and pull up a loose floorboard, grabbing the go-bag stashed below. I toss it onto my bed as I move to my dresser, changing into a pair of jeans and a long t-shirt before folding up the damp uniform and shoving it into the hole in the floor.

I take out my braid, letting my hair fall loosely around my face, and pull on a jacket before grabbing the baseball cap from the back of my door. Feeding my arms through the straps of my backpack, I open the door, startled to find Bucky standing in the hallway, less than a foot away from me.

"Everything okay, Sergeant?" I question, using his old nickname out of habit.

He hesitates for a moment before replying. "Why do I feel so... protective... of you?

I pause, unsure of how to answer as I lead him back into the living room. "We were... close... before."

Bucky's expression falls. "I don't remember."

My face softens. "You will. Now, come on. We have another stop to make."

We crawl back onto the fire escape, sneaking across to Steve's apartment next door. I walk into his bedroom, pulling clothes out of the drawers and handing them to Bucky.

"Put these on," I tell him. "Steve won't miss them."

I leave the room to give him some privacy, heading for the kitchen in search of a pen and paper to leave Steve a note. I stand for a moment, trying to decide on what to write, not wanting anyone else to find it and follow us. I finally decide on the one line I know Steve will see and understand exactly what I'm trying to tell him.

Till the End of the Line.

I finish writing as Bucky comes out of the bedroom, now dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. I find a baseball cap in the hall closet and walk over to him, placing it on his head. I'm surprised he lets me get so close to him.

"Steve..." Bucky says as he looks down at me. "He was the man on the helicarrier... Who is he to me?"

"He's your best friend," I explain, giving him a small smile. "Our best friend. The three of us grew up together."

Bucky looks down at the floor again, ashamed at how little he remembers.

"Hey. It's okay if you don't remember," I assure him, reaching for his hand. He flinches away. "I know somewhere that might help."

I lead Bucky into the Captain America exhibit, hoping the displays might jog his memory. We wander around the room as Bucky takes in his surroundings, soon coming to a stop in front of the Howling Commandos' display. Although the mannequins of me and Steve were removed, our faces are still present in the mural behind them.

"We were part of a team?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," I answer. "The Howling Commandos. We met a few of them on the frontlines, but we became a team after Steve rescued us from a HYDRA facility."

Bucky stares up at the faces of our team members, trying to remember who they are, and I carefully nudge him, nodding toward a nearby display. "Look familiar?"

Bucky moves in the direction I indicated, drawn forward by the large, black and white photograph of himself. As he reads the panel, his eyes widen in surprise, quickly turning into confusion, and I begin to worry that this might be overwhelming for him, but I stand patiently at his side as he takes it all in.

"Did that help at all?" I ask him, leading us through side streets and back alleys, hoping to avoid the populated areas where we might be recognized.

"A little," Bucky admits. "It's all so confusing. It's like a dream, some parts I can see, others, not so much..."

I stop walking, turning to face him. "I can help you fill in the blanks. But we need to get you out of the city first."

"How are we going to do that?" he asks.

I smile. "I have my ways."