This is the second story within this series. However, you DO NOT have to read the previous book to understand what happens in this one. The previous book was more background/prequel to this one. This is the epilogue for the previous book, though. The first chapter will be up within the month. Enjoy. xxx
Prologue
2013
The hospital room was dark and unnerving. Steve didn't feel safe, not after everything that had happened this past week. His skin crawled with paranoia. He glanced at the lamp on the bedside table, itching to turn it on. But the IV in his arm pulled a little too much and he wasn't sure if he had the energy to move that much.
His body ached with every breath, specifically his abdomen. He knew he was healing pretty quickly, but three bullets in the gut were still going to take some time. . .
He wasn't sure he if even had enough time to heal properly. He needed to get out, to help take down Hydra and finish this for good.
Steve really wanted to turn on the damn lamp.
Sam would be back tomorrow morning after his meeting at the VA. Natasha had texted him saying she was booked solid with meetings on Capitol Hill, but she'd try and come over as soon as she could. Even Tony and Bruce had mentioned making a trip down to DC for a weekend to see Steve.
Part of him was glad he had made new friends in this bizarre era, but part of him just wanted to see Bucky again.
Bucky. . . The Winter Soldier.
God, he was an idiot. He should have jumped off that train after him, then he would have been able to see that Bucky was okay. They would have been together, bloody and bruised, but together.
Steve wanted to leave this place. He had work to do. He needed to find Bucky and rid the world of Hydra again.
If only he wasn't so exhausted.
Steve tried to get comfortable without moving his body too much. He pushed his head back into the pillows and carefully wrapped the threadbare blankets around him even tighter. The chill in the hospital was almost too much. . .
The door creaked open and a body slinked into the room. They shut the door again and Steve could hear the click of a lock. Steve squinted, trying to see the figure from his permanent station on the bed. Usually, the nurses flip the light on. . .
"How are you?" Steve ordered, already trying to sit up. An unintentional hiss of pain slipped as he tugged on his abdomen a bit too much.
Steve watched as the body tensed in the doorway. "Are you gonna come in or not?" He tried to keep his voice stern, but a bit calmer.
The person turned started for the door.
Steve sighed. "Can you at least come turn this lamp on?" The person paused and Steve noticed that they had a hood on over a baseball cap. "Please?"
The person walked towards Steve cautiously. He moved quietly, his feet not making a sound. He raised a hand and shifted his body so he was facing Steve.
The lamp came on with a click and the room brightened up in an almost warm glow.
And the man's face was revealed.
"Bucky," Steve gasped. The man grimaced and moved away quickly. Steve reached out and grabbed his wrist, his right wrist. "Wait, please," Steve practically whined. "You came here for a reason, why?"
Bucky paused, the tension in his shoulders obvious. "I don't know."
"Then will you tell me why you helped me? Why'd you save me?" Steve blinked away the tears that had welled up in his eyes, the heart monitor beeping a little faster.
"I don't know."
"Bucky-"
"That's not my name," the man snapped. He turned on Steve, his face dark from the shadows the lamp had cast.
Steve let his wrist go and held up both of his hands in surrender. "Okay. What would you like to be called, then?"
The man (Steve didn't like referring to him as "the man," but without a name for him, Steve didn't know what else to call him. If he didn't want to be called Bucky, then Steve wouldn't call him that. Anything to keep him here. . .) faltered. "I don't know," he answered weakly.
Steve nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Okay. That's okay. Is there something you need? Did you want something? Is there something I can do?"
The man's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his lips pursing just a little. Steve's chest ached as he pictured a teenage Bucky doubled over his math homework, a pencil tapping against his temple. He shook it off and sat up a little, wary of the pain in his abdomen. Apparently, his face hadn't hidden his pain as well as he'd hoped. "Did I," the man trailed off.
"It's okay," Steve started. "I'll be fine."
"But did I hurt you?" There was an edge to his voice that Steve couldn't exactly decipher.
Steve hesitated. "Yes," he mumbled. "But I heal real quick. I'll be out of here tomorrow morning!"
The man's head fell, shame written as plain as day on his features. "How can I," he held his hands up and made a weird motion as though he wasn't quite sure what to do.
Steve bit down a smile. "Would you mind grabbing another blanket for me? They left some on the table over there." The man turned and grabbed another thin blanket, draping the somewhat soft material over the heaps of blankets already on Steve's lap. "I don't do so well with the cold anymore."
"Did I," the man started again.
The captain shook his head. "No, I did that to myself." He settled into the warmth nicely, content with the blankets.
The man nodded absentmindedly.
Steve cleared his throat and pointed to a satchel in the chair beside the bed. "Can you grab that bag for me? I think I may have something for you." The man's eyebrows knitted together again, but he grabbed the bag anyway. Steve dug through the contents and plucked a worn journal out. He flipped through it and ripped out a few pages, folding them and stuffing them back into the bag. "This," he showed the man the journal, "is something I wrote after our first encounter."
"The first mission? On the roof?"
He shook his head. "No, the highway. When I realized who you were," Steve clarified. He cleared his throat again. The man grabbed a glass of water from the table and cautiously offered it to the captain. Steve smiled and took the water graciously. "Thank you," he mumbled. "Anyways, I wrote down as much as I could remember from back in the day. It's certainly not everything, but it could help you jog your memory." He handed the journal to the man. "Take it. Read it. Keep it."
The man flipped the journal over and over in his hands. "I-"
Steve shook his head. "Don't say anything. I want you to have this. Even if it doesn't help much or. . . or I never see you again, it'll give me peace of mind to know I helped you in some way." The man nodded and started towards the door. "You're leaving?"
He paused and turned back around, confused. "Am I supposed to stay?"
"You can." Steve bit his lip. "I'd like you to."
The man shook his head. "Not safe. They'll find me. Have to keep moving." He started for the door again.
"Wait-" Steve shot up, groaning in the process. The man hurried over to his side and helped him lay back down with gentle hands. Once Steve was curled back up against the pillows and snuggled into his blankets, the man jumped back as if he hadn't realized what he did. He cowered from Steve a little, more inwardly than anything. Steve's heart broke. . . Someone hurt his best friend to the point he wasn't himself anymore. . . He spoke softly as if he were speaking to a scared animal, "I won't stop you from leaving. Not if that's what you really want to do." Steve paused to let the man talk, but all he got was a wide-eyed, terrified look instead. So he continued, "But I'd like to see you again one day. And just know that I'll never stop looking for you. Because one day, you'll remember. I just know you will. And when that day comes, I want to be there. However long it takes." The man eased a little, but he stayed as still as he could. "Take as long as you need. You'll know where to find me, I'm sure." Steve gave a sad, pathetic chuckle as he blinked the tears out of his eyes again. "Just promise me one thing," he looked up at the man, "take care of yourself. Okay?"
He didn't stop the man from leaving after that.
A nurse came in and gave him another dose of medication, enough to knock him out. When he came to, Sam was sitting beside him again like he had every day since the Potomac.
It was as if it the meeting was all a dream, but Steve knew better. He knew his Bucky (wait, he didn't want to be called Bucky anymore. . .) had been there.
And all that was left were the torn pages of the journal. Where all of Steve's favorite memories that involved his romantic relationship with Bucky lay.
One day, Steve would give these to him.
One day, he may go by Bucky once again.
One day, things would be back to normal and they'd be Steve and Bucky once more.
One day.