Through all that he's done with the Avengers, every cell they've rooted out, every HYDRA operative taken in for questioning, his mind has been elsewhere. Sleep is a rare and precious thing; most nights are spent poring over intel, searching through newspaper clippings for any signs of a familiar face, chasing leads to sources that claim information — and every single time he winds up at a dead end. Every failure wears him down a little bit more, a cliffside weathered by the sea. He doesn't give up, even when he begins to realize that there was no finding a man who spent 70 years as a myth among men. He pushes on. Bucky deserves that.
And then, fate intervenes.
The fight is more public than it should be, spilling out into the market. Civilians are scattering as armed soldiers spill from a building that looked to be nothing more than an old bakery, housing dozens of operatives in tunnels underground. Steve is at the head of the battle, pouring his frustrations into his fists as he hurls a HYDRA soldier into the ground so hard it cracks the stone. Another takes a shot at him from afar and he lashes out, his shield striking the gun from the man's hand and ricocheting — straight into the hand of a man that looks as shocked to be there as Steve is to see him. His breath catches painfully. ]
Bucky?
[ He doesn't remember when he started running. All he knows is Bucky takes off, and he's damned well not going to lose him now. The battle all but forgotten, he's tearing through the emptying streets, pushing through panicked civilians to keep the other man in his sights. His heart is hammering in his chest, throat twisted up in an agony of fear and emotion. He can't lose him again. He can't. As they round a corner Steve skids over the hood of a truck, making a final, desperate lunge that sees him closing his hand around one of Bucky's wrists. ]
no subject
Through all that he's done with the Avengers, every cell they've rooted out, every HYDRA operative taken in for questioning, his mind has been elsewhere. Sleep is a rare and precious thing; most nights are spent poring over intel, searching through newspaper clippings for any signs of a familiar face, chasing leads to sources that claim information — and every single time he winds up at a dead end. Every failure wears him down a little bit more, a cliffside weathered by the sea. He doesn't give up, even when he begins to realize that there was no finding a man who spent 70 years as a myth among men. He pushes on. Bucky deserves that.
And then, fate intervenes.
The fight is more public than it should be, spilling out into the market. Civilians are scattering as armed soldiers spill from a building that looked to be nothing more than an old bakery, housing dozens of operatives in tunnels underground. Steve is at the head of the battle, pouring his frustrations into his fists as he hurls a HYDRA soldier into the ground so hard it cracks the stone. Another takes a shot at him from afar and he lashes out, his shield striking the gun from the man's hand and ricocheting — straight into the hand of a man that looks as shocked to be there as Steve is to see him. His breath catches painfully. ]
Bucky?
[ He doesn't remember when he started running. All he knows is Bucky takes off, and he's damned well not going to lose him now. The battle all but forgotten, he's tearing through the emptying streets, pushing through panicked civilians to keep the other man in his sights. His heart is hammering in his chest, throat twisted up in an agony of fear and emotion. He can't lose him again. He can't. As they round a corner Steve skids over the hood of a truck, making a final, desperate lunge that sees him closing his hand around one of Bucky's wrists. ]
Wait!