Tear in My Heart

4

It had been a month since you had last seen him, lying helpless and broken on that hospital bed. But you had not forgotten about Bucky Barnes. No, you doubted that the  memory, the one that plagued you both day and night, would ever fade -even without the constant reminders.

Wanting to find him was slowly driving you insane. You thought you saw him everywhere, standing across the street, sitting on a park bench, but each time he disappeared. Once you had even been entirely certain you'd seen him at the market buying plums, only to blink and have him vanish, once again leaving you to doubt your sanity. You might have thought it all a hallucination, had it not been for the note and the constant phone calls. Every morning you woke to dozens of missed calls from an unknown number. You knew it was him, it had to be, yet you'd never once managed to get him to talk. He was very careful only to call late at night, when he was sure you were sleeping. You tried staying up, and had even managed to catch him calling, but the instant he realized it wasn't a recording, he'd hung up. After that, he'd stopped calling for a few days, only to start again, this time making sure to call only when he knew you were at work and couldn't answer. Eventually he started calling at night again sometimes, but not every day, keeping you guessing. His game frustrated you to no end.

Today was Saturday, nothing noteworthy about it, save the fact that it was one of your only two days off, but today felt different, there was something stirring in the air. Perhaps it was only your excitement about what you had planned for the day, or maybe it was something more. Either way, you were practically humming as you got ready, deleting the dozen or so missed calls, and making sure to call back, just in case. As usual, there was no reply, only the answering machine. Somehow however, it didn't bother you nearly as much today as it usually did. After getting ready, you hopped in your car, glancing with a pang of sadness to the passenger seat before turning on your GPS.

You were headed to a museum across town. This wasn't just any museum however, this particular museum had recently opened a new captain America exhibit, complete with a whole section on James Buchanan Barnes. You were excited at the possibility of finding new information, and drove as quickly as the New York traffic would allow.

Suddenly, as you were driving, your phone rang. Quickly, you picked it up, wondering who could be calling you on a Saturday. It was a different unknown number. 

"Hello?" You said curiously, your breath catching in anticipation. There was no reply. It was the same, deep breathing, the same unrelenting silence, but something was different, you could hear the sound of a bustling city in the background. The Winter Soldier was outside.

"Are you there?" You asked, trying to pull  from the background noise any information you could as to where he was. Suddenly, you heard the loud ringing of a bell. You would know that sound anywhere, and at that movement you knew he was still somewhere in New York.

Sighing, you realized you weren't going to get an answer, but suddenly a thought came to your mind, "I'm (Y/N), that's my name."

And with that, the phone clicked off. You were half tempted to go driving around New York looking for him, but you knew it was pointless, he was probably already gone. He was a ghost after all. Huffing, you decided to stick to your original plan of going to the museum.

You pulled into the parking lot and got out of your car, excitedly making your way into the museum. You wondered at the life sized figure of Captain America, as you listened to the automated voice drown on. You listened to the whole story, all about the 107th and the howling commandos. You listened to the tales of the Heroes and their tragedies. You were awed by their story, and wondered how you hadn't heard of them before.

Finally, you reached the part of the exhibit dedicated to a certain best friend of captain America. You were disappointed to find a man in a baseball cap blocking the display, but patiently, you waited you turn. You watched curiously as the man seemed utterly fixated on the display, his hands jammed in his pockets, and his cap pulled low over his face, what struck you most however, was the odd way in which he stood, greatly favoring his right leg, as if he had been injured. You then started to notice other things, his posture, the way his dark hair laid over his shoulders. It's just a coincidence. You told yourself, but your heart started to race despite your denial. What if...?  No that's impossible. You sighed, dismissing what you were sure was false hope.

Suddenly, you saw something white fall out of his pocket, fluttering to the floor of the museum. It appeared to be a piece of paper, dotted with a set of numbers.

"Excuse me sir," you said, as you reached down to pick up the piece of paper, "I think you dropped someth–"
Your heart stopped beating when you read the paper.

Startled, the man whirled around, almost sending you sprawling. He reached out and caught you however, narrowly stopping you from hitting the ground.

You looked down at the hand the wrapped firmly around your waist, the one that had caught you.

It was silver.