True North [Stucky Fanfiction - IN PROGRESS]

09 - Search and Rescue

Steve's phone rings early in the morning. Far too early for anyone to be calling him.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating whether he should actually roll over to answer it. The ringtone is a welcome noise because it means someone wants to talk to him, and there are so few people nowadays that every conversation is a relief. At the same time, all his limbs feel heavy, glued to the bed. Is it really worth losing sleep over? They can call back. It's way too early for this.

Apparently, he waits too long, because the line clicks even though he didn't answer it. A distinctly British voice is projected through a speaker in the phone's base. "Hello Steve, this is J.A.R.V.I.S. You told me to alert you if James Buchanan Barnes attempted to leave the building, and at the moment, he appears to be searching for the rifle that Miss Romanoff took off of him upon his initial entry yesterday in preparation for departure."

Steve flips over in bed so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. He snatches the phone from its base and holds it up to his ear with both hands, suddenly wide awake. "It's Bucky?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you said anything to him?"

"I have not. A disembodied voice following him around the tower may trigger a negative reaction in him."

Steve can hear the tiniest hint of sarcasm in the A.I.'s voice, and his mouth quirks up in a brief smile. "Yeah, that's a good call. Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S., can you give me some advice?"

"I can certainly try, Steve."

"What do you think I should do about this? Bucky clearly doesn't remember me or anything about his past besides what Nat and I told him. He's freaked out, reasonably so, but... I don't know. I guess I just don't know how to move forward. Do I go after him, or do I let him work it out on his own?"

There's a pause on the other end of the phone and Steve chews his lip nervously. He's been contemplating that question ever since Bucky had arrived at the tower, but now that he's actually leaving, the answer determines how they're going to move forward.

"What do you want from him?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks.

It's a perfectly innocent question that makes Steve wonder for a moment. What he wants from Bucky and what he expects from him are two different things. He expects Bucky to run. He's scared, he's hurting, and he's used to being failed by the people around him. He doesn't know how to interact with people who aren't his targets, who aren't facing down the barrel of his gun. He's already been pushed away by Natasha once, and probably doesn't expect anything more from Steve.

But Steve wants to welcome Bucky home. He wants to wrap his arms around Bucky's neck and feel the same motion reciprocated around him. He wants to make Bucky hot chocolate — one of the best things to come out of the 21st century, in his mind — and they would talk about anything and everything, the conversation flowing from topic to topic so naturally and so quickly like it used to. He wants them to laugh together, to travel together, to be together like they used to.

"I want him to come home," Steve says finally. "I don't care that he's not who he used to be. It's still my responsibility to keep him safe, as payment for all the times he helped protect me."

"Then I recommend going to find him," J.A.R.V.I.S. responds.

"You're brilliant." Steve grins, already halfway out of bed and reaching for a sweater from his closet.

"I was made by the best." There's a hint of sadness in the A.I.'s voice that makes Steve pause.

"Take care of yourself, J.A.R.V.I.S. I appreciate all of this."

"Will do, Captain." There's an audible click, and J.A.R.V.I.S. hangs up.

Steve stretches on the sweater and practically leaps into a pair of jeans. He wouldn't call himself giddy, but the phone call did give him direction, a purpose that he hasn't had in a while. He snags the keys to his motorcycle on the way out the door. As usual, his animals start going crazy in the background, because when one dog barks it gets the rest of them riled up too, but Steve just waves them goodbye. It would sound cliché to say that now his life has meaning, but he had wondered for eight months if it really did; now, he's about to find out.

He revs his motorcycle and speeds into town. The road is empty of cars for a few minutes and Steve is free to drive as fast as he wants, knowing that every second he wastes us another second Bucky spends running. Once he gets closer to town, the cars start getting more packed. Not all the roads are accessible anymore due to massive car pile-ups that even motorcycles can't get through, so Steve zigzags through the city, following the clear route that he uses to get to the tower. He tries not to look inside the cars. His mission is to find Bucky and hopefully convince him to stay.

When he arrives, Natasha is already at the main door, waiting for him. She looks exhausted; it is an early morning. "I know you're going to go look for him. He left eastbound out of here about ten minutes ago."

Steve smiles softly. "Thanks."

She nods. "We could all use a little help every now and then."

The exchange is cut off as Steve thanks her and races off in the direction she pointed. He scans the sidewalks, looking for something moving in the dark. It's cold, and he realizes his sweater isn't enough. There's an infinite amount of spots Bucky could be hiding around here. New York is huge, Bucky left ten minutes ago, and Steve could have come within a meter of him without ever knowing because of the darkness and endless abandoned cars. The longer he drives, the more he realizes that this is almost hopeless; there are too many places to look, and every minute he doesn't find Bucky is another minute that he might lose his childhood best friend forever. It fuels a growing desperation in him that speeds up his breathing and makes his push the throttle a little harder.

After nearly an hour of searching, Steve's nearly ready to give up. He feels like he's been down every road twice, if not three times, and maneuvering his bike around roadblocks has been an exhausting task. He knows he can't give up, not now, not yet, but even super soldiers get tired and it's early. He's emotionally frayed, but every time he thinks about turning back towards home, a memory of Bucky hauling Steve to his feet after a fight or Bucky offering a steaming mug of tea in times of sickness always bubbles to the surface of his mind. He drives on, fingers and ear turning red from the cold, pieces of his old life echoing in his head.

And then he hears it. At first, he doesn't think anything of it, just dismisses the sound as one of those things soldiers hear once they get back from the war, still carrying the trauma across their shoulders. The screaming is guttural and pained, almost completely lost in the silence of the city. For a while, Steve would grab his shield and sprint outside when he heard these; now, he disregards it as a trick his mind plays on him.

This one makes him pause, though. There's a haunting quality about it that makes him flip the kickstand and turn off his bike to listen.

The scream is abruptly cut off.

Steve remembers a fight. He remembers every fight; it's what keeps him going, reminding him that he was literally giving blood for justice long before he slipped into a plastic suit and started punching out aliens. This fight stood out, though, because it was one of the few that didn't end with Bucky angrily pursuing the attackers away. It came at a cost, because after Steve had been sufficiently beaten into the concrete, Bucky had jumped in like he always did. It wasn't a fair fight; that group of six called him a fairy before taking turns swinging at Bucky, who looked scared out of his wits but still managed to stumble over Steve and protect him from the worst of the hits with his body.

When they broke Bucky's wrist, he screamed. It wasn't a bad break but a decent fracture nonetheless, still painful. He had sat there after they had run off, gripping at his limp hand and gasping through the tears until Steve convinced him to get up so they could go get help. He had heard that scream for days afterward, and that's why he remembers who the screaming voice belongs to now.

Steve's protective instinct kicks in along with a rush of adrenaline. He guns the engine of his motorcycle and slips in between the abandoned cars lining the lanes of New York City, speeding toward that scream in the night.