A/n- So this journey started pretty much after the release of Captain America: the Winter Solider. I didn't get far in this fic before it started collected dust in my folder. Until earlier this year. I wasn't expecting it to turn out this way, but I hope you all enjoy it. Also, shout out to Rish for beta-ing. She's the real star here!

For Sophy.

Steve is seven years old and tiny for his age. That doesn't stop him from saying something to the boys anyway.

He's not sure how it got from him telling them to treat a girl nicely to them hitting him, but it did. They hit him until he falls, and then continue to kick him. He's curled up as small as he can get, his arms wrapped around his stomach. The three kids around him will tire eventually, he knows this. Until then, he's just waiting. They're talking at him, most likely ridiculing him, but he can't hear a thing over the rush of blood through his ears.

Suddenly, the kicks stop and Steve dares to peek up. Instead of the three kids, there's another boy kneeling above him, concern written in his eyes, offering Steve a hand. Steve ignores the hand and pushes himself despite the protest his body gives.

"I had them on the ropes," Steve says defiantly.

The boy must realize Steve's message because he drops his hand. "I'm sure you did." There's a tone to the other boy's voice that sounds an awful lot like the tone the other kids use when talking to him.

Steve tries to move away but his head spins dangerously fast. In an attempt to remain standing, he leans against the closest solid thing - it's just his luck that that happens to be the strange boy. When the wave of dizziness passes, he pushes off the boy's left bicep as he moves to leave.

A hand closes around his right wrist. "Hey," he says, "I don't know what I said, but it doesn't look like you can make it home alone."

"I'm fine," Steve huffs, shaking away the hand on his wrist. He make only makes it a couple of steps before his head starts spinning again.

"Just let me walk you home," the other boy calls.

Steve weighs his options - he can either stumble home or this boy can help him. Both ideas are bad, but he knows his mother will be more upset if he stumbles home than if he is helped back. He sighs. "Fine."

The boy covers the distance between them quickly, slinging his arm around Steve's shoulder. "I'm James," he introduces, a wide smile on his face.

"Steve," he replies. "I live a few streets over."

To that James just nods and starts walking, taking directions from Steve without hesitation. "What did you do to get those kids to start kicking you?" he asks, conversationally.

Steve is quiet for a few seconds. "They were making Nancy cry," he answers. "That's no way to treat a girl."

James laughs. "You said something to them about it."

Steve glares and tries to get away from James' arm around his shoulder. "No one else was gonna."

The laughter stops, but James is still smiling. There isn't a hint of a lie on James' face when he says, "I like you, Steve."

A swell of happiness forms in his chest. It's the first time that someone has ever said that to him and sounded like they meant it.

It's not until later that night, when Sarah Rogers gets home from her rounds and is double checking Steve's wounds, that he notices a hand-shaped print on his right wrist. The print is so detailed that the fingerprints and lines can be seen with ease. His mother must've noticed too because she stops.

Steve frowns. "Ma?"

She looks at him, a smile on her face but sadness in her eyes. "It's nothing to be worried about," she whispers, brushing his golden hair down. "They're called soulmarks. They are extremely rare because they only happen when certain people touch. It's said that the marks form when your soul recognizes the touch of its other half."

"Do you have one?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not special like you are. But you have to be careful. A lot of people mistrust soulmarks. Most believe they are myth brought in from the immigrants."

Steve looks down. He traces the patterns that circle his small wrist; it spreads all around, the thumb meeting the middle finger, as James' own hand had done when he grabbed onto Steve. It looks like that handprint swallows his wrist.

Glancing back up, Steve nods. "I will, Ma," he promises.

(It takes him years to realize that his Ma wasn't just warning him to be careful because they were immigrants.)

The next day, James is waiting for him outside his apartment. His hands are in his pockets as he leans against the wall. When he notices Steve exit the building, he falls into step beside him.

After a few blocks of silence, Steve finally asks, "Why are you following me?"

"I thought following you would imply that I'm behind you. I'm walking next you," James replies with a smirk.

"Why?"

"I told you yesterday that I liked you. And from where you live, I figured that you probably go to the same school as I do. I thought it would be nice to walk there together," he explains.

"You're doing this because you're trying to protect me," Steve growls. He shoves James away from him. "I don't need protecting!"

James holds his hands up in a complacent manner. "Whoa! I'm not trying to protect you. Obviously, you had them on the ropes yesterday."

Steve narrows his eyes at the other boy. "You don't believe me," he accuses.

"No, I don't," James admits, placing his hands back in his pockets. "Kinda hard to have them on the ropes when they're kicking you senseless. But I wasn't lying about wanting to be your friend. I figure you don't have many of those and neither do I."

Steve studies James for a long time. He doesn't look like he's trying to play a joke on Steve. He seems genuine in his offer. It causes Steve to relent. "Fine," he says, "we can be friends."

"Great, now let's get to school before we're late." James slings his arm over Steve's small shoulders and continues on the walk to school.

The first time he sees James with his shirt off, they are James' house as he's changing out of his school clothes into play clothes. On his left bicep, there's a small handprint on it.

"When'd you get that?" Steve asks, nodding toward the mark.

James slips on his shirt. "The day that I stopped those jerks from kicking you. It was there when I got home that night. I tried asking Mama about it, but she didn't know," he says with a shrug. "Why?"

"Curiosity," Steve says.

"I'm going to play ball with the others. Are you going to join us?" James asks softly.

Steve shakes his head. "No need for me to have an asthma attack. I'm just going to draw while I watch you."

Jame slings his arm around Steve's shoulders, like he always does, and grins. "Gonna watch as I beat all of them?"

Steve grabs his notebook and his pencil, laughing at James. "Sure."

Outside, he sits on the porch of James' apartment building, where he can see the street and the other boys who are playing ball. His notebook is open in his lap but he hasn't drawn anything yet. All he can think of is the day he met James.

He plays back the memory, again and again. He remembers pushing off something to remain standing and he wasn't anywhere close to the wall. The only thing that he could've pushed off was James' shoulder. His breath catches in his chest at the realization.

His eyes flicker to James and can't help but wonder what it is about him that makes him the other half of his soul.

James and Steve are walking home from school, James' younger sisters are in front of them, where James can keep an eye on them.

James hasn't stopped rubbing the back of his left hand since they left school. There's a red mark on the back of it from the rulers that the nuns use.

"You know you wouldn't get hit if you would actually use your right hand to write," Steve points out.

James frowns. "It feels weird to use my right hand!" he exclaims. "Besides, my writing looks a lot better with my left."

Steve shrugs as they approach James' house. "I don't know what to tell you then."

Ellie comes into James' room. James is reading a book, while Steve is drawing. Neither of them have spoken since they entered James' room after school. The silence between them, however, is comfortable.

"Jamie," Ellie calls sweetly. It startles both boys out of their trances. She's gives both of them a once over and grimaces at what she sees. "Mama is going to be upset when she finds out that you got in trouble again."

James marks his place in his book and launches himself at his youngest sister. "What have I told you about calling me that?"

Ellie shrieks with laughter as James tickles her. She squirms in his grip. "I give! I give!" she cries out.

Steve watches as James pulls away. Ellie's cheeks are red and her dark hair is messy, but she's grinning like mad.

"I came to remind you that it's your turn to do the laundry. If you don't get started, Mama will be even more upset," Ellie says.

James ruffles her hair affectionately. "I got it covered. Now why don't you go play with little Lu?"

Ellie dances her way out of James' room. James shakes his head at her antics. Steve stares him, sees the telltale signs of forming black eye. He knows there are more forming bruises under James' clothes. It's the reason Steve isn't watching James play ball with other boys while he draws.

"I don't understand what you have against 'Jamie'," Steve says as James gathers up his dirty laundry.

"Jamie sounds so girly and in case you didn't notice," he says, gesturing around, "I'm surrounded by girls."

Steve laughs. "It's better than when William called you Barney."

James groans at that. "I maintain that it was entirely your fault he was angry with me!"

Steve and James start arguing over the fact. Their argument turns into play wrestling as James tries to strong arm Steve into admitting it was his fault.

Both of them hear the front door open and shut. James scrambles to pick up the pile of clothes when his mother appears in the doorway. She has James' dark hair but her eyes are green. She looks worn, much like his own Ma.

"Lucy and Ellie told me that you haven't started the laundry yet. It's late so you'll just have to do it tomorrow," she says decisively. "Before Steve can come over."

James drops the pile of clothes next to his bed.

Finally, she looks between the two boys as to dare them to disobey her. Steve can pinpoint the exact moment she notices the bruises on both of them. She frowns deeply, putting her hands on her hips. "James Buchanan Barnes, what have I told about getting into fights!"

Steve has never been around Winifred Barnes when James is in trouble. She usually waits until Steve has gone home for the day before she scolds her children. Apparently their appearances makes her forget this.

Steve tries to hide the snicker at James' middle name. He doesn't think he's all that successful because Winifred rounds on him, her lips in a thin line.

"What are you laughing about?" she demands. "Not everything can be solved by punching people. One of these days you'll find that out the hard way."

"Mama," James starts. "They started-"

"Don't," she warns. "I don't care who started it. I told you there would be consequences for it. You'll do the chores by yourself for an entire week. Next time, it'll be longer and Steve won't be able to come over for a month. Got it?"

James bows his head. "Yes ma'am."

"Good. Steve," she addresses him, "You've got another hour before it gets dark. I expect your mother would be grateful if you weren't walking home in the dark."

"Yes ma'am," Steve says, nodding.

Satisfied, she walks out of the room. Steve starts snickering again.

"I just got in trouble and you're laughing?" James asks incredulously.

"Your middle name is Buchanan?" Steve manages to ask through his laughter. "What kinda name is Buchanan anyways?"

James shoves Steve over before he sits down. "You got something against my middle name? What about yours?"

"Grant," Steve replies. "My middle name is Grant. Which is better than Buchanan."

James throws dirty socks from his laundry pile. Steve manages to dodge. "You're such a punk!" he exclaims. "Buchanan is a family name, I'll have you know!"

There's silence for long time. James has gone back to reading his book, thankful that he can put off laundry another day. Steve is staring off into space but James doesn't bother him; Steve will tell him what's going through his mind when he figures it out.

"Since you don't like Jamie or Barney, what about Bucky?" Steve asks.

"For what?"

Steve meets James' confused stare. "You made the point a few days ago that there are too many Jameses around. You don't like Jamie or Barney as nicknames and there's already so many Jimmys. What about Bucky?"

"Where'd you get that from?" James asks.

Steve shrugs. "Your middle name got me thinking. Buchanan, Bucky. Bucky would be fitting. We are always fighting with people who we don't see eye to eye with."

"You mean, you're always fighting, and I'm the one that has to save you," James corrects.

Steve throws the dirty sock back at James, who doesn't manage to dodge in time. "Jerk!"

James laughs. "Bucky isn't so bad. Better than Jamie," he concedes after a few moments.

It takes time for Bucky to catch on, but after a while, they both almost forget that Bucky's not his first name.

"Why do you always stare at it?" Bucky asks, glancing between Steve and the mark on his bicep. He's standing with the sleeves of his shirt at his elbows and his shirt halfway to his head.

Steve's eyes snap instantly to Bucky's. Bucky starts to tug his shirt over his head, but Steve stops him. "Wait, take it back off."

Bucky looks confused as he does he's told. He keeps his shirt in his hand at his thigh. He looks nervous as Steve approaches him.

"Remember the day we met? I got dizzy and fell into you?" Steve asks.

Bucky nods.

"I used you to push myself upright. Right here," he says. Steve raises his right hand and places it directly over the handprint on Bucky's bicep. It's a bit bigger than the outline since Steve has grown a little in the years since it first happened.

Steve studies Bucky as he turns to see Steve's hand. Bucky frowns. "What does that mean?"

He ignores the questions. He rolls up his right sleeve, revealing the handprint on his wrist. He offers his wrist to Bucky. "You grabbed my wrist to stop me from going. I found it when Ma was tending to my wounds that night."

"You're not answering the question," Bucky accuses him.

Steve backs away to sit on Bucky's bed. His right sleeve is still rolled up. He's tracing the lines of his mark nervously. "Ma said that something like this happens when two parts of one soul meet and recognize the other."

His explanation is met with silence. Steve chances looking up. Bucky is standing there, still holding his shirt, staring at the wall with a far off gaze. Then Bucky finally looks at him. "You're talking about soulmates and fate and destiny, aren't you?" he asks.

"I don't know," Steve replies honestly. "Ma didn't really go into details. Just told me that and to be careful."

That seems to be enough for Bucky who finally puts on his shirt. "You gonna draw again today or do you wanna do something else?" he asks, ending the conversation.

Steve hears the knock on the door. It wakes him from his restless sleep. He hears Bucky's mother's voice through the tiny apartment as she asks to speak with his Ma.

Their conversation is hushed. Steve can't hear it over the sounds of his own breathing, so he toes out of bed and down the hallway, to stand in the doorway for the kitchen. From this position, hidden halfway behind the doorway, he can clearly see Bucky's mother face; it's twisted in disdain.

"It's a sin!" she exclaims quietly.

"If you feel that way, tell James to stop spending time with Steve," Sarah replies bluntly. There's an edge of steel in her voice that makes Steve shiver. "But I won't tell Steve to do the same. You'll explain to him why you don't want James around my boy anymore."

That leaves Bucky's mother flabbergasted. "How can you just accept this?" she demands.

"It's obviously God's will, and who am I to try to deny it?" Sarah says calmly. "But more importantly, I love my boy and I want nothing more than him to be happy. And whatever form that takes, it takes."

Steve watches as the look on Bucky's mother's face change. There's silence for a long time before Bucky's mother speaks again. "I suppose I'll leave you to your evening then. Good night, Sarah."

Steve watches as his mother shuts the door. She turns around and she notices Steve standing behind the doorway. She comes to him and wraps her arms around him with a soft, "Oh, Steve. You shouldn't have heard that."

"Why doesn't she want me around Bucky anymore?" he asks.

She leads him to his room with a gentle push on his back. "I don't think that'll be an issue. She just needs some time to think of how much she loves Bucky," Sarah tells him.

"Ma, you didn't answer the question," he says stubbornly. He climbs in his bed, pulling the covers over his body, waiting for her answer.

She smoothes down his hair and drops a kiss to his head. "I told you that some people have issues with soulmarks."

Steve can tell by the way his mother still doesn't answer the question that he's not going to get an answer from her; at least, not tonight. He relents and tells her goodnight instead. He watches her disappear from his room and wonders why she won't answer.

Steve gets sick often. It isn't a surprise anymore. When the weather gets colder, Steve's weakened immune system can't fight off anything. He hates it, hates the way his body betrays him.

Even with Sarah working as much as possible, his medicines are expensive. Sometimes, they just don't have enough money to cover the rent and his medicine. But Bucky comes over, medicine in hand, and Steve pretends that he can't hear his mother cry in relief. He knows how much it affects her to not have the money to pay for it herself.

Bucky, though, he's been working down at the docks since his mother needed the extra help a few years back. He keeps a bit of money off to the side for times like this. Because just like as Sarah can't stand to see Steve sick, Bucky can't either. Bucky'll come over when Steve's sick with food and medicine, even if it's been a long day at work, and climb into bed with Steve until it's late enough to force him to return home.

Today is no different. Steve's lying in bed, coughing, when Bucky comes over. It's just the two of them in the shoebox of an apartment - Sarah has work, and Bucky's just gotten off. He's holding a bowl of soup towards Steve, and Steve manages to smile even though his throat hurts. Bucky always makes him smile, even on the bad days.

Bucky kicks off his shoes. "You feel up to eating?"

Steve nods. "Thanks Buck," he answers hoarsely. He takes the bowl in his cold hands.

"You're freezing!" Bucky exclaims. Steve's never not freezing when he's ill, and Bucky's always bothered by it. "Hold on. I'll grab you another blanket."

Steve's protests fall on deaf ears. Bucky comes back in with the only other blanket in the house that isn't Sarah's, and drapes it over Steve. It's only after that he finally climbs into bed with Steve.

Steve's bed is small, almost too small for the both of them, but they make it work. As Steve sips the soup, Bucky talks about his day on the docks. The bowl is slowly emptied while Bucky is still talking. The bowl gets discarded after Steve finishes. He doesn't talk much on days like these, but he likes listening to Bucky, the way Bucky's chest moving under his head and the feel of Bucky's arms wrapped around him.

He realizes that Bucky's not talking at all, but giving him a look he can't quite figure out. He's got a question on his lips, but he doesn't get a chance to ask it before Bucky leans closer and brushes his lips gently against Steve's.

It's gone moments later. It's almost as if it didn't happen. But Bucky eyes are wide and he's staring at Steve with a hint of fear - and maybe something else - on his face. Steve tilts his head, studying Bucky. He can't say whether or not the kiss - if it could even be called that - was good, so Steve leans back in and presses his lips back to Bucky's. It's several long moments later when Steve pulls away. That kiss was definitely better.

"What'd you do that for?" Bucky asks.

"You started it!" Steve accuses. "Maybe you should explain yourself first!" Despite his steady tone, Steve traces the pattern of Bucky's print on his wrist.

Bucky watches Steve's fingers move, unable to look him in the eye. "I dunno. I just -" Bucky pauses and then places his hand on Steve to stop him. "It just felt like the right thing to do," he says. "I've been thinking about it a lot recently - and - and - and you were staring at me! Why'd you kiss me back?"

Steve actually laughs. Of course, it turns into a coughing fit. Bucky sits next to him, waiting until it subsides. "I needed to figure out if it was good or not."

"Was it?"

"The second time? Yes," Steve answers. Steve actually blushes, but he doubts it's noticeable from the flush of sickness. "I wouldn't mind doing it again. Well, maybe when I'm actually feeling better." Steve yawns and closes his eyes.

He feels Bucky laughs at him. Bucky's arm wrap tighter around him. "You've got yourself a deal, punk."

…

It's not long after they begin steal kisses when there's no one around to see that Steve learns exactly what his mother wasn't telling him. Steve is sitting on Bucky's front steps, waiting for him to get home from work. It shouldn't be too much longer.

Becca is posing for as Steve's model, chatting with him brightly as they wait. There's a commotion down the street. It's not that loud, but two men are forcefully walked out of the house. Steve can't tell much from where he's sitting. Becca turns to look and then turns back around.

"I wonder what's happening?" she asks.

The older woman who is sitting on her porch, two doors down, give Becca and Steve a look. "There's rumors that they've been having unnatural relations." She says that with a frown on her face and disapproval in her voice.

"What'll happen to them?" Steve asks. He barely manages to keep his voice from shaking. He remembers that moment not so long ago, Bucky's mother upset about Bucky and Steve, and is terrified by the idea that someone might find out about their kisses.

"A Fruitcake Factory."

Whatever that is, it doesn't sound good. Neither Steve or Becca ask anymore questions and the woman doesn't seem interesting in saying anything else. They sit on the porch in silence; Steve's sketchbook open but his fingers no longer interested in drawing.

Becca gets called in later to help with dinner and Steve goes to help. Steve eats dinner with the Barnes family and Bucky walks him home.

Sarah is working late, which is why Bucky's mother insists he eats dinner with them. Steve allows Bucky inside for a while. Once inside, Steve tells Bucky about the two men down the street.

Bucky gently cups Steve's cheek. "It'll be okay," he assures Steve. "We'll be okay." He kisses Steve softly and then bids him a good night. "Lock up after me. I'll see you after work tomorrow, yes?"

The night after Sarah's funeral, Bucky stays at the apartment that Steve shared with his mother. They are curled up in Steve's bed that is much too small for the both of them. Steve is practically laying on top of Bucky. His sobs have subsided for now.

Bucky remembers holding Steve like this many times when he was sick. This seems different now - there's nothing Bucky can say or do to help Steve feel better.

Maybe this is the best he can do for Steve right now. He tightens his hold on Steve and hopes that this doesn't break him.

Getting an apartment together is the best thing they could do. Steve's sick too often to hold down a steady job. He takes commissions for his drawings, but it's not nearly enough to cover the rent and other bills. On the other hand, Bucky makes just enough to pay for most of the bills.

Steve hates the idea at first. It feels like he's nothing more than a housewife. In the back of his mind, he knows that Bucky doesn't think of it that way, but he can't shake the feeling.

The decision is made, however, when Steve is issued the eviction notice. Bucky, who's been living with his mother to help save money, immediately looks for a place for him and Steve. It takes less than a few days to find an apartment that they can afford.

The owner looks at them weird when they sign for a one bedroom, worried that he's renting to homosexuals. Steve barely contains himself from punching the owner, since they really need this place, as Bucky explains. "We're best friends. We don't make enough money to rent any place bigger."

The owner doesn't say anything else but he watches as Bucky brings in all the furniture that they have. It's not much; a couch that Steve wanted to keep from his Ma, their beds, and a kitchen table. They have shabby curtains that Steve's Ma owned and their bedding. He leaves after he watches Bucky place the beds on opposite sides of the room, obviously satisfied.

Bucky is moving the beds together when Steve talks for the first time all day. "Do you ever regret having my soulmark?" he asks softly.

Bucky freezes. "Why do you ask that?"

"If you didn't have my mark, you could have a real family; settle down with a dame and have children."

Steve isn't looking at him when Bucky turns. He's mapping the handprint on his wrist, like he does when he's nervous.

"Have I ever told you I regretted it?" Bucky asks. When Steve is quiet, Bucky takes a seat next to Steve. He wraps his hand around Steve's wrist, right over the soulmark. "What brought this on?"

Steve uses his free hand to gesture to the door. "You saw how he was with us until he watched you place the beds separate. We're never going to be able to have that sort of life."

"And?" Bucky prompts. "What if it's exactly what I want?"

"Nobody is going to believe that you don't want to settle down," Steve points out. "Sooner or later they are going to find out. Maybe it will be easier if we just...stop."

Steve is looking down at his trapped wrist. Bucky uses his other hand to tilt Steve's head up, forcing him to meet Bucky's eyes.

"I doubt we're the first men to be involved. We'll figure something out. But I'm not giving you up, so stop trying to make me. I wasn't lying when I said I was with you til the end of the line, because I love you. Got it, punk?"

Steve averts his eyes. "I just don't want for you to lose your job if someone were to find out. Or both of us end up in a Fruitcake Factory."

Bucky leans in and kisses Steve. "We'll be careful," he assures him. He traces the mark on Steve's wrist. Steve's wrist hasn't grown much bigger since he was seven, so Bucky's handprint still wraps almost all the way around it.

It takes a while for Steve to finally let the subject go. After they finish putting away their belongs, Bucky closes the windows and shuts the curtains before he crawls into bed with Steve. Right before he goes to sleep, he whispers, "You say all of this like your mark isn't on my arm."

But his words falls on deaf ears - Steve is sound asleep. Bucky isn't too far behind him.

"You joined."

"I didn't have a choice!" Bucky snaps at Steve. "I was drafted. There's a difference."

Bucky's not going to lie to Steve about this. It would only encourage him further. Not that it truly matters - Steve is as stubborn as they come.

"I could at least try," Steve says.

Bucky rubs at his eyes. It's late and he has work in the morning. He feels a headache forming behind his eyes but he knows that Steve isn't going to drop this subject.

"Why? We both know that they're going to deny you."

Steve flinches - Bucky sees it even in the darkened room. It's the first time that one of their fights have ever included Steve's health. Sure, Steve has complained about it, and sometimes fights happen due to low money because rent is due and Steve's been sick, but Bucky has never once brought it into an argument.

"So, what? You're saying that I'm too sickly," he says this with disdain, "to even try."

Bucky groans. "Steve, you know that's not what I meant."

"Funny," Steve replies humorously, "that's exactly what it sounded like to me."

"Why do you want this so bad?" Bucky demands.

Steve is silent for a while. Long enough for Bucky to have trouble keeping his eyes open. He wants this argument over so he can go to sleep. "There's other people out there that are risking their lives to protect America. Why shouldn't I?"

Bucky frowns. "There's other ways of helping. You don't have to fight."

Bucky doesn't have to see Steve to know he's scowling. "Because I can't fight. Right? Because I'm too weak," he says bitterly. "You get to go out and fight because you're strong and healthy but I have to collect metal for money. How is that even fair?"

"Let's make a deal," Bucky says. Because he's too tired for this argument to stretch out any longer. "I'll take you to the gym every night until I go to bootcamp and train you. Then you try to join."

Steve mulls over the offer. "That's only two weeks."

"That's all I can offer," Bucky answers. "But I'll train you, okay?"

"Okay."

Bucky'll probably regret this in the morning, but at Steve's agreement, he nods. "Good."

They are together on their pushed together beds, close but not quite touching. The window is opened a crack - a hope for some cooling wind, and so that Steve can see Bucky, outlined by the moonlight, his back to Steve. Bucky smells like perfume and alcohol. Steve scrunches his nose in annoyance. He hates the way that Bucky uses girls to cover their relationship. They've had this argument too many times over it. Logically, Steve gets it, but he doesn't have to like it.

They are still angry at each other. Steve doesn't try being close to Bucky when he's angry and Bucky retaliates by not washing the scent of the perfume off. Steve's mad at Bucky for announcing his shipping date the way he did and Bucky's mad at Steve for trying enlist again. He hasn't told him that he's been approved, knowing that it would cause a big fight - Steve doesn't want their last night together for a long time to be filled with anger.

"I know you're not sleeping," Steve says suddenly. "Can we not fight tonight? Please?"

Bucky turns over and sits up. Steve follows his movements. He feels Bucky take his hand in his much larger one. "Okay, no fighting." He feels Bucky rub his thumb back and forth across his hand. "I'll be right back."

Bucky disappears from the room. If Steve strains, he can hear the tap in the bathroom run for a few moments. By the time Bucky returns, Steve can't smell the perfume anymore, only the cologne that Bucky wears wears occasionally. And then Steve hears the window slide shut and shabby curtains drawn closed.

Steve can't really see Bucky in the darkness of the room, but he trusts him. Bucky slips back into bed and gathers Steve into his arms. Steve relaxes a little in Bucky's embrace. "What time do you ship out?"

"Oh eight hundred," Bucky replies. "But is that really what you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to know how much longer I have you for," Steve says softly.

Bucky's arms tighten around Steve. "I'm gonna come home. Who else will keep you out of trouble? I can't count on my sisters; they're more likely to help you."

Steve laughs. Bucky buries his face into Steve shoulder. Steve wiggles around, dislodging Bucky's head, only managing to elbow him once, and settles facing him. He uses his hands to trace his way to Bucky's face.

When he has general idea of the proximity of Bucky's face, he leans in and kisses him, firmly. He feels Bucky's hand go to his waist. Steve holds Bucky's head in between his hands as he continues to kiss him like it's the last time he'll ever kiss him. He kisses and kisses and kisses.

He wants their last night to be memorable.

Steve lays with his head on Bucky's chest. It's rising and falling rhythmically as Bucky sleeps. Steve can tell by the slowly rising sun that it's getting closer to the time for Bucky to leave. He can't put it off anymore.

He taps on Bucky's chest. "Time to get up, Buck."

Bucky groans and tries to roll over, a feat that is difficult with Steve on his chest. Steve lifts himself off Bucky and Bucky fully rolls over, exposing his ribs to Steve. "Five more minutes," he replies sleepily. Steve grins and tickles Bucky. Bucky shoots out of bed with a yelp and gives Steve a dirty look. "What was that for?" he demands.

"I told you it was time to get up," Steve answers. "I let you sleep as long as I could."

Bucky's betrayed expression softens. He leans across the bed and pecks Steve on the cheek. "I'll be ready in ten."

Steve is in the kitchen, preparing two bowls of oatmeal when Bucky enters. He's in his uniform. Steve hands him the bowl, and they eat at the small table in silence. Neither of them know what to say.

Steve follows Bucky to the door. They're going to Bucky's family's house so they can see him off, but right now, this is the last chance he has to have Bucky alone. He kisses Bucky one last time, slowly and passionately. When he pulls away, he whispers, "I love you, you jerk."

Bucky grins at him. "I love you too, punk. Now come on. You know how little Lu gets when she has to wait."

Erskine stands, his body loose with the alcohol, while Steve traces the patterns on his wrist from memory. It's more out of nervous habit than anything else. "The serum," Steve starts. "Will it -"

Erskine follows Steve's movements with his eyes. "I don't know. The last person who had the serum didn't have a mark. There's a possibility that the serum will erase it. Why? Is that a problem?"

Steve forces himself to smile. "No, I was just curious."

He's not sure whether or not Erskine believes him, but the scientist pats him on the shoulder on his way out. "Get some sleep, Steve. Big day tomorrow."

Steve laughs and watches as he disappears through the door. He glances back down at his wrist, at the patterned handprint that has marked his skin for nearly two decades. And he has to remind himself that this is what he wants - a chance to fight for what he believes in - and he'll just deal with the consequences if the serum does erase his soulmark.

(He's relieved to find the soulmark still intact afterwards. The thing is - he's not sure how to feel about the fact that it appears much smaller now than it did before.

He wonders what Bucky will say.)

Peggy is trying to understand why Steve is so adamant about going into enemy lines. "You heard him; your friend is most likely dead."

He glances around to be sure there's no one before he gives her a half-smile. "Bucky's not dead. I would know," he informs her.

She looks nonplussed for a moment before her eyes flicker to his wrist. She's seen his soulmark so many times before during training. When she had first announced that he was performing for what was left of the 107th, his pencil fell from his hand and he was quick to roll up his sleeve to check it.

"I see," she says. She doesn't look disgusted when she realizes, only concerned. "If you already knew, why did you go ask about him."

Steve gives her a toothy grin. "Why else? He's the Colonel. Which means he would have a map of where the enemy was. I needed to know what direction I was supposed to be heading in."

She smirks. "Erskine definitely made the right choice with you. But I hope you aren't planning on walking the forty miles." When Steve goes to protest, she continues. "Howard's the best damn civilian pilot I've ever seen. I'll ask him to fly you in."

Steve nods at the offer. He thinks that maybe if his heart didn't already belong to Bucky, he could easily fall in love with her.

It's later that night after they've made it back to camp with all the war prisoners, when Bucky pulls Steve into a side room, away from prying eyes and attentive ears. Bucky rolls up his sleeve. "What happened to my mark?"

Steve glances in awe as he traces the pattern of the new handprint. The handprint that adorned Bucky's left bicep had doubled in size, but underneath it, Steve's seven year old print is still noticeable - faint, but noticeable. He shakes his head. "I've never heard of this. Ma never really went into details about soulmarks. Probably because she didn't know." He finally places his hand directly over the mark. It matches perfectly with the size of his new hand. "But it's still mine," he says, as awestruck as he had been when he was a child.

Bucky frowns. "Is it because of the serum?"

Steve pulls his hand away. The mark now has the lines and groves of his palm, unlike the outline it was previously. He looks at Bucky. "Does it really matter?" he asks softly.

"I guess not," Bucky relents. He rolls his sleeve back down and turns to leave.

Steve can tell that there's something wrong. He needs to know before he lets Bucky walk away from him angry because he's not sure when the next time they can be alone will be. He stops him with a hand on Bucky's forearm. He can feel Bucky tense under him. "Why are you upset?" he asks.

"Does it really matter?" Bucky replies stiffly. He doesn't even bother to face Steve when he says this. He just attempts to leave again.

"So you are upset about the mark," Steve concludes.

Bucky spins on his feet and comes to stand in front of Steve, his eyes are flashing dangerously. Steve can't remember a time when he's seen Bucky this angry at him. "Of course this is about the mark!" he growls. "I thought I reacted to someone else! I thought someone else touched your mark and branded me as their own. So yes, Steve, this is about the mark."

Steve is silent. He doesn't know what to say.

"You didn't think about that, did you?" Bucky asks sharply. "All I had in that room was my name and your mark and I thought I reacted to an enemy. I thought they took the one thing that connected me to you because you went and took some experimental product so that you can come over here. Of course I'm upset."

Steve closes his eyes. "I know you want me to apologize for taking the serum, but I'm not." His eyes snap open when he hears Bucky move. He catches Bucky before he can leave. "Just listen, okay?" he asks. He's thankful when Bucky stays. "Taking the serum fixed me."

"You say that like you were broken. You weren't."

Steve gives Bucky a half-smile at that. "No more asthma, weak immune system, or heart trouble. No more constantly getting sick. From the tests they've run, it looks like the serum took it all away. On top of that, they believe I can't get sick at all. I'm not going to apologize for doing something that had a good chance of fixing me."

Bucky looks unimpressed by his explanation. "There was always a chance that it would kill you just as easily as it would 'fix' you. And what then? Did you consider what would happen if I realized that you died while I was over here?"

"Come on, Buck. Of course I did," Steve answers. "But we've had this argument so many times. I'm just tired of being sick. And I couldn't just sit back in Brooklyn, knowing you were out here risking your life and I was doing nothing - not when there was an option to be here, with you. Besides, it's not like the serum was completely experimental. Erskine was just replicating the formula that worked before."

Steve shifts from foot to foot, still unused to his new body. "There's so much that's unknown about soulmarks. When I took the serum, I thought that if anything, it would change my mark. I wasn't expecting your mark to change to reflect my change. I was prepared to lose my mark to become healthy. I hated the idea of it. I did, but I thought that I could ultimately replace it. I didn't think that it would mess with yours and what it would mean for you. And for that, I am sorry."

"I get it," Bucky says after far too long. Long after Steve drops his hand and waits for Bucky to say something. Long after the silence has become uncomfortable. "I may not like, but I do know how much you hate always being sick. So yeah, I get why you took the serum. I never thought you needed it, but if it makes you happy, then it makes you happy. It's going to take me a bit to completely come to terms with this, but I will try. You just have to bear with me."

"Thank you," Steve breaths out in relief. He can hear footsteps of the other soldiers. They don't have much longer before it gets too suspicious; they've already had more time than Steve was expecting. He places his hand on Bucky's bicep, exactly where the mark is hidden under clothes. "Just remember, it's still my mark. I'm still me and I still love you."

"I'm still upset," he reiterates. "But I love you too, punk."

With that, Bucky slips out of the room, leaving Steve alone.

The night that Steve rallies his hand-picked troops, Bucky pulls his dogtags over his head before pulling Steve's over his as well. He switches the second tag on each and hands Steve back his.

Steve looks at tags. One that clearly reads his own name, blood type, and religion, and the other reads Bucky's name, blood type, and religion. Logically, Steve knows that the second dogtag is for identification of a corpse and switching them can make things messy, but he doesn't care.

Because he's going to be fighting next to Bucky all the time, and surely someone can tell their bodies apart.

Besides, aren't they ultimately two parts of the same soul? So it doesn't even matter if their bodies were or were not separated in death.

He's lucky to have seen Peggy earlier, while he was trying to unsuccessfully drown his sorrows. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have the opportunity to be the one to notify Bucky's mother.

Steve picks up the phone no less than five times, hanging up before the operator can finish their question each time. On the sixth attempt, he asks for the Barnes residence in Brooklyn. There's a long pause as the call is connected.

Lucy answers the phone with a chirpy, "Hello!"

Steve barely manages to keep his voice even as he says, "Lucy, it's Steve. Can you put your Mama on?" He can hear the hitch in her voice that means she wants to ask. After a long pause, Lucy yells for Winifred. Finally, she's on the phone and Steve still has no idea exactly what he's going to say.

"Is that really you, Steve?" she asks. "I haven't heard from you or James since he shipped out! Well, besides the letters, but those really don't count for nothin'."

There's happiness and excitement in her voice and Steve can't handle it. He can't fight back the tears again. "This-" he manages to say, "I'm not-" The words just aren't coming out. "Bucky-"

She must understand what Steve is trying to say. "No," she whispers. "No," she says firmer. He can imagine her shaking and keeping herself from crying.

Steve takes a deep breath to calm himself. "You're going to receive the news eventually, but I needed to be the one to tell you. Bucky died." There's a long pause. Steve is almost afraid that she's hung up, but he can still hear her breathing from the other end of the line. And it breaks Steve.

He can hear the catch in her breathe when she speaks. "His body, when is that going to be shipped home?"

"We didn't recover his body," he answers.

"How can we have a funeral without a body?" she demands. He can hear the anger in her voice.

A part of him is glad for the anger, feels like he deserves it; he didn't save her son after all. "I'm going to ask a friend to look for it," he tells her. "But I'm sorry I couldn't bring him home. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm sorry I couldn't save him this time. I'm so -"

"You were there with him in the end, weren't you?" she asks, her voice thick. When Steve doesn't answer, she continues talking. "Thank you for being there for him."

"I should've -"

Winifred continues on, as if Steve hadn't tried to say anything. "I may not have liked it in the beginning, but I understood it eventually. What you two had was something else. You two truly cared about each other. I'm sorry that you lost him."

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. "You shouldn't be apologizing to me."

"I should," she replies firmly. "Because we're not the only ones that lost him. You did too. More importantly, you saw what really happened. We won't have to ever deal with those memories. While I'm glad that he wasn't alone, I'm sorry that you were the one to see it."

He doesn't hold back the tears this time. He drops the phone as he cries, tears running down his face as he shakes. They last for a long time.

When they finally stop and his breathing evens out, he sits in the darkened room and waits for the morning. He can't stop tracing the soulmark on his wrist.

"I'm sorry about your friend."

Steve looks up from map. Howard Stark is standing next to him. Steve nods his head because there's really not much more he can say. He tried drinking away the thoughts, but the serum wouldn't let him. His body metabolizes the alcohol too quickly to get drunk.

He turns away from Howard, flexing his hands quietly. They're still a little tender from where he broke the mirror. Too much anger at himself, at the situation, at the serum, but mostly at the handprint that was slowly fading. It was still too visible though. All too visible.

He snaps his attention back to Howard. "Will you do something for me?" When Howard just waits, Steve continues on. "Can you help me try to find Bucky's body? His mother and sisters would like to have it so they can give him a proper burial."

Steve only lies a little; Bucky's family want a proper burial. He asks, though, because he's not entirely sure Bucky's dead anymore. He spent the night looking at the mark. The handprint should have faded completely by now yet it hasn't. And logically, he knows that in some cases it takes longer than a single night for the handprint to fade, but he's never been entirely logical when it came to things involving Bucky.

Howard shoves his hands into his pocket. "We might not be able to get a team out there until spring with all the snow." He rolls on the back of his feet. "But we will search."

"Thanks," Steve says.

Howard pats his shoulder as he disappear.

Steve pulls his dogtags out from under his uniform and holds them tightly, praying for Bucky. Praying he's not dead. Praying that he would just come back to him.

And then, days after Bucky falls, he puts the plane in the water. The last conscious thought he has is maybe he'll see Bucky in the afterlife.

When Steve starts to slip back into consciousness, he hears the unmistakable voice of the announcer. He blinks. And he glances around. There's no way that game could be playing - the Phillies versus the Dodgers.

Steve remembers that game vividly; remembers the ecstatic feeling of the Dodgers pulling off that win, remembers the way Bucky's arm draped around his shoulder as they walked home, remembers not worrying about the war.

And he remembers that was the last game they saw together before Bucky shipped out the next week. Awareness seeps into his body. He sits up slowly, staring at the radio in mistrust. His body aches with the movement.

He examines his right wrist. The handprint that once wrapped around his wrist is faded, but another outline has grown over the other. Steve drops his hand and grips the edge of the bed tightly.

He only had two things when he went into the ice - Bucky's handprint and his dogtags around his neck. And now even a different handprint has grown over Bucky's mark, as if it's trying to replace Bucky. He wonders who touched his wrist. Somebody must've touched him since he's now on a bed, in a room that he's never seen before. They could've easily accidently touched his wrist.

The announcer is about to declare the Dodgers' victory when the door opens. Steve buries all his feelings of anger in turn for suspicion. He can deal with the new soulmark later.

...

His past is coming back to haunt him, he thinks, as Nick Fury gives him a file on the Tesseract. He crashed a plane into the Arctic to save the world from it and now it's in play again. More importantly, Fury wants him to fight again, to save the world from it.

Doesn't he know the last time he went to war, he lost everything?

But, ever the soldier, Steve still world is in danger. That's why he took the serum in the first place - to protect the innocents of the world.

He catches himself moving his hand to rub at the soulmark. He stops himself before he can, though. He doesn't want to rub at a mark that isn't Bucky's. He clenches his fist tight around his dogtags instead.

Even if the damage to New York is tremendous, Steve can't deny the fact that the fight calms something deep inside of him. He's spent the last few days working out, eating, and barely sleeping. There was an undeniable itch, and no matter what Steve did, it wouldn't go away.

When Fury approaches him afterward, he supposes that joining SHIELD would be the right thing to do. He'd be helping people like he wants to.

It would give him something to do, he thinks, and it does. It makes him feel like he's useful again. He walks into SHIELD, sees the pictures of Howard and Peggy, and his heart aches. They may be gone or may not have become the people he remembers them as, but this is part of their legacy.

Maybe he can do some real good at SHIELD while also managing to scratch his itch for action.

It can't be.

Steve stares at his cuffed hands, where the metal is rubbing against the faint outline of a handprint, one that is covering the print of Bucky's hand. The outline that had once made him so angry; the outline that had been Bucky's mark all along.

How many times did Steve wake up wishing that this mark had never grown? How many nights did he think that it was a betrayal to Bucky's memory to have a new one?

Too many.

But even when he had nothing, he still had Bucky. Even now, in a different time, it turned out that it had still been true, even if he hadn't known it. He wonders when he stopped knowing that.

He wonders how he forgot about the way Bucky's soulmark changed, back when he first underwent the serum. He should've known that it would change to reflect who Bucky is now. He gets it now, what Bucky felt when he thought he was branded by someone else.

Maybe he can fix this, fix Bucky.

(But Bucky doesn't think that he deserves to be fixed and Steve can't help someone who doesn't want help.)

"I need a favor," Steve asks.

Sam, ever the soldier, straightens his back. He glances at the files in Steve's hand. Steve's already informed him of his decision to look for Bucky. But it's been weeks.

"What do you need?"

Steve looks down at the file in his hand and then back up at Sam. "This mess with SHIELD and Hydra is taking up most of my time. I can't chase Bucky this way."

Sam raises his eyebrow. "You're asking me to search for him?"

"Since I'm one of the people who took down SHIELD, I have no choice but to clean up the mess. I need an extra pair of eyes to look for him. Someone I trust. I would ask Nat, but she's a little busy trying not to get killed since she also happened to leak all of her aliases," Steve explains.

"Why are you looking so hard for someone who doesn't want to be found right now," Sam asks. "I get that he's your friend and all, but maybe it's best to give him some time."

Steve thinks it's fair enough question. He's only really told Peggy; he suspects that Natasha knows even though they've never talked about it. So he sticks his wrist out to Sam. "It happened when we were seven."

Sam, in that moment, reminds Steve of Peggy. He simply nods and sticks his hand out for the folder. "I can't guarantee anything, but I'll look for him."

"That's all I ask. Thank you," Steve says gratefully. He passes the folder to Sam, knowing that it's in good hands.

Steve unlocks his door, feeling his exhaustion deep in his bones. Sam is standing behind him, patiently waiting for him to go inside, despite Steve's protests that he doesn't need company - especially not tonight.

"When are you heading back out?" Steve asks, desperate to break the silence.

Sam shrugs. "I figured I'd give it a few days. We both know if he wanted us to find him, we would've found him by now."

"I know," Steve sighs. "But I need to find him, y'know?" He flicks the switch on and sees a figure sitting on his couch. He can feel Sam tense behind him, battle ready, but Steve just smiles. He sets his shield at the front door, leaving it open for Sam.

"About time you got home, punk." Bucky has settled himself in the middle of the couch, a cotton shirt covering some of his metal arm and his long hair pulled back with a hair tie. He looks relaxed, but if Steve looks closely, he can see the tension in Bucky's shoulders and the way that Bucky scans the room for threats.

Steve rolls his eyes and makes his way to the kitchen. "Maybe I would've been home at a decent hour if someone would've called," he replies. He digs through his fridge, pulling out three beers. "You want a beer?" he asks, reentering the living room.

Sam grabs one of the beers from Steve's grip while Steve hands the other one to Bucky. Sam pops the top quickly, and takes a long gulp . He points the bottle towards Steve. "You mean to tell me we - and by we, I actually mean me - have been chasing cold leads across the world for the past year and a half for him to show up in your living room as if we haven't been looking for him?"

Steve shrugs. "You did say that if he wanted to be found, we'd find him."

Sam smothers a smile, shaking his head. He finishes his beer quickly, leaving it on the coffee table. "Well, since I now see that you don't need company for the night, I'm leaving. Call me if you need anything."

"You're just going to leave me with him?" Bucky asks, placing his own untouched beer on the table.

"You would've killed him by now if you wanted to."

Steve sits in the armchair beside the couch after the door shuts behind Sam. "Not that I'm complaining, because I'm definitely not, but Sam has a point. We have been following you for a year and a half now."

He watches as Bucky pulls at a chain around his neck, and Steve immediately recognizes it. He barely resist from pulling at his own dogtags. "When I started to remember, the first thing that came to mind was these," Bucky says, his tags on display. "I thought that if I could find them, I would feel more...human. It didn't work out the way I hoped."

"Oh Bucky," Steve breathes. He manages to stay in his seat despite the fact that he wants to wrap his arms around Bucky and never let go. "I thought they destroyed them."

Bucky laughs humorously. "Zola ordered them destroyed, along with all of my effects. But there was this young soldier that thought they were a trophy for turning me into their ally. He kept ahold of them and bragged about it to his fellow soldiers every chance he got."

Steve furrows his eyebrows. "How did you know that?"

"They wanted me to be their ally willingly," Bucky says, shrugging. "It took longer than I was anticipating to track that soldier down."

"You said that it didn't work like you were expecting. What were you expecting?"

"Something," Bucky answers immediately. When Steve just waits, Bucky continues on, "To feel like I wasn't exactly like the people we used to fight against in the war. To feel like I wasn't a weapon anymore. Like I could be the Bucky you knew again. But I can't, Steve. I can't be him anymore."

Steve shakes his head. "Do you really think I want you to be that person again? I'm not stupid enough to believe you haven't changed after everything that happened to you. I'm not the same person when I first met you either. Hell, I'm not even the same person I was when you fell. It's been seventy years and too many wars since then. But deep down? I know you're still you. I know you're still Bucky Barnes."

"You can't know that. Maybe I've been the Winter Soldier for too long. Maybe Bucky Barnes is dead."

His jacket is still on, Steve realizes, covering his soulmark. He shrugs it off. He offers his wrist to Bucky, displaying his soulmark to him. "Yes I can."

It's the first time that Bucky truly moves since Steve has arrived. He leans forward, taking Steve hand in his own, inspecting his wrist. The metal is cold against Steve's skin. "That shouldn't be possible. The Nick Fury mission was the first time I've been near you since you came out of the ice." After a moment, he wraps his metal hand around Steve's wrist, noting that it's a perfect outline.

"It's happened before," Steve points out. He glances down to see the way the mark reacted to Bucky's hand; the lines and curves of his metal hand mark him now instead of just a simple outline before. Steve fights the urge to smile. "I forgot about the change to your mark and thought I reacted to someone else while I was still asleep. I never imagined it could still be your mark until I saw you on the bridge."

Bucky lets go of Steve's wrist. "That doesn't prove anything."

"Soulmarks disappear when their counterpart dies, when the other half of their soul no longer exists. Mine regrew. Just like yours did when I was injected with the serum. Mine changed to reflect who you are now. You still have the same soul." He nods towards his wrist, "That's how I know. You're still Bucky Barnes"