Bucky couldn't hear anything over the wind. Not the words falling from Steve's mouth, not his own heart beat, banging loudly against his chest, not his own voice.

"It'll be okay," he wanted to scream, to make sure that Steve knew. "It isn't your fault." But he couldn't.

The wind howled and slammed him against the side of the train. He shut his eyes tighter.

Steve inched his way towards him, slowly, carefully, his breathing ragged.

The metal he stood on groaned and shifted under his weight. Bucky looked up at him again. He was afraid. He didn't want to lose him. He didn't want Steve to suffer.

Bucky was reaching out, their hands were almost touching, and Bucky keeps his eyes trained on the blond. Steve was saying something again - something like "hang on". Well, that was a stupid thing to say. As if Bucky would ever want to let go.

"Steve," he choked, barely able to hear his own voice over the wind. It was loud in his ears, drowning out everything else. The metal creaked underneath him and Bucky took a shaky breath. He reached farther than before, struggling. Steve was almost there, almost --

And Bucky was falling, he was screaming, and still the wind muffled the sound. His stomach dropping, Bucky fell against the side of the cliff, his left arm scraping against the rock. His hand snagged and Bucky closed his eyes tightly before there was a tearing and he was screaming louder than ever, louder than the wind, his blood pounding in his ears.

He crashed through the trees, slowing his descent, until finally, he rolled onto the snow and laid on his back.

////

Years later, he sat with a hollow expression on the side of the street. It was 2016, and he was still alone. He absently cupped what remained of his left arm and pulled himself into a ball. A storm was brewing overhead, and he shuddered. He hated storms; hated the wind and the way it reminded him of a long time ago, a time he never wanted to remember in the first place.

He was used to being passed over. Suddenly, a pair of shoes stopped in front of him and laid down a couple bills. Bucky stared at it blankly and looked up at the figure. A blond man stood there and offered a polite smile and a nod of his head.

Bucky stared at him, frozen in spot. The man began walking away and Bucky sprang to his feet, grabbing his hand. The blond froze and looked at him, standing his ground. "Wait," Bucky blurted and slowly released him. "You... you're... " His mind whirled and he staggered, and he was caught. He looked up at his concerned face and felt shame radiating off of him.

"Are you okay?" He hesitated as he looked at him, the roll of thunder overhead distracting him. He met his eyes again and looked sympathetic. "Here -- can I get you a coffee? It's warmer inside."

Bucky felt himself nodding and allowed himself to be led into the nearest coffee house. He slumped into the booth and tried to process everything.

This was Steve. Steve, who he'd loved for forever. Steve, who was young in the thirties and forties yet was still young to the day. Steve who had almost saved him from falling off that train...

He heard the wind whistle through the open door. He shivered and shoved his hand in his pocket as he looked at Steve nervously.

"I'll go grab you something," Steve said as he walked up to the counter. Bucky gazed after him. He sounded the same, looked exactly the same... was it actually Steve? Maybe it was his son. It was possible; anything was possible if he had been captured by a bunch of Nazis back in WWII and was still alive and young today.

Steve came back with a sandwich, soup and a hot coffee for him, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

"Did... I'm sorry, I must've mistaken you for someone else," Bucky finally uttered as he took a shaky sip of his coffee. Steve was surprised to hear that this man seemed roughly the same age as him. Underneath the grime of the city and a half-grown beard, his face was young-looking. Stormy blue eyes were locked on him.

"It's fine," he dismissed with a smile. "You kind of look familiar too..."

Bucky's heart stuttered in his chest. "What's your name?" He tried to keep calm, his heart beating quickly, thoughts swimming.

"I'm Steve," he supplied. "Steve Rogers."

Bucky thought he was going to faint. He gulped back a breath and pushed his hair away from his eyes, tilting his beanie up. Steve got a better look at his face. He looked panicked.

"Steve? From -- from Brooklyn Steve?" Bucky studied him anxiously. Steve looked just as surprised.

"Bucky?" he asked quietly, as if he didn't believe it but figured he'd take the chance. Bucky didn't know to scream, faint or cry. His instinct was to grab Steve's hands, and Steve, bewildered, let him. "You're alive?" he choked.

Bucky beamed and nodded, breathing out quickly. "What the hell," he croaked and managed another watery smile. "Jesus, Steve -- " He leaned over and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Steve did the same, ignoring the thoughts in his head and the wind howling outside.

Bucky choked back his tears as he pressed his face against his shoulder, a wave of relief washing over him. Steve sobbed as he held him. He couldn't describe what feelings were flooding over him.

Bucky could barely hear the wind over the beating of his heart. He knew he was home.