Chapter Text
The fish just aren’t biting like they used to. Reggie’s niece sent him an article about it, a few months after everyone came back. Something about how all the animals that were left came out when half the people were gone, started living like they did long before humans ever showed up. Streams and oceans refilled, forests grew back, the air cleared up. They say the earth got quieter. Reggie’s life sure got quieter.
All that’s gone now. The cities are just as busy as they were, the wild has retreated, and Reggie can’t catch a fish to save his life. If that’s the price of having his Donna back, though, it’s one he’ll gladly pay. This place wasn’t the same without her. Without all of them.
He stayed here, through it all, when so many other people up and ran to hide from their ghosts. Delacroix’s a hell of a place, either way. Where else could he set up a rod and line off the dock in the middle of winter, hope springing eternal for catching that darn sturgeon?
He does turn around this time, when the breeze carries voices over to him. He recognizes both of those voices now, has listened to them bickering at each other for weeks, down here on the dock, at Maybell’s Fish Shack up the road, in the aisles of McGuckin’s hardware store, on the deck of Paul and Darlene’s old boat.
Reggie and Paul were like that sometimes when they were younger, needling one another about football, about their girls, about who caught the biggest bass that day. Paul usually won that last one, though Reggie wouldn’t admit it if someone paid him.
But he’s seen the other moments, too. Sam personally introducing Bucky to each new face, hovering by his side while he did it. Sam finding an excuse to pull Bucky away when the church ladies’ questions dove a little too deep. Bucky coming up behind Sam’s shoulder, with that silent glare that still gives Reggie the chills, anytime someone got within a country mile of insinuating Sam shouldn’t have taken up the shield.
Darlene and Paul would be proud of their boy. They’d be proud of the family he cobbled together, too. Those two had a habit of doing that kind of thing, themselves.
“I’m telling you, man,” Sam says, “I think we’re in the clear.”
“You really think we got all of them?” Bucky asks.
“Rhodey hasn’t heard anything for weeks.” Sam bumps Bucky with his elbow. “Have a little optimism.”
“Nah,” Bucky counters, “that’s your thing. I’m telling you, where there’s one of these guys, there’s twenty. Kind of their thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. I guess.” Sam chuckles. “And you thought you were done fighting Nazis.”
“World’s got an infinite supply of idiots, I guess,” Bucky grumbles.
Reggie’s not sure what they’re carrying on about this time, but it’s hard to disagree with that last statement.
“Well, if more of them pop up, we’ll deal with them,” Sam boasts.
“Sure,” Bucky drawls, all soft-like and distant.
“What?” Sam asks with that put-upon expression Reggie can see straight through.
“It’s…these people were in the military.”
“Yeah, got that memo.”
“And what they said about you…” Bucky’s staring hard at his scuffed boots. Reggie’s papa never would have let him leave the house with shoes looking like that. Wasn’t like they had much, but they took care of what they did. Reggie’s surprised Sarah let Bucky out of the house like this. She must be going soft on him.
“Yeah?”
“Is it…when you told me about those fights you used to get in, in bars or whatever. Because of what people said about you.” What’s this about Sammy getting in fights? Reggie never heard about all that. Guess every man’s entitled to some secrets.
“Yeah?” Sam asks again, and this time it’s his voice that’s all soft.
“You don’t seem to be surprised that there are still people like that in the military.”
Sam sighs. “I’m not. Stuff like that’s more common than you might think.”
“That…sucks,” Bucky grumbles.
Sam laughs. “Yeah, it does. Not like that’s going to go away overnight.”
Bucky’s got more words on his lips, but he swallows them back when he sees Reggie. Too bad. No need for him to stop on Reggie’s account. He’ll learn that, though. Sam waves at him when they get closer. Bucky gives him a nod.
“Hey, Sam, Donna’s inside.” He gestures at the tackle shop. “Think she wants to talk to you about Marcie’s party next month.”
Sam drops a hand on Reggie’s shoulder on the way by. “Sure. Be right back.” He tosses a look behind him at Bucky. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
Bucky just rolls his eyes in reply, and again Reggie thinks of his niece, heading off to college in the fall. Donna told him a few weeks ago that when she asked Bucky how old he was, he made some crack about passing the century mark. Kid has a strange sense of humor.
Bucky wanders near while Sam is in the shop, and Reggie waves at the omnipresent cooler. “Get us a couple cold ones, would ya?” Bucky does just that, hands Reggie a bottle, tosses the caps in a can twenty feet away. Huh. Maybe he played ball in high school or something.
“Good to see you back here, son,” he says, clinking his beer against Bucky’s.
“Thanks,” Bucky’s lips quirk upward in a cocky grin. He takes a sip, and the grin fades into something more genuine. “Good to be back,” he adds quietly.
“How long you sticking around this time?” Reggie asks.
Bucky tilts his head. “A little while, I think.”
Reggie nods. “Good. Donna said something about you boys being on a roadtrip for a while?”
“Uh…yeah,” Bucky answers.
“Yeah,” Reggie mutters. “Donna said something about you being out there on your own for a bit too.”
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Yeah.”
“Something about Sam being out there too, looking for you?”
Bucky works his mouth. “Donna is…very well informed.”
Reggie shrugs. “You’re telling me.” He watches the bob in the waves for a minute. “Guessing you were in a spot of trouble then.”
Bucky takes a long pull from his bottle. “Yeah. Kinda.”
Reggie nods. “And guessing you didn’t take my advice?” Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “About the Wilsons.”
He gets a laugh for that. “Well…no. I mean, eventually I did. Just took me a bit, is all.” Bucky takes a swallow of beer. “Sam’s…got a way of convincing people.”
“I hear that,” Reggie comments. “Well, as long as you got there eventually.”
“I did.” Bucky watches puffy clouds float by above the bare tree branches. Reggie can feel him summoning up some courage. “Sam talks a lot about his parents.”
Reggie casts a glance at him. “Of course he does. Who wouldn’t? Larger than life, those two. Did a hell of a job raising their kids, too.”
Bucky hums. “Yeah. They did.” He looks at Reggie. “I guess you all did.”
Reggie drops his gaze to the peeling paint on the dock. “Oh. Well.” He clears his throat. “I suppose we all did, yeah.” He watches Bucky worry at the label on his beer. “What about your folks? They…still around?”
Bucky’s fingers still. “No. They…they’re gone. They’ve been gone for a long time.”
“Ah,” Reggie commiserates. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He rubs a finger along the handle of his fishing rod. “Any siblings?”
“No,” Bucky says. “She’s gone too.”
Reggie sighs. “I’m sorry to hear that too.” He’ll let Donna know. She’ll get the word around, quietly, to the other church girls, so they stop asking about it every time they see Bucky. Yeah, he’ll do that. And he’ll bring an extra rod next time, tell Sam to come down so he can teach this boy how to fish. Someone has to.
“Like I said,” Bucky replies, “it was a long time ago.”
Reggie thinks of Sarah and Sam, the day they told him they were keeping the boat. How Sam traced his fingers over the names painted on the hull. How Sarah rubbed her hand across Sam’s back. “Dealing with that…it gets easier, but it doesn’t get easy.”
“No,” Bucky agrees beside him. “It doesn’t.”
They watch the muddy water drift by for a few minutes until Sam returns. “Hey Buck,” he says. “Donna wants to talk to you.”
Bucky stares at him, a deer in the headlights. “Uh...what?”
“Yeah. Something about wanting to know what your favorite dessert is? I told her it was probably something boring like vanilla pudding, but she wants to hear it from you.”
Bucky glares, suspicious. “Why does she want to know what my favorite dessert is?”
Sam blinks. “So she can make it for you? Why the hell do you think?”
“But why…she…”
Reggie sighs. “Son, believe me when I tell you it’ll be easier to just go in there and give the woman what she wants. Listen to the voice of experience here.”
“Fine,” Bucky mutters before he skulks over to the shack. Reggie swears he’s dragging his feet, like Sam used to do when his momma told him to refresh the bait. Some things never change.
Sam replaces Bucky at Reggie’s side, takes a seat on the cooler after he’s pulled a beer of his own out. “You get that sturgeon yet, Reg?”
“I think today’s the day.”
“Sure.”
Reggie takes his eyes off the water to give Sam a good look. “How’ve you been, kid?”
Sam smiles. “Man, I’m good.”
“Yeah,” Reggie decides. “You look good.” Sam’s sure smiling a lot more these days, the real smile that reaches his eyes. More than he was right after he first got back after seven years away, when he was shambling through town, peering at the boarded up windows, wandering around the little graveyard next to First Baptist, reading the new stones. “Like…I’m not sure…like there’s some kinda weight off your shoulders?”
“Off my shoulders?” Sam quirks a brow. “No, way more weight now.” He nods at the shack. “Gotta worry about him all the time when he’s around.”
Reggie laughs. “Boy, like you weren’t worried before? Known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper. Don’t think you can lie to me. You can’t lie to Donna, that’s for sure.”
Sam shakes his head. “No, I can’t. Never could.”
“Remember that time you swiped some money from the collections basket at church? Ho, she knew you did it the second she laid eyes on you,” Reggie cackles, slaps a knee.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbles. “Her and every woman this side of the Mississippi.”
Reggie sucks in a few laughing breaths, grinning. “Ah. Good to have you back around.” He clinks his bottle against Sam’s. “You find what you were looking for out there?”
Sam takes a sip of his beer. “Who said I was looking for anything?”
“No one goes that far for that long ‘less they’re looking for something,” Reggie notes.
Sam gestures at the shack with his beer. “Well, I found that.”
“Yeah,” Reggie agrees. “He wasn’t the only thing you were looking for, though. So, what did you find?”
Sam watches the waves. “Lonely roads. Places that would take your breath away. But mostly…mostly I found people. Doing what they had to. Doing what they thought was right.” He smiles. “People worth fighting for.”
“Good.” Reggie clears his throat. He’d leave it there, but he saw the way Bucky screwed up the nerve to ask him a question he was a little scared of. What can Reggie do but the same? “I’ve told you this before, but your parents would be proud.”
Sam gives him a shy grin. “Yeah. I know. For fighting the good fight, speaking truth to power, all that jazz, right?”
“That. And for standing by your people when they need it.”
Sam casts a look at the shack, where they can see the silhouettes of Bucky and Donna through the smudged glass. “Yeah, some of those people don’t make it easy.”
Reggie follows his gaze. “No. But it’s not supposed to be easy.”
“Well,” Sam sighs. “At least I’m doing something right, then.”
“A couple things, I guess.” Reggie beams at his affronted expression. “Now, what are you all doing Sunday night? Donna’s been watching one of those baking shows and says she’s got a few recipes she wants to try.”
“And what, you want us to be guinea pigs?”
“Well,” Reggie winces. “You remember how that went last time she tried to make something new.”
“You mean the one time she trusted you to go grocery shopping and you filled the sugar canister with salt?”
Reggie sighs. “Was hoping everyone had forgotten about that by now.”
“That cake is gone, but not forgotten,” Sam answers.
“So, that’s a yes?” Reggie asks.
Sam stares at something over his shoulder, and Reggie follows his gaze. Donna’s at the door of the tackle shack, fussing at Bucky’s cheeks – too pale – his stomach – too thin – his jacket – too dark for those lovely eyes – while she foists a fleet of leftover-filled Tupperware containers into his arms.
Sam turns back to Reggie, grin wide and eyes bright. “Oh yeah. That’s a yes.”
Sam walks Bucky to his bike, parked in the gravel outside the Wilson house. It’s a clear morning, crisp after an overnight rain. Bucky bid his farewells to Sarah and the boys earlier, before they left for the day. A.J. and Cass wouldn’t let him leave without wheedling a promise out of him to pick up some souvenirs.
Sarah gave him that trademarked Wilson look when she said goodbye, told him she expected him back in time for A.J.’s birthday. She told him if he up and vanished again she would personally lead the hunt to find him when she hauled him in for a hug, too. He doesn’t think that was a joke.
“Alright,” Sam starts, fidgeting by the bike. “Now you’re actually going to text this time, let me know you aren’t dead, right?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Because if you don’t,” Sam warns, “I will fucking track you down.”
“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “I know you will. And I will.” Sam gives him his version of that Wilson look. “I promise, okay? What, you want to pinky swear on it?”
“I’m good.” Sam eyes Bucky’s bike. “Where you going first?”
Bucky shrugs. “Not sure yet. Probably stay south until it gets warmer, then head west. Find something out there. Mount Rushmore?” He quirks a brow at Sam. “That’s a thing people go to see, right?”
Sam snorts. “Hell if I know, man.”
“Never got to the world’s largest ball of twine,” Bucky notes wistfully.
“How boring is a place that a ball of twine seems exciting?”
“You want to see it, don’t you?”
Sam scrubs a hand over the back of his head. “Take a picture for me, alright?”
“Sure.” Bucky rocks from foot to foot.
“Alright,” Sam says. “Look, you’re burning daylight here so —”
Bucky ducks forward to wrap his arms around Sam, hooks his chin over Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine, okay? And you’ll hear from me plenty. You’ll be sick of it, soon enough.”
Sam’s arms come up across his back. “Well, that last part I believe.”
“I’m not running away,” he murmurs. “I promise.”
“I know,” Sam responds. He pushes Bucky away after a moment. “And try not to tangle with any more neo-Nazis, okay? Or at least let me know if you find any, so I can get a few hits in.”
Bucky grins. “You bet.”
He settles on the bike and starts it with a roar. Sam shakes his head, smiling. “Watch yourself.”
Bucky meets his eyes. “I will. And I’ll see you soon.” He knocks the kickstand back with a boot and sets off down the gravel. He watches Sam stand at the end of the driveway and wave in his side mirror until he rounds the bend. Then it’s nothing but green undergrowth, brown trees, and a sliver of blue sky.
He rides west until the sun blazes in his vision. He heads up a little hill overlooking a lake, takes a picture of the setting sun hitting the water through cloudy ribbons of purple and gold. He sends that to Sam. Smiles at the reply. He watches through the gloaming, until the stars start to twinkle through the darkness, before he gets back on his bike and heads for the horizon.
He'll meet up with Sam not too long from now, on a warm spring day, at another underground silo in Kansas that Torres and Piasecki will ferret out. They’ll find the last remnants of Hughes’s people and their weapons there. They’ll make short work of both, send the weapons off to Stark Tech, and watch Rhodey’s team take the bad guys away in handcuffs. Then they’ll head to Cawker City, with Bucky still in his black leathers and Sam in his white suit, and get a photo together in front of that ball of twine. Bucky will set that picture as his phone wallpaper. Sam will put it in a frame, place it on a bookshelf next to ones with him and Steve, him and Riley, him and Sarah and their parents. Bucky will see that, next time he visits.
Bucky doesn’t know that yet, though, so he sets his course west, lets the running glow of a headlight and the stars above guide him forward.