(2478 words) 
At the Avengers tower 2015 New York, New York: 
Fury was pacing back and forth in the living room. Bruce had given him a glass of water that he had accepted then ignored. He had sat down then shot back up and started to pace again, it was starting to get annoying. 
"What's wrong with Fury?" whispered Steve to agent Hill, content with his hands resting on the countertop of the kitchen, his gray shirt sweaty from his run. Steve's sun gold hair plastered to his forehead, his navy-blue eyes as deep as the Arctic Ocean looked over to agent Hill. 
She answered him with a sigh and "We lost a target." 
He raised his golden eyebrows in question. "What kind of target?" The majority of Shields targets were human but that wasn’t always the case. 
"Human, he got away last night." 
"How?" 
"He jumped off 6 stories." 
"Wow," Steve said, awe in his voice. 
"We don't even have a tracking pin on him." she snarled, clearly disappointed and angered. 
"Why are we going after him when we don't even have a location to go off of?" 
"I don't know" she sighed, marching toward the one-eyed man. You could tell he was the one in charge with his sleek trench coat, black leather eye patch, and leather boots. His shiny brown head hairless, his eyes were piercing and angrily accusing The Avengers like it was their fault that the target escaped. 
"Gather around team," Fury ordered. Team, ha! Fury never did anything for them except throw them into impossible situations. Even then The Avengers were barely a team themselves. They were always fighting over everything. Team, Steve thought, yeah right. 
"Right, you heard the boss, gather around," Steve said pouring out fake empathy toward Fury. The bitterness that he felt was hiding behind the syrupy sweetness he was displaying toward his friends. None of them seemed to notice, scratch that: Natasha noticed. Her eyes displayed understanding. He didn't need this right now. He clenched his hands into fists behind his back. 
"Thank you, Steve. So, we have a new mission for you. All of you." This would be Loki's first mission. 
Several people sat forward. The last time he asked for everyone the world was being attacked by aliens. 
"What's happened?" Clint asked cautiously, laying his bow on the table. 
"We found a Hydra assassin, and we don't know who he is, but we do know that his fighting style is slightly similar to widow’s." everybody looked at Nat. 
"What?" She snapped. "Look, I don't know who it could be. All the others were killed." 
"Are you sure one of them didn't get away?" Sam asked. 
"Yes," she said. A lie. Nat never lied. Steve frowned; his eyebrows pulled together. 
"We need to find him fast. I don't care how you do it. Just do it." Fury said slapping a file on the table. Steve picked it up. "That's all we know about him." Steve flipped between just two pages. He could faintly hear Fury saying "He kills around 25 people a year. And he is extremely dangerous, so you all have to be very careful. We don't have his new location yet so it might be a week or two." Zoomed in security photos of Bucky stared back at him. His world seemed to spin, his stomach flipped, and his heart squeezed. He felt sick. Bucky was alive, but Steve had seen him fall. He hadn't seen him fall, he had let him fall. Bucky was dead Buck was dead he was... No, no he wasn't this photo was proof. He had promised him. His nose stung and Steve felt his chest lock, and he couldn't breathe. Bucky. Screams filled his ears. Steve! BUCKY! He let him fall. Steve promised he promised how could Steve let him fall? 
"Steve?" Natasha asked quietly. He could feel eyes on him. Steve threw down the file of papers and ran to the bathroom. He practically tore off the bathroom door. Steve crouched down in front of the toilet. He vomited. Pulling his head up, a tear streaked down his cheek slipping onto his dry lips. I will find you, Buck, I swear.  
Natasha picked up the file wondering what had made Steve so emotional. 
"Wow." Tony deadpanned. "Does anyone know what just happened?" Nat flipped the page and looked at the photos. A name was printed on a receipt for a sandwich. It read Bucky Smith, Bucky, she recognized that name. Like a match just struck a memory came to her: 
Natasha opened the small, tattered sketchbook. A young man smiled back at her. He was curled up in a pile of blankets like a baby bird in his nest. His eyes were on the book he had in his right hand the other tucked beneath the blankets. His soft smile crinkled his steel eyes and softened the dimpled chin and strong jaw. He was worshiping the book like it was something he knew he would never see again. His long chocolate hair was pulled back to make a ponytail that rested on his shoulder, the few strands that fell in front of his face didn't seem to bother him. It seemed he was the happiest man on earth at that moment. 
His face was familiar to Nat except the last time she had seen it he had been cold, cruel, and angry. And before that kind caring and loving always making sure she was safe. In the corner was Steve's signature and the title of the drawing. 
"Bucky reading his favorite book." she read aloud. She could feel Steve lean over the back of her chair. "Who is he?" Nat asked already knowing the answer. She turned so she could see his expression. 
Steve smiled sadly and answered her "an old friend." 
"We're going to go find Steve." Sam resolved, snapping Natasha out of her trance. She covered her mouth with her hand and pushed the file aside. She felt sick now too. Pepper stood next to the door with Sam. 
"I'll come with you." Her voice cracked at the end but gave no room for argument, Sam just nodded. They walked for about ten minutes, Pepper's heels clicking on the metal floor.  
“Are you okay?” Natashas wife Pepper asked. Nat nodded mutely. 
Pepper's dirty blond hair was pulled back in a bun, her hazel eyes displaying determination. She was holding a tablet to her chest and an almost invisible earpiece rested in her ear, Jarvis was probably telling her where Steve was. Her black heels, buckwheat colored pencil skirt, and blue button-down shirt screamed don't mess with me and strong businesswomen. Clint had always told her that Natasha had a thing for badass women. Nat smiled. Clint was definitely right. 
Sam was wearing a soft wool shirt and a pair of loose jeans. He always wore nice comfortable clothing. He was consular so maybe that's why. His brown skin went perfectly with the soft cream color of his button-down, his caramel eyes searched the hall for any signs of Steve. Nat was quite fond of Sam because he was so loyal to Steve. 
All three of them were silent until Sam stopped by the bathroom door. 
"Do you want to talk first?" He asked, Nat nodded. Sam opened the door for her, and they went in. Nat went to the last stall and opened the door. Steve had his knees tucked into his chest. Nat could see him shaking and could hear the broken sobs as he struggled to breathe. Natasha put a hand on his back. 
"Steve, breathe," Natasha told him quietly as she pulled him over to lean on her shoulder. 
He didn't speak just sobbed, curled in around himself as if one fast movement would shatter his world. He was vulnerable. Nat started to stroke his hair thinking it might calm him down enough to breathe. 
"Steve, buddy, Natasha's right. Breathe." Sam put his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve let loose a sob. 
"Shh," Nat said, stroking the back of his head. 
"Here, have this sweetheart." Pepper said giving him a soft smile and a cardboard cup of water. He took it, his hand shaking so badly it spilled at least half of the water. Nat took it from him and tipped it into Steve's mouth, he pulled away when he had finished the cup. Steve leaned into Natasha, she rested her chin on his head. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his golden cheeks. Steve felt like a black fly on a white wall; so vulnerable and cold, so easily squashed. 
"Here, let's get you to your room instead of this cold dirty smelly bathroom." Sam offered Steve his hand. Steve took it, standing and almost falling over. 
"Wow. Slow down buddy, little unsteady aren't we." Sam caught him before he fell too far. "Mind helping me Nat?" Natasha nodded slipping her arm around Steve's waist. "Thank you." Sam seemed to be trying to lighten the mood, though Steve was sure it wasn't working. Pepper pushed the door open and waited for them to pass. Steve could barely stand, he put all his weight on Natasha and Sam, dragging his feet behind him. Steve was trying not to think, trying to block out all noise and pain that was rushing through him.  
Steve felt as if he were moving. The familiar sensation of a car moving across busy roads filled his body as he started to lose track of time.  
Steve heard "Here we are." Pepper whispered, her voice gentle. His so-called room in The Avenger's tower was the whole floor. Steve had tried to refuse to live in the tower at first because it was hard to give up his past, hard to give up the small apartment because it felt like Buck was still there. He didn't want to give Buck up. 
Nat had been living in the tower when Steve came out of the ice and had already learned how to deal with Tony. Clint dropped his bow and clothing in the middle of the living room one year after Steve came out of the ice. That had taken lots of influence from Nat. Banner and Tony started dating so they set up a fancy lab next to Tony's workshop, which had been all he needed to move in. 
Thor got his floor near the top of the building with Loki after New York. The Avengers accepted Loki not because they trusted him, but because they knew what it was like to have someone blame you for something you didn't do, or for people you couldn't save. It had been Vision, who didn't have anywhere else to go, that had made Steve start thinking about moving when he said, "you can't keep things alive after they're gone." As if he knew what was going on in Steve’s brain. Then Sam had moved to the tower to be closer to his work. Finally, Steve took one last look at his apartment and moved. 
Natasha and Sam lead Steve to his unnaturally large and soft bed, they let him down gently. He felt like he was falling into a swilling vortex. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. He felt like he had seen it squished, popped, torn, and bleeding. Steve tucked a hand under his pillow. Laying on his side, he put one leg on top of the covers. His eyes were distant, his vision was blurry, and his head throbbed. Natasha got down on her knees in front of him. Her flaming red hair the color of a late-night campfire. If her leather pants were the black of night surrounding the flames of the campfire, then her eyes and shirt were the stars: bright like specks of moonlight and comets flying in the sky. Her beautiful gray eyes pierced Steve like the dagger resting on her hip. 
"Steve promise me you'll get some rest, okay?" Her voice was firm as always, but it had touches of worry like a painting. He nodded silently still tracing his stomach, his touch feather-light on his own skin. 
"Jarvis, if Steve spends more than six minutes out of bed let me know, okay." She said, voice still firm. 
*Of course.* Jarvis responded in his British accent. 
"You might rub your stomach raw if you keep doing that Cap," Sam whispered, a small smile on his face. 
Steve didn't move. "Don't call me that." His voice was barely audible. That was someone else's name not his own. 
"All right Steve." Sam comforted. 
                                                                                                                                                          
"You gonna be okay buddy?" Nat asked. Steve nodded, which made him cringe. 
"Alright, then I am going to get you a glass of water and some food, okay?" Steve didn't move. 
Nat walked away from the bed into the kitchen. All Steve could hear was white noise, or he would have heard the sheets rustle as Pepper leaned forward to touch his forehead. 
"You don't have a fever. I don't think you have a cold either," she concluded. Steve knew that. 
"Do you think it would be okay to leave him alone?" Nat asked, worry clear in her voice. She placed the plate with celery and a glass of water by his bed quietly.  
"Yes, I think he'll be fine in a little bit, but we should put a bowl by his bed in case he throws up," Pepper told them quietly. "That way he doesn't have to get up." 
Nat went back into the kitchen and when she came back, she was carrying a big bowl. Nat placed it by his bed. Steve's stomach flipped and he vomited in the bowl. He could see Sam cringe in the corner of his eye. "We should give him space." someone said but Steve wasn’t listening anymore. Everyone nodded. Nat stood and followed the others out, before pausing at the door looking at Steve's body curled up protectively around himself. She finally relented and closed the door behind her. 
Steve closed his eyes a tear streaked down his cheek, and he let himself fall into the vortex and opened the box of thoughts that he usually kept locked down in a cage in the back of his mind. His mind was flooded with images of Bucky's smiling face, his perfect beauty, his pain and sorrow, his protectiveness toward Steve, their love toward each other, the pain of having everything torn away from him. Steve hadn't kept his promise, and everything had fallen apart because of it. It took everything from him. Steve hadn't cried when he fell, he just let himself shatter, he hadn't screamed, he had gone cold, he hadn't called for him, he just trembled and stopped breathing. That was the day he died. He lost his soul that day. Now he was just a husk of a soldier like Bucky had been when he came crashing down in his fire escape the day they met. Steve let it all come back to him and cried the tears that were wedged in his broken soul like splinters. His bandaged, newly healed heart shattered and this time he didn't pick up the pieces. He was back on the cliff swaying in the wind.     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 A/N Sorry this is really bad bt I promise it will get better