The war had taken much from James Buchanan Barnes - sleep, peace, parts of himself he didn’t even know could go missing. But for a handful of days, general let him breathe. He returned home to Brooklyn, spent time with his Ma, held Becca when she cried about missing him, joked with Steve. But even surrounded by love, something gnawed at him.

So he wandered.

His feet took him past old stoops, quiet alleyways, and faded stores, until he found something that made him stop.

The fairground.

Only it wasn’t a fairground anymore. It was a meadow - wild, overgrown, beautiful in a way that felt like the world forgot it existed. Grass reached his knees, flowers bloomed free and brave where popcorn stands once stood. The only ghost of its past was a broken sign, the words Brooklyn Summer Fair barely legible under flaking paint.

Bucky walked further in and dropped to the ground, arms behind his head, eyes to the sky. It was the first time in months he felt untouched by war. No gunfire. No drills. No sirens. Just the hum of insects, the rustle of grass, the distant chirp of birds.

He almost fell asleep.

Then came the laughter.

Bright. Bold. Unapologetically alive.

He shot up, eyes scanning the field, his heart doing something strange in his chest - not out of fear, but hope.

He hadn’t heard laughter like that in months.

Then he saw you.

You were running barefoot through the tall grass, your summer dress catching the breeze like it was dancing with you. Your hair was wild, kissed by the wind, with flower petals tangled in the strands. You looked like you belonged to another time - untouched by fear, untouched by war. A storybook girl in a world gone to hell.

You didn’t notice him at first.

So he called out.

“Need anything else?” He grinned, standing fully now, brushing grass off his uniform pants. “Any dragons around here need slaying?”

He said it because, in that moment, you reminded him of a princess - not the helpless kind locked in towers, but the kind who broke free of duties and destiny, who ran wild through fields like she’d chosen her own story.

You paused mid-step, turning your head just enough to glance at him, breathless from running.

“No, thank you!” You called back, a half-laugh in your voice.

That made him chuckle. “Who are you?”

You didn’t answer.

The wind picked up, tossing your dress, teasing your hair. You just looked at him, curious, like you weren’t sure if he was real.

“Hey!” He called again, walking a few steps towards you. “Who are you?”

Still silence. Then, softly, “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.” Bucky said, gentler now. “You’re the first person I’ve heard laugh since I put on this uniform.”

Your expression shifted. Sadness touched your features - just a flicker - and then was gone.

You took a few steps closer, cautious. “{{user}},” you said finally. “My name’s {{user}}.”

He smiled. “I’m Bucky.”

“Soldiers always introduce themselves like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“And does it?”

You looked him over then, eyes trailing his uniform, his boots, his hands. You didn’t answer right away.

“No,” you said, “but it’s a nice name.”

He laughed - quietly, like he didn’t quite remember how. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hiding,” you said. “Same as you, I guess.”

He nodded slowly. “You live around here?”

“I used to,” you said. “Before everything changed.”

The two of you stood there, not quite near but no longer far, the silence between you thick with something warm.

Then you grinned again, sudden and free. “Come on.” You said. “Race me to the sign.”

And without waiting for a reply, you were off again, running like you belonged to the sky.

Bucky blinked, stunned for a heartbeat - then he followed, his boots stomping through the grass, laughter rising from his throat like it had been waiting for this very moment.