So... guess who finally watched The Winter Soldier like... two weeks ago...?

THAT'S RIGHT. ME.

And I have literally NO CLUE why I haven't written an Avengers fic before this... because I LOVE all of the Marvel stuff and I LOVE the Avengers and I especially LOVE Captain America... mainly because Steve, but everyone else is pretty dang awesome too.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this emotion-filled fic that I probably shouldn't have written, because it's chock-full of angst and friendship and... well, you'll see for yourself, I suppose.

ENJOY! AND HAPPY FOURTH TO YOU ALL, WHETHER AMERICAN OR NOT!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Captain America universe. Because Steve.

Fireworks were not Steve's forte.

They used to be his favorite thing in the entire world, because Bucky would always scrounge some up from somewhere and they would take them to the abandoned lot a few blocks from Steve's house and light them and watch them burst into the sky in showers of colors and noise and Steve would cheer so loudly that his voice would be gone the next day and Bucky would laugh with his head thrown back and his entire body shaking while shouting, "Happy Birthday, Steve Rogers!" like that was the only thing that mattered.

Now, Steve was trying to pretend that the loud popping noises didn't resemble gunshots and that World War II really was a distant memory.

He could tell that Sam was sort of uncomfortable with the cacophony as well, but he was trying not to show it, mostly because every time one went off, Steve visibly winced. Steve appreciated that. He really did.

"Why would he be here?" Sam asked, running a hand over his face, his eyes flicking nervously from side to side.

"I just... figured," Steve muttered. He'd been combing the streets of Brooklyn all day, hoping that somehow, some trace of the Winter Soldier would turn up. He didn't mention the memories to Sam, or the fact that he was mildly desperate at this point. If Bucky didn't come here, today of all days, then Steve had no idea where he was.

Another loud boom shook the night sky, and Steve shuddered. Hard.

"Alright, Captain," Sam said, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Why don't we call it a night? We can come back tomorrow, when there's not so many... people."

Steve really did appreciate that Sam wasn't stating the obvious, but at that moment, he was too caught up in thinking about parades and vanilla ice cream melting on his tongue and running through the streets with sparklers and bright flashes of light and gunshots and blood and war and-oh.

Sam pushed him down onto a street bench and Steve found himself staring directly across the road at lot that wasn't so empty anymore, a lot that now contained a building with lights in the windows and someone sitting on the front steps watching the fireworks as they tickled the tops of the skyscrapers.

Sam sat down beside Steve and looked up at the sky, his hands folded onto his knees. "Happy Birthday, America." He looked over at Steve, giving him a half-smile. "Great thing to have fought for, isn't it?"

Steve made a non-committal noise. Sam sighed.

"Any... good Fourth of July memories?" When Steve didn't answer, Sam continued. "I remember that, every year, my family would get up early and my mom would make pancakes. We'd all go to the parade and my dad would put stuff on the grill for dinner. And when night fell, we'd light firecrackers and watch the big ones that were held at the park and sing the Star-Spangled Banner too loudly and everyone would look over and laugh." Sam nodded, smiling. "It was great. And then I joined the military, and somehow the Fourth became a lot more then sparklers and hot dogs."

They sat there in silence for a while, before Steve mumbled, "It's my birthday."

"Really?" Sam said, like he hadn't heard him right. "Your birthday?" He whistled. "Wow, Cap, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were born to be America's Poster Boy." He glanced at Steve sideways. "How old are you, then?"

"Twenty-four," Steve whispered. "I'm twenty-four today."

"Not counting your years... y'know, down under?"

"Yeah." Steve muttered, avoiding looking at the Falcon. Instead, he focused across the street, where the person on the steps was digging around behind him, pulling out what looked like a box in the street light. Something metal glinted, then fell away.

"For what it's worth, Steve-" Steve looked up at the mention of his name. "-I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Steve said.

"I know," Sam told him. "But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to hear it." He slapped his palms down on his knees, and stood. "I'm going to go get the car. It's getting late. D'ya want to come?"

Steve shook his head.

"Alright," Sam said. "I'll be back in five." Then he was gone.

Steve closed his eyes, trying not to shake when the fireworks exploded in the air and fizzled out. He tipped his head forward, his hair hanging down towards clasped hands.

Bucky was telling him to stand back, striking a match-

One... two... three... boom.

-He lit the fuse and ran grinning back towards Steve, ears covered-

Four... five... six... boom.

-They ducked down behind a couple of boxes, watching as the firecracker took flight and headed towards it's end in the sky-

Seven... eight... nine... boom.

-Steve laughed at the shower of sparks and ran out from their hiding place, craning his neck up to see where the pricks of light were ending-

One... two... three... boom.

-There was a hand on his shoulder-

There was a hand on his shoulder.

That wasn't a memory.

Sam couldn't be back yet.

Steve looked up in time to see a sparkler thrust roughly into his line of vision. He started, and attempted to scramble away. His spine hit the stone backing of the bench and he was jarred to a stop, forced to look into familiar eyes and long hair and stubbled skin-

His eyes instinctively darted back across the street, where the man was no longer sitting. He could see a small box abandoned there, in the light of a streetlamp.

He gaped up at the person standing in front of him, holding a slowly-fizzling out sparkler too close to Steve's face.

"Here," Bucky said gruffly.

Steve's eyes widened and the blood drained from his face. Bucky saw, and immediately yanked his hand away, dropping the sparkler onto the ground, where it went out completely.

"Sorry," Bucky muttered. "I... I know you... don't... you wouldn't... you don't like surprises... or the fireworks, anymore, probably."

Steve gulped, and shook his head.

"Um..." the Winter Soldier dug into the pockets of his hoodie, drawing out a handful of matches and another couple of sparklers. He fumbled with the matches, dropping a few before actually managing to light one of the sparklers. He held it out to Steve, who took it, still unable to say a word. He sort of wanted to cry. He wasn't sure that he wasn't already.

Bucky lit one for himself and sat next to Steve, staring at his plaything as the sparks fell further down the stick. Steve, for his part, waved his a bit awkwardly, enjoying the shapes the light made in the sky. He glanced over at Bucky, who was glaring at the stick like it was at fault for everything that had happened to them.

Steve twirled the sparkler expertly, like he was twelve again, writing his name in midair. Steve. He turned to Bucky and made sure that the Soldier was watching, before writing his name alongside. His full name. James Buchanan Barnes. That faded out into a blurry view of streetlight and Bucky's dark hair, and Steve swiped a hand across his eyes, ashamed and angry at himself and Hydra and the entire damn universe, and damn it, Captain America did not cry-

"I know what my name is," the Soldier growled. He stabbed at the air with the sparkler.

"Oh," Steve said. "That's good. I'm glad."

He was saved from having to say anything else because at that moment, a black SUV pulled up in front of them, and Sam rolled the window down. "Steve, you ready-" He stopped, as both Steve and Bucky fixed him with matching looks. "Oh my god." Sam's expression would've been funny, if Steve had felt like laughing. "You found him."

Bucky's face changed from a sort of cold anxiety to an inquisitive sorrow. "You... you were looking for me?"

"Of course, Buck," Steve said, trying to ignore the way his voice cracked and the lump in his throat. "I'd always look for you. End-"

"End of the line," Bucky whispered. "Yes. I remember."

Steve clasped his shoulder, running his fingers along the cool metal, surprised when Bucky didn't flinch or pull away.

"Um..." Sam seemed reluctant to talk. "Do you think you can find your way back to the Tower. Stark said... well, you know Stark. Steve?" He suddenly glanced at Bucky. "And you're welcome to come too... erm, James..." The question mark at the end of his sentence was thoroughly embedded in his tone.

Bucky stiffened. "... thank you." Steve almost wanted to smile, because Bucky hated being called James.

"We'll be fine," Steve said. "Thanks."

Sam nodded, and slowly pulled the car away.

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer on the bench.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said suddenly.

Steve just looked at him.

"I didn't get any fireworks. Just the sparklers."

The Winter Soldier looked so forlorn and angry with... well, himself, and Steve was so tired and worn that he started laughing, so hard that he doubled over, clutching his ribcage and shaking all over.

Bucky just looked at him. "I don't understand."

Steve gasped, trying to breathe normally again. He patted Bucky's shoulder again. "It's... it's okay."

"No, it's not," Bucky said. "That's what we used to do, right?"

Steve smiled, laughing through his nose. "That's not all we used to do."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Steve saw the corners of Bucky's mouth curl up in what could only be described as something resembling a smile. He pushed himself up from the bench, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE ROGERS!"

Steve stood up next to him and shouted, just a long string of nonsensical syllables. Bucky repeated his sentence, and the two of them called up into the night, while the last of the fireworks exploded and extinguished themselves in the dark sky and the cool wind, sending shots of color raining down onto New York.

And Steve remembered why fireworks were his favorite thing in the entire world.