Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deep breath in, two, three, four.

Deep breath out, two, three, four.

There was a song Bucky’s father used to sing when he was feeling particularly carefree. Upbeat and cheerful, Bucky had struggled to remember it in the time since his mind had been restored to him.  

Now, though, it came to him. For a moment he was transported back. Before the Winter Soldier, before the war, before he’d even met Steve, if there was such a time. The melody took him away and he embraced the respite gladly.

In the twenty first century, people seemed to imagine that everyone in the forties was grey and dower and serious. Bucky’s dad had been none of those things. He laughed and he danced and he sang.

“I've got the blues, and up above it's so fair. Shoes, go on and carry me there.” In Bucky’s memory, his father had stopped, smile on his face, as he spotted his young son spying on him from behind the kitchen door. “What you hiding for, Jamie, lad?” he’d asked, eyes twinkling. “I'll build a stairway to paradise, with a new step every day.”

Perhaps it should have alarmed Bucky more than it did, that he remembered it now, in the midst of his first mission after being declared officially safe for action. Perhaps. The melody danced in his head, though. It was as if his father was there with him, singing under his breath, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he shined his shoes.

Deep breath in, two, three, four.

Behind the shelter of a tall marble column, Bucky remained still. His long hair fluttered across his face, though he took no notice. His eyes were fixed on the action in the hall below, cool fingers curled around his sniper’s trigger, ready to squeeze.

Deep breath out, two, three, -

“Barnes!”

Bucky blinked, intent on ignoring the Falcon until he learned to shut his Goddamn mouth. He set his eyes once more on the scene, easy to view from his vantage point. “Barnes, do you copy?” the voice chimed again through his earpiece. At least it seemed to be mission critical information this time. The tactical benefits of an open line of communication notwithstanding, Bucky didn’t think he’d ever met a collection of people more prone to voicing every single one of their unnecessary thoughts.

They were in the heart of Kiev city, a straightforward mission at the request of King T’Challa. Break into the building, secure the goods, get the hell back out again. They had intended to enter without alerting security, but that had gone to hell. Bucky’s eyes followed the path of Steve’s elbow as he struck the face of one of their adversaries. The sickening crack cut through the air. The building around them was elaborate, ornate. Bucky had taken half a moment on their arrival to register the stupidity of storing such high value assets in such an old building. These amateurs probably didn’t know the worth of what they had.

“Take the left flank,” Wilson carried on, heedless of the warning in Bucky’s silence. “Natasha’s got three engaged, cover her.”

Bucky growled. His current point gave him coverage of most of the hall. That far left, though, just a little out of reach. He shoved himself away from the column, picking his way over the debris of the balcony. The echoing grunts of hand to hand combat sang from the hall.

If you couldn’t beat them. “Steve,” he called through the comms.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve’s answer came straight away, only a little breathless.

“That song my pa was always singing,” he said, steadfastly ignoring the idea of the others listening in. “I remembered it.”

“‘Stairway to Paradise’? That’s great. It sure was an earworm,” Steve chuckled softly. “Had a nice voice, your dad.”

Bucky grunted. “Sure did.”

The Widow was at the far side of the room now, her assailants trapped against the wall.

Three combatants would cause Romanoff no trouble at all. There was no need for him to help her. He had his orders, though. He narrowed his lips. It was far too early to argue. How would the others react if he tested limits of their trust? He’d save that for another day, maybe, when they weren’t in the heat of battle.

Bucky crouched down behind the balustrade, resting his eye against his sight viewer. The gun clinked against his new metal arm, courtesy of T’Challa, the weight of it making hardly any impact at all. Behind the small gathering of masked enemies, a mural of a rolling landscape adorned the wall, tinted green. A small smile played on Bucky’s lips. Taking out these men would be altogether too easy. They were fish in a barrel.

The assailants continued to put up a fight, unaware how close they were to having a bullet embedded in their skulls. Petty criminals hired to guard a precious treasure, their boss clearly had no clue that he’d attracted the likes of them; ex-Avengers and assassins.

Fish in a barrel.

Fish that someone else could surely deal with. His forehead crinkled and he let his shoulders drop. It was notion had been gnawing away at him since the start of the mission. It was painfully obvious to him that Steve had just brought him along for the ride. This whole charade was nothing more than a dummy run. The knowledge weighed heavy on Bucky’s chest in that moment, his finger hovered next to the trigger, though his expression remained stoic. You didn’t get to become one of the most feared assassins with a face like an open book.

The initial pleasure of Steve asking him to make up the team had evaporated not long after, leaving him hollow. He’d been grateful that Steve had asked, excited to show his skill set even. Now the memory simply left him embarrassed. How pathetic was he, that Steve was having to use the training wheels with him. Jesus.

No, he was only there for one reason.

To pass a test.

Hell, he was sick of tests.

He stared down at the hall. Romanoff was spinning around on the shoulders of one man, surely about to meet his maker. Wilson was leading one of their assailants on a merry chase, his wings stretched out, filling up the hall. The Scarlet Witch was up in the rafters, out of sight, pulling men around the room like marionettes. Steve slammed his fist into the helmet of one of the security officers. The idiot deserved it, surely, for being stupid enough to try his luck. Why the hell was Captain America - ex Captain America, whatever he was calling himself these days - wasting his time on such small fry? Why the hell were any of them there?

This mission was a joke. The security they were up against were amateurs. Bucky was being Goddamn babysat.

Sure, when Steve had approached him, it had seemed like a great idea. Rumours had been rife on the black market for some time about a jewel harbouring magical abilities. Naturally, when those whispers were told directly into the ears of the Wakandan King, they’d been enlisted to help. Apparently the king had looked beyond the twinkling of precious gems and seen a weapon of indescribable power.

That’s what Steve had said. Naturally.

The plan was a simple affair. The weapon was supposedly being kept in the heart of Kiev, in a secure vault underneath a private residence. In, out. No need to even break out a sweat. Even if they encountered interference, it would be nothing to worry about.

Bucky had been glad his first time out with the team would be so straightforward, for God’s sake. Anger and embarrassment flared up inside him again, just as it had done the moment he’d first figured it out.

It had been a ruse and he’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

Below him, Steve flipped on of the security team over. They crashed to the floor, letting out a short scream. Dust clouded the air around them.

Steve. That was it. The second they got back to Wakanda, Steve was going to get a piece of his mind, no doubt. For now, he would keep his focus on getting to that weapon as soon as possible - God, if there even was such a thing - and getting out of there.

Bucky set his face back down to find his target. The assailant’s head danced along the cross of his sniper’s sight. Romanoff’s vivid red hair flew into frame every few seconds, obscuring his view. The grunts and shouts and smacking sounds of flesh hitting flesh chorused below. Someone screamed. The dust from falling debris stuck in his throat.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He squeezed the trigger.

Blood spurted from the attacker's throat as he fell to the ground. Romanoff had clocked it. He could tell in the shifting of her stance, the subtle refocusing of her attentions.

He took the second fighter down without pause. It was muscle memory to him now.

It was muscle memory to all of them by now, no doubt. The Secret Avengers, as Wilson had called them, ever so droll. Bucky had wanted to be a part of that team so badly. Ever since he’d been hauled out of that cryochamber to Steve’s smiling face, telling him that it was all going to be just fine. He’d submitted to every single request they’d made, in order to be certified safe. He hadn’t fought back, hadn’t protested, hadn’t complained. He’d been polite, for the love of God.

And he still wasn’t trusted.

Sure, Steve would probably argue that it was only reasonable to start with something small. That it was sensible. And all right, maybe Bucky would’ve done the same. It was just that, Steve hadn’t even have the gall to say it to his face. He’d lied to him; told him he was needed, told him he was essential . Told him he could help.

Bucky would have taken it, if Steve had told him they were easing him in slowly. He could’ve, if he had been given the chance. He didn’t need to be tiptoed around like some dangerous, unstable threat.

A dull aching in his joints pulled him from his thoughts. The cold had begun to creep into his body like the mistrust in his mind. He needed to move. A waste of time mission or not, he wasn’t going to sit around and let the other’s be proven right. He grabbed his rifle, scrambling over the remnants of a fallen wall to find the perfect perch for his attack. Steve wanted him to be part of the team? He’d show them all just what he could do.

There were fifteen targets in the hall left to neutralise. Bucky worked his way down systematically, taking them out one at a time. His gun hummed under his hands each time he took a shot.

Breath in.

Three on the balcony opposite, away from the fight. Dead.

One to his right, searching for a quick retreat. On the ground before he reached the door.

Four near the door, guarding their escape. All dropped.

Two launching themselves towards Wilson as he lined up his missiles. No more.

Three facing off with Romanoff, fear written across their faces. He saved her the trouble.

Two circling around Steve, crouched and ready to pounce. A satisfying thud as they hit the floor.

Breath out.

He jumped down from his hideaway, landing silently on the dusty floor. Around him, the bodies lined the floor, the room quiet once more. Easy. Maybe it had been worth his coming. The thought hardly had a chance to form in his mind before his still stung pride shoved it away.

He shouldered his rifle and waited for the others to emerge from the carnage.

Wilson came to a gentle landing a few feet away, his sturdy metal wings collapsing into a neat little package behind his shoulders. “So much for going easy on them.”

With a scowl, Bucky folded his arms and squared up to him, revelling in his slight height advantage.

“Next time, don’t distract me,” he barked.

The flicker of confusion in Wilson’s eyes, obvious even behind his goggles, had Bucky flexing his jaw. Maybe he was overreacting.

“I’m not a mind reader, buddy,” Wilson said with a small tip of his head. “Gotta make sure we’re all covered.”

“That ain’t what I said.” Bucky tucked his hair behind his ear, leaning closer. In a steady voice, he added, “I know what I’m doing, all right?”

Wilson hummed, the typical carefree lightness in his voice notably absent. “I know you know. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“I’m a sniper. I cover people. It’s what I do.” Bucky shifted closer still. His fingers dug against his own bicep. “Just ‘cause you ain’t seeing me, doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything.”

“All right, man. Jesus.” Wilson raised his arms in surrender. Bucky backed down a little. “That’s not what I meant.”

Floating down in a cloud of red, Wanda raised a well defined eyebrow in Bucky’s direction. He sniffed. Wanda only smiled, her gaze falling to Steve as he strode over to the group with Romanoff in tow.

“Couldn’t have done that sooner, Buck?” he teased. It was clear he was happy to have Bucky around for the mission. He’d been gone long enough. Still, Bucky was allowed to be angry. He was allowed. “Think I pulled a muscle throwing that guy off me.”

Steve nudged the lifeless body of one of the larger security officers. He was talking a load of bullshit, of course. Pulled a muscle. If he’d been in a better mood, Bucky would’ve laughed.

“Send me in first next time,” he replied dryly. Steve frowned at him. Bucky held his gaze. “Where now?”

Steve kept Bucky under his scrutiny for a moment more before his eyes slipped away. He set his jaw.

“The intel T’Challa received from his informants places the weapon two stories down on the lower levels,” Steve explained, the other four gathered close. “Keep your briefing in mind, folks. We still have two, possibly three security access points to tackle.”

As annoyed as he was, Bucky soaked up the feeling. Being back in the field with Steve, it felt familiar and comfortable. The other man’s blue eyes caught the light as he looked between them all, that fierce determination that Bucky had always known was there for the world to see. It was a victory, Steve being there and Bucky standing beside him once more. It was a victory. It didn’t make Steve perfect. It didn’t make Bucky perfect, either. Maybe Steve wasn’t as aware of Bucky’s failures as he was.

“Nat, can we still get down there?” Steve smiled a little as he spoke, white teeth sparkling. “I have an inkling they’ll be expecting us now.”

Romanoff smirked back and Bucky let out a short huff. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he did. She was clever, confident, charming, all things Bucky used to pride himself for. But she was also reserved, and she was observant, and she had the lot of them wrapped around her little finger. Hard to believe, really, that the bunch of them trusted her but kept him in their periphery. The pair were more alike than anyone cared to admit.

It was a little different with Wilson. Bucky was sure the two of them would get on like a house on fire, if they didn’t keep rubbing each other the wrong way. It was funny, the little things that could get in the way when the pressure was on.

Wanda was by far Bucky’s favourite, behind Steve, of course. Not that he showed it in any outward capacity. She must know, though. She had a kind heart. A true fighter for the little guy. She reminded him of Steve in that way.

“It’ll be two doors,” Romanoff said. “And sure we can still get in,” she shrugged, a smile threatening her red lips. “We’ll be long gone by the time they manage to get back up here. This is amateur hour, Steve. It’s practically a holiday.” Her tone was teasing. And God, didn’t Bucky want that? To laugh and joke with the team, with Steve. And he could. The only person stopping him was himself. Wasn’t that the rub?

Steve stood up straight. “Well, all right then,” he called, beginning to jog backwards towards the elevator. “Let’s get a move on.”

Bucky took a deep breath and followed him.

~

Bucky was pissed. Steve could almost feel it coming off him in waves as they descended the emergency staircase.

Of course this would happen, he was an idiot for not laying his cards on the table. Even when they were kids, Steve would always find himself on the hard end of a shove when he kept Bucky in the dark.

Grimacing, he ran a hand through his hair. He’d let it grow a little longer in the last few months, just a little more old fashioned. His hope had been that it might help Bucky feel more at ease around him, more open, more trusting. Not that he’d ever say that to Bucky. Wasn’t that his problem right there?

Heat rushed to his cheeks. What a nostalgic fool he was. He couldn’t even hide behind his helmet anymore. God, he missed that helmet.

A light cough sounded ahead of him and Steve raised his eyes to Nat’s smirking face. Beside her Sam chimed, “We’ll take care of this one. Piece of cake.” He nodded to the large metal doors they’d reached barring their entry to the corridor beyond. A simple keypad was affixed to the wall at one side, as sleek and clean as the rest of the corridor. “Reckon I could do this one myself.”

“Do you now?”

Sam’s eyes widened at Nat’s words. She stepped away from the door, shoulders raised as if to say ‘she’s all yours’.

“Seriously?” Sam’s face lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Don’t take all day about it,” Steve added, as the two of them got to work.

Resting against the wall, Bucky was staring listlessly at the pair. His lips were pressed together, the ghost of a pout. Steve spared a glance towards Wanda. She was busy watching the others with an amused smirk as Nat teased Sam about his apparently weak code breaking stance. It was nice, at least, to see the others getting something out of the mission. It couldn’t always be near death escapes and self sacrifice.

With a soft thud he dropped back to the wall next to Bucky, pausing for a moment for him to offer something up. Anything, to let Steve know where his head was at. He didn’t, of course, keeping his gaze to the dusty floor.

Even now, didn’t Bucky look just beautiful. Steve had been racked with guilt that, when Bucky had been stuck in his cyrochamber. Sometimes he’d visit him and let his eyes linger on long eyelashes, high cheekbones, and full lips. He was just as enchanting now as he had been back in Brooklyn. Some of Steve’s most cherished memories were of the nights they’d snuck out to the dancehall, sweat on Bucky’s brow, both grinning wide, flushed with a rush of adrenaline.

Of course, he didn’t look the same now. He’d suffered, and those years of fighting to live showed. The weight of his new metal arm skewed his posture, no matter how light T’Challa had made it. But Steve loved him all the same.

Steve was struck at that moment with the overwhelming urge to see Bucky smile. Just for a moment, just a small smile, like they were dancing again.

“It's madness, to be always sitting around in sadness, when you could be learning the steps of gladness.” His singing voice was nothing to write home about, but as he warbled his way through, softly and quietly so as not to startle, he thought he was doing okay.

“Leave it,” Bucky croaked.

Steve stopped, teeth digging into his lips. “They did a new version, you know,” he offered after a few moments.

Bucky turned his head, a single eyebrow raised. He was making such an effort, even on his off days, he tried so hard. Steve shifted, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “They?” Bucky asked.

“Some guy. In the fifties.” Steve shrugged. “Was pretty popular, so I’m told.” He folded his arms and broke out a chagrined smile. Bucky loved to hate that smile, or at least he used to. “Old hat now, of course.” He flicked his gaze across Bucky’s features. Should he try his luck? “It was a musical,” he ventured. “We could watch it, I’m sure T’Challa -”

“No.”

Well. At least it was an answer. “Come on, Bucky. You like musicals.”

Bucky nostrils flared, his lips thinned. He looked a little pained. “Maybe another one,” he relented, running a hand across his face. “Just not that one.” Bucky looked right at him then. “Not that song.” Steve bit his cheek to keep quiet. That wasn’t a definite no. He could work with that.

“Thinking of your pa?” he pushed as gently as he could, images of Art Barnes humming that song under his breath coming to the forefront of his mind. Bucky answered him with one solemn nod and Steve murmured, “All right.” Art had died over sixty years ago. Steve had gone looking for information on him after it became apparent that nobody was going to provide him with any more files about the past. To S.H.I.E.L.D., Art was just the father of his friend. In reality he’d been family. He had a grave over at St John’s right next to Minnie, under the shadow of a flourishing pin oak tree. Tom had a spot there, too.

Steve sighed, “Well, maybe we could visit, you know. A quick trip, wouldn’t be any trouble -”

“Steve,” Bucky cut him off.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “I just - It’s the first time you’ve mentioned him.”

Undeterred, Bucky simply said, “Later,” in a rough voice.

If Steve had had the chance he would have questioned what the hell ‘later’ actually meant. However, the loud clanging of the heavy metal door falling open echoed around the room. Steve gritted his teeth against the sound. There was no one apart from them to hear it.

“Yes!” Sam crowed, fists raised, victorious, above his head. “Call me Sam Houdini Wilson. They’ll make a spy out of me yet.”

“I’ll alert the relevant authorities,” Nat drawled, though a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

They walked in concentrated silence down corridors. The dark and cold atmosphere reminded Steve increasingly of the dungeons in some ancient manor. Fluorescent lights flickered above while the sounds of their boots echoed off the walls.

“I can open the next one.”

Steve almost startled at the sound of Wanda’s voice. She sent him a crooked smile, bringing her hands up near his face and twirling them just so. The delicate swirls of scarlet energy twisted through her fingers.

“I don’t think we need that,” he replied, nodding towards her hands. The red reflected in her eyes as he spoke.

“I know we don’t need it. But it would be quicker.” Wanda laughed, small and melodic.

Memories of Lagos flickered through his mind. The heat from the explosion, the dust, the screaming. “No, I know.” He avoided her eye. “Best not to draw attention to ourselves, though. If we start using powers, it might get picked up by someone less easier to control. Better safe than sorry.” He smiled and Wanda’s face fell. Giving him a brisk nod she sped up her pace to join Nat at the front of the group.

Shit. Now Wanda was mad at him, too. It wasn’t even midday. The faint twinges of annoyance were spreading through him when Bucky came up to his elbow. “Nice going, pal.”

Steve snapped his neck to face him. “What?” he rushed.

“I’m just saying, ease up.”

“Me ease up?” Steve huffed. “You’re the one being short with me. This is an easy mission. There ain’t any need for fireworks.”

“Sure is,” Bucky said, barking out a humourless laugh.

“Oh?” Steve almost stopped walking. He turned to where Bucky prowled at his side.

“An easy mission,” Bucky clarified.

And there was the shove. Almost missed it. It didn’t leave any bruises, but it hurt just as much. Of course Bucky wasn’t going to let him off the hook. When did he ever?

“Bucky,” Steve said. His voice sounded desperate even in his own ears. “Come on, be reasonable. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, that’s all.”

Bucky shrugged, eyebrows raised, gaze falling at a point to the left of Steve’s face. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve eyed him dubiously. Please just look at me.

As if Steve had said it out loud, Bucky did. “Sure,” he said. His lips twisted into a sneer, disguised as a smile, his eyes wide and fierce. Steve recognised that look. “What’s the verdict, then?” Bucky asked, no warmth in his voice.

Steve stared, brow furrowed.

“Have I passed? Your little obstacle course? Do I get to join the wondrous leagues of the amazing Avengers, mightiest of all the -”

“Yeah, all right, Buck. I’m sorry.” He cut Bucky off with an eye roll. Although he was somewhat pleased to see him so animated. “You’re doing so well. That’s all it was,” he tried to explain. “You’ve been doing so well, I didn’t want you to think we didn’t think you could take on the big stuff.”

Bucky paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “But you don’t?” he asked. “Think I can take on the big stuff?”

“Oh, geez. No.” Steve slumped his shoulders and took a step closer to Bucky. “I know you can.” He hesitated for a second, his hand hovering at Bucky’s shoulder before he brought it down. He could feel the heat from Bucky’s skin against his palm.

It seemed to go a fair way in soothing Bucky’s mood. Maybe he’d been more nervous about this first mission than he’d let on.

“Then next time, just say it,” Bucky said. “I’m not a child, Steve. I can handle it. Just don’t lie to me.”

Steve could’ve sworn he saw a fond twinkle in his eyes, looking up at him through long lashes.

Steve bit down on his bottom lip. He took a tentative step closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I won’t. I am sorry, really.” He let his hand glide up from Bucky’s shoulder to curl around his neck. He wanted Bucky to know he was sincere. That he wouldn’t deliberately hurt him. Bucky’s breath warmed his cheeks where they stood so close.

A firm pressure against Steve’s chest had him stumbling backwards. “Not in front of,” Bucky trailed off, a gentle nod to the corridor ahead of them.

Down the hall, Nat and Wanda were small, kneeling against the backdrop of the massive door. The second and final obstacle between them and their mission’s purpose. Sam was leaning against a wall, face turned away.

“None of them are looking,” Steve started. “Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve told you -”

“I know it’s allowed. I get that.” He ground his jaw. “Maybe I just don’t want the whole world knowing my business.”

That hit home, the old fear that Steve wasn’t worth telling anyone about. It had always been Bucky that promised him he was, who had told him he didn’t care what the whole world said, that he loved who he loved. Seventy years was a long time, could someone really change their mind so completely? He needed to calm down. Of course Bucky still loved him, they were centuries past doubting that. So what if the way he showed it had changed? As long as Steve still had him. As long as he was okay. Now was not the time to worry over something so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

He fought to pull himself together, watching Bucky stalk away towards the door. Sam was turned towards him now, his disapproving glare in plain sight. Steve stood straighter under the scrutiny and went to join the others.

Sam’s disapproval wasn’t a surprise. It was clear that he didn’t like Bucky coming out with them on a mission so soon, if at all. He’d said as much to Steve on numerous occasions. All the time Sam had argued that it wouldn’t do Bucky any good, but Steve just couldn’t see it that way.

He shook his head at Sam’s questioning look as he approached the door.

“Almost there,” Nat called from over her shoulder. “Of course, we’d be on the jet home by now if you’d have let Wanda do what she’s best at.”

“That’s enough,” Steve snapped, immediately regretting it as Nat, Sam and Wanda all stared at him in alarm.

“All right, then,” Nat breathed, pulling her hand away from the strange looking lock. The lock itself was placed where you’d traditionally find a keyhole. The door was much older than the first, made of cast iron and soldered together, much like an old safe.

Steve cleared his throat, watching the heavy door swing open to reveal a dark room beyond. He stepped through the opening without hesitation, the others following him, his attention on the mission once more.

The room was empty, save for a tall plinth in the middle holding what, Steve could only assume, was the weapon they were sent there for.

They approached with caution.

“Wonderful.” Sam’s voice broke through the silence. “It’s a weird glowing … pebble?”

“You’re not wrong.” Steve stared at the tiny object, dazzling white and no bigger than the nail on his pinkie finger. He’d seen stranger. “Pack up the pebble,” he called out. “Let’s get out of here.”

~

The air conditioned room cooled Bucky’s skin and he closed his eyes against Wilson, Romanoff, and Wanda’s chatter.

They were back in Wakanda now, having secured their precious payload. Precious. Bucky almost laughed as he glanced at the glittering stone on the table. A vocal part of him was warning that he shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. Think of Steve. Pint sized and stick thin, before he got blasted with super serum, he still had the beating heart of a warrior. The other part of him - the part who was tired, whose pride had been hurt, who couldn’t get that damn song out of his head - that part just was not in the mood to wait around any longer.

“Is there a reason we’ve not been debriefed yet?” It had been a while since he’d been in the field, sure, but there was no reason for them to be cooped up together for so long.

“T’Challa takes his time about things.” Natasha leant back in her chair, kicking her legs up onto the table. “Maybe they’re swapping tips on how to get blood out of a super suit,” she smirked.

Bucky ignored her and let out a weary sigh. Steve had gone to report back to T’Challa as soon as they’d arrived back at base, leaving the rest of them to guard the stone. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t comfortable in this place without Steve. He was grateful to T’Challa, to everyone who had managed to loosen Hydra’s grip on his brain, of course he was. But he couldn’t get comfortable in this place. It was too quiet, too clean, too far away. Nothing like Brooklyn, or home.

Not that it would be any good to go back there. All those people, loud and close, he’d hate that just as much.

Nowhere was home. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that, especially not Steve. That guy got a dreamy look on his face whenever anyone so much as thought the words New York in his vicinity.

He let out another groan, scuffing his boots on the floor. “It was an easy mission. I’m sure it’s not that complicated.” He stepped up to the table, reaching out his flesh and blood hand to the stone. “Let’s just -”

“Barnes, cool it,” Wilson shouted.

It was the first time he could remember Wilson raising his voice. “It’s a piece of rock,” he grumbled, though he dropped his hand to his side. “It was being protected by Goddamn night guards. T’Challa’s making a fuss over nothing. Wanda could’ve picked this up by herself, no problem.”

Even as he spoke, he wished that he could be kinder. It was like he’d forgotten how. He used to be so charming. He used to be loved by everyone he met. Now he was tolerated.

It pained him to think that the old Bucky Barnes was dead and gone. Everyone else had a chance to grieve him, except for him. But he’d done enough grieving, surely. Maybe he could perform a miracle instead - another one - and bring him back to life.

Tomorrow. He would do better. Today was a write off, and that was fine. He’d crawl back to their quarters and call it a night. Tomorrow he’d apologise and play nice.

“Well, maybe Steve figures we needed a team building exercise,” Wilson replied. “I’m sure, once T’Challa has de-briefed him, he will pass it on.”

Bucky sucked his teeth, nodding his head. Wilson and Romanoff relaxed their stances.

After a moment a small voice said, “Thanks.”

Bucky raised his eyes to Wanda. “What for?” he asked, forehead creasing a little.

She sent him a wry smile, her hair falling in wisps across her face. “Saying I could have done it,” she explained. “You’re right.”

Feminine and firey, Wanda reminded him so strongly of the girls he used to take dancing with him. He’d charm them, loving to hear them giggle and fawn. He’d have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Right now, he didn’t know what to say. “S’alright,” he mumbled, turning to settle in the corner of the room. Maybe he wasn’t the only one in the room that Steve wrapped in cotton wool.

The minutes marched by.

“How do you think you turn it on?”

Bucky turned listlessly towards Wilson, who had taken a seat by the stone. He was leaning on his forearms, narrowed eyes focused on the shimmering rock.

“It’s a rock,” Bucky drawled, pausing his pacing to level Wilson with an unimpressed look. “There is no turning it on. And I thought we weren’t touching it.”

Wilson grunted. “‘Sposed to be a weapon. Must be a way to activate it, or what’s the point?”

“You’re the point,” Bucky dismissed, turning his back to stare out of the window. The thick green leaves of the Wakandan jungle clambered up the walls of the building.

His brother would have loved this. Tom had always wanted to be an explorer, dressing up as Shackleton and pretending to conquer the Arctic. He’d had a hell of an imagination, that kid. Probably much more suited to getting frozen in time and sent to the future than Bucky or Steve ever could be. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He pictured his father and brother. The smell of home. The familiarity of the house he grew up in. The memories of his mother in every corner.

The last time he’d seen them was when he left for basic, seventy four years ago. Seven years ago. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to them. Tom had only been twelve, for heaven’s sake. He’d been wearing long socks still.

I'm gonna get there at any price. Stand aside, I'm on my way.

“There’s got to be something.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, his growing impatience getting the better of him. “Why don’t we have a look?” he suggested. Before the others had a chance to stop him, he took two long strides towards the table and reached out with his right hand.  

“No, wait, don’t -”

His fingers closed around the stone. Air rushed from his lungs. He had enough time to register the strange warmth emanating from the gem, moving through his palm, up through his arm, shoulder, chest, and then -

~

Steve lingered in the shadows of King T’Challa’s security room and pushed away the overwhelming desire to brood. T’Challa himself sat in one of the soft, silver chairs sprawled across the room. It was easy to forget that these were Wakanda’s royal apartments. To Steve, they were so welcoming and full of charm. Reminders were ever present, though. In the constantly cool, freshly minted water that found its way into each inhabited room, in the epic landscapes, like masterpieces painted behind spotless glass windows, in the subtle but foolproof security measures running through the heart and bones of the building.

“I’m grateful for your assistance in this matter, Captain Rogers,” T’Challa offered, his voice a soft and reassuring rhythm. The room was dark save for the light from the monitors on the wall. Steve could still make out glimmers of sparkling thread adorning T’Challa’s jacket. He carried himself with a statesman like elegance and Steve was immeasurably jealous. If he’d seen T’Challa when he was a kid in Brooklyn, he would have dreamed of Wakanda from that day on.  

“Steve,” Steve responded. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his combat gear - practical, nondescript - and turned to T’Challa with a teasing smile. “I’ve been living in your home for over a year. I know you know it.”

T’Challa mirrored his smile, inclining his head before he joined Steve in front of the monitors. Directly ahead of them, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Wanda filled the screen. Dowsed in black and white, they moved silently about the frame, though their closed off body language spoke volumes. They circled a table in the middle of the room where, in the dead centre, the stone weapon sat, small and innocuous and unknown.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” T’Challa said. The sparkling rock glimmered, even through the camera.

It wasn’t that he necessarily disagreed. It was a pretty thing. When Steve was eight years old, his mother had taken him to the Natural History Museum in Manhattan. The entire trip was enshrined in Steve’s memory as something wonderful, something that couldn’t be touched, beauty and adventure filling every room. He imagined that if he’d seen the stone with the rest of the precious gems there, housed behind protective glass, he’d be just as awed with it.

Instead, he shrugged. “It’s something.”

On the monitor in front of them, Bucky was mouthing words at Sam. He jabbed his finger towards the stone on the table. He looked tired. It had been a long day.

“You really think it’s dangerous?” Steve asked with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. He wouldn’t say no to some sleep himself.

“I know it,” T’Challa answered. “Sometimes it is the most beautiful things that do the greatest harm.”

Steve hummed. “I’m not so sure.” He turned towards T’Challa, resting lightly against the wall of screens. “Can’t it be gentle? Beauty?” He was being melancholy, but didn’t stop himself. “Can’t it be delicate, to be handled with care?”

His gaze stayed on T’Challa’s face as the other man watched the screens. The flickering light twinkled in his eyes.

“I think we are both correct, Captain,” he said, meeting Steve’s gaze. He breathed in a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled and he corrected himself. “ Steve .” After a moment, he followed Steve’s lead and turned his back to the screens. There was a comforting, considered warmth to his voice as he asked, “The mission was not too demanding?”

“No,” Steve shot out, half amused. “No, we’re happy to help.”

T’Challa looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “And Sergeant Barnes? A simple mission to aid his recovery, I hope.”

“He doesn’t quite see it that way.”

“He is progressing well. We must allow him to learn how he feels once more.”

Steve nodded, tracing the ridge of his knuckles. “I know. I know that.” He took a fortifying breath and added with a grimace, “I don’t think it was just the mission. He said some things about -” Steve paused. How far should he go? He’d learnt first hand the value of one’s own history. But T’Challa was surely safe ground? “About his family. Not a good day, overall.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Eventually T’Challa found the words he’d been searching for. “We must treasure them,” he said. “All the same; the good days and the not so good.”

A smile spread across Steve’s face. “Oh, don’t worry. I do. I -”

The room jolted then, a strange sensation travelling through Steve, stopping him in his tracks. It was as if all the sound had been sucked from the world around him. A second later, the buzz of audible silence returned with a ‘pop’, another tremor washing through the room, rattling the fixtures.

He turned a frown to T’Challa, who looked equally bemused.

Behind T’Challa’s shoulder, the camera feed from the gem room glowed bright in the dark. The scene it showed, however, was vastly different than the previous moment.

“Where are they?” Steve asked, heart beating wildly, as T’Challa spun on the spot. “Where’d they go? What - What the hell?”

The stone rolled along the floor in the middle of the room. The large table was upended, chairs thrown haphazardly along the floor. The lights flickered on and off. Sam, Nat, and Wanda were nowhere to be seen. And Bucky was gone.

~

Bucky dropped his tumbler back onto the bar.

The upbeat music jarred in his chest, loud and fast and brass. He stared at the glass as it spun in circles against the wet wood, clattering to a halt. Clouds of cigarette smoke stung his nostrils. The quick shuffle of feet against floorboards. Lights flickering as the barman lent forward, straining to hear an order over the band.

It seeped into his skin and he dropped his shoulders, sinking down to the warmth.

How much had he had to drink? He frowned, trying to remember arriving. Had he come straight from work? Jesus, had he come alone?

The stool scratched against the floor as he pushed himself away from the bar. His feet stumbled beneath him and a strong hand held him up.

“Been busy,” the man said with a laugh. Bucky hardly heard.

“Sorry - Sorry, pal. I’m - I’m heading home.”

The guy nodded, already turning back to a smaller man who was pulling him eagerly towards the dance floor.

The crowd was thick; Elmo’s always got busy later. Shit, he needed air. He needed a cigarette. Bile crept up the back of his throat. Skin flushed, after trying and failing to find a path through the throng of people, he skirted around the edges, closing his eyes as the band played louder. In front of him, couples spun, laughter rising in swirls above their heads.

Bucky half clambered up the stairs to the street. Sweating and clammy the relief of the evening air washed over him.

This must be a hallucination.

It was late, the cool night air biting at his skin. He took several deep breaths. This wasn’t where he was meant to be. Think. Goddamnit, Barnes, think. He’d been with Steve, hadn’t he? Or, or someone else. They’d been arguing. His head hurt and he groaned, dropping his face to his palm. Wilson! Wilson and Wanda and, shit - He blinked rapidly, gulping in air, trying to slow down his heart rate.

The Widow. Romanoff. The stone, God, he’d touched the stone and he’d gone flying. When had that been? His brain was slow to catch up, like he slept for a hundred years since then.

It came rushing back. The war, the cold, the pain. The Winter Soldier. The Triskelion. Wakanda.

Bucky could hardly breathe.

Maybe it was a dream?

It was two thousand and seventeen. He remembered the clean whiteness of the corridors. The close heat of the jungle. The mechanical whir of his metal arm.

Oh, Jesus. He baulked, tugging his sleeve back to his elbow. Even as he did so he knew the metal was gone. The warmth of his flesh and blood so familiar, he hadn’t even noticed its reappearance. Cold air hit his skin, hairs standing on end.

Jogging over to a nearby store window, he squinted at his reflection in the glass. It was as if a stranger was staring back at him. Or someone he’d met years ago and lost touch with. His hair was short, parted at the side. Slick with the pomade he used to style it with. Clean shaven, his shirt and jacket were smart. Looking down at his trousers, he was sure they’d been freshly pressed. He used to take such care in his appearance.

Oh, this was absurd. He was back in Brooklyn. Back in time. Back where he belonged.

He ground his teeth. Hadn’t this been what he wanted? He’d been feeling sorry for himself all day, racking through the past, craving something familiar. All because of that song. If he hadn’t remembered it, he would never have been getting all sappy about his dad. He would -

Bucky stopped in the street.

His dad. His dad was still alive.

The unassailable urge to hear his father’s voice overtook him. When had he last heard him? The prospect seemed too dazzling to be true.

Not recognising where he was, or perhaps he didn’t remember, he searched for a street sign, eyes darting all over. The corner of Smith and Third. That was near Luquer Street. He could be at his pa’s place in fifteen minutes.

He flew down the sidewalk, skidding around corners and darting in front trucks making deliveries for the next morning. He careened into a group of young people, not stopping and ignoring their jeers. It felt like he hardly drew breath before he slammed against his father’s front door.

The wood was rough against his fingertips. In an instant Bucky was ten years old again, racing back from the greengrocers, his dad sitting in the kitchen in his shirt sleeves listening to the radio. Would that be how he’d find him now? As if no time had gone at all?

He swung the door open and stepped over the threshold.

Standing in the entry of the house he grew up in, Bucky eyed the ceiling, so much closer than it had ever been as a child. Of course he’d visited the house regularly in his adulthood, but everything about the place - its smell, the slow ticking of the clock in the hall, the chunks in the skirting boards - took him back to his youth. Before the guilt, before the war, before the fighting. He steadied himself against the wall, fearing he’d fall.

“You been at Elmo’s again?” Art Barnes called to him from the doorway of his small lounge. Over his shoulder, a lamp doused the room in a dim light. “You shouldn’t get so drunk when you go out, Jamie,” his dad admonished, wire rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. “You need your wits about you.”

A bubble of laughter worked its way up Bucky’s throat. “Pa,” he gasped, hand over his mouth. “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, Pa.”

Art Barnes was a tall man, even as the life he’d lived stooped his shoulders, weighing him down. His hair was thinning, though still a dirty blond and curling by his ears where he’d left it longer. There was little family resemblance between father and son, though Bucky had been thrilled when he reached his father’s height. They had the same eyes, although Bucky’s were more open than Art’s had ever been. As a child, Bucky had known his father to be a kind soul. Soft, his mother had always said, a fond smile on her face. As he’d grown up he’d appreciated more and more how his father had borne his situation. More suited to a quiet life he revelled in Sunday walks, reading in the evening, and neatly cuffed shirts, he’d instead accepted his role as a labourer, hard and brusk. He’d always remained the same at home, though. When only Bucky and Tom were left to see; all the family they’d needed, rolled into one.

Taking in his somewhat ragged appearance, his father rolled his eyes. “It’s the middle of February, this isn’t Sicily. Did you come out without a coat?”

It was as if Bucky had forgotten how to speak. His mouth moved, but he couldn’t find the words. His eyes fell to the floor and he spotted a familiar school bag dropped carelessly to the floor. “Is - Is Tom here?” he stammered.

Art frowned at this. “Of course he is. He’s in bed.” Stepping closer, he flicked a finger at Bucky’s face. “You’re looking a touch green around the gills.”

“Pa,” Bucky croaked. “Pa, I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” He pulled at his hair, floundering in a world the felt so real beneath his fingers, yet it couldn’t be, surely it couldn’t? “I just - I have to check on Steve -” he muttered. “I -” His father studied him through narrowed eyes. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky rushed before closing the distance between them and embracing his father. It was strange behaviour for a brief stop at his dad’s house, but he couldn’t leave it. If it was a fluke, and this was the only chance he’d ever see his father again? Well.

“You’re getting me worried, lad,” Art spoke over his shoulder, though he sounded more amused than anything. Bucky gently peeled away with a slight grimace.

“Don’t - Please, don’t,” he replied, already reaching out for the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow, I will.”

His feet were taking him home, muscle memory kicking in. There was the greengrocers that Bucky stopped off at after work. Over the road was the theatre where he and Steve had seen the ‘King of Jazz’. Not too far from here was the street where he’d had his first kiss. A lifetime of memories flickered by on the path to his apartment, focused and falling apart all at once.

Perhaps that was why he was so off his game.

“Hey.” He heard the shout but it took a moment to register that it was aimed at him. “ Hey. ” Hands shoved him sideways and he stumbled over the cracked pavement, twisting in the dark to face his attacker.

“Get off,” he shouted.

Somebody laughed. “All it takes is for a sniff of Brooklyn air and you lose your fighting arm.” Romanoff pushed off him and he pulled himself upright, straightening his jacket. Her breath rose in front of her face in clouds. It was getting late. Behind her Wilson and Wanda were looking gloomy. They were pretty dishevelled, outfits mismatched, like they’d grabbed the first period clothes they could get their hands on.

“Or gain one, by the looks of it,” Wilson muttered from the shadows.

“Shit,” Bucky groaned. “You’re here.” As pleased as he was to see them - a feat in and of itself - their presence made the whole affair a lot more complicated.

“Damn straight we’re here,” Wilson snapped, closing into Bucky’s space. “I told you not to mess with that stone and now look.”

Bucky shifted. Wilson was very close. “Right,” he started, sidestepping the other man. Once he was back on the pavement, he shoved his hands into his pockets and let the breeze hit his face. “Because this is what you were worried about.”

“Barnes, we’ve travelled through time!” Wilson half shouted. Wanda’s eyes whipped around them, though the street was deserted.

He held up his hands. “Ah, now, hold your horses,” he said, ignoring Wilson’s menacing glower. “It could be something else.”

“Take a look around,” the other man ground out through clenched teeth.

“Could be a mass hallucination.”

Wilson cocked his head, “How’d you bake that one up?”

Bucky shrugged. “Or, some kind of science experiment.”

Stepping in between the two men Romanoff tried to reason with them, “It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Which is better?” Wanda added and they all turned to her. “What difference does it make? Looks like we’re stuck here.”

Her words were exactly what Bucky had been thinking. Though he’d been fairly pleased about the prospect, he couldn’t see the others being content to let it lie. The golden era wasn’t exactly golden, he could testify to that.

Sighing, Romanoff rounded on him again. “We need to figure out exactly what’s going on. Barnes. If this - If this is the past, you’re the only one who’s been here before.” He nodded. “We need help. Where do we go?”

“Go back to where we came from,” he said simply. Nonplussed expressions greeted him and he raised his eyebrows. Trying to keep the relish from his tone, he added, with a flourish, “Captain America.”

The staircase up to their apartment creaked just like he remembered it. “Steve,” he called. As he had expected, his key was in the inside pocket of his jacket. He couldn’t unlock the door fast enough. Hurtling over the threshold, the apartment was so instantly familiar to him it hurt. And there, just like a scene picked right from his mind, was Steve. “Steve,” he practically whispered. “Holy Christ.”

Curled up at the end of their ratty old sofa, Steve Rogers, all skin and bones and dreams, raised his head, the corner of his mouth raised in a wry smile. He snapped his sketchbook shut, grinning.

“If it isn’t Mr Buchanan, back from painting the town red,” he crowed. “What -” Steve raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting over Bucky’s shoulder. The others had followed him into the small living room, but Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away. “Oh, hi,” Steve greeted, polite and amused, as if Bucky routinely dragged strays in off the streets. He didn’t, or hadn’t. It was their apartment, Bucky had always thought of it as somewhere just for them, even if he hadn’t said as much out loud.

“Oh, my God,” was all Wilson could offer in response. He was looking at Steve like all his Christmasses had come at once. “Oh, my God.”

Steve had risen to his feet on their arrival, socked toes curling against the floorboards. He’d pushed his braces off his shoulders, his shirtsleeves gathered around his elbows. It was how he had always looked to Bucky, so unlike the trim, put together Steve Rogers that went off to work every morning.

Tucking his hair behind his ear, Steve asked, concern lacing into each word, “Are you okay?” Bucky bit down hard on his lip.

“Oh, my God,” Wilson repeated.

“Sam, close your mouth,” Romanoff grinned, clapping Wilson’s arm.

Steve nodded. “That clears that up,” he joked. He leant towards Bucky and stage whispered to him, “You gonna introduce us, Buck?” When Bucky stared back at him, he frowned a huffed out a breathy laugh. “Buck? What’s wrong with you all?”

Bucky shook himself. “Er, yeah, sure.” Licking his lips he turned wide eyes to the others.  “This - This is Wilson, er, I mean, Sam and Natasha and, er, Wanda.” He grimaced. “This is … Steve.”

Wilson and Romanoff had strange looks on their faces and Bucky’s cheeks warmed under their scrutiny, something he was sure had never happened to him before. He smiled at Wanda to recover himself, though she also seemed to be schooling her expression into something more neutral.

If it was an odd introduction, Steve didn’t comment, though Bucky was sure he’d hear about it afterwards. Although, when would that be? The others had nowhere else to go. “Evening,” Steve nodded in greeting. He was cut off by a loud yap and Bucky almost exclaimed. Eleanor! How could he have forgotten? “Shush, Eleanor,” Steve rushed, bending down to pet the elderly Boston Terrier that had padded into the room. “Landlord doesn’t like pets,” he confided, scratching at her ears. Bucky’s fingers itched.  

Biting down on a smile, Romanoff assured him, “Your secret’s safe with us.”

“Buck pick you up on his travels, then?” Steve asked, smiling pleasantly up at the lot of them.

“Something like that,” Wanda muttered.

Steve picked up on her sarcastic tone. “Something?” he asked and settled back down onto the sofa, Eleanor laying near his feet. “Sounds like a story.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky sighed. It had taken seventy years and at last he’d come home. “Wait ‘till you hear it.”

Chapter Text

Sat on the floor, the wall solid against his back, his legs stretched out in front of him, a sense of hopelessness washed through Steve. He’d promised to keep Bucky safe and he’d failed.

It was premature, he knew. In that instant, it was overwhelming.

He’s lost Bucky. Again. Again . Just when they had been getting better. Bucky had been getting better.

Around him the royal security team overrun the room, busy with purpose. He recognised a few members of the Dora Milaje, even, calm and collected, eyes surveying the bustle of activity. Smart looking people in suits talked, rapid fire into their ear pieces. The greatest scientific minds in the country were already on their way. They’d find out what happened to Steve’s friends.

The only friends he had.

T’Challa’s feet came to a stop near Steve’s knees. He raised his head, squinting a little. His features were lost in shadow by the light shining behind him.

“This is not a Steve I am familiar with, friend.” His words were soft. He’d not heard T’Challa speak since the others had vanished, had lost track of him in his own panic and the sudden call to arms.

He averted his gaze and nodded with a grimace. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Just, er, give me a minute.”

“Take all the minutes you need,” T’Challa replied. There wasn’t a trace of despair in his voice. It cowed Steve, a little, and he tried to rouse himself. They weren’t dead. They weren’t. Steve would feel it when Bucky died. He’d learnt his lesson after Bucky’s fall. This wasn’t a fatal shot; this was a wound that would heal. T’Challa crouched down at his side. “And after, we will find a way to return those that have been lost.”

Because they were. Lost. In every sense of the word.

Steve gave a wavering smile, hardly convincing himself.

Immediately after they’d spotted Bucky; Sam, Nat, and Wanda vanished from the gem room, Steve raced down there but the room was just as empty as it had appeared on the screen. A sweep of the royal residence had come back inconclusive. Nobody had seen them leave. Nobody had seen anything. Security reported that the door had remained closed the entire time. Sensors had detected nothing but a fierce surge of heat within the gem room at seven twenty six precisely, lasting for no more than three seconds.

Steve had hardly listened. Of course no traces could be found. They hadn’t walked out the door. They’d disappeared off the face of the planet.

The CCTV footage showed the wretchedness of the situation as plain as day. One minute Sam had been talking, his mouth moving around noiseless words on the screen. Bucky had been staring out of the window, but had turned around when Sam spoke. Steve couldn’t see his face, the angle of the camera was all wrong. He could see it clearly, though, when Bucky stepped up to the table, arm outstretched. He could see it clearly as the other three jumped up to stop him. He could see it clearly when Bucky’s fingers closed around the stone.

It was strange. Like a pulse of air shot through them, emanating from the stone itself. It sent them all shooting backwards, pushing the chairs and table over as it went. Before any of them could hit the ground, they fizzled out of existence.

There was no bright light. Not burst of electricity. They were just washed away on the air.

But they weren’t dead. It was almost like a mantra. They were not dead. Did he have proof? No. Did he know it for a fact? As well as he knew his own heart still beat in his chest.

Steve nodded again and T’Challa seemed to take this as a sign. “Come on,” he said, loud and full of intention. “They’re not here. There’s no reason for us to be, either.” He grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “W’Kabi, bring the stone to the laboratories. We have work to do.”

T’Challa headed towards the door and Steve paused for a moment, torn between staying there and following T’Challa. The last place Bucky had been, his last link, however tenuous to the possibility of a getting him back. Steve rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the room.

~

It took hours and hours lasted for days.

The royal laboratories in Wakanda were not like anything Steve had ever since. A world away from the exposed steel and analogue gauges of the room in which he’d been reborn, Steve usually enjoyed going down there to see the technicians in action. For so long he’d thought Tony’s manner of extraverted genius was the only way anybody could be smart in the modern world.

After watching T’Challa’s sister, Shuri, lead the technicians work for as long as he could, Steve had retreated to the safety of his apartment. He wasn’t helping anyone by standing over their shoulders as they tried to concentrate.

He made an effort to sleep, but Bucky’s absence was even more obvious in the coolness of the sheets on the right side of the bed.

Down in the gym he attempted to knock a punching bag into submission, though it wasn’t the same without Nat’s dry commentary.

He pulled food from the fridge. Something methodical would help. Raw ingredients stared back at him. It was always Sam’s friendly ribbing while they cooked together that made it enjoyable.

Pressed at the end of his sofa, he started up a new playlist that Wanda had made for him. He’d been missing some modern classics, in her opinion. She’d chosen every song just for him.

They’d made this place a home for him. As much as T’Challa welcomed him, without them, he was floating away, anchorless.

The door slid open with a gentle whoosh and T’Challa sat down beside him. He was silent for a moment. Steve turned off the music and sat forward.

“Do you know the reason I sought this stone?” T’Challa asked, turning his head to look over to Steve.

“I think you were going to tell me, before my entire team disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

“Nobody knows what it is.” T’Challa frowned a little. “What it does, how it works, is a mystery.” His gaze flicked between Steve’s eyes, apology evident before he even said the words. “I’m sorry to say, that it remains as such.”

“You can’t fix it?” Steve asked, his voice void of the terror he was feeling.

T’Challa bowed his head. “It is beyond our means, I think.”

“Will you carry on trying?”

“We will try for as long as it takes.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, fighting the urge to tell T’Challa to leave. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done his best. This is why he wanted the stone in the first place, to keep people safe. “Thank you.”

“But,” T’Challa started, sounding the most unsure Steve had ever heard him.

“But? What?”

“Some things,” he said, slow and considered. “Are bigger than we can understand.”

“What does that mean?” Steve’s heart dropped. “You’ll try but you don’t think it’ll work. We won’t get them back.”

“Science is a kind of magic, Steve, you know that.” It was funny. Everyone said that to him these days. As if Steve’s little mind couldn’t comprehend long words or figures as fact. T’Challa and Tony weren’t all that different, at least in that way. T’Challa continued, “It is all a mystery until we get to see the mechanisms inside. Everything is revealed in time. Maybe, not in time enough.” He bit his lip, seemingly searching for the right words. “The workings of the stone, are perhaps a leap too far for us.”

“What if -” Steve tried. He took a deep breath. “I can’t give up. I’m the reason they’re here.”

Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice.

He was trapped. Stuck in an endless loop. He’d been the reason Bucky had fallen the first time, had dragged him away from that ship home with the promise of adventure. What had changed? Maybe he should have just taken Nat’s advice and let him disappear.

T’Challa looked down at his hands, rubbing them together gently. Steve focused on the shining golden ring on his right hand. “There is a saying, is there not. To know when you are beaten.”

“Yeah.” The golden ring represented generations of knowledge and wisdom, passed down through the ages. No one man knew it all. “There’s another saying.” He got to his feet, back straight and shoulders square. “Two heads are better than one.”

~

Over seventy years ago, Bucky had asked Steve to stay out of trouble. Almost immediately, Steve had signed up to become the S.S.R.’s most risky guinea pig. This time, he would do better.

The last promise he made to Bucky, he would keep, no matter what. A promise he’d made the day they were reunited. The day Bucky stepped out from the cold.

Steve stood a few steps away from the cryochamber, watching the technicians work with a growing impatience he was keen to temper. They were making sure Bucky was woken up properly. Steve had waited months for this moment. He could wait a few minutes more.

The cryochamber door dropped down with a gentle hiss and a sting of cold air hit Steve’s face with surprising force. He didn’t move an inch, his eyes trained on Bucky.

They’d worked it out. They’d solved the puzzle of Hydra’s words, wrapping their tendrils around Bucky’s mind. Steve could have him back.

Please, God, let it have worked.

“Steve?” Bucky muttered, blinking his eyes open and looking a little confused as the technician unclipped the straps holding him in place. “What’s going on?” he asked, words slurred.  

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, his voice thick. He reached out, letting Bucky lean on him and clamber out of the chamber.

“It’s alright, Mr Barnes,” Shuri assured. She’d taken lead working on Bucky’s recovery. How would Steve ever repay her? “Take your time. We are in no rush today.”

Bucky frowned, listing to his right. “I’m awake,” he said. He turned to Steve, his forehead crinkled, hair falling into his eyes. “You woke me up”.

“Your time on ice hasn’t dulled your wits,” Steve replied. He had a smile plastered to his face, unable to remove it. “Good job. Any slower, you’d be going backwards.”

“Steve.” He ignored Steve’s jib, blinking owlishly. His grip on Steve’s arm tightened. “Did you figure it out?”

Steve smiled even wider, his jaw ached with it. It was so good to hear Bucky’s voice again, like a sudden oasis in the desert. “Well, I had nothing to do with it,” he admitted. “These guys,” he nodded to the handful of Wakandan technicians in lab coats around them. “Yeah, they reckon they’ve cracked it.”

“Do not sell yourself so short, Captain Rogers,” Shuri joked. Steve had built up a friendly rapport with her over the months, a result of the time he spent sitting forlornly outside Bucky’s chamber. She must’ve thought he looked lonely. “You were a great motivator.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh. Steve jerked his head towards the sound. Bucky looked just as surprised as he was. The expression melted into a fond smile that Steve had missed so deeply, he could practically feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. He wanted to feel his skin beneath his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest against his, the rough scrape of his stubble.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri interrupted the intense look the two men shared with a polite cough. “We are very confident that we have succeeded, but you will appreciate our need to be sure.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, gnawing at the flesh of his lower lip. He was clearly hesitant to embrace such a plan.

“The Captain will be on hand. We have the Dora Milaje on standby, also, should they be required.” She smiled. She had a reassuring air about her, one that Steve had picked up on their first meeting, youthful and unburdened by doubt. Bucky would soon be convinced.

Steve ran his hand up Bucky’s shoulder. “They won’t be needed, Buck,” he reassured.

The room was still as the words were spoken. No matter how sure they were that they had succeeded, it was a tense moment.

“... Gruzovoy vagon.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop. Steve held his breath. From where he was perched on the edge of the medical bed, Bucky visibly shrunk as he let out a long and wavering breath. It had worked. Relief washed through Steve so that he almost felt sick with it.

“Oh, God,” Bucky spluttered, fighting to contain himself. “I didn’t think you’d actually - I thought -” In one stride Steve crossed the room to sit beside him, his arm slung over his back. Bucky leaned into him, exhausted. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“It is my pleasure, Sergeant,” Shuri replied.

Bucky laughed. “Bucky,” he said, a little hysterical. “Bucky, please.”

Smiling, she agreed, “Bucky.” Her eyes travelled over the two of them for a second before she said, nonchalant, “We will leave you two to gather your thoughts. Showers and a change of clothes are available just through those doors, when you are ready.”

“Thank you, really,” Bucky repeated. Steve could hardly form words. “All of you.”

She smiled once more. “Well done ladies and gentlemen. A glowing success.” She rested a gentle hand on Steve’s forearm as she passed, the rest of the laboratory staff following her.

The door closed behind them with soft thump.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

The moment the words fell from his lips, Steve knew that Bucky would dismiss them. They were too glib, too inelegant, too small.

“I think I’ll be alright, Steve, even with one arm. You aren’t the only super soldier in the room,” Bucky replied.

“I don’t care.” Steve had said it, maybe not with as much poetry as he’d hoped. But he was sincere. “I’ll keep you safe, like you did me. I promise.”

Bucky sent him a nonplussed look. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, pal, but I did a pretty shitty job.” He nodded to Steve, as if to indicate his situation as a whole. An example of just how much he’d failed.

“I’m alive, ain’t I?” Steve retorted.

“Against all the odds,” Bucky drawled, a tentative exploration into his newly released personality. “Real medical marvel.”

“Makes two of us.” Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s back, his smile fading as he met Bucky’s gaze. “I’m serious, Buck. I keep my promises.”

Bucky didn’t answer, not with words. He gnawed on his lip and lowered his head, resting lightly into Steve’s neck. Hot breath fanned against his skin. Steve held him tight, kept him warm and close and real.

The rush of relief hadn’t lasted. Bucky’s joy dimmed a little each day, once the high of living again had worn away. He was still a fugitive, still hidden away, still crushed by the guilt of a life that wasn’t his own. But they’d been working to get Bucky on an upwards path, one the two of them could walk together. Steve would keep him safe. He kept the promise close to his heart, valued more to him than even Bucky could know.

~

Wilson and Wanda were talking across the room, their words become louder and more agitated the longer they were stuck in the past. Bucky found that he couldn’t get worked up about it. It was like he had been the string of a bow, drawn taught for months and months. Now, finally, he could relax. He could breathe.

The constant pain in his back was gone, now that he had his flesh and blood arm back. He felt lighter, just sitting in their apartment, on their couch, the sounds of the city beyond the window. Of course, practically, just because he was back home, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t been torn apart and put back together, frozen in time, forced out of his mind. But. It was less present. The pain was dulled. He could overcome it now, he knew he could.

“Barnes?”

“Hm?” he hummed, tearing his eyes away from the window, lights from the tenements flickering under the sky.

Hands on his hips, Wilson raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“Oh.” Bucky pushed away from the window frame. A smirk formed on his lips. It didn’t feel unnatural. “I think a lot of things,” he said, voice deep.

Wilson clicked his tongue. “You’re funny when you’re not scowling.”

He shot Wilson a grin purely to see the look on his face. It was as if his muscle were easing back into it.

“Look at that,” Wilson crowed. “I see now how you got Steve wrapped around your little finger.”

Bucky sniffed. It was true, whatever time he looked at. All Bucky had been doing recently was shoving it back in Steve’s face. How many times had Steve apologised to him just that morning? And, really, all he’d been doing was looking out for Bucky. “What do I think about what?” he asked, steering the conversation back to solid ground.

“Do we tell mini Steve about,” Wilson wiggled his fingers, “you know. The big, bad future?”

Sat at the rickety breakfast table, legs crossed and, by all appearances, perfectly comfortable with the situation, Romanoff offered, “We should hold off. Get the lay of the land first.” She raised her eyes to Bucky and it occurred to him that she’d fit in well with the ladies in the dance halls. Arched brows and ruby red lips. “No good diving into something headfirst and eyes closed.”

“But we can’t stay here,” Wanda added. She was sitting on the kitchen top, an undercurrent of impatience colouring her words, tightening her shoulders.

Romanoff must have picked up on it too. She inclined her head toward Wanda. “And nobody is saying we will,” she said softly, though Bucky didn’t miss the way her gaze travelled over to him.

He met it. Words coming to him slowly, he was aware that everyone in the room seemed to regard him as an expert in their next steps. Were they aware of just how different it was for him? “I think you’re right,” he said. “But don’t call him mini Steve.” He pointed at Wilson. “You’ll get a fist to the jaw.”

Wilson scoffed. “From him or from you?” he asked, a wry smirk creeping across his face.

As Bucky shrugged the front door slammed - Steve never learnt to temper himself - and Eleanor yapped at his feet.

“You’re in luck,” Steve announced, face flushed and arms ladened. “Mrs Lombardo had some spare blankets. Might be a touch dusty,” he added, dropping the pile onto the table, the air filling with dust as predicted. “But they’ll do.” Steve coughed into his elbow before Bucky dragged him away, nearer the window.

“Thank you, we appreciate it.” Romanoff sent Steve a charming smile. It was strange to watch her play a role in front of Steve. Bucky had often been jealous of their easy comradery, how simple their relationship was. Not that he’d ever mentioned it, of course.

Even stranger, then, to see it work. Steve ducked his head, scratching at his ear. “You’re welcome. ‘Sides,” he buried his hands in his pockets. “Can’t have you freezing on the street. Times are tough. Hard to believe you’d be chucked out in the middle of the night.”

Though he sounded convincing enough, Bucky picked up on the underlying message. It was the same one he got whenever he claimed a girl he’d been seeing had simply gotten tired of him. “Sure is,” he muttered, catching the upturn of Steve’s lips. Wilson kicked his ankle.

Ignoring Bucky’s mutinous glower, Steve corralled him towards his bedroom door. “C’mon,” he said. “I’m in with you. Ladies, you can have my room for the night.” He nodded his head to a door on the other said of the hall. “Wilson, I’m afraid you’re left with the couch.”

To his credit, Wilson clapped his hands and smiled. “I’m more than happy with it. And call me Sam , please.” His eyes widened as he added, “It’s weird.”

Safely sheltered in his old bedroom, yet another bombardment of memories flooded Bucky’s mind. He’d always been lonely in this room.

After returning from the bathroom Steve looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed with what he found. “You look half dead.” He was already unbuttoning his shirt, gaze steady, unrelenting.

“Really?” Bucky’s voice sounded unnatural even to him. He turned away, pulling off his socks. “‘Cause I feel fantastic.” Even staring at the wallpaper - peeling in just the places he remembered - he could see Steve’s disbelieving expression in his mind’s eye.

“You do don’t you?” At the sound of Steve’s annoyed huff, he gave in and faced him. Climbing into the other side of the barely-double bed, Steve asked, “Will you tell me the real deal?”

Stripped to his shorts and undershirt, Bucky sighed. It wasn’t really a question of when he would tell Steve, more of how long he could get away with lying. “I reckon so,” he grumbled. “Not tonight, though.”

Steve hummed but it was clear that Bucky’s answer had fallen short of the one he was after.

Shuffling in beside him, Bucky’s clenched the thin sheets against his chest, mattress creaking with every moment. “I forgot how cold it was,” he grumbled. There was a heater at the foot of the bed and Bucky took a second to curse its uselessness.

“What are you on about?” Steve laughed.

“Don’t give me that look,” he muttered. Idiot. Was he an elite assassin or not? He needed to get his head together. “It’s cold, is all.”

Steve rolled over. Even in the dark, Bucky could make out the blue of his eyes, dark lashes against pale skin. “It’s February.”

“I am aware,” he drawled, pulling the covers higher still. His feet would stick out the bottom if he carried on. “Shut up, I’ve come over all tired. I need some shut eye.”

Laughter bounced off the walls and Bucky smiled in spite of himself, hiding it against his pillow. “You’ve come over?” Steve mocked, eyes shining. “Shall I get the smelling salts?”

“Shut up,” Bucky repeated. “Come here, you’re warm.”

He crowded against Steve. It was trying his luck, but being reunited with this Steve, a Steve that was just his, made him brave. His armed curled around a fragile chest, nose pressing into soft skin over pointed shoulders, knees resting against slim legs.

Plastered to his side, Bucky was intensely aware the Steve seemed to have stopped moving, hardly even drawing breath. It went on for so long, that Bucky was about to retreat when Steve muttered, “Keep your toes to yourself.”

Bucky breathed deeply. “I will try,” he whispered, knowing he wouldn’t try at all.

The morning brought with it weak sunlight and warm skin. Bucky was loathe to drag himself away. He slipped into his old routine with alarming ease, wandering down to the block entrance to collect the mail, smiling a good morning to Mrs Lombardo as he went. Two of the Molony brood scurried passed him on the staircase. Giggles were still bouncing around his skull when he stepped back into the kitchen, finally registering the envelope in his hand.

“Shit.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Hi, Wilson,” Bucky mumbled. He ran a hand through his air, stifling a yawn with the paper still clenched in his fist.

“You’re in a good mood.” Blankets were strewn across the couch, shirt draped across the arm. Wilson had bags under his eyes but still managed to offer up a knowing smirk. “Night with your fella go that well?”

“Would you -” Bucky dropped his arms. “Can it,” he shot out. “He’s not my fella. It’s nineteen forty three. Jesus Christ.”

Hands raised in surrender, Wilson conceded, “Alright, I’m sorry.” He licked his lips, eyeing the closed door to Bucky’s bedroom. It was quiet in the apartment, only the two of them up. “I thought you two were together back in the day. Steve always -”

“Not until the war,” he answered softly.

“Right, sorry. I’m sorry.” Wilson nodded, sucking his teeth.

“S’alright.” It had been a long time since he’d had to hide from Steve. Maybe he wasn’t up to it anymore.

“Looks like we’re both keeping our heads down.”

“What do you mean?”

Wilson looked away for a second. When he returned his gaze to Bucky, he looked indignant. “You remember many black guys walking around the streets of Brooklyn with a smile on their face and a spring in their step?”

Realisation crawled up Bucky’s chest. “Shit.”

“Yeah, ‘shit’,” Wilson drawled. “So you better work out what you did sooner rather than later.”

Rubbing at his face, Bucky groaned. These problems were way too complicated for so early in the morning.

“What’s got you distracted, anyway?” Wilson mumbled from behind his mug.

Bucky ran his finger along the edge of the envelope still in his hand. “It’s this,” he said.

“A letter?”

“Not a letter.” He sighed, waving it in front of Wilson’s face. “It’s the draft.”

The other man frowned. “The draft? How can you tell?”

He shook his head. “It’s funny. I remember today.” Leaning against the counter he rubbed at his face. “I left early because we were out of bread.” It had been bitingly cold that morning, not cold enough to numb the plummeting sensation in his stomach as he’d read the words. Order to report for induction. It was horror like he’d never known before. Of course, he’d known worse since, but that had been the first. He grimaced. “It was waiting for me, when I came back.”

“I thought - I thought you enrolled?” Wilson started. “With Steve. I mean, I know you went before him, but I thought -” he came up short at the look on Bucky’s face. “I mean, hey, man, it doesn’t matter.”

Bucky pressed his lips together, shrugging. “I told everyone I did,” he croaked. “Even Steve.” It was strange. This was a secret he’d never revealed. Right now, it seemed so inconsequential, he wondered why he’d kept it in the first place. “I dunno what I was thinking. War ain’t gonna stop just cause I dropped in from the future, right?” he gave a breathy laugh, Wilson meeting his gaze with a pained expression.

The door to Steve’s bedroom opened and Romanoff and Wanda spilled out, Wanda still wrapped in blankets as she shuffled along the floorboards. “Morning boys,” Romanoff greeted, melodic and dark.

As if sensing that the apartment was waking up, Steve strode into the kitchen. Bucky stuffed the draft notice into his pocket, taking a gulp of the coffee Wilson had brewed.  As normal in the morning, Steve was flustered. No matter how much time he gave himself, he was always in a rush. “Buck, we’re outta bread,” he said, sliding by Bucky to take the mug Wilson offered him. “What do we look like? No food to feed the guests? Them brewing coffee for us.” He clinked his mug against Bucky’s with a look. “And why,” he added. “Are you still here?”

“Huh?”

Steve drained his drink, raising it at Wilson in thanks. “Don’t they need you?”

“Who?” Bucky asked, nonplussed.

With a baffled chuckle, Steve pulled on his coat. “Down the docks?”

“The docks,” Bucky echoed. “Shit.”

Steve simply laughed. “I’ll see you later.” He headed towards the door. “If you’re sticking around, feed the dog?”

“Nah,” Bucky called out. “I’m going, I’m going, I can’t lose this job.” What on earth was he thinking? He had just talked about this day to Wilson. He’d gone out early, he’d picked up his draft letter, he’d gone to work. Sure, maybe he wasn’t back for good, but he didn’t need to add to his already mounting worries with a turn on the breadline. He made a beeline for his shoes.

“I’ll feed her,” Wanda piped up, looking upon the scene with humour. She’d curled up on the couch, Eleanor already at her feet.

“Great, thanks.” Steve smiled, his hair fluttering around his ears as he swung the door shut behind him.

Barely two minutes later and Bucky was following him out of the door. He’d left the others, taking their muttered goodbyes as assurance that they could look after themselves for a day. The wall of cold and noise and movement that swallowed him whole the moment he stepped outside had him stumbling onto the pavement.

It wasn’t like last night. The streets of the city in the morning were more real, more tangible than Bucky could have ever thought. Had it always been this busy? Pulling himself together, his draft letter still weighing heavy in his pocket, he headed towards the water.

Shoes clicked against the pavement, a whirlwind of chatter circling around him, Bucky soaked it in. This was where he’d been great. He’d known himself here. He knew how to be here, all he had to do was remember it and play the role. Next to the subway stations shoe shiners plied their trade. The clanging of construction work drowned out the low rumble of cars passing on the street. Children raced after the shiniest cars, wheels glinting against to weak sun rays. Paper boys called out onto the streets, the smell of coffee and dirt and exhausts filling his nostrils.

The whole of New York was dusting off the depression from its shoulders and reaching for the sky.

Where better for Bucky to be than right where he fit the most?

~

The drive to the Avengers Compound had never looked so long. Was it even called that any more? Steve squinted, trying to make out if their logo was still emblazoned on the side of the distant building.

It had been three days since Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Wanda had vanished. Though he hadn’t expected it to be easy, coming back to America, to the Compound, it had still added a delay to getting his friends that made his skin crawl. Particularly when he couldn’t say for sure Tony would help him.

It wasn’t that he thought Tony would refuse, but the way they’d left things, he knew Tony would be well within his rights to chuck him out onto the street. There was a part of him that wanted to challenge Tony, still, to try to show him just how misguided his logic was. It was pointless, though. Perhaps it was the only way they were similar, their conviction in their actions. The thing that ended up tearing them apart. He’d been trying to do what was right, no different than Steve.

And look where he had ended up. Back at Tony Stark’s door. Which one of them had won, then? The one whose team had left him, or the one who’d lost his team entirely?

He ground his teeth, his grip on the steering wheel tight as he approached the gates.

“Captain Rogers,” Tony’s computer system greeted him. “Mr Stark wishes to advise you of the compound’s no cold callers policy.”

“Morning, er, Friday. Morning,” Steve spoke stilted, unsure where to direct his gaze whenever he spoke with Friday. “Do you think you could tell Tony that some magic rock made Sam and Nat and Wanda vanish into thin air? I really need his help.” He stared ahead at the grated metal, barring his entry. “I messed up, and I can’t fix it without him.”

He waited. The gates opened.

As Steve reached the Compound proper, letting himself in through the front door and heading towards the living room, his unease began to magnify. The corridors were so empty.

Finally, he reached the communal area. Tony was waiting for him, his stare unrelenting from behind dark glasses.

“So, the prodigal son returns,” he called. “Is it really America, if Captain America isn’t in residence? Friday, can you check on that?”

Behind him, Vision and Colonel Rhodes stood, gaze steely. Rhodes’ legs were supported by metal braces. Steve winced. He’d almost forgot, with all the fallout from the Accords. It wasn’t just him that had suffered. Not just Bucky.

Steve took a breath. “Hi, Tony.” He nodded over Tony’s shoulder, “Gents.”

“‘Hi’,” Tony laughed, his arm outstretched, pointing to Steve as he looked to Vision and Rhodes. “‘Hi’.” He dropped his arm. “I got your letter.” With a slight squint into the middle distance, he said, “‘If you need me, I’ll be there’. Very honourable. Very Star Spangled Man. Me, on the other hand, I’m not so sure.”

“Tony, I know you’re still angry at -”

“Where’s your old war buddy?” Tony’s voice bounced off the hard surfaces of the room. Steve never remembered it being so cold. “Revert back to factory settings, celebrate freedom with a good old fashioned killing spree?”

Steve ground his teeth. “It wasn’t -”

“I don’t care,” Tony interrupted before leaning forward where he was perched on the edge of his seat. “What do you want, Cap? Huh? Why are you here?”

Steve flicked his eyes towards Vision and Rhodes at the edge of the room. They both looked as solemn as when Steve had arrived. They weren’t giving an inch. Steve would have to move this time.

“I - Something happened,” he said. “Nat, Wanda, Sam, they’ve just disappeared. Bucky -” He looked up, hesitantly. Tony was frowning over towards the window, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “Bucky’s gone. T’Challa can’t figure it out.” He licked his lips. “I know you care about them. I - I can’t do it by myself,” he admitted.

A beat of silence fell between them before Tony said, “How the mighty have fallen.” Steve stomach turned. But then Tony shifted, dropping down onto one of the plush arms chairs. He folded his legs casually, eyeing Steve with an expectant expression. “You’ve got ten minutes, then I’m calling Ross.”

Squaring his shoulders, Steve reached into his pocket. Encased in a small glass case, he laid the stone on the coffee table.

By the time Steve had finished his story, his muscles that had been tensed for days relaxed. He’d let his friends down, that had been painfully clear since the moment he’d watched them vanish. Tony had told him so many times, pride came before a fall. At least now Tony knew. At least now Tony could fix it. God, he hoped Tony would fix it.

“Magical stone, huh?” Tony sat up. Steve held his breath. “Sounds right up my alley. You know what, Cap?” he said. “I’m going to help you, because I’m a helpful guy.” He smiled. “I’m a giver.”

Steve leant back against the chair he’d found himself in.

“One condition.”

“Tony, -” Rhodes cautioned, one eyebrow raised.  

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tony lifted one finger, his eyes fixed on Steve. “One condition.”

“You name it,” Steve said.

“Once I do this, once I get them back? Barnes is out of here. Forever.”

Steve blinked. It was an assumption they’d been working on, anyway. That he and Bucky would never really be allowed back. That they’d never truly be welcomed. Perhaps it would even be better, to know that they could never return to the place they’d called home. To cut out all hope and leave their old lives in the past once and for all. They could start over. He locked his jaw. “Done.”

“‘Done’?” Tony huffed out a laugh. “You’ve really got no compunction about leaving it all behind?”

“I didn’t ask for it in the first place, Tony,” Steve scowled. It wasn’t easy. Why did everyone assume just because he made a choice that he was okay with it? It was a struggle, every time.

“Barnes goes. The others stay.”

It was Steve’s turn to look incredulous. “You can do that? What about the Accords?”

Next to them, Vision leant forward. “With respect,” he said, his tone as calm and melodic as ever. “The Captain cannot vouch for the actions of others. Most especially when those others are not here to represent their views on the matter.”

Tony ignored him, however. “My perseverance,” he said, choosing his words with seeming care, “in Siberia, lent me some sway with the Board.”

“I can’t control what the others do,” Steve replied.

“No, but you can give them the choice. I call off the manhunt for them, smooth it all out with the guys at the top.” Tony waved his hand in the air and Steve watched the gentle path of his fingers. “They can come back here if they want. They can head on home if they’d rather. Up to them.”

Home. They could go home.

“You could just do it anyway,” Steve said, words sharp.

Tony smiled. Steve got the distinct sense that he was disappointed. “Maybe I was going to,” he said, head cocked as he narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Or, maybe I like having leverage. The world will never know.”

It was an olive branch, that much Steve could see. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He reached out his hand.

As Tony clasped his fingers around Steve’s palm, he grinned. “There’s a spot for you there too, Rogers.”

His chest clenched a little. All that he wanted, just out of arm’s reach.

“I go where Bucky goes.” He coughed, rubbing his neck. “I get - I understand why - I get it, I do, alright?” He shrugged. Sure, he could shoot off a rousing speech if the occasion called. Sharing his thoughts? He feelings? That left him a bumbling mess. He grimaced to himself. “Thank you for helping me,” he finished, simply.

“I’m helping Nat and Wanda first,” Tony dismissed.

“And Sam.”

The two turned to Rhodes, who was watching the pair with a muted expression.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “And the bird one.” He rose from his chair, taking a few steps backwards. “Friday! Wake up the lab! Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he inclined his head a little, while retreating still. “I have a magical mystery to unravel.”

~

“He was going to do it anyway,” Rhodes said to him, two days later.

Steve sent a puzzled smile from his hotel door. He’d chosen to stay off site for the duration, not wanting to tread on any toes. He was still wondering whether he’d made the right decision.

It was a surprise to see Rhodes and Vision at his door. He stumbled over his words in the silence following Rhodes’ announcement. In the background, music drifting through Steve’s hotel room, all horns and trombones and nostalgia.

Stepping to one side, Steve invited the pair in, rushing to turn the music off. “Er, tea? Coffee?” he asked, a little at a loss as to why the two were there.

He’d given up trying to track the progress Tony was making after a couple of hours on the first day. In the past he wouldn’t have had a problem hanging around the lab, but he was having a negative effect on Tony’s work when he did it now, he could tell. He just had to trust that they’d call him if anything happened.

With that in mind, he eyed the two men with some apprehension. Neither looked overjoyed with success.

“No thanks, man,” Rhodes replied. He clicked his tongue, waving a large coffee cup from one of the cafe’s downstairs in his hand. “I mean about getting the others off the blacklist, he was going to do it. He was already making arrangements.”

“Oh, I know. Well -” Steve furrowed his brow. “I do now,” he corrected. He flicked his gaze between the two. “How’s it going?”

Rhodes hummed as he and Vision took a seat at the tiny hotel room desk, the metal braces at his legs whirring loudly. He held onto the arm of the chair with a firm grip. “Honestly? Not great.” He rubbed his hand across his face and Steve deflated a little, dropping down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him hit a brick wall quite so fast before.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Rhodes nodded. “There was a reason, I guess, that T’Challa couldn’t figure it out either.”

Vision leaned forward, the dim light reflecting off his shining skin. “Mr Stark will not contact you, to say that he is unable to assist you in your quest.”

“It’s not -” Rhodes interrupted, small lines appearing on his brow. “He doesn’t want to let you down,” he reassured, eyes meeting Steve’s.

Steve scoffed. God, making Tony feel worse was the complete opposite of what he wanted. “It wouldn’t be letting me down, Jesus.”

Letting himself stew in his own despair for a little while, Steve ignored the looks being traded between Rhodes and Vision.

After a few moments, Rhodes began, almost delicately, “Vision’s been keeping an eye on his results. They’re ... pretty inconclusive.” He grimaced a little. “All signs point in one general direction, though.”

Steve perked up. “Yeah? Where’s that?”

Rhodes paused, like he was having to force out the words. “Outer space.”

“Of course,” Steve sighed. “Why wouldn’t it be?” A horrible image of Bucky and the others stranded, alone on an abandoned planet the other side of the galaxy crossed his mind. He shook his head. That probably hadn’t happened.

“It is fortunate, Captain Rogers,” Vision added, his lips twitching upwards, “that we have a veritable expert on all things cosmic at our very fingertips, is it not?”

It took Steve a few seconds to catch on. “Thor,” he breathed.

“Quite.”

He frowned. “I’ve not heard from him since Ultron.”

“Neither have we, but there are ways.” Rhodes shrugged. “Tony has Doctor Foster’s details on file. We’ll find him, we’ll bring him to the Compound, we’ll get our friends back.”

“Alright. Yeah, alright,” Steve nodded, mumbling to himself. This could work. This could be the final answer. Rhodes made to stand and Steve started. “Tell Tony -” He cut himself off, biting his lip. “Will you just, tell him that it’s okay? I don’t mind that he can’t fix it. I’m just glad he tried.”

Rhodes inclined his head. “He’ll keep on trying. He’ll figure it out. Just needs a bit of cosmic guidance.” Rhodes sent him a small smile. “We all do, every now and again.”

~

He turned twenty six two days ago.

It was alarming to Bucky, really, that he’d ever been that young, let alone that he was that young again. Steve had colluded with his brother Tom to present him with a slightly burned fruitcake, candles colourful and crooked. Most of it had been devoured by his brother, his sweet tooth developing well. Steve had taken him out to the movies. It was new. The first time Bucky had lived this birthday it had been a couple of beers, ready for work the next morning.

He couldn’t work out the reason for the change, however small, and it unnerved him. While Steve eyerolled his way through ‘The Ape Man’, Bucky ground his teeth, wondering just how much he could mess up the past a second time around.

Fortunately for them, Steve had accepted the others with good grace. When his questions to Bucky about how long he thought his new friends would be staying were answered only the in the vaguest sense, he had dropped it. They were working on borrowed time, though. Steve was a saint, but he wouldn’t let Bucky get away with this for much longer.

The others were getting antsy too. The novelty of travelling through time had worn off pretty quickly, if it had ever been present for them at all. For that’s what it had to be. Time travel. They’d all agreed it was the only logical conclusion, the weeks wearing down what remaining scepticism they had left.

Still no closer to figuring out what to do about it Bucky kept coming back to Howard. The one person he wanted to avoid was looking more and more like the one person he needed to track down. Just conjuring his face in his mind’s eye sent a wave of nausea washing through him, like his body was rejecting the very idea. But what choice did they have? He’d not mentioned it out loud yet, hoping that one of the others would come up with another plan. Steve had always been best at that. From Romanoff’s pointed questioning of Bucky, though, it was clear she must be thinking along the same lines as him.

And then, of course, there was the Goddamn war and his Goddamn war hungry, ninety pound friend to deal with. Because the arrival of three perfect strangers had done nothing to dampen Steve’s enlistment efforts.

Just as before, news of Bucky’s signing up had sent Steve into a strange mood. He’d lied again, still unwilling to change the past more than he had to, but part of him thought it was a mistake. Everything seemed to set Steve off. Bucky couldn’t figure out if he was annoyed at him for getting to go, or mad that he was leaving. Where it had been clear cut before Bucky had been drafted, now it was blurred.

“I’ll be okay, you know,” he had said to Steve one evening, as they headed to the diner down the block.

He hadn’t responded straight away. Maybe he hadn’t heard him properly. Sometimes, if the wind was high -

“You don’t know that,” Steve had responded, eyeing the pavement beneath their feet. His collar fluttered around his neck. It was strange. Bucky knew how Steve felt about him, had supposedly felt about him for years before now, but he hid it so well. And it turned out Bucky wasn’t as brave as he liked to think. Maybe Steve was braver.

But there was no declaration. Bucky’s shoulders had sunk as Steve simply cocked his head, teasing grin on his face. “And you’re helpless without me, right?”

He pursed his lips. “Sure am, pal.”

The day before he left for Fort Hayes was one of the worst days he could remember. Perhaps he was forgetting the others. Painful before, hindsight showed its hopelessness with crystal clarity.

“Jamie,” Tom whined, gripping the arm of the kitchen chair where Bucky nursed his weak tea. “Will you bring me back a Luger?” He coughed, hot liquid scolding his throat, but Tom continued, “Ralph Woodward from down the road said his uncle was gonna get him one.”

“Did he,” Bucky replied, wheezing a little. He eyed his father’s back, still messing about near the stove. Usually he would be humming under his breath, but today it was silence. Bucky hated it. “And what would you do with a Luger if I brought you one?”

Tom shrugged. “Study it,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Would come in handy on adventures. In case I ever cross paths with cannibals, or something.”

Biting his lip, Bucky fought down a chuckle. Tom was a sensitive kid; if he thought Bucky was laughing at him, it wouldn’t be taken lightly.

Leaning closer, Bucky nodded. “Brooklyn is famed for its consumption of human flesh,” he said seriously. As Tom’s eyes widened his dad sent a warning glower over his head.

“Jamie,” he called, tone reminiscent of the time’s he’d be caught trying to sneak out down the drain pipe.

Chastised, he grinned. “Sorry, Pa.” He shrugged at Tom as the younger boy slumped against the chair dramatically. “Old man says no.”

“Tom, you’ll be late.”

Ignoring Tom’s put upon sigh, Bucky knelt down in front of him, pulling him in close for a hug. His nose pressed against soft hair and his pressed a kiss against Tom’s scalp. Although the boy returned his hug, thin arms squeezing tightly around Bucky’s back, after a few long moments he was wriggling to get free. Bucky held firm.

“Jamie,” Tom mumbled against Bucky’s neck. “I’ve got school.” Bucky shut his eyes tighter, committing every moment to memory. Tom was buzzing with energy. God, just let some of that travel with him to Europe. “Pa,” Tom called. “Jamie won’t let me go!”

“Just a second,” Bucky rushed, hoping that his father would let his strange mood fly.

After scant more moments Tom successfully escaped his grasp and Bucky ruffled his hair, blinking just a little more than usual.

“Off you go, lad,” his dad encouraged, giving Tom a push towards the door.

Now he was free, Tom hung back. He worried his bottom lip, gaze flicking between the pair and Bucky frowned for moment. It wasn’t like him to be so hesitant. He stepped closer to Bucky once more, small hands wringing together. “You’ll be alright?” he asked quietly. “You won’t be scared?”

He felt his father’s eyes on him and worked to school his expression into something other than the desperation he was feeling. “I’m just going for practice,” he tried, though Tom wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. Curling his hand around the back of his brother’s neck, he crouched down, and lied, “And I’m not scared of anything.”

It worked and Tom waved him off and hopped out of the door, worn leather satchel hitting his leg with every step. Bucky’s jaw flexed watching him go.

“You got everything sorted?” his father asked from somewhere behind him.

“What?” Bucky spun on his feet, just him and his dad left in the kitchen. “Oh, er, yeah, all ready. First train out.”

His father nodded, rubbing at his jaw. He looked tired. How on earth was he keeping himself together? If he had had to wave Tom off to war, knowing its realities as his father did, Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to. “It’s good,” his dad said with a deep breath. “Going so early. You’ll get the best training.”

“Yeah.”

“You keep your head down. Don’t cause a fuss,” his dad warned. “Follow orders.”

“Yes, Pa.” He remembered this speech, not really paying much attention at the time. He’d been convinced that he couldn’t be so unlucky as to get an early draft only to die as well. Showed what he knew about luck.

“Don’t be playing the hero,” his father continued in his soft voice. He couldn’t seem to look Bucky in the eye. “No -” he said, forehead creased as Bucky moved to interrupt. “I know you like to show off. It ain’t the dockyard, son. They’re real bullets.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, exhausted already. How on earth was he supposed to go through all this again? “I know that,” he said.

“You’ll be okay,” Art nodded, clapping Bucky’s shoulder. “You’ve always been lucky.”

Bucky winced. “Yeah.” He sniffed, “Pa -”

“Here,” his dad stopped him, pulling out a small book from his pocket. “This is for you,” he said. “Had it on me the whole time I was on the front. Not a scratch on me.”

The book weighed hardly anything in his hand and Bucky gasped. He’d forgotten about this entirely. His father’s book of poems, brought with him all the way from Kinvara. The golden embossed lettering of the cover was starting to peel away where Bucky scraped it with his nail. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Pa -”

“And, Jamie,” his father waved off his protests, gripping his shoulder tight. “You listen good. It’s alright to be scared.”

Bucky’s face crumpled. “I -”

“They’ll be boys there that pretend otherwise,” Art ploughed on. “The important thing is you overcome it. Don’t let it get to you.” He shook Bucky, expression fierce.

Don’t let it get to him. The cold, the dark, the silence. The words that had controlled him. The thought that maybe he was destined to do it all again. Fear was his biggest weakness, what had always held him back. It wouldn’t leave him, he knew that much. It was destined to bring him down.  

“It’s just training,” Bucky said, alarmed to hear the waver in his voice. He’d never see his father again, that much was clear. He couldn’t say goodbye again. If he came back here, he’d never leave. It was safe here, with his dad’s poems and Tom’s adventures and singing under breath. “I’ll be back before -” he trailed off, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

Maybe his father knew. He set his jaw and said, “Be smart. I’ll keep an eye on Steve for you.”

“Might need two,” Bucky joked, weakly.

“Whenever it’s spare.”

He relished the closeness of his father’s arms curled around him, burying his head against his neck like he had done as a child.

“Be smart, Jamie,” he whispered in Bucky’s ear.

“I will, Pa.” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, keeping himself wrapped in the warmth just a moment longer. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

He’d finished his last shift at the yard the day before, sent off with a clap on the back and no mention of a job waiting for him on his return. He met Wilson, Romanoff and Wanda in Morningside Park to wait out the hours until Steve got back from the store. Wanda chucked him a Reuben sandwich wrapped in old paper.

Spring was breaking through the hard ground. He sunk his teeth into the meat.

“We’re stuck,” Romanoff announced, picking at the remains of her own lunch. They must have been waiting for him a while. “You might be happy as larry here Barnes, but I’m not just going to sit and be content with it.”

Bucky carried on chewing.

Shifting on the bench, Wilson pulled one of Bucky’s old caps up his head. “I have a life back home.” He nodded to the other two, eyes tracking a pair of teenage girls walking past them arm in arm. “So does Nat, so does Wanda.”

“I know. I know that,” Bucky groused. He dropped his sandwich to his lap. “I have one too.”

Wilson huffed as Romanoff murmured, “Of course you do.” She narrowed her eyes over the green lawns and Bucky followed her gaze. “Steve’s probably torn down all of Wakanda by now looking for you.”

Steve. God. Steve, who’d saved the world and kept on getting deserted. What must he be thinking, all of them just vanishing like that? Right when he needed them the most.

“Bucky,” Wanda interrupted his thoughts of the future. “You’re going to war tomorrow.” She was staring at him like he was already had a noose around his neck. That’s the trouble, to the young folks war seemed old. It was what they learned in history books. Unchangeable, unmeetable.

He frowned. Hadn’t Steve told him, Wanda was made in war. She was an Avenger. “I’m not - It’s training,” he started. How many more times he would have to say it before he started believing it himself?

“You’re still leaving us.”

At that, he had to smile. She’s taken on a west coast accent, or attempted to. Alien, but not suspiciously so. People registered her as an outsider, but not so much that the authorities were alerted. One of them getting arrested was just what they didn’t need. “Since when did you need me to babysit you?” he asked her.

Instead of brushing it off, his words served to rile her even more. She hit his arm and snapped, “Since you got us dropped in the middle of World War Two!”

Christ he could do with a smoke. “We’re in New York,” he sighed, raising his arms and looking around him. From the expression on her face, she didn’t think that was much better. He dragged a hand across his face, knowing the moment had come. That it was long overdue. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Really great.” Wilson looked like he was ready to deck him.

“I don’t see you coming forward with any great plan,” he hissed. “‘Sides, that ain’t what I meant.”

“No?”

“No,” Bucky repeated. He dropped his shoulders and said, softly, “We need to contact the S.S.R.”

Romanoff flexed her jaw. “You mean S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“If I did, I would’a said. I mean the S.S.R.” He inclined his head, not looking directly at her. “They ain’t S.H.I.E.L.D. yet.” He licked his lip. “Peggy, Howard, and Colonel Phillips. Doctor Erskine should still be about as well. They have the know how and the tech to help.”

When he finally raised his head, Romanoff and Wilson were eyeing each other. “Who’s to say they’ll believe us?” she asked, words slow.

“Arrange a meeting,” Bucky said. It’s not as if they had a choice. “We’ll make them believe us.” He picked up what remained of his sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth.

Next to him, he could almost feel the heat coming of Wilson in waves. “‘Arrange a meeting’. Am I your fucking secretary?”

“Will you - I’m off to training,” Bucky garbled around beef and sauerkraut. “Spot checks ain’t a fairytale.” He watched a woman go by, pulling a small child by the hand, clearly more interested in the wet grass than anywhere she was taking him. “You should be able to find Howard’s address pretty easily.”

A moment of silence passed. Romanoff asked, “And what about Steve?”

Bucky kept his eye on the small boy until his mother tugged at his arm with a curt shout. “Which one?” he asked.

“The one that’s been keeping us fed and watered for the past three weeks,” Romanoff replied. Bucky turned to find her looking at him with a gentle expression and immediately twinge of guilt tugged at his stomach. To her or to Steve, he didn’t know. Probably both. “If we’re telling the S.S.R. about the time travel, then we should tell Steve as well.” She fixed him with a look and Bucky was reminded that Sam and Nat were two of Steve’s closest friends. “He deserves to know.”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Besides,” she carried on, tone light. “You don’t have to tell him everything.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, aware of Wilson following the conversation carefully. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m just saying. It’s easy to slip back into old habits,” she shrugged, sliding gracefully to her feet. “Do what you want.”

Wilson and Romanoff headed for the edge of the park, their shoes crunching against the path as they split up, Romanoff heading back to Brooklyn. Wanda, however, remained. “Thanks for the food,” he mumbled. His hair tickled his brow and he brushed it aside.

“Came out of your paycheck.”

She smiled at him, a tired smile. Her own hair had been curled back at the base of her neck, like how the girls Bucky used to dance with. It was a comfort. “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you. The old lady upstairs was giving me the cold shoulder. Steve suggested it might be because of my progressive appearance.” She leaned closer, conspiratorial. “That’s a direct quote. He blushed when he said it.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

“It’s nice getting to know him how he was.”

“He only changed on the outside,” Bucky replied. He felt a twinge in his chest, all too aware how much a comment like that would hurt Steve. The very thing he was most scared of.

Wanda backtracked. “No,” she said. “I mean, maybe yes to start with. But I mean, he’s simpler.” She smiled at him. “It’s a compliment. He’s less, I don’t know. Tired. Doesn’t second guess himself.”

Scoffing, Bucky said, voice low, “He’s always second guessing himself. Steve Just-wait-a-minute-while-I-overthink-this Rogers, that’s his full name, you know.”

Wanda studied him. “You’re different here as well. You smile more.”

The air was beginning to cool with the coming afternoon. A dark cloud crept towards them, sure to bring rain. “We’ll see if I’m still smiling when I’m in the trenches again,” he said. Catching Wanda’s horrified expression, he nudged her knee with his. “Sorry.” He sighed. “You’re right, though. It’s like, you know my arm’s back? All healed? I think my mind’s the same. All that shit that Hydra put in it, just gone.” He tapped the side of his head. Maybe it was more of a hope than a belief.

“But you remember it?” Wanda asked, curious.

“Yeah. I remember. I don’t know. It’s different.”

“Do you think it might be because you’re letting it be different?” When he just looked at her, nonplussed, she shrugged and rose to her feet. “Just a thought.”

Bucky considered her for a moment. Maybe she had a point. Maybe he felt freer because he wanted to be free. “Hey,” he started, drawing level with her. “You wanna go dancing tonight?”

She paused on the path. “Are you asking me on a date?” she teased. Before Bucky could even splutter a response, she brushed him off. Another smile. “Dancing sounds nice. I won’t know the steps.”

Bucky let out a breath, relieved. “Neither does Steve. He’ll be glad to have someone to suffer with.”

“I’m sure that’s what he does when he’s out with you. Suffers.” She was joking, Bucky could tell, but part of him questioned whether there was some truth in what she said.

“Maybe it is,” he said. “I was a bit of a dunderhead at times.”

“Bucky.” Wanda’s eyes twinkled as she turned to face him fully and Bucky recognised that look. “You -”

“- still are,” he finished for her, her laughter bubbling in his ear. “Thank you.”

He knocked her just a little more than gently as he passed, listening to her cackle behind him. “You’re welcome,” she called. He turned his collar up to against the first drops of rain and rolled his eyes with a smirk.

~

“Wanda said we’re going out later.”

They were back in the apartment, just the two of them. Bucky suspected that Wanda and Romanoff had gone to visit Wilson in the Harlem digs he’d found. It had taken barely twenty four hours for the neighbours to start talking. Bucky was grateful they’d left, though, just for the moment. It was a good plan to avoid any more hostility on his last night. He drew up a chair next to Steve, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Yeah. Thought it’d be nice. Send me off in style.” He flashed a grin at the other man. To the untrained eye it might have seemed like Steve was ignoring him, but Bucky knew better. Pencil in hand, Steve was crouched over his sketchpad. Bucky figured that he was today’s subject. Steve liked drawing him, though he’d never have guessed it going by what Steve said. Bucky had found pages of drawings of himself not long after they’d first moved in together, dozens of them. They’d been brilliant. At the time he’d assumed he was a convenient model. Now, though. He leant back against the chair and fixed his hair, looking at Steve with soft eyes.

“No, leave it,” Steve muttered. Bucky dropped his hand, fiddling with the cigarette packet instead.

Steve eyed the packet without comment. Bucky shifted. He never smoked inside. “Sorry.”

“Go on.” Steve nodded at him, but he ignored it, shoving the pack away once more. Not taking his focus away from his pencil, Steve asked, “You see your pa?”

“Uhuh, this morning.” He followed the movements of Steve’s hand, curving across the page. “He’ll be alright,” he said. “He’s got Tom around.”

Nodding, Steve said, “I’ll keep after them, until I get my orders through.”

Music from the apartment below crept through the floor; ‘A String of Pearls’. Bucky had had that damn song in his head for a whole summer once, even Steve had got sick of him humming it every other minute. His fingers twitched, itching to reach out and trace the line of Steve’s bottom lip. The line between his eyebrows as he concentrated. The dip at his collarbone, peaking out above his unbuttoned collar.

In the far corner, Eleanor pattered around, claws clicking against the floorboards.

“Steve,” he said softly.

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve huffed. “Just, leave off.”

Bucky raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not on about you enlisting,” he protested. He leaned forward across the table, reaching out with his hand to pull Steve’s sketchbook away from him.

“Hey,” Steve exclaimed, trying to snatch it back, but Bucky kept it out of reach.

“I have to say something to you,” he said. “It’s serious.” It was a bold move; Steve never did like being backed into a corner. He held his gaze, trying to remember that he was a Goddamn super assassin as Steve glowered at him.

“Okay,” Steve said eventually. He sat back, waving an arm across the room. “The floor’s yours.”

He gripped the side of the table, shifting to the edge of the seat. How the hell was he going to explain this? “I’m gonna say something, alright,” he started. “And you ain’t gonna believe it, but it’s the truth.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe most of what comes outta your mouth, Barnes.”

Steeling himself, Bucky took a breath. “I’m from the future,” he said. “So’s Natasha and Sam and Wanda.” He grimaced. “Two thousand and seventeen.”

“Two thousand -” Steve looked half exasperated, half bored. “Alright, Buck,” he scoffed, making to sit up.

“No, Stevie.” He moved quickly, catching Steve’s arm and pushing him back down. “Sit down.”

For a second he was worried that Steve was going to deck him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pressed the wrong buttons. He braced for impact, his mind forcibly reminded of the damage Captain America could wreak. Steve, however, snarled out, “It’s your last night before you go away for God knows how long. I’m not really in the mood for a joke.”

Bucky let out a long breath, shoulder dropping. “It ain’t a joke.” He smiled. “I can prove it.”

This was apparently the last straw. Steve laughed. “Geez. Okay, you prove it. I’ll sit and watch you make a fool of yourself.” He shrugged, smirk taking over his entire body. “No skin off my nose.”

A little unnerved by Steve’s scepticism - he’d seen Steve dig his heels in before, it had never ended well for him - he rushed to compose himself. “Right, okay. Er, night before training. Okay, so.” He bit his lip, searching hard for a solid memory. “Yeah, okay, at your work today the register was short five bucks and Mr Silva wanted to take it out of your docket. Turns out it was the Hwang kid. He needed money for his baby sister’s medicine or something. You let Silva carry on thinking it was you. You haven’t told me that yet, right?” Bucky breathed quickly. “But the first time I lived this day you said you wanted to bring me a ginger sponge back from Haggerty’s, but couldn’t cover it, and that was why.”

Steve was looking at him like he was mad. Bucky grabbed his opportunity. The future, the mission, the stone. The blast into the past. Throughout it all Steve maintained an expression of confused disbelief, skinny body sinking further into his chair with every word. As if sensing he was nearing the end of his tether, Eleanor trotted over, her head coming to rest against his knee.

“But. So, you live?” Steve asked, croaking a little.

“What?”

“The war. You survive? I -” Steve frowned. “But, you said, two thousand and something.” Bucky held still as Steve moved closer, face inches away from his own. “You don’t look any different.”

Licking his lips, Bucky said, “I came back into my old body.”

Steve hesitated. “Is your mind a hundred years old?”

“No, no. I wasn’t around for - It’s really, really complicated, Steve.” He groaned, rubbing at his face with both hands. “It’s been a few years,” he tried, still gripping his own neck.

The tendons in Steve jaw flexed under this skin, his gaze flicking between Bucky’s eyes as he processed what he was saying. “So you went into the future and then back to the past?”

“I suppose.”

At Bucky’s answer Steve stepped back, head cocked. “You didn’t answer my question.” Bucky shook his head a little, not comprehending. “Do you survive the war?” Steve urged. “Just tell me. If I know you’re okay, then it won’t be so bad when you’re gone. Buck, c’mon,” he pleaded.

“I - Yeah,” Bucky’s voice wavered, unsure what to say. “I mean, I’m here ain’t I?”

Steve pushed on. “What about me?” he asked, eyes wide. “Do you still know me, if you’re in the future, how can you?” All Bucky could think to do was stay quiet, watching as Steve got more and more worked up. “Do I get my orders?” he asked, desperate. “Bucky. Do I - Do I just get left here?”

Steve’s voice cracked and he winced, unable to stay silent. “No. No, you don’t get left anywhere, Steve, I’d never leave you.” Even as he said it, the lie left a foul taste in his mouth. All he ever did was leave Steve.

“But the future, how did you -”

“I can’t,” he whined. “I don’t know what’ll happen if I tell you.” And it was true. Captain America was a huge part of history. How could he risk changing even a small part? “I mean, you have to know, but I think maybe it’s best if I leave out the detail.”

“It’s my future!” Steve yelled.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “And you should be able to make it for yourself.”

“But what if I want to change it?”

It was something that Bucky had been entirely glad for, that he wasn’t around when Steve went down with the Valkyrie. The thought of writing him off, of leaving him in the cold made his chest ache. If Steve knew what was going to happen to him, would he do something different? The handful of enlistment attempts he already had under his belt was an answer enough, really.

Getting to his feet, Eleanor snapped at his heels. Where did he keep them again? After pulling open a few cupboard doors he found what he was looking for. His old record collection, just waiting to be played. There was one particular song, he was sure he must’ve already bought it.

Aha.

“Hey, punk.” He dropped the record onto the table. Steve traced a finger across the title, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, and his lip trembled. As he bit down on it, Bucky crowded next to him. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, alright?” he warned and Steve nodded.

Better than anyone, he knew the power of hope.

~

The ruckus from the troops outside added to the silence in his tent. He laid on his bunk and listened to the patter of rain on the canvas, the constant murmur of distance conversation.

Distinctly aware of the beating of his heart against his ribs and the rise and fall of his lungs, he closed his eyes. His skin burned where he’d scrubbed in clean in the shower block.

He was alive.

He was alive and Steve had saved him.

“Hey, Buck, how are you feeling?”

The entrance to his tent flapped open and Steve was silhouetted against the setting sun. Even in the shadows his new physique had Bucky’s head reeling, he didn’t think the day would come when he’d get used to it.

“Holding up,” Bucky grunted, swinging his legs over the side of the camp bed as Steve sat opposite him. “Staff nurse gave me the all clear.”

“I’m not sure I believe her, you looked pretty peaky.” Steve grimaced, eyeing him up and down. “That quick a recovery?”

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky scoffed.

“Now, that’s different and you know it.”

Dressed in army casuals, it was bizarre to see Steve look so confident. So in control. “Explain it to me again,” he asked, purely to hear the deep timbre of his voice. Like an oasis in the desert.

He was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, but right then, in that hell hole of a place, Steve was like an angel come to take him home. He had to say something to him. He couldn’t keep it a secret, not anymore. It would kill him. To have to see him here, while everything else was turning to shit, and not have him know how treasured he was.

“Steve -” Bucky tried to interrupt Steve’s ramble about the plans for the regiment. “Steve -”

“- company’s shipping back to England. The rest of the Battalion is due in a couple’a weeks anyway, so we’re heading out in advance -”

“Steve, shut up.” The words were louder than he intended and Steve’s head snapped towards Bucky, monologue dying in his throat. “I have - I need to say something to you.”

Steve slumped, an entirely different story now that his spine didn’t curve by itself. “Ah, hell, Buck,” he groaned, bashfully. “I know you told me to give it up, enlisting and all that, but it was my only chance. The Doctor, he really believed in me and I can’t just let that go to waste. I have -”

“I love you,” Bucky rushed it out, face hot. He was intensely aware of the inches between their bodies.

A bewildered smile crawled across Steve’s face. “I know,” he said slowly. “It’s really good to see you again, pal. You had me worried for -”

Bucky almost growled. He’d shoved the knife in, now he had to dig around, carve up the flesh. “No, Steve, listen to what I’m saying. I love you.” His breath was coming in heavy pants, heart racing. “I need - I need you to know in case - Just in case.” He grimaced, trying to ignore the slackness in Steve’s jaw. “I don’t want to die out here in the fucking mud and never have told you.” He worried his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling sick. “I’m sorry, I know you went all through that to save me and I just - I’m sorry.”

A few beats passed. Bucky was sure the beating of his heart must be audible.

“You love me?” Steve whispered. He flicked his eyes to meet Bucky’s, blue and clear and wide. “When you say love, you mean - you mean like those girls you date?”

“I ain’t never dated any girls, Steve.” Bucky dropped his head to his hands, talking into his palms. “I always said that to you.”

“You were being gentlemanly.”

Bucky almost laughed. “No, I wasn’t. I sure as heck didn’t love any of them.”

“You weren’t being gentlemanly?” Steve asked with a pout, like he was trying to work out a difficult equation.

“No.”

“You don’t love any girls?”

“No.”

“You - You love me?” Steve’s voice rose at the end, like a question, like he hadn’t just heard Bucky’s whole speech.

Bucky smiled and sniffed before settling his gaze back to Steve. “A whole lot,” he croaked.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Is this a test?”

“N - No, Steve,” his voice wavered, unable to keep the tide of panic from breaking the shore. Steve wasn’t getting it. “It ain’t a test. I’m a fucking queer, alright?” He slid further away from his friend, his concentration on his hands, locked together in his lap. “If you don’t wanna be around me no more, I get it.”

Steve’s words were quiet when he spoke. “You think I wouldn’t want to be around you?” he asked. “You think I would regret saving you? Bucky, I could never -”

“I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologising.”

“I just - Now’s your chance.” Bucky chanced a look over to Steve. “That dame Carter,” he shrugged. “Smiled pretty wide for you.”

Steve blinked. “Peggy,” he said. Bucky didn’t know her first name and an ugly twist of jealousy curled around his chest. “She’s a friend,” Steve said. He carried on staring at Bucky until Bucky couldn’t take it.

“What - What are you thinking?” he asked. “Steve, I gotta know what -”

Soft lips pressed against his own, the heat of Steve’s body close to his. His eyes fluttered shut and he raised his hands to wrap around a solid back. Gently, slowly, without breathing, he pushed forward, savouring the moment until Steve pulled away.

“Don’t mess with me.” He could hardly hear his own voice over the rain outside. Maybe he hadn’t even spoken. Maybe Steve was just reading his mind.

“I ain’t messing.” His hands were still in Bucky’s hair.

“Steve,” Bucky fought down a sob. “Please. I can’t - You can’t do this to me, it ain’t fair.”

“It ain’t fair?” Steve laughed. He was close enough that Bucky could see the dusting of green in his eyes. “You’re saying you can declare your love to me out of the blue, and I can’t do it back?”

Hardly daring to breathe, Bucky asked, “Is - Is that what you’re doing?”

“I was trying to,” Steve said with a smile. That beautiful smile. Hell, he’d see that smile in his dreams until the day he died. Thank God it hadn’t changed with the rest of him. “I love you. There you go.” Steve sat back and held his arms out at his sides, like a grand announcement. Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes away. “Last night, I thought there was a chance I’d never see you again. And here you are, sitting here, telling me you love me. All I’ve done my whole life is love you, Buck.” He shuffled closer again and Bucky wrapped his fingers in his shirt. “I didn’t think - I didn’t think I’d ever get to say it out loud,” he said, voice thick.

Steve kissed him again, harder, deeper than before. Bucky breathed him in, needing to feel the heat of his mouth.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky broke off, laughing. “Your shoulders are all wide, I -”

The flap of the tent entrance was thrown open and the two of them jumped apart. Bucky stared, eyes wide as one of the men from his section clambered over the threshold. At the top of the camp bed, Steve cleared his throat.

“Sarge, there’s - Oh, Captain,” the private stumbled a little on noticing Steve, who responded with a small nod, jaw clenched. “Er, there’s a briefing on the forecourt about the crossing tomorrow.”

“Right,” Bucky said, hoping his voice sound light. “Thanks, Park. We’ll be over.”

Private Park backed out of the tent, nodding again at Steve and no doubt heading straight back to barracks to share his real life encounter with Captain America. Bucky smirked at him. Though his heart was beating like a jack rabbit, he could already feel a weight lifted from his shoulders.

He was alive and Steve had saved him. And he loved him back.

~

Getting back into the day in, day out of the army was tough. Fort Hayes had been a trial first time around, the second time around wasn’t exactly a picnic either. Bucky grunted, clambering up the wooden wall as the captain yelled them on from the sidelines.

As much as he’d been pleased to get his old body back, to be rid of the pain, to feel his youthful energy course through his bones once more, he had to admit the supersoldier get up had its moments. Years in action weren’t all wasted, he could remember the movements, the idea of what he needed to do. It was just the delivery. What his metal arm could have done with this obstacle course, he could only dream of. Still, he was catching the attention of the higher ups with his technique.

Perhaps attention was what he didn’t need. Could go either way, make you friends and enemies in a place like this.

The whole of the 27th Infantry Division was being trained up at the camp, in the middle of nowhere, South Carolina. Empire Division, the Lieutenant General had called it. Over ten thousand men making up seven regiments; the One Hundred and Fourth through to the One Hundred and Tenth.  

The 107th Regiment had one thousand five hundred men fighting in it in three separate battalions. In Second Battalion there were Companies E through to H. Bucky was in H Company with one and eighty three other men. How Company, they called themselves. There was a joke in there and the privates were quick to find it.

Of the five platoons that filled out How, Bucky was a Sergeant in Fifth; the company’s rifle platoon. Or he would become one, after completing training. He’d be tasked with leading Second Squadron. Twelve men that would rely on him to get them in and out of the war alive.

His number was 32557038.

That was who he was here. Not Bucky Barnes. Not even the Winter Soldier. But Sergeant 32557038, Second Squadron Leader, Fifth Platoon, H Company, Second Battalion, 107th Regiment, 25th Division, II Corps, U.S. Fifth Army.

“How Company!” Captain Hiester yelled.

Major Austin, Easy Company’s lead, paced the length of the court as they all scrambled to line up at attention. Bucky glanced at Sydney Barrett next to him who looked as downtrodden as Bucky felt, knowing that they were in for a hellish afternoon. The rivalry among companies was only topped by that of the men leading them. And Captain Hiester hated to lose.

Heavy breathing on all sides provided a strange backdrop for the rolling countryside. The large, blue sky above them was so different from the brick maze of New York; it could almost be a holiday. Almost.

“P.T. gear on,” Heister called. Bucky sighed. “We’re heading for a stroll.”

Barrett cursed under his breath, jogging towards the barracks. He’d be dead in three months. Killed at Palermo. It was like that here. A gallery of the dead, a walking cemetery. The day he’d arrived, they’d almost sent him back to retake his medical thinking he was having some kind of asthma attack. Truth was it had been harder than he thought, seeing them all again. Knowing how they’d go down in history.

He’d spotted Gabe about the place. They were in the same company, but different platoons. It was difficult to talk to him, platoon’s tending to stick to their own. He’d get there, he just needed to create the right moment. Dugan was in Fifth Platoon with him, already Sergeant and heading up First Squadron. He’d taken a liking to Bucky, just as he had before, bringing him under his wing.

Morita was somewhere in Italy already. Monty must be the same, or gearing that way at least. Who knows when and what Dernier got up to with the resistance before the joining the Commandos.

Finding them was a problem for another day, though. First, he had to get up this Goddamn hill. The run up Mount Wymond took half an hour to summit. Heister liked to tell them it could be done in twenty minutes, but that was bullshit. The ‘Mount’ was a lie as well, but Bucky didn’t care so much about that one.

Dugan headed up the second batch of them, panting and spluttering up the ascent. The men began to sing as they ran, strained but strong and low. The rhythm kept them on track, pushing them further up and up the mount.

“Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die.”

“I hate this song,” Bucky huffed. “We’re not in airborne.”

Keeping pace next to him, Dugan nodded at the rows of men. “They like it.”

“It’s depressing as shit.”

“Yeah,” Dugan laughed.

He had a stitch in his side and he was sweating like a pig, hair sticking to his face. “Ain’t even seen any action yet,” he grumbled.

“He ain’t gonna jump no more!”

“Neither have you,” Dugan shot back. His blue eyes stood out against tanned skin, looking bizarrely out of place on such a tall person. “You have the outlook of an old timer.”

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment,” Dugan crowed and he picked up the pace, joining in with the song.

Hours later and after a stop at the mess, Bucky was laying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. His dog tags were resting against his neck, shifting on his skin with every breath he took.

“Mail!”

One simple word and it got everyone’s attention straight away. It was funny, most of the men here had probably been away from their families for longer stretches than this. Something about the fight looming over their heads meant that even while training, letters from home where valued above most other things.

“Anything for me?” he asked as the M.P.O. guy passed him. Carter, his name was. British. On hearing his accent, Bucky had wondered if he was related to Peggy.

“Yes,” he said. “Two.”

Once he’d moved on Travers, who had the cot next to him, dropped his playing cards. “How come you’re so popular?” he asked, nodding over at the envelopes in his hand. “You had one yesterday an’ all.” Travers smirked. “You playing the field? Toying with them girls’ hearts?”

“Face like that, bound to be,” his card partner, Strenburg, murmured. Cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth, he was staring hard at his hand. In the time that Bucky would spend with the man, he’d never known him to win a game.

“You like my face, Strenburg?” Bucky grinned, earning him a scowl. “Nah,” he dismissed. “Nothing like that.”

“Well?” Travers pushed, nudging his knee with a mud-caked boot.

Bucky shrugged, shifting up his cot to sit against the headboard. “I got friends, alright,” he said. “I’m a nice guy.”

Travers laughed, “‘Nice guy’ he says.”

“Only needs to be nicer than you,” Strenburg sang.

He ignored the squabble that broke out between the pair - egged on by the rest of the barrack - in favour of ripping open the first envelope. It was from Romanoff, he was sure of it. He didn’t recognise the writing, there was nobody else it could be.

Barnes,

I’ve made contact with Howard. We thought he might respond better to me.

We didn’t include much in the letter, not about our situation. It turns out, though, that only a few people in the world know about their side project (who’d have thought?). Mentioning it got them a little hot under the collar.

Howard and co. have agreed to meet with us next month, when they’re back in the city. You’ll be on leave by then, isn’t that what you said?

I’m sure he’ll tell you this himself, but in case he doesn’t, Steve’s decided that he’s coming with us. I could stop him but I think it’s a smart move. Even if he doesn’t have the brawn, he still has the brain. And, who knows, maybe they’ll bulk him up sooner if they meet him now.

Hope you’re doing okay taking orders again,

Natalia

Bucky blinked, sending a silent thanks to whoever had decided that checking soldiers’ mail wasn’t necessary at training. His eyes hovered over the ‘Natalia’ for a second. He knocked his head back against the wall. Well, that was that, then. He’d have to see Howard again. Peggy. At least he had a few weeks to build up to it, to figure out how they would play it. The simplest option would be to tell them everything, but maybe that wasn’t the safest. And Steve, well, he knew Steve would want to get involved. He’d assumed as much from the start. Still, it would’ve been nice, to know that he might’ve been kept out of it all, safe back in Brooklyn.

He put it to the back of his mind for now, moving on to the next letter, from Steve himself. It was only really him and his pa that wrote him. He didn’t have much to say back to them, not yet. By the time that he did, he would rather keep it to himself.

Bucky,

I’m glad to hear that you’re making a good impression. I’m proud of you. You’ll get Sergeant if you carry on at this rate (Do you? Wouldn’t change the history of the world if you told me that, right? You’re not that important!).

All is pretty much the same back here. Eleanor misses you, I think, but Wanda’s doing a pretty good job of filling the void. You stay out there too long, you won’t have a dog to come back to, she’ll have stolen her.

Your friends have set up a meeting with some mysterious group, I’m going to tag along. Before you shout me down, I think I can help. I want to help. If you want to stop me from enlisting so bad, then maybe this is the way to do it?

I don’t want to make out like I’m blackmailing you with it, Buck, but I need to be doing something. If getting you out of this sticky situation is something that would help, better I’m doing that.

Tom came over yesterday, had an impressive black eye. I’m trying to get out of him who it was, but no luck yet. Sam’s riled about it - think he might quite like the kid. Always knew he’d end up more popular than you.

Write back soon. I want to hear how you’re going with that mountain.

Your friend,

Steve

“How Company,” came Heister’s voice as he appeared in the barrack door. Bucky had forgotten just how grating those words in that voice could become and he shoved the letters in his pocket.

“Stand by your bunks,” Lieutenant Robinson, ordered. “Inspection time.”

Bucky bit down a grin, keeping his eyes forward. This would be great for his letter back to Steve.

Today was the day Garcia got busted for stashing away his blue magazines. If Bucky got to watch that knucklehead go the whole course by himself, in full gear, for the second time in his life, he wasn’t going to complain about it.

Down the line, Garcia shifted. Captain Heister had spotted his target.

~

Steve had seen the Brooklyn War Memorial. He’d visited the East Coast Memorial in Manhattan, as well. Hell, he’d even gone and paid his respects at the American Cemetery in Cambridge, while he was over in England.

It was his duty. He could feel it, physically riding his shoulders. Where some were no longer able to remember, he would remember for them.

He’d looked it up once, how many surviving U.S. veterans of world war two there were still around. It was around five hundred thousand.

When he’d told Wanda this, she’d whistled low and slow, nodding her head. “Honestly?” she’d said. “I thought it would be way less.”

Sixteen million Americans had served in the second world war.

Four hundred and sixteen thousand men were killed during the fighting.

In modern times, a little less than four hundred died in their old age every single day.

Give it ten more years and Steve would be the only one left.

He thought about it most days.

Today, in particular, he’d come to Arlington for several reasons. Namely, he couldn’t sit and do nothing while Tony and the others tried to reach Thor. But mostly he liked to visit when he could and it had been a long while.

Pulling his cap further down his face, Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and circled around the small crowd that had gathered by the main entrance. When he’d first visited this place, not too long after waking up from the ice, he’d been disbelieving of the way people spoke. It had been so distant and cold. Like the graves around them were ancient history. He’d got used to it. There wasn’t a twist in his gut anytime someone mentioned the meagre rations, the stench of the trenches, the unrelenting shelling, so different on paper than when you lived it, day in and day out.

It wasn’t their fault. Intellectually, Steve could appreciate. He’d probably be the same, of course, in their shoes. At least they were there. At least those hundreds of thousands of men weren’t being forgot entirely.

Gravel crunched underfoot as he trod the familiar path to his destination. He passed familiar graves on his way. Field Marshall Sir John Dill. Dwight Davis Lieutenant Colonel. Richard E Byrd Jr Medal of Honor. George Westinghouse 1846 - 1914.

An echo of the embarrassment he’d felt when he’d first seen his unit’s memorial resonated through him. On his behalf only, of course. He couldn’t think of a more deserving group of men for such an honour. To be remembered alongside so many other brave individuals.

Hell, Kennedy was buried here. A bunch of them. Steve only had to skim the history books know what kind of a man he had been.

Set at an intersection of Roosevelt Drive, not too far from Chaplan’s Hill, a bronze statue rose above the pavement, mounted gracefully on a stone plinth. It was the famous Howling Commandos. A little less than life sized, he stopped in front of the solid version of himself, shield raised, solemn gaze settled in the middle distance. On his right, the statue Bucky knelt on one knee, eye lowered to his rifle sight. It always made Steve smile, to see the care the sculptor had taken to perfect the slight fall of Bucky’s short hair in the non-existent wind.

Colonel Phillips had lobbied for the statue, so Steve had learnt when he had first become aware of its existence. It was one of Phillips’ last great shows of power before he retired from the S.S.R. in the late forties.

It reminded Steve a little of the Marine Corp War Memorial, the one set just outside the Cemetery, six Marine’s all helping to raise the U.S. flag high into the air. It was a thought he imagined others would certainly share.

Dugan, Gabe, Morita, Monty and Dernier all stared back at him, ready for action. They seemed to look over the gravestones of the other fallen soldiers with a protective gaze.

They were all he had left. These statues of his former friends.

Not for the first time, Steve wondered what the Commandos would have made of such a monument. Dugan and Monty would have loved it, no doubt. Morita maybe not so much. He was sure that Gabe and Dernier would have laughed off the idea, though they would have felt the same pride in the recognition that Steve did. He never mentioned it to Bucky. He’d be sure to bring him here, when he returned.

Overnight rain gathered in the grooves of the bronze. Above him, grey clouds billowed, though a faint band of light broke through at the horizon. It was so quiet here, so separate from the rest of the world. Maybe Steve could stay. He’d been doing so well, finding a place for himself in the new world, but as he let his eyes travel over the names on the gravestones around him, he found himself being drawn further and further in.

These were the men he’d grown up with. These were the men who understood. These were the men that he should’ve been buried with.

He shook his head. “I’ll get you back,” he croaked, eyes resting on the solitary drop of water sliding down Bucky’s trigger finger. “If it takes me another seventy years, I’ll get you back.”

With nobody there to pull him up and away from his own growing despair, Steve wallowed in his failures. Forever to be repeated, apparently.

Long enough had passed with him staring resolutely at the statue that people were starting to give him sidelong glances. The longer he stayed, the more chance he’d be recognised. With a heavy heart, he gave the memorial one last look, made one last unspoken promise, and set off. The footfall of the pathway increased a little as the sun rose in the sky. Steve strolled through the rest of the park, a calmness overtaking him in the shadow of the tall trees.

He kept pace behind a small gathering of people as he made his way towards one of the amphitheatres and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. They were a family, from what he could make out. A small girl, she couldn’t have been more than seven, tried unsuccessfully to swing from her father’s arm.

“Stop it, Mariah,” the father hushed, looking at the flimsy paper map in his hand with confusion.

The family diverted from the path after a while and Steve, not wanting to intrude, but feeling somewhat invested in what their story was, took a seat on one of the wooden benches near the path. He kept the family in view.

His own father had died in the Great War, though he couldn’t recall his mother ever taking him to any memorials. Sure, they’d visited his grave. Sarah had been buried next to him when she died herself. Steve had only been eighteen at the time, he remembered the open arms of the Barnes’ ready to welcome him into their home, determined even then not to leave him alone.

Art and Tom Barnes had become just as much a family to him as Bucky. The subtle Irish lilt in Art’s voice after he’d been home a few hours always had Steve thinking of his mother.

Had the Barnes’ ever visited Bucky’s grave? Would they have made the trip all the way to Washington D.C. to see what they knew was just a headstone? Maybe after Art had died, Tom might’ve made the journey himself. He might’ve wanted to make any connection he could with the family that he’d outlived.

For Bucky did have a grave here, Steve knew. It hadn’t been hard to find, Bucky had been listed on the ‘notable burials’ section in the visitor book. A little star had been placed above his grave on the map. Steve had only visited once, though, before Bucky had been brought back to life for him. The words etched in stone had felt like a punch to the gut. James Buchanan Barnes. New York. Sergeant. US Army. March 10 1917. February 28 1945. Nothing there to show that he’d been everything to someone. That he’d been a kind, happy, flawed human who Steve had loved more than anything in the world. That he was missed every minute of every day.

He had no desire to visit it again now.

Perhaps it wasn’t even there any more, though he couldn’t imagine anyone would have signed off on having it removed, even given Bucky’s return from the dead. He was a Howling Commando. An American hero. They’d asked Steve himself before his own grave was removed, a strange experience all around. Steve fought down the urge to head over to the small plot of land, several rows in from the path where the sun shone warm all day, and make sure it was still there.

Bucky was alive. He didn’t need a grave. It didn’t make a difference if the sun shone on it or not.

Instead, Steve focused once again on the family. They’d stopped by an innocuous looking grave now, all heads bent, reading the words engraved there. Had they known the person buried there personally? Or were they separated by generations, here to honour the memory of their family history?

They placed a small bouquet of posies on the grave. Some of the other headstones had flowers resting against them, as well. There had been a collection leant against the Commandos memorial, a popular resurgence since Steve’s turn with the Avengers. It made Steve smile.

He stood, stretching his arms. After a second he caught the eye of a middle aged man across the path, who gave him a curious look. With the distinct feeling he’d been recognised, Steve turned his face and headed on down the path. Not chancing a look over his shoulder, he tucked his hands into his jacket. The cool air had chilled his fingers after being exposed so long.

He took a long, meandering course back to the main entrance. At one point, bells began to chime overhead, birds joining in the song. It was nice. You could almost forget you were in the middle of America’s capital city. The grass was mown in careful lines. The immovable grand trees protected the park from its surroundings. The hedges pruned into sharp lines. Even the car park Steve had arrived at was smart, full of solid oak beams and dark slate.

The American flag, all stars and stripes and freedom flapped in the breeze. It reached out from the horizon, up to the sky, tall above Steve’s head. He squinted up at it. He used to know what it meant. He’d lost a lot of hope in symbols recently.

It was polite, that was the overwhelming feeling that came over Steve. A gentle, calm final resting place for those whose lives had not ended calmly.

Some of the men honoured here would have hated everything about it, that was for sure. But he couldn’t think of a better place to end up. The world continued on around the cemetery, those inside left behind. Unhurried and at peace.

A loud buzzing broke Steve’s thoughts. It took him a second to register that it was his phone. He inhaled. The only person left to contact him was Tony. That must mean -

‘Calling time on your city break. He’s on his way.’

“Oh, thank God,” Steve said, a little louder than he intended. An elderly man scowled at him as he hobbled past. Steve nodded an apology. As soon as the old man was clear of him, he broke into a run. The dead had taken enough from him for one day.

Chapter Text

Bucky looked at his watch. Ten fifty six. He was supposed to be at West Ninth Street at eleven. Eyeing the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, he grumbled. When the hell did Penn Station get so busy? His uniform gave him an advantage, the second people clocked him out of the corner of their eyes, they docked their hats, stepped to the side as best they could.

He looked the part, he knew. Head above most of the crowd, back straight, clean shaven, hair neatly parted. His service uniform was freshly pressed. He stood out even amongst the other soldiers and sailors travelling through. When he finally made it out onto the street, his shined boots clicked against the paving slabs.

It was the first leave he’d had since starting training, the last letter from Steve folded in his chest pocket. They’ve said our names will be left at the door. Don’t be late! Pretty sure they think we’ve made you up, reckon they might commit us on the spot if we turn up without you.

He squinted up and down the street. Was it even worth getting a cab? The train journey had been a long one, made even longer by Barrett and Travers heading the same way. Though he couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to keep up with their good natured banter, he let it wash. He could remember all too clearly how he’d been just the same on his first visit home. Green and grinning, excited to show off his uniform to Steve. Letting the sun beat against his face, feeling the pleasant stretch his legs, he began to weave a path down the sidewalk, brown duffle hefted over his shoulder.

Nerves had been plaguing him all morning. At seeing Howard, at the prospect of being completely dismissed, at the idea of pushing Steve closer to his future. Steve had been on his mind a lot during his training, not just this Steve, but the one he’d left in the future. It’d be just him and T’Challa in Wakanda. Would he even still be there? Surely he’d reached out for help by now, but, who would he even go to? Stark? Bucky pursed his lips. Maybe he would never stop causing problems for him.

As he waited at the lights a small boy in a cap yelled at the passers by, newspaper waving in one hand. He spotted Bucky looking and sent him a clumsy salute, which Bucky returned, smile on his face. When he was younger, Bucky had a stint as a paperboy. He’d been let go when he got caught abandoning his post. Steve always had something to drag him away to.

It was twenty five minutes past before Bucky squared up to the door of S.S.R. headquarters. Not an overly impressive building, people were walking behind him, not giving it a second look. He bounced on his feet. He couldn’t linger in the doorway all day. The door gave way easily, revealing a stern looking woman behind a glass panel. Eyebrow raised she asked, “Name and who you’re here to see.”

It was now or never.

He was led down corridor after corridor. There was no small talk and he was glad of it, not sure if his voice was up to it. The smaller man leading the way stopped outside a set of double doors, nodding him through, still silent.

Taking a breath, he stepped through.

“Not committed just yet, then?” he said, instantly recognising the back of Steve’s blond head.

Steve spun on his feet. “Bucky,” he called, making his way forward. He stopped after a few steps, remembering where he was. “Oh, sorry, Colonel. Just, this is him, James Barnes. Bucky.”

There was only a few of them, apparently they had wanted to keep either the possible revelation of time travel or the leaking of confidential information to a limited pool of people. Just those they’d named.

Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark, Peggy Carter. Next to her stood a man with receding hair, circular glasses, and warm smile. Doctor Erskine. He baulked, putting off meeting Howard’s eye for a few seconds more. The Colonel was decked out in his field gear, as if he’d been plucked straight from Bucky’s memory. Peggy surveyed them all, distant, calculating, intelligent.

Natasha, Sam and Wanda flanked Steve either side. It was odd, but a month away had blurred them in his mind. When he saw them now, they were more present, settled. Sam clasped at a trilby hat in his hands. He had a smile on his face, as if he was pleased to see Bucky. Natasha stood straight, bold as brass, clearly happy to be in the same room as those who could help them. Wanda, however, stayed slightly behind the rest, arms folded, gazing down. He waved a hello before Steve steered him towards the S.S.R members.

“Bucky this is Colonel Phillips, Doctor Erskine, Peggy Carter and Howard -” he trailed off, grimacing. “You already know that.”

Bucky brushed it off. “They don’t know me,” he said, deliberately easy, nodding a greeting. Howard reached out a hand. After a second of panic, Bucky took it. The last time they’d met Bucky had beaten him bloody. Beaten the life from him. He flexed his left hand, still flesh, still human.

“Always a pleasure to meet a scientific phenomenon,” Howard grinned, moustache twitching. “If that’s what you are.” Trying to relax, Bucky let out a slightly awkward chuckle. He and Howard had always had a fairly easy relationship, cut from a similar cloth, though not exactly the same. It didn’t seem to work, Howard dropping his hand with a curious look.

He was saved from becoming too distracted by Phillips, who stepped in front of him, seizing the hand he still had outstretched. “Sergeant Barnes,” he said, voice loud and words brisk.

“Not just yet.”

“Huh,” Phillips’ eyes dropped to his collar. “No insignia.”

“Don’t get ‘em until training’s completed,” Bucky explained, aware of everyone watching him.

“Don’t you now.” It wasn’t a question. Bucky shifted his weight. “Who are you with?” Phillips barked.

“Hundred and seventh, Second Battalion.”

Phillips nodded. “Heister. Company?”

“How, Sir,” Bucky responded.

“Some good officers around you.”

“Sir,” he said, drawing on the word.

The Colonel studied him for a moment more and Bucky had a second of panic that the man was somehow going to see in his face, all the atrocities he’d committed. “Alright,” he announced, instead, and turned on his feet to face the rest. “Now the man of the hour is here, let’s cut to it. I don’t believe you.” Bucky sighed and watched as Steve locked his jaw. “Fortunately for you, Doctor Erskine here does. He can be very persuasive.”

The stared in silence as Phillips sucked his teeth, a twinkle in his eye.

“You have until the end of the day.” He headed towards the door. “If the good Doctor can persuade me again, then you get longer. I have other business to attend to.” He waved his hand in Bucky’s direction, smirk in his voice and said, “But, then, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

The door closed behind him with a resounding thud.

“Anybody would think he’s enjoying himself,” Sam commented to the quiet room.

Howard chuckled, gold tie pin catching the light. “He thinks you’re German spies, come to steal our secrets.”

“Howard,” Peggy warned, sticking to the side. “He’s right to be wary.” Her eyes flicked to Natasha, to Bucky. To Steve. “Threats can come from even the most unlikely corners.”

“If we were spies,” Sam said. “Would we pick such an absurd cover story?”

Natasha answered his question for him. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe it’s so absurd that nobody would ever believe it was a cover story.” She raised her eyebrows, playful, at Howard’s pleased expression.

“Well,” Erskine interrupted gently. “I don’t know about spies. Science, though. Testing theories? That I know a bit more about.” He moved to open a door at the end of the room, different from the one they entered through. “Gentlemen, if you please. Ladies.” Bucky shared a look with Steve, the other man’s jaw was locked, but Bucky could tell his was pleased as anything with the turn of events.

Erskine gave a pointed cough and followed him into the dark.

Over the next few hours Natasha, Sam and Wanda were subject to rigorous questioning and testing. He waited outside as each returned, biting his nails and trying to ignore Steve’s indignant grumbling. They all returned in one piece, Natasha unphased, Sam frustrated and impatient, Wanda paler than when she went in but resolute.

It did nothing to help Bucky’s nerves. All that he could think of was that wire helmet over his head, metal cuffs holding him down.

“Steve’s coming in with me,” he growled, voice alien to himself, when Peggy came to collect him.

She looked like she was about to protest, changing her mind at Steve’s immediate compliance.

Inside it wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Dials. Levers. Needles scratching across paper. Friendly faces. No straps. Steve standing by the window. Outside the city carried on without them.

They asked him question after question, and he answered honestly. He told them about Project Rebirth, about Hydra, who Johann Schmidt and Arnim Zola were. About being frozen in time. Everything he could say without revealing what happened to Steve, to Howard, to himself.

By the end Bucky was close to breaking. He panted, shaking, watching Erskine watch him. During the last few questions, Steve had hunkered down next to him, concerned at the strain he was under.

“I think we can stop there,” Erskine said, putting down his clipboard. “Bring the others in.” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“So?” Howard asked. Bucky spotted the others hurrying into the room over his shoulder. Everyone waited. The clock above the door ticked. Erskine studied the results of spewing from his equipment, all nonsense to Bucky, but clearly they told him something.

“They are telling the truth.”

Sam whooped from where he was recovering from his own round, perched on a bare wooden chair. “I mean, I knew we were,” he clarified at their questioning looks, “but, nice to know old timey science agrees.”

Steve chuckled.

“From the future,” Peggy breathed. She was looking at them in slight wonderment.

Getting to his feet, Steve stammered, “I’m - I’m not.” He tucked his hair behind his ear. Sam smirked in Bucky’s direction as he rolled his eyes. This was precisely how rumours started. “I’m from now.”

“Indeed,” Peggy smiled wide, teeth dazzling against ruby red lips. “Our supersoldier.”

“And just the kind of person I’ve been looking for,” Erskine added as Steve blushed. “I can see why I picked you. A wise choice from myself.” He let out a pleased noise.

Bucky rubbed at his wrists where the leather had dug against them. He followed the progress of Howard’s shoes, bringing him to the centre of the room. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, top button undone. He looked so exhilarated, so alive. “Sure, but, Doc,” he said, “time travel. This could change everything .” He stretched his hands out in front of him, eyes wide.

Erskine inclined his head. “It already has.”

Bucky bristled as Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

With a heavy sigh, Bucky spoke into his hands. “This isn’t how you met before.” He grimaced. “I never met Esrki -” His eyes met Erskine’s and he flushed, looking away.

“What?” Steve asked. “Buck, what?”

“I think,” Erskine said, words measured. “Perhaps, Private Barnes knows something about my future he does not wish to tell me.” His gaze didn’t waver and Bucky was filled with respect, glad that he finally got to meet the only other man who had seen Steve for who he was. “How I die, maybe?” Erskine suggested. “That is usually the forbidden detail.”

Bucky gnawed the inside of his cheek, weighing up his options. He chanced a look at Natasha, who gave him a minute nod. “When - When Steve gets the serum, there’s a Hydra agent,” he started. “They infiltrated the test. Shot you and stole the remaining serum. Ended up swallowing cyanide, destroying all that was left of it.”

Folding his arms, Howard stood his ground. “We’ll there you go. All the more reason to refocus. Come on, Abe. We can do the serum any time.” He spun around the room, fists clenching. “Time travel! Why is nobody else excited about this?” he half shouted.

As if used to him, Erskine simply nodded. “We shall do both. My serum will not be abandoned. Only put on hold.” He reached out to Steve, clapping his shoulder. Steve stumbled under the force of it and Bucky saw Natasha bite down a smile. “Seeing as I have already found my candidate, there is no rush,” the Doctor continued. “We have enough intelligence here to appease the Colonel, I am certain.”

“This’ll win us the war,” Howard crowed.

Bucky didn’t know about that. Erskine was right, history was changing no matter how much Bucky tried to keep himself straight. How much of his knowledge would soon become obsolete? He hardly knew that much to begin with, relying on Steve to tell him the necessary and leave it at that. He could let them know about Azzano, but without Captain America to rescue everyone, what would Hydra do?

He fiddled with the cuffs of his uniform jacket and watched Natasha step forward under the flickering lights. “And get us home,” she added.

“Sure,” Howard shrugged, leering at her. “You rub my back, I’ll rub yours.” He winked and laughed at Natasha’s unimpressed glower.

Taking over, Peggy agreed, “We’ll get you back. It might take us some time, but there are some very clever people here.” She cast her eyes over all of them; the would-be Captain America, the rest all products of war. “We’ll work it out.”

~

The thing about Howard was, once he took a liking to you, he was hard to shake off. And apparently travelling to the future then back to the past made you interesting enough to become his new best friend. It was causing Bucky a lot of issues.

The second they’d been let out of Headquarters, Howard had cornered him and Steve. He’d tried to drag the others along as well, but Natasha had been too quick to react. She’d smirked at the pair as they were pulled down the sidewalk, Bucky pouting at her until she disappeared around a corner. Howard had taken them to his favourite bar when he was in town. They were stuffed in the corner both, music and conversation erupting around them, a wall of movement between them and the door.

Howard was in his element, talking a mile a minute, Steve following his every word. Bucky, on the other hand, was knackered. Erskine’s question and answer routine had brought on a headache and he all but sure that Howard had brought him here to carry on his own line. All entirely off the record, off course.

“It’s like a real life version of ‘The Time Machine’,” Howard finished, taking a long swig of his drink.

Steve hummed, nursing his own drink in between his palms. A Tom Collins. He always ordered it when he was out, even though he hated the taste, Bucky could never work out why. “Bucky loves that book, don’tcha, Buck?”

“I did,” he mumbled, his own straight bourbon untouched on the table. “Turns out it wasn’t too accurate.”

He heard the other two laugh and smiled at the sound. He had his father’s book in his hands, fingertips skirting the embossed cover. He wouldn’t visit, but knowing he could, knowing him and Tom weren’t far away, it was calming.

“You a poet?”

“Huh?” Bucky turned to Howard at last. “Me? No,” he shook his head. “Not so great with words, Stevie is.” He rubbed at his forehead, shoving the book away and taking up his drink at last. “I’m more of a numbers man.”

“Makes sense,” Howard narrowed his eyes at him. “Rifleman, you said?”

“S’right.”

The bar was busy, someone was shouting in the crowd, a joyful, drunken shout, laughter bubbling beneath it. He turned to Steve to find the other man staring at him, stupid smile on his face. “Missed you, pal,” he said. His words were just a little slurred. Bucky raised his eyebrows in a smirk and said nothing as Steve shuffled closer.

“Captain America,” Howard said suddenly, and Bucky startled. “How come he joins with the 107th?” he carried on, ignoring Bucky’s alarm.

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re halfway to Europe already, Sarge ,” he flicked a finger at Bucky’s cap, lying between them on the table. “We’re nowhere near finished with Rebirth.” He shrugged. “How does he find you over the ocean?”

“I dunno if I should say,” Bucky demurred, bracing himself for an onslaught. “Time and all.”

Howard scoffed. “Buddy, I think the damage has been well and truly done.”

At his shoulder, Steve whined. “Yeah, Buck.” He shoved at Bucky’s side. “If I ain’t gonna live it, at least I should get to hear about it.” At Bucky’s appalled expression, he backtracked, “I didn’t mean it like that. I wanted to help, and now I am. Just no super strength.” He pulled a face and Bucky wanted to kiss him and strangle him. “Can’t miss what you never had.”

At the pair of captivated faces, Bucky caved. “Fine, fine. Listen good, alright?” And so Bucky retold the Azzano story, sounding to himself very much like the private’s at the time, repeating the story to other companies, other regiments, with a sense of wonder and disbelief that one man, one captain, could pull off such a rescue. Once he was finished, skirting over the exact circumstances in which Steve had found him, he sat back against the cushioned seat. Howard was perfectly thrilled with the tale, a war story straight out of the movie reels. Steve was less impressed. His face had fallen and he worried his lip in silence.

“What?” Bucky set down his tumbler and scowled. “You said you wanted to know.”

“I did! I do.” Steve held up his hands in surrender. He pouted and let his eyes travel across the people in the bar. In a quiet voice he said, “It’s just. Who’s going to save them now?”

Momentarily dumbstruck, Bucky let Howard field the answer. “We will,” the other man said, determined. “We know it can be done. So we’ll do it.” He paused for a moment and then grinned, “Or get someone to do it, at least.”

Steve dropped his eyes, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Something was still bothering him.

“Steve,” Bucky tried.

With a heavy sigh, Steve swirled the remnants of his drink around the bottom of his glass. “You didn’t die before,” he said, eventually. “We keep changing things,” he trailed off.

“You worried I’ll die in this version of history?” Bucky asked, voice soft. “Ain’t that funny,” he said with a smile. He leaned closer. “You can worry about me, I’ll worry about you and nothing’ll get done.”

Steve smiled at him, though still a little forlorn. His eyelids were heavy with drink and the familiar pangs of longing tugged at Bucky’s chest, wanting to be closer still.

“What happens to me, then?” Howard asked.

Slowly, Bucky shifted back, fixing Howard with a glare.

“Come on,” Howard called.

Shaking his head, Bucky stayed firm. “Absolutely not,” he said. “No, Howard,” he held up a finger as Howard opened his mouth. “I ain’t saying.”

“Fine,” Howard huffed. “I’m sure I’m swell anyway,” he mumbled into his drink.

“Sure.”

His glass dropped hard onto the table and he leaned over. “Just a little thing,” he whispered.

Bucky sighed, sharing a grin with Steve who was looking on with an amused expression. “One thing,” he relented. “One thing and then you won’t ask me anything else.”

“On my honour.”

“Ha. I do know you, you know,” he reminded him. “I know what that’s worth.”

Howard’s jaw dropped, a look of faux-outrage on his face. “Don’t listen to him Steve,” he urged. “It’s invaluable.”

“You ready?” Bucky pushed on as Howard nodded. “Alright.” He paused for effect, sure that it wouldn’t make a huge impact on time if he revealed something so generic. “You have a son.”

“A son?” Howard repeated. To his credit, a please smile caught his lips.

“You have a son, and he’s,” Bucky frowned, thinking of the best way to put it. “Very much like you.”

“You know him?” Howard asked, desperate for more information.

He shrugged, sipping his drink. “Steve knows him more than me. And that’s two things,” he added, holding up two fingers. “You ain’t getting a third.”

After a moment, Howard spoke again. “‘Knows’?”

“Hm?” Bucky hummed, though he understood clearly. He’d let something slip. Maybe he should lay off the drink in this version of history.

“Steve still around where you came from?” Howard carried on, obviously delighted that he’d tripped Bucky up. Steve said nothing, but bit his lip, waiting to see how Bucky would respond.

Bucky frowned at the crowd before meeting Howard’s twinkling eyes. “You ain’t getting a fourth.”

~

They’d been marching for a while now and still Bucky didn’t entirely believe he wasn’t having some kind of fever dream. Every now and then he glanced to his right. Every time Steve was there, tall and broad and head held high.

A strange pang of loss for his friend shot through his chest, his friend who’d stuffed newspapers in his shoes, had to fix extra holes in his belts, strained to reach top kitchen shelf. He’d collected those moments over the years, kept them in mind. He’d never get them again. Of course, it shouldn’t matter. Steve was Steve, no matter how many muscles he had. The moments would be different, not gone forever.

“Will you say something?” Steve’s voice broke through the dark night. “You being so quiet is worrying me.”

“Sometimes I’m quiet,” Bucky croaked.

“Sometimes, sure,” Steve turned to look at him. “I guess I expected more questions.”

Perhaps he should be asking more questions. It was unbelievable and yet Bucky had no trouble accepting it as the truth. What he’d seen Zola do, it turned out the world outside of Brooklyn was a little different to how he’d imagined it. “I’m processing,” he said, in the end. “The questions will come.”

“You okay?”

“Uhuh.”

“You were tied to a table,” Steve said, as if Bucky had somehow forgotten. As if he hadn’t lived it.

“Uhuh,” he repeated, eyes on the dirt track in front of them. Puddles overflowed their craters and water seeped through the holes in his boots, soaking his socks. He could hardly feel his toes any more. When was the last time he’d been truly clean? Not since he first set foot on that French beach, ground beneath him already churned up. A sign of what was to come, surely.

“The questions will come, Bucky,” Steve carried on in his ear as Bucky retraced the steps that led them both here, throwing his words back at him. “They’ll wanna know.”

He licked his dry lips and grimaced. “Not just now,” he said. He was so quiet that he wasn’t sure Steve heard him. His friend stayed silent though, so he supposed the message had gotten through.

Miles later, hours gone, the sun started to peak above the horizon and Steve cleared his throat. “I didn’t, er, I didn’t plan this, you know.”

Bucky was half asleep, feet moving out of routine. Those late night marches in training weren’t so pointless after all. “Huh?” he murmured.

“If that’s what you’re thinking.” Steve looked concerned. Surely the other man wasn’t worried about what Bucky would think of him? Strange. He’d never done so before. “You might not be,” Steve shrugged, leather jacket straining over his shoulders. “I don’t know, but, just - I didn’t mind my old body, is what I’m trying to say.” He smiled at Bucky. The same smile that Bucky had kept in his mind when the cold got too much, the ground too hard. The bullets too close.

Bucky softened. “How do you mind this one?” he asked.

“It’s alright.” Steve chuckled. It was a deep sound, reverberating against in his chest. For the first time, Bucky thought that his voice and his body matched. The outside had caught up with the inside. “Nice to be able to breathe easier,” Steve joked. “Hold my own in a fight.”

“Never stopped you before,” Bucky mumbled. He nudged Steve’s ribs. “‘Sides, that’s what I’m for.”

Steve saw right through him of course. Because that was it, really. Bucky’s fear. That all of a sudden he’d become meaningless. He’d taken for granted, revelled in even, that he was the only one who saw Steve for who he was. Now it was out there for the world, and maybe Bucky would be forgotten.

It was a stupid thought and Bucky tried to banish it from his mind. But it crawled back, with every clap on the back and celebratory cheer from another soldier.

Steve was the hero in the story, not him.

“That what you’re still for.” Steve rushed out the words that Bucky looked away. “Not - Not that that’s why I -” Steve stumbled to recover before giving up. “Shut up.” He shoved Bucky, only to pull him upright again when Bucky almost fell.

“I get it,” Bucky said before Steve could apologise. “You can’t live without me.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Steve sent him a sombre look. “I wouldn’t like to, no.”

Bucky was thankful for the cold then, justifying the redness in his cheeks. “Thanks for coming after me,” he muttered after a few seconds deliberation. He gripped his fingers around his rifle and took a deep breath. “For the record, I think it’s swell.” He nodded to Steve when the other man quirked his eyebrow. “I thought you were swell before, and all. That’s the only time I’m saying anything nice about you, alright, so savour it.”

Steve grinned. Thank God that Bucky could still make him smile. “Consider it savoured,” he said. “You need a rest?”

“No,” Bucky said, honestly.

“You can say if you do.”

Steve’s tone was decidedly casual. Now that he thought about it, they must have been walking for hours. He didn’t feel tired at all. Maybe it was the adrenaline? “I know,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Alright.” Steve lifted his shoulders, squared his jaw. There he was. Captain America. Didn’t take him too long to show his face again. “I’m gonna check on the others. I’ll see you?” Steve asked.

Nodding, Bucky gave him a half smile. “I’ll be here,” he said. At Steve’s side, wherever they were headed.

~

It was dark by now, the security lights outside the Compound shining beyond the window. Inside, Steve, Tony, Rhodes, and Vision were all seated around a coffee table in one of the Compound’s communal areas. All four stared at Thor with varying stages of disbelief written across their faces. Thor stared back.

“Are you -” Steve started, eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious?”

Thor’s deep voice held a slightly indignant tone. “I would not jest about such a matter, Steve.”

“But, time travel .” Steve waved his hands through the air, like the gesture could accurately sum up the ridiculousness of the situation. “You’re absolutely sure? They’ve travelled through time?”

He kept his eyes on Thor in an effort to catch any hint that he might be playing a cosmic joke on them. Steve was sure that Thor wouldn’t do such a thing to him, not after Steve had gone into great detail to explain just who Bucky was. But it seemed so absurd. Wormholes were one thing. Aliens he could handle. Time travel. Well. Maybe it wasn’t so absurd after all.

Thor shifted, the sofa creaking a little under his weight. Even in his earth attire, he looked every inch the king he could be, long hair half braided, the rest falling artfully at his shoulders. Steve had seen men with similar styles wandering the streets of Brooklyn before he got himself banished.

“This is no ordinary stone,” he said. They all looked down on the glittering white stone, encased now within a glass box. It looked like an exhibition from a museum. “This is a time fragment. There are only three left in the known galaxies.”

“Time fragment,” Tony remarked. “Alright. What does it do?”

“Your royal friend was correct,” Thor nodded to Steve. “It is a powerful weapon for those that know its secrets. It is not to be trifled with.” He looked up at them all. “The science within this stone, it is so advanced, I would not expect any on earth to be able to wield it.” Leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, he admitted, “I don’t fully understand how it works myself.”

Tony hummed. “How did Robocop manage it then? Sounds like he wasn’t even trying.”

“There is one surviving record of a Vanir successfully harnessing the power of the fragment. Thousands of years ago.” This piqued the interest of the other four. Steve raised his eyebrows, signalling for Thor to continue, where he hesitated. “They reported travelling months into the future, to the day their daughter was born. For them, no time passed at all. For everyone else they simply disappeared, only to reappear after months as if nothing had changed.”

“They went to the future?” Tony crowed. He clapped his hands, a smile on his face. “Well, problem solved, then. We can just sit and wait. Easiest mission yet.”

Steve couldn’t share in Tony’s celebration. He kept his eyes on Thor, whose expression was as sombre as before.

“Tony, that’s not what Thor said,” Rhodes reminded Tony.

“No,” Tony relented. “But that’s how I wish to interpret what he said.”

Thor ploughed on. “The operator travels to a moment in time they hold dear. A moment that was treasured at the time they made contact.”

Several faces turned to Steve. “Cap. Any ideas?”

A moment in time. A moment that was treasured. Steve’s heart plummeted. If Thor had asked him that question seventy years ago, he’d have an answer straight off the bat. Now, though? Steve hardly knew what memories Bucky wanted to treasure and what he wanted to purge from his mind.

Steve sighed and ran a hand across his face. It was late. “It could be anything,” he said, softly. “I mean, he’s got memories spanning ninety years.” He shrugged, looking up at them all through his eyelashes. “I’d bet money on the thirties or forties, but that hardly narrows it down.”

“‘The thirties or forties’?” Tony repeated, a little incredulous. Steve winced. “Gee whiz, that’s helpful. I’m so glad we brought you along.”

“God, I -” Steve groaned. “He was - He mentioned his dad,” he offered.

“Yeah?” Rhodes encouraged.

“Yeah, he’d - That morning. His dad used to sing this song, all the time. I don’t know, I think it was a kind of inside joke, with Bucky and Tom.”

“Oh, there’s a Tom now?” Tony scoffed, though he was silenced by Rhodes’ warning glare.

“Bucky’s little brother,” Steve continued, his voice quiet. “But, he used to sing it, right. Bucky remembered, that morning. The song, that his dad used to like it. I mean, I tried to ask him about it, he’d not mentioned his family since before , you know?” He licked his lips, his fingers outstretched, resting lightly on the table. “He closed up, though. Maybe they were still on his mind?”

The others were silent for a while. “Okay, it’s a theory,” Rhodes agreed. “Where would that send him?”

“Lord knows. He shipped out in forty three. His brother wasn’t born until nineteen thirty one. Anytime between then, I ‘spose.”

“That’s twelve years,” Tony said. He looked just as tired as Steve felt. How long had it been since he’d slept? He’d been working on the stone through day and night for a long time now.

Rhodes chipped in, “Better than ninety.”

The five of them considered the prospect for a time. It was reassuring, somewhat, to know that the others were still alive. Steve had been sure they were, but now he had something to back it up. They were no closer to reversing it, though.

“Okay, well,” Tony spoke up after a while. “Why don’t we track down his brother? He’d remember if a bunch of future types just landed on his doorstep.”

For the first time since Thor had explained what the stone was, Vision spoke up. A faint line creased his forehead where his eyebrows were drawn together. “We do not know how this form of time travel operates,” he began. “It may be a closed causal loop. What has happened always happened, such as the Predestination Paradox, or the Bootstrap Paradox. In that case, yes, Thomas Barnes may be able to assist us.” Steve listened carefully, sensing a flaw in the plan was coming. “If the platform operates on an open loop, however, we may face several other problems. We could have a Grandfather Paradox situation, or a Let’s kill Hitler Paradox, or even a Polchinski Paradox, depending on what the travellers have done in their time already in the past.”

The room stayed quiet and Steve blinked, sharing a perplexed look with Rhodes.

Thor, however, smiled. “Humans,” he said, though Steve was sure he couldn’t have understood half of what Vision had said.

Tony shifted forward on the sofa, his arms raised, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I got this,” he assured. “So, it’s either Terminator or Butterfly Effect, right? Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure or Back to the Future.”

“Okay.” Rhodes was staring at the floor, eyes narrowed, concentrating hard. “So, if it’s an open loop, even if we travelled back in time as well - which is a ridiculous sentence, that I’ve actually had to say out loud in public - we’d be going back in time in an alternate universe?” He eyed Vision as if he wasn’t certain he’d made sense.

“Right,” Steve nodded as well, looking to Vision. “Like when Marty had to go back in time to steal the almanac back from Biff?”

“Oh, hey!” Tony grinned. “Rogers here did his homework.”

Inclining his head slightly, Vision ignored Tony’s outburst and replied, “Not quite. We could go back, if we had the power, to before the timelines split, if that is indeed the case. Wanda and the others would not be able to travel to our version of the future, however.” He moved his hands apart where they had been pressed together by his chest. “They could only travel forward to their version of the future.”

Feeling almost as bad as he had done when they’d first discovered Bucky had gone, Steve said, morosely, “They might be gone from our world forever.”

“Let’s just deal with one problem at a time, please,” Rhodes said, loudly, running a finger across his forehead, as if he had a headache coming on.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Steve continued down his path of misery. “Tom died in sixty three. We can’t ask him. We can’t know what type of loop we’re working with.”

“But we still face the minor catastrophe of the others being stuck in the past of some kind of parallel universe?” Tony shook his head, a disbelieving smile on his face. “Jesus Christ.” He turned to Steve. “Your buddy’s messed this up pretty good.”

Steve scowled. “Leave it, Tony. He didn’t know this would happen. Nobody did.”

Ignoring the pair, Rhodes asked, “What about the others? Will they have gone to the same time?”

Thor stopped to consider this for a while. “It is uncertain,” he said, eventually. Steve almost groaned in frustration. Perhaps sensing this, Thor added a placating, “If Barnes was the only one to actually touch the fragment, I’d imagine so. There’s no evidence either way to base it on.”

Tony raised his hands and let them fall by his waist. “So, essentially, we’re flying blind?”

He was wrong, though. Yes, they faced some challenges that, sure, felt a little insurmountable right now. But Steve was invigorated. They knew what had happened to Bucky. If he was back in time, he was probably already working on a plan of his own. He had friends in the forties. He was going to be okay, and he’d make sure the others were okay as well. At least now they knew what the problem was. They just had to solve it. They were the Avengers. What was left of the Avengers, anyway? They’d saved the world from annihilation multiple times. If they couldn’t pull together something to bring their friends back from the brink, then who could?

“No. This is a good start,” Steve announced, standing up and beginning to pace. “Thor,” he levelled Thor with a discerning look. “You said no one on earth could harness the power of the fragment.”

Thor nodded. “Your technology, while advanced, is not capable in its current form.”

“But you have technology up on Asgard that could help?”

At Steve’s words, Thor raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. “None that is specifically designed for such work, but I am certain that it could be adapted.”

“Can you bring it here?” He chanced a look towards where Tony and Rhodes were watching him from the sofa, Tony’s expression closed off, like he was waiting for Steve to finish before revealing his hand. “Work with Tony?”

“Of course.”

“Great. Vision.”

“Captain?”

Steve paused, wondering how best to phrase it. “That stone in your head,” he started, nodding at the pale yellow gem embedded in Vision’s forehead. “It has powers, correct?” Vision nodded. Next to him, Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve, clearly wondering what he was planning. “It can access the minds of others, expand consciousness.”

“That is the theory we are currently working to,” Vision agreed.

Steve grimaced, intensely aware that he was far from the most intelligent person in the room. He wasn’t the unappointed leader of the Avengers for nothing, though. “Do you think you could expand your consciousness to an alternative universe?”

Vision’s eyes widen, taken aback by the suggestion. He didn’t however, dismiss it out of hand. “In principle, I suppose,” he said. “If travel between universes can be done, though we do not know that it can, I would see no reason why consciousness should be different in that regard.”

“I reckon we should test it out, don’t you?”

~

Steve couldn’t say for sure what his plan was. More than anything, he hoped that if he had succeeded in planting an idea in Tony’s head, the other man would take it and run.

He watched now, back pressed against the corner of Tony’s lab, his sugary coffee clasped between his hands, as Tony surveyed the teetering towers of Asgardian equipment piled around him.

Standing in the centre of the room, Vision looked at ease surround by the bright mechanical whirring of the machinery around him. He sent a polite nod to Steve when he was caught staring.

“Cap?” Tony called over to him, wandering towards Vision and hefting an alien looking antenna in his hand.

“Mmh?” Steve hummed around a scolding mouthful of coffee.

“Don’t crowd me.”

Steve took a steady breath in through his nose. “Fine,” he growled. “You tell me as soon as you find anything.”

Tony grinned. “Scout’s promise.”

Steve let the door slam behind him, regretting it almost instantly. They were helping him, when nobody else could. People tended not to trust him around advanced technology; it was something he’d noticed quickly after waking up from the ice. It grated on him a little. Had people so easily forgotten what exactly he’d volunteered for in the war?

After spending as long as he could scrolling mindlessly through the options on the expansive television Steve was half way through lacing up his trainers, intent on running his time away, when Tony voice burst the quiet of the lounge. Steve straightened, waiting to receive a blow.

“We got them.”

The silence in the room was heavy for a few moments. “What?” Steve asked. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “But, it’s only been a few hours?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony replied, faintly distorted. “Am I too efficient for you?”

“No, I just -” Steve’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure?”

“Get down here.”

The intercom cut out and Steve was left, staring towards the corridor, feeling completely at sea.

“My genius continues to amaze,” Tony greeted Steve when he entered the lab once more. A barely suppressed smirk tugged at his cheeks.

“Thank you, Tony.” His eyes flicked around the room, as if he’d been expecting to see Bucky waiting for him with open arms. It was just Tony, though, still with a smile on his face. “How?”

“Wanda.”

Steve frowned. “Wanda? What do you mean?”

Tony let out a small cackle. “Vision has her on the mind.”

“Right.” Steve shrugged. “I don’t follow.”

The way Tony explained, it had a lot less to do with science and a lot more to do with dumb luck. They’d spent endless time and energy into investigating the operation and route of Thor’s Asgardian technology, trying to find something, anything, that could interact or even locate a parallel universe, when Vision had stumbled upon it by mistake.

An outward reach, is what Thor had called it. An intricate metal plate that could fit in the palm of your hand, it was used as a simple form of communication across realms. Vision had touched it and felt himself within Wanda’s mind. It was only after further prodding from Tony that he’d revealed he was thinking of Wanda when he placed his hand upon the plate. The gem embedded in his skull did the rest, as Tony put it.

“So, it was an accident, then?” Steve asked.

Somewhat put out by his words, Tony scoffed. “Tell that to John Pemberton.”

The, “Who?” fell automatically from Steve’s mouth. Before Tony could answer, however, he rushed, “Nevermind that, where are they?” He’d been in the lab for over ten minutes now and hadn’t seen hide nor hare of any victory.

“Ended up in Brooklyn, New York, nineteen forty three.” Tony sniffed. “Predictable.”

Of course . Of course it was Brooklyn. Bucky wouldn’t want to go back to anywhere else. Trying to temper the pounding of his heart, Steve raised his eyebrow. “Yeah? How come you didn’t predict it, then?” When Tony ignored him, he asked, “Are they okay?”

“Yes, they’re all fine,” Tony waved his hand, dismissively. “The whole gang’s there, Natasha, Wanda, Birdman, and your Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” Tony paused and clicked his tongue. “Seem to have themselves well sorted.”

Steve didn’t follow. “How do you mean?” he asked, stepping forward. “Look, let me speak to them.”

“In a minute, it was only Wanda there, she’s gathering the troops,” Tony raised his hands. “And I mean, they haven’t been twiddling their thumbs. They’ve gone to the S.S.R, haven’t they? Wanda’s been trying to contact us for a while. Looks like they had the same idea as us.” He scratched his chin and mumbled, “Just as well.”

Steve was hardly listening. “The S.S.R? So - So Peggy? Howard?”

Tony blinked. “Yeah,” he said, with a shrug. The tendons in his neck flexed. A second later, the lab door swung open and Rhodes leant against the frame. “They’re back,” he said, simply, eyes flicking between the pair. “Come on.”

In the second that Rhodey left, Tony made to follow. His shoes squeaked against the polished lab floor. Spotting the Steve hadn’t moved, he cocked his head towards the next room, holding the door wide.

“I don’t -” Steve locked his jaw, eyeing the doorway. Give him Hydra, give him impenetrable fortresses, give him aliens from outer space, for Christ's sake. Don’t give him this. “Tony,” he croaked. “They’re dead.”

“I know that.”

“But - I can’t, I can’t speak to them.”

Tony rolled his eyes, letting to door swing shut again. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. It doesn’t work like that,” he said, approaching Steve with an air of nonchalance. “Believe me, I’m not interested in opening that wound.” He quirked his lips. “Vision and Wanda talk, in their heads. We listen.”

“Tony - Tony, what has Wanda said?” Steve grimaced, meeting Tony’s eyes. “What does Peggy know?”

From the way Tony’s gaze flickered away from him, he knew Tony understood the question. “I don’t know. Wanda was only here for a minute, she wanted to get the others. First bombshell, though, time’s travelling twice as fast for them.” He studied Steve for a second, eyes narrowed, before letting out a cackle. Steve tensed. “Are you for real, right now?” Tony asked. “Captain America, scared to have a conversation. This is what we’ve been working towards.”

“For three hours,” Steve reminded him. “I thought I’d have more time to prepare.”

“Coming from the man that marched single handedly into Azzano?”

“It’s not quite the same,” Steve said, rubbing at his jaw.

The door opened a third time, an increasingly harassed looking Rhodes sticking his head out. “Are you coming?” he said.

“Yes,” Tony replied, not taking his eyes away from Steve.

Steve sighed. There was never a question of him going. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready. “ Yes .”

Vision wasn’t in the lab. They’d moved him to a smaller side room, crammed with wires and equipment that blinked and beeped ominously at Steve. Vision wasn’t connected to any of it, however, and Steve wondered whether any of it was necessary. Instead, Vision reclined across the cosy looking leather sofa. Rhodes was on the edge of his seat opposite him while Thor stood guard in the shadows. Steve squirmed where he stood. Something about the way Vision was sitting so still, his eyes closed, a small line between his eyebrows where he frowned in concentration. The gem in his forehead seemed to hum quietly in the background.

The clicking shut of the door behind Steve and Tony was unreasonably loud.

“They miss you.”

Vision’s words were quiet as usual, but they brought Steve to a stop.

“Who?” he asked. He needed to know exactly who was there, on the other side.

Vision did not reply, though. Thor’s deep voice boomed from the corner, “Wanda is there, she is relaying the messages to Vision. She has informed us that Lady Natasha, Wilson and Barnes are present. Agent Peggy Carter and Howard Stark are also with her, and a Doctor Erskine.”

Thor finished with a small nod, leaving Steve reeling at the list of names. Erskine, too? Doctor Erskine, who would get shot trying to make Steve’s dreams a reality.

“There’s someone else, as well,” Rhodes piped up. He looked over to Steve with an almost sheepish expression. “You,” he said, croaking slightly.

They all studied him carefully and he worked hard to keep his face passive. He was there, an alternative him. He’d never even - The thought hadn’t ever crossed his mind. But, why wouldn’t he be there, if Peggy and Howard and, hell, Erskine were there? Of course he would be too. And he’d never have let Bucky run off to find a gang of maverick scientists by himself. He kept still for a second, trying to think if he could remember anything from an alternate timeline. He didn’t feel any different. Catching Tony’s eye, the other man seemed to know exactly what he was up to. He gave up, instead nodding. “Tell them, we miss them as well.”

Vision remained silent and Steve could only assume that he was relaying the message. “What happened?” he asked, throat dry.

“Sergeant Barnes says that he touched the stone … he’d been thinking about his family … he touched the stone … he couldn’t breathe … and he was in Elmo’s bar, drinking a Manhattan.” Vision smiled, white teeth on show. “… listening to Jimmy Dorsey.”

“Elmo’s?” Steve could almost smell the cigarette smoke.

“Wilson says that the rest of them were pulled with him … and dropped nearby … he says that your scrawny ass wouldn’t give him a break.”

“He’s still little, then?” Tony said to nobody in particular.

Steve grunted, focused on Vision, who was still listening carefully.

“Agent Carter says that they’re working on finding a way to send them back.”

Peggy. Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. Peggy was with him, the alternative him. At the same time his chest swelled with the thought of it, a small knot in his stomach reminded him that he was there to speak to Bucky, to make sure Bucky was okay.

“Doctor Erskine says that having met you … he is certain his other self picked the right candidate … that your friends account for you well.”

Thor shoved him, good naturedly, and Steve smiled.

“Sergeant Barnes agrees.”

It was strange. Relief and excitement were palpable in the room. Steve longed to talk to Bucky and the others. But it wasn’t quite the same. Conversation didn’t come naturally. He couldn’t tell them, couldn’t tell Bucky how sorry he was that he’d lost him again. It wouldn’t be right, it would be too hollow, too insincere.

“Tell them we’re working on it,” he replied. “Do they - Erskine said ‘other self’? So he thinks the same?” Steve took in Vision’s expression, wondering if he was reflecting the mood of the other room. “That it’s an alternative universe? That they’ve diverged somehow?”

“Doctor Erskine says that is the theory that they are following. All evidence … points to this reasoning.” The four of them traded encouraging looks while Vision continued. “Romanoff wishes to know who is present here,” he said. “I will inform her.” He fell silent, and Steve assumed he was speaking to Wanda directly.

“Is -” Tony began, cutting himself off with a grimace. “Has my dad asked - Don’t ask Wanda,” he added, “but, has he said anything about me?”

Vision cocked his head slightly, Tony’s gaze trained on him. “Not yet.”

The rest of them shared a glance as Tony thinned his lips. “Okay, tell Wanda that we’ll check in daily. I’ll need to share my investigations with Erskine and -” He sucked his teeth. “Him and Howard.”

“Tony -” Rhodes started.

“Alright, twenty seventeen out.”

“Wait -” Steve rushed, but he was too late, Vision was already blinking his eyes open. “Tony,” he barked, standing to full height. “I wasn’t done.” He hadn’t said goodbye. What if it was a fluke, and they couldn’t contact them again?

“You want Vision and Wanda to transcribe your love letters for you?” Tony snapped. “We have to get to work.”

Steve flexed his jaw. It wasn’t quite the reunion he’d been hoping for. All the same, he didn’t appreciate Tony’s less than helpful attitude. Tony held his gaze for a moment before turning on his heel. The door swung shut with force behind him. Rhodes sucked in a breath and he followed him out, a small nod in Steve’s direction.

Turning to Thor, Steve felt altogether overwhelmed.

“It is a start,” Thor offered. “It is more than that.”

He was right, but Steve couldn’t deny the flicker of disappointment trickling down his spine. He’d hardly spoken to Bucky at all.

Chapter Text

It was night time. The red light from the bedside alarm flickered against the ceiling of one of the compound’s spare rooms. Visions of Bucky and an alternative version of Steve flickered through Steve’s restless mind. Finally giving it up as a bad job, he headed down the corridor, his skin prickling against the cooler night air.

The light was already on in the kitchen, it seeped out into the communal living area as Steve approached. He slowed his steps. Silhouetted against the flickering of a large projected screen was the unmistakable form of Tony Stark. He was about to call out, when it dawned on him what Tony was watching. On the screen, hanging above the apples and oranges of the kitchen island, was Bucky and Sam arguing noiselessly about the stone.

Under his breath Tony mumbled, speeding up the recording to the moment they vanished. Steve watched, for the hundredth time, Bucky being flung back in the air, disappearing before he could hit the wall.

“Hoping for inspiration?” he said at last, stepping out from the shadows.

Tony turned. “I’ve had some great ideas at two am, I’ll have you know.”

Steve nodded, eyes resting on the point of the video where Bucky had been standing.

“I never really asked,” Tony said, breaking the silence after a moment. “Are you two, you know,” Steve lifted his head when Tony trailed off. The other man raised his eyebrows. “Living in sin?”

Sin. Steve’s insides jolted. It must have shown on his face, as Tony began to back peddle.

“Hey - Crap - I didn’t -”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, gruffly. “We’re together, yeah.”

“Were you together back in the day?”

The simple question took Steve by surprise. It wasn’t one he was often asked, people preferring to affect a polite disinterest in the topic in his presence. Was Tony scouting for information? No, Steve scolded himself. He was allowed to be interested. “Not - It was,” he began. How could he explain it? “The war. It did strange things to people. I was never really sure what we were. I loved him.” He smiled, memories of playing in the street, lugging papers up the tracks, blowing bubbles in milkshakes filling his thoughts. “I’ve loved him since I was a kid.”

“And him?” Tony was leaning against the kitchen counter. He couldn’t remember the last time Tony seemed so curious about anything he had to say.

He shrugged, knowing the shy smile that must have been working its way across his face. Bucky used to tease him for it, how it made the little old ladies at the greengrocers titter.

“He said he loved me,” Steve said. “I think he did. Bucky, he was different in the war. Azzano and everything.” He shrugged at Tony, who inclined his head. “I guess I was always waiting for him to change his mind. He was so popular, you know, and I was this wheezy little punk that just followed him around. I -” He sighed. “Forget all of this,” he said, waving a hand over his chest. “He was the best thing that happened to me.”

It was saccharine, of course it was. But that’s how it had felt. Then, and now.

“Sweet,” Tony drawled. “What about Carter?”

Steve laughed. “I keep telling everyone we were just friends, I don’t know why nobody believes me.”

At that Tony grinned, cocking his head. “‘Cause it ain’t what the history books tell us, my friend,” he sang.

It was good, to have Tony’s good natured teasing directed at him once more. “She’s smart,” Steve said. “She knew what was up.” He smiled, ducking his head, embarrassed at the faint blush crawling up his neck. “She kissed me once, after Bucky died.” Looking at Tony, the other man’s expression remained teasing. “I think she thought I might die as well. I ‘spose I did.”

Scoffing, Tony clapped his arm. “I’ve seen you without a shirt on. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

He huffed a laugh. Should he mention it now, while Tony’s spirit seemed lifted? He gnawed on his lip for a second, weighing his options. “I think your dad knew,” he said, tentatively.

He kept his gaze on Tony. The other man’s jaw twitched imperceptibly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Used to catch him looking at Bucky and me sometimes, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.” Steve took a step closer. “It must be hard for you, knowing you could talk to him.”

Tony hummed, picking up an orange from the fruit bowl between them. The background buzz of the kitchen filled Steve’s ears, so different from the quiet he still heard in his dreams.

“I didn’t know - I didn’t mean to make it hard for you,” Steve finished. He grimaced at his own words.

“Of course you didn’t know. How could you?” Tony sent him a dazzling smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He dug his nail into the orange peel, a drop of juice falling over his thumb. “You aren’t omniscient just yet.”

They regarded each other. Steve felt the weight of all his unsaid words. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, well. Thank you for continuing to help me.”

“You’re very polite,” Tony mumbled as he sucked at his knuckle. He chucked the orange into the bin. “Barnes. Were he and my dad friends?”

The forced nonchalance in his voice had Steve wincing. “I suppose,” he replied with a shrug. “They liked each other, I reckon. They were similar, really. Bucky loved all Howard’s gadgets. Had a thing for sci-fi, you know.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Read ‘Brave New World’ and didn’t stop talking about it for weeks. Thought Howard was Flash Gordon or something.” Tony grunted and Steve turned away, leaning against the counter. He frowned at the blank cabinet cupboards trying to imagine what Howard would’ve made of this future “They used to game talk each other, right,” he said, words coming slow. “Showing off all the time. I reckon they understood each other pretty well, is what it was. Recognised themselves.” He cocked his head, looking Tony in the eye. “Your dad had a good heart, just like Bucky does.”

Tony dropped his gaze, knocking his knuckles against the countertop. “Ah,” he shot out. “Just makes it feel worse. Thought it might be better.”

“Yeah.”

“Quit looking at me.”

He didn’t quit, instead unfolding his arms and walking to Tony’s side. “Can’t you see that it makes it worse for Bucky, too?” he said softly. “He hates it. God, that’s not even it. What they made him do - It’s the worst -” He took a deep breath. “They took away his humanity. You can see that, can’t you?”

His heart beat faster the longer Tony remained silent.

Eventually, he asked, “My dad - Would my dad say the same, do you think?”

Steve’s heart almost stopped beating altogether. “Don’t tell him,” he whispered. “Tony, you can’t.”

“Can’t I?” The look in Tony’s eyes was challenging. Steve was ready for a fight. “Don’t think he’d be so understanding?” He kept an eye on Steve as he stepped around the kitchen island. “Funny thing is, Cap, I get the feeling he’d be okay with it. He was always very generous with his friends,” he said, narrowing his eyes across the room. “It was just me he couldn’t wrap his head around.”

Steve opened his mouth to talk, but Tony wasn’t finished.

“You know, when I was little, I went through a Captain America phase.” He grinned, mistaking Steve’s trepidation for surprise. “I know, I know. Hard to believe. I had to get Pepper to swear an oath of secrecy after she saw the photos,” he joked. “Dad thought it was hilarious. Used to buy me all the toys, all the outfits.” Tony shrugged, waving his hand. “I grew out of it, thank God. But I could never quite live up to that image. Not for my dad, anyway.” His eyes flicked over Steve’s shoulders. Steve shifted his weight, as if he was back at Camp Lehigh, standing in line. “In the end I stopped trying. Figured if I couldn’t earn his praise, at least I could deserve his disdain.”

Tony paused and Steve got the impression that he was supposed to say something. That Tony didn’t need to earn anything? That his father could never despise him? He knew all of these things; he didn’t need Steve repeating them, lessening their worth.

“He always wanted me to be the best,” Tony continued, nodding to himself. “Maybe I get it now, he wanted me to be the best version of me. At least, I hope that’s what it was. At the time it just felt like what I was wasn’t enough.”

“He loved you,” Steve offered, unable to remain quiet.

“How on earth would you know anything about it, Rogers?”

“I knew him. I know you.” Now he’d started, the words rushed out of him. “He would have thought you were brilliant. And I’m pretty sure he would have thought Iron Man wiped the floor with Captain America.” In his haste, a thought poured out of him, seventy years in the making. “It’s ironic, that you didn’t think you could live up to the Captain America hype.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. If Steve didn’t know him better, he’d have said he looked bored. “Is it?”

“It was my biggest fear throughout the whole thing.” Steve gave a self-deprecating smile. “Still is.” It was nice to say it out loud, to put his unordered feelings into words. “I went to Azzano to save Bucky, that was why I did it,” he started, needing to reassure himself. “But, if Bucky hadn’t been there, I probably would have done it anyway. Or something similar, sooner or later. What’s the point of all of this if I couldn’t use it? If I didn’t help, if I don’t help, I’m a waste.” He dragged his hand over his face, thinking of where he was, alone, on the run, cowering in the corner. “People died for this, I can’t fail.”

Tony’s voice brought him back. “Sounds like you’ve sentenced yourself to a lifetime of servitude.” The other man was levelling him with a thoughtful look.

“What would people think of me, if I disappointed them?” Steve asked, simply.

Tony laughed, jolting Steve a little. “You have your own life, Steve,” he said.

“You sound like Bucky.” He smiled. “I get it, I do. It’s just learned behaviour. Hard to shake.” Rubbing at his neck, feeling exhausted, he tried again. “Please don’t tell Howard about what Bucky did.”

“Ah, I don’t think Vision would pass on the message anyway,” Tony dismissed. He completed his circle of the island, coming to a rest directly opposite Steve. “For the love of - Stop looking so sad. I’m helping. I won’t say anything.” He held his hands up in defeat, nudging Steve’s foot with his own. “You never know, this could be my big chance. I could say goodbye to my dad, like I’ve always been wanting to.”

“Yeah.”

Tony tapped the marble counter. “It’s just finding the words, isn’t it?”

“You’re a clever guy, I’m sure they’d come to you.”

“Ever faithful.”

Steve grinned. “Well, it’s sort of my thing.”

~

The Sergeant's insignia on his arm was clean and neat. Dugan’s eyes kept flicking down to it as he scoffed. Bucky bit his lip, enjoying his moment to boast. The boards of the farm house were warm against his back and spaghetti was on the menu for dinner. It could be worse, he supposed. Not much worse, what with war waiting for him across the English Channel, but a little.

“Sarge!” a voice called, approaching around the corner. “Hey, Sarge!” Thune skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Be more specific,” Dugan huffed in the face of Bucky’s smirk. “There’s two Sergeants here. He’s only been one for half a minute.”

“Didn’t see you, Dum Dum,” Thune replied, without much conviction. “‘Sides, you ain’t my Sarge, are ya?” he added with a wink.

Bucky liked Thune. Blond and slight, he reminded him so much of Steve that it had kept Bucky distracted for a night or two. He was competent and clever and funny; optimistic until the very end. Bucky had had to be held back, watching him get blown to shreds by Hydra’s blue guns.

“What is, Thune?” he asked.

“Captain Heister wants to see you.”

They’d arrived in England five days ago, a voyage across the Atlantic trapped inside huge metal ships, stacked like sardines. It wasn’t as grey as Bucky had been expecting. The first time he’d stepped foot in Camp Bewdley he’d hated it. Hated England, hated the camp, hated the green grass and blue skies. All he could think now was how peaceful it was, the threat of war seemingly passing over the locals. It was rest from the busy Brooklyn streets that he couldn’t quite remember the name of anymore.

From his vast mahogany desk, Heister peered around a pile of paperwork. “Got friends in high places, Barnes?” he said when Bucky stepped in front of it. The door clicked closed behind him. Heister had a pinched expression on his face, several empty coffee cups piled against the windowsill.

“Sir?” Bucky asked.

“Do you want to make the crossing, son? You want to fight the enemy?”

It was a bit much, for Heister to be calling him ‘son’, the man must have only been ten years older than him. Or, no, wait. He was younger here, wasn’t he?

Skating over the questions, Bucky simply repeated, “Sir?”

The other man huffed, pulled yet another sheaf of paper towards him. “You’ve been pulled out of the one-oh-seventh,” he groused.

“Pulled out,” Bucky echoed, stupidly.

Slamming down his pen, impatience evident, Heister shot out, “Colonel Phillips, you know him?”

Bucky attempted to recall if Phillips had ever sworn his very existence to secrecy. Surely not? He settled on a half-truth. “We’ve met.”

Heister grunted. “He’s got the ear of the Lieutenant General. You’ve been reassigned.” His lips curled around the words, like it was causing him pain to say them. “The Colonel and his troop will be here in three days. The day before we leave for France.” The Captain scooted closer, his chair screeching against the floor. “Convenient for you,” he commented and Bucky tensed, not missing the insult. “I’m sure your squadron will be sorry to see you go. I know Lieutenant Robinson has spoken well of you from your training.” Heister levelled him with a solid glare. “You could be a great soldier. Just the kind we need.”

He didn’t know the half of it. His work had been a gift. Pierce’s words echoed in his head. Heister wasn’t a Pierce, but he sure wasn’t a pleasure to serve under.

“If the Colonel thinks I’m better placed with him, I’m sure there’s a reason for it.” His words were measured, not an ounce of the self doubt he was feeling coming through. Truth be told, Bucky wasn’t sure at all why Phillips wanted him. Save his knowledge, he was more a liability than anything. He’d told them everything he knew about Schmidt and Zola. If they found out the rest of what he knew, they would realise he was better left to the foxholes.

“You’re sure,” Heister parroted back in his grating voice. He sniffed and forced the scowl from his face. Bucky braced himself. “Rumour has it they’re working on some kind of elite squad,” he said. “Soldiers like nobody’s seen before.” Eyes flicked to Bucky. “You know anything about that, Barnes?”

“Can’t say I do,” he replied, meeting the gaze. “Like I said, I only met Colonel Phillips for a few minutes.”

“Must’ve made an impression.” Heister nodded to himself. “Alright, get out with you.” He waved to the door, attention already back on his writing. “The Regiment Office will have papers for you to sign on Thursday.”

Bucky saluted the top of Heister’s head, bent over the desk, and left without a second glance.

“Leaving?” Gabe called, hours later, a forkful of spaghetti dangling halfway to his mouth. “You can’t leave.”

“Not leaving,” Bucky stressed, digging into this own plate. “Just,” he shrugged, “reassigned.”

The Mess Hall was a cacophony of sound and energy, built up over weeks and months, bursting out at the seams. Tables were crammed together, people squashed against each other on benches, elbows knocking every time they took a bite. It was less like a training camp by now, more of a rowdy family table, brothers fighting over the last serving.

“You’re not coming with us?” Travers complained. “To Europe?”

Strenburg groaned. “We’re in Europe, idiot.”

“Barely.”

“Oh, high standards on you.”

“But,” Barrett ignored the nagging, eyes on Bucky. “You’re not coming?”

Bucky set down his fork, facing the half a dozen pairs of eyes staring back at him. “Doesn’t look like it,” he sighed.

Dugan nodded. “Heard they’re making Stauss Sergeant,” he said, deep voice cutting through the noise of the hall. “He’s good. Better than you.” He smiled his pearly white smile, turning to the rest. “You’ll be fine.”

Chewing, Bucky stared down at his plate, red sauce an unnatural shade. They wouldn’t be fine. They’d be killed or captured and sent to a work camp. Under him, at least. Would it be different under Stauss? Bucky didn’t think so. He didn’t have such a high opinion of himself the think that anything he did impacted on the Azzano attack. They were lambs to a slaughter, didn’t matter what the lambs were called.

He’d left the silence for too long. The men wanted reassurance. “You’ll be fine,” he said with a flickering smile.

They shifted and Bucky coloured. “Yeah,” Barrett scoffed. He was annoyed, but not at Bucky. “Just bullets and bayonets and grenades,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

Bucky licked his lips, trying again. “You do what Stauss and Dugan tell you,” he waved his fork in Barrett’s face, “What Robinson tells you, you won’t go far wrong.”

“The Strategic Science Reserve,” Gabe announced, apropos to nothing.

Bucky was tired, food laying heavy in his stomach. “Huh?”

“That’s what they’re called, Colonel Phillips’ lot,” he carried on, squinting at Bucky. “Heard Heister talking about it this morning. Didn’t realise it was about you.”

“Alright,” Bucky drawled.

“You know what they’re up to.”

“Maybe,” Bucky smirked, the glimmer in Gabe’s eyes contagious. “Maybe not.”

Dugan grinned again. Could anything wipe the smile from that man’s face? “You going undercover, Bucky?” he teased.

“I wouldn’t be very good at it if I told you, would I?”

“Watch it, boys,” Dugan laughed, arms stretched as wide as the narrow bench would allow. “Next time we see him, he’ll have a moustache, be telling us his name is Herr Kraut.”

“That’s right,” Bucky joined in the chuckles. “And you gotta act natural, or it’ll be the end of us all,” he said before grabbing his plate and heading up for a second serving.

When Thursday morning arrived Bucky awoke, his skin already itching, ready to leave the base. He flexed his left hand as he waited. It was a habit now, one he hadn’t cottoned on to until it was fixed in his subconscious. He flexed and he looked. The sky was faint and he squinted out over the farmland where the Regiment had taken residence. It was still early but companies were already out in the fields for a final day of training before moving out.

Farm workers paced the fields as soldiers marched in the foreground.

The S.S.R. were not due to arrive until midday, Bucky had orders to meet them at Headquarters. That, for now, meant the large country house at the bottom of the long long winding road, away from the men’s barracks.

For the few hours before then, though, he was free.

He took a deep breath and headed down the dirt path. Trees on either side provided a comforting shade against the sun, growing higher and higher in the sky.  

It had been gnawing away at him, his eagerness to leave. Despite the guilt he felt, the relief running through him was more powerful. Yes, the S.S.R. would run out of use for him but he’d given it some thought whiling away the hours in his cot, and they couldn’t send him back here. He was a time traveller. Much too dangerous to have in the middle of the war. And useless was better than dangerous any day of the week.  Besides, he’d paid his dues to this Godforsaken fight the first time around. What difference would it make? As much as the captains and majors and corporals liked to go on about how individual soldiers made up the united front, in reality, nobody would even notice he was gone. Was this place even real? Would it all vanish once they were sent back? When he was gone, his other self would step back into his shoes, smoothing everything over, as if nothing had happened at all.

The small village near Bewdley crawled nearer to him over the horizon, surrounded by yellow fields of rapeseed. As he approached the sweet scent of buddlejas filled his nostrils. A woman smiled at him when he docked his hat to her. Cherry blossoms hung over the path. It was idyllic. Heaven for those about to travel to hell. The door of the laundry house chimed out as he entered.

“Morning, Ma’am.”

“Hello, Mister,” the familiar woman replied with a wry smile, half amused and half exasperated with the Americans invading the village. She had a dimple in each cheek. “Collection, is it? Name?”

“Barnes. James Barnes.”

It took her a few moments to check through the crisp, brown packages of fresh laundry. “3255 …?” She arched an eyebrow, trailing off in a question.

“That’s me.”

She smiled, pulling the parcel towards her, twine tied in a bow. Bucky ducked his head at the sight, so quaint it would be scoffed at in the modern world. “Lots of James’,” the girl carried on. “Not just an English trait.”

“I’m Irish, actually,” Bucky offered, taken in by the twine and the dimples.

“Are you?”

“Kinvara. Ma and Pa met on the boat over.”

“How sweet.” She smiled sweetly, still clutching the parcel close to her. Girls used to look at him like that all the time, though he was never interested. Now, though, Bucky welcomed the attention. He’d fooled everyone before, and here he was, doing it again. He could survive in the old world, he just has to act like it. “They must like it,” the girl carried on, “in America. I hear the cities have skyscrapers on every corner.”

“Every other, maybe,” Bucky joked, leaning against the counter. “Not so much in Brooklyn. That’s where I’m from.”

“Brooklyn.” Her eyes widened a little as she said the word. “Bewdley must feel a long way away,” she added with a small blush.

Bucky bit his lip, wrinkling his nose. That was enough for now. “Not as far as it could be,” he said. “Friendly faces make a difference.”

“ Mary, ” came a stern voice from the back room.

The girl - Mary - jumped, finally handing Bucky his parcel.

“Sorry, Mum,” she shouted over her shoulder, sending Bucky a conspiratorial smile. “That’s three bob and tuppence.” When he dropped the coins into her hand she nodded. “Thank you.” Just as he reached the door she called, “You look after yourself, James.” He gave a small salute and a charming smile.

Maybe he could run away with Mary and stay here forever. No war. No Winter Soldier. No Accords. He smiled to himself, feet leading him further into the village. A nice lie of a life, sure. There was one problem of course.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Spinning on his heels Bucky turned to face the military car on the road behind him. From behind the wheel Natasha smirked at him, clearly pleased to have caught him unaware. Next to her, Wanda waved a welcome.

In the back, Sam was rolling his eyes at Steve. It had been Steve that shouted at him, of course, and he grinned over at Bucky looking as pleased as punch, cap fixed jauntily on top of neat hair. They all seemed far too cheerful for a bunch of people who’d just made a long voyage across the ocean.

“You’re early,” Bucky chimed, the car slowing to a stop by his feet.

“Didn’t like the idea of you moping about all by yourself,” Sam explained, helping him jump into the back. “The officials have gone ahead.”

“Officials,” Bucky scoffed. He dropped down next to Steve and nudged him in the ribs, though it did little to wipe the smile from his face.

All of them were dressed in uniform, a bizarre sight in itself, though he couldn’t deny it sort of fit. He raised his eyebrows at Wanda, who shrugged.

“I told them I was American. They believed me.”

“They did not believe you,” Natasha said, eyes on the road. They were passing by the laundry shop again and Bucky kept his gaze forward.

“Still gave me a uniform, though,” Wanda countered, smiling. Natasha simply shook her head.

Steve and Sam quickly caught him up with their progress. Essentially very minimal before they’d been called out to England. “Even the S.S.R. can’t avoid the war entirely,” Steve said, sagely. He jerked his head suddenly to Bucky, “Hey, apparently there aren’t bluebirds.”

Automatically, Bucky’s gaze rose to the clear sky. He frowned, “What are you on about?”

“Like the song, you know,” Steve stared at him. “Over the white cliffs of Dover? No bluebirds.”

Bucky pouted, “Ain’t there?”

“No, Sam said.” Bucky turned to Sam, who nodded a confirmation. He copied Steve’s slump. “Bit disappointing.”

“Still,” Bucky said after a moment. “Castles though.”

Steve rolled his neck to face him. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Romans and Celts.”

Bucky paused for a moment. “I think they might have died out.”

“Jerk.” Steve hit his chest as Wanda chuckled. “I mean going to see the ruins.”

“Sure ya did.”

The officials were waiting for them, with maps and serious expressions. Well, Phillips and Peggy were serious, Howard had found a spot near the window following the comings and goings from the large house with interest.

“The mission is twofold,” Phillips announced.

“Defeat Hydra, send you back to the future,” Sam laughed and Wanda shoved at him.

Bucky hummed. “Thought you might have come up with some finer details since I last saw you.”

“We have,” Phillips replied, sounding a little offended.

“And?”

Peggy stepped forward, heels clicking against the wooden floor. She looked very at home. Bucky could imagine her somewhere like this, surrounded by finery but still practical, pushing forward. “For you,” she said. “Finer details are: round up the Howling Commandos.”

“Word has it, they’re heros,” Howard piped up from the window ledge. Maybe he was paying attention after all.

“That they are,” Natasha said, leaning closer to the map, though she spared Bucky an acknowledging nod.

It was the first time he’d ever heard Natasha mention his role in the past, in the Captain America mythos. It was nice. He flexed his hand and stood a little straighter. “Good news, I’m two fifths completed already,” he said. “Dugan and Jones are here.”

“And they’ve agreed to join?” Phillips sounded surprised. Howard abandoned his post, an impressed look on his face.

“Not quite,” Bucky said, drawing the words out. He met Phillips’ eyes. “That S.S.R. charm? Might need to use it again.”

“Oh, good,” Phillips said, a mischievous smile working its way across his lined face. “Heister will be pleased.” He clapped his hands. “I do love to make his day.”

A few breathy chuckles filled the room and Bucky squeezed the laundry parcel he still had in his hands, thinking. It crinkled under his fingers. “I have a question.”

“Please,” Peggy waved her arm out towards him, expression warm.

“Have you given any thought to our uniforms?” Everyone turned to look at him and his fellow time travellers shared a smirk. “Green’s not really my colour.”

~

There was a commotion going on downstairs. Bucky had been awake for a while, running on How time. He’d continued to lay in bed, however, socked feet dangling over the end of the small bed. Across the room Steve lay in the other twin bed, curled in a tight ball facing the wall, a mop of blondish brown hair peaking out against the pillow.

He stretched, joints popping and gazed at the low ceiling. The S.S.R. had been put up in the village, in two adjoining cottages. The residents were obliging if a little befuddled with the influx of off centre recruits, retiring to their rooms shortly after the group had arrived.

Outside the sun hadn’t yet risen, the sky striped pink beyond the warped window pane. The wooden floor of the attic room was rough and uneven underfoot when Bucky sat up and swung his legs over. He leant his elbows on his knees as he scanned the room for his discarded trousers.

Sweetpea flowers were wilting in a glass jar on the bedside table.

Bucky stood, buckling his belt, head ducked to avoid the beams. “C’mon, up,” he shoved at Steve’s shoulder, welcomed by an owlish and bleary frown. Nodding towards the door left slightly ajar he said, “Something’s happened.”

The scene that unfolded at the bottom of the creaking staircase was full of an energy jarred with Bucky. The house was too small for it, so early in the morning. Sam was still in his pyjamas, handing out mugs of steaming coffee. He pressed one into Bucky’s chest and Steve asked, “What’s going on?”

“First contact,” Sam grinned slurping at his own drink with relish.

“In English?” Steve said, looking to Peggy for help.

Bucky perched against the pantry door, curious at the smiles on everybody's face.

“Wanda woke Natasha and I up in quite the fashion this morning,” Peggy started, seated at the table with a calm expression. It was only then that Bucky noticed that Wanda, next to her, had her eyes closed. A small crease had formed between her eyebrows in concentration, her hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. He would have been concerned if not for the fact that nobody else looked at all phased. “Going on about hearing voices in her head,” Peggy swayed where she sat, moving closer to Wanda as she spoke. “I thought perhaps she’s lost the plot, silly of me, I know Wanda’s no push over. It takes a little while to get used to the fantastical.” She smiled, self deprecating, before adding, “It’s only when she started talking about this Vision chap that Natasha hailed the others.”

“Vision?” Bucky pushed away from the door. “Wanda, what -”

“He spoke to me,” Wanda replied. “He’s speaking to me,” she peeked one eye open and grinned at Bucky, cheeks flushed. Pressing a finger to her lips she said, “Shush, it’s faint. I have to concentrate.”

Suitably satisfied he pondered for a moment. “Vision. They’re talking to us from twenty seventeen?”

Next to him, Sam grunted. “Looks like it. Stroke of luck, huh?” he clapped Bucky’s arm and Natasha chuckled, leaning by the small stove.

She leant over to Howard and teased, “We’ll have to wait a little longer for Howard to wow us with science.”

“Hey, I’m working on it, alright? Do you see any equipment here?” Moustache twitching, he tapped the side of his head knowingly and grumbled, “It’s all coming together. Now, quiet down.” He narrowed his eyes at the preoccupied Wanda. “I want to figure this out.”

“Vision.” Steve pursed his lips, nodding to himself. He turned to Bucky, and said lightly, “So I must have gone to Tony, like you wanted.”

“That’s good,” Sam hummed, though not sounding convinced. His eyes lifted to Bucky as if gauging his reaction.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied in clipped tones. He was finding it increasingly bizarre the way Steve spoke about himself, the other Steve, like some long lost brother, or absent friend. He couldn’t pin down the feeling, but he had a horrid suspicion that it was shame. How Steve spoke of him more often than he did.

When Wanda finally spoke up, everyone crowded to her. “They’re asking when we are. They must know about the time travel!” Her smile was so bright, and she almost bounced up in her seat. As much as it warmed Bucky’s heart to see, he’d almost forgotten how young she was. She’d been through a lot, and yet she hadn’t been the one to brood them all into history.

“Vision,” Sam pressed, shouting as if Vision would be able to hear him better. “We’re in nineteen forty three. We got sent to Brooklyn, what was it?” he turned to Natasha. “February? But we’re in Worsesster -” he stumbled over the pronunciation and Bucky sympathised. He’d decided long ago not to even attempt it. “Worchestershirey, England now.”

Peggy grimaced. “Worcestershire. Wus-ter-shear,” she corrected in a whisper. “Like the sauce. Doesn’t matter.”

“Uhuh,” Sam nodded, unphased. “We’ve been here for a few days, stealing Barnes back from the army.”

Wanda was silent for a moment, the room tense with the sound of their breaths. “They’re saying - They’re asking how long we’ve been here. Barnes - Bucky ,” she corrected, and Bucky smiled, “didn’t get to England until June forty three.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only been two months for them.”

The group stared at each other. “Time’s travelling more quickly for you,” Howard breathed. “More than twice the rate. Interesting.” He blinked at Bucky, as if he held the answers. “Very interesting.”

“Is it?” he shot back. “I’d say more annoying. Even if it takes them two weeks to find an answer, we’ll still be stuck for another month.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Wanda interrupted, looking a little overwhelmed, “They want to know who’s here.”

“Well,” Sam half-laughed. “Tell ‘em!”

It was odd, like having half a conversation with someone, or talking through a mediator. “Steve’s not there yet,” Wanda carried on. “Tony’s gone to get him.”

Stealing a glance at Howard, Bucky saw him mouth the name to himself, trying it out for size.

“I told them we miss them,” Wanda added. Natasha sent her a warm smile that she didn’t see, eyes still closed. “Steve’s arrived!” she rushed. “He says they miss us too.” Opening her eyes a fraction, she beamed.

“They,” Sam scoffed.

Wanda frowned at him, “It sounded sincere.” Sam held up his hands. “He wants to know what happened.”

Bucky took a breath, having to cast his mind back all that time ago. Six months ago, seventy years in the future. “I touched the stone,” he said slowly. “I’d been thinking about Tom, about my dad, and when I touched it - It took my breath away.” He huffed a short laugh. “All of a sudden, I was in Elmo’s drinking a Manhattan, listening to Jimmy Dorsey.”

An arm brush against his. Steve had sidled closer while he’d been speaking. His eyes were wide, staring at Wanda. Bucky worked to keep himself still as Steve laid his hand at the small of his back.

Thankfully, Sam picked up the story thread. “Yeah, and the rest of us schmucks got pulled with him along for the ride, got dropped nearby. Your scrawny ass hasn’t given me a break since.” He hip-checked Steve while he spoke, sending the other man stumbling further into Bucky and Sam into a fit of giggles.

Steve flushed and moved away to drop his mug in the sink.

“We’re working on finding a way to send them back to you,” Peggy said. Pulling his gaze away from Steve, he wondered how the other Steve - his Steve? - was feeling at speaking to Peggy again. God knows he’d beaten himself up about her.

“Stephen?” Doctor Erskine leant forward from where he was squashed against the other side of the table. Bucky bit his lip, he’d almost forgotten about Erskine. Never having spent any time with him before, he often slipped out of Bucky’s thoughts. A strange by-product of living a moment twice, he supposed, it often felt like there was the right way to do something and the wrong way, the other way. Erskine was the epitome of the other way. “Stephen,” he said again. “Having met you, I can say that I’m certain my other self picked the right candidate. Your friends account for you well.”

Bucky grinned. “Too right,” he called, unable to hold back the teasing tone.

Wanda took a moment to relay the messages. “Steve says they’re working on it, too,” she said, the relief clear in her voice. “He wants to know if we’re working to … working to an alternate universe theory?” She turned in her seat to stare at Howard and Erskine.

Dr Erskine paused. “That is the theory that we’re are following,” he said slowly. Bucky flicked his eyes up to Natasha, who shrugged. “All the evidence points to this reasoning.”

“Who’s there that end?” she asked, head cocked, waiting for an answer.

“Vision, Rhodey, Steve, Tony and Thor,” Wanda reeled off, dutifully.

“Thor?”

“Oh,” Wanda slumped, her eyes blinking fully open.

“What?” Peggy asked.

She turned to the other woman. “They’re gone,” she said.

“What,” Sam exclaimed, hands on his hips. “That was it?”

“No, they -” Wanda shook her head. “Tony said they’d check in each day. Share findings.” Her eyes travelled over Howard for a moment before she regained her excitement from earlier. “This is good. Isn’t this great? We can talk to them! Travel is just the next step.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, rubbing his jaw. “But it’s a big step.”

“Well,” Wanda shrugged. “Positive thinking does wonders. And the best mechanical engineer in America doesn’t hurt, either.” She nudged Howard.

“It does not,” he agreed, raising his eyebrows at Sam.

“That’s the spirit,” Steve added, clapping his hands. “It’s great.” Bucky couldn’t help but feel, however, that his smile seemed a little forced.

He didn’t have long to ruminate on it, however. Five minutes later a fully dressed Sam traipsed back into the kitchen, holding a rusting shovel in Bucky’s face. “This is yours,” he said.

“Now, Sam,” Bucky coo’ed, taking the shovel and holding it close. “You shouldn’t have.”

Ignoring him, Sam handed a shovel to Steve as well. “And for you, Cap.” If the others missed the way Steve smiled at the nickname, Bucky certainly didn’t. “We’ve got a few hours until Phillip’s gets back with your easy Commandos,” Sam announced. “I said we’d help Mr Troughton reinforce his bomb shelter.” He let out a satisfied breath. “Rain got to it.” Just as Natasha stood up, Sam pointed a directly at her. “Don’t worry,” he called loudly. “You get a shovel, too.”

Natasha smirked, stepping back to let the rest of them pass. “Lead the way,” she offered, following Sam and Steve out back.

Bucky held back for a moment, hands gripped on the cold metal. He’d spoken to Steve this morning, the other Steve, even if was through a proxy. As he watched the Steve from now fumble with the latch on the back door and the heavy shovel, he bit his lip.

He was going to have to leave one of them. He was finding it more and more difficult to know which one.

~

Dugan scowled at him from the opposite bench. They were speeding down country roads, the start of their long journey to Italy accompanied by a light summer rain that pattered down on the truck’s canvas cover.

Bucky shifted, eyes flicking to Steve for help, though the other man seemed content to let him squirm. Was that a smirk he saw?

“From the future.” Dugan spoke the words as if trying them on for size.

He cleared his throat. It didn’t help that Sam was staring at both Dugan and Gabe like a child at Christmas. Bucky hadn’t seen Dugan so uncomfortable with attention in a long while, usually revelling in it. Gabe pulled a face at him, bemused at the most.

“Well, I can see now why Phillips asked us to agree before filling in the details,” Dugan announced, clapping his hands to his legs. “You’ve gone mad.” His tone was light, but disparaging. Bucky cringed, used to Dugan’s brotherly support. “You and your new buddies are three cards short of a deck.” He clicked his tongue. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

The truck bounced over a bump in the road, several heavy drops of rain dripping from the open back. Trawling behind them, the dirt flicked away from the tyres, the sun making a valiant effort to peak through from low clouds. Trees surrounded the road. They could be anywhere, anytime.

Bucky rubbed at his forehead, groaning. He hated this, sounding like a complete fool. If someone had told him the same, back when he’d first got shipped out, he would have laughed in their face. “We’re not mad,” he said. “At least, no more than you are.” Shifting to the edge of the bench he half whined, “Come on, Dugan, I’ve got the whole Scientific Reserve helping me out. You think they’d just take my word for it?” Dugan’s eyes met his, uncharacteristically unsure. He didn’t want to be tricked, Bucky could appreciate that. “Sam,” he sighed, waving a hand towards the two would be Commandos. “Will you?”

Before Sam could pull himself together, Dugan said, slowly, “I don’t know what the S.S.R. would do.” He gnawed on the inside of this cheek, fingers tapping against his leg. “You are a charming bastard.”

“Charming doesn’t mean I’m a liar,” Bucky rebuked.

“Doesn’t mean you’re telling the truth, either, kid. ”

Kid . He was being dismissed. Dugan didn’t believe him. It hurt more than Bucky had expected it to.

In the corner Sam shifted, his wonder seeped out by the strange atmosphere. “If I could butt in, I can promise you, he’s never tried to charm me.” He grinned and a gratefulness for his presence filled Bucky’s chest, for being a grounded link to the future he hadn’t realised until that second he desperately needed. “In fact, he has tried to kill me on more than one occasion.”

“In the future?” Dugan scoffed.

“Yeah, that was in the future.” Sam nodded. “But I’m sure he’s probably thought about it in the present as well.”

Getting nowhere, Bucky growled and dropped back further against the bench, letting the rumble of the engine’s wash over him.

“I mean -” Gabe started and stopped. Bucky glanced up at him. “I mean, why would he lie?” he asked. “And, I suppose, you do have a ... way about you.”

“A ‘way’?” Dugan questioned.

“Yeah. You as well,” he nodded at Sam. Bucky watched, not daring to breathe, as Gabe ground his teeth, working it out in his own mind. “I think,” he said, smile forming, “that you’re telling the truth.”

“What about him?” Dugan waved his hand towards Steve.

“He’s -” Bucky hesitated. “He’s not from the future, but - But he is in the future.”

“Want to run that by me again?”

Sam grinned at the question, shoving Steve’s shoulder.

“He got turned into a supersoldier,” Bucky answered. He was aware of Dugan’s still solemn gaze on him. “Originally, before this whole time travel deal, the S.S.R. were working on a supersoldier serum, right, like Hydra are, only they were much further ahead.” He gripped the back of Steve’s neck, giving it a squeeze, skin pale against the blue of his jacket. “Stevie here was their guinea pig. And it worked a treat.” He ran through his abridged history of Captain America, honed to perfection after the many tellings to the S.S.R., details refined to reveal the necessary and hold back the delicate. National hero, saviour to soldier and civilian alike, respected leader; a good man, there was no doubt, a worthy captain. “Situations,” he wavered, eyes lingering on Steve. The other man held his gaze, waiting for him to trip up. “ Unfolded and he ended up with me in -”

“In the next millennium, yeah, we get that.”

Under his palm Steve’s skin heated. This was not the start the Bucky had been hoping for. Sam must have spotted it too, as he quickly said, “You’re famous, you know, in the future. Captain America’s Howling Commandos.”

“Howling Commandos?”

“Has a nice ring to it, right? Hey, Sergeant Dugan,” Sam added, keen once more. “Where’d you get a bowler hat in the middle of the war?”

Dugan raised an eyebrow. “It was a present,” he muttered. His expression had softened, Bucky seized his chance.

“We’re only the Howling Commandos if you join us,” he said. “Otherwise we’re just a band of idiots, who think they’re winning the fight.”

It wasn’t his forte, corralling men to follow him into suicidal pursuits. It had been what Steve was so good at, why he had made such a great leader. The man in question, though, looked a little unsure of himself. Phillips had already had that long discussion with him, that Bucky was leading the Howling Commandos, much to his objection. Bucky, then, did the only thing he could think of; imagined what Captain America would say.

“Steve, Steve is - Hydra have plans to destroy everything, Dum Dum. Everything.” He held Dugan’s gaze until the other man nodded. “And they have the weapons to do it,” he said, in almost a whisper. “We can stop them. We did it before, we can do it again.”

Dugan nodded again before saying, voice rough, “Alright. Okay, Bucky. I hear you.”

“Aren’t you going back to where it was you came from?” Gabe asked as Bucky let out a relieved breath, leaning back against the truck’s canvas wall. “Better than hanging around in the middle of Europe when it’s trying to tear itself apart?”

With a breath chuckle, Sam replied, “Can’t say I’m pleased to be here.”

“We’re working on getting home,” Bucky admitted. “In the meantime, might as well help win the war.” He shrugged and smiled at the twinkle in Gabe’s eyes.

Dugan grunted. “That makes sense.” He sent a curious look towards Steve and leant closer. “You’re very quiet for someone who’s apparently led us to victory.”

Hunched over, Steve looked even smaller than usual crowded on all sides by the other uniformed men. “Not in this timeline. Bucky’s leading,” he said in his deep voice. “I’m here for tactics. Strategy.” He clasped his fingers together a sat a little straighter. “Motivation. I’m doing my part.”

“Can’t fault you for that,” Dugan agreed. Bucky relaxed his tensed muscles. “Okay, fine,” he declared, pointing at Bucky. “You better not be fucking with me, Barnes, or I swear,” he trailed off and Bucky bit his lip to hide his joy.

“Where are we going, though?” Gabe asked, looking between the four other men in the back of the truck.

Bucky pouted. “Hm?”

“Where are we going?” he tried again. “To help win the war.”

“Ah,” Bucky grinned. Explaining the mission. Familiar territory. “Italy,” he announced, raising his arms. “By way of Nazi occupied France. Paris, to be precise.” He winked at Steve, pale and flushed. “We have a resistance fighter to find.”

Their resistance fighter was, however, an elusive fellow.

The streets were filled with hunted looking people, eyes trained to the floor, pace quick. The red flags hung from the windows of notable buildings. Even as the sun shone hot and high, the mood on the ground was sombre. Once they’d connected with the resistance, they saw for themselves that the fight was hidden, not gone, but it was an unnerving experience.

Bucky had been to Paris before. The details were hazy; a rifle in hand, the snap of broken bones, the tempered beating of his heart. A hotel with a perfect view of the Seine over the balcony. The Eiffel Tower in the distance, blood spattered against the curtains, muffled sobs from some barely grown boy as he begged to be spared.

A hand curled around his arm and he blinked, surprised to see Steve’s concerned face filling his vision.

“Are you okay?” he asked, quiet enough to pass by the others. “You were checked out there for a while.”

“Sorry.” He sniffed, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “Sorry. I’m fine.” Steve stayed by him though, unconvinced. “Promise,” he said, painting on a smile.

It wasn’t him. Could he say that? Could he even think that? He hadn’t done any of that yet. He could change the future here, was changing the future here. Things were what you made of them.

“Okay,” he half whispered, gesturing for the others to gather around. “Are we all ready?”

“We’ve been ready for the past three hideouts,” Dugan reminded him, with an undercurrent of amusement.

He looked to Sam who sent him a deadpan, “I was born ready.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky edged closer to the small door and knocked once, twice, three times. “Bonjour,” he called, gritting his teeth slightly as the others stared at him.

It took a moment, but a voice eventually answered. “ Une tempête est attendue. Avez-vous un manteau?” it asked. “ A storm is expected. Do you have a coat? ” It was a woman, her words curt, on edge.

Bucky responded to the coded message with the answer their resistance contact had provided. It had worked each time before, but Bucky always hated the seconds that passed as they waited for a verdict. “Je l'ai laissé dans un train, il se dirige vers Dijon. I left it on a train, it’s headed to Dijon. ”

A beat. Two, three - “D’accord, entrez.” The door swung open and revealed a woman with auburn hair clipped short, severe eyes and the cheekbones of someone who hadn’t eaten well in a while. “Américain?” she asked, standing back to let them pass.

“Oui, yes,” Bucky nodded, trying to look as amicable as possible. “We’re American.” The door clicked shut behind them, covering the corridor in darkness. Floorboards creaked as the men shifted their weight.

“You look it. The clothes are not good,” she said. With her hands on her hips, she effectively blocked them from moving any further in.

“Great, thanks.” Bucky floundered for a moment until something sharp jabbed at his back. “Right, supplies.” He sidestepped to let Sam pass and he handed over a crate of food, a token of their goodwill.

“F.D.R. sends his regards,” Sam said as the woman surveyed the offering with a small incline of her head.

She looked up at the group of them through narrowed eyes. “Merci,” she said slowly. “You are not all here to hand over tinned tomatoes, I think.”

“No, we’re not,” Bucky spoke over light laughter at his shoulder. “Jacques Dernier,” he asked, watching her face carefully. “Do you know him? We’d like a word.”

At his words, she raised her eyebrows. “Jacques?” she said. “Oui, I know him.” The briskness of her tone had Bucky thinking that perhaps she didn’t completely approve of him, either.

“ Is he here? ”

“Yes.” She raised a finger where it was clasped around the crate and Bucky fought the urge to take it from her. “One moment, s'il vous plaît,” she said, turning on her heel and out the other end of the hall.

The rest of them lingered in the dark and the dust. As Bucky eyed the rusting bike leant against the stairwell, he felt Steve close in.

“Your French has improved,” he said, quietly.

Bucky turned to him and smiled. “Couldn’t have gotten any worse,” he joked.

“You learn that in the future?”

He hummed. “When else?”

Steve paused for a while, still looking. What was he thinking? He had a certain look in his eye that Bucky couldn’t quite place. “So, you know any other languages?” he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up, blinking up at Bucky through long eyelashes.

“Yes. A lot.” Bucky’s lips were dry, he didn’t think it had to do with the dust. “Why?”

“No reason.” Steve shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his casual trousers. “Sounds nice, is all,” he said. “Pretty smart.”

Footsteps clicked against the floor and the woman returned with Dernier in tow. Bucky pushed off from where he leant against the staircase, Steve taking several steps back. Dernier was clean shaven and dressed neatly, a far cry from the man he’d met in the Hydra weapons factory. Not for the first time, Bucky wondered how he’d ended up there.

“His English is poor,” the woman told them. “But he understands well.”

“I remember.” Bucky smiled at her, “Thank you, merci beaucoup.” He waited, silently, as she flexed her jaw, clearly put out at the obvious dismissal. Eventually deciding that they weren’t worthy of an argument she headed back into the house proper.

Having been left in the corridor, Bucky searched for a seat before giving up and directing Dernier towards the staircase, where they crouched onto the lower steps, the others gathering around.

“Dernier,” he started, taking a breath and trying to remember the words he’d prepared in his head. “ You don’t know me, but I know you. ”

When he finished his pitch, Dernier regarded him with a curious expression. He tapped Bucky on the forearm and raised his chin. “ Why should I help the Americans when I am helping here? ” he asked in rapid French.

Bucky sighed, “ I understand if you don’t believe me - ”

“ I believe you, ” Dernier interrupted with a raised hand. Bucky blinked, caught off guard. “ But I am needed here ,” he carried on, pounding a fist to his chest. “ I am fighting for France. For liberation. ”

“ Hydra, they’re out to destroy the world - ”

“ And the Nazi’s just want to show everyone a good time, do they? ” Dernier challenged.

Bucky grimaced, rubbing his jaw. “Shit.” He turned to the others. “Little help?”

To his surprise, Steve crouched down in from of them. “What you’re doing here, is admirable,” he said, looking Dernier directly in the eye with that determined glower that Bucky was so familiar with. It was the one he wore whenever he was told no. “It’s brave and worthy of your time and effort, of course it is. If we don’t stop Schmid, if we let Hydra carry on as they are, then there’s no point to any of this. They’ll destroy America, then they’ll come for everywhere else.” Bucky chanced a glance at Dernier, who was listening intently, concentrating hard. “We need you,” Steve pressed. “The Howling Commandos are about everyone coming together, about a unified front to defend all the people that would be victims of Hydra.” He raised his hands, gesturing to the group. “We have to take a stand, right at the top, and we have to do it together.” He took a breath a bit his lip, “If you join us, Dernier, you’ll be saving all of Paris. All of France! Without you, every city in the world will fall, one by one.” He grimaced a little. Though Bucky could sense his frustration he could see what Steve couldn’t, that his words were working, he was getting through. “I know it seems absurd, time travel, supersoldiers, alien weapons, but it’s true. You’ve helped stop it before, we need your help again.”

Leant against the wall, Dugan whistle. “I vote he does the talking next time.”

Sam and Gabe laughed. They were joined by Dernier. “Oui, il va beaucoup mieux. Tu es pire qu'inutile.”

“He agrees,” Gabe told the others. “He says Bucky’s useless.”

“You don’t have to translate everything, Gabe,” Bucky snapped, though there was no bite to it.

Sam crowed, “Oh, he does.” He clapped Dernier’s leg. “Pal, are you in?”

“Quand vous le dites comme ça, comment puis-je refuser?” Dernier replied to three bemused faces. “Oui, I am in.”

“Alright,” Sam exclaimed, raising himself to full height. “Let’s get out of here before our luck runs out.”

But luck was on their side. They spent one more night in Paris, bracing themselves for the continued mission. Successfully negotiating an exit from Paris in the early hours of the morning was made much easier with Dernier now in their ranks. Soon, they were well on their way to Sicily. Though the passage was slow, they were following the way of the Allied troops before them and the path was comparatively clear. The incomplete Commandos made the crossing with a group of Canadian army men, replacements to fill the places of those already lost.

While Dugan ventured to the cabin, happy to make conversation with the other officers, Bucky stayed with the rest. The sea air w as harsh and he covered himself best he could with his arms wrapped around his chest. Sam cackled at him, imitating his pout, so he figured his must look as put out as he felt. He hunkered down next to Steve, who was sitting with his eyes resolutely closed, trying to stave off sea sickness.

“How come you didn’t get ill on the crossing to England?” Gabe shot across the way, sea spray hitting the back of his head.

“I don’t know. I was inside, mostly,” Steve mumbled, moving his lips only the minimal amount.

Idle time was a rare thing, Bucky was coming to realise as would-be leader of a would-be special operations unit. ‘Course it would be the case that Steve had never complained once when it was him, but what did he expect? Pulling out a letter he’d received earlier that day from Howard he reread it, only getting the chance to skim it before.

“Erskine and Howard have been looking into the Tesseract, into all the old time legends around it,” he said, shouting a little to make himself heard over the Tyrrhenian Sea. “Tony told them about the portal it created in New York, they think it might be worth something.”

“Has it helped?” Sam asked.

Bucky clicked his tongue. “From the way Howard writes it, yes, but I think that might be more to do with his embellishments than any actual results.” He folded up the letter with a sigh, tucking it into his top pocket. “Still, they’re working hard.”

“We’ll bring it back to them,” Steve mumbled, eyes still shut tight. He rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Then they can study it.”

“Yeah.”

One of the Canadian infantry was eyeing them with distaste. Meeting Bucky’s gaze he sneered, picking up his kit with a huff and traipsing away to the back of the boat. Bucky locked his jaw, checking that Steve hadn’t seen. He shared a look with Sam, who’d seen it all, and whose expression mirrored his own anger. It was a strange purgatory to live in, really, to love Steve and know that Steve loved him, and yet pretend like he knew neither. Now that he knew, of course if was clear in every move that Steve made. It would almost be easier to live in ignorance, but the easy route was not always the best route. If Steve had taught him anything, that was it.

Instead he shifted down the bench, letting Steve settle more comfortably on his shoulder. Land was in sight, he only had a short while left to rest.

Recruiting Monty was easier than he’d expected. Learnt their lesson well, they sent Steve in first, having recovered from his sea legs soon enough. The Brigadier had been charmed by Steve from the get go, announcing his earnestness as ‘delightful as it was refreshing’ and their story to be ‘one to tell the grandchildren’.

“So, you’ll come then?” Steve marvelled, evidently as shocked as the rest of them at his own success.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dear man,” Monty smiled, red beret fixed jauntily on top of his head. “Running off with a group of time travellers to hunt down some Machiavellian villain with technology beyond the imagination?” he wondered. “Leagues better than rotting in a trench with only rats and scoundrels for company. Who on earth would say no?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Morita pulled a face over the top of his hand of cards. “Are you kidding me?”

It was a do uble blow for Bucky, who dropped his losing hand in distaste. “Didn’t you hear what Steve said?” he said. “The world’s in danger.”

The journey up to Salerno hadn’t been so bad at all. When they’d arrived it was clear that the men there were well settled, the Commando’s more than ready to join them. Once they found Morita in one of the city’s many bars, they took up residence with little complaint.

“I did hear you and you’re a pistol, pal,” Morita shook his head, “but the world’s always in danger. Why do you think I’m here?”

The noise of the troops around them, all enjoying the time off in an exciting new country, away from their report officers, grew louder and louder as the night went on. Bucky was too many beers in, having forgot too late that he’d lost his immunity. The rest had followed him, however, so he didn’t think it was noticeable. Only Steve had the sense to remain vaguely sober, taking the responsibility of recruitment more seriously now they were so close to their goal.

“To take all my money off’a me?” Bucky groused. An ace, a four, a six, a jack and a king. “Fold.”

“Sure,” Morita shrugged. “That and save the world.” He pointed a slightly wavering hand at Bucky. “Only an idiot walks nose first into enemy lines with only six other guys behind him.”

Dugan tried a different tactic. “You want some glory?” he said. “Some kudos?” He clapped Gabe and Monty on the shoulders at his sides. “This is the elite. Best of the best.”

“You think I’m on about bragging rights?” Morita pushed back, though he didn’t seem truly annoyed.

Holding out his arms, Monty stumbled through his interruption. “I think what Dum Dum is trying to say, Jim, is that we’re top quality.” He leant his elbows on the table, reaching out to Morita in a plea. “A man like yourself, I can imagine it gets a little dull, not being able to stretch your legs out in the field?”

Morita chugged his beer. “Keep talking.”

“Special operations,” Bucky chimed in. “We plan our own missions, you get in on decision making at the first tier.”

“You ain’t in charge?”

“I am, but I’m a nice guy.” He leant back, clutching his own chest and hoping he sounded more authoritative that he drunkenly felt. “I like collaboration.”

“It’s democracy,” Gabe cried. “We practice what we preach.”

“Oui, vérité, égalité, liberté!” Dernier added, swaying a little where he sat.

“Sure we’re six guys,” Dugan said, impassioned and loud. “But each of us is worth at least twenty.”

“Each of you?” Morita repeated and no one missed the way his eyes landed on Steve.

“Hey,” Sam warned. “He’s ruthless, don’t get on his bad side.”

Bucky descended into a fit of giggles as Steve bared his teeth at Morita and growled before laughing at himself. “How ‘bout this,” Steve offered. “It’s just you and me left, right.” He knocked his hand of cards on the table. “I win, you join us. You win, we leave you alone, you won’t see us again.”

To a background of joyful crows, Morita smiled. “Sure, Brooklyn,” he said, eyeing Steve. “Do your worst.” He didn’t take his eyes off him as he said, “Straight,” setting down his cards on the scratched and stained table. Three of clubs, four of hearts, five of hearts, six of clubs, and seven of diamonds.

“Hot dog,” Steve gasped. Half a second later his lips twitched into an impish smile. “But then, three tens and two aces, that’s a full house ain’t it? Or does it work differently on the west coast?” He chuckled as Morita waved him off, taking a mouthful of his beer.

“Thought you were church boy?” Dugan scoffed, clapping Steve on the back.

“‘Hot dog’,” Sam chorused, ignoring the rest of them. “He actually said hot dog.” He grabbed a confused Gabe, “It’s all been worth it, wait until I tell Wanda.”

“It’s fine,” Morita called above the din. “I’d changed my mind anyway.”

“I know you had,” Steve agreed. “We wouldn’t have you otherwise.”

Chapter Text

It was odd, seeing the camp in the sun. He’d hardly even registered the possibility of it not being washed out by rain. Yet there Phillips was, standing behind his field desk, dry dust sticking to his boots. The One Hundred and Seventh wouldn’t arrive here for a month or so yet. They were ahead of the curve and the officers already there were suitably perplexed at their demeanour as they arrive, ready for action.

“Steve,” Howard greeted as Steve stepped into the tent, a little nonplussed at the warm welcome. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Close your eyes, Steve, I have a gift just for you,” he sang.

Sharing a smirk with Bucky, Steve dutifully closed his eyes.

As he disappeared behind the desk, Howard continued to regale them. “Wilson was telling me in great detail how much your alter ego loves his shield.” Phillips rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t be any more tired of Howard and his extravagances if he tried. “So, naturally, I pulled this together.” He stepped out, raising it in front of his chest. Captain America’s shield, just like Bucky remembered. Shining and bright as the day he first set eyes on it. Sam whooped and Howard preened. “I’m a people pleaser.”

Steve blinked his eyes open, already grinning at Howard’s words. He reached out for it, running his hands over the curve. It spanned his entire chest and more. Bucky’s stomach dropped at the sight, even more so when he saw Peggy smile wide at him.

“Thank you, Howard,” Steve said, awed.

“Well, you’ve got the mind of a fighter,” Howard shrugged. “Might as well have the tech, too.”

“Yes, thank you,” Phillips called over the rush to get a closer look, hands raising to his hips. “Dr Erskine has remained in England,” he started, and the Commandos quietened, though Morita continued to fend off Gabe’s subtle attempts to grab the shield now clasped in his hands. “He felt it was better for his continued survival given that he is - I quote - on borrowed time.” He surveyed the group, as if looking for cracks. “He’s still keen for more information, to get you folks back home. So we have a combined mission, I’m sure you are up to the task.” He turned to the new recruits. “Dernier, is it? Morita, Falsworth? Glad to have you on board,” he said, inclining his head. “You will, no doubt, live up to the high praises of,” he sighed, running a ran across his eyebrows. Bucky bit his lip. “Time travellers from an alternate future.”

“It is a bit whimsical, Colonel,” Monty replied, tall and lean, head almost brushing the top of the tent. “Though I’ve found that a bit of whimsy is more than welcome.”

Phillips nodded, eyeing Monty with an unsure gaze. Bucky smiled at the scene, the Colonel clearly uncertain if Monty was serious. “I digress,” he said regardless, voice clear. “Schmidt and his cronies have the Tesseract. Glowing blue box. We want it, you’re going to get it for us. While you are doing so,” he said, eyes narrowing a little, pausing for a moment for everyone to settle. “You will destroy the weapons factory before it can get up and running.”

“It’s not already?” Natasha asked, surprised.

“Not on a scale that can do serious damage.” Phillips dropped to perch on his desk. He folded his arms, fixing them with a steely glare. “We have a window. A small advantage. Let’s take it and run.”  

“Where’s the target?” Morita asked, flicked his chin towards Phillips, shifting his weight.

“I’m glad you asked,” Phillips retorted. “Sergeant Barnes was kind enough to draw us a map.” He nodded to a map on the wall, pins strategically placed, thread darting back and forward in zigzags, overlapping.

“Ah,” Gabe nudged him. “He’s helpful like that.”

Bucky winked at him, though in truth he was raking his memory. He couldn’t recall now where the factory was. Austria, yeah, that was easy. But where exactly? There were mountains nearby. It was a long walk.

“Krausberg,” Phillips said. Bucky tensed. Krausberg. That was it. Of course it was, he would have remembered. It had been a long day. “Austria. Middle of the mountain range, about sixty miles north west.” Phillips smiled to himself, tapping the point on the map. “Nice trip to the Alps for you.”

“I’ve always wanted to go,” Dugan mumbled, resigned.

Dernier hummed. “J'ai besoin de vacances. I am in need of a holiday .”

“Rogers,” Phillips barked. More than a few of them to jumped where they stood. “You putting that shiny new shield to use?” he waved vaguely at the shield that Steve had reclaimed during his speech.

“Colonel?” he asked, eyes wide.

The Colonel sniffed. “Are you mission ready?” His tone was casual, but Bucky’s ears pricked.

Steve paused. “Yes, Sir,” he said.

Phillips didn’t answer. Instead he flicked his gaze to Bucky, standing behind Steve’s shoulder. The question was obvious. Was Steve mission ready? Would Steve ever be mission ready? Bucky nodded fervently.

“Alright.” Phillips clapped his hands. “Stark and Carter will accompany you on the drop.” Steve turned, mouthing ‘drop’ with a bewildered frowned. Bucky shook his head. ‘Later,’ he mouthed back, aware of the impatient huff Phillips was sending their way. “On with it, then,” Phillips shot, nodding to the tent door. “‘Get.”

On their way out, Bucky pulled Wanda to one side. Peggy side eyed him, curiously. “How do you feel,” he said. “About putting those powers of yours to good use?”

~

Later, when the plane’s engine whirred loudly in the night sky, he repeated to himself, over and over, that their plan was good. It would work. The outline of the Austrian Alps could be made out just barely and the air blasting through the open jump door had an icy edge to it. Bucky grit his teeth. On the other side of the door Peggy gasped the handrail, unphased by the powerful wind sending them all staggering. “This is your transponder,” she said to him, voice raised. He took the small device from her, shoving it in a trouser pocket, buttoned safely closed. “Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.”

At his shoulder, Steve yelled. “Are you sure that thing works?”

“Do you see me asking you if this is your first jump?” Howard shot out from the cockpit, leather jacket puffed up around him.

Stepping into Sergeant mode, Dugan scolded from down the line, “Quit the bickering.”

He needed to pull himself together. “Alright, we’re heading all the way in,” Bucky called to the rest. He focused on the flickering light by the jump door, trying to ignore the fact that Steve was probably going to break all the bones in his legs on landing.

“Wanda,” he shouted.

She was near the end of the jump queue, in front of a green faced Dernier. At the sound of her name she looked up, giving Bucky a delicate wave. After making sure that Steve was occupied elsewhere - he was, staring so hard at the distant ground through the jump door that Bucky wondered if he was going hurl himself out of it there and then - Bucky cocked his head and Steve and mouthed ‘give him a hand’. He wiggled his fingers, hoping Wanda would get the message.

Thankfully, she sent him an immediate thumbs up and an amused smile. Calm in the face of danger.

“Pretty high,” Steve mumbled, words shrunken by the wind. His shield peaked out above his shoulders.

“You’ll be fine,” Bucky said. “Just do what I do.”

“Words to live by,” he joked.

Bucky smiled, ducking his head though Steve couldn’t see. “It’s what I’ve been telling you for years.”

The light above the door switched from red to green, eight hundred feet above Krausberg, hundreds of Hydra soldiers below. Peggy yelled, “Green, go!”

Without hesitation he leapt from the plane. His heart stuttered, lodged firmly in his throat, just as it had the only time he’d done this before. He waited, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, cold air rushing by his ears, and pulled his cord. The feeling of the world darting away from you was one nobody could get used to. And then, just as his he managed to catch his breath, his feet met the ground and he dropped into a roll, gathering his ‘chute up as quickly as he could.

Squinting up at the sky he saw the spattering of open ‘chutes above him. It was a clear night, if a little windy, and they all managed to land within eyesight of one another. Bucky suspected that Wanda had given more than just Steve a helping hand.

He raised his arm and headed for the trees, the others following silently behind.

Five tense minutes later, filled with quick footsteps, short breaths, and whispered orders, they reached the perimeter of the factory. It brought Bucky up short. It was just the same, just as dark and heavy and impenetrable looking. How had Steve felt when he’d arrived here, alone, to rescue hundreds of men?

“Denier,” Bucky called the man over. “ Ici va faire. Faites-le, er, faites-le ass- le assez,” he stumbled over the French, struggling to remember the proper pronunciation. “Screw it. Cut it here.” He pointed to the wire a few yards away, covered on the other side by overgrowth. “Big enough for Dugan.”

Snap, snap, snap.

He winced at each sound. Morita flexed his fingers around his gun.

“Monty, keep a lookout.” Monty nodded, striding back the way they’d come. “Steve, Natasha, get to it,” he kicked the edge of the wire hole, not looking at Steve as he did it. Now he was faced with it, he couldn’t quite bring himself to deal with the prospect of this Steve meeting Zola, meeting Schmidt. They shouldn’t exist together, he had kept them so worlds apart in his mind.

Crouching down, they watched with bated breath as Natasha and Steve, the smallest of the squad, the lightest on their feet, scouted out the access to the building. Steve left his shield against the fence and Sam pursed his lips against a smile. The place was deserted, or looked it at least, and it was making Bucky nervous. He chewed on his lip, turning to Dugan and Sam, each with blank expressions. What were they thinking? Was he leading them into a death trap? Christ, he hated these kinds of decisions. This is why Steve was their captain and not him. Give him a clear direction, wonderful, ask him to choose, well shit. Maybe that’s what Zola had seen in him, why he’d been chosen. Willingness to comply.

The fence rattled and Natasha and Steve reappeared on the other side.

“Well?” he asked.

“Clear,” Natasha smirked, her hair falling neatly to frame her face, like she hadn’t just been crawling in the dirt. She was wearing a green canvas jumpsuit, Commandos wings sewn into the sleeves, boots laced up and ready for action.

They all had their wings handed out the day before, at which Sam had caused quite the fuss. Then there’d been the question of uniforms.

“You’re right, Barnes,” Phillips had said. “Adds to the image. Image is important. Puts people on edge.”

Steve had stuck pretty close to the standard military kit, his only exception a worn leather jacket that he’d liked the look of. Wanda had made do with what they had to offer, rolling up the smallest jumper and jacket she could find, tucking long trousers into her boots, she hadn’t bothered with any weaponry, keeping herself flexible. Sam, on the other hand, could barely be seen under the heft utility belt and spare ammunition he had sprawled over himself. He had stuck a pair of goggles on his helmet, Bucky assumed in a nod to the future. It was a wonder the parachute and stopped him crashing to the ground at all.

Bucky took a breath. “Okay then, let’s go destroy Hydra, boys. And girls,” he added.

He dropped to the muddy ground and clambered through the fence, hands scraping against the concrete on the other side. They’d decided that the easiest way in was through the roof, like Steve had done the first time. Bucky spotted his path.

Eyes peeled against the dark he scurried towards a stationary tank, clambering on top, and pulling Gabe up behind him, fingers pressed to his lips. Gabe and Monty lifted him to the lower roof level and one by one they climbed over. Every second Bucky expected a Hydra guard to come around the corner.

Natasha was the last one up. Approaching the final ascent to the main roof level, grit and gravel crunching underfoot, two guards appeared from behind a service exit. Heavily armoured, they froze in front of the Commandos. Bucky was almost pleased, he could stop expecting it now, and get on with the job. The guards must have been surprised to see them, as it took them a few seconds to raise their weapons, pulsing blue at their sides.

Step forward, spin, kick. The impact of his boot against jaw bone was satisfyingly tangible. The guard fell to the ground. A crack next to him and the other guard dropped, Dugan’s fist raised, ready for any comeback.

Sweat cooled at Bucky’s neck and he took two long breaths, as Gabe and Sam dragged the bodies together, tying them back to back and propping them up against a half constructed jet. Steve’s gaze was heavy on him and he licked his lips.

“Come on,” he said, panting a little. “Door to the upper levels is just over there.”

Inside it was a labyrinth. Phillips had been right, the place was practically empty. They only stumbled on a couple more pairs of guards as they navigated the way as best they could from Bucky’s blueprints. Natasha silenced them with no trouble. It was almost laughable, but it made Bucky sick. How easy it was for them now, before it had felt like an impossible task to get past even Zola.

Each corridor was very much the same. Just as Bucky started to worry that he’d led them all in the opposite direction, he saw it. He stopped dead and Wanda ploughed into him.

“What -” she started, but Sam shushed her. He was wasting time, but he couldn’t walk by. He had to see it. Slowly, very slowly, he approached the door.

That strange distorted light reached through high windows. The smell; chemicals and the metallic tang of blood. Sweat and piss and fear. In the centre, leather straps hung from the empty examination table. It was all there, just like from a nightmare.

Around him, the Commandos wandered across the room, eyeing the knives and saws and scalpels in distaste.

“What the devil is all this?” Monty muttered under his breath.

Natasha turned to Bucky, a strange expression on her face. Bucky, though, couldn’t move from his spot near the door. He’d stepped over the threshold, and now he was trapped. In the past. He’d willingly come back here like a Goddamn fool.

“Buck?” Steve asked. He was pale, turning his back to the examination table with a gulp, eyes only on Bucky.

Across the room, Dugan was frowning at the large map of Europe on the wall, flags pinned at various spots. “Look,” he breathed. “It’s the Hydra sites. Just like Bucky said.”

“You thought he was lying?” Wanda said, bristling.

“No. Just,” Dugan shook his head slowly, still gaping at the map. “It’s just like he said.”

Steve cut off the conversation. “You lot,” he barked, pointing at Monty, Dernier and Gabe. “And you, Sam, Wanda. Go check the cells, help get any prisoners out of here.” He gripped Bucky’s arm, pushing him back towards the door. “We’ll find Headquarters.”

“Right, Cap,” Sam nodded, vanishing down the corridor with the rest. Once their footsteps quietened to nothing, the grip on Bucky’s arm tightened.

“Buck?” Steve asked. “We need to find Schmidt, Buck. Where’s Headquarters?”

Bucky frowned. Where was Headquarters? Hadn’t it been close to this room? Or, no, maybe that had been the cell blocks. It was getting cloudy in his mind. “Right,” he said, voice rough. “Right, yeah.” He stalked towards the door, not sparing another glance at that hellish room. “This way.”

More corridors, plain walls, grey doors, shining floors. When they reached the top office, the entrance was disappointing. Double doors, plain as the rest, left open. Inside there was nobody. A chair upturned. Pens left on the table. A large console covered the wall on two sides, underneath a panel of windows that towered over the large factory floor. Along the console, dials and levers and buttons flickered and flashed with purpose.

The group gathered in the middle of the room, silenced by their disappointment.

“Shit,” Dugan muttered, lifting his hat to wipe at his forehead.

Bucky should say something, he knew that. Think of a new plan. All could feel, though, was the misplaced adrenaline pumping through him, making him antsy, draining him as he stood on the spot.

Cutting off his thoughts, Natasha blurted out. “Jesus Christ, what did you do to her?” They all spun on the spot, the misshapen outline of Sam silhouetted at the door. He was carrying someone in a fireman’s lift, their long hair cascading down his arm. Wanda.

“What happened?” Steve rushed over as Sam lowered Wanda’s limp body to the floor, resting against the wall. Next to her, he dropped a bag.

“She’s alright,” he said, breathing heavily. “She’s just unconscious. Got some Hydra tech, too, for testing. You’re welcome.”

“What about the others?” Dugan asked.

“I left them for dead, what do you think?” Sam groused. “They’re getting the prisoners out, like you asked. Figured we’d need Wanda against Schmidt. I was hoping she’d come to by the time we found you.”

Natasha cocked her head, arms folded. “She looks pretty out of it if you ask me,” she drawled, one eyebrow raised at Sam. He shook his head, nonplussed, at her in response.

“Swell,” Bucky growled, ignoring the pair. He paced the short floor of Headquarters, scowling out of the windows to the factory floor. “This is just swell.”

“This H.Q?” Sam asked, hands on his hips, chest rising. A drop of sweat was working its way down his nose. “Where’s Schmidt?”

Steve sighed. “Not here,” he said. He’d was frowning as he pressed his fingers to Wanda’s neck. “Neither is Zola. Neither is the Tesseract.” He rose to his feet, evidently satisfied that she was alive, and dropped his arms to his side with a shrug. “There’s nothing.”

“Maybe they haven’t arrived here yet?” Morita said, shifting his gun to his shoulder.

“Oh, they’re here,” Bucky growled. His eyes were fixed on one of the monitors. The examination room warped in and out of focus. It looked smaller on the screen. Less hard, less sharp, less threatening. “Goddamnit, they saw us. Shouldn’t have gone into that fucking room,” he yelled, kicking at the console. “They’ve just scarpered, like last time. Run away with their tails between their legs.”

“Probably just as well,” Natasha offered. She knelt down next to Wanda brushing hair from her face. “Our secret weapon is out of action anyway. How -” She squinted up to Sam. “How exactly did she get knocked out?”

Sam pulled a face. “I don’t really know.” He scratched at his beard. “I think a Hydra gun got her, when we got near the cells. She, you know, blasted it and all, so it didn’t evaporate her.” He imitated her spread hands, fending off a blast. “Maybe it rebounded? Or was just a bit too much? I don’t know, but she just dropped.”

The rest of them stared at Wanda for a while, her too big clothes swallowing her up. Dugan groaned. “And we’ve still got to get this place out of commission.”

“Hang on,” Bucky started. While they’d been talking, he’d been thinking. There were monitors all over the console, of what must be every key area in the factory. One of them showed the rafters of the main hanger, walkways and bridges crisscrossing across the huge space. “Hang on a second,” he muttered. “They scarpered. Just like last time.” He turned to the others, running a finger across his mouth. They regarded him, warily. “On the roof. That jet, it was half finished, right? Anyone else see that?”

“Yeah,” Sam volunteered. “Yeah, I saw it.”

“That’s how Schmidt escaped, last time,” he rushed. “Without that, his only option is by road.”

A flicker of understanding washed over Natasha’s face. She sprang into action, running to come next to Bucky at the console.

“But the factory?” Dugan asked, baffled and still on the same track. “We need to shut it down.”

Together Bucky and Natasha set off all the switches, starting count down after count down on the various timers across the board.

“Oh, hey, Sarge,” Morita sputtered, raising a hand to his head in bewilderment. “What you doing? Countdowns ain’t good.”

“Self destruct,” Bucky explained, quietly enjoying the panic that settled in on everyone gathered around. This would get them moving. “Anyone see a garage on the way in?” he called over his shoulder, already heading back out towards the door.

The Commandos exchanged baffled looks while Natasha and Steve darted forward. Dugan cursed, picking up his hat from where he’d discarded it earlier.

“Dugan, pick her up,” Bucky motioned to Wanda. “Sam, the tech.”

“I know, I know,” Sam waved him off, hurling the bag over his shoulder.

“Come on,” Bucky shouted, down the corridor by now, sweating and high strung, trusting that the others would follow where he led them.

“Jesus.”

The garage was down several levels and Bucky practically flew down the staircase, focused on one thing only. Ignoring the guards they encountered along the way - he could leave those for the others to deal with - he hurtled towards the garage doors, slamming them open. The crack of the doors shot into the vast hanger. The heads of two men, clambering into the only car left, turned to him.

Behind him, the Commandos gathered, breathing heavy. The soft thud of Dugan lowering Wanda to the floor, the click of guns being unsheathed, the shuffle feet squaring up.

“So, you are Dr. Erskine’s new toys,” Schmidt said. His voice echoed around the large room. He moved slowly, carefully, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Behind him, Zola, small and beady eyed cowered in the passenger seat of the freshly waxed car. Rage filled Bucky, consumed him. He could barely hear the words that Schmidt spoke, his blood was pounding so loudly in his ears. “Not exactly an improvement, though I’m sure Mr Zola here could work with you.”

Bucky ran cold, the smile on Schmidt’s face rancid. His bones remembered the burn of the serum, the cut of sharp blades, the mask of indifference. He fumbled for his gun, hands shaking, breath stuttering in his lungs.

“He can try,” Steve piped up, stepping level to Bucky, his jaw set, shield raised. Bucky let out noise, between a groan and a whimper, silently begging Steve to get back. He could barely hold his gun still. What a fool he was. He had forgotten what it was like to be this scared.

“Oh,” Schmidt laughed. “And who is this little one?” He leant down, eye level with Steve, the smile sliding off his face. “I could break you like a twig, Private,” he sneered.

In a second Schmidt pulled back his fist, striking at Steve. Bucky’s heart stopped for a split second before Steve raised the shield higher. The clang of metal warping raised the hairs on his arms. Though they all knew it, the demonstration of Schmidt’s strength had them all stepping backwards. Steve stared in horror at the fist shaped dent in his shield, made out of the strongest metal on earth.

“No matter what lies Erskine tells you,” Schmidt insisted. “I was his greatest success.” Bucky looked on in resigned horror, trapped inside his own memory, as Schmidt peeled his skin away from his face, revealing the angry red underneath.

“What in the world,” Morita breathed.

In his periphery, Bucky spotted the rest of the Commandos shifting, taking stock. He gulped a breath. “Right, shit, I forgot to say.” He cringed at the waver in his voice. “Red Skull, it’s a literal thing.

“He’s - He’s red,” Dugan yelled at him.

In front of them, Schmidt grinned, distorting his features further still into something sinister and cruel. “I have left humanity behind.” He thumped his own chest, eyes on Bucky. “I embrace it proudly. Without fear!”

The pain was immense as Schmidt’s fist collided with his jaw. The tang of blood filled his mouth. The floor rose to meet him, vision blurred as he tried and failed to right himself. Beneath the ringing in his ear he could hear shouting, bullets firing. The revving of an engine.

He blinked, trying to focus on the boots in front of his face. Where they Sam’s? Maybe Dugan’s.

“He’s getting away,” Morita’s voice broke through the cacophony of noise.

“Leave it,” Bucky groaned, words slurred. “Leave it. It won’t - It won’t work. He’s too strong.” He leaned up onto his elbows, squinting into the distance where Schmidt and Zola vanished from sight.

“You alright, Buck?” Steve murmured. He knelt next to him, cradling his face in his palms.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Stevie. Don’t you worry.” He squeezed the other man’s wrist and summoned up a grin. He could feel the blood dripping down his chin. “We got a ride, don’t we?”

~

August in Italy was stinking hot and slow to boot. Thank God he had his shorter hair back, if he’d stuck with the beard here he would have expired long ago. The sun had risen in the sky since he’d been inside, receiving a long briefing with Phillips about Hydra’s latest position. Now that it was over, he wasn’t sure that he’d learnt any new information.

Making his way from camp Headquarters to track down the others, he wove a meandering path through the tents. There was a general excitement in the air about the U.S.O. tour that had reached them, rumours that Bob Hope himself was putting on a show. Bucky had teased Steve about that once when he’d found out, surprised to see who Captain America had been replaced with.

“Just as well,” Steve had muttered when he’d mentioned it. “Sure I was worse than useless.”

“I never saw a performance, sadly,” Bucky had mourned. “Caught a movie or two, afterwards.”

“Yeah?”

“Best left to the archives,” he’d joked.

Steve had shoved him them, whining a weak, “Shut up.”

As he passed the tents of men his eyes travelled across them, some worn and settled, some experienced fighters, and some of them fresh and green. He nodded greetings as he went. He could remember well enough how disarming it was every time he had caught a glimpse of a defeated looking officer. Faced with days off, most men wandered around the camp or the nearby towns at a loss on how to keep themselves entertained. Most found a way in the end, but it was always bizarre to see men lingering, taking their time in the shower block, brushing their teeth in the sun, shaving at a leisurely pace.

He whistled to a passing infantryman, gangly and tanned, dark hair curling at the ends. His shirt had been lightened in the sun. “Hey, Private. You seen my unit?”

All he usually needed to do was mention that they had two women amongst their numbers and the men would send him off in the right direction. There was something to be said for making your mark. He didn’t even need to do that however, as the young soldier answered, keen as mustard, “The Howling Commandos?” Bucky stopped short and grunted the affirmative. “Yes, Sir. They left an hour or so ago. Headed west.” The boy squinted up at him, sun in his eyes. “Had some heavy gun power with them.”

He flexed his hand, staring in the direction the boy pointed, as if he’d still be able to see them. “You happen to see a man with them, bowler hat, stupid moustache?” He gestured to his face, wondering then how Dugan was handling the heat as well as he was.

“Dum Dum?”

Bucky stumbled over a laugh. “Yeah, Dum - How’d you know that?” he asked, perplexed.

The soldier broke into a wide smile. “The rescue operation from Krausberg, Sir. It’s all the boys in the Mess can talk about.”

“Is it?” Bucky pouted. He looked around and, sure enough, huddled groups of soldiers were watching him, nudging each other and pointing. Of course, as soon as they realised he’d seen them, they covered their actions. Turned on their heels, breaking their gaze away.

“Sure is. Your unit, Sir, it’s what we’re all aiming for,” the private said, a little breathless. “He was with ‘em, Sergeant.”

Bucky’s thoughts travelled across the Atlantic and over to Brooklyn, to his brother. What time was it over there? Would he be in school? He wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was. That’s what he’d do with his day, he decided; write Tom a letter. He’d love to hear about what Bucky was getting up to with Howard. Abridged of course, but Tom had enough imagination about it to get by.

“Where you from?” he asked the private.

“Louisiana. New Orleans.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky had shared a cell in Azzano with a guy from New Orleans. What was his name? Monro, Morein, Moreau? ‘M’ something. “You left school?”

The boy nodded, eyes bright. He must be new. “To sign up, Sir.”

His father’s book of poems was a heavy weight in his pocket as his eyes travelled across the boy’s features. He wrinkled his nose. “Less of the ‘Sir’. Sarge’ll do.” He took a step away. “Name?”

“Private Sarpy. ”

“Alright, Sarpy,” he offered, walking further back at a slow pace. “Look after yourself.”

“Yes, Sir. Sarge, Sir.” Sarpy chuckled at himself. “Sorry, Sarge.”

Bucky shook his head, unable to stop the fondness he always felt for the young recruits, even knowing most of them wouldn’t make it out. Replacements had a tendency to get themselves killed pretty quick. Bucky pushed it from his mind, thinking instead of the Commandos leaving camp. It was odd for them to venture off on a mission without him, though Bucky was sure they wouldn’t have done so without a direct order from a higher up. Perhaps something time dependent. At least if they had Dugan with them, and Natasha, they’d be more than fine. Hell, as long as Wanda stayed out of the way of any Hydra weapons, she could keep them safe from most of what the war could throw at them.

In the handful of missions they’d taken on since the liberation of Krausberg they’d honed their technique, taken down dozens of Hydra cells. It had been deemed a liberation by the men they’d broken out, in a rush of celebration. Bucky figured it had a better ring to it than ‘that time Sergeant Barnes froze in the field and got beaten to shit’, even if that was more accurate. It was getting tricker now, in any case, to track Hydra down. The most obvious bases had been taken. Schmidt and his cronies had retreated to their hidey-holes.

All that was needed was to find them and root them out.

And that was easier said than done, if the briefing this morning was an accurate reflection of events. As hard has Bucky had tried to think about it from an infiltration perspective, he was coming up with nothing. Once Natasha was back he’d ask her, clearly losing touch himself.

By now his wanderings had led him to the edge of camp. He stood in the middle of the path, watching the men at the gate. What the fuck was he supposed to do with himself now? It was more a process of elimination, then, that led him to Howard’s lab, if that’s what it could be called. Tucked away in the opposite corner of the camp, hidden in the shadow of the forest, Howard toiled away.

The other man didn’t immediately notice Bucky hovering by his door and so Bucky stayed quiet, watching him work. It wasn’t that he and Howard hadn’t been close before, more that Howard had been closer to Steve. A spike of guilt burned bright and quick inside him, that through this whole charade, that friendship between Howard and Steve hadn’t formed the way it did previously. Still, what was it his father would say to him? There’s no point crying over spilt milk.

On his own in the lab, more of an overly furnished tent than anything, Howard bent over one of the Hydra weapons Sam had brought back for him. Announcing himself with a small cough, Howard hailed him over, happy to have the company. “I like to talk when I work. If someone else is here, seems less odd.” Gamely, Bucky picked up threads of conversation easily, the pair of them similar in that regard. He was halfway through a story about Steve chasing some boys who’d stolen from the local greengrocers when Howard interrupted him.

“Are you and Steve,” he started but trailed off, reticent where he was typically so brash.

“What?” Bucky bristled. His blood ran cold, the smile that had been plastered on his face from his recounting the story quickly vanished.

Howard pouted. “Nothing.”

“No,” he pushed. A confrontation was always better faced rather than buried, that way it would fester and rot, poison the blood. “If you’ve got something to say.”

“Hey, no, buddy, calm down.” Howard backed down at Bucky’s obviously raised hackles. “I wasn’t - Look, it’s fine.” The other man widened his eyes, sending Bucky a clear message. That he knew what Bucky was. “I bet you’re bummed, right?” he said, a joke in his voice. “That he’s not getting supersoldiered this time around?”

Even the suggestion, so casually spoken, had Bucky reeling with shame. “It’s not about that,” he defended himself. His words were coming out in wavering breaths. He’d never been found out so easily before. It was terrifying. Even if he was sure Howard wouldn’t sell him out, it would be so easy for him. Bucky would be on the first ship home, blue ticketed with nowhere to hide.

“No,” Howard snorted. “But it helps.” He looked up at Bucky, misinterpreting his panicked expression. “Come on, I’m not going say anything to him.” Standing straighter, he smiled, as if this was all very amusing to him. “So what, you’re a queer, I don’t care. Here,” he started, eye lighting up with a thought. “You dress up?”

“What?” Bucky could barely comprehend what the other man was saying.

“You know, like a dame.”

“No. No, I don’t - Howard. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dropped his head into his hands, words muffled. “I don’t dress like a woman.”

“Just as well,” he hummed, waving a screwdriver in Bucky’s direction. “Don’t think you have the figure for it.”

Seething, Bucky glowered at the top of Howard’s head as the other man continued to prod at the glowing mass on the bench. “Fuck you,” he hissed, turning to the tent door.

Realising that he’d stepped over the line, Howard whined, “Aw, hey, come back. I’m teasing, I’m just teasing.” He held his hands up in surrender. “You like who you like. I’m not judging.” He dropped the tool to the table, coming around the side of the bench to get closer to Bucky. “I won’t say anything,” he said, gently. “Does he know?”

“I -” Bucky ground his teeth. It’d be nice, maybe, to talk about it. Just once. Wanda, Natasha, Sam, they were well and good, but they didn’t understand what it was like. They were too accustomed to a world where the majority were on his side. “No,” he said. He let out a heavy breath, arms dropping as he stepped closer once more.

“I’d say I’m surprised,” Howard sighed. “But I’m not so sure I am, nevermind how obvious you are.”

“Obvious?”

“Uhuh. But he’s gone so gooey over Peggy, I’m shocked he’s noticed the rest of us are still here.” He laughed, running his thumb and forefinger over his moustache. “Though she’s a hell of a lady.”

“He’s not gooey over Peggy,” Bucky responded, dismissive.

“Oh, alright.” Howard raised his chin. “You’re setting yourself up for a heartbreak,” he said, keen in his realisation. “If you’re heart’s that far in it.” He kept his eyes on Bucky throughout the silence that followed. “It’s a shame,” Howard said, thinking out loud, “That guys like you have to suffer over something you can’t control.”

“The future - The future’s different.”

“Is it?”

Bucky nodded, compelled to share this revelation. “Two fellas - Fellas, girls, can marry each other, even. If they want.”

“You don’t say,” Howard wondered. “Well. Better make sure that’s the future we end up in, then.” He winked, though the creasing of his forehead interrupted the display. “You know, you’re a handsome guy, Barnes.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. I’m sure they have someone to cater to your whims in town. Hell, there’s probably other guys like you on the base.” He drew his eyebrows together, waving his hands in circles. “Why don’t you, I don’t know, release some pent up energy?”

“I - I have -” Bucky stuttered, wonder just how much he should reveal. Why the heck not all of it? If Steve found out, well, it would just get them there faster. “I’m with someone,” he rushed out in a single breath, before he changed his mind.

Howard froze, eyebrows raised. “With - With a man?”

“Shush,” Bucky hushed, eyeing the fabric walls. “No, a fish. Yes, a man,” he drawled. “Not here, in the future.”

Howard’s jaw dropped, just a little. “Does Steve know?” he asked in a whisper.

“Not now,” Bucky said, slowly. “Then, yes.”

Howard cocked his head. “Does he know that you used to have a little crush on him, too?”

“Howard, come on.” He sent the other man a look. “I’ve given you enough. You can work it out.”

Grinning, Howard whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned. So -” He frowned, looking to Bucky for confirmation. “So, he’s really not gooey over Carter?”

“He’s just polite.”

“Polite.” Howard repeated the word, as if hearing it for the first time.

“You should try it sometime,” he deadpanned. What was he doing? Talking about his relationship with Steve to the man he murdered with his own hands. He groaned, dropping his head to the table top before folding his arms and resting there, defeated. “What are you working on?” he said, after a while.

“This?” Howard, who had started working once more as they’d been speaking, raised the tongs in his hand. Clasped between them was the pulsing energy ball. “I’m trying to figure out the root of its power,” he said casually. “Need to understand it, before we can try to harness its power.”

“Sounds wise.” He flexed his arm. “You really think we can use it to get home?”

Howard thought about it for a moment. “I think it’s the best chance you’ve got.” He met Bucky’s eyes. “And I’m working real hard on it.”

“When you’re not thinking about my love life?” Bucky teased and Howard chuckled.

“When I’m not thinking about your love life,” he agreed. “My son. What’s he like?”

Bucky blinked, standing upright, taken aback at the change in topic. But, he supposed, it mustn’t be far from Howard’s mind these days, having to work with his son from the future, if from a distance. Bucky sighed. “I told you, I don’t know him that well.”

“Humour me?”

Bucky cast around the room, trying to think of what he could say about Tony that was both true, kind and not too revealing. “He’s an inventor,” he said.

Howard huffed at him. “I know that, bozzo.”

“A good one, then,” he tried again. “He’s - He’s loyal, to his friends.” Bucky frowned, think about Iron Man and Captain America in Berlin, firing at each other, all the while avoiding any killshots. “Tries hard, to do what he thinks is right. Bit of a, er, local hero type,” he said softly. “He makes mistakes.”

“Same as the rest of us,” Howard added.

Bucky hummed, nodding. “Always works to make amends, though. That’s what’s important.”

“Are we close?”

“You and me?”

“No, well, I mean, sure, why not.” Howard smiled at him, teeth pearly white. “But, I mean me and Tony.”

“Ah, well.” Bucky clicked his tongue, keen to excuse himself from that particular answer. “I think you had a bit of a rocky start. I don’t know much about it. You’d have to talk to Tony yourself. Which,” he leaned closer. “You can do, you know.”

Howard let out a short laugh. “It’s a little awkward,” he admitted. “Over the Wanda-phone.”

“Awkward’s better than nothing.”

Licking his lips, Howard raised his eyebrows at Bucky. “I notice that you don’t speak to Steve that much. Future Steve,” he clarified. “If he’s your guy, like you say, I’m sure he’s not too impressed.” He pouted, focusing back on his work. “Don’t think I would be,” he sang.

“It’s confusing,” Bucky confessed for the first time, after a brief pause. “With the two of them.”

Howard hummed, weighing a wrench in his palm for something to do. “Don’t forget that they’re two people. Two versions of the same, sure, but still two people.” And of course, Howard was right. That’s what made it all the more frustrating to hear. “He’s in camp still. Your fella,” he clarified at Bucky’s gormless response. “Maybe you could, I don’t know, talk it out.” He shrugged. “Just an idea. I have some good ones, every now and then.”

Outside the buzz of distant conversation mingled with the song of the birds up above. If he closed his eyes, Bucky might not be in the middle of a war at all. He might just be on the beach at Coney Island, Steve next to him, trying to finish off his ice cream before it melted. Standing straighter, he clapped Howard on the back. “Nice chat,” he said briskly, heading out into the sun. “You carry on with your science.”

Howard’s laugh was bright as he watched Bucky leave. “Thanks for the tip.”

The women's barracks weren’t too far from the lab, but Bucky lingered outside for a good couple of minutes. Steve and Peggy were in there, like he’d figured, he could hear their muffled voices. This was where they always went. It was quieter, less likely to be interrupted. ‘Course, others would have made use of that in other ways. Not Steve, though. It’s a marvel the guy hadn’t been found out before now.

Each time somebody passed him, Bucky nodded politely, all too aware of how strange he must look. After one particularly disapproving look from a Lieutenant, Bucky dropped his salute and braced himself.

“Thought you’d all abandoned me,” he said, hoping he sounded natural as he ducked through the entrance.

The pair whirled around. “Buck,” Steve said. He shifted immediately, automatically making space. The two of them were perched on cots opposite each other, papers sprawled out around them on top of the sheets.

Peggy watched carefully as he approached. “One of the platoon’s from Able reported encountering some advanced weaponry in their latest push,” she explained. “Just information gathering. I think they were bored.”

Beneath him, the springs of the small bed squeaked. He could listen to her voice all day, he really could. “Not interested?” he asked.

Steve ducked his head. “We’re talking tactics.”

“Are we?” Bucky teased, smiling a charming smile, teeth on show.

“Here.” Peggy handed him a file, maps and crosses and testimonies galore. “All reported sightings of Hydra soldiers, some confirmed, some not.”

“Thought we could figure out where they’re headed,” Steve added as Bucky flicked through the papers.

“Don’t we have code breakers for this? Station X and all your lot,” he asked Peggy.

The smile she sent him was a tired one. “Station X is classified at the highest level. I don’t even want to know how you found out about that.”

“I’m from the future,” Bucky teased, with wide eyes and wiggling fingers.

Peggy pushed his hands away. “If, hypothetically, we did have people working on the German codes, I imagine they would have been focusing their efforts on the messages the Nazi’s sent. Hydra have splintered off entirely. They’re using different methods.” She took the file back from him. “We’ll figure it out.”

At his side Steve continued to read through the papers. The other man had been a little funny with Bucky since finding that room in the Hydra factory. Not mad at him, but Bucky could tell Steve was annoyed at him for keeping him in the dark about what had happened to him there. And he was mad at himself for being annoyed. It ended up with him being overly cordial with Bucky, and it was beginning to wear thin. Now Steve was with Peggy, reading these files that weren’t going to help them, instead of talking to him. He shoved at Steve’s shoulder.

“Hm?” he muttered, distracted. Bucky huffed until he finally got the picture and closed the file. “Briefing with Phillips go okay?” he asked, fond wrinkles framing his eyes.

“‘Spose.”

“You suppose?” Steve echoed, unimpressed.

“Nothing new.” Bucky kicked out his feet, shrugging, and feeling like a child being told off. “Just some old army Majors who like the sound of their own voices.”

“Bucky,” Steve admonished. “You should pay attention, might be important information in the detail.”

“Along with the devil?” he asked, head cocked, squinting over at Steve before both of them broke out into matching grins.

A clap of hands on legs. “Well,” Peggy sighed, looking between the two of them, eyes bright. Bucky sat straighter. “There’s a dance tonight. In town. It’s after the U.S.O. concert. Should be quite an evening.” Her eyes flickered to Steve. The other man wasn’t even looking, attention back on the file in his lap. For a second, Bucky and Peggy regarded each other, and guilt welled up inside of him.

“Hey, I mean,” Bucky rushed, as Peggy blinked rapidly, flustered. “Do you have a date?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ll bet you l ike dances,” Bucky carried on, shifting closer to the edge of the cot. Be nice. “I’ll take you, if you want.” He nudged Steve’s elbow. “Steve doesn’t go for dances much.”

“You don’t like them?” Peggy asked. Her tone was a little lighter than normal.

“It’s not that,” Steve grimaced in response. “It’s just, two left feet, you know, tends to put people off. That and the -” He waved a hand across his torso, his face. Bucky clicked his tongue, looking away. Peggy caught it. “Bucky’s tried to teach me. Never ends well.”

Peggy pursed her lips. “Maybe you need to find the right partner,” she tried.

“Ah, if anyone was gonna get me right, it’d be Buck,” Steve dismissed. Bucky raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his jaw. “I’ll come along to the U.S.O. show, though,” he said, finally looking up with a smile. “Sounds like a ball.”

The fixed expression on Peggy’s face told Bucky all he needed to know. All he already knew. “There you go,” he pitched in, falsely cheerful. “Steve’ll go with you to the show, then we can go to the dance.” He nodded at Peggy. Lovely Peggy, red lips, sweet smile, clever eyes. “How ‘bout it?”

“It’ll be fun, Pegs,” Steve chimed.

Peggy took a moment, mouth pressed into a thin line. “It does sound delightful,” she said, slowly. Bucky braced for the kick. “I’m afraid, though, that I’m not feeling too well. In fact,” She made to stand, sending them a smile, “I should probably just check in with the nurses' station. You know how things spread around here.”

“Peggy.” Steve frowned, standing up as well. “You okay? I can come with you?”

“No, no, it’s quite alright.” She waved him off, heading to the door. “Sun stroke, perhaps.” She nodded to the papers left behind. “You two carry on. Find me those Hydra bases.” Steve nodded, staring for a moment at the tent flap as it fluttered close behind her.

Bucky took the opportunity to whack him hard on the arm.

“Ouch. What was that for?” Steve yelped, rubbing his arm.

“You’re blind as a bat, you know that right?” Bucky scoffed, looking up at him.

Still clutching his arm, ever the dramatic, Steve dropped back down on to the thin mattress. “You knew she was sick?”

“She’s not sick, meatball.” He shook his head adding, in an undertone, “Lovesick, maybe.”

“Lovesick?”

“Stevie.” He sent the other man a fond smile. “Just because you don’t think you’re much to look at, does not mean that the rest of us think so.” Raising his eyebrows, he leaned closer. “Peggy sure don’t.”

“She -” Steve frowned, eyeing Bucky like he was mad. “But, I never -” He paused, brushing his hair away from his face before slumping his shoulders. “Aw, hell.”

Bucky couldn’t help it, he cackled. “That’s not the answer most people would go for.”

“I ain’t interested in her like that,” Steve worried. To his credit, he looked genuinely upset. Of course he would.

“I know that,” Bucky explained. “You could’a read the signs, jerk. Let her down gently.”

Steve bit his lip, crestfallen. “She won’t be mad at me?”

Pushing down a smile, Bucky said, gently, “I mean, I think she’ll get over it.”

It seemed to help. Steve nodded, fingers twisting together in his lap. A pained expression travelled over his face, though, that Bucky couldn’t work out. “She’s a good friend,” Steve mumbled, almost to himself. “I could do with some of those, after you’re gone.”

“After I’m -” Bucky pulled a face. “What? What you on about?”

Steve twisted to face him fully, confused. “When they work out how to get you back to your time,” he explained, unsure. “I’ll be on my own.”

Immediately, Bucky scoffed. “No, but, the other me will be -” He cut himself off, as what Steve was saying really dawned on him. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts into something more coherent. “I mean, I figured the alternative version of me would come back?”

“Do you think so?” Steve asked. “I was talking to Tony, through Wanda, you know. He said the tesseract creates portals. If Howard works out how to activate it, then you’ll go through a portal, you’ll be gone, no replacing you with someone else.” Steve looked so glum, Bucky couldn’t think of what to say.

“Goddamnit to hell,” he spat, tugging at his hair.

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured. His blue eyes were glassy, Bucky wanted to punch something. “I’ll miss you, but, I suppose, the other me misses you now.”

“Steve,” he whined. Before he could really think about what he was doing, he pulled Steve into a hug. He squeezed tightly, small bones shifting under his palms. Steve’s nose brushed against his collarbone.

The other man broke away first and Bucky kept a firm hold of his arm. “Come on now,” Steve said, ignoring the lone tear running down his own cheek. “We get caught here we’ll be hauled up in front of Phillips for sure.”

Chapter Text

Later that evening Bucky saw Peggy again. The flaps of the Headquarters tent pulled back, the flickering of a lone lamp danced against the canvas walls. Bucky stopped in his tracks.

Something about the downcast image of it, Peggy sat at that grand desk, head bowed low over reams of paper, caught in his throat. She wouldn’t let something so small get to her, not really. She’d only known Steve a couple of months after all. But, then, he did make quite an impression on people.

He made his way over. “Knock, knock.” She raised her head at his greeting and he slipped inside, dropping one of the tent flaps shut. “You okay?” He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her desk.

“Of course.” Her expression was a picture of serenity. Bucky didn’t buy it.

“Smoke?” he offered, taking a pack of Lucky’s from his pocket and pulling one out for himself when she refused.

“I didn’t think you partook.”

“Not around Steve, but, I mean, they’re just giving them away,” he mumbled around the cigarette while lighting it. It took him a few puffs, not being a regular. It wreaked havoc with Steve’s lungs. Shaking out the match he narrowed his eyes at Peggy. “Sure you’re okay? Don’t like to see you moping.”

Peggy scoffed, looking back down at her papers. “I can assure you I am not moping.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He leant closer, elbows on the desk. “Steve’s not here, you know. You can talk freely. If you’d like.”

She sent him a fierce glare. “I’m not a fool, James.” He knew better than to lie to her.

Nodding, he sat back. “And I’d never take you for one, Margaret. ”

Her facade cracked, the corner of her lip upturned. There it was. It would all be okay. “Don’t you dare,” she threatened, eyes twinkling.

“Don’t you like it?” he grinned, teasing.

“Stop it.” She set down her pencil. “You’re a child.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, hands raised. He regarded her for a moment, listening to the bizarre quiet outside. Most of the men had elected to take an afternoon nap before the evening’s festivities. “You know, I always wanted a sister.”

“Only child?” she asked, humouring him.

“Growing up, yeah.” He put out his cigarette in the Colonel’s ashtray, swallowing away the dry taste in his mouth. “Little brother came along when I was thirteen.” An image of Tom as a baby came to mind, all pink and wailing. “A year older than he is now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Tom.” He flexed his hand a little, stretching it out in front of him. “You’d like him. Much smarter than me. Nah,” he carried on, smiling at her breathy laugh. “I fancied the idea of being a protector, you know. Big and powerful.”

“Is that why you found Steve?” she said, wryly.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You think I see Steve as a sister?”

Peggy laughed. “No. Heavens, no. That’s not - Nevermind.” She regarded him. “I have a sister. She doesn’t like me much.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thinks I’m too serious.”

“Clearly she ain’t seen you in that red dress,” Bucky mumbled.

Peggy let out an uncharacteristic squawk. “Bucky Barnes,” she gasped with a smile. “You haven’t seen me in that red dress.”

He wiggled his eyebrow, fully aware of how absurd he looked. “Or have I?”

She spun her pencil around her fingertips and narrowed her eyes at Bucky, sitting back in her chair. All of a sudden, a flush crept up the back of Bucky’s neck. “You’re very lively today,” she observed.

“I am, ain’t I? I don’t know.” Bucky shrugged, ruffling his hair. “I’m feeling good.” And he was. He’d spent so long not feeling good at all, that now he did - in the middle of World War Two of all places - it had taken him a while to recognise it.

“You’ve got another mission tomorrow,” Peggy reminded, as if that would dampen his mood.

“It’s a night op.”

“How does the make a difference?”

“More time. Time makes a lot of difference.” Bucky squinted out to the fields of tents outside. “Trust me on that one.” He sighed, licking his lips. “He cares about you, a lot. Steve,” he said, truthfully. “In another life, maybe -”

Peggy cut him off. “But neither of the lives where he has you.”

So much for softening the blow then. “Let me take you to the dance, Peg,” he tried again.

If he was hoping for a straight answer, he didn’t get it. Instead she asked, “Were we friends, back in your other world?”

He laughed, “Funny. I was having this same conversation with Howard.”

“And?”

“You were more Steve’s friends,” he replied. He wrinkled his nose as he said, “You called me Barnes.” She pouted back at him, so that was something. “Steve took up a lot of space. I was never - I didn’t think it bothered me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m more of a follower, than a leader.”

“But you put on a good act,” Peggy said, conspiratorially.

Bucky barked out a laugh. “Thanks. The more I think about it, though, maybe I just got used to it. Captain America, you know, swept up in the hype of it all.” Waving his hands in the air, he cringed a little at some of the memories coming to mind. “I used to tell people, I was the one that knew him for who he really was, you know, I was his true friend.” He shrugged. “Maybe I got a bit dazzled as well.”

Peggy hummed, smiling at him. “You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no,” Bucky shook his head and lied. “Not really.”

“But if you had the chance to be?”

“If I could? I’d like to go dancing.” He grinned at her, leaning his cheek on his hand. “And Steve’d like to see a show. I hear Bob Hope’s on,” he teased, as if they hadn’t all been talking about it all day.

“Is he?” Peggy joined in, gamely. “Well, if Bob’s there.”

Managing to persuade her to let him walk her to her barracks, they exited the tent together, lamp extinguished, paperwork put aside for another day. It was still warm though the sun was lower. It danced on the tops of the trees as they walked slowly around the edge of the camp, shining in their eyes. Bucky kicked up dust as he went, dirtying his trousers, his boots.

“Wanda’s been finding it difficult,” Peggy said, suddenly.

“Yeah?” Bucky remarked, a little curious.

“It’s funny, Natasha has taken to it like a duck to water. You know what she said to me?” Peggy turned to him, a little bemused. “She said people here are more honest, generally, so it’s easier to see when they lie.”

“That’s nice,” Bucky said, then frowned. “Is that nice?”

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t think it is.”

The shared a look before walking on. “But Wanda’s having trouble?” Bucky picked up the trail of conversation. “I didn’t realise.” He had thought Wanda might come to him, if she was feeling concerned, perhaps he was wrong. A shame. He didn’t like to think about Wanda suffering quietly.

“It’s her powers,” Peggy explained.

“Ah,” Bucky groaned. “That’s not anything to do with travelling through time. She was struggling with that before. Steve -” He rubbed at his neck, thinking about his words. “Steve had a habit of coddling her. She never got to stretch her legs.”

“Just make sure,” Peggy chose her words carefully, “that she doesn’t swing too far the other way. Nobody wants to feel like just another cog in the machine. She’s a smart girl. She cares a lot.” She hummed a little, smiling in the sun’s rays. “I like her. I like them both. Shame they have to leave, really. Not for them, of course,” she added. “But - It’s been nice, is all.”

It was the second time that Bucky had been faced with the consequences of him dropping them all in this mess. The uneasy knot in his stomach tightened a little. “Bring them along,” he urged. “We’ll make an event of it.”

To his surprise, Peggy actually agreed. “That sounds like fun,” she said, as they reached her tent once more. “Give me half an hour.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He grinned, pleased with himself. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after her, “Wear the dress,” as she rolled her eyes.

Behind him, someone whistled. Gabe stood there, smirk loud and proud on his face. In the background the U.S.O. band were already warming up. The jaunty beat of ‘In the Mood’ whirling around the camp. “You got a hot date, Sarge?” he crowed.

“No. No, not tonight. Don’t be spreading it, either.” He clapped Gabe on the shoulder and muttered out of the side of his mouth, “I could put a word in for you?”

“Ha,” Gabe huffed. “Yeah, right. Have fun,” he said, moving away. “Don’t wear your shoes out!”

“It’s been an odd day,” he muttered to himself as he watched him go. With a tug in his chest he thought of how nice it would be sit down and tell Steve - the Steve he’d left alone, who’d tried so long and so hard to help him recover - all about it.

~

The months drew on. The nights crept closer. Hydra became more and more reclusive. And yet Bucky only grew more and more content. Yes, war was trench foot, meagre rations and bloody death. But he wasn’t on the front line again, as he’d feared. Steve was with him, and the Commandos, and half of the Avengers. Hydra could not evade them forever.

Days would go by sometimes without Howard or Erskine giving them any update on the progress of their route back home. Bucky found that when they did eventually explain that little headway they had made, he wasn’t interested. His mind would wander instead to the next attack, to wiping Zola of the face of the earth, to returning to Brooklyn and seeing his father once more.

Sometimes, though, he could forget entirely. Like when they raced down rural roads, motorbike whizzing around winding corners and Steve cackling joyfully from behind the handlebars. Bucky had shuffled down the sidecar, clasping half a dozen beer bottles against his chest. The roar of the engine rattled in his skull and he grinned so wide it hurt his cheeks.

Around them fallen leaves were picked up in the wheels of the bike, swirling in the air like orange and red rain.

“Having fun, Gentlemen?”

Phillips looked down his nose at them and they slowed to a stop at the edge of their base in Welford. Peggy and Monty had waved them a cheery goodbye that morning, heading in opposite directions to visit their families. Howard had already joined Erskine in his London laboratory, not even stopping at the base for a drink before boarding his train.

“No, Colonel.” Bucky pulled his jacket over the beers, maintaining eye contact with Phillips. “None at all.”

The Colonel sent them a withering look. Steve, at least, had the decency to look remorseful. “Sorry, Colonel.”

“Aren’t you lot supposed to be on leave?” Phillips asked them as they clambered out of the vehicle.

“Sir,” Bucky acknowledged. “Train’s heading to London this morning.”

“London,” Phillips croaked. He moved off, continuing his way to, presumably, the base Headquarters. “Watch out for bombs,” he called to them. “I hear the Luftwaffe is raging.”

“We’ll do our best,” Steve replied, the two of them raising their arms in salute.

The train to London was packed with service men, British and otherwise. Some were joyful at their temporary reprieve. Others, not so much. Every few compartments Bucky spotted one. Quiet, in the corner, staring into nothing. Or too alert, eyes following every moment around them. Then there were the injured. The ones that nobody wanted to acknowledge, but couldn’t bear to ignore. Legs blown off, eyes left useless, hands so shaky they could hardly pick anything up.

And yet somehow, Steve managed to remain positive, letting his optimism seep into the rest of them. He was almost giddy with it and the Commandos silently agreed not to mock him for it. A gesture that proved to Bucky that he was just as loved in this world as he was the other. By them at least. Dugan, Morita and Dernier headed off as soon as they reached Paddington Station, keen to scout out the nearest pub and stay there for the remainder of the week.

The rest of the aimed a little further afield.

“What have we got lined up?”

The little cafe table groaned as Sam came outside with their tray of drinks, setting it down carefully. Bucky grabbed his coffee, savouring the burn on his tongue. Behind him the pavement was full of busy Londoners, the outbreak of war hardly appearing to make an impact, though it must have. The scars of the fighting were clear on some of their faces, mothers and fathers, sisters, wives. Some of them had that haunted look of someone no longer complete. London itself was ripped, stained with rubble and smoke. The shrieks and laughter of children were quieter than Bucky imagined they had been before.

“Well.” Bucky took a dramatic breath, setting down his drink and closing ‘Beyond This Horizon’, his paperback of the moment. “We’re going to see the King for Wanda. Now, if he’s not in,” Bucky pursed his lips, waving his hand dismissively, “fine, we’ll settle for taking a look at the palace.”

“From the outside,” Steve added, helpfully.

“From the outside.” He followed the progress of a scrappy looking dog scampering down the street, nosing in the corners for leftovers. Was his brother taking proper care of Eleanor while he was gone? “I think we should swing by Baker Street.” He turned to Steve. “I want to see where Sherlock Holmes lived.”

“You know he’s not real, Buck?” Gabe said, smile in his voice.

“Gabe,” Bucky whined. “Do I trample on your dreams?”

“Daily.” Gabe took a sip of his drink.

“Respect the rank,” Bucky joked before slumping a little, frowning at the building around them. “But, I mean, all the good stuff’s caput.”

Steve hummed. “What do you mean?”

“I was checking it out yesterday. This whole Blitz thing has put the kibosh on all the galleries, all the tourist stuff. Even to zoo’s out of action,” he groaned.

“It is a bit of a let down,” Sam nodded. He was concentrating on adding an ungodly amount of sugar to his coffee.

Bucky watched him for a while, look of disgust on his face, and leaned over.  “Thursday, Steve.” He tapped his arm. “Thursday; that’s the doozy. I got plans. Even Natasha’s excited about that one.” He winked at her.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, smiling as she bounced her foot on the ground. “Positively brimming with it,” she deadpanned, picking fluff from her uniform trousers.

After a moment, Steve asked, “Why are you doing that? Surprising me?” His eyes were narrowed, as if he suspect foul play.

Bucky pouted. “Honest?”

“That’d be nice,” Steve deadpanned.

“I feel guilty,” he said, simply. “You don’t get your superpowers because of me.”

Steve regarded him for a moment, blue eyes flicking across his face. Bucky rubbed at his nose. “Have you forgotten,” Steve said, eventually, “that I didn’t actually want superpowers in the first place? I just wanted to join up.” He leant his elbows on the table. “Which I’ve done, thanks to you.”

“Yeah, but -” Bucky sighed. The ‘I’m leaving’ remained unspoken, though loud enough for the both of them to look away.

Thankfully, Sam took over. “When we’re meeting the Queen -”

“King,” Wanda corrected.

“- King, can we stop by Big Ben?”

Natasha turned to him, a doubtful expression on her face. “I don’t think they’re close to each other.”

“What? Bullshit, fetch me a map,” Sam replied. “God, I miss G.P.S.”

“You lot,” Gabe huffed a bemused laugh. “Anyone would think you’re on holiday.”

Sam grinned at him and shrugged. “When in Rome.”

“You know,” Wanda began, looking out over the street. “When everybody hears how well we’ve adapted, they’re going to be so impressed.” She smiled, cheeks bunching a little. “If I hear anyone say, ‘back in my day’ ever again, I can just -” she raised her hand, pushing it away and pursed her lips. “No, thank you, Sir, not today.”

The rest of them chuckled and Gabe asked, “They still say that? ‘Back in my day’?” He shook his head. “My Pop, he lives for that.”

“‘Lives for that,’” Bucky jeered. “Gabe, I do believe you’ve been spending too much time with Ms Maximoff.” He threw one of Sam’s empty sugar packets at the other man. “Talk proper.”

Gabe sat forward in his chair, eyes wide with a slightly manic grin. “Yikes, Buck,” he said, exuberantly. “Guess we’ll get all spivvy and have a gas getting sauced before it all goes fubar!”

Bucky blinked as the others laughed some more. “That doesn’t even make sense, Gabe.” Wanda and Sam’s shoulders were shaking.

On the bench next to him Steve frowned and asked slowly, “I don’t really talk like that, do I?”

In truth their tour of London was somewhat miserable. Surrounded by people who, though defiant, clearly were not enjoying the war ravaging half the globe. Bucky’s own happiness at being back here rested uncomfortably in his stomach. It was perhaps obvious in his face as Wanda whispered to him, “This time is your home. You’re allowed to like it. You’re fighting to save it, remember?”

The windows of Buckingham Palace were boarded up, evidence of bomb damage undeniable in the forecourt. It was all around them, the damage done. In the end, they headed to Hyde Park, filled with anti-aircraft guns, except the odd patch of grass available to them near the water. Steve had headed almost automatically to the vivid wash of orange trees. When Bucky called him out on it, Steve only shrugged, content and relaxed. They fed the ducks until it got dark and headed to the pub to join the others.

His stomach twisted. The Commandos had descended on The Whip and Fiddle; the very same pub that they’d first been recruited in, in another life. Alternate universes acting in harmony, perhaps? He stared, dumbstruck for a moment, at the corner of the bar where Steve had sat. Where Bucky had told him he was following that little guy from Brooklyn. And here he was, doing just that.

“Bucky?” That same voice called. He looked over his shoulder at Steve. Tiny and smiling and changing the world. “Drinks,” he said, holding up two giant pint glasses.

Hours later, the bell for last orders had been rung, coats had been gathered, and friends half carried to their homes. Bucky pulled the bolt shut on the room above the pub that he and Steve were sharing. He kicked off his boots, dragged his shirt over his head and crawled under the scratchy covers. In the dark he watched Steve undress in a drunken haze, sure that Steve knew he hadn’t yet shut his eyes.

“Steve,” he whispered into the blackness when they’d both settled. After enough time had passed that he could let go of his lingering guilt. He could hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway. It was so quiet. The whole of the city must be asleep. “You awake?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m cold,” he said, turning to squint at the outline of Steve’s head on his pillow. “Steve.”

Blankets shuffled. “I heard you.”

He gnawed on his lip for a moment and then decided. Before he could change his mind his crossed the small room, floorboards creaking a little, and tucked himself next to Steve, under his covers.

“Bucky,” Steve hissed. Closer to him, Bucky took in the shining in his eyes, the messy kinks in his hair.

“Don’t -” Bucky pushed his face into the pillow and jammed his eyes shut. “Just - Shut up.”

“Bucky -”

“It’s fine.” He shifted closer, looping an arm over Steve’s waist, settling his jaw by his shoulder. It was fine. It would be fine.

But Steve wasn’t moving a muscle. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” He raised his head. Looking directly at Steve, he brushed his thumb against fragile lower ribs. “The door’s locked,” he whispered.

“Bucky.”

“Steve, can you just -” He took a breath. “I’m cold. Ain’t you cold?”

Steve bit his lip. He looked scared as he said, “Yeah. Always.”

Letting out a slow sigh, Bucky settled on to the pillow, his face inches from Steve’s. He could feel his heart beating, the heat of him under his fingertips, the flutter of his unsteady breath against his skin.

Slowly, slowly, Steve raised a hand. He traced the scar on Bucky’s cheek, the one the Schmidt had given him.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he whispered.

Bucky shrugged, chest bushing against Steve’s other arm. “It ain’t that bad.”

“No, I mean,” Steve licked his lips. “In the other place.” His palm still rested against Bucky’s face. “Zola hurt you, didn’t he? That table.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d actually made a sound.

“What he did.” Steve moved closer, tightening his hand in Bucky’s hair. Their noses were practically touching. “Is that why you’re so far in the future? Is that why you won’t tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky,” he whined, eyes searching his face.

“Hasn’t happened to me here. I can - I can change things here.”

Steve smiled, a sad smile. “I thought you were trying not to change history. All your secrets.”

“Maybe -” Bucky paused. He ran his hand up Steve’s side, listening to his soft breathing. “Maybe I just don’t like talking about things that make me sad.”

Steve dropped his hand to the back of Bucky’s neck. “You’re the best guy I know. Any version of me would think so,” he said, firmly, looking Bucky in the eye. “About any version of you. I know it.”

Bucky nodded and shifted down the bed. If he felt Steve, long after he’d closed his eyes, press a kiss to his temple, then maybe his dreams were reaching out to him, on the brink of sleep.

The next morning, neither of them mentioned it. Why the hell was he doing this to himself, when he knew for a fact that there was no need for it? It just seemed cruel, though, at this point, to tell Steve how he felt and then just to leave him. God, was there a universe somewhere where he just got to stay with Steve? Just once. Deep down, Steve must already know how he felt. Must know that Bucky knew, too. That was between the two of them.

“You look good, Sarge,” Gabe said, dropping a rack of toast in front of him. “Sleep well?”

His eyes flicked to Steve, who was suddenly very interested in that morning’s newspaper.

“Like a baby.”

~

When Thursday finally came, Bucky was knocking on everyone’s room door bright and early. After some grumbling, he was leading the other five through Liverpool Street he savoured the hustle and bustle of civilian life. He could look any one of these people in the eye and be happy that all he’d ever done to them was work to save them. Above them the station clock hung from the vast ceiling, steam billowing across the tracks.

“What’s in Wickham Market?” Steve asked as Bucky stowed his cap and jacket in the carriage racks. Steve kept his shield next to him. He’d grown attached.

“I will not say,” Bucky replied, lightly.

“No?”

“I was a spy you know.” He let out a huff as he sat down, muscles finally settling into their break and objecting to each movement he made. “I can keep secrets.”

“I’m sure you can,” Steve agreed. “Spy?”

“The best.”

From the seat nearest the compartment door, Sam made a derisive sound. “Would we call it spying?” he said, unimpressed.

Bucky reached his arm out, jabbing with his finger. “I did undercover stuff,” he said.

“Not very undercover,” Sam countered.

Wanda frowned, as if trying to remember something. “I think Nat’s actually the best,” she said, smiling as she spoke.

“Don’t side with him,” Bucky shot at her. “That’s not fair.”

Natasha grinned. “Aw, thanks Wanda.” She turned to Bucky. “Sweet.”

Steve rolled his eyes, jaw clenched against a smile. He shook his head, looking out the window at the station as the train began to peel away. “This is the most frustrating thing.”

“I know the feeling,” Gabe chimed in. He kicked Steve’s boot, waving a deck of cards at him. “Want to deal?” He eyed Bucky warily, hesitant to start up the debate again. “You really a spy?”

“No,” Sam responded.

“Yes,” Bucky insisted. “I was more undercover than you, Wilson.”

Though he didn’t answer, the expression on Sam’s face suggested that it was a moral choice, more than anything else. Natasha hummed as she smiled, opening up her book, ‘Laura’. One from Peggy’s collection, probably. He was on edge but not completely sure why. Was it because they’d been talking about his time as the Winter Soldier, in a roundabout way? Or because they’d been joking about it. Like a kid sneaking sweets from the corner store, he couldn’t evade the feeling that joking about it was forbidden, that someone was going to find him and make him pay.

He took a deep breath. No one would find him. He was allowed to laugh with his friends. They couldn’t control him any more.

“Buck.” Steve was pouting at his hand of cards. “Help me out here.”

Gabe’s protested, “Hey! That’s against the rules.”

Frowning, Steve turned to Bucky. “Is it against the rules, Sergeant?” he asked, teasing.

Bucky pretended to think about it for a moment. “No, don’t think so.” He smiled at Gabe and the other man huffed.

“Thought you were supposed to be good at this,” he muttered under his breath, sorting the order of this hand.

“Nope,” Steve preened as Bucky tapped a couple of his cards. He almost had a flush. “Just lucky.”

The whistle of the train, the steam on the platform, the quaint stone station all passed in a whirl. By the time they’d walked from the platform to their destination, many were panting and cursing Bucky’s name. Even he had grumbled to himself a little at the hill they needed to climb at the end. Reaching the top, however, he turned around, hands on his hips and worked to regulate his breathing before the others caught up.

“You’re an embarrassment to the army, the lot of you,” he said. Natasha strolled passed him to perch on a low stone wall, ignoring the jibe.

“You said short walk,” Sam huffed. “It’s been over an hour.”

“I didn’t say short. I said brisk.”

“Ah, fucker,” the other man gasped, dropping to the floor at Natasha’s feet.

“You alright, Stevie?” he shouted to Steve, bringing up the rear over the crest of the hill. He was clutching his side, but seemed otherwise okay. Thank God. Bucky had been a little unsure. He sent Bucky a thumbs up and they shared a grin.

He’d brought them all the to a castle in Suffolk, purely motivated by Steve’s desire to take in some of the magic of history he always went on about. Knights and dragons and round tables. It was all he’d been interested in as a child, just fairy tales, really. The castle was impressive, now that Bucky saw it with his own eyes. A top a hill, it’s high walls cast a long shadow. It even had a moat and a drawbridge.

“Framlingham Castle,” he announced, the castle as his backdrop. “Been here since the start of the twelfth century. That’s six hundred years before America was even founded, for those interested. Couple’a Earls lived here. King John seized it at some point -”

“King John, Robin Hood King John?” Gabe asked, gaping up at the nearest tower.

“Probably, I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged. “Some Duke took it on. I don’t know the difference between an Earl and a Duke, but apparently there is one. Anywho, yadda, yadda, history happens, something, the plague, something else. Now we’re here.”

“Wow, you really did your research. ‘Yadda, yadda’?” Natasha drawled, drawing her jacket around her and eyeing the grey clouds above. “Thought you’d be more into history, being a piece of it yourself.”

Steve, who’d finally made it to the top of the hill, put her right. “Nah,” he said. “Bucky’s more into science. That’s why he likes Howard so much, right?” He flashed Bucky a smile as Wanda and Sam shifted uncomfortably. Natasha carried on smirking, as if nothing was out of place. “I’ve always wanted to see a castle,” Steve told Bucky, like he didn’t already know. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Old enough for you?” he asked.

“Just about.”

He clapped his hands, eyes on the entry points, manned by several soldiers. “So, technically, we’re here in an official capacity to corroborate reports.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s a British base.”

“In a castle?” Wanda marvelled.

“Yeah. Part of the defence, tried and tested for centuries. You know,” he lowered his voice, “If the Germans invade.”

“Do they?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“Oh, who knows,” Bucky said as he shook his head. “Hang tight. I need to check in with Major Taylor.” He brushed his hair back, straightening his collar. Holding his arms out for inspection, he asked, “Do I look presentable?”

“You look American,” Wanda offered.

“Well, alright,” he muttered, setting foot towards the military entrance. “That’ll have to do.”

The few hours they spent wondering the fortress, Bucky confirmed to himself that it had been a brilliant idea. Every little bit of it, Steve loved. It was a joy to see him so at ease, too, so quick to enjoy himself. For so long before Bucky had left for training, Steve’s sole focus had been on enlisting, on doing his duty. After then, at least in the other world, he’d been consumed with the burden of leadership. Now, though, he smiled as he ran his finger along the edge of the portcullis, waxing lyrical about the battles he was sure would have taken place.

Growing tired, the others ventured off to find the Mess, promising to bring them back something, as Steve and Bucky headed to the rear of the castle.

“I didn’t bring my sketchbook,” Steve lamented, sprawled out across the grass without a care in the world. Bucky struggled to image the supersoldiered version of him relaxing so easily.

“You’ll just have to remember it, then.” Underneath his palms the grass was cool and he tugged it up from the roots, sprinkling it in the breeze. If he could turn back the clock, bring both him and Steve back here, he probably would. There was no point lying to himself about that. Sure, they’d have to keep up a certain image, give up certain freedoms but Bucky, closing his eyes and breathing in the damp smell of the air, figured maybe it would be worth it. What was the point of being allowed to show the world his true self, if he ended up hating that version of him?

Big questions for a quiet evening.

“Shame we didn’t have time to visit Ireland,” Steve spoke softly.

Bucky opened his eyes, turning to Steve. “Maybe I want to stay,” he croaked, apropos to nothing.

Steve didn’t react. It was like he’d been expecting it all along. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Bucky sat up on his elbows. “Is it that bad?”

“No.” Steve smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s good. For me,” he said. “But I can’t hear you say it if you don’t really mean it.” He frowned, looking towards the castle walls. “And I don’t think that you do.”

To his absolute horror, Bucky found himself fighting back tears. He sat up straight, biting down hard on his lip. “You’re my best friend,” he managed to say.

“I know.”

“If it wasn’t for the others -”

“I know.” Steve laid a closed fist on his knee, knocking it as he spoke. “You don’t really belong here.”

Bucky hissed a breath. “I could.”

“Maybe.” The two of them looked at each other for a moment, before Steve said, softly, “Guess we’ll never know.”

The sun carried on shining down on them, though it’s warmth no longer reached Bucky. Instead, he felt the coldness of the ground on his back, Steve’s words echoing in his head.

Back in London Wanda giggled, flapping her hand in front of her face, almost in tears from laughing so much. “Do the song. Do the song! How does it go?”

Sam was way ahead of her. “ Who will campaign door to door for America? Da da da-da la la-la for America, ” he sang. “ From Hoboken to Spokane! The star spangled man with a plan! ”

Steve ducked his head, though he reached out to whack Bucky’s shoulder when he joined in. “ Stalwart and steady and true, ” he chorused, voice a little rough from the drinking. “That was my favourite bit,” he grinned.

He downed the rest of his Manhattan, staring fondly at Steve who cradled his own drink in his hand. Bucky had had to explain to the barman exactly how to make it, an interesting experience for all, he was sure.

“Ah. Back to it tomorrow,” Sam sighed, still chuckling. “What time are we reporting in?”

“Eleven hundred hours,” Bucky said slowly, setting his tumbler down.

Wanda dropped her chin to her hand, hair falling out of their neatly pinned curls. “Where we actually going?” she asked.

“Pays-Bas. Hollande,” Dernier chimed in.

“Holland.” Sam raised his hand, shouting and drawing the attention of many regulars. “Got that one,” he grinned, rubbing his beard.

“Right, the Netherlands.” Bucky sucked his teeth. “There’s been some talk of Hydra activity. Intelligence suggests Schmidt may have relocated himself there.”

“Fun,” Dugan said, holding out his tankard. “Here’s to the Netherlands, then.”

The clinking of glasses filled the room for a moment. Bucky couldn’t help but pray that the good times continued.

~

“ I'll build a stairway to paradise, with a new step every day. I'm gonna get there at any price, stand aside, I'm on my way. ” Bucky sang under his breath, rifle in his hand.

Deep breath in, two, three, four.

Deep breath out, two, three, four.

Three Hydra agents dropped to the floor of the outer walkway in the space of twelve seconds.

As he stepped over the bodies, Steve sent a salute his way.

“Steve, how many times?” he grumbled to himself, gathering up his gun and rushing to find another vantage point.

Hours later, on the hike back up the mountain he gave Steve a shove. “Stop giving away my position, will you? It’s like you want me to get shot.”

“I know, shit, sorry,” Steve grimaced, flicking his lengthening hair out of his face. “I just get overwhelmed with thankfulness, is what it is.”

“Any sign of Schmidt?” Natasha asked the others while Bucky gave Steve another teasing jab in the ribs. They’d done a final sweep of the site before they left.

Sam surprised them all when he said, “Yeah, actually.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Not in person, but check this out.”

Bucky left them to it, keen to set up his tent and get some rest. They would catch him up on the details later. He always got tired more quickly in the cold, a carry over, he supposed. Making quick work of his tent, he mumbled a ‘see you in a bit,’ to those hanging around the main camp and hunkered down. He frowned at his tent roof. He’d camped out in the cold before, hadn’t he? There’d be someone else with him, though. Strong arms, hard chest, who’d kept him warm. Someone. Someone . He bolted upright. Not someone. Steve. His Steve.

“Wanda,” he scrambled to the tent door. “Where -” he started, squinting around the campfire. Monty and Morita looked at him with matching shocked expressions. “Hey, where the fuck is Wanda?”

“I ain’t seen her. Bu -”

“Are you -”

He grumbled, ignoring them. Steve appeared then, thin legs taking a long step over the log they were using for seating. “Everything okay?”

“Not you,” he yelled, not really processing how Steve’ eyes widened a fraction at his words. “Wanda!” he carried on, spotting the rest of them abling in from the forest. “Will you get over here? I need you.”

She raised an arm in the distance. She’d heard him, though none of them made any effort to speed up. Around the fire, the other three regarded him curiously.

“Where have you been?” he rushed when they finally came within speaking distance. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, for about thirty seconds,” Morita muttered before Bucky shushed him. His blood was pumping. Why was everyone moving so slowly?

“Sorry, Bucky. Dugan wanted some help with his tent poles,” she trailed off with a frown, taking in Bucky’s set jaw, heavy breathing.

“Look, I need you to contact the others.” He sniffed. “Vision.”

“How come?” Wanda asked. Natasha came to stand at her side Bucky spared her a second glance.

“I need - I have to talk to Steve,” he said.

“Oh,” Wanda smiled, shaking her head a little. “I spoke to them yesterday, everything’s fine over there,” she said, calmly. “They’ll check in in a few days. Steve hasn’t even been there the last couple of times.”

“No, okay, that’s fine,” Bucky nodded, impatient. Wanda wasn’t getting it. “But I just need to speak with him now.” He fixed her with a look. “Wanda, it’s important.”

“I just -” She wrinkled her nose, rubbing her arms a little. “It takes a lot of energy,” she said. “The mission was intense. Can it wait until after I’ve eaten?”

“After you’ve -” Bucky scoffed. “Wanda,” he took a step forward. Natasha dropped her arms to her side. “I need to speak to him now.”

“About what? It might not even work, Vision doesn’t always have his communicator on him. Steve probably won’t even be there,” she repeated. “Look, I’ll talk to Vision after dinner, yeah? Get him to make sure Steve’s there next time.” She was smiling at him, friendly, open. All Bucky could hear though, was that she wasn’t going to let him talk to Steve, to his partner, who he’d been separated from for almost nine whole months.

“You’re saying no?”

Snow was starting to fall above the tree level, a few stray flakes making their way down to camp.

“I’m not saying -” Wanda creased her eyebrows. “I’m just saying, give me some warning. It’s not easy.”

Not easy. Not easy. Bucky seethed, flexing his hand. “It’s what you’re here for,” he snarled. “It’s your job. I’m your commanding officer.”

“Bucky -”

“Not you, Christ,” he spat at Steve. “I need to speak with him. I haven’t spoken to him in months, Wanda, for the love of God.” He was so angry, his words were shaking.

Snowflakes hung in Wanda’s hair. “I just - A few hours, Bucky,” she reasoned. “I need to be able to focus, it just won’t work now, I -”

“What’s the fucking point of you?” he roared.  

Heat flashed behind Wanda’s eyes, her fingers flickering red. “Got to hell,” she cried out.

“Bucky.” Natasha was on him an instant later, stepping into his space. From his other side, Dugan crowded him, Wanda now out of view.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Dugan demanded, shoving him so that he almost lost his footing on the forest ground. It was the look on his face, though, of confusion, or disappointment, that really tripped Bucky up.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he breathed. He had to make them see. “I’ve gotta talk with him,” he pleaded.

“Okay. Give it a few hours, like she said.” He nodded to the log, the crackling fire. “Take a pew.” It wasn’t a question. Aware of all the eyes on him, he stumbled over to the log. Dernier threw him his jacket. He hadn’t even realised he wasn’t wearing it, the cold suddenly making its presence known.

Natasha’s glower followed him the whole way.

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. Dernier and Morita made a valiant effort at conversation, though it fell flat after a while. The scraping of forks against their canteens filled the forest, over the snap and crackle of the fire.

Eventually, as night had well and truly drawn in Gabe’s firm voice cut through his melancholic state, “Bucky, Wanda’s getting ready.” He left as soon as he’d spoken and Bucky watched his back as he walked away.

Everyone was gathered around Wanda where she sat crossed legged at the mouth of the tent she shared with Natasha. Steve was crouched next to Sam at the base of a nearby tree, silent as Bucky joined the group.

Wanda was nodding, listening to someone. Her eyes blinked open and she searched for a frantic moment before finding Bucky’s face in the crowd. The moment their eyes met, the reticence buried within told him everything.

“He’s - He’s not there, Bucky. It’s just Vision and Rhodey.” When he didn’t respond she asked, words clipped, “You want me to wait? They can contact me when he’s back -”

“No.” He dropped his head into his hands. “No, doesn’t matter any more.”

“Bucky,” Monty sighed. He had dark circles under his eyes. It was late, he’d kept everybody up. “I thought it was urgent.”

“Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I just - It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he waved them away, head still ducked. “Fuck, sorry Wanda, I didn’t -” He squinted over to her through the snow. “Can we - Can we talk tomorrow? Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Talk with them?”

“No - Just, to apologise. I’m not - I’m not too with it right now.”

She hesitated a moment, eyes roaming over his face. “Sure, Bucky,” she nodded, words softened. How pathetic he must look. “That’s okay.”

He sniffed, rose to his feet and left without looking at anyone. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He could hear Natasha following him through the trees. “Don’t go too far,” she called.

He carried on regardless, until he knew he was out of earshot of the others. Snow crunched under his feet. They’d have trouble gaining ground tomorrow. “I’m sorry,” he groaned, turning to face her.

“You said that. You were an asshole, Barnes. You haven’t been that for a while. What’s going on?” Natasha folded her arms, determined.

“I forgot him,” Bucky whispered. As he said it, his eyes burned with the tears he’d been holding back all evening.

“What?”

“Steve,” he said, wretched. “I forgot him. Just - Just for a second. Less than that, but -”  He screwed his face up, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I forgot him,” he sobbed.

“Bucky,” Natasha sighed, stepping closer.

“Is it - You think,” Bucky took several shallow breaths, trying to gather himself together. “I mean, you and Wanda and Sam, you aren’t forgetting things?” he asked, words all the more tragic for how desperate he sounded.

“No,” she admitted. “Maybe - Maybe because you’ve been restored, reset?”

“So it’ll be like it never happened?” he said, thickly.

Natasha licked her lips. “I don’t know.”

In a quiet voice, Bucky confessed, “I don’t want to forget him.”

“Of course you don’t. Only, sometimes we don’t always get what we want.” He dropped down, folding himself against her. She accepted him without comment, silencing his cries with her shoulder. He wasn’t sure how long they remained that way. On his return to their tent Steve’s eyes were shut. He was remarkably still, though, for someone sleeping on the forest floor.

~

When Bucky arrived it was just Howard, Peggy and Wanda crowded together. Wanda had her legs folded underneath her, her too big shirt folded up around her wrists. Her long hair was out of its now normal updo, falling around her waist.

“... thinks we should pursue alternative ideas,” she said, soft and slightly monotone. She must have been talking to Vision for a while. Bucky hung back near the shadows of the door. How many times made a habit?

“Alternative ideas,” Howard huffed. He pulled at his hair, leaving it stuck up in places.

With her eyes closed, Wanda ignored him. “Wants an update on the -” She inclined her head, “On the gap year students.”

Howard let out a weary sigh, not like anything Bucky has seen from him before. “Well, your results are all stable. Bucky’s showing improvement again.” Bucky ears pricked at the sound of his name.  “Blood pressure’s coming down. Reaction time is levelling out. And he’s -”

“Bucky.”

All eyes were on him at Peggy’s interruption and he stepped out.

“Pal,” Howard greeted, mouth twitching.

Bucky nodded slowly, tucking his hands under his arms. “Blood pressure’s better, huh? Must be the relaxed atmosphere in German occupied territory,” he joked, though it hung in the air awkwardly.

“Krauts can be quiet when they want.”

“Sure can.”

He didn’t know quite what else to say. Obviously he’d known that the S.S.R. was keeping track of the Commandos. It was an entirely different thing reporting it back to Tony, though. What the hell did Tony want to know about his vital signs?

Wanda cleared her throat, as she stood up and brushed her legs off. “I’ll contact them again later.” She sent Bucky a small smile.

“Was Steve there?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“No,” she said. “No, but Tony’s said he’d pass everything on.”

“Alright. Okay.” He sucked at his teeth, giving his head a small shake before sending Howard and aborted wave. “You wanted to -”

Howard grunted. “Yeah, yeah. Update.”

They were stationed temporarily with a company from the ninety fourth out in Eindhoven. It was almost Christmas and soldiers all around him were getting restless. Low on ammunition, winter clothes, and rations, motivation had dipped to an alarming level. Though the Commandos worked on a different level to much of the general army, the mood of a place, the feeling in time, still seeped into their bones.

The city had taken heavy artillery fire at some point in the past few years with most of the residents having fled or retreated further into the country. Howard had ensconced himself in a regal looking townhouse, dust and rumble diminishing the shine on the chandelier, settling on the thick fabric curtains, scuffing the polished surfaces.

The door swung open, letting in the cold. “Lovely day for a briefing,” Monty greeted, shaking blue fingers clasped around a cigarette. The rest of the unit ambled in behind him. “And I was just beginning to grow fond of this place. So obliging.” He sniffed heavily. “Where to next?” For Monty, the aid station, surely. Pneumonia may not be a blown off leg or shrapnel to the face, but it wasn’t a barrel of laughs. Monty’s skin had taken on a grey pallor that didn’t look entirely natural.

“It’s not a briefing,” he said, instead. “Update on the research.”

Greeted by both relief and a little frustration, Peggy settled them in. “How are you finding Eindhoven?” she asked, taking in their lank hair, dirty skin and sloped shoulders.

Natasha laughed. “I’d say quaint, but the mortar holes ruin the facade a little. You know -” She turned to Wanda. “This is where Philips is from.”

“The Colonel?” Dugan asked, bemused, as he sat down next to her.

“Do you think the Colonel is Dutch? The electronics company,” she replied, though Dugan simply shrugged.

From the windowsill Sam spoke across the room. “How do you remember that? Why do you remember that?”

“Research for covers can lead you into some strange places,” Natasha warned while Dernier pulled Sam further into the room, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, ‘ imbécile’.

“Alright,” Steve called, ignoring the friendly chat. He worked his jaw, eyes fixed on Howard. “What’s the news?”

For the first time, Howard looked glum. Even in the conditions they were in, as long as he had somewhere to set up his lab, he was a reliable source of levity. Now, though, he dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m stuck,” he said to them all. “I’m - I’ve hit a brick wall.”

“Brick wall?” Monty repeated. “Speak plainly, please.”

Howard swallowed and picked up one of the Hydra weapons he’d been investigating. Even now it seemed wildly futuristic to Bucky, pulsing lights, silver tubes, valves that he was sure served no actual purpose. “It’s one thing to strap this to a gun and call it progress,” Howard stated. “Sure, blast it into the sky, create a massive hole in the galaxy, fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “Want to try to aim it? Want to programme it to rip  hole right where you want it to, without damaging anyone or anything it touches?” Dropping the weapon back down again, he shrugged. “Can’t be done.”

“Can’t be done?” Steve spewed back out, disbelieving. Bucky’s stomach rolled. Somehow, he’d known this was coming. He’d forgotten Steve and now they were all trapped here, because of him.

“Not with the tech that I have,” Howard said, voice sounding far away as Bucky blinked, clearing his head.

Steve was riled up. “What,” he pushed on. “You managed to design a formula to turn me into the perfect soldier, but can’t work out how to aim a gun?”

It was strange. Why was Steve so mad? Surely this is what he wanted? But then, Steve was always a good person. Maybe his anger was on behalf of the others, Wanda and Natasha and Sam.

“It’s not that simple, Steve, and you know it,” Howard snapped. A rare enough occurrence that Steve remained silent. “And Tony, Tony says it won’t work anyway.”

“What?”

The mention of Tony’s name brought Bucky out of his stupor. Howard looked over to him, abashed.

“The Tesseract,” he clarified. “If we do figure out how to aim it,” he nodded at Steve, “the only range we have is distance. Can’t point it to the future, can’t point it to the past.”

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, hitting his head back against the wall.

“Exactly.”

“So - So, Howard -” Sam had inched forward on the dusty sofa, his hand reached out, eyebrows brought together. “What are you saying? That we can’t go back?”

“No, no,” Howard rushed, keen to prevent the uprising he somehow didn’t see coming. “I’m going to carry on working on it. Erskine has some interesting leads. Just -” He shook his head, thinking of the words. “It’s going to take time.”

Sam dropped back in his seat, arms folded. “Time,” he scoffed.

Spurred in to response at Sam’s defeatism, Peggy spoke up. “We promised we’d find a way to get you back and we will. Howard’s working as hard as he can.” Her expression softened. “We won’t give up.”

Natasha had been quiet for a while. She fixed Howard with a steely glare. “What about Tony? Has he worked something out?”

Howard huffed out a breath. “He’s following something,” he said, an uncurrent of frustration creeping into his voice. “Keeping - Keeping it close to his chest but, if Vision and Wanda are relaying his enthusiasm accurately, then who knows.”

“In my defence,” Wanda piped up. “Vision -” She grimaced. “He tries his best.”

Natasha blinked at her for a moment before opening her arms wide. “Okay,” she said with a quirky smile. “It’s not all doom and gloom then.”

Stepping forward, shoes clicking on the floor, Peggy reassured them all, “Not at all.” She laid a hand on Howard’s arm. “You, stop moping. Phillips wants to review your files this afternoon.” She inclined her head to the rest of the Commandos, staring up at her with wide eyes. “We are, though, on the move again tomorrow. Bucky, you know the drill. Rest tonight. Oh six hundred in the morning.”

The two left and Bucky stared somberly at the door that clicked shut behind them.

“Look on the bright side,” Dugan offered, after a moment of silence. “You don’t have to leave our stella company for a while longer.”

“Damn right,” Morita chimed in. “The past is great.” After being bombarded with an array of doubtful faces, he backed up. “Alright, here, specifically, is not fantastic,” he agreed. “But get back home, it’ll be a gas. There’s jobs, houses, all of it.” He clapped Sam’s arm. “Get yourself a wife, you could work Wall Street pretty well, right, all that future intel.” The grin on his face was not reflected in Sam’s.

Gabe, however, was nodding. “Future can’t be that great,” he tried.

This, apparently, as the final straw for Sam. “Gabe,” he shot out, fingers pressing against his eyelids as he grimaced. “You’re my hero, but shut the fuck up.”

Not to be disheartened, Morita tried a different tact. “Do they have Ginger Rogers in the future?”

“Ou Danielle Darrieux,” Dernier added, enthusiastically.

“No,” Sam relented, shifting to face the historic Commandos. “But they’ve got youtube. They’ve got videos of Ginger Rogers and Danielle Darrieux and the internet and they’ve cured polio and music’s great and cars go fast and, and, and, oh, you know,” Sam’s voice cracked a little and Bucky raised his eyes, curious. “My family. It’s got my family. They’re pretty good.”

The room quietened then, Natasha’s voice was strong and steady. “Your family are pretty good, Sam,” she said. “Steve’s told them what’s happened. They’re waiting for you. Doesn’t matter how long, they’ll keep on waiting.” Bucky flexed his jaw as Sam nodded.

Dugan cleared his throat. “Anyway, what have I told you about talking gobbledygook at me?”

Some people may have seen this as dismissive, but everyone in the room knew better. Such moments weren’t uncommon out in the fighting. In such a small unit, they were inescapable. To make fuss, to act like the world had come to a halt each time someone missed home? Well, they wouldn’t have made it ten miles inland. Instead, Steve clasped the back of Sam’s neck, until the other man blinked his eyes clear, set his shoulders straight.

“It’s not just technology, though,” Wanda picked up the trail of conversation. “It’s the culture, societies norms. The past is another country, isn’t that a famous quote?”

Natasha shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Oh, well. There’s the civil rights movements to come. Equality for all. In theory, anyway.” She shrugged. “Black people in America, women’s rights,” she raised a hand lazily in Sam, Natasha’s direction. As she waved towards Bucky, she carried on, “The L.G.B.T community -”

Dugan stopped her, hand raised, a thoroughly confused expression on his face. “The who, what now?” Bucky shifted from where he was leant against a dust wall. He watched Wanda carefully, ignoring the thumping of his heart in his ears.

“The L.G -” Wanda started, before rethinking. “The Lesbian, Gay, Bisex -”

“Oh,” Morita cut in, leaning his hands onto his elbows. “You mean queers?”

Wanda spluttered a little, “I - Yeah, I suppose.”

“Why’d you point at Bucky?” Dugan asked. His eyes were narrowed, flicking between her and Bucky.

Out of the corner of his eye Bucky saw Steve’s head whip in his direction. Bile rose in his throat and he worked hard to maintain an unaffected expression on his face.

“I - I was just -” Wanda floundered some more, realising the mess she’d dropped herself and Bucky in. “Generally, you know. Because they know, they’ve seen it.” She nodded at them all. “It’s other oppressed groups, too. In principle. There’s still a way to go, but -”

Unable to help himself, Bucky chanced a look at the others. Monty was as serene as anything, still smoking away. He nodded at Bucky when he caught him looking. Gabe, on the other hand was chewing on his lip, eyeing Bucky with a strange expression before quickly pushing Dugan back against the sofa cushions. “So, you mean, black people too?”

Bucky wasn’t sure if Gabe had redirected Wanda’s point to cover for him or not. Either way, he was grateful. Sam, though, only responded with such vigour to help Bucky out for certain.

His eyes were still red as he rushed, “There was a whole movement, man. Martin Luther King Jr.” He pulled Gabe over. “Come over here, let me tell you about it.”

Aware of the eyes still on him, Bucky cast around for something entirely normal to say. He flexed his hand. “What - What happened to keeping a low profile?”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “What does it matter? He won’t tell anyone.” He turned to Gabe. “Listen, you won’t tell anyone?”

“I might,” Gabe replied, honest to a fault. “Don’t think they’ll believe me though.”

“Good enough for me,” Sam declared.

“It doesn’t -” They all turned to Steve, who was flattening his hair. He dropped his hand when he noticed the attention on him. “Doesn’t sound so bad.” He met Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky was sure it was barely audible as he breathed out a faint, “No.”

“‘Spose,” Dugan said, voice loud, a little stilted. His eyes were wide, blue twinkling in the dim light. “‘Spose people’s people.”

From behind his shoulder Wanda mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

It was a little too much, for one afternoon. Bucky mumbled a vague, “I’m going to check in with Phillips,” and stalked out the room. The door swung shut behind him, though he could hear the buzz of hurried conversation through the wood.

He’d only made it a few paces when he heard Steve’s wheezing breath behind him.

“Watch it,” he said. “You’ll set your asthma off, with the cold.”

Steve ignored him, reaching out to grasp his elbow. “Hey, are you -”

“Stuck here?” he finished, perfectly aware that that wasn’t where Steve was headed. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

Steve huffed, breath rising in the air in front of his face. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “And don’t look so beaten, anyway. Howard said he’s still working on it, Tony’s got some ideas.” He licked his lips, nostrils flaring. “One door closes a window opens, right?” There were several long breaths of silence before Steve added what Bucky knew was coming. “It’s okay,” he said. His voice was deep and warm and soft. “All of it, it’s okay.”

Bucky raised his gaze to the sky, biting his lip. He nodded. What should he do, in this scenario? Come clean entirely? Announce that he knew Steve was a liar as well? Declare his undying devotion?

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve carried on in light of Bucky’s silence.

“Nah, I’m -” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a make a thing out of it, with the others, you know.”

“We’ll all just pretend like we don’t know for certain?” Steve replied, words flat. They shared a look. The hurt Bucky knew Steve must feel was there in his eyes, disguised as a thousand other emotions. A second later, it was gone. “Sorry, shit.” Steve groaned, scratching his forehead. “I’m tired.” He sniffed, nodding at the ground. “I can see why you’d want to go back there.”

“Ah, Stevie.” Bucky sighed and reached out to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. The smile that was revealed as the other man lifted his head was just for him, fond and sweet. Not the careful mask he wore with the others. “If only you knew the half of it.”

Chapter Text

“It’s bad news.”

In another life Steve might have greeted Tony’s words with a fond, faux put-upon smile. Instead he quirked his eyebrow, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “Good morning to you, too,” he said softly. “What do you mean?”

It had been three months and like the good soldier he’d been trained into Steve had waited. Rushing in wouldn’t work here, there were too many variances. No matter how many time he’d repeated this to himself, Stevie Rogers was gnawing at the bit to take action.

Tony coughed. “Right, okay, so. I don’t want you to think we’ve been sitting here idle. Science can, sometimes, take a long time. We’ve ruled several things out, though.”

“Good?” Steve tried.

“Isn’t it?” Tony grinned. “Means we’re getting closer.”

He’d taken Tony’s call this morning as a positive step, thought the answer would be ready at the lab, waiting for him when he arrived. His reflection extended across the sparkling floor, no obvious evidence of an answer in sight. He wished Rhodes was there as well.

“First thing we can’t do, use the stone,” Tony said, his fingers curling around Steve’s shoulder, steering him towards the kitchen area.  “No one knows how it works, can’t figure it out. It’s too much of a loose cannon. Either way, my number one theory is that it doesn’t have a reverse button.” They came to a halt in front of the glistening kitchen island. “It propels people to someplace else, doesn’t follow them there. They can’t use it to get back. All we could do would be to follow them there, and we already know that’s not good, multiple universes, timeline divergences, yadda, yadda.” Tony pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge. “Juice?”

“Okay, so what else can’t we do?” Steve replied.

Tony scoffed, pulling out a single glass from the cupboard above his head. “Second thing,” he chorused. “The second thing is that they cannot jump from their universe, timeline, whatever, to ours.” He turned to face Steve and shrugged. “Can’t do it. Don’t have the technology.”

“They’ve got the Tesseract.”

Cocking his head, Tony set down his glass. “They haven’t got it, they know where it is. But, I see where you’re going, and no.”

“No?” What had Tony called him here for, just to tell him that there’s nothing they could do?

“Still wouldn’t work,” the other man continued. “I've been chatting with some smart folks up in Thorland. ‘Tesseract for dummies’, it’s about space, not time.”

Steve nodded. “If there’s something that can control space,” he said, sounding out his words. “Surely there’s something that can control time?”

“Yeah, probably. Might even be that rock, for all we can work out. Maybe you can only control time from one side?”

The casual tone of Tony’s words played on Steve’s nerves. “Maybe.”

“If there’s anything else out there that can do it, I don’t know about it. No one I’ve spoken to knows about it. This is the problem, Cap.” Tony leaned forward, his gaze focused on Steve for what felt like the first time since he’d arrived. “Too many unknowns.”

They were going around in circles. “So, what do we do?” Steve half shouted, raising his arms in despair. “What have we narrowed it down to?”

In an impressively calm voice, Tony said, “We stick to what we do know.”

“Which is apparently nothing.”

“No. Just as I thought,” he smirked. “You haven’t been paying attention.”

“Tony -”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Tony reached out to him, pulling him so they stood directly in front of each other. He raised his pointed hands, a smile tugging at his lips. “We know where we are, right? We know where our time cadets travelled from. We know where they travelled to.”

“Right,” Steve drawled, not following.

“We have a link, an existing link, through Vision and Wanda.”

“Okay.”

“Alright,” Tony said and Steve could tell he was building up to something. “How did we establish that link?”

“By mistake.”

Tony rolled his eyes and Steve basked for a moment in the comforting familiarity. “It wasn’t - I will let that one slide. No. We used an established technology, that works in this universe, and tapped into the power of that stone in Vision’s head.”

Steve frowned. “But I thought you said that no stone -”

“Vision’s stone doesn’t use space, or time, or anything. It uses people,” he said. “And, wouldn’t you know it, the people it’s currently using happen to be in the two different universes we’re trying to connect.” Steve stared as Tony interlocked his fingers in front of his face. “It’s just like the outward reach. We can create a transporter, it’ll take some doing, but we’ve already got some pretty good prototypes up and running. Then all we need to do is link it to Vision and away we go.”

And away they went. Steve smiled. “Tony, that’s perfect. That’s it!” He took a step back. “You - But, you said it was bad news.”

The responding smile on Tony’s face dropped a little. “I did.”

“So, what?”

Sighing, Tony shrugged. “It’s all talk,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Transporting people from one universe’s timeline to another using an untested transporter.” He swept his arms from one side to another as he spoke, eyes wide and a little manic. “We have absolutely no way of knowing what cross-dimensional travel would do to someone, even if they had a blast of super soldier juice.”

“They got to the other timeline in one piece,” Steve added.

“They did. With the power of that time blaster ruby. We’re not using that.” Tony dragged a hand through his hair. Steve noticed how tired he looked, almost as tired as Steve himself felt. “I’m no time magician, but I’m a damn good scientist. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that whatever they’d be exposed to on the travel would probably kill them. They were under the protection of the magic rock the first time around.” He grimaced. “And,” he trailed off, eyes flickering to where Steve stood, shoulders square and expression stony once more.

“‘And’?” Steve repeated. “And what? What else could there be?”

“Well.” Tony looked a little pained. “Howard says that Barnes seems better.”

It brought Steve up short, Tony saying his father’s name. The other man generally avoided it. Even as things looked more and more desperate, hearing it somehow made Steve feel a little warmer. “Better.”

“They’ve been monitoring them all. Barnes has been regaining his health. The damage done by Hydra, it wasn’t done to this version of him. He’s healing, mind and body.” Tony levelled him with a carefully gaze. “Might be kinder to let him be,” he said gently.

It was hard for Steve to ignore the overwhelming panic that was working its way up his spine. He kept his voice steady though, fighting the tide. “What about the others?”

Tony clicked his tongue. “Maybe Peggy and Erskine and - And Howard don’t die in that timeline.”

“But Sam and Nat?” Steve asked. “Wanda? What about them?”

At his words, a shadow of frustration travelled across Tony’s face. “Look,” he said, words harsher now. “I’m not saying it’s a good thing. I’m going to make the transporter anyway, we can put the idea to them. I’m just saying.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. When he spoke again, it was with sympathy. “Maybe definitely living in the past is better than probably dying in the future.”

Steve blinked.

“He’s not at a fucking spa retreat, Tony. There’s a reason I don’t talk about the war. It was hell. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. You think that I should just leave them all there, that Bucky should just do it all again?”

Tony shifted. “Alright, so it won’t be a walk in the park. But he’s in special ops now, isn’t he? He’s not - It won’t happen the same.”

Goddamnit. Goddamn this place and it shining floors and its science labs and its cold, metal heart.

Without another word he stormed out, leaving a dejected looking Tony in his wake.

The drive back to Steve’s sparse apartment was oppressive in its silence. He couldn’t bear to turn on the radio, to make the choice in front of him part of the real world. To pass the time in the months since Bucky and the others had gone, he’d set to work on his list. Yesterday he’d managed to tick off a bunch of Japanese horror films. He’d been looking forward to seeing the reluctant smile that would have formed on Nat’s face when he told her. He’d wanted to show off to Sam how many new playlists he’d created. To show Wanda that he had actually read those books she’d recommended.

Would any of that even matter any more? Had he been living in some kind of daydream. Even if - he could hardly think it - even if leaving Bucky was for the best, what about the others? Would Tony’s plan be too dangerous for them to even try?

Could Steve even choose for Bucky? God knows he’d had enough of people making decisions for him to last a lifetime. But the answer was clear; Bucky would never give up on coming back, not even if it would be better for him. Steve had to be the one to cut the cord and let go.

Pulling into his parking bay, head spinning. He was unsecured, distant, like man possessed. Eventually he brought himself to a stop halfway up the staircase. With a heavy arm he reached for his phone, his fingers against the keypad sluggish and slow.

‘He should stay. If he wants.’

Tony’s reply was almost instant. ‘Good call.’

Bile burned at his throat.

Reaching his apartment brought little comfort. He’d ended up renting, knowing their plan would take a while, never imagining that it would end like this. Piles of boxes lined the walls where he’d saved them from storage. His possessions - like him, a mismatch of old and new - were alien in the cold, quiet room.

He stared at the wall, his head full of Bucky, of the times they’d shared together in their old apartment. He wanted to be back there. He wanted to go home.

Maybe he couldn’t make it all the way there, but a little way would help.

It was in one of these boxes, he remembered packing it with great care, a lifetime ago. He focused on dragging the dusty boxes to the middle of the room. He ripped the masking tape away, packing paper falling to the floor as he rifled at the contents.

He’d never see Bucky again.

Dusty books, framed pictures. No, it must be here. He scrambled over to a larger box that had been hidden under a pile of blankets. Its weight was promising. He scratched at the end of the tape, giving up moments after and tugging at the cardboard instead. It yielded easily.

The smell of musty air escaped. People associated it with history, like the past had been stale and close. That wasn’t history, though, that was time. Time, leaving everyone behind to rot.

To those who had lived it, the past had been enticing, indestructible, and so, so alive.

He took a steadying breath before digging his hands down the edges of the box and lifting the record player out. He set it on the overlarge bed and turned back to the box, to the real treasure.

They hadn’t owned the record player back in Brooklyn, Steve had bought one for himself soon after coming out of the ice. The stacks of records, though, they’d been Bucky’s. Bucky had bought them, insistent that when they’d saved enough to buy something to play them on it would be worth it.

Bypassing half a dozen familiar titles - ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’, ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, ‘I’ve Heard That Song Before’ - Steve focused on that one song, no other would do. Halfway down the pile, there it was. He ran his fingertips along the curling edge of the record sleeve. It had been raining the day Bucky bought it. If Steve closed his eyes, he could almost hear it hammer against the window. Bucky had burst into their sparse, cold apartment, dripping puddles onto the floorboards. He’d had to wring his cap out over the sink. Where he’d hid the record under his shirt had been the only dry part of him.  

“You know, logic’d mean you buy the record player and then the records, Buck.”

“I’m an optimist.”

“You’re something.”

“You wait, Stevie. We’ll get a real nice one, once I’ve saved up, stick it right in the corner there. You’ll be able to perfect that jitterbug after all.”

Steve fumbled to pull the vinyl away from its package, careful with the flimsy card. When he dropped the needle in place, the familiar song burst into life. It dulled the roar of the cars outside, instead filling the room with ghosts of peeling wallpaper, a tired old sofa, a jacket draped carelessly against the back of a plain wooden chair.

We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.

Steve stared at the needle desperately, as if could give him the comfort he needed. As if it could transport him to the home that he so desperately missed.

But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

He collapsed down onto the bed and closed his eyes. This was it. This was all he had. Memories and dusty boxes.

Everything he touched, everyone he loved. The injustice of it welled up inside of him and he yelled out. It scratched his throat, a physical pain that was hardly satisfying. He was drowning, clawing, falling. He kicked out, sending a floor lamp smashing to the ground, the sharp crash hardly satisfying. Vera Lynn still warbled away, still unchanged, still hopeful.

Heat built up behind Steve’s eyes.

To the folks that I know, tell them I won’t be long.

Bucky was gone. Steve had lost him. He’d broken his promise, again.

His legs carried him around the room, unable to settle, unable to stop.

Why did he have to choose? Why was it one or the other, always a sacrifice to be made, the higher road to be taken? He didn’t want to be the one to choose anymore. He didn’t want this. He just wanted his family back, why couldn’t he have just one thing? The only thing he’d ever wanted, the only thing that ever mattered.

As hard as this was, as much as it hurt, he couldn’t be the reason for Bucky’s suffering. Not again. He couldn’t be the one to force Bucky back into his damaged mind. Not if he’d found peace. He couldn’t be that selfish.

He gave in. Letting his body slam against the wall, he sunk down to the ground. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he did nothing to stem the flow. They consumed him, the crashing waves of emotion that he’d been fighting to hold back for weeks. He missed Sam and Nat. He could hardly bring himself to think of Wanda. It was like he was losing Peggy and Howard all over again.

He could hear Bucky’s voice singing along to the music, effortlessly. Keep smiling through, just like you always do, ‘till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.  What he wouldn’t have given, to be sent back there with him.

It was more than he could bear.

Don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.

He sobbed, unchecked. Uncaring that his decision was selfless, that it had been what was best of the others, for Bucky.

For him, it was nothing but a bitter defeat.

~

At nine Steve Rogers already had a chip on his shoulder, one you could spot from a mile away. He was a small child, prone to sickness, pale and rather sullen. Being easily ignored by teachers and the other children at school could set you on several paths. You could embrace it, become the ghost that you were imagined as, or fight it. Scream louder, punch harder, stand firmer.

Steve chose the latter.

It got him noticed. The rascal with the face of an angel, the scrawny kid that didn’t know when he was beat.

And the truth was, he loved it. It was the first time that anybody really looked at him. After a while, though, he came to find that no matter how many people were cursing him, his name rolling off their tongues with irritation, he was still alone in the playground. Still nobody knocked at his door to come and make up the numbers for kickball.

Until Bucky.

Bucky smoothed down Steve’s sharp corners; he unclenched his fists, he softened the lines against his forehead, he made the light blazing behind his eyes a little warmer.

The first time they met wasn’t a fight. Steve liked to think it was telling, that their first encounter was so modest, so serene. It was a gentle meeting, much like the boy himself. It was like Bucky was meant to find Steve at that exact moment, was meant to see him without his fists raised. Meant not to be afraid.

It was down by the docks after school. Steve was feeling less indignant than usual, a recent round with the flu taking him down a peg or two. His legs dangled above the water where he sat on the slippery wooden jetty. The sharp sound of the tiny battered rowing boat knocking into the support beams and the bubbling of the water was all that could be heard over the distant sounds of the city. He’d been there for almost an hour, eyes transfixed on the dark algae that clung to the underside of the jetty.

Hardly daring to move, he chanted under his breath. “Come on. Come on.” His mother had said they’d be there. She’d said they didn’t mind the dock waters, that they liked to watch the people as they worked.

“Come on. Please.”

A glint in the water, a shadow in the depths. Steve leaned forward.

“Watcha doing?”

Steve gasped, his heart skipping a beat and he craned to catch a glimpse of the creature below before it escaped. A small fin broke the surface and he spotted the gaping mouth of a blackfish. He slumped, turning to the boy that had spoiled his concentration, ready to give him a piece of his mind.

The new boy was taller than him, though Steve guessed he must be about the same age. He had dark hair, chubby cheeks and a slightly crooked smile. There were crinkles around his eyes where he stared at Steve with a narrowed gaze. His skin was almost as pale as him. Did he have some Irish blood in him too? Maybe it was that, or the bemused look he was giving that gave Steve pause. He wasn’t mocking him, he was just curious.

Unfriendly thoughts left Steve’s head. Instead he shrugged, nails digging into the wooden planks under his legs. “Nothing.” He eyed the boy with the same intensity as the water before, as though he was waiting for something to appear.

“You looking for something?” the boy asked. He stepped closer and Steve’s were drawn to the grazes on his knees.

“Maybe.”

The boy considered him for a beat. He must’ve found Steve worthy, though, for the next moment he was dropping down beside him. He swung his legs back and forth, head bent over the dark water. “Tryna see a mermaid in there?” he asked Steve, eyes wide.

Steve blinked rapidly, a faint blush creeping up his neck that. Please let the other boy miss it. Excuses and lies spun in his mind’s eye. What could he say to avoid being ridiculed? He didn’t want a reason to dislike this boy.

Before he could deny anything the boy nudged his side. “I know a better spot,” he whispered. Rising to his feet, Steve hesitated. “Come on, I’ll show you,” the boy exclaimed, impatient. “Come on. I really know somewhere. It’s further down.” He waved his hand beyond the wharf. “Away from the where the ships go.”

That would make sense. Only a foolish mermaid would risk getting hit by a ship and Steve was sure mermaids were anything but foolish.

“Alright,” he said, scrambling up as the boy grinned at him. “But you better know where you’re going.”

“Promise.” The boy didn’t waste a second before grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him back down the dock. It took a while, but the boy led the way with conviction. He chatted to Steve all the while, about kids at school, how his neighbour’s cat had just had kittens, about the circus coming by next week.

It wasn’t until they were fighting their way through a small hole in the wire fence the other end of the dock that Steve understood what the boy had meant. If they were going to find a mermaid, this would surely be the place. At the back of a large brick building, it was sheltered from the main dock. The dirt sloped down into the water and weeds crept along the edge of the fence, giving it a strangely wild feel.

Silence fell as the pair crouched at the water’s edge, eyes scoring the rippling surface. Steve’s legs had started to cramp when he noticed a splash some way out. “What’s that?” he rushed, pointing out to sea. “Do you see?”

“Yeah, it’s leaving!” The boy dragged Steve up, pulling him along the shore after the splashing waves. “Come on.”

They ran across the dirt for a few seconds more, until the splashing vanished entirely. The other boy came to a sharp stop and Steve collided with him.

The boy pouted. “It’s gone.”

“Just a flounder anyway,” Steve groused, trying not to sound like he was too upset.

“Nah, it was a mermaid,” the boy said, giving Steve a small nod. “I’m sure of it.” He leaned close. “See, they ain’t meant to be seen by humans, are they?” Sure, that sounded right. If they were that easy to see, there wouldn’t be any myths. The boy sighed, staring into the water. “We never stood a chance.”

“But, I wanted to see it so badly.”

“At least now you know it’s there. That’s better than nothing, ain’t it?”

It was only when the sun started to set and the wind hitting Steve’s legs turned cool that they began the slow walk home. “I’m Bucky,” the other boy said, his head turned to Steve, eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“S’funny name,” Steve muttered.

Around them the sidewalks were getting busy, ready for the night ahead. Steve almost missed Bucky’s quiet scoff. “Maybe I think Steve’s a funny name.”

“You know me?” Steve stopped on the path, frowning at Bucky’s back. He’d never said. Hours they’d been talking, and he’d never said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving Steve to keep walking. “Whole’a Red Hook knows you, pal,” he said. When Steve stayed put, he sighed. “Stand down, I showed you the mermaid, didn’t I?”

“No,” Steve groused, begrudgingly moving off once more.

“No, well,” Bucky clicked his tongue. “You’ve got me there. But we had a swell time.” He smiled over at Steve with too big teeth. His hair was sticking up, wayward in the breeze. Steve was sure he could’ve been friends with anyone if he wanted, and yet there he was. Side by side with him, looking like the cat who’d got the cream.  

“You might’a,” Steve said a moment later, stuck on what else to say.

Bucky noticed his hesitance. “Aw, now, Stevie, don’t be mugging like that,” he whined. Steve stayed silent and, a beat later, he said quietly, “It’s short for Buchanan.”

“Huh?”

“Bucky. My full name’s James Buchanan Barnes, everyone just calls me Bucky.”

Steve smiled then. “Even your Ma?”

“Don’t be barmy,” Bucky laughed. “Ma and Pa call me Jamie, but there’s Jamie Hogue and Jamie Feinberg at school already.”

Hogue lived in Steve’s block. He had a habit of racing past Steve on the way home from school, just to wait and slam the block door in Steve’s face. “Jamie Hogue’s a louse,” he said, with a defiant nod.

“He is,” Bucky shrugged, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, scuffing his shoes along the pavement with each step. “But he was there first.”

Bucky accepted the fact with grace, but a silent wave of injustice rose inside of Steve. If anyone deserved to be called by his name, it was Bucky. It ebbed. Bucky suited him well though. He smiled. Maybe it was better. More unique. He could hear it now, the old folks in the greengrocers, ‘Just Bucky Barnes and Stevie Rogers, up to their old tricks again’. It might be nice.

They reached Steve’s block after dark. Sure, his ma would have something to say about that. Maybe less if he told her he’d made a new friend. Bucky’d never mentioned where he lived. He crossed his fingers at his side. The closer the better. “Thank you for showing me the mermaid, Bucky,” he said with a smile. His shoulders had raised with his nerves, but Bucky didn’t seem put off.

“Ain’t nothing,” he said in his cheerful voice. He rubbed at his nose, smearing dirt across it. “Like you said, didn’t see nothing anyways.”

“But we know they’re safe,” Steve replied, meeting his gaze. “Out swimming, catching fish for dinner, I’ll bet.”

Bucky grinned. “Kippers, probably,” he said, clapping Steve’s arm. It almost toppled him, but the smile remained on his face. “I’ll come by tomorrow?” Bucky carried on. “We can walk to school, if you want.”

“Sure.” Steve gave an enthusiastic nod and watched as Bucky ambled away and into the night.

The next day, on their way down familiar streets, they’d stumbled across Eugene Simons and Bobby Turner ragging on some whimpering kid in too big shoes, knees already bleeding.

With Bucky next to him it suddenly didn’t seem like such a leap. He could punch hard, love deep, and smile soft. Maybe he’d met his match at the tender age of nine.

Steve came to know and love that Bucky, a shining grin poking out from behind rising purple bruises, teeth bloodied and breaths shallow. He wouldn’t forget, though, that it all started with a shy hello and a glimmer of sunshine in the water. That there were mermaids out there eating kippers for dinner.

~

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky took a breath. And another. He let Peggy’s words stupor for a moment. The wooden arms of the chair he’d so casually sat down upon had been worn smooth by years of use.

It had only taken a few hours after Howard’s revelation that the Tesseract wouldn’t work for Peggy to call Bucky back into Headquarters. And Bucky thought the day had started off poorly. As he sat in the old study of some Dutch aristocrat who’d had the good sense to get out while he still could, all he could think of was Steve. Steve and the suite they’d shared in Wakanda, with a large bed, quiet balcony, warm sun. It could have been their paradise if Bucky had just recognised it for what it was. A chance that he’d never get back again. One that apparently Steve thought he didn’t want at all.

“Leave me?” Bucky said into the quiet office. Perhaps he was asleep. Perhaps this was just his own worst nightmare, manifesting to dog him until he woke.

Peggy’s forehead wrinkled. “Not leave you,” she said. “For you to stay.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, though he couldn’t see anything amusing here. “Ain’t it the same?” If he were to stay in the past while the others returned, they’d be leaving him, no two ways about it. And he’d be leaving them.

Some officer was barking orders outside, organising a clean up of the rubble, a helping hand before the army moved onto the next manoeuvre.

Behind the desk Peggy shifted, staring over at Bucky with sympathetic eyes. “It’s just a suggestion,” she said, softly. “It’s up to you.” Bucky laughed. When had anything been up to him? The last real choice he’d made was to touch that blasted stone and look where that had got him. “We’re barely close to a solution, it’s -” Peggy closed her mouth, and paused for a moment. “Bucky, it’s your choice,” she said again, as if repeating it would make him truly believe it. “You do what’s best for you.”

What was best for him. What did that even mean?

“And Steve,” he croaked. “It was Steve’s idea?” He flicked his gaze between Peggy’s eyes, hoping to see some truth she hadn’t yet revealed, some saving grace.

She looked away. “I don’t think - Officially, yes. From what I know of our Steve, I suspect he may have been led that way.” She reached out across the desk, palm up, inviting. “It’s not a terrible idea.”

“Steve? Led?” He laughed again. What was wrong with him? With a pang he remembered Steve’s hand in his, tugging him along muddy paths, childish laughter following in their wake.

“I mean that I don’t think it’s something that he would have considered without outside input.” She sent Bucky a look that would have almost been withering, if it hadn’t been laced in pity.

“It - It’s -” Bucky stumbled, not sure of what he was thinking, let alone what he wanted to say.

“Bucky,” Peggy said, resolute. “Are you happy here?” Her hair was perfectly curled, lips ruby red, eyelashes dark and thick. The insignia on her collar shined brightly.

Of course Bucky was happy here. That was the whole problem. How could Peggy even begin to understand that? How could anyone? “I have a life back there,” he deflected.

“I know. I know that.” Peggy closed her eyes for a second, gathering strength. “But, strip it all away. Strip away the guilt you feel to the other Steve.”

“He’s not ‘other’, he’s -”

“I’m trying to help you,” she insisted. “It’ll hurt, whatever you do. Strip back the guilt, the sense of duty. Where would you rather be? In an ideal world?”

Bucky couldn’t speak. He couldn’t say it out loud. He knew which reality he’d rather be true, but how could he claim it for his own? Surely it wasn’t about where he wanted to be, but where he should be.

Reading Bucky’s confusion in his silence, Peggy reminded him, “You don’t have to decide straight away.” She smiled. “The option is there.”

Fantastic. And it would fill his waking thoughts for the rest of his time here, like the grim reaper’s scythe. Ready to drop at any second. How could Steve think this was what he wanted? The small voice inside his head that said ‘maybe it was’ was easy enough to ignore. Could he really blame Steve? He’d hardly shown any inclination to become part of the future when he was there. Maybe Steve thought he was doing Bucky a favour.

As soon as he thought it, he could almost see Steve’s clenched jaw, full of determination. He would be so sure that Bucky was better off here, that Bucky wouldn’t make the sacrifice, that he had to be the one to lay down on the tracks.

Captain America until the very end.

How he must be tearing himself apart, making that decision. One that Bucky couldn’t even be grateful for. Was it a betrayal if he suddenly wished he’d accepted his now-Steve’s offer to come with him to this meeting? Just seeing his face might have softened the blow.

“Did he - What did he say? Exactly,” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. “What exactly did he say?”

Peggy’s eyes widened for a moment before she recovered. It was long enough, however, for a hot wave of guilt to wash through Bucky’s blood. “Haven’t you spoken to him yet?” she asked.

He shook his head, explaining, a little stilted, “I can’t bring myself to do it.”

Without passing judgement, though Bucky didn’t need her to speak to feel the disappointment coming off her in waves, Peggy said, “It wasn’t him that passed on the message. It was Tony.”

“Well, maybe Tony was lying.” The words were out without him really registered what he had said. Why not, though? Maybe Tony was lying. It’s not like it would be completely out of character, from what Steve had told him.

“Is he likely to?” Peggy asked, one eyebrow cocked, open to suggestion.

Bucky shrugged, wondering how much to withhold. “He doesn’t like me. In fact, he hates me.” He bit his lip. “He’s tried to kill me several times.”

“What?” She didn’t gasp, though she narrowed her eyes, thinking for a moment. “Why would Steve go to him for help?”

“He’s the only choice.” Bucky leant forward and said, “Don’t tell Howard.”

Peggy stayed quiet for a moment, regarding Bucky with interest. He panicked for a moment. How much could she read into Tony wanting to kill him? “Do you think it’s a lie?” she asked him, finally.

Of course it wasn’t, he hadn’t really believed his own words. “No,” he said, the day wearing him down. “Just the stupid kind of selfish bullshit Steve always thinks he’s obliged to do,” he trailed off, closing his eyes, visions of the Valkyrie dropping into the ice filling his mind.

How many universes were there? Was there one where Bucky died falling from that train? One where Steve was never found in the ice? One, maybe, where Project Rebirth failed and Bucky came back from the war to nothing but an empty apartment and a lifetime of regrets.

Alternate reality. Parallel universe. Timeline divergence. All of these words meant nothing. The fact was that this was the world that he was now living in. The lives of the people here were the lives that he could impact. He couldn’t touch his own world. He couldn’t change the past. He could change the future of this place.

“I could still die here.” He stared at a knot on the surface of the desk. How long had this office been like this? This house? Longer than he’d been in this reality, for sure. “The others could still die, Steve could still die.”

“Yes.” Peggy sounded unsure, not of the truth in his words, but why he was saying them.

“No,” he started, needing to explain himself. “I - I’ve been thinking of this place, or trying to think of this place, like it’ll disappear once I’m gone, but -”

“I have no intention of disappearing,” Peggy proclaimed, cutting him off.

“I’m coming to realise that.” He ground his jaw shifting forward and clasping his hands on the desk. “The Commandos. We’re not just biding time. We really need to tear Hydra down.”

“Yes.”

“We need to find Schmidt, find Zola.” He fixed Peggy with a determined glare. “I’ve got two bullets with their names on.”

Peggy held his gaze. “Bucky, the look on your face is a little unnerving.”

“If this is a parallel universe idea, or whatever theory Howard and Erskine are currently going with, I’m going to save as Goddamn many parallel lives as I can.” He jumped to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “Including my own.”

“Don’t lose your head,” Peggy shouted after him and he could hear the approval in her voice.

“That’s the exact opposite of what I’m going to do.”

The townhouse they’d gathered in before, that Howard had chosen for his lab, was a few streets down from Headquarters. Sandbags lined the roads and Bucky jumped over them in his hurry. He was almost sure he heard his name being yelled as he hurtled past a crew of officers. He didn’t have time to stop. If he stopped, he might change his mind, lose his determination, break down into tears.

He clattered into the building, startling a group of privates finding shelter in the hall. The collar of his blue jacket flapped around him in his haste, hair falling into his face. He needed a shave, he was sure his eyes were bloodshot. He looked a mess, but so did everyone else.

“Howard,” he yelled, scouring the main living room, dark now that the short winter day was over, doors leading off to who knows where. “Howard!”

“Ah, hi, Bucky.” The man himself peered from around an alcove before stepping into the room proper. The top button of his shirt was undone, oil marks patchy on his cheek. “I’m -”

“No, shut up,” Bucky stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t have Howard apologise to him. He was working so hard to help, and all Bucky had done was murder him and the ones he loved. Christ, he didn’t deserve even the thought of an apology. “You want to take a break from trying to figure out the space time continuum?” he asked.

“Where’d you read that word?” Howard shot back, only half joking.

“I want guns. Lots of guns.” Bucky grabbed the other man by his shoulders, giving him a small shake. “I want something that’ll take down Schmidt, so that he won’t get up again.”

A smile crept onto Howard’s face. “Pal, now you’re talking my language.”

~

It turned out, though, that possessing more weaponry and a newly rejuvenated sense of focus did not make Schmidt any easier to find.

“He’s back in Austria, leading us in a wild goose chase,” Steve said, shaking his head as if he were amused that Hydra had been giving them the runaround. “All we need to do is locate where he’s setting up Headquarters.” Passing his water to Dugan, he adjusted his hold on his gun. “He’s getting more confident, more cocky, the closer he gets to using the Tesseract. You said it yourself.” He turned to Bucky. “He’s bound to slip up. We’ll be waiting when he does.”

They were in Belgium, staking out a farmhouse that Phillips and Peggy believed to be an exchange point for Hydra factory material. Bucky had serious doubts about the accuracy of the information, which he’d shared, not that it had made much difference. They were in new territory now, Bucky having just as much of an insight as everyone else.

The foxhole they’d dug was frigid, the three of them pressed close together, leaning against the side. Guns and eyes were trained on the landscape beyond them. Dark, snowy, and barren.

“Nineteen forty four,” Bucky muttered. “We’ll have been here a year next month.”

Dugan grunted. “Eyes out front.”

“I can have my eyes front and talk at the same time, Dugan.”

“I know you can,” the other man replied lightly. “Something on your mind?”

Yes, was the answer. The same thing that was always on his mind. It was a weight that was growing heavier and heavier ever since Peggy had posed that question to him.

He gripped his gun tighter. “If I’m staying,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

“Still if, is it?” Dugan commented, eyes still narrowed towards the farmhouse.

“If I’m staying,” Bucky started again. “I need to tell you something.” He licked his lips, dry and rough from the cold. “I know I haven’t told you some stuff, about the future. It’s not because I don’t want to change history,” he confessed. “I’ve changed so many things already.”

On his left, Steve’s body moved against his as he spoke. “It’s because you did something bad.” Steve turned to him. “Bucky -”

“Eyes front,” Bucky hissed, nodding his head to the fields in front of them.

Cursing, Steve did what he was told, but didn’t stop talking. “Bucky. Dugan and I, we both saw that room that they kept you in, in the other place.”

“If they made you do something,” Dugan added. “It’s not your fault. Better men then you have -”

“It’s not that. I mean, it is that. That’s where it started. I just -” Bucky grimaced, knowing what he had to do. Maybe he should have done it straight away, when they were still in Brooklyn rather than in a muddy hole in the middle of Europe. “Will you promise to let me finish? I’m gonna tell you everything, but you have to let me finish before you say anything.”

He stilled for a moment, waiting on their response. A light came on in the farmhouse. One of the bedrooms.

“Of course,” Dugan said. “You won’t lose my respect, Buck, whatever it is. War’s hell.”

“You say that now,” Bucky mumbled. He let out a long breath, hoping against hope that Dugan was true to his word. They’d been together throughout the war, both versions of it. Bucky didn’t fancy going on without him.

“Will it impact on your decision to stay?” Steve asked and Bucky could picture the set of his jaw. “How I react?”

“Probably. Everything impacts my decision on staying.”

Steve sighed. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Let’s do it.”

Let’s do it. “Alright.” Bucky sniffed and squared his shoulders. “Alright, okay.” He could do this. “You know that Hydra, in the other version of history, Hydra were working on a serum, like the one the S.S.R gave Steve. And that, somehow, Steve and I both ended up in twenty seventeen,” he started, easing himself in.

“Are you finally going to tell us the ‘somehow’?” Dugan broke in.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve hissed, “What did he say? Shut up, let him talk.”

“I’m going to tell you the somehow,” Bucky agreed. “You ain’t gonna like it.” His fingers were going numb outside the shelter of the foxhole. He focused on the sting. “That room you saw, that’s where Hydra were running their own serum experiments. I was a test subject, that’s what they were doing to me. It was -” He winced. “It wasn’t great. But I survived, Steve got me out with the others, everything was fine.” He flicked a glance at Dugan who was regarding him lightly. They both jerked the eyes forward. “You know the most of it, we formed the Howling Commandos, tracked Hydra down.”

“Steve showed Schmidt what a real supersoldier looks like,” Dugan crowed. “None of that red shit - Oh, now, they didn’t give you a red skull did they?”

Bucky laughed, breath clouding in the night air. “No, no red,” he said. “Steve does defeat Schmidt but,” he paused for a second. This was it. “I never saw that. I only know that from what people have told me.”

There was a beat of silence before Steve asked the inevitable. “Where were you?”

“Dead. Or, at least, everyone thought so.” Closing his eyes for a second, he could see it; the blast of blue, Steve yelling his name, the wind rushing by his ears. “We were on a mission, to capture Zola. He was on this train. A hole got blasted into the side, I fell. It was in the Alps, on a mountain, I fell off the train, fell down some ravine. I don’t really remember that much of it.” He sniffed. “Nineteen forty five. February twenty eight.”

“You survived the fall?” Steve asked, voice small. “Why didn’t we find you?”

Buck shrugged, meeting his eyes. “You didn’t look. Steve, it was a hundred foot drop, of course you didn’t look.” He leant closer, the horrified expression on Steve’s face was too much. “I hadn’t told you, about the experiments on me. Nobody knew that I might be able to survive injuries like that,” he insisted.

Without responding, Steve set his gaze back on the farmhouse. Bucky sighed. “Who did find you?” Dugan asked on his other side. “Someone must have, you’d have frozen.”

Bucky almost smiled at that. “I would have frozen,” he muttered. “Zola.” He nodded. “His men. You’d captured him, his men found me.” Lifting a shoulder he explained, “I lost my arm, in the fall. My left arm. They gave me a new one, metal. After the war, Zola was released -”

“He what?” Steve burst out as Dugan shushed him. “No!”

“It was a Government sanctioned thing,” Bucky deflected. “Not the Germans they needed to worry about anymore. He came back to Hydra, started up Operation Winter Soldier.”

“Winter Soldier,” Steve repeater, flatly.

Bucky nodded, eyes trained forward. “Me.

It flowed out of him like a river of words. Every sentence cutting him open in the telling. The torture, the brainwashing, the words, the reprogramming, the cryochambers. How he forgot everyone, his pa, Steve, even himself. How they cut him out and made him into something else.  

“I’m telling you this, so you understand, I - I -” He was breathing hard now, his heart beating against his chest. “I would have stopped if I - I would never have done it, if I knew what I was doing. You have to believe me.”

“Done what?” Steve asked, eyes wide, skin pale.

“I was an assassin.”

“A spy?” Steve nodded. “Like you said.”

“Not really. Didn’t have enough about me for espionage. They brought me in when someone needed taking out.”

Dugan interrupted him then. He was scowling, looking very Sergeant like, as if he hoped to take charge of the situation, undo Bucky’s words. “You’ve killed people. We’ve all killed people. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Not people.” Bucky grit his teeth. “Nineteen ninety one. December sixteenth. I got orders to kill Howard Stark, bring back some tech he was working on. No trail.” One wavering breath. “I did it,” he said. “I forced his car off the road. When he asked me for help I beat him to death. Then I strangled his wife.” His eyes were clenched shut, farmhouse forgot. “He recognised me. I can remember it all now. He recognised me,” he groaned, ice cold hand rubbing at his face. “We weren’t as friendly in the other place, but he - He said ‘Sergeant Barnes’ like he expected me to help him,” he gasped.

“Bucky.” Steve said his name so desperately, Bucky would rather he punch him in the face.

“No, no,” he groaned. “There’s more.”

“More?” Dugan exclaimed.

Bucky pressed himself further into the dirt wall, determined to finish now that he’d started. He spoke flatly, needing to get it out. “I was in cryosleep for most of the time. In the early two thousands some guy, Alexander Pierce took on responsibility for me. Used to call me ‘The Asset’. One time he woke me up and it was twenty fourteen and he said I had to take down these two targets. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers.”

“‘Steve’,” Dugan repeated.

“You don’t kill me,” Steve said, shaking his head, eyebrows drawn together. He searched Bucky’s face. “I know you don’t. You wouldn’t.”

It hurt to say it. “I would have. But you’re pretty hard to kill.” He held Steve’s gaze until he couldn’t any more. “Anyway, you knew me. Freaked me out, or something, I don’t know. Messed with the wiring.” He tapped his head. “They wiped my mind, reset me, put me on your tail again.”

“It didn’t work,” Steve said. It wasn’t a question.

“No. You’re a stubborn bastard.” Bucky looked at him again, summoning the smallest of smiles. “You refused to fight me,” he said, simply. “Kept saying - Kept saying you were with me to the end of the line.”

“Bucky. Bucky .”

Bucky ignored him, back into the story. “I went on the run. You and Sam and the others helped me.” He clicked his tongue. “Tony found out it was me that killed his dad. Killed his mom. You two had a pretty big falling out over it. It’s why I’m so glad you went to him, you know, water under the bridge.” He nodded at Steve. The other man’s eyes were glassy. “Then I touched that stupid stone and ended up here. Oh, and,” he grimaced, shrugging a little. “I shot Natasha as well, before all of that. She was fine. She wasn’t the target then.”

The silence that followed twisted in his stomach. Why couldn’t it be colder, still? Then he wouldn’t be able to couldn’t feel anything at all.

“But, that doesn’t explain Steve,” Dugan said, somewhat abrupt.

“What?”

When Bucky turned his bewildered face to Dugan, the other man was frowning. “How is Steve in two thousand and seventeen with you?”

“That’s your question?” Bucky asked, disbelieving.

“I mean, I have more,” Dugan defended himself. “I’ve got to start somewhere, bud.”

He blinked, taking in the frost trimmed fields for a second. “Fine. Don’t get any ideas,” he shot out at Steve, who just stared at him. “After you all think I’m dead, you carry on looking for Schmidt. You find him, Steve kicks his ass,” he inclined his head, retelling the story they were all now familiar with. “‘Cept that Steve kicks his ass on a plane full of bombs heading for the mainland America. And he’s a stupid fucking idiot, so instead of doing something smart, he decides he has to crash land the plane in the Arctic before it reaches anywhere else.”

Dugan barked a laugh, before his eyes narrowed. “What on earth?”

“Right,” Bucky agreed.

They turned to Steve who looked a little dazed. “I’m sorry?” he tried.

Bucky hummed. “Yeah, you should be. Everyone assumed you had died. I reckon the S.S.R., everyone really, underestimated the power of that serum.” He took a long breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as he spoke. “You were frozen in the Arctic for seventy years. In twenty twelve your body was discovered, you were defrosted, all perfectly fine, ready to go.”

He stopped, jaw locked together, letting the others think on it. What did he even want them to say to him? God, this was so fucked up. And he’d kept it a secret from them for so long. He’d never be able to look them in the eye again.

“Ah.” Dugan sucked in the cold air, brushing down his heavy moustache. “It’s a hell of a story.”

“Does Howard know?” Steve asked, gently.

Bucky laughed. What on earth was funny? “No, of course he doesn’t. Nobody does.” He stilled. “Well, Wanda, Natasha and Sam do, but,” he trailed off, not quite sure what he wanted to say.

“Why did you tell us this?”

“Because,” Bucky sighed, leaning his chin against the ground. “Because I can’t stay here with you thinking I’m some kind of hero. I’m a murderer. I - I’m - I’m a monster.”

“You are not,” Steve said, shoving his arm. “Bucky. You were tortured, brainwashed. You didn’t know what you were doing.” Bucky didn’t respond. What more could he say? Steve grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, forcing Bucky to look him in the eye. “If it was me, would you call me a monster?”

“I killed Howard.”

Steve blinked. “And now you’re making sure he lives.”

Bucky pulled away again. “It won’t make any difference,” he said. “I’ve still killed him in the other place.”

A hand clasped around the back of his neck and Dugan’s voice came, deep and reassuring, reverberating in his chest. “You can’t change what you’ve done. It’s about what you do after,” he said. “And you’ve made a pretty good case for yourself.”

Bucky pursed his lips together.

“Future me has forgiven you, right?” Steve said.

“Future you is a knucklehead,” he mumbled, voice thick.

“Knucklehead,” Steve smiled, squeezing Bucky’s elbow. “Guess that sums me up pretty well.”

They stayed like that for a few moments until Dugan cleared his throat. “You want us to keep this to ourselves? Not -” He stopped at the look on Bucky’s face. “Not because we’re not on your side. Just - It’s sensitive.”

“Please,” Bucky said, dropping his chin into the mud once more. “Fuck.”

“Here, Bucky,” Dugan said, surveying the fields beyond, the farmhouse in the distance. “You’ve been through some shit, come out the other side.” He looked to Bucky. “Takes some guts.”

Reaching out towards him, Bucky watched in a state of shock as Steve took hold of his hand, twinning their fingers together. He smiled at Bucky, palm rough and cold.

The barn door of the farmhouse burst open, the angry shouting of a group of men floating up to them across the open space, shocking them all into action.  

“Shit, Pegs was right.”

“Damnit.”

Dugan scrambled out of the fox hold, holding onto his hat as he went. “Cover me!”

Chapter Text

“Brooklyn seems like a whole world away, don’t it?”

They were in London, hiding behind the blackout in Bucky’s lodgings in Hackney. The tiny terraced house had a couple of rooms, Bucky had been directed to one with a sad looking twin bed, chest of draws and a wash basin in the corner. Steve barely had room to stand. The noise of fun and games coming from the kitchen crept up through the floorboards. And yet, they were together, lying in each other’s arms on that bed, squeaking springs be damned.

“Sure does,” Steve said. A cheer came from downstairs, perhaps someone had won at rummy. Steve shifted, crawling over Bucky to rest his hands either side of Bucky’s head.  “Couldn’t do this there.”

“You could,” Bucky smiled up at him. He twisted his hands in his hair, marvelling still that he could, and pulled him down for a kiss. “You might’a got out of breath, though.”

Steve huffed, dropping to his side once more. “I couldn’t,” he argued.

Bucky frowned for a moment. “You’re serious?” he asked, leaning on his elbow. “How come you never said anything, Steve?” The incredulous look that Steve sent him at the statement him dropping his head, fighting his smile. “No, I know I ain’t said anything either. But I’m not asking about me,” he said. “I’m asking about you.”

Somewhere in the building, someone turned on a tap. Pipes clanging along the wall “Don’t know,” Steve admitted. He was concentrating on a patch of damp above their heads rather than looking at Bucky.

“Geez, come on, Stevie.” Bucky nudged his foot, earning his attention. “Thought you were ‘sposed to be the brave one.”

Steve wrinkled. “I never thought - I never even dreamed you’d be interested.”

“Surely you dreamed it,” Bucky teased, all the nights he’d spent imagining the two of them together running through his head.

“Bucky,” Steve whined. It sounded absurd coming from his new muscle-bound body. “I’m trying be sincere here, alright, you asked -”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky raised his hands, shifting so he could lean against the wall. “Look, I’m listening real good. I ain’t gonna laugh.” Steve followed him up, shoulder to shoulder. “I won’t even smile,” he said, “how ‘bout that?”

Steve bit his lip, fiddling with the covers. “There’s not much to say,” he shrugged. Bucky had only seen him this nervous a few times before. Had Steve had really been so scared to tell him? All these years wasted because Bucky was too blind to see what was right in front of him. “Sticking up for people, doing what I think is right, that’s one thing,” Steve said. He paused, turning to face Bucky with a wavering smile. “You’re all I have. I was scared to lose you. I didn’t think -” he interrupted himself with a chuckle. “I don’t know, I always thought you were such a ladies man. I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

“Thought I might rat you out?” Bucky asked, voice low. “You know half the time I went out I was going to queer bars.”

He watched Steve carefully, waiting for an answer, a serious expression on the other man’s face. Their sides were pressed together, sitting close, but it wasn’t enough. Bucky needed to be closer, Steve had to know he’d never leave him. He clasped Steve’s hand in his own, pulling it to his lap and leaned down to press his lips to Steve’s shoulder.

Steve blinked at where his hand was cradled between Bucky’s. “Not rat me out,” he croaked, “but, maybe you’d move out. Stop associating with me. And, I mean, there were times I thought the opposite.” He squeezed Bucky’s fingers. “That I could tell you what I was and you’d be fine with it, but,” he trailed off.

“But?”

“I reckon’d I’d rather keep up the pretence,” he carried on, softly. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least if you didn’t know at all, you couldn’t turn me down. Thought maybe that was better than you knowing and not wanting me.” He huffed, embarrassed. “I know I’m not the model of what people look for,” he said. “Made a fool of myself on enough dates to know that.” He nodded at Bucky, “Girls want guys like you.”

“Well,” Bucky took a deep breath. Out of the window the skyline of London went on and on until it met the sun setting on the horizon. “Steve, I’m not sure how it passed you by all these years.” He leant closer, so he was whispering in Steve’s ear. “But I ain’t no girl.”

The other man grinned, full bodied and free. “Oh? That’s interesting. Interesting development.”

“I wish you had,” Bucky lamented.

“Hm?”

“Wish you had said something before.”

Steve sniffed and dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “So do I.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Steve, I’ll love you whatever you look like.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughed.

Bucky nodded, smiling. “No problem, but I just would’a liked to have, you know,” he inclined his head. Steve squinted up at him.

“I think you’re gonna have to say it out loud,” he said, voice dry.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky shuffled into the corner a little, so he could face Steve head on. “I would have like to have gotten my hands on you,” he said. “When you were small.”

The look on Steve’s face was wonderful. The small tremble in his eyebrows, the quick pursing of his lips. Quickly, he resumed and unaffected expression. “Yeah?”

Bucky hummed, running his hand over Steve’s chest, feeling the hard press of muscles beneath his shirt. “I’d’a kissed you all over. Your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. All soft and -” He flicked his gaze up to meet Steve’s, wide-eyed, barely moving. “Sorry.”

“No. I liked it,” he rasped, blush creeping over his cheeks. Still not used to it. “When we get back, what are we going to do?” he asked, casually, though he skin was still a little rosy.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ll need a plan. We can’t just stay living together as friends for the rest of our lives.” Steve smiled, like he was telling a joke.

Bucky pouted. “Who says?” Steve was right, of course, but it pissed him off. They didn’t need to worry about this now. Survive the war first, worry about what people would think second.

“I do. Your pa’ll ask questions,” Steve nudged his shoulder.

“We’ll tell him,” Bucky responded, simply.

“What?”

“He knows about me anyway. He likes you.” Bucky smiled at Steve’s raised eyebrows. “He’ll be pleased.”

“You - You told him?”

“Uhuh. We’ll sort something out.” He leant over and pressed a kiss to Steve’s plump lips. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered. “We’ll be together. I don’t care what the rest of the world says.”

~

He held the thin paper in his hands as the wind tried valiantly to tear it away from him. His brother’s handwriting had improved in the time he’d been gone; the distance between the two of them becoming more clear with every word he read. Before, in the other place, Tom’s letters had been filled with wonderment about Steve and his transformation into Captain America, as dazzled as the rest of the country. Now, though, Bucky could read the young concern in his brother’s words. The dawning realisation that some men weren’t coming back, that Bucky might not either.

Footsteps sounded in the muddy ground and Bucky looked up to see Steve. He’d managed to carve out a small shelter in the roots of an ancient tree and Steve trailed his eyes across it, bemused and impressed. “I was looking for you,” he said when Steve dropped down in front of him. The other man’s skin was a little grey; perhaps the conditions were getting to him more than he let on. He kept a close eye on him. “Mail caught up with us.”

“Nobody’s writing to me,” Steve dismissed.

Bucky clicked his tongue, pulling a letter from his jacket pocket. “Well, someone is,” he said.

After taking the letter from him Steve read in silence, with Bucky watching carefully. In truth, Bucky had been curious as to who had written it. Back in the other timeline Steve had received hundreds of letters, none from anybody who actually knew him, however. For reasons he knew were completely unjustified, it nagged at Bucky that someone he didn’t know was contacting his friend. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Who’s it from?” he asked.

“One of the nurses, from back when I had the yellow fever.” He was fiddling with his hair, eyes on the paper. Not on Bucky.

Nurse? A nurse was writing to Steve? “You - Oh, you kept that quiet,” Bucky said, hoping he sounded like he was teasing him. “You dog.” He’d never spoken about any nurse. Not once.

“No - No, that’s - No.” Steve was quick to down play it and Bucky heart thumped. That’s just what Steve would do, if he was serious. “She just heard from Mr Silva that I’d managed to enlist. Wanted to make sure I was doing okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky asked. He looked so small in his leather jacket, nose and ears red from the wind.

Steve sent him a nervous smile. “Maybe in a minute.”

“Huh?”

“Buck. Geez.” Steve jaw was flexing beneath his skin. Bucky sat up a little straighter. “I want you to stay,” Steve said, blue eyes now fixed on him, focused. “Future me, or other me - whatever we’re calling him - he wants you to stay here, too.” His hands were clenched into fists in his lap, ready for a fight. “And, I know that everyone is expecting me to do the selfless thing and tell you to go back home with the others, but I don’t want you to.”

Grimacing, Bucky folded up his brother’s letter. He squinted out across the muddy ground, summoning up the words. This was going to happen eventually. Was Steve that unaware of himself? “Buddy, I know it’s not -” he started, rubbing at his face. “The other Steve, I know he said that, but he’ll be thinking the same thing, you know.”

“Does he love you?” Steve said.

“What?” Steve’s words derailed Bucky somewhat. He pushed his hair away from his face, scanning the area as Steve opened his mouth to speak once more.

“Does he love you?” he repeated, staring at Bucky. “Does he love you like I love you?”

“I - I don’t, er -”

“Because if he does, if he loves you even half as much as me, then I can promise that he does want you to stay here.” Steve forced out the words, fierce and determined. Bucky couldn’t even think to respond. “He might hate it, but he knows it’s better for you. Hell, Bucky,” he exclaimed. “You get tortured in the other place. You lose your arm, get left for dead, captured and experimented on for seventy years. Seventy years . Of course he wants you to stay away from that.” Colour was coming back to his cheeks now, as he worked himself up. “And I - I couldn’t live with myself if I agreed to send you back there.”

Steve let out several panting breaths. Bucky licked his lips. “Did you say you loved me?”

“It -” Steve blinked. “It’s not about that. It’s about you and what happens to you.”

“Right, I get that,” Bucky nodded. “But, you did say that you loved me. I didn’t dream it?” Steve loved him, he had never doubted that for one second, but he’d never imagined that Steve would come out and say it to him.

“It’s really a surprise?” Steve asked, shoulders slumped. “I kinda figured, what with everyone knowing about you, that I knew in the other place.”

“But you do know,” Bucky rushed.

Steve, however, grew even more down trodden at his words. “I know about you and I still haven’t worked up the courage to tell you how I feel? Even with the muscles and the suit and all? That’s just -” he sighed. “It’s a little disappointing.”

Bucky frowned. “No,” he said. “You didn’t - I mean, you didn’t have to tell me. I told you .”

“You worked it out?”

“No, I didn’t work it out, I’m a fucking idiot,” Bucky scoffed, though Steve didn’t smile at his self-deprecation. Bucky stumbled over his words, trying to get them out faster and get that look off his face. “I just freaked out after you saved us all from - Jesus. After Azzano, I told you that I loved you. The war got to me, you know, and you just turned up like some Goddamn hero and I - I couldn’t not say it.”

Steve was blinked at him, dumbstruck. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he half yelled, senses coming back to him.

“I thought I was leaving you again! I didn’t want to, I don’t know,” Bucky flapped his arms. How was this still so stressful the second time around? “Make it worse.” He winced at Steve’s punch drunk face. “I’m not great at talking about my feelings, Steve.”

At last, a smile crept across Steve’s face. He ducked his head, brushing back his hair. “Just a couple’a schmucks, making a mess of things,” he said, looking up at Bucky through dark eyelashes, eyes twinkling.

Bucky relaxed. “Yeah.”

“Does that mean,” Steve said slowly, like he wanted to be absolutely clear. “You told the other Steve you loved him. So, do you love me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love you a hell of a lot,” Bucky breathed, smiling fondly.

“You don’t mind that I’m not all super?”

“No,” Bucky almost laughed. “I love Steve Rogers,” he said. The wind was still blowing hard, but he couldn’t really feel it anymore. When Steve kept up his poker face, Bucky shuffled closer. “When you first started the Commandos,” he started, quietly. “You asked me if I was ready to follow Captain America. Into the jaws of death, I think you said.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Sounds pretty dramatic.”

“I keep telling you to tone it down,” Bucky agreed. He reached out, lifting Steve’s chin so they were eye to eye. “I said no. Said I was following that kid from Brooklyn, who was too dumb to run from a fight.”

“Pretty stupid.” Steve’s voice was quiet, skin cool. He dropped his gaze to Bucky’s lips.

“Sure am,” Bucky muttered before capturing Steve’s mouth in a kiss. It was gentle, unsure, unrefined. God, hadn’t Bucky missed him? How had he spent eleven months here and not been doing this every day? How had he spent so long with Steve in the other place after he’d woken up and turned him away so many times? What had he been scared of?

He broke away.

“I’ll forget him,” he gasped out, fingers curled tightly around Steve’s jacket.

“No you won’t,” Steve shook his head, without asking who Bucky was talking about. He was just as much a fighter as Captain America. “I won’t let you,” he promised. “I can at least do that for him. I’ll remind you every day how much he loved you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky sniffed, laughing a little wetly. “This is like some ethics test,” he joked, though it fell flat. “Should be happening to you instead, you live for this shit.”

Steve looked at him. “It kinda is happening to me,” he said. “Twice.” He took Bucky’s face in his hands, those hands that had held him, so tight, so long ago. “It’s your choice, Buck, it always is, but, please stay.”

And it always was the way, when Steve asked him for something, he’d give it willingly.

~

Steve’s hands were numb and his feet were getting there. The high arches of St Augustine’s stood ahead of him, imposing, as he sat in his pew. He was alone, the rest of the neighbourhood spending the evening warm in their homes.

The church had always looked its best at night. From the outside it lured him in with the bright colours of its stained glass. Inside it was filled to the brim with candles, the warmth driving the chill of the winter air away. Two large Christmas trees stood either side of the crossing, in front of the pews, all reds and greens and twinkling lights. On the way to his seat, Steve had passed a nativity scene, the three wise men looking like the damp in the basement had taken hold.

Ahead of him, doused in flickering candle light, the choir practised. Steve watched the group, each of their eyes locked onto the conductor. Some of them were swaying on the spot, trainers peeking out from beneath long robes. Their voices mingled and rose right to the top of the stone, right to the core of Steve’s bones.

There were a few months in the winter of twenty five were his ma had tried to get him to join the church choir. He had the right look for it, all wide-eyed and eager, but his voice was never going to cut it. His ma had taken the defeat gracefully.

Steve smiled as the image of his mother came to mind, crouching down to flatten his hair and straighten his collar before service started. He barely thought of her these days. The colour of her eyes was a blur. The scent of her perfume just out of reach.

The final chord of ‘O God, Our Help in Ages Past’ resounded throughout the stone walls of the church. Steve found that he’d closed his eyes. The shifting of papers followed. A cough. One, two, three. Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining.

“I hate Christmas.”

He looked up, eyelashes wet.

Tony raised his eyebrows, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down on the pew next to Steve. “I can see you do too,” he said, with a wince. “So commercial, don’t you think? Not like back in the good old days. You could have got a satsuma Christmas morning, kept a smile on your face all day.”

Steve shifted further down and wiped his eyes, grateful that Tony at least pretended not to notice. He looked strange in the church, like he was out of place. The shine of his suit was wrong. His glasses a shade too dark. The candlelight flickered against his cheek as he looked up at the ceiling. “And some walnuts,” Steve replied, voice rough. He’d been there a while. “Then I’d be happy.”

At his words Tony turned to him, lips quirked. He nodded towards the pulpit. “Talking to the big guy?”

“No, not really.” Steve rubbed at his eyes, sitting further back. “Haven’t since I woke up.”

“War take it out of you?” Tony asked.

“No. Just,” Steve stared ahead. One of the smaller choir boys had lost his place. “Doesn’t feel like he’s part of this world, you know. The future.” He looked around. There was an electric heater in the back, a phone sticking out of the conductor’s pocket, a microphone on the pulpit. “Back in the fighting, it was really needed. God, or belief. Faith. Now,” he shrugged, “feels even more outdated than me.” Tony huffed a laugh and Steve turned to look. “Everyone’s so … I don’t know. Got flying men in iron suits. Hammers that control the sky. Stones that cut through time. Maybe -” He took a deep breath. “Maybe we’re flying too close to the sun, you know.”

Led by light of star sweetly gleaming .

After a moment Tony said, “Pretty big talk.”

Steve grunted. “I’m in a big talk mood.”

Maybe those were the wrong words. Tony turned fully on the bench so that he was facing Steve. “So, you’re not here to pray. What are you here for?”

Scoffing, Steve folded his arms. “Ain’t that the question.”

“Cap.”

“How’d you find me?” he asked instead, narrowing his eyes.

All it did was cause Tony to roll his eyes. “You’ve been all moody,” he dismissed. “Rhodey was worried about you. So,” he cocked his head. “I added a little tracking device to your phone.”

“Jesus,” Steve groaned.

“Lord’s name.”

“You don’t change do you?” Steve snapped. He hissed, checking that the choir couldn’t hear him.

“Oh, blah, blah,” Tony retorted, sending Steve a glower. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, whatever. You haven’t dropped by the lab in weeks.” He waved in Steve’s general direction. “You’re looking kinda dead behind the eyes. Hell, I got a little bit worried, alright?” Steve bit his lip. He’d not been on the receiving end of Tony’s skewed version of affection for some time. Tony took his silence as the apology it was and carried on, his voice a little softer, “Humour me. Why are you here?”

The pew creaked beneath Steve’s weight. “It feels familiar,” he said. He motioned at the high vaulted ceiling. “It’s one of the only places in the city that’s stayed mostly the same.” He gave a small smile but found he couldn’t sustain it. The choir had moved on, ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’.

“You come here before?”

“Yeah. Ma brought me every Sunday.” He pointed to a pew on the other side of the nave, a few rows from the front. “Over there. That was my favourite spot.” He smiled again. “Could see the bishop yawning.”

Dutifully, Tony chuckled.

They fell into silence, the organ pipes trembling in an enthusiastic solo. Tony would get round to what he’d come there for at some point. Steve just had to wait. The carol came to a close and Tony groaned.

“I had issues with my dad,” he said, expression pained. “I had issues with Barnes. Those two things will always be intertwined, I think because of, well, you know,” he muttered. Steve gnawed the inside of his cheek. “But even I can see that they were friends. Or that they are friends, I don’t know.” Tony rubbed at his forehead, leaning his arms against the pew in front. He addressed the wooden bench with a quiet voice. “I think, now I can see it from a distance, I can see that Barnes wouldn’t have killed him. If he’d been in control, he wouldn’t have hurt him.”

It was like Steve broke the surface, without realising he was underwater. “He wouldn’t,” he breathed.

Tony nodded. “They’re pretty similar, in some ways.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s odd.” Tony huffed, grimacing in the orange light. “I don’t know if it makes it better, that he wasn’t in control, or infinitely worse.” That caught with Steve; it was clear to him how much more Bucky had suffered as a result of that knowledge. He stayed silent as the other man coughed and said, overly loud, “Anyway, onto the real business.”

This surprised Steve. What else was there? “That wasn’t it?”

Tony gave him a look. “I’ve almost cracked it, I think.”

“Cracked what?”

“The parallel time transporter device. To get Natasha, Wanda and Bigbird back.” It was like a punch to the gut. He’d forgotten, just for a moment. Caught up in his own self pity. “Give me another week, I’ll be there.”

Steve licked his lips. “That’s great. Really, it’s really great,” he said, voice wavering. He looked up. “Thank you, Tony.”

“It’s nothing.” Tony waved him off, focusing instead of the choir once more.

It hurt more than he expected it to. Steve was a selfish bastard sometimes. He waited only a second to ask, “Do you think he’ll forget me?” He saw Tony turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but couldn’t meet his gaze. “That this version of me exists. That this version of me loved him? Didn’t want to leave him?”

It was a moment until Tony spoke. “I don’t know. I reckon you’re pretty hard to forget. Incredibly frustrating, tends to stick.” After a pause, “And I hear he was pretty fond of you.”

Steve sniffed. “First time we met we went searching for a mermaid. Didn’t find one,” he added with a wet laugh. “Just kids and - I don’t know what -” He grimaced. “Thing is, when I thought he was dead, it was a certain thing. After that, I was searching for him, or trying to help him recover.” He turned to Tony. His sombre face didn’t provide the answers he needed. “I don’t know what to do when I know he’s somewhere else,” he croaked. “I don’t know how to do anything else, when I could be with him.” He took a shaking breath, eyes flicking to the confessional booth on the other side of the nave. “I feel so guilty,” he admitted, defeated. “Maybe that’s why it’s all so familiar.”

“Er, come again?”

Grounded a little by Tony’s confusion, he leant closer. “Spent a lot of my formative years feeling guilty about Bucky.” Comprehension dawned on the other man’s face and he shrugged. “I’m tired of it.” He’d lost track of what the choir was singing now, gentle and slow and sad.

Tony coughed. “Look, I’d rather he stayed for a whole number of reasons.”

“But you said -”

Silencing him with a raised hand, Tony said, “Theory and practice are two different things. I’m a work in progress.” He let his hand fall, looking lost. “Still. I’m sorry, Steve.”

Yet what I can I give him, give my heart.

~

“You’re staying? Seriously, Bucky?”

Wanda folded her arms, staring him down. It was February again. An entire year had passed since he’d woken up in Elmo’s, happy to be there, dragging the rest of them with him. Wanda’s hair was even longer now, too long to be curled. A heavy braid swung down to her waist, too big shirt open around her neck.

“What about Steve?” she pushed.

“He told me to stay.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ignored him,” Sam commented.

Bucky looked at him. It was late, with a chill settling in for the night. Wanda, Sam and Natasha were gathered together opposite him and Steve. Their closed off expressions underlined exactly why Bucky had hesitated to tell them his plan. They were supposed to be a team; leaving a man behind was not what the Avengers did.

“You think I should come back with you?” he asked. The words came out harsh and he ground his teeth, waiting for an answer. “Sam?”

The other man’s features softened, maybe he heard the fear in Bucky’s voice. “I think you’ve been through some shit,” he said, slowly, “and nobody would hold it against you if you wanted to move on.”

Next to him, Wanda shifted. “But he doesn’t -” she started. Her face crumpled for second and Bucky was reminded of how young she was. “Bucky, you can’t,” she insisted. “You have to come with us.”

These people were his friends. Before he came here, he never thought they’d accept him and he’d pushed them away because of it. But now look at them; and it was all precisely because of this place, he was sure of it. Bucky took a steady breath. “It’s not because I don’t want to come with you, Wanda, okay?” he said. “I’m better off here. Everyone knows it.” He flexed his hand, nodding to himself a little before saying, quieter still, “I’ll miss you guys.”

It was silent for a moment while Wanda visibly fought against her instinct to whack Bucky around the head. Instead she clenched her fist and huffed. It was progress, of a sort.

“Nat?” Steve said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the tent. “What do you think?”

She raised her eyes, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Does it matter?” she asked, sounding tired.

“I’d like to know,” Bucky said.

Sighing a little she replied, “You do what you think is best. It’s up to you.”

“Natasha -”

“If it were me,” she carried on, biting on her lip for a moment. She met Bucky’s gaze. “I think I’d like someone to remind me that trying to forget something doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.” She leant forward. “Can’t change the past.” She sighed, pulling at her collar, uncharacteristically distracted. “Tony’s figured out a way to get us back. We’ll help eliminate Hydra, if you haven’t changed your mind by then,” she let the words trail off.

Can’t change the past. What the hell kind of advice was that? Was Natasha not living in the same place as him? “Ain’t changing history exactly what we’re doing?” he said. “And I’m not trying to forget.” He words were clipped and he immediately regretted it when Natasha sat back, looking away from him.

The tent door flapped open and Howard strode in, nose pink from the cold. He came up short when he spotted the rest of them in his lab, pulling off his jacket as he smiled. “Well, well, well. What are you future-types gassing about?” he said. “And why in my tent?”

“It’s the warmest,” Steve muttered, pulling his jacket zip further under his chin.

It looked as if Howard was going to reply before Wanda blurted out, “Bucky’s decided to stay.”

Bucky pinched his nose, eyes shut. He only opened them again on hearing Howard’s smirking voice. “Has he now?” he said. He grinned at Bucky, his eyes hovering over Steve for a second. “Interesting choice.”

“‘Interesting’,” Bucky huffed. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Howard half laughed, unsure. Even Steve was eyeing Bucky with a dubious quirk on his brow.

“You ain’t got no idea,” Bucky stormed. “Any of you.” He took a couple heavy breaths, trying to calm down, trying to find the words, to get them to see. “Everything hurt back there. Just - All the time, it was hell. Here, I can fucking breathe, alright. You’d stay too, if you were me.” He looked over to Natasha, daring her to disagree.

It was Sam, though, that said, gently, “I’m sure we would.”

“‘Course they would,” Howard echoed. “Can’t put other people first all the time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve duck his head, rubbing at his neck. He paused for a moment. If he was staying here, if he was truly going to live in this world, he needed be entirely on the level. “Howard,” he started. “I need to tell you something.”

Instantly, the four other people in the tent with them stepped forward.

“Hey, man, you don’t need to do that,” Sam said, arm outstretched.

Bucky dismissed them. “No, look, Steve kept it a secret from Tony in the other place and it ended in a shitstorm, alright.” He raised his hands in front of his chest, placating, entreating. “I can’t stay here and carry on lying straight to his face.”

Nobody looked happy about it.

“What are you lying to me about?” Howard asked. He was looking from face to face, a little bewildered.

“How about you sit down?”

And so he went through it again. No matter how many times he told his story, it always left a bitter taste in his mouth. It helped, though, to have the others there with him. They chimed in every now and again, took over when he struggled, assured him of his innocence.

All through his explanation Howard had been sitting across from him with his mouth open. By the time Bucky came to the end, he was waving his hands in the air. “Hang on, hang on. Let me get this straight. You assassinate me and my wife - who I haven’t even met yet - in nineteen ninety one?” Bucky gave a terse nod and Howard whistled. “Nineteen ninety one. Boy.”

“And I’m really sorry about it, Howard,” Bucky grimaced, all too aware of how horrendously lacking his apology was. “If I could take it back, I would. I didn’t - I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“So you didn’t recognise me at all?” Howard asked, astounded.

“I don’t think so.” He frowned, focusing on the floor, on the patterns in the mud that people had brought in. “I can’t - It’s hard to explain. They told me to do it, so I did it.”

Longing, rusted, furnace.

The words echoed in his memory, a phantom tingle rushing down his spine as he told them his crimes. He shook his head, needing to clear his mind. He was his own person now. They didn’t control him anymore.

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” he carried on, teeth gritted together. “I wasn’t allowed to think about -” Daybreak, seventeen. “I’m sorry.”

Benign.

And nothing. He took a long breath. Relief flooded through him. The truth was out, no one could manipulate him now.

“You got a light?” Howard asked.

“What?” What was he going to do? Try to set him on fire?

“A light,” the other man repeated, palm open. He cocked his head. “I need a cigarette, after all of that.”

Waiting for his brain to catch up, Bucky stumbled out a, “Sure,” while fumbling in his jacket pocket.

Howard caught his lighter with one hand and rose to stand. “I’ll be back,” he announced, a cigarette already in his mouth. “Don’t, you know,” he waved his hand over his shoulder as he left, “overthink.”

A second after the tent door dropped close at his heels, a hand clapped heavily against the back of his head. “You’re a dumb shit,” Sam hissed at him.

“How could I not say anything?” Bucky protested, cradling his head.

Natasha scoffed, raising her hands in disbelief. “Easily,” she said. “It’s called keeping your mouth shut. You don’t have to actually do anything. It’s not like he was ever going to ask you the question, ‘Hey, Bucky, you didn’t happen to kill me in your alternative version of the future, did you?’” She stared at him, waiting for an answer that Bucky wasn’t going to give. He glared back at her instead.

“Lay off,” Steve called.

His words worked to spur Natasha on, however. She rounded on him, towering of him like she could only dream of in their other reality. “This is your fault,” she said. “Your good guy schtick.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Bucky is a good guy. Nothing to do with me.”

Even if Bucky didn’t entirely agree, he kept it to himself, pleased at Steve’s words. Ignoring the mounting argument, Wanda piped up, “He took it pretty well, I think.”

“Wanda,” Sam sighed, tracing his fingertips over his forehead. “He practically ran out of here.”

Like releasing pressure from a valve, it happened all at once. Howard’s exit opened the door to everyone’s opinions.

Voices shouted over other voices. Even Steve had to battle to get his feelings heard. Bucky looked on as words were hurled around him. The noise only stopped when the group were engulfed in cold air. Howard stood once more at the opening of the tent.

“I’ve thought about it,” he proclaimed and Sam cursed loudly.

“You were gone for, like, two minutes,” Sam said, still clutching at his chest.

Howard tapped his temple. “I’m a quick thinker.” He pivoted on the heels of his boots, so pristine for their first step on European soil, now caked in mud from all over Europe. “I’ve thought about it.” The group of them waited with baited breath. “It’s okay.”

There followed a moment where nobody seemed to understand him. “‘It’s okay’?” Bucky repeated. He blinked. “What - What does that mean?”

“Means, it’s okay,” said Howard, dropping to sit on a stool next to Bucky. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sam laughed, somewhat manically. “‘Don’t worry’,” he trailed off, pacing towards the other end of the tent.

“Oh, wow,” Natasha shook her head. “I see where Tony gets it now.”

Waving all the others off, Bucky frowned. “Howard, I’m - I’m pleased you’re okay,” he said, taking in the nonchalant slope of his shoulders, the pleased smirk playing on his lips at their confusion. “But I really think that perhaps you should take a little more time -”

“What, you want me to hate you?” Howard cut in. “You said you were mind controlled? Tortured and manipulated?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded.

Howard opened his arms, as if that answered everything. Maybe it did, Bucky didn’t know. “Then how can I hold it against you?” he challenged. “When I would have probably done the same?”

Steve had said something similar to him once. Perhaps the two were more alike than anyone cared to admit. “But you didn’t,” Bucky said, weary. He’d been having this conversation with himself for so long. For as long as he could remember.

“No,” Howard relented. “Well. Neither have you. Not here.” He gripped Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky looked up to meet clear dark eyes. “Can’t get angry about something that ain’t happened,” he said, kindly. “You’re not planning on murdering me now, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, then, relax.” Howard let him go, continuing to smile. One of the worries weighing Bucky down lifted from his shoulders. It was a little, but it made the world of difference.

A loud clap filled the tent and everyone turned to Sam. Underneath his beard, he looked a little strained. “Okay. See,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Steve frowned. “You said he was a dumb shit not five minutes ago.”

“Let go of the past, Steve,” Sam replied. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. It had been a long evening. “That’s the whole message here.”

Steve clicked his tongue while Bucky turned back to Howard. “Howard,” he said, uncertain how to greet this overwhelming show of forgiveness. “You’re a really fucking - You’re a great guy,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“I know.” Howard cracked a smile. “Reckon you owe me a beer.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

The other man blew out air, dismissive. “Get inventive.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles, tapping Bucky’s shoulder. “Somewhere else, all of you. Goddamn Hydra H.Q isn’t gonna find itself,” he began to mumble.

Was that really it? As easy as that? He hesitated for a few seconds, sure that Howard was messing with him, that any second he was going to get a punch in the face. As the others headed to the tent door, though, Howard spotted him lingering. “I’m serious, Barnes. Go. We’re all good.”

Bucky nodded, laughing a little. “Alright. I’ll, er, see you later.”

“Sure will.”

Outside, Wanda was waiting for him. The others were ahead, Bucky waved Steve on when the other man looked over his shoulder.

“Still pissed about you leaving us,” Wanda said to him.

“Wanda -” he began

She closed a hand on his mouth. “Steve loves you,” she said. “You belong with us.”

Bucky pulled her hand away, saying, softly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

The sun had set properly now and their breath rose in swirls in front of their faces. Wanda shook her head, sending him a pitying smile. “You’re wrong,” she said, simply. “You’ll see.”

As she walked to catch up with the others Bucky watched her go, her words nagging in his stomach. He belonged with Steve. This Steve. Both of them had said so. They couldn’t all be wrong.

~

All of the Commandos and Howard were crammed around the long table at Headquarters. Plastered on the walls were dozens of maps of Europe, pins stuck where Hydra had been, where they might be, where they definitely weren’t  They were underground and Bucky figured the bunker must run next to an underground line. The constant rumbling couldn’t be only from the bombs.

As dust spilled from the ceiling after a particularly long round of blasts, Phillips stood in front them all. His hands rested at his hips and he looked each of them in the eye. “We found them,” he said, gruff and determined.

At his right hand side Peggy quirked an eyebrow. “We?” she asked, lightly.

The Colonel didn’t look away from those gathered at the table. “Agent Carter found them,” he corrected. A faint round of chuckles spread around the room, quickly stifled.

Peggy began a circuit behind their seats, her shoes clicking on the hard floor. The sound echoed in the underground chamber, bouncing off the brick arches above their heads. “In Austria,” she said, dropping files in front of each of them as she passed. “Just as Steve suspected.”

A blush crept up Steve’s neck when Peggy smiled at him and Bucky rolled his eyes. Why on earth did he still get so caught up around her, for pity’s sake? No wonder half the future population thought they were together. Opposite him Sam wolf whistled. Over the top of the file he’d just opened, Bucky looked unimpressed. “Why?” he asked, defeated.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam grinned. “Felt right.”

“Johann Schmidt,” Phillips said, voice loud, disapproving eyes on Sam until the other man sat up straight in his chair, bowing over the first page of their briefing, “belongs in a bug house.” He surveyed the group, expression serious. He could see the end game. “He thinks he's a God, and we have him and his lapdog backed into a corner. That means, soldiers, we need a plan. Strike while the iron is hot.” Nodding to Peggy, he finished with a firm, “Get to it.”

The bunker door slammed shut behind him, and they were left alone. Bucky was sure they wouldn’t leave until they had a foolproof plan in place. Steve wouldn’t let them.

Howard dropped his folder to the table with a clap. “Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities,” he declared, running a finger across his moustache. “If he gets the chance, he could wipe out the entire eastern seaboard in an hour.”

He and Peggy shared a look. One that said, ‘we’d better get this right’ .

“Hydra's base is here,” Peggy started, pointing to a spot on the map directly behind her. “In the Alps. Five hundred feet below the surface.” In the snow. The cold. At the bottom of a great fall. “We have the element of surprise,” she nodded, almost to herself.

Feeling Steve’s gaze on him, Bucky cleared his throat. “We’re early,” he said, pointing lazily at the map. “Last time, we didn’t get to them until forty five.”

“We’ve got that on our side,” Peggy agreed. “What else do you remember? Any words of advice?”

Bucky squirmed under her scrutiny, pencilled eyebrow raised in expectation. “I wasn’t there,” he admitted. “I was already dead by then.”

Peggy’s shoulders dropped. “You’ve got nothing?”

“Nothing to remember,” Bucky said, slowly, a little irritated. “I kinda hope I have something else to offer. You know, being an experienced Sergeant and everything.” He held her gaze.

She had the decency to look abashed. “Of course you do, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Sorry.” Bucky brushed her apology aside. He’d had worse.

Letting out a groan, Morita lifted his cap, scratching his head. “So, what are we supposed to do?” He waved his file in front of them, exasperated. “I mean, it's not like we can just knock on the front door.”

While the rest of them sat, stumped, Bucky watched Steve. He could almost pinpoint the moment the idea came into his head. “Why not?” he said. When everyone in the room greeted him with perplexed silence, he added, “That's exactly what we're gonna do.”

“So much for changing history,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

Bucky smiled at her. Around him the others started talking over the top of each other. “We’ve changed it just enough, I reckon.”

With that in mind, they got to work. Or, at least, they tried.

“We’ve got Wanda.”

“Only if she doesn’t get shot.”

“How about we make sure she doesn’t, then, smartass?”

“C'est un petit homme lâche, Zola. Gabe et moi pouvions le prendre .”

“But Schmidt? None of us are strong enough.”

“He needs a taste of his own medicine, that one.”

“The Tesseract.”

“We’ll take a leaf out of the history books.”

It went on and on. For months, they’d been chasing Hydra across borders, hounding them from county to county, right on their heels. Now the end was in sight, nobody seemed to be able to see it clearly. But that was, of course, the kind of moment that Captain America thrived on.

“Hang on,” Steve called. He stood at the front of the table, silencing the rest with his loud voice. “Wanda,” he pointed at her. “You mentioned using the Tesseract.”

Wanda inclined her head. “It’s how you did it last time.”

“Okay, then we have an ultimate goal,” he said, as if it were simple. “We just need to figure out how to get ahold of the Tesseract, and how to get Schmidt isolated.”

“Easy,” came a voice from the back.

Dugan scoffed. “Easy?”

“Sure.” Natasha stepped forward, arms folded. “Like Phillips said, the man thinks too much of himself. Believes his unkillable. We give him enough rope, he’ll hang himself.”

There was a pause. Steve let out soft laugh. “You’re going to have to explain that to me a little more.”

Hours later and Bucky needed a proper drink, or a cigarette. Probably both.

“I’m genuinely surprised,” Monty said, hair coming free from it’s pomade confines. “It’s mustard.” There were discarded cups of coffee spread across the table, reams of paper and maps stacked high, jackets thrown haphazardly on the backs of their chairs.

Dugan held up his hands. “I got it, I got this one,” he said, slurring a little from tiredness. He scrunched up his face. “Means he likes it.”

“Indeed,” Monty replied as Gabe a cackled.

Staring at the board, now displaying the outline of their all or nothing plan, Steve nodded. “I like it, too,” he said. He spun on his feet, quirking his lips at Bucky. “No trains.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “No,” he agreed. “No trains.”

As long as it had taken them to come up with a plan, it took no time at all before they were heading back out to mainland Europe.

“You know what,” Bucky muttered, fingers numbing a little where they were soaked by rain. Heavy drops clattered on Gabe’s helmet as they all crouched in a ditch at the edge of the forest path. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like this plan at all.”

Gabe grunted. “I was surprised,” he said, squinting through the rain. “Usually you think our plans are terrible. ‘My kid brother could come up with something better.’ That’s what you said about the mission in Genoa.”

“Yeah, well, he could. That plan was crummy.” He pushed his sopping hair out of his face, feeling it get heavy with mud. “This is even more Goddamn doomed to fail,” he grumbled. “Steve was supposed to be here seven minutes ago.”

The entrance to the final Hydra base was up ahead. If Bucky squinted, he reckoned he could make out the fortified walls.

“We’ll make up time,” Gabe replied.

Bucky hummed. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he mumbled under his breath. Behind them he could hear someone rustling through their supplies. “Shut up,” he hissed.

In response Morita rushed out, “Hey, Frenchie. We got enough explosives?”

“Bloody hope so,” Monty piped in, unhelpfully.

Dernier did not seem worried. He shrugged. “Oui, ne t'en fais pas pour ça.” Bucky didn’t have a clue what that meant. His French had broken down to worse than when he was in school, but Dernier sounded confident, so he took it as a positive.

Two short flashes of light came from the other side of the path, where Wanda, Sam, Natasha and Dugan were similarly hidden. Steve was approaching. Under the thrum of rain Bucky caught the heavy hum of his bike, the occasional ding of shots bouncing off his shield. He curled the wire around his palm once more, primed and ready.

The bike came closer and closer and Steve passed by them in a blur. The rest of the Commandos behind him ran down the ditch to follow Steve as Bucky and Sam pulled the wire taught, hitting three of the Hydra goons pursuing him in the chest. They dropped the ground with a satisfying slam.

“Come on,” Dugan shouted back to them. “Let’s lay some eggs.”

Their plan to penetrate the base was less comprehensive than it was ballsy. They’d worked up quite the array of Hydra weapons over their time closing in on Schmidt, and now it was time to put them to good use. Steve was getting nearer the base now with two Hydra soldiers still in pursuit. Dugan squared his legs in the middle of the path. Strapped to his back was a double barreled flamethrower. He grinned at Bucky before unleashing the flames on the two soldier bringing up the rear.

Bucky raised his hands, shielding himself from the heat. For some reason, he hadn’t expected it to be so hot.

In the distance Dernier threw a grenade at the final Hydra soldier, destroying him in a ball of flame as the rest of them caught up. Steve had dumped his bike already, shield in hand as he faced the doors of the base forecourt. He was talking to himself; his lips were moving. God, this plan better work.

Coming to a stop at Steve’s shoulder, Bucky trained his eyes on the door.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, come on. Yes!”

The whirring of cogs, the scraping of metal against metal, and the shouting of men on the other side. The doors opened, revealing the gigantic tank that had been sent to sort the Howling Commandos out, once and for all. Tanks, though, were small fry.

All it took was a well timed throw from Dernier and a beat of patience before they were diving for cover, the tank smoking at a standstill. They clambered over it into the forecourt, shooting blindly. The only thing Bucky was working to was keeping out of the way of those damn icy blue blasts.

Eventually, of course, they were backed into a corner.

This was the part of the plan that Bucky hated the most. He grimaced, nodded to the faceless goon in front of him. He, Steve, Natasha, and Monty were trapped back to back in a cage of flames. Bucky was sweating with it.

“Sure hope this works,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“Trust me,” Steve replied. As if Bucky ever did anything else. “It’s worked so far.”

“If you call this working.”

On the other side of the forecourt, Wanda, Dugan, Monty, and Sam were trapped against a wall. Morita was shouting obscenities where he was being shoved face first into the dusty ground. Bucky took a moment to smirk at Dernier, leading one worn out looking guard on a merry chase around the back of a parked tank. In the end though, he was captured as well.

The sky overhead was still grey, clouds dark and heavy with rain. Bucky took one last look before he was marched inside, gun to his back. The door clanged shut behind him and he came face to face with the wall, the skull of the Hydra symbol etched into the stone, tentacles reaching out on all sides. He shivered and someone pushed at his shoulder, sending them down a featureless corridor.

He sure hoped they’d be able to find their way out after all this was over.

They walked in silence, boots stomping against the ground, heavy breathing coming from either side of him. The Hydra soldiers were quiet as the grave. They’d been that way in Azzano, too; not uttering a word as they beat you into submission. He flexed his hand. If there was one thing he’d like back, it would be his Goddamn metal arm. Not the chronic pain, that could stay the hell away, but the power behind that thing? It would have come in real useful dealing with the guard currently poking at his back every five seconds. Could wipe the smirk off his face real quick.

Natasha coughed.

Here went nothing. He shoved his elbow into the guard’s stomach, cracking his knee into his skull when he doubled over. Scuffles were rampant around him. He stood tall, spotting Steve at the side of the hall, taking a couple of blows to the jaw. His shield lay on the ground between them. In an instant, Bucky grabbed it and cuffed the guard near his ear. Dazed, Bucky had enough time to snatch a gun from one of the other unconscious soldiers and blast him to high heaven.

“If you say you had him on the ropes,” he warned. “I will not give you back this frisbee.”

Steve wiped at his bleeding lip, pulling the shield from Bucky’s grip. There was only one skirmish still going on, Morita and Gabe holding back a particularly large guard.

Spinning on one foot, Natasha landed a heavy kick to his jaw and he dropped, leaving only their ragged breathing to fill the quiet of the night.

“Doors to the left,” she signalled a few metres down from them. “Let’s move.”

Behind the doors the aircraft hanger extended out into the distance. Aeroplanes were stationed along the walls, some completed, some almost there, others just frames, outlines of the weapons they would become. Where was it? He needed to see it, before it was destroyed. The Comet. The Acheron. The Herkules . No, no, no. He ran further down the hanger, could hear the others talking.

“Alright, Wanda. Time to show the rest of us how incompetent we are,” Sam said, humour in his voice.

Just a second. It would be here somewhere.

He stopped short. The Valkyrie. There she was. One of her wings still in construction. This was where Steve thought he was going to die, plunging into the Arctic ice, cold and alone before he closed his eyes.

The loud crunch. The nose of the plane crumpled like it had been hit. The outermost points of the aircraft bent back, further and further until they broke off, slamming into the body with a clang. The metal frame was collapsing in on itself, a reddish field around it closing in, smaller and smaller. In a few seconds, all that was left was a crushed mound of metal.

Turning on his feet, Wanda nodding to him as she strode past, focusing already on the next aircraft to tackle.

“Buck,” Steve yelled, voice echoing in the vast chamber. “Stop messing around.”

It was gone. “I’m not messing around,” he called, jogging back to the group. Natasha shoved a Hydra gun into his chest for him to take. As they restocked, Wanda finished her task, stripping the hanger of all of its tech. Around them, the small piles of metal were all that was left of the impressive array that had once stood there; the beginning of the Hydra fleet.

Dugan whistled loud and low. “Geez. Bet you wish you had her the first time around, right?”

Laughing, Bucky slung a rifle over his shoulder, pulsing blue. “I’m pretty sure having Wanda with me would benefit most of the situations I find myself in. Superhero related or not,” he said.

The woman in question popped up at his elbow. “Hanger clear, Sarge,” she said, grin on her face, eyes twinkling. Anyone would think she’d enjoyed it.

“So I see. Nice one.” He clicked open his comms unit attached to his collar. “We're in,” he said, loud and clear. “Planes are down. Assault team, go.”

“Roger, wilco,” Peggy’s voice crackled over the radio, business-like.

Howard, eager to get in on the action, chimed in, “See you in there.”

Bucky dropped his hand, gathering his breath. “Can’t believe this actually fucking worked,” he said, laughing.

“Time for phase two,” Steve added. It was clear that he was trying not to look too pleased.

With a faint groan, Monty chided, “Must you look so chipper about it?”

The stomping sound of many boots cut off any reply. “Hands up,” one of the guards shouted. A troop of them burst into the hanger, guns raised, faces shielded.

“Alright, buddy. Alright,” Sam said, as the soldiers approached, taking their weapons from them. “No funny business.” He grinned, holding his empty hands up. “I promise.”

More marching, further and further into the base. Eventually they were shoved into a room at the end of a corridor, large window looking over the base of the Alps. Bucky squinted against the bright white of the snow.

“They’re a happy bunch,” Sam grumbled, straightening his jacket.

Dugan huffed a laugh. “They’re just pleased to see you,” he said, knocking Sam’s boot.

From further in the room, Natasha called them over. She folded her arms, smiling down at a metal contraption. Inside, it glowed blue. “Looks like we struck gold.”

Bucky crouched down, eye level with the ethereal light. “The Tesseract,” he whispered.

The door slammed open and they stood straight, alert, hands hovering above empty holsters.

Schmidt smiled, the white of his teeth shining next to blood red skin. “The Howling Commandos,” he greeted, arms outstretched. Behind him, Zola followed. Bucky scowled. This was the last Goddamn time that he would be scared by that puny little man. “How wonderful to meet you again,” Schmidt carried on. “I so enjoyed your last visit.”

“You’re gonna like this one even more,” Steve spat at him.

Schmidt grin turned sinister. “Oh, Private Rogers. Promises, promises.”

Chapter Text

The new year was fresh against Steve’s skin. He folded the corner of the page his was reading - ‘The End of the Affair’, another one ticked off  - and tucked it back in his bag. Two red faced joggers passed his bench, talking between gasping breaths about how Lucy from upstairs had started stress baking again.

Steve smiled, his breath rising in the cold air. Seventy years later and people were still gossiping about the neighbours.

It was early morning, barely eight. The sun was low on the horizon, though the sky was gloriously clear and the city was already alive around him. He could linger here and be mistaken for somebody who wanted to make the most of the day, who wasn’t struggling under the weight of boxed up memories in every corner of their apartment.

The trees were leafless, tall and thin. The grass stretching out on all sides was losing ground to mud and puddles. Beyond the emaciated woodland building blocks completed the landscape, pale concrete blending into the sky.

A German Shepard trotted down the pathway towards him, owner straining at the other end of its lead, bright blue earphones dangling from one ear. She smiled at Steve, scratching behind the dog’s ear. Only for a moment, then its interest was caught up elsewhere, the girl dragged along once more. He and Bucky had had a dog. Eleanor. What had happened to her when neither of them returned home? He frowned, pushing the question to the back of his mind.

It was the kind of Brooklyn morning he would have loved; the kind that would have him wheezing against the thawing frost. Taking a big breath, he squinted towards the direction of the bridge, half a mind to wander over. His coffee burnt his tongue and his fingertips as he mulled it over. He had so many things to do, so much he’d missed. Focusing on his list was a good motivator.

He could go see a show, perhaps. ‘An American in Paris’ was open. It’s madness to be always sitting around in sadness. No. Not that one. Maybe ‘The Lion King’, Tony had said that was good, like Shakespeare on the savanna.

As the streets began to fill up, people tumbling out of apartment blocks bleary eyed and wrapped up, Steve set off on his own journey. Descending the subway steps to Brooklyn Bridge Station, coffee cup added to the top of overflowing bin, he ducked his head and blended into the crowd with practised ease.

When he’d first woken up from the ice, riding the subway had been painful. Each individual person he saw served as a horrid reminder of how alone he was, how different the world had been. Now, though, he smiled as he watched a mother bounce a toddler on her lap, video calling rapidly. Was that Portuguese? It wasn’t a language he recognised. A young man in a too big suit sat across the aisle, every so often sticking his tongue out towards the baby, who responded in delighted giggles. Steve had always been a little awkward around children. When he was thin and sickly, people seemed not to trust him with them. After the serum it was like he was suddenly expected to be a natural, when really their nonsensical and incessant questions left him bewildered. The only baby he’d been in close contact with had been little Tom and he’d been an unusually quiet baby - so Steve had been told. Bucky had been so good with him and had been adored in turn.

“The next stop is Eighty First Street, Museum of Natural History Station.”

Steve alighted the moment the doors opened, the baby’s giggling vanishing and with it memories of pre-teen Bucky grinning at him over the top of Tom’s crib. He marched into Central Park with a plan in mind. Initially he’d thought about heading over to Forest Park for a hike, but he didn’t want to spend that long travelling, he needed to be doing something, to be moving, thinking about something new. The block-like silhouette of the Met emerged from above the treeline and Steve took a breath. A good choice. He’d spend a few hours reacquainting himself with the artwork, catching up with the new installations. Then he could catch a matinee show and get back in time for a home cooked meal and a film. Maybe he could finally watch ‘Thelma and Louise’. Sam had badgered him for a whole month about it last summer. Yes, that sounded good. A perfectly good day. No need to feel sad, no reason to complain. Some people would kill for a day like that.

He reached the top of the entryway steps, teeth grinding.

People behind him ignored his sudden stop, pausing only to navigate a path around him. He wrapped his fingers around the phone in his pocket. Tony was only a phone call away.

All talk of Steve leaving after they’d got the others back had stopped. If anything good had come from this mess, Steve was sure that Tony had forgiven him. If he called the other man right now, asked to be back in the team, Tony would probably say yes. Probably had his suit ready and waiting in the wings already. Steve could be useful again, he could have focus, a purpose.

A faint flush crept up his neck and he blinked, wondering if he looked as foolish as he felt.

What good was he as an Avenger if he couldn’t function in the normal world? You had to exist in the universe to be able to save it; had to be able to care. Isn’t that what Erskine had meant all those years ago? A good man.

Pulling his phone out his thumb passed over his contacts. He shoved his earphones in and started on his next playlist. The Rat Pack and the Met. That was two things off the list in one go. Take that, future.

He wandered through the galleries, dutifully reading the plaque for each picture. Though he couldn’t hear it, the place was surely full of that unique museum silence he so cherished in his youth. The stifled buzz of hundreds of people in warren like corridors all whispering and muttering. Echoing footsteps and shifting coats. He powered through Medieval Art and Armour, strode through the American Wing, studied in detail the wonders of Egyptian Art. His shoes squeaked against the slick floor in his haste.

By the time he’d made it to Asia, he could feel his thoughts begin to drift.

“Samoje and Dean Martin? Not a combination I’ve seen before.” The voice cut through his music and Steve jumped. He pulled out one earbud, embarrassed to still hear the tinny beat in the air. Next to him, a man smiled. “Would you recommend it?”

Steve bit his lip. The guy was beautiful. He looked back at the painting, a scene of mountains and trees in delicate black ink, with a grimace straining his cheeks. “I suppose the juxtaposition is quite interesting?” he tried before shaking his head with a light chuckle. He silenced the music. “Sorry.”

The man smiled again, a funny smile, his top lip quirking upwards to reveal delicate white teeth. He was wrapped in a scarf so thick his head looked like it was balancing on top.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, with a slight accent that Steve couldn’t place. “I didn’t mean to intrude. You just looked a little glazed over.” He waved a hand in front of his face and leaned forward as if sharing a joke. “Thought you might need jumpstarting.”

“Too much input, not enough output,” Steve replied.

“Happens to the best of us. I’m Stephen.”

The outstretched hand was slim and looked soft. He was shorter than Steve was but had a tall frame nonetheless. Though his clothes were loose and frayed, they looked expensive. Intentionally dishevelled in a way Steve still couldn’t understand. Big, dark eyes blinked owlishly at him from behind long hair, dyed a faded silver. His skin was a wash of warm tones. He didn’t look a thing like Bucky.

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah? I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”

“Oh,” he laughed, shaking Steve’s hand. It was a sweet, unabashed sound. “We’re not a rare breed.”

They walked around the rest of the floor together in some unspoken agreement. Steve’s nerves were tingling, he could hardly hear what Stephen was saying about the sculpture they’d stopped in front of. Instead, he kept stealing glances. As Stephen spoke, he pulled his arms tighter around himself.

“How are you doing that?” he asked eventually and Steve blinked, at a loss. “I know we’re inside but it’s still January,” the man carried on with a teasing smile, eyes thinning into crescents. “You’re just walking around without a coat and not freezing? Share your secrets.”

“What? Oh,” he looked down at himself, unable to remember the last time he really thought about taking care to wrap up. “I guess it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been colder.” He smirked a little, though Stephen didn’t notice.

“I don’t think I’m built for the cold. I need a coffee,” the other man groaned. He eyed the large entry way. “That’s a lie. I need a hot chocolate.” He turned back to Steve and said, slightly breathlessly, “They’re still doing the holiday menu in that cafe near the colonial paintings … if you wanted?”

He saw the hopeful look in the man’s eye, the slightly cocked head, the small upturn of his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Stephen smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair being his ear. “Great.”

What the ever living Christ was he doing?

“So, are you an art fan?” Stephen asked. He pulled the lid off his hot chocolate as he sat at a corner table and threw a marshmallow into his mouth.

It was different in the cafe. Out on the floor the gallery had an almost fantasy like quality to it, like anything could happen; real life was left at the door. Here, though, with the strong smell of coffee and the noise of conversation, unease settled in Steve’s stomach.

“Yes, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I used to draw a lot, actually. Mostly just sketches.” He traced the corrugated edge of his triple shot americano cup.

“That’s neat! How come you stopped?”

“Huh?”

Stephen smiled again with an encouraging nod. “You said ‘used to’.”

“Oh, well, you know. It was just a hobby.” He shrugged. “Work, and all that.” Guilt gnawed at him, from all angles.  

He was sure Stephen could sense his reticence, but was polite enough to brush over it. “Uhuh. I’m jealous in any case. I’d love to be able to create something like that. I’m just resigned to the audience.” His gaze flicked outward, towards the gallery, then back to Steve. “Not that it’s so bad.”

They talked for a while about this and that. It was easy. Stephen was nice. So nice, in fact, that soon a wash of embarrassment built up inside him as he recounted the last time he’d visited the Met and had been mistaken for a tour guide. What did he think he was doing? Whatever this was, he was never going to be able to see it through. He was kidding himself. Was he really going to pretend like filling his time with lists and shows and music was going to fix it? That he could just find a guy in a gallery and strike up a conversation and it would all be fine?

He stumbled on his words.

“Ah,” he grimaced. “I’ve - You know when you start telling a story, then half way through, realise that it’s really not funny at all?”

Stephen laughed, a full body laugh, shoulders shaking, hand pressed to his mouth. “Oh, my God. That’s alright. That was funny enough.” He let out a few more chuckles, “I can’t believe you just gave up on your own story. I would’ve laughed anyway, I promise.”

But Steve was frozen. This man had the most lovely laugh. It was wasted on Steve. It wasn’t the laugh he wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up. “I have to go.” The scraping of the chair jolted Stephen out of his still chuckling reverie.

“You do?” he said. “Well, that’s okay.” He wet his bottom lip, offering up, “It was nice talking.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you -” Stephen frowned, leaning closer. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, no,” Steve said.

“Which one is it?”

“I - I don’t know. Sorry, I just -” He rubbed at his face, feeling like a clutz. “I can’t do this right now.”

To his relief, Stephen’s expression smoothed, like he had grasped that Steve was in over his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a small smile. “It was just a coffee.”

“Thanks, sorry,” Steve repeated, backing away.

“See you, Steve.” He called after him, “If you’re catching up, try some Springsteen next, huh.”

“I - Yeah, sure,” he breathed, already walking towards the exit. “Bye.”

It was too early still for the show, but his feet headed down the Upper East Side in spite of the hour. It was his next step, that was the plan.

He kept to the street, deliberately avoiding going back through Central Park. Bucky used to tease him, that he’d always be distracted by a bit of green. He stuck to the edge of the park instead, eyes focused on the sidewalk beneath his feet. Don’t test yourself, Steve, you’ll only fail.

As he focused on whether he had the ingredients to make kung pao chicken, Sammy Davis Jr’s crooning faded to silence in his ears, replaced by the electric buzz of his ringtone. Steve hesitated, staring at Colonel Rhodes’ name on the screen. It wasn’t until someone knocked into him that he notice he’d stopped dead on the sidewalk. He hadn’t spoken to Rhodes in a while.

“Hello?” he answered. He looked around, half expecting War Machine to come swooping down on him and drag him back into action.

“Steve, you need to come to the Compound.”

Rhodes’ tone was full of his military authority. Whatever it was Steve was sure then that they’d picked Rhodes to call him for a reason.

“I’m actually kind of busy -” he started.

“No, you need to come. It’s Barnes.”

Icy cold flooded his chest, more numbing than the frost could ever be. “What - What do you mean?”

Rhodes’ voice was distant, echoing down the line. “He’s hurt, Steve. You need to get here, now.”

~

Schmidt paced the floor, eyes never leaving the group of them. It was a standoff. Bucky shuffled further forward, flexing his grip around his gun. If all went to plan, he wouldn’t have to use it. Zola backed up into a corner. Maybe he could feel the hatred radiating off Bucky in waves.

When Schmidt spun to face them his boots squeaked against the floor. Next to him, Dugan winced. “Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait,” Schmidt started, full of confidence. “But I must say you do it better than anyone.”

The skin on his face looked taut and waxy. It must have been uncomfortable. How messed did you have to be in the head to convince yourself that this was the right path to go down?

Dernier mumbled a short, “Je suis Français.”

Schmidt grinned. It was horrid. “Indeed.”

This had gone on long enough already. Bucky cleared his throat, readying his stance. “As fun as this little chin wag is,” he called across the room, raising his head, “what do you say we cut to the chase?”

For a split second, a glimmer of annoyance crossed Schmidt’s barely-human face. He recovered, however, opening his arms with an air of humility. “But, of course, Sergeant. I am on a tight schedule today.”

Immediately Steve yelled, “So are we!” The group parted down the middle and Steve called, “Wanda, now.”

Striding down the gap they’d made, Wanda glowed red, her arms outstretched, jaw locked. It would only be easy if she was fast. As soon as he’d thought it, Bucky watched Schmidt rise into the air. Even with his distorted face, the look of surprise was unmistakable. A few seconds of keeping him hovering, restrained, and Wanda dropped him, hard, against the metal podium that held the Tesseract.

The impact would’ve put any one of the rest of them out of action. Bucky found himself wincing at the angle Schmidt’s back collided with the metal, leaving him tumbling to the floor.

He was up in an instant however, thunderous. “What are you doing?” he screamed.

It wasn’t Schmidt that Wanda had wanted to hurt. The metal casing around the Tesseract had burst open the moment Schmidt crashed into it.

They all watched, barely daring to breathe, as Wanda vibrated with energy just in front of them all. Bucky noted Natasha, primed and ready to strike out if necessary.

Rising into the air, the Tesseract pulsed with blue light, brighter than Bucky could have ever imagined. As if toying with him, Wanda let it hover above Schmidt’s head, just out of his range.

The astonished stillness didn’t last. Schmidt roared, rushing over to Wanda and shoving her to the ground. Natasha was by her side in a second, though Wanda brushed her off, eyes on Schmidt, just like the rest of them.

Do it, do it, do it. Bucky chanted in his head, willing him to reach out.

Like Bucky was controlling him, Schmidt’s arm extended and he picked up the Tesseract from where it had tumbled to the floor. His sinister smile lasted for a few seconds, bone-chilling in its intensity, until the cube began to thrum. Emanating from the block itself, the icy light expanded more and more until Bucky could hardly even see Schmidt behind it. He shielded his eyes, straining to see the beams of light pouring from the cube. One burst upwards, revealing the sky above them. Except, no, it couldn’t be? It was light outside still, though the cube shone through into a galaxy of stars.

Schmidt screamed.

Sections of his skin were peeling off his face, tearing back to be sucked into the void above. In seconds, whole parts of his body were gone, ripped away by the Tesseract. And then, none of him was left.

The beam of light vanished, the stars could be seen no more.

Bucky blinked, frowning at the cube, now back to its normal blue. As if nothing had happened. Like Schmidt had never been there at all.

The silence was absolute. Until Morita whistled, sharp and clear. “Nice work,” he said with a brisk laugh. Wanda kept the cube hovering for a few moments longer before she lowered it back into its metal casket, closing it with a satisfying click.

Crowding around it, the atmosphere was a hesitant, as if none of them were sure if he was really gone.

“Where do you suppose he went?” Dugan asked. He eyed the ceiling dubiously.

“Where ever it was, I don’t think he’ll be coming back for a while,” Monty said.

Gabe crouched down in front of the cube, his features doused in blue light. He nodded up at them. “Looked like his face was shredded up.”

Bucky was transfixed on the Tesseract, hardly hearing the conversation of the others. He hadn’t really considered it before, but without that cube, none of that shit would have happened to him. Schmidt wouldn’t have got his power, Zola wouldn’t have got the chance to start his little experiments. He would have never been on that train in the first place.

“You alright?” Steve asked, under his breath.

It brought Bucky out of his daze somewhat, the concerned expression on Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he grunted. His gaze flickered to Zola, still cowering in the corner under the aim of Gabe’s gun. “Will be soon.”

The door swung open and Bucky took a vindictive pleasure in the way Zola startled.

“Look who finally decided to turn up,” Natasha teased, crossing her arms and sending Howard a crooked smirk.

Peggy and Howard stood in the doorway, looking like they had met a few people along the way. Sweat glistened on Howard’s brow and he took several deep breaths, eyes bright. Peggy, on the other hand, gave the impression she was ready for another round, her stance strong, casing the room in a second.

“There’s a lot of Hydra soldiers in this base, you know,” Howard shot back, ignoring the way Peggy remained vigilant next to him. He lifted a thumb back over his shoulder. Bucky could hear the telltale bustle of active units clearing the rest of the rooms. “They don’t just let you walk past. You cut off one head -”

Sam raised a hand to stop him. “We know.”

Finally deciding that the room was free of threats Peggy clicked her tongue. “Schmidt down and the Tesseract secured,” she said, only half teasing as she strolled passed Steve. “Not too bad for one day’s work.” She smiled, knocking Wanda’s hip. The other woman preened at the acknowledgement.

Letting out a breath, Bucky shouldered his rifle. He couldn’t feel entirely calm, not while Zola was standing free, but he didn’t have much longer to wait. Once they got him back to base, he’d be behind bars in no time at all. Hopefully, the Allies would get enough information out of him to give them the advance they needed. “Okay,” he called. “Let’s clear out. Howard, you babysitting the Tesseract?”

The other man was already hunkered down in front of the metal podium, eyes twinkling like he’d got his hands on buried treasure. Maybe he had. “With pleasure,” he replied, dropping a bag to the floor and pulling out his tools.

“Alright,” Bucky shook his head. He turned to Zola, running a hand across his forehead. He grimaced. “Okay, you -”

“I’ll take him.” Dugan stepped up behind his shoulder.

The two Sergeant’s shared a look, Dugan’s blue eyes reassuring. “Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Yeah, that works.” Dugan moved forward as Bucky carried on, “Peggy, is it clear -”

“Wait,” Zola cried out. “Wait, wait.” Though Bucky tried to ignore it, the desperate pleading echoed around the bare room.

Thankfully, Dugan wasn’t having any of it. “No, buddy,” he replied, sounding bored. “This is your turn to shut up. You’re pretty good at that, I hear.”

Fingers wrapped around his arm and Peggy came to stand in front him. She was smiling at him, encouragingly, waiting for his instruction.

“No, you don’t understand,” Zola whined. “I was forced. Forced into it.”

Bucky flexed his hand, unable to push the voice out of his head. Peggy’s smiled flickered.

“Of course you were,” Dugan drawled, edging closer to the man. The doctor's shoulders were hunched, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I do not like violence, Sergeant,” he rushed. “I am a man of peace. I am on your side. I can show you, look.” Zola moved forward and everybody in the room readied themselves. Bucky’s heart was beating wildly as the small man continued, regardless. “I’ll show you his plans.”

He was moving towards one of the cabinets near the window. “Hey, now,” Dugan shouted, loud and firm. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

It would take a much braver man than Armin Zola to disregard an order like that from Dugan, particularly with the glower that was currently adorning his features.

Dutifully Zola froze, hands raised. “If you’ll permit me?” he asked, turning faintly towards the cabinet.

“I already said,” Dugan growled, moustache twitching, “time to shut up.” Gabe’s gun was still on him. Howard was watching with his mouth open, still crouched on the floor.

“But it wasn’t my doing.” Zola was becoming more and more desperate now, Bucky recognised the signs. What little composure he had left was beginning to crack. His voice wavered as he said, “I was forced. The power he wields, you’ve no idea.”

If it was anyone else, Bucky might have believed him. If he didn’t know what Zola had done, and what he would do, he may have been taken in by the deception. As it was, the trembling of his top lip simply caused the hatred inside of Bucky to swell.

Despite the cool reaction from the Commandos, the lies continued to spill from Zola’s mouth, sweat gathering by his temples. “I am innocent,” he insisted. “I am a good person. If you’d let me -”

Bucky had almost forgotten about the others in the room, too caught up with Zola, denying that he’d ever done anything wrong. He was brought back to reality when Steve sprang forward, setting himself on Zola, fists first.

“Steve!”

“No!”

But Steve was heedless of their shouts. It was as if they were children back in Brooklyn. Like Zola was Eugene Simons waiting to beat unsuspecting kids up after school and not the war criminal that they all knew him to be.

“You liar,” Steve spat. His face was contorted as he shoved Zola back against the wall. He attacked any part of Zola’s body that he could reach. From the thumps of impact, Bucky could tell he wasn’t hitting overly hard, but Zola still whimpered, cradling his head. Steve huffed, face turning red, blood running down one of his fists. “You dirty liar.” Dernier and Monty hovered behind Steve, seemingly unsure whether to pull him away, or leave him.

Maybe the others didn’t see it. Maybe they were too focused on Steve. Maybe they never suspected that Zola could be so underhanded. Bucky knew better, so he saw it all. Zola’s hand reaching inside his coat pocket as Steve continued to pound his fists against him. How he pulled out the Hydra gun, glowing blue in the shadows. How he aimed it high, right at Steve’s heart.

“ Steve .” In that second, Bucky didn’t even have to think about his choice. Steve would kill him for it, he was certain of that. But what was he supposed to do? Let Steve die, all over again?

Before anybody else had the chance to realise what Zola was doing, Bucky charged forward. There wasn’t anywhere to push Zola away, he was trapped against the wall, so Bucky collided with Steve’s shoulder, hard, the pair of them falling to the ground.

He hit the floor, hearing the whir of the weapon powering down. Zola had fired. He moved, trying to raise his head and make sure that Steve hadn’t been hit. Only then did he register the sharp pain shooting through his stomach, through his chest.

“Bucky,” Steve came into view, face swimming above him. Bucky blinked, trying to catch his breath. It only hurt more. Lifting his hands to his chest, his fingers met Steve’s, already frantically pressing against his skin. They were wet, tacky in a way that could only be blood, and a lot of it. He couldn’t quite bring himself to panic, though.

“Shit,” Steve breathed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Distantly he could hear the voices of the others. Gabe knelt down on his other side, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sarge?”

Bucky turned to look at him, taking in the calm mask of his face. Only the wide set of his eyes gave away his worry. Over Gabe’s shoulder, Zola still held the weapon in his hand. His mouth was moving, though Bucky couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to make any difference. A second later a crack shot through the air. Zola slid down the wall, eyes open, blood trickling from the gaping hole in his forehead. Dugan let his right arm fall to his side, gun still in his grip, and the rest of the Commandos crowded around Bucky.

“Sorry,” Steve was rushing, his cheeks flushed. “Buck. Bucky, it’ll be fine.” His voice was strained, so unlike usual. “I’m sorry.”

The hand on Bucky’s cheek trembled against his skin. “S’okay,” Bucky slurred. “Quit apologising.” He tried to wave his arm, but couldn’t quite get it to move properly. That was strange. Did they take his arm again?

Steve nodded. “Sorry.”

“Are you evening trying?” he said, squinting a little. Steve was worried. He always worried. “I’ll be fine, like you said. It’s war, someone was bound to get shot sometime.”

Nodding again, Steve grimaced. “Should’a left him.”

Bucky laughed, turning into a cough. A metallic tang covered his tongue. “Stevie Rogers, walk away from a fight?”

Wanda’s voice was soft as she crouched next to Steve. Blue veins crisscrossed just beneath her pale skin. “You should have left him to me,” she added, no more than a whisper.

“He got to me,” Steve breathed. Wiping his forehead he cursed, dragging his sleeve over the bloody mark he’d left. “I’m sorry.”

“What did I just say?”

Everyone ignored his words. Hands pressed down harder on his stomach and pain shot through him. He groaned, coughing more. Every time he tried to breathe his chest stung. If only he could get his vision to clear, it would be better.

“Gabe,” Sam said, voice level and clear. Gabe stared at him. “What do we do?”

Stumbling for only a moment, Gabe scrambled around for his medic kit. “Morphine,” he said, short of breath. “I got morphine.” He pulled off the cap of the needle with his teeth. “Keep the pressure on,” he ordered around the plastic as he stabbed the small needle into Bucky’s leg.

Behind everyone gathered around, a silhouette approached. Howard? “Peg, Gabe,” it asked. Howard. The weight of Natasha's hands on his ankle vanished. She’d gone too.

“I don’t -” Bucky blinked, trying to focus on Steve. His dog tags had spilled out of his shirt, dangling from his neck. They twinkled in the light. “I didn’t get Tom a luger,” he said, turning his head to lean more into Steve’s warm hand.

Dugan shushed him. “That’s alright,” he said. The words washed over Bucky, numbing him. His shoulders relaxed a touch. “There’ll be one around here. I’ll get Morita to track one down for you.”

“Pa, my pa,” he muttered. If he died - If he died - Was he dying? He must be. Why else would it hurt so much? “Steve.”

“I’m here.” Of course Steve was there.

“Pa’s book,” Bucky spluttered. Every word was like fire in his throat. Steve needed to understand. “His poems.”

“Yeah?” Someone was digging around in his pocket, though Bucky couldn’t summon much interest.

Directly in his eye line, Steve held his father’s poem book in his hand. Bucky stared, concentrating hard. “S’got blood on it,” he croaked. “Will you … will you clean it up before … before he sees it?”

Time was passing strangely. How long had it been? It felt like hours ago that they’d entered this room. Natasha was back, arms folded, standing above them all with a fixed jaw. “Wanda,” she said. “Can you contact Vision?”

“Vision?” Wanda asked. Her hair fluttered where it had come loose by her ears. “Why?”

“Can you do it?” Natasha pushed.

She nodded, more strands coming free. Bucky wanted to reach out for her. By the time he was able to move his fingers, she was gone.

Hands grabbed his face more firmly. Steve’s hands. “Buck. Buck, listen,” he ordered, eyes fierce. “I said, you’re gonna be fine.” He turned to Gabe, who’d taken Wanda’s spot. “Gabe, tell him.”

“Sure, Sarge,” Gabe agreed. His smile trembled. “You’ve had worse.”

Letting his head drop to the side, his eyes followed four pairs of feet, standing close together in the corner. Howard’s quiet voice broke through a moment of silence. “Can you fix him?”

He groaned. He was drenched in sweat. Was it sweat? Maybe it was blood. “S’cold,” he muttered. “M’cold.” He couldn’t feel his chest, he couldn’t feel where it started, it was just pain. His eyes rolled in his head, light flashing in front of him.

A hot hand laid on his shoulder.

Didn’t they take that? Wasn’t that metal? Zola had made him something else.

“Bucky,” someone whispered, the voice melting into his skin, warming him. “Bucky. Sergeant Barnes?” He wanted to respond, but he couldn’t focus. Faces swam in front of his eyes. “James?” he heard. Was that his mother? No, she only called him that when he was in trouble. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Though, that wasn’t true, was it? He’d done so many things wrong. His mother would be so angry when she found out.

“What is it?” Steve asked Peggy, when Bucky failed to respond.

She settled her gaze on him. “We can’t fix him. There’s too much damage.”

Steve paused as if frozen. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “I understand.”

“Howard -” Peggy started, before changing track. “The transporter’s ready,” she said. “Tony thinks they could take them all. Fix him up there. He has a surgery on site.”

She nodded at Steve encouragingly. “I -” Steve took a steadying breath. “Is - Do you think this is a test?”

With a sad smile, Peggy replied, “No, Steve. I think it’s his best chance.”

“‘Best chance.’ Alright.”

It was as if they were underwater, like Bucky was just out of reach. He needed to see Steve’s face. See his eyes. They had always been so blue. “Steve,” he croaked. “Stevie.”

Above him, Steve looked so firm, so steady. Did he have tears in his eyes? “I can’t lose you,” Steve said, slowly, clearly. Bucky concentrated hard on the words. “We can’t help you here.”

It was like that time Steve had that fever. He’d been bedridden for weeks. Mrs Lombardo had been out of her mind. “I’m gonna miss work,” Bucky whined. Shit. They couldn’t afford the rent without Bucky’s pay cheque. “We’ll - We’ll -” He searched frantically for Steve, until he was right there, their noses almost pressed together. “There’s -” He closed his eyes, opening them when Steve tapped his cheek frantically. Steve shouldn’t worry. Steve should never worry. “Pa’ll -” He tried to smile, wincing instead. “My pa, he’ll ... he’ll wanna know -”

“I’ll tell him. I promise.”

That was good. His pa liked Steve, would look out for him. He was family. “My Steve,” Bucky slurred, voice so quiet he might not have said anything at all. His eyes were closed again. When did he shut them? The dark was nice. Quiet.

“You’re gonna be okay, alright?” Steve was talking quickly now, people were moving around them. Hands clasped tightly against Bucky’s shoulder, his chest. “And you’ll be with Steve, your first Steve.” Steve sniffed, eyes red. “I gotta be selfish on his behalf now.”

Steve. Bucky blinked, his eyelids heavy. His stomach hurt less now, he could barely feel it. “He’ll be there?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, smiling.

“I thought -” he stumbled on the words. What had he thought? Everything was muddled. “The Valkyrie?”

“He’s there.” Steve’s fingers were gentle, brushing Bucky’s hair away from his face. Strands were sticking to his forehead, doused in his sweat. “Waiting for you.”

From high above him, Howard’s voice broke through the haze, unusually sombre. “They’re ready.”

“Okay,” Steve spoke, but didn’t take his eyes off Bucky’s face.

Voices all around were murmuring at him, words in soft tones, gentle touches on his arms, his legs. It wasn’t until they stopped, until everyone stepped away, that Bucky panicked. This was important. They were important. He should say something back, he should look them in the eyes. His friends.

Steve leant down close but Bucky’s vision wasn’t clear. He couldn’t see the flecks in his eyes.

“I love you.”

His breath burned Bucky’s skin. It was the only thing he could feel. “But - You’ll be there?” Bucky asked. Had he said it out loud? He couldn’t follow. Steve wasn’t leaving. Bucky always left, not Steve. The warmth of Steve’s body vanished from his side. Bucky’s heart pounded feebly against his chest. “Steve?” he coughed, blood flooding his mouth. “Steve.”

There were others crowding around him now, pressing close, shielding the room from view. Then, a loud crack, a bright light, and the icy cold.

~

“Bucky.”

It was a mess of bodies. The four of them had stumbled forwards as the air in the room seemed to be sucked away. Like a sinking ship, they were pulled towards the centre of the lab until the world righted itself and Sam, Nat, and Wanda dropped to the floor. Beneath them, Bucky lay still, their hands clenched tightly against his clothes, clearly trying to protect him as best they could on the journey.

The sight of him had Steve shaking his head, blinking his eyes clear.

He could hardly take it in. Bucky. Like some horrific deja vu, he was clad in his blue Commandos coat, the front glistening red. His hair was short; slick with sweat and blood. Pale hands trembled, clenched into fists below his chin. He was just like the man from Steve’s memories through a distorted lens. Like one of Steve’s nightmares come to life.

“ Bucky ,” he breathed.

Falling to his knees at Bucky’s side he was dimly aware of the others being pulled away. Strong arms and soft murmurings after their welfare. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky, from the blood trickling from his lips, smudged against his chin, the side of his face.

He placed a gentle hand on his chest, the other reaching to brush away his hair. At his touch Bucky’s eyes flickered open, rolling around in their sockets desperately until they landed on Steve’s face.

“Steve,” he croaked even as more blood spilled down his chin. It was pathetic, how so weak a sound could pull so hard at Steve’s chest. “Steve, you’re okay.”

“Hey, Bucky.” He leant down, getting as close to him as possible, needing to feel his breath.

Bucky’s fingers fastened tight to the material of Steve’s jacket. “Is he okay?” he asked, the words slurring together and his eyelids heavy.

“Who?”

“Steve,” Bucky mumbled, nonsensically.

Steve’s gaze flickered up to Rhodes, who was eyeing the mess of Bucky’s chest with an unreadable expression.

Rather than worry too much about exactly how much damage Bucky had suffered, Steve pushed his hair back once more and nodded. His hands were sticky with the other man’s blood. “Yeah, he’s fine, Buck,” he whispered. “Like you, you’re gonna be fine.”

Bucky nodded, eyes closed. He turned his head to lean against Steve’s palm. “I fell. From the train, I fell.” Beneath his hands Bucky was straining, fighting to move. Steve held him down, gnawing hard on his bottom lip as he listened to Bucky continue to whine, “Don’t let them - Don’t let them find me.”

Just as Steve began to assure him that he was safe, more people piled into the lab. They swarmed around him in an instant, pulling away his jacket, lining up syringes, shining lights into his eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes,” one of them said. “Sergeant Barnes, can you hear me?”

Bucky simply moaned as a needle was plunged into his arm. His hand was clasped around Steve’s, though he couldn’t recall it happening. It was warm and clammy and shivering.

“He’s confused,” Steve rushed, the medic sparing him a quick nod. “He thinks he’s somewhere else.”

“He was somewhere else.” Over the other side of the lab Steve spotted Sam. He, Nat and Wanda were lingering by the wall, each looking as drained as if they’d run a marathon.

The moment they shifted Bucky onto the backboard, Steve saw him begin to panic. “No,” Bucky groaned, trying ineffectively to fight off a younger medic, all thin wrists and sharp bones, placing an oxygen mask on him. “Zola, he’s still there.”

Out of the corner of his eye Steve saw someone pick up two ends of the board fastenings. He was certain Bucky saw them too. He began to shift against the hands holding him, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask at a rapid pace.

“Don’t,” Steve yelled. It was louder than he intended, everyone stopping to stare at him. “Don’t restrain him. He won’t move, just don’t tie him down.” The medic glanced down at Bucky and nodded, letting the restraints fall to the side.

“Zola -”

“He’s not here, Bucky. He’s long gone. You’re safe here, I promise.”

Even as he spoke the words, Bucky was lifted onto a gurney, was pulled away from him. His grasp tightened around Bucky’s hand and he rushed to his feet, intent on following the other man wherever they took him.

Rhodes stepped in front of him, a hand to his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, blankly, as Bucky was pulled out of reach.

“You stay here,” Rhodes said, face stern. “I’ll keep both eyes on him.” Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Rhodes cut him off. “He’s in the best place, they’ll fix him up. He needs medical help, Steve, you can’t do anything more for him.” He squeezed Steve’s shoulder, “I’ll come find you as soon as I have any news.”

“But, I should go with him,” he said, feeling completely dumb. “I need to -”

“You train to be a surgeon while I’ve been gone, huh?”

He turned to Sam, blinking a few times. The sight of his face, of him being so close, stopped the churning of his stomach slightly. Even in his unfamiliar clothes, with his beard grown in, the familiar timbre of his voice grounded Steve. Sam made the future his reality again.

“ Sam ,” he half whined, stepping closer.  

“Don’t be an idiot,” the other man said, seizing Steve’s arm just above his elbow. “Let the doctors do their job.”

“I’ll go.” Nat stepped up alongside his shoulder. Silently Rhodes nodded and he and Nat left the room.

Steve stared at the door for a while until the warmth of Sam’s hand became too much to ignore. “Shit, are you guys okay?” He sought out Wanda, keeping close to Vision’s side. “You made it through okay?”

“Yeah, man,” Sam smiled. “Nice to see the muscles back on you, I was beginning to feel good about myself for a second back there.”

Steve cracked a small smile before he was dragged into a hug. He tightened his arms around Sam’s shoulders, still a little dazed at having him back, real and tangible, in the twenty first century. He was so distracted, in fact, that it took him a few moments to notice Tony, over Sam’s shoulders, standing stock still in the middle of the room.

He was gazing, as if mesmerised, into a glimmering chasm in the air. Beyond the chasm, Peggy and Howard stood, a mirror image of Tony.

With a jolt, the reality of the image washed over Steve. The past, right in front of him, close enough to touch.

He fell into place at Tony’s side, not even conscious of having moved.

“Jesus Christ.” He could hardly help the words tumbling from his lips. Facing himself on the other side of the chasm, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing his reflection as it truly should be. It had been almost seventy years since he’d last done so. At last.

There he was, shoulder height and fighting. Chin weaker, bones brittle, skin almost grey. He’d forgotten how big his head and hands had always seemed compared to the rest of him. Steve could almost feel the tightness in his chest again, how his fingers had always been cold, his joints sore.

The moment was broken as the other Steve let out a low whistle. “Geez,” he said. Steve was startled to hear his own voice with that thick Brooklyn accent he hadn’t heard in so long. The sound wasn’t clear, like it was coming from underwater.

Next to him - the other him - Peggy and Howard were staring wide eyed and open mouthed. Steve could only imagine that he and Tony looked much the same. At the sight of their faces, youthful and bright, Steve’s heart pounded. They were just as he remembered them; not aged a day, warm and deep and so full of life. It was almost like he was being pulled forward, the sheer force of his desire to join them.

Instead, his other self stepped forward, pale and desperate.

“Is he okay?”

“Huh?” Steve blinked stupidly, entirely overwhelmed.

“Sergeant - Bucky ?” Peggy asked. There were other people, loitering in the shadows behind them. Was that Monty? “The others?” she persisted. “Did they make it back to you?” Her voice struck Steve momentarily dumb. He’d thought he’d never hear it again, that melodic tone smoothing over a curt accent. It was pavlovian, the way his muscles untensed, how his breathing lengthened.

Pulling himself together he nodded. “Yes. Yes, they - How -”

“It’s only temporary,” Howard interrupted. Steve spared a glance at Tony next to him, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Only a couple of minutes or so. The Tesseract. We’re piggypacking on their jump.” He grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bit of sharp thinking from myself, if I do say so.”

“Howard.” Steve grimaced. “Howard, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Howard barked out. “What happens to the other me?” He raised his eyebrows, as if the concept was ridiculous. “I’m sure there’s a universe somewhere where I get tortured to breaking point, get frozen in time, have my memory wiped and end up killing Barnes.” The expression on Steve’s face must have gone some way in mirroring the wretchedness he felt inside, as Howard added, “Don’t worry, we hashed it out pretty good.”

“‘Hashed it out’,” Steve repeated under his breath.

His words were ignored, however, in favour of greater things. “So,” Howard started grandly. “You’re what might’ve been?” He looked Steve up and down. Steve watched as the other him shifted uncomfortably. It was a lot. “Not bad,” Howard concluded. His eyes slipped over to Tony, his tone become infinitesimally softer as he said, “And I guess you’re Tony?”

As Tony grunted a faint acknowledgement Peggy remarked, “Heavens, Howard he looks just like you.”

“More like my dad.”

“More like Granddad.”

The two Starks faltered. Steve didn’t miss the way Peggy bit her lip to stop a smile and turned her face away.

Howard smirked, clearly approving. “Nice work.” He waved his hand towards them, taking in the equipment behind him. Steve was sure the other man was dying to get his hands on that tech. “On pulling them back.”

“Thanks.”

A pregnant pause followed. Steve found himself unable to look at Howard or Peggy, but kept an eye on himself, tracking Howard and Tony’s conversation with a weary expression pinching his features.

“Must be good in an emergency,” Howard ventured. “You get that from me.” If he was aiming for his typical lovable smart alec humour, he was way off. Steve winced.

“I try,” Tony said, tone dry.

Howard nodded before trying again. “I always wanted a son. I - Huh, I expect I was a terrible father.”

For a few moments they waited, the grinding of Tony’s jaw nosy above the crackle of the portal. Eventually, quietly, painfully, he said, “You tried.”

“But you’ve turned out okay.”

“It took a bit of doing.” At last Tony smiled. “I am very smart. Hey, do me a favour?” he added. “If you met a guy called Stane, stay away, alright?”

Howard nodded again. Steve didn’t know if it was the distortion of the time chasm, or if Howard’s eyes were glassier than before. “I’m glad I got to see you. I - I hope I didn’t disappoint you -”

“You didn’t.” The speed at which Tony interrupted brought a wide smile to Howard’s face.

“Good. That’s good.”

“Tony,” the other Steve started with a grimace. Howard stopped him, however, arm reaching over to pull at his arm. The other Steve relented, head inclined.

“Bucky said you were some kind of hero yourself.” It wasn’t the chasm, Howard was definitely tearing up.

Tony tried to dismiss him. “That’s not really -” he waved off.

“But you help people. Even if -” Howard frowned, clearing thinking about his next words. Steve watched the fierce expression on his other self’s face as he nodded encouragingly. “Even if you have your vices. I know about that. Even if you do, you’re helping.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “That’s the best I could have asked. You did me proud, I hope you can say the same of me.”

Next to him, Tony nodded; apparently all that he could manage.

“Can you fix him?”

It was the other Steve again. It took a second for Steve to process the question. Bucky, covered in blood, rushed away by the doctors.

“I think so,” he replied, voice dry and croaky. “He’s gone straight into surgery.” He looked the other Steve in the eye, blue so familiar yet unknown. “He’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

He wasn’t sure who he was promising, himself or the other Steve. Maybe there wasn’t any difference.

“You’ll take care of him?” the other Steve asked, sombre. All of a sudden, Steve understood why people often accused him of guilt tripping them. It was hard to say no.

“I will,” he promised. Then, sensing that he’d regret it otherwise, he said, “I’m sorry I messed it up last time.”

The other Steve searched his face, though unreadable, before the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I don’t get why you’re apologising,” he said. “I can promise you I’d’ve done the same thing.”

Steve ducked his head. He huffed out a hollow laugh, unsure whether he was reassured or not.

“Tell him -” He cut himself off, pushing his hair away from his face, cheeks a shade darker than they had been a moment ago. “Ah, nevermind. Just -” He looked pained, searching for the right words.

“I’ll pass on the message,” Steve promised, fighting the urge to step through the void and clap himself of the shoulder.

A soft laugh rang in Steve’s ear. “This is utterly bizarre,” Peggy said, gaze flickering between the two of them.

The other Steve looked like he was going to respond. When he opened his mouth the chasm rippled, like a pebble dropping into a puddle. From beyond the void a faint rumbling approached, like a stampede gaining momentum. Tony took a step back, eyes frantically surveying the edge of the breach.

“It’s closing,” Howard shouted. His voice was more muffled than ever, becoming more and more blurred as the chasm shook. It began to shrink rapidly and Steve’s chest tightened as Peggy and Howard were almost blocked from view.

“Peggy -”

“Dad -”

“Tony, Tony, listen. It was -”

A loud crack then silence.

Beside him, Tony’s heavy breathing filled the room as he stared at the spot where his father had stood not a moment ago.

Steve stood stock still. He willed his heartbeat to steady, blinking away the image of his other self; the dull, resigned looked on his face as he watched the future shrink away from him, keeping Bucky out of his reach. He’d probably looked the same, back in that room in Wakanda. Like staring at that stone could’ve brought him back.

“Come on.”

Turning, he saw Sam standing a few feet away, concern seeping into his otherwise calm features. He nodded to Tony. “I need a frappuccino. I’ve been waiting over a year, I’ll have forgotten how to do it.”

With a short cough, Tony nodded, heading swiftly out the door. The rest of them followed without a word. There was nothing any of them could say.

Chapter Text

Bright light shone through his eyelids, patterns drifting through the darkness. It was quiet, mostly. Some regular noise tapped against his ears, stopping him from falling back to sleep.

Every inch of his body screamed for respite. His bones ached.

He must be in the medical bay. Something must have happened. He must have - He must -

When he opened his eyes, the white light stung. This wasn’t the medical bay. It was too clean, too quiet.

Zola?

His heart raced. That regular noise quicked. A monitor to his right showed him all sorts of numbers. Something was pulled against his face, muzzling his mouth.

No, not Zola. He wasn’t strapped down. It wasn’t a muzzle, it was an oxygen mask. And Zola - Zola was dead. Dugan shot him. Dugan shot him, after Bucky had been blasted by that Hydra gun.

Hang on.

Bucky took several deep breaths. This wasn’t the medical bay. This wasn’t Zola. This wasn’t even nineteen forty four.

He groaned, trying to pull himself further up the bed and not getting far.

“Hey, don’t.”

Eyes darting up, he spotted a nurse in the corner of his room. She approached his bed, speaking gently. “You need to rest. Even Mr Stark’s tech isn’t that good. Give your body a chance.”

Behind his oxygen mask he grimaced. The nurse's hair was pulled back away from there hair in tight bun. She twirled a ball point pen between her fingers, frowning down at her tablet as she swiped between the screens.

“Mr Stark?” Bucky asked, pulling the mask away from his face. His throat was sore from disuse. “Howard?”

She looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “Tony,” she corrected.

“Right.” Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillow. “Sorry.”

The nurse ignored his embarrassment. “Here.” She swapped out the oxygen mask for a nasal cannula that Bucky gratefully curled behind his ears. “Have some water,” she said, waving to the bedside table, “I’ll just get him.”

It took Bucky a second to realise she meant Tony. He choked a little on his drink, spluttering, “No, I -” But it was too late, the large glass door swung shut behind her.

Now that he was slightly more compos mentis, Bucky took a moment to survey the room, ignoring the pending arrival of Tony Stark, the man who’d tried very hard to kill him the last time they’d met. Taking in the shining metal instruments, the gentle hum of equipment and the occasional beeping coming from the machines around him, Bucky questioned how he’d thought for even a second he was still in nineteen forty four. Everything was so clinical, from the sleek cabinet doors to the rolling wall of what must have been his vital stats, on the other side of the room.

It was like he was in a bubble. The glass wall opposite the bed did nothing to alleviate that fact. Chances are Tony hadn’t even realised how like a goldfish it would make the occupant’s feel.

But where was he, exactly? The Compound? He’d never been, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else it could be.

The cotton of his t-shirt was soft against his skin. Though he ached, he wasn’t in any real pain. With a little trepidation, he lifted his shirt, expecting a ream of bandages, some ghastly scarring at least.

Nothing.

Running his fingers across his stomach, all he could feel was smooth skin, clear and pink and looking as good as new.

“Well, well, well.”

Bucky startled, dropping his shirt as Tony approached the bed.

“The wanderer returns,” the other man grinned at him. Bucky shifted under the covers. Objectively, he understood that Tony had been helping them, that he and Steve had been working together. Knowing something and making himself fully believe were two different things. He swallowed. “Heartrate’s picking up there,” Tony waved a hand at the monitor and clicked his tongue. Bucky’s eyes followed him across the room as he circled the bed. “Don’t panic, McFly. If I wanted to kill you, I would have just told them to botch the op.” He smiled again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Moustache freshly trimmed, he looked so much like Howard that it sent Bucky’s head reeling. How long had he been out? What had happened to the others? “You still look confused,” Tony continued. He flicked a finger between the two of them, “We’re good. Well, not good, but,” he shrugged, “we’ve agreed an armistice.” He folded his arms, Bucky still silent. “Shame you don’t have the metal arm anymore, could’ve made a nice pun.” When Bucky looked away he sighed, “Never mind.”

Beneath Bucky, the bed began to rise, lifting his upper body forward. His eyes found Tony once more, control in hand, and he gnawed his lip. “What -” he started, unsure what he wanted to know first. “Where are the others? Did you bring them back, too?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, drawing out the word. “Thought I’d bring you back, who I can barely tolerate, and leave those others that I’d once thought of as friends in the middle of world war two.” He paused for effect. “Sarcasm, that was sarcasm.” While Bucky sent him a strained expression, something akin to a smile, he headed to the foot of the bed. “They’re fine. I think the proximity of the Tesseract shielded you from the bulk of interdimensional travel. You got lucky. They’re on their way,” he said. “Steve’s probably searching for his tightest t-shirt as we speak.”

Geez, Steve. He’d shunned his help before vanishing in time. Had hardly spoken to him for months. Volunteered never to see him again. What the heck was he going to say to him now?

He didn’t have long to worry about it. Tony was still regarding him with an air of uncertainty when the door swung open once more. Bucky had a few seconds to register Steve’s frantic expression, the familiar faces following in his wake, before the other man was wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Letting himself fall into the embrace, Bucky clung back. He smelled just the same, the heat of his body just like he remembered. Thank God, was worried he might have forgotten it.

“How you doing?” Steve asked, pulling away just enough to look Bucky in the face.

He wasn’t wearing a tight t-shirt. In fact, he looked as if he’d just woken up with a heavy hangover. Hair flat, dark circles under his eyes, skin pale; it was the worst Bucky had seen him look since he’d had the serum. It was the best sight he could have wished for. Wanda, Sam and Natasha stood a few steps away, matching fond smiles on their faces.

“Actually,” Bucky said. “Not so bad.” He frowned. “What did you do?”

At that, Tony cut in, “That would be Doctor Cho’s Regeneration Cradle. So handy, really. It can heal wounds by grafting a simulacrum of organic tissue. The surgeon’s had to do a bit of fixing up internally, but that baby was a great help. Also, I have invested heavily in pain relief medication over the years. You’re welcome.”

“Simulacrum?” Sam repeated, looking as baffled as Bucky felt. “Man. I missed this. You, spouting gibberish. Me, pretending to understand it.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s the little things.” Bucky breathed out a short laugh and Sam cocked his head. “Hey, Buck. Just, wanted to say hello.”

Wanda stepped forward, looking at home again in her twenty first century attire. “We thought you might want to know that we made it back okay as well,” she said.

“You’ve shaved,” Bucky nodded to Sam in response.

The other man grunted, rubbing at his chin. “Beard ain’t as popular here, for some reason,” he lamented.

Next to him, Natasha scoffed. “It wasn’t popular before, either,” she muttered.

“Yes, it was. It -”

Wanda interrupted the squabble with a fond rolling of her eyes. “We’ll come back later, Bucky. Just, wanted to see you awake,” she explained, softly, and squeezed his ankle through the covers. Bucky was touched at the gesture. “Rest up.”

The four of them ambled out of the room, a minor whirlwind. Left alone with Steve, Bucky found himself shy, like he’d never been around the other man before. He couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye. Steve didn’t mention it. Instead, he settled in, sat on the bed by Bucky’s knees. Humming something that Bucky couldn’t quite recognise under his breath, he took Bucky’s hand in his own, warm and gentle.

Instinctively, almost, Bucky curled into the touch. The strangeness of the room, the sounds, the smells, it all dropped away. He pushed himself forward, as if drawn by a magnet, until he could lean his head against Steve’s shoulder.

The moment Steve reached up, resting his palm on Bucky’s shoulder, all the tension fell away. “I’m sorry. Steve,” he groaned. He could feel the heat behind his eyes, hear the crack in his voice when he said, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Steve shushed him, lips moving against his hairline, “It’s okay, Buck, you don’t have to apologise. I’m just - I can’t believe you’re actually back.” Bucky could hear the uncertain smile in his voice. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“I know,” Bucky moaned, pitifully. “That’s why I’m sorry.”

“You look good,” Steve said, despite Bucky’s tears. “Apart from the, you know.” He pulled away, wiping at Bucky’s cheeks.

Bucky let out a wet laugh. He’d almost forgot how odd it was when Steve was big, that he could still be so awkward. “You mean crying like a baby or getting shot in the stomach?” he offered, clasping a hand against the non-existent scar. “Goddamn Zola. Again.” He shook his head, frowning a little. “That guy, I swear, every version of history.”

“Sam said Dugan got him,” Steve asked, a little hesitant.

A picture of Dugan, the gun still clenched in his hand, flickered through Bucky’s mind. “Yeah.”

Steve took a rallying breath. “But, I mean, you look better than before.”

Bucky smiled. “I’m younger, technically,” he said. He lifted his shoulder. “No metal arm, helps with the old spine.” Steve hummed and Bucky let himself look at him. His weariness was obvious, evident even in the slump of his shoulders. But his nails were cut short. He was clean shaven. Bucky didn’t recognise his jersey, and figured it must be new. He’d been looking after himself and it broke Bucky’s heart a little to think of him getting by in this other place on his own. He dried his eyes. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.

“The Doctor said you’d need rest,” Steve retorted, though he shuffled closer.

“Yeah,” Bucky drawled. “That’s why you gotta come to me.”

Taking Steve’s face in his palms, he pressed their lips together. He kissed him like he’d been wanting to for over a year. It was an apology and a thank you and a promise. He could hear Steve saying the same to him, in the way he kissed back. I’m sorry I left you, thank you for coming back, I won’t ever let you go again.

They lay together on the small bed for a while. Every now and then, someone would walk by the room, eyes flicking to them through the glass doors. Each time Bucky would tense, only to have Steve’s weight against his side forced him to relax.

“There was a portal open up, after you came through, just for a moment,” Steve muttered minutes, maybe hours, later.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I saw Howard. Saw Peggy again.” Steve was speaking quietly, fingertips tracing patterns on Bucky’s chest. Bucky tightened his arm around Steve’s back. “Spoke to them,” Steve carried on. “Spoke to the other me.”

“Steve?” Bucky stopped for a moment, hand hovering over Steve’s head. “How - What -” What could he even ask at this point? “Was - Was he okay?”

For a beat, Steve was quiet. “Not really. But he was pleased you were going to live, so. Wanted you to know.” Bucky bit down on his lip, imagining the other Steve going back to base without him, covered in his blood. jesus. Steve asked, “What was he -”

“Can we leave it?” Bucky cut in. He winced a little before saying, in a softer voice, “Just for a little while?”

A flush crept up Steve’s neck and he looked away. “Right, sorry. None of my business.”

“No, Steve,” Bucky leant up on his elbows, reaching to lift Steve’s chin, eyes meeting. “It is your business,” he said, firmly. “I just need to get my head on straight.” Steve regarded him for a moment before nodding. Dropping himself back into the pillows, Bucky sighed. “I’m tired.”

“You should sleep.” Bucky watched from under this heavy eyelids as Steve sat straight, scratching his head. “They said, er, they said you would need to sleep more. For a bit.”

He made to leave and Bucky reached out to grab his wrist. “Hey, no. Stay,” he asked. “Please. I want you to stay.”

Steve looked torn. “You’ll be able to sleep?” he questioned, though he had already sat down.

“I’ll sleep better with you here,” Bucky replied.

Closing his eyes, Bucky let out a satisfied hum, the bed sinking under the weight of Steve lying down next to him. Fingers ran through his hair, light as a feather.

Just as he reached the edge of sleep, before he tipped over the edge, he could’ve have sworn he heard Steve’s voice singing under his breath. “I’ve got the blues, and up above it’s so fair. Shoes, go on and carry me there.”

~

Someone was in the kitchen, mugs clinking together. Steve scrunched up his eyes against the winter morning sun streaming through the window. Beside him the covers were pushed aside and Steve let his head drop back to the pillow. That’s right. Bucky was back. Bucky was with him.

He stretched, languid and unhassled, searching around the room for a jersey to pull over his sleep shirt. As he shuffled into the kitchen, Bucky had started to whistle, twin mugs steaming in front of him on the counter.

“You should be resting, you know,” Steve said lightly from his resting point against the doorframe.

Bucky paused with his teaspoon mid-stir. He smiled over his shoulder, voice dry as he replied, “That’s my line.”

“Buck.”

“Steve.” He sent Steve long glare before dropping his shoulders. “Come on, I can handle making coffee. Supersoldier, remember?” He held out the second mug to Steve with a conciliatory grimace. Steve cradled the warm drink in his palms, looking away from the other man and out of the window. He didn’t bother reminding Bucky that technically he wasn’t a supersoldier any more.

From this floor all that could be seen outside was the windows of the block opposite, each looking as asleep and quiet as the next. It was Bucky’s shorter hair that kept catching Steve off guard, throwing him back in time. Every time he turned a corner he expected to see an old Chevy pick-up careening down the street, or kids playing jacks along the pavement.

“Right. Thanks.” He bit his lip, sliding further along the counter to stand at his side. Why was he so bad at this? “Sorry. I don’t mean to -” He flicked his fingers towards Bucky, hoping the other man understood. “I know I’m being a bit much at the moment -”

“You’re never too much,” Bucky interrupted. Steve was sure he meant it, if the softness in his smile was anything to go by.

“Sure?” he asked.

“Promise.” Bucky sipped his drink, hissing a little. “You’ve got my back. I’ve got yours.”

“Even when you’re making coffee?”

Bucky laughed, turning to face Steve fully. “Especially then,” he said.

After a few moments of silence where Steve smiled stupidly into his mug, Bucky spoke up again. “I was thinking, might head over to St John’s. Visit Pa’s grave. Tom’s.”

His voice was pitched in a such a carefree manner that Steve might’ve missed the question hidden underneath, if he hadn’t have spent his childhood learning Bucky’s unspoken requests.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to.”

“Okay.” Steve weighed his words. “You want me to come along?”

Bucky scraped at the rim of his coffee cup with his nail. “If you’re not busy,” he offered, looking up a Steve through his eyelashes.

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?” Steve replied. “I got your back.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky dismissed, even as his shoulders relaxed. “No need to go on about - Hey!” He stopped mid sentence, his eyes trained behind Steve’s shoulders. Before Steve could ask, Bucky had abandoned his coffee and was crouched on the floor at the other side of the room.

“‘Hey’?” Steve asked, baffled at the sudden change in direction. He shuffled over to stand at Bucky’s side.

“My records,” Bucky clarified, already pulling numerous sleeves out of the box Steve had failed to properly pack away. He had never built up the nerve, wanting to keep a bit of Bucky with him. Just in case.

“Oh, yeah,” he sighed, rubbing his neck. “I was just looking -”

Bucky spared him a glance and carried on flicking through the covers. “Aw, Steve, this is great. I’d forgot you might’a kept them.”

“‘Course I did,” Steve scoffed, slightly offended at the notion. Bucky simply shrugged and carried on his perusal. It was when he reached Vera Lynn that Steve blushed, heading back to the sink to clear his mug.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“Uhuh.”

He kept his back turned. There was a slight pause until Bucky said, “Always liked this one.”

“I know.”

“Oddly poignant now, huh?”

It was the tiny waiver in Bucky’s voice that made Steve turn to face him once more. He hummed and stepped closer.

Bucky had the record pulled out of its sleeve and was gazing at the vinyl with a soft smile. After a second his eyes flicked up to Steve’s. His stomach gave a small jolt; he’d missed Bucky looking at him like that.

“Aw, you don’t need to -” Steve started as Bucky jumped to his feet, reaching the record player in two long strides. Bucky cut him off with a derisive grunt before dropping the needle into place.

The pair stood for the first few beats. The last time he’d listened to this, Steve’s life had been crumbling down around him. Now he had Bucky’s smell on his sheets each morning, the soft timbre of his voice as he sang to himself; the sound of him making coffee in the morning.

“Must have been pretty lousy for you,” Bucky croaked. Great. Was his face that much of an open book? Or was it just Bucky?

Steve shrugged. “Wasn’t great.”

“I didn’t -” Bucky gnawed on his lip. “I thought about you.”

“I’d hope so,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“No, come on. You know what I mean.” He grimaced, reaching out for Steve’s t-shirt and dragging him closer. “I didn’t mean to leave you again.”

Steve let himself be pulled to Bucky’s side. “I know,” he said softly.

The music swelled and crackled around the apartment, the faint hum of traffic a constant duet. “Come on.” Bucky nudged him backwards into the middle of the room.

He frowned, morphing into laughter at Bucky’s grin. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

Steve rolled his eyes even, though he didn’t stop Bucky taking his hand. “Bucky, I haven’t danced in seventy years.”

“I’m aware. I won’t tell, if you’re a bit rusty,” the other man teased.

“Was I ever anything else?”

“Yes,” Bucky shot out. “You were a good dancer.”

Steve scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“Nah,” Bucky sucked his teeth, narrowing his eyes. A look Steve recognised from nights out wondering the streets of New York, just the two of them, walking and talking and being with each other. “I don’t lie to you. You were always my favourite partner.”

He bit down on his cheeks, trying to force a smile away. “Well,” he said, gripping Bucky’s shoulder more firmly, skin warm and real. Muscles flexed beneath his palm. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Of course, Bucky was talking nonsense. Steve had never been a brilliant dancer. It became evident within a few bars that that, at least, had remained the same. Bucky chuckled at Steve huffing his way through the steps before pulling him closer and leading them into a simple sway.

“What did you get up to, while I was gone?” he asked, breath fanning across Steve’s neck.

“What do you think?” he replied. “I was trying to get you back.”

“Not all the time.”

“No,” Steve relented.

“So?”

He shrugged, dropping his hand to run across Bucky’s back. “I was ticking things off my list.”

“Oh, your list,” Bucky crowed. “How far behind am I now?”

“Miles. I’m a genuine twenty first century guy.”

“Hm.” Bucky hummed, the tip of his nose cold where he dropped his head to Steve’s shoulder. Steve closed his eyes. “Nah,” Bucky continued. “You’re my guy first.”

Startled by the sudden declaration, Steve scrambled not to overreact. “I don’t know,” he said, aiming for a teasing tone. “Some hot man did buy me coffee at the Met.”

“Did they now?” He could feel Bucky’s grin against his skin.

“Yeah. His name was Stephen. We had a connection, see.”

“Oh, I do.” Bucky lifted his head, nodding along. “Won’t be needing me anymore then?”

Steve sniffed. “Nah. You’re old news.” He smiled at the way Bucky chuckled, ignoring the somewhat guilty pull at his stomach. As nice as Stephen had been, he could barely recall his face, only the twinge of longing he’d felt. He held Bucky closer.  

The song came to a gentle close though the pair remained in each other’s arms, still and warm. Steve opened his mouth to speak, at the same time feeling Bucky take a breath of his own.

“We should get a dog.”

“I love you.”

Bucky blinked at him, lips curling into a smile. “Stevie. I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s brow. “I’ll never stop. I never want to stop.”

A flush of hot shame rushed through him. It was like he couldn’t control his mouth as he spoke the words, “Do you miss me? The other me?”

Pouting a little, Bucky shook his head, “There is no other you. You’re the same person.”

“No, I know, but, still.” He clenched his jaw. “He’s still out there in that other timeline. I took you away from him.”

“It’s not a case of taking -” Bucky stepped back, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Steve shifted on the spot, folding his arms. “Steve. I love you. Every version of you, apparently. I don’t know - It’s sci-fi stuff, everything that’s happened to us. It’s another thing like that.”

“I just keep thinking that you would have been better off -”

“I’d’ve been dead,” Bucky interrupted him, words cutting. Steve almost flinched and Bucky backed down. His expression softened. “It’s not him and you, Steve. It’s just us, you must see that?” He ran his hand arm Steve’s arm. “If another version of me turned up here, would you love that me different? Love this me less?”

Steve let out an unsteady breath. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“I loved him because I love you,” Bucky half shouted. “I love you because I loved him. You’re the same, don’t make me - I can’t explain it.” He winced, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be angry about it. I can’t change it, I can’t say I don’t miss him because he’s you. Of course I feel guilty, I feel guilty about feeling guilty. It’s not - I didn’t ask -” He tugged at his shirt and Steve ground his teeth. “I don’t know how to explain it, Steve. I just know that it was you. I miss you and I love you at the same time, it’s hard -”

“Buck. I’m sorry,” Steve spoke over him. Bucky quieted, uncertainty painting his face. “Just,” Steve sighed. “Sorry. Don’t strain yourself. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you should. I would’ve.” Bucky sniffed. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’m back.” He looked up at Steve, tucking a phantom strand of hair behind his ear. “I thought maybe I wouldn’t be, but -” He raised his hands as if to say, wouldn’t you know, I was wrong. “Before, I always thought that I was ruined, you know. That all the shit had broken me, bent me out of shape. And going back there, it was like - It was like going back to what I should be.” He frowned, like the words weren’t quite right.

“Yeah,” Steve said, leaning back against a cabinet, head dropped.

He looked up at Bucky’s laugh. “That’s bullshit, though, Steve. I can’t change what’s happened, not really. Not for all the magic stones in the world.” Bucky’s eyes twinkled a little. “It was a lie. A nice lie, but still a lie.”

“Like mermaids eating kippers.”

“Mer-” Comprehension spread across Bucky’s face and he grinned, cheeks rosy. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, like mermaids eating kippers.” He licked his lips. “Reality catches up with you one way or another. And Steve?”

Steve watched Bucky make his way closer, pleased at the renewed proximity. “Yeah?”

“I really fucking like my reality. I just had to -” He searched the room for the words, face scrunched up, “Re-acclimatise myself.” Fingertips trailed against the back of Steve’s hand and he turned his palm to entwine their fingers. Bucky let out a long breath. “I’m doing pretty well. You notice I ain’t complained about Manhattan once?”

“I had.”

“There you go.” Bucky squeezed his hand. “Progress.”

“Progress.”

The morning wound on slowly and leisurely. The sun rose beyond the window as they shuffled around the house, readying themselves for the day.

They went to St John’s, disguised and warmed by layers of wool. As they walked between the weather rounded graves, Bucky held his hand. He didn’t let go, still, once they headed onto the streets. They looked like a young couple, like any other couple. Steve gripped tighter. For the first time, he didn’t feel so guilty.

Bucky hooked his arm around Steve's waist, fingers tracing faint patterns against his jumper as they walked. Grey clouds loomed overhead, heavy with rain. Maybe they would head inside for a coffee.

“So this dog, then?”

Bucky ducked his head, smirking a little.

“I have several suggestions.”

~

“Hi, Bucky. Come in, come in.”

Wanda smiled wide, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stood back to let Bucky in. Her apartment was bright and clean, if a little small. There were houseplants peeking out behind cabinets and on countertops, string lights hanging from bookcases and a heavy woollen throw draped artfully across the sofa. It was cosy. Good for Wanda, Bucky nodded to himself, glad that Wanda had made such a home for herself.

He pushed off his shoes, sending Wanda a sheepish smile as she waited.

“Sorry to come by unexpected,” he said.

Dismissing the apology with a wave, Wanda led him further into the living room. “Not at all, I was wondering when you were going to come,” she said.

He licked his lips, dry from the cold walk from the subway, and held out the paperback he’d been carrying. ‘Nightwood’ by Djuna Barnes. “For you, I don’t know if you got to finish it,” he explained. “It’s the right one, right? You got through so many.” It had taken him a while to decide what he could get Wanda. He wanted something, a little thing, as a token of his appreciation. Nothing sent quite the right message.

Thankfully, Wanda’s face lit up, taking the book from him with a firm grip. “Yes, yes. And the same edition.” She beamed, standing on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. That’s really kind of you. Coffee?”

“Please,” Bucky said with a cough, hoping his relief wasn’t too plain on his face.

Once they were cradling large mugs of coffee, sinking into the large, soft cushions on Wanda’s sofa, Bucky sighed. It had started to rain outside, clattering against the window pane in front of the grey sky. Music was coming from somewhere, crackling over old speakers; acoustic guitar with a fairytale voice dancing above the chords.

“I’m doing the rounds this morning,” Bucky confessed. “Sam’s sold half his stuff, his apartment’s a mess.” Truthfully, Bucky was a little concerned that Sam was going through some sort of crisis. He was pleased to see that Wanda didn’t seem worried.

“He’s had a new perspective on life,” she said. “I can understand wanting to have a refresh.” Taking a long sip, she set her mug down on the floor near her feet, settling her gaze on Bucky. “Steve’s letting you out of the house, then?” she teased.

Bucky chuckled. “He is. He’s,” he squinted at the floor, wondering how to put into words just how it felt to come back to Steve. “He’s been really good.”

“‘Course he has,” Wanda chided, as if it were impossible for Steve to be anything else. It was wildly untrue, but it was nice to pretend for a moment. “How are you adjusting?”

He stalled for a moment, letting warm coffee flood his mouth. “Fine.” He winked. “This ain’t my first rodeo. Besides,” he breathed. “At least this time I wasn’t, you know, imprisoned and tortured and manipulated.”

“Just shot,” Wanda deadpanned, single eyebrow raised.

“What’s life without a little drama?” he joked. “How about you?”

It took a while for her to answer, though Bucky couldn’t read anything into her expression as he waited. “It’s been odd,” she said eventually, with a slight frown. “I hadn’t really thought about how strange it would feel.” She smiled, as if laughing at herself. “Funny, how quickly you get used to things.”

“We were gone a year,” Bucky pointed out.

“I know,” she shrugged. “I miss the others.” Following her gaze, Bucky spotted the picture she was looking at, framed and hung on the opposite wall. Among the pictures of the other Avengers, some of her family, her and Pietro when they were children, it didn’t look entirely out of place. The Howling Commandos, the original formation, Peggy, Howard and Phillips crowded in, too. Bucky recognised it at once. Wanda must have taken if from a web search. It was the picture that had done the newsreel circulation, after their first couple of successful raids.

“Yeah,” he agreed, swallowing. He looked back at her. “So do I.”

They shared a look, an understanding, before Wanda shifted, tucking her legs under herself and breaking the spell. “I’ve been spending some time catching up,” she said, lightly. “Six months is a long time nowadays. I’ve got half a dozen T.V. shows that apparently I have to watch.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, picking up the change in conversation. “You’ll turn into Steve, lists for everything.”

“He was showing me,” Wanda exclaimed, eyes twinkling. “He’s done well.”

“He has.”

“He didn’t really want you to stay,” she said.

“No,” Bucky agreed, inclining his head. She didn’t need to elaborate. “But I knew that. Really.” He leant forward, looking her in the eye. “Wanda. Thank you. For saving me.”

“Tony saved you,” she muttered, reaching down to pick up her coffee once more.

“No. Well, yes,” Bucky allowed, “but, you did, too.” He smiled. “You saved me quite a lot, and I’ll always be grateful for that.” He bit his lip, thinking of the words. “I’m sorry if I didn’t always show it.”

“You did. You were learning.”

Bucky leant back into the sofa, letting the softness engulf him. “I don’t know how you did it,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “Stayed so calm.”

“Stayed looking so calm,” Wanda corrected. She shifted down the sofa, their knees knocking together. “It’s half my problem. It all builds up and ‘poof’.” She opened up a fist, red energy dancing around her fingertips. “Explosions,” she finished, simply. “Steve was right about that.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “About what?”

“I’m dangerous.”

“He never said that?” he questioned, unable to picture those words coming from Steve’s mouth.

“No,” Wanda allowed with a tilt of the head. “But it’s what he thought.”

“You’re powerful,” Bucky retorted.

“Yes. Yes to both.” Smiling at his perplexed expression she added, “I have to find somewhere in the middle. What good would I be, if I ignored the bad parts of myself, only to let them take control of me?”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. “‘Somewhere in the middle’,” he echoed, flexing his hand. “That’s pretty on the nose, Wanda.”

“I’m talking about me,” she said with a laugh.

“Uhuh,” Bucky hummed, though he broke into a smile when Wanda whacked his arm.

“But,” she said, after she’d leaned back, “it’s good advice. Also.” She raised a finger, clearly forcing down a smirk. “Meditation. Zazen.”

“Meditation?”

“Don’t scoff.” She looked like she was going to hit him again and he braced for impact. “You can travel through time, meet Schmidt, Vision, Steve, for goodness sake, and you still scoff at meditation,” she said, disbelieving.

“No, I just - Fine,” he trailed off, holding his hands up in defeat. “I’ll try it. What was it? Zuzo?”

“Zazen. I’ll send you a link.”

They chatted for a while longer, about nothing in particular. By the time their mugs were empty and forgotten on the floor, the clouds had parted outside, the late winter sun trying hard to break through.

“You know,” Wanda said, stifling a yawn. “Part of me’s glad, that I got dragged back with you.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. “I missed it here, my friends, yes. And being in the middle of war honestly wasn’t a barrel of laughs, that’s not news to me. But,” she squinted, fiddling with her hair, a small pout on her face. “I think I understand you a little better now. And Steve. I get why he does the things he does, I think.” She grinned at him. “Some of the time,” she clarified. “We’re family.”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled, letting the word come naturally. “Family.”

~

Steve tugged at the strap of his helmet where it pinched his skin. The early afternoon sun bore down on him and he could feel the sweat beneath his suit.

“I swear this has gotten smaller,” he muttered to himself, squinting across the courtyard, decaying and reclaimed by the jungle. He could hardly believe anyone lived out here, let alone led an international weapons racket.

“Nah,” Sam dropped to the ground next to him, wings folding down. “It’s your ego, finally taking physical effect.”

“Focus,” he said with a cough.

“You focus.”

“Boys.” Nat’s voice came through their earpieces. “Are you sulking because you’re on lookout duty?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam called out.

Nat, Bucky, and Tony were inside the old temple, or they should be, if all had gone to plan. From Rhodes’ intel, they should be minutes away from detaining one of the most prolific small time weapons dealers, operating independently and remotely. It had sounded to Steve like a set up waiting to be crashed. Bucky was always telling him there was no honour amongst thieves.

While he’d always insisted that even the shortest of missions, the simplest of plans, still required the utmost vigilance, this one was short and sweet. They’d even left Wanda and Vision back at the compound. It paid to keep their most powerful members for the big jobs, to ensure that any budding criminal masterminds didn’t get too familiar with their tactics.

Sure enough, inside the hour, they were ensconced back inside the jet, heading home with their arms dealer safely contained in the deck below, and none too happy about it.

“And you tried to convince me you were vital,” Tony joked, already out of his suit, feet kicked up on the console. He cocked his head towards Bucky, busy packing away his gun. “Barnes is stealing your thunder over here.”

Bucky smiled in spite of himself and sent Steve a wink. “Piece of cake,” he said lightly.

Evening had arrived by the time they walked through the Compound doors. Unhurried, each of them wound up in the living area, joining Wanda where she was firmly entrenched in some foreign reality television show; a selection of young and attractive people crouched around a campfire, looking serious and sunburnt.

Next to him, Tony sipped from a steaming mug, frowning slightly at a package in his hand. The ripping of paper intermingled with the frantic yells of contestants desperately trying to catch a fish.

“What this?” Steve asked Bucky, who sat on his other side, passing him his own warm mug. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the screen.

“The rich and famous making fools of themselves,” he said, without hesitation.

“You recognise them?”

He was impressed for half an instant until Bucky snorted and shook his head. He raised his mug in Wanda’s general direction. “I’m being re-educated. Whether I want to or not.”

A loud grunt cut off Steve’s reply, a surprised sound that didn’t often pass Tony’s lips.

“What?” Steve asked, interest piqued, and all eyes turned to the other man.

“Nothing,” Tony dismissed. He changed tracks under the weight of all their attention. “Just had some of dad’s old archives uncovered when we were trying to figure out how to get these guys back from being lost in space. Thought it might help if I knew what kind of tech they were working with back in the day.”

“Sure,” Natasha agreed from her perch next to Wanda. “Makes sense.”

“I never really looked at them, in the end, what with Vision turning out to be a human conductor.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Was just going to send them back into storage. Happy pulled this out, thought I might like it, or something.”

“Like what?” Steve pushed, interested to find out. He inched closer, trying to sneak a look at the thin book Tony had clutched in his hand, curling at the edges.

When Tony grimaced, gnawing his lip, Steve’s curiosity only grew. “My own superhero comic,” Tony finished, almost self-conscious.

“Sweet,” Wanda cooed and Steve held out his hand for the comic.

It was homemade, clearly, but to a high standard; typical Howard. Bucky shuffled closer, looking over his shoulder at the book. The panels within showed a boy, a recreation of a younger Tony, clad in a cap with what looked like his own sidekick dog. Each panel showed something different; hard at work in a laboratory, searching for clues in an abandoned warehouse, piloting a plane through a fierce storm. With a tug in his chest Steve recalled what Tony had told him, about his Captain America obsession.

“So you could stop playing Captain America,” Steve said quietly, meeting Tony’s eyes over the top of the comic. “There you go, he wanted you to be your own hero after all.”

Nat stood, flicking through the pages and revealing a wad of blank sheets at the back. “How come he didn’t finish it?” she asked, lips downturned, as she ran her hand along the empty page.

Shrugging, Tony taking it back. “Must’ve got bored with superheros by then. I had a tendency to flit.”

“You don’t say,” Sam exclaimed, earning him a glare.

“See,” Tony drew the word out, dragging his hand across his face. “Why couldn’t he just say this stuff to my face? There’s only so many secret messages I can take before it starts getting stale.”

“He did say it to your face,” Wanda replied. She smiled at Tony for a moment before turning back to the television.

Tony turned to Steve, an unimpressed expression on his face. He was never quick to give Howard a break, that much hadn’t changed. “It was implied,” he said before Tony could open his mouth.

The other man huffed. “Different him, though, so I’m not sure it counts.”

Bucky leaned forward. “It counts,” he said, with an air of finality. “It’s nice.”

Tony sniffed. “Okay.” He nodded, looking a bit dumbstruck. Steve smiled into his mug.

“Anyway,” Bucky carried, clapping his hands and Wanda startled, scowling at him. “How’d my audition go?”

“Audition, Quantum Leap?” Tony said lightly. He dropped the comic on to the coffee table and set his chin to rest on his palm, as innocent as you like.

Steve raised a weary gaze to the pair, all too aware of the repercussions of his similar attempt.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “You’ve got the rest of your merry band back together. I can spot a scheme when it’s standing right in front of me.”

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” Tony narrowed his eyes. After a moment, “Now that you mention it, though. I do have a spot, around my four o’clock, where I feel like I need some cover.”

Turning his head to Bucky, Steve saw the smile creeping onto his face. “Do you?”

“Up to the job?”

“Sure you want me in your blind spot?” Bucky asked. His tone was teasing, but the tapping of his fingers against his legs gave away his true feelings.

“Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer,” Tony sang.

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “We’re not enemies, Stark,” he said, cocking his head a little.

Steve stayed silent, eyes flicking between the two.

“No. You’re right. We’re on the same team.” Tony paused, scratching his chin. “Must be the other one, then.”

The smile was obvious on Bucky’s face now, even as he ducked his head. “Your four o’clock it is.”

Natasha hummed softly, hand pressed to her chest. “Touching.”

“I’m welling up, here,” Sam added.

In unison Bucky and Tony shot out, “Shut up.” Beneath the jeering and teasing that followed, Steve let a contented grin spread across his face.

~

Bucky woke slowly. Someone had opened a window in their room, the distant sound of somebody mowing the lawn hummed in the background. If he concentrated, Bucky could almost smell the freshly cut grass. Without opening his eyes, he stretched across the bed, Steve’s side empty and cool. Steve was an early riser, Bucky was learning not to be.

Underneath the noise of the outside, Bucky could hear voices beyond the bedroom door. The words weren’t discernible, but laughter broke through every now and then, bright and clear. Though he preferred to stay in their apartment, on mornings like this, he had to admit that the Compound held some kind of idyllic magic, if only until the sun rose fully in the sky.

Steve’s voice joined in the harmony of conversation and Bucky made the effort to open his eyes.

The sudden vibration of his phone on the nightstand brought him into the moment a little more and he sat up, rubbing at his face. Unlocking his phone, a picture of his great-niece, Katie, greeted him. She was on holiday with her fiancé in San Sebastián, the image on his screen showing her sat on a bright sunny beach, mouth open wide with a small, exotic looking bird perched on her outstretched hand. Judging by the twinkle in her eye, she was having a whale of a time.

They were due to meet up after she returned to the States. Each time Bucky thought about it, his stomach tightened uncomfortably, though Steve and Katie assured him that it would be fine. Contacting her in the first place had been the hardest, he told himself over and over, and look how well that had turned out. Though she hardly looked like Tom at all, sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could see his expressions in her voice, the twinkle in his eye when she explained her next great adventure.

After firing off a response he rolled out of bed, pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt before making his way to the kitchen. In the hallway he passed the charred remains of his old metal arm that Tony had had mounted in glass. Steve had voiced his objections at the time, though had given up once Bucky had told him he’d given Tony the go ahead. He actually liked it. It reminded him of what he had survived, cemented him in history, to have his metal arm displayed alongside other Avengers memorabilia. Mjolnir’s handle, Steve’s old helmet, one of Clint’s arrows.

He’d overcome his past and been accepted in the future. Surely that was something to celebrate, right?

“Morning,” he greeted, crossing the threshold into the crowded kitchen, voice still deep with sleep. Steve, Wanda, Natasha, Sam and Vision were all occupying various levels of alertness.

Wanda, somewhere near the top, sounded wide awake announcing in a clear voice, “I have attempted to bake some kakaós csiga.” She dragged him closer as soon as he was within arm’s reach. “You have to eat them to tell me how badly I’ve done.”

Laid out on the countertop, were some swirling pastries, filled a little unevenly with chocolate, dusted in icing. From the gaps in the rows, it looked like he as already late to the party.

“They’re great, Wanda,” Steve reassured.

Looking up from her phone, Natasha said, “He’s serious. He’s had about eight.”

“You’ve got to watch out, Steve,” Sam warned. “I saw you this morning, you only ran twelve laps of the perimeter, not your usual fifteen. Getting slow in your old age.”

As Sam teased him, Bucky circled around the kitchen island to wipe a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Steve’s mouth. He distracted him with a kiss near the top of his cheek and stole his cup of coffee.

“Ha, ha,” Steve deadpanned at Sam.

Watching him head back to the pastries, Natasha asked, “Buck, you going to help me out in the shooting range today?”

He eyed her over the top of his mug, contemplating which pastry to take. “Thought we had to go to Washington for a briefing?”

“Called off,” Steve chimed in.

At Bucky’s confused pout, Vision added, “The Senator felt that bringing in a team of our calibre may call more attention to the issue than he wishes.”

“Ain’t it the dream?” Sam crowed, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “We’re so good, that people don’t want our help.”

Bucky hummed, finally choosing a baked victim. “I’ll come down later, Nat,” he said, mouth full. Turning to Steve, he suggested, “We could look through those flight dates this morning?”

“Still planning the big Irish holiday, then?” Wanda asked, bracelets clinking together as she poured herself a glass of apple juice.

“Steve’s gotta have a plan,” Bucky confirmed, clicking his tongue.

“I don’t have to have -” Steve stopped himself in the middle of his reply, tugging his mug from Bucky’s hands. “It just makes sense, doesn’t it, to know where you’re going? Know when?”

Bucky closed in behind him, rubbing his shoulders. “No sense of adventure, this one,” he grinned.

Down the hall the front door opened and they all turned to see Tony and Rhodes trundle in, Rhodes looking distinctly less happy than Tony, his leg brace whirring rhythmically.

“Children,” Tony started, seeing all their faces on him. He made a beeline for the refrigerator, pulling out a large bottle of water and chugging it down.

“How come you’re up so early?” Natasha asked.

Tony swallowed, taking a large breath. “Haven’t been to sleep,” he said, screwing the lid back on as Natasha wrinkled her nose.

“Is this for anyone?” Rhodes asked, pointing at the pastry on the counter.

Shrugging, Wanda smiled. “Help yourself.”

Rhodes groaned, “Thanks. Caffeine,” before making himself busy with the coffee machine.

“I have been in a conference with your friend King T’Challa,” Tony offered, dropping onto the stool next to Steve.

“Oh, yeah?”

“He’s planning a royal visit,” he said, leaning his elbow against the counter. “Thought it might be nice if he swung by here. You know, build some bridges and all that.”

“Been doing a lot of that recently,” Sam added, a little meanly. Wanda threw a sugar packet at him with a look.

Tony pouted at him but didn’t seem to take the words to hear.

“Sounds good, Tony,” Steve said with a sigh. He spun on his stool, pulling Bucky in by the ties of his sweats. “Doesn’t it?”

Bucky hummed. “Sure does.” He smirked over the top of Steve’s head. “Get him to look at your suit, I’m sure he’d have some suggestions.”

Sending him an unimpressed look, Tony deadpanned, “Get out.”

Bucky chuckled, clapping Steve’s shoulders. “I’m grabbing a shower,” he announced. “You, start shortlisting those hotels.”

“I was thinking a cottage, dog friendly,” Steve called to him as he walked back towards their room. “We could bring Kit.”

“If you want.” Bucky paused in his retreat. “We’d have to get an animal passport and everything.”

“Not a problem,” Steve said casually.

Bucky grinned. “Alright,” he mocked. “Captain Not-a-problem Rogers.”

From his spot on the kitchen island, Tony waved his finger between the pair. “This is cute, so domestic.”

“Don’t you have to sleep?” Bucky asked.

Tony snorted, swinging on his stool. “No,” he said. “I’ve honed my sleeping patterns over the years. I can go on like this for days.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky laughed, “Whatever,” before finally turning and heading to his and Steve’s room.

The murmur of conversation carried on after he shut the door, reminding him he was not alone. When he closed his eyes under the shower spray, he didn’t feel guilt, he didn’t feel pain. He felt free and loved. He’d survived his past to make is here, had good memories and bad, loved people and lost people. And he wouldn’t change a single moment.