Chapter Text
“I should’ve said something.”
Chris is staring down at the ground, eyes unmoving from a patch of moss clinging to the dirt floor outside. The woods surrounding the lake are nice, peaceful even. But they aren’t enough to calm his unsteady heart. The directors have called cut, and so Chris and Sebastian are finished filming for the day. The scene in particular, was Steve Rogers’s final moment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe; a stern conversation between he and Bucky, followed by a passing of the mantle to Sam. Chris itches at his neck, where he had removed the elderly prosthetic and makeup just minutes before. Chris, among few others, read the Avengers: Endgame script in its entirety, known the ending all along, but Seb didn’t. He didn’t know until they shot it today.
“You couldn’t, I understand. Spoilers, secrecy, lawsuits,” Sebastian replies, shuffling his feet, soft and tired. Like he did when he’d said you’re taking all the stupid with you. Like he did when he’d said I’m gonna miss you. “I just wish I could’ve... known.”
“Yeah,” Chris sighs, helpless and drowning in guilt.
“Yeah,” Sebastian echoes. “God.” His abrupt exasperation surprises Chris, and gives him no choice but to look back up at him.
The agitated look on Seb’s face, the creased line between his furrowed brows, he’s to blame.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Chris isn’t exactly sure what he’s apologizing for, but he hopes it helps.
Sebastian takes a deep breath. “I guess it was pointless of me to try to get them to change it, right?”
Chris grows weary. It’s true, before they called action, he witnessed Sebastian approaching the Russos with heavy concern: wondering where the rest of the dialogue was, why this last exchange between characters whom were lifelong friends was cut to one of acquaintances. And like clockwork the only response he received was, it already happens offscreen. Nothing is worse than watching disappointment take place on Sebastian’s face.
“No, no I—” Chris tries to offer sympathy. “I asked them about it too... But y’know, it’s Marvel.”
“Sure is.” Sebastian shakes his head in disbelief, and feigns a chuckle. “Man. Is it just me, or is their directing style starting to seem fucking ridiculous?”
Chris smiles. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“It’s good to have optimism sometimes,” Sebastian teases. His hidden compliments never fail to light Chris up inside.
“I’m too trusting.”
“I don’t trust enough. Sounds like a perfect match.” Sebastian smiles back, albeit a bit self-deprecatingly. They have that habit in common. It feels loving nonetheless. Sebastian may not trust many, but he trusts Chris. And that’s enough—more than enough.
Chris looks around where they’ve been speaking, keeping an eye out for cast or crew nearby. Birds chirp in the distance somewhere. He starts to think this is really something they should be discussing in private. In a rush, he hastily grabs hold of Sebastian’s wrist, dragging him the short distance from the lot to his trailer. Sebastian watches him patiently as he lets himself get pulled inside.
“I really am sorry. I wanted to tell you,” Chris says quietly, with intent.
Sebastian nods. He looks so drained. Chris wants to pull him into an embrace, but resists. “I believe you. And I’m not upset with you, I swear.”
The fact that Seb was upset at all feels like an open wound to Chris, even though said event was inevitable, and preventing it higher than Chris’s pay grade.
“Still hurts,” Chris adds, not bothering to ask.
“Yeah,” Sebastian confirms, not unkindly. He takes a step toward Chris. The trailer feels so small now. “There was so much I wish we got to say.”
“Me too.”
“Not only for Bucky and Steve, but… for you and me. I wanted...“ Sebastian trails off, his round grey eyes shining in the low light. Unshed emotions build there that he rarely allows himself to show. They’ve been on this journey together for so long, developing a friendship onscreen, and mirroring that in real life. And more—Chris can’t imagine life without this guy.
“Seb—“
“It’s been ten years. I wanted to have a proper ending—a goodbye. Was it really too much to ask for?” Sebastian’s voice is barely a whisper now. He doesn’t mean to get worked up about something so trivial. It both frightens Chris and amazes him, how someone can be so vulnerable in the blink of an eye, yet beautiful all the same.
“I wish there was something I could do.” Chris raises a hand to Sebastian’s bicep, squeezing, comforting. The all black outfit suits Seb really well, and the long hair from the Bucky wig even more flattering—he has to remind himself that that isn’t important right now.
Sebastian holds his gaze for a long minute. He knows Chris would never have ill intentions, and he’s familiar first-hand with the amount of generosity and kindness living inside his heart. Chris’s eagerness to help others—to put them above his own ego and tear himself down in the process of lifting everyone around him up—it’s one of the reasons Sebastian loves him so much. When he replies, his voice cracks halfway through, while still maintaining his frustration. “I wanted this past decade to mean something.”
Something in Chris’s chest aches right then: it’s a pain that sinks its claws in deep, and gnaws at his soul. “It does. You mean something to me," Chris laughs lightly, halfway to a stage of panic. “A lot, actually.” Everything, you mean everything.
Sebastian senses Chris’s anxiety, like an instinctual thing, and reaches for the hand resting on his shoulder, guiding it up to the crook of his neck. Chris curls his fingers around it and plays with the ends of Sebastian’s Bucky-hair. That alone visibly lifts Seb’s spirits.
“It’s just too bad my character never got to hear that from yours. But, hey. He’s got Sam. He’ll be ok eventually,” Sebastian muses thoughtfully.
“You and Mackie are bound to stir up trouble,” Chris tells him.
He never thought he’d have to watch their characters suffer this much. Despite it all being fictional—Chris definitely knows that—the sorrowful expression on the man standing before him was still there. It was present in the room watching him after he said don’t do anything stupid until I get back. The lines should’ve felt nostalgic and like satisfying closure: the final turn of the key in the lock, the last stunning firework in a show. But instead, he finished the scene with a bad taste in his mouth. You’re happy for him is how the director duo had instructed Seb. But Sebastian Stan is clever, talented as hell, and nuanced in a way that only years of experience in films with a poor excuse for a speaking role can do. And so the words that fell from Sebastian’s mouth were written to be happy, yes, but they also dripped with despair—matching a pair of eyes on a face that called out desperately into the void for Steve to stay.
Chris owes him immensely for his devotion. He’s convinced that Sebastian is half the reason why their trilogy was so successful. Maybe more if he’s being totally honest.
Sebastian is one of the most rare people Chris has ever met, the kind to do so much for so little in return. It continuously inspires him and pushes him forward. Together they’re like the opposite ends of a puzzle—two pieces that just fit. Unbeknownst to Marvel, chemistry and symbiosis and pure magic, what have you, had manifested out of nowhere: blossoming and glowing, born out of a decade long affection, just waiting for the opportunity to be explored beneath the surface. And for their franchise to rip them apart simply because it was overwhelming and unplanned? It’s impossible to do such a thing without making a mess, leaving torn seams in the wake of it all, and they both knew that. It’s hard to ignore how many scenes between them were shortened, how many interactions onscreen were cut out entirely in recent films. Chris couldn’t even manage to put his full strength into the final scene; it felt wrong and unnatural, like his body was rejecting every second of the camera as it was rolling. For the first time in years, maybe even before First Avenger, he felt lost.
“It must’ve been tough. Not being able to tell anyone,” Sebastian murmurs. His own arms wrap around Chris’s waist. He’s worried about Chris just as much as Chris is about him, and that provides minor relief. It may be common knowledge, but it’s not often recognized how much Sebastian cares—about people, about his roles, about the stories he’s telling.
“I hated it. You didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, it’s just cruel,” Chris blurts, unable to contain his irritation, though not directing it at Seb in any way.
“They knew I’d be mad,” Sebastian points out.
Chris brings his other hand up to join the one cradling Sebastian’s face. “And you have every right to be. How could I not say that I’d miss you back?”
“I couldn’t even hug you like we always do. It didn’t feel right. And they’d probably ask for a reshoot anyway.” Chris can’t argue with that, all their onscreen hugs have been short embraces, pats to the back, one-armed and uncommitted. “I can only hope they won’t use this version for the final cut. But something tells me they will.”
Sebastian purses his lips and bites the inside of his cheek. A habit—Chris knows—and he recognizes when it means Seb is stressed out.
“No matter what anyone tries to tell you, Bucky is still my boy. Always and forever. I promise you that,” Chris insists with a grin.
Sebastian tries to hold back a laugh, and fails. He looks down at his feet bashfully before looking up at Chris again. “Why do you always have to be so funny. It gets really exhausting.” It’s an empty complaint.
“This isn’t goodbye for us, you know that right? Because I’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon,” Chris assures gently.
“Yeah,” Sebastian answers, just a bit breathless. He takes the opportunity to wrap Chris into a full hug. “Thank god.”
Nothing brings better ease and warmth to Chris’s bones than this, he’s sure of it. Sebastian’s muscled form melts into his as they deeply breathe each other in. Seb loses himself in Chris’s scent, glad he doesn’t need an oversized stolen sweater to get the same desired effect of safety right now.
“If it’s any consolation, I quit,” Chris says, voice conspiratorially low and face pressed into Seb’s shoulder. He gets another laugh for that one.
“I hate you.” The broad smile Chris feels against his skin lets him know that’s far the truth. “But, if they do ask you back for cameos, please come... I already miss your face. And I don’t care if I only get to see you in your Clint Eastwood form, I’ll take what I can get.”
Maybe it’s just the closer proximity, but Sebastian appears to let his walls down, and even seems needy, pleading with his request this time. Chris rubs his shoulder blades in slow circular motions.
“You don’t have to miss me, I’m right here.”
“Not close enough,” Sebastian exhales shakily. His hands get tangled in the fabric covering the small of Chris’s back.
Chris’s smile stretches even wider. They’re already as close as can be—chest to chest—but he’s not unfamiliar with the desire to crawl into someone else until you can no longer breathe, to become one whole instead of two separate halves of it, to never want to forget what it’s like to be together when thousands of miles stretch you apart. “C’mere then.”
Sebastian takes half a step back to be able to look at Chris’s face, only to be met with overflowing adoration waiting for him there. Chris is an eye contact addict only for him, Seb’s presence in his life made that a permanent thing. His light irises are crystal clear water, the sea after a storm that calm Chris’s own blue speckled green. Sebastian runs the tip of his nose over his, then delicately across his cheek, tilting his head just so. Chris’s long eyelashes flutter shut as they kiss. It’s slow and it’s real and it’s home. He could do this every day for the rest of his life, no hesitation about it. Chris decided that long ago.
And Sebastian was right. When they pull back, it’s not enough, it never is, they both can feel that, and it’s Chris who initiates the next all-consuming kiss. He cards his fingers through Seb’s beard while it scrapes delicately over his clean shaven face. The once featherlight press of lips becomes unrestrained, and makes Seb’s heart swell in his chest. There’s time for passion later, but right now it just feels so nice—to hold and to be held—to be safe in each other’s strong arms.
“I just can’t imagine doing all of this without you,” Seb says a while later, lips still lingering on Chris’s neck after traveling there.
“I’ll come visit you in Atlanta. I need an excuse to pick on Mackie. And I’ve grown fond of sweltering hot weather,” Chris rasps in his ear.
“You sure you’re not just fond of me?”
“Nah, bro.”
Sebastian chuckles.
“I’ll be there,” Chris promises. He starts to leave his own trail of pressed lips on Seb’s neck too. “The show will be so good. I’m so proud of you.”
Sebastian blushes at his reply and the tickling sensation. “Thanks.”
Chris turns his head to grin at him and rub noses in an eskimo kiss again. He can’t help it when every time, Seb scrunches his nose in the way that he does, eyes squeezed shut. He pokes at the crinkles forming at the edges, softly tracing laughlines.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
Seb hums at him curiously.
“You, me, Dodger: nap,” Chris announces. The bags under his eyes, drooping from fatigue are there to back him up.
Seb smiles happily, eyelids already halfway closed as he leans into the warm chest in front of him. “Hell yeah.”