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Steve wasn’t happy.
He’d been living with Peggy for almost six months, going through the motions each day. His routine hadn’t wavered in the almost one hundred and sixty days he’d been living with Peggy in her suburban brownstone with a white picket fence and a neighbourhood watch group. He didn’t go out much; despite the fact that his hair was longer and darker, and he had regrown his beard, he was cautious that people might recognise him. After all, Captain America had only crashed the Valkyrie five years ago, in this timeline. It was highly likely that people would look at him and make the connection.
So, he stayed in the house a lot of the time. He read books, watched television, and reached for his phone every time he finished an interesting chapter or an interesting documentary. He had grown used to the modern era and found himself feeling adrift without his phone and all that it offered him: quick and easy access to Google, and to his friends.
Peggy was all Steve had, now. Well, her and Mrs Andrews from across the street, who let Steve walk her dog every Sunday morning. He didn’t have friends here – all of his friends were living in 2023, while Steve himself was living in 1950.
Steve missed Sam. He missed Wanda, and Bruce, and even that Parker kid.
(And Natasha, and Tony, but that was different. He felt their loss like a hole in his chest – ragged, bloody, and gaping. Not yet healed, not yet hale. Not given the chance to grieve.)
He also missed Bucky.
Of everything and everyone that Steve had left behind, he missed Bucky the most.
If Steve was being completely honest, he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d come back to Peggy. She had been the expectation, for him; everyone expected Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter to end up together. They were supposed to be perfect for one another. Their life together was supposed to be the one he had always dreamed of.
And he tried. God knew he had tried to dream of this life. To dream of red lips and dark eyelashes, of Peggy’s charm and wit and competence. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop dreaming of blue, blue eyes and a metal hand that gleamed in the sunlight.
Steve had come to the slow and painful realisation that leaving Bucky behind might have been the worst decision of his life. They’d been torn apart so many times – by fate, by circumstance, by HYDRA – and yet they’d always found their way back to one another. When it finally seemed like they would have each other – permanently – Steve had thrown it all away. He’d torn them apart, this time.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Peggy had said one night, absently pushing her salad around her dinner plate.
“More than anything.” Steve had replied quietly, too exhausted to be anything but openly honest.
Steve knew that he loved Bucky, had done since the day they met. He had only recently come to the realisation, however, that he might just be in love with Bucky, too. And with that realisation came the burning, aching need to tell him; to confess and to hope – pray – that Bucky felt the same way. But would he, after what Steve had done?
How could he?
Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was sitting on the back porch, watching the sunset with a glass of homemade lemonade sweating on the table beside him. He was lost in thought, as he often was these days. He wanted to go home – so fucking badly – but he wasn’t sure if he had a right to call Bucky home anymore.
He heard the tell-tale sound of Peggy’s car pulling into the driveway, and he straightened up in his seat. He reached for his glass of lemonade, purely to have something to do with his hands, and waited for her to find him.
Peggy appeared a few minutes later, stockinged feet quiet against the floorboards. She had kicked her shoes off at the front door, like always, and padded out onto the porch.
“Hello, Steve,” Peggy said quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “How are you?”
Steve looked up at her, forcing a smile onto his face. “Hi. I’m okay. Dinner’s on the stove,” He said, gesturing inside with his glass of lemonade. “How are you? How was your day?”
Peggy sighed, sitting on the edge of the chair next to Steve’s. “I’m alright,” She shrugged, crossing her legs and leaning down to massage one of her feet. “It was a long day, but they often are. Howard was as frustrating as usual. Nothing new there, though,” She looked over at Steve, nodding at his glass. “You made lemonade?”
“I tried,” Steve shrugged, lifting one shoulder. “Not much else to do all day. There’s a jug in the fridge, if you want some.”
Peggy smiled, turning away slightly and looking out across the garden. It was relatively warm, and the sun had just begun to set. The sky was a pearly shade of orange, streaked with pink, and amber light spilled across the grass. The pair fell silent for a while, accompanied by the sound of a dog barking down the street, and their neighbours having a barbeque. Steve took another sip of lemonade, the ice cubes clinking gently against the edge of the sweating glass.
“I want to go home,” Steve said eventually, his voice small and wavering slightly. “I don’t – I don’t think this is where I’m meant to be.”
“I think you’re right,” Peggy said softly, turning her body towards Steve and laying a hand on his forearm. “I don’t grudge you that, Steve. I appreciate you coming back, and I appreciate you trying, but I don’t think things are meant to be for us. Not anymore, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve said, lifting his gaze to meet Peggy’s own. Her eyes were warm, and sure. “I really am. I wish things could’ve worked out.”
“It’s okay that they didn’t,” Peggy smiled, withdrawing her hand and tucking it into her lap. “You deserve to be happy, Steve. And you’re not happy here. Not with me, and not without Bucky.”
Steve let out a long, slow exhale. He lifted his glass to his mouth, pressing it against his lower lip as he mulled over Peggy’s words. He didn’t speak for a few minutes, lost deep in thought as he was. Peggy was the one to break the silence, smoothing her palms over her skirt.
“Do you know when you’re going to go?” She asked, clasping her fingers over her knee.
Steve shook his head. “I – I haven’t decided. I think the sooner I go the better, though. I’ve monopolized your spare room for long enough.”
“Not at all, Steve,” Peggy tutted softly, shaking her head. “It’s been wonderful having you here. Seeing you again, after everything… It – it was like a miracle. It was a miracle. I hope you don’t regret coming back?”
Steve laid his glass down, picking at a stray hangnail on his thumb. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret it. I wish I hadn’t had to time travel to realise that everything I ever wanted was right in front of me, you know?” Peggy nodded delicately, hair brushing her shoulders with the movement. “But I don’t regret seeing you again. Thank you for everything. I don’t deserve half of what you did for me.”
“Of course you deserve it, Steve,” Peggy rolled her eyes, pushing to her feet. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, above the line of his beard. “You are a wonderful person. You always were, and it’s refreshing to see that you still are.”
Peggy squeezed Steve’s shoulder again, before heading inside. The porch door swung shut behind her, leaving Steve alone with the setting sun.
He left after nightfall.
He stood in the living room; Stark’s time travel device tucked between his fingers. Peggy stood a few paces away, hair pulled back off her face with a cotton dressing gown wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled softly, stepping close and reaching up to cup Steve’s face in her hands.
“Go and find your happiness, Steve Rogers.” She said quietly, tilting their foreheads together for a moment.
“I hope you find yours, too.” Steve said as he moved away, giving Peggy a watery smile. He took a deep breath, looking down at the device in his hand before steeling himself and pressing the button.
He’d programmed the device to take him to the outskirts of the town that Sam’s sister lived in. Steve had no doubt that, in the aftermath of the blip, Sam would be staying with her. He fizzled into existence in the middle of a field, a herd of cows blinking sleepily at him in the midnight dusk.
He tucked his hands into his pockets, heading for the nearest road, when a glowing yellow doorway appeared in his path. Steve stopped in his tracks, frowning as the doorway appeared to open. It spilled three people out onto the grass; a man in a muddy brown suit, followed by three people in tac gear and helmets.
“Standard sequence violation,” The man in the suit said, gaze sweeping across the field. He looked down at a device in his hand, the glow of the screen lighting up his face. “Branch is growing at a stable rate and slope. Variant identified.” He looked up at Steve again, assessing him calculatedly.
“Who are you?” Steve asked, fingers itching for the shield that used to be tethered on his back.
“Steve Rogers,” The man continued, paying Steve’s question no mind. “On behalf of the TVA, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Sacred Timeline.”
Steve blinked, taking a step back.
“Sacred Timeline?” He asked, looking between the man in the brown suit and the agents flanking him on either side. “Does this have something to do with the time travelling? I promise you; I’m done with all that. I’m just trying to go home.” Steve said, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
“Save it,” The man sighed as he took a few steps towards Steve, who dropped into a defensive stance. “Don’t bother trying to fight me, either.”
Steve frowned, watching as the man withdrew something from his pocket and brought it near him.
“Fuck no.” Steve recoiled, raising his forearm to block the man’s advances. Suddenly, however, he was struck in the chest with something that made time turn into molasses, all thick and cloying as it clung to Steve’s limbs. He could hardly move, but he could feel the pain spreading out from the point of impact, jarring his ribcage.
The man in front of him hummed, reaching up to fasten what appeared to be a collar around Steve’s neck.
“Time has slowed down to 1/16th,” The man explained. “For you, anyway. Pretty neat, isn’t it?”
Steve grunted as he fell to the ground, and two of the agents darted forward to grab him. The third pulled out a small device; it looked like it was made of some kind of dark, coppery metal, with glass panels around the centre. It was filled with a shimmering, swirling kaleidoscope of golden liquid.
“Reset the timeline.” The man in the suit instructed, and the agent pressed down on the top of the device until it clicked. Steve watched over his shoulder as the golden liquid turned purple and a strange burst of cosmic light emanated from the device, spreading out across the field.
That was the last thing he saw, as the man in the suit guided him through the glowing yellow doorway.
What…the fuck?
The man shepherded Steve along a well-lit hallway with a firm hand on his bicep. They walked through a set of double doors into a round room with brown retro décor, matching the man’s suit and tie. There was a circular desk in the middle of the room, behind which sat a person in a similar uniform, sans jacket. The person looked up at their approach, mouth falling open with a quiet inhale of surprise.
“Oh, Agent Mobius! And, uh, Captain America?” The person said, looking between the man – Mobius, Steve supposed – and Steve himself.
“Not anymore.” Steve muttered.
“He’s right,” Mobius supplied, nudging Steve in the shoulder. “Not Captain America anymore, Casey, and especially not here. Just a lowly Time Criminal, here in the TVA.”
“Time what?” Steve scoffed, turning to face Mobius the best he could. “I’m not a fucking criminal, I was just trying to get home.”
“I told you, save it.” Mobius rolled his eyes, moving away from the desk and herding Steve over to a set of doors on the opposite side of the room. He pulled a lever, and the doors slid open to reveal what looked like an elevator.
Except for the huge machine hanging on the wall.
“What the hell-” Steve yelped as Mobius shoved him into the elevator with a farewell, the doors closing behind him. The machine burst to life, four mechanical arms moving in opposite directions as a pixelated face appeared on the screen. Steve eyed the arms nervously, taking a step back as they seemed to zero in on him. He didn’t get too far before they shot out a beam of white light, literally lasering the clothes off his body. “Woah, excuse me. At least take me to dinner first.” Steve snapped, moving his hands to cover his modesty. It hardly mattered, as a few seconds later the floor was falling away from underneath him, sending him tumbling down into another box room.
Steve managed to keep his footing, looking down at his now-clothed body. He appeared to be wearing some kind of beige jumpsuit, collar still fastened firmly around his neck. He frowned, looking up then and realising that there was another person in front of him. A man sat behind a desk, a huge stack of paper in front of him.
“Please sign to verify this is everything you’ve ever said.” The man drawled, setting a pen on top of the pile.
“Jeez, I hope you haven’t read all that.” Steve quipped, and the man sighed as a machine behind him whirred to life and spat out a piece of paper. He grabbed it, placing it on top of the pile underneath the pen.
“And this.” The man sighed, his expression one of sheer, unadulterated boredom. Steve looked down at the page, finding his most recent words written on it in neat ink.
Steve’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as he grudgingly leaned down and grabbed the pen, scrawling his signature onto the topmost page. As soon as he replaced the pen on top of the pile, the floor was giving way again and sending him down another level. The landing was easier this time, now that he knew what to expect, and he found himself standing in front of what looked like a metal detector.
Steve had a moment of delirium at the sight of it. Bucky couldn’t walk through metal detectors without them going off. It made him laugh, and the man waiting on the other side of the archway eyed him with disdain.
“Please confirm to your knowledge that you are not a fully robotic being, were born an organic creature, and do in fact possess what many cultures would call a soul.” The man rhymed off robotically, and Steve tilted his head to the side. He swallowed back another laugh at the thought of Bucky trying to contend with whatever this was and stepped through the archway with little fanfare. As he did so, something flashed in his face and made him recoil. A little square dropped down from the edge of the arch, and the man grabbed it before Steve could.
“What is that?” Steve asked, eyeing the man as he studied the square – picture? Steve had no idea – intently.
“Your temporal aura,” The man said, as if that explained anything. The doors in front of Steve slid open, revealing another circular room with lines marked out of rope. “Move through.”
“Temporal aura, right. Of course.” Steve muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he stepped out into the next room. Another person – in tac gear, this time – waited for him, and nodded at a little dispenser.
“Take a ticket.” The person – agent? – said, and Steve raised an eyebrow.
“What is this, Coney Island? Where’s the rides?” Steve asked, and the agent levelled him with a deeply unimpressed look.
“Take a ticket.” They said again, more forcefully this time, and Steve sighed as he did as he was told. He tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit, heading through the turnstile and following the path.
“Sure doesn’t seem as fun as Coney Island, here,” Steve said over his shoulder. “What even is this place?”
His question was soon answered by a very retro looking animation that appeared on the numerous screens posted around the room. Something about Time Keepers and Sacred Timelines and branched realities, all of which sounded like bullshit to Steve. But, then again, he had just time travelled and had literally handed the soul stone over to an entity that had looked a lot like the Red Skull, so he supposed that anything was possible.
He continued following the path until he came to a doorway, where he was prompted to hand over his ticket. He didn’t really see the point in the whole ticket affair, especially considering he was the only person in the room, but he went along with the charade anyway. He was finally ushered into what looked like a courtroom and took his place at a podium a few paces away from a high bench.
A woman sat at the bench; she eyed Steve critically as he stood before her, and he met her gaze easily and evenly. She looked away eventually, sighing as she clasped her hands in front of her.
“Rogers. Variant S7092 AKA Steven Grant Rogers, charged with sequence violation section 7-20-89. How do you plead?”
“How do I plead?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly am I being charged of?”
“Violation of the sacred timeline,” The judge explained, as though that made any sense whatsoever. “An unsanctioned manipulation of time, resulting in the creation of a branched timeline.”
“But I thought it was reset?” Steve frowned. “That guy, the one from earlier, he said that the timeline was reset. So surely what I did doesn’t matter, if you can just erase it?”
“That is beyond the point,” The judge said through gritted teeth. “The fact of the matter is that you, Variant, have manipulated the timeline beyond the will of the Time Keepers. Ergo, you must be put on trial. So, I’ll ask again, how do you plead?”
“Well, you clearly think I’m guilty,” Steve snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “So I suppose that’s how I plead.”
The judge huffed and nodded her agreement. “Good. Well, this court finds you guilty, and so I sentence you to be reset.”
Steve blinked.
“Reset? Wait, what, no,” He shook his head as two agents approached him from either side. “No, you can’t reset me, please. I’m – I’m just trying to get home. I haven’t done anything wrong, get your fucking hands off me-”
“Hey, stop!” The man from earlier – Mobius – stepped in, placing a placating hand on Steve’s chest. He turned to face the judge, who looked beyond unimpressed.
“Judge Renslayer, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have some time with the Variant first.”
“And why should I grant you that?” She asked, raising one exasperated eyebrow.
“Well, I mean,” Mobius fidgeted slightly, gesturing towards Steve with his free hand. “He’s Captain America. You don’t want to pick his brain just a little bit?”
“I’m not Captain America anymore,” Steve supplied, shaking Mobius’s hand off his chest. “Hence why I’m here.”
“Still, still, same diff,” Mobius waved his hand through the air nonchalantly. “Please, Ravonna? Just – just let me talk to him. I’ll reset him myself afterwards, I swear.”
“Your word means shit, Mobius,” Judge Renslayer sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “But fine. You owe me – big time.” She said, pointing a warning finger at Mobius. He smiled at her in response – a huge, shit-eating grin – before turning back to Steve.
“C’mon, big fella,” He said, tapping Steve’s chest. “You’re with me.”
“I’m actually a fan,” Mobius explained, leading Steve into a room called the ‘Time Theatre’. It was relatively dark, with a huge screen taking up one wall. In the middle of the room was a circular desk with a chair on either side. Mobius sat on the one on the right, gesturing for Steve to take the other. “Yeah, I’ve been watching you for a while. I thought it was very interesting, what you did.”
“That’s one word for it,” Steve muttered, crossing the room and grudgingly sliding into the chair opposite Mobius. “How come your Time Keepers didn’t have an issue with that?”
“It was preordained,” Mobius explained, fiddling with a screen that was set into a glossy, retro red ball. “Decided by the Time Keepers, in advance.”
“I guess they didn’t count on me wanting to come back, then.” Steve asked, and Mobius shook his head.
“No, they definitely did not. You weren’t supposed to try and come back, hence the intervention.”
“Is there really no way out of this?” Steve asked, running his palms over his thighs. “Am I – am I really going to be reset?”
Mobius looked up, eyeing Steve for a moment. His expression was surprisingly soft, and Steve found himself latching onto just a little bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, Mobius would be on his side after all.
“You should be,” Mobius sighed. “But I don’t think that’s necessarily fair. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to stop you from being reset, but I want to try.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Let’s just say I met someone recently who’s been making me rethink a lot of things,” Mobius said, a little bit sheepish. Steve waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Now, standard procedure here is for us to run through the most important parts of your life and timeline thus far. Think of it as a highlights reel, if you will.”
“Is that really necessary?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as the screen along the wall came to life, throwing light across himself and Mobius.
“I mean, it’s not necessary,” Mobius shrugged, flicking a few switches. “But we’re doing it anyway. I find it helps to put things into perspective.”
Steve couldn’t help but cringe a little as an image of himself flickered onto the screen: at ten years old, he had been the smallest kid in his grade. “God, you had to start here?” He asked, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment.
“It’s part of your life, Steve,” Mobius shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Everything you’ve ever done, every decision you’ve ever made, has led you to this point right here. You don’t want to know why, or how?”
“Not really.” Steve muttered, wincing as kid-Steve was knocked around by a group of older boys on the screen. He remembered that day; the boys had been ragging on one of the girls in Steve’s class, whose older brother wasn’t exactly in their favour. Steve had stepped in, taking the attention away from the girl – along with the force of the bullies’ fists. Even at ten years old, Steve hadn’t been one to passively observe – especially not where unnecessary cruelty was concerned.
Steve remembered the bruises he’d gone home with that day. His mother had cried when she’d seen them; his pale skin splattered with black and blue, spilling over his chest like ink. However, they weren’t as bad as they could’ve been; that was thanks to –
“James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky’s voice came over the speakers, a lifetime younger and an octave higher than it was now. On the screen, Bucky stuck his hand out towards Steve, hauling him up off the ground and helping him dust off his ruined uniform. “Sorry they were goin’ after ya’ like that. s’not fair. I saw what you did, tryna’ help Janie like that. You’re a good one, Stevie. I like ya.”
“That was an important moment, huh?” Mobius asked, gesturing towards the screen. Steve nodded, unable to look away. He’d never known what they looked like together, back then. Seeing it now was like a punch to the gut – one that Bucky wasn’t around to deflect.
He looked at Bucky like he was the sun. Like he’d cradled the moon in his hands and hung it in the sky. Like he’d touched the stars with his fingertips and spread them wide across the velvet of the night.
Steve looked at Bucky like he was his everything. Which, to be fair, he was.
And Bucky looked at him the same way.
“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” Steve said breathlessly, his eyes shining as a kaleidoscope of images danced across the screen; moments from his and Bucky’s teenage years, when they’d been so caught up in one another it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. They’d been like that for most of their lives – at least until 1941, when Bucky had been drafted.
Steve saw himself on the screen; five foot nothing and ninety pounds soaking wet, all but begging to be enlisted. 4F after 4F, rejection after rejection, Bucky begging Steve in turn to “just stop it, Steve, please, let it go, I can’t lose you, there’s so many important jobs, this isn’t a back-alley Steve this is war.”
“You were really determined, huh?” Mobius asked gently, and Steve nodded.
“It wasn’t even that I wanted to fight,” Steve shrugged. “I never actually wanted to hurt or kill anyone. I just didn’t like bullies.”
Mobius hummed in response, lost beneath the sounds of Camp Lehigh. Steve chewed on his lower lip as he watched himself and Peggy interact; he watched her with the same intensity as he had watched Bucky, though more out of respect than anything else. Despite everything, Steve still appreciated Peggy; how could he not, all things considered. He watched as she stood by the edge of the Vita-Ray as it began to work, lighting up from the inside.
Mobius let out a low whistle as the chamber opened, revealing Steve in all of his muscled, sweat-streaked glory. That was, arguably, the most important moment of Steve’s life. There he was: sans all of the ailments that had plagued him for the majority of his life until that point, suddenly imbued with the ability to fight and to help. And yet, he had always felt like something was missing, even after his transformation. He’d thought maybe that something was Peggy, but he’d never had the chance to properly explore whether she was or not.
He’d always felt a little less like something was missing – a little more whole – whenever he was around Bucky. Finding him lying on that table in Azzano had been a feeling like no other. Steve watched as Bucky’s face lit up upon seeing him, Steve’s own expression a mirror of his unbridled joy and open, easy admiration.
“I thought you were dead.” Onscreen Steve said, gently cupping Bucky’s cheek and encouraging him to look up. Bucky’s own hands were curled around Steve’s biceps, and Steve could still remember that pressure like it was yesterday.
“I really did,” Steve said, looking over at Mobius who was watching the screen with rapt attention. “Think he was dead, that is. I’ve never felt fear like that in all my life.”
“I suppose that made what happened next even worse?” Mobius asked, turning towards Steve as the screen fluttered through images of Howard Stark painstakingly crafting the signature Captain America shield.
“Yeah,” Steve said, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he watched himself and Bucky at the top of the ridge, train track curling through the mountains beneath them. “Yeah, it did.”
And that was the truth. When Steve had made the decision to infiltrate the HYDRA base at Azzano, he hadn’t known whether he would find Bucky alive or not. When he had, the relief that flooded through him was almost enough to bring him to his knees. To lose him again so soon, after only just getting him back, was beyond excruciating.
“Do we have to watch this part?” Steve asked, looking down at his lap. He flexed his fingers atop his thighs, curling them into fists and digging his nails into his palms.
“I’m sorry, Steve,” Mobius said quietly, shaking his head. “I can’t fast forward it.”
Steve gave a resigned nod, wincing as an almighty crash echoed from the speakers.
“Bucky, hold on! Grab my hand!”
They’d been so close. Their hands had been so close. If only Steve had tried harder, had gone further. If only he had thrown himself off the train after Bucky, he might’ve been able to save him.
Knowing what he knew now – that Bucky had survived the fall, only to be picked up by HYDRA – made an insurmountable wave of guilt rise in Steve’s chest.
“I should’ve gone after him,” Steve whispered thickly. “I should’ve looked for him. I could’ve saved him.”
“You weren’t to know, Steve,” Mobius said in response. “If you had saved him then, you probably wouldn’t have had him now, either.”
“He was tortured, for years,” Steve shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “He – they took his arm, they took his mind, they took his memories and all of his free will. If I could’ve prevented that, it would’ve been worth living without him in this century.”
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and something we here at the TVA have the privilege of, when it comes to the lives of others,” Mobius said, gesturing towards the screen where Steve was grappling with the Red Skull over the Tesseract. “But you can’t spend your life in the past, Steve, nor can you spend it looking backwards.”
“Someone else told me something very similar, a few years ago,” Steve said contemplatively, watching as he took control of the Valkyrie and had a harried yet loaded conversation with Peggy over the comms. “I thought I had to go back in order to live, y’know? It wasn’t until I actually got there that I realised how wrong I was, and that I should’ve listened to everyone that told me to move on and move forward, instead.”
The speakers crackled as the Valkyrie crashed into the sea, consumed by the inky black waves. Steve swallowed heavily, twisting his fingers together in his lap as the timeline skipped forward 70 years, to the moment he found himself in the middle of Times Square.
“What made you want to come back?” Mobius asked, lacing his fingers together on the table and turning his body towards Steve. “Beyond knowing that being in the 1950s wasn’t where you wanted to be. I’m assuming there was another reason?”
Steve nodded, sighing a little as he turned his attention away from the screen. Seeing the Avengers was painful enough but seeing Tony and Natasha – whole and hale and, crucially, alive – was even worse.
“I came back for Bucky,” Steve explained, tracing patterns on the tabletop with his index fingernail. “I – my whole life, but especially after becoming Captain America, I felt like I was missing something. Like there was some part of me that was just unfulfilled. The part of me that wanted – no, needed – to love and to be loved. I thought Peggy could fill that void, but we never really got the chance to try. Then I woke up in 2012 and there was no time to think of anything but fighting, you know? It was just one fight after another, for so many years. Until we beat Thanos, and I figured it was time to start living. So I went back,” Steve shrugged, struggling through all of the thoughts that were crowding his brain. “I went back because I thought Peggy was my best chance at living. It wasn’t until I was back there that I realised how wrong I was. Because I still didn’t feel whole, even when I was with her. Something was still missing – is still missing.”
“Barnes?” Mobius asked, nodding towards the screen as Steve tossed his shield across the rooftops, coming face to face with the Winter Soldier without any idea who he was.
“Yeah,” Steve breathed, watching as Bucky threw the shield back to him and disappeared from view, like a spectre. “I wish it hadn’t taken me going back to realise that I’m in love with him. I’m, uh,” Steve’s chuckle was humourless, self-deprecating, and a little bitter. “I’m scared he won’t feel the same way, or he’ll hate me for leaving in the first place.”
“I’ve seen your entire life play out multiple times,” Mobius said, as Steve and the Winter Soldier grappled on the screen. “I don’t think there is any timeline, or any reality in which he could possibly hate you.”
Steve hummed in response, turning his attention back to the screen just in time to hear those fateful, devastating words:
“Who the hell is Bucky?”
Bucky was Steve’s everything; his hamartia and his home, all rolled into one. Seeing him as the Winter Soldier – long hair, metal arm, muzzle – was simultaneously terrifying and wonderful. Terrifying because Steve had no idea what he had gone through – alone – to end up here, in 2014, when he should have died in 1942.
Wonderful because he was alive, which meant that they could have a second chance.
Of course, it wasn’t easy. But nothing worth having ever was.
“Sam Wilson wanted you to give up,” Mobius said, gesturing towards the screen as Steve, Sam, and the Winter Soldier recouped at the Insight helicarriers. “Why didn’t you? I mean, at this point, did you really think you’d get Bucky back?”
“I had no idea,” Steve shrugged, watching as the Winter Soldier fired a shot through Steve’s abdomen. “But every time I thought about giving up, I looked into his eyes and saw the person that refused to give up on me. Who would I be if I gave up on him?”
“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”
“Shut up!”
“I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.”
“You’re my mission.”
“Then finish it. Because I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”
Steve fell silent for a while after that, watching as Bucky disappeared from the footage being relayed on the screen. He was quiet as all of the mess with Ultron flickered across the screen and remained that way until the events in Lagos. His nails dug into his knees during Rumlow’s “your buddy, your pal, your Bucky” monologue, knuckles stained white and standing out in sharp relief.
“He was a fucking prick.” Steve muttered, and Mobius snorted his agreement.
Watching Peggy’s funeral back, when it felt like mere hours since he’d stood in her living room, was a sobering experience for Steve. He blinked back tears as he watched himself carry her coffin down the aisle, and Mobius handed him a box of Miss Minutes branded tissues. Steve took one with a small yet grateful smile, dabbing at the dampness that clung to his lashes.
Steve’s reunion with Bucky in Bucharest was bittersweet. He could still remember standing in that tiny apartment; the bare mattress on the floor in the corner of the room, the rotting plums in the fruit bowl, the notebook filled with facts about Steve all written in Bucky’s signature sloping scrawl. The ensuing chase was torturous, especially given that it culminated in Bucky being imprisoned and Steve having to walk away from him – again.
Mobius cleared his throat as Zemo rhymed off the words that would activate the Winter Soldier. “Speaking of pricks…” He murmured, raising an eyebrow and nodding towards the screen. Steve let out a startled bark of laughter, even as onscreen-Bucky threw him down a lift shaft.
Holding onto the helicopter had taken every ounce of Steve’s strength – and then some – but he had been determined not to let Bucky go. Not again. And when he finally woke up in that warehouse, with stories on his tongue that nobody else could’ve known, Steve’s relief was almost unbearable. He wanted nothing more than to take Bucky in his arms then; to hold him again, for the first time in however many years. But there was no time. Not yet anyway.
Steve watched as the Sokovia Accords slowly tore the Avengers apart, resulting in divisions that would last for many years to come. He stood by his decision not to sign the Accords – he only wished the fallout hadn’t been so severe. Watching himself and Bucky fight Tony – especially with the emotional weight of the knowledge of the circumstances of Tony’s parents’ death – was difficult to say the least.
And when the shield fell for a second time, Steve had no idea how he hadn’t realised that he was in love with Bucky Barnes.
“What was that like?” Mobius asked, as Bucky sat on a table in a Wakandan lab. “When he told you he wanted to go under again?”
“It was shit, at first,” Steve admitted. “I just wanted to be around him again, y’know? Just – just talk to him. But that was one of the first big decisions he’d been able to make for himself in so long. I wasn’t going to tell him no.”
Steve watched as he liberated his allies from the Raft before splitting off to go into hiding with Sam and Natasha. The three of them had completed a variety of underground missions during their time together, and Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss those days. Natasha, especially. He made a few trips to Wakanda during those years as well, following Bucky’s liberation of both body and mind.
Those were some of Steve’s most cherished memories; sitting by the lake with Bucky as the sun began to set, streaking the sky with delicate pinks and lavenders. It was in those moments that he allowed himself to admire Bucky, and how far he had come; his hair, while still long, was clean and shiny, half-pulled back from his face in an elegant style that Shuri had doubtless taught him. The metal arm HYDRA had given him no longer pulled his shoulders down; instead, the empty socket was covered up, and would be until the day Bucky decided he was ready for a new prosthetic. The biggest difference, however, was in his eyes; they were still the most beautiful shade of blue but were no longer downcast and terrified. No; they were bright and crinkled at the corners with mirth, so inherently Bucky that it made Steve’s head spin when he looked at them for too long.
Bucky in Wakanda was the most breathtaking sight; he literally glowed, and Steve could hardly keep his eyes off him.
Honestly, it really was a wonder that he hadn’t realised the depth of his feelings for Bucky at least then.
Of course, their respite could hardly last forever. The arrival of Thanos changed everything, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he watched people turn into ash that fluttered guilelessly on the wind.
“Were you affected? By the snap?” Steve asked, looking over at Mobius who shook his head.
“Not here,” He said, picking idly at a loose thread on his trousers. “Time moves differently here. We don’t exactly abide by the same laws or mechanics as your world.”
“Lucky.” Steve murmured, turning back to the screen as five listless, solitary years of his life drifted by. He had been at a loss for what to do – as had many of the people that were left behind. He’d stepped away from the Avengers and had found himself a little apartment in Brooklyn, where his neighbours didn’t care who he was or what he did. His decision to start a support group for those affected by the snap had been inspired by Sam and his work with the VA, which Steve had had the privilege of supporting.
The support group had given him some semblance of purpose, during those five years. After stepping away from the Avengers – and superheroics, altogether – Steve had been searching for something else to do to occupy his time. There wasn’t much he could do, given that he’d been going from fight to fight for far too long and had little else to fall back on. But – he was good at talking to people. So talk to people he did.
That was, until Scott Lang reappeared. Cue: The Time Heist.
“I bet all that must’ve been a bitch to moderate.” Steve said, gesturing towards the screen as he and the rest of the team collected the infinity stones.
“Surprisingly not,” Mobius shrugged. “All of it was meant to happen, so we didn’t have to intervene at all.”
Steve raised an eyebrow, making a small sound of contemplation. It seemed strange that all of their time travelling was preordained, for god only knew how long before they’d actually attempted it.
By that logic, it meant that Natasha’s death was also preordained. That hurt more than anything else.
Natasha had been one of Steve’s closest friends, along with Sam and Bucky. She never expected him to be anything but himself – Steve Rogers, that was, rather than Captain America. He still felt her loss deep within the vestiges of his soul, and he imagined that he would feel it forever. He only wished that he had been given the chance to say goodbye, or to at least give her the funeral she deserved. Tony’s loss was great, but so was Natasha’s, and Steve felt as though she got a little bit lost and forgotten amidst the grief.
Steve would try his best to live now – for her. And he wouldn’t dare forget her.
“Would the TVA have intervened if someone other than Tony tried to snap?” Steve asked, watching himself wield Mjolnir on the screen. “Did someone other than Tony try to snap?”
“I’m not really at liberty to answer that,” Mobius cleared his throat, noticeably avoiding eye contact. “The answer to your first question is probably yes, though. Given that the TVA didn’t intervene, it’s safe to assume that Tony was the one that was meant to snap.”
“I wish it hadn’t been him.” Steve said quietly, looking down at his lap as Tony wielded the gauntlet. He didn’t want to see it again; Tony’s body crumpling with the power of the stones, shuddering as he took his last breaths.
“Do you wish it had been you?” Mobius asked, probing gently for an answer. Steve shrugged, scratching at the inseam of the TVA-issued jumpsuit.
“I don’t wish it had been me,” Steve shook his head. “Not in that way. But I would’ve done it, to save Tony. He had Pepper, and Morgan. He deserved to see her grow up.”
Mobius hummed softly in response, tilting his head to the side and watching the screen as Steve and Bucky had a painfully stilted conversation about his plan to return to Peggy.
“So you’re going to take the stones back, then come straight home?” Bucky asked, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed with his hands clasped between his knees.
Steve sighed, sweeping a hand over the face of his shield. “Not exactly.” He said softly, laying the shield against the bed and sitting down next to Bucky.
“What?” Bucky frowned, turning his body towards Steve. “What do you mean not exactly?”
Steve paused for a moment, staring down at the floor. He felt Bucky’s metal hand on his bicep, and the touch grounded him a little.
“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Talk to me.”
“I thought,” Steve began, twisting his fingers together. “I thought I might stay. In the past.”
“Stay…in the past? What? You’re not making any sense,” Bucky shook his head, reaching for Steve’s hands and tugging them into his own lap. “Stop that, look at me. What’s going on?”
Steve turned, lifting one leg onto the bed so that he could face Bucky comfortably. He left his hands in Bucky’s lap, their fingers laced together.
“I never really got the chance to have a life of my own. Never really got a chance to live. I thought I would maybe give it a try.”
“In the past? Why – why in the past, Steve?” Bucky prompted gently, rubbing his metal thumb over Steve’s knuckles.
“Well, that’s where Peggy is.” Steve said simply, and Bucky stilled.
“Oh. I didn’t realise you wanted to be with her, still.” Bucky said, shifting slightly. His grip on Steve’s hands was less sure now, and Steve looked up to find Bucky staring back at him.
“Everyone thought we should’ve been together, right?” Steve’s chuckle was humourless, a little flat. “Must’ve been a reason for that.”
“Would – would that make you happy? Being with her?” Bucky asked, teeth digging into his lower lip.
The truthful answer would’ve been no. Steve didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay – with Bucky – and live in the now, not in the past. He wanted to live here, make a life for himself here, to do his living here.
But that wouldn’t be fair on Bucky. Because Bucky deserved so much better than Steve. The only logical option was for him to run; run to the one person that everyone expected him to be with. Remove himself from the equation, his own happiness be damned, so that Bucky could thrive.
“Yes,” Steve replied. “Yes, I think it would make me happy.”
He tried to ignore the way Bucky’s face fell. He told himself he was imagining it; the way his expression shuttered and changed, his shoulders crumpling for a split second. When Steve looked back at Bucky, his lips were pulled up into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Then you should go. You deserve to be happy, Steve. And if you think being with Peggy is what would make you happy, then,” Bucky shrugged. “Who am I to stand in your way? You have the opportunity, and you have the technology…” He trailed off, and Steve squeezed his hands.
“You really think I should go?”
Say no, please say no. Tell me not to go. Tell me to stay. Please.
“Yeah, I think you should. I want nothing more than for you to live and be happy, Steve.” Bucky said quietly, and Steve sighed. He looked away, pulling his hands out of Bucky’s grip and reaching for the shield. He didn’t notice the way Bucky’s expression changed the second he looked away; it crumbled into one of anguish, and his eyes welled with tears that he couldn’t shed. He pressed his metal fingers against the bridge of his nose, staving off tears as Steve turned to face him again, shield resting on the bed between them.
“I want to leave this for Sam,” He said softly, tracing the star with his index fingertip. “No offence, Buck. I’d – I’d leave it for you, but-”
“I wouldn’t want it,” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t apologise, Steve. There’s nobody better for it than Sam.”
Steve let out a shaky breath, laying his palm flat over the star. “I’ve been Captain America for seventy years,” He said quietly. “I don’t want to be him anymore. I just – I just want to be Steve.”
“I get that,” Bucky whispered, trailing his fingers along the outermost ring of the shield. “Although, you’ve always been Steve to me.”
Steve looked up, meeting Bucky’s gaze. His eyes were so blue; so open, honest, and vulnerable. Steve didn’t want to leave him. But he couldn’t stay, either. He didn’t know how.
Mobius flicked a couple of switches, and the feed paused on a frame of Steve and Bucky sitting on a bed in the Stark family cabin.
“I don’t think you should see anything else,” Mobius explained. “Since I’m going to try and return you to the timeline. Don’t need any spoilers, you know?”
“Everything really is preordained, huh?” Steve raised an eyebrow, glancing towards the complex array of switches and knobs on the dock in front of Mobius. “You’ve got my whole life, right there.”
“Right here, baby.” Mobius quipped, sweeping a hand over the top of the switchboard. His words startled a laugh out of Steve, which was much needed considering what they’d just watched.
“You said you’re going to try and return me to the timeline?” Steve asked, steering the conversation back on track. “Is – is that going to work?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Mobius sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I feel like I owe it to you to try. Like I said, I met someone recently who has been making me question exactly what it is we’re doing here, you know? Just – just let me talk to some people, okay?”
“People being time-keeping lizards?” Steve asked, watching as Mobius brushed his hands down the front of his suit and stood.
“Sure,” Mobius laughed, heading across the room. “Stay here, okay? I won’t be long.”
“Not planning on going anywhere!” Steve called after him, and Mobius flipped him off playfully as he left the Time Theatre, door swinging shut behind him.
Steve eyed the switchboard and the screen in turn, chewing on his bottom lip as he did so. It would be so easy to reach across the table, flip a few switches, and watch his future play out on the screen. He reached halfway across the table, fingers grazing the glossy edge of the switchboard before he pulled away.
That was a bad idea, and Steve knew it.
While he was anxious to find out what was going to happen regarding his return to the timeline, he almost didn’t want to know either way. Sometimes it was easier to live in blissful ignorance, like Steve did when he first went back to Peggy. It was easier to try and convince himself that he was happy, instead of confronting the mistake he had made and the resounding regret that sat heavy on his chest.
So he sat back, and he waited.
He stared at himself and Bucky on the screen; he was looking down at the shield, but Bucky was looking at him. His expression was one that Steve didn’t remember seeing at the time; one of heartbreak, the kind that you were powerless to do anything about. It made Steve’s own heart hurt, and he longed for a reunion with Bucky now more than ever.
The door suddenly swung open, and Mobius marched inside. He gripped Steve’s shoulder tightly as he leaned across the desk, grabbing his TemPad and shoving it into his pocket.
“C’mon, big guy. Get up. We’ve got to go.”
Steve got to his feet, stumbling as Mobius steered him out of the Time Theatre. They were two steps out of the door when the sound of footsteps rang out down the hall, accompanied by a familiar smooth drawl.
“Oh, Mobius, there you are. Darling, I was just wondering-”
Loki stopped as he looked up from the tablet in his hand and found Steve standing next to Mobius. He blinked, and Steve blinked back.
“Loki?!”
“Captain Rogers?!”
“Oh, this is just great,” Mobius muttered underneath his breath. “Loki honey, can it wait? I have to deal with Steve first.”
Loki nodded as he stepped aside, clearing the hallway for Mobius and Steve.
“I suppose so. Just come and find me afterwards, okay? I need to talk to you about something.”
“I will,” Mobius nodded, taking Loki’s chin between his thumb and index finger and kissing him gently. Steve – who was nothing if not a bleeding-heart romantic – smiled at the way they melted into one another for a moment, Loki’s entire demeanour softening. “I love you. I won’t be long.” Mobius said quietly, and Loki’s mouth curled upwards into a smile.
“I’ll hold you to that. And I’ll expect an explanation as to how Captain America ended up a time criminal.”
“I’m, uh, I’m not Captain America anymore.” Steve offered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Loki arched an eyebrow, and Mobius waved a hand through the air.
“I’ll explain later. We really have to go.”
Loki nodded, sweeping an arm and gesturing for Mobius and Steve to pass him. They headed down the hallway in silence; whenever Steve tried to ask a question, Mobius shushed him. They reached what looked like a locker room, and Mobius ushered him inside before sliding the door shut.
“Okay,” Mobius sighed, pulling out his TemPad and tapping at the screen with vigour. “We’re going to try this. If it works, the conditions are that you won’t remember anything. You won’t remember me, and you won’t remember the TVA. If it doesn’t work, then I’m afraid you’ll be seeing my ugly mug again wayyyyyy sooner than you want to.”
“How did you-”
“Let’s just say that the way you spoke about the decision you made, and the way you spoke about Bucky was particularly compelling. Turns out the Time Keepers are closet romantics. Who knew?” Mobius snorted, opening a glowing doorway in the centre of the room. “Nothing like this has ever happened before, Steve. I need you to know that it might not work. Variants very rarely leave the TVA without being reset. You might end up back here after all.”
“But there’s a chance I won’t?” Steve asked, and Mobius nodded.
“Yes. If it works, like I said, you won’t remember any of this. You’ll think you’ve just arrived from the past,” Mobius explained, laying a hand on Steve’s forearm. “Please don’t fuck this up. I don’t want to see you here again.”
“As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, I don’t plan on coming back,” Steve shuddered. “Thank you for your help, though. Seeing all of that – it really put everything even more into perspective. I know now that I made the right choice in coming back. I’m glad the Time Keepers think so, too.”
Mobius’s expression softened, and he shot Steve a small, grateful smile. “Good luck, Steve. You do deserve to be happy.”
“So do you,” Steve returned the smile. He was grateful for Mobius; for all he seemed like another cog in the corporate machine, there was something different about him, something genuine. The way he’d looked at Loki – affectionate and warm, and so achingly in love – was testament to that, as was the fact that Loki looked at him the same way. “I guess Loki is your Bucky?” Steve asked, and Mobius ducked his head.
“He – he is,” Mobius grinned, shaking his head. “He definitely is.”
“Well, I’m happy for you. For both of you.” Steve offered, and Mobius rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“Thank you, Steve. Now, will you go already?” Mobius quipped, acting annoyed though the pleased flush on his cheekbones betrayed him. Steve smiled at him one last time, stepping backwards through the doorway with a rakish salute. He felt himself falling, and there was a roaring in his ears as everything went black.
Steve fizzled into existence in the middle of a field, a herd of cows blinking sleepily at him in the midnight dusk. It was raining, but the cows didn’t seem to mind. Neither did Steve, as he tucked his hands into his pockets and headed for the nearest road. He didn’t recognise anything yet, but he knew he couldn’t be too far away from Sam’s sister’s place.
He’d figure it out, once he got to the road.