Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steve awoke to a quick, loud beep he didn’t recognize. But when he looked around, everything about the place was unfamiliar. Nothing looked the way he remembered it and it made Steve feel so lost.

His whole body froze as the panic rushed through him for a second until he could remember where he was. Still, his body didn’t exactly relax and a sick feeling crept up his throat. He laid there unmoving for what seemed like forever until he heard the beep again. His whole body jumped in surprise and then he was shuffling himself out of bed quickly and cautiously making his way to the door of the bedroom.

He peered out into the rest of the house. From where he gazed out, he could see an open room with a sofa and chair of beige suede, a window covered with blinds, a tall shelf with books, a fake plant setting on a sleek black coffee table, a painting of some abstract building on one wall, and a large flat screen television on another. It didn’t look like how Steve imagined televisions looking, but more like an at-home movie theater screen. The floor was mostly covered with a large shaggy rug. He peered the other direction and saw the kitchen. It looked just as foreign. He saw no signs of the source of the beeping.

Before long, he found himself sitting on a stool at the counter. In front of him was a stack of books and a grilled cheese sandwich he was letting get cold.
He took a deep breath and opened the first book, but the beeping noise went off again. It was just once and then it would be gone. Steve’s head jerked around trying to determine where it was coming from.

This was a safe house. He was sure of it. Well, no, he wasn’t sure of anything. But he had been told that before they dropped him off. Before SHIELD abandoned him in the middle of nowhere “for his own good.” It made Steve feel like a child they didn’t trust to take care of himself.

He had made very few requests, but one was for his motorcycle. S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten him a new one. It rode familiarly enough which is exactly why Steve took it out and didn’t stop until he felt like he could handle his situation a little better. There was no one outside the convenience store so he made his way in slowly. He noticed newspapers came in a machine now where you just deposited the money and opened the door and grabbed one.

He had a plastic card in his pocket. It was sleek and black and said “S.H.I.E.L.D.” across it with a symbol of an eagle. It was what the S.S.R. had become. Peggy had stayed with the company until a few years ago. He had asked about her right away and was told she was living in DC now apparently. Steve hadn’t asked to see her. Not yet.

Steve went into the store and spent a long time reading packages, but finally carried one packet of mixed nuts and one container of mixed fruit to the front of the store along with a glass bottle of cream soda and a notebook. The coffee machines caught his eye near the front of the store and he looked over at them before deciding he wasn’t up for figuring them out today.

There was an elderly man behind the counter and he looked at Steve and seemed to consider him a moment before coming to his senses and starting to ring up the items.

“That’ll be $15.74, young man,” the cashier spoke and his voice sounded old and worn. He was still eyeing Steve. $15.74 seemed like an absolute fortune to Steve, but he understood inflation and the nonstop flux of the value of currency so he just pulled the black card out of his pocket and held it out to the cashier.

“Do you accept this?” Steve asked.

“You can slide it right there,” the man replied, pointing to a black device with buttons facing Steve on the counter.

Steve looked at it for a second before the man spoke up again.

“You know, son, you look like someone very dear to me, a man I met in the war when I was about your age. Saved my life and the life of a number of my men.”

Steve found where to slide the card and slid it through before looking up at the man to show he was paying attention.

“If you ever get a chance, do yourself a favor and look up Steve Rogers,” the man told him. “He’s a real life hero and, boy, you look just like him.”

“The guy from the Captain America comic books?” Steve asked. He couldn’t help himself.

“You’ve heard of him?” the man asked. “They still teach that in school? He was a real person, you know? And he was every bit the man you read about in those comic books.”

And that’s how Steve ended up telling a stranger at a convenience store he was Captain America. The man’s name was James and they started talking. Steve told him about losing his best friend by that name. He talked about scheduling a date with Peggy. He talked about crashing the plane into the ice. He talked about waking up at S.H.I.E.L.D. two days ago.

The cashier listened with patience and grace and promised to help him if there was anything he needed. Steve looked over at the coffee machine and asked, “Tell me the difference in all those coffees?”

Back at the safe house that night, he examined the coffee machine in the kitchen. At first he couldn’t find out where to put the grounds and filter, but soon he realized he was looking right at it. “It just makes one cup,” he said out loud to himself. “Who only wants one cup of coffee?”

The beeping noise startled him and he set the coffee machine aside and walked off determined the find the source. He found it on the ceiling with a little red light blinking.

Curious, he reached up and snapped it off the ceiling to examine it. In an instant, the alarm started sounding loudly, beeping nonstop and at a volume that pierced through Steve’s brain like a shot.

He flipped it around in his hands twice before popping open the battery door and pulling the batteries out. Everything went blessedly silent.

Steve held a battery up and examined it. They were smaller than he was used to. And shinier. And immediately he thought of Bucky. Bucky would have been entertained by this one.

Nothing hurt until he said the words out loud.

“Buck, check these things out.”

He knew Bucky wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure why he said it out loud. It just sort of happened. It made Steve feel so hopeless and alone. And then out of nowhere, sitting on the hallway floor of the safe house, holding two AA batteries, Steve broke down and cried.

He awoke sometime later with the carpet digging into his arm, the batteries still in his hand, and his eyes stinging. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He felt like he kept waking up in a reoccurring nightmare, one where Bucky was still dead, but no one was even around to talk about it or to console him.

He found himself sitting at the counter again. He had left the smoke detector pushed to the side in the hallway. He had found the K-cups and figured out how to make the coffee maker work. He had just made himself two cups immediately and had both sitting in front of him when he opened his new notebook. He had intended the notebook to be used to keep track of anything he may need to remember or make notes of until he got the hang of things, but instead he found himself writing something completely different.

Dear Bucky,
There’s no one I want beside me more than you right now. You would never believe what the future had in store. I woke up two days ago in 2011 in a (fake) hospital room in Midtown Manhattan and ran into the streets of the most unbelievable sprawl of buildings and cars and lights and people you’ve ever seen. (Not recommended.) 

Everything is so advanced. All of the signs in Times Square are like movie screens and lights and sounds are ten times more than they were when we were children. You would love it more than anything. You would definitely love it more than this safe house where I am now. It’s in the middle of nowhere and it’s quiet outside. But all of the technology at every turn would fascinate you.

I miss you so much. I broke down crying over batteries today. They’re tiny and silver and run a machine in the house that’s meant to alert you if it detects smoke and thinks you’re in danger. Gas stations are self-serviced now. They make pizzas you can cook in a microwave which is a tiny oven that cooks food in seconds, but from my dinner so far, it seems to be mediocre at pizza. (Nothing beats Totonno’s).

There’s a huge flat screen on my wall that works just like the movies as well, but I haven’t tried it yet. I somehow feel is isn’t fair to see this all without you. You were the one so interested in the future, in technology, and science fiction (which is what all of this definitely feels like).

I probably wouldn’t be able to watch it anyway. I would just think of you and start crying again. I have a feeling it’s going to take a while. But don’t worry about me. I’m going to be okay. I can look after myself now. I promise I won’t do anything too stupid here by myself. (Besides, you took all the stupid with you.)

But you will be getting an update on everything. If they tie their shoes differently, I’m making a note of it.

He closed the notebook before the tears hit the page again, but then opened it back and wrote two more sentences:

I hate it here. I miss you.

Chapter Text

"Where's my backpack?" Bucky asked, looking around frantically as soon as he woke up. He had fallen asleep on the jet with one hand on it- the metal one so it looked like a warning to anyone daring to mess with it. And one arm through the strap. He had fought sleep, but he knew with the drugs they had put in him, it was futile. So he had positioned it right in front of him with his hands guarding it and yet he still woke up in an unfamiliar bed with it far away from him.

"Give him his backpack!" Steve could be heard yelling from the next room. There were some shuffling sounds and stomping feet and then Steve was entering the room and approaching him with the backpack in his outstretched hand.

Bucky snatched it away and hugged it to his chest. He glanced once at Steve as if trying to decide if it was safe to take the risk and then immediately unzipped the bag and started to go through its contents.

He counted the notebooks. He pulled one out and flipped through the pages. He felt around for his pens and pencils and then looked back up at Steve who was watching him intently.

"We're at a safe house. I told you we would keep you safe. We just- I didn't know S.H.I.E.L.D. would use the drugs. I just knew they would get us somewhere safe. And they're gonna leave." Steve tried to assure him, making his voice loud enough for the agents around to get the message. “It’ll be just me and you.”

Bucky tucked the notebooks and writing utensils back into his bag carefully and zipped it up. He slipped it onto his back and snapped it in front of his chest and sat there unmoving.

"Buck, I, uh-" Steve tried. "I would love to talk to you when you feel comfortable."

"I don't remember anything. I don't want to talk," Bucky said dismissively before biting his lip and looking away.

Steve pursed his lips and moved a hand to his hip.

"You see," Steve replied with a fond smile. "The thing about me knowing Bucky Barnes so well is that I know all his tells and one of them is biting the inside of his lip when he's lying."

Bucky immediately released the skin from between his teeth. Steve smiled a small smile and sat down on the floor to appear less threatening.

"I just don't want to talk then," Bucky amended.

Steve nodded.

"Fair enough," he answered, but stayed seated on Bucky's floor.  "My room is at the end of the hall. It's always open if you change your mind."

—⍟-⍟-⍟—

Bucky actually managed not to say a single word to Steve for the next eight days. It made Steve feel crazy. Steve spoke, but Bucky only made the smallest of responses- little hand gestures, shakes of his head, never any words, and returned to his room. His door stayed locked.

Most things, Bucky didn’t respond to at all. How did he feel about club sandwiches for lunch? No response. Not even a shrug. Did he want to join Steve for a movie in the living room? Bucky acted as if he didn’t even hear Steve.

He would contentedly sit at a window staring outward at the empty field for hours until Steve worried he’d gone catatonic and approached. He only knew Bucky was still alert because he would become more tense the closer Steve drew to him. 

Steve didn’t ask permission to draw Bucky. At first it felt wrong, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t respond.

Sometimes Steve sat across the room from him just to be in Bucky’s presence. It was reassuring to be able to look and see that he was really there. Besides, Steve knew that even if Bucky wouldn’t acknowledge him, it was better for him to know he wasn’t alone. They’d both been alone enough for several lifetimes.

If Bucky were going to sit there and ignore him, Steve was going to make he most of it. He was done being alone. Even if Bucky was being perfectly silent, his presence was a million times better than the alternative so despite how much Steve longed to hear to hear his voice or have a conversation, he didn’t press Bucky for anything he didn’t want to give.

Often when Bucky was around Steve, he was jumpy at best and downright brash at the worst. To see him so tense broke Steve’s heart, but he didn’t know how to tell him he could relax now. Especially since it was a lesson he was still figuring out for himself.

On day nine, Steve awoke at four am to find Bucky's bedroom door open. He glanced in, but he knew immediately that Bucky wasn't in there. That made Steve feel on-edge.

As quietly as possible, he crept through the house. He found him easily. Bucky was sitting in the kitchen reading. And really, that would have been fine and Steve could have gone back to bed if he hadn't seen just what it was Bucky was reading.

Bucky looked up and made eye contact with Steve in the doorway. Steve should have known Bucky already knew he was there.

"You wrote me letters,” Bucky spoke quietly.

The sound of Bucky's voice was like a homecoming. It made Steve like he could finally release the breath he'd been holding for over a week. For over two years? For decades?

"I, uh, I didn't want you to miss anything," Steve said and a lump immediately formed in his throat. "It was a coping mechanism at first, I guess. Or, well, it still is. I still write them."

Bucky glanced up at Steve who was coming fully into the room to stand across the kitchen counter from him. The whole situation made Steve feel vulnerable. He imagined Bucky felt that way too.

"It's been five years."

"It's been five years and the best day was the day you came back," Steve reached for the stacks of notebooks beside Bucky and the man startled a little, but let Steve pick them up. "Did you get these out of my room?"

"You're a hard sleeper," Bucky informed.

"You're a sneak," Steve countered, but his voice sounded almost entertained by it. He pulled out one in the middle and started flipping through it until he reached a certain page.

Bucky, I don't know what to do.

He made a helpless motion. "You made me feel so many things at once I was going insane." He flipped to the next page.

Buck, you're alive and I need you.
Where are you?
Why don't you know me?
Why don't you know yourself?

He pointed to the next page.

I know it's you. I'm not making this up.  
I really saw you. I heard your voice.

And then the next entry skipped a day and said:
I see you're still as strong as ever. Here I've been telling you about tech from the future and you have a metal arm that put me in the hospital. I am impressed. But I do feel as if my notes are a bit useless now.

Bucky took the notebook from Steve's hands and flipped the page.

I'm gong to find you. And until I do, I'm making a list of every single thing I want to tell you. Starting with this is not your fault. I'm so sorry.

"Why would you be sorry?" Bucky asked. "For the fight?"

"For asking you to follow Captain America quite realistically into the jaws of death. For allowing you to sacrifice yourself for me. I should have never-"

"We were soldiers," Bucky replied looking up at Steve. He sounded unconflicted by the fact. "It's what we did."

"I want to hug you," Steve answered. There were tears in his eyes and Bucky moved uncomfortably. It was clear the sudden strong emotion made Bucky unsure of a proper response.

But despite his obvious unease, he carefully placed the notebook down and held out his arms the smallest bit. Steve rounded the counter like his life depended on it and clasped onto Bucky's solid frame.

Bucky was stoic, but he didn't tense up and he didn't push Steve away. And he was patient while he let Steve figure out what he needed to figure out while holding onto him. 

Then hesitantly, Bucky brought his arms up and wrapped them around Steve.

It made Steve feel at home.