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Steve stirred in his sleep, disgruntled noises and harsh breaths escaping into the night around him. Him and his Devil, the only one he had left, lay in a barren land, devoid of any creatures of Greenland. The metal arm of his fallen friend was clutched tightly to his chest, the fingers of it laced between his own. Steve dreamt, like he has many times before, about Bucky. His dreams varied; sometimes they were memories, of times when Steve and his comrade were together, happy, like the world had always meant them to be. Sometimes they were hopeful, dreams of him finding his Bucky and them living happily among the civilians of the planet they were forced upon.
Sometimes, though, Steve had bad nights. Nights where Steve dreamed of Bucky’s cries, dreamed of him being slowly tortured to death, his final words being curses at Steve for him being unable to save him in time. It was one of the bad nights. The worst night yet, it being the first night since Steve had learned about the fall of his warbound. He dreamt knowing that the images he saw behind his eyelids were most likely, at one point, a reality.
‘Steve! Steve, save me, help me.’ Bucky cried loudly, the only noise aside from the buzzing of the saw the red king used to slash marks through Bucky’s chest. ‘You said you’d always have my back! You lied to me! Steve, Steve. Steve!’
“Steve! Steve, come on, please.” Steve jerked awake suddenly, the voice of his dream carrying out into reality. His eyes squeezed shut harshly and fresh tears drenched his face, and he muffled his sobs in the stomach of Devil. “Steve.” The word was said in a whisper, so quietly it was hardly real, but it was. It was— It was real! Steve quickly jerked up, instinctively clutching his axe tightly in his grip as he whipped his head to face the speaker.
Steve felt as if he was still dreaming when he locked eyes with Bucky. He didn’t even think about how he must look, one hand holding an axe, one hand holding the hand of a severed arm, and his mouth dropped open so far that his jaw made a few popping noises. The tears did not halt their flow as he quickly threw both of the objects in opposite directions. They only began pouring faster as he threw his arms around his presumed dead friend, hugging him so tightly that Bucky would have snapped in half if he was anybody else. Steve buried his nose into the pulse point his neck, feeling the reassuring, steady beat.
“Bucky,” his voice broke as he said the name, but he felt no shame. “I thought you were dead. I thought— I thought you were dead.” Steve couldn’t organize his thoughts. He didn’t know anything but the scent of his Bucky enveloped in his arms, didn’t care about anything but the rise and fall of his chest.
“Were you sleeping with my arm?” Bucky gripped the back of Steve’s shirt in his hand tightly before letting go and pulling away. Steve kept a tight grip on his shoulders despite the distance between them. “Can I have that back? Then I will explain everything.” Steve took in a few more deep breaths to calm himself, though it was rather unsuccessful, and handed Bucky his arm. He watched as his friend removed his coverings in order to reattach the limb. Bucky looked concentrated, and like he was feeling a slight bit of pain, which worried Steve. He didn’t offer his help, though, knowing his violently shaking hands would be of no use.
Once Bucky’s arm was reattached and functional, he looked up and smiled at Steve. Steve did not smile back. Bucky let out a sigh, readjusting his position and then pulling Steve’s head into his lap. Steve felt fingers running through his hair, slowly working through the length of it in calming strokes. “I had to try to kill the Red King, Steve. I thought I would be able to.” The ‘I wasn’t’ was left unsaid. “When I got to him, I was captured and taken to a cell underneath his palace.” Bucky paused his speech for several seconds that felt like hours, continuing to pet Steve’s hair. He finally carried on.
“They tortured me, to put it lightly. They wanted me to tell them everything about you, but I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. They had their fun trying to get it out of me, I have a few new scars to prove that.” Steve cringed in hearing this, but was soothed by Bucky’s fingers running along his neck. “Shush, brother, I’m okay now,” Bucky continued with a sigh.
“When they weren’t hurting me, they chained me to the wall by my wrists. But one day, in the middle of their tying me up, they were rushed out. They fully enclosed my left arm, but not my right.
“I got out of it pretty quickly. After escaping my right hand, I screwed out the left arm. I had to leave it there. And then I ran. I tried to find you, Steve. I tried, I’m sorry I couldn’t in time. And then yesterday, I heard it. The Red King is dead, killed by Steven Rogers, Captain America! I knew that they told you I was dead. You wouldn’t have done it for anything less.”
There was silence as many minutes passed, the only noise in the night being the soft puffs of Devil’s breathing. Bucky did not still the soothing touches on Steve’s head, and despite the tears still streaked down his face, Steve was finished crying. “I don’t know what to say,” Steve finally broke the silence, his voice coming out hoarse and deep.
“I’m alive.”
“You’re alive.” Steve laughed into Bucky’s lap. He laughed until Bucky joined in, light laughter filling in the silence, filling in any gaps left in their chest from the temporary loss of each other.
“I’m alive, Steve. And I found you.” The empty land Steve decided to visit was one often visited by the pair when they wanted to get away from the troubles of the planet. It was no wonder Bucky found him so quickly.
Steve lay silently in Bucky’s lap for so long after that that Bucky assumed him to be sleeping. That is, until Steve rolled onto his back next to him and spoke again. “I love you, brother.”
Bucky joined Steve in laying on his back, the two side by side yet not touching. Devil still slept soundly beside them, stretched out straight.
“Yet the love I have for you is not brotherly.” Bucky stated this loudly, feigning bravery and certainty. He was terrified of the response his warbound would have, but he knew it had to be said.
Steve was silent, like he had been most of the night, which did nothing to quell the fear in Bucky’s gut. He wasn’t silent for long, this time. Only a mere few seconds passed before Steve rolled over. He bracketed Bucky’s head between his arms, holding his weight up while still putting his chest against Bucky’s. The blood painted star smeared against them.
Steve said his name before lowering his head and connecting their lips. The kiss was light, just a gentle press of lips together. Steve and Bucky both opened their mouths to gasp simultaneously, taking each other in before reconnecting their mouths and mingling their breath. They eventually pulled away, Bucky staring up at his lover with the stars as a backdrop and Steve staring down at his with a heart about to burst.
“We can stay here, Bucky. We can make a life, as long as it’s together.”
Bucky smiled, brighter than anything Steve’s ever seen. He thought he’d never see that smile again. “Yes, Steve. We will.”
Steve moved so he was curled next to Devil, and opened his arms in invitation. Bucky quickly cuddled into Steve’s embrace, putting one around Steve’s back and threading one through his hair. Steve felt content as he prodded his face against his love’s chest. Devil adjusted so he was curved protectively around the pair.
Steve didn’t know if they could actually have a life together. He didn’t know if he would be found and punished for his murder. He didn’t know if he would wake up the next sunrise and realize what he thought he had was only a dream. He didn’t know, and he didn’t need to know. He knew he had everything he needed with him right then.
His axe, his dinosaur, and his Bucky.
