Chapter Text
It was quiet in the compound.
Too quiet, Steve thought, standing alone in the armory where the time suits had been stored, now cold and sealed away like relics of a mission no one wanted to remember. The others had gone to bed hours ago — or left entirely. The team had scattered in the aftermath, grieving in their own ways. Thor was already gone. Wanda hadn’t said goodbye. Sam was asleep down the hall, unaware of the plan that would take place at sunrise.
Only one person needed to know it from him.
Steve tightened his grip on the handle of the briefcase holding the Infinity Stones, and then the time device. The vibranium shield leaned against the wall beside him — polished, perfect. Untouched. Meant for someone else now.
Behind him, the door opened with a soft hiss, and Steve didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Bucky said, voice low.
“I figured you would,” Steve replied, without turning around. His voice didn’t carry much warmth. Not because he didn’t feel it — but because too much warmth and he’d unravel.
“You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on now?” Bucky stepped closer, folding his arms across his chest. “You asked me to meet you, but you’re just standing here like you’re gearing up for one more war.”
Steve closed his eyes. “It’s not a war.”
“Then what is it?”
Steve exhaled. The words caught on something lodged deep in his throat — fear, maybe. Guilt. Regret.
“I’m going to return the stones,” he said, carefully, quietly. “Put them back where they belong. Make sure the timeline stays intact.”
Bucky waited. “And?”
Steve finally turned to look at him. Rain tapped gently at the windows now, a soft whisper of what was coming.
“And I’m not coming back.”
The silence between them wasn’t shocked — not exactly. Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t gasp. He just… stilled. Like he’d known. Like something deep in him had been waiting for this moment, and dreading it.
“How long have you known?” he asked, his voice sharp but steady.
Steve hesitated. “Since before the fight with Thanos. Since Tony—”
“Don’t,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t bring him into this.”
“I’m not. I’m just—this was always the plan. After the stones. After the battle. I saw a chance to go back. To live the life I missed.”
“With her,” Bucky said, not as a question.
Steve looked down. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me until now?” Bucky’s voice was starting to rise, but it wasn’t anger — not fully. It was hurt. “You were going to leave. Let me stand there and watch you disappear, and you weren’t even going to explain.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Bucky barked a laugh, bitter and broken. “Too late.”
“I needed to make peace with everything I’ve lost,” Steve said, finally meeting Bucky’s eyes. “And she was the first piece. The beginning of it all.”
“You already made peace,” Bucky bit out. “We both did. We earned it. You think Peggy’s the only life that matters? What about this one? What about us?”
Steve didn’t answer. Because there was an answer, and it was ugly and messy and tangled up in everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.
“I thought you’d understand,” Steve said, almost pleading.
Bucky stepped forward. His metal hand curled into a fist at his side. “I do understand. That’s the goddamn problem.”
Steve blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I know why you’re doing it. I know what it’s like to want to go back. To undo the things you never got to fix. But Steve…” His voice cracked. “You’re not the only one who lost time. I lost everything. My name. My mind. My freedom. But the one thing I held onto — the one thing I always held onto — was you.”
Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. “Bucky—”
“Don’t,” Bucky whispered. “Not unless you’re staying.”
They stood there in the low light of the room, the hum of machines filling the air between them, the first hints of rain starting to fall.
Steve looked down again, jaw clenched tight. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago. If I ever got the chance to live without war, without blood on my hands… I’d take it.”
“And what the hell do you think this is?” Bucky asked. “We’re free now. We made it. You and me — we could build something here. We could have peace, together.”
Steve’s hands shook where they held the case.
“I don’t know how to be that person anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to be happy here.”
Bucky stared at him for a long moment. “You think you’ll be happy there?”
Steve didn’t answer.
Bucky took a slow step forward. “So that’s it? You decided. And you’re just… going.”
“I wanted you to know,” Steve said. “I needed you to know.”
“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Bucky asked. “Thank you? Forgive you?”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. Just… understand.”
Bucky looked at him, really looked — and Steve saw the first glint of tears in his eyes.
“I understand too well,” Bucky said. “And I hate you for it.”
He turned, walking away.
Steve watched him go.
⸻
The rain had started in the early evening, soft at first, like the sky was testing the weight of its grief. By midnight, it was a steady downpour, washing over the compound in rhythmic waves that tapped against the windows like a heartbeat out of sync.
Steve sat at the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, the shield propped up beside him like a ghost of a war they’d finally won. His hands were clasped, white-knuckled. He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.
Behind him, Bucky watched from the doorway, shadowed and silent.
Steve hadn’t told anyone. Not Sam. Not Bruce. Not the rest of the team. Only Bucky. Because it was always Bucky.
“You’re really gonna do it,” Bucky said finally, stepping into the room, his voice low and already breaking.
Steve didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”
The word cut like glass, sharp and unrelenting.
Bucky walked until he was standing just behind the couch, arms crossed like he was holding himself together. “And you weren’t gonna say goodbye?”
Steve exhaled slowly, the breath shaky. “I didn’t want to make it harder.”
Bucky laughed — not a real laugh, not even close. It was bitter, hollow, scraped raw. “Harder for who?”
Steve finally looked up at him. His eyes were soft, blue like a storm-swept ocean, but there was something final in them. Something carved in stone.
“I really thought you’d understand,” he said gently. “After everything.”
“You thought I’d understand you running away from me?” Bucky stepped around the couch, standing in front of him now, glaring through the wet shimmer of his eyes. “Jesus, Steve.”
“I’m not running.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m going to give the stones back. And then…” Steve hesitated. “Then I’m staying.”
“In the past.”
“Yes.”
“With her.”
Steve nodded once.
And that was it — Bucky broke.
“Goddamn it, Steve!” he shouted, turning and walking a few steps away, like if he didn’t move, he’d shatter where he stood. “After everything. After we finally get a life that’s ours, after we survive — again — you’re just gonna walk away? Just like that?”
Steve stood slowly. “It’s not like that—”
“Then explain it to me. Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like abandonment.”
“I want peace, Buck,” Steve said, voice cracking. “I want time I never got.”
Bucky turned to face him. His wet hair clung to his face, and his expression was twisted with grief, rage, and something deeper. Something older. “You already had time. With me.”
Steve flinched.
“You think I survived Hydra, the chair, the nightmares, the fucking ice—” Bucky’s breath hitched. “—so you could leave me now?”
“It’s not about you.”
“It’s always been about me!” Bucky exploded, stepping forward, crowding Steve’s space. “You jumped into the river for me. You chased me halfway across the world when I didn’t even want to be saved. You fought Tony. You gave up the shield. Everything you did, you did for me. Don’t stand there and tell me this isn’t about me.”
Steve didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. He looked away.
“Why now?” Bucky whispered. “Why her?”
Steve looked up. His eyes were glassy. “Because she was the last part of me that was innocent. That didn’t see the blood on my hands. With her, I could pretend—”
Bucky’s voice dropped, guttural and wrecked. “I saw the blood, Steve. I see you. And I still love you.”
The words fell into the space between them like a lightning strike.
Steve froze. His breath caught. “What?”
“I love you,” Bucky repeated, softer now, broken. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to tell you like this, but if this is my last chance, then you need to fucking know.”
“Buck—”
“I loved you before the war. I loved you through Hydra. I loved you when I didn’t even remember my own name.” He took a step closer, his hands trembling. “And I’m in love with you now. With the man who came back to me. The one who’s trying to leave.”
Steve’s voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I’ve lived with this for decades. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
Steve stepped back like he’d been hit. “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t think I was allowed.” Bucky’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I didn’t think you’d want me like that. Not after everything I’ve done. Not when you had her.”
“I don’t have her,” Steve snapped, sudden and harsh. “She’s gone, Buck. And maybe this is my way of getting some of that time back. Fixing something. Feeling whole again.”
“What about me?” Bucky asked, and this time, his voice was barely audible. “Am I not enough?”
Steve looked at him then, really looked — at the man who had followed him into every fire, who had dragged himself out of hell time and time again, who had waited, always waited, for him to come back.
“You are,” Steve said, his voice wrecked. “God, Bucky, you’re more than enough.”
“Then stay.”
Steve closed his eyes. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Bucky begged. “Tell me why not. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“So stay.”
Steve shook his head, and the tears finally spilled down his cheeks. “You don’t understand. If I stay here, like this — I’ll always be Captain America. I’ll always be what they need me to be. But I’m tired, Buck. I just want to be Steve.”
Bucky moved closer, pressed his hand to Steve’s chest — right over his heart, trembling. “Then be Steve. Be him with me. We can build something here. Together. No war. No Hydra. No masks.”
Steve leaned into the touch, his forehead falling against Bucky’s. Their breath mingled in the quiet. Rain pressed soft and steady against the windows, the only witness to their undoing.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Steve whispered.
“You’re not losing me,” Bucky said. “You’re choosing to leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
And that — that was it.
Steve pulled away. He didn’t look back.
Bucky stood there long after he was gone, the storm raging outside and inside both.
And when the morning came, all that was left was the sound of rain, a quiet house, and a man who had once again been left behind.