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It’s sometimes difficult for Bucky to distinguish between the real memories and the ones that he makes up for himself. Most memories are so random and mundane that it doesn’t really matter to him whether or not they’re real. Those fond memories of the rides at Coney Island or the little convenience store he used to purchase candy in as a child helped to ground himself to some kind of history of the person he was before his mind had been corrupted by years of brainwashing- it didn’t matter to him if those memories were completely accurate or not.
The memories about Steve were where he ran into trouble. Sometimes he would have vivid flashbacks of the both of them, sitting at a bar during the war, laughing about something that seemed unimportant now. Or he would remember chunks of their childhood where he would spend hours talking to Steve who was often confined to his bed due to one illness or another. Other times, there were memories that were much less clear and were substantially more confusing.
One memory in particular completely baffled Bucky. Bits of it had been coming back to him over the previous week, and every time he recalled a few more seconds of it, it was only more confusing. In the memory, Bucky was sitting at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. Other soldiers were dancing and pleasant music was filling the room. Then Steve was there, smiling, talking. Bucky couldn’t remember a word of what Steve was saying, but then after that it seemed that… well, of course the memory had to be wrong.
But what if it wasn’t?
Bucky and Steve were currently on the hideout from- well, everyone. T’Challa had been kind enough to offer them refuge in a spacious apartment in Wakanda. It hurt to be so far from New York, especially when he was attempting to reconstruct his past like a puzzle where pieces had been burned and stolen, but given the current state of things it wasn’t safe to be back in the states. Sam Wilson, too, was offered a room in said apartment and was usually hanging around. Bucky hadn’t entirely warmed up to him yet, but Steve cared about Sam, so Bucky tried to be amiable with him.
Steve rarely left the apartment without Bucky, and even when he did he was back in only a few minutes due to his unrelenting fear that Bucky would be ripped away from him yet again. However, one morning Steve had a meeting with T’Challa that kept him away longer than usual. That was when Bucky decided to approach Sam about his memory.
Sam was lying on the couch in their shared living room when Bucky found him. Bucky wasn’t quite good at starting conversations yet, so he simply stared for an uncomfortable length of time until Sam noticed him and jumped in surprise.
“Woah! You know man, most people find it scary when you just stare at them like a murderer.” Not a good choice of words, Sam realized immediately, but Bucky seemed unperturbed.
“I’m sorry. Can I ask you a question?” Bucky said, leaning against the wall in an attempt to seem more casual.
“You just did, my guy. What’s up?”
Bucky bit his lip in thought. This was stupid; he shouldn’t be asking Sam about his memories. He barely knew the guy. He was just Steve’s loud friend. Still, Sam had known 21st century Steve for a while, so maybe he would know something.
“Has Steve ever… talked about me?”
“Man, is he ever not talking about you? You’ve kind of been his number-one priority for the past few years now.”
“No, I mean, has he talked about me…the way I was before…this?” He gestured to his absent arm as if to allude to his dishonorable status of being the Winter Soldier.
Sam thought for a moment before responding. “Sometimes, I guess. He doesn’t really go into depth, mostly just talks about how hopelessly in love you two were.”
“Really?” Bucky asked quickly, eyes widening.
“No! Shit, I was just exaggerating.” Sam said with a chuckle. “I mean, with the way he talks about you sometimes makes me wonder, but I don’t know. Wait, why? Were you two…?”
Bucky stared. “I don’t know. I have this memory where… it seems like maybe we were. But I probably made it up, I don’t know. It’s stupid. I can’t trust my memories.”
Sam nodded. “I mean as honored as I am that you initiated a conversation with me-kind of, anyway- I’m not really the man you should be asking about this. Ask Rogers; he’s the only one who remembers the stone age that was your guys’ childhood.”
Bucky nodded and uttered a ‘thanks’ before returning to his bedroom. It was frustrating. Despite years of attempting to reconstruct his past through notebooks filled with memories, talking to Steve, and various other attempts to string memories together, he was still uncertain as to what was real and what wasn’t. For all he knew, half of the shit he remembered was just made up. Hell, now it was possible that he’d forgotten an entire level of his and Steve’s relationship.
Bucky groaned and crawled into bed, mulling over the memory again, attempting to remember it as vividly as possible.
The bar is alive and filled with soldiers and their girls. Couples dance, men laugh loudly at the bar counter, and there is music filling the hall. Bucky feels warm, but he isn’t sure if it’s from the liquor or something else.
Suddenly Steve is in front of him, blocking his view of the rest of the hall. “Hey, Buck.” he says. Bucky feels himself smile and he says something as Steve takes a seat next to him. They’re close; Bucky can feel Steve’s arm brushing against his.
They talk, but the words are muffled and incoherent. Bucky feels content and safe.
It’s a blur, then Bucky feels his lips pressed against someone else’s. When he pulls away he feels himself smile and Steve is laughing like an idiot. Bucky is wrapped around him and Steve feels strong and healthy in a way that he never was growing up. Steve was saying something…
Steve was saying something. Bucky looks up and finds Steve standing in the doorway. He stares blankly, and Steve realizes that Bucky didn’t catch a word of what he said.
“I was just saying hello and letting you know that I brought food.” Steve repeated, gesturing to a bag of take out. “You all right?”
Bucky was embarrassed by the memory, despite the fact that there was no way Steve could have known what he was thinking about. “Yeah.” He said quietly. His head was buzzing. He was unsure if he should bring it up.
“Do you want me to leave?” Steve asked patiently. Bucky’s recovery was very touch and go. There were good days where Bucky was able to socialize well and for extended periods of time, but there were, of course, days when Bucky wanted only to be left alone. Steve wanted to make Bucky comfortable, so he was often gauging Bucky’s mood.
“No.” Bucky said. He sat up, making room for Steve next to him. Steve understood immediately and abandoned his food to crawl onto the bed next to Bucky. He lay across the large bed, looking up and Bucky who was seated with his arm wrapped around his knees.
The two didn’t say anything for a while, then Bucky finally spoke:
“I remembered something, but I’m not sure if it’s a real memory or not.”
Steve looked excited. “Oh really? What did you remember?”
Bucky looked away and examined his blank wall. He’d done nothing to decorate the room. It was just bare furniture with navy blue walls. The only sign that the room was even Bucky’s was his backpack that had been placed carefully in the corner next to the closet.
He looked back at Steve, who was smiling politely, waiting for Bucky to elaborate. Bucky didn’t want to continue; he wished he could just somehow show the memory to Steve without having to explain. “Steve, back during the war were we… involved?”
The confused expression on Steve’s face made Bucky even more nervous.
“Together… romantically?” Bucky finally added, looking down in embarrassment. Either he was wrong, and this would turn into an incredibly uncomfortable conversation about how he was fantasizing about kissing his best friend, or he was right, which might be even worse for Bucky. How awful it would be to forget about something like that.
Steve’s brow furrowed and he wore and unreadable expression. “What did you remember?” He asked, a chuckle dancing under his breath.
Bucky stared at Steve, wishing that Steve would just somehow remember what he did. “I… had this memory of us at a bar during the war. We were sitting in the corner and there was music. Loud music.” Bucky paused, waiting for Steve to suddenly stop him and tell him that he knew what he was talking about, but that didn’t happen. He sighed and continued: “The bar was crowded and people were laughing and dancing, and I think I was a little drunk and suddenly you were there. And you sit next to me and we talk and then…”
A moment passed. “And then?” Steve asked.
“And then we’re kissing.” Bucky said suddenly, bitterness in his voice. “And I’m hanging on you like some kind of monkey. And we’re laughing and- this is stupid, I’m wrong, right? You clearly don’t remember this.”
Steve smiled. After some time he speaks: “It was your birthday.” He said. “We’d gone out for your birthday because you wanted to dance. But we didn’t end up dancing much.”
Bucky stared in silence, watching Steve. Did this mean he was right, that the memory had been accurate?
“I’m surprised you remembered.” Steve said, adjusting his position so that his head was resting on one of Bucky’s pillows. “You got very drunk.”
Bucky felt awful. “So, that happened? We…?”
“Yes.” Steve said. He seemed to be gauging Bucky’s reaction to this too. “But don’t feel bad about it. It wasn’t… it wasn’t something that had been going on for a long time. It was just something that happened on and off for a while. It was clumsy and we weren’t really sure what it was. Really, it’d only been going on a month before… well, before you fell.”
Bucky was overcome with emotion. He felt miserable that his memories had been hacked up so severely, potentially beyond repair. He felt awful that he’d forgotten about what was probably a pretty significant part of his and Steve’s relationship. He was confused because what was supposed to happen now? What was he supposed to say? Mostly, though, he was afraid. Afraid that he would never really ever get all of his memories back, and he’d just be forced to go on not knowing for sure what was real and what wasn’t.
“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, gently nudging Bucky’s leg.
Bucky nodded, but he felt as if he was on the verge of tears. “I’m terrified I’ll never get it all back.”
Steve frowned. “It’ll take time.” He assured him. “You’ll get there.”
“Do you think we’ll ever get to where we were before? Before all of this ever happened?”
Steve smiled. “We’ve fought too long and too hard to not at least try.”
Bucky gave a weak smile in return. When they were kids, Bucky was the strong one. He’d been the one to hold Steve together when he was sick, he’d been the one to protect him when he was in trouble, and he’d been the one who defended him, regardless of the circumstance. Now Steve was returning the favor. Seventy years later, and the tables had completely turned on the two of them.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky murmured. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for in that moment, but it felt like the right thing to say.
Steve smiled. “Come here.” He said, tugging at Bucky’s arm. Bucky smiled weakly and fell into Steve’s embrace. It felt strong and confident-it felt like home, just like it had in his memory. Seventy years later, and they were somehow back together, against all odds. Bucky decided that if fate had brought them back together after all these years and he was somehow lucky and fortunate enough to be back in the company of Steve Rogers despite everything he’d done, maybe everything really was meant to work out in the end.