Archive of Our Own

You’re just not supposed to talk about some things.

Or maybe you are, and then the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor, and suddenly kissing your best friend isn’t a pressing matter anymore. We’re at war now, after all. What does it matter?

It’s someone’s birthday. Steve knows that much. The details are always Bucky’s initiative. They’re at someone’s house, and there’s an alarming amount more women than men. At first this is what Steve thinks really wanted to come for—the birthday girl, while her name escapes him now, is beautiful. Curled blonde hair, cherry red lipstick. Perhaps if Steve was more confident around women, he may have made a move. Perhaps if Steve wasn’t convinced Bucky had eyes for her first and probably would be more successful, he may have made a move.

Or maybe he’s just making excuses. Because something has been festering in Steve for a while, something that doesn’t make sense. Something that makes him look past all the women in this cramped Brooklyn home and gaze at James Buchanan Barnes for a little too long.

It’s someone’s birthday. That doesn’t matter. It’s December already. Keeps everyone inside, but Steve needs some air. He’s always been a lightweight, and being three drinks in isn’t boding well for him. Makes everything uncomfortable, stuffy. He grabs Bucky’s sleeve, pulling him close. “I’m going to the roof,” he says, or he thinks he says. From Bucky’s response it’s obvious how drunk he is.

“The roof?”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll fall like this.”

“Then come make sure I don’t.”

Thus the two end up on the roof, Bucky helping him up, despite Bucky being a bit intoxicated himself. But it’s always been like that—Bucky’s bigger, sturdier. Always looking out for him. The best friend anyone could ask for. It’s snowing slightly, and Bucky helps him sit down on the ledge.

“You okay?” Bucky asks him, nudging him with his shoulder. 

Steve nods. “Needed some air, that’s all.” He glances at Bucky, notices how his hands are folded under his armpits. “Are you cold?”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head deliberately. “It’s not too bad out here.”

It is, but Steve knows Bucky won’t admit to it. So instead he turns his head to overlook the Brooklyn night, the smell of New York mingling with the crispness of newfallen snow. It won’t last long—soon it’ll smell like dirt and mud again once the snow isn’t so white. But it’s nice, for now. Here, on the rooftop. With his best friend. 

Steve’s drunk. He knows he’s drunk. He knows this and yet in the moment he somehow rationalizes in his head that he has to do something crazy. That Bucky Barnes will leave him one day, because Bucky Barnes is infinitely better than Steve Rogers in every way possible. That eventually he’ll find a wife, a beautiful, lovely wife, and he’ll get sick of New York, and maybe he’ll move back to Indiana and have beautiful children and maybe sometimes think of Steve Rogers, the boy still stuck in New York, the boy who won’t ever really amount to much. That he has to capture this moment before it escapes him. This feeling, this strangeness in him. Something has to happen.

Bucky’s smiling. He’s leaning back on the roof with his arms, so for once when Steve is looking at him side by side, he’s looking down. He’s drunk. He’s so incredibly drunk. 

He leans down. He panics halfway, Bucky’s eyes looking at him curiously, not saying a word. Something makes him continue. They kiss for the first time on the roof of some girl’s house, at some girl’s birthday party, on the night of December 7th, 1941. It is quick. It lasts for years. When Steve pulls away he knows he’s flushed, and he’s embarrassed, and he can’t look at Bucky at all. He’s not supposed to kiss boys. Let alone his best friend. Did Bucky even want to? Is Steve so drunk he can’t even consider that Bucky came here to get with the birthday girl, not Steve Rogers?

“I’m going back inside,” he says. He gets up. Stumbles. Bucky catches him.

“Let me help,” Bucky says. 

When Steve catches a glance at him, he can’t read his expression. They return to the party. Life continues as normal, until they wake up the next morning and find out Japan has bombed Pearl Harbor. Bucky enlists. Steve can’t.

They don’t talk about what happened on the roof again.

***

Bucky’s deployment is tomorrow.

Steve knows this like the back of his hand. Bucky’s deployment is tomorrow. He’s proud of him. He’s worked hard for it. He deserves it. Sergeant James Barnes. He’s a different man now, but is also the same. He has more muscle from boot camp. His lines are a bit rougher, edgier. He has a certainty to his walk that only military men get. But he’s still Bucky. His Bucky.

His. As if that meant anything. Steve’s gotten over it by now. It would have never worked. A boyish dream, that he would like to think is gone.

They’re at the Stark Expo. It’s crowded, but again, Steve only has eyes for Bucky. He follows his friend through the crowd dutifully, watching him laugh, smile, talk excitedly about everything. Anything. Steve stores it away like precious gems. This might be the last time he sees him for a very long time.

Or the last time he sees him at all.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Steve says, playing with the name on his tongue. “Suits you.”

“Does it?” Bucky slings an arm over his shoulder as they walk through the crowd.

“Yes,” Steve tells him. Genuinely. Even though it brings an awful sort of sorrow to his heart. “I should be going with you.”

“Steve.” Bucky pauses, bringing Steve to a halt as well. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but it doesn’t change anything. I should be going with you.” He says it with conviction he never knew he had. It feels good. It feels horrible.

“There’s plenty of other important jobs here,” Bucky insists, reaching up to ruffle Steve’s hair. “Besides, you’ll be the last eligible bachelor in New York City.”

But I don’t want to be goes left unsaid. But I’d rather be with you on the front lines, and die a hero with you, than grow old with you as a ghost by my bedside. Instead, he says, “Won’t I be so lucky?” If Bucky picks up on the halfheartedness of it, he doesn’t say a word.

They traverse the expo together, joined at the hip as usual. What happened on the roof didn’t change that about them. Sometimes Steve wonders if Bucky even remembers, the way he acts like it never happened. It’s probably better that way. Less of an embarrassment. He’s content now, being by his side while he can, enjoying his presence while he still has it.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

The two perks up from the exhibit they’re examining. It’s two girls, both looking at Bucky with hungry eyes, completely passing over Steve. It doesn’t bother him. He’s used to it.

“Connie? Bonnie?” Bucky flashes them a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard it’s your last day before deployment,” one says. Steve doesn’t know which is which. “Did you perhaps want to grab some drinks with us to celebrate?”

Of course, Steve knows, this invitation isn’t extended towards him. Women don’t see him the way they see Bucky, especially now with his military uniform on full display. It is attractive, Steve has to admit. He’d never compete with Bucky, much less the man in uniform.

“Go ahead, Buck,” Steve says, patting Bucky on the back. “It sounds like fun.”

The two girls are gleaming. Steve can’t blame them. 

“Sorry.” The word surprises the girls and Steve both. “I’m actually booked tonight. How about I buy you a drink when I come home?”

“Oh.” The girl looks at her friend, disappointment riddling her face. “Alright, then. Best of luck to you.” They begin to scurry away, adding a late “be safe” over their shoulder. Steve, who can’t believe he just witnessed Bucky Barnes turn town two incredibly pretty girls on his last night to ever possibly be with any, turns to his friend, confusion knotting his brow.

But Bucky says, “follow me?” and Steve does, because he is tethered to him like the moon is to the Earth. 

Bucky leads him out of the expo, to a little corner diner a few blocks away. Steve’s never been more confused in his life. They get a table for two, sit down. Bucky takes off his cap, setting it on the table. He smiles at him, the smile that always sends Steve’s heart racing, and Steve can’t help but look around, suddenly hyperaware of everything.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks.

“What are we doing here?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” He poses the question like his intent is obvious. “This place is my favorite. If this is my last meal in New York for a while, it was either this or the dumpster.”

“Why didn’t you go with those girls?”

He shouldn’t have brought it up. Now it’s awkward. Now he’s ruined Bucky’s last night.

But Bucky shrugs. “Because you’re my best friend. I’d rather be with my best friend than some girls I barely know.”

Steve doesn’t know how to feel about this. About any of this. But he forces himself to act normal, for Bucky’s sake. They eat pretending all is well. They get a fudge sundae to share after Bucky begs him too because he won’t finish it all by himself. Despite himself, Steve has the time of his life. Which makes it even harder to part once they make it back to Brooklyn, with nothing to help Steve capture Bucky’s face but the dim street lamps and shoddy moonlight.

After goodbyes are exchanged, embraces held, and Steve is ready to walk home alone, Bucky stops him. A hand on his sleeve. Steve nearly bursts.

“Wait,” Bucky says. He pulls something out of his pocket, lets it fall into Steve’s hands.

“What is…?” Steve starts, but turning it over he answers his own question.

“I want you to have them, so you don’t forget about me,” Bucky tells him, fixing him a smile. “By the time I get back you might be married, have kids. It’ll be great. But don’t move on without me.”

“Don’t win the war without me,” Steve counters, and Bucky laughs.

“Goodbye, Steve,” he says, beginning to walk away.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” Steve says back. He watches Bucky’s back walking down the street until he’s gone, and all he can do for a moment is stare at Bucky’s dog tags in his hands before he makes his way home, too.

***

When Bucky is captured on the battlefield, he somehow finds it amusing that the one thing that comforts him is thinking of Steve Rogers.

As they’re being transported Dugan shoots him a bewildered glance as he catches Bucky smiling. Which, in all fairness, is warranted. Who would be smiling when they become prisoners of war? But he’s smiling because he’s thinking of Steve on that last day, how good it had felt to spend the night together. How much he’d wanted to confess to him as they sat in the diner, how he wanted to tell him that he loved him so much and he was a coward and that Steve deserved so much better. How he was able to make him happy one last time. How now he probably finally found a woman, because if he knew one thing about Steve Rogers it was that he needed someone in his life like that, and that perhaps once he was out of the picture Steve would finally be able to make any progress in his life. He’s found a woman, and maybe they haven’t settled down yet, but she makes him happy, and that’s what matters. That Steve is safe, far away, and not here, in an enemy transport, on his way to be tortured or killed or who knows what. No, that’s Bucky’s fate. And with all the regrets he has, he’s okay with it, as long as his efforts keep Steve safe.

They had always made fun of him, when he arrived in England. “Who did you give your tags to, you romantic bastard?” they asked him, to which Bucky would chuckle and tell them he’d made two girls fight over them his last day in New York. They hollered for him, slapped him on the back, told him he had too much game. Bucky laughed along with them. Maybe Bonnie and Connie would have fought over them, if he’d given them the chance. He wonders if Steve still had them, hopes that he does. Who else is going to remember him, not some idealized Sergeant James Barnes but him, Bucky, after the Nazis kill him?

But they don’t kill him, or any of his remaining unit members. They’re sent to a facility, doing grueling work for a project they’re told nothing about. All they do is slave away every day, get beaten when they fall out of line. Somehow, Bucky survives. He thinks of Steve, and he can’t bring himself to give up just yet. There’s still a war to be won. A country to defend. A man to keep safe.

But his body wears before his mind does. How long has it been? They beat him bloody and tell him to get up but he can’t. His limbs don’t work like they used to. His comrades watch from afar, faces aghast. He knows this is it. This is where it ends. 

I’m sorry, he thinks bitterly. I’m sorry, Steve.

A man comes in. He thinks he hears him addressed as Zola. The man walks over to him, kneels. He’s smiling at him.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the man says with a thick accent. “Pleasure to meet you.”

***

Project Rebirth is a success, but there is a part of Steve Rogers that still feels impossibly hollow.

The attention is overwhelming, the crowds cheering him on, the women flocking to his side, the children screaming for him to sign their toys. It should be joyous. It should be invigorating. But something’s missing. Or someone.

Steve keeps Bucky’s dog tags on him like they’re holy. Even when he dons the suit, they’re still on underneath, reminding him why he did this in the first place. Project Rebirth was the only way to enlist. It was the only way to join his best friend on the battlefield. He did tell Bucky not to win the war without him, after all. Together they’ll defeat the Nazis, defend America and the rest of the Allies. They’ll be heroes. 

But Bucky’s not here. He has no idea where he is, besides that he’s part of the 107th Infantry Unit. There’s no way for him to find out where they are, though, not by doing all these silly shows. He does a performance for a group of United States soldiers stationed in Italy, and doesn’t find his friend in the crowd. He’s beginning to lose focus. Lose motivation. Why is he doing this? Why is he wearing a costume and performing for crowds of men who’ve seen death before their very eyes, instead of joining their sides on the front lines? What was the point of Project Rebirth if not to make him the perfect soldier? What’s the point of even trying, if he can’t find Bucky?

He does find him, eventually. Or, sort of. He finds out the 107th has been wiped out. No. It couldn’t be.

When he’s told Bucky is gone, he doesn’t take it. When he’s told there’s no plan for a rescue mission, he doesn’t take it. Because what was the point of becoming Captain America, if he can’t even save the person he cares for the most?

Peggy Carter and Howard Stark hear him, though. They fly him out, risking everything. He lands from the plane, and suddenly realizes how real it all is. He’s miles behind enemy lines, alone, attempting to do what no man has done before. He takes a moment, breathes. Bucky’s dog tags are still resting on his chest. He takes them, squeezes. I’ll find you.

It’s incredible how easy it is. This new body, what the serum gave him. He infiltrates the facility on his own without even taking one bullet. He finds the prisoners of war, fights the dismay when Bucky is not with them.

“I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes,” he implores as he helps them out, scanning the group again, hoping he just missed him.

“They took him to an isolation ward,” one says. “No one ever comes back from it.”

He’s dead, is his first thought. It evokes despair. They killed him, is his second, which evokes anger. No, they took him, is his third, because if Bucky was dead, these men would know. That’s what he tells himself. 

So he goes off looking, searching, pleading that he finds him alive and not as a corpse. And he feels as if he’s going insane, until he spots someone. A stout man, hurrying out of a room, carrying armfuls of paper and appearing incredibly suspicious. That’s when the anger takes over. Something bubbles inside him, a thought that if he can’t find Bucky, this man will pay for it. He gives chase, the man scrambling away, and he would have caught him, if not—

If not for his glance inside the room.

Because there he is.

There’s Bucky.

But Bucky’s unaware he’s there, at least initially, mumbling incoherently as Steve approaches. They’ve done something to him and Steve’s courageous facade nearly crumbles right then and there, seeing his friend like this. But he can’t crumble, not yet. Not now.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, surveying the straps pinning him to the table, the machines surrounding him. “My god.” He can’t even begin to fathom what they’ve done. He begins to break the straps, reaching out and laying a gentle hand on Bucky’s cheek. “Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

Slowly, Bucky comes back. He focuses on Steve, smiles weakly. “Steve.”

“Yes, it’s me.” He helps him into a sitting position, his heart wavering when Bucky can barely sit up on his own. He’s never seen him like this. So fragile. “What did they do to you, Buck?”

“What did they do to you?” Bucky counters, seeming to really see him for the first time. “I thought you were… smaller.”

And even though Steve wants to press for more, even though he can’t believe he found Bucky like this, he smiles, blinks away tears. He found him. He’s alive. Alive. He leans forward, embracing him tightly, breathing in his scent, taking in how different his body feels now that Steve is bigger than he is. “Bucky, I thought you were dead.”

“Now, why would I do that?” He’s still a bit dazed from whatever they were doing to him, torturing him, probably, but Steve can’t let himself think about that. His resolve solidifies. He has Bucky. All is well. He pulls away, but still leaves a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, half because he’s afraid he’ll fall if he doesn’t support him, and half because, well. He just doesn’t want to let him go.

“You still have my tags,” Bucky comments, and Steve laughs a bit, looking down at the tags dangling from his neck.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I’d never forget about you.”

Bucky smiles at him, and perhaps whatever drugs they’ve given him are beginning to wear off, because it’s the first time Steve sees a hint of pain behind his smile. So he helps him up and off the table, supporting him like Bucky always did him back in Brooklyn. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and carries his friend to safety.

***

When Steve gets his set of dog tags, he knows there’s only one appropriate thing to do with them. 

They’ve traveled back to England, where he forces Bucky to get medical attention, despite the man’s repeated attempts at assuring Steve that he’s fine. Once he’s cleared by medical Steve proposes they celebrate. 

“Celebrate what?” Bucky asks him, a quizzical look on his face. “The war’s not over yet.”

“No,” Steve says. “But can’t we celebrate the small victories?”

They end up at the Whip and Fiddle, recommended to him by Peggy as a wonderful location for a first date. “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asks him, to which he just chuckles and tells her it’s a secret. This time he leads Bucky inside, and they seat themselves at a secluded booth in the back. They order a round of beer, down it happily. Steve doesn’t know how to feel now that he can’t get drunk. Grateful, probably. Because this time he is determined not to embarrass himself. Or at least embarrass himself less.

“Bucky,” he starts, drawing the laughing man’s attention back towards him. He takes a moment to look at him, really look at him. It’s Bucky, and he’s smiling, but something’s different. The war has changed him, as it does everyone. But he’s still himself, just a bit off kilter. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” Bucky appraises him with his pint in one hand. “Is it another round?”

Steve grins. “Not yet, no.” He sighs, hand in his pocket. He wants to feel confident, and he should, he’s Captain freaking America now. And besides, it’s not like it’s a love confession. He’s not stupid. Captain America or not, it still wouldn’t happen. Even if Bucky felt the same way. No, this is returning the gesture of camaraderie, completing his promise. Bucky did the same only a year ago.

He takes out his dog tags, and Bucky’s eyes fall on them immediately. “Steve.”

“What?” he says, grinning at him. “You gave me yours. This makes sense, doesn’t it?”

For the first time in Steve’s life, Bucky looks so surprised he doesn’t know what to say. Bucky has always been the one who knows what to say between them, always the talker. Steve never had an ounce of the confidence Bucky has. And now he’s rendered the man speechless as he stares at Steve’s tags in his outstretched hand.

“Steve, I…”

Maybe this is too much. Maybe Steve overthought the gesture. “Oh, come on, Buck.” But he pushes past the awkwardness, letting the chain unspool so that he can put it over Bucky’s head himself. “There. Now we’re even.”

Bucky finally scoffs, taking Steve’s tags in his hand, looking down at them in almost awe. “I can’t believe you followed me here.”

“I told you I would.”

“You still haven’t told me how you became… this.” Bucky gestures to him vaguely, his eyes washing him up and down. “Mr. Captain America.”

And you still haven’t told me what they did to you in that facility, he wants to counter, but he doesn’t want to ruin this moment. So he tells him. Tells him all about Project Rebirth, about the Super Soldier Serum, about Erskine and the stupid shows and how he’s punched Hilter in the face more times than he can count. Bucky takes it all in like they’re still in Brooklyn, like they’re not fighting a war. It’s good. It’s relaxing. They’ve gotten closer in the booth as they’ve talked, and in another universe maybe Steve would close the gap.

But he doesn’t. It’s the right thing to do. They are going to return to the front lines eventually, so he has to savor the moment wisely. 

And when Steve hands him his tags, Bucky wants to kiss him so badly he nearly does, in front of everyone in that pub. What does he have to lose? Everything, really. Now that Steve is here. It’s a different body, a different man, but still Steve Rogers. So when Steve eventually asks him to be a part of his team, he immediately says yes. Someone will have to look after him. Doesn’t matter how big he is now, in Bucky’s eyes he’s still the scrawny kid he defended from the bullies at their school. He’s still the boy who kissed him on the rooftop the day before the world ended. He’s still the man who he swore to protect the day he left.

So he follows him. He follows him all across Europe, eliminating HYDRA base after HYDRA base, fighting Nazis and inching the Allies closer to victory. A year passes. Two. He’s never been prouder of the man Steve’s become, and, as a result, the yearning has multiplied tenfold. Dugan notices him staring at Steve for a little too long one time, and confronts him about it one night over a campfire.

“So,” he says, nudging Bucky. “Steve?”

“What?” Bucky narrows his eyes at him.

“Steve Rogers,” the man says. “Captain America?”

“What about him?” Bucky says defensively.

Dugan smiles, shaking his head. “You know, we could die at any time out here.”

Bucky knows this. He’s always known this. “And?”

“I’m just saying, don’t die with any regrets. Don’t die without letting the person you love know you love them.”

And his eyes are downcast, on Steve’s tags hanging from his neck. The two make no secret that they wear each other’s tags. Everyone knows. They also know Bucky lied about making girls fight over his by now. It’s so blatantly obvious even Bucky is embarrassed for a moment.

But he takes Dugan’s words to heart. Because he’s right. They could die. He could die, Steve could die. He likes to pretend it can’t happen, but it can. The war’s not won. Not yet.

So he enters Steve’s tent one night, smiling nervously at Steve as the man looks up from the book he’s reading.

“Bucky,” he says, his voice betraying his surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky sits down on the ground, crossing his legs. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Steve says. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, you know, except the war going on outside.” He jokes to mask his anxiety. He knows he’s a coward, but it’s hard. This is so hard.

“That’s for sure,” Steve says. He sits up on his cot, setting his book down. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He could back out. He could say he just wanted to play cards. Except he doesn’t have a deck on him. That wouldn’t work. Well. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Steve’s demeanor immediately changes. “About?”

Bucky wrings his hands. “Do you remember that birthday party? Dolores’?”

Steve blinks. It obviously isn’t what he was expecting. “Dolores?”

“Yes. We went to her birthday party a long time ago.” He pauses. “The night Pearl Harbor was bombed.”

“Oh.”

“I just… wanted to talk about what happened on the rooftop.”

Steve’s posture goes rigid, and maybe they were never supposed to talk about this. Maybe Steve’s already moved on. Why else would he be looking at him like this?

“Bucky, I—I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” Steve says, and Bucky nearly freezes. “I should have apologized, I never should have gone on thinking that—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky interrupts him. His heart is racing. “I didn’t mind.”

“You—” Steve stops, and Bucky watches the gears turn. “You didn’t…?”

Jacques bursts into the tent, startling them both. Buck nearly jumps out of his skin, suddenly worried Jacques was eavesdropping, that he overheard everything. But the man is out of breath, as if he just ran.

“What is it?” Steve inquires, standing up. Bucky follows suit.

“We just got information you’ll want to hear,” Jacques says. “We know where one of Schmidt’s allies is.”

Bucky catches Steve’s eye, the two exchanging a knowing look. Duty calls, yet again. “We’ll be right there,” Steve informs him, and the man dips out, leaving the two alone again. The atmosphere is ruined, that much Bucky can surmise, but he still looks to Steve and wonders if he should still confess. Or if that even counted as a confession.

“Can we… continue this later?” Steve eventually asks, breaking the silence. Bucky is grateful.

“Of course,” he says, and the smile Steve gives him actually warms his heart. Maybe he isn’t a coward after all. Maybe there is hope.

He follows him out the tent, where they learn that one of HYDRA’s best scientists, Arnim Zola, will be passing the Alps by train. The name irks Bucky in a way he can’t identify, but he follows Steve anyways. They land on the train. He and Steve infiltrate the cars. It’s like any other mission. Except this time, the proximity feels different. There’s an electricity between them he can’t identify. Before they sling down to the train, out of view from everyone else, Steve’s hand brushes his, and when he looks up Steve’s gazing at him in a way he never has before. But they continue the mission like nothing’s changed, even though everything has changed.

Maybe that’s why everything goes wrong. He’s not focused enough. His head is still in that tent, on that rooftop. No, no, that’s not it. It was never Steve’s fault. He can’t even fathom to blame him, even when he’s tumbling down into the snowy abyss, and he’s terrified, god, he’s terrified, because what will it be like to die? Will it be quick? Is it going to hurt? He’s screaming and the cold is whipping past him and the last face he sees is Steve, Steve reaching out to him, Steve’s hand an inch away from his.

What a horrible way to go, with the face of the man he loves staring at him in terror as he realizes he can’t save him.

***

Time moves different without Bucky.

It moves in fragments, like a hallucination. Maybe it is. That would be better.

They take in Zola. He knows Zola and Bucky interacted somehow, not favorably, because he remembers the way Bucky reacted to the name. He has dreams of tearing the man apart, of demanding him to give Bucky back, only to wake up in cold sweat and realize neither of the two scenarios will ever happen. Zola’s with the SSR, being used to get information. Bucky is… at the bottom of a ravine, rotting, probably. They never found a body. His dreams are followed by nightmares of a dismembered Bucky begging him to save him, haunting him, hunting him. Screaming at him that he should have held onto him. Steve knows, logically, that Bucky would never do such a thing, but it’s hard to shake that really, in the end, all he had to do was hold him.

(When Bucky is being dragged across the snow, he’s so delirious that he doesn’t recognize it’s not a rescue attempt until it’s too late.)

They never find a body, so they don’t have anything to bury. Nothing to send back to Bucky’s family. All that’s left is Bucky’s tags around Steve’s neck, which he agonizes over. He can’t bring himself to part with them. He knows that’s selfish, that Bucky’s family deserves some sort of closure, but he can’t bring himself to take them off. At the same time, he considers burying them somewhere. A private grave only he knows. Because who else knew him like he did? Who else knew Bucky, not James, not Sergeant Barnes, like he did? They’d known each other since they were children. And now, now—

(In and out of consciousness, the first and only coherent moment he has is when they remove Steve’s tags. He fights with everything he has, which is not much. He loses. He cries. He begs. Steve is taken from him, and shortly after, so is his mind.)

He sits outside in the snow, Bucky’s tags in his hand. A part of him imagines him sitting next to him, okay, breathing, alive, laughing at something he said. Like it’s that night on the rooftop again.

“How am I supposed to do this?” he says to no one in particular. Peggy told him he has to keep going, for Bucky’s sake, but how is he supposed to? There was never supposed to be just one of them. Until the end of the line, it was always supposed to be two. That’s why he enlisted. That’s why he followed Bucky to the front lines.

It was never supposed to be one.

The war is shifting in their favor. It doesn’t bring Steve any joy. They extract the location of HYDRA’s headquarters. He prepares to lead an attack. It’s only motions, empty without purpose. He tells himself it’s for the Allies, it’s for victory. It’s to protect the American people. All of that is true, but what is any of it without him?

Maybe that’s why the decision is so easy on the Valkyrie . Schmidt is gone. His weapon fell through the floor and is somewhere deep in the ocean. All that’s left is the weaponry the bomber is outfitted with, Steve, and an overpowering sense of emptiness. Maybe something else could have been done, if he cared to try. But HYDRA is dead. He’s done all he could to avenge his best friend. What left is there to do?

His final words are with Peggy, because through it all she has understood. Maybe she doesn’t know exactly why. Steve hopes she doesn’t. But she understands enough to let him express his grief. He says his goodbyes. He angles the nose down.

He’s afraid, but he tries to think of how Bucky must have felt when he fell, his end out of his control. At least Steve’s end will be in his control. That has to be way less terrifying. Right?

I’m coming, he tells Bucky. I’ll be there soon.

***

When the body is excavated from the Arctic Circle nearly seventy years later, he’s first identified as James Buchanan Barnes, because the people who find him aren’t familiar with the shield, and go by the dog tags around his neck instead. It’s only when someone else points at a picture of him from one of his shows that they realize they’ve uncovered Captain America, and not his friend lost in battle. When Steve is told this, he can only laugh, and say halfheartedly, “I wish it was him and not me.”

***

He doesn’t ever forget about Bucky.

But he also can’t deny that he’s been given a second chance. By who or what is not important. He’s been given a second chance, and that has to mean something. He picks himself up, gives himself purpose. He joins the Avengers. He stops aliens from invading New York. His New York, but not his New York. It’s all very surreal, but he does it. He’s not fulfilled, he’s not settled, and the nightmares don’t go away, but he’s arrived at some sort of peace. If Bucky were still here, that’s what he would want. He visits the neighborhood where they grew up, marvels at how it’s changed. Wonders what Bucky would think of it.

He holds onto Bucky’s tags. They’re always resting on his chest. It’s the least he can do to honor him. Sam Wilson, his newest friend, asks him about them once after a run together.

“They’re not yours,” he points out. “That friend of yours? James?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. We gave each other our tags, as a sort of promise. So we’d never forget each other.”

“Aww,” Sam says, giving him a oogling look. “How romantic.”

Steve smiles, but shakes his head. “We weren’t like that. He was my best friend.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It doesn’t feel entirely right. But.

Sam waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, sure. It was you and Peggy, right?”

Steve scoffs. “Oh, no.”

“No?” Sam looks accosted. “Well, who was the lucky lady? You can’t tell me you looked like this—” he gestures dramatically at Steve’s body— “and didn’t have no one.”

Well. Steve doesn’t really know how to explain it, because he can’t even make sense of it himself. Not even now, seventy years later. He grew up liking girls. He always knew this. He and Bucky would talk about who they thought was the prettiest at their school. But alongside that was always something for Bucky. He can’t call it love. How can a man love a man? Even though he sees it now, he sees men holding hands on the streets and women kissing each other at cafes, he still doesn’t quite grasp it. Even though he knows Bucky was special, and that he felt something for him he’d never felt for anyone else. He still does, but of course, Bucky isn’t here, and he never will be. All that’s left of him is memories he holds dear, relives every day. Bucky in his uniform. Bucky fending off his bully. Bucky at the Whip and Fiddle. Bucky in his tent. Bucky on the rooftop.

Which is why he almost can’t believe it when Bucky shows up again, except it’s not him. He wears his face and uses his voice, but his eyes are unrecognizable, and Steve thinks for a moment it must be one of his nightmares.

But it’s not. It’s real. Bucky is alive, but everyone wants him dead, because he’s not Bucky anymore.

He’s the Winter Soldier.

***

He knew him.

He doesn’t know him, but he knew him . An itch in his brain tells him so.

Why can’t he remember?

Who the hell is Bucky?

“Wipe him,” they say, and the cycle repeats.

***

The routine Steve fell into is in pieces. Bucky is alive. It consumes him. What happened to him? How did he survive the fall? Why does he not remember who he is? He knows Zola has something to do with it. The man—or, at least, the computer upload of the man—confesses it before he’s blown up. He should have killed him decades ago, when he caught him fleeing the HYDRA base where Bucky and his men were being held prisoner. 

But then he might not have found Bucky at all, if he’d pursued him.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not within his control. What is in his control, however, is how he reacts.

And he reacts in the only way he knows he can.

When standing face to face with him, steps away from preventing mass destruction, he pleads. “Don’t make me do this, Buck.” Because a part of him doesn’t know if he can.

But he’s been given a second chance. And that means something.

So with Bucky’s tags secure under his uniform, he fights him. He fights a man that is not Bucky, but is. It tears him apart. Every blow is a blow at his own soul. He hurts him. Bucky returns the favor. It’s a nightmare he can’t wake up from. And when Bucky screams as he breaks his arm, his real arm, not the metal thing they’ve given him, he knows he can’t continue.

So he does what he’s supposed to. He completes the mission. Then he faces his friend again, and stops. He drops his shield. He takes off his helmet. He faces Bucky, not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers.

“You know me,” he says, out of breath. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Even as Bucky strikes him, he doesn’t lift a finger. Maybe this is what he deserves. It was his fault Bucky fell, after all. It’s his fault, subsequently, that he ended up like this. If only he’d tried harder. If only he’d searched harder.

“Your name…” he struggles out, “is James Buchanan Barnes.” A pause. “Bucky.”

His heart is shattered as he sees Bucky struggling. He’s trying. He’s trying to remember. Bucky, what did they do to you?

I’m so, so sorry.

He accepts that Bucky is going to kill him. All those nightmares of him coming back, of a half-rotted Bucky Barnes attacking him for leaving him, it all comes to fruition. And he makes peace with it.

“You’re my mission,” Bucky says as he beats him.

“Then finish it,” Steve tells him. “Because I’m with you, til the end of the line.”

Bucky’s eyes shift. He looks—afraid. Mortified. If Steve could cry, he would. If he could move, he would embrace him, whisper that he’s sorry, that he’s here now, to not be afraid. That he’ll never abandon him again, that he’ll hold him forever.

He doesn’t get the chance. The building collapses underneath them, and this time it is Steve falling. He wonders what death will feel like. He mourns that the last face he sees is the face of the man he cherishes, looking at him in horror as Steve breaks through the brainwashing for the first time in seventy years. Seventy years.

It’s not the way he imagined he’d go, but at least he knows what his second chance was for before he hits the water.

***

He’s thinking for himself for the first time.

He watches the body fall, clinging onto the beam, and is overcome with an unwavering urge to protect . Because he’s been here before. Somewhere, in a past he can’t remember, he’s seen the man bloody and beaten, and has defended him. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying.

He dives after him. He saves him, and something shifts. He looks down at the man, sputtering out water, and he discovers a part of himself that’s broken. Or maybe every part of him is broken.

There’s a name that he can’t quite remember. A feeling that is trying to resurface. But it’s too much. He stalls, then backs away, and disappears.

***

The next time Steve sees Bucky, Bucky comes to him.

He is returning to his apartment in Brooklyn, where he’s retired to after Sokovia. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him, knowing he saved him those years ago, but he’s never been able to find him. So he’s lived with an inconsolable hollowness inside him, desperate to know where he is, how he’s doing, does he remember him?

He’s answered when he finds Bucky standing in his living room, examining his dog tag in his hand. Steve freezes. He’d stopped wearing them every day when people began calling him a terrorist sympathizer, when higher ups told him that to associate himself with the Winter Soldier was jeopardizing the image of the Avengers. Instead he kept them on a hook in his living room, for only his eyes.

And now, well, Bucky’s too.

He doesn’t know what to say. The last time he saw him, Bucky had nearly beaten him to death. But he’d remembered. The stark expression of fear in his face before he fell told him so. And he’s rehearsed this for ages, what he would say to him when they finally found each other again, but the words escape him. It’s all he can do not to tremble as Bucky looks towards him, it’s all he can do not to rush forward and hold him and never let go again.

“Bucky.” It’s all he can say.

“Steve.” His voice is different. Weathered. Tired. He’s changed wholly, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

“Do you know me?” he asks gingerly, taking a step forward. He keeps his distance, though, warily. Painstakingly.

Bucky turns over the tags in his hands, reading the words etched into the metal. “I don’t know,” he says, but his brow is scrunched together, and Steve can see he’s trying.

So he exhales slowly, moving to take a seat in his loveseat. He hopes the act invites Bucky to be less tense. “Those are yours,” he tells him, leaning forward. “From before.”

“Before.” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s all… distant.”

“That’s okay.” A beat. “Do you remember who you are?”

More brow furrowing. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he reads from the tags. “Sergeant.”

“That’s right.” Steve forces a small laugh. “You were so excited to be a Sergeant, you know. When you told me your eyes were so lit up it felt like the Fourth of July.” Bucky is gazing at him now, and looks so incredibly lost and sad, but Steve continues. “You came home from training and told me and of course wanted to celebrate, so we went to Coney Island at your request. I didn’t go on the Cyclone that time, because I’d learned my lesson, but we spent the day like we were kids again, and it felt…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. If they even existed. “It felt peaceful,” he settled on, locking eyes with Bucky. “Before everything happened. To us. To you.” 

Bucky is staring at him wordlessly, tags still in hands, obviously not knowing what to say. But Steve can read the pain behind his eyes, the suffering, the confusion. 

“Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky looks away, shakes his head. “Bucky,” he utters. “You called me Bucky.”

Steve stands. Bucky takes a step back at the motion, so he keeps himself at a distance, still, even if it hurts to do so. “What can I do, to help?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Bucky deflects. “I’m a wanted man. That much I know.”

It’s true. He’s been wanted ever since he disappeared after SHIELD’s downfall. “You can stay here,” Steve offers, trying not to sound like he’s begging. “I won’t tell anyone.” I’ll keep you safe. 

But Bucky shakes his head again. “No,” he says. “I can’t.”

“But you found me,” Steve protests. “Something brought you here.”

“You’re right,” Bucky says, sounding defeated. “And I don’t know what.”

He makes a move to leave, placing the tags on the coffee table. Steve’s breath hitches. “Keep them,” he says hurriedly, Bucky stopping in his tracks. “Please, keep them. They’re yours.”

For a moment Bucky stands still, considering. Steve holds his breath, fights back tears.

But Bucky continues for a moment, the dog tags left on the table. When he’s gone, Steve falls back into his chair, and lets the tears fall silently.

***

It’s hard, trying to find himself again.

He digs up all he can. Accounts of the Winter Soldier. All the hurt he’s caused. The terrorism he’s inflicted. And he remembers all of it in startling detail, just as much as he can remember not being in control. It was him, but a different version of him. So is this James, this Sergeant who beams at the exhibits next to Captain America. He remembers falling. He remembers crying out for help. He remembers the cold, the hands of death almost pulling him under. He remembers the old smell of Brooklyn. Coney Island. 

He remembers Steve.

As parts of him return, it’s the most painful thing he’s ever experienced. He weeps in the dark, alone. He wanders the world, trying to escape the remnants of the Winter Soldier. He claws at his metal arm until he’s bloody, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. He has nightmares of the people he’s killed, of them pleading for their lives before he monstrously ends them. He contemplates death more times than he can count.

But he remembers Steve, and he remembers that once, in a lifetime long lost, his purpose was to protect him. He doesn’t know the why yet. He just knows that everything falls back onto that truth: he’s always protected Steve. 

So, eventually, he does return.

This time he knocks. When Steve opens the door, he almost flees, but forces himself to remain in place.

“Bucky,” Steve greets him, face contorted in concern.

“Can I stay this time?” he asks rigidly.

“Of course you can,” Steve says. “You always can.”

***

Bucky returns to him slowly.

He doesn’t come with much of anything, except the clothes on his back, and a notebook in his pocket. At first he doesn’t let him read it, and Steve respects his decision. He doesn’t let him close, either, and Steve respects that, too. He sleeps on his couch and leaves for parts of the day, to do what Steve doesn’t ask. But he always returns, and sometimes Steve will watch him sleep and beat himself up every time he witnesses his night terrors. He never talks about it. He doesn’t talk about his past at all, at first. All of this Steve takes with a patient hand.

People start to notice he’s acting different. Natasha is the first to confront him about it. “What’s changed?” she asks, to which his response is “Everything.” Sam comments that he must have found a girlfriend, since he’s never around much anymore. Of course, he keeps his promise. He never tells anyone about Bucky. He knows, in the aftermath of Sokovia, that to be found harboring a wanted criminal as Captain America would not only ruin him but place Bucky in grave danger—and that’s something he vows to never allow to happen again.

One day, he comes home from the grocery store, and Bucky is writing in his notebook at the kitchen table. Steve sets the food on his counter, and decides to take a crack at it.

“What are you writing?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

Bucky looks up, meeting Steve’s eyes. He’s wearing a tank top, the whole of his metal arm exposed. He’s never talked about that, either. He’s never talked about how he came to have it, why he has a multitude of scars around where it’s attached at his shoulder. Steve can only imagine.

He thinks Bucky is not going to tell him, like usual, but this time is different. Bucky closes the notebook, exhales slowly.

“When I remember something, I write it down,” he says. “So if I ever forget again, I can…”

He trails off, but Steve understands. He moves to sit down across from him, and is relieved when Bucky doesn’t flee. “And what have you remembered today?”

There’s a long, insufferable silence. “That I think I loved you, once,” he says, and Steve breaks into a million pieces. “A long time ago.”

He brings his knuckles to his mouth, watching as Bucky’s face contorts as he tries not to cry. So many emotions hit him at once. A deep sorrow, witnessing firsthand the aftermath of what happened to his dearest friend. Regret, that he had all the power in the world to prevent it and he still couldn’t. Resentment, for the people who did this to him. For the people that tortured him for years, who made him a puppet for violence and terror when everything Bucky ever wanted was to prevent it. And heartbreak. Heartbreak, because what if Bucky had never fallen? What if they’d continued the conversation in the tent? 

That’s when Steve finally admits it was love, and that it always has been. There’s still a part of him that’s repulsed by it, that tells him it’s wrong, but this is Bucky. Bucky, his Bucky, his walls breaking down before him because he remembers that they were once young men figuring out how they felt towards each other in the midst of a horrible, horrible war. Ever since Bucky returned to him he’s never let himself appear so weak, but now he’s crying, and Steve is crying, and he gets up, rounds the table, and pulls Bucky into an embrace. An embrace seventy plus years late. Holding him like he should have on that train.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispers into the man’s hair as he weeps into his chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He knows it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t undo the brutality Bucky has endured. But it’s a start.

***

Sam is the first to find out he’s housing Bucky.

It happens by mistake. Sam comes to surprise him, thinking he’s been holed up in his apartment for days because of the recent argument about the Sokovia Accords, but when he sees Bucky asleep on the couch, Steve has no choice to explain.

“For how long?” Sam demands, not aggressively, but not without wariness.

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve says quietly. “Just—please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Sam tells him, and Steve believes him. He invites him in, the two sitting at the kitchen table. “How is he?”

“Horrible,” Steve utters. “They brainwashed him, Sam. They used him. How would you be after seventy years of that?”

“Pretty horrible,” Sam cedes, sighing. “How did you find him?”

“I didn’t. He found me.”

Sam smiles at that. “He remembers you.”

“He’s trying,” Steve says. “He’s really trying.”

After a moment’s silence, Sam clears his throat. “They’re signing the Accords tomorrow.”

“I know.” Steve’s fist is curled on the table. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” Sam says, glancing at Bucky. “Is it because of him?”

Steve’s lips curl inwards. It’s always been about him, hasn’t it? Because how could he trust the government again, knowing how easily it could be infiltrated by the people who did this to Bucky? How could he ever trust that keeping Bucky on a list of people with enhanced abilities would keep him safe? And how could he ever wait for the government’s approval of his intervention if Bucky were in danger? He couldn’t. He knows that for fact. Because he’s vowed to never let anything happen to him ever again. Ever.

“They’ll come for him,” Sam says after a while. It’s not a threat, just a statement.

“They’ll have to go through me first,” Steve says, watching the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. “I’m not losing him again.”

“I know, buddy.” Sam leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I think I know why you never had a girlfriend, too.”

“Excuse me?”

Sam raises his eyebrows, gesturing towards Bucky wordlessly.

Steve shakes his head involuntarily. “We’re not like that,” he dismisses, but aren’t they? Nothing’s happened, of course. Bucky’s not ready for anything like that. Steve’s not sure he is, either. But he knows he loves him. And he knows that Bucky, in some broken way, does too.

“Sure,” Sam says, smirking. “You tell yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Roger that.”

Sam leaves, and Steve prepares a dinner for the two of them while Bucky sleeps. When they wake, Bucky notices that someone’s been there.

“Who?” he asks, obviously paranoid.

“An ally,” Steve tells him. “He won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I trust him.” He turns off the stove. “Are you in the mood for lasagna?”

Progress is slow, and Steve is patient. He knows seventy years of damage can’t be undone in a month. 

But then King T’Chaka is killed, and Bucky is framed. And he has to step up to defend him, or else he’ll lose him again.

***

Bucky.

He’s still getting used to the name. It feels right. He knows it’s right. But a part of him is still tethered to the Winter Soldier, and he so desperately wants to separate the two. There’s Bucky, and there’s the Winter Soldier. They are not the same, even if the memories are the same.

When he loses himself again, it’s like the ground has been pulled out underneath him. The stability he’d been working towards, the progress he’d been making. It’s all shattered, because all the man says is the goddamn words, and a fear overtakes him like nothing before. Because he remembers what those words will do. He remembers, and he begs him to stop. He tries to break free. If he can get to him in time, perhaps he can stop it. Perhaps he can stop the monster he feels clawing its way to the surface.

But he doesn’t. His mind is taken from him again, any semblance of control stripped away. He hates that this is who he is. He resents that he’ll never be free of this. No matter how hard he tries. No matter how much Steve tries.

When he wakes he’s filled with such despair that he doesn’t want to try again. He feels violated, used, spent. He looks Steve in the eye and finds a spark of cautiousness in his gaze. It kills him like nothing else can.

But Steve keeps trying, because Steve is Steve. He’s the kid that he defended from those bullies. He’s the man who followed him to war. He’s the boy who kissed him, once, on a snowy night, when Bucky was still Bucky, and not this broken puppet of a man. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

But Steve tries. They find Zemo. Steve makes sure he can’t control him ever again. They stop his plan to ruin the Avengers. Tony Stark never finds the video of Bucky killing his parents. Steve does, though, but it doesn’t make him waver. He holds Bucky’s face in his hands and he tells him, “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you.” Oh, but it was.

They return to Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn, but it’s not enough. His relapse still haunts him. The people he hurt. The deaths he could have caused. Bucky doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know if he ever can.

So when the new King T’Challa offers to help, he takes it without a doubt.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks him, almost like he’s pleading. Pleading him not to go.

And in truth, Bucky’s terrified. The last time he went under the ice, it was by force. It’s always been by force. Even though he knows he’s choosing it, he’s terrified that when he wakes up again they’ll wipe his memory and set him on another assignment not of his choosing.

But Steve won’t do that. He knows it the way he holds him, his face buried in his shoulder. “I’m sure,” Bucky assures him, forcing a smile. He can’t let Steve see that he’s scared, or he’ll take him right back to his apartment, where he’ll never be safe. “I can’t trust my own mind.”

Steve looks so distraught, but he smiles, too. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells him. “Just be there when I wake up.”

Steve gazes at him, looking as if he wants to say so many things, but instead he exhales unevenly, digging his hand into his pocket. When he takes out his dog tags, or, no, Bucky’s dog tags, Bucky holds his breath.

He’s always been so aware of them. This relic that followed them through time. This reminder that who he was before was real. But with it comes the memory of Steve’s tags, the ones taken from him, along with everything else. In that way he’s been wary of them, wary of what they mean.

But Steve lets them hang loose, glancing at Bucky once before he raises them over his head. Bucky lets him, expelling his breath as the chain rests itself on his neck, Steve moving his hair for him. He can’t look at Steve for a moment, emotions clashing within him. The motions are so familiar, and he remembers an impossible fondness attached to them. Steve did this for him once before, a long time ago, at a pub in London. Bucky remembers wanting to kiss him, then. This time, he wants to want to kiss him, but he’s too washed up in everything else to let himself feel anything of the sort.

“These were yours, once,” Steve says, reaching out to play with them on his chest. The intimacy is overwhelming and incredible at the same time. “I want you to have them again. So you always know who you are.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. They embrace again, one last time, before they part and Bucky steps into the cryo chamber. Though he’s scared, the tags around his neck grant him some assurance that he won’t forget again.

And as Steve watches Bucky go under, he forces himself to look up. Bucky will return to him, and he will wait, no matter how long it takes.

***

When Steve is called to Wakanda, it’s chaos in his mind. The entire way there he’s a nervous wreck, not knowing what to expect. He was told Bucky is out of cryo. He’s been told that Shuri believes she successfully removed the Winter Soldier programming in Bucky’s head. Believes, being the word that throws Steve into a whirlwind of worry. What if it’s not possible? What if he has to deal with this forever?

When he lands he’s greeted by Shuri, who is as chipper as always. “Where’s Bucky?” he asks, to which she tuts at him.

“You are so inpatient,” she scolds him, leading him to a transport. “He’s staying somewhere remote with Ayo. I’ll take you to him.”

Steve wants to slap himself for his obvious rudeness, profusely apologizing to the Princess of Wakanda and stepping into the transport eagerly. The ride is short, but long enough for Steve to think about too much. He thinks about the last time he saw him, devastated from Zemo’s reactivation of the Winter Soldier, hesitant to go under again but knowing it was for the best. He thinks of how he held him, of Bucky’s tags now resting on their appropriate owner. What will he say to him? How will Bucky even act?

The village is remote, just on the border of Wakandan territory. Steve steps off the transport and takes it all in. It’s—peaceful. Serene. The people regard him kindly, while bowing to the Princess as she leads him through the village to a hut separated from the rest. In a way it makes Steve sad, knowing that this was likely a precaution they had to take for the safety of their own people, not just coincidence, but he shakes off the sentiment, because Bucky is stepping out of the hut, and Steve is breathless.

He looks—well. Very well. He’s dressed in traditional Wakandan garb, and his hair is longer than it’s ever been. He notices that his metal arm is gone—for why, he doesn’t know—but he’s quickly distracted because Bucky is smiling. Real, genuine. He’s smiling.

And he’s still wearing his tags.

“Steve,” Bucky calls, and Steve nearly shakes with awe.

“Bucky,” he breathes as he approaches him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He feels sturdier, stronger. He smells clean, so much more like himself. Steve keeps one hand on his back, the other at the nape of his neck, entwined with his hair. He doesn’t care that everyone has gathered to watch, all eyes on the two. He holds him for so long, and neither Bucky nor Steve make the move to separate until he hears Shuri clear her throat. They part, but Steve still subconsciously holds onto his hand.

“We’re going to test the deprogramming tonight,” she says, Ayo nodding behind her. Steve notices the way Bucky’s smile falters for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. “He didn’t want to try until you came.”

Steve turns to Bucky again, overcome with adoration. “Bucky…”

“I can’t do it without you,” Bucky tells him, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’d never mind,” Steve says, because he wouldn’t. Not in a million years.

They wait until the sun has long gone down. They retreat into the woods, he, Bucky, Shuri, and Ayo. There’s no need for an audience. Steve holds Bucky’s remaining hand the entire time they trek through the forest, watching Bucky’s back dutifully. Whatever happens tonight, he’s going to be there for him. It won’t be like last time, when he was stuck watching from behind a screen. He’s not leaving his side.

They build a fire in a small clearing, Bucky and Steve sitting on a log together. Ayo stands before them, Shuri observing from a distance with her arms crossed. Steve makes eye contact with her, and sees the confidence in her eyes. She’s a brilliant young woman, and Steve trusts her wholeheartedly. But there’s a still a part of him that’s nervous beyond relief as he sits next to Bucky, their thighs touching, Steve’s hands clasped before him while Bucky’s is resting on his leg.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Ayo says before they begin. It’s to reassure Bucky, because as nervous as Steve is, Bucky is even more anxious. He’s already sweating, his body fighting rigidness. Steve reaches around him, wrapping his hand around his shoulder. It feels odd, the metal arm not being there. A topic for another time.

And then she’s reciting the words. Steve’s never heard them before, but they send chills down his spine. He feels Bucky tense under his grip, and his eyes flee to him. He begins to shake, and his face contorts as Ayo continues. Steve wants to utter words of assurance, but knows not to interfere. If this is going to work, Bucky has to do it on his own, as much as that pains Steve. To see him like this, it’s a knife to his heart.

It’s nearing the end. A tear falls down Bucky’s cheek. Steve watches, impatient. But he’s doing so well. He’s fighting through it, and he’s not succumbing. That’s my Bucky.

And then it’s over. Bucky is trembling, crying, but he’s not the Winter Soldier. That’s when Steve realizes he’s crying too, and lets out a nervous laugh, pulling Bucky’s head towards his so their foreheads rest together.

“You are free,” Ayo says triumphantly, and Bucky lets out a sob.

“You’re free, Buck,” Steve whispers, allowing his thumb to rest over his cheek. “It’s over.”

Neither sees, but Ayo and Shuri look at each other, exchanging knowing smiles before they leave the two under the stars.

***

Bucky—he’s sure he’s Bucky now—is a different man.

He’s not the James Buchanan Barnes of before. And a part of him is grateful for that. To be Sergeant Barnes is to be someone who died in the ravine, someone who became someone else. The Bucky he is now is someone different. Whole in a different way. Whole in the sense that no matter what, he can never be controlled again. At least not in the same way he had been before. 

But it doesn’t mean he’s free of his sins. It doesn’t mean he still doesn’t remember everything he did. Which is why when Steve suggests he returns with him back to Brooklyn, Bucky declines, and instead asks that Steve stays with him in Wakanda. For how long, he doesn’t know, but it’s peaceful here in a way that no country has ever been peaceful to him, and he’s not ready to leave yet.

Steve stays, because of course he does.

Bucky learns Steve is also a different man. He’s not the Steve Rogers he knew before, who was just a kid, just a boy who wanted to make a difference, too. Time has changed him, too. He’s something more, now. Something incredible. Captain America. A symbol of hope, of pride. Everything Bucky wanted to be, once. But he’s also smaller, in a way. More focused. More intimate. Bucky wants to mirror it, he wants to engage the way Steve wants to, but there’s still a part of him that’s afraid. For years the only physical touch he experienced was cold hearted violence. He knows Steve won’t hurt him, but old instincts are hard to shake.

One night, Steve asks him about his arm.

“Where did it go?” he asks, fumbling the words, because how exactly do you ask someone what happened to their metal prosthetic arm? Bucky can’t fault him. He finds it endearing.

“I asked them to take it,” he tells him, clenching and unclenching his hand. “Even with the deprogramming, I didn’t trust myself. Or the weapon I could be.” It’s liberating, being able to be this honest.

Steve listens intently, nodding. “I see,” he says. “Do you… think you’ll get a new one?”

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe. Not really sure.”

“I’m sorry, you know.”

Bucky furrows his brow. “It’s not that big a deal, Steve, really. I’m okay with not having it.”

“No, I mean—” Steve stops, sighing. “I never properly apologized for… what happened on the train.”

Bucky’s heart nearly stops. “Steve, that wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” he counters. “All I had to do was—”

“Nothing,” Bucky cuts him off, reaching over to put his hand on his thigh. “You did everything you could. I—” he pauses. “I don’t blame you.”

“I blame myself,” Steve whispers, turning away from him in what can only be shame.

“Steve.” He picks up his hand, rests it on Steve’s cheek so he can turn his head back towards him. “Please don’t.”

The fire in their hut makes the angles of Steve’s face appear soft, makes his eyes dance in their misery. In a way Bucky wants to apologize, because in a way he failed, too. He wasn’t there to protect Steve from the guilt. Wasn’t there when he woke up, in a strange and new world that claimed to still be his own. He knows it’s not his fault, and they could chase these feelings of guilt forever, or they could move on. Bucky’s trying to move on, and he desperately wants Steve to, too.

He almost doesn’t notice how close Steve gets, lost in his eyes as he is. When he notices he involuntarily flinches away, his hand retracting from Steve’s cheek. He regrets it in an instant, his cheeks beginning to burn in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, because he is. He wishes Shuri’s science could cure this, too.

“No, it’s okay,” Steve says, because despite it all, he understands, and Bucky is grateful. “Don’t apologize.”

“That’s my line,” Bucky responds with a small smile, which is returned in earnest.

***

Steve notices Bucky’s scars again on a hot summer day, when they take a swim in the river by the village. They’re littered around where his metal arm rig is, jagged and uneven. He stares for a little too long, and Bucky notices. He quickly averts his eyes, busying himself with his own shirt in his hands as he folds it up and places it on the ground before he joins Bucky in the river.

They’ve reached a level of understanding with each other that Steve knows to bring it up would require a serious conversation, but he has to know. He wants to know this version of Bucky inside and out, just like he knew the old version so.

“Bucky,” he begins. They’re sitting on the riverbank, drying in the sun.

“Hm?”

“Did anyone ever try to remove your arm?”

Bucky looks over at the metal stump. It looks like the Wakandans made a clean cut, tried to make it look pretty. But he’s seen Steve looking at his scars, so he knows exactly what he’s referring to. His posture changes, his lips drawing to a thin line.

“I did,” he says, glancing at Steve almost apologetically.

“You?” Steve blinks. “When?”

“A while ago, now,” Bucky says somberly. “Sometime between when I dragged you out of the river and when I finally came to stay with you.” He pauses, a beat passes. “I tried multiple times.”

“Why?” Steve asks, but he can gather why.

“Because I hated it,” Bucky affirms his guess. “Because it wasn’t me. It was something foreign, evil.” He shakes his head. “I took a knife to it, once.”

“Bucky…”

“I’m okay, now, I am,” he assures him, though it’s obvious there’s still pain behind his words. “It’s gone.”

Steve stares at him, unsure what to say. How are you supposed to comfort someone whose body was violated like this? Taken apart and put back together like he was nothing more than a play figurine whose parts didn’t match? The answer is he doesn’t know, except to battle the urge to hold him again, which doesn’t exactly seem appropriate. An “I’m sorry” sounds almost insulting. So instead he says, “Can I see?”

He doesn’t know how Bucky will respond. Slowly he’s become more comfortable with physical touch, but Steve doesn’t want to rush him. He’ll never force him to do anything, nor make him uncomfortable in any way. So he’s always sure to ask. If it’s not something they’ve previously established through body language, like holding his hand or hugging him, he always asks.

And Bucky, to his surprise, says yes.

He maneuvers around Bucky delicately, starting behind him first. It’s different to see them up close. To know that this wasn’t someone else’s doing but Bucky’s own. They run as far as a hand’s length from the rig, while others are barely an inch long. It’s obvious some were inflicted at different times than others. They are old, though, healed, which puts Steve at some ease. He lifts his hand, lightly brushing them over. Bucky doesn’t flinch at his touch. In that moment he imagines kissing every single scar, pulling out the horrible memories attached to each and dispelling them into the void without sparing them another thought.

But he doesn’t. He moves around so he’s sitting in front of Bucky now, looking at the scars on his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest. He runs his fingers over those, too.

“They’re bad, huh?” Bucky breaks the silence.

“No,” Steve rebukes. He picks his eyes up from his scars and looks into Bucky’s eyes. There’s a nervousness, he can see that. But he’s not pulling away. So Steve leans in a bit closer, waiting. He’s not going to close the gap.

Something rushes through him when Bucky does. It’s a quick, light kiss, nothing elaborate, but to Steve it is everything. Sitting in the grass, under the Wakandan sun, alone by the riverbank, it’s everything. Devotion streams through his veins, desire, reverence. For a moment he’s the boy on the rooftop again, kissing his best friend for the first time. Except it’s nearly a century later, and they’re both different people, learning about each other all over again. 

When they part they stay close, leaning on each other’s foreheads. Bucky laughs, a light, nervous laugh. Steve gathers his hand in his lap.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, smiling broadly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I think I am.”

“Good.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand, while his other reaches up to rest on Bucky’s nape. “I’m glad.”

They sit there for a long time before they return to the village, drinking in all the revelations it’s taken decades to reach.

***

They settle into a routine. Steve forgets about ever returning to New York. They still progress slowly, Steve always aware of Bucky and his limits, but what comes is beautiful. He almost wishes he could go back in time and tell his younger self that he shouldn’t be doubtful. He shouldn’t let the opinion of the times hold him back, because having the privilege of loving Bucky Barnes is beautiful, and he knows now that he should have never thought otherwise. To live in a time where it’s easier to love him helps, certainly, but still. The sentiment still remains—he has no clue why he waited so long.

When they visit Shuri in the palace, she’s beyond elated to find the two have “finally worked it out,” in her words, and offers them a place in the city, a larger place with more amenities than the hut they are currently living out of. Both decide to decline though, because there’s a certain charm they’ve found in the village, and there’s something to be said about being able to explore their relationship in reclusiveness, being able to explore each other without the prying eyes of people who wonder what Captain America and the White Wolf are up to.There’s something to be said about a simple life.

(Steve pokes fun at the new name every chance he gets. Bucky doesn’t mind.)

He contacts Sam eventually, gives him updates. Tells him he’s staying in Wakanda for the foreseeable future. He reddens as Sam starts to tell him how he knew it, he knew it, asking him when the wedding is and he better damn be invited. He brings his hand up to cover his face, and Bucky, standing a few paces away from him, gives him an amused glance.

“Sam,” Steve says, “can you please calm down?”

“Oh, hell no, I won’t!” the man yells. “Don’t you know? I just won a bet!”

“A—what?” Steve is in disbelief. “With who?!”

“Tony,” he tells him. “He was so sure that you would be back in America by now. But I told him you and Bucky were gonna hit it off Wakanda style and—”

“Okay, I’m hanging up.”

“Give the man a kiss for me!”

Steve knows that Bucky needs some semblance of control. So through most of it, he lets him take the lead. And as much as Steve checks in with him Bucky does the same, and insists that Steve doesn’t have to act so cautious all the time. He still does, though, and he knows Bucky finds it incredibly endearing. He dotes on him like they’re old and married, finds himself obsessed with playing with his hair, always takes the chance to be holding his hand. They’re incredibly sappy lovers, much to the Wakandan people’s delight.

And Bucky lets him know when he’s ready for things. He lets him know when he’s ready for Steve to kiss his scars. He lets him know when he’s ready to be vulnerable. When he’s ready to be loved. And Steve is there every time. He kisses each and every one of his scars, meticulously, reverently. He holds him when he experiences his night terrors. He gives him everything and more.

Bucky never takes off his tags. They hang around his neck at all times, grounding him, assuring him that he knows who he is, that he’ll never lose his identity again.

One day they return from washing themselves, nothing but towels around their waist as they enter their hut.

“Come here,” Bucky calls him, and Steve obliges.

“What is it?” he asks, but is taken aback when he sees Bucky lifting the chain over his head. He stares at him, bewildered, but Bucky motions him closer, and sets the chain over his head, fixing the tags once they fall on his bare chest so that Bucky’s name is facing outwards.

“Why?” Steve asks, his heart racing. It’s just like before. It’s just like before.

“I think I like my name better when it’s on you,” Bucky says, and it nearly undoes him. That, and the way Bucky is smirking at him deviously, like they’re kids at Coney Island again and he’s convincing him to go on the stupid Cyclone. It’s the old Bucky, the first Bucky. He never thought he’d see him again. He’s standing right before him and Steve can only gasp when Bucky grabs the chain in his hand, pulling Steve in for a kiss. It’s sloppy, tongues awry. It’s the most exhilarating thing that’s ever happened to him. By the time Bucky is trailing down his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses, Steve is panting, eager, hands tangled in Bucky’s hair.

“Bucky…” he murmurs, and he doesn’t even realize he’s spoken aloud until Bucky stops, glancing up at him.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

“No,” Steve tells him. “Please don’t.”

And he doesn’t.

***

In a perfect world it would never end. Their life here, untouched by anything going on outside. They’d grow old and never know violence again. Bucky would forget that he was the Winter Soldier, and Steve would forget he’s Captain America. They’d just be men, normal men, out of time, but out of time together.

But that, unfortunately, is not how real life works.

He gets the call from Tony. There’s a threat out there that could end it all. That’s already taken the life of a god.

Thanos.

“I’m going to have to fight,” he tells Bucky one night. He regrets it the instant he says it, but it’s true. He can’t ignore this. 

He expects Bucky to ask him not to. He expects some sort of opposition. But Bucky simply smiles, saying, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky repeats. “I’m going to fight, too.”

“Bucky, you don’t have to,” he urges him, because he knows it’s different for him. He’s spent his entire life fighting, most of the time against his will. This peace means something different for him.

“But I’m going to.” Bucky straightens his back, rolling his shoulders. “I’m going to need a new arm, though.”

“No—”

“Steve,” Bucky stops him, locking his gaze. “It’s okay. I’ve been considering it for a while. T’Challa says they can whip up something for me. Something… better.”

Steve isn’t convinced. This whole time, he’s been getting better because of the distance he’s put between himself and everything HYDRA did to him. The brainwashing, the arm, the violence. How could he be so fine with reconnecting with something like that?

But he supposes it’s not the same. It’s not an arm from HYDRA, it’s an arm from Wakanda. Wakanda, which has been nothing short of a blessing for him. For Steve, too. A part of him is already mourning this life they’ve built, the love they’ve shared. But he’s sure it’ll continue. Just different. Always different.

“You followed me into war, once, remember?” Bucky reminds him. “Why can’t I do the same?” He flicks his dog tags on Steve’s chest. “Hm?”

He’s right. “I love you,” Steve says, putting his hand on Bucky’s nape. “Til the end of the line.”

“Til the end of the line,” Bucky repeats, fixing him with a warm smile.

***

Truth is, Bucky lied a little bit.

In theory, yes, he’s ready to put on an arm again. It’s been a long time since he last had one. When Shuri and T’Challa present it to him Steve is by his side, so he does his best to hide the way he wants to recoil from it. To put on an arm again means there’s a battle. A battle means he has to draw into a part of his past self he’d rather leave untouched forever. The Winter Soldier.

But it’s not entirely the same. There’s no red star branding on his shoulder. It’s dark, neutral. And Steve looks at him with such proud eyes when he puts it on that he forgets, for a moment, how much he wishes they didn’t have to fight. Why couldn’t the Avengers take care of it themselves? Steve is an Avenger, he reminds himself, even if the time they spent together in that Wakandan village led him to believe otherwise. Steve is an Avenger, is Captain America, and he has to answer to the call.

So, by extension, so does Bucky.

It’s a fight unlike any other. At least for Bucky. He’s never exactly encountered aliens before, but has heard the stories Steve told him. Of how they invaded New York like parasites, and how the Avengers staved them off. Except this time it’s different—different aliens, different stakes. Their leader wants to erase half the population of the universe. Even if he doesn’t want to fight, even if he hates how his body begins to move with unwanted muscle memory, he can’t let that happen. Because that could mean losing Steve.

So he fights. An eye always on Steve, he fights. The home they’d built of Wakandan soil becomes a massacre. But they’re winning. Right?

“Steve?” he calls out, because he feels funny. Something’s not right. Thanos is gone, but he did something. Something not good.

“Bucky!” Steve yells, and he’s running towards him, an agonized expression ravaging his face. Bucky’s confused. It’s not like he’s bleeding out, right?

Then his hand disappears. His arm. He doesn’t even have enough time to process shock before he’s gone.

***

Steve returns to America but not how he wanted to. Alone. Again. Because life, like some sick joke, has repeated itself. Bucky’s fallen from the train all over again. Steve didn’t try hard enough again. He’s empty. Again.

Except this time is different. He’s lost more. He’s lost memories of a simpler time, a glimpse of what life could be. He finds himself in an impossible loop, one end telling him that he should have never joined the fight, he should have ran away with Bucky and kept him safe, while the other tells him that even that couldn’t have stopped what happened. Thanos would have still snapped his fingers and ended billions upon billions of lives.

Why couldn’t it have been him?

Five years pass like five lifetimes. Time moves differently without Bucky, again. He’s lost, horribly lost. He returns to their hut, once, only to realize doing so made it worse. He clings onto Bucky’s tags at night, wondering why, why. They had been happy. Bucky had gotten better. He had gotten better. It had been perfect. Why?

Natasha keeps him afloat. In a way she reflects how Peggy had been, reminding him not to lose hope after losing Bucky. But that was something neither Natasha nor Peggy could ever understand—Bucky was hope.

And he’s convinced it’ll never return, until one day Scott Lang shows up at their front door.

***

Steve makes the decision sometime in between the creation of their time machine and the last battle against Thanos. It’s a silent decision, one he doesn’t even tell Bucky when he gets him back. He keeps it to himself, as they retrieve the Infinity Stones, as they defeat Thanos the right way this time, and as they prepare to return them all back to their correct places in time.

“Steve,” Bucky urges him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve assures him, which is a lie. He looks into Bucky’s eyes, his best friend’s eyes, his lover’s eyes, and sees a weariness that he knows nothing can erase. Nothing can erase Bucky’s past. The suffering he went through. The torture he had to endure. The haunting of the Winter Soldier. The time they had in Wakanda was the best period of his life, as he’s sure it was Bucky’s, too, but it was a facade at best. Steve sees that now. There will never be a true peace in this timeline.

“It’s not nothing,” Bucky insists. “You’re acting weird.”

“Trust me,” Steve tells him. They’re standing in the clearing with the reconstructed time machine, and it’s almost time for him to go. And he wishes he could tell Bucky, oh, he does—but he knows Bucky will try to stop him. He will tell him he’s not worth it. Steve knows Bucky like the back of his own hand, and he knows this is true.

So instead he pulls Bucky close, not caring that there’s people watching. No, this moment is for them. He pulls him close and their foreheads touch, a tenderness washing over him. He knows he’s made the right decision, so why is it so hard?

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” Bucky says back.

“Trust me,” he repeats himself as he lifts his head, a hand still on Bucky’s nape. 

Bucky regards him woefully, but eventually nods. “Okay.”

He steps onto the platform, the Infinity Stones secure in their package. He nods assuringly at Bucky as the countdown begins.

And then he’s gone.

***

The party is different in a taller body.

It seems like everyone is looking at him. Especially the women. Who is this dashing new young man, and why did he show up to Dolores’ party? Except he’s not new. He wears Steve Rogers’ face, but he’s several inches taller, broader, and wearing a ridiculous outfit. They all look at him, and he almost falters, almost missteps.

But he’s not here for them. He doesn’t care if they ogle. He pushes through the crowd, determined, more determined than he’s ever been in his life.

He only truly falters when he sees Bucky.

The sight takes his breath away. Bucky, younger, also smaller, but in a way that made sense. In a way that meant he hadn’t yet packed on muscle from basic training. He’s smiling, laughing, maneuvering between people who want nothing more than to stop and talk to him. He’s—he’s—happy. There’s an innocence to his step that Steve never saw again. There’s a light in his eyes that never quite returned the same way. And when Bucky’s gaze falls on him, Steve nearly fails right then and there. He almost pushes through the crowd and scoops the man up in his arms, showering him with kisses, telling him he’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s sorry.

But Steve, thankfully, has some semblance of control. Bucky stares at him for a moment, confusion knotting his brow, before Steve dashes out of sight. Bucky’s not his target tonight. No, the man he wants to see is not far behind him.

It’s strange, looking at himself before. He forgot how skinny he was. How frail he was. Riddled with condition after condition, invisible to everyone around him except one. But he doesn’t feel pity, though. Because Steve knows within that body is packed every ounce of love that he needs to change everything. It has to be true, or else this won’t work.

He pulls his past self aside in a swift motion, into a hallway rid of people. Past Steve jumps at the sudden maneuver, and Present Steve slips a hand over his mouth to keep him from yelping, a cautious finger over his mouth shushing him. Past Steve understands the message, ripping Steve’s hand from his mouth.

“Who are…?” Past Steve begins, but as he takes Steve in it’s obvious he knows. So Steve doesn’t waste any time.

“Look,” he starts. God, it’s so strange to be looking down at himself. “Pearl Harbor is going to be attacked tonight.”

“Wh—”

“There’s nothing you can do to stop it,” Steve continues. “What you can do is stop Bucky from enlisting.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, you can’t let Bucky enlist.” Steve is practically begging. “Please.”

“Why—” Past Steve stops, shakes his head. “Who are you?”

Steve draws his lips into a thin line. Well, he doesn’t have any reason not to lie. “I’m you.”

There’s a stunned silence. Then, “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

So he does. He takes out Bucky’s tags from his pocket, reaches for his past self’s hand, and drops the chain into his palm. He watches as Past Steve turns the tags over in his hand, as he reads the name. He watches, excruciatingly, as the cogs turn in his own head, until he looks back up at him, disbelief mixed with apprehension.

“Where did you get these?”

“From Bucky,” Steve tells him, “not a long while from now.”

Past Steve opens his mouth, shuts it. He grips Bucky’s tags, shaking his head. “If you’re me, why are you like…” he trails off, gesturing to Steve’s obviously different physique. “This?”

Steve pauses for a moment, considering how to explain it. How would his past self want it explained? “I’m… what will happen to you if you let Bucky enlist.” Because it’s true. He would have never joined Project Rebirth if not for Bucky. It was the only way to join him on the front lines. It was always about him, always.

“Then why…?” Past Steve narrows his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want this?”

“Because it’s not worth it,” Steve says exasperatingly. “Please, it’s not worth it.”

His past self still isn’t convinced. That much is evident, even if the dog tags were convincing. So he improvises. “You’re going to kiss him tonight,” Steve says, and watches almost amusingly as his past self’s cheeks redden. “You’re going to kiss him tonight, on the rooftop, and you’re going to feel like it was a mistake. You’re going to feel like he couldn’t possibly ever return the feelings.” He reaches forward, grabs Past Steve’s hands in his, Bucky’s tags in the middle. “He does feel the same.” It’s therapeutic. It’s incredibly upsetting. It’s freeing. “He does feel the same way, and I need you to hold onto that feeling. I need you to hold him close and never let him go.” He pauses, registering Past Steve’s face as he processes this. “Promise me.”

“I—”

“Promise me.”

Something flickers in his past self’s eyes. He hopes to god it’s some sort of understanding. That he somehow got across to him how important this all is. 

And a wave of relief washes over him as Past Steve nods, warily, but he nods. “Alright.”

“Steve?”

They both perk up at Bucky’s calling. Something in Steve’s heart tugs, and for some reason he feels incredibly sad, even though if he did this right, everything will be okay. Everything will be fixed. He turns back to Past Steve, fixing the smaller man a smile.

“Go to him,” he beckons him, patting him on the shoulder.

His past self clutches Bucky’s tags, and scurries away without another word.

And he watches from a distance as the two reunite, as his past self tugs Bucky’s sleeve and says something into his ear.

“I’m going to the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll fall like this.”

“Then come make sure I don’t.”

Now comes the scary part. Because if it works, if this all works, then it erases his existence. It erases Captain America. It erases the Winter Soldier. He walks out onto the snowy streets of New York City alone, feeling both triumphant and terrified. What will it be like, to never have existed at all?

But mixed in with everything is an incredible sense of peace. Because this is the only way. The only way to ensure Bucky never has to go through any of the hurt and suffering he had to go through. 

He smiles up at the sky, muddled by snow and light, and catches two young boys kissing on the rooftop.

***

“Where is he?” Sam asks, staring at the empty platform. Bruce said it’d only take five seconds. So where the hell is he?

“I don’t know, he blew right past his time stamp, he should be here,” Bruce says, fidgeting with his gadgets. Sam doesn’t know much about how it works, but the look on Bruce’s face tells him something’s gone wrong.

“Well get him back,” he says, starting to panic. They can’t lose Cap, not after everything. Not like this. He turns to Bucky, expecting the man to be distraught at the apparent loss of his lover—

But Bucky isn’t there.

He blinks, turning in a full circle. “Bucky?” he calls, Bruce panning upwards. “Bucky?” he calls again, more urgent this time.

“Sam, look,” Bruce says quietly, and he motions in the direction of the lake.

Sam pivots, not knowing what to expect.

But he immediately calms, his heart warming.

There’s two men on the bench, both old, weathered. They’re chuckling at something one said, before one puts his head on the other’s shoulder, and the other rests his head atop his.

“This is beautiful,” Steve says, his bony hand gripping Bucky’s.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “Yes it is.”