Chapter Text
David watched Tommy while he struggled to eat a granola bar while retaining his dignity.
Tommy tried to smirk at him, and David wanted to sigh. “So, this is fun,” he mumbled, and David was just glad that Tommy’s mouth had stopped bleeding so that he was a little bit easier to understand.
“How are you feeling?” David asked.
Tommy twirled around a finger. “Great. Could run a marathon.”
David rubbed his temples. “I’m grabbing you a glass of water.”
“Do you have strawberries?” Tommy asked, his eyes still glazed over. “Could totally go for some fuckin’ strawberries.”
“Fine,” David said.
He was a hallway away from the kitchen when he heard a voice say, “Is that Captain America?” and saw America, who had been hovering outside the doorway, rush inside.
There was a shattering noise, and David’s ears popped, and he stood in the hallway for five seconds before rushing inside.
There was no one in the kitchen.
David ran back to Tommy, eyes wide, and Tommy said, “Strawberries,” but David ignored him.
“Someone just showed up asking about—“
Tommy’s expression shuttered, and lines appeared on his face, and he was still objectively attractive, but something in David bowed away from the expression because something about it was so ugly. “Registration,” he finished.
David shook his head in wordless confusion.
Tommy’s scowl deepened. “Get your fuckin’ team together. This is my fault.”
Steve felt like he’d been twisted into a tunnel, like he was plummeting, like air was whipping around him, like everything had spun around and around, and then it stopped.
He fell to the ground, breathing harshly, and his head felt like it had been mixed to jelly, and he turned to look to the side, and—
America crouched down next to him. “Take a minute.”
Steve rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He heard Bucky groan nearby, and America didn’t say anything comforting to him. Steve knew she wouldn’t. He blindly reached out a hand. “Buck?”
“All here,” Bucky managed.
“Take a minute,” America said again. “I got this.”
Steve opened his eyes and watched America grab the guy that Bucky had been talking to. She yanked him up, and he looked pale. “What the fuck—“
America shoved him against a thick tree, and Steve pushed himself into a sitting position. They were in a stretch of woods that looked remarkably similar to the woods behind the facility. But. Something was different. Something was off.
America punched the guy in the face. He lurched to his feet and glanced at Bucky, who had rolled over. He was shivering a little bit, but Steve could worry about that later.
“What does he want?” Steve asked, voice rough, but he was reorienting himself already, shifting to accommodate the world’s new axis.
“Fuck if I know,” America spat, clearly very fucking furious.
“Hey!” Steve snapped at the guy, and he flinched. “What do you want?”
“Fuck off,” the guy said, and blood dribbled down his chin.
“Where’s the other one?” Steve asked.
“What?”
“There was a woman.”
“I don’t—“
Steve heard the click of the gun’s safety coming off, and he whirled around.
The woman stood with a wide fighting stance, both hands steady on her gun even as half her hair fell out of her ponytail. Her gaze was hard, and her aim was trained on America.
Steve’s stomach dropped abruptly, and a familiar pulse started up in his ears like an old friend. Rage.
There it was again.
“Put the gun down,” Steve said, his voice a lot more quiet and level than he would have expected.
“Not a chance,” the woman said, not even looking in Steve’s direction. “Step away from that man.”
America didn’t move, her jaw clenched in wordless defiance.
“I said—“
Bucky grabbed her ankle and yanked it.
It wasn’t enough to make her fall down, but it was enough to make her lose her grip on the gun for an instant, and Steve launched himself forward, tackling the woman to the ground and taking out her wrist with an efficient elbow, pushing her gun in the general direction of away. “What do you want?” Steve shouted, his voice like a gunshot in the relative quiet of the woods. The women slammed her elbow into his nose, and Steve felt it break and crush and instantly start realigning. It’d happened before. It’d happen again. He ignored it. “What do you fucking want?”
The woman grabbed a knife from her belt and stabbed Steve in the thigh before he could stop her, and Steve growled in muted, removed pain, yanking the knife out and pressing it to her neck. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Hydra?”
The woman’s face crumpled into something horrified and revolted, and Steve let out a bitter, sharp laugh. “Who, then? The fucking Avengers? The fucking government? The fucking UN?”
“I—“ the woman said, and Steve distantly noted that the knife was breaking skin. She swallowed convulsively, and a bead of blood escaped, fat and slow and rolling. “Shield.”
Her eyes were hard and cold and challenging, and Steve hated her. Nothing in his gut was surprised at all. They were going to come for him eventually. He had known this. That didn’t stop his anger. “And what d’you fucking want?”
“You committed high treason and—“
“I know what I did!” Steve shouted. “It hasn’t been that fucking long that I’d fucking forget. If you found me now, you could’ve found me ten years ago. Why now?”
“Steve,” Bucky warned, his voice low. A reminder maybe. Of his humanity. Steve didn’t know. He didn’t care.
The woman looked like she wanted to flay him alive. “You make me sick.”
“Ditto,” Steve spat. She wasn’t going to talk. Steve remembered burning Hydra to the ground. He remembered finding answers through less-than-Kosher means. He remembered it all. He didn’t want to do it again, but this was important. He grabbed the woman’s hand from where it’d been pinned under his knee and took the knife away from her throat, tracing along her palm. “What do you want?” he ground out.
“Steve,” Bucky said again. Steve ignored him.
The woman obviously understood his intent. “We want you and Miss Chavez under arrest and in custody, as we are lawfully entitled to—“
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re ‘lawfully entitled’ to do. Why?”
The woman didn’t say anything. She struggled some against his hold, but he was much too strong. Steve let the knife break skin, and she hissed in pain. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” she asked lowly. “You’d cut me up to get me to talk.”
Steve bared his teeth. “I’ve been alive too fucking long to play this game. Your life matters very little in the long run. I’ll just get my information from the next asshole to come along.”
It was subtle, but fear flared through the woman’s gaze.
“You have a choice,” Steve said. “You always have a choice. And this one is very simple. Live or die?”
“Fuck you,” she growled.
Steve shrugged. “It’s not against the rules to tell me why you’re arresting me, is it?”
Maybe the woman had some sense of decency way deep down because some of the fight slumped out of her. Steve wondered why they’d sent him an easily compromised agent. “Your serum is the secret to immortality,” she said simply. “Epidemics are decimating populations every year. To be frank, we need a way to combat the situation.”
That made sense. That was noble. That was logical. “And America?”
The woman tensed again, her eyes flicking around, and Steve forced himself to keep his attention. “She needs to be put in check.”
“How,” Steve said, his voice blank.
The woman clenched her jaw. Less than savory means, then.
And that was it.
Steve hauled the woman to her feet and slammed her into the nearest tree America-Chavez-Style. “You know,” he said. “It’s one thing to come after me.”
He kneed her in the stomach. Not too hard. He wasn’t done.
“Take me. Hurt me. Capture me. Experiment on me. Kill me. Fine. I’d love the extra input.”
He stilled, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and making sure she was looking at him.
“But the second you go after my goddamn family, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“Steve,” America said. “That’s enough.”
Steve turned to glare at her, and he could tell he looked scary by the way she twitched, just a little bit. “They’re not gonna stop,” he said, his voice immediately sounding weaker as he turned to her.
“And neither are you,” America said. “I thought you weren’t a weapon anymore.”
“This is different—“
“No, it isn’t,” America whispered. “Look at me. We’re in a different universe. You don’t have to kill her. Look at me. We’re safe. We can just leave them here.”
Steve stared at her. She stared back. “I—“
“I know you don’t want this,” she added, nodding towards the woman.
The woman. Her face was swollen and bloody, and her hand wasn’t wrecked, but it wasn’t good either. He’d done that. He’d done that to another person again.
“Shit,” Steve hissed, taking a jerky step backwards, letting the woman slump against the tree. “Fuck.”
He looked around. The woman was slumped over, and Bucky was restraining the man a good ten feet away, and America was facing him with placating palms, and Steve was a mess—
America snatched his wrists, and Steve realized that he was shaking. “Hey. Calm down, viejo.”
Steve shook his head wordlessly and felt like he was crumbling within himself. This was his truth. This was his inescapable truth. He was born of violence and anger and blood, and—
America moved her hands to his back and pulled him into a hug, and Steve collapsed like a dying star. He wound his arms around America’s back and realized that this was the first time he’d hugged her, and he wanted to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped.
America let out a breath. “There is always a choice,” she said quietly. “Remember that.”
God, Steve loved this kid so fucking much.
“This isn’t over,” Bucky said ominously from his spot several feet away, and it felt like galaxies separated them. His gaze was dark and unreadable. “Shield’s after you both. They won’t stop.”
“Neither will we,” America said. “We protect each other.” She pulled away from Steve to glare at both him and Bucky. “It’s what we do.’
Steve nodded dumbly, and Bucky just closed his eyes for a minute. “This guy isn’t Shield. He’s UN. What do you wanna do with him?”
“Leave him,” America said. “He’s after that kid, and he knows our whereabouts now. He won’t keep quiet.”
Bucky’s mouth pulled into something tight.
“It’s not like I’m dropping him into a universe of demons,” America snapped. “This is a good universe—better than your own.”
“Fine,” Bucky sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can we go back?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’ll still make you dizzy, though.”
“Dizzy,” Bucky scoffed in semi-hysterical disbelief. Steve wanted to reach out and maybe touch him, but there was blood on his hands and rage in his heart, and he was so fucked up.
America kicked the nearest tree, the star-shaped tattoos on her wrists glowing, and Steve blinked through the weird window and saw their kitchen.
“Come on. Step through.”
It wasn’t quite as jarring as the first time had been, but Steve could feel himself dissociating at least a little bit, so maybe that was why. He drew his shoulders up around his ears and sat on the floor of the kitchen and heard and saw nothing.
“You need to calm him down,” Bucky said lowly. “I have to talk to everyone else.”
“Okay,” America said, and Steve distantly registered that she’d put a hand on his arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Steve didn’t remember the walk to the entrance of the cavern. He didn’t remember sitting down on a rock. He didn’t remember America silently sitting down next to him. He didn’t remember the sun crawling across the sky.
He blinked back to himself a few times and cleared his throat. “Hey. Sorry.” His voice was rough.
America shrugged. “Don’t be.”
They sat in silence for a while, and Steve ran a hand through his hair, blinking lethargically at their surroundings as America fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“You feeling okay?” she asked.
Steve shrugged tiredly. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” She sounded annoyed.
Steve shrugged again.
“You aren’t a weapon. Sorry I said that.”
“No,” Steve mumbled. “I need to face the truth. I haven’t done that for—for—thirty years, now.”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” America said, knocking their shoulders together.
Steve shook his head.
“You were violent back there,” America conceded.
Steve laughed bitterly. “Well. I’m a fighter,” he said numbly, and the words tasted like acid on his tongue.
“You don’t—you don’t need to be violent to be a fighter,” America said, peering at him curiously. “You do know that, right?”
Steve looked at the ground.
“Steve,” America said, her voice judgmental.
“Shut up,” Steve grumbled, but his voice was weak. Drained.
“You don’t need to be violent to be a fighter,” America said firmly. “You can be a fighter by just—standing up—when people hit you or whatever. No fists needed.”
“You like fists,” Steve said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, but I’m trying to make a point here. Being a fighter isn’t a condemnation.”
“I don’t want to be a fighter,” Steve said quietly. “Even if it doesn’t involve bloodshed.”
“Fine,” America sighed. “Then don’t.”
Like it was so fucking simple.
“But just for the record,” she said, “you can be a fighter and a runner at the same time. It’s not mutually exclusive.”
“Sure,” Steve agreed hollowly.
“I’m serious.”
“Are you?”
“I mean. Look at me.” Steve frowned and turned his head to study her. She spread her arms a little bit. “I’m both.”
Steve frowned harder. “You...”
“I’m a runaway,” she said simply. “I haven’t stayed in one universe longer than a year since I was six.”
Steve blinked a few times. “But—“
“No buts. It works. You can be both.”
“How?” Steve said miserably, voice cracking.
America let out a tired breath. “You gotta figure that out yourself.”
Great.
America pulled Steve’s hand away from his wrist, but Steve hardly registered it. “What’re we gonna do about Shield?”
America lifted a shoulder. “I dunno.”
“What’re we gonna do about the UN?”
“Dunno.”
“Tommy?”
“Dunno.”
“Great,” Steve said. His voice broke. He dropped his head. Closed his eyes.
“We’ll figure it out,” America said, and Steve almost believed her.
Steve had mindlessly walked to Bucky’s room because he hadn’t slept anywhere else for weeks, but he stopped outside the closed door.
Maybe he should go back to the other room he’d been sleeping in.
Bucky had seen that shit. Bucky had tried to get him to stop. Bucky had—
Bucky’s door opened, and he poked his head outside. “You’re breathing loud,” he complained. “Get in here.”
Well. That was that, then.
Steve wrung his hands and dug his nails into the backs of his hands and wished it hurt more as he stood in Bucky’s room with hunched shoulders.
“How are the kids?” Steve finally asked.
“Good,” Bucky said. “Okay. I don’t know. They’re worried.”
“Yeah.”
Bucky eyed him critically. “How are you?”
Steve bristled defensively, and Bucky held up his hands.
“Just. You were gone for a while.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed tightly.
Bucky grimaced. “We’ll get rid of Shield.”
Steve wondered if he could get away with turning himself in to let Shield leach away all of his blood for the good of humanity while he finally died, and then he remembered the fierce look Bucky got on his face when he found out about Steve’s rooftop suicide attempt, and he remembered America saying that he was the best version of Steve Rogers out there, and he remembered Natasha begging him to find something to live for, and he remembered the relief in Sam’s voice every time he called, and he thought that it may be hard to get away with anything like that. So, instead of routing escape plans in his head, Steve just said, “Okay,” and hoped that the conversation would be over.
“We’ll get you pardoned.”
“What if I don’t want to be pardoned?”
Bucky shot him a look. “What?”
“Never mind.”
“Steve,” Bucky said, and his voice was so fucking soft. Steve closed his eyes, and he felt Bucky’s hands close around his wrists. “You gotta talk to me.”
“Do I?” Steve managed.
“Well... I mean... I can’t make you do anything.”
“Damn fucking right.”
Bucky sighed. “What’s goin’ on up there?” he asked, and Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky nod at his head.
Steve gave a semi-hysterical laugh. “You don’t wanna know.”
“We’ve been over this, and I do. I really, really do.”
Steve mulled over the day, letting himself stew in his self-hatred for a moment, before he tried to look at it from Bucky’s angle. Bucky had seen Steve be volatilely violent. Had seen him dissociate. Had seen him freak the fuck out. Bucky was probably worried.
And the most important thing:
Bucky had been a weapon too.
Steve stared at some spot on the wall just to the right of Bucky’s head. “I keep trying to be something I’m not.”
“What d’you mean?” Bucky whispered, stroking his thumb over Steve’s pulse point.
Steve let out a breath and tried to step away and tug away his hands, but Bucky’s grip just tightened a little bit, and he slumped. “This is stupid.”
“Never stupid.”
Steve bowed his head. “I keep trying to think I’m something else, but all I’ve ever been is a weapon.”
“That’s not true,” Bucky whispered.
Steve lifted his head a little bit, and Bucky lifted his metal hand to grab the back of his neck, anchoring him.
“Steve Rogers, you better listen to me,” he said fiercely, and then their foreheads were pressing together almost to the point of pain, and Steve was squeezing his eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed. “I’ve never ever known you as a weapon.”
“But—“
“You may’ve been one, sure. But I didn’t know you then. I knew you as a fighter before we died.”
Steve flinched a little bit, although his mind cast back to America’s words. Maybe—
“And I know you as a runner now. Look. That’s what you were trying to get me to understand, right? You’re a runner.”
“I’m—“ Steve said weakly, but he still didn’t know how to finish the sentence, even after thirty-fucking-two years.
“You’re Steve,” Bucky said simply. “You don’t have to define yourself within one box. You’re not a weapon.”
Steve let out a shuddering breath, and he felt like he was going to crumble to dust in this room. He shook his head against Bucky’s a little bit. “You sound so sure,” he said, voice choked.
“I’ve always been sure about you.” Bucky smiled a little bit brokenly. “Every damn day of my life, okay? Always.”
Shit.
Steve inhaled sharply, and Bucky started to pull back, his eyes widening in some sort of panic. “I mean—“
Steve grabbed Bucky’s face before he could pull back any more, and Bucky’s wide eyes went completely round with surprise, and Steve said, “Shut up,” and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s body arced towards the touch, and his eyelashes fluttered, and Steve said, “I can’t fucking believe you,” and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
Bucky’s whole body shuddered as he leaned into Steve, and the kiss was quick to turn from a stubborn press of lips-against-lips to something deep and urgent and gasping, and Steve’s brain felt like it was spinning within the confines of his head because—
Shit.
There was a whole selection of thoughts in Steve’s mind that had been hidden by a wall of defense. The thoughts about Bucky Barnes.
Steve remembered loving him in Brooklyn and not realizing it, and he remembered dying for him in the war and not thinking much of it, and he remembered missing Bucky most acutely—remembered the permanent ache in his chest and throat that would keep him awake for weeks at a time. He remembered the cocktail of joy and horror at finding out Bucky was alive. He remembered how the tentative hope had eased away into a haze of dark depression as he waited and looked and waited. He remembered the days of the Civil War, and the turbulent desperation-numbness-anger ratio of emotions constantly at play. He remembered Bucky’s frozen skin like a fucking angel, and he remembered the resentment and the loneliness—god, did he remember the loneliness. He remembered missing Bucky even worse than before. Because this time he wasn’t dead. This time he just didn’t want Steve.
Steve remembered the gut-churning fear of seeing Bucky again. Steve remembered the past couple months. He remembered how he’d begun to crumble in front of this man, like the gradual flow of volcanic lava, constantly moving and cooling and existing.
A century ago, Bucky Barnes had been his person. But now they were both just people. And they belonged to no one.
But Bucky said he was sure about Steve.
And Steve hadn’t been sure about anything for a long time.
But he wanted to keep waking up next to Bucky. And he wanted to be able to make him terrible pancakes. And he wanted to be able to yell at the Young Avengers. And this whole—situation—made him want to stop fucking running.
Steve didn’t know where that left him. Apparently chasing Bucky’s lips like the goddamn fountain of youth was a place to start.
The kiss wasn’t pretty, Steve noted dazedly. It was messy and emotional, and it felt like a fucking fight, almost. The ebb and flow of some sort of emotional dominance.
Bucky planted a hand on his chest and managed to pull away, and they were both gasping, and Bucky’s eyes were huge, and his hair was messed up, and his lips were swollen, and Steve—Steve didn’t know what he was feeling, but he wound an arm securely around Bucky’s back, pulling them together.
Bucky’s eyes roved over his face restlessly, and Steve wanted to kiss him again, but Bucky whispered, “I love you,” a little bit hoarsely.
Steve jerked a little bit, startled. “What?”
Bucky’s gaze softened into something sad. “Listen to me.” He traced his metal thumb across Steve’s cheek, but Steve was frozen. “I love you as a fighter, and I love you as a runner, and I love you as anything in between. Okay?”
To his utter horror, Steve felt his eyes rapidly filling with tears, and he couldn’t see anymore. “I don’t understand.”
“Stevie—“
“I don’t understand,” Steve said again, his voice thickening with hysteria, and then he was fucking crying, his breaths hitching, and it was really fucking ugly, and he hadn’t cried like this maybe since Bucky had died, and if that wasn’t fucked up then Steve didn’t know what was.
He tried to withdraw a little bit, but Bucky made a hushing noise, and Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s neck and lost it, sobs convulsing through his whole body, and he didn’t get it.
“You can’t,” he gasped “I—I d-don’t—“
“I can,” Bucky said quietly, just fucking... holding Steve there. “I do.”
Steve’s knees buckled, and Bucky caught him by the arms before he could completely fall, and then he guided them more gently to the floor. Bucky sat with his back resting against his bed, pulling Steve with him, and Steve went limply, unable to even form a coherent thought anymore as he tucked himself against Bucky’s chest and fucking sobbed.
Bucky ran his hand through Steve’s hair in this soft way like he was touching something precious, and Steve didn’t deserve it, and he didn’t understand, and Bucky was being so nice to him.
Bucky pressed a delicate kiss to the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve shuddered hard, hands twisting into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt.
When Steve’s sobs had decreased to exhausted sniffles and hitched breaths and the intermittent silent tear, Bucky said, “I hurt you really badly, didn’t I?”
Steve didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did anyway. And when he woke with a start, Bucky was looking at him with these sad eyes and these dark circles of sleeplessness, and Steve’s stomach swooped with guilt.
“Sorry,” he said numbly, his voice rough, although he didn’t move very far away.
Bucky hesitantly reached out to grab his hand. “We should probably talk about this.”
Steve swallowed convulsively. “Um.”
“Super Mega Ultra Ultimate Honesty Hour,” Bucky said solemnly, and Steve cracked a fairly weak smile, and a little bit of light returned to Bucky’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Probably smart.”
They stared at each other.
“I’m not starting,” Steve said.
Bucky gave him a fond look. “Stubborn bastard.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “I just—why did you—“ Bucky waved his hands around. “You know.”
Steve blinked very slowly.
Bucky blew out a frustrated breath. “Why did you kiss me?” He immediately ducked his head, and Steve knew with absolute certainty that this was going to be the most stilted conversation of his life.
Steve shrugged.
“Please,” Bucky said, and his voice was edging on desperate, and Steve remembered that he wasn’t the only person in the room who felt like the axis of the world had shifted.
“Right,” Steve said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. “It looked like you—uh—wouldn’t hate me if I did?”
Bucky frowned at him like that was the wrong answer.
Steve floundered for a minute. “Short answer—I guess—is—um—I don’t entirely know?”
“Long answer?” Bucky asked, a pleading edge to his tone.
Steve closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Bucky for this. “I realized that I was in love with you after you died,” he said slowly.
“Oh.”
“And then I made myself not—not think about it. At all. For—for a long time. I still haven’t really...”
“And?”
“And,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “I don’t remember what it feels like to be in love anymore. I’ve—it’s been a long fucking time.”
“Oh.” Bucky’s voice was weak.
“But, uh. I think I don’t want to remember.”
“Right. Right.”
Steve looked at Bucky now, and Bucky was hunching his shoulders and looking exhausted, and Steve couldn’t have that, so he reached out and tapped Bucky’s metal palm.
Bucky looked up at him.
“It’s not the same,” Steve explained, trying desperately to get his thoughts across. “You’re a different man. I’m a different man. We’re separate people. We’re not—we did get rid of the codependency thing.”
Bucky blinked at him, clearly kinda confused. “Yeah?”
“This,” Steve said, gesturing between them, “is like a completely different dynamic. It’s not just you and me that are different. It’s how we work together.”
Bucky said nothing. Just looked at him.
Steve shrugged. “I don’t want to remember how it felt before. I want to be able to understand how it works now.”
Bucky’s lips parted ever so slightly, and Steve really wanted to kiss him again. “Oh,” Bucky whispered, and it sounded much less pained this time.
“I’ve only known you for, like, two months,” Steve said. “I don’t understand us yet. So don’t—don’t look at me like I’m breaking your heart. Please.”
“Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, laughing softly, “you break my heart every time I look at you.”
“See,” Steve said, trying for a smile. “That’s the type of shit we have to try not to do. That could become—”
“The codependency thing,” Bucky finished with a solemn nod.
“Yeah.”
Bucky nodded a few times. Then he gave Steve this breathtakingly shy look, and a small, beautiful smile pulled at his lips. “We can work with that.”
Steve wanted to kiss him.
Bucky must’ve seen something in his face, because he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead for a moment before pulling away. “’Kay. Your turn.”
“Is this out of guilt?”
Steve chanced a look at Bucky before looking away. He didn’t know what to think. Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he pulled Steve’s hand away from his wrist. “No.”
“No?” Steve echoed.
“I do feel guilty,” Bucky admitted, and he took Steve’s other hand and smoothed his thumb over the irritated skin of his wrist. “A lot of shit in this life has been my fault.”
“It—“
Bucky shook his head with a sad smile. “I’ve been to much more therapy than you have, and trust me. I know you’re gonna tell me that most of it isn’t my fault. And I know that. I do. But guilt isn’t objective. You know that too.”
Steve’s shoulders sagged. He did.
“But I’d never love someone out of guilt. You know what guilt makes me do?”
Steve shook his head.
“Nowadays, I mean,” Bucky added. He laughed self-deprecatingly. “’Cause I used to be all masochistic about it.”
Steve winced.
Bucky gave his hands a squeeze. “I make myself better. I’ve helped so many people because of my guilt.”
“And how does that apply here?” Steve asked hesitantly.
The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked upwards. “I just wanna do this right. I wanna be better for you.”
“You’re so well-adjusted,” Steve breathed, and maybe he was letting his awe of Bucky’s recovery show for the first time.
Bucky laughed, more easily this time. “Took me a while.”
Steve ducked his head under the force of the—the—the adoration in Bucky’s gaze. “Your turn.”
“Do you want to keep doing this?” Bucky asked.
Steve stared at him blankly.
“The—the kissing.”
Steve snorted despite himself. “Well. I mean. If you do.”
“I do,” Bucky said, so quickly that Steve almost didn’t understand him. He laughed.
“Only took me a hundred and thirty years,” Steve mused.
“Shut up. I think we have a chance now.”
“Maybe,” Steve agreed.
“Your turn.”
Steve took a deep breath. “I’m not an easy person to live with,” he said slowly.
Bucky quirked a private smile.
“You’ll have to... be patient with me.”
“I’d wait forever for you,” Bucky said quietly.
What the shit how the fuck was Bucky so good at words??
Steve shook his head wordlessly and couldn’t help but press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky let out a little breath against him, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re so...” Steve murmured, lips brushing Bucky’s as he spoke. “You’re so...”
“What?” Bucky whispered dazedly.
Steve searched for the word. “Unbelievable. Incredible. Wonderful.”
Bucky cocked his head and gently bit down on Steve’s lower lip. “Hate to break it to you,” he murmured as Steve’s breath stuttered, “but so’re you.”
Steve shifted so that he was straddling Bucky’s lap. Bucky let his head fall back against his bed and ran his hands up Steve’s chest.
“We’re supposed to be talking about serious shit,” Bucky said, but his eyes were dark.
“You’re very distracting,” Steve said and started kissing at Bucky’s neck.
“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, clutching at Steve’s back. “You...”
Steve pulled away to look at Bucky. “How ‘bout a compromise?”
Bucky blinked slowly.
“Every time we say something true and constructive or whatever, we get to make out.”
Bucky gave a gravelly laugh. “Master strategist of the Second World War, everybody.”
“I didn’t hear a no.”
“You most certainly did not,” Bucky agreed. “Alright.” He took a deep breath. “I visited your house in Iceland with Sam after you left.”
Steve went perfectly still.
Bucky shrugged. “It’s actually where I admitted that I’d fucked up majorly.”
“Shit,” Steve whispered, voice raw.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Steve kissed him, and Bucky relaxed slightly. “It’s—it’s okay.”
“Really?” Bucky asked dubiously.
“Yeah,” Steve said, and realized that he was speaking the truth. Iceland had been the best part of those thirty-two years before America Chavez fell on his car, and he wanted Bucky to know good things about him instead of just the bad. But all he could say was, “Yeah.”
Bucky gave him a relieved look and said, “Thank god.”
“My turn, I guess.”
“What about the making out thing?”
“Wait,” Steve said and pulled off his shirt.
Bucky’s eyes went to his torso. “Um,” he said, his hands hovering over Steve’s skin.
Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and guided it to rest above his heart and above his newest tattoo. “The two lines are us,” Steve said.
Bucky’s finger traced along the blue irregular wave. “Oh,” he said breathlessly. “’Cause we keep separating and intersecting again and again.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed.
The next kiss was much softer and slower than their last kisses had been, and Steve felt like he was physically melting into it. He felt so aware of himself, and he could feel everywhere that he and Bucky were touching, and it was amazing.
“Um,” Bucky said when they broke apart, foreheads resting together gently. “I want you to stay with me forever.”
Steve’s heart broke a little bit, and he offered Bucky the only thing that he could promise. “You and America make me want to stop running.”
Bucky was quiet for a minute before he pulled away slightly and looked at Steve intently. “I’m glad she saved you instead of me,” he whispered like a confession.
Steve smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I’m a little jealous, though,” Bucky admitted. “You two know each other like we used to know each other.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “And that’s okay.”
“That’s okay,” Bucky echoed. He pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “I have another secret.”
“What?” Steve whispered.
Bucky smiled. “I’m hungry. And I am not making pancakes this morning.”
Steve laughed, swinging his legs off of Bucky to sit next to him. “Waffles?”
“Fuck you,” Bucky said, but they were both smiling.
“What the fuck,” Kate said blankly when Bucky gave her an omelet.
“We’re trying something new,” Bucky said, and then his eyes flicked to Steve, and he ducked his head to hide a shy little smile.
Steve grinned at him.
Kate was too grumpy to notice. She speared a piece of egg, and it fell off her fork. “I hate life.”
David helped Tommy into the kitchen, who was still bleary with sedatives. As soon as Tommy had been situated in the seat next to Kate, David turned to Steve and said, “Are you okay?”
Steve blinked in surprise, and he felt something incredibly fond. “I’m—I’m alright.”
David nodded curtly. “We aren’t going to let Shield take you away.”
Kate nodded in grumpy agreement.
Steve felt overwhelmed. “Thanks.”
“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled. “My fault.”
Steve looked at him curiously.
“Shield—I think—beat me up and threw me on your property to have reason to break in and find some fugitives. Captain America—and—uh—some other America something.”
“Me,” America said, entering the kitchen. “Miss America.”
“Yes,” Tommy said. “They do not like you very much.”
America just snorted and sat down next to Steve, kicking him under the table. Steve kicked back.
“It’s funny,” Steve said wryly. “But for five minutes there, I actually thought I’d gotten rid of Shield.”
Bucky gave him a sad look. “They’re persistent fuckers.”
“Are they the ‘cut off one head’ ones?” Kate asked absently.
Bucky tensed. “No. Used to be the good guys.”
“Oh,” Kate said, then she frowned at Bucky. “You okay?”
“Hydra, dude,” David said.
Kate’s eyes widened. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky said, shaking himself out of something. Maybe a flashback. “What kind of omelet do you want?” he asked Tommy.
Tommy wrinkled his nose.
Steve watched Bucky cook—watched the muscles of his back move under the thin fabric of an old Stark Industries T-shirt.
America kicked him harder.
Steve turned to scowl at her.
She raised her eyebrows in question, cocking her head slightly in Bucky’s direction.
Steve felt heat rush to his cheeks, and America blinked. Her eyes flicked between Steve and Bucky, and then she grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged Steve from the room with as little subtlety as possible, apparently.
“Oh my god,” America said. “Did you—“
“It’s not—“
“—with Bucky—“
“—leave me alone—“
“—after that mess—“
“—I can’t believe you’d think—“
“—why didn’t you tell me first thing?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “We didn’t—do—anything—besides—like.” He made some vague gestures.
“You made out,” America said smugly.
“And I passed out on him,” Steve explained. “I would’ve texted you otherwise.”
“Steve!” America exclaimed. “You passed out on him?”
Steve flushed. “Not like that,” he hissed.
America clapped her hands together once. “This is great.”
“I thought you hated Bucky?” Steve groused, feigning irritation.
America shrugged. “Well, yeah. He messed with you.”
Steve loved this kid so much.
“But if you’re letting him make out with you, then he’s trying to make amends, and I’m not an asshole. I can respect that.”
“Oh,” Steve said, kind of dumbly pleased.
“So, you’ll always be my favorite person,” America said, “but I can tolerate Bucky.”
Steve laughed. “You’re the best.”
America grinned. “I know.”
“Now, you just have to make a move on—“
“She’s straight,” America said.
Steve shrugged. “I really think she’s not.”
“Well, she says she’s straight,” America muttered. “And I don’t want to be her—experiment—or whatever.”
“Alright,” Steve agreed quietly.
America punched him in the arm, shaking herself out of her thoughts with a little smile. “Are you gonna tell the Young Avengers?”
“Oh—I don’t know.”
America smirked. “This is gonna be great.”
“Today, we’re gonna research Shield,” Bucky said.
“Real life Ultimate Recon,” Teddy whispered.
Billy was staring at Tommy where he was kinda splayed out on one of the couches, but everyone else was tapping at tablets and looking for information. Steve wondered what the issue was. He knew Billy was evidently some kind of all-consuming magical guy, but he didn’t exactly know what that entailed. Maybe it was like what Wanda could do, but Steve had no way of knowing.
Billy looked over at him, his eyes narrowing like he could tell what Steve was thinking, which Steve conceded was entirely possible. He looked back at Tommy after another minute.
Bucky came to sit down next to him, and their thighs pressed together. He passed Steve a cup of—something.
“Hot chocolate,” Bucky said quietly. “You okay?”
“Great,” Steve said, staring at where Bucky was biting his lip.
Bucky smiled. “Good. We’re gonna keep you two safe.”
Steve let out a breath and dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder for a minute.
Kate glanced up at them and fumbled with her tablet for a minute. She glanced at America, questions painted all over her face.
America looked up and smiled blandly at her.
Kate looked at Bucky. She signed something.
Bucky glanced at Steve and slowly signed something back.
Kate grinned and silently pumped a fist before going back to her tablet.
“What’d you say?” Steve asked, righting himself.
Bucky smiled softly at him. “I told her to mind her own business, and I guess she read between the lines.”
“’Course.” Steve dropped his voice lower, so that he could barely hear himself even with his enhanced ears. “Is Billy okay?”
Bucky glanced at Billy and frowned. “Dunno.”
“Shield doesn’t officially exist,” Loki complained after a few minutes. “All this information is from before 2014. It’s ancient.”
“Says the 500-year-old demigod,” America snarked.
“I resent that,” Loki grumbled.
“I found shit from 2031,” Teddy piped up. “Some crazy guy claimed they’d kidnapped him. Logan Howlett.”
David looked up sharply. “I know him.”
“X-gene voodoo?” Kate asked.
“Sorta,” David said. “He was the Wolverine. Kinda immortal. Kinda crazy. I think he had the most fucked up PTSD I’ve ever seen.”
“Nice,” Bucky said. “Sounds like a fun guy.”
Steve smiled a little bit.
“But there’s probably some truth to his words,” David said.
“He still alive?” America asked.
“No idea.”
“We should email him,” Teddy said. “His email’s right there.”
“That email is older than you,” Bucky said.
“Worth a shot.”
Everyone crowded around Teddy’s tablet to read his email.
Dear Mr. Howlett,
We are interested in your knowledge of Shield. Please contact us if you’d like to talk.
Thank you in advance,
The Young Avengers
“Simple. To the point,” Bucky said, nodding. “Not bad.”
Teddy hit send.
“I’m hungry,” Tommy mumbled into his elbow, loud enough that they could hear.
Bucky rolled his eyes.
Steve pressed Bucky against the wall of the pantry and kissed him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I love you.”
A stab of something wordlessly panicked and desperate and somehow beautiful stabbed through Steve’s brain, and he kissed Bucky again with more intent. He nudged his thigh between Bucky’s legs, almost without thinking, and Bucky’s breath hitched, and he pulled Steve closed, widening his stance a little bit, and—
David opened the pantry door.
They all stared at each other for a good five minutes.
“Right,” David said, his cheeks darkening. “Right. Of course. I’ll—um—right. I just—“
Steve stepped away from Bucky and handed David his usual granola bar snack.
David nodded a few times. “I—thanks. Please don’t—ah—contaminate—the—pantry. Please. Okay. Right. I’ll just—“
And David shut the pantry door and practically ran away.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.
“Oops,” Bucky said, looking way too smug to give the statement any validity whatsoever.
“We traumatized David,” Steve said.
“David knows what sex is,” Bucky said flippantly.
Steve shifted his weight. That was—
“Not that we were gonna—“
“I know.”
Bucky reached out and put a hand on Steve’s waist. He smiled. “I love you.”
Steve looked away and grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Ultimate Recon.”
“Right.”
“Where’s my snack?” Tommy grumbled when they walked back into the room.
“Yeah, Bucky,” Kate said, eyes sparkling. “Did you get distracted or something?”
Bucky scowled and threw a bag of grapes in Tommy’s direction. “I wanted strawberries,” he complained. Everyone ignored him.
Billy arched an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
David buried his nose in his tablet, and Kate started laughing, and America winked at Steve, and Steve wanted to sink into the floor.
“Um,” Bucky said, obviously panicked, and Steve held up both hands.
“This one’s on you, Mr. Ultimate Honesty Hour,” Steve said, sitting down next to America.
“Sergeant Ultimate Honesty Hour,” Bucky corrected absently. “Um.” He looked at Billy, Teddy, and Loki. “Well. When—uh—two people—uh—really like each other—“
“Oh my god,” Loki said gleefully, dropping his disinterested expression.
Bucky flailed a little bit. “Right. Good talk.”
Loki joined Kate laughing, and they high-fived.
“They’re banging,” Loki gasped. “Oh my god.”
“We’re not—“ Steve said.
“Oh my god!” Billy shouted, and Teddy startled. “That’s fucking—adorable!”
“Ha-ha-ha,” David said miserably.
“Why are we the last to know?” Teddy grumbled. “I swear, nobody tells me anything.”
“Literally just found out this morning,” Kate said.
“Because it happened last night,” Bucky said.
“Wow,” Billy said faintly. “But don’t you two—like—have a legendary friendship?”
“Evidently,” Steve muttered, lying down and throwing his feet in America’s lap.
“Woooooooooowwwwwwww,” Billy said, putting a hand over his heart. “And you literally just started dating?” He made a weirdly high-pitched noise.
“Dating is kind of a lame word,” Steve said to the ceiling. America patted his foot consolingly.
“Calm down. It’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky lied.
“We need to throw a party,” Teddy said solemnly.
“Let’s not do that.”
“Wait,” Loki said, sitting upright. “I just realized. Is anyone in this room straight?”
“Um,” Kate said uncomfortably.
Everyone stared at Kate in disbelief.
She coughed. “Never mind.”
America looked at Steve, eyebrows climbing up her forehead. Steve smiled at her reassuringly. They’d get there.
As Billy started philosophizing on their wedding or something, Bucky looked at him across the room and shrugged helplessly, and Steve thought that yeah.
They’d get there.
After dinner, Steve was stretched out on Bucky’s bed, watching as Bucky wrestled with some weird pajamas.
When Bucky had finally gotten them on, he flopped down next to Steve, and Steve turned to press a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky smiled at him. “We’re calling Sam.”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“Sam!” Bucky said happily, taking out his phone. “He’ll be super happy.”
“Why are you Facetiming him?” Steve asked, caught off-guard.
“Shhhhh,” Bucky said.
Sam picked up the phone, and Steve hadn’t seen him since Iceland, but he still looked old and kind and happy. “Hey, Bucky—oh. Steve! Hi Steve!”
“Hi Sammy,” Steve said.
“What’s crackalackin?” Sam asked, obviously trying to hide his delight.
“This,” Bucky said smugly, and then planted a kiss on Steve’s lips.
Sam shrieked and dropped his phone. Distantly, they heard him shout, “T’CHALLA! OH MY GOD! GET OVER HERE!”
Bucky laughed, and Steve looked at him curiously. “You told him you—“
“That I’m in love with you? Yeah, Steve, Sam knows all.”
Steve flushed. “Right.”
Sam picked his phone up, and now his face was squished next to T’Challa’s. “Do that again.”
Steve rolled his eyes and met Bucky halfway this time for a kiss.
“I TOLD YOU SO!”
“Stop yelling,” T’Challa complained, but he was smiling. “Finally.”
Sam and Bucky yelled at each other some more, and Steve and T’Challa exchanged exasperated looks, and it was kind of wonderful.
“We’re going to bed,” Bucky said after a while.
“They’re going to BED,” Sam said.
“Sammy,” Steve complained.
“<Stop teasing them,>” T’Challa murmured. “<Although... we should go to bed too.>”
Sam smirked at them. “I gotta go.”
“Wow,” Bucky said. “Putting your dick before me. Very mature.”
“Seeing as you are a dick, I dunno why you’re surprised.”
Bucky laughed. “Go get some.”
“Woo!” Sam said, and T’Challa rolled his eyes, and the connection clicked off.
Bucky rolled over so that he was lying on top of Steve, burying his face into Steve’s collarbone. “Ugh,” he said, voice muffled.
Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. “Heavy,” he said absently.
Bucky somehow dropped more weight onto Steve.
“Hey,” he protested half-heartedly.
“I love you,” Bucky said.
Steve swallowed convulsively. “Stop that,” he murmured.
Bucky propped himself up on an elbow to look down at Steve critically. “Really?”
Steve sighed. “No. Not really.”
Bucky grinned. “Yay.” He dropped back down onto Steve’s chest, and Steve wound his arms around Bucky, closing his eyes.
He could—he could get used to this.
Young Avengers,
(FYI that’s a stupid fuckin name.)
This is Logan. Why do you want to know about shield?
Steve stared at the curt email and instantly decided that he liked this guy.
“What an asshole,” Teddy was saying.
“I’ll take this,” Steve said at the same time.
Howlett,
They’re trying to find a legal means of detaining three persons for potentially unjust purposes.
Thank you for the response,
The YA :)
“What’s with the smiley face?” Bucky asked, hovering over Steve’s shoulder.
Steve flashed Bucky a very fake and exaggerated smile, and Bucky huffed a laugh.
“Alright.”
“This is the weirdest conversation ever,” Kate complained. “Imagine what he’s like in real life. Oh my god. Imagine him and Steve talking in real life.”
Everyone kind of laughed, and Steve frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Manly man conversation,” America explained. “No emotions or pleasantries here.”
“Oh. Hah.”
“You’re so weird,” Kate said, eyes crinkling.
The response they got a few days later was:
Ok.
-Logan
Steve shrugged. “Guess he didn’t like the smiley face.”
Bucky glared at him.
“I’m calling Wanda,” Bucky said when they hadn’t been able to find anything else on Shield a few weeks later.
“Why Wanda?” Steve asked from where his head was in Bucky’s lap.
“She knows shit.”
“Who’s that?” Billy asked distractedly as he scrolled through the TV channels.
“Scarlet Witch.”
Billy frowned and glanced at Tommy, who was leaning on David and pretending he still required a shitton of medical attention while he really just wanted attention.
Steve wondered if Billy knew something about Tommy. Because. Nobody knew anything about Tommy except that he was an asshole.
Or... maybe David knew something. They seemed to hang out a lot.
Whatever. Bucky was carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, and there was nothing at all to worry about ever anymore.
“Hey, Wanda,” Bucky was saying into his phone. “Yeah. We were—Shield. Yeah. Steve’s—yeah. He’s—yeah. Yeah. Can you—? Oh! Great! Yeah. Thank you. Bye.”
“That was quick,” Steve mused, relaxing as Bucky’s hand returned to his hair.
“She knows shit,” Bucky agreed.
Wanda showed up two days later, and she looked at him for a moment and smiled wide, and Steve threw his arms around her, and they collapsed into a hug.
“Missed you,” Steve mumbled.
“Me too.” She pulled back. “You look better.”
“I do?”
Wanda smiled and shoved his shoulder. “Like you’ve got a purpose again.”
Steve ducked his head. “Want to meet the reason why?”
“Aw,” Wanda said, already nodding.
“America!” Steve shouted, and America jogged into the room.
“What?” She looked kind of annoyed.
“This is Wanda.”
“Hi,” she said warily.
“Hi.”
They regarded each other critically for a moment before Wanda nodded kind of decisively. America relaxed her stance and turned to Steve. “Good.”
Steve smiled.
Wanda was more or less normal meeting the Young Avengers, but when she and Billy faced each other, it seemed like the room’s air was sucked away.
But all they did was shake hands.
Her meeting Tommy was similar.
Steve tried not to think much of it.
Until:
“I think those are my sons,” Wanda said to Steve quietly outside the facility.
“What?”
“Billy and Tommy.”
Steve blinked a few times. “Oh my god.”
Wanda nodded. “Do with that information what you will. Damn. That’s so weird that you and Bucky ended up taking them in.”
Steve swallowed roughly through his shock. “Why?”
“You helped me take care of them for a month, and Bucky helped me get them to adoption centers.”
“Oh.”
Wanda patted Steve on the arm. “I’ll get back to you guys on Shield.”
“I—thank you.”
And then she was—gone.
“Wanda thinks Billy and Tommy are her kids,” Steve blurted out to Bucky as they got ready for bed.
Bucky froze. “What the shit?”
“I know.”
“That actually... explains a lot.”
“Should we—should we tell them?”
Bucky thought about it for a long moment. He climbed into bed and settled into the crook of Steve’s arm. “Maybe not yet.”
Steve sighed. “Alright.”
Kate was sick.
“I’m not sick,” Kate said miserably, hacking a cough into her elbow.
“Princess,” America sighed.
“I’m not.”
Bucky rubbed his forehead. “Why don’t we take the day off?”
“I could fight the entire world at the drop of a hat,” Kate complained.
America shook her head, slinging an arm across Kate’s shoulders as she towed her away, presumably to either the med-room or Kate’s room. “I know you can.”
“Damn right.”
“We get the day off?” Loki asked excitedly.
“Can we go to the mall?” Billy said at the same time.
Bucky held up his hands. “You guys can do whatever you want. I trust you. But I am taking the day off right here.”
“I can drive,” Tommy offered. “If David comes too.”
David shrugged. “I don’t know why I expected anything less.”
“Nice!” Teddy shouted.
“Are you coming?” Tommy asked Loki.
Loki shuffled. “Uh. Sure.”
Teddy beamed at him.
Steve watched from where he was leaning against the doorpost as they trooped out to the car, and Bucky was frowning like a worried mother letting her children out to a party by themselves.
“They’ll be fine,” Steve said quietly.
“I know,” Bucky said, turning to face Steve. “Wanna hang out in our room and watch movies all day?”
Steve smiled fondly. “Yeah.”
Bucky linked their hands together as they walked back to their room, and Steve looked over at him and studied his profile.
He was beautiful.
They did end up watching movies for a while, and Steve kind of liked the teen movies from the eighties. And Bucky pretended not to cry during the scene in The Breakfast Club where they all explained why they were in detention. And Steve loved him.
It was different than before.
Before, the realization had been furious and all-encompassing and laden with grief. It’d taken up everything, leaving room for nothing else.
Now, the realization was as soft as everything else had been so far. It was like a quiet exhale on a cold morning. And Steve loved Bucky because every fucking second they spent together was a choice, and it was their choice. And he loved Bucky because of how gentle he was with the kids, and how much he cared about them even when they were being complete dicks. And he loved Bucky because he fucking cried watching movies made half a century ago and pretended not to notice.
“Shit,” Steve said.
“I know,” Bucky agreed, pouting at the screen like it’d personally offended him.
Steve put his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky leaned his head on Steve’s.
When the movie ended, Bucky whispered, “What a fucking classic.”
“I love you so much,” Steve whispered back, and Bucky startled.
“You do?” he demanded, turning to face him.
Steve swallowed. “Yes.”
Bucky swung his leg over Steve’s lap and framed his face with mismatched hands. “Say it again?”
“I love you,” Steve said.
Bucky smiled like his heart had just been broken in the best way possible. “God. I love you too.”
They exchanged a slow, languid kiss like they had all the time in the world. Which. They kind of did. At some point, their shirts came off, and Steve broke away from Bucky’s wonderful mouth to give some rightful worship to Bucky’s collarbone. And chest. He took his time mapping out Bucky’s torso with his lips, giving slow, gentle, open-mouthed kisses to every inch he could reach. Bucky’s skin tasted like salt and something very clean, and his hand was tangled in Steve’s hair, and every time he made a soft sort of noise, Steve felt like he was falling.
Eventually, Bucky pulled Steve’s head back, and Steve looked up at him through glazed eyes.
“Hey,” Bucky said, his voice cracking.
Steve leaned into Bucky’s hand, eyes fluttering shut. “Hi.”
“I love you.”
Steve flushed, embarrassed. “Loveyoutoo,” he mumbled.
Bucky pressed a tiny kiss to Steve’s mouth. “Text America,” he murmured. “See if Kate’s doing okay.”
Steve groped for his phone and eventually secured it, opening his texts with America. Bucky dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
STEVE: How’s Kate?
AMERICA: Lol she’s a mess
STEVE: You love it
AMERICA: Do not it’s gross
AMERICA: ;)
Steve huffed and tossed his phone to the side. “I think they’re doing fine,” he said dryly.
“Mmm. Good,” Bucky hummed, and he licked Steve’s neck.
Steve made a squeaking noise and cringed away. “Ew.”
“Did I know that you were ticklish?” Bucky asked, looking delighted.
Steve scowled. “No because I’m not.”
Bucky jabbed Steve under the arm, and Steve shrieked. “Stop it!”
“Make me,” Bucky said gleefully, and Steve grabbed Bucky’s arms and flipped them around so that Bucky was on his back on the bed, and Steve pinned his arms above his head.
“Hah.”
“Ha-ha,” Bucky said faintly, his eyes on Steve’s lips.
Steve kissed him.
“Your tattoos are crazy,” Bucky managed between fervent kisses a little while later. “I love them.”
“Me too,” Steve said.
“You’re so—“
Steve pulled back an inch to give Bucky room to think.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Steve ducked his head. “Gross.”
“It’s true,” Bucky said shamelessly.
Steve wanted to tell Bucky about the time he tortured a man for twelve hours to get information before he finally just died, and all Steve did was scoff and move on to the next hostage. He wanted to tell Bucky about burning down Hydra bases while people were still alive in there. He wanted to tell him about the wicked work he could do with a knife and a gun. Just to see if he could wipe that look off his face.
He didn’t.
Instead, he collapsed on top of Bucky, and Bucky grunted but didn’t do anything besides draping his arms across Steve’s back.
“Let’s watch Mean Girls,” Bucky said after a while.
“Only if I don’t have to move. And only if you cry when Cady makes her speech.”
“You have a deal, good sir,” Bucky said, and he did something that remotely turned on the movie.
Steve hummed and nuzzled against Bucky’s neck. “Did you ever think we’d get to be like this?” he asked as the opening credits played.
“Like what?” Bucky asked, tracing patterns across his back.
“Like... together and kinda normal.”
Bucky was quiet before he said, “No. But I can’t tell you how glad I am that we fuckin’ made it here.”
“We did,” Steve said, his voice thick.
“Only took a hundred and thirty years.”
“I love you,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s skin.
“What was that?” Bucky asked, his voice teasing.
Steve scowled. “Shut the fuck up and watch your movie.”
“Our movie.”
“Fine.”
There were some days in which Steve was rendered incapable of doing anything.
It made him feel like shit, but this’d been happening for almost forty years now, so he dealt with it.
“We should get you a therapist,” Bucky said nonchalantly one day as Steve glared at the ceiling and cursed his existence.
Steve said nothing.
Maybe he didn’t want to get better.
(That was a lie. Steve hated himself, and he hated hating himself, and the world sucked.)
Maybe Steve would think about it.
He closed his eyes.
Natasha showed up at the facility out of the blue, and after she was done hugging everyone, she handed Steve a file.
“Congrats. You exist,” she said, smiling.
Steve looked at the file. “Is this... a fake ID?”
Natasha shrugged. “A wise woman once said that truth is a matter of circumstance.”
Steve laughed. “I remember the same woman once said, ‘beep beep,’ in the middle of a fucking end of the world battle.”
“No,” Natasha said, feigning confusion.
He looked back down at the files.
ROGERS, STEVEN GRANT
BIRTH: 04 JULY 2019
HAIR: BROWN
EYES: BLUE
HEIGHT: 6’2”
CITIZENSHIP: ICELANDIC; AMERICAN
ENHANCEMENTS & REGISTRATION: N/A
Steve felt like he was going to cry. “Thank you, Nat.”
“You have a choice now,” Natasha said. “You don’t have to keep being a fugitive. You’re a normal fella now.”
Steve hugged her again.
“I got one for you too,” Natasha said, poking her head up to look at America.
America’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you,” Steve informed her.
“Love you too, Steve,” Natasha said happily.
Bucky smiled at them.
America smiled too.
Steve was sitting on the floor in the gym, watching as Bucky and the kids dicked around with equipment, not really getting anything accomplished but having a lot of fun.
“Guess who I am,” Loki demanded, hefting a fake Mjiolner.
“Thor,” everyone chorused. Loki pouted.
“Guys, check this out,” America said, hefting a—
Holy shit.
“Ultimate Frisbee,” she said, smirking.
Bucky shot Steve a panicked look, and Steve numbly got to his feet.
The shield’s design had faded so thoroughly that you’d only be able to see it if you looked really hard for it. So it just looked like a massive disk with a few scuffmarks on it. Claw marks too. From the—from T’Challa.
Steve swallowed convulsively, and walked over to the group. They must have sensed something serious, because they’d all fallen quiet as Steve stepped over to look at America and look at the shield and look at everything.
America met his gaze with a question in her eyes. “What’s up?”
Steve made an aborted movement towards the shield, and then gave a little laugh. “That’s—“
America glanced down at it, and her eyes widened in realization. “The shield.” She quickly thrust it forward, offering it to him.
Steve took a step back to get that thing the fuck away from him. “No,” he said firmly. “You keep it.”
“Me?” America said, aghast.
“Suits you,” Steve said simply.
“Captain America Chavez,” Kate whispered.
America stared down at the shield for a moment, and everyone watched in silence as she frowned at it. “You know what,” she finally said, very slowly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet.”
Steve smiled, feeling at ease for maybe the first time in his entire life. “When you’re ready. You know where to find it.”
America nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah.”
And Steve felt something tight in his chest loosen for the first time in thirty-two years.
They hadn’t heard anything about Shield in months, and Steve had a legitimate fake ID. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.
“I’m going to dye my hair,” Steve informed Bucky, who was reading a book on their bed, his tone challenging.
“Okay?” Bucky said blankly.
He obviously did not expect Steve to step out of the bathroom an hour later with blue hair.
“What the fuck?”
Steve scowled. “I told you that—“
“I thought—“
Bucky stared at him. Steve glared back.
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit, what?” Steve demanded.
Bucky yanked him in for a rough kiss. “It suits you,” he whispered. “Hey, remember that fishnet tanktop you bought?”
“...Yes?”
“You still have it?”
“I—yeah?”
“I wanna see what you look like with it on,” Bucky said.
“This is kinky,” Steve observed.
“Shut up. I’m curious. I’m a scholar. Humor me here.”
Five minutes later, Steve was standing in the middle of their room in jeans and a fucking fishnet tanktop, his hands still stained blue, and his hair bright and flashy and different.
“Fuck me to hell,” Bucky whined.
“Like I said: Kinky,” Steve said, a cross between amused and aroused.
“I’ll show you kinky.”
“Yeah?” His voice was maybe a little bit breathless.
“Yeah.”
“Steve! Bucky!” Billy called from just outside their room. “David and Tommy—“
“I guess I’ll show you kinky later,” Bucky sighed and opened the door.
Billy blinked at them. “I can come back later,” he said, his eyes glued to Steve.
Steve groaned in embarrassment. “It was Bucky’s idea,” he said before Bucky could ruin his honor any more.
“Get in here,” Bucky said, ignoring him. “What about David and Tommy?”
Billy scowled, throwing himself into the chair that Steve and Bucky never ever used. “They’re making out.”
“What?” Steve demanded, kind of helplessly delighted.
“First my boyfriend, now my brother,” Billy said gloomily. “That guy’s a menace.”
“Your—“ Bucky said. “Billy, how did you—“
“I can read minds, dude. I know Tommy’s my brother.”
“Oh,” Bucky said.
“Tommy doesn’t know. But still.”
“Just let David live,” Steve said. “They obviously like each other in a weirdly emotionally stunted way.”
Billy glared at him. “I can’t believe they got together before America and Kate.”
“Kate’s working out her shit,” Bucky said firmly. “Leave her be.”
“Fine,” Billy said. “Sorry.” He got out of the chair. “This was dumb. Go back to your weird kinky sex thing.”
“Billy!” Bucky said, horrified, and Billy actually cackled as he let himself out of their room.
“Well,” Steve said. “You heard the man.”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
Sometimes Steve liked to walk around the grounds and give himself the illusion that he was running away so that he wouldn’t actually do it.
He found himself at the cavern, and he remembered breaking rocks because he couldn’t believe that Bucky wanted to keep him around.
He thought that maybe he was getting there now. Maybe he believed it a little bit—or a lot bit—more than he had.
Kate was there.
She sat with a vacant gaze and hunched shoulders and said, “Hi,” in a quiet tone that Steve had never heard from her.
“Hi,” Steve said and sat down next to her. “Mind company?”
“Stay,” Kate said.
Steve settled himself in and waited.
“I like this cave a lot,” Kate said eventually, and Steve refrained from saying, “cavern,” because this was a serious moment. She looked at him. “You know. I have really fucking great vision.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed because Kate’s aim was insane.
Kate nodded. “I like going down there and not being able to see. It’s like.” She sighed, scrubbing a hand through her hair. “It’s like a reminder.”
“How so?”
“Me and David are the most defenseless people on this team,” she said bluntly. “I’ve got a stick from the Paleolithic Era, and David’s just got the knowledge from his dead X-gene.”
“You’re not defenseless.”
Kate scoffed. “I’m not the Wiccan though.”
“Don’t compare yourself to Billy,” Steve said quietly.
“Right,” Kate mumbled. “But anyway. I like not being able to see down there because it reminds me that even though I have fucking perfect vision, I still shouldn’t rely on it.”
Steve’s heart ached. “I—I know what you mean.”
“I know you do,” Kate said. “It’s why I’m telling you this instead of Bucky.”
Steve smiled.
“There are no absolutes,” Kate said like a mantra. “That fucking cave reminds me of that.”
“Good,” Steve said.
Kate took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I think I’m in love with America,” she said like she was bracing for a fight.
Steve patted her on the shoulder. “Good.”
Kate sagged in relief. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” Steve said, deliberately nonchalant as America doodled on her converse. “Can I get a tattoo like your stars?”
America gave him a look. “Why?”
“Because they’re real,” Steve said, hoping he was making sense.
“Huh,” America said. “Sure.”
She went with him to get them done, and she watched like a hawk as the tattoo artist carved a band of blue-white stars around his left arm, right above the decisive black line.
“How are they?” the tattoo artist asked nervously, looking at America instead of Steve for approval.
“Good,” she said. She looked at Steve.
“Good,” he agreed.
America nodded decisively. “Good.”
When Bucky saw the tattoo, he glared at him. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna get that.”
“Surprise,” Steve said.
Bucky gave him a semi-reluctant kiss. “I hate you.”
“Yep.”
But later that night, Bucky whispered, “I’m so proud of you,” into his skin, and Steve felt alight with fire and alive and burning.
Steve frowned at the rapidly fading purple of his hair and made his way into the bathroom.
He started trying to wash out more of it so that it wouldn’t corrupt his next color (pink) as much, and since Steve used the cheap hair dyes, it worked pretty well.
He reached for the pink, and then something caught his eye.
Steve stared at the mirror. He placed his palms flat on either side of the sink and looked closer.
Dear god.
Bucky found him like that a few hours later, sliding into the cramped space of the bathroom with concern. “Hey,” he said softly. “Everything alright?”
“Buck,” Steve said, voice rough and broken. “Look.”
Bucky frowned and followed Steve’s gaze to the mirror, then back to him. “What the fuck—“
Steve’s breaths shuddered in and out, and he managed a watery smile, and Bucky’s eyes were wide and breathlessly hopeful, because it was right there in front of them—
A gray hair.
Steve stared at the doctor, and the doctor stared at Bucky as he explained.
“Dr. Banner wasn’t wrong when he said your cells keep regenerating,” he said, and Bucky nodded. “But there’s not an exhaustive supply. Your cells are just dying at a much slowly rate.”
“How much slower?” Steve demanded, voice hoarse.
The doctor glanced at him, and Steve’s fingers spasmed. “I’d say about three times. Maybe closer to two-point-five.”
“But they’re dying?” Steve said desperately. “The cells?”
“Yes,” the doctor said uncomfortably.
“Thank fucking god,” Steve gasped, dropping his head into his hands.
“I’ll—just—give you two a minute.”
“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly. The door closed.
Steve folded in on himself, breaths shuddering, trying to pretend that he wasn’t crying.
“Stevie?” Bucky murmured, and Steve looked up at him.
“We’re gonna die someday, Buck,” Steve said.
Bucky’s smile was sad and breathtaking. “Yeah, Steve. Yeah. We are.”
Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s collarbone. “There’s an end.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not immortal.”
“We’re not.”
Steve took a minute to get himself under control before he raised his head again, eyes red-rimmed.
Bucky had this tentatively hopeful look in his eyes. “Does this mean you’re not gonna kill yourself?”
Steve ached for him viscerally, but he just offered a subdued smile. “We’ll see.”
Bucky pulled Steve into his arms. “I’ll take it.”
They got the email out of nowhere.
I’ll meet you tomorrow.
-Logan :)
“What the fuck?” Teddy complained. “This guy is so rude. Literally no manners.”
“I like him,” Steve said thoughtfully. "Smiley face."
“I should meet him,” Bucky said.
“I’ll do it,” Steve said, shooting him a little smile. “This is my war.”
Bucky frowned reluctantly. “Alright.”
Logan showed up on a motorcycle, wearing an outdated leather jacket and smoking a cigar and all-around looking like he belonged in a movie from when Steve had been frozen.
“Logan Howlett?”
“Yep,” he said, swinging his leg off his bike. “You the Young Avengers?”
Steve shook his head. “Just Steve.”
Logan grunted. “Shield after you?”
“And a few others.”
Logan nodded a few times. “I think I have some shit that could save your lives.”
“Thanks.”
Logan shot him a grumpily curious look. “Did they give you the whole greater good spiel?”
“Yes,” Steve said. Something about this man felt like he was talking to a CO all over again. He resisted the urge to snap off a salute.
“It’s bullshit,” he said. “They don’t want you for nothin’ but weaponry.”
Steve took a breath and nodded. He’d expected that.
Logan handed Steve a little backpack. “Hard copies. Don’t scan them to a tablet. They’ll find it.”
“Noted,” Steve said. “Thank you for your help.”
Logan shrugged. “Whatever. Was just in the area.”
“Right.”
“Good luck,” Logan said, mounting his bike just as abruptly as he’d arrived.
“You too.”
Logan offered a noncommittal grunt and revved his engine.
Steve stared at the backpack.
Maybe they had a fighting chance here.
Steve Rogers was old and tired and alive on his 105th annual Mourning Days.
And he was done mourning.
Maybe he’d never gotten his closure. Maybe Peggy and the Commandos and Sarah Rogers and a whole generation and the Avengers had all faded to the back of his mind without a proper goodbye. Maybe Steve had never been able to say goodbye to himself or to Bucky, and maybe closure was fucking overrated.
He was done mourning for the memory of who he used to be, and he was done mourning for the shadowy memory of who the people he loved used to be.
He was a person now. And he was a runner, and he was a fighter, and he was not a weapon, and he was going to be okay.
Steve watched Bucky through the window. He was struggling with some sort of decorations. It was the anniversary of their deaths, and they were celebrating. It was probably symbolic, but Steve was too old and tired to try to piece it together.
America walked up beside him, and they watched Bucky curse as he tried to untangle some wires.
“Dork,” Steve noted.
“Asshole,” America agreed.
Steve smiled at her. He remembered a stilted car ride and thought about how far they had come. She’d become his family. And maybe someday, Steve would be able to say with confidence that they’d maybe joined the Young Avengers family too. But for now and forever, he was content with his lot.
He was... he felt kind of... happy.
“You two are really gross,” America said, and Steve smiled at her.
“You wish you and Kate were as gross as us.”
“I really don’t,” America said, wrinkling her nose.
Steve laughed quietly.
“Can you make kugel for the death party?” David asked, wandering into the kitchen to grab his granola bar.
“Yeah,” Steve said, disproportionately pleased that someone liked something that he cooked.
America rolled her eyes. “I’ll make it with you,” she said.
“Great,” Steve chirped happily. “Put some egg noodles on to boil. I’m gonna go see if Bucky needs any help before they’re ready.”
“Ugh,” America said fondly. “I’ll call you back in.”
“Thanks,” Steve said, punching her in the arm as he passed.
Steve felt weird and giddy. Like he was seven years old again or some shit. “Buck!” he shouted, and Bucky started to turn towards him, and Steve ran forward and leapt at him because he was a dumb idiot.
“Shit,” Bucky said, scrambling to catch him, and then they were losing balance and falling back onto the grass. Bucky laughed and rubbed at his head.
“Sorry,” Steve said, hovering over Bucky.
“You’re being weird,” Bucky noted.
“It’s just,” Steve said. “I’ve been alone on this holiday for the past hundred and five years.”
“Jesus,” Bucky swore.
“I’m just happy,” Steve said simply. “I don’t think I liked being alone very much.”
Bucky smiled up at him, and there were eons of great things and promises and memories in his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I know,” Steve murmured. He pressed a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Need any help out here?”
Bucky shoved Steve off of him, and Steve rolled to the side so that their shoulders were pressed together. Bucky looked at him, and Steve looked back. “Help me with the lanterns.”
Steve got to his feet, and Bucky watched him lazily as Steve started to string up these fucking lanterns before he finally joined him with a groan, and Steve didn’t know why there needed to be fucking lanterns, but oh well.
America yelled at him that the pasta was ready. And Bucky caught his wrist before Steve could go inside and kissed him briefly.
And Steve felt fire and life burning through his veins.
America wordlessly handed Steve a spoon, and Steve pointed at the refrigerator, and she opened it to shovel through some ingredients.
“So,” she said, head stuck in the fridge. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“It’s Mourning Days,” Steve said. “Happy Mourning Days.”
“You’re weird,” America noted.
“Yeah.”
She eyed him critically. “You haven’t run away in a while,” she observed, almost accusatorially.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. He shrugged. “I think I’ll stick around for a while.”
America nodded. “Good.”
Steve nodded back and wordlessly passed her the spoon.