Chapter Text
“Five… four… three… two…” Bruce counted down, looking up at the shiny platform where moments ago stood Captain America while flipping the appropriate switches. His brows furrowed together in concentration.
Steve had been the first to volunteer for the dangerous and challenging task of returning all six infinity stones to their proper places and times. That surprised no one. Even before all this mess, back when Steve was just a scrawny Brooklyn kid, he was always throwing himself in harm’s way if there would be even a remote possibility of protecting someone he cared about. That someone was almost always Bucky, and back then Bucky had almost always been the one to save Steve’s ass in those fights.
And all these years later, Bucky felt the familiar urge to pull Steve out of the mess of he put himself in. He wanted to drag his ass back from wherever he was in time and space and make sure he stayed put on Earth for the rest of forever. There was nothing he could do but wait and hope. He hoped that Steve wouldn’t be killed while returning the stones. He hoped that the machine before him would work as intended. It was straight from one of the many sci-fi movies Steve had forced him to endure during his post-Hydra recovery. Brilliantly white and glossy, with lights and buttons and knobs seemingly everywhere, Bucky stared down the machine as if threatening it, you bring my Steve back safe and sound or else. Obviously, no intimidation could affect the outcome of the plan, but directing his worry against the inanimate tech soothed Bucky’s nerves, slight as it was.
As Bruce counted down, Bucky fixed his gaze hard upon the spot where Steve had been only seconds ago. He held his breath in anticipation, but as Bruce reached the end of his countdown, nothing happened. Not so much as a shimmer or a spark to indicate Steve’s return. Bucky instantly felt goosebumps overtake his skin. His face went cold and pale as the blood rushed away. And before he could conjure a second thought, his anxiety grabbed him round the throat and drug him into the horrible, horrible spiral.
He's gone. He didn’t make it. The bastards who killed him will have another thing coming. Or, worse, possibly, the tech had failed. Maybe he finished the mission and was now stranded somewhere in space and time. Unknowable. Unreachable. Unsavable. God Stevie all alone in space is the worst fate imaginable. Maybe it was both the mission and the tech that had failed. Perhaps Steve wasn’t dead but captured on some distant alien planet being tortured, with his ticket home stolen or busted.
Just as his thoughts were on the verge of overtaking him completely, Bucky was yanked back to the present by Sam’s hand on his shoulder. He shook his head slightly as if to fling away the remaining webs of dread inside his mind. Then, as Bucky looked up, he saw where Sam was pointing. Off a small way from the clearing in the woods was a small stone bench overlooking the adjoining lake. And sitting there was, well someone Bucky didn’t recognize by looks but the pit in his stomach told him who it was anyhow. The man on the bench was clearly elderly, judging by the silver hair and distinctly papery, wrinkled skin. Not slender or frail as many aging bodies would be, but certainly softened by time. It was Steve. Bucky knew it instantly.
Sam moved toward the bench, and Bucky followed at a bit of a distance. Under any other circumstances, he might have run straight towards Steve and pulled him into a hug for all he’s worth. But something was creeping up from Bucky’s stomach forming a lump in his throat. A new, vivid, wave of anxieties threatened to bubble over, but the shock kept Bucky just present enough to keep the flood at bay for a few moments longer. He froze a few yards away from the bench where a now-elderly Steve sat peacefully, not acknowledging their approach. Sam, however, continued forward slowly until he was standing beside Steve.
What kept him so long? Was he right about the torture? The first steps down another spiral crept up on Bucky as he held his breath once again. No, what torturer would have simply released him after so many years? And wouldn’t Steve look, well, awful? Would he be sitting there so calmly? The thoughts swirled, making Bucky dizzy as he tried to keep up, putting pieces together a hundred ways but not seeing a complete puzzle. He re-focused his eyes and realized Sam and Steve were talking now. Too quiet for Bucky to hear over the ringing in his ears. There was something entirely somber in the posture of both men though, in contrast to Sam, Steve seemed brighter, warmer. There was a small, easy smile on his lips as he spoke.
Bucky was thoroughly and utterly confused. He did his best to keep his breathing slow and even. All his time in recovery he had spent learning not to catastrophize. That’s what his therapist called the streams of thoughts that took Bucky away from himself, each thought more horrible than the last. Bucky liked to say that he was only considering every possible outcome, and it wasn’t his fault that the world could be so shitty and cruel that more of those outcomes would be tragic. Nevertheless, the head-spinning levels of worry did get in the way of Bucky’s happiness, so he had worked on it. He did all the homework his therapist assigned and eventually, had been able to manage these moments of overthinking on his own. He remembered talking about his progress with Steve, a free smile gracing his face and his head the clearest it had been since the thirties. And he especially remembered the way Steve had looked him in the eye, gentle and sincere, and said, “I’m so proud of you, Buck.”
Bucky blinked away the memory. He felt that old and all too familiar weight of anxious thoughts again, but he would be damned if he slipped now. His wavering focus returned to the two men in front of him and he felt his mouth fall open slightly when he saw it. A glint of sunshine reflected off Steve’s hand and when he squinted his eyes Bucky saw the silver ring. Undeniably a wedding band. And it all clicked; one second Bucky was lost and the next it was as clear as if Steve had shouted it in his face.
The realization hit Bucky like a truck. No. A barge. A huge barge covered in massive shipping containers full of bricks. That’s what struck Bucky right in the heart. He felt the way his eyes began to water, clenching his jaw and willing himself not to cry. Not here, not now. He tried to swallow but the lump in his throat had doubled. He tried to breathe but someone had stolen all the oxygen around him. He remained frozen, anchored where he stood. He watched Sam and Steve, catching up and chatting normally as if no time had passed. It hadn’t for us, Bucky thought.
He recognized immediately that his chest was full of several emotions, all threatening to escape through his eyes or his mouth or his fists. He tried to identify a few, something else he had learned in his extensive therapy sessions. Perhaps the only positive feeling he could identify was his relief that Steve had returned safely. No alien-hunting required. And there was a small, small, sliver of Bucky that was glad Steve had gotten to live out a happy life. It was, anyway, all he had ever wanted for Steve. But it was immediately followed by a pang of jealousy. Why couldn’t he have lived out that happy life here and now? Who had taken that away from me? The jealousy was quickly surpassed by a feeling of betrayal. Steve had chosen to do this, hadn’t he? He chose another life over the one he could have had — the one he could have had with Bucky.
Steve knew Bucky had experienced the same, unique tragedy of being displaced in time. Waking up one day to realize everyone you ever knew was dead or dying. Steve and Bucky were the only people on Earth who could ever know what that was like. Bucky, not exactly the religious type but certainly a believer in something beyond human understanding, had counted it as a literal miracle, a blessing, to still have Steve in his life after everything. It was the kind of luck no sensible person could ever dream of, and yet it’s exactly what Steve and Bucky had. He had lost everything to Hydra. Everything but Steve. How could he just bail on him the second he had a chance to live his “normal” life? How could he just act like what happened to them both wasn’t real?
And there it was, the emotion Bucky was trying so hard to withhold. He remained rooted to the ground but clenched his fists and his jaw, forcing back tears and wails. Anger. He was angry with Steve. He was angry with himself for having been so stupid as to believe nothing could ever pull Steve away from him again. He felt the urge to march up to the asshole, fling that wedding band into the lake, and punch him across the jaw. Of course, Bucky didn’t do any of that. He could never hurt Steve no matter how angry he got.
Something about all these emotions, and the strength it was taking to remain stoic on the surface churned Bucky’s stomach. And then as if everything in his brain had melted and reformed into a horrible nightmare, he was plunged into a deep, cold sadness. As a single tear finally escaped to roll down his cheek, opening the floodgate for the sobs that would be soon to come, Bucky turned on a dime and walked briskly away before his body could betray his emotions. He didn’t so much as glance at Bruce, who looked up from his confused tinkering with the time machine as Bucky rushed past.