Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ACT I: The Changeover.

“It’s called a changeover. The movie goes on and nobody in the audience has any idea.”

If Steve could’ve thought much of anything he might have blamed the shock for what happened after.

One second he’s on a train; snow whipping across his cheek like razor blades and cold steel pressed against his face as his heart thrums louder in his ears than the whistle of the biting wind. He’s trying to make sense of what shouldn’t –what couldn’t have happened. An impossibility that’ll become reality –how can I have, how, it can’t be real, it's not, what did I do, it can’t it be, it can’t no no –the moment he opens his welded shut eyes.

There’s a part of him pressing to finish the mission, catch Zola before it’s too late.

He thinks he might be screaming. The fresh taste of blood fills his mouth and throat as he curls into the broken wall hanging over the edge.

He can’t move –all he can do his hide his face against the metal and will time to go back –will everything to just cease. He’s holding his breath, his tears frosted against his face and thinks he might just be able to pry his frozen fingers free off the rail and follow behind; he can’t on his own, he can’t go on, he can’t it’s too much he can’t he failed he can’t–

✪

When he opens his eyes the cold of the Alps is nowhere to be found, and for a split second Steve thinks it never happened at all.

But he’s leaning against a wall with Colonel Phillips’ hand on his shoulder. The normally stoic man looks apologetic and he’s telling Steve ‘Barnes was a good man. A good soldier.' He's telling Steve to ‘Get a drink son, honor your friend.’

Steve’s clean as a whistle, alone, in his dress uniform, being told Buck. Bucky–

He’s living a nightmare.

His throat feels raw and he can still taste blood in his teeth.

Steve manages to make his legs move and finds himself wandering the deserted streets of London trying to not fall to his knees and yell until his brand new lungs give out. He doesn’t know what happened with Zola. He can’t begin to reconcile the fact that that rat might be alive out there when Bucky. When Bucky.

He can’t. He can’t think about it.

There are spots in his eyes as he finally stumbles into the first open door he sees.

A bottle and a half of bitter whiskey later he gives up trying to get drunk and peels at the label. He battles off reality from attempting to overwhelm him, cursing at everything that brought him into this awful fucking nightmare. The Nazi’s, God, Zola, the government, the g–the goddamn train. Steve hates himself. He hates Hydra. He hates being Captain America. Hates the fucking military for dragging good men into war; good men who never wanted to hold a rifle in the first place.

He didn’t risk his slender frame in jail trying to join a fight that sent good men to –fucking die for government acquisitions. He joined to save people. He joined to fucking help people who needed him.

Was this what he asked for? Was this helping?

Peggy finds him when there’s a quarter of the bottle left, giving platitudes that with every line send him deeper and deeper into his guilt. Steve knows she means well, but he’s still on the train, the taste of blood in his mouth and the feel of frost on his face. Peggy wasn’t there. Doesn’t know how close Steve was, how he failed.

How Steve failed the one thing he had in this world.

He can’t drown out the horror as much as he tries to; knocking back glass after glass, the whiskey burning hot down his throat.

‘His choice.’ Peggy’s voice fades out as he stares into his glass, vision finally going hazy. The last thing he can think before his head tilts forwards is that Erskine should’ve picked someone else.

✪

Steve blearily opens his eyes again surrounded by shards of shattered glass, metal, and snow; a trail of blood from his slumped over body slowly leaking towards the rising frigid waters by his feet.

His chest feels heavy with a physical pain that sends his guilt out of his head for the first time in hours. He can’t seem to move his legs. His arm is bent at an angle it shouldn't be able to. He’s locked to a wall by a pole through his shoulder –he can’t feel his arm past the rod. The only warmth that seems to be left in him is the hot blood pouring down his face as he gasps out frosty ragged breaths.

His mouth gurgles with blood –the taste familiar in this unknown frozen hell.

He doesn’t know where he is, what happened, or how long has passed – He can only see white snow and blue metal, a film of red over his vision, blood running over his eyes. He can barely make out the ripped Hydra banner in the corner. It tells him nothing and he doesn’t care much regardless.

With every breath he chokes back blood, tears and sobs. There’s no energy left in him as the water reaches his hips, his skin feeling too cold to bare before the feeling resides and fire starts burning the core of his bones. Minutes – hours –seconds pass before he realizes he’s going to die.

Steve closes his eyes with a gasping sob as his chest is submerged.

He’s going to die, and that’s alright with him –as long as he got one over Hydra, it’s all fine with him…

✪

Steve wakes up listening to a baseball game he’s already been to, and air that didn’t smell like anything at all. The taste of blood is replaced with cotton and his clothes are softer than anything he’s felt in his life.

His heartbeat starts to thrum in his ears as he thinks-

Something’s not right.

Steve slips back asleep.

✪

His head rolls up and he blinks back to consciousness sitting in a rich leather car with a strangely dressed woman. She has a sharp cut fringe and is wearing a man’s suit and slacks. She taps away at a bar of metal –maybe glass? plastic?–in her hand and doesn’t seem to pause as she explains to him that a team of doctors and psychiatrists are ready to help him adjust to his seven decades asleep.

Seven decades.

There’s a heart stopping moment while she talks on and on that this might not be a nightmare but another cold hard reality of the last few hours of his life. This morning he’d been on a cliff side, going over a crazy mission with his men like any other day and now –now he’s barely holding back from doubling over and screaming into his knees.

By some grace of God she doesn’t drop any more life changing truths on him but it doesn’t stop the pressure building behind his eyes as he watches the sleek metal buildings pass.

“Don’t worry Captain. We have everything on hand to make this transition as smooth as possible for you.”

There’s still always a chance this might be hell.

He does what they ask of him in a haze; his almost hourly vital checks, heart monitoring, machines to look at his bones and brain. He’s confided to some upscale hospital room while this goes on, the occasional medic or agent slowly updating him on technology and medicine as equipment click, beep, and trill without pause. None of it truly feels real.

For two days he lets them poke with their sleek, futuristic tools until they insist he sees another doctor to make sure he’s adjusting smoothly. Steve really isn’t keen on seeing somebody to ‘talk’ to but the medical doctors had insisted ‘mental health’ was important and vital to his well-being.

He suspected they just didn’t want to lose an asset like Captain America to shell-shock.

As much as he wants to refuse it‘s unfortunately a condition he has to follow if he wants to leave the four walls he’d been trapped behind.

Until that point Steve had honestly considered his lost time to be a mixture of grief and shock. An hour before he’s to leave his S.H.I.E.L.D assigned housing he debates whether or not he should mention it at all. The fact that he couldn’t remember the apparent week he had lost between the train and the Valkyrie going down.

But it had stopped hadn’t it? What would be the use bringing it up now?

Keeping it to himself was his first and really only plan of action, and the biggest obstacle seemed to be Steve himself. Not taking into account that Steve couldn’t tell a lie to save his own hide, if he said he was absolutely fine (which he wasn’t, he knew) he would just be put back into action wouldn’t he?

Why would they care if some footnote from their past was raised from the dead if not to be used for something? There would be no reason not to use him at that point. He’d put on the uniform and head right back out. On his own. Doing what needed to be done.

His breathing was rapid and short, a pressure pressed against his forehead as the sound of rushing water filled his ears. Steve’s eyes closed, his body beginning to gently rock back and forth, back and forth, as he racked his brain for some sign, some strength to do what he needed to do, what he had to do-

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t live in this time, he couldn’t sit back and do nothing, he couldn’t talk to these strangers, he couldn’t let them down, he couldn’t go back out there again and he couldn’t do it alone he couldn’t be-

✪

He doesn’t know what he talks to the doctor about.

Steve slowly comes to a few hours after his appointment sitting on a plush bed in what appears to be a plainly furnished home from the richer side of Brooklyn. He looks down to the lined notepad in his hands. DR YUSIAN 1600 MON. WED. FRI. LIVING ROOM TELEVISION is written at the top in his shorthand.

He doesn’t know who Dr. Yusian is; he can’t remember writing this, or even leaving the hospital room at all.

There’s a few other things written down too –a few dates, words or places Steve can’t recognize. Some numbers in random sequences, two addresses written down at the bottom. One is his current location if ‘HOME’ was supposed to be where he currently was. The other is for a gym around the corner if the New York street system hadn’t changed completely.

He knows he should be concerned now –that the gaps in memory are probably more than just grief. He admits it to himself as he stares at the number two pencil by his side, the notes that mean next to nothing to him that he left….for himself.

This wasn’t normal grieving behaviour. This wasn’t normal war stress.

Steve can’t bring himself care.

✪

Steve blacks out three more times (that he knows of) in the week following his wake up; always an hour or so before his appointments, always for roughly the same amount of time, and always waking up sitting back straight on his bed.

He spends a good amount of time staring at walls while waiting for nightfall or the early morning. There’s a voice in his ear that sounds like someone only he can remember from last week 70 years ago saying You’re in the future Steve! Get out there and take a look! And with a heavy heart he follows that advice as much as he hates to give credence to his new world.

Steve looks out of place and he knows it as he rides the train to absolutely nowhere and back. He knows as he circles parking lots that use to be jobsites and coffee shops that serve more sugar in a cup than he’s ever had in a cake. He knows as he pays for groceries and his heart beats in his chest as he tries to rationalize spending a month’s rent on meals for two days.

Steve learns about the time he missed, fiddles with the S.H.I.E.L.D provided glass device until he stumbles upon a search option and pops in the dates and places on the note pad.

He’s horrified and unsurprised –a resigned disgust settling over him as he reads on and on.

They won the war with something called a nuke and proudly did it twice. They went back to war. Again. Again. And again. Good men shot for good things, countries rising doing cruel ones.

He finds a pile of files in a drawer one day, a note paper-clipped onto the top in his writing reading ‘DO NOT READ' and he opens it up to learn all the Howling Commandoes are dead. Howard died in the 1990’s, B- the Barnes’ are all gone too. Peggy is alive but her mind is going from old age –dementia they call it now –they give her a few years at best.

Most of the time he hides away at the local gym, trying to get out his frustrations and confusions to no avail –it’s possible he loses time there too. His mind can’t help but fill with photographic memories Steve wants to never lose and never think of again. He finds himself spiralling until he blinks; his knuckles cracked and bleeding and his mind blissfully quiet.

He’s not sure what he does during these blank moments but whatever he’s doing its working. Some S.H.I.E.L.D liaison calls to tell him Steve only had a few appointments left of his psychiatric evaluation. They’re glad to say there’s no appearance of permanent lasting damage.

Steve begs to differ but he’s grateful he’s not receiving electroshock or multiple lobotomies.

Steve has meetings with people who look uncomfortable and hesitate to inform him there are things he can’t say and things they advise him that he’ll have to get used to. He knows they expect him to snap when they tell him things. That dames aren’t dames anymore, queers have a community, smoking kills, a black man is president, women can wear as little as they want and all religions should be considered equal.

Would they be surprised Steve’s reality shattering moment is when he learns a soda costs as much as a load of groceries? How that’s the change that has him biting his fist at night thinking about years scraping together every last cent to survive the month –

How he wishes more than anything he could go back to that?

✪

Steve wakes and the first thing he takes in is that he’s eating.

Well, he’s in the middle of chewing something, jaw slightly unhinged, elbow on the table, head resting in his hand as he nearly spits out whatever’s sitting on his tongue in surprise.

He blinks a few times –tries to figure out where he is through his exhaustion. Steve knows before his mind clears that he’s neither at home or the gym, the sounds of sweeping and heavy armour trucks ringing around him.

He manages not to startle when he sees he’s surrounded by strangers in costumes –all more elaborate and modern than his own; each exhaustedly gorging down overstuffed rolled up bread. A man in a suit of steel, a woman in a skin tight black getup, a massive man in a red cape, two more men at the end, one older and shirtless with glasses, one blond in purple with a bow at his side.

Steve glances to the food in his hand to see he’s only taken a few bites, and slowly takes another to avoid attention. He doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how he got here, he doesn’t know who these people are and he’s not about to ask. He chews his spicy, chewy… thing (sandwich?) and tries to aim for subtle as he sits up to look around the area, nearly desperate for the smallest clue that will tell him what the hell is going on.

Everything he lays eyes on is covered in dust with the windows bombed out and debris littering the ground. Outside in the street a monster in armour lay unmoving. The strangers don’t seem to care –they look like they’ve been in a battle themselves. A few are even bleeding and based on how his face, arms and ribs feel, he thinks he might be in a similar state.

He might be in New York, there’s a certain look to the buildings but he can’t be sure. He hardly knows the city he was raised in anymore –not even the smell stayed the same.

Last he remembered he was walking into the gym, railing into a creaking punching bag as his frustration seemed to bubble over –now he’s in the aftermath of destruction with a bunch of comic book characters eating food he’s never seen nor tasted before.

Maybe he was going insane. After all; he was seeing a man in a cape and a man inside a robot eat sandwiches rolled into cylinders.

He thinks he might be breathing heavily as he chews on his fairly decent sandwich.

Steve may or may not be losing his mind and no one seems to notice and he can’t even be sure anyone else is real because he doesn’t know how he got here and the man in the red metal looks an awful like Howard Stark but what the hell was that thing laying in the street, how could he think up something like that? And God, it was only a week ago they were in the Alps-

His head droops back into his hand.

✪

The people in the restaurant were called the Avengers.

The Avengers were a group of enhanced individuals whose goal was to take down threats against the country and the planet.

The robot who looked like Howard Stark was in fact his son, Tony, who had more money than Steve thought humanly possible for one person to have. The man in the red cape was Thor, the actual god of lightning Thor. The man in the glasses was named Bruce Banner and he was also a massive green chaotic beast named Hulk. He didn’t know the name of the bow man and the redhead was only publically known as the Black Widow.

Captain America was the defacto leader of this group.

Steve Rogers learned this via public library computer.

Steve Rogers had to learn all this on a computer because 6 calendar months after that moment in the restaurant, he still hadn’t met his teammates.

Well he had met them. He just never seemed to remember it.

Anytime he walked into the massive eyesore that was Avengers tower, whether called or by free will, he was gone by the time the elevator doors closed. He’d resurface later always sitting on his bed, arms at his side facing the window out of his brownstone in Park Slope. Sometimes hours would have passed, sometimes days. When he’d been gone awhile, he’d sometimes come to with dirt and blood caked into his hair, stomach aching with hunger pains and head throbbing with the need to sleep.

The news sometimes told him what happened to him on those days, but most of the time Steve went without knowing.

He didn’t really mind.

Instead Steve spent his free time trying to cope with his new world. Sometimes he ate an early breakfast in a quiet diner, or grabbed a too sweet drink from a café before the morning rush. He bought clothes that other people his (mental) age were wearing and tried to navigate the internet. He took walks in the nearby park and around the neighbourhoods he used to frequent when it didn't hurt to do so.

He’d only managed to make two acquaintances; a pair of ladies named Bernice and Sandra that were long past retired and did laps to keep their hips in shape. Steve didn’t know if they knew who he was but they were always happy to stop and chat when he crossed their paths. When he started carrying around a travel notepad to write down the confusing words he heard every day, their suggestions for things to catch up on were the first things he jotted down.

Steve didn’t know if the him who worked with the Avengers had any friends.

He wasn’t really confident he knew what the other him did with his time their lives were so separate. The one time it did intersect it had been a jarring experience that had only resulted in an awkward encounter with the man with the bow.

He’d received a text one day from Tony Stark telling him to come in for a uniform adjustment and last he remembered was crawling into bed sometime around midnight before Steve suddenly had come to mid run in a futuristic high tech gym.

His leg gave on impact, not realizing he was in a dead sprint and he quickly tucked his body into a roll on instinct. He was catapulted back by the treadmill, machine cracking as he hit the tail of it with his shoulder. Steve’s body was tossed into a roll before coming to a stop on his back a few feet away, blinking up in shock at the ceiling as he panted heavily.

What am I doing here? He distantly thought as someone came running over calling him by his title in a panic.

“Cap! Cap –Hey man, you okay?”

After a pause Steve jerkily nodded his head trying to calm his breathing. The machine hadn’t done any damage but the sudden arrival in a place that wasn’t the room was leaving him lost and thrown. Literally.

He sat up on his elbows as his eyes bounced around the room; the equipment, mirrors, and obvious StarkTech adjustments standing out. The scruffy blond man leaning over him in mild worry was only adding to his confusion because Steve didn’t know this man’s name and Steve didn’t know why he was here.

“Rogers, you good? You’re scaring me a bit –gotta let me know you didn’t get a concussion or something. Wait, can you even get a concussion?”

With effort Steve swallowed and tried to get his senses together. “Yea- yea’ Sorry, had m’head in the clouds an' lost my footing.”

The man regarded at him with raised brows before he put his hand out to help Steve up, a smile fighting around the edges of his mouth. “Captain America can’t multitask? Ain’t that bad for the team leader?” He teased, smirk out in full.

Steve managed a weak chuckle as he let the smaller man help him off the floor.

Was he a friend? What was his name? Why can’t I remember?

“Thanks. Think I’m gonna’ call it a day.”

“Probably for the best. Machine looks beyond repair anyways -Hey, you know you should really join us tonight. You know how badly Tony’s dying to educate you on modern film.”

Steve rubbed at his neck awkwardly, shaking his head with a falsely apologetic smile. “Thanks but not tonight.”

The man waved Steve away with a tsked tongue, his eyes rolling before Steve was finished speaking. “Sure, you always say that. We’ll get you one of these days Cap. Ay, just so you know –the Brooklyn accent? Makes you ten times cooler. Can’t believe it took a fall on a treadmill to get that to come out.”

Steve blinked stupidly before he forced another wooden laugh, “Right. I’ll –uh, see you.”

He turned to leave, realizing 10 steps in that there wasn’t a door in sight. His back straightened, and trying his best to ignore the blond man’s amused (and worried) expression, Steve headed back the other way, ears ringing as he walked through the first set of doors he saw.

By the time the change room tiles come into view he’s leaning against the wall with his vision rapidly darkening.

✪

One Tuesday Steve wakes up with a pencil and his notepad held weakly in his hands, a dozen or so boxes surrounding his bed half filled with items. He looks down and the words scrawled in his own quick hand make his heart stop.

He knows he should be concerned he’s directly talking to himself and he knows he should be worried that he’s making decisions when he’s blacked out. Steve knows he’s going insane because when he came to covered in bruises with four days gone he didn’t bat an eye but moving away from Brooklyn disturbs him a thousand times more than that had. And he should be worried about all that. He knows.

But his overwhelming thought while his blood pumps in his ears is absolutely none of those things.

It’s; I wonder who he is.

Steve would look up his problem on the internet if he didn’t think SHIELD was watching his every move. It’s why he buys paperback books and uses public libraries.

(He likes to believe it’s why he doesn’t let himself break down in his too soft bed shattering apart at the seams like he aches to weekly.)

They probably already knew he searched ‘Captain America’ and ‘Avengers’ after nearly every mission on his phone; probably thought he was an ego maniac with the amount of hours Steve spent looking at footage of himself. Rewinding videos of some destroyed street turned battlefield, watching himself call out commands that he had no memory of and talking to the public with a smile and voice a team had trained into him in 1943.

God knows what they would think if he started looking up ‘losing days to memory loss’ and ‘blacking out before battles’. He doesn’t even take the chance searching it, that query not being nearly as easy to write off as searching video footage of himself and his teammates.

He lets the other him move to D.C without hassle and says his goodbyes to Sandra and Bernice. Steve leaves New York with all Avenger’s numbers in his phone and by process of elimination he finally learns the Black Widow ( Nat ) and Hawkeye’s ( CLINT :) ) names.

Steve loses more time in D.C. then he did in New York. They want him at the Triskilion nearly every day and the missions are almost weekly, lasting for two or three days at a time. He gives up his workouts to the other him when Steve realizes he’s working out twice a day –everyday –and after a few days his muscles stop burning with every twitch and breath.

He spends his nights walking a city he can’t compare to anything else and sketching out places that don’t make his heart bleed. Sometimes he’ll find an addition on his list by the other him and looks it up. Steve finds a bodega that’s cramped enough to remind him of Brooklyn but doesn't hurt to wander in and indulges in random off brand snacks that catch his eye. He does his best to catch up on history and events and tries his hardest to keep up with the world.

More notes show up over time and Steve can’t help leaving some of his own. The first is the only one he burns in the sink to ash. The rest are just as incriminating but without knowing what they’re really about they end up appearing closer to sad daily reminders on the pages of an aging man’s notebook than anything worrisome.

BLONDE NEIGHBOUR SHIELD AGENT Steve gets a week after moving in.

Peggy is doing well. She has bad days. He leaves on the nightstand after his second visit to the nursing home.

They continue like this for months.

Steve trusts them. The notes –the other him.

The advice is usually sound and true –his ‘nurse’ neighbor was more often than not in the halls constantly running into him. Sugar appears in the cabinets. Steve’s ankle was definitely broken that time.

Nothing he’s seen has made him feel the slightest amount of worry and if Steve was being honest with himself; he likes someone having his back again. Even if it is only himself.

It’s a small comfort to not have to worry about USO training and civilian body shields –about doing the right things and the wrong things. Failing.

He knows he’s lonely.

He knows he’s gone insane and lost control of his own life.

Steve calls him Cap.

✪

Besides the notes Steve lives his life nice and separately from Cap for a good 8 months two calendar years or so.

Cap went on missions for SHIELD, went running, met people and smiled for the camera. Cap did his dishes, shaved his face, made the bed with military neat corners and wore khaki and briefs Steve hated. Cap didn’t listen to Steve’s messages and never brought work stuff home.

He rode a motorcycle, but didn’t wear his helmet (if the one gathering dust in the closet was anything to go by). Cap stopped by the grocery store near work and bought food when they ran low. He didn’t cross things off the list, always left things for Steve to search up; he put a X beside the things he’d tried and liked –usually food, sometimes music.

On the odd occasion he might smell like a pack of Camels, a lingering taste of tobacco staining their shared mouth.

Steve went on walks, mostly late at night to avoid crowds. He hardly shaved his face and never managed to get the sheet corners to stay on the mattress. Steve drew the old New York skyline and apartment he ached for when he wished for the ability to drink himself into a coma. Steve ignored texts from Avengers and someone named Sam and learned how to work the fancy tablet Cap brought home to play movies from his lap.

Steve went to the 24 hour bodega a few blocks away and bought food he’d never had before and wanted to try. He took the subway when he wanted to go places and, if he needed to, the occasional cab (the fare made him feel sick but then again so did the crowds).

He wore XXXL hoodies and too large plain T-shirts with loose frayed pants and jeans that made him feel small. Steve left doodles beside the things he liked on the list –usually food, sometimes movies.

Sometimes Steve stood in the liquor aisle and considered filling his cart to the brim –testing out the serum against this century’s alcohol.

Steve was getting by –he wasn’t thriving or anthing, he wouldn’t even say he was happy or content, but…

He was getting by.

✪

Then Steve came home to his SHIELD agent neighbour warning him about music and the next time he blinked –

✪

–Oh God, I don’t understand, what the fuck is going–is that ‘Bucky?’ how, how is he –‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ oh God oh god –

A man with metal wings soared down, launching Bucky (Bucky, his Bucky) off to the side with a powerful kick. Steve was barely able to grasp what the fuck was going on before he was dodging grenade launchers and reeling at the sight of Bucky. His Bucky, in 2014. In 2014 with a metal arm.

Before his mind could put together what he’s seen,

(It’s what he wished for everyday. It’s what will haunt him in this hell. It’s a horrible truth and an ugly lie. It’s all his dreams, it’s his worst nightmare. It’s a delusion, it’s a fantasy, its madness and real, god its real isn’t it, it’s real and Bucky is-)

Steve’s rounded up and escorted into a van with Nat and the man with wings.

He’s dazed as he takes in the bleeding Avenger (Avengers?) across from him, the winged man saying God only knows what. Steve can’t really follow along –he might be talking too; he’s lost in 1936, 2014 and 1945 all at once while his life is thrown another unimaginable horror. A gift. A curse.

Steve’s locked in metal cuffs and Bucky is out there alive, trying to kill him, without a clue as to who either of them are.

And Steve doesn’t know where to even begin to help him.

The guard is taking off her helmet, and Maria –the very woman he’d met only 5 hours after he’d watched Bucky fall. The woman who’d told him he was alone 70 years in the future –she’s there, asking who the winged man is.

As Maria unlocks his cuffs, Steve bows his head, screams into the far corners of his brain that he can’t lose Bucky again, he can’t lose him he can’t he can’t fail again he won’t survive it and.

He fades away.

✪

Maybe Cap heard him because the next thing he knows he’s in pain, metal falling around him as blood oozes out of his gut. Whatever the hell he’s on lurches to the side and he can hardly balance himself through the burning ache in his stomach and havoc playing out around him.

He hears an animalistic cry of panic and when he heaves himself to look over the banister; Bucky is there alive and trapped.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to jump down, gunfire and bombs going off at every angle as he drags himself towards Bucky, one mission on his mind.

Not this time.

Something pings in the back of his head that Bucky doesn’t know him, is going to hurt him. The empty look on Bucky’s face and confusion screaming in his eyes don’t stop Steve’s movements for a second –he won’t fucking lose him again. Bucky could hate him for all he cared and Steve would still walk through hell to help him.

Bucky writhes, his oily long hair stuck to his face as he looks furiously at the blond. Steve can’t be bothered to care as he lifts the metal off of him. His guts feel like they’re tearing to shreds but he powers through, Bucky moving lose and free like a trapped animal, grunting and panting.

It turns out Bucky may in fact hate him when the friend from childhood Steve would die for throws the first punch.

Bucky howls with hate and anger as Steve tries to remind him again, again and again. He drops the shield and for the first time since the train he holds off from fading away. He doesn’t want Cap to win this one; this is his fight to happily lose. He won’t get Bucky’s blood on his hands not even for his own life. He couldn’t live with himself.

Steve falls this time.

✪

Steve wakes up at night alone in the hospital wondering what happened to Bucky. What happened to him? Both of him. He can’t risk leaving any notes for Cap to ask, not with the nurses coming in every few minutes to poke and prod at Steve in awe.

Instead he catches up on news until the morning, watching the helicarriers turn on each other –knowing he was a passenger in one of them but not knowing why until they mention Hydra and he cracks a tooth gritting his teeth.

Sam and Nat stop by in the morning; he pretends the pain medication affects him more than it does and feigns semi consciousness while they discuss in low tones to each other about what Bucky did to him. Steve doesn’t care. He tells himself over and over while he’s laying there useless and wasting time to find Bucky find Bucky bring Bucky home help Bucky.

Steve spends weeks at a time blacked out while Cap pours over files and Hydra bases searching for the man Steve failed. He loses two months straight at one point but can’t complain even though he sleeps for 4 full days afterwards; there’s a CCTV photo of Bucky leaving a train station sitting on his nightstand because of it. All of Cap’s contacts get emergency ringtones and they instantly send Steve away when anyone calls or texts.

Steve’s willing to do anything to help, even if that's stepping back and doing nothing.

He could try and find Bucky himself but he’s not the one with the SHIELD training. Steve’s been stumbling his way through the 21^st century for the past nine months. What more could he offer than Cap would?

Steve does read whatever Cap leaves out though. He’s sick for hours when he finds Zola’s files but pushes himself to keep going. If Cap ever found –When Cap found Bucky, Steve wanted to be prepared for who came home. He’d be there if it was the Winter Solider, he’d be there if it was the blank faced Bucky from the war –he’d be there any damn way he could, anyway Bucky would let him.

So Steve read on days he was awake. He read everything he could while he waited; the leaked SHIELD files and maps, the countless Hydra notes –he read them day after day after day.

It works out somehow; all Steve knows is on a windy day in late October he gets a call with the emergency tone and next he's waking up in a different city, God only knows how long later exhausted and hungry. He’s not at home, yet he’s sitting upright on a plush bed, one even more disgustingly soft than the last. Curiously he looks around the dark blue and cream room, taking in the telltale signs of advanced technology.

He looks to the notepad in his hand, Cap’s writing glaring up at him.

For the first time since 1944 Steve lets himself cry as he burns the note in the sink.

Living with Bucky again is… It’s everything Steve could have wanted –and it’s absolutely something he’s not equipped to deal with.

Especially now that Cap exists.

The first day is hard. The brown of Bucky’s hair is only a few shades off, but the distinct grey tinged with blue of his eyes and the heavy weight of his silence are exactly the same. Steve has to hide in the washroom to calm his breathing when Bucky’s spot on the couch becomes too overwhelmingly real.

Steve tries his best with Bucky; he doesn’t overload him with memories, tries his best not to coddle him. Steve doesn’t take it to heart when Bucky seems cold and distant. He thinks he’s doing a decent job of it. Bucky always responds in that deep gruff tenor of his, sometimes he’ll spew a long forgotten moment –Did Mrs. Cartel wear orange shoes?  –looking to Steve for confirmation or understanding, Steve’s not always sure.

The first time he rambles into a memory Steve wants him to never stop because that’s Bucky, that’s Bucky’s voice it’s gravely and scratchy; sometimes a hint of Brooklyn, sometimes a touch of Russian, but its Bucky through and through.

He’s not sure how much of their relationship Bucky remembers –if you want to call what they had a relationship. He hadn’t given it much thought these last ten months two years in this century, the memories too painful to dissect and to reimagine going differently.

It would have probably been more if they’d been in this time –maybe ended up like Sandra and Bernice; two old men coming together after a lifetime with others.  What Steve had was reality. Reality meant Bucky had dated most of the women who crossed his path. It meant a thin veil of platonic comfort that never strayed towards sexual. It meant no declarations were ever made.

Reality didn’t explain the push together beds in June though. The intimate touches when they passed, a hand through his hair during a coughing fit. The years they spent living together, eating together, supporting each other. Home early from a night out with the prettiest girl in town. All the lazy Sundays lounging on the threadbare couch drawing and hours pressed thigh to thigh in the cold Europe landscape waiting.

Steve thought Bucky may have loved him back then. Steve certainly did, would have been happy with what they had for the rest of his (short) life, even if Bucky went steady with every dame he saw.

‘Till the end of the line’ they had instead. And for Steve that had always been good enough.

They’ll sit on the couch together inches apart and Steve will bite his tongue to stop from asking if he remember us. A small part of him thinks Bucky remembers fine –just doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t want to hurt Steve’s feelings.

Maybe he never felt the same way and Steve was delusional long before the train.

They don’t sleep in the same bed, not like before. There was no need for it now and even if Steve dreamed about having that again under the cover of darkness when the loneliness grew too much –he didn’t expect anything. Things were different in any case. Bucky wasn’t the same man from the war and neither was Steve.

Steve was two men now.

What Steve had now was an aching distance. Look but don’t touch. Just like the paintings in the museum he’s too tempted to get close and feel the texture of something so precious and old. Bucky’s worn and scarred, he doesn’t look like the man that pried him from grime filled alleys and he looked exactly the same in all the ways that made up James Buchanan Barnes.

This new Bucky is up before Steve every day. It’s not a hard feat; Steve’s always been a late riser, military service excluded. He’s not really sure when Bucky wakes up, or how much sleep his friend gets these days. The circles under his eyes faded within a few weeks but since Steve isn't awake most mornings he isn't to be able to check for himself. Cap has control about three to four days a week, Steve only gaining consciousness sometime around 5:30pm.

Cap never mentions anything (not that Steve really thinks he would) so he tries not to worry. He doesn’t bother telling Cap to be friendly to Bucky or not give anything away; they already spent something like three weeks together and Bucky had yet to bring anything up, so Steve figured everything between them had gone smoothly.

New Bucky reads a surprising amount of thrillers and horror and switches with surprising ease between the kindle and paperbacks. Not a far jump from the science-fiction he used to favour. It’s a familiar sight to see him engrossed in a book on a couch, though he holds himself differently than before; instead of sprawled out where his limps could fit, he now rarely made himself comfortable. Reading for hours as still as a mannequin, socked feet planted on the hardwood, back painfully straight as he turned the pages with robotic precision.

New Bucky stays on their floor. He doesn’t join Steve on walks or grocery trips. He doesn’t start conversations –unless random blunt statements and asking Steve to order more kitchenware for him to take apart counted.

He eats what Steve eats, and if Steve doesn’t conjure up something or suggest a meal, he’ll feed himself a bowl of cereal with water just like its 1937.

This new Bucky tinkers and reads his books in silence, and Steve can’t help but orbit around him, double checking he’s actually alive, breathing, and here.

Steve hasn’t a clue what happens on Cap days.

Chapter Text

ACT II: Prop Replica.

“Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.”

“Stevie.”

Steve wishes he knew what Cap and Bucky got up to when he stumbles into a bloody punching bag with Bucky calling his name.

He blinks away the confusion and panic, his arms resting against the bag as he looks around the room –the gym in Stark Tower, the one he's been avoiding the last two months –he’s panting heavily, drenched in sweat. Nat is openly watching them as she walks over to Clint across the room. The man on the mat is trying not to overtly stare as he gestures minutely with his hands to the red-head, eyes drifting between her, the ground, and the super-soldiers.

Trying his best to ignore the two curious Avengers in the room, Steve takes in his sore and bloody knuckles, cursing under his breath when he sees the stain left on the nearly concrete bag. Perfect time for Cap to fuck off and saddle him with this Steve thinks, shaking his head harshly as sweat drips into his eyes.

“Wha’s up Buck?” Steve pants out, pressing his wrist to his forehead as his head pulses with the beginnings of a headache, a pressure building behind his forehead that doesn’t seem to want to tip over into the realm of pain.

“You were bleeding. You didn’t notice,” He presses a towel into Steve’s free hand. “You didn’t hear me either.” He says quietly, the gentle accusation ringing as concern in Steve ears.

Steve throws the towel around his neck and grabs Bucky’s forearm gently, the slightly warped metal plates smooth against his hand before he pulls away. “’m alright. Got carried away.” He looked around quickly for the exit, noticing Clint still facing their way. ”You, uh –you done here? Wanna’ head back?”

“I’m finished for today.” Bucky says amicably, watching as Steve begins to unravel the stained fabric from his hands. His fingers cramped and ached as he freely extended them, the cracked skin splitting open with a sharp sting that had Steve exhaling in restrained pain.

“Alright, let me toss these away then we’ll get going.” Steve found a garbage for his wraps and hurried back over to Bucky, steadily ignoring the Avengers sitting on the floor as he passed them. “Hit the showers then we’ll go?”

“You usually shower in the apartment.” Bucky said plainly, but Steve caught the confusion that had briefly flashed over his usually unreadable face.

The blond tensed, shrugging his shoulders woodenly as he tried to respond loftily, his voice only cracking a little on the first word. “Apartment it is then.”

Steve led them towards the door that he knew from his last appearance in the gym wasn’t the way to the lockers. He could only hope it was the exit seeing as he’d never walked in or out of the room before. Living in the tower didn’t necessarily mean he’d explored it, and in fact Steve spent all of his time outside the apartment wandering Midtown and hoping to God he didn’t run into one of Cap’s co-workers on his way in and out.

“Uh– See you guys?” Clint’s voice called as they neared the frosted glass doors.

Steve tried to paste a ‘normal’ smile on his face, doing his best to imitate the ones Cap gave to the press and fans. “Yeah, we’ll see ya’ later.”

He fisted his hand at his side, resisting the urge to give a parting wave before he fled for the exit, Bucky following behind him after a brief hesitation.

It’s silent as they board the elevator, only the hum of the rising car between them. Steve crossed his arms, picking at his lip with one hand as he stared down at the metal floor.

Where was Cap and why was Steve here? Was it because of Bucky? Because of the gym? That had been the second time he’d woken up there but in the beginning he did seem to lose time boxing (as much as he wanted to deny it.) God, why was Bucky even down there? How often did Cap and him work out together –or was this a new thing? Did Steve even want to know?

In an anxious daze Steve exited the elevator, pressing his palm against the panel beside their front door. He toes off his running shoes, impatiently kicking them off to the side and rushing into the apartment leaving Bucky behind in the doorway.

Steve tries to aim for normal. “I’m gonna shower.”

Just because he’s been thrown through a loop doesn’t mean Bucky is on to him –Cap –them, and if he noticed anything… well, it’s better to just blow past it right? Pretend it never happened and move on like the put together sane adults they were.

The shower, as hot and long as it is, doesn’t exactly put Steve’s anxieties to rest. He is more prepared to deal with those anxieties when he returns to the living room though, tablet in hand as he sinks into the couch beside Bucky as the man hunches over the coffee table.

There’s an older looking square television with its back pried off, a wrench three inches deep into the circuitry as Bucky twists and pulls. Steve subtly checks that the TV isn’t connected to the extension cord that’s taken permanent residence across their living room.

Steve breathes easier when after an hour or so goes by Bucky doesn’t ask him about the gym. He catches up on some history, wandering down rabbit hole after rabbit hole as he tended to do. He can’t help but mention something interesting to Bucky when he comes across it –whether Bucky already knows everything Steve tells him, Steve has no clue.

It’s nice to pretend he’s helping him on some level though. Maybe.

Unlikely.

They get to dinner without much fanfare; Steve orders from a place that Bucky doesn’t say he likes but always raises his eyebrows for. A SI assistant drops everything off at their door and Steve ravenously unpacks everything on the living room coffee table, Bucky grabbing napkins and drinks from the kitchen.

They dig in, quiet music playing from the stereo as they eat in relative silence. Steve’s on his second serving of noodles when Bucky makes a comment that Steve really couldn’t have seen coming.

“Barton wanted us to watch a movie called ‘Terminator’.”

“Uh-“ Steve’s noodles, just an inch from their destination, slide off his chopsticks as he flounders. “Um. Yeah, I’ve seen a few. There’s somethin’ like three or four? Maybe five now.” He tries to remember for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind watching them again. I think JARVIS can set that up if you wanted to watch one now?”

Steve slurps up his mouthful and Bucky casually drops a bomb into the conversation.

“Barton wanted us to watch it with the others. They have a movie thing you don’t go to.” He says it casually, like the comment doesn’t close up Steve’s throat and have his heart beating over time. He turns in his seat to face the blond head on, blinking languidly as Steve attempts to finish his bite and work his eyes back into relatively normal size.

“You don’t want to go.” Bucky states when Steve can’t seem to say anything for himself, winding his noodles around the bamboo sticks with extreme concentration.

Absolutely not.

“That’s not –no,” Steve’s hands fall to his lap, the carton no doubt leaking oil and spice onto his lap. He can’t lie on his best day to a stranger, never mind trying against a trained operative and childhood friend.

The best Steve can do is tell Bucky half truths and hope his friend reads between the lines, makes his own assumptions and shows some mercy.

“I –uh, I’ll go. I’m just… I didn’t expect you’d want to do something like that,” Steve smiles as best as he can and averts his eyes to his plate, picking randomly at his food. “I want them to get to know you. So. Yeah. If –if you want to, I’ll go.”

From the corner of his eye Steve can see Bucky's still watching him, deciphering Steve’s words over in his head.  

Steve absently thinks as he awaits his judgment that as different as Bucky is, he’s exactly the same man just dialed down to a muted 1. It’s the exact same tactic he’d used since 1928 and Steve had fallen for it nearly 90 years later.

How many times had Bucky casually brought up a trip to the store only for it to end with the brunette standing over him, hands on his hips waiting for Steve to finally crack and tell him yeah okay a guy kicked the shit outta me Buck but what did you want me to do just watch Candace get mauled by that creep?

He’s really the same man at heart, which is why Steve shouldn’t have been surprised when Bucky finally spoke.

“I want to.”

Steve bobs his head, feeling ill as he smiles weakly at the udon in his lap.

“Great.”

Bucky throws their empty cartons in the recycling while Steve puts the few leftovers in the fridge, knowing either him, Bucky or Cap will finish them up for lunch tomorrow, possibly in the night as a snack as all of them tended to keep strange hours.

Bucky appears in Steve’s eye line just as Steve closes the fridge, his head tilted slightly to the side as blue eyes met grey.

“What?” Steve asks, shaking his head in confusion.

“Ready?”

Steve is blank faced for a second before comprehension dawns on him.

“That’s tonight?” His voice doesn’t crack. It doesn’t.

Bucky jerks his head not wasting any time and smoothly turning and heading to the door, Steve left stumbling behind after him. He absolutely doesn’t want to go –doesn’t see the need too –but Bucky wants him there and that’s really that. Steve’s sort of incapable of saying or doing otherwise at this point in his life.

Before Steve can understand what he’s about to walk into, shoes are quickly slipped on and in a blink they’re standing outside the elevators. Steve moves to press the call button when he has his third Oh Shit moment of the day, his hand hovering mid air.

“What is it?” Bucky's low voiced asked.

“I forgot to change.” Steve murmured, dragging a hand over his loose worn in t-shirt and washed out grey-black sweatpants –now stained with fresh soya sauce and oil.

Steve had two sections of clothes. Two sections in his wardrobe, two on his shoe rack (Steve only owned one pair of ‘Adidocks’ he found for 15 dollars that never seemed to make it onto the rack with the others), and two sections in his underwear and sock drawers. Everything was subtly divided into his things and Cap’s things. Right now Steve wasn’t wearing a single thing of Cap’s.

Right now Steve didn’t think he looked like Captain America at all.

Bucky dragged his eyes over Steve, stepping back to get a full view. The blond turned to him fully, hoping his appearance would convince him to head back to the apartment.

“You look fine.” He concluded instead.

“Buck, I’m basically in sleepwear.”

“I wear pants like that all the time.” He said placating, pressing the call button for them while Steve remained frozen on the spot. “Barton’s been wearing the same pair of pants every time I’ve seen him. You look fine Stevie.” His smile was vague but he was clearly amused with Steve’s fussing.

The familiarity of the conversation was not lost on Steve but he’s left wondering if Bucky recognizes it though; if he remembers how many times he fixed Steve’s tie at the door before another date he roped together. How many times he tucked a tag back into his collar before a day at work. How many times he checked him over before a meeting with Philips or Peggy.

Lost in his thoughts, Steve doesn’t manage to argue before the elevator doors slide open, and he’s stiffly walking into the car with Bucky a step behind him.

Another problem arises when Steve tries not to stare confusedly at the numbered panel on the wall.

“Did Clint say where they would be?”

“’The common room beside the kitchen, not the penthouse one.’” Bucky recited, watching him in the reflection of the mirrored walls.

After a few seconds of staring and Bucky's brows sinking lower and lower on his face, Steve lets out an authentically embarrassed but false laugh.

“I uh– don’t remember where the kitchen is exactly. I’m fine –I just haven’t been to one of these before.” Steve rushes to add when Bucky looks even more concerned. “I’m getting all worked up over nothing. Jarvis, could you take us to the –uh, to where the Avengers are?”

“Right away Captain Rogers.” The AI said, sounding amused even to Steve’s ears.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, staring down at his shoes and worrying his lip between his teeth.

It was quiet for only a few seconds before Bucky broke the silence, his curiosity wrapped in impassiveness.

“You’ve never eaten lunch with your team?”

“Umm-” Steve hummed until the doors slid open, mumbling quickly as he exited. “-mmmm, no. Not recently.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Steve had lunch –okay a meal –with them about 10 months ago. Whether Cap had eaten with them in the two years since then, Steve couldn’t say.

He shuffled out and headed to the sounds of boisterous voices through the entryway, Bucky following behind him. Steve desperately wanted to turn back now but resigned himself to sticking around for Bucky's benefit. Steve still found himself wishing he’d woken up in his bedroom, that he’d slept through the surprise awakening in the gym and Cap had been the one to have to deal with the group of chatting heroes that came into view.

Tony’s the first to spot them, looking infinitely more rested but far older than he had in the diner, lounging back in a chair with a half empty whiskey glass in his hand. He nearly bolts upright when he gets sight of the two soldiers, his face exaggeratedly gobsmacked.

“Would you look at that! Looks like the Golden Girls actually decided to turn up,” He says to the others; Dr. Banner and Clint’s head turning around on the couch in surprise. He continues dramatically, pouting like a child. “Guess we weren’t cool enough for Capsicle without his other freezer-burn buddy around. I’m hurt Cap –downright wounded. I thought we had something special.”

“Tony. Be nice.” A woman’s voice says from somewhere near Clint.

Dr. Banner raises a timid hand, quietly calling out a hello and sipping his steaming mug. The man is smaller in person with an air of tiredness his few paparazzi shots don’t seem to show.

Clint raises his eyebrows high, pointing a finger-gun in Bucky's direction. “Barnes. Wow. Seriously, I’m impressed. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see Cap at one of these.”

Steve smiles tightly when all eyes turn on him and he tries to relax as he walks into the lion’s den. He nearly lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees the seating arrangement; Clint lounging on the L-shaped portion of the couch, Nat by him on the floor surrounded by pillows, Dr. Banner sitting in the middle section. The only two spots left that remained were the love seat and the single spot beside the Doctor.

Not knowing if Bucky would be comfortable in such a small space with Steve and knowing the man would probably want to keep his distance from a virtual stranger, Steve was left to stiffly place himself beside Dr. Banner.

Never mind the fact Dr. Banner was a stranger to Steve as well.

“It was put to a vote old sports that the highly superior Terminator Dos would probably be a better place to start you off with if Barton promised you Schwarzenegger. Sparrow-guy forgot the whole robot programmed to kill aspect of that first masterpiece.”

The three Avengers stumble onto the topic of celebrity political careers while Steve practically leans over the couch arm to put more space between him and Dr. Banner. He clenches his hands to stop himself from twitching too much. Captain America didn’t have nervous habits, at least that much he knew.

Beginning to work himself into a panic Steve goes over every interview he’s ever seen Cap give and tries futilely to remember his USO dictation classes. The memories oddly enough don’t seem to want to spring forth. He knows he took the damn classes, a week's worth of dictation, publicity prepping and etiquette training before Christ the four days of attempted dance lessons. The dance lessons come to just fine, but the woman he’d spent that week erasing his accent with was just gone from his memory –her and nearly everything she’d taught him.

By the time Tony calls out, Steve’s wondering what else he’s forgotten with his perfect recall memory.

“Apocalypse Now? Freedom Flag? You ready to get educated on some cinema?”

Steve’s uncomfortable the entire movie.

15 minutes in he starts to get paranoid about his arm placement and every 10 minutes for the rest of the viewing he ends up moving it into a new position. Then he’s suddenly aware of how much he’s slouching into the couch and straightens his back only to realize that no one sits ramrod straight to watch a movie, not even picture perfect Captain America.

His spine ends up in a tense semi-bent position that feels neither natural nor comfortable.

He’s convinced himself Bucky's watching him the entire time. Maybe the Black Widow too. He doesn’t want to get caught looking so he’s left staring a little too wide at the screen in an effort to watch both of them out the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t even bother trying to join in on the random spurts of conversation he’s so on edge.

At long last the credits start to roll and Steve wonders how long they’re going to have to linger around until it’s socially acceptable to leave. 10 minutes would be fine right? God, they don’t plan to watch another do they? Steve can’t keep sitting like this, his neck is starting to lock up and he’s –well, he’s starting to get concerned about his leg placement.

Surely Cap didn’t sit with his legs so close to each other –right? Did he cross them?

“Glad you came by Cap.” Dr. Banner murmurs, pulling Steve away from his spiralling.

Steve does his best impression of a smile and hums in the general direction of Dr. Banner’s knees –he can really only think about the open embrace of his own apartment, his quiet Avenger free home that’s waiting for him a dozen or so floors down.

“I don’t know how you managed to get out of these for so long.” The man adds before letting out a shy laugh and leaning in conspiratorially, “I only held out for 2 months before Tony nagged me to insanity.”

Steve wants to laugh; he doesn’t know how Cap managed it either. With nothing to say he makes the approximation of an amused sound and nods his head. Should he have joked back? Was that something Cap did? Probably.

Tony's voice cuts across the room, “So, T-1000. What’d you think of the movie? You sad about your twin getting dusted?”

Bucky looks off to the distance thinking it over before nodding his head slightly.

“It was good.” He says with a small shrug, Tony’s face turning pleasantly surprised.

Clint makes a quick fist pump at his side. “Yeah? Cool.” He turns his enthusiastic eyes onto Steve. “What about you Cap? You like it?”

Well Steve can’t exactly say he’s seen it before and thinks it’s decent because that point has long since passed (it’s no Iron Giant or Nausicaä but Steve has an animation bias) –and he can’t say he enjoyed it because he doesn’t know what Cap would think. Would he be fine with the violence? Would he think the plot childish? Did it really matter? Could Steve say anything at all when they might ask Cap about it whenever they see him next?

His eyes can’t seem to look directly at either Clint, Bucky or the other Avengers so he settles on trying to bob his head enthusiastically enough to not warrant any more questioning and aims for a pleased smile. He’s blinking a little too fast, and his face feels tight as he pushes his palms into his thighs, his body locking with the force. Steve thinks he’s about 10 seconds away from Cap slamming full speed into his mind and holy hell, right now? Really wrong fucking time–

Bucky stands up in a smooth fluid motion, his abrupt movement drawing the rooms’ attention.

“It’s late.” He states plainly to the five pairs of confused eyes.

Steve grasps at the opening like a lifeline as he barely hesitates to get up and march over to Bucky's side. Thank God for Bucky's bluntness Steve thinks, turning to face the Avengers to say their goodbyes.

“Okay…?” Tony draws out the word as his gaze flickers between the two soldiers, dark eyebrows rising on his face. “Come back soon grandpas –get out of that apartment a little bit. You’ll go…” His fingers dance and gesture around the two of them. “…Loopy.”

“Yeah –don’t be a pair of strangers.” Clint adds, and the other two silent Avengers nod their heads in agreement. “We still got 3 more of these babies to show you.”

Right. Because if Steve comes to one of these things, why wouldn’t he go to more of these things? Bucky likes them (probably) and Steve apparently didn’t make the night completely unbearable with his possibly incredibly strange behaviour (maybe). So there really isn’t much of an excuse for Bucky and Steve not to show up and watch 3 more movies based on the one he just said he liked. Right.

So he would do this again if he had to, it wasn’t awful –sure, it was terrible but it wasn't, you know, awful.  He’d gotten through this fairly okay, he hadn’t said anything strange... Because he hadn’t said anything at all had he? God. That was strange wasn’t it? They’d been here for two hours and the only thing Steve had done was bounce his head and grunt like an animal.

He should say something.

“Uh –Night.”

Nope probably should’ve kept quiet. Captain America sure as shit didn’t stutter out his goodbyes but Steve Roger’s was almost always guaranteed to -which he should’ve goddamn remembered.

Steve jerked his hand into a quick wave, which just made him feel worse, and forcing his legs to move, Steve turned away from the group of Avenger’s ignoring the off tone in their goodbyes.

He’s trying his best to calm his breathing but Steve’s not succeeding too well. Bucky presses the button to their floor as the blond mechanically marches into the corner of the car trying to relax his body; his nails dig deep into his palms breathing in time to the sharp stings in his hands.

It’s over. Steve's away and done and no one accused him of being a fake, no one demanded he prove himself. No one hauled him off to a ‘place upstate’. He’s still here. It all went fine.

God Steve never wants to do that again –he just –he wants to lay face down in his bed and never leave it again.

Unfortunately Bucky doesn’t give Steve the opportunity to crawl into his sheets and pass out; instead turning on him the very moment the apartment door closes. Bucky stands close by, barely giving Steve space to remove his shoes as he stares the larger man down.

“You didn’t talk to them.” He starts, his head tilting in the way that means he’s working something over –so strange to see it without the accompanying mumble. Without the hums and grunts he’d make as he got ever closer to figuring what he needed to out. He was always so quiet now.

“I did.” Steve lies, only to be met with another patented Barnes look. An eye roll this time –even equipped with a twist of the lips and scrunched up nose. Any other time Steve might have been smiling.

He’s really not now.

“You didn’t. You made noises.” He said pointedly, “Banner noticed. Barton and Natalia as well. Even Stark by the end.”

Steve shakes his head, scrambling to find a half-truth he can give Bucky so he’s not called out on a lie for a second time. “I just –haven’t really spent any time with them. Nervous or something –you know how it is Buck. I’m not used to just watchin’ a movie with them, it threw me is all.”

Bucky doesn’t exactly look like he believes Steve as he stares him down but seems mollified by his answer regardless. “You should spend time with your teammates –you should know who’s watching your back.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. They aren’t his teammates. They’re Cap’s teammates. Even if Cap got to know them; they wouldn’t get to know Steve. Steve couldn’t let them, not when it would be a lie.

“Everyone calls you ‘Cap’.” Bucky adds, powering through Steve’s flinch. “You hated that name.”

“I know.” Steve mutters to the ground. He’d noticed that too. Everywhere else in the building they just called him Captain Rogers but he’d never given any thought as to what the others might call Cap, the ones who worked with him nearly daily and weekly. He remembers Barton calling him ‘Cap’ that day in the gym months ago but back then he hadn’t thought anything of it.

He says nothing because what can he say? He did hate the nickname –at least he had during the war. Everyone who called him that was either a star struck private or overeager ladder climber trying to get in his good graces. The Commandos threw it around occasionally, but only when Steve had to play rank, and always playfully.

Bucky doesn’t seem to have anything else to add as the silence grows from uncomfortable into tense. They standoff until Bucky realizes Steve’s not going to add anything else either and he steps back slowly with a quiet sigh.

“I’m going to bed.” Bucky finally murmurs.

Steve nods pathetically and manages a real smile, grateful Bucky isn’t going to push further. “Okay. Night Buck.”

Bucky glances him over one last time, his eyes squinting fractionally before he turns away with a small hum.

“Goodnight Steve.”

Unfortunately for Steve, nothing goes back to being what it was before the gym.

Nearly a month goes by and Steve is shocked awake to find himself in the gym three more times; Bucky always standing by his side, eyes concerned and searching. There’s also two more Thursday movie nights Steve ends up sitting stiffly through –though Bucky doesn’t question Steve’s perceived shyness anymore, he does seem to be actively forcing the blond into spending as much time with the Avengers as he can even if Steve's as silent as a ghost the entire time.

It’s annoying is what it is and Steve is pulling at his hair left wondering if Cap is concerned about this at all –his notes irritatingly telling Steve nothing he didn’t already get before.

Steve can’t exactly complain without feeling guilty about it though; Bucky feels comfortable enough to leave the apartment more often and that’s progress Steve can’t find fault in. He’s woken up late in the afternoon on Cap days only to find the apartment empty, Bucky wandering in an hour or two later.  Steve can only smile; both happy for his friend and too afraid to ask where he’s gone in case Bucky has already said.

One positive was definitely Bucky starting to join Steve on his walks. Steve doesn’t even mind it’s only been the night ones so far. He can tell Bucky’s still nervous being out in the open but the night crowds aren’t too overwhelming; no one even recognizes them with Bucky’s glove covered hand and Steve’s oversized hoodies and frayed jeans.

So, Steve’s been a little on edge recently –but all in all he can handle it. A few hours of stress induced paralysis with some superheroes and spies once a week was fine. Cap could tidy up the messes Steve inevitably left behind and he could be the one to deal with the mess after they moved out. Bucky would be cleared eventually and then Steve could get back to his old life just with a few more hours missing –Cap could have Thursdays fully, Steve absolutely didn’t want them anymore.

That was all fine.

What wasn’t fine was the fact that Sam was here. And that. That was decidedly not fine for a multitude of reasons.

Sam was here and Bucky –Bucky was less than 30 feet away in the living room dismantling a desk fan none the wiser to Steve’s shocked expression.

Steve is not Captain America. Bucky doesn’t know that.

Captain America is not Steve. Sam doesn’t know that.

Sam is here.

Sam is here at his door smiling wide at Steve’s shocked face.

Sam is here and has spent a decent amount of time with Captain America and really hasn’t met Steve. And Bucky is here and has spent a decent amount time with Steve and maybe Captain America.

And both are here unaware of the other version of him that spends a considerable amount of time with the other person and he can’t act like Cap because he doesn’t remember more than a few seconds of dictation training and Steve can’t remember a single thing he’s ever done as Cap plus Bucky is right there and Steve doesn’t want to get into this whole thing, not now, not ever, but he can’t remember a single conversation with Sam other than the hospital and maybe the van but he was hardly in a right state to remember anything he said or did but he can’t slam the door and pretend nothing happened because that’s a bowl of questions from everyone so–

“Sam. Hi.” Steve says, trying to blow past the awkward silence and aiming for a casually surprised tone. “Don’t you live in D.C.?”

“Ha-ha.” Sam laughs dryly, rolling his tired dark eyes. “Nat gave me a call when you wouldn’t. You guys need the air support man and I’m here to help.”

“You –uh, you didn’t need to do that.” God, it sounds like Steve’s thanking him for a pie or something, but he has no idea what Cap might need the air support for so Steve only has vague to work with.

“We gonna stand in the doorway all night or are you gonna let me in?” Sam asks.

Without waiting for a reply he’s wandering into the apartment, Steve left standing behind in abstract panic. He can’t do much else besides shut the door and follow in Sam’s wake, wondering when –if at all –Cap would show up or if like the movie nights Steve would be left to fend for his own.

Steve can’t begin to understand Cap’s dynamic with the Avenger’s –it’s why Steve elects to stay as silent as possible on movie nights. He’s not sure how to act, and saying and doing nothing probably gives away less than trying to do anything at all. Steve doesn’t think he’ll be able to use that tactic with Sam from what little he can remember from the hospital and based on how many missed calls he got from the man in D.C..

He’s starting to suspect this man might actually be Cap’s friend.

“Barnes.” Sam calls to Bucky on the couch, pausing between the kitchen and living room to curiously look around their floor. The entire apartment had been done in soft creams and browns except for the dining room that was off to the side, it’s walls painted a gauche blue and red, a large circular table a near perfect 6 foot wide replica of his shield sat in the middle.

There’s nothing much to see in Steve’s opinion –it had come fully furnished and decorated, the only items Cap had packed for him had been Steve’s clothes and drawing supplies. There was nothing he’d bothered to add since moving in, his own art and photos locked away in drawers.

Bucky looks up over his shoulder calmly, not the least bit ruffled to see the man in their space. He nods his head slowly in greeting, his eyes shift to Steve then back to Sam staring silently for a moment before turning back to his project, the sound of spinning motors starting back up.

“O-kay, good to know. You’re just creepy all on your own huh?” Sam says with a head shake. Steve thinks he might see the corners of Bucky’s lips tilt up.

Using the buzzing motors as an excuse Steve gestures to the kitchen –the farther away from Bucky the better. He’s worried enough about having to talk to Sam as himself without the excuse of painkillers or armed guards hanging around this time. The last thing Steve wanted right now was another person’s undivided attention.

“You want a coffee or something?” Steve tries not to cringe. He really shouldn’t be offering people things when he has no idea what they like. What if he prefers tea? What if he’s allergic? What if-

“A beer would be great if you got any.”

Steve heads to the fridge and thankfully Sam follows right behind him. It won’t help at all –it’s a semi open floor plan and Bucky is barely 20 feet away; even if they whispered Steve’s sure Bucky would hear them perfectly fine. Sam pulls out a chair from the counter bar and Steve’s grateful for the discovery channel’s distant hum and Bucky's continued clinking.

He never buys the beer himself; Cap always buys more when Steve throws them out so he stopped tossing them before the note came. Cap doesn’t appear to drink them but Steve’s wondering now if Cap keeps them around for times like this. When imaginary company might come over and he has to play horribly awkward host.

The man with a plan indeed.

“Thanks. So, how you been? How’s everything? I get nothing from your texts.” He says with a well worn smile as Steve twists the cap off and hands the bottle over.

He does his best to deflect. “Fine –It’s. Good. How are you?”

Sam shakes his head, grinning harder. “Nah-uh. No man. Told you that doesn’t work on me. Really –how you been doing?”

Fuck

Steve? Steve has not been doing great. He’s back within touching distance of someone he mourned for almost a year. He has no idea what his body does almost 45 hours a week. He’s constantly worried someone will find out about it. Steve’s literally surrounded by people who he doesn’t know from Adam and he’s probably taking bullets for these strangers (and vice versa) on a monthly basis.

How’s Cap been doing?

“Uh…Fine. Focused. On Bucky getting better. I mean, he’s already a lot better, just getting him comfortable. You know. Here. In the world –the tower.” Steve’s fucking this up he knows he is. “Besides that, uh it’s been fine. I’m fine I mean. I’m good. And things are…fine. Work is f-…good.”

Sam hums in response, staring at Steve as he sips his beer, holding eye contact as he smacks his lips.

“Would you say it’s been…’fine’?” He huffs a laugh into his bottle, shaking his head. “You seem a little strung out.”

That was a fair and true observation but Steve shook his head anyways trying to sound more genuine. “Long week is all –the mission and whatnot. I’m doin’ fine.”

Sam squints, his eyes flickering as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “You think so. But you’re doing better then you were at any rate, I’ll give you that. What are you two antiques up to this afternoon?”

“I –uh I don’t know about Bucky but I’m headin’ to bed in a little while.” Steve says. He hopes Sam will take the hint and leave as soon as possible but until then Steve can’t help but be polite. “How have you been?”

Sam fills him in on some of the things Cap missed while Steve tries to regulate his heartbeat. He thinks he may have got away with Sam but Bucky has been in hearing distance the whole time. He hasn’t stopped working on his project, albeit the occasional stop and start of a motor but Bucky circa 1930’s was a damn eavesdrop and Steve doubts that’s changed at all.

Steve makes sure he hums and nods at the appropriate times and files away anything of note to write down for Cap later. He feels bad, almost shameful as he listens; Sam talks about his mother like Steve should know the sound of her voice, he mentions places and people Steve should clearly care about and Steve’s faking every expression crossing his features.

Sam thinks he’s talking to a friend, not someone wearing his face.

Finally Sam finishes his beer, excitedly telling him about Tony showing him his new wing suit the next day as he starts to head for the door. He calls a goodbye to Bucky, who does nothing more than tilt his head back; humming with his eyes locked on the now stripped bare lump of mechanics in his hands vibrating loudly. Sam only rolls his eyes, shaking his head as Steve opens the door.

Without warning Sam leans in, pulling Steve into the first hug he’s had since the war. Steve wants to lean in, pull away, grip back –but instead he stands still as a board, trying not to let his eyes mist up over the simple action from a stranger.

“Good to see you Rogers. Glad your man is doing okay.” He says quietly. Steve doesn’t have to look at his face to know he means it, his words genuine and relieved. The shame sits heavier as the man withdraws clapping Steve’s back.

There’s no time to respond before Sam’s waving over his shoulder heading to the elevator and leaving Steve behind in the doorway with his weighing guilt.

Chapter Text

ACT III: Annoyance Factor.

“Hey, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.”

Sam Wilson met ‘Captain Steve-Everyone-Calls-Me-Cap-Rogers’ on a perfectly normal Thursday morning run.

First impressions? Nice guy. Sam really expected some conservative golden-age loving hard-ass but really, guy was nothing but solid. They ended up running about a dozen times together, dude even came by the VA (What kind of celebrity actually does that?) a handful of times just like Sam asked him to before that shit with Hydra went down.

So when Captain America came knocking on his door telling him everyone was out to kill him -well, no shit, fugitive or not Sam was gonna help the guy.

Boy, did Sam not realize what he was signing up for.

Pararescue isn’t an easy job even by adrenaline junkie standards. Sam’s life was at risk every single mission he went on because he and Riley were the guys you called when anything else was too dangerous and risky to try. Sam knew danger, lived it for years and made it his career to pull people away from it.

The shit that Cap did? A whole different ballgame of danger and stakes.

Then his boy showed up.

If you told 10 year old Sam that the United States American military icon from the 1940’s would break in front of his eyes, well he would have honestly loved that real superhero drama shit like in the comics. In real life…. it was rough to watch. Dude just dropped to his knees in the street, you could see the whole fight leaving his body; you could feel the shock and horror weighing and shutting him down.

And fuck if Rogers’ numb voice didn’t haunt Sam for weeks afterwards.

Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.

Sam wasn’t childhood buddies with Riley, but he could imagine on some level what it would’ve been like if Riley was suddenly alive decades after his death fighting for his sworn enemy and trying to murder Sam and his allies.

It’s obvious to Sam that he has to help Cap chase Barnes down. It’s what he does in the end –retrieve, rescue and recover.

After the Potomac he doesn’t trust Cap to not just get his face smashed in for a second time. Sam tells him as much and instead of defensive lies like he’d expected and prepared for, all he gets from the bruised up man is a shrug.

It drives Sam up the wall.

As soon as he's able to, Rogers starts searching for Barnes. Barely a week has passed before the guy is arguing with doctors to clear him, getting more rude and pushy than Sam ever thought possible of the Captain. He uses his bedridden time to methodically search through the leaked SHIELD files on anything to do with the Winter Solider. He’s compiling lists of possible bases, suspects, locations from Barnes’ past before he’s even out of the hospital.

They search. Every.

Single.

Lead.

Before the whole manhunt Sam admittedly hadn’t spent that much time with Cap –a couple hours in total at best. During their scouting, base takedowns and brainstorming sessions Sam gets to know his new friend a little better.

And what do you know?

Captain America is a little fucked up.

First up; the man refuses to talk about Barnes –in anyway. Okay, that’s not true. He’s talks about him, but like a politician talks about things –Sam will ask him if he’s sure anything of Barnes is even left and Cap would just - ’How can I just leave a soldier behind Sam? He’s a victim in this if he’s conscious of that or not.’. Sam asks how he’s dealing with all this, ‘I just keep faith we’ll find him. I can’t give up now.’ -Which isn’t a damn answer at all in Sam’s opinion.

Sam would think the guy would do this for anyone in Barnes' situation but the sheer dedication he has –to the point of going on solo missions Sam didn’t even know about. He knows how much Barnes matters to Cap. He wonders though, even tried to ask a few times about the old Barnes, the one before the war, but every time Sam was given the history book synopsis nearly everyone had read in school.

Date with a different girl every week. Real charmer. Friends since we were kids. He always had my back. Best guy I knew.

He tries to invite Cap out during their down time but even after months of practically begging, Rogers never caves to even a pizza night. He’s always got ‘plans’ and if that wasn’t a lie when Sam heard one he’d quit his job and move back in with his Mom right now.

Sam thought for awhile Rogers might’ve been seeing Sharon quietly to avoid press, luckily for Sam that wasn’t the case at all. Then he thought Cap and Natasha might have been a thing until he heard her trying to set him up on a blind date. Then he suspected the guy’s ‘plans’ were actually searching for his deadly brainwashed buddy and Sam was just left feeling defeated and sad about the whole thing.

Turns out all that extra work pays off because 7 months after the Potomac Barnes turns up at a Hydra base Rogers rigged with alarms during some solo mission. Before Sam could believe it the Winter Soldier was surrendering his weapons to them like he hadn’t nearly tried to murder them just months beforehand.

It’s futile but Sam hopes to get a glance of the real Cap once Barnes is in the picture, the Steve Rogers underneath it all. He thought he’d get embarrassing stories or teary eyed reunions while they sat for days in SHIELD holding.

Lo and behold every time he stops by to make sure Cap’s eating and sleeping –they aren’t talking at all but sitting in a dead silence that neither appeared to be outwardly fazed by. Rogers isn’t even facing Barnes most of the time but instead the door, wound up like a guard dog staring at the knob waiting for the first sign of movement.

In fact, Rogers is scary the week and a half Barnes is in custody.

The man barely leaves his view as he spends days in the two-way viewing room they have set up at the remaining headquarters. Cap’s thundering presence alone probably stopped more than a few people from attempting to move Barnes to a more secure location. Anyone who even started to suggest reparations or trials had to deal with Rogers verbally eviscerating them into shame; countless government troops were left with their tail between their legs, the full weight of Captain America’s disappointed look forever burned into their bones.

Sam would bet it’s more powerful than his punches.

It’s effective though. Sam’s still recovering from the months of endless searching by the time he’s waving Cap –and to a lesser extent Barnes –off on a quinjet loaded with boxes.

(Sam really thinks Rogers would’ve busted Barnes out within a day if they tried to lock Barnes up. Sam thinks SHIELD might have thought that too.)

Sam was convinced yesterday he’d seen the real Steve Rogers. He’s happy for him –even if there is a post-brainwashed ex-Hydra-assassin playing with buzzing shit in his living room. The guy isn’t as stiff as a board; he’s got a bit of that old Brooklyn accent slipping out. Sure he seemed a little…nervous or something, but Sam thinks overall Cap’s starting to loosen up. Get a life.

Now Sam’s not sure if he saw anything at all.

“I can’t man. I’m done. I’m grabbing a drink and then I’m walking back,” Sam pants, dragging his burning legs towards the Starbucks across from the park exit. He’s trying not to limp and gasp for air as Cap runs on the spot beside him, not a bead of sweat in sight.

“Come on Sam! Just a few more miles –you can't quit now!”

As much as Sam hates him and his perfect lungs he finds he’s sad that Cap’s Brooklyn accent hasn’t show up again since last night.

“Dude. Listen to yourself. ‘A few more miles.’ Do you want me dead? We aren’t all super-juiced soldiers Cap –I gotta tap out.” Cap rolls his eyes but stops his jogging as they cross the street. A small mercy since Sam can feel his muscles shutting down just looking at the dude.

“Speaking of super-juiced soldiers –how’s Barnes been?”

“Fi-“

“Fine. Yeah. No.” Sam cut in. “Got that enough yesterday. How’s he doing really? How’ve you both been doing?

Cap gave a patient sigh, one Sam was well familiar with as they walked into the shop. This was the sigh that meant Rogers knew Sam wasn’t going to drop the subject until he gave Sam something tangible to work with. Sam’s lips pulled up in victory.

The solider kept his eyes on the menu as he answered. “He’s been getting better. He’s started coming to the gym with me and he’s going to movie nights. No sign of him going back to being the Winter Soldier but SHIELD still isn’t convinced.”

“They still giving you problems?” Sam glanced over as they moved up in the line and Cap’s expression looked amused.

“When aren’t they? His psychologist cleared him two weeks ago and they’re still just keeping him because they’re scared. So far he hasn’t said anything about moving out so I’m not pushing it until I have to.”

“He okay to leave the tower? I mean, how much time did he spend around other people during those months we were looking for him? Not to mention the last 70 years.”

“He’s been out a few times.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate but Sam dropped it as they got to the counter.

Sam ordered for both of them and waved off Cap when he went for his wallet. Rogers had paid for nearly everything during their search –from lodging, clothes, food and coffees. The least Sam could do was grab the coffee from now on.

“Names?” The barista asked.

“Sam for the Americano and Ca-uh, Steve for the other.”  Shit, he didn’t want them calling out Cap or Rogers to the entire café even if it was hardly busy. The last thing Sam wanted to do was take pictures for overeager fans while he was in his sweat soaked workout clothes.

And how could he almost have forgotten the guy’s first name? Now that he thought about it without the ‘Rogers’ tacked on it was such a normal name –Steve. Steven. It was wild; without the attachment to the Captain America image it was the name of a science teacher. A car salesman or realtor. Steve –The kid you had class for eight years with but never spoke to.

Mr. Rogers, Jesus. Sam shakes his head and moves to the side bar to wait for their drinks.

“Anyways,” Sam says, “What about you? I know, I know. I asked yesterday but Barnes was right around the corner, I figured you wouldn’t say anything anyways,”

Cap returned a tired smile. “Sam. You worry too much,”

“I don’t think you worry enough,”

“I’m fine,”

Sam resisted hitting his head off the counter, groaning as he put his face in his arms. “You’re killing me Rogers.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Cap laughed lightly, shaking his head lost for words. “I mean it, everything is going swell. Nothing’s been that difficult to handle and I’ve been doing fine so far. Really.”

“Alright. Sure. Swell. Whatever, I’m letting it go for now –but I still think its bullshit.” Sam added with a pointed look.

 “Tall iced Americano for Sam! Venti black coffee for Steve!”

✪

Cap tries to run off after they get to the tower but Sam ropes him into a breakfast in the Avengers general eating area. They both head off to shower and by the time Sam gets to the kitchen Rogers is already in the process of frying what looks like half a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. He cooks in silence and as he plates their food he finally brings up Nat phoning Sam in.

“Romanov didn’t need to call you Sam. You really didn’t need to fly out for this.”

Sam shook his head as he dug into his food, cutting his eggs into pieces, “Not what she said. What I heard was you guys are thinking of using the Hulk, which means she did need to call in extra help.” He took a bite (a damn good bite) and pointed a piece of perfectly cooked bacon at Rogers face. “Your air support is garbage by the way.”

“We have Iron Man, Thor –“

“No you have Stark. Thor is everywhere. He’s on the ground too much to have eyes in the sky –that’s where I can come in.”

Cap made a face at his toast. “You’re not wrong but if we have the Hulk we’ll have a bit more air support.”

“Look, you might need Banner anyways but at least have me go out there first and keep him on retainer until he’s absolutely needed. I’m not leaving now anyways, my shower has four different heads and I’m gonna take advantage of that for awhile longer.” They share a smile but Sam gets the feeling Rogers heart isn’t in it.

“So, you’re a real Avenger now huh?” He says conversationally after a minute.

Sam scoffed, “I don’t know about that man. I booked a hotel room around the corner and 5 minutes later a Stark employee called to tell me Iron Man had canceled that booking and asked if I preferred west facing views or south. Then I got here and someone else told me Stark made me a suit and was expecting me at some point today to try it out. Then I got dropped off at my own personal floor. My head is still kinda spinning.”

“That’s been my general experience with him too.” Rogers says with light smile.

“Oh good, I’m not special then. That’s actually nice to know.”

They finish up their meal before the rest of the day is spent showing Sam around and introducing him to team members he hasn’t met. Stark tells him he needs a day with his suit to work some kinks out and that he’ll have to wait for his test flight. Cap shows him the arsenal in the meantime, and while Sam’s never loved guns, he can certainly admire the stuff Stark’s cooked up.

Cap heads back to his floor around 5 but not before asking Sam to try and not stop by unexpectedly anymore –and get this, reason being Bucky doesn’t react well to unannounced visitors. Which…is just not true? Because, yes Sam was exhausted and stressed from the move, probably a little jet lagged on top of it, but he was fairly sure what he saw didn’t line up with a ‘bad reaction’.

Oddly enough Sam doesn’t see Cap at all on Tuesday when he goes running.

It’s fine. Sam’s not a child; he doesn’t need to have his hand held even if he is nervous about running into a Norse god around every corner. Still, the guy lives with his work. Sam thought he would’ve been planning exercises or team bonding activities all day, he expected to be pulling Cap away from his desk when he got here. He’s left feeling both optimistic and worried.

He cuts his run short, barely making it a few blocks before he heads back to the tower. He sees a few Avengers in the kitchen but Sam doesn’t ask about Rogers. For all he knows Cap is on a mission he doesn’t have clearance to know about; and more importantly he doesn’t want to look like a lost kid. He sucks it up and makes small talk with Bruce then heads up to Stark’s lab all by himself.

Wednesday goes much the same way and by lunch his curiosity has chipped away at his pride. He turns to the two Avengers hanging around the kitchen- Hawkeye (who looks like he just woke up) and Stark (who has been fiddling with something that looks like a miniature nuke since before Sam grabbed his breakfast) –and asks what’s been on his mind since yesterday morning.

“Where’s Cap?”

Sam doesn’t expect Hawkeye –Clint –to share a look with Stark whose paused in his tinkering, his eyes behind blue screen glasses saying clearly without words ‘guess he doesn’t know, you can tell him then’.

Well, Sam can’t say that look makes him feel any better.

“If he’s not in the gym he’s locked up in his tower.” Clint says around a mouth of what Sam’s pretty sure is fridge temperature spaghetti.

“His tower?” Sam asks, glancing down at the solid, definitely cold, spaghetti.

“Sleeping Beauty doesn’t play with others pal.” Stark says as he moves his modified glasses to his forehead “If he’s not sculpting himself to perfection or exhaustion then he’s with Dark-Murdery and Mysterious. Cap doesn’t come out of his fortress of solitude unless he’s doing Avengers stuff -you know, paperwork, end of the world, reading files, kids in danger, old ladies walking across the street. That kinda stuff. Spangles will probably pop in tomorrow, he checks in every few days.”

“He stay in ‘cause of Barnes?” Sam hedges.

Clint makes a face and shakes his head, piling a bite onto his fork. “Not really. It’s kinda his M.O, to drop off for a day or two before coming back. Doesn’t really stick around to hang out –well. Actually, since Barnes got here he’s been around a little more.” He shovelled more solid pasta into his mouth.

Stark scoffed. “Three movie nights don’t count Barton.”

“Three more than the last two years.” The other man shrugged. “I think it counts.”

“Sure. Count it.” Stark rolled his eyes. “T-1000 still doesn’t care to emote so I’m all ears if you can tell me how you know he’s having a good time. And poor Iced Cappuccino looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. I’ve seen him look less stressed when buildings are collapsing on him.”

Clint said nothing but the face he made told Sam he probably couldn’t argue with Stark’s points.

He knew Cap needed to get out more but he thought Rogers was at least spending time with his teammates. Sam really didn’t want to be that guy, budding into his friends lives all the time giving advice, but leaving the apartment only for Barnes’ sake wasn’t healthy if Sam had his theory right.

“You guys ever hang with him after hours? Before Barnes?” He can’t help but ask.

“Sometimes he’d stick around for some food after a fight, but usually he’d just head back to his place. Tried to invite him to movie nights, said he had other plans –which I learned was bullshit by the way. Barnes told me the other day he takes walks. I got the impression it was a lot. I think Nat’s been compiling a binder of blinds dates for the guy since I told her she thinks it’s so sad.”

“As much as I want the 100 Year Old Virgin deflowered I don’t think a date is going to get our boy out of his shell.”

Sam too couldn’t help but agree with Tony.

✪

Tony was right, Rogers did show up the next day, right at 6 AM dressed and ready for their run. Mondays and Thursdays had been their running days back in Washington and Sam’s relieved he didn’t have to track Cap down to keep that going here.

Sam held off on asking Cap anything about his behaviour as they walked back to the Tower coffees in hand. He wanted to, he really did. Maybe it was because his childhood hero was boxing himself away, maybe because he’d spent 4 years talking with veterans on a biweekly basis and his need to help couldn’t be reined in. Either way he wanted to help the man out and that meant biding his time.

Sam never really thought about Cap in relation to his team before. Never really thought about if he got along with them –Sam just figured they had to be close. How do you save the world with the same people multiple times and not get along with them? Not get to know the ones who had your back?

He guesses the whole solo mission thing should’ve been a hint. In his defense Cap was acting like a dog on the hunt in regards to Barnes and Sam had never been on a mission with the Captain where the Winter Solider wasn’t somehow involved.

Also Hydra. It’s a known fact that Captain America hates Hydra, and Hydra was pretty involved in all that.

So Sam shuts his mouth until he can get a better feel for what’s going on in Rogers’ life. He can be patient. He hates it, but he can do it. They talk bullshit about Sam’s new wing suit, the improvements Tony made and how light it feels. Cap jumps in at the appropriate times, he always does; Sam can’t tell if he’s actually listening or just extremely skilled in pretending to listen but he appears to follow along. It doesn’t seem like a Steve Rogers move to ignore someone talking to him even if he couldn’t give less of a shit.

Sam asks what he’s got on as they get back to the lobby and Cap mentions probably heading by the gym after he’s checked in on a few intelligence missions. Sam wants to lie on the couch for the rest of the day but he tells Rogers he’ll join him later anyways. If he’s going to be an Avenger he’s probably got to get used to some muscle pains.

He showers and heads to the common kitchen instead of his own. Disappointingly, although unsurprisingly, Cap doesn’t show up but Natasha breezes by to grab a plate of premade food and Bruce stops in to make a cup of tea. Sam eats his omelette and drinks his orange juice, idling in the mutual living room while he works on clearing out his emails.

People come and go as he types up some replies to the guys still serving, finding himself lost on social media for awhile until the hunger comes back. He sees Natasha again in the kitchen and he tries his best to charm her as he makes up a couple of sandwiches.

She’s not charmed. He didn’t expect her to be but her amused smile makes him feel better than her watchful silence. They make light conversation, and when she learns he’s headed down to the gym she offers herself as a sparring partner. Sam hasn’t had a good friendly fight in years and agrees to meet her down there in around an hour.

Sam changes into his second set of workout clothes and heads down to the basement. When Sam arrives he’s actually surprised to see Rogers already there working out in full swing.

“Hey, you been here awhile?” Sam calls out walking over. As he gets closer to the mat where Cap is doing push-ups Sam can see that thick beads of sweat are running down the other man’s face and arms. He doesn’t look worn out per say but he definitely is starting to look strained. Sam can’t even remember if he’s ever seen Rogers sweat like this before.

“A - while.” Cap puffs out. He doesn’t pause his work out to answer, steadily keeping pace as Sam stands beside him. Sam watches him do 10 more before talking again.

“Do I want to know how many of those you’ve done so far or is my ego damaged enough?” He tries to joke. Cap’s intensity making him feel all sorts of on edge.

“Probably - don’t want - to know.”

“Right,” So that’s anywhere from 100 to 1000 as far as Sam can estimate. “I’ll leave you to it I guess.”

Sam heads off to another section of mat about 20 feet away. He does some stretches and basic warm-ups as he watches Cap continue his unrelenting workout. Sam loses count around the 80^th rep and starts to feel sick when he remembers Rogers might have been at this for hours before Sam got there. How long had he been there? Did he even stop for lunch?

“Hey man,” Sam attempts to get Cap’s attention when his worry bubbles over, calling out to the beast still working away. “You eat lunch yet?”

“Uh-huh.” Rep after rep.

“Okay…well, try to take it easy, at least for me. You’re sweating buckets.”

Cap suddenly stopped, panting for a second before rising to his feet, shaking the sweat from his head. “Will do. Thanks Sam.” He said, panting the barest amount and rotating his neck not even glancing over to Sam’s worried face.

He couldn’t stop the look that came next when Cap just walked over to the leg press and started pumping; only breaking long enough to press a few buttons on the control pad. Like the push-ups, Rogers went at the machine with a fierce intensity, his legs barely pausing between extends as he set a steady and brutal pace.

Sam was probably seconds away from begging Cap to take a minor break when the doors slid open to let in Natasha. He looked between her and Cap, lifted his eyebrows and gesturing subtlety with his head to the human tank at the leg press, he silently asked; ’You see that? That normal?’

She seemed to understand, glancing at Cap then back to Sam, raising her shoulder with a minor shake of her head. ‘That’s how it is.’ Her face seemed to say.

Jesus.

Three hours later when Sam’s back feels like minced meat and Nat has taught him two new moves to possibly break a man’s spine, Rogers finally stops.

The sweat was rolling down Cap’s face and his shirt was soaked to the core. He hadn’t spoken to either them since Sam had tried earlier and he’d barely even glanced their way since Nat walked in.

He’d abused the leg press for nearly an hour before busting out another hour of sit ups and chin ups before moving on to yet another hour of straight punching. Multiple times Sam wanted to ask him to stop –at least take a minute to relax –but the determined look on Cap’s face and Natasha’s small head shakes were enough to hold Sam back each time.

The two had taken a break from attacking each other so that Sam could practice on his own. He was trying a rolling flip that would launch an attacker over his body when he noticed Rogers finally moving away from the reinforced bag and gulping down some water. Sam wanted to make a joke –thank him for finally stopping but instead he watched Cap unravel his knuckles, throwing the maroon tinted scraps of fabric in the trash.

“I’ll see you soon Sam.” Cap calls as he heads towards the exit.

“Yeah… See you man.”

“Romanov.” Cap tilts his head to Nat on the treadmill before walking to the door still soaked with sweat. Sam waited a few seconds after the doors closed to turn to Natasha who was already leaning against the slowing machine watching him with a patient expression on her face.

“He like that all the time?” Sam said getting to his feet and straight to the point.

“Almost always. You surprised? You run with him.”

“I’m concerned.” Sam wavered. “And we don’t run like that. How long does he usually spend down here?”

Nat tilted her head, the only sign of her thinking it over that Sam wasn’t dumb enough to think she let him see by accident. “About 6 hours. He’s out by 5, except for when Barnes is here.”

“He doesn’t stop for lunch does he?”

“Tony asked JARVIS once and he says he’ll eat a few protein bars occasionally, some high-protein shakes too. When he was working ops in D.C. Maria started ordering food to his office for him she was so worried he would crash on a mission –doesn’t look like much has changed.” Nat eyed the door Cap left through with lazy eyes, a slight frown around her lips.

Sam’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Why didn’t you want me to say anything?”

“You try talking to him before I got here?” Sam nodded when her attention turned back onto him. “Then you know it’s like talking to a wall. Tony thinks the serum gets him in this one track mindset when his adrenaline is up. We’ve all tried to get him to lay off but besides locking down the gym –which didn’t work –we can’t do much.”

“What happened when you locked him out?”

The spy gave a shrug that seemed like it was better suited for Clint. “He studied our files. Thought up strategies. He ended up running the stairs of the tower a few times before we caved. With Barnes here we thought he could use the outlet so we didn’t try this time.” She tilted her head again. “Funnily enough Barnes is the only one who can reach though to him –which isn’t surprising. The reverse holds true for Barnes.”

“Dude needs a different outlet.” Sam begs to the room. “Super soldier or not, that can’t be healthy -even if he’s taking days off.”

“You try telling him that.”

Friday morning Sam had barely begun to wake up when JARVIS announced he was needed for a mission briefing in the conference room. Nerves and excitement swelled inside him and Sam downed the rest of his coffee, grabbing his half finished bagel from his plate before making his way upstairs.

Walking into the room, Sam saw Bruce and Tony already seated, Bruce nursing a tea in his hands as Tony leaned back in his chair with his feet on the glass table. Rogers was at the head of the table reading over a tablet, finger flicking across the screen as he frowned at the glass.

Leaving Cap to his work Sam took a seat near Bruce, quickly inhaling the rest of his bagel as Nat and then finally Clint filtered into the room. As Clint slouched into his seat Cap abruptly started, the quiet chatter in the room ceasing almost immediately.

“We’ve picked up a pulse signature from the sceptre. Our intel on the Hydra base in Sokovia and JARVIS’ readings indicate some minor level tesseract powered weapons.”

“Know how many?” Nat asked.

Rogers tapped on the tablet and a holographic blueprint appeared in the middle of the table, after another tap a few dozen red dots appeared over the base.

“These are the consistent posts from our surveillance two weeks ago but from the movement in the last 24 hours we’re looking at roughly three-hundred persons on and within the area. The tesseract either brought them out of hiding or brought them there from somewhere else. The energy levels we’re getting mean we should expect they’ve managed to weaponize by now.”

“So easy-pickings?”

Cap ignored Stark completely, eyeing everyone else in the room. “Thor knows we've found the signal and should be here within half hour. Meet on the roof in an hour, suited up and ready to go.”

“Goddamn Hydra again.” Sam muttered to himself. “Why is it always Hydra?”

✪

Sam’s first official mission with the Avengers snowballs into a massive cluster-fuck within days. The tower gets attacked, the team gets nightmare fuel, the Hulk destroyed a few city blocks, and Sam’s forced to live on a farm for a few days.

He’s got allergies man. There’s just pollen everywhere in the country.

By the time the train has stopped smashing through the city, Sam is starting to wonder if this is how all Avenger’s missions go; cleaning up loose ends from previous missions one after another like a Rube-Goldberg machine of villainous activity and destruction.

Sam lands with an ungraceful thud a few moments after the train has finished its course and civilians are no longer screaming. He’s less worried about looking cool at this point and more concerned about when he can crawl into a hot bath for the next three days. The white-haired speedster is kneeling at his sister side giving Sam a wary glance as he pants, looking about as exhausted as Sam feels.

He approaches just as the red-head finishes speaking. He could see the fast one from the sky moving civilians out of the way and Sam wonders what went down to make the two of them change their minds. Rogers has made no move to arrest them and Sam’s following his lead every step of the way.

“Stark will take care of it.” Sam catches Cap say as he stops behind him. The red-head cowers back in fear, something akin to dread and absolute horror crossing her features.

“No. He won’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Stark’s not crazy.”

Annoying maybe Sam thinks but refrains from saying as the two stare off.

“He will do anything to make things right.” She insists, stepping closer to Cap and begging him to understand. “I’ve seen his mind; I know this –like I know about you –about Steve Rogers.” She says with a meaningful rise of her eyebrows.

Weirdly enough her words seem to put doubt into Rogers’ mind and Cap inhales deeply, holding his breath for a moment. His back straightens up, his frame seeming to gain an inch in height as he regarded her. Within seconds he lets out a steady exhale and turns on his heel, body tense as he puts a hand to his earpiece.

“Stark come in…..Stark…..Sam can you reach anyone?”

“Anyone on comms?....Can anyone respond?” Sam shakes his head when silence returns, not even a crackle of static to answer him. Rogers glances at the siblings one more time, staring hard at the girl before gesturing for them to follow.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

✪

The final battle went about as well as it could have. Sam’s new wings were out though; the left side dangling awkwardly from a body check into a concrete wall, the right riddled with holes from Ultron’s jet’s .25 calibers.

Pietro barely made it out alive. White-haired bastard took one to the thigh and two in the shoulder; apparently his heart pumped 4 times as fast as a normal human being’s which meant he nearly bled out by the time Sam hollered at Clint to hit him with a tranq arrow and start applying pressure.

The casualties were so far in the low 70’s but the surrounding city that had remained land-based had yet to be fully searched. Thor was heading a ground team clearing rubble blocking building entrances while Wanda and Rogers took to clearing the streets. In the air Stark and Rhodes were scanning for trapped survivors and securing structurally failing buildings. As far as Sam knew, Clint and Nat were still going over Ultron’s lair –base, creepy robot factory –of any information along with Vision.

Banner had taken off in a ship and was currently MIA.

Sam took to directing stragglers towards medical care and stations designed to reunite separated loved ones. The kid in front of him must have been still in high school, Friday translating in Sam's ear that he was trying to find his little sister as the kid pointed to a picture on his phone. Sam told him where the nearest help tent was and that he’d keep an eye out for the curly haired girl missing her front teeth.

As Sam watched the kid run full tilt down the street he caught sight of Wanda coming around the corner. Large mists of red were gathering shattered glass and rubble into large piles near the curb of the street as she walked along the empty road her hands outstretched beside her.

Sam was pretty sure he could trust her. She’d ended Ultron for them and the girl wasn’t the first Hydra brainwashed super-human to run across Sam’s path.

He tried to yell out to her over the sounds of shifting rubble. “Hey, you seen anyone else?”

“The Vision. They said Ultron’s hideaway had been searched; his arrogance left him without any fallback plans.” She smiled sadly as she finished with a sweep of her hand. “He shouldn’t come back to haunt us.”

“Great,” Sam said dryly walking over to her. “Glad one of us knows what’s going on.”

“Do you not have the…” She trailed off pointing to own earpiece with one hand as the other made a sweeping motion that left the remaining rubble on the street rolling to the side.

“I do, but everyone’s been pretty quiet. Think everyone’s just running on automatic till they call us out. Government probably wants us out of here soon.”

Wanda squinted her eyes at Sam. “They wouldn’t have you stay? Help with the clean up?”

“I’d like to stay and help –most of the others too probably.” Sam shrugged his shoulders.

Rogers had turned around the minute Ultron’s defeat had been announced, searching the buildings for dead and moving abandoned flaming cars out of the way for ambulances and search teams. Stark had done similar, Friday’s scans coming in minutes after Sam lost sight of Cap. Sam could tell they both were likely to work themselves past exhaustion trying to help.

“We could probably help out a fair bit more but most likely they want to get some people through here to start calculating damage costs. This wasn’t their fight,” Sam felt compelled to add. “We came in here with our crazy as shit villains and they were just the arena for the battle. There’s bound to be some tension after with us hanging around like another brawl might go down at any minute.”

Wanda hummed noncommittally as they walked down the cracked pavement.

“You know how your brother is doing?” She seemed surprised by Sam’s question before smiling tightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should.

“He did not wake before I joined the clean up but I spoke to him briefly when he was medicated on your people’s pain killers –they seem to work for him. He burns through most too fast to be of use.”

“There’s no long term damage though?”

She scrunched up her nose, her mouth twisting. “Eh, the doctors said mobility therapy for his arm, some muscle tearing in his thigh. He will be annoyed when he realizes his speed is impaired. I’m sure he will be fine though. He always is.”

Sam gave her a genuine grin. “I’m glad. Brave guy –I had the kid covered but Clint was just left out, he dived to get him behind my wing; saved Clint’s life.”

Her smile was looser this time. “Yes, that sounds like Pietro. We were lucky to all get out with our bodies and lives intact.”

Before Sam could say anything else the sound of metal dragging across pavement echoed from around the corner of the approaching intersection. In a panic Sam grabbed Wanda’s arm, reflexively trying to move her behind his body as the sound carried on.

She glanced down at Sam’s hand on her arm –his fingers immediately going loose when he realized what he’d done; she was without a doubt more powerful than him but she couldn’t be older than 20. Which was going to continue messing Sam up.

“Relax.” Her tone was patronizing, a teasing grin playing at her mouth. “I killed him –Remember?” She teased.

Sam shot her a look before (bravely) peaking around the corner.

“Oh.” He said, both relieved and disappointed to see it was only Rogers shoving a mini-van out of the center of the street; nearly dripping in sweat, dried blood and dirt caked to the sides of his helmet and jaw.

“Bet you he hasn’t sat down for a minute since we touched down.” Sam muttered.

“It’s not in his nature.” Wanda replied quietly from beside him, walking forward to greet Rogers, and leaving Sam behind to wonder how she knew something like that so quickly.

“Captain.” She said as the car finally stopped dragging.

He looked up at her calmly before glancing at Sam briefly. “Maximoff. Sam.”

“You should head back man, you look like death crawled over you.” Cap’s appearance abruptly reminded Sam of the man they hadn’t seen since before retrieving the sceptre –Rogers’ inseparable pal on and off the battle field.

“Whoa, wait. Have you talked to Barnes at all since this went down? Why didn’t I see his ass back flipping over buildings and onto Ultron’s robots?” Sam asked not unkindly.

They’d all survived and in pretty much one piece like the girl had said but that metal arm, not to mention the dude attached to it, was lethal. He probably could’ve wiped out a quarter of Ultron’s guys without taking a hit. It would’ve been an ego-blow but at least Sam might’ve still had his wings.

Cap shook his head gently. “He’s fine. We spoke after Ultron blew out the penthouse –he hunkered down in the basement panic room.” He gestured with his head and the three of them continued down the street. “I sent along a message after Vision confirmed Ultron had been contained to his vessels.”

“You actually got the Winter Soldier to hide away in the basement? For like – an entire week –and he didn’t fight you on that?”

“It was his idea.” He said missing Sam’s surprised expression, gazing ahead at Wanda parting the street of cars and rubble like it was the Red Sea. “He didn’t want Ultron to use him against us; putting him in lock down was the safest option for everyone.”

“Including Steve Rogers?” Wanda drawled from over her shoulder, gazing at Rogers with a expression that uncannily reminded Sam of Natasha.

Sam furrowed his brows as he looked back and for between the two enhanced individuals as Cap gazed at her calmly. Or what looked like calm, but from the corner of Sam’s eye he could see Rogers’ bicep twitching, his hand clenching by his hip.

“That is what ‘everyone’ usually means.” Cap uttered plainly, his words on paper sounding sarcastic but his tone was eerily devoid of emotion, leaving an ominous feeling under Sam’s ribs.

“Usually.” Wanda murmured just loud enough for Sam to hear.

A tense silence fell as Cap body checked the back of a car off the street, Wanda’s red mist sweeping up the remaining rubble. Sam halted on the pavement and continued glancing between the two in suspicion. The tension grew in size and neither acknowledged the other, focusing on their tasks too hard for it not to be an act.

“What am I missing here?” Sam announced, his finger flicking between the two and trying to sound his 32 years and not like a ten year old.

They both turned to look at him, Wanda glancing at Rogers while he continued to stare innocently at Sam.

“What are you talking abou-“

“Naw. Nope.” Sam snorted, a bitter noise leaving him as he crossed his arms in defiance and frustration. ”Try again.”

Rogers sighed, looking simultaneously tired and annoyed. “It’s nothing Sam. Don’t worry-“

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to be annoyed here.” Sam cut Cap off shaking his head. “You think I don’t know your bullshit when I hear it? Let’s try again –and I don’t want to hear your same old speech, and that same old bull you always give me. Tell me. What is going on with you two?”

Rogers rolled his eyes already shaking his head in that pacifying way of his. It was a move that was starting to seriously grate Sam’s nerves. His stupid bond selling mouth opened, probably to tell Sam ‘really Sam! it’s all fine!’ like Sam was reading into things. Which in turn meant Sam was about to start screaming like a cheated on wife, just asking for the goddamn truth for once, before Wanda cut in saving Sam from more of Rogers’ inevitable gas lighting.

“He’s not-“

“Don’t.” Rogers growled, whipping around to glare at Wanda with a ferocious expression. He jerked his head in the approximation of a shake as his body went tense. “Don’t.” He spat again, staring down the red-head with his body held tight, like he was seconds away from tackling the girl to the ground.

”It’s…” His teeth clenched before he let out a contained sigh. “It’s not important and it doesn’t. Matter.”

“You’re lying ab-“

“I’m not lying about anything.” He interjected quickly, cutting her off for a second time, his breathing fast and harsh.

Sam couldn’t make sense of the inflection behind Cap’s words. What was he lying about? And if Cap wasn’t the one lying –who was? Twice now Wanda had mentioned ‘Steve Rogers’ and each time Rogers had been left wound up and tense.

What the hell was going on?

They stared at each other for almost a minute, then in one large sigh the coiled up tenseness left Cap’s body, his tone almost, almost, begging as he spoke once more.

“Just don’t. It’s not… Leave it Maximoff. For now.”

Abruptly the comms clicked in Sam’s ear, the others’ too by their slight flinches. Hill’s voice came through, her words cutting though the pleading Cap was apparently willing to go through to keep his secret safe.

“Cap, Falcon, Maximoff -we’re pulling out of the city. A quinjet is heading 3 blocks north of your location for pick up. Be ready for debrief at 0700 New York.”

All three of them remained silent, Rogers’ eyes still locked on Wanda’s as she roamed her squinted eyes over him. Sam stood where he was; not knowing who to watch or who to back-up. Wanda –clearly knowing whatever Cap was hiding and wanting to expose it, or Rogers –looking tenser over a conversation with a near-teenager than he had with the army of apocalyptic androids.

“Captain, Falcon, Maximoff –Can you read me?” Hill’s voice cut through the silence again.

Cap jammed a finger to the ear piece, his eyes still locked on Wanda. “Copy.” He intoned, none of the anxiety on his face reading through in his voice.

He stood still, staring at the witch as she worked her lip between her teeth, clearly thinking over a decision. The soldier slowly shook his head once more and the red-head sighed, her own hand coming up to her ear.

“I copy.”

Rogers took a deep breath, his head tilting back a fraction as he exhaled before his spine straightened and he headed steadily north up the street. Wanda stared as he passed her before turning and following behind him at a distance.

“Falcon –Do you copy?”

Sam reacted without thinking, the action ingrained into him better than a flossing habit.

“Copy. Heading to extraction. ETA 4 minutes.” He pulled his hand out of the comm in his ear, looking forward towards other two. “I don’t know what’s going on with you Rogers, but don’t think I’m going to drop this!” Sam angrily called out ahead.

“I wish you would.” Cap stoically voiced back.

Wanda looked at Sam from behind Cap’s back, her mouth fixed into a smirk but her eyes sad. Apparently knowing exactly what was going though Sam’s mind at that moment she turned back and replied for him,

“He won’t.”

Chapter Text

ACT IV: Blockbuster Mentality.

“I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more. ”

If one really thought about it, it didn’t really make sense for Captain America to be the Avengers team leader.

Maria Hill had been a commander before SHIELD (when further investigated what branch of military the only result returned was a thick black [REDACTED]). she knew more about the strange things on this planet better than 90% of all the inhabitants in Avengers Tower and SHIELD combined. You’d be hard pressed to get the drop on the woman and her reflexes with a gun were envied and salivated over by anyone who’d seen her in the field. Not to mention she wasn’t about to be pushed over by anyone.

Except Fury, who she never questioned and whose pocket she was comfortable to forever sit in.

Iron Man was smarter on a technical level; physically stronger and capable of more on a offensive level. His story was more relatable, was more known to the public up until the Valkyrie was found and they had something new to obsess over. Stark’s funds paid for the homes and cars that had been destroyed; hospital bills and relocation costs were always covered for those affected. Every single life lost weighed on his mind like the world on Atlas' shoulders and he never forgot a loss.

Which was both his strength and crippling weakness.

Not to mention the impulsivity.

War Machine outranked Captain America, was more familiar with modern day warfare and political navigation. He’d had the job for over a decade (already a decade under his belt by the time the Valkyrie was unearthed). More importantly he was good at it –enjoyed and flourished in it. It was like the man lived and breathed modern day military life.

But he was firmly in the seat of the US Military. Therefore he couldn’t land in whatever country needed him with armed machine guns on his shoulders without creating tensions between governments.

Captain America was his own man despite what the media thought. He didn’t cater to the USA government, he worked for the people.

He may not have been the strongest Avenger but he might be considered the unbeatable one; the one that never stayed down, that always came back with another punch.

He had been to war, true war being up close and personal with the enemy. He knew loss and violence on a scale most would never have to comprehend. A lost life was terrible but the man knew that war didn’t care who was a civilian and who was a soldier.

None of this is what made him a leader. What made Captain America a leader were two very important but often overlooked things.

One. He never gave up. Ever. It was not wired into Captain America’s brain to retreat and lick his wounds. If there was something that needed to be done, if brute force couldn’t take it, he would run every plan imaginable just to prove it could be done. He could do what others couldn’t because he did the things no one ever thought to try.

Number two was that Captain America stayed calm; eerily calm was the descriptor most used around SHIELD HQ. During certain missions throughout the War this skill had saved the lives of multiple men from bleeding out and jumping too early for an assault.

Anyone who’s listened to the infamous last broadcast of the Valkyrie has been left wondering how a man who was barely twenty-seven could be looking death in the face and joking; talking about stepping on a love’s feet he would never get the chance to see again. Watching ahead as the water rushed up to meet him. The lack of hesitation in doing what was not only right but hard.

He’d stayed calm throughout it all, the Valkyrie, the Chitari, the animal experiments in Australia, the countless missions from SHIELD, the Winter Solider attacks, alien weapon equipped cartels and cities falling out of the sky. Captain America had withstood it all with his back military straight, eyes forward and tone easy and commanding all at the same time.

Right now Captain America was feeling panic for the first time in his very short life.

He’d successfully avoided interacting with Wilson or Maximoff for the duration of the flight, barricading himself to a small sleeping cabin and feigning rest until landing. He didn’t actually sleep, unless resting at 5 minute intervals for half an hour counted. He was aware the two he was avoiding probably knew he wasn’t sleeping but it gave him some peace to think over his problem.

It was a spot of bad luck that the Maximoffs had switched sides –if only to spare the captain from having to deal with the aftermath of someone knowing about…this. About him.

He would warn Steve if he didn’t think the poor guy would lock himself in his room from nerves.

Barnes was already figuring it out, he knew; felt it in every long gaze and trip to the gym he’d had to go through for the past 59 days 3 months. He tried his best to keep conversation to a minimum but for things like arranging SHIELD assessments, work outs and emergency procedures, the captain was forced to talk with the man somewhat more than he’d liked.

It’s not as though he didn’t like Barnes –in fact he enjoyed his quiet company, enjoyed how much more rest Steve got with the man around –he just rather not have to talk to him. Interact with him. The more he talked with Barnes the more the sniper would see and then where would that get them?

(Apparently right here.)

Wilson was the captain’s own fault. Close quarters with Barnes meant he couldn’t hide everything and the Scarlett Witch had extracted the information from the safety of his mind. Wilson he’d invited in door wide open; just because he’d been followed by paparazzi and been forced to vary his route 4 different times in the same run. Just because he thought Captain America should be seen supporting veterans.

Plus, Sam was a good man. He was Steve good. As much as the captain felt ambivalent towards him, Wilson was someone Steve would’ve genuinely liked and wanted to know. It was nearly impossible for the captain to blow him off because of that alone.

Maybe he should’ve paid more attention. Seen before how often Wilson probed at his mind for the inner workings, should‘ve suggested Barnes move into his own floor after he started talking with others, played dumb when Maximoff had looked him in the eye and told him she knew Steve Rogers, and he just thought that would be the end of it.

Now both Wilson and Barnes knew something odd was going on and someone else knew everything and didn’t want to forget it and move on.

This was the reason he kept his distance from the other members of the team; the careful dance of being a cohesive unit while spending the bare minimum amount of time with them as possible. They were hurt when he showed up at Gala’s and left before the waitress’ second circuit around the room, confused when he made excuses for movie nights and birthdays.

Their feelings just didn’t matter to him as much as Steve’s.

“Wakey-wakey kids, Dad’s 10 minutes out from the tower and he’s not waiting in the drive way with the car running while you children get your stuff out of the back.”

The captain pressed his index and thumb beside the bridge of his nose, willing the throbbing ache behind forehead to leave as he rolled to sit up right.

He still had to find Barnes and debrief with SHIELD and government heads in the morning which meant he was in for another –Christ –another 16 hours at least, not to mention the inevitable conversation with the press. The minefield of questions he was going to have to jump through to make sure Stark’s involvement wasn’t portrayed as negatively.

He checked the side pocket of his chest piece, ensuring the personal notebook he kept was still secured as he stood up, stretching his back and rotating his stiff neck. The jet went into hover mode, signalling it’s decent as he walked out of the cabin and towards the back were the remaining team was scattered around.

Barton leaned up against the wall near the Witch and a stretcher; a recovering Pietro lay on top, slowly conversing in Sokovian to his sister. Wilson was sitting on one of the benches, wings and suit packed into a bag at his side as he sat in the standard SHIELD provided garments; a plain grey t-shirt, and black track pants. The captain ignored the heavy look the pararescue was giving him and walked straight over to the twins as the jet slightly bounced on impact.

“Is he headed to medical?” He asked Barton.

“Yeah, there’s still a bullet in his thigh he wants out –apparently it’ll fu-mess up his speed.” The archer said with an eye roll.

“Ay, let’s see you move with a heating bullet in your leg Hawkman.” Pietro piped up from the stretcher, a teasing grin on his face as he spoke to Barton. “The friction will burn it out if it stays. And that, that is not fun.”

The captain nodded once as the ramp lowered, revealing a small medical team waiting nearby along with Ms Potts and a duo of assistants. The medical team moved onboard while Wilson and the captain made their way down the ramp, Barton following slowly behind grasping his wrapped ribs. The soldier felt on edge as they met the red-haired woman half way.

“Hiya Pep.” Barton’s strained voice called from behind.

“Clint. Deena here can take you to either medical or your temporary housing; you choose.”

“Deena, take me to medical.” He limped passed, throwing an arm around the stern faced young woman whose only reaction was to support his weight and lead him slowly through the doors.

“Sam, glad we could meet again.” She said with an amused grin, her sharp eye turning to look at the captain. “Steve.”

Besides Barnes, she was maybe the only other person who’d ever repeatedly called him that and it sent the hairs on his neck straight up every time she did. It was made worse by the fact that Potts was a lot like Peggy Carter who didn’t seem to miss a damn thing. Romanov’s eyes felt like an interrogation –women like Potts and Carter’s felt like vivisection.

“Pepper.”

And there was the other half of it, just like Wilson she insisted on being called by her first name no matter how many times he tried to do so otherwise.

“Sam, your room was left out of the destruction so you can head down there whenever you’d like... Steve your living roo….”

His head pulsed and his consciousness drifted at the second use of Steve’s name. The captain felt his eyes flutter closed and he bit hard into his lip to keep focused, missing whatever Potts had been saying about Barnes completely as he forced himself to stay present.

“-as returned. Only the far east elevator is still down but besides that everywhere below this floor should be clear,” She flashed a row of white teeth smiling sweetly as she tilted her head towards the quinjet. “Now if you’ll excuse me boys, I have to talk to Ms Maximoff and Tony.”

“Thanks Pepper.”

“Thank you Pepper.” He added, face tight and aching for a coffee that wouldn’t help an inch and an ice shower that just might.

Both men made their way to the elevators, the tension –or exhaustion –holding the edged silence from the plane. Wilson wobbled to the far corner as the blond pressed their floors with his good hand. The strain in the air grew as the elevator descended, the captain watching the other man in the reflection of the steel doors as he urged the elevator faster.

It appeared for a moment that Wilson may have passed out during the quick ride to the captain’s floor but his hopes were crushed as the doors started to open and Wilson finally spoke up.

“I’ll have energy to get at you tomorrow ‘bout this –I’m not dropping it,” He mumbled exhaustedly from his corner. ”I’m worried about you, hope you know that man.”

The captain ignored him, marching out of the elevator as normally as possible and not bothering to breathe until the elevator doors sealed back up. Digging into his palm with a sigh, he stood at the front door staring at the touchpad until his breathing settled before pressing his hand to the panel and pushing open the heavy reinforced door.

Barnes stood right in view, arms crossed and gaze sharp. As much as he wished he could crawl into the shower, the captain did his best to smile at one of the last people he wanted to deal with at the moment.

“Hi Bucky. How are you?”

Upon hearing the blond’s words Barnes’ features contorted, his eyes bulging for a second before it was shaken away and replaced with hardly restrained annoyance. “I’m fine, I was perfectly safe, we both know that.” He assessed over the dirt and blood covered uniform his gaze lingering around the captain’s face. There was a new shadow to his voice the captain couldn’t decipher as Barnes returned his own words back to him.

“How are you Steve?”

The captain’s heart jumped into his throat, his eyes slamming shut, hard. A second or two later he pried them back open taking a deep steady breath to answer Barnes.

“I’m fine.” He said placidly, edging his way around the wide eyed man. “A bit bruised but it’ll be gone in a day or two. I’m just going to jump in the shower –I have to smell awful.” He finished with a self-deprecating grin.

Barnes grabbed his elbow before he could pass and the captain turned back to him with manufactured raised eyebrows. He really didn’t have the energy for all this at the moment.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

With all the time zone jumping it took him a minute to do the math.

“…40 hours ago?” He shrugged.

“I’ll make you food.” Without waiting for a reply Barnes released his arm and went straight to the kitchen; the clatter of cabinets opening sounding out as the captain headed towards the bedroom.

He closed the door with a solid click, locking it behind him and pulling the notepad from his chest. Using his teeth he ripped out the sheets he’d filled and tucked them into his pants pocket and with a deep breath he moved to grab the shield from his back. As he stretched, his side flared with an excruciating pain as his ribs shifted under the skin and by the time he pulled the disk from its magnets the captain was panting, his vision shorting out as sweat built on his forehead.

His steps dragged as he shuffled to the closet and after some difficulty with the shield, its canvas cover, and his fractured hand, he managed to get everything put away. He slipped the cleared notepad in with the shield and threw one of his motorcycle jackets over top, hiding it away from sight. He grabbed a set of clothes at random, shouldering the door closed and pushing himself to the nightstand to retrieve Steve’s notebook and a lighter.

The bathroom door was kicked closed and the blond stripped down, unpocketing his notes from the week and slowly peeling off the stiff debris and oil caked suit.

Leaning over the bathroom counter in only his boxers, the captain set fire to his notes; dropping the flaming paper into the sink as he watched every bit of lined white sheet turn to ash. The captain kept the separate notebook on him just in case; it contained a brief outline of the current mission and objective and despite being written in code, it definitely posed as a national security risk. He didn’t want the kid coming to completely lost on the off chance of Steve surfacing mid mission.

The captain wasn’t much of a fan of that either.

He re-gathered the salvaged pieces and relit the pile, ensuring every bit of writing was burned past recognition and when he was satisfied the captain washed the remains down the sink staring down the pipe long after they’d been washed away.

The blond shook himself out of his trance and flipped to a clear page in Steve’s notebook, taking out the small pencil that sat in its rings. It made more sense for the captain to continue being in control for now but between his exhaustion and Barnes there was a chance Steve might make another unexpected appearance and he wanted to make sure Steve was caught up. Steve would probably get it; do his own searching for information as the captain knew he sometimes did.

The lukewarm water hit his shoulders and he tipped his head down to the floor as the dirt was washed away. He thought over the mess he’d found himself in and the week and a half since Steve had had control. He’d most likely gone to sleep like any other day and would be returning to the aftermath of chaos in the tower, a bruised and broken body and under suspicion by two of its inhabitants.

There was a slim chance Steve may have woken up already –if only for a few seconds on the ship.

He hadn’t heard her coming and in the days following their next meet up he would be left wondering if the sounds of gunfire and calls from all sides had covered her approach or if she had a cloaking technique that was unheard of and he need to account for in the future. It didn’t matter the moment the Witch's hands circled his head –she’d snuck up on him and now he was here.

The captain didn’t dream –and if he had in the last two years he’d hadn't managed to remember a single one. Yet he knew as he walked through the curtains that this place had to have been a dream.

With an emotionless face he eyed the laughing patrons as they drunkenly passed him. He didn’t bother greeting anyone, his face it’s normal neutral he tended to keep when not performing –here he didn’t feel the need to bother; why would he when they were the ones putting on the show. Instead he assessed the chaotic gathering before him.

As he slowly roamed his way through the tent two men began throwing punches to his right, aggressively attacking each other as others surrounded them. The bystanders were neither helping, or egging on. Just… there, circling the fighters with smiles pinned high on their faces.

The blond moved on, another couple stumbling past as he walked further towards the dance floor. At a table by his left a man lay shot, bleeding and dead in a woman’s arms as she laughed. Blood slowly dripped from his lifeless mouth as his lover waved a handkerchief to her surrounding friends. The captain stepped away from her manic giggling, bumping into another intoxicated man.

The crowd on the dance floor divided and the captain’s eyes were drawn to the first thing he’d ever seen in his life stepping into the light.

They came together and her hands snaked around his neck, his own automatically clutching her waist. Bright red lips parted as she coyly whispered up to him and his eyes were as mesmerized by the colour as the first time.

“You owed me a dance Captain.”

The music abruptly cut off, the howling drunk laughter of the other patrons disappearing in the same instant. In his confusion the captain looked away from redredred to see the tent had cleared.

All but for Steve.

He sat just off to the side in darkness, his body frail, small and familiar. His clothes were all things the captain had seen the Steve from now acquire into his closet. The thick grey sweater swamped the kid, his thin arms stuffed into the front pouch and a black pair of threadbare jogging pants hiding his stick legs.

“Come home Captain.” Peggy whispered and he turned back to her to see a coy smile playing at her cherry red lips.

“What about Steve?” He muttered, his eyes only seeing red red red.

She had to understand. He couldn’t go home without Steve. Without Steve… there was… he couldn’t… She had to understand. She had to see.

Her brow creased, confusion gracing her statuesque features as she stepped away from him. His hands released her waist as the small hunched figure of Steve Rogers stood up from his chair behind her, ignoring the shouts of the captain as he headed to the exit of the tent and slipped out into the dark void.

A hand dug into his arm and the captain whirled around to see the ruby of Peggy’s lips and dress had turned trench brown and gray, the tent behind her now the crisp sleek metal of Stark’s labs .

“Who in the world is Steve?”

When the captain had woken up Wilson had been a few inches from his face, asking if he could tell Wilson his name. The man had looked worried and the captain had suspected it might’ve been due to an appearance from a confused and disoriented Steve.

He scrubbed the dirt, blood and oil off his body with the modern body wash he found much more efficient than the bar. He didn’t bother with the fancy hair stuff; just dragged the wash from his neck to his hair, dislodging the grime from the roots with his fingernails and putting the witch’s vision out of his mind for the nth time that week. He would deal with it eventually.

When he knew what it meant.

The water finally ran clear and standing firm, his hand twisted the knob to the coldest setting, the ice water hitting his bare skin like pins. His eyes blinked wide, a full body shiver wracking through his limps, reawakening tired strained muscles and his drifting brain.

Steve hated the cold. The captain might’ve thrived in it.

All he had to do was stay awake for a few more hours. He’d done three months on essentially one minute power naps before this. A few hours should be easy especially with food in him.

The captain stood under the frigid pounding stream until his ears and feet started to feel numb, the shattered bones in his left hand screaming out to the point of shaking. He stepped out and dried off his body but left his hair wet; the cold water dripping down his neck keeping his mind alert as he changed.

With a glance at his appearance he pocketed Steve’s notebook into his khakis and tossed the uniform under the sink into the chute that led downstairs. The cuts on his face had mostly healed but there was some heavy bruising around his temple that couldn’t be helped along by anything other than time.

He turned the hall to see Barnes standing at the stove, pouring what smelled like tomatoes into a bowl. A plate of fried cheese sandwiches was placed where the captain usually ate his breakfast, sugar and a saucer of milk sitting out off to the side.

Barnes turned, looking over the blond and whatever he saw had the man nodding slightly and reaching for a nearby steaming mug.

“Thank you Bucky. You didn’t have to do all this.” The captain said pulling out his chair. He really meant it too –Barnes absolutely never needed to cook for or eat with the captain. Ever.

Bucky nodded silently, placing the bowl and cup near the other man’s plate. With little hesitation the captain drove into his food, hoping his enthusiasm would leave Barnes’ questions till the morning or possibly never.

Thankfully the man remained quiet while the captain finished off his first sandwich and sipped at his bowl, eating slower than he had to due to his broken fingers. The silence didn’t last for long though as Barnes’ opened his mouth just when the blond started to dig in on his second sandwich, his left hand resting in his lap as the bones slowly began to knit back together.

“Where was the safe house?”

“Country. Barton owns it off the books.”

“What was it?” He felt Barnes’ eyes looking him over as he chewed and did his best to answer evenly.

“Stark put magic inside a defence system and gave it intelligence. It misread its objective and wanted human extinction. It was using the Avengers to –I’m not entirely sure, make a point or something.” The captain didn’t know how to really approach the Vision situation, he wasn’t even sure if it -they –would be returning to the tower or not.

”How was the panic room?”

“It was an entire apartment. Lots of waiting. Lots of books.” Barnes said like that explained everything. “Casualties?”

“Somewhere between 100 and 200 when we departed. Barton cracked a few ribs, Banner ended up going AWOL.”  He reached for the third sandwich, taking a large bite and averting his eyes to the table as he chewed.

Steve did that didn’t he?

“Deserted? Because of Johannesburg?”

The blond gave an characteristic shrug –at least it was for Steve –and slurped at the last of his soup. “Ultron built some kind of space ship and the Hulk got on it, turned off comms. That’s all I really know about it. Romanov stayed behind to start retrieval but there’s not much they can do with communications off.”

The coffee was cool by the time the captain reached for it but the placebo still worked enough for the smell to wake him up.

“Wanda, one of the twins, she can…” The captain searched for words, calming himself with another sip. “She can do a lot. Move trucks and buildings with her mind, maybe read thoughts. She can definitely make hallucinations. She was still with Ultron in Johannesburg and targeted Banner –that’s why Stark had to take him down.”

“Twins?”

He tried to sound normal, not letting his anxiety over the girl bleed over. “The Maximoffs. Pietro and Wanda. Pietro ended up taking a bullet for Barton and Wanda killed Ultron herself. They were manipulated by Hydra first. Then by Ultron.”

“Now by SHIELD?” Barnes asked, both curious and challenging at the same time.

“No.” The blond took a bite as he thought over a proper answer.

“I don’t think they trust SHIELD but they want to help; they just had a grudge against Stark and picked whatever side said it would stop him. They didn’t want mass destruction. Just Stark’s destruction.” Barnes was quiet for a minute while the captain picked at his meal.

“After jumping sides so much can you trust them?”

He took in Barnes’ locked shoulders and tried to calm his own biased worries. Despite how the captain felt about her, he could acknowledge the twins needed a second (or third) chance. He didn’t trust Wanda with his own secrets but he trusted her not to destroy Manhattan. His issues with the girl didn’t reflect her ability and willingness to help the team.

It's what Steve would've done.

“Wanda killed Ultron and Pietro almost died for Barton. I don’t think they’re older than 20 so I trust them at the least to not be planning anything we won’t catch. They’ll be tensions once Banner and Stark come back, sure, but they don’t work for anyone but themselves now.”

He took another bite, deciding Barnes would appreciate all the facts. “Banner threatened to kill her at one point, she didn’t fight him on it. Could’ve ripped him to pieces –she could’ve made him the Hulk and left with her brother –she didn’t though.”

Barnes lost some tension but he wasn’t as relaxed as he had been before. Ex-Hydra with mind-control powers and loyalty issues wouldn’t sit well with the captain either if he hadn’t fought with the girl himself. There wasn’t much more he could do to satisfy Barnes’ concerns though; frankly the captain was holding himself back from instilling a fear just to keep Barnes away from her.

“SHIELD cleared me.” Barnes announced in a monotone. “They want to implant a failsafe in the arm since they can’t do anything about possible hidden trigger words.”

The captain really couldn’t have gotten better news after the week he just went through. The sooner Barnes was cleared the sooner he and Steve could go back to living they’re separate lives –Steve far, far away from the missions SHIELD dragged onto his doorstep.

“What would the failsafe do?”

“Direct tranquilizer to the blood stream strong enough to knock me out for 24 hours. A tracker embedded into the spine. They wanted to use an EMP but realized the arm could be removed without killing me.”

The implication that whoever might retrieve him would probably take his arm off entirely was left on the table. No doubt if they managed to get close to Barnes they’d be smart enough to not leave any chance of being tracked and the arm was the most obvious place to hide it. Not to mention he was still more dangerous than most, even with the metal arm taken from the equation.

The captain focused on what else wasn’t being said.

“Who would have control?”

The sniper gave the blond a flat look.

“SHIELD,” His tone was bland as metal fingers wrapped against the table. “But SHIELD has been infiltrated before. It would be fine with you or Romanov having control. Not them –not an organization.”

He couldn’t fault his logic. Romanov wasn’t swayable and had openly distanced herself from SHIELD’s grasp after the Triskilion. She could withstand torture and she could disappear without leaving a trail for interested parties. Steve would sooner kill himself then let Barnes suffer again and the captain would rather die than let Steve feel like he failed Barnes another time. The man wouldn’t survive it therefore neither could the captain.

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow. Would you want to leave the tower once you’re cleared?” He asked plainly. The captain knew what his and Steve’s answer was but if Barnes wanted to stay Steve would too.

His grey eyes scanned over his face, hair and chest before the man locked eyes with the captain.

“Would you?”

The blond pretended to think about it for a moment, before bobbing his head. “That would be nice; I have a place out in Park Slope that’s been sitting empty. But we can both think about it until we work things out with SHIELD.”

He chugged the remainder of his mug. Thankfully his meal and coffee had given the captain a renewed burst of energy, readying him for his next few hours.

“Thanks for the food, it was delicious.” He said with a nod, gathering his dishes and placing them in the sink. He heard Barnes wander away as he ran the tap, the TV playing a minute later.

The captain cleaned his dishes by muscle memory focusing on putting the last week’s events in order. Everything was crystal clear with his mind the way it was but going the last 150 hours or so without REM sleep had its drawbacks. He was having a difficult time remembering exactly how long they’d been a Barton’s safe house before deciding their next course of action.

Had it been days? Hours? It all felt the same to him at this point.

He turned off the tap, drying his hands on the dish towel then glancing to where he knew Barnes was sitting. He quickly turned towards the front door, nearly holding his breath to aid his escape as he quietly shuffled down the hall.

“Where are you going?”

The captain let out a slow breath just inches from the exit and turning his back to the door he faced Barnes’ wide eyes down the hall just a few steps away. He hadn’t even heard the man get off the couch.

“Debrief.” He said with a small raise of his eyebrows, attempting to look innocent.

“Now? Have you slept yet?”

“Of course, the ride back was 5 hours.”

He hadn’t in fact slept or had a true sleep in the last 6 days –besides the dozen or so 2 minute recharges during his stay at Barton’s safe house. He couldn’t risk much more though; anything longer tended to send him away and it would’ve brought Steve forth mid mission which was the last thing the captain could allow to happen.

“Do you need to now?”

He shoots for remorseful and shrugs his shoulders apologetically as he lies through his teeth. “They always want to hear from me first. I don’t mind –really, it means they won’t need me tomorrow with everybody else doing their interviews so I can sleep in as long as I’d like.” He said with a practiced smile slipping the door open quickly.

“Don’t wait up.”

✪

The government official on video call and the SHIELD relations officer couldn’t be happier to see the blond when he walks through the door. They were no doubt putting pressure on Agent Hill to push up the meeting, at least to appease their own superiors, and getting the captain’s recount of events out of the way gave them time to work out some PR routes.

By midnight they’re both rubbing their eyes and grunting in reply to the captain’s answers. He pacifies their anger with his professionally taught smile but he doesn’t try too hard to make them comfortable. They’ve done it to themselves really; asking him every thought that went into every decision, asking details about things he’s not wholly prepared to reveal to just anyone, demanding explanations to things that weren’t in his control.

It’s not his fault but they sure want it to be by the way they’re questioning him. He probably should’ve waited for Stark’s lawyers but he can handle two suits better than he can handle Wilson and Maximoff so he’s taking his chances getting this done tonight. He can see they’re looking for someone to take accountability and he already knows Stark’s in for a rough meeting come his round of questioning.

By the time he’s explaining giving the Maximoffs amnesty and the cleanup effort afterwards, the woman from the government is yawning in her hand. The natural light in her office has long since disappeared and she’s consistently glancing at the corner of her screen to what the captain can only assume is a clock.

At last they end the meeting; the two non-Avengers looking grateful to be done with the unflappable soldier. Unfortunately for the SHIELD officer the captain’s not done with him.

Before the man can yawn his goodbyes the captain gets to the matter of Barnes’ release stipulations. He looks the wide eyed agent in the eye calmly, strictly laying out his own list of demands as the man shakes and nods. He ends up scuttling away from the captain out the door, looking terrified as he runs to pass along the message to his superiors.

Not wanting to subject either of them to an uncomfortable elevator ride back up the solider waited in the meeting room for the officer to clear off. He rolled his head, working out the tension in his neck and shoulders as he pulled his phone out, setting an alarm for early Thursday. He could finally give the injuries he’d acquired the time to heal and rest while Steve took over for a day or two.

They’d figure out how to handle the press over the next two days after they’d gathered more information from the other Avengers and took in some public opinion. As it appeared, the captain wouldn’t be expected to speak very much this time, but Stark and Banner (if he returned) had a fair amount to atone for in the government’s –not to mention the world’s –eyes.

When he’d waited long enough he stepped out into the hall and headed towards the elevators, sighing quietly in relief as he saw a car was already open to board. As much as lounging against the wall like Wilson had earlier appealed to him, he stood back straight as he pressed his floor and waited to be carried off.

The captain was aware he hadn’t yet worked out a solution to Maximoff and Wilson besides avoiding them at all costs. That would work for a time but it wouldn’t last. Even if he told Steve to stay in the apartment Wilson would probably, inevitably, come looking for him. He wasn’t sure what Maximoff had up her sleeve but he doubted she would be dropping the matter as well.

He needed a real plan; one as soon as possible, and preferably, better than his last. Barnes wasn’t going to be cleared in the next two days so unless a miracle happened moving out wasn’t in the cards.

On top of that problem, the witch’s nightmare had been plaguing the captain’s thoughts all week –its meaning mutating and changing, eating away at his confidence in what he was doing to help Steve. What he’d thought he’d been doing to help Steve if that’s what the dream had been implying at all.

The elevator’s soft ping sounded and the blond lifted his head as the doors smoothly slid open. He paused as he stepped out of the car, his eyes slipping closed in resigned frustration as he caught sight of the red-haired woman leaning by his front door.

“It’s 2 AM, aren’t you exhausted?” He asked resuming his steps.

Maximoff shrugged languidly, staring off into the distance fiddling with a string on her shirt. “I slept on the ship and Pietro wanted to be alone while his bullets are removed. You though –you are trying to hide Captain.” She locked her eyes onto his, her head shaking slowly. “It won’t work.”

The captain stopped a few feet away, the door working as a border between them. He debated brushing past, ignoring the intimidation play and calling her bluff but caution won out and he instead leaned against the wall, quickly trying to find the best route to get her off his back. She’d gotten his attention like she clearly wanted but he wasn’t going to make this conversation any easier than it had to be, he really wasn’t interested in giving fire to her power trip.

He aimed for polite instead.

“Can I help you Maximoff?”

“Call me Wanda, please Captain. And we both know why I’m here.”

The blond played dumb, shaking his head and frowning apologetically, “Sorry, I really couldn’t say.”

“We both know you’re lying Captain. Lying about a lot.” She stared him down, her dark eyes slits as he steadily looked back, silence stretching uncomfortably. The girl seemed to get that he wouldn’t be cowed and broke first.

“You’re friends should know.”

“There’s nothing to know,” His expression didn’t change as he replied and the captain gave his own assessing stare as he continued. “Why are you getting so involved in this?”

Something close to a growl came from low in her throat as she threw her head back in frustration.

“You cannot handle something like this all on your own,” The exasperation was clear in her tone “Do you think this is helping you? Your Steve-“

“Shh,” He rushed upright taking a step towards the girl who stumbled back in surprise and fear. He glanced apologetically between her and the door, trying to look less intimidating. “Sorry.”

She looked to the door her stance relaxing slightly but her bravado from before long gone. He didn’t want to scare her, he took no pleasure in terrifying children, but he hoped she would take him a little more seriously now. He wasn’t about to be bullied by a kid who didn’t know what the hell she was getting into.

After a moment she spoke back up. “They would help you if they knew.”

He jerked his head, trying not to lash out for a second time. “I don’t want their help,” He said tightly.  “I know what I’m doing and this is the best course of action.”

Maximoff was right in that they would try to help –they were decent people in spite of everything. That wasn’t the issue though. The issue was who the Avengers thought they would be trying to help.

Her face turned indignant, “How can you be so sure?”

“How can you?” He shot back, his own temper flaring to life yet again. “I know you think you know me but you don’t –you don’t know how they’d take it. You can’t say my strategies and orders wouldn’t be questioned. You can’t say afterwards lives wouldn’t be lost to their hesitation to trust me.”

The captain took a deep breath, leaning away from the girl. “I do the job now just is. Why risk that?”

Maximoff’s irritation had washed away while he spoke but her expression twisted towards crestfallen on his final words.

“How is that fair to you?” She asked.

His head almost shook in the negative; fairness wasn’t applicable to the captain.

“That isn’t for you to decide for me Wanda,” His fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, his blunt nails digging into the corners of his eyes. “All I’m asking is for you to keep this quiet –that’s it.” His hands left his face, gesturing towards her in a pleading manner.

If he had to beg so be it.

“Can you keep this to yourself? Please.”

Nothing was said as the seconds ticked by until at long last she let out a sigh of defeat.

“Fine.”

Another wave of exhaustion hit him as his shoulders slumped. “Thank you.”

“You’re right, it is not my secret –but I still think you are wrong to keep this to yourself,” She rushed to add in annoyance. “You can’t stop me from telling you that you are wrong whenever I can, and I won’t help you lie to everyone else. You may not believe the damage –but I do, and I won’t help you make it worse.”

He bobbed his head, “Fine.” He’d rather she leave him alone indefinitely but he’d take what he could get for now.

She eyed him for minute longer, most likely holding on to some small hope he would crack and change his mind. Finally when she saw no budge in his decision she nodded, stepping around him towards the elevator.

“You’re a good man Captain –that’s why I want to help you just so you know.” She called out as the doors sounded their closure.

He didn’t look back as the elevator carried her away. The words that were no doubt meant to comfort him instead left him with a feeling of dread he wasn’t familiar with.

They would want to help –but to what extent. The captain knew what he was but he doubted they could understand and accept without pushback. Not to mention she –and everyone else most likely –thought the captain was worth helping because he was their friend. When in fact he wasn’t really anyone at all –the least of which was a good man.

Captain America had never been a good man; Captain America did the things he did –because Steve Rogers wanted him to. There was nothing else to it.

He didn’t do it because it was right. He did it because Steve thought it was right. He didn’t care about justice or mercy –he pretended to because Steve thought those things mattered, and letting down Steve wasn’t something the captain was wired to do. Steve threw himself into firefights, brawls and burning buildings like any truly good decent person would and the captain just followed in Steve’s path on a larger, riskier scale.

The captain rolled his head on his shoulders, cracking his neck as he palmed the scanner to unlock the door. He needed a plan and with Maximoff’s nightmare and words still floating around his head one began to make itself clear. One he hoped would finally give Steve the much needed peace he deserved.

Chapter Text

ACT V: Reframing.

“If you don't know what you want, you end up with a lot you don't.”

Steve gave a violent flinch as he finally came to his senses, his entire right side erupting with a bruising ache as he lurched.

The last thing he’d remembered was blearily waking up in a rust covered room. He’d been ill and dazed and Steve had barely managed pick himself off the floor just to fall to his backside when Sam came skidding into the room; scaring the absolute hell out of Steve and calling Cap to the surface in his surprise.

He let out a hiss of pain, biting his lips to hold back an accompanying groan. He went to grasp the pressure in his ribs only to pull away gripping his left wrist, the hot burning pain of fractured bones leaving his hand shaking with a sharp ache.

Steve realized as he sat biting his lip that he wasn’t on the side of the bed but laid out with his back against the headboard. He glanced outside to see the room had the faintest beginnings of morning peaking through the large artificially dimmed window. Steve’s eye latched onto the notebook on his thighs quickly, the pencil nowhere in sight.

He let out a yawn, side throbbing as his rib cage expanded and opened the book in his lap, lazily flicking to the newest page with his good hand as he fought his eyes awake.

That was… worrying.

As curious as Steve was about ‘Sokovia’ he didn’t think he had the energy to look everything up at the moment –forget trying to remember anything he read about. He looked over at the nightstand to see the phone laying on it's charging pad and with great effort he reached over to checked the time.

5:45 AM
Tuesday 05/08/15

He rolled up in shock, really taking in what he was looking at as his ribs shouted in protest.

The 8^th? A whole week had gone by?

It’s not like it had never happened before but he hadn’t lost that much time since before they’d moved into the tower. If it was a mission that kept him away for so long, it was clearly a big one Cap wanted Steve to look up –one that had resulted in Steve being left with a warning and a mangled hand.

He wanted to pull up his search bar, he really did –but his body was pulling him intently in the other direction, the bed warm and inviting.

Sluggishly Steve pulled the blankets over himself, throwing the notebook into the nightstand until the morning. He’d look up what Cap wanted when he had the energy but for now he could only drowsily maneuver himself under the duvet; sighing deeply when the blanket tucked around him and his head sunk blissfully into the pillow.

✪ 

He only wakes twice during his recovery rest; once in the afternoon for a washroom break and to change his clothes, another time after the sun had set to demolish two glasses of water over his bathroom sink like a man out of the desert.

Each time he gets up his body feels fractionally better and by the time he’s rolling over to face the rising sun he finds he can curl his fingers without his hand flaring out in crippling pain and breathe without the heavy pressure behind his ribs.

Without getting up from under the covers he rolls over and pulls his phone off the stand, glancing at the time.

6:23 AM
Wednesday 05/09/15

Jesus. Cap must’ve been exhausted.

Ignoring the missed calls and messages from Sam, he opened up the browser typing Sokovia into the search bar. It took a second for his eyes to focus on the blinding screen but when they finally did, Steve found himself hunching over his phone in shock.

Yeah, exhausted probably didn’t even cover it.

A city –something –a robot? –ripped a city out of the ground and tried to drop it from the sky and Steve –Cap had been right in the middle of it.

He sat in bed for ages combing over videos on social media and news sites. He saw a few videos of Sam in his wing suit zipping around and even more shots of the red-head Cap must’ve been warning him about. Her hands had glowed vibrant crimson as she tore robots to pieces, righting falling buildings in mists of red. None of them had showed or mentioned the Winter Solider.

By the time Steve set his phone down, he was no closer to really understanding what had happened. The rest of the world didn’t have much to go on either; only having shakily filmed civilian videos to make sense of the events of the last week. All anyone seemed to know was there’d been an explosion at Avengers Tower, the Hulk had attacked Johannesburg and less than a week later Sokovia had been 1000 feet in the sky crawling with murderous robots.

At least Hydra hadn’t been mentioned.

Unease grew the more he read on and by the time his phone started to signal low battery he’d decided to keep close to his floor until the dust had settled.

For the next week Steve and Cap swapped places on and off; Steve’s free time spent inside the walls of the apartment while Cap’s time seemed to be used up at press interviews.

Steve tried to occupy his hours with sketches and TV but by the fifth eighth day he’d deemed himself officially stir crazy. He wasn’t sure if it was fine to run into the red-head or Sam yet and so far Cap hadn’t left a single note for Steve besides a few alarms on the phone that only marked meetings.

If Bucky was leaving the apartment while Cap had his free reign, Steve didn’t know. He’d been too scared to inquire what had happened to Bucky during Sokovia and couldn’t bet asking wouldn’t open up a box of questions. The mission did seem to affect Bucky in some way; he appeared to spend more time on his tablet and tended to follow Steve from the living room to the kitchen and back.

Now they both appeared to have a habit of asking if the other was alright multiple times a day.

Saturday rolled around for Steve, and since he was still house bound it looked like it’d be any other day he’d had the last week. He’d spent the morning lounging on the couch with Bucky, flicking through another ‘classic’ he’d found recommended online before giving up and making lunch. As he plated his food he debated trying out the red-box of easy made cake sitting in the cupboard just for something to occupy his time.

After they ate Steve settled back down on the couch with his sketchbook, finishing some details on the drawing of the café he frequented before Sokovia. His hand was gently shading a woman’s loud feathered hat when he felt a pressure settle behind him on the back of the couch.

He turned his head up and smiled as Bucky leaned over him to get a look at the drawing. Steve noticed he’d neglected to shave for the 3rd time and a few days old beard was beginning to dust his sharp jaw with thick coarse hair trailing to the top of his neck. He would probably look good with a beard Steve thought.

“It’s good.” Bucky muttered, grey eyes flickering over the drawing in thought. Steve took in his sleeveless arms and prepared himself to use the excuse he had been sitting on all week “A coffee house?”

“Yeah, doesn’t really look like the real thing.” Steve said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked over the smudges and uneven lines.

“You’ll have to show me sometime. I’m going down to the gym, you want to join?”

“I’m gonna’ stick around here –try and finish this today.” He loathed the idea of having to think of another excuse by the time Bucky asked him to leave the apartment again.

Bucky nodded his head, smiling lightly. “See you in a few hours then.” His hand dragged against the couch, the tips of his fingers grazing Steve’s collar as he wandered away.

The blond’s attention was back onto his sketch before Bucky reached the hall, his hand absently turning the volume up on the TV to fill the silence in the house. He rubbed at his neck, resting his head on his hand as he scratched away.

Steve went back to his shading, focusing in on the minor details as static noise played in the background. A few minutes of dragging his hand gently over the paper he felt Bucky near the couch once again.

“Y’forget something?” He asked focused on the paper. A few seconds passed with no response from Bucky, and in confusion Steve glanced over.

It wasn’t Bucky.

Quickly his confusion turned to shocked anxiety as he made eye contact with the very red-head Cap had told him to avoid. At her surprise appearance he jumped off the couch; the book and pencil slamming closed on his fingers as he spun to face her, his eyes wide as he looked between her and the hall.

“H-How did you get in here?” He meant to sound commanding and accusing but instead it came out sounding nervous and embarrassingly enough, scared.

“Sorry,” Her deep accented voice began, “I ran into James and he let me in. I didn’t want to interrupt your focus so I decided to wait – I hope I didn’t frighten you.” She smirked, adding. “Too much.”

Feeling like a deer in head lights Steve shook his head, and despite his previous reaction saying otherwise he tried to do damage control.

“No, sorry. Sorry. I didn’t hear you at all.” He said to the area around her shoulders, scrambling for something to say, her grinning face in his peripheral setting all his nerves on edge.

“Can I –Would you like a drink or something?” He asked the spot over her eyebrows.

How was he supposed to treat her? The Cap on the news vouched for her assistance but the Cap in his notebook had told him to AVOID RED-HEAD (MAXIMOFF) and Cap had been strangely quiet despite his increasingly longer hours roaming around. There was also the fact that Bucky had apparently let her in and unless Jarvis was compromised she shouldn’t have been able to get through the door without security noticing.

“If you have soda I would love some.”

Steve jerked a nod. “Yeah, sure. We got that. I’ll just– ” He pointed to the kitchen and began to nervously walk past her towards the fridge. He threw the sketchbook still crushing his fingers onto the counter then headed to the fridge, bending inside and using the door as coverage to take a few deep breaths.

“Is –ah, root beer okay?”

The click of Maximoff’s heels followed after a slight hesitation and the sound of the counter barstool being dragged followed.

“Yes, thank you.” 

Steve grabbed a can debating grabbing her a glass before he saw her reach out her hand towards the discarded sketchbook. Before he could move it away from her Maximoff opened the book to where the pencil had been shoved in his panic. ”I was curious to what had your interest so strongly.”

Her face was considering as her fingers lightly hovered over the page. “Did you draw this?” She asked, lightly turning the sheet back to the sketch of his view of the city.

He placed the can a little harder than necessary onto the counter, trying to pull her attention away from the drawing. Steve itched to pluck the book away from her, watching as she flicked through the pages freely.

“Um, yeah, they’re mine.” He said hesitantly.

“It’s good. Very good.” She admitted quietly, leaning in a bit to scan over the buildings and skyline. She muttered under her breath in an awed tone. ”Who knew Captain America was such an artist.”

He was dying to rip the book from her hands and as if finally sensing that she looked up, turning the book closed and pushing it to the side.

“That reminds me,” She began, popping the tab of the can, “I didn’t ask if you prefer Captain Rogers or Steve?”

“Um… You know,” Steve stalled, drawing up a blank. “Whatever is fine.”

She smiled politely, shaking her head. “I’m sure you have a preference.”

Steve’s shoulders gave a hard shrug as he leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. “I guess Cap then.” That’s what everyone called Cap anyways right?

His heart dropped in his chest as she replied bluntly, a patronizing expression growing around her lips.

“You’re lying.”

“What? No.” Steve said immediately, cringing when his words rung back at him. “No. I’m not lying. Cap’s what everyone calls me.”

“Yes, but you don’t like it.” She leaned in with a conspiring grin. “Did you know… you are an awful liar Steve Rogers.”

Yes, Steve did in fact know that –even been told that a half dozen times or so, but that didn’t change the fact that he still didn’t know how to get out of this minefield of a situation.

Why was he avoiding her in the first place? Why couldn’t Cap have just told him?

She looked ready to continue teasing him but her head shook as she eyed the sketchbook.

“I’m more interested in that. How long have been drawing…Steve?” A fine dark eyebrow was raised and Steve dropped his eyes to the ground.

He ignored the strange emphasis on his name and did his best to blow past the topic, his heart still pumping from the call out of his lie. “A while I guess –It’s. It’s not that good. Really. I didn’t have a lot of time to keep it up during the uh, war, so I’m outta practice.”

“Did you study?”

Steve nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. “One class –kinda needed to take them if y’wanted to draw for the courts.” At her questioning look he went on. “You know, those pastel sketches they always –well, the ones they used to do for trials. Had to drop out when money got too tight and it just kinda went back to being a hobby after that.”

She made a low considering noise, her eyes drifting away from him in thought as she sipped at her drink.

“So, um, what did you come by for?” Steve hedged, trying to sound more curious then impatient. He hadn’t wanted to explain to her his art and her behaviour had the hairs on his neck standing on end.

Wanda blinked a few times, refocusing on him and giving him a slight smile. “I wanted to thank you –for vouching for Pietro and I.”

“Oh.” Steve remembered the interviews he’d seen Cap give during the week praising and thanking the Maximoff’s help, but Steve had assumed it was some PR tactic to show a united front. He very well couldn’t say that so he settled on polite instead, rubbing his neck and ducking his head to avoid her eyes as much as he could.

“It was –uh, no problem.”

“I know you kept SHIELD from detaining us, and I’ve heard the interviews. I know they told you not to mention us and you still did –we would’ve been tucked away in a prison without out you.”

“Well, anyone would’ve done it, right?” Steve said with a shrug, looking somewhere around her shoulders. It felt so strange to be thanked for the other man’s deeds but it was nice to know he was doing what Steve would have done. With missions Steve had always worried if he’d made the right call – he never did have that problem when deciding to help people.

When she didn’t respond he looked to see her frowning at him, her lips and brows scrunched tight and she slowly tapped her fingers on the table.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.” She quietly whispered, low enough that he doubted she wanted him to hear.

He leaned back in confusion, “Sorry?”

“No. I’m sorry,” Her vibrant hair shaking around her as she shook her head. Confusing Steve even further she began to rise out of her seat stumbling over her words. “I..I should go.”

“Okay…?” Steve didn’t really know what to do, frozen against the counter as he watched her get up frowning. She paused before heading to the hall, catching his eye and walking over to him. Her hand rose to rest on his bicep and Steve resisted tensing up.

“Thank you again for what you did for my brother and I,” She smiled kindly at him, warmer than she had her entire visit and gave his arm a small squeeze before letting go. “It was nice talking with you Steve. I’ll see myself out.”

“Uh yeah, you too?”  He said confusedly to the air, listening as she headed down the hall and out the front door.

✪ 

✪ 

The next few days went thankfully without surprise.

Wanda’s unexpected visit had left Steve feeling more trapped than ever; like at anytime some random Avenger could stop by and interrogate him for whatever they needed. Even with the fake nurse living next to him in D.C., he’d felt freer to do whatever he wanted.

Here an all seeing AI was tracking his every move.

So, Steve left the tower for a few hours of night walking around his seventh thirteenth day of confinement. Bucky even joining him despite the odd hour. The two of them wandered the streets early into the morning; Steve ranting and raving about the latest injustice he’d heard about and Bucky quietly playing devil’s advocate like they were 20 again.

He’d also received a pleasant little voicemail from an inebriated Sandra celebrating the birth of her second grandchild, which was nice to get.

Cap still hadn’t replied to any of Steve’s notes, and an increasing number of Steve’s afternoons were eaten up by Cap’s apparent need to do whatever he was doing late into the evenings.

Since the whole Sokovia ordeal, Steve had more often than not found himself laying down in bed wearing Cap’s nightclothes, tablet discarded to the side and feeling worn out every time he opened his eyes. It reminded Steve of the times he would wake up during Cap’s search for Bucky; the strange feeling that he was forgetting something important that he had yet to finish and mentally exhausted with an undercurrent of anxiety.

Cap was pushing himself to the limit and it all seemed to be coming to a caving point –sooner than Steve could’ve expected.

The breaking point –the first incident –happens nearly two and half weeks after Sokovia.

The first thing Steve noticed was the heady scent of coffee as he came to his senses, the quiet ticking of a clock gaining weight in his ears over his loudly beating heart. His head was hanging low and he couldn’t find the energy to either lift his neck or open his eyes.

Steve inhaled deeply, his mind hazy as he took in his positioning; his oddly hard seat and strangely high arms, body slightly hunched over and head swaying. He felt nearly asleep, too exhausted to gain control over his body. Multiple times Steve tried to look at the surface under him but each time his eyelids were weighed back feeling heavy and weak.

A minute might have passed; Steve blearily trying to make sense of, well, anything as he furtively squinted below him. Eventually he managed to open them enough to understand that his arms were rested atop the kitchen counter, a half filled mug of dark liquid between them.

The kitchen. I'm in the kitchen. Why was that so hard to process?

Steve blinked long and slow once again, his eyes fluttering to stay awake and mind blurred with confusion and exhaustion.

What time was it?

He kept blinking at the mug until his eyes no longer sealed closed and in what felt like slow motion Steve brought a hand to his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Steve shouldn’t have been surprised it led to this; it’d been two weeks of waking up laid out on the bed exhausted, it was only time he’d come to somewhere else.

What was Cap up to lately? Steve had woken up exhausted at tables before –mostly during Cap’s search for Bucky. They’d always been covered in files that he wished never had to exist in the first place but it’d given him an idea of what the man was doing. Steve couldn’t even find out from the tablet; the history had been cleared every time he’d bothered to check.

This time all he had to work with was a coffee.

A heavy sigh left him and he dragged both hands over his face before they fell back to the countertop with a dull smack. With effort he peeled his eyes back open, intent on the finding some idea of the time.

His eyes found Bucky's instantly.

“Shit!” Steve jerked back, knees banging the underside of the counter and chair nearly tipping at the sudden appearance of his friend leaning calmly against the sink across him. The blond’s heart rate shot up as he stared wide eyed straight ahead, his mind going cloudy and vision blurry.

“Shit, Buck I.“ Steve stumbled to a stop and calmed his breathing, reining in his panting to just deep breaths before scrounging up a weak chuckle. Bucky remained silent; his head tilted to the side, his eyes roaming Steve’s face patiently.

How long had he been there? Had Steve –Cap seen him walk in? Were they in the middle of a conversation before hand?

“I’m –I’m sorry ‘bout that. Just got lost in my thoughts again.”

Another half-truth.

Bucky gave a low hum, nodding slightly.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” He said quietly, pushing off the counter and pulling a mug down from the cupboards. “You sure everything is okay?”

“Yeah Buck, I’ve just-“ He stopped, a disparaging laugh erupting from within. “I’ve Just been out of my head a bit.”

Again. He wasn’t exactly lying.

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Bucky murmured, his head tilted slightly over his shoulder, the pot of coffee hovering in the air. “More coffee?”

“Please, thanks. And I know it doesn’t sound like me.”

“No, I meant to the admitting it part.”

“Hilarious.” Steve managed a real smile at that, happy to see the slight amusement on Bucky's face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He leaned against the counter in front of Steve, the gentle clicks of metal, porcelain and marble echoing around the room as he tabled his cup.

“No.” Steve scoffed, cutting it off when he realized how he sounded. “I mean. It’s –it’s nothin’ Buck, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s good to talk about things that are bothering you. At least that’s what modern medicine has to say.”

“Is something bothering you?”

Bucky looked at him hard for a few seconds, searching Steve’s eyes for something before shaking his head slowly. “No… Something bothering you?”

“Nope.” Because Steve wasn’t bothered. He was… confused? Maybe fucking paranoid? But no, Steve wasn’t bothered, that wasn’t the word he’d have used at all.

They both know he’s not being truthful and like the Bucky from their past this one doesn’t push it. Nevertheless Steve knows his days are numbered; Bucky wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t know already that something was wrong. He’s not like Steve –he thinks shit through before he says it.

It’s just a question of how much he already knows.

Bucky will sneak up on him when he least expects it, Steve can bet on that. Steve won’t be cornered so much as he’ll be viscerally exposed for the fraud and lie that he is, and he’ll be completely unaware it’s happening until it’s too late. But Steve can drink his coffee in peace knowing tonight won’t be the night it happens.

After a few minutes Bucky's voice breaks the quiet of the kitchen. “Tell me about Park Slope.”

Steve lowers his mug from his mouth, face twisting in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Your place. In Park Slope.” He clarifies.

“There’s not much to say about it pal,”

“Do you like it?”

Steve shrugged a shoulder, settling his mug back onto the counter. “It’s…alright. Real fancy area but at least it’s normal.”

“What do you mean ‘normal’?”

“Like, they have all these futuristic metal apartments two floors large and mansions that could fit 20 people in them and everyone still have a bedroom to themselves. Everything they gave me was so…grandiose?” He fiddled with the handle of the cup as he spoke, hating how thankless he sounded. Everyone he used to know besides Howard Stark would’ve cried looking at the places he was offered.

”Buck, you should’ve seen what they tried to get me to move into. I kept getting pamphlets under my door for these places even when I moved to D.C.. At least the brownstone didn’t have marble floors and was near ‘home’.” He said dryly. ”I think they thought it was too out in the open.”

“So, you like the Park Slope place because it’s…. not a mansion? Near our old neighborhood?”

“I like it because it’s nice. I just said that.” He looked up to find Bucky staring at him, a thick black eyebrow raised in challenge.

“No… you said ‘it’s alright’.” He imitated a bored looking Steve, heavy accent and all. “Then implied you didn’t like the area and said ‘at least it’s normal’. Not a ringing endorsement.”

“Well, I guess. But I couldn’t exactly handle the real estate market let alone my bank account at the time.” Steve swallowed another sip. “What’s the big deal?”

“I’m wondering why you live in a house that you hate.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate it.“

“Fine. You feel nothing for it. That more accurate?”

“Yeah –pretty much.” Steve bit back a smile into his coffee, trying not to bask in the banter.

“Right. So why don’t you move?” He asked, shaking his head clearly lost. “I’ve seen your bank account, you could move where ever you wanted to.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about looking. Anyways I’d probably have to stay close for missions and stuff.” Steve shrugged. “I think I’d be happy as long as it wasn’t 4 bedrooms at this point –not a sentence I ever thought I’d say. What about you?”

“Not a sentence I thought you’d say either.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve swallowed lightly pushing down his anxiety and asking what he needed to, “When you don’t have to stay at the tower anymore. W-where would you like to live? You probably have more money than I do to buy what’d you like.”

Bucky smiled softly, looking at Steve before his eyes slipped past him in thought. A few emotions played around his eyes, but Steve was left in mystery as to their origin. Eventually his smile turned wistful and grey eyes locked on to blue with a minor nod.

“Somewhere quiet. Not solitude but... quiet.”

Steve’s lips turned up, the image of a peaceful Bucky Barnes filling him with almost too much emotion. If anyone deserved quiet it was the man in front of him.

“That sounds perfect.”

“It wasn’t very descriptive,” Bucky smiled lightly. “Could be anywhere.”

Steve raised his shoulders, his smile growing wider as they stared back at each other, grinning into their cups.

“It's perfect Buck.”

✪ 

✪ 

Desperately trying to offset another unexpected wake up Steve starts to sleep in a bit longer after the kitchen. He sees Bucky slightly less but on the positive side Bucky seems to be much more talkative when Steve’s around, even more so than the past few weeks. He’s not what you would call chatty or anything, but he’s more curious and prone to asking Steve’s thoughts on the strangest things.

What do you think of winter? Do you like horses? Do you like pine trees better than oak? Do you go out of your way to avoid crowds? How do you feel about the beach? How often do you get recognized? What do you do when it happens? Did you eat at the diners a lot before the tower? What kind of food do you like the best?

The questions didn’t seem to end and Steve couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Bucky was suddenly so interested in Steve’s opinions.

Steve loved it.

Bucky wasn’t just dipping into memories every once in awhile –he was actually starting conversations with Steve instead of just reacting to whatever Steve said. Bucky was reaching out and engaging him, breaking through whatever barrier had been erected between them during the war.

Steve still got out of the tower at night, Bucky nearly always by his side. They walk early into the morning, chatting about nonsense between them as they strolled the streets around the tower and venture to their old spots via subway.

One particular afternoon they’re lounging on the couch watching some home renovation show when Bucky drops in a semi-serious question for the first time in days.

“Do you ever think of retiring?”

“What?” Steve’s head whips around to stare at Bucky, the man as big as Thor and his mahogany deck on the TV are forgotten in Steve’s confusion.

“Retiring. Do you think about it?”

His eyes bore into Steve’s and Steve jerkily shakes his head. “Why would I retire? I’m 28?”

“Technically your 29 –or 97.”

Steve rolled his eyes, both at his mistake and Bucky's sass. “Still, people don’t retire at 29. And, technically, I think I’m physically 25.”

“What about mentally?”

“What are you getting at Buck?” He’ll indulge Bucky with his questions about colours and beaches but this line of questioning had warning lights flashing in Steve’s mind.

“You’ll have to retire sometime.” The man gave a carless shrug, focusing his attention back onto the TV. “Just wondering if you've ever given it any thought.”

Steve didn’t answer, turning stiffly to stare at the screen blankly.

Truth was he’d never given it thought. Before the serum he hadn’t expected to make it to 30. After he’d seen action Steve suspected he might not make it back home at all. There’d been the vague idea in the back of his mind of making it back to the Montague apartment with Bucky, as impossible as it seemed. After Bucky fell he wasn’t thinking much of anything and then Steve was with SHIELD, fighting/not fighting aliens.

But where did that leave Steve now that he wasn’t about to die? Where would he be in ten years? Twenty? One-hundred?

Bucky might not have been aware of it but Steve already felt somewhat retired considering the hours he’d put in the last two years.

(4 minutes and 18 seconds.)

Steve wouldn’t know how to strap up that outfit Cap throws on every mission. He didn’t know shit about weapons now a days or how to do any of the moves he saw Cap spinning out on the news. Steve already felt old and dated –retired like last year’s model, rusting away behind closed doors.

But…He liked that Cap was out there saving people. Steve missed that shield like a limb but the uniform he was happy to see on a man who wielded it better than Steve could’ve ever have hoped. He liked that Cap inspired thousands and lead a team of good powerful people with a steady head and strong moral compass.

He couldn’t ask Cap to stop. He couldn’t ask himself to stop. Retiring wasn’t an option when even half of him was capable of helping.

Still, the thought ended up coming back to Steve over and over again.

Could Steve walk away?

Could both of them?

Chapter Text

ACT VI: Technical Week.

“Everyone smiles with an invisible gun to their head.”

The second incident occurs a week after the last.

It makes his encounter in the kitchen feel like a warm up round.

✪

“..wait –uh sh,… -ow?...ay rig…the compound is going to ….tune to build but we’re looking at an estimated 600 million…”

Steve’s thoughts were in a fog; a man’s distant voice rambling on like a broken radio as he tried to take in his position. Again his head felt heavy but quicker than the last time, he managed to orient himself back into his senses ignoring the news going on in the background as he focused. Yet again his arms were raised but this time they were distinctly lower, his seat not a barstool but a proper backed chair. A table then.

The dining room maybe? But nobody ever sits there?

He went still when the distinct sound of fabric brushing against another seat sounded to his right. His anxiety was ramped up to eleven when he realized not only was there someone beside him but that the voice he’d been hearing wasn’t coming from a TV at all but from a man somewhere in front of him.

Please, let this not be happening.

With great trepidation Steve opened his eyes.

Steve’s heart pumped violently in his ears as he found himself in a meeting with none other than Tony Stark and 4 other Avengers surrounding a conference table, Steve sitting at its head.

Tony was rambling on at the opposite end of the room about the style of some building. A hologram slowly spun behind him as he went on about ‘modern chic’ and building costs while the others all seemed to be half-listening along to him. Nat flanked Tony’s side, a dazed expression on her face as she stared at the table and tapped her fingers against the metal. Clint sat across from her tiredly glancing between Tony, Nat and out the window behind them as he lazily kicked back in his chair.

Sam and Wanda were sitting closest to Steve, the latter directly flanking his right while Sam sat a seat away to his left. Unlike Wanda; Sam’s body was facing directly forward his arms crossed, head turned and eyes locked on Tony’s gesturing hands as the short man spoke.

How the hell did he wake up in the middle of a meeting? Last time he was awake it was… what the thirtieth? What goddamn day was it now?

“Cap –what do you think of adding a section to the left for SHIELD trainees?”

Steve’s head jerked towards Tony, eyes wide as the five Avengers looked towards him for an answer.

“Uh. If that’s…best.” He offered, trying to keep the question out of his voice.  

“Great. That, uh, we’ll get Maria right on that.“ Tony’s eyes had widened at Steve’s reply but he only shook his head and moved on, fingers dancing across the tablet as the hologram behind him added a rectangle to its layout. “So, since Vision wants to build on the property we’ll have to leave space for him to construct freely. Capsicle you got any suggestions?”

He felt like he was being assessed, like he was running treadmills for doctors behind two way mirrors again. Steve couldn’t keep up the eye contact and instead he stared past the man as he scrambled for the vaguest answer that might possibly get him out of this with the others none the wiser.

“Far… south? Behind…?” He gestured vaguely to the building, his hand locked tight in an effort to hide his shaking.

“Really? Next to the empty mine?” Luckily Stark didn’t seem surprised his expression turning considering. Steve felt confident enough to nod his head, mildly humming in agreement.

If Cap didn’t like it maybe he could play it off as brainstorming and not a real suggestion. Fuck if Steve cared at the moment, Cap was the one who put him in the situation in the first place.

“I’ll check with him about it, see if he likes it. Okay, moving on, how does everyone feel about pools? Yes? Yes? Yes? I’m thinking with the area being so barren and drab we could put in a few ponds to maybe spice the place up…” Tony continued to blather on and Steve let out his first steady breath since he’d opened his eyes in the room.

Nobody was looking at him oddly. No one called him out for being a fake. His decisions weren’t (hopefully) going to get anyone killed. Now he just needed to get the fuck out of here before he was whisked away for a mission or God help him PR.

Maybe he could say he had to use the washroom and run back to his rooms? Maybe fake a message from Bucky –Did Bucky even have a phone? Whatever, surely this wasn’t a life or death meeting right? They didn’t actually need Steve to be here or anything, and it’s not like he’d be able to contribute anything either. Only thing he could think of was that putting in ponds sounded like a nice idea.

Before he’d even begun to wonder when he should make his escape, a loud crack broke through the air.

BANG!

And Steve did what any solider would do under fire.

He took cover.

✪

In the days following Steve received absolutely nothing from Cap about what had happened in the Avengers meeting. Nothing about why he’d been there, nothing about what the bang had been, nothing about why Steve could suddenly leave the apartment.

Absolute radio silence.

The only up side was that he was apparently free to go back to his life pre-Sokovia. With no reason not to Steve was left to hesitantly venture out, for the first time during the day, in nearly a month. All in all it was refreshing to get out again though, to wander the streets people watching and buying off brand snacks and take out in person.

He finally got to stop by and chat with Bernice and Sandra face to face; he regretted it a bit by the 30^th picture of a newborn baby in the arms of various strangers. On his first trip back to the park he’d past his vacant Park Slope home and found himself wondering why Cap had picked it in the first place.

Was it to make Steve more comfortable? Cap more comfortable? Was it just randomly assigned and lucked worked out? After all, how much did Cap know about Steve?

How much did Steve know about Cap?

Steve’s hasn’t begun to work out the Cap situation with Bucky. It runs through his mind constantly, sure, but he’s not dealing with it.

It was selfish but Steve was just hoping on Bucky never deciding to join up with the Avengers. He knows its wishful thinking but Steve just wants to do his time at the tower, move back to his brownstone he feels nothing for, and all with Bucky in tow oblivious to anything to do with Cap. Steve didn’t want to be on edge, he didn’t want to worry about fans hanging outside the building, he didn’t want to watch movies with America’s best, brightest, and deadliest anymore.

No such luck for Steve.

By the end of the first week of June, almost a month after the Sokovia mission and the chaos with Ultron, Bucky seemed to be back to his old interfering ways.

Steve had been sitting listlessly around the house and it had been a relaxing day for the most part. He’d at least changed into a pair of loose jeans after his breakfast (brunch?) but hadn’t bothered to change out of his oversized hoodie from the morning. Bucky had been steadily ripping apart the juicer that’d been in the kitchen sitting untouched since they’d first moved in.

They’d taken a companionable silence as Steve drew out a rough sketch of Bucky in the middle of his tinkering. The only sounds for hours were Bucky’s arm whirring as he slowly broke the machine into pieces, and Steve’s pencil scratching against the sheet.

Steve wished he’d sketched Bucky while he had the beard but unfortunately he had opted to shave just before it had really started to fill out. Steve scratched at his own jaw realizing his own face was covered in a few days old scruff –odd since yesterday Cap had had control until mid afternoon. Steve had never managed to get more than two or three days but he suspected now he was only a few days away from achieving a full grown beard.

Steve was fully engrossed in his recreation of his friend, thinking absently about why Cap hadn’t bothered to shave when Bucky abruptly stood up from the couch. The juicer had been reassembled while Steve was absorbed in his shading and for a split second Steve thought he may be currently experiencing incident number three.

It was worse.

“Let’s go see the others for movie night.” Bucky stated, looking down at Steve’s frozen face.

“I...” Steve stared wide eyed between Bucky and his drawing, his jaw gaping like a fish as he tried to think. “I was... going to finish…” He trailed off weakly as Bucky began to shake his head.

“You can finish later. Tomorrow. We haven’t been in over a month.”

Steve struggled for an excuse. “You, uh didn’t eat yet Buck, don’t you think you should maybe –skip it? For tonight at least?”

He could find some kind of out in a week –if he didn’t he could just not come back to the tower in time. Ah shit Buck, was that tonight? Slipped my mind completely! He wouldn’t believe it but at least Steve wouldn’t have to sit through a movie night. Completely worth wandering the city for hours. He’d done it loads of times before anyways, this time he’d just have a reason too.

Bucky shook his head again, Steve’s hopes sinking in his chest.

“I’m sure they’ll have food in the kitchen, I’ll grab something there. I want to go.”

Well, Steve couldn’t say much to that now could he?

Steve fiddled with the pencil in his hands as he thought. He wanted to avoid the Avengers like they were the plague but it wasn’t right to make Bucky follow the same course. As much as Steve would’ve liked to keep Bucky far away from them he knew it wouldn’t be healthy or fair to his friend who was already feeling cooped up. He was aware half the reason Bucky joined him on his walks was because he was bored just sitting with Steve alone in the apartment. 

Bucky could never stay in for long.

“Do –do you want me to come with you?” Steve asked needing to clear his throat from nerves.

Steve could tell Bucky knew what the blond wanted to hear; could probably read it in his face, in his arms, in Steve’s heavy controlled breathing.

He lets Steve down anyways.

✪

“You’re nervous.” Bucky says quietly as they ride the elevator.

“No.”

“Don’t be, it’s just a movie with friends. It’s only two hours or so then we can go back to our floor.”

Steve refrains from giving a bitter snort –but just barely. Bucky's right, he always is. Steve’s done this three times before, he can do it again. He got through that disastrous Avengers meeting in any case –this can’t be any harder than that.

“I’m not nervous.” Steve repeats for the sake of his pride.

Bucky's hand comes down gently onto Steve’s shoulder, giving the blond a gentle shake like he’s all of 5’4 again as he walks off the car leaving Steve behind.

He takes a step before a strange feeling rises in his gut. It’s almost like fear, the type of fear you get when you’ve forgotten something important. A meeting maybe? A fire going at home? Steve squints and tries to figure out what he might be missing. It can’t have been anything important because Steve doesn’t do anything important. Nothing he’s done today, or any day in the last year, would warrant feeling like this.

Steve doesn’t hesitate for long but it’s enough to give Bucky pause, a comforting smile crossing his face when he looks back.

“Right. Two hours.” Steve mutters, shaking his shoulders to put aside the strange feeling and marching forward, allowing Bucky to lead them on.

Unlike the last movie nights the room is quiet, only Wanda and Sam’s quiet voices breaking the odd tense silence. Steve can’t make out what their saying by the time Nat spots them from the chair she’s coiled up in; her abrupt waving causing them to cease their chatter and turn around looking caught out.

Just like the other times though, Steve feels put on the spot as the stares of Tony, Wanda and Sam cast a spotlight on him.

“Hi.” Steve says after a nervous swallow. Look, better already, the other times he hadn’t managed to even get that out.

“Hi.” Tony answers, looking equally off kilter.

Steve slips his gaze to the others on the couch; Wanda giving him a bright smile and Sam giving him a tight one. He’s got no idea where Dr. Banner might be but he’s thankful there’s one less person with a PHD in the room. He assumes Cap worked out what he needed to with Wanda and Sam but he’s getting the impression Sam might still be a little peeved with him by how tense he seems. Mad at Cap that is.

By extension Steve too he guesses.

He stares at the wall.

Nat seems like the only one capable of breaking the awkward silence.

“You boys ready for a movie?”

Bucky nods politely and Steve works his expression into something positive that he thinks might be believable. Bucky guides them forward and its obvious Dr. Banner’s absence and the slightly tense quiet aren’t the only things different about this movie night.

The couch has been taken over by a lounging Tony, Wanda and Sam, Clint nestled in the corner of the couch on the floor. Oddly enough Tony was without a device in his hands, not a wrench in sight as he looked between the soldiers, Nat, and the others on the couch. With Steve’s spot from the last few times being usurped by Sam, he’s forced to either sit on the floor or squeeze in on the loveseat with Bucky.

As if sensing his hesitation, Bucky's hand reaches out behind to grab Steve’s wrist like a child and the man makes his way over to the small couch pulling the super-soldier in tow.

It’s not a tight fit on the loveseat–but its close. The space would be wide enough for two normal sized people to sit comfortably in but for the two 260 pound soldiers it’s less than an inch between their shoulders even with Steve leaning up onto the arm.

They haven’t been this close since Before.

“You guys got any suggestions?” Sam hesitantly asks the room.

Steve automatically shakes his head, glancing over at Bucky as the man shrugs; his shoulder grazing against Steve’s with the motion.

“Hey! What’s wrong with what I picked?” Clint pipes up from the floor, frowning towards Sam. “I’m telling you, it’s a good movie.”

“Man, I bet it is.” Sam groans back. “I still don’t want to watch an indie movie. Indie movies are always sad. That’s like, a sure thing with those movies.”

“But they’re funny.”

“Okay, yeah –Hi.” Tony’s raises a hand in the air, sitting up in his spot. “If we’re doing indie movies the only one we’re putting up is Fargo.”

“That’s not an indie movie Tony.”

With eyebrows raised high on his face, Tony’s twists his head slowly towards Nat. “You’ll find it is Red October. Just because everyone and their grandma has seen it –doesn’t mean it’s not an indie movie. The best indie movie. ”

“I think indie movie means low budget.” Clint adds.

“No –low budget means low budget. Indie means independent from a studio-“

Tony was cut off by Wanda’s exaggerated sigh. “Is this what you meant by movie night? Arguing all evening about what is and isn’t a movie?” She drawls tiredly, grinning as she looked over at the now frowning Tony.

Steve might like Wanda the most, if only because she seems to be the only who wanted to get the night rolling.

Sam huffs a laugh. “We’re going to be here all night anyways if we can’t pick something to watch.”

“Rogers help us out,” Nat says cutting everyone off from further squabbling. Steve tries to not let the anxiety show on his face as he looks somewhere over her ear.

“Wanda suggested Treasure Planet –which is an animated retelling of Treasure Island. Clint wants Little Miss Sunshine, which none of us have seen so we have to take his word on it –”

“Family. Roadtrip. That’s all I’ll say. And it’s funny–”

“–I suggested a cheesy movie from the 90’s called Hackers which is an extremely over the top and unrealistic showcasing of 90’s computer technology. Wilson suggested Transformers, which is a live-action version of a children’s television show about aliens who turn into cars and fight other alien cars–”

Sam let out an embarrassed cry. “Come on Natasha! You’re purposely butchering it to make it sound worse than it is!”

“I’m really not. And I guess Tony is suggesting Fargo –which is a dark-comedy about cops and criminals involving a murder gone wrong.”

Steve’s eyes jumped from Avenger to Avenger, never resting on one person for long as he thought over his answer. He peaked over at Bucky, and he too was patiently looking towards Steve waiting for his choice.

Thanks Buck.

“The –uh –Treasure Island one sounds good.” Children’s movies were short weren’t they?

Clint groaned in disappointment while Wanda smiled proudly at the room, clearly pleased Steve had decided to go with her choice. Tony didn’t appear to mind, most of his attention seemed to be focused on subtly taping at something beside him just hidden from view.

“You wanna grab a pizza or something first?” Sam says already pulling out his phone, “You guy’s good with vegetarian?”

“Nu-uh Newbie.” Tony shakes his finger, before pointing it towards the loveseat. “You two hermits listen up too. First thing about ordering food with this bunch –don’t. If it can’t be helped just get one of everything, it’s a nightmare trying to coordinate. Brucie and Pepper are vegan, Widow loves olives, anchovies, and all the gross things you’d expect an ex-Russian assassin to eat. Barton won’t touch his greens, Thor can’t do cheese and I’m banned from red meat on Pepper’s order.”

Sam looks blankly at Tony before turning his head to Wanda.

“I can’t eat gluten.” She says with a small grin. He sighs, shaking his head as he looks over to Steve and Bucky.

“How about you two? Tomato sauce a no-go or something?”

Bucky looks to Steve, patiently waiting for Steve to answer for the both of them; he’ll eat whatever Steve does.

“We’re not picky. –We uh, we just need one each.”

Realistically they could eat three ex-large or more pizzas, with sides, between them but Steve’s not about to tell them that. It was still embarrassing for him ordering four muffins the size of his hand from the bakery knowing full well he could –and he would –finish them all in under 15 minutes.

“Okay Ca-can do. Already on it Pigeon don’t worry about it.” Tony stumbles, waving Sam’s phone away with a hand. “Call your orders out people. Sit tight gang. If we’re getting pizza I got the perfect thing laying around for this.” Tony rocks off the couch, heading towards the exit at a quick pace.

They watch him go, the others exchanging confused shrugs before they call out their orders to the air, Steve quietly muttering for two large bacon and pineapple that no one seems to hear. Last time he’d ordered pineapple on pizza the cashier had cringed in disgust. Steve had looked up what the big deal was only to discover liking the fruit on pizza was grounds for lifelong excommunication.

Besides apples the only fruit Steve had ate before his USO tours were oranges at Christmas and lemons in cakes. Sue him if he wanted some fruit on a pizza.

“What were you two up to today?” Nat’s thankfully asking Bucky this time and Steve begins to release the tension in his shoulders.

He still feels uneasy though, like he’s placed something somewhere, god knows what, and he just can’t begin to figure out what or where. Steve keeps expecting to look at something in the room and suddenly remember and shout oh! That’s what it is! but nothing seems to shake the feeling. Nothing seems to be jogging his memory.

“I took apart the juicer and Steve started a drawing.”

“I didn’t know you could draw Rogers.” Nat says with a kind smile, her eyebrows raised in mild interest.

No such breaks for Steve it seemed as his body freezes and he’s put on the spot once again.

“He’s very good.” Wanda speaks up, smiling between Nat and Steve as she talks him up. “He did a very realistic drawing of the view from his floor. It was very impressive.”

“Its –it’s really nothing.” Steve mumbles, staring at his hands in his lap as his cheeks began to heat.

“How long have you been drawing?” Sam joins in. Steve just wants the attention off of him but Sam sounds just too genuine to brush off.

“Uh, since I was a kid, I guess?”

“Steve told me that’s what he wanted to do when he was young. Draw for the courts right?” He smiled back at her stiffly, nodding his head in lew of an answer. Why did this feel so much like an interrogation?

“Why didn’t you keep it up?" Clint presses.

“It was expensive –the classes. So, I could only take one before, you know, –the war. It’s just a hobby. Really.”

“Steve used to paint the glass displays in all the stores.” Bucky said quietly, smiling gently at Steve then to the others. “Everyone in the neighborhood would have one of his works up near Christmas.”

Thankfully Tony seems to come to Steve’s rescue, saving him from the dissection of his artistic past.

“Alright!” He announces, flourishing into the room with his arms full of bottles, cardboard containers and plastic rings hanging off his fingers. “Like I said, if we’re doing pizza and a movie it’s only fitting we mix a little something into the equation.”

Tony shoots a look towards Wanda, squinting his eyes. “You can have one, one of Romanov’s hard lemonades. It’s a teen drink anyways.”

“Is it legal to give her a drink?” Sam asked, glancing between the two in question.

“Sokovian drinking age is 17,” Tony shrugs handing a 4-pack sans one to Nat before leaning over to pass the extra off to Wanda. “Don’t worry Junior Deputy the only people who can get drunk off a single bottle of hard lemonade are toddlers. She’ll be fine.”

“Spoil-sport, for you and Robin Hood we got good old American beer. I don’t know what kind –it was sitting in the kitchen so I assume someone here likes it.” He tossed the six-pack into Sam’s lap, the man giving out a grunt on impact.

“And last but not least I got a treat for you two heavy-weights as well.” He grins widely, eyebrow raised towards Bucky and Steve, the last bottle waving in his hands as he dances his way over.

“Tony,” Nat draws out his name, the man turning around mid -shimmy with a tilted head. “What is that?”

“Thor left this stuff behind –cleaning crew gave it to me.” Tony says looking over the bottle. “Finders keepers and all that jazz.” He looks back to Nat and holds his hand out when she raises an eyebrow at him. “What? I have manners Romanoff, I can use them sometimes. If I didn’t offer it’d be like drinking in front of an alcoholic! It’s rude. Besides, I can’t even drink the stuff, and it’s going to waste just sitting around.”

“You could give it back to Thor.” Sam says dryly, his eyes shifting to the loveseat and Nat.

“Mmm-hmmm yeah I could, I could.” Tony pretends to consider, nodding his head in false thought. “Or –crazy idea, but hear me out –I could hand it off to these two who probably haven’t had a buzz since The Great Depression.”

He held the bottle out by the neck; it’s glass is dark emerald green in color with gold twine intricately wrapped around the outside, a soft glittering rosy-peach liquid emanating from inside. When Steve hesitated to grab the bottle from his hands Tony let out a sigh and accompanied eye roll before turning to Bucky, gesturing again for the other soldier to take it.

“Here. You could at least use it.”

Surprisingly Bucky took the bottle, hesitantly unlocking the copper-gold cap and taking a small sniff as Tony wandered off into the kitchen. With a snipers eye he assessed it over, swirling the bottle around and taking another whiff before offering it to Steve.

“Naw. I’m alright Buck.”

He raised a dark eyebrow in challenge, a smirk playing around his mouth. “You’d make me drink alone?”

Against his better judgement Steve let out a harsh laugh, taking the bottle from Bucky's hand. “Yeah, alright.” He said taking a quick sip and handing it back. Steve licked his lips in thought, taking in the odd taste hitting the back of his mouth. A smile itched to come out as he realized he might just be able to get drunk off the stuff, the back of his neck and shoulders tingling with a light sensation.

“How is it?”

“Light. Kinda’ like grapefruit and cotton balls. Maybe gasoline.” The smile was out in full now. “Feels like it works.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in curiosity and he gave the bottle one last considering look before taking a decent sized gulp.

Steve watched with a smile as Bucky worked his lips into his mouth, pursing them in thought. His eyes squinted before going large and a grin began to dance around his mouth.

“So?” The blond prompted.

“It taste like burnt lemon cake and Vaseline.” He said with a smile, staring at the gently spinning bottle in his lap.

Steve bit back a laugh. “Basically not terrible moonshine.”

Bucky's smile grew. “Dangerous.” He muttered.

“James.” Natasha breaks their bubble, pulling both solders attentions back towards the room. “What did you mean you took apart the juicer?”

The others are still fairly quiet; Wanda peeling the label off her bottle and Sam looking somewhat out of it towards the center of the room as he taps his can with his finger. Clint seems to be solely focused on the game he’s playing on his phone.

“Yeah, I gotta ask Robocop what’s the deal about that?” Tony asks, as he collapses onto the couch in a lounge, a thick dark red drink in his hand. “Barton tells me you like taking stuff apart. FRIDAY tells me the receptionist and delivery people are on a first name basis now with you ordering so much crap. What exactly are you trying to build down there?” Tony suddenly went still, eyebrows rising as he sat up looking towards Bucky with newfound interest.

“Unless you’re trying to build yourself a new arm or something. Listen, Buddy, I can do that for you if that’s what you’re up to.” He looks closer towards a panting dog at the moment than he does a billionaire, his head nodding in enthusiasm. “Really. Really –I can definitely do that for you. I want to do it. Let me do it, I can do it, give me 20 minutes with it–”

“Tony relax about the goddamn arm.” Clint mumbles, shaking his head with his eyes still on his phone. “Stop drooling about it. I’m pretty sure he’s not crafting himself a limb with microwaves.”

“You could though,” Tony jumps in, finger pointed at Clint. “I definitely could. Just off the top of my head, I could think of ten ways to make an even better one out of titanium based–”

“I’m not building an arm.” Bucky states plainly. “I’m not building anything,”

“Then what’s the deal Icecapades –you just like breaking stuff? Or did you not believe me when I said your floor wasn’t bugged?”

Bucky's brows crease for a moment while he thinks. It’s obvious he’s never given his hobby any thought. To be honest Steve really hadn’t either. It was familiar to the man; he had assumed it would be familiar to Bucky too.

“I like to see how they work.” He finally says. Steve can hear the unsure tone in his voice even if the others may not. Like Bucky had no idea why he felt the way he did.

Steve would have preferred to remain silent but he opened his mouth anyways. He wasn’t sure if Bucky forgot or the memory blended too much together as they sometimes had in the past, but he felt compelled to make sure Bucky knew all the facts.

“You used to do that stuff all the time.” Steve says quietly, even though he knows the rest of the silent room can hear them. “I’m pretty sure you wanted to be an engineer at one point.”

Footsteps cut Steve off and he’s grateful to see an SI employee entering the room carrying a stack of boxes. Now that the food had finally arrived maybe they could actually play the movie and get the night over with.

It hadn’t been too awful so far. Everything they’ve wondered about he doesn’t have to worry about Cap having an opinion on. Cap might be fucked in the future if they ask for portraits but Steve can always pop out a quick one if need be. He wouldn't mind trying to get Tony's energy down or Natasha's cutting eyes and Sam's warm smile.

Sam jumps up, taking the stack and placing them on the table, beginning to hand them out to the group. Wanda waves her hand and a trail of floating plates and napkins sail in from the kitchen, landing gently on the table as Sam reads labels and hands out pizzas. Bucky passes the bottle off to Steve to retrieve their large boxes from the bottom of the stack.

Steve takes another sip from the bottle, placing it on the side table beside him as he takes his own box from Bucky. He takes a glance around the room as he opens the container and sees the others are all digging into their food with gusto, Sam and Clint ridiculing Tony for his choice in spinach.

No one makes a move to start the movie.

Steve tries to eat his pizza, hiding the toppings behind his cardboard box while he patiently waits for the movie to play.

“–yeah, yeah. Okay, I get it. It’s disgusting, my age is showing, I’m the 1%. A reminder you’re living here rent free so you might want to be nice to me.” Tony shakes his head, pointing his pizza at the Bucky. “So, you wanted to be an engineer?”

Bucky made a face, biting into his own slice as he turned his eyes onto Steve questioningly; he must not have remembered Steve realized. Despite this, Bucky didn’t look worried or scared just mildly curious. In the few times it’d happened during their time back together Bucky never seemed to mind when his memory failed him, he’d just wait patiently for Steve to sort them out when he was unable to.

Steve was just grateful Bucky had any memories at all. Even 50 percent was better than nothing.

“I don’t think it was actually a class, but you said it was one all the time.” Steve began, dropping his half-eaten slice back into the box. “That was in 34’ with Gus Fitzgerald stripping down parts for his business. He taught you ‘bout wiring, gears, all that stuff. You did that for a few months after school.” Steve paused as Bucky gazed off for a second, remembering for himself.

“…Then Sarah got sick.”

It was another non-question and Steve nodded. He reaches for the strange ale once again, taking a sip and passing the bottle over to Bucky.

“Yeah, Ma got sick. The summer she died you got a full time job and couldn’t keep up with Gus anymore. Said you needed the money and he wasn’t payin’ you to be there like the diner was. But you kept up breaking things apart.” He says with a smile, remembering the yips and curses as the man tore into junk. “Trash radios you use to fix up and sell at the junk shop for extra money. In 36’ we made a deal. I– “

“You go to art school. I take a…mechanics apprenticeship?” Bucky jumped in. Steve shook his head kindly; he knew where Bucky was getting confused now.

“No, I wanted to go to art school but I couldn’t because I never finished high school and we were both too poor to get you into university. Fall 37’ you went down to the library an’ read everything you could –lied your way into a halfway decent job from it. You said you didn’t mind getting covered in grease because it was as close to a real class as we were gonna’ get. You paid for me to go to a plain ol’ art class but I only accepted if-“

“You paid for an engineering class. I remember.” Bucky looked even more lost, passing the bottle back with a shake of his head. “The class I don’t.”

Steve smiled sadly taking another drink. “In 39’ I got pneumonia while we were saving up. And you…” Steve trailed off.

“…And I took the money.” Bucky finished with a slow nod.

“Yeah. Think we both knew it might happen but I know you were down about it for a while. You sat in on a class once though. Think it was…'40? '41?”

“Sorry to cut in. But why’d you take the money?” Clint interrupted. Steve looked up to find the others staring at the two of them attentively. He’d forgotten they’d had an audience.

Bucky turned to Clint, expression composed as ever as he picked up another slice. “He needed to stay in the hospital. Multiple doctor’s visits. Medicine. Proper blankets. Better food.” Bucky paused, grinning slightly. “Steve was mad.”

Steve nodded his head, not willing to say much more. He’d really said enough already –Bucky didn’t need him guiding memories anymore.

“If he was dying, why would Steve be mad?” Nat asked. Maybe she’d just never called him that before but the way she said Steve’s name had him tensing up again–it felt like she was testing it out, like she was testing his reaction.

He took a bite and internally brushed off his paranoia because that’s what it was, surely. She was probably doing it to make Bucky more comfortable –the man never seemed to call him anything else and maybe she’d picked up on that during their walk down memory lane.

Steve looked up from his lap to see Bucky shrug, biting into his slice. “I had to pay off his mom’s hospital debts before they would admit him.”

“And that wasn’t cool because…?” Clint asked.

Bucky directed the question towards Steve, warmth and amusement in his eyes. “Steve?”

“It ain’t right people gotta pay to get help.” Steve muttered into the room. “I didn’t wanna contribute to that shit –and we’d been saving for months for that. Didn’t feel right I got to take a class when he didn’t.”

“How long did you two live together?” Sam asks around a slurp from his can.

Bucky spares him a glance. “We got an apartment in 34’.”

“Moved into a few different ones until 38’.” Steve adds, “Then we managed to keep the one on Montague for a few years.

“Then I shipped out.” Bucky finishes with a bite. He can see Sam do a slight double take from the corner of his eye.

“You two lived together for nine years?”

“I don’t think I’ve lived with anyone for longer than two.” Clint grumbles around a slice.

“I get sick of my roommates after six months.” Sam shakes his head, “Nine years… With the best one I ever had its still about 8 years too long.”

Wanda sighs heavily, looking bored. “Are we going to watch the movie at any point?”

Steve decides right then that Wanda is definitely his favorite.

The movie is gorgeous and quickly Steve finds himself muttering words of awe with his chin in his hands as the beautiful animation plays. It’s a children’s movie and it shows in the comedy but Steve forgets his embarrassment as he sips more and more or Thor's mysterious alcohol. He looks over to Bucky a few times as they pass the bottle back and forth and smiles are shared between them.

It’s kind of nice if he’s honest.

If Steve ever got a chance to meet Thor he was definitely going to thank him. He hasn’t had a proper drink since before Bucky shipped out and it’s nice to rewrite the memory of the last time he tried. If it was just Bucky and Steve they could be re-enacting countless nights sitting on their fire escape, passing bottle after bottle between them.

The others chat intermediately while he sits captivated by the artwork and even Clint lets out an impressed ‘Woah’ during the colourful action scene. Tony’s wall sized TV definitely does the art of the film justice and by the end Steve is shaking his head in admiration and astonishment.

He doesn’t feel compelled to flee from the room as soon as the credits roll and he nearly finishes the bottle, tentatively listening to the conversation with his mind peacefully buzzing. He’s no longer the center of attention with the others arguing the superiority of their own favorite childhood movies. Sam pulls him into conversation a few times, recommending Steve look into stop-motion if he hadn’t already.

Now that he isn’t spinning with paranoia he can see they seem like honestly good hearted people. It isn’t like what Steve had with the Howling Commandos –with those men, and Peggy too, there was a constant weight surrounding them that brought them together. Sitting around a campfire or the back of the truck it sometimes felt like they were the last faces you’d ever see.

The Avengers didn’t have to help the world –didn’t have to do it as a team. Yet they chose to work together and work as a close knit group. There was a choice in their friendship and Steve was glad Cap had genuine people to surround himself with. Good people who had chose Cap back in return.

Tony reminded Steve so much of Howard but there was a goodness to the man his father had lacked. He teased like Howard had but his words didn’t have the mocking superiority that the elder Stark couldn’t seem to hold back on.

Clint was so easy going it was hard to feel off-put by the man. It was hard to believe he would be considered an Avenger with his quirked brows and tired indignation at the others teasing.

Natasha was the hardest to feel comfortable around even in Steve’s relaxed state. He would look away from Bucky or the others to find her staring at him, her face rearranging from an eerily blank expression to a small pacifying smile. Steve started to think she was harbouring a crush or something on either him or Bucky with the amount of times he caught her staring in their direction.

It didn’t take long for Steve to see what Cap must’ve liked about Sam. The man engaged Steve without pressuring him and when Steve answered his occasional questions –like his favorite animations, the cost of art school in the 30’s, the areas they both grew up in –Sam attentively listened to the answers Steve gave. He didn’t assess or analyze, and Steve didn’t feel judged –he just felt listened to.

Wanda only spoke to Steve again to recommend a stop-motion film she’d thought he’d like when he and Sam were discussing it. Besides that she mostly listened in on others conversations quietly, much like Bucky had taken to doing and occasionally texted someone from her phone. But Steve still liked her –her eye rolls over Tony and Clint's comments and her exaggerated expressions to the others conversations had Steve smiling into his bottle.

Nearly an hour or two after the movie finishes, Wanda lets out a jaw cracking yawn effectively signaling the end of the night.

“Think I’m gonna call it guys.” Sam says glancing over at the tiredly nodding Wanda.

Bucky leans into Steve’s side, his voice low like he’s sharing a secret. “We should go too.”

“M’kay. Lets get goin’.” Steve tables the empty bottle wavering as he gets to his feet. He feels a warm stabilizing hand on his back as he sways slightly side to side. He didn’t feel that far gone sitting but separating from the loveseat seems to have given the alcohol free reign to amp itself up and it leaves him feeling light-headed and limb heavy

Would you look at that? Looks like I can drunk.

“We’re going to head out.” Bucky says as Steve nods, his eyes fluttering as he tried to focus on anything in the circling room.

“You gonna be able to get him to the door Barnes?” Steve thinks it might be Sam speaking but his hearing is about as muffled as his brain as he continues to sway and take heavy breaths to clear his head.

“Of course.”

It takes Steve a second to realize they’re talking about him and he frowns towards the coffee table.

“Alright, alight. I was just askin’. You don’t need to glare at me like that man. You alright Steve?”

“Mmm? M’fine.” He restrains a burp towards the end of his sentence and set a hand on Bucky's bicep to steady himself. “Had a lot s’all.”

“Water and grease man.” Clint says, nearly laid out completely on the floor with his legs spread out. “Don’t forget that tomorrow.”

Steve nods, eyes nearly sealing closed as he leaned into Bucky's side. The only thing on his mind right now is stripping down to his boxers and passing out into the best sleep of his life but if he wakes up as himself in the morning the tip would most likely be appreciated.

“Come on Steve.” Bucky gently corals Steve up right, turning him in the spinning direction of the exit.

“Night you guys, come back anytime.” Tony calls as they shuffle to the elevator.

Sam pops up as they pass the couch, catching Steve’s other arm as he stumbles away from Bucky's guiding hand.

“I have him–”

“Yeah I heard you. Relax, let me just get you to the elevator, I gotta head back and clean up anyways. My Mom would tan my ass if she knew I left my trash for a maid to clean up.”

“Fine.”

“M’good. Jus’ stronger than I thought,” Steve keeps his eyes to the ground as they shuffle forward, his feet refusing to cooperate with him. Sam’s hand is hovering near his shoulder while Bucky's flesh hand lay pasted to his lower back; both their free arms are outstretched to the side at the ready to catch a collapsing Steve.

Well that was rude. He didn’t think he warranted that much precaution.

“Yeah man, I hear ya. Been there a few times myself with some damn smooth tequila and rum and cokes. Don’t forget those movies I told you about. James and the Giant Peach and–”

“T’Nightmare Before Christmas. I won’forget, promise.” Steve nods, patting Sam’s arm as the elevator came into view.

“I’ll hold you to that. I’ll leave you to it from here Barnes.”

“Goodnight Sam.” Bucky says, and to Steve’s alcohol riddled mind he can’t figure out why Bucky sounds annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight to you too Barnes.” His voice is equally tinged as Bucky's and Steve tilts his head back against the corner of the car. “You have a goodnight Steve. Good luck sleeping that off.” Steve’s nearly passing out as he hears Bucky hit the panel for their floor.

“Thanks. Y’too Sam.” He slurs out, managing to lift a hand goodbye as the doors start to slip closed. “Nice meetin’ you.”

They ride in silence; or rather Steve’s too far gone to pay attention to anything Bucky says as they descend to their floor. He’s on the verge of sleeping when all too soon Bucky's gently prying Steve away from his makeshift bed and guiding them to the front of their door.

“You looked like you had fun.” Bucky says quietly as he unlocks their door.

“Yeah…” Steve pushed off the door frame and into the apartment with a yawn, his mind going back to the worst of the night. He’d maybe rambled a little bit here and there but overall it didn’t seem to go too badly. No one was looking at him weird –he didn’t feel watched the entire night like an animal on display. He’d seen a beautiful movie he’d never seen before and got drunk with Bucky by his side.

“Y’know I did have fun.” He admits.

Bucky smiles at his feet as he toes off his shoes. He looks up amused as Steve leans against the wall, swaying as he pulled his shoes off one by one.

“You sound surprised,”

“Watched a movie, got drunk. It was good...” Steve shrugged sluggishly. “They’re nice. I like Wanda –she might be m’favourite. Or Sam.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles wider, “I’m glad you think so.”

“Yeah...” Steve squinted at him, using the wall as support as they began to shuffle towards the bedrooms. He remembered something from earlier and in his drunk state the question erupted from him. “Is it weird we lived together for s’long? Sam said it like it was'a lot.”

Bucky’s smile was still wide as he looked away. “Do you care?” He volleyed back.

“Naw.” Steve waved a heavy hand in the air. “I liked it. No one else I’d wanna' live with anyway.”

Bucky paused in his steps, turning to face Steve as they reached Steve’s bedroom, Bucky's a few yards further down the hall. His smile shifted into something more subdued and his eyes went fond as he softly responded.

“Me too.”

Looking at his face Steve couldn’t help but consider –Would it be so bad to tell Bucky about Cap? Maybe he could understand, they’d been through so much already.

Bucky's dad when they were kids, Steve’s Ma when they were older. Losing jobs, getting evicted, getting drafted, reuniting. The countless near death experiences before and after the war. What happened on the train and what happened on the helicarrier. Maybe Cap would be just another thing they’d get through.

“You alright Steve?”

Bucky could never be afraid of Steve even if Cap had joined the equation. They’d been each other’s support for as long as Steve could remember. Bucky would always have his back –right?

“I think…”

Steve wandered forward until they were a few inches apart. Bucky remained where he was still smiling faintly at Steve as the blond wet his lips swaying on the spot. He stared at the dip in Bucky’s chin, the slight scar along the bottom of his lip as he forced himself to speak.

 “…m'drunk.”

The smile dimmed and Bucky looked away, the corner of his mouth fixed up as he stared towards Steve’s chest.

“I think you’re right.” He said placidly.

“I should head t’bed.” Steve let out another appropriate yawn, and stretched his back out, faltering slightly on the spot and grabbing the door knob in support. If this stuff left a hangover the serum couldn’t take care of he hoped to God Cap was the one who was going to have to deal with it. “I’ll see y’tomorrow.”

“Goodnight Steve.”

“G’night Buck.” He half heartily waved over his shoulder as he stumbled into his room, his head full of cotton.

Chapter Text

ACT VII: Cue.

“Because everything up to now is a story and everything after now is a story.”

Steve’s had a nearly perfect day. It’s probably the best he’s had since before the war.

It’s nothing in particular. He went to sleep in his bed as himself –woke up in it too. Sure, he missed a full day in-between but it’s nice all the same. He hasn’t had to worry about hanging around the Avengers for 4 calendar days now. Cap had the privilege of waking up with the hangover (or so Steve tells himself for a good laugh.).

He felt cheery enough to make up a batch of pancakes, sprinkling a few fresh blueberries on top for something a little extra. Bucky wasn’t in sight, and a quick glance at the shoe rack told Steve he was most likely in the gym.

He stopped by the art store around 2 pm when most people were still at work and Bucky still hadn’t returned. Steve tried 4 different types of danishes on the way there –his entire trip taking less than an hour, with no recognition, and a sweet snack to boot.

Bucky was flicking through his tablet when Steve walked in the door and they sat around and chatted until it was time to eat. Bucky offered to make dinner and while it was sort of awful, it was also endearing to see the man attempting to step out of his comfort zone; even if it was six boxes of overly salty macaroni and fake cheese.

Steve had settled on the couch, his feet laid up on the coffee table as he attempted to work out the drawing program on his tablet. He had the damn stylus around here somewhere he just didn’t see the point in using it when he had perfectly good lead pencil and paper to use. Why use his fake pen when he could use his hands? Wasn’t that the way more satisfying and futuristic way to use it?

His finger came off the screen and Steve restricted a sigh as he saw he’d been off the mark yet again. The tablet fell to his lap in frustration, and he glanced over at Bucky to see how he was fairing.

It looked like he was in a similar position, his own dimmed tablet sitting in his lap as he stared at the TV. He no longer sat with his back ramrod straight, but his feet still remained firmly planted to the floor, ready to leap into action at any point. There weren’t words to describe how Steve felt to see how comfortable he was now though. Enough to able to slouch into the seat, head leaning back to almost touch the padding of the couch as he lost himself in media.

Steve looked to the TV to see what had Bucky so fixated and broke out in a grin when saw the woman on the screen explaining proper landscaping technique. The strangest things appealed to him now. Every week Bucky acted increasingly like his old self but the Bucky since then had come with his own bag of quirks apparently.

When he glanced back at Bucky he was watching Steve with a near expressionless face. There was something in the eyes Steve couldn’t read, something Bucky couldn’t cover up with his impeccable mask but Steve was too dim to understand.

“Enjoying your program?”

Bucky shrugged, giving the screen a fleeting look before setting his eyes back on Steve. “Enjoying yours?”

Steve let out a snort, shaking his head with a reserved smile. “Think I’m gonna’ stick to paper. It’s great, I just hate usin’ the pen. It feels too large in my hand –like I’m usin’ an oversized pastel.”

“Wanna take a break? Watch a movie?”

Steve smiled wide at that, slipping his tablet onto the coffee table. “Sure. Should I get popcorn ready?”

“If you’d like.” His voice was quiet but he was smiling widely back at Steve which had the blond cheerfully heading to the kitchen. Humming contently he pulled out the box of popcorn, grabbing two bags for their film.

“You got something in mind?” Steve called, pressing the popcorn option on the microwave.

“There’s a movie that was made on a book I read in the panic room. I’d like to watch it.”

“Sounds good!” He shouted over the buzz of the microwave.

Steve waited around for the first bag to finish and went about grabbing two large bowls and melting some salted butter in a pan. Bucky might have a few handfuls here and there but the blond knew already he’d be most likely eating majority of the haul. Steve was the one with a junk food problem out of the two of them.

“You’re fine with a few sex scenes and violence right Steve?” Bucky called out, the sounds of a fast paced intro beginning to play as Steve bowled their snack. He thought he could hear a bit of a teasing tone and shook his head to himself grinning.

“Yeah it’s fine Buck. A year with Dum-Dum and you get desensitized to most things pretty quickly.”

He walked back in just as the credits were ending, Bucky already having dimmed the lights. As Steve took his seat the camera pulled out to a man nervously sweating with a gun in his mouth.

People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.

“You said you read the book? Is it a King one?” He whispered, wanting to prepare himself but not wanting to interrupt. If this was going to be another Shining experience he’d rather know beforehand.

Steve hadn’t been prepared at all for that one.

“No, it's not a horror. It was by a man named Chuck Palahniuk. It was very… enlightening.”

Steve nods but stays quiet; watching intently as the story begins to set up. He’d seen recommendations for it online but never got around to watching it himself. If Bucky found something worthwhile from the story, Steve was definitely interested in watching it.

I know this because Tyler knows this.

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck begin to prickle as he starts to munch on his popcorn.

✪

“I don’t know if I like this guy…”

“Who? Tyler?”

“Yeah, kinda seems like he’s taking advantage of a pretty sad guy.”

“You would feel that way.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. Keep watching.”

✪

They don’t say much else while they watch, Bucky not saying anything at all in fact. Steve can’t help but suck his teeth and groan in sympathy at some particularly brutal punches. It’s a strange movie to pick for sure. He’s getting the capitalism themes but there has to be something else he’s missing here.

What about this did Bucky exactly find ‘enlightening’? The hedonism of the characters beating each other to a pulp? That they were loving it? The strange love triangle that Steve can’t begin to understand? The anti-establishment chaos? How horribly they talk about dames?

Steve's starting to feel like he should be concerned.

Something else tells him it shouldn't be for Bucky.

✪

Forget what you think you know about life, about friendship and especially about you and me.
What is that supposed to mean?

 ✪

Steve reaches for the second bowl of popcorn.

✪

He’s not here.
What?

 ✪

And then Steve finds his appetite has left him as his mind starts working over time to put together what he’s watched so far.

He’s being paranoid –he has to be… Right? He’s reading into this like he read too much into those Buck Rogers comics as a kid –like he read too much into Pinocchio and Of Mice and Men. Without a doubt there’s some similar themes but there’s no possible way it’s going where he thinks it's going. It couldn’t possibly.

✪

Are you sure this is not a test?
This is not a test.

 ✪

The reveal hits and Steve’s entire core freezes; the last vestige of his hope of being wrong about this night floating away.

He knows now why Bucky picked this movie, why he choose today to watch it. It’d been a good day after all; Steve hadn’t even seen it coming. He’s free falling through panic and straight into being frozen like the caged animal he thought he’d be.

✪

Why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?...You could not do this on your own... All the ways you wish you could be? That’s me.

✪

Steve doesn’t know why they keep going. They sit in silence as the rest of the movie plays out; Steve not moving a muscle as Bucky quietly breathes beside him. He can’t look at him –he stares at the TV but he’s hardly taking anything in the pressure in his head pounds so viciously.

✪

Was I losing more and more time?

✪

He knows what’s coming after –it’s what he’s been waiting for since that night in the kitchen. Since that day he woke up in the gym. Since Bucky moved in. Since he sat on that hospital bed and debated whether or not to let the doctors know how off his rocker he was. It was all heading to this conversation and there’s nothing in Steve’s power he can do to stop it from happening.

Fitting it should end with a movie night when it started to fall apart with one.

✪

Have I ever let us down? How far have we come because of me!?

 ✪

His mind is nearly vibrating with anxiety.

Steve wants to run out of the apartment –out of New York, out of the state and never stop running. He wants to break down and cry –apologize for not being stronger –for not being the sane man he could’ve been. He wants to go back to 1938 when the idea of war was abstract, to 1931 before his Ma was sick.

Steve wants Cap to take the reins so Steve can pretend this isn’t happening.

Steve just wants this not to be happening.

 ✪

You met me at a very strange time in my life.

  ✪

The credits begin to roll and Bucky clicks off the TV after a few seconds. Steve stares resolutely forward, too nervous to face his companion who’s turned in his seat to stare at Steve, his leg tucked up underneath him.

Steve’s vision starts to blur and all he can hear is the glug of his heart in his ears and the shouting in his head telling him to runrunrun-

“Is there something you want to tell me Steve?” Bucky asks, calm as ever, his voice slow and waiting.

It’s 1943 and Steve’s about to get reamed out for going through the fourth floor window instead of the first during last week's op. It’s 1939 and he’s about to explain as fast as he can that he didn’t mean to lose his coat but the guy who slept behind McCrogen’s Grocery needed it more. 1936 and Bucky is suggesting a walk down to the bar but wait, quick stop first to the alley Steve got beat up in the week before Would ya look at that Stevie looks like a car hit that can, and that one too and that one –say Stevie? You wouldn’t know somethin’ about that would ya? Would ya? Stupid fuckin' punk–!

It’s 2014 and he’s about to have a breakdown in front of his only friend.

It's 2014 and he’s about to be thrown in the hospital and strapped to a stretcher until he’s whole again.

“Breathe Stevie.”

A gust of air expels from him and he turns away from Bucky, nearly gasping as he braces himself against his knees and tries to take a few breaths.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, his voice embarrassingly shaking and wet as he continues trying to get air.

“I’ve known for a while now Steve.” Bucky says quietly.

Steve inhales harshly, ducking his head further towards his legs. He lets out a gust of air, his breath hiccupping as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You don’t have to worry–”

Steve lets out a choked laugh, cutting Bucky off from saying more. “S-sure. I’m. I’m not worried at all –What's there to be worried about?” He asks a little hysterically.

Bucky shifts on the couch, leaning in slightly to try and pull Steve’s eyes back to him. The blond still can’t look at him, he’s about to cry, bolt, or black out entirely.

“Do you think I’m going to cart you off like they did to people when we were young?”

Steve doesn’t answer, only leans back and crosses his arms to anxiously stare out at the living room. Every breath he takes comes out as an unsteady exhale; the fact that Steve doubted he’d see daylight again if SHIELD found out weighing on his mind.

He tries to dodge the question all together, having to clear his throat part way.

“How –how did you find out?”

“There were a few things,” He answers slowly, “Like I said, I read this book in the panic room and it clicked in my head what I’d been seeing. How different you acted while working, how confused you seemed sometimes.”

“Sorry.” Steve can’t quite keep his voice from breaking, a pitiable waver slipping out as he wipes a hand over his damp eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for –his pathetic crying, Cap, not telling him sooner even though Bucky knowing was the last thing Steve wanted. He’s regretful and apologetic and doesn’t know what else to say to make this better.

“Don’t be,” Bucky reaches out, shifting over so his metal hand can grasp Steve’s arm. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head as he huffs out a broken sound. “I’m crazy.” He states bluntly, a bitter smile playing at his lips.

“You’re not.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument, “How can I believe that when I survived Hydra a similar way.”

“I’m not surviving anything.” Steve interjects, not wanting to hear Bucky's platitudes.

Steve hasn’t gone through a speck of what Bucky has. He wasn’t blasted with 20,000 volts of electricity in a night, he didn’t withstand over a decade of repeated torture.Steve wasn’t made to forget his own history –his own name.

“I’ve just lost it.” He says out loud.

“You’re surviving the war –you’re surviving losing everyone you’ve known in a matter of days. You’re surviving the weight of Captain America.” Bucky’s hand grips at his arm. “Anyone else in your position would’ve given up a long time ago.”

“I did give up.” Steve says to his hands. “I wanted to give up but... I couldn’t.” He shakes his head, face twisting as he forced the words out of his mouth. “I let…him take over instead. I just... I didn’t care when he crashed that plane. I didn’t care when he started working for the Avengers, I was –I was happy I didn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He hears his words ring back to him and lets out another soundless laugh. “How can you not think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’ve been through too much, too quick.” Bucky’s heavy arm comes around to rest along Steve’s shoulder blades, the cool metal pulling the blond into Bucky's side.

“I don’t think you’ve been you enough. But Steve –I haven’t once thought during any point of this that you might be crazy pal. I don’t think you could’ve avoided this no matter what you did.”

Steve wants to believe him –maybe even does on some level but he can’t stop expecting white-suited guards to break down the door. For Bucky to cringe away in disgust and fear. He can’t stop worrying about what happens next and what he’ll be forced to endure.

“I’m afraid they’ll lock me up Buck,” Steve confesses in a whisper. “Captain America can’t be out of his mind. They’ll stick me in a cell I can’t get out –hide me away and dissect me when they can’t make me better.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Bucky says immediately, his voice going cold and sure as his arm locks around Steve’s frame. He takes a breath before he continues, his anger restrained and his voice more composed. “Cap wouldn’t let that happen.”

He tries not to jolt at Cap’s name but fails; it’s stupid, they’re already talking about him anyways but Steve can’t help it. His dirty laundry is being aired out to the world now, and giving weight to Cap’s name just makes this all that much more real in a way that his stress and worry can hardly handle.

“How do…” He begins, before asking what he wants to know. “Have you two talked? I mean… Did he know you knew you were talking to him?”

Bucky's arm slides back off his shoulders but it ends up resting along his upper arm, Bucky's metal thumb gently rubbing circles into his muscle through the ragged sweater. Steve still can’t make himself look at him.

“Do you want to know?” It doesn’t sound like a warning but a genuine question; like it didn’t matter to Bucky either way what answer Steve chose.

Did Steve want to know?

Eleven months –over two years –he’d wondered about Cap. The man that paraded his body around on the news and returned it to him bruised, battered and used like it was supposed to be used. Steve trusted Cap; he’d kept Steve doing the job he signed up for. He’d returned Bucky to him free of harm and of prison. If Cap had spoken to Bucky, it was probably for good reason –and this time there wasn’t a ‘DO NOT READ’ sign in sight.

Steve jerks his head once.

“Before Sokovia? Besides the occasional SHIELD debrief, he mostly kept his distance –kept quiet until he could get away. We officially spoke about two weeks ago –that night in the kitchen. I think he was planning on telling me before I confronted him.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel upset. “Why did you wait so long before you spoke to me?”

“I approached him after I did some more research on the topic and found some concerns. He was fairly open about everything but I didn’t ask too many questions.” Bucky grasped at Steve’s arm with his other hand, his calloused hand giving Steve a gentle shake. “Had to make sure my best guy was in good hands.”

“Not interested in diving into your good pal’s mental break?” Steve asks dryly.

“He doesn’t think you’re having a mental break Steve.”

“What?” Steve spits out, rocking to his feet and spinning around gesturing wildly around the room. “How can he not think this isn’t a breakdown?! I thought he was the smart one!“ Bucky listens calmly as Steve paced around in front of him, not making a move to calm or stop his outburst. “Does he think this is normal?! ‘Cause it’s not! This doesn’t happen to people!”

“It happened to me.” He says during a lull in Steve’s raving. “It's not common but it happens to people all the time.”

Steve shook his head, still roaming around in front of the TV. “S’not like that at all.”

“Really?”

Something in Bucky's tone gave Steve hesitation and for the first time since the wretched movie knocked Steve sideways he glanced up to his friend to see his eyebrows high on his face, his expression oozing unlimited patience.

“You’re positive about that?”

Bucky shifted forward, arms resting on his legs as his head tilted to the side. “Cap thinks he’s apart of you like the Winter Solider is a part me. Like the Hulk is a part of Banner. You know as well as I do Steve that I didn’t walk out of Azzano as completely myself.”

Steve did know that. He remembered how Bucky would get after some particularly hard missions. How’d he stare blankly ahead awaiting the next order until Steve had to snap him out of it. The long cold nights in some god awful forest; Bucky's unrelenting watching eyes high up in tree, sitting unmoving for hours in a way he'd never been able to back in Brooklyn.

Still Steve shook his head.

“You weren’t blacking out. It ain’t the same Buck.”

“No. It’s not. Cap has some ideas about that too.”

Steve finally stopped his pacing, crossing his arms and picking at his lip as he looked across the room at Bucky. The man sat waiting patiently and every minute the conversation went on Steve started to believe ever more that Bucky might be in his corner.

“Yeah? What are they?” He mumbled around his hand.

“Well, he has two theories.” Bucky sat up ticking off a finger. “The first is that it was intent. You wanted to help. I wanted to survive. Banner had anger he’d been harbouring for years and Schmidt wanted to be a god. In the end we all got what we wanted. Captain America to do his part, the Solider that can survive anything, the Hulk to let loose, and Red Skull to create an army of loyal followers.”

“That serum poisons as much as it gives Steve.” He finishes with a sad shake of his head.

It was a plausible theory, a nice theory Steve would’ve liked to believe but he was forced to shake his head again. “You don’t understand Buck. The serum didn’t do this –I. It’s only been since you… since the train. He wasn’t around before that like you had the Solider.”

“Are you sure?” He asked tone kind.

“Yes! I’d remember it clear as day even without the super-solider memory!” His pacing started back up as he went over everything that had happened that day.

“Peggy and I drove to the lab, she wished me luck. Then Erskine and Stark chatted a bit about the procedure and I hoped in the chamber. Erskine promised me a drink, I was zapped for about a minute –then I was pulled outta the chamber and the room was cheering. A bomb went off and Erskine was shot. I ran after that guy. Cap wasn’t there at all! He wasn’t there until I had to finish that fucking mission in the Alps!”

“So you remember the process taking a minute? You remember leaving the vita-ray chamber? ”

“What? Of –of course…” Steve stumbled to a halt his anger deflating as he really thought it over.

He… he didn’t actually remember getting out of the tank, but he’d just been groggy. It’s not easy growing over a foot and gaining nearly 200 pounds in an afternoon –anyone would have been a bit hazy. When he’d finally had the energy to open his eyes, his new body was being supported by Howard and Erskine. The scientist in the room cheering in success as government officials clapped each other’s hands.

“He says it was an hour.”

Steve’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “What was an hour?”

“The chamber. Cap says he was in there for about an hour.”

Steve swallowed loudly, his voice weak as shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

“He said the first thing he remembers is pain. Like he was being torn apart and reassembled down to every atom and every second that passed it started over and over again with no end in sight.”

Steve winced. That was what he could remember about the chamber too.

“He says someone was shouting how much time was left when he was in there. The first thing he heard was '100% power. 59 minutes remaining.'”

The last thing Steve remembered about the chamber was Erskine’s panicked voiced banging on the glass, Steve shouting, begging him to keep going. That he could do it. He remembers hearing faintly a man’s voice –Howard’s he would later recognize –yelling out the percentage of power higher and higher until it hit almost one-hundred percent.

He didn’t remember the machine shutting down. But he did remember Howard yelling out a strained ‘It’s holding!.’

“Oh.” Steve said weakly.

“Cap said the first thing he saw though was Carter’s lipstick.”

Steve fell into the nearby sitting chair they hardly ever used, his discarded sweater from the last week bunching up under him as he numbly stared at Bucky's hands. He didn’t remember taking in the colour of Peggy’s lips until after Erskine had been killed. Sitting awkwardly in the medical room as nurse after nurse took samples from him. He’d never seen the colour red before.

She'd told him it was called Victory Red.

“Do you remember Belgium?” Bucky asks softly.

“What about it?” Steve’s tone was empty, he didn’t know if he wanted to see where this was going. He felt like he was in shock, like any more revelations might actually send him running or blacking out into Cap.

“The nazi work camp we found. Do you remember it? What happened?”

“The Hydra base? Yeah, I remember.”

“No Steve.” He said slowly, his head gently shaking. “The nazi work camp. The one we didn’t mean to come across.”

Steve stared blankly at Bucky, the blond’s head shaking a faction when he couldn’t remember. They’d been an elite force to hunt down Hydra, Steve could count on one hand how many sole nazi camps they'd crossed, none of them had been in Belgium.

“Dernier wandering off for almost a day afterwards from what we found? Gabe spending the evening breaking down in his tent and Monty’s drinking starting? You don’t remember that?”

Steve slowly shook his head again, not trusting himself to speak.

“What about the internment camp in France? It was a Hydra division that had been taking prisoners from a nearby transport camp. What about that one?”

Steve looked away, swallowing audibly as he tried to find something to say.

“I hadn’t realized until Cap mentioned it.” Bucky continued to say softly. “I remembered you were different –a little colder. But I guessed at the time you were trying to stay strong for everyone else and you just broke down in your own way in your own time. But with Cap there you didn’t have to break down at all did you? I know some of those Howlies would’ve traded almost anything to forget some of the things we saw.”

He paused, the servos in his arm whirring as he readjusted in his seat, turning to face Steve as much as he could.

“When I had time to think about it, I realized it wasn’t the only time I’d seen Cap during the war. It was in France –I can’t remember where. We’d just done two missions back to back and on our way back to base we got orders to look into some intel. It was a coin toss if we’d get anything from it and the whole team was talking about making camp and blowing it off. It got to the point where Dum-Dum and Jim were talking about what they should put in the report to cover our tracks.”

“I remember that…”

“Yeah, I don’t know how. I know I was sleep deprived but you were pushing harder hours than the rest of us.”

“I…fell asleep... ”

Or at least I thought I did.

“That’s what I thought. I was waiting for you to give the order but you were passing out against a tree standing straight up. I saw your head dip and I remember thinking ‘this idiot is gonna break his nose when he falls on his face.’” He quoted himself with the accent and all, bringing a weak smile to Steve’s face.

“But your head came back up almost a second later–you shook your shoulders and pushed off that tree, back straight as a whistle. Told us to pack up and start following orders real serious like. Team was pissed but you didn’t seem to blink an eye, even when I started bothering you about it.”

“So what… you’re saying Cap got the job done?”

“I think he had to because you couldn’t ask us, or yourself, to keep going. He didn’t follow through to complete the mission –he followed through so you wouldn’t have to go on wondering if you made the right call for the rest of your life.”

Steve remembers coming to with Dum-Dum yelling up a storm about wasting their time. He’d always thought the lack of sleep had just been getting to him.

“There wasn’t anything there anyways.”

“But we both know you would have wondered forever if there had been.”

Steve couldn’t say anything to that. He still wondered about the fight he heard around the corner when he was 12. He still thinks about what he should’ve done when he heard a couple off duty cops talking about raiding the queer bar two streets over. He still finds himself day dreaming different strategies about his last mission, picturing the 184 other ways he could've made it out of there with Bucky alive. Steve had never learned to let things go.

“You said he had two theories –Cap.” Steve doesn’t want to think about missed time he didn’t know was missing. He needed to talk about anything else, right now, even if it’s still about –this. “What was the other?”

Bucky didn’t seem to mind the abrupt change in topic, sitting back in his seat and shrugging his shoulders. “That maybe the type of accelerant used affected our minds. You being reconstructed through Vita radiation, Banner through gamma. Schmidt used concentrated adrenaline to the blood stream. They stopped mine on and off while they injected me.”

“Jesus.”

“Vita radiation has stabilizing properties. Gamma radiation is hard to contain –Schmidt and mine are self explanatory. Either way, they’re made into our bones.”

“Erskine said the formula wasn't ready when Schmidt used it.” Steve added as an afterthought, remembering what the man had said about the serum the night before the procedure. “He told me he picked me because of the personality-amplifying effects… He wanted to make sure I had good intentions…”

Had Erskine known what was going to happen to Steve? He’d said to Steve’s face that Schmidt had evil inside him all along and the serum had only brought that to the surface. Made that more. How long went by before Schmidt turned the way he did? Was the formula not ready for the physical change or not ready for the mental one?

There was a chance Erskine even thought he’d perfected that aspect if he knew about it at all. Thought he'd eliminated the personality effects and selecting Steve was just a hail Mary that the serum wouldn’t take the route Schmidt’s had. Maybe Erskine was going to explain more only when he thought he had too, only if Steve had shown the side-effects…but then he was shot and killed. Long dead by the time Steve even suspected anything.

Was his final action –that tap of a dying finger to Steve’s new barrelling chest –had that been a reminder, or a warning?

Steve dragged his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes until he saw spots.

What did any of that matter to him now? What was done was done. They’d all received a flawed and broken serum and the only man who could’ve explained it all was long dead and buried; his notes already dissected by the world’s best and brightest. Cap existed, the Hulk existed, the Winter Solider existed.

“So what happens now?” Steve asks from behind his hands.

“What do you want to happen now?”

Steve laughed harshly, his voice muffled by his palms. “I want to sleep for about a day.”

“Okay.”

He let out a scoff, letting his arms fall to cast Bucky a look of disbelief. “That’s it –I can just, go to bed?”

“This isn’t an interrogation Steve. I don’t expect you to walk me through every detail of what you and Cap have gone through –I just wanted you to understand that you aren’t alone in this.”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was weak and Steve swallowed, the noise echoing into the room as he looked away, the intensity of Bucky's gaze too much to stand at the moment. “Yeah. I know Buck.”

“Sure.” Bucky doesn’t believe him but why should he? Steve’s still on the fence and he can probably read that all over him. Not to mention he (sort of) hid half his life from his supposed best friend for nearly 3 and a half months.

“Go to bed Steve.” He says, voice softer and tinged with sadness.

Steve nods, pushing up to his feet to get away. As he rushes past the couch Bucky catches his wrist, coming up inches behind him to turn Steve around. Without warning Bucky's arms come around his back and shoulders, his warm hand pulling Steve by his neck into the embrace. A cold arm straps across his back like a belt, locking him in place as a hand clutches at the fabric of Steve’s oversized shirt.

He’s almost overwhelmed by the action –the hug from Sam had been fleeting but this, this meant so much more to Steve than a thousand hugs from a thousand strangers could’ve meant. His hands shake as he slowly wraps his arms around muscle, tucking his face into the other man’s neck as both grip each other tighter.

It doesn’t feel the same. Not like it did when they said their goodbyes before Bucky shipped off. Not like when Steve's Ma was being lowered into the ground. It was a new type of hug. A hug between men who had grown so much bigger than they ever could’ve imagined. A hug that spoke of never ending support and loyalty. Of loss and grief and pain.

It was the first hug between the men they were now.

“You know I’m always gonna’ be here for you right?” His voice was nearly a whisper, his breath hot against Steve’s skin. “I’m here for as long as you want me.”

Steve’s grip tightened, not trusting himself to respond in kind as he nodded harshly into the crook of Bucky's neck. There was no one who knew him better, who he’d want by his side more. He’d take Bucky for as long as he could have him.

“Good.” Bucky's voice was barely above a whisper and sooner than Steve would’ve liked he broke the hug. Bucky's hand trailed behind Steve’s neck as he pulled away, his palm coming to rest on his shoulder as his thumb rubbed across Steve’s collarbone, his touch feather-light. Bucky's eyes were gentle as he smiled softly, and Steve resisted pulling the man in for another embrace.

“Goodnight Steve.” He says quietly, squeezing Steve’s shoulder before at last releasing him.

Steve nods brokenly, swallowing down his breakdown as he heads for his room silently. He can feel Bucky watching him until he finally closes the door, hidden in the safety of his room.

He manages to go through the motions of his night time routine without breaking down but the side effect is he feels oddly disconnected from his body as he changes and brushes his teeth.

Objectively he knows he’s overwhelmingly stressed between being found out, learning how long Cap had been around and the hug to top it off. Steve can’t feel anything past the exhaustion and the need to just finish this day already.

He pulls the notebook off the nightstand, the entire time feeling like he’s already dreaming. He scrawls angrily onto a new page, not bothering to hide the fact that he's talking to himself like he had every other time.

Steve crawls into bed and thankfully the exhaustion takes over him within minutes.

 ✪

 ✪

The next day Steve wakes up as himself, the notebook sitting untouched where he left it the night before.

Coward.

Steve couldn’t help the bitter thought, as he laid wrapped up in his bed staring at the ceiling. So he would be on his own today. Great. Everything was out there now anyways –what more did Steve have to worry about? He was pretty sure Bucky wasn’t going to be calling in a squad of doctors but did he want to keep talking about it? Did Steve?

What more needed to be said?

Sighing heavily, he burrows under the blanket, groaning in frustration as he wishes for Thor's mead from the other night. He wallows for maybe an hour before hunger demands he leave his makeshift cave. Dragging his feet, he went through his bathroom routine and changed into his jeans, eventually venturing out of the room just before one in the afternoon.

He does not stumble as he spots Bucky sitting cross legged on the floor of the living, arms tinkering with something in his lap like yesterday never happened. Steve might mumble a garbled ‘Mornin’’ but he’s not entirely sure as he shuffles his way into the kitchen, nervously going through the process of making his breakfast. If Bucky replies Steve can’t hear it over his nervous banging and fumbling at the stovetop.

He makes his food, sits at the kitchen counter and reads the discarded tablet that's sitting nearby. The click-click-click of the wrench and the construction program on the TV sound deafening in Steve’s ears as he stares blankly at the Wikipedia page that had already been open.

Caving to the deafening silence he inches into the living room, attempting to sit on the couch as nonchalantly as possible; Bucky still hunched over on the floor working intently on his pile of scrap. Steve says something about the weather –Bucky hums, his attention elsewhere.

They don’t talk about it.

There’s the excuse that Bucky is too focused to make conversation and Steve pounces on it with both hands. He keeps quiet, stiffly watching whatever program is playing. He doesn’t change the channel, honestly terrified it’ll ignite a chain reaction to another conversation. Steve eventually tries the sketch program again but the taptaptaptap of his shaking hands on the screen make it impossible to concentrate.

The tension rises and rises; Bucky quietly fiddling with his project as Steve’s heart beats out from under his ribs.

By the time 6 o'clock rolls around, Steve has to get away from the suffocating pressure in the house. He’s about 2.3 seconds away from bolting straight out the door when he bites back a stutter and announces he’s going for walk. He throws out an invite at Bucky, seeing if he wants to join and honestly expecting him to stay in.

He doesn’t.

They still don’t talk about it.

They get in the elevator and out the building not talking about. They walk six blocks to the café not talking about it and order their drinks not talking about it. They wait in line and they meander through the streets coffees in hand.

All the while not. Talking. About. It.

Steve talks about the traffic, he talks about trying out video games, he talks about how many people seem to own dogs now, how he thinks he might be a cat person, he talks about asparagus, the lack of brickwork in the future, reality TV, brands of soda, the shape of cars-

Steve cracks.

Which was probably Bucky's play the whole time.

“Do you like him?” He asks abruptly, shoving his free hand into his sweater pouch, as they turn into the park.

“Who?” Bucky’s voice is amused, his gloved metal finger tapping against his paper cup.

Oddly enough the light teasing eases some of the seriousness away, making Steve feel slightly less on edge about the following conversation.

“You know who, ya jerk.” Steve kicks at the ground as a deep sigh leaves him. “Him. Cap.” His name still feels like concrete in Steve’s mouth and Steve sips at his sweet concoction as an excuse to swallow the invisible stone in his throat.

Bucky shrugs, quick and careless. “He’s fine. You're better.” He said it as fact and Steve felt a blush play along his cheeks as he smiled into his own coffee.

“Thanks.”

“He’s protective of you.”

Steve looked back up at Bucky, surprise colouring his face. “Is he?”

He trusted Cap to dictate his life but he’d never thought Cap was doing it because he felt protective of Steve. Really, the guy returned Steve’s body back with bruised ribs and broken hands –How was Steve supposed to equate that with being protective.

Bucky gave a lazy nod sipping at his own caramel mix. “It seemed like he only had your best interests at heart. I got the impression he felt guilty for taking so much of your time.”

“Looks like a lot of people are feeling that way,” Steve’s face twisted, why would Cap feel guilty? Why didn’t he say something –or just give Steve more time to be, well, to be Steve? “You said something like that too didn’t you. I’m not ‘me enough’.”

“You’re not. I don’t spend 60 percent of my week as the Winter Solider and neither does Banner.” He says dryly.

“It’s more like 30.” Steve muttered. “70 percent is majority.” He couldn’t help but add.

“You’re consciousness isn’t a business stock Steve. Having majority control doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” He sighed, shaking his head after another sip. “30 is still too much.”

“Captain America is needed more than the Hulk–”

“Is he?” Bucky interrupted, setting his sharp eyes onto Steve’s, his head jerking in the direction of the tower. “Look at the team you have now –there’s Stark, the Widow, Barton, Wilson. Not to mention Vision, Wanda, and Pietro. Did I forget the 12 foot green monster and Norse god? The government funded helicarriers? The unlimited Stark supplied tools?”

“So what?” Steve felt his anger spiking but his voice ended up sounding hurt (which he admittedly was.). “You’re sayin’ Captain America is useless?

“No, Jesus Steve, calm down. I’m saying they can get by without him –you –the both of you, there constantly.”

“Last I checked he –I’m –whatever –Captain America is in charge of planning their entire missions –strategic mastermind of a generation or some other garbage. Why am I the one getting this speech? Why don’t you bother Captain America with this stuff?”

“Because you need to know that –he already does. And stop saying Captain America like that, that’s my friend you’re mocking there.”

“Sorry.” Steve muttered absently, something clicking in his mind as he kicked a rock down the path. “Is this why you were talkin’ about retirement? ‘Cause you want me to –what, quit?”

“I just wanted you to think about it –so did Cap for what it’s worth. For me, the hardest part of coming back has been figuring out what happens next. First it was the war, then it was Hydra, I was on the run after that. Since 1943 I’ve been expecting to die and now I’m at a point in my life were I don’t have to live with that fear over my shoulders anymore. What do I do now? I have some idea. Do you? Have you given it any thought?”

Steve stepped around his answer; Bucky's own thought process eerily similar to Steve’s own.

“I can’t sit back and not help Buck. I didn’t get this body so I could let people die while I lay back, read books, and watch bad television –even if that is what I’m doin’ now. I’m not saying I expect you to feel the same. I’m just saying I volunteered to do this –I don’t have a right to quit on it.”

“So when will you have given enough? When are you going to take some time for yourself?” Bucky's erupted harshly, sarcasm lacing his every word out of his mouth. “After you save New York? Wait –you did that didn’t you –twice if your fan sites are reliable. Are you going to have to die? Was being frozen for 70 years not enough? Working for Hydra not the note you want to-”

“Alright! I get it.”

“I don’t think you do Steve.” Bucky wasn’t finished, his voice cold. “If it was Wilson. Or Barton –Wanda. Would you ask them to keep going?”

Steve rolled his eyes, seeing exactly where Bucky was taking this. “Of course not. But they aren’t–“

“Serum –enhanced, no they aren’t. Emotionally we’re all on the same footing though.”

That… Steve hadn’t considered –but who knew what else the serum enhanced (i.e. screwed up), maybe Steve was emotionally stronger. Or at least supposed to be.

How long had Clint and Nat had this job? What about Sam, he was a veteran wasn’t he, and he still worked as an Avenger. Emotionally all of them had been able to handle being an Avenger, none of them looked like they were about to fold in the towel and stop helping the world.

Steve had been in the war for not even two years –slept for seven decades and after that Cap had been promoted to full time. If Steve counted Cap’s time as Captain America –which he really didn’t –He'd only had the job for just under 5 and a half years. The longest job he’d ever kept but still not long enough to consider retirement.

“I’m not even thirty Buck, I can’t walk away forever when I’m in prime physical condition to help.”

“No one is telling you to do anything but maybe take a vacation for awhile. And there’s a thing that exists called semi-retirement punk.” Bucky reached out, clapping his arm. “Taking some extended time to yourself isn’t quitting Steve. You just need time to yourself. You aren’t letting anyone down. You have a team for a reason, and you can be there for world extinction level events if you have to. Everything else they can handle on their own.”

Steve glanced around them, thinking over the idea of a holiday instead of retirement. He found the idea of waking up as himself, day after day for possibly weeks at a time, did have its appeal.

No mysterious bruises. No more worrying about days and weeks passing in a blink. He wouldn’t have to wake up in ship warehouses and crashed planes, meetings and workouts. He could be a normal person again. Plain Steven G. Rogers, except this time he wouldn’t have to worry about dropping dead when he walked by a plume of harsh smoke.

He could finally paint something. Get a job to keep busy –walk in and out as himself each and every shift.

Steve could try truly being himself again for the first time…ever.

“Okay. Say even if I wanted to take a holiday for awhile –not retirement, just a couple weeks or months –There’s still the team to deal with. I mean, can Avengers even take vacations? I can’t just go dark for a couple months; what kind of captain does that? I’d have to tell them –well, Cap’d have to tell ‘em something to leave him –leave us alone. What would we even say? Would SHIELD let us?”

“Stevie,” Bucky delicately holds a hand out, interrupting Steve’s rambling and halting them on the trail. He cast the blond a gentle look, his hand gliding up to grip his forearm loosely.

“The team knows.”

Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach, a numbed sense of terror filling his veins as he inhaled slow and harsh. The alarm must’ve shown on his face because Bucky glanced around quickly before corralling Steve to a nearby bench. His nearly empty cup was plucked from his hand and a moment later Bucky returned empty handed sliding next to Steve as the blond sat trying to work past his panic.

“What?” He eventually croaks out.

“They know about…you and Cap. He told them.”

“When?” He asks dumbly, dread filling his veins. The hand that had been on his arm migrated to his back, Bucky lightly tracing the divots in Steve’s spine as he stared at the ground.

“Last week.”

“Jesus.” Steve’s head falls into his hands, his elbows perched onto his knees. “Jesus, they knew during the movie?! No one said a thing the whole night! Why?”

“They wanted to meet you without it being a huge ordeal… and Cap thought if you knew beforehand you’d run away. I agreed.”

“Christ. Glad to know you’re all conspiring behind my back.” Steve spit out bitterly, sitting back to cross his arms and glare out at the foliage. Bucky's hand retracted last minute, a final pat to Steve’s shoulder before he folded it up under his metal arm. “That’s just great t’know.”

“Do you remember the Avengers meeting?”

“Yes.” He said through his clenched jaw. Steve tried not to sound too much like a sulking child but it couldn’t seem to be helped. His worry had quickly been replaced by confusion and now he was felt just feeling embarrassed and lied to.

That strange feeling he had of forgetting something sudden snapped back into his mind and with a groan he realized the thing he’d felt he’d been forgetting had been the fucking set-up he’d fucking planned for himself.

“That’s the day he told them about you. He was showing them that you existed, whatever happened in the conference room –he didn’t think they’d believe him without proof. He asked me not to say anything until after the team had met you.”

“Why did you make me go in the first place? I mean I get–” Steve waved a hand around vaguely in front of himself. “Cap doin’ whatever it is he’s doin’ –but why did you play along?”

Bucky sighed, nudging Steve slightly with his shoulder. “Because as much as you don’t think so, everyone wants what’s best for you.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head ruefully. “They don’t know me.”

“No, but now they know enough –that was the point of the movie night. So you could actually make friends and they can meet the captain of their team.”

“I have friends.” He grumbles.

Bucky raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t comment, shaking his head to himself.

“They know about–” Steve gave another vague gesture, a tired eye roll joining. “–'retiring' too?”

“I already told you it doesn’t have to be retirement if you don’t want it too. It’s just a break Steve, for as long as you need or want it. But yes, he did bring up the idea to them.” Bucky shook his head frowning at the passing New Yorkers, whispering slightly under his breath. ”Forgot how damn dramatic you were. “

“I don’t understand.” Steve admitted, ignoring Bucky's comment. “They’re okay with their captain just... taking an indefinite amount of time off? Aren’t they afraid I might –I don’t know. Get better or something? Snuff Cap out?”

“They wouldn’t abandon Banner if he couldn’t turn into the Hulk and they don’t mind you without Cap. They still want you on the team.”

“What use am I to the Avengers?”

“I don’t think Cap planned and executed 90% of the Howling Commandoes missions,” He gave Steve a quick tap to the thigh. “I’m pretty sure that was you pal.”

“But he does now.”

“Because you need a break. Whether you know it or not, you let Cap take over because you need time.”

“I didn’t let him take over. I tried going to the Avengers tower about a dozen times and every time he took over.”

“Like I let the Winter Solider take over for years so I could survive what was happening around me.”

That stops Steve from arguing further.

“I know you don’t think so but you are surviving Steve. You needed time to process everything that’s happened to you, and Cap was trying to give you that time –SHIELD wasn't.” He looks to Steve again, his grey eyes frowning as he searched Steve over.

“Tell me. How long has it been since I fell? For you.”

Steve shifted his eyes away and when he spoke again it was quiet, nearly a whisper as he stared down at his hand.

“About eleven months.”

Bucky cursed under his breath, a sharp gust of air leaving him as he shook his head. “And how long ago was the helicarrier? I know that was you up there at the end –how long has it been since then?”

Steve takes a breath, pushing the memory of a screaming, enraged Bucky out of his mind.

“….About 3 months.”

“Steve. In the span of a year –for you –you’ve watched me die, you yourself have died, you woke up in the future with almost everyone you’ve ever known dead and passed on thinking you dead. You’ve been harbouring this heavy secret and moving to place to place all on your own with little time to adjust in-between. You’re still working, still fighting all by yourself until I show up again. And even then you don't tell me what's going on with you.”

He powered on before Steve could argue. “We experienced different things, not comparable things Steve. Because I lived through what I did doesn’t mean I can ever understand what it’d be like to go through what you went through.” He stared out blankly ahead of him. “I can’t picture what happened to us any differently because I don’t want to even imagine being on the other side of that train. To then wake up a week later and 70 years have gone by?”

Bucky shook his head staring out at the small field with a wide-eyed expression. Steve mumbled under his breath and Bucky blinked back to the present turning back to him.

“What was that?”

“Uh. It wasn’t a week.” Bucky continued to stare and Steve did his best to explain. “I was, you know. The train. And then um, I woke up in London. Maybe…4 hours? Yeah about 4 hours later Cap took over.”

“And then.” He prompts voice eerily devoid of tone

“Uh. I guess I was in the plane there for a little while. 10 minutes?” He offers with a shrug. “Then I was here.”

Bucky eyes burrow further into Steve’s until the man sits back with a low hum, his metal fingers rapping against the bench arm as his head began to nod almost absently.

“Right. All that. In a little over four hours.” He stutters to a stop, his eyes shutting closed harshly with a sharp shake of his head. “If not for your sake, do it for mine. Please, take some time Steve –that’s. That’s too much. For anyone.”

“For your sake huh?” Steve tries to lighten the mood, glancing back down at his hands when it fails. “Where would we even go?”

“Where ever you’d like.” He says easy as anything, voice still tinged with tightness from their previous topic. “There’s a cabin… Cap bought it when he started planning all this. He says it should have everything we need if we wanted to just get away but if you wanted to travel I wouldn’t say no.” Bucky’s voice goes soft and Steve looked at him searchingly to find him staring at his own lap.

“Whenever you wanna go, I’ll follow behind you. You know that Stevie. I wouldn’t leave you again –even if God tried to make me.”

Steve looks back to the field, taking a shaky breath and seeing through the passing New Yorkers as he stares far past the view of the park.

He thinks about wandering the streets, forcing himself to try for the sake of a man who he thought was dead but now sits beside him. Steve had felt numb for months before Bucky's resurrection, he’d put up an act for himself but on the worst of days he’d laid in bed wondering if he was still trapped in ice, still on that train, if he too had taken the leap off that rail like he wished he'd done hundreds of times.

Steve thinks about the SHIELD hospital and the notes. About Park Slope, the apartment in D.C., and the tower. One fantastical nightmare after the other that he could hardly believe was his life. He thinks about how much he needed Cap to look out for him, how Steve had always had someone in his corner since the minute he could stand up for the little guy.

As much as Steve wanted to picture it, the idea was almost too large to imagine true and a trembling breath was released. His blue eyes closed, Steve tipping his head back to face the sky.

Who was Steve now? Who could Steve be and who did he want to be? A fighter? An artist? A protector?

He didn’t know.

He pictures his sketches becoming paintings. Refining, continuing and crafting pieces day after day. He remembers long hours frowning over a sheet, planning meticulously for something worthwhile to draw –making sure not a single page went to waste when he had no clue when he’d be able to afford another. He remembers sore hands and headaches, pride and satisfaction from finishing a piece he had no confidence in.

He remembers sketching up pictures of Rebecca, marching down the street with trails of animals they’d never seen following behind –the dozens of odd comics he made for birthdays and Christmas, and for when someone was down and needed a smile. He remembers stopping by Mrs. Thompson’s house for tea, entertaining the lonely widow on odd days until time came for her. He remembers escorting dames as short as he was and half a foot taller home if only to give them some piece of mind even if he couldn’t do any damage in a fight.

Steve was a person before wasn’t he? He could try to be one again. A person without the fear of appearing weak. Without death hanging over their shoulder. A person who didn’t live in the suffocating shadow of Captain America.

His mind buzzed with a new type of energy, an excited pressure that was his own –that felt good as much as it felt panic inducing.

But… Steve wouldn’t be left lost on his own to navigate this new path. Bucky would be with him too, wouldn’t he? The core of their friendship had remained intact –that they would be there for the other until the end, until they physically couldn’t –even then Steve knew he’d be trying to find a way.

Bucky would still be the constant he could always rely on no matter what Steve did or where he went.

“Buck?”

Steve might not know where to start. If he was even capable of having something new, something different and purely his in this century. In this body with this fractured mind and it's dated bittersweet memories.

But he wanted to try.

He wanted to remember the old Steve –the one he’d packed away in a box in his mind when he trekked off to basic. More than anything he wanted to see who that person might’ve become if given the chance. Who that person was with the unrelenting grief that was time and war.

“Yeah?”

He wanted to be Steve Rogers again – not Captain America, not Captain Rogers, not team leader.

He wanted to be Steve, whoever that was.

He turns back to face Bucky; staring into his hopeful grey eyes, so close Steve can see ice blue flecks. He knows what Bucky wants for them. What he wants and has always wanted for Steve and what Steve has only now realized he wanted for himself.

To live a life of peace and to have peace in themselves. Free of fighting for their lives, bodies, and minds like they had done for so long.

Maybe they would never be perfect. Maybe not even whole by the average person’s standards.

But maybe they could be at peace.

“Let’s look at that cabin.”

Chapter Text

ACT VIII: Post-Credits Scene.

“Trust me. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Steve wakes up to his head lazily rolling to look out the window as he did nearly every morning. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, lounging in the sunbeam like a lazy cat, slowly blinking at the water outside as he watches the sun dance off the surface. Bucky's room faces their modest plot of land but Steve’s has the view of the calm lake that their home sits beside.

It’s… there aren’t words for the peace he feels waking every day in his home.

After the first three weeks he stopped feeling guilty for it. He stopped checking his notebook, he doesn’t need to (though the habit of checking the date hasn’t broke). He hasn’t been Cap since the day they arrived and no one has texted, called or showed up knocking either.

Every day he feels lighter and lighter, until he can’t fathom how he lasted with the weight for so long beforehand.

Bucky had made himself at home nearly instantly. The empty plot they once had became, quite honestly, a terrible garden over the course of 4 months. He’s got about zero attention to organization and a very kitsch aesthetic. It leaves for a messily battling system of plants with gaudy bright baubles and knickknacks surrounding the area.

There’s a town about a half hours drive away that they have to venture into for food about once a week. Their first trip to the grocery Bucky buys a 20 pound bag of flour –Steve shrugs it off but that afternoon when Bucky's angrily beating the devil out of a sticky lump of dough, Steve starts to worry.

Bucky doesn’t take to baking like he did French in the war or machines at Fitzgerald’s. If he was objectively bad at gardening, his baking would be considered a war crime. Without a doubt every loaf is the single worst awful thing Steve has ever eaten. Each new batch tops the last in a new dreadful way. If it’s not like eating drywall or vaguely cooked paste it’s like eating a sanded down brick.

And the taste. Jesus the taste.

At least they look edible. Ten percent of the time.

Apparently knowing weeks in advance that you’re going to be carted off to the outskirts of nowhere meant you had time to think up of a few hobbies. Unfortunately for Steve, he had no forewarning and for him it took a bit longer to find his way.

A month and a half into their stay Steve finally drags himself off the couch and goes about starting his first painting since art school. It now hangs over Steve’s bed, a split image of the New York from before and the New York of now; plumes of ash and smoke clouds hanging over dirt covered buildings painted with warmth –crisp blue skies with cold and soulless painted skyscrapers looming over.

It’s horrible and somewhat depressing, but at least it’s not as bad as Bucky's fish rye bread.

Sweet. Fish. Rye bread.

It’s one of the many canvases sprinkled around the apartment over the course of two months of vicious trial and error –Bucky has two in his room. One of himself and his sisters roughhousing in his old family living room as the girls climb up his arms. Another of himself from now, sitting cross legged on the floor with a knee tucked into his chest –a focused expression on his face as he peers into a motor; screwdriver twirling between his fingers as he stared in thought.

After ten weeks in their cabin Steve signs up as a volunteer fireman. 4 days a month he sleeps down at the firehouse with men and women in their 40’s and 50’s; they talk about thrown out backs and graduating kids –they talk about how hard it is to understand modern fashion and trying to work out technology. It makes Steve feel simultaneously old and young. But most of all it makes him feel useful and present in a way he hasn’t since that goddamn train.

Steve Rogers circa 1937 could’ve only dreamed of being a firefighter, could’ve only prayed that one day he could sit with a group of people and tell them he lives with another man in his near thirties and no one bat an eye.

He would’ve been proud of himself. More so then he ever would have with Captain America.

Steve still goes for walks –now through the forest that had been long since touched by humanity right by their house. Both soldiers are careful not to disturb too much but already there’s a treaded path starting to appear from their weekly to daily excursions.

Yesterday they’d walked a few miles arguing about whether or not to get a cat or a dog; Bucky viciously arguing for a border collie to run around the land and Steve a lazy cat to prowl around the house.

Today they might take another walk, or Bucky might wander off into his rusted shed behind the house to tinker with something off the internet. Steve might read by the water, he might call that number in his phone and start learning how to deal and cope. Bucky might attempt to revive his strawberry bushes and peonies or he might curl up on the couch with Steve and binge watch garbage television.

Steve might get back to his painting, his most ambitious yet; a slow coming landscape, the view from Steve's bedroom, a shadowed silhouette in the distance crouched down near the lake, a glittering hand kissing the water. He’d been working on it for weeks and the empty spot in the living room has been mocking him for days now.

It’s fine if he doesn’t get to it though, there’s no rush. He’s free to just… be.

Steve Rogers closes his eyes and smiles into the light. Today is his, and so is the day after that, and after that, and after that…

“…I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.”
- Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

THE END