Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The familiar cold of the cryo chamber whispered him to sleep while Steve watched.  It had been a hard decision, but the right one.  He wasn’t the same Bucky he used to be, even though he was trying.  There was something else there too: The Asset.  Winter Soldier.  An unpredictable part of himself that hurt other people.  All they had to know was a series of random words and his mind was no longer his own.

He breathed the air in deep, resisted the urge to cough as his lungs froze.  He didn’t want to close his eyes.  He could still see Steve.  But as the cold overtook his body, his neural system started to shut down, and his eyes slipped closed.  Who knew who he would see when he woke up.  He hoped it would be Steve again.  Hoped Steve would be there to remind him of who he was. 

He hoped that when he woke up things would be different.  This time, there was at least that.

***

“Barnes,” barked a voice, and his body spasmed awake. 

No, he thought.  This isn’t how it works.  He knew the feeling of coming out of cryo.  It sucked. It hurt to breathe, his muscles felt cramped and useless, and he usually had to be dragged out.  Instinctively he felt himself gasping for air, but he didn’t actually need to be gasping for air.  He was cold, but none of the other symptoms of cryo were there. 

“Barnes, stop fooling around,” the voice said again.

He felt someone kick his leg.  In the space between that kick and the voice asking with a hint of worry, “Barnes?” his Winter Soldier instincts had kicked in.  He swept his legs in the direction of the voice and rolled upright so that by the time he was up and the assailant was down, he had his left hand wrapped around the guy's throat.

His brain tried to process the sudden onslaught of new information.

• The assailant was Tony Stark.
• His arm was not metal.
• He was not in a cryo chamber.

He released Stark's throat and stared at his hand.  Flexed it.  Then looked at Stark's still-surprised and now confused expression and his stupidly manicured facial hair and made his way to his feet, taking in his surroundings.

Some kind of refrigeration unit.  Large amounts of food, like at a restaurant.  Beyond the open unit's door he could see a counter crowded with boxy machines.  Whirring noises and the aroma of coffee filled the air.

"Barnes, what the hell is going on," Stark complained, using one of the shelving units to help him stand.  "I come in here, you're on the floor taking a nap, we got a line of customers out the door..."

Bucky looked at the red apron Stark wore over a white button-down shirt.  The logo looked vaguely familiar.  Starkbucks, it said.  Bucky remembered something like that.  But green, instead of red. 

"Shouldn’t that say Starbucks?" Bucky asked. 

"Did you hit your head?" Stark asked.  "I can't tell, under all that fucking hair of yours.  Come here, let me see.  God, the last thing I need is a workman's comp issue."  He reached out to touch Bucky's face and Bucky jerked away. 

"I'm fine," he snapped.  He felt his own head.  Sure enough, his fingers came across a sensitive spot and encountered a wetness there, right along his hairline. 

"Nope.  Nope.  Not fine.  Nope.   You are a walking biohazard.  You need to go home."

"Okay," said Bucky warily.  He didn't move.

Stark sighed and stepped out of the fridge to grab some paper towels.  "Here.  Try not to bleed all over the floor."  He looked behind where Bucky was standing and sighed.  "Too late."

Stark turned and walked out; cautiously, Bucky followed him.  He was still flexing his hand.  His human hand.  He could feel his left hand. 

He wondered if he still had superstrength.

Beyond the door Bucky got a better idea of where he was: a coffee shop.  It looked exactly like a Starbucks except the décor was more red and gold than green and white.  He recognized a few faces behind the counter, all wearing the red aprons: the girl all in black with heavy eyeliner, that was the one called Scarlet Witch.  And with her was the archer, Clint Barton.  Bucky was wearing an apron too, he finally noticed. 

All this was making his head hurt more than the small physical wound was.  It appeared as though he worked here.  He had been momentarily unconscious, not thawing out from cryo.  So what exactly had happened in that time between being woken from cryo and ending up here?

T'Challa must have come through and fixed something in his brain, or else Steve never would have let them wake him.  But maybe that cure wasn't working.  Someone had fixed his arm, too.  How, he wasn't sure.  He wasn't aware of any technology that might reattach a limb that had been severed for seventy years.  As he followed Stark into some kind of office, he reached under the short sleeve on his left side.  Hadn't he been wearing a sleeveless shirt when he went into cryo?  No scars.  They must have completely regenerated his arm somehow. 

And then they all came to work at a coffee shop?

"Sit," said Stark, and Bucky sat.  Stark pulled out a first aid kit and rifled through it, snapped on some latex gloves, and then sat on the corner of the cluttered desk and peered at Bucky's face.  "I don't think you'll need stitches."

Was this really the same guy who had tried to kill him the last time they saw each other?  Steve said he had sent Tony a letter, but this 180 degree change in attitude was baffling.  When Stark started dabbing alcohol on the cut with a cotton ball, Bucky demanded, "Aren't you mad?"

"What, that you somehow passed out in the freezer room?  No.  I'm just... you know, stressed."  Stark raked a gloved hand through his hair, then pulled it away and looked at it with distaste.  "If that goddamned health inspector walked in here today, hoo boy.  Dad would flip."

Dad? Bucky wondered.  Tony Stark wasn't the head of this Starkbucks endeavor?  And... I killed Howard Stark.  Didn't I?

"I mean, unless you were doing something in the freezer room you shouldn't have been."  Stark looked at him sternly.

"No," he said.

"You weren't smoking weed?  Snorting cocaine?  Making out with Wanda?"

"What?"  None of these possibilities seemed remotely possible.

"So how did you hit your head and end up on the floor?"

Bucky thought about it.  "I don't remember."

"That's convenient, isn't it."

"I'm sorry," Bucky said hesitantly.  "I, um, don't even remember working here."

Stark's look of disapproval became one of flat disbelief.  "I doubt workman's comp covers amnesia."  He carefully peeled the back off a band-aid and placed it on Bucky's forehead.  "Okay.  Good as new.  That means you can probably finish your shift.  Go wash your hands and then you can mop up the floor in the freezer."

Bucky stood up, then hesitated.  "So, when's my shift over?"

"Twenty minutes," Stark said.  "And please, stop this amnesia thing.  For the love of God.  You're starting to sound like Barton."

"Okay," said Bucky.  He wasn't sure why he said it, other than the fact that he was used to dealing with having huge gaps in memory and trying to fill them.  I wonder if I still have my notebook somewhere, he thought as he walked into the area behind the counter.  That would be really helpful about now.

"What happened?" Wanda asked, rushing by with a steaming cup of cappuccino.  She had only the faintest of accents.  "Phil!" She called loudly, then turned back to Bucky.  "You went to get more of the caramel flavoring and then you didn't come back."

"He was probably unloading a massive number two, am I right?" Clint asked over whooshing of the espresso machine.  He grinned at Bucky like he expected him to agree.

"Don't say that too loud," Wanda chastised, slapping Clint's arm.  "You know his favorite person will be coming in any second now."

Favorite person?  Did that mean Steve?  "I fell and hit my head," Bucky said.  "Where's the mop?"

"Uh, right behind you?" Clint pointed.

"Thanks."  Bucky wheeled the yellow bucket and mop into the back room.  There were about two drops of blood on the floor.  Not exactly a huge mess that would take twenty minutes to clean up.  Instead of asking, he poked around the back rooms until he found an industrial sink and dumped the mop water into it and rinsed out the yellow bucket.  He had some extra time, so he dug around in the pockets of his jeans, which looked just like the jeans he'd been wearing when he was put in cryo, found a wallet. 

His driver's license still said James Buchanan Barnes.  The address was in Brooklyn, which was a small relief.  He could probably find his way to wherever he lived.  The license, however, was a motorcycle license. 

Well, at least he knew how to ride a motorcycle.  And there probably wouldn't be more than one motorcycle parked out front.

"Hey," Wanda hissed, peeking around the corner.  Bucky snapped the wallet shut and shoved it in his pocket.  "Your guy is here!"

"My guy," Bucky said. 

"There's someone in front of him and Clint is stalling until you get your butt out there.  Come on!"

Bucky hesitantly followed Wanda into the kitchen area.  He wasn't sure what he expected to see.  It had to be Steve.  Had to be.  But if Bucky was human now, would Steve still be that runt he had to pull out of fights?  Would he be standing there in his Captain America uniform?

But there was Steve, looking much the same as he had looked the last time Bucky had seen him.  Blue jacket half-zipped, khakis, checking his watch while he waited in line.

Clint glanced up and quickly finished flirting with the middle-aged woman standing at the counter.  "You're up, buddy," he said, leaving Bucky to take Steve's order.

"Hi, Steve," Bucky said in a low voice, hoping Steve might hear all the questions he wanted to ask.  Steve had always known him, even when he didn't know himself.

So it was a bit of a shock when Steve just looked at him blankly.  "Hi," he said.  After an awkward moment of silence, where Bucky wasn't sure if he should ask Steve what the hell was going on, Steve  said, "Yeah, I'll have a triple venti soy no-foam latte."

Bucky just stared right back at him.  What did any of those words mean?  He fumbled around for a piece of paper and a pen.  "Um, can you repeat that?"

Instead of responding immediately, Steve gave him a side-eyed look.  "What happened to your head?"

"I fell," Bucky said, his pen poised for the triple something latte.

"Are you okay?  I mean," Steve breathed out a little laugh, "you usually know my order."

"I do?"  Bucky touched his head.  It didn't feel like a concussion.  He shouldn't have amnesia.  Then again, he shouldn't be here, in a coffee shop, serving coffee.  Nothing made sense.  "I'm sorry, I think I might have hit my head harder than I thought." 

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Steve asked.  "I could take you.  My car's right out front."

Squinting, Bucky looked out the big plate glass window to the street.  There was a motorcycle he assumed was his.  And there was a blue Volkswagen Beetle.  He remembered the Beetle.  The cramped backseat.  Sam. 

Something didn't quite make sense.

"Why do you have a car in Brooklyn?" he asked.

Steve looked outside.  Looked at the menu board above Bucky's head.  Finally looked back at Bucky.  "Because... we're not in Brooklyn."

Now Bucky looked out the window again.  Of course the buildings didn't look familiar; nothing did, these days.  It looked like a city.  His license had said Brooklyn.  

"Uh, heeey, buddy," said Clint, coming up beside him.  "Maybe you should go home, huh?  Wanda and I can make his coffee, okay?"

Bucky glared at the intrusion, though his anger was mostly due to this whole fucked up situation.  "I would like to go home," he snarled.  "If I knew where that was."

Chapter Text

Wanda handed him his backpack and his leather jacket – it had both sleeves.  She pressed a note into his hand.  "This is your address," she whispered.  "I'm out at five if you want to wait for me.  I can take you home."  Then she handed him a backpack. 

He nearly ripped it out of her hands.  "Thanks."

Behind all the commotion, Stark watched with a dark expression. 

"You'd better remember how to do your job tomorrow," Stark warned.

When Bucky made it outside to the sidewalk, he found Steve there waiting for him. 

"Hey," Steve said awkwardly.  "Um, I know I don't know you very well, um, but I kinda feel like you shouldn't be on your own right now.  I mean, like, you should go to the hospital.  Your boss seems like kind of a jerk," he added, when Bucky's expression didn't change.  "He should have sent you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," Bucky said.

The all-too-familiar feeling of not knowing himself was colliding with the odd idea that he knew something these people didn't. He had grown used to feeling like he knew more than his erased memories would let him access.  Now, however, he felt more like he knew everything but no one else knew who they were or who they were supposed to be. 

None of this made any sense.

He wanted to find whatever place he called his home now and look through his notebook and figure things out.  But here was Steve, wanting to help him.  Steve had always helped him before, protected him. 

From beneath his hair, he examined this Steve who didn't seem to know anything about Bucky other than the fact that he worked at a fake Starbucks.  He didn't understand why Wanda had referred to Steve as Bucky's "favorite person" and "his guy" if he and Steve weren't friends. 

There had never been a time, before he died that first time, when he and Steve weren't friends.  That was probably why, when his memories had started to come back, all his memories were about Steve. 

Wherever he was, this wasn’t the case.  Unless Steve had his memories wiped, too.  Unlikely.

“If you’re sure… I mean, it’s no trouble to drive you there.  To the hospital I mean.  Right on the way home for me.”  Steve flashed him a nervous smile.

He didn’t need the hospital, he knew that much.  Hospitals meant the government would get involved.  He didn’t want to end up in some maximum security prison. 

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Bucky growled.  Steve flinched, and Bucky cleared his throat.  “Um, but maybe you could tell me how to get here.”  He held out the slip of paper Wanda had given him.

“Oh yeah, sure.  That’s right off Main Street.  Sure.  Hop in.”

Bucky looked back at the motorcycle.  He’d have to figure out how to get back here without it.  Then he followed Steve to the Beetle and tugged at the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

“Oh!”  Steve’s voice inside the car was muffled as he reached over and opened the door.  “Sorry.  This old car, it’s a little sticky.”

Bucky settled into the passenger seat.  Lots of leg room up here, he thought bitterly. 

“So…” Steve said, checking the rearview mirrors before he pulled out.  “Your name’s James, right?”

His response was a knee-jerk reaction.  “My name is Bucky.”

“O-oh.  Uh, how come your nametag says James?”

Bucky looked down.  Sure enough, there was a plastic badge pinned to his apron.  “James is my dad,” Bucky said.  Who may or may not be dead.  “I go by Bucky.”

“Oh.  All right.”  Steve flashed him another smile.  It was strange to see Steve so nervous like this.  The Steve Rogers he remembered only got nervous around girls. 

The Steve Rogers he remembered was his best friend.

His only friend. 

“So how long have you been working at Starkbucks?” Steve asked, making a left.  The city rolling by wasn’t even a city by New York standards.  Bucky wondered where exactly they were.  A suburb?  All the cars had New York license plates.

“I don’t know.  Probably a few months.”  He had become so good at lying lately.  Of course, he didn’t make much small talk with people.  But he didn’t need Steve knowing he had amnesia.  Steve would insist on taking him to the hospital then. 

Steve glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.  “You must have worked at a different Starkbucks before this one then.  It just opened a few weeks ago.”

Damn.  “Yeah, that’s right,” Bucky said.  He turned his attention from the city outside to Steve.  He searched Steve’s face for flaws.

Steve laughed nervously.  “I was psyched when they opened up here.  I was driving all the way over to Monroe.”

“Is the coffee really that good?” Bucky muttered.  He couldn’t find anything different about this Steve.  He even had the little flecks of green in his eyes that Zemo had pointed out. 

“Well, the coffee’s good, and there’s this hot guy who works there,” Steve said.  He smiled, and swallowed nervously, glancing at Bucky.

It took Bucky a minute to process what Steve had said.   He actually had to look at his own face in the rearview mirror.  After a momentary relief that he looked much the same as the last time he had looked in a mirror – the same longish brown hair and unshaven face, he had to come to terms with the idea that Steve had just called him hot.  That was modern slang for good-looking, wasn’t it?  Maybe it meant something different here.  He hadn’t had much opportunity to learn American slang in all his years as the Winter Soldier, or while he was living undercover in Romania.  “Are you… are you talking about me?” 

Steve gave a short laugh. “I, uh… sorry, I’m really nervous.  I’m usually really shy around guys I like.”

Bucky blinked at him.  Guys he liked?

Steve liked guys?

Steve liked him?

More nervous laughter from Steve.  “You’re really intense, you know that?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t say anything.  The car was slowing down, and Steve was pulling up along the curb of a multi-level house.  “This where you live?” Steve asked.

“I guess,” Bucky said without thinking.

“You guess?” Steve said.  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah.”  Even Bucky had to admit he sounded less convincing than before.  But he didn’t want to yell at Steve.  Steve had just called him hot.  He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that.

“You know what?” Steve put the car into park and took the key out of the ignition.  “I’m coming inside with you.”

He was sure it would be better to go in alone, but found himself saying, “Okay.”  His brain didn’t want to let go of the fact that this was Steve.  His Steve.  The only constant in his life.

As he got out of the car, he peeked again at the bit of paper Wanda had given him.  Apartment number 3.  That meant third floor, he assumed.  He assessed the apartment building before him.  There were three floors, each with a balcony or porch off the front and sets of stairs.  A fire escape, he assumed.  There was a door on the bottom-most porch, but Bucky walked into the driveway, where a couple of cars were parked perpendicular to the house, and around to the side door.  It would make sense that there would be an interior stairwell, especially for the winters. 

With Steve at his back, he walked up the steps and opened the front door.  He exhaled a little sigh of relief when he didn’t need a key.  He rummaged through his backpack for a set of keys while they ascended the two flights of stairs up to the third floor and a battered-looking door marked with a metal number three.

Unfortunately, his keyring had seven different keys on it.  The one with the black plastic on it would be for the motorcycle.  The rest were varying shades of silver and brass and could be for anything.  He’d just have to try each one and hope. 

The first key didn’t work.  “Whoops,” Bucky said.  He had little experience “acting normal,” but it never hurt to play dumb.  “Wrong key.”  He tried key number two.  It also did not work.  He gave Steve a nervous smile.

Steve was not smiling.  He was looking at Bucky with concern. 

He hoped the third key would be the charm, but then he heard footsteps inside the apartment and froze.  Someone was in his apartment. 

“Do you have a roommate?” Steve asked, seeing Bucky’s reaction.

Bucky didn’t say anything as the footsteps approached, and the doorknob jiggled as someone unlocked it.  Then the door swung open and Bucky found himself face to face with Sam Wilson. 

As with everyone else he’d met today, Sam looked the same as Bucky remembered, if he’d ever seen Sam Wilson wearing a white t-shirt riddled with holes and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.

“Damn, Barnes, what the hell are you doing out here?” Sam demanded.  He stalked off, putting down a baseball bat he’d hidden behind himself.  “I thought somebody was picking the lock.”

“You get a lot of people breaking into your apartment?” Steve asked.

“Just the once,” Sam said, crashing onto the brown couch that dominated the living room.  It was clear, from the rumpled afghan and the pillow, that Sam had been napping.  “So, Barnes, you gonna introduce your friend?”

“Oh, sorry,” Bucky said.  “This is Steve.”

“Hi, Steve.  Nice to meet…. Wait, hold up.”  Sam sat up.  “You’re Steve.  THE Steve?”

Steve turned to give Bucky a little smile that said, Aw, you told your friends about me.  Bucky scowled.  “Yes,” he snapped at Sam. 

“What happened to your head?” Sam asked suddenly.

“He refused to go to the hospital,” Steve said.  “I drove him home.”

“I’m fine!” Bucky shouted.  “I just hit it at work.  I’m fine.”

“Hit it on what?”

“I don’t remember,” he said, throwing up his hands. 

“This is why I walked him up here,” Steve said.

“You don’t remem—  Get your ass over here and sit down,” Sam said.

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted, even as he followed Sam’s orders.  He wasn’t sure what else to do.  He had no idea which room in this apartment belonged to him.  He didn’t recognize this apartment at all.

“You probably need stitches,” Sam said, peeling back the bandage.  “You’re still bleeding.”

“I am?”

“His boss is a jerk,” Steve commented.  “James—sorry, Bucky—told him to ‘remember how to do his job tomorrow.’  So he must have told him that he couldn’t remember and the guy still wanted him to finish his shift.”

“That’s Tony Stark for ya.  You stay here,” Sam said to Bucky before getting up.  Bucky watched him go into the first doorway in the hallway off the living room.  A bathroom.  Good to know.

“Tony Stark?  Like the Stark of Starkbucks?”

“Daddy’s little princess,” Sam said from the bathroom.  “Daddy’s gonna cut him off if he fucks up again.”  Returning with some bandages, Sam sat and peered at Bucky’s forehead.  “Seriously, dude, you don’t remember how you hit your head?”

“I woke up on the floor.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam muttered.  “Maybe you should go to the hospital.”

“I’ll take you,” Steve offered.

“I’m fine,” Bucky repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sam dabbed some antibiotic ointment on the spot and Bucky winced.  “Look, I know you don’t have health insurance, but maybe you should just go.  You could have a concussion.”

“I feel fine.”

“Concussions can be sneaky.  You might feel okay, meanwhile your brain’s bleeding.”

“What do you know,” Bucky found himself muttering.

“Excuse you, I was a paramedic in the motherfucking Air Force, remember?  Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

“What unit were you with?” Steve asked.

“Fifty-eighth, Pararescue.”

“Wow.”  Steve looked genuinely impressed.

“This guy here was in the 107^th,” Sam said, gesturing to Bucky.

So that was still the same. 

“Wow.  I always wanted to join the army, but apparently they don’t want me.”

“What?  You’re a perfect specimen.  Isn’t that right, Barnes.  A perfect specimen.”

Bucky glared at Sam.  This sounded like a direct quote.  “I’m sure the army had a good reason not to take him.”

Steve gave a nervous laugh.  “Uh, yeah.  I have pretty bad asthma.  And my eyesight’s not that great either.”  He explained before either of them could ask, “I wear contacts.”

“Bet you’d look real cute in glasses, am I right?” Sam elbowed Bucky.

“You don’t…” Bucky had to search for the right words.  “…have to flirt with him for me.”

“No?  Okay, Mr. Personality.”  Sam gave Steve a look, and then there was an awkward silence.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now,” said Steve.  Bucky couldn’t help but notice the crestfallen look on Steve’s face.  That was his fault, somehow.  “Um, I hope you’re okay.”

“He’s in good hands,” Sam said.

Steve backed toward the door, head down.  Though Bucky couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, and it certainly seemed like Steve didn’t know him, he didn’t want Steve to walk out that door and never see him again.

“Will you be at the coffeeshop tomorrow?” Bucky asked, just before Steve left.

Steve stopped.  Lifted his head, looked at Bucky.  Grinned.  “You know it.” 

Chapter Text

"What are you doing?" Sam asked after Steve had gone. 

Bucky looked at him.  "I'm just sitting here."

"Are you trying to blow it with this guy?" Sam threw up his hands.  "You've been talking about this dude for weeks now, I get a blow-by-blow of what he's wearing and every fucking word this guy has said to you – which is basically just his drink order, by the way, super exciting stuff – and then you show up with him and you barely even look at him.  What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Standing up, Bucky muttered, "Just leave me alone."  He grabbed his backpack and headed down the hallway.  Only two of them lived here, which meant he had a fifty percent chance of picking the right bedroom.  He ducked into the room on the right.  Immediately he knew he had guessed wrong, from the giant birdcage next to the bed holding a giant red parrot.

Goddamn it, couldn't he catch a break?

"Why the fuck are you going into my room?" Sam yelled.

"I don't know!" Bucky yelled back.  "I'm fucking tired and I don't remember anything and I just want everyone to fucking leave me alone!"  Tears stung at his eyes.  He shoved past Sam, who was now in the hallway, and barged across the hallway and into the other room. 

Yes, this was more like him.  Or, some version of him.  Blue plaid comforter on the bed, books piled up on the nightstand and floor.  Clothes strewn everywhere.  Dumbbells and other stuff that looked like it might be some new-fangled exercise equipment in the corner.  It looked a bit like his room back in Brooklyn.

"Hey," Sam said softly behind him.  "J, hold up."

"My name is Bucky," Bucky said.

"Did you tell Steve to call you that?" Sam asked.

Bucky looked him.  "It's my name."

"Dude, your mom is the only one who calls you that," Sam said, still in that quiet voice.  "And you always tell her not to."

"Then what do people call me?"

Sam's gaze didn't waver.  "You really need to go to the hospital.  Come on, man.  You know it."

"I'm tired," Bucky said, and then it happened: he started crying.

It was mostly out of frustration – he had thought he had his memories back.  He thought he was something like himself.  And he thought he was going to be going to sleep for a long time, only to wake up and find himself even more confused.

"Come on."  Sam's arm went around Bucky's shoulders.  "Let's go."

"I don't want to go to jail," Bucky sniffed, wiping at his face. 

"You're not going to jail," Sam said.  "You just have a concussion.  Okay?  I'm gonna go with you.  We're gonna go to the hospital and everything going to be fine, okay?"

Bucky tried to stop crying while Sam changed into jeans and a pair of shoes and threw on a sweater.  He followed Sam outside and were about to get in the car, a shiny black Honda Civic, when another car, a beat-up red station wagon, barreled into the driveway.  Wanda jumped out. 

"Hey," she said, and held out a motorcycle helmet.  "You forgot this."

Bucky took it from her.  "Thank you."

"I guess you didn't really need it, but I wanted make sure you're okay.  Are you okay?  Are you feeling better?"

"I'm taking him to the hospital," Sam told her.  From the way he talked to her, it seemed like he knew who she was.  Maybe they were all friends here.  "He doesn't remember anything.  And I mean anything."  In a low voice he said, "He keeps calling himself Bucky."

"I'll come with you," Wanda said, slipping her arm through Bucky's.  He was still wearing his backpack, and had a deathgrip on the straps.  He didn't know why he hadn't expected this kindness from her – she had been on his side when Steve fought against Stark.  Sam's kindness seemed more out of character. 

He supposed, as he was led to Sam's car, he knew Sam and Wanda as Steve's friends.  He knew they would fight for Steve.  Not for him.  He wondered, if he hadn't decided to go into cryo, if he might have become friends with the Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff he had fought alongside. 

In the backseat of the car on the way to the hospital, Wanda rubbed Bucky's arm and asked him about what he remembered, but he couldn't tell her much.  He didn't want to tell her much.  He didn't know if she had the ability to move things with her mind, with the red electricity that came out of her hands.  Looking down at his left hand, he marveled at it.  He didn't have any superpowers anymore.

He was too tired to think of a reason why this might have happened, other than the reason any of this had happened: brainwashing.  Maybe, somehow, Hydra had infiltrated Wakanda, and brainwashed everyone.  Taken him out of cryo and brainwashed him too, so that they all thought they were happy normal humans in a happy, normal life.  Then he had hit his head and cracked the brainwashing, and he was the only one who remembered anything.

"Should we call his parents?" Wanda asked Sam.

That would be interesting, though, if his parents were still alive.  They'd have to be a hundred years old.  How would Hydra have pulled that off?  Clones, from their DNA?  He supposed they wouldn't have to get his real parents or even anyone who looked like his real parents.  They could just brainwash him into thinking they were his parents.  Rebecca, he remembered suddenly.  He'd had a sister named Rebecca, too.  What he wouldn't give to see her again.

"J... Uh, Bucky?  You wanna call your parents?" Sam looked at him in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," Bucky said.  He would see just how deep this conspiracy was. 

Wanda gently unlinked her arm from his.  "Let's get your phone out of your backpack," she said.

His backpack.  He had been gripping it all this time, when he could have been investigating.  The car made it slightly awkward to slide the straps from his shoulders, but Wanda helped.  She found the phone almost immediately, in the small front pocket.  He poked around at what else was in there: some granola bars, a Sharpie, a Swiss Army knife.  He could feel Sam and Wanda watching him, so he stopped rifling through his bag.  What if he found his journal in there?  He couldn't risk it.  He put the straps on backwards and hugged it to his chest.

"Here," Wanda said, handing him the phone.  "You know the passcode?"

The phone's screen showed a grid of nine numbers.  "No," said Bucky.

"Try."  Wanda pressed the phone into his hand.  "It's usually four digits, like a PIN number."

He tried his birthday: 3-10-17.  That was five digits.  He tried 03-10.  He tried 1917.  "I don't know what it is," he said.

"Try star," Sam suggested.

"Star?" He studied the numbers, figured out which ones corresponded to the letters.  7-8-2-7.  "Why star?" He asked, as the phone unlocked.

"Because of your tattoo, duh," Sam said.

Bucky looked up.  "Tattoo?  What tattoo?"  He looked at Wanda for confirmation.

"On your shoulder."  She pointed.

A star tattoo.  On his left shoulder.  Exactly where there had been a star painted onto his metal arm.  He knew it without even looking at it.  "Oh."

He thumbed his way to the contacts list on the phone and scrolled down.  Dad was one contact.  Home was another. And Mom.  And Rebecca. 

"Call your mom," Wanda whispered. 

"What if--" he started to say.  He swallowed.  Wanda waited, and finally he choked out, "What if I don't recognize her voice?"

Wanda looped her arm back through his and hugged it tight.  "You won't know until you call her."

So he did call.  And when he heard her voice he started crying again, because it was his mom's voice, reaching through the telephone wires and wireless signals straight from the 1930s.  "Bucky?  What's wrong?" She asked.

"Mom," he said brokenly.  "Mom."  It was all he could say.

Wanda took the phone from him and explained the problem as best she could.  "Hi, this is Wanda, I work with J... with Bucky.  He hit his head and is having some amnesia so we're taking him to the hospital.... Uh huh, St. Anthony's.  Okay.  Okay.  See you there.  Bye."  She handed the phone back to Bucky.  "She's going to meet us there."  Then she just hugged Bucky's arm and laid her head on his shoulder while he sniffled and wiped at his eyes. 

***

Things at the hospital did not go as terribly as Bucky had envisioned, although the hour wait before he was seen wasn't fun.  There was a weird moment when the doctor introduced himself as Dr. Banner, a name which rang a bell but Bucky wasn't quite sure where he'd heard it before.  He shone a light in Bucky's eyes and did some coordination tests, then did a few memory tests, quizzing him on information from his file.  "What's your father's name?  What's your date of birth?"  Bucky skated by that second question by omitting the year.  "Who's the current president?"  He couldn't answer that one.  Or any of the other questions, which revealed that he had been discharged from the army after injuring his left arm.  Nerve damage.  He'd gone through three years of physical therapy and had completely recovered.

"It's a bit odd that you can't remember any of your personal history," Dr. Banner stated, then sent him off to have a CT scan. 

His mother had arrived while he was waiting to go in.  Even though he had heard her voice on the phone, he still didn't expect her to look exactly like his mother.  His brain refused to believe that this was real.  His mother had died a long, long time ago.  And yet, when he hugged her (because he had to hug her and make sure she wasn't a hologram), she even smelled like his mother.  Sam and Wanda left then, and his mom stayed.  She didn't say much, just stroked his hair and looked at him with worried eyes.  "Your head feels okay?  You know after you were discharged you had those headaches," she would say.  Or, "I have a lasagna all ready to pop in the oven for dinner.  Are you hungry?  We can find a vending machine.  Then you can come home and have dinner with Dad and me."

He couldn't stop looking at her. 

Her hair was a little grayer than he remembered.  A few more lines on her face.  But then, he was older than he was when she had died.  She wore her hair up in a messy bun.  He couldn't wait to see his dad.  "Will Rebecca be there?" he asked, as she drove them from the hospital to home – results from the CT scan had shown nothing.

"Well," she said, "Becca lives with her husband now, out in California."

"Oh," he said. 

His parents' house was entirely unfamiliar.  He wandered the hallway and peeked into the rooms, looking for one that might have once been his. 

"We turned your bedroom into a yoga room, for your mom," his father said, coming up behind him.  "Last year."

His parents exchanged looks through dinner when they thought he wasn't paying attention.  In truth, he was mostly focused on the food.  He couldn't remember the last time he had a good meal.  But his life over the past fifty years of so had involved a large amount of hypervigilance, so he noticed.  "Do you think this might be part of the PTSD you used to have?" his mother asked.

"He still has the PTSD," his father corrected.  "He's just learned how to control it."

After dinner, his mother asked if he wanted to stay there for the night.

"Nah, I should get back," he said.

"Becca's room is a guest room now.  It's no problem if you stay."

While it was tempting to fall into this dream world where his parents were still alive, he couldn't help but feel like everything not what it seemed.  "No, I have to work tomorrow.  Can you give me a ride back?"

Sam nearly accosted him when he walked into the apartment – still unable to find the correct key before Sam yanked the door open.  "Well clearly they did not find your memory," he said.    Then he reached out, grabbed Bucky's keys, and singled one out.  "This is your door key.  Damn."

"Sorry," Bucky said.  He tried to memorize what made this key different from the others.  "Um, yeah.  They did a CT scan and there wasn't anything wrong."

"You could've called me.  Or texted me.  Or did that really take five hours?" Sam demanded, crashing back on the couch.

"I had dinner at my parents' house."

"You bring any back for me?"

Bucky pulled a Tupperware container out of his backpack.  "Mom told me this was for you."

Instantly the couch was abandoned.  "Yes!  Lasagna!"

"Do we... not know how to cook?" Bucky asked.  He noticed the pile of shoes by the door and bent down to unlace his boots.

Sam just laughed.  Not like I really did much cooking before, Bucky thought.

In his room, Bucky sank onto the bed with his backpack and finally, for the first time all day, exhaled.  He could fall asleep right now, but he needed to look through his backpack first. 

He pulled out a plain black baseball cap.  That one was familiar, he'd been wearing it all the time when he was in hiding.  He put it on his head and reached back in. 

Next thing he pulled out was a tattered paperback novel.  The cover was a picture of a sunset, with the words Unbroken in big letters.  A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption, read the subtitle.  It actually sounded interesting.  He set it aside.

His fingers stumbled across what could be a notebook, but first he latched onto and pulled out an empty water bottle, a pair of motorcycle gloves, and a candy bar wrapper.  Finally, empty of everything else, Bucky pulled out the notebook.

It didn't look like his notebook.  It had a spiral binding, and the pages were folded up along the edges from being banged around in the backpack.  Bucky flipped through the sheets with writing on them.  It looked like some kind of journal, or a collection of random thoughts and song lyrics.  It wasn't his journal.  Not the one with pictures of Steve and memories. 

Bucky felt his exhaustion settle over him.  His memories were lost.  Now all he had left were these other memories.

I had this weird dream last night, that I fell, I was falling and when I woke up (in the dream) I didn't have an arm... It was winter and snowing and I was just lying there with no arm and I couldn't see much of anything, it's like I was in the middle of nowhere, a ravine or something, and everything was fuzzy around the edges, except the pain that was screaming inside my head... when I woke up the nurses were there only for a minute I was still dreaming and I thought they were doctors in white coats and they were going to do something to me but I don't remember what it was.  The nurses gave me something to help me sleep but it didn't work and I'm just lying here feeling weird.

"Hey," came Sam's voice from the doorway.  Bucky jerked himself away from the book full of handwriting that looked like his own and words he'd never written.  "I'm heading in to work.  You sure you're okay?"

"You're going to work?  Now?"  Bucky glanced at the travel alarm clock on the bedside table.  Nine o'clock.

"I work the overnight shift.  At the VA hospital?  Oh, are you reading your journal?  That's a good idea. Maybe you'll remember something."

"You work at the VA hospital?" Bucky asked.  "Did I spend some time there, when I hurt my arm?  Did you work there then?"

"Dude, we were roommates at the hospital," Sam said.  "I can't believe the CT scan didn't show anything.  Maybe they need to do an MRI."

Bucky shrugged. 

"Alright, then.  You're not going to work tomorrow, are you?  Please tell me you're not going to work tomorrow."  Sam crossed his arms and looked at Bucky with a steady gaze.

"I have to go," Bucky said.

Sam immediately threw up his hands.  "For the love of god, why?  For that fat paycheck you take home every week?  Come on.  You gotta rest.  Fuck that place.  Those fuckers can make their own goddamned coffee."

"I have to go," Bucky repeated.  "I have to see Steve again."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam exhaled a laugh.  "What is even happening here.  You know what?  You do what you want.  You always have."  He turned to go, shaking his head.

"Wait, do you know when I'm supposed to go into work tomorrow?" Bucky asked.

Sam circled back.  "You go in for the early rush.  Go on, wake up at fuckin' five a.m.  Have fun."

"And then I work until three?"

"Yup.  You still wanna go into work tomorrow?"

Bucky wasn't so sure.  He felt so tired.  But now that he thought of Steve again, he couldn't imagine spending the day not seeing Steve.  Not trying to figure this thing out. 

"Whatever," Sam said.  "Guess I'll figure out what you decide when I come home in the morning and you're not here."

Chapter Text

He woke up long before the alarm went off.  He'd gotten so used to sleeping lightly, always being alert, that he couldn't force his brain to shut off.  At least he worked at a place with a neverending supply of coffee. 

The hot shower – now that was something he could enjoy.  The shower in his apartment in Bucharest had been lukewarm at best.  There were several different shampoos and conditioners in the shower to choose from, and he lathered them through his hair, careful to avoid the bandage on his forehead.  Clean clothes felt like a little luxury as well, even though he had regularly washed his clothes in Bucharest. 

He used his phone as a GPS to guide him to the coffee shop.  It had been only a five minute ride in Steve's car; walking took him half an hour.  Considering that he wasn't sure exactly when he was supposed to show up for work, he figured at the very least, if he was late, someone else would be there to let him in. 

He had brought his motorcycle helmet with him, so he could ride it home.  He was relishing the idea of driving without someone chasing him, and he took a moment to admire the vehicle before entering the shop.

"Where have you been?" hissed the one Falcon had called Tic Tac.  Bucky couldn't remember his name right away, but the nametag helped.  Scott was in the middle of brewing something.  The shop was basically empty except for a suit looking at his phone and an old guy sitting in the corner reading a newspaper.  "Sharon's pissed."

Bucky ducked his head and went to the back to stow his helmet and backpack.  Even though the journal wasn't his journal, he didn't want to lose it. 

"James.  You're late."

He turned to find the blonde woman glaring at him from the doorway.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "Did Stark tell you about--"

"He left a note.  Barnes is pretending to have amnesia.  What the hell is that all about?  Your shift starts at five-fifteen.  Or did you 'forget'?"

"I'm not pretending," Bucky muttered, putting on his apron and nametag.  "I went to the hospital last night."

"Do you have a doctor's note?"

He sighed.  "No."

"James."  Sharon stepped closer, and dropped her voice.  "Please.  I need you in the mornings.  You know I can't have an ex-con out there handling the cash drawer alone."

Scott was an ex-con?  Had to be, since he hadn't seen anyone else working.  "Sorry," he repeated.  "It's just... I don't even remember how I hit my head.  I don't know what I'm doing."

Sharon squared her shoulders and tried to gather herself.  "Okay.  Maybe this is a good exercise.  You can ask Scott to show you how to do everything.  Maybe he'll learn it better having to teach it, instead of relying on asking you questions every two seconds."

Bucky just nodded.  He couldn't help but squint at Sharon a little, and try to figure out why Steve had kissed her.  She was pretty, sure.  But she didn't really seem like Steve's type.  God knew he had dragged Steve along on enough double dates that he wasn't even sure Steve had a type.  He never knew how to act with women.  Except that one, Peggy Carter.  She only had eyes for Steve.  

But Peggy was gone.  Peggy was a lifetime ago.

And here (wherever here was), apparently, Steve was into guys.

He got through the morning.  The learning of how to make the elaborate drinks occupied most of his time, how to foam and steam and add various flavors, as well as how to ring things up on the cash register.  The rest of the time, however, he observed Scott and Sharon and tried to figure this whole thing out.

It had to be brainwashing.  Had to be.  Everything seemed to be the same, except for this Starkbucks nonsense.  And it didn’t seem like there were superheroes.  He had snagged the newspaper the old man from earlier had left behind, and there was nothing, not about the Slokovia Accords or Tony Stark's empire or anything about the Winter Soldier program.  Of course, he might accept that if a significant chunk of time had seemed to have passed since that day he had gone into cryo. 

But the date on the newspaper was only one day after he had gone under. 

Which, the more he thought about it, meant that he had woken up here at exactly the moment he had gone under.

Perhaps this was a vast conspiracy of brainwashing.  Who knew how deep Hydra's arms were, how much power they had.  They might have even made this entire town some kind of microcosm, brainwashed everyone, and planted them here.  Everything could be a lie. 

Wanda came into work at ten, and immediately asked him how he was feeling.

"I'm okay, I guess," he said.  "I mean, my head doesn't hurt."

"And your memories?"

He shook his head.  Later he asked her, "What am I like, normally?  I mean, personality-wise?"   The question felt like self-punishment, but he really wanted to know. 

"I don't know, you're friendly.  You smile a lot.  We all like you.  I mean, considering you were in combat and stuff, I think it's pretty amazing that you could have such a good outlook on life.  Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah," he said, frowning.  He used to be a happy guy, once upon a time.  Back before the war.  "I didn't have... PTSD?  Post-traumatic stress?"

"Well," Wanda said, chewing on one black-polished fingernail.  "I don't think so.  Maybe you do, when you're alone or whatever."  She shrugged.  "I don't know, I just knew something was off yesterday, when you didn't smile once.  Normally, I think, you'd be trying to play it off as a joke or something."

"They did a CT scan.  At the hospital last night," Bucky told her.  "They said there was nothing.  No concussion or anything."

Wanda squinted her eyes and looked thoughtful.  "Doctors don't always know everything," she said.

During his lunch break, he read more of his journal while eating some kind of panini Scott had showed him how to make.  One page had bits of what looked like poetry or song lyrics.

I’ve got two faces

Blurry’s the one I’m not

I wanna be known by you

And

When my time comes

Forget the wrong that I’ve done

Help me leave behind some

Reason to be missed

Flipping to where the writing stopped and the blank pages began, Bucky removed the cap of a pen with his teeth and scribbled some words.

Brainwashing – if a blow to the head erased mine, could it work on the others?  If not brainwashing, then what?

Going around trying to knock the others unconscious seemed like a bad way to test his theory.  Unless it was Stark.  He might be okay with giving Stark a concussion.

Go to library?  Use internet?

He wasn’t even sure what he might be looking for, and he wasn’t very familiar using computers.  What could he possibly type in the search box that might help him?  Woke up with a head injury and everything’s weird now?

Returning to the counter, he casually tried to interrogate Wanda.  “So, you have a bit of an accent.  Where are you from?”

“Oh,” she said, blushing.  “Is it bad, my accent?”

“No, it’s…” he stopped himself from saying it was far less noticeable than what he remembered.  “Very faint,” he said. 

“Oh.  Um, well, my family came to America from Germany when I was eight.”  She pursed her lips and didn’t say anything for a minute.  “Kids made fun of my accent all through school.”

He realized what he had done.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.  I just… l don’t remember anything about you.”

“Good going,” Clint said, breezing by.  “You gonna point out my accent next?”

“What accent?” he asked.

Clint nudged Wanda, and she smiled a little.  “My deaf accent.”

“You’re… deaf?”  How had he not noticed the hearing aid in Clint’s ear?

“Hard of hearing.  Subtle difference.  But yeah, some assholes like to point out that I talk funny.”

So Clint was partially deaf.  That was different.  Maybe it was an injury from the battle that somehow Hydra had not been able to heal.  They somehow fixed my arm which has been detached for seventy years, but they couldn’t heal some hearing damage? 

“Do…” Bucky chose his words carefully.  He couldn’t direct this question at Clint alone.  “…either of you have kids?”

He knew Clint had kids, and a wife, but instead of confusion, Clint and Wanda just looked at each other and laughed.  “Kids?  Are you serious?” Clint said.  “Maybe it’s not amnesia.  Maybe they gave you a lobotomy.”

“So you don’t have kids,” Bucky said flatly.

“No!” Wanda laughed.  “I’m still in college!”

“And… well, I’m not, but I’m very immature for my age,” said Clint. 

College?  He pondered that one for a while. 

The clock crept along toward the time Bucky figured Steve would show up.  He didn’t know why he was so antsy to talk to Steve, since he knew Steve didn’t remember him, not the way Bucky remembered Steve.  He knew more about Steve’s past.  Hopefully, he could figure out what was the same and what was different, and maybe spark some old memory.  Kind of like how Steve did, by calling him “Bucky.”

“Got your memory back yet?” Stark demanded, coming up behind him. 

Bucky jumped.  He hadn’t seen Tony come in.  “Not really,” Bucky said. 

“He’s relearning everything pretty quickly,” Sharon informed Stark.  She looked at Bucky.  “Let’s talk in the office.”

With a tortured glance at the clock – two-thirty, when Steve had arrived almost at three – Bucky followed Sharon and Stark into the office.

“I don’t think he’s faking, Tony,” Sharon said.

“Are you a medical expert?” Stark said.  “I fixed up that cut on his forehead.  Look at that.  There’s no bruising or anything.  He didn’t hit it that hard.”

“But he was unconscious,” Sharon said.  “He went to the hospital last night.  Right?” She turned to Bucky.  “You told me you went to the emergency room?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” Stark asked, arms folded.

“They did some tests and a CT scan and they said everything was normal.”

Stark looked at Sharon with a smug, told-you-so face. 

Bucky couldn’t let that stand.  “They said I had amnesia, they just couldn’t figure out why.”

“Look, I’m not saying you don’t have amnesia.  What I’m saying is, I don’t want to be filling out a ton of paperwork for some imaginary illness no one can prove you have.”

“Maybe you should do what’s right instead of worrying about what your father will think,” Sharon said.  Bucky raised his eyebrows; maybe she was Steve’s type after all.  She sure had balls.

“You wanna fill out paperwork?” Stark demanded of Bucky.  “Is that what you’re looking for?  A free ride?”

“No, sir,” Bucky said.  “I can learn everything.  Like Sharon said.”

Stark looked triumphantly at Sharon.  “There, see?  No problem.  No paperwork.  And I’m not worried about my father, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” said Sharon curtly, and left the office.

“What are you still doing here?” Stark said to Bucky.  “Get back to work.”

“I’m not lying,” Bucky said. 

“I don’t care.  Go.”

Bucky exhaled loudly and returned to the front.  “Steve!” he said when he saw the familiar face at the counter.

“Hi, Bucky.”  Steve smiled, his cheeks pink.  “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said.  “Wait, let me see if I can remember your order.  Venti – that means large, triple… something… with foam?  A latte?”

Laughing, Steve said, “Close.  Triple venti soy no-foam latte.  I’m sorry.  I always felt like I was ruining someone’s day with my order until I met you.”

“Okay, so triple means triple espresso shot.”  Bucky punched that in on the register.  “And venti is large.”  Another punch.  “Soy.  No foam.  Latte.  Got it.”

“So you’re still having trouble remembering stuff?” Steve asked.

“Uh, kind of.  Hang on, let me get your coffee.”

Steve’s order took five minutes to make.  Wanda and Clint handled the other customers so Bucky could concentrate. 

“I hope I didn’t fuck it up,” Bucky said, bringing the steaming cup to Steve. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Bucky wanted to say something else, just so Steve wouldn’t go.  He hadn’t done much thinking on the fact that Steve was gay for him.  He couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He’d never thought of his best friend like that, at least, not in any of the memories he had recovered.  So when he asked Steve, “Do you want to go out for dinner?” he wasn’t entirely thinking about going on a date.

It wasn’t until Steve’s face lit up that he realized what he had done.

Chapter Text

He reasoned that it would not be awkward to go on a date with Steve.  He had a lot of questions he wanted to ask.  It didn’t matter if Steve was interested in Bucky that way.  They could just talk.  It was a first date, anyway.  He’d gone on a lot of dates, back before the war.  Nothing ever happened on a first date.

But when he found himself sitting across from Steve in a booth at a Mexican place, Bucky wasn’t sure where to start.  “I’m thinking quesadillas,” Steve had said.  Bucky had never had a quesadilla, and said so, and here they were at a place called Amigos, which Bucky knew meant friends.  He also knew he could speak Spanish without any memory of having learned the language.  That meant his brain had retained some of its Winter Soldier programming.  Whatever had happened, whatever fix T'Challa might have attempted, and whatever further brainwashing had occurred, Winter Soldier was still a part of him.  If anyone uttered that list of words, he would become The Asset again.

The idea made him want to throw up.

"I don't really know anything about you," Bucky said.

Steve, who had been studiously examining the menu, looked up and gave a little nervous laugh.  "No, I guess not."

When he didn't offer anything else, Bucky pressed on.  "Like, what kind of job do you have?  I mean," he remembered that Wanda was a student, "if you have a job.  Maybe you're still in school?"

"I thought you might be able to guess," Steve said.  "Yeah, I'm a student.  I'm studying--"

"Art," Bucky said. 

"Is it that obvious?" Steve asked, grinning.

It wasn't.  Bucky knew Steve had gone to art school for a year, before money ran out and his mom died and he had to find a job.  But he had to explain it somehow.

“No.  I’m psychic,” Bucky told him.

Steve tilted his head like he wasn’t sure Bucky was serious.  Bucky felt his lips curl up into a little bit of a smile.  Funny, how strange it still felt to smile after so long.

“Really.  Okay.  Then tell me something about myself,” Steve said, settling his elbows on the table.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah,” Bucky said.

Steve’s smile faded a little bit.  This wasn’t like the last time Bucky told Steve this little gem of information, when Steve had smiled in relief and knew Bucky was in control of his mind.  “How did you know that?” he asked.

“Your full name is Steven Grant Rogers.  You were five foot four for most of high school.”

Smile completely gone, both Steve’s and Bucky’s.  Bucky bore his gaze into Steve’s, demanding that Steve remember who he really was.

“Your birthday is July Fourth,” Bucky continued.  “You grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Stop!” Steve said suddenly.  Bucky couldn’t quite read the look on Steve’s face.  Was he remembering something now?  Had Bucky broken through the brainwashing?  With his lips pressed into a line and a troubled look in his eye, Steve stared down at his empty plate for a minute before he finally spoke again.  “Have you been stalking me?”

“What?”  Bucky hadn’t seen that accusation coming.

“I mean, did you find me on Facebook or something?  Google me?”  Steve finally looked up at Bucky, and Bucky realized that Steve looked a little scared.  “How do you know all that stuff about me?”

“I’m…”  For a second Bucky considered insisting on the lie that he was psychic.  But he couldn’t.  “Sorry.  I, uh, I thought it would be funny.  I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he mumbled.  “It was stupid.  I don’t know how to act around people.  Obviously.”

“You had me going there for a second,” Steve said, sitting back.  “Geez.  Well, I guess I should confess that I stalked you a little bit, too.”  He gave Bucky a wobbly smile.

That didn’t much seem like Steve, especially considering Bucky hadn’t actually stalked him.  “You… did?”

“Well, I mean, I figured out your schedule.  And once I hung around outside until you left so I’d know when your shift was over and what car you drove.”  Steve was blushing now.  It made Bucky smile – it reminded him of the old Steve, the one he could joke around with like old friends.  “I… I really like your motorcycle,” Steve said.

Before Bucky could say anything, the waitress came over to take their order.  Bucky ordered first, to give Steve a chance to recover.  “Do you want to get a drink?” Steve asked, after he had ordered.  “Margaritas?”

“I’ve never had a margarita,” Bucky said.

“Two margaritas,” Steve told the waitress.

Bucky watched Steve smiling and being a little more confident again, and Bucky was thankful the awkward moment had passed.  “So you’re an art student,” Bucky said, scooping up some salsa with a tortilla chip and crunching it down.  “What kind of art do you do?”

“I do mostly drawing – pencil, charcoal, pen and ink, you know.  My official major is illustration, but I’m hoping to be a comic book artist someday.  It’s better to major in illustration, though, because I can do other stuff, like children’s book illustrations, stuff like that.”

A memory surfaced, so clear it was almost painful, of a rainy day, lying around reading comics in his room.  Bucky was on the floor, lying on his back with his feet up on the bed.  Steve was sitting with his back against the bed and his legs bent to rest his sketchpad against his knees.  He wasn’t allowed to watch Steve draw, but occasionally he would look up to see Steve’s face, full of concentration, with a big dark smudge on his nose from the pencil. 

That was before everything changed.  Before anyone had died. 

“I hope someday I get to see some of your work,” Bucky said. 

He meant much later, or maybe in a museum, or something, but Steve nodded and said, “We could go back to my place after this.  I could show you my portfolio.”

“Oh,” said Bucky.  “Okay.”

“I mean, unless you’re busy,” Steve added quickly.  “I don’t know anything else about your life, I swear.  I mean, if you have something else going on…”

Bucky shook his head.  There was nothing going on that he knew of.  “I’ll come over.”

“Okay.  Good.”

The margaritas – they had a second round after the first – hit Bucky harder than he thought possible.  Then again, he hadn’t been able to get drunk in a long time.  He found himself slipping into this world where he was just a former soldier and a current barista and future unknown.  “So what’s your grand plan for life?” Steve asked.  He was leaning forward again, and Bucky was, too.  He wanted to drown out the crowded restaurant and focus on Steve. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.  “Survival?”

“You don’t have a five-year plan?” Steve laughed.  “God, that’s… Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a five-year plan.  Sometimes I wish I could just drive off and do a whole On the Road kind of thing.”

“I used to want to be a scientist,” Bucky said, suddenly remembering.  “Like, inventing stuff, you know?”

“What stopped you?”

Bucky shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I did pretty well in school, but then—”  Bucky stopped himself short from saying he’d been drafted.  The Depression meant he hadn’t had money to go to college, and the army had been a chance to do something more.

“You hurt your arm,” Steve finished.

With difficulty, Bucky said, “Yeah.”  That’s what had completely changed his life, when he lost his arm.  He should have died.  Maybe that would have been better.  For everyone.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said after Bucky had been quiet for few moments.  “I shouldn’t know that.  I only know that because your friend who works at Starkbucks with you told me.”

“Which one?” Bucky asked. 

“I think her name is Wanda?  I asked her about you, if you were single, one time when you weren’t there.  Sorry.  I already knew you were in the army before your roommate said it.”

“So, we never really talked before this, huh?” Bucky asked.  “I mean… I don’t remember, but it seemed like yesterday when I said your name it threw you off, like we’d never talked before.”

“Yeah, no.”  Steve laughed a little.  “I guess… I’m kind of an idiot about… this kind of thing.  Flirting and stuff.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and luckily, the waitress came over with the check then.  Steve tried to take it and pay it, but Bucky pulled out his wallet.  “You’re a poor college student,” Bucky said.

“I can pay,” Steve protested.

“I asked you out,” Bucky countered.

Since Bucky only had a twenty in his wallet, they decided to split the bill.  Then they got in the car, which felt very small suddenly, and Steve drove to his apartment, a one bedroom over a shuttered storefront.  “So this is it,” Steve said, flipping on the light switch to illuminate the kitchen with just an island counter to separate it from the living room.  “Bathroom’s through there, if you need it,” he pointed to the door off the kitchen, “and that one’s my bedroom.”

“It’s nice,” Bucky said.  It was neat, which Bucky had fully expected from Steve, even though the furniture was secondhand and the bookshelves were made of cinderblocks and wood planks.  He had some spider plants on the windowsill and drawings papered the walls.  “Are these all yours?”

“Yeah.  Work in progress.  I’m taking a figure drawing class this semester, and I’m trying to use some of my sketches to create my own comic book character.”

“Cool,” said Bucky.

“I can go get my portfolio, if you want.”

“Sure.”

Bucky kicked off his shoes and sat down on the couch.  While this didn’t look anything like Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn, he felt comfortable here, more so than in his own place.  Or maybe that was just Steve.  He’d always somehow felt comfortable with Steve. 

The portfolio was a big zippered black case.  Steve sat right next to Bucky on the couch, so that their thighs each held one side of the case when it was opened.  “This is some stuff from when I was a kid,” Steve explained, flipping past a few watercolor landscapes and drawings of dogs. 

Bucky pushed at Steve’s hand to stop him.  “Wait, hold on.  These are really good.”

“I did that one when I was, like, ten,” Steve said.

“Wow.”

“Um, and these are from a painting class I took when I was thirteen.”

“Steve, these look professional.”

“No, they don’t,” Steve said, even though he was smiling and blushing again. 

Back before the war, Steve hadn’t had the money for paints, but Bucky was familiar with Steve’s drawing style.  Here it was the same, maybe a little more refined.  “Wow, that one’s really awesome.” 

“Oh, I just copied it from a postcard,” Steve said, moving on to the next.

On and on, Steve denying his talent, and Bucky couldn’t see any faults in his work.  That was Steve, humble to the end.  “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn,” he used to say, when he was Captain America, the strongest man on earth. 

Steve flipped over the last drawing in the case and zipped it closed.  “You wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure,” said Bucky.

“Um, I don’t have cable.  Or Netflix.  Or anything like that,” Steve said with a sigh before getting up and walking over to the television stand.  “I got this movie from the library.”  He held up a box with a black and red cover that said 12 Monkeys.  “Have you seen it?  I wanted to watch it before I watch the new TV series.”

Bucky didn’t know anything about it.  “Sure.”

He watched Steve put the disc into the DVD player, then shut out the lights before coming back to sit down right beside Bucky again.

Bucky wasn’t sure what exactly was supposed to happen.  He’d never watched a movie this way before.  And he’d never been on a date that ended up like this.  Whenever he took a girl to the theater, he’d maybe try to put his arm around her shoulders, or hold her hand.  Was Steve going to do that?

He held himself tense long enough that his muscles started to ache a bit, and he forced himself to relax in the dark.  The movie was hard to follow and he kept thinking about Steve’s closeness, and how badly he wanted to lean into it. 

It had been a long time since anyone had been this close to him without being afraid of him.  Or carrying his half-dead body to safety.  He remembered Steve’s hand on his shoulder, that moment when they both remembered what life used to be like for the two of them, before all this.  He remembered his arm around Steve’s shoulders, Steve holding him, after Stark had ripped off his metal arm.

Steve shifted beside him, and then Steve’s arm was around his shoulders.  Huh, he thought to himself.  And let go of a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

Chapter Text

“And where have you been?”

Bucky walked into his apartment to find Sam’s accusing glare.  "I went to dinner with Steve.  And then we watched a movie."

"You did?  You finally mustered up the balls to ask him out?"  Sam didn't seem to believe this was possible.  "Or was he the one who did the asking?"

"I asked him," Bucky said, unlacing his boots and dumping them by the door. 

"And you didn't think to give me a call?  Or text me?  Tell me where you were at?" Sam demanded.

Bucky shrugged and started to head toward his room.  Sam jumped up from the couch and blocked his path to the hallway, and Bucky stopped short.

"Look, you have a head injury. You could have forgotten who you were and wandered off, I don't know.  I was worried, you idiot!"  Sam sighed, took a moment, then crossed his arms.  "Okay, so how was your date?"

"It wasn't a date," Bucky said.  "We just ate and watched a movie."

Sam looked at him flatly.  "Dude."

"What?"

"That guy is super into you.  And up until you cracked your skull, you were super into him.  What's the deal?"

Bucky shrugged. 

Holding up his hands, Sam backed out of the way.  "Alright, alright.  You wanna be weird about it, by all means.  Play it cool.  Sure.  Okay."

Bucky escaped to his room, and for good measure, closed the door.  He was tired.  It was after eight, which wasn't late until he remembered how he had woken up at five in the morning, and would have to wake up at the same time tomorrow. 

He stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed in just his underwear and socks.  Last night he had slept in his clothes, which he had gotten into a habit of doing because he never knew when he might be attacked or discovered and have to run.  Dragging his journal out of his backpack, he flipped through the pages again. 

The movie he had watched with Steve, while it hadn't made much sense until the end, had given him a few ideas.  There were too many impossibilities for him to continue believing this was all brainwashing.  How, in the span of a day, could Hydra have created all of those drawings, Steve's entire portfolio?  Even a few months would have been too short a time for all that.  And the brainwashing had to be so thorough, if Steve had specific memories attached to each piece of art.  Impossible. 

But in the movie, the characters could travel through time.  While he didn't necessarily think that was what had happened, because Hydra would have had to go back in time before the war, found him, and brought him back to the future, all before brainwashing him.  Other than keeping all the Avengers powerless in a controlled microcosm that didn't feel like a prison so they wouldn't escape, Bucky couldn't think of a single reason for them to go through all that trouble.  And even if they did go to all that trouble, why make them think only a day had passed since Bucky had gone into cryo?  Why was that date significant? 

There were, however, other worlds.  Portals.  Steve had told him about the missing Avengers, Hulk and Thor.  Thor came from a world called Asgard.  None of the other Avengers had been there, because you had to go through a portal or a bridge or something to get there (Steve had been a little vague).  So it was possible that Bucky had somehow been sucked into a portal, and ended up in a different world.  A parallel universe, where the same people as on Earth were walking around, only they were slightly different.

He scribbled down some thoughts on the matter, then stowed the notebook away and turned off the light.

Once in the darkness, he thought about Steve.

Bucky had understood that Steve thought they were on a date, and when the movie had ended and Bucky said he should get going, Steve removed his arm from Bucky's shoulders and said, "Sure," sounding apologetic.

"I had a really good time," Bucky told him, because he didn't want Steve to think Bucky didn't like him at all.  And after Steve had driven him back to the coffee shop to get his bike, they had stood there a little awkwardly.  Bucky didn't want Steve to think he wanted a good-night kiss or anything.  But Bucky was already missing the feel of Steve touching him.  Not in a sexual way.  He had enjoyed that closeness he hadn't shared with another human being in more than half a century. 

So he had stepped forward and given Steve a big, long hug. 

He knew he was hugging Steve for too long.  He had hugged Steve before, quick friendly hugs accompanied by pats on the back.  This went way past that.  Yet he couldn't make himself let Steve go.  Even if this Steve was some other person from a parallel universe, and not his Steve, Bucky felt a connection to him.  When Steve rubbed his cheek against Bucky's neck a little, Bucky still couldn't let go.

For so long he had felt alone, and unlovable, evil maybe.  Incapable of earning affection.  Steve nuzzling him, ever so slightly, touching Bucky's neck with the corner of his mouth, that seemed like more than Bucky had ever thought he deserved.  The emotion gripped him and he gripped Steve until it passed. 

"Wow," Steve had said when Bucky finally pulled away.  Bucky tried to discretely wipe his eyes.  "That was the best hug ever."

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled.

"Hey."  Steve touched his arm.  Bucky stopped in what he was doing, which was turning away, ready to make an escape on his motorcycle.  "I had a really good time tonight, too."

Even now it made Bucky smile against his pillow as he sank into sleep.

***

 "You look like the walking dead," Clint commented when he strolled into work.  Bucky had brewed himself a double espresso and was sipping it with bleary eyes.  "Heard ya had a hot date with Mr. America."

"Captain America," Bucky corrected. 

Clint laughed.  "Oh, it's like that, is it?  What does that make you, Sergeant Coffee?" 

Bucky blinked.  He wasn't quite sure what was happening in this conversation.  "Sergeant Barnes," he mumbled.

Clearing his throat, Clint said, "Um, are you and Steve really at that point in your relationship?"

"James and Steve are in a relationship?" Wanda asked, coming out of the back room. 

"No," Bucky said at the same time Clint said, "Yes."

"What happened?  I know you asked him out yesterday, how did it go?" Wanda asked.  She hadn't said much when she arrived two hours ago, mostly because she'd been late and rushing and there was a huge line of people.

Bucky didn't want to talk about it like he went on a date with Steve.  "Fine," he said.  "Are you okay?  You seem kinda stressed."

"Oh, it's just finals week.  Like, thank God, I'm almost done this semester, but I have so much studying to do it's insane--"

"No one wants to hear about school," Clint interrupted.  "We want to hear about J's date with Steve."

"My name is Bucky," Bucky said, more as a reflex. 

"I can't call you that, dude."

"Why not?"

"Really?  That's what you want me to call you?"

Bucky shrugged.

"I'm just gonna call you Barnes.  But even though it's the same number of syllables as J, it's harder, so you owe me."

"What did you two do on your date?" Wanda asked.  "Did you kiss him?"

Bucky did not want to think about kissing Steve.  "No," Bucky said, trying not to shudder.

"Wow."  Clint looked at Wanda with wide eyes.  "That sounded promising.  I can tell, this relationship is going to last forever."

Turning toward the sink, Bucky started rinsing off some foam-covered utensils.

"What, you didn't want to kiss him?" Wanda stepped over so she was leaning on the counter right at Bucky's elbow. 

"We just went to dinner," Bucky said.  "And we watched a movie at his place.  It was no big deal."

"You went to his place?" Wanda cried.

"Seriously, dude, there's something off if Wanda's more excited about your date than you are."

He ground his teeth together to keep himself from grunting It wasn't a date!

But it was.  He finished the dishes and shot back the last of his espresso.  Steve was his best friend.  He wanted to spend time with Steve, hang out, like old times...  That meant he would probably go on another “date” with him.

“How are you doing today, Barnes?” said Stark, coming up behind him.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said.  “Feeling much better.”

“Those bags under your eyes are telling me something else.”

Bucky found himself glaring at Stark and tried not to.  Why did Tony care how Bucky felt?

“Seems like you’ve made a full recovery from your ‘amnesia’,” Tony said.

There it was.  “Yeah,” Bucky said flatly.

“Good.”  Stark looked smug, like this was proof that Bucky didn’t have amnesia.  “Listen up, everyone.  Corporate’s going to be coming by sometime in the next week.  Surprise inspection.  They may or may not masquerade as a customer.  What does that mean?”

“We do our best,” Wanda said.

“No.  Well, yes, that, and also, anybody comes in wearing a suit, you treat them like royalty.  Got it?”

“Half our customers wear suits,” Clint complained.

“Treat them all like royalty!” Stark said. 

Bucky chose to say nothing.  After Tony returned to his office, Clint turned to the next person in line, who was wearing a suit.  “What can I get for you, Your Highness?”

“Stop,” Wanda hissed, nudging Clint away from the register.  She took all the orders for the next hour, keeping Bucky and Clint busy brewing in the back.  “Okay, do you think you can stop?” she asked Clint.

“I only just got started,” Clint protested. 

With a sigh, Wanda explained, “Barton, if Tony loses his job, we all could lose our jobs.  I need this job.  Do you understand?”

Clint took Wanda’s face in his hands and said very sincerely, “Yes.”

“Oh, stop it!” Wanda slapped his hands away.  “You never take anything seriously!”  But she was laughing now, too.

When Steve came into the shop, Bucky made his way to the counter.  He had to, because Clint was flicking a dishrag at Wanda and she was shrieking.  “Hi,” Bucky said, glad that the counter was in the way.  He had a distinct desire to hug Steve.

“Hi,” Steve said through a big smile.  “I know I don’t usually come in on Thursdays, but I just wanted to stop by to see you.”

“What do you usually do on Thursdays?” Bucky asked.

Steve laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Sometimes I forget that I’ve only had, like, three conversations with you, ever.”  Bucky waited for Steve to tell him what other plans he had. 

“So… no triple venti whatever today?”

“Yeah, um…” Steve swallowed and looked embarrassed.  “I mean, coming here to get a coffee every day means I’m eating ramen noodles the rest of the week,” he said, looking down at his dirty fingernails.  Bucky figured it was charcoal or some artist thing. 

“Steve, you can’t starve yourself just for an excuse to come here,” Bucky said.  “You need to eat or you’ll get sick.”

“You sound like my mom.  Before she died, anyway.”

Even though Steve’s mom had been dead for a good long time, Bucky still felt sad at this news.  After all, he had his parents back.  Why didn’t Steve have his mom?

A body collided with Bucky’s, shoving him aside.  “Soo…”  Clint propped his head up on his hands and batted his eyelashes up at Steve.  “I hear someone likes to be called Captain America in bed,” Clint said. ,

“Clint Barton, you stop that this instant!” Wanda said, the dishtowel snapping smartly across Clint’s ass.

Bucky found himself alone at the counter again.  His cheeks had gone red.  Somehow he knew that whatever Clint was saying about Captain America, it wasn’t about the Captain America Bucky knew.  It seemed to be some kind of sex joke, and he could only hope Steve didn’t understand it. 

When he looked up, however, Steve’s mouth was hanging open.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.

Steve leaned in.  His voice was low and urgent.  “How do you know about Captain America?”

Chapter Text

Bucky felt his heart stop for a second.  Could it be that Steve had already broken out of his brainwashing?  He had become fairly certain, without having done any actual research into the matter, that there were no superheroes here.  After all, Iron Man was running a coffee shop.  Falcon worked overnights at the VA.  And if Steve Rogers was just a poor college student with bad asthma, how could there possibly be a Captain America?

"How do you know about Captain America?" Bucky asked carefully.

"This is serious!" Steve said, looking like he wanted to reach across the counter and give Bucky a good shake.  "Is there already a Captain America out there somewhere?"

That told Bucky that there wasn't.  There couldn't be.  Not if Steve, who was from this world, didn't already know about him.  And Clint hadn't seemed to know what Bucky had been talking about, either. 

"We were just joking around," Bucky said.  "Barton called you Mr. America as a joke and I told him you were Captain America.  That's all." 

Steve stood there for a minute, his grip on the edge of the counter relaxing, his breathing slowing.  "Okay," he kept telling himself.  "Okay."  Bucky felt himself watching the little vein pulsing in Steve's neck as it dropped back to a normal heart rate.

"So, who's Captain America?" Bucky asked, trying to sound casual.

"Do you think it's a stupid name?  Captain America?"  Steve heaved a breath and started chewing on his thumbnail.  "I mean, do you think it sounds cool or stupid?"

Well, Bucky couldn't very well tell Steve that the first time he'd heard anyone call his best friend "Captain America," he'd had the urge to laugh.  But later, Steve had proven that he was braver than anyone else Bucky knew. 

"I like it," he told Steve.

At those words, Steve visibly relaxed.  "Oh, good.  Good," he said.  "I thought maybe when you said it was a joke that you thought it sounded stupid."

"You still didn't answer my question," Bucky reminded him.  "Who's Captain America?"

"Oh.  Well, remember I told you I was making my own comic book character?" Steve said.  "That's my character's name.  Captain America."  Steve shrugged and looked down at his hands.  "I don't know, maybe it is a stupid idea."

Bucky considered the Captain America he knew as a comic book character.  He remembered reading superhero comics with Steve when they were kids, like Green Hornet and Conan the Barbarian.  Steve had always liked Buck Rogers the best, because he had the same last name as Steve, and Bucky's name was in there too. 

"It's not stupid," Bucky said.  "Maybe," he looked around behind him for the clock, "maybe when I get off work you can show me?"

So that's what happened.  This time, Bucky remembered to text Sam to let him know he was going over to Steve's.  "It's so weird that you just came up with that out of nowhere," Steve said while they drove over to his place.  "Like we're soulmates or something."

Could that be what this was?  Some kind of reincarnation thing?  No, he rejected the idea.  It wouldn't explain the same date, or how there was no Captain America.  Although soulmate might describe them if it meant that in every parallel universe, there was a Bucky and there was a Steve and somehow they were connected.  Seemed odd that in this world they had only just found each other.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to move too fast," Steve was babbling.  "That's kind of an intense thing to say.  I mean, I'm getting the impression you want to take things slow, and I'm good with that.  I don't want to rush this."  He took his hand off the stick shift and grabbed Bucky's hand out of his lap, startling Bucky out of his thoughts.  "I'm serious.  I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

The hand-holding was kind of making Bucky uncomfortable.  He wasn't holding Steve's hand back, that was the first awkward thing.  It just lay in Steve's grip like a dead fish.  His left hand that was no longer metal. 

Steve let go and returned to gripping the stick shift.  He was grimacing a little.  "Sorry.  I'm... kind of a hopeless mess when it comes to relationships."

"Have you ever been in one before?" Bucky asked.  He resisted the urge to rub his left hand with his right.  He didn't want Steve to think he had cooties or something – just his hand felt so cold without Steve holding it.

"Um..." Steve swallowed, and pretended to focus on turning into his driveway.  "Well, not really I guess.  Not with a guy, I mean."

"You've dated girls?" Bucky asked as they got out of the car.

"Yeah.  I mean, I always knew I liked guys, too.  But it was easier to date girls, didn't get beat up so much.  Well, like you told me," Steve grinned at Bucky, "I was kind of a runt in high school."

They had walked up the stairs and Bucky leaned against the wall waiting for Steve to unlock his door.  "I bet you got in lots of fights in school," he said.

"What... makes you say that?" Steve opened the door, but turned to look back at Bucky.

"I just have this feeling about you."

Steve smiled a little.  "Yeah."

"I'm excited to see what this Captain America of yours looks like," Bucky said as they walked in.  He looked at the drawings on the walls in a whole new way now, trying to imagine each of them as Steve, in his suit. 

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"No," Bucky said. 

Steve didn't seem to know what to say about that.  He headed into the bedroom and Bucky could hear him rummaging around.  He wasn't sure what else to do, so he wandered toward the doorway.  Maybe Steve's room would look like his old place back in Brooklyn: a brass twin bed with a thin mattress covered by a neatly tucked in blue blanket, stacks of books, a dresser with one broken drawer that hung at a weird angle.

Of course it didn't look like that – they weren't living in the 1940s anymore.  This Steve had a platform bed, and it was full-size, not a twin.  His blanket was blue and gray plaid.  His dresser wasn't broken.  There was a desk in here, a big one that tilted and had drawings taped to it and an adjustable lamp that clipped to the top.  The room did, however, have the essence of Steve Rogers.  The neatness, the shabbiness. 

This was his Steve, if his Steve had hit a growth spurt and never become Captain America.

Steve was at the desk, gathering up a sketchpad and some drawings, and when he turned around he staggered back.  "Oh," he said.  "I didn't realize you had come in here."

"I like your room."  Bucky couldn't help it.  He knew he was staring, but he wanted to really look at this Steve and see if his Steve was somewhere buried in there.

"Yeah.  This is where the magic happens," Steve said, flapping an arm.  "Not much magic, really.  Um, do you want to sit in here and look at everything?"

"Sure." 

They sat on Steve's bed, Steve near the wall and Bucky near the foot with the drawings spread out between them.  Bucky picked up one drawing and felt his throat close up.  As he struggled to swallow, he remembered that outfit Steve had been wearing when he had rescued Bucky from Zola's laboratory, the cheesy suit he'd been wearing for his USO shows underneath more practical military gear.  He was reminded because he was looking at a drawing of a very similar look.

"That's an early one," Steve said.  "One of my first ideas.  I wanted him to be this military guy, fighting Nazis and stuff.  I don't know why, I always liked history and stuff about World War Two.  Anyway, it's a bit old-fashioned and sort of blah, and for a guy called Captain America I figured he needed to have a flag or something incorporated, so I came up with this."

This drawing was very much like the USO outfit, only with full pants instead of tights.  Tight pants, but still.  Bucky had laughed for a long time when Steve had come out in those ridiculous tights.  "I like this one," Bucky said, going back to the first.

The face even looked like Steve.  Bucky wondered if Steve knew.  "He looks like you," Bucky said.

"Ha, yeah.  I don't really have another model to go on for the face," Steve said.  "I came up with the idea because my birthday is--"

"July fourth," Bucky finished.

"Um, yeah."  Steve laughed nervously.

"Sorry," Bucky said.  "For... stalking you."

"Well, it's kind of... urhm."  Steve cleared his throat.  His face slowly turned crimson.  "Hot.  That a hot guy is – was – stalking me.  I never really imagined you would like me back."

"Of course I like you," Bucky said, earning one of Steve's best smiles.  This smile was like the one he'd earned when he proved that he was Bucky and not the Winter Soldier talking in that room with his arm in a vice.  The kind of smile where Bucky couldn't help but smile back.

After a minute, Steve cleared his throat again.  "Anyway, I wanted the costume to look less superhero-y and more practical, you know.  So this is where I'm at now." 

This looked like the suit Bucky remembered when he had fought Steve on the helicarrier.  Definitely military-style, but with the star and stripes.

"What were you saying about how you came up with the idea?" Bucky asked, picking up a few of the other sketches.  "About your birthday?"

"Oh, yeah.  So I guess I grew up and with my birthday a national holiday and all, I kind of thought, wouldn’t July fourth be the perfect birthday for a patriotic superhero?  And when I was a kid I used to pretend I was a superhero, but I always thought it was kind of a stupid idea.   Then I got sick my first semester of college and spent a week watching the History Channel do this World War II marathon thing that I thought, you know, that was a time when people really got into the patriotism thing.  They had a draft, but a lot of people signed up for the army, it was like Vietnam, you know?”

Bucky, who had enlisted after Pearl Harbor, and who had vague memories of missions during the Vietnam War, did know. 

“I don’t know.  I mean, I’ve just created this character but I don’t really have a story about him.  Just that he maybe stood for American ideals in that time period.  That’s the thing about writing comic books, you usually either write the story or you draw the pictures for the story, and just creating a character like this, out of the blue… it’s probably not going to go anywhere.”

“Why couldn’t you do the writing and the art?” Bucky asked. 

“I don’t know,” said Steve.  “I don’t really know what kind of story to write about him.”

“Okay, well…”  Bucky looked over all the pictures.  “I mean, I think the first thing you’d need for a story is a good villain.”

Steve looked at Bucky in amazement.  “You’re right.  Why didn’t I ever think of that?”  He flipped to a fresh page in his notebook.  “Okay, what kind of villain…”

“You said he was fighting in World War II.  So, obviously…” Bucky waited for Steve to catch on.

“He should be fighting Nazis,” Steve finished, scribbling that down.  “I mean, he can’t be fighting Hitler, that would be weird, but just general Nazis would be okay.”

“And I mean, how did this guy become Captain America?  Who was he before he became Cap?”

“Cap,” Steve said.  “I like that!  Geez, you’re so good at this.  Maybe you could be the writer!”

“And how about a sidekick?” Bucky said, instead of answering.  Already he was imagining telling Steve all their adventures with the Howling Commandoes and fighting Red Skull and Hydra.  “Don’t all good heroes have a sidekick?”  Bucky wondered if that’s what he had been, after Steve had rescued him.  He had always looked at it like he and Steve were fighting side by side, but that wasn’t true.  Steve was the leader.  Bucky was the sidekick. 

“Can I tell you something crazy?” Steve said, gathering up the drawings into a stack and depositing them on his nightstand, sliding over so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Bucky.  “I have dreams, sometimes.  About Captain America.  Do you think that’s weird?”

Some of the entries in his journal seemed to indicate that whoever he had been before he recovered his memories had dreamt about the Winter Soldier.  There were a lot of dreams about being strapped down, pain ripping through his head, strange sequences of words that he couldn’t quite remember.  Demands for mission reports.  “What kind of dreams?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”  Steve raked a hand through his hair.  “Like, I dream that I’m Captain America, and I have to fight these… things.  All kinds of different things.  Sometimes it’s people, but sometimes there are these weird metal things that fly that I know are aliens, or this one guy with a gross red face, like a skull.”

“Red Skull,” Bucky said automatically.

“Yeah, like he could peel off his face and there’s this red skull under it.”  Steve shuddered.  “I once tried to look it up in a dream dictionary but yeah, that’s apparently not a very comment dream.”

“What other kinds of dreams do you have?”

Steve’s shoulder was pressed right against Bucky’s, and Bucky found himself leaning into it so that their heads nearly touched.  “I dream that I’m on Coney Island,” he said, his voice soft.  “We’re eating hot dogs and riding the Cyclone and there’s a warm breeze and sea air and it’s just me and you.”

For a long minute Bucky couldn’t think of anything to say.  He wished he could climb right inside Steve’s dream, go back in time.  Those were good times.  Then he realized that for this Steve, these weren’t memories.  Or were they?  Maybe he’d had it right with his brainwashing theory, and Steve’s real memories were leaking out in his dreams.  “I was in your dreams?”

Steve froze.  “I… yeah.  It’s so weird.  I mean, I’ve been having these dreams for years.  I never really knew who this person was in my dream, I only knew he was everything to me.  And then I saw you and I just knew…. Oh, god.”  Steve pulled away, and Bucky had to plant his hand so that he didn’t fall into the space Steve had abandoned.  “I’m sorry.  Oh, god.”

“What?” Bucky asked.  Steve had flopped over and buried his face in his pillow.  He was moaning.  Bucky touched his knee.  “What is it?”  But Steve just curled up like a pill bug.

He couldn’t bear to see Steve upset like this.  He didn’t know what had happened.  So he crawled across the mattress so he could lie beside Steve and hug him to his chest. 

Steve’s moaning continued, until finally Steve pulled the pillow away from his face and said, “Why are you still here?  Why don’t you think I’m a freak?”  He buried his face again, but Bucky could hear him clearly when he added, “Everyone else does.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked.  “Why would I think you were a freak?”

Steve sighed and twisted around in Bucky’s arms.  His eyes were red and his nose was running.  “Come on.  This is, like, our second date and I’m fucking crying.”

“So?” Bucky said stubbornly.  It wasn’t like he’d never seen Steve cry before. 

“I just told you I’ve been dreaming about you for, like, ten years,” Steve said, rubbing his face.  “That’s way scarier than you finding my Facebook profile online or whatever.  I mean,” he coughed out a laugh, “I know what I sound like.  Like a fucking insane person.”

A little bit of hair had fallen onto Steve’s forehead, and Bucky brushed it back.  He left his hand on Steve’s neck.  “What’s wrong with insane?”

Now Steve looked at him with those watery eyes.  Bucky met his gaze stubbornly, daring Steve to think Bucky was just going to desert him.  Because Bucky was never going to do that.  Whatever the hell had happened, Bucky was not going to let Steve go.  If this was all brainwashing, then he’d stick around until Steve remembered.  And if it wasn’t, if he was truly in a parallel universe, then maybe, just maybe, he and Steve could forget all that shit they went through.  They could go back to Coney Island.  They could be happy.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” Steve said, touching Bucky’s face.  Bucky closed his eyes.  No one had touched his face like this in half a century.  Longer.  Steve’s thumb ran over the stubble on his cheek.  “I feel like I know exactly what you’d look like if you shaved.  If you had short hair…”

At that, Bucky crushed Steve’s head to his chest and held him tight.  His jaw worked to keep himself from crying.  This had to be his Steve.  Only his Steve would have memories like this.  This must be how Steve felt, when he discovered that Bucky was alive but didn’t quite remember him.  “I missed you,” he whispered into Steve’s hair. 

Chapter Text

Bucky didn't have any money, and Steve didn't have any money, so they ate ramen noodles for dinner and watched the History Channel.  Bucky sat down first, and Steve sat down right beside him.  When he was done slurping his noodles, he hooked his arm around Steve's neck.  This was nice. 

He hadn't been aware, up until yesterday, how much he had missed touch.

Inside of him felt like a yawning cavern of need, and Steve nestled right into him like he was still the five-foot-four runt Bucky remembered, only it was slightly ridiculous, because Steve had quite a few more muscles. 

"How does an art student get so buff?" Bucky asked during a commercial.  The History Channel wasn't all about history, as Bucky had discovered.  The show they were watching was called American Pickers and had almost nothing to do with history.  Bucky had been hoping to discover how exactly World War II had gone down without Captain America and the Howling Commandos.  They had been in history books.  There was a Smithsonian Exhibit.  And here, there was none of that.  American Pickers wasn't going to answer Bucky's questions.  He would have to go to the library.

Steve laughed.  "So you think I'm buff, huh?"  He flexed his arm.  "I started working out in high school.  That was my plan to keep from losing every fight I got into.  'Course, it didn't really do much until I started growing, but I liked working out.  It was... a good distraction after my mom died."

Why did that hurt so much?  Bucky had gone to the funeral.  Sarah Rogers had been dead for eighty years.  Yet still it hurt - because it was still hurting Steve. 

"What about your dad?" Bucky asked, because he couldn’t very well say that he knew how it felt to lose his parents.  Or his own life, really.  How it felt to lose everything. 

"My dad?  You mean you don't know?" Steve chuckled against Bucky's shoulder.  "My dad's dead too.  Died in Afghanistan when I was really little.  I don't remember him."

Bucky remembered something similar.  In his world, Joe Rogers had died in World War I. 

They had both relaxed into a nice, comfortable silence when a sharp rapping at the door startled Bucky.

“Whoa, calm down,” Steve said, laughing.  He didn’t seem surprised about the knock at the door.  He didn’t even get up from the couch.  “It’s open!” he called over his shoulder.

The red-haired woman from the bridge strode in, wearing skintight jeans and a suit jacket over a concert t-shirt.  This was the woman who had said, “You could at least remember me.”  And later, she had betrayed Tony and allowed Steve and Bucky to escape to stop Zemo.  Bucky remembered Steve calling her both Widow and Natasha and Romanoff, but he didn’t remember her, not really.  Especially not now, as she coolly assessed him.  “Hello, coffee shop guy.”

“Geez, Natasha,” Steve said.

“I have some questions for you,” Natasha said to Bucky.

“Like what?” Bucky demanded.

“But first, Steven, have you eaten today?”

“God, Nat.”  Steve rubbed his eyes.  “Yes.  We just had dinner.”

“Ramen noodles again?”

While Bucky appreciated that this woman was looking out for Steve’s well-being, he didn’t like her tone.  “Who are you?” he asked.

“You don’t remember me?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder and arching an eyebrow.

“No,” said Bucky.

“He has a concussion,” Steve started to say.

“Tell me, James, do you have any higher aspirations than working at a coffee shop for the rest of your life?”

“Natasha, stop it!” Steve said, standing up.  “Be nice.”

“I’ll be nice when I’m confident this guy isn’t going to destroy your life.”

“I would never hurt Steve,” Bucky said, also standing up.  His fists were starting to clench, itching for a fight, and he forced them to relax.

“That’s what the last one said.”

“I can take care of myself!” Steve threw up his hands.

“Yes, I’m sure you can survive for a few weeks on ramen noodles and daydreams,” Natasha said dryly.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked again.

“Natasha is my upstairs neighbor,” Steve explained.  “She likes to pretend I won’t survive without her.”

Bucky gave Natasha a glowering look.

“Oh, calm down,” she said.  “I was asking if you had eaten because I ordered a pizza or two.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Steve said.

“So you don’t want any?”

“Of course I want some,” Steve said.  He looked at Bucky sheepishly.  “Are you still hungry?”

“I could eat,” he said, not wanting Steve to think he was being a bad host.  “I mean, it’s pizza.”

“Follow me, boys.” Natasha pivoted on her heel and walked out of Steve’s apartment.

“Geez, I’m sorry,” Steve said miserably.  “I meant to tell you about her, introduce you, but I kinda forgot.  I mean,” he grabbed Bucky’s hand, interlacing his fingers with Bucky’s, and looked at Bucky with an adoring expression, “you make it kind of hard for me to think, sometimes.”

“Oh.”  Bucky felt his face heat up.  His hand couldn’t do the dead fish thing with their fingers interlocked like this.  “I, um…”

“Sorry, am I moving too fast again?” Steve released Bucky’s hand, and Bucky threaded the fingers of his hands together.  He suddenly realized he hadn’t been able to do that since the 1940s.  It felt wrong with his metal arm.  And now it just reminded him of Steve.

“No, um, it’s more that… I feel so comfortable around you,” Bucky said.  “I don’t feel nervous at all.”

Steve looked pleased by that, but he couldn’t respond because Natasha shouted, “Are you guys coming or what?”

***

Natasha’s apartment had a sleek, modern look to it that made Bucky wonder whether Natasha had done a lot of renovating or Steve had just really not taken care of his place.  He was surprised to find someone else in Natasha’s apartment.  Natasha had a roommate named Pepper, a willowy blonde who was in her pajamas and curled up on the couch with a pint of ice cream.  She didn’t say a word to them, and after a few minutes she disappeared into her room.

Once she was gone, Natasha explained.  “She’s going through a break up.  This is sort of a… temporary situation.”

Steve whispered, “She’s the whole reason I even met you.”

While Natasha assessed him with her gaze, Bucky asked, “What do you mean?”

“I take it you have amnesia,” Natasha said.

“I have some memory loss from the concussion, yeah,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, because I went down to Starkbucks to have a few words with Pepper’s ex.  Maybe you know him.  Goes by the name Tony Stark?”

It came as no surprise to Bucky that Tony would be a shitty boyfriend.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I know him.”

“Good.  Funny that you don’t remember how I ordered a coffee from you and thought you looked cute, so I flirted with you for a while, and you seemed kind of into it until that other guy down there decided to inform me that you were bisexual and preferred men.”

“That would be Clint.”

“Yes.  Clint.” Natasha said this with an odd look on her face.  Bucky couldn’t quite read it.  “Well, I have to say I immediately thought of my own bisexual friend here, and sent him down to get his complicated coffees while you were working.”

Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged.  “She just said there was a hot guy who worked there in the afternoons.”

“You really don’t remember me?” Natasha asked him.

He shook his head.

“She’s been going there after work every night to see Clint,” Steve said.

Realization dawned on Bucky.  “You like Barton?”

“We have a… mutual flirtation,” Natasha said.  “Does anyone want anything to drink?”

The pizza arrived, and they set in to devouring it, because the ramen had done nothing to quell Bucky and Steve’s appetites.  Pizza and some kind of micro-brewed beer and Bucky realized he felt halfway normal. 

When he had been fighting at Steve’s side, he had felt a sort of comradery with Sam, but otherwise, he didn’t know much about the others.  He felt like they didn’t exactly trust him, which made sense, because he didn’t trust himself.  Here, wherever this was, Bucky had friends.  Wanda and Clint cared about him and joked around with him, Sam looked out for him, and Natasha – well, Natasha didn’t seem to trust him yet, but she cared about Steve, so that made her okay in Bucky’s book.  Even if he knew Steve a little better, knew Steve hated being babied.

“I’m still waiting to hear if you have a career plan outside of making coffee for people,” Natasha said, interrupting his thoughts. 

Might as well be matter-of-fact.  “Not really.”

“Nat, I already asked him this stuff,” Steve said.  Bucky remembered, from their first awkward “date.”  He hadn’t really given an answer.  “Bucky was in the army,” Steve added brightly.

Bucky didn’t want to talk about himself.  Largely because he didn’t know anything about himself, or this self.  “What do you do for work?  Whatever it is, you must make a lot of money.”

“I can’t tell you about my job,” Natasha said.  “Top secret.”

“She does forensic psychology for the government,” Steve told Bucky.  “Psychoanalyzes serial killers and stuff.”

“As I said,” Natasha interrupted, “it’s top secret.  Now, what are your intentions with Steven here?”

“Natasha…” Steve moaned.  “Stop!”

After that, Natasha backed off, but Bucky still felt like he was being judged.  Would she think he wasn’t interested in Steve enough, and counsel Steve to move on and find an actual boyfriend rather than some guy who just wanted to be friends?  Bucky found himself looking at Steve, trying to make himself want Steve to be his boyfriend.  What he wanted was for Steve to be in his life.  For the rest of his life.  He didn’t want to lose Steve again.  He knew the Steve from his world felt the same way.  They had both lost enough, and found each other, and rescued each other.  They both wanted to move on, together.  He didn’t need to have a conversation with Steve about it. 

If only this Steve could remember being his Steve.

When Bucky started yawning (because he had been up since five a.m.), Steve told Natasha they had to go, and drove Bucky back for his motorcycle.  “Do I get another awesome hug?” Steve asked before Bucky could put on his helmet. 

“Of course,” Bucky said, and pulled Steve in.  He wished he could have been doing this all night.  Maybe it was all his efforts to appear to be Steve’s boyfriend, but Bucky thought he might have possibly felt a little… turned on.  As he strapped on his helmet and waved good-bye to Steve, he dismissed it.  He was a guy, after all.  A guy who hadn’t had sex in a very, very long time.  He thought about it after he’d gotten home – Sam was already gone to work – after he’d changed and climbed into bed. 

The Hydra brainwashing had done something to his libido, he had thought.  Essentially, if it wasn’t part of a mission, he had no thoughts about sex.  At all.  Hydra only woke him for missions, and it was never part of a mission.  He was stealth and brutality, not seduction and betrayal. 

In the time between breaking free of Hydra and now, Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to get close to anyone.  He wanted to stay hidden, to try to figure out his brain.  The fog of memory and the constant threat of being discovered hadn’t given him the luxury of reacquainting himself with his body.  His body had scared him, repulsed him.  He had been a Frankenstein’s monster, a Lazarus.  No one would possibly want him, least of all himself.  He didn’t want to touch himself.

Things were different now.  His left hand fumbled under the elastic waist of his boxer shorts.  He sucked in a breath – he had forgotten how this felt.  Sighing, he stroked himself, not aiming to get off or anything, just to enjoy the sensation of being able to feel.  He fell asleep with his hand still down there, still able to sense the pressure of Steve’s fingers interlaced through his own.

Chapter Text

He awoke to the sound of heavy rain and a memory of bone-chilling cold.  Shivering, he pulled the blankets close around him and tried to convince himself to get out of bed.  Living on his own for the past two years meant he didn't keep a schedule, didn't have to get up early.  He didn't sleep well, but he had no place to be. 

Eventually he made himself get up.  He changed and put on a jacket and his baseball cap and backpack and stood at the door, sighing.  Riding his motorcycle to work in this was going to suck, big time. 

He arrived at Starkbucks drenched.  Probably should have brought a change of clothes.  Sharon had picked out the key on his keyring to let himself in before the place opened, but today it wasn't Sharon or Scott in the back.  It took Bucky barely a second to recognize the panther-like movements of the man wearing all black. 

"Hey, Barnes," said T'Challa.  "Uh, I hate to do this to you, but you're not on the schedule."

"Oh," said Bucky.  Why hadn't he even bothered to look at the schedule?  Or, for that matter, figure out what day of the week it was?  "I guess maybe I should look at that."

T'Challa gave him a worried look.  In the back he found Wanda yawning as she tied on her apron.  "Hi!" She said.  "Are you working with me today?"

"Apparently not," Bucky grumbled, although her excitement about getting to work with him made him feel a little better.

"Oh, that sucks.  Been there.  Here, let's see when you're working next."  Wanda pointed him straight to the schedule tacked up to the bulletin board.  "Uh.... Looks like... Monday.  You have the whole weekend off."

"What day is today?" Bucky asked. 

"Saturday." Wanda bumped his hip with hers.  "You oughta take a coffee to go.  At least you can go home and change out of those wet clothes and go back to bed, huh?"

"Yeah.  Hey, does Steve usually come in on the weekends?"

Wanda laughed.  "What, you haven't gotten his number yet?  I thought you two went out again last night?"

"I keep forgetting," Bucky mumbled.  The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.  He still wasn't totally used to the idea that people carried telephones around with them at all times now. 

"And he hasn't asked for your number?'  Wanda shook her head.  "You two."

Bucky headed back out into the rain.  At least the helmet kept his head dry, but he still had rivulets of water flowing down the collar of his shirt and down his back.  Once home, he peeled off his clothes and stood under the shower until the water started to get less hot, and then he got out and toweled himself off.  In the foggy mirror, he caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his arm and stopped to look at it. 

It really did look exactly as it had in his head when Wanda and Sam had first told him about it.  The red star, no outline, just like the one on his metal arm.  He ran the pads of his fingers over it.  It was a part of him.  A reminder.

He heard the door to his apartment open and close quietly, and he cracked the bathroom door to see who it was.  Of course it was Sam. 

"Hey, man, how come you're up so early?" Sam asked.

"I thought I had to work," Bucky told him.

"You didn't go all the way into work in this?" Sam jerked a thumb toward the rain pounding against the windowpanes.  "Tell you didn't.  You did.  Wow."

"How was your shift?" Bucky asked, seeing how rumpled Sam's scrubs were, how tired he looked.

Sam shrugged.  "Exhausting.  This one guy keeps having nightmares, wakes everyone else up, makes 'em all anxious and upset..."

Bucky thought about some of the entries in his journal.  "Did I... do I have nightmares a lot?"

"You?  I wouldn't really know.  We're on different schedules.  I mean, we all do, don't we?  When we were at the VA together you did.  They weren't like this guy's though.  Man.  You always woke up cold.  Freaking weirdo."  Sam pushed his shoulder lightly, to show that he was joking, and Bucky tried to smile.

"I never woke up screaming?"

Sam shrugged.  "Sometimes.  But it wasn't like this guy."

Bucky wondered if the guy was anyone he knew.  Probably not.  He realized he had been standing there running through a mental list of all the people he knew but hadn't encountered yet, when Sam yawned loudly.  "I'm gonna crash.  Don't make too much noise working out, yeah?"

"I won't," Bucky told him.

He had planned to go back to bed, where he could be warm.  Instead he lay awake until finally he rolled onto his stomach and opened his notebook.

Dr. Erksine says my nightmares are about the fear of losing my arm.  How close I came to losing it, I guess.  But I didn’t almost lose it, I just had nerve damage.  I don’t even have scars.  And Dr. Strange says the dreams are a pain thing.  My arm hurts so I dream that it’s being cut off.

But why do I dream about a metal arm?  About killing people? 

Bucky flipped to a blank page and started writing. 

I went into cryo and woke up here.

This “Bucky” (maybe I should call him James?) dreamed about being the Winter Soldier.  Dreamed about cryo. 

Now, when I sleep, I dream of being cold.

The only theory Bucky could figure that made sense was a parallel universe.  Somehow, when James slipped in the freezer at work, it was at the same moment that Bucky was entering cryo in his world, and they switched places. 

It made more sense than the brainwashing theory.  That would require too much time.  There were too many variables to account for. 

Bucky got out of bed and put on sweatpants, a thermal t-shirt, and thick socks, then padded into the living room.  He was pretty sure he had seen a laptop out here.  Hopefully, if it was Sam’s, it wasn’t password-protected. 

But first, coffee.

A steaming mug and a big bowl of cereal and Bucky hunkered down to do some research.  He wasn’t about to try to find the library in this rain. 

Luckily, the computer started up with no password needed.  He spent the first few minutes typing in various Google searches: Howling Commandos, Captain America, Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D.  Hydra brought up pages about Greek mythology; Captain America had some information about army ranks.  He tried a few more.  Slokovia Accords.  The Avengers.  Wakanda.  United Nations bombing.  Nothing of substance.  The last search brought up a few results, nothing recent. 

Digging in, Bucky tried a few names, and had better luck.  Howard Stark, for example, brought up a Wikipedia page.  He was the founder of Stark Industries, which specialized in military technology in the beginning.  Howard Stark began to branch out into green technologies and then launched a number of business ventures – basing business models off of successful chains but transforming them into "green" companies.  Now Stark Industries controlled pieces of every consumer brand imaginable, including Starkbucks, which boasted organically grown, fair trade coffee beans, locally sourced food, and biodegradable coffee cups.

So according to the internet, Howard Stark wasn't dead.  Big deal.  Hydra could have easily altered a Wikipedia page.  They would probably figure that he'd be one of the first names Bucky would search for, especially after discovering that the elder Stark was still alive.  He'd have a pick a name that was a little more obscure.

As he continued, it seemed that every name he knew was generic.  "Steve Rogers" had over a million results.  "Steven Grant Rogers" still had over 500,000.  Sam Wilson, Alexander Pierce, Sharon Carter – all too many results to sort through.  He had better luck with Wanda Maximoff.  It brought up a Facebook profile, a Twitter account, and some ad-looking results like "Looking for Wanda Maximoff?" before descending into miscellaneous stuff like genealogical records and news articles that did not contain the first and last names together.

Next he tried thinking of the world events that had happened.  He googled "September 11" - that had still happened.  So had all of the major wars he remembered.  Then he started thinking about those he had assassinated as the Winter Soldier.  Obviously, Howard Stark was still alive, but what about the others?

Of those names, he found that most of them had died prematurely in some way or another.  Even John F. Kennedy.  Whatever conspiracy had existed to program the Winter Soldier to kill these people must still exist in some form. 

Having exhausted his knowledge of searching the internet, Bucky sat back and turned on the television, putting the volume low so he wouldn't disturb Sam.  CNN was always a good source for news. 

Curled up under an afghan, he dozed off. 

When he woke up, it was mid-afternoon and he could hear the shower running.  Outside, the rain had stopped.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then went to the kitchen to see if there was anything resembling food.  There was plenty of ramen – Steve's favorite – and easy food like mac and cheese, peanut butter, Cheez-Its and chips, and cans of soup, mostly chicken noodle.  The fridge was a bunch of take-out containers and food that probably needed to be thrown out.  Bucky started making some mac and cheese.  The milk was two days past the expiration date but still smelled good.

"You're cooking?" Sam asked.  He had on a t-shirt and basketball shorts.

"Hungry," Bucky replied.

"Here."  Sam pulled a frosted package of hotdogs out of the freezer, and then some broccoli.  "Make it a real meal."

Bucky chuckled.  "If you say so."

"You feeling okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah... Why?"

"You're dressed like it's the dead of winter.  You know it's May, right?  Middle of spring?"

"I was cold."

"You're always cold."

Sam surprised Bucky by putting his hand on Bucky's face.  He jerked away and glared.

"If you have a fever, with that head injury, it could be a problem," Sam said.

Bucky felt stupid for being so jumpy, when Sam was just trying to help.  He pulled the sleeves of his thermal shirt over his hands.  "I'm just cold."

"Will you let me take your temperature?"

"Fine."  He continued stirring the pasta while Sam got a thermometer.  Of course it wasn't a mercury thermometer like when he was a child.  It was digital, but it still went in his mouth.  It only took a few seconds for the thing to beep and inform Sam that his temperature was indeed normal.  "See?  I'm fine."

"Okay, tough guy."

They ate their meal sitting in front of the television in companionable silence.  Sam apparently enjoyed reruns of Seinfeld and Friends, which was nice change from the news.  As evening approached, however, Bucky started feeling restless.

He wanted to talk to Steve.  He didn't like not knowing what Steve was doing.  Too long had passed without his best friend, and he hated that he'd lost Steve just as they'd found each other.  Sure, Steve had promised to wake him up once T'Challa had a cure, but it felt like loss all the same.  And now he had a Steve, but no way to get in touch with him... although he did know where Steve lived.

He got up to use the bathroom, then went into his bedroom and put on a dry pair of sneakers and a jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked when he walked into the living room. 

"To see Steve."

"Did he call you?  Text you?  That's a booty call, even if it's a text."

"No," Bucky said, to all of that.  "I'm just gonna go over there."

"Without calling?"

"I don't have his number."

"Come on," Sam said, but quickly realized Bucky was serious.  "You got it bad."

Bucky shrugged and left.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Sam called after him.

"Doesn't leave me much of a list!" Bucky called back.

The exchange reminded him of Steve, somehow, and he was flushed as he wiped down the seat of his bike and hopped on. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought, roaring down the streets.  The traffic was light, and he arrived at Steve's place faster than he expected.  Maybe Steve didn't want to see him.  That didn’t make sense to him.  Steve was his best friend.  Steve would want to see him.  Hell, Steve had fought Tony Stark and the United Nations for Bucky. 

Steve thought Bucky was worth that. 

At Steve’s door, Bucky hesitated.  He could hear music playing inside, something sweeping and instrumental, but he didn’t hear any voices.  Telling himself that he only felt nervous because Sam had made him second-guess himself, he knocked on the door.

He heard something crash inside, and Steve muttering, “Oh, fuck,” before calling out, “Just a minute!”

Footsteps drew closer, and then the door opened.

“Bucky,” Steve said, a little breathlessly.  He had a smudge on his nose and his hair stuck up all over, which he was already trying to smooth down.  “What are you doing here? ...I mean, uh, hi.”

“I didn’t have your number,” Bucky said.

“Oh.”  He had earned another smile from Steve, and for a minute they just looked at each other.

And then Steve leaned in.

Bucky caught Steve’s face before it came anywhere near close enough for a kiss.  Steve’s eyes startled open.  Bucky could have let him go, or turned this awkward thing into a hug.  He remembered how he had felt last night, suddenly.  That stirring inside him, the feeling that this person could fill that need, and he scrutinized Steve’s face. 

Was this a face he could kiss?  Was he attracted to this face, the face of his best friend?  Could he kiss those lips?

The longer the seconds crawled by, the more he thought Maybe…

Chapter Text

Steve's long-lashed eyes had fluttered open when Bucky grabbed his face.  A flurry of emotions had passed over his features, from surprise to fear to curiosity to amusement, all while Bucky had been looking at his lips – how had he never noticed how full Steve's lips were?  And those eyelashes, Jesus.  Steve had beautiful eyes.   

Now Steve looked like he was waiting.  Maybe he thought Bucky was going to kiss him still, and that was when Bucky cut the moment short by saying, "Sorry." 

"What are you sorry for?" Steve asked.  "I'm the idiot trying to make a move." 

"You're not an idiot," Bucky said, stepping back, breaking the contact fully by shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the scuffed wall in the hallway.  "I'm just... not ready for that." 

"I know." 

Bucky looked at him sharply. 

"I know, that's why I'm an idiot.  We just talked about this yesterday, how we were gonna take it slow.  I guess..."  Steve shrugged and half-smiled at him.  "I guess I thought you showing up here unannounced meant you had changed your mind." 

"I just wanted to see you," Bucky mumbled. 

"That's okay."  Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and started to pull him into the apartment.  "More than okay, really." 

"You're not busy?" Bucky asked.  Steve was holding his hand so tight.  Swallowing, Bucky made his fingers curl around Steve's.  This isn't weird, he told himself.   

Steve led him into the bedroom, which set all Bucky's nerves jangling.  He was sure Steve could feel his palms sweating.  Then he saw what Steve had been working on. 

He barely noticed when Steve released his hand to pick up the pencils and charcoals that had spilled to the floor.  His breath caught in his throat.  "It's Red Skull," Steve said, about the drawing on his easel.  "From my dream.  I'm working on making him like a real villain." 

The Nazi uniform made that really clear.  It was just amazing how similar this guy looked to the guy Bucky had seen with his own eyes… almost like Steve had seen him before.  Maybe he had, in the dreams that seemed to link him to the Steve he knew.  The drawing made him feel dizzy. 

“It’s really good,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse.  He wanted to sit down all of a sudden.  He stepped over, feeling shaky, and sat down on the edge of Steve's bed. 

"Are you okay?" Steve asked. 

"Do you ever..." Bucky stopped, trying to figure out what he wanted to ask.  How he wanted to say it.  He wanted to flat out ask Steve if he had any memories.  Do you remember me?  From another life?  “Do you ever have deja vu?” Bucky asked finally. 

Steve looked from Bucky’s face to his drawing of Red Skull then back again.  “Sometimes.”  He watched Bucky for a moment longer, then sat down beside him.   

This time, when Steve put his arm around Bucky, it didn’t feel like he was trying to make a move.  He just rested it there on Bucky's back.  Bucky had never had trouble looking at Steve.  Making eye contact.  Bucky couldn't stop looking at Steve's face, even when he knew it must be unsettling since this Steve didn't remember anything.  Bucky knew how it was to have someone look at him and see some part of himself he didn't remember.   

“Do you mean déjà vu, like this?” Steve asked.  “What’s between us?” 

Bucky couldn’t answer. 

“The first time I saw you I felt this connection.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt it with anyone before.  Almost like… we knew each other in a past life or something.” 

When Bucky still didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t breathe, Steve laughed and tried to look away.  Only his eyes darted back to Bucky’s almost immediately.   

“Yes,” Bucky choked out.  “Like a past life.” 

Steve nodded.  “Yeah.  Definitely, then.” 

A past life.  A life before Bucky fell and Steve thought he was dead.  A life before Steve hit the ice and “died.”  There had a been a moment, only a day or two before he had gone into cryo again, in the elevator, when Bucky had looked at Steve and Steve had looked at Bucky and those memories had flooded back.  Him and Steve against the world, that was how it always was, back when they were kids all the way through the war to now.   

“Hey, you wanna do something?  Go to a movie or something?” Steve asked, dragging Bucky out of the past. 

“Um.”  Bucky swallowed and blinked and tried to get himself back.  “Do you… want to go out?  I mean….”  Bucky reached up and touched the dark smear on Steve’s nose.  “You have pencil or something.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, rubbing furiously.  “Geez.”  Suddenly Steve was up and out of the room.  Bucky watched him flick on the bathroom light and when Bucky leaned back, he could see Steve blanching at his own reflection before pressing his palms to his wayward hair.   

“You look fine,” Bucky called to him.  “I mean, you look like you weren’t planning on going anywhere, but you look fine.” 

“You’re a liar,” Steve said back.  Bucky could hear the smile in his voice.   

He got up and sauntered over to the bathroom door.  “I don’t mind staying in,” Bucky said.  “You know, watching a movie like last time.  Since neither of us have any money to go out anyway.” 

Steve pulled his hands from his hair and slid them down to cover his face.  “God, I’m such a loser.” 

“If you’re a loser, then so am I,” Bucky said. 

Steve peeked at him.   

With a smile, Bucky tugged at Steve’s sleeve.  “Come on, loser.” 

“I don’t think Natasha’s around to buy us pizza this time,” Steve warned as Bucky settled into the couch.  He lifted the arm of the record player – Steve had a record player.  Bucky stared at it long after Steve had moved into the kitchen.  “Looks like dinner options are ramen or ramen." 

"Ramen's fine." 

He couldn't quite get over the record player.  If Sam had a record player, it would seem old-fashioned.  But, looking around, Bucky realized that Steve was an old-fashioned kind of guy.  He had a tea kettle on the stove and a shiny toaster on the counter, but no microwave.  other than the television and DVD player, there wasn't anything in the apartment that would have been out of place back in the 40s.   

Once again Bucky found himself considering the brainwashing theory.  Steve would have a preference for old-fashioned things, if he had been brainwashed.  If Steve had been brainwashed, however, then how did Steve end up gay? 

Steve brought over two steaming bowls of ramen, and Bucky pulled up the coffee table so he could set them down.  As the couch cushions shifted with Steve's weight beside him, the question circled his mind.  Was that part of Steve always there, and Bucky just hadn't known it? 

He thought about how Steve had never really been good at talking to girls.  How awkward Steve was around them.  He knew Steve had liked Peggy, and yet... he might have only liked Peggy as a friend.  She was his superior officer, after all.   

Then there was Sharon.  Bucky had watched Steve kiss Sharon.   

Wait.  Natasha had said that both Bucky and Steve were bisexual.  Somehow, that part of Natasha's story had flown over his head in learning how he and Steve had met.  Steve liked both women and men.  That was how he could kiss Sharon, but also be interested in Bucky. 

And after Steve had kissed Sharon, he had looked to Bucky for approval.  Naturally, Bucky had smiled and nodded a little.  Had Steve been looking for approval... or to see if Bucky was jealous? 

That was ridiculous.  Steve wasn't trying to make him jealous by kissing Sharon.  Sam had been in the car, too.   

Ramen finished, settled back on the couch, looking at Steve's back muscles straining against his t-shirt, Bucky wished he could just ask.  Steve kissing Sharon – it had made sense to him then, even if the kiss had been at an awkward time.  Everything during those four or five days seemed like a blur, and Bucky hadn't had time to process any of it.  Now he remembered his feelings in that moment.  He'd been happy for Steve – he wanted Steve to be happy – but at the same time, he had been so threatened and broken that his happiness was tainted by jealousy.  He wanted to feel that way for someone.  He wanted someone to feel that way about him.  He wanted to not have every government agency and secret agency and "enhanced individual" on the planet hunting him down.   

He wanted to be loved. 

Steve sat back.  Bucky moved his hand out of the way so Steve didn't sit on it.  He tucked his hands between his legs.  He didn't even know what they were watching on TV, although a few seconds in and he realized it was similar to the movie they had watched the other night.  This must be the television series based on the movie Steve had mentioned.   

Sitting in contact with Steve – the lengths of their thighs were touching, their feet, their arms – Bucky felt things stirring up inside him again.  When he closed his eyes, he remembered Steve's face inches from his own, and he had to force his eyes open again.   

Over and over again throughout his life, he had been reminded that his body was a machine.  It could be controlled by outside forces, trained to respond to stimuli.  Perhaps, in the brainwashing that had led his to this strange place, his body had been trained to react to Steve's presence.   

Even as Bucky tried to control his breathing, to force his body to remain calm, he wondered why he was fighting this so much.  After being forced to kill and obey orders and destroy any moral center he might have had... was it so bad to be forced to crave the touch of his best friend?  Especially when that friend seemed to feel the same way? 

He shifted his legs slightly.  It wasn't an overwhelming desire, not like the control that had come over his brain and made him say, "Ready to comply."  He could withstand this, if he wanted to.  Ignore it.  He was staring at Steve's arm, the big forearm with a light down of blond hair.  He could push away these feelings. 

The thing was, he didn't want to. 

He took a deep breath.  And another.  Then he shifted his arm back so it looped through Steve's elbow.  His fingers grazed the soft inside of Steve's forearm, trailing down until they met with Steve's fingers.   

Steve looked down at their now-joined hands.  A little squeeze.  Now he was looking at Bucky with those long-lashed eyes and full lips and pink cheeks.  Bucky swallowed.  Tensed.  He wasn't sure he was ready for kissing yet, even if his body was.  As Steve moved his head toward Bucky, Bucky closed his eyes.  He would accept it if Steve kissed him.  He would do whatever he needed to keep Steve touching him, because his body was already screaming for more. 

A pressure on his shoulder.  Bucky opened his eyes.  Steve had just rested his head against Bucky's shoulder.  That was all.  The screaming stopped, died down to a dull tingling.   

When had his hand lifted to caress the side of Steve's face?  He didn't know.  But when he realized it, and tried to let it drop, Steve stopped him with his other hand.  He curled Bucky's left hand to his chest.  Pressed flat, Bucky could feel Steve's heartbeat.  It matched his own.  The steady thumping lulled him, quieted all the noise, and after a few minutes, Bucky felt his body relax all the way, until his head dropped to rest on Steve's head, soft blond hair against his face.  

Chapter Text

He should have known he was going to get it from Sam before he walked through the door on Sunday morning.

"You spent the night with him?"

"Yes," said Bucky tiredly.  He didn't feel tired at all, however.

He had woken up on Steve's couch with a blanket tucked around his shoulders.  When he sat up, he could see the dim outline of Steve's shape in the bed.  He remembered feeling sleepy, and then thinking he would just close his eyes for a minute.  After that, he was out cold.  Literally – he had woken up freezing, despite the blanket. 

Shivering, he had gotten up and walked into Steve's bedroom.  Steve was snoring just like Bucky remembered – no amount of serum or brainwashing could erase that, he supposed.  For a few moments he just stood there.  The Steve he knew wouldn't have minded if Bucky climbed into bed with him.  Well, neither Steve would mind, although this Steve would see it as something else.  Bucky just wanted to be warm.  He and Steve had spent a lot of time in the army together, and sleeping quarters were often close on missions.  And in the colder months, in the colder climates, huddling together had been survival.

Bucky had climbed into the space in front of Steve.  One of Steve's arms, the bottom one, was tucked up under his pillow.  The top one Bucky lifted as he slid under the covers, and replaced so it wrapped around Bucky's arm and dangled over his chest.  The warm of Steve's body up against his back felt good, and he liked the regularity of Steve's breath on his neck.  Warmth, finally.  And when Steve took a deep breath and pulled Bucky closer, Bucky was finally able to drift back to sleep.

"It's not like that," Bucky said, as Sam gave him a look of disbelief.

"What's it like, then?"

"I just... fell asleep," Bucky replied.  He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat and went for the pot of coffee burning on the counter.  "And then we went to breakfast."

"Uh-huh," Sam said.

"Natasha and Pepper came with us," Bucky said.  "They're Steve's neighbors.  They asked us to go.  And paid for it."  Bucky rubbed his face.  He was tired of having no money.

"Why didn't you pay?  You have money."

"No I don't.  I spent my last ten dollars on dinner with Steve the other night."

"Uh, there's this thing called an ATM?"

Bucky stared at him.  Was he joking?  Bucky had never used an ATM, but he knew what they were.

"Okay."  Sam pushed away from the counter and reached for Bucky's ass.  "Lemme see your wallet."

Bucky jerked away.

"I'm not playing grab-ass with you, dude.  Just get your wallet.  Come on."

From the wallet Bucky removed from his back pocket, Sam plucked out a red credit card.  "This is a debit card," Sam said slowly.  "You can put it in an ATM machine--"

"I know how ATMs work," Bucky snapped, and grabbed for the card.  Sam pulled it out of his reach.

"Yeah?  Do you remember your PIN number?"

Dropping his arm, Bucky said, "No."

"You can also use it like a credit card to pay for stuff at restaurants," Sam continued explaining in that slow voice.  "Without the PIN number."

"Okay, okay, fine.  But how much money do I have?  I don't want to spend it all."

"Here."  Sam returned the red card and Bucky slid it back into his wallet.  "So, today's Sunday, which means you can't do much about it.  Tomorrow, you go down to that bank and tell them you forgot your PIN number.  You'll get a new one, and then you can also get some cash.  But trust me, you're not going to blow through your account in one day."

"Okay."

Leaning against the counter, Sam asked, "So... You slept over.  And all you did was cuddle."

Bucky shrugged as a blush crept up his neck.  He couldn't quite explain his need to touch Steve.  He missed it already. 

"Never took you for much of a cuddler," Sam continued, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow.  "You were always a fuck 'em fast kind of guy."

Bucky choked on his coffee and had a short coughing fit.

"You don't remember even that, do you," Sam said.

Coughing, Bucky said, "Well (cough) I don't think that's (cough) how I'd describe myself."

Sam laughed.  "You're so weird now.  It's fun."

"So... have I had a lot of girlfriends then?  I mean boyfriends.  Or... whatever."

"That's the thing.  You haven't.  You've dated a lot.  Hooked up a lot.  So this is... weird.  But fun.  You're acting like some shy virgin."

Bucky didn't say anything to that.  He'd been celibate for close to seventy years.  He might as well be a virgin.

"You don't even feel like you're attracted to dudes," Sam said.  "How can you forget something like that?"

"I don't know."  These questions were making him grumpy again.  "I don't know anything, apparently."

"Don't be like that.  Come on.  Let's watch some porn and see what gets you excited."

Bucky couldn't help it – he gave Sam a wide-eyed look.  "No.  Please no."

"Come on.  Just some pictures or something on the computer.  Real quick."

"No!" 

"Okay, fine.  You wanna go work out?  You remember we do that, right?"

"Work out."  Bucky had a sudden memory of him and Steve, back in high school.  With Steve being so small, Bucky had encouraged Steve to bulk up.  They would do pushups together, jumping jacks, running, and lifting cinder blocks (they didn't have money for dumbbells or anything).  None of it had helped Steve gain a bit of muscle.  He remembered the drills they had done when he was training for the army.  But ever since he'd been injected with that same serum that had made Steve one of the strongest men alive, he had never needed to work out. 

This body, however, had no serum.  And now that he was considering it, he decided that some hard physical activity would be just the thing to distract him.  "Okay," he said finally.

Sam shook his head.  "You are so fucking weird now."

***

"You think she's cute?" Sam asked, of a particularly muscular girl walking by in green spandex.

"Sure," Bucky muttered, hoping Sam wouldn't try to get her attention.  He just wanted to do some barbell squats in peace. 

"Yeah?  You'd bang her?"

"Come on, man."

Sam curled a dumbbell and watched the girl set herself up on the bench-press machine.  Finally he stopped ogling and nodded at a guy wearing a weight belt and gloves, watching himself in the mirror as he pumped out reps.

"How 'bout that dude?"

"No." 

"Him?"

Bucky didn't even bother to look.  "No."

"What do you mean, no?" said a male voice with a slight German accent.  "And here I thought we were friends."

The guy with the prematurely gray hair was lean and wiry and wearing black basketball shorts and a faded gray track team t-shirt.  Something about him looked familiar, but Bucky couldn't say what.

"Didn't Wanda tell you about J's freak accident?" Sam asked.  With the mention of Wanda's name, Bucky guessed that she and this guy were related somehow.  Maybe he was Wanda's brother.

"Nah, she's stressing about finals.  Lucky she works at the coffee store, she's all hopped up on caffeine."  The guy peered at Bucky.  "You hit your head?"

"Got a bad case of amnesia, this one."

Bucky glared at both of them as he continued doing squats.

Sam looked back at Bucky.  "You don't remember him, do you?"

"No," Bucky exhaled.  He stood up, racked the weights.  "Sorry."  He didn't feel sorry.  He felt annoyed.

"This is Pete.  Pietro.  Wanda's twin brother."

"Okay," said Bucky, looking at the guy.  "Nice to meet you."

“So J’s been seeing Steve,” Sam told Pietro.

“You have?” Pietro looked amazed.

“Wanda told you?” Bucky complained.

“Yes.  The continuing saga of J and Steve.  Like a soap opera.”

Bucky chewed his lip, more because he didn’t like that they were calling him J.  “Does everyone know about Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Everyone who’s spent more than five minutes with you,” said Sam.

“Steve has the bluest eyes,” Pietro sighed, clasping his hands to his chest.  “And the tightest t-shirts.”

“Do you think he likes guys?” Sam squeaked, brushing back invisible hair.  “I mean, he looks pretty straight, but so do I.”

“Stop,” said Bucky.  He couldn’t imagine himself acting that way. 

“He’s gone on three dates with Steve this week,” Sam told Pietro.  “Last night he slept over.”

“Nothing happened,” Bucky insisted, turning red.  He stepped back under the weights.  Maybe they would leave him alone if he kept working out.

“This is super serious,” Pietro said, leaning against the metal frame of the machine.  “I can’t believe Wanda didn’t mention it.”

“She doesn’t know about last night,” Sam said.  “You get to taunt her with the news.”

As Pietro and Sam continued to discuss Bucky’s love life, Bucky focused on squats and a little thought that was niggling at his mind.  There hadn’t been much time to get to know anybody who was on Steve’s side in the battle at that airport.  But he was pretty sure Wanda’s brother was dead.  What did it all mean?

“J,” Sam was saying.  “Helloooo, earth to J!”

“My name is Bucky.”

“What?” Pietro laughed. 

“Oh yeah, that’s what he’s calling himself now,” Sam said, like he was thankful to have someone to commiserate with.  “Bucky.  His mom calls him that.”

Bucky racked the weights again, then grabbed his towel and walked away.  This was not the relaxing workout he’d agreed to.

“Wow, okay,” he heard Pietro say.  “Yeah, I’ll talk to you guys later, maybe when he gets his memory back.”

Sitting on a bench, Bucky grabbed a dumbbell and started doing curls.  He heard footsteps approaching.  “I don’t appreciate being made fun of,” he said to Sam.

“Sorry, dude,” Sam said.  “I don’t know if you can fully understand how weird this whole thing is for me, too.”

Bucky didn’t say anything.  He had picked one of the heaviest weights, and it was a struggle to lift it.  Finally he put it down.  “I wish things could somehow be normal,” Bucky said. 

It wasn’t even just a wish that he’d be back in his own world, because things were never normal there, either.  He wanted to go back in time, back before the war fucked everything up.  Even if Sam was starting to grow on him, like an annoying little brother.  Or big brother.  Bucky couldn’t decide which.

“Am I picking on you too much?” Sam asked.  “Because if I am, I’ll stop.  I deal with shit by making it a joke.  You always used to like my jokes.”

Picking at a callous on his hand (he had callouses, which he didn’t remember having before), Bucky tried to understand where Sam was coming from.  “It’s just hard,” Bucky said finally. 

“All right.  I’m picking on you too much.  I’ll try to rein it in, but…”  Sam trailed off as a brunette walked by.  “Okay, one last question: what about her?”

Bucky sighed, but in the spirit of humoring Sam he looked over the bouncy ponytail, the girl’s muscular arms and back, and her curves.  He was about to tell Sam that sure, this girl was good-looking, when she turned and looked at him, and his throat closed up.

“What?” Sam asked.  “You just turned white.  Dude, I’ve never actually seen that happen before.”

The girl smirked at him with ripe red lips.  That clinched it. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now.

“Talk to me, J,” said Sam.  “I mean, Bucky.  Whatever your name is.  What’s going on?”

Somehow, Bucky managed to choke out one word.  “Peggy?”

Chapter Text

“Wait, you know this girl?” Sam was saying, but Bucky wasn’t listening. 

There was no way this was brainwashing.  It couldn’t be.  Not even with clones or anything.  Peggy was dead, she had just died, and she had been old.  And Sharon was her niece – grand-niece.  They couldn’t be the same age.  They couldn’t.   

His chest hurt, he couldn't breathe.  Peggy was staring at him now, her eyebrows scrunching together.  Did she recognize him?  She couldn't.  This was impossible.  In what sounded like a faraway whisper, she asked Sam, in that same British accent, "Did he just call me Peggy?" 

"You okay, buddy?" 

He was falling, and Sam's hands keeping him from hitting the floor felt as substantial as air.  And then Peggy's arms were helping him to his feet.  His legs didn't seem to work.  She was real, she looked exactly as he remembered her back at that bar, when she only had eyes for Steve.  Her face was exactly the same, anyway.  The rest of her gym outfit he was having a harder time processing.  It was too modern.  He kept seeing her with her hair down, dressed in military uniform.  The way she had ignored him and looked at Steve.   

The way Steve had looked at her. 

"Do I know you?" Peggy asked him.  "I mean... Nobody calls me Peggy except my grandmother." 

Bucky couldn't answer her.  What could he say, really?  There was also the little matter of his vision fading and the sensation of fumbling around and a buzzing in his ears. 

When the darkness cleared, he was seated on a bench with his head between his knees and Sam's hand on his back to keep him from toppling over.  He took some deep breaths.  Memorized the black and gray details on his sneakers and the pebbly rubberized flooring of the gym. 

Oddly, he thought about Steve. 

Sam's touch had a different feel to it.  There was no stirring, no desperate need to lean into it.  Even after Bucky's vision had cleared, he took a few extra moments and stayed where he was, trying to make his body respond the same way it responded to Steve. 

"Hey, buddy," Sam said.  "You feeling any better?" 

"A little," Bucky said. 

"Here, try this."  That was Pietro's voice, and it was followed by a shockingly cold, wet sensation at the back of his neck.   

It helped, though.  Bucky tried to sit up.  "You sure you're good?" Sam asked him.  He hadn't stopped touching Bucky the whole time.   

Now Bucky could see that a crowd had gathered, and he wanted to stick his head between his legs again.  "Yeah," he said.  "Sorry." 

"No need to apologize.  What do you think, do you think you need to go to the hospital?" Sam asked. 

"I'm okay," said Bucky.  He reached back to his neck and felt the cold water bottle Pietro was holding there.  He tried to smile at Pietro but it was an utter failure. 

"How hard did he hit his head?" Pietro asked Sam. 

"Not hard enough to need stitches," Sam said.  "And it happened Tuesday.  The doctors ruled out concussion." 

"Weird," said Pietro. 

Eventually Bucky was able to assure everyone that he was fine and didn't need an ambulance.  One of the last to drift away was Peggy.  "I never made anyone so weak in the knees they passed out," she joked.  "Do you really think he's alright?"  

"Do you know Steve Rogers?" Bucky asked, before Sam could answer her.  He didn't miss the sharp look Sam gave him. 

"No, I'm sorry," Peggy said.  "Is he... are you Steve?" 

Bucky shook his head.   

"Okay, I'm gonna get him home," Sam said to Peggy, and tugged at Bucky's arm until he stood up.   

The dizziness had completely gone away.  Bucky gave Peggy one last look, and she stopped them with a touch on his arm.  "Wait.  I feel like... we should talk?"  She peered at him with those disconcertingly beautiful eyes.  "Perhaps... get some coffee sometime?" 

What could he do but give her his number?  Not that he could remember it, but Sam helped, and Peggy stored Bucky's number in her phone, which reminded Bucky that he had never actually gotten Steve's number.  

"He works at a coffee shop, you know," Sam told Peggy, as Bucky stared at the new entry for Margaret Carter in his contacts. 

"I'll bet that's a fun place to work."  Peggy grinned like she really believed this.  Bucky grimaced.  "Well, then, maybe not coffee.  But please, call me.  Okay?" 

"Okay," Bucky grunted.  He slung his arm around Sam's shoulders to make it less awkward as Sam pulled him out to the parking lot.  He could have climbed into the passenger seat on his own, but he had to admit that he was thankful Sam was there. 

"There's one way to pick up girls," Sam commented.  He hadn't closed Bucky's door yet, just stood there looking down at him. 

"I'm not..." Bucky sighed.  "Picking anyone up." 

"You recognized her." 

"Yeah." 

"And you think she knows Steve?" 

"I know she knows Steve.  Or... she did.  In another life."  Bucky winced – whether it was from trying to reconcile Peggy Carter with the world he found himself in, or because he had just repeated that thing Steve had said about past lives, he didn't know.  "I don't know.  I think I just need to lie down." 

He lay his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.  He wished the world could just stop spinning.  The one thing he thought would help was if Steve was here – if only he had Steve's number, then he could call Steve and Steve could come over.  Bucky could curl up in his arms and sleep like he did last night.   

He wasn't sure why he thought Steve hugging him would help anything.  He could introduce Steve to Peggy, and Steve might just decide he liked her the way he did before, and who knew if Steve would still want to be friends with him?  This place wasn't like home.  He and Steve weren't best friends, they hadn't known each other since they were kids.  Here, Steve was just some guy who thought Bucky was hot.  Maybe Peggy was his soulmate, and no matter what universe this was, Steve and Peggy would end up together, while Bucky landed in a pit of hell. 

The car stopped, and Bucky opened his eyes.  The facade of the hospital's emergency room stared back at him. 

“No,” he said. 

“Come on, man.  You know something’s wrong,” Sam said. 

Bucky raised his voice.  “Can you just give me a break for once?”  

“I know you hate the hospital.  But would it really be so bad to have the doctors check again?  Come on.  I’m worried about you.” 

Sam’s brown eyes did look worried.  The more Bucky looked at them, the more he knew he would be walking into that hospital instead of going home and finding some way to get Steve to come over. 

“Fine,” Bucky said, unsnapping his seat belt.  "Let's just get this over with." 

More waiting.  More poking and prodding.  More questions.   

Dr. Banner once again examined him.  "Odd that this is the first time you've felt any dizziness," he said, shining a light into Bucky's eyes.   

Bucky didn't mention how he'd felt dizzy looking at Steve's drawing of Red Skull.  "You look familiar," Bucky told him. 

"I believe I was the attending doctor at your first visit." 

Biting back on a rude response, Bucky chose instead to focus on the name "Banner."  It just sounded so familiar.  Like he'd seen it on the news.  In a newspaper, more likely, since he didn't have a television.  Banner.   

"What's your first name?" Bucky asked him. 

Dr. Banner peered at him through his glasses.  "You think you know me from someplace other than the hospital?" 

"I don't know."   

"My first name is Bruce, if that helps.  I suspect it won't."  Dr. Banner put two CT scan images up on the light boxes.  "These were taken just a few days ago.  There's nothing here.  You are a very healthy man." 

Bruce Banner.  Bucky felt goosebumps crawl over his skin.  Of course!  He could hear Steve's voice now, talking about the man the newspapers liked to call "The Incredible Hulk."  Steve just called him, "Banner," and he hadn't known where the Hulk was, because Banner had disappeared after the incident in Slokovia – a country which, according to Google, did not exist.   

Bucky now eyed the back of Dr. Banner's white coat suspiciously.  This man didn't look anything like a hulk.  Apparently it was some kind of mutation, and he could turn into a Hulk and back again.   

"Given that your injury doesn't seem to be the root cause of your memory loss, I'm going to recommend a psychiatrist who might be able to help you," Dr. Banner said, and handed Bucky a card.   

Bucky took one look at the name on the card and nearly ripped it in half.  Instead, he caught himself, and calmly placed the card in his pocket.  "Thank you," he said, when he really meant, Thanks for nothing.  He had wasted half the day and found out nothing new.   

In the waiting room, Sam was chatting with a nurse – no one Bucky recognized, thankfully – but brightened when Bucky came out.  "So? What did they say?" 

"Nothing's wrong with me," Bucky told him, and kept walking toward the exit. 

"What?  How could nothing be wrong with you?  I don't believe that."  Sam said a hurried good-bye to the nurse, then ran to catch up.  "What's the real story?  Fess up." 

"He told me I'm a head case," Bucky grumbled. 

"We all know that," Sam joked.  "For real?  He thinks it's all mental?" 

"Yeah.  Told me to see a shrink." 

"Did he give you a name?" 

Bucky jammed his hands in his pockets and kept his head down. 

"They always give a name," Sam continued.   

"I'm not going to therapy," Bucky said.  "It won't help me." 

"How do you know that?  Wait up, man."  Sam ran a couple of steps so he was in front of Bucky and started walking backwards.  "Look, I know you've already done a shit-ton of therapy.  But it's an ongoing process.  Maybe you just need a little refresher to clear out the demons." 

Bucky didn't say anything until they got to the car.  Then he said, "Maybe I'll go, but I'm not going to this asshole the doctor 'recommended.'" 

"Why not?  And how would you know if he's a an asshole?" 

Frustrated, Bucky ripped the card out of his pocket.  "Does this name ring a bell to you?" He demanded. 

Sam stared at the crumpled bit of cardstock.  "Alexander Pierce.  Yeah, he rings a bell.  Duh.  He was your therapist at the VA.  I thought you got along with him.  You never mentioned before that you didn't like him." 

Just hearing that name out loud made Bucky's insides quake.  If Pierce was Bucky's therapist before, he could only imagine what that man had done to him.  "Fuck," Bucky said. 

Chapter Text

"Looks like your boy's here," Sam said as he pulled into the driveway.

Bucky opened his eyes.  "Huh?"  Then he saw the Volkswagen Beetle parked in the lot, and he suddenly felt warm all over.  Steve.

After Sam had parked, he glanced over at Bucky and laughed.  "Look at you.  You're grinning like a maniac."

"I am not," Bucky said, even though he could feel his mouth doing just that.  It was like Steve had read his mind, like he had known something was wrong.

That was how it had been between them.  Bucky had always known if Steve was in trouble.  Like that last night at the expo, before Bucky had shipped out: he had known Steve would be down at the theater, wishing he could be one of the brave soldiers in the war reels.  And after being rejected by the army again, Steve wouldn't be taking shit from anyone.  He had also known, after Steve disappeared from the expo, exactly where Steve had gone.

The expo.  Where Howard Stark had unveiled his new invention – a flying car.  Howard Stark, who he had killed.  Howard Stark, who was still alive and well, and apparently not a hundred years old. 

"Whoa there, buddy," said Sam, because Bucky had staggered a bit in his rush to get inside and see Steve.  "Can you take it easy?  Just a little?"

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled.  He rubbed his face and tried to pace himself.  Steve wasn't in the Beetle waiting for him, which meant he was inside, and Bucky needed to see him.  Now.

He was waiting at the top of the stairs, sitting on the landing with his legs stretched out.  "Hey," Steve said when Bucky and Sam came into view.  He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets.  "I, uh, hope this is okay," Steve said as Sam stepped around him to unlock the door.  "I realized, after you left this morning, that I never gave you my phone number."

In response, Bucky hugged him.

"Oh," Steve said.

"He's had a day," Sam explained when Bucky didn't say anything.  It was too good to have Steve's arms holding him up.  He could close his eyes, and smell that familiar smell, and remember exactly who he was, before everything.  "Just got back from the hospital."

But Sam held the door open, and waited, until Steve stepped back a little and Bucky realized it would be better if they were inside.  "What happened?" Steve asked.  He didn't stop touching Bucky – kept his hand on Bucky's lower back as they walked in.

"Nothing," Bucky said. 

"He almost passed out at the gym," Sam said.

Steve turned his head.  In a low voice, right by Bucky's ear, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." 

"He should probably lie down," Sam said.

"Yeah, let's go lie down," Bucky said, and dragged Steve down the hall.

"I'm putting on my headphones!" Sam called after them.

As soon as Bucky's bedroom door had closed, he was hugging Steve again.  Wrestling him, really, as he dragged Steve down onto the bed.  He wrapped his arms tight around Steve's neck and buried his face there between Steve's head and the pillow.  The darkness was good.  The way Steve hugged him back just as tightly as Bucky was hugging him felt good.  Safe. 

Steve's hand went into Bucky's hair, under the elastic he'd used to tie his hair up and out of his face at the gym.  Gently he worked the elastic loose and then massaged Bucky's scalp, combing out the tangles. 

Bucky's whole body felt warm, buzzing, and it wasn't until he tried for even more contact with Steve – a full body hug, with his leg hitched up over Steve's hip, that Bucky realized he was starting to get an erection.  His sweatpants weren't going to give him any room to hide it, and he could only hope Steve couldn't feel it through his jeans, because he didn't want to give up any of the contact he had gained.

"You give such good hugs," Steve whispered in his ear.  Bucky could feel each breath against his neck.  Steve was resting his cheek against Bucky's head, and after a few moments, he could feel Steve's face dip a little so that his lips touched the skin under Bucky's jaw.  Bucky sighed a little.  Exhaled tension.

Steve moved his lips, a twitch that sent a shiver down Bucky's spine. 

And then he did it.  He kissed Bucky's neck.  A tiny little kiss, feather-light.

For a few seconds, Bucky couldn't breathe.  His whole body seized up, his eyes were squeezed shut, his arms squeezed Steve even tighter.  The situation between his legs was at a point where he knew Steve could feel exactly how hard he was.  He was throbbing.  "Was that okay?" Steve asked. 

"Yes," Bucky managed to say, his voice little more than the barest whisper.  "Do it again."

Eyes closed, he could feel the tiniest movements of Steve's lips as they dragged along his skin, all the way up until Steve was nuzzling his ear.  His body was responding through no will of his own: he was gasping for breath, his arms shaking with how tightly he was holding onto Steve, his hips rocking, trying to get some relief.

"Bucky," Steve breathed.

Steve's mouth pulled on Bucky's neck.  Bucky heard himself groan, felt moisture slip from under his eyelashes.  When Steve's hand left his hair, Bucky missed it.  He scraped his own hand up to Steve's hair – short fuzz that he couldn't help but enjoy touching – which almost distracted him from how Steve's hand was traveling down his back, tracing the knobs of his spine.  The first finger that dipped below the waistband of his sweatpants snapped him back.  He sucked in a breath and froze.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.  He managed to lift his head so he could see a bit of Bucky's face, because Bucky's sudden shock had loosened his death grip.  "Hey, you're crying."

Bucky opened his mouth, and shut it again. He looked at Steve, hoping Steve could figure out what he wanted.  What he needed.

"Sorry if I moved too fast."  The hand moved back up, pressed into the curve of his low back.  "I'm, uh, getting some mixed signals here."  He laughed a little, then moved his hand completely and wiped at Bucky's cheek.  "Are you okay?"

As soon as Steve returned his hand to Bucky's back, Bucky closed his eyes and leaned forward and pushed his mouth against Steve's.

With his eyes closed, he could have been kissing anyone.  It didn't feel much different from the other kisses he had experienced, except for everything thrumming through his body.  Except it was Steve.  And right now, Steve was all he wanted. 

He kissed Steve until his lips felt chapped and numb.  Until his arms relaxed their grip, until the empty hole inside of him felt sated. 

Part of him wanted to believe this was all conditioning, just a physical response.  He half-hoped that when he opened his eyes and looked at the face of his best friend, he would come to his senses and realize he didn’t feel that way.  But when it happened, when he lay his head back and looked at Steve, and saw the way Steve looked at him, Bucky realized he had seen that look before.  That was the look Steve gave him after he woke up with his arm in a vice, once Bucky let him know he was Bucky. 

Bucky’s body had known before his mind.

“Buck,” Steve whispered.  He had his hand on Bucky’s face, caressing his cheek.  “I don’t want to scare you off… but I have to say it.  I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”

The words "I love you," spring to Bucky's tongue, but he clenched his teeth to keep himself from saying them.  His body wanted him to say them.  And his mind, a little bit, too.  What could he say to Steve?  The intensity of his feelings would be scary to his Steve, who had spent all his life just being Bucky's best friend.  He didn't want to scare Steve away.  He needed to keep him close.  But if he told this Steve how he felt, this Steve might want to push Bucky further than he could go. 

He should have stopped himself.  The Winter Soldier knew restraint... except when it came to Steve.  Steve had always managed to punch through the barriers Hydra had created in his mind.  He should feel ashamed for letting Steve do that to him again.

But... he had liked it.  Whatever this was, he liked it.  And if it was gay, maybe he would like that, too. 

"I don't want to let you go," Bucky croaked.

"Don't cry."  Until these words Bucky hadn't realized his eyes were wet again.  He closed them and then felt Steve's lips on his face, kissing the tears away.  "I don't want you to be sad."

"I'm sorry," Bucky sniffed, leaning his forehead against Steve's face.  "I'm not sad.  It's just... this is a lot.  I never thought I'd find you--" He stopped himself from saying, again.   "I never thought I deserved anything like this."

Steve was quiet for a minute.  "Everyone deserves love," he said finally.

As hard as he tried not to cry again, he couldn't help it.  At least he did it silently, with only a slight shaking of his shoulders.  He knew Steve wasn't fooled, because Steve dug his hands into his hair again and pulled him tight. 

"I don't mean to push you so fast," Steve murmured.  "I've just never felt so strongly about someone.  I can't believe..." He laughed a little.  "I can't believe I've been going to that coffee shop for weeks and barely said more than hi and thank you and my stupid drink order, when we could have been doing this.  We could have been getting to know each other."

Bucky didn't even feel the need to get to know Steve.  His Steve knew all about Bucky's past, both good and bad.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and said, "I feel like I know you already."

“So,” Steve said after a few minutes of comforting silence, “I have a boner.”

Somehow, with everything else, Bucky had nearly forgotten about all that.  He still had a hard on too, though it had flagged some.  Bucky wasn’t sure how to talk about anything like that.  Even when he’d been with girls, it wasn’t something one talked about.  “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m not… blaming you or anything.  Well.  I mean, it is kind of your fault, you being so hot and grinding up on me and all, but I’m not trying to, you know, say I need you to take care of it, or anything like that.  God, what am I even saying?  Sorry.  I like that you gave me a boner.  I like that you had a boner first.  I like how our boners are almost touching.”

“Stop saying boner,” Bucky groaned, shifting away.  But he was smiling just a little bit too.

“No!” Steve tugged at him.  “Don’t go away.  Sorry.  I’ve just never… had a boyfriend.  All this is new to me.”

Now that Bucky’s urgent need to touch Steve had passed, the whole relationship thing was making him nervous again.  He rolled back into Steve’s chest, shifting his hips away at the same time.

“It’s new to me too.”  Bucky tried to make his body calm down.  It seemed to be listening, or maybe the nervousness was doing that, when before it had been pure physical need. 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s face and planted a kiss on him, and even when he pulled away he kept a grip on Bucky’s chin.  Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.  He could already feel his body ramping up again.  He liked that Steve was being firm with him.  All those years of Hydra control and without it, Bucky had felt aimless and adrift.  Maybe he had been conditioned to like being submissive. 

Or maybe he just liked that Steve wanted to hold onto him as much as he wanted (needed) to hold onto Steve.

“I still need to give you my number,” Steve said, very seriously.

“Okay,” Bucky replied.

Neither of them moved.

Steve kissed him again.  There wasn’t much Bucky could do about it.  Kissing was okay.  He would worry about the other stuff later. 

“Because I want you to be able to call me,” Steve said.

“Okay.”

“And not wait outside your apartment for three hours not knowing where you are.”

“Okay.”

Steve laughed.  “You’re supposed to be freaked out.  Three hours?  That’s crazy!  That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Steve said, and kissed him again.

And while Bucky let him, his thoughts took a different turn.

What if none of this was real?

Chapter Text

Back at work on Monday, Bucky walked in to find Wanda there waiting, looking a little pissed.   

"Pietro said you went to the hospital?" She said. 

"Uh, yeah."  Bucky took off his jacket and traded it for his apron.  "But I'm fine.  Really." 

"Come here." 

Bucky shuffled over. 

She reached up and lifted back his hair to examine the bump on his head, nearly a week old.  "Looks like it's healing okay.  You are getting enough sleep?" 

"Yes," said Bucky.  Now that he had Steve to help him, he was sleeping just fine.  No dreams.  He wished he'd known that Steve's presence would help him sleep back in his own world – after last night, he had determined that this was not just a dream.  It couldn't be.  You couldn't fall asleep in a dream and have dreams.  It was too real.  In dreams you didn't lie still and listen to someone's heart beating while he stroked your hair for an hour.  You didn't have to scratch an itch on your hip, only to have someone notice and drag your hand over to his hip.  You didn't think about how turned on your best friend was making you and wonder why you had never even considered this.  "I slept really good last night." 

That was because Steve had slept over. 

"Good.  I mean, you look better.  No more bags under your eyes."  Wanda smiled, then slapped him on the arm.  "Now why didn't you tell me you slept over at Steve's?" 

"It just happened," Bucky said.   

"I can't even with you," Wanda laughed.   

He shrugged, smiling.  It had never occurred to him to gossip about Steve with Wanda.  Maybe the Bucky she knew did this, but he'd never had this kind of relationship with her.  With anyone, really, except Steve.  But he and Steve had never gossiped.  They just had adventures, mostly caused by Steve getting himself in over his head. 

Could he be the kind of person who chatted about a cute guy he liked?  Could he be a happy kind of guy, like he used to be?  He wasn't sure.  There was too much history in his brain.  It didn't seem fair that Wanda might never get her friend Bucky back, or Sam his roommate.   

If this was a parallel universe he'd fallen into – which seemed more and more likely the longer he was here – there ought to be a way to fall back.  To switch out.   

As the first few customers of the day began to trickle in, Bucky thought about that.  Switching back.  He'd be going back to a cryostasis chamber.  And while his moral center told him that was the right thing to do, for the sake of the happy, not-brainwashed Bucky who was currently trapped there as well as for the simple fact that he didn't know what would happen if someone read that list of words that gave them control over him, the bigger part of him didn't want to go back.  What exactly was he missing?  Here he still had his arm, and his sanity, and all his friends – the friends he hadn't really counted as friends. 

He even had Steve.   

But this Steve wasn't exactly his Steve, was he?  Bucky wished he was, then he would have absolutely no reason to want to get back.  He wished he could make this Steve and his Steve one person. 

"James."  That was Sharon's voice.  He turned around.   

"Hi," he said.  He'd seen Sharon when he came in, sitting at her desk.  She had looked stressed.   

"You didn't punch your time card at all last week," she said. 

"Oh."  Bucky felt like an idiot.  He'd never even thought about it, even though when he had worked, before he enlisted, he'd had to punch a time card.  "Uh, should I... do that now?" 

"You're still having memory problems, then," Sharon stated. 

Bucky shifted his weight from side to side.  "I think it's getting better," he said.   

"Okay."  Sharon sighed.  "Come with me."  She showed him how to punch his time card, and entered some kind of code to make it register that he had been here for a half hour already.  Then she had Bucky fill out a paper timesheet to send into corporate.   

Wanda had been out at the counter by herself the whole time, and Bucky kept shooting her apologetic glances.  "Are you sure," Sharon said, after Bucky signed his name on the timesheet, "that you don't want to fill out a workman's comp form?" 

"I'm fine," Bucky said. 

"James.  From what I've heard, you've been to the hospital twice because of this head injury."  Bucky started to protest, but Sharon held up a hand.  "I'm going to ask you this one more time: are you sure?" 

He nodded, then wondered, Was it stupid not to? He had no idea how health insurance worked.   

"Okay.  I'll talk to Tony, but... he's probably going to get on your case about this.  He's all worked up about the surprise inspection." 

Bucky hurried out to help Wanda with the crush of morning customers.   

For a while they worked almost silently, barely able to catch a breath while filling all the impossibly complex orders.  Then, finally, there was a lull.  "I'm sorry," Wanda said, leaning with her back against the counter. 

"For what?" 

"I should have showed you how to do your time card." 

"It's fine."  He wanted to change the subject.  What gossipy thing could he tell Wanda?  "Hey, did you know Barton has a secret admirer?" 

That did the trick.  Wanda's eye got huge.  "He does?" 

"Have you noticed a redhead chatting with him?  Maybe in the afternoons?" 

She hopped up and down.  "Yes!  I mean, I haven't noticed them flirting, but when she comes in she always takes a long time deciding, until Clint gets to the register.  She's really pretty.  Like she could be a model." 

"She's Steve's neighbor," Bucky told her. 

"Get out!" Wanda shrieked, which caused several customers to glance up from their coffees.  Covering her mouth with her hands, Wanda bent over with muffled giggles. 

Bucky found himself laughing.  It was a strange feeling, like he was someone else, but Wanda's laugh was infectious.  "Her name is Natasha, and apparently she was the one who told Steve about me." 

"Wow, that's awesome.  We're like a dating service!" 

"I'm not sure Barton knows she likes him.  Do you?" 

"He's so funny.  Lots of girls flirt with him, and he's just oblivious.  There's this one girl who used to come in, she had dark hair, and she was so into him.  And then I asked him about her and he was like, She's just a kid.  She was plenty old enough!"  Wanda thought about that.  "She was legal age, anyway.  And what's three years!"   

They handled a mini-rush of customers, then returned to the subject of Clint and Natasha.  "So did Steve tell you that Natasha had a crush on Clint?" 

"Nope," Bucky said, then grinned.  "She told me herself." 

Wanda nearly dropped the iced coffee she was shaking.  After handing it off to the customer, she said, "We need to get them together.  This must happen." 

Suddenly Bucky had a memory of Clint and Natasha fighting while they were at the airport.  Maybe these two weren't friends?  But after they fought, Natasha had helped Steve and Bucky go find Zemo.   

It made him wonder.  If relationships in a parallel universe were to mirror those in his own universe, where did Steve and Bucky's relationship fit?  Maybe if Steve were to meet Peggy in this world, or Sharon (the thought of both women together in the same room pierced his brain like an ice pick), then Steve would realize his romantic feelings lay with one of them rather than with Bucky.  Maybe his strong feelings toward Bucky were related to their long friendship in Bucky's world. 

He thought about how he had kissed Steve last night.  How natural it had felt. 

"What's wrong?" Wanda asked, touching his arm lightly. 

"Nothing.  So... the only person left to fix up here is you," he said.   

She laughed.  "I don't know, I'm too shy." 

"You?  Shy?" 

She laughed again.  "I know you, that's the only reason I seem so friendly." 

"I think we can find someone for you." 

"I don't know..."  

Wanda was blushing now, so Bucky decided to back off.  "You want to take a coffee break?" 

They made themselves Frappuccinos topped with caramel and chocolate syrup.  It wasn't a true coffee break, since they continued to serve customers and sucked down their drinks behind the wall of espresso machines.  It was, however, the first light-hearted moment Bucky could remember having in a long, long time. 

When Clint arrived, Wanda and Bucky shared a conspiratorial look, but it was Bucky's favorite customer who arrived first.  Bucky was unfortunately cornered in the back with Tony when he arrived. 

"I can't believe you would do this to me.  You're lucky Sharon managed to clean up your mess from last week."  Tony was pacing right in front of the door.  "You know, I don't wanna be the bad guy here.  But I don't have a margin of error for this kind of thing." 

"I'm sorry," Bucky said again. 

Wanda peeked her head through the door.  "Tony?  I'm sorry, we really need Bucky out here." 

Tony waved him away.   

"Thanks," Bucky said, then saw Steve leaning against the counter.  "Oh." 

He wasn't sure why he felt a full-body flush coming on. His body immediately wanted to hug him.  He still didn't want to think it was anything more than simple conditioning, but he had to admit that it made him happy that Steve was so eager to see him.  He also found himself a little grateful that Sharon went home at noon.  He wasn't quite ready to yet to try to lose Steve to her.  Or Peggy.   

"Hi."  Steve was smiling.  "You free after work?" 

"Yes." 

"Good." 

They stood smiling at each other until Clint wandered over.  "So, you gonna stare at each other all day, or you gonna order something?" 

"Oh, uh..."  Steve fumbled for his wallet.  "Venti--" 

"You don't have to order anything," Bucky said.  "Here, I can make you one on the house." 

"I can pay." 

"Steve."   

While Bucky was making Steve's drink, Clint leaned in.  "Uh, you know Tony frowns upon free drinks.  For anybody."   

"I'll pay for it," Bucky said stubbornly. 

"All right," Clint sang.  "It's your ass, though." 

"What about your ass?" Steve asked when Bucky brought him his coffee. 

"Oh, nothing." 

"Good.  'Cause I like your ass." 

Behind him, Wanda giggled. 

"Hey, is your friend Natasha going to stop by soon?" Bucky whispered. 

Steve took the opportunity to lean in.  "I don't know," he whispered back. 

"Because Wanda and I want to move things along with her and Clint." 

"So we can double date?" 

"Maybe..."  Bucky hadn't even thought of that.  "What do you want to do after..."  He glanced at the clock.  "In three minutes?" 

"I don't know.  We could just walk around.  Or we could go back to my place and make out."   

Bucky felt his face heat up. 

"Or take a nap.  The possibilities are endless.  What do you want to do?" 

He had no other response than to shrug.  What had he done with himself, when he had a chance to do anything?  He could barely remember those days.  As the Winter Soldier, he hadn't been given an opportunity for down time.  When he was on the run, he was mostly just struggling to remember anything, and spent a lot of time reading everything he could get his hands on, doing research.  During the war, he might have played cards with the guys, or gone out for a drink.  And before... 

"Have you ever been to Coney Island?"

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Bucky said as they strolled down the boardwalk.  In the distance he could see the Parachute Jump, the Thunderbolt, and the Cyclone. 

Steve shrugged.  "It's expensive.  My mom never had much money."

A childhood without long summer days spent on Coney Island were beyond Bucky's imagination.  It all smelled much the same, but the skyline looked a little different than he remembered.  Like the whole thing had shifted slightly. 

"Come on," Bucky said, walking a little faster.  "Let's do the Parachute Jump first.  I remember thinking I wanted to go into the Air Force, if it meant parachuting would be fun like this ride."

He didn't notice the doubt in Steve's eyes until they got closer.  "Uh, I don't think it's working," Steve said.

The tower reached up into the sky, but there weren't any parachute seats dangling from the metal arms.  The lights weren't even on.  "Huh," said Bucky. 

"Looks really old," Steve commented.  "Probably not safe."

"Well, I guess they must have closed it."  That was disappointing.  "I guess we could get some hot dogs, or maybe we should wait until after we ride the roller coasters."  He grinned at Steve.  Imagine, after all these years, getting to ride the Cyclone with Steve again.  "Yeah, better wait until after we ride to eat.  You don't want to throw up."

"I have a stomach of steel," Steve said, patting it.

"Yeah, okay," Bucky said.  "Fine, then.  Hot dogs first."

Everything looked skewed, different enough from his memories to make him wonder if he was remembering correctly.  He tried to remind himself that seventy years had passed since he had been here last.  Rides that he remembered being shiny and new looked old and decrepit or were gone entirely, or moved.  It was all so surreal.  He tried to focus on what was the same: the sound of the ocean, the smells, and Steve at his side... until Steve grabbed his hand.

He almost wanted to yank it away.  His Steve wouldn't have done that.  He remembered them walking (or running) side by side, maybe rubbing shoulders or bumping elbows.  He might have slapped Steve on the back.  But his memories of Coney Island were never romantic, not really.  He had barely even remembered coming here with a girl.  Steve – his Steve – had remembered.  Her name was Dot.  Bucky had spent all his money trying to win a prize for her, apparently.  Funny that Steve would remember that and Bucky didn't. 

Once again he wondered if his Steve had these feelings for Bucky, even as far back as that.  Steve might remember if he was jealous of the girl.  And Bucky hadn't remembered the girl's name, because for him it had been no big deal.  He'd just wanted to show off. 

Only now, he could remember the whole thing.  Looking at Steve while he lifted that hammer to try to make the puck fly up and ring the bell.  He was showing off, he remembering wanting Steve to see how strong he was.  He had also been checking in to make sure Steve wasn't feeling like Bucky had been bragging about his strength.  After all, Steve wouldn't have been able to do any of that, not before he got the serum.  He would have stopped if it had looked like Steve was embarrassed, or felt like Bucky was making him look bad.  Bucky always managed to find a girl for Steve on these kinds of "dates," not that the girls ever seemed remotely interested in him.

Imagine if he and Steve had been able to visit Coney Island while they both still had the serum.  They would have destroyed that strength test machine.  The thought made him smile.

"You wanted a hot dog?" Steve asked, the other Steve, and Bucky was jolted back into a reality where Steve was still holding his hand.

"Uh, yeah.  Aren't you hungry?"

Steve shrugged.

"Come on, I'm buying."

"In that case... I'm starving!"

They bought dogs and slathered them with relish and mustard.  Bucky needed both hands to eat, which saved him from the weird hand-holding.  As they approached the Cyclone, he realized a huge thing that was different.  The Cyclone was in Luna Park, always had been.  That was where they were now.  But the Parachute Jump had originally been in Steeplechase Park.  Hadn't it?  He looked back at the structure, squinting.  Or maybe, in this world, all of these rides had all been in Luna Park.  It seemed crazy that they would have moved the Parachute Jump.  Then again, the Thunderbolt looked vastly different from the rollercoaster he remembered. 

The Cyclone, however, looked exactly the same.

"I cannot wait to see how green you get," Bucky said, picking up his pace.

"What, you want me to throw up?"

"Come on!"

"How old is this thing?" Steve asked.

"Pretty old.  A century by now, I think?"

"And it's safe?"

"Of course it is!  I--"  Bucky stopped himself.  He'd been about to say that Steve had been the one who wanted to ride the Cyclone to begin with.  Had dragged Bucky there.  But that hadn't happened here.  "I mean, they wouldn't have it open if it wasn't safe."

"Okay," said Steve.  "Let's get tickets."

The rollercoaster itself might have looked the same, but the prices had certainly changed.  "Eight dollars!" Bucky exclaimed when he saw.  "And five to re-ride?"

"Inflation, I guess," Steve said.  "I mean, I remember when gas was under a dollar a gallon.  Crazy, right?"

Bucky stared at him.  A dollar a gallon?  He remembered when it was nineteen cents. 

"We don't have to go on it, if you didn't bring enough money," Steve said quietly.  He put his hand through Bucky's arm, then moved it down until they were holding hands again.  "I don't mind."

Despite Bucky's earlier discomfort, his body now remembered the closeness of the night before, and he squeezed Steve's hand.  He shouldn't have expected everything to be the same as in his memories.  So much time had passed. 

"You just don't want to throw up," Bucky retorted, and pulled Steve to the ticket line.  "We are riding this thing.  I don't care if we use up all the money in my bank account."

Bucky felt Steve press his face against his shoulder and smile.  He might feel weird about holding a guy's hand in public, wondering what all these people thought of them, but if Steve was happy, he was happy too. 

"This looks like a wimpy roller coaster," Steve commented as they waited in line – a line longer than Bucky ever remembered.  In his memory, there had been no line, and he and Steve had been able to just stay on the coaster and ride it over and over again without stopping.  "The scariest thing about it is that it might fall apart."

After one ride, Bucky had to admit that the Cyclone wasn't quite as thrilling as he remembered.  And having to get off and wait in the line again dampened his excitement.  For a few minutes, though, he might have been transported back to the last century.  He had closed his eyes through half of it, savoring the feeling.  "I'm proud of you," Bucky told Steve as they disembarked.

"That was nothing."  Steve was strutting a little.  Bucky looked away, smiling.  "What?  I told you.  Stomach of steel.  I think you might have been the one looking a little green."

"Me?  No way." 

"Alrighty, then.  I challenge you to the Thunderbolt!"

It had been too long since Bucky had had fun like this.  Frivolous, mindless fun.  There might have been some good times with the Howling Commandoes, but behind them was the threat of war and the chance that this might be the last good time before they all died. 

The Thunderbolt was more of a rush than the Cyclone, and they rode it twice.  Bucky bought Steve cotton candy that they shared and licked off their fingers.  Steve insisted on try to win something for Bucky at the milk bottle game.  He spent all his money and still never knocked down all of the bottles.  He might have looked put out if Bucky hadn't kissed him and told him it didn't matter.

"Let's go on the Wonder Wheel," Bucky said, pointing to the giant circle spinning on the horizon.  "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Nope," Steve said.

Bucky knew his Steve would never admit to being afraid of anything.  He couldn't even be sure if his Steve was afraid of heights before the serum, because he would have jumped off a building if he'd been dared to.  And now, with the serum, he was jumping off buildings and airplanes with no concern for his body breaking.

Evening had started to fall by the time they reached the Wonder Wheel, though the bright carnival lights meant it didn't feel dark.  Once they were sitting in the seat and the wheel lurched forward, Bucky felt for the first time since entering Luna Park that they were alone.  A weeknight in June wasn't going to draw big crowds, but there were still more people than Bucky remembered. 

Lifting up into the sky, he was consumed by the thought that he and Steve were the only two people in the universe.  In all the universes.  Somehow he knew that whatever universe he landed in, he and Steve would find each other and they would share this connection, regardless of what their history was. 

There was no other person he felt this way about.  Maybe, in his younger days, he might have said he'd die to protect his parents, or his sister, or any of the Howling Commandoes.  But all along it was Steve he'd wanted to protect, who needed him the most.  Steve, who didn't want anyone's protection.  Steve, who would do the same for Bucky.  Had done the same.  Would do the same, over and over again.

Steve must have felt the same way, because he reached for Bucky's hand.  Bucky saw it coming, and instead he lifted his arm and hooked it around Steve's neck.  And kissed Steve fiercely on the temple for good measure. 

Sighing, Steve reached across Bucky's lap and took his other hand.  They looked out at the bay, the dark water and the last streaks of sunlight. 

"This is the best date I've ever been on," Steve whispered.

"Me too," said Bucky.  Aside from the dinner out with Steve, which he hadn't even thought of as a date, Bucky hadn't been on a date in seventy years.  Dating in the forties was walking a careful line.  Girls were bolder than in his parents' days of chaperoning, but no girl wanted to be seen as loose or classless.  Bucky always had to try to be a gentleman, something he NEVER did with Steve.  With Steve he was his most natural self.

His most natural self was now kissing Steve.

He wasn’t quite sure who had started it, but he and Steve each had both arms around each other, and Steve had a leg thrown up over Bucky’s.  The gentle rush of the wheel’s movement and the swaying of the seat rocked them deeper into this embrace.  Bucky had kissed Steve last night, but that had felt more like need than desire or romance.  Under the spinning lights, carousel music playing somewhere in the distance, Steve looked beautiful, and Bucky didn’t know how he had missed it all these years.  Steve had always loved Bucky, would always love him.  Strange how unconditional it felt, even when Bucky knew this Steve hadn’t known him his whole life.  The dizzy feeling he got was misinterpreted by his body as headiness.  That falling in love feeling.  Only Bucky wasn’t trying to convince himself that his body had a conditioned response anymore.  He was only recognizing that he and Steve shared this bond.  His Steve.  Even though neither of them had ever come close to admitting it.

Steve’s hand was pressed up against his face, thumb stroking Bucky’s stubble.  It felt nice.  So did Steve’s other arm preventing Bucky from even thinking about pulling away.  Steve was just as strong as he was.  They were an even match, that much had been proven on the helicarrier.  All the years they had shared, and this, too. 

No wonder Bucky had been so focused on Steve in his memory book.  He’d visited the Smithsonian a suspicious number of times.  He had never focused on any other part of his past but Steve.

This was why.

In the darkness, Bucky couldn’t tell the color of Steve’s eyes.  Lights reflected in them, giving them an ethereal glow.  Steve was breathing heavily while Bucky just stared at him, stared and stared, their noses touching.

“This doesn’t even feel real,” Steve whispered.  “It’s too perfect.”

Bucky just squeezed him tight to remind him that yes, this was real.  Even after they touched solid ground again (far too soon), he felt like he was floating above the boardwalk.  They bought ice cream and walked down to the water and sat in the dark on the sand, exchanging cold kisses until their cones were gone, and then they kissed some more, until the tide came in and got them wet, and they laughed all way back to Steve’s car.

Chapter Text

Days passed where the worst that could happen was someone complaining about their coffee, and the best that could happen kept happening.  Bucky spent all his time outside of Starkbucks with Steve.  They alternated where they stayed so Bucky could get some clean clothes once in a while.  Sam started making jokes about how he loved living alone.  “It’s so peaceful.  And I don’t have to worry about someone’s hair clogging the bathroom drain.”

Despite what everyone thought, Bucky had not slept with Steve.  Bucky liked to gather Steve in his arms at night and hug him to his chest.  Without the dreams of cryostasis, this world began to feel more like the world where he belonged. 

He never should have been brought back from the dead, brainwashed and full of serum that gave him too much strength and an arm that was even stronger.  He never should have had to go to war. 

Steve never should have needed the serum.  This world proved it.  He would have grown just fine on his own.

And it wasn’t just himself and Steve as they should be.  Wanda should have been allowed to be a normal girl.  Clint should have been allowed to stay retired – or, in this case, goof off all day.  Nothing life or death.

This world was the way things were supposed to be. 

It was especially true today, when Natasha finally showed up at Starkbucks.  She and Clint were deep in conversation at the register, mostly because Bucky and Wanda were making sure to steer clear. 

“Don’t you know my drink order yet?” Natasha had demanded as soon as she got to the front of the line.

“No,” said Clint.  “You change it every time.”

“So what haven’t I ordered yet?”

“Uhhh…”

“Isn’t there anything you two could be doing right now?” Tony demanded loudly, making both Bucky and Wanda jump.  Now it was their turn to give vague answers.  "There could be a surprise inspection any day now!  I can't have you guys out here slacking off.  What are you giggling about, anyway?"

Bucky, who had reached for the mop bucket when Tony accused them of doing nothing, glanced at Wanda, who had both hands covering her mouth.  In that moment of eye contact, they were each asking if they should tell Tony anything. 

"It's Clint," Wanda whispered.  "We think she likes him."  She pointed discreetly at Natasha.

Whipping his head around, Tony took one look then buried his face in his hand.  "Oh, God.  Not Romanoff."

"You know her?" Wanda asked.  She looked at Bucky.  "How do both of you know her?"

Tony narrowed his eyes.  "How do you know her, Barnes?"

"Uh," Bucky said.  "My, uh...  See, this guy... My friend..."

"His boyfriend," Wanda supplied, when Bucky choked on the word.

He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of Steve that way, even when they had kissed each other.  Steve was his boyfriend now. 

"What, so your new boyfriend knows her?  Great.  I suppose she's poisoned your mind, too?"

"No," Bucky said, wanting to add, You did that all by yourself.  "I only met her once."

Tony was fixing his hair and straightening his shoulders.  "Pretend like I just said something funny."

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Come on.  I want her to report to Pepper that I'm just fine without her."

Wanda gave a weak giggle.  Bucky tried to laugh.  It came out as a wooden, "Ha, ha."

"God, you guys really suck sometimes.  Fine."  Tony's shoulders crumpled inward.  "Whatever.  I just don't know how to get her back."

"Are you going to cry?" Bucky asked, horrified.

"Well, why did she break up with you?"  Wanda gestured for Bucky to leave.  "Sometimes all you have to do is say you're sorry."

Taking the mop, Bucky wheeled the bucket out into the dining area, glad to be out of there.

The manual labor gave him some much-needed time to think.  He had been floating along in this happy cloud with Steve, and yet when confronted with something so simple as a word – a label – he had balked at it.  He couldn't deny his feelings for Steve.  He didn't want to, either.  Calling Steve his boyfriend... that meant something about Bucky as well. 

After all he had been through, he still had a hard time reconnecting himself to the Bucky he had been before the war.  Steve was helping a lot.  There was a lot that had happened over the years that he didn't quite recognize as "himself" though, but he remembered them, he had done those things, and the Bucky he was now by necessity included those things.  This was just another new thing to factor in. 

Bucky only realized he wasn't actually mopping and was just standing there, staring out the window, when Natasha was leaving.  "I'll see you tonight," she said.

"Huh?"

She smirked at him.  "You and Steve are invited for dinner.  He'll tell you later."

"Oh.  Okay," Bucky said, and watched her go.  His gaze caught on a familiar face across the street.  The recognition came as such a surprise, he nearly dropped the mop. 

He hadn't realized he'd been looking for Vision ever since promising to find someone for Wanda until now.  And there he was.  Red face and green head and all.  Vision was wearing a pair of nice slacks and a sweater with a collared shirt.

Bucky looked behind him.  Did anyone else see him?  He couldn't even imagine how the people in this world might react to Vision's appearance.  This was a world without supersoldiers, or Iron Men, or Hulks.  Where Wanda couldn't make red electricity out of her hands. 

Clint and Wanda were busy whispering behind the counter.  It sounded like Wanda was very excited about something.  Bucky looked back out the window, hoping he had been mistaken somehow.

Nope.  Vision was still out there.  And he was looking directly at Bucky.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he made sure Clint and Wanda were occupied, and Tony was back in his office.  Then he leaned the mop against the window counter and sneaked out the door as a couple in business suits entered.  He only had to wait for one car to pass before he could jog across the street.

"Hi," Bucky said when they were face to face.  He wasn't sure exactly how to proceed.  This Vision might not be the same one as the Vision from his world.  On the other hand, no other "enhanced individual" had retained their powers in this world.  Therefore, this had to be the same Vision.  Bucky had never exchanged any words with Vision, in this world or any other, so he wasn't even sure if Vision knew his name. 

"Hello," said Vision. 

They regarded each other warily. 

"This may seem like an odd question," Vision began, "but I was told I should ask, Which Bucky am I speaking to?"

Bucky felt his chest tighten, like he'd been kicked in the gut.  Steve had said those words to him.  Steve had told Vision to ask him that question.  "How did you get here?" he managed to say.

"Apparently this," Vision gestured at the Mind Stone in the center of his forehead, "allows me to travel among all alternate dimensions and universes."

"So you can take me back?" Bucky asked, grabbing Vision by the shoulders.

Vision looked alarmed by the action.

"Sorry."  He dropped his arms to his sides, looked at his shoes.  "But can you?"  As he waited for Vision's answer, he thought about going back.  How he'd lose his arm again.  The trauma of coming out of cryo again. 

Seeing Steve again.  His Steve.

The Steve he had never kissed.

"Barnes!" The voice came from across the street.  Tony, framed in the Starkbucks doorway, looked pissed.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Bucky looked back at where Vision had been standing.  There was nothing there.  He realized he was touching his own lips and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Shit, was he hallucinating?

"Uh, nothing."

"Nothing?  Then get back in here!"

Without waiting for Bucky's response, Tony disappeared back into the building.

Bucky looked around.  There weren't any alleys or doors nearby for Vision to have ducked into.  He searched his mind for what he remembered seeing.  It was Vision, he was sure of it.  He had talked to Vision. Vision hadn't wanted Tony to see him, and he must have disappeared back to wherever he had come from. 

It turned out that the suits Bucky had passed on the way out had been the big inspection that Tony had been waiting for all week.  They had caught Clint and Wanda fooling around and Bucky MIA.  Each of them took a turn in Tony's office while the others waited outside, half-heartedly wiping down the machines and counters. 

"What were you doing out there, man?" Clint asked while Wanda was in the office.  "We turned around and you had disappeared."

Bucky wrung out his sponge.  "I thought I saw someone I knew."

"Geez, man.  You know if you bring up your amnesia Tony's gonna bust a nut.  God."  Clint scratched the back of his head.  "I hope none of us gets fired.  He made it sound like someone was gonna pay."

It would probably be Bucky, if anyone got fired.  He hadn't even been in the building.  So stupid, running out there just because he thought he saw Vision.  No.  He had seen Vision.  Vision could take him home, so it didn't matter if he got fired or not, right?

Only it did matter.  It mattered to the Bucky who would be returned to this world without a job and no memory of what had happened. 

At least other Bucky would have Steve.  Or would he?  What would Steve do if Bucky suddenly didn't remember any of the time they had spent together?

When Wanda came out, eyes red, Bucky was glad Clint was there to give her a hug.  That was before he started to panic about losing his job, because it was his turn with Tony.  Of course, it was nearly three and Steve was just walking through the door as Bucky stepped into the office.  He tried to tell Steve with his eyes what was going on. 

Then it was just him and Tony.

"Barnes."  Tony hadn't even looked up.  He sat, pinching his nose between his eyes, which were squeezed shut.  "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you."

This was bad.  Bucky laced his fingers together and squeezed – still strange to be able to do that.  "I'm a hard worker," he said finally.  "I guess... that's all I can say.  I know it doesn't seem like I am, lately, but I'm trying really hard."  He looked down at his hands.  "I really need the money."

Tony sighed.  Finally his hand dropped away from his face.  "I know you do."  Bucky waited, imagining the next words out of Tony's mouth to be, But you're fired anyway.  "I mean, what the hell were you doing out there?"  he asked.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said.  "I just... I thought I saw someone I knew.  I just ran out... I'm sorry.  It won't happen again." 

"It sure as hell better not."  Tony rubbed his eyes, sighed again.  "One more chance, Barnes.  One more chance."

Wanda and Clint watched him with wide eyes when he emerged from the office.  "Well?" Clint demanded.

He closed the door and whispered, "I have one more chance."

"Oh thank god," Wanda said in one long exhale, before she wrapped him up in a hug.  Clint joined her, and Bucky had to blink a few times to clear his vision.  Imagine if he went back to his world right now, and never got this again.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked from the other side of the counter.

"I'm fine," Bucky said.  He glanced at the clock.  "Uh, I guess I can leave now."

"See you later!" Clint said happily, then frowned.  "Wait, what do you think I should wear?"  He looked down at his rumpled t-shirt and ripped jeans.  "Do you think this is okay?"

"Go," Wanda told Bucky.  "I will make sure he is not wearing this when you see him later."

"Yeah, Nat told me she was going to ask him out," Steve said as they left the building.  "Okay, so what the hell happened?  Why did your boss have to talk to you?  It looked serious."

Bucky explained how the inspection hadn't gone well.  He left out the part where he had run out of the building to talk to a red and green android with psychic powers.  "Anyway, I still have a job.  For now," he finished.  "Um, do you mind if we go back to my place so I can change?  I don't want to look worse than Barton."

"Sure," said Steve, unlocking his car.  After they got in, Steve said, "Just one thing before we go."

"What?" Bucky asked.

He barely got the word out before Steve leaned over and kissed him.

"Oh," Bucky said, blushing.

Chapter Text

"So what's this dinner all about?" Bucky asked while he sorted through the selection of clothing in his drawers.  "Is it fancy?  Do I need to wear a tie?"

"A tie?" Steve wrinkled his nose.  "No way.  Although..."  Now he smirked at Bucky.  "I bet you'd look pretty handsome in a suit."

"You've seen me--"  No, he corrected himself.  Steve hadn't seen him in his dress uniform.  Hadn't seen him dressed in a suit for Steve's mother's funeral.  "Well, I guess this isn't very dressed up."

Steve grinned.  "We should go someplace where we have to dress up.  But yeah, Nat's party isn't going to be too fancy.  She just wanted an excuse to invite Clint over.  And some new guy for Pepper.  And she figured, why not throw us two into the mix?" 

"Ah, okay."  Bucky sifted through more t-shirts.  Long sleeve, short sleeve, a few henleys.  "I'm not sure I even own a collared shirt."

"Let me look," said Steve.

"Okay."  Bucky stood up, his knees cracking.  "I'm gonna use the john."

He had just finished zipping himself back up when he heard Steve say, "I think I found something for you."  He turned on the water to wash his hands, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he glanced in the mirror.

Vision was standing right behind him.

"Sorry," said Vision.  "Wanda always tells me I must use a door to enter a room, but in this case it could not be helped."

"How long have you been standing there?" Bucky asked in a whisper.  He mentally recounted his steps.  He hadn't turned around since he had used the toilet.  "Did you just watch me pee?"

"Happily, I missed that event," Vision said. 

"What did you say?" Steve called from the other room.

"Nothing!” he called to Steve.  To Vision, “This isn't a good time."  Bucky bit his lip.  What if this was the only time?  "I mean, Steve's gonna hear us."

"I must attempt to bring you back.  It is a matter of some urgency."

"Is something bad happening?" Bucky asked, now alarmed.

"Mr. Barnes, I don't mean to worry you, but when you were brought out of cryostasis, it became immediately apparent that the mind inhabiting your body was not your own.  Currently you are sedated, but you – I mean, the you that isn't you – destroyed the lab in the process--"

That meant the Bucky from this world, the veteran soldier with a fully healed arm, had woken up in the midst of his worst nightmares missing an arm, with super strength.  Bucky could imagine the scenario all too well, given that he had endured the same, over and over again, each time Hydra needed the Winter Soldier.

"Okay, okay.  Let's go then.  Before Steve freaks out."

"I believe Captain Rogers is already... freaking out."

"No, I mean the Steve in the other... never mind.  Just get me back."  He looked at Vision expectantly.  "Well?  How does this work, exactly?"

"Bucky?"  Steve's voice at the bathroom door froze both of them in place.  "Who are you talking to?"

"Nobody," Bucky called back.  "Sorry, I was just... talking to myself."

A pause.  "Okay.  Hurry up, I want to see you wearing this."

"Okay."

Bucky glared at Vision.

Vision looked back at Bucky with wide eyes.  "I'm sorry, I was not given instructions on how to reverse the process."

"What?"  Bucky looked at the door then back at Vision. 

"Mr. Stark believed I could just will you back to your home world.  So... I shall attempt that first."

Vision stared very hard at Bucky. The mind gem glowed a bit, but otherwise nothing happened.

"Look," said Bucky.  "Maybe you could go back home and figure it out and then come and do this when I'm not—"

Vision disappeared.

"Well, that was helpful," Bucky said drily.  He left the bathroom before Vision could find his way back.  What would the other Bucky have done anyway, finding himself suddenly whole and in his own bathroom, then walking out to discover Steve in his bedroom?  Vision needed to do this switch thing at a more convenient time.  Maybe, if it took him long enough to figure the transfer thing out, Bucky would have time to explain to Steve what was going on.

"That was quite the conversation you were having with yourself," said Steve from Bucky's bed.  He was lying down, and had a gray sweater in his hand.  "Here."  He sat up.  "I want you to wear this."

"Isn't it getting warm out for a sweater?" Bucky asked.  He started to tug it on over his t-shirt, but Steve stopped him.  "What?"

"Take this off." Steve stood up and tugged at the t-shirt.

Bucky felt his face go red.  "Um."

"Come on.  You have on an undershirt, you don't need three shirts.  It's too hot for that."  Steve was smirking, his face dangerously close to Bucky's.

His body knew what was happening, as much as Bucky didn't want to think about it.  He supposed, after a week of seeing each other every day and kissing and sharing a bed, it wasn't so strange that Steve might want to see a little skin.  "Okay," Bucky said, and carefully peeled up the t-shirt, leaving his undershirt in place.

Until he had his arms up over his head and the shirt over his face, then he felt Steve's fingers tugging at the undershirt too.  At the skin-on-skin touch at his waist, Bucky felt himself go hard, and he found himself caught in the shirt and unable to get Steve's hands away.

"Hey," he said, flailing.

"What?" Steve asked innocently.  One hand slid around to Bucky's lower back, the other hooked into his waistband and traced around to the front.

"Uhhh," was all Bucky could say.  All the blood in his brain had deserted him for his dick.  He struggled against the t-shirt, finally ripping it off his head, which left him face-to-face with Steve, with his arms around Steve's neck.

Steve was grinning devilishly.  "You look hot,” he said.

His whole body felt flushed and warm.  Especially when Steve pulled on his waistband to bring their hips together, which made it obvious exactly how hot Steve thought he was.

He liked seeing Steve smile like this, full of mischief, just like when they were kids.  He liked the feel of those smiling lips on his, too.  His body flared alive with sensation.  Like the first time he'd had a boner around Steve, the urgency of his body overcame any hesitation he might have had otherwise. 

Steve was moaning into his mouth.  His hands kept a firm pressure on Bucky's hips as he rubbed against him.  Both of them were getting harder.  All the while, Bucky kept his arms around Steve's neck.  A safe zone.  He wasn't sure he could initiate anything sexual, no matter how much he liked what Steve was doing. 

So he let Steve pull his hips toward the bed, let Steve turn him and push him down and climb on top of him.  In those few seconds before Steve made his way back to kiss Bucky some more, Bucky's body missed the contact so badly that Bucky had to grab Steve's shirt and pull him the rest of the way up.

In this position, Steve had more control and leverage, which meant he could rub up on Bucky that much more, teasing him, making him tighten his arms around Steve's neck until Steve had to push back, gasping for air.  "Bucky," Steve said, "I know you said you want to take it slow but... maybe..."

Bucky didn't know what Steve could be hinting at.  Did he want to have sex?  How did sex between men work, even?  "What?" He asked.  "Maybe what?"

Steve licked his lips and emitted a breathy laugh.  "I don't know... I don't want to freak you out."

"You won't," Bucky said, even if that wasn't exactly true. 

"Can I... Would you mind if I..."  Steve cleared his throat.  "Um, I want to give you a blow job."

Down in his pants, his dick screamed yes.  It wouldn't take long, Bucky figured.  He'd never had one before, but he'd heard guys talking about it.  How good it felt.  He had a vague memory of one of the Commandoes bragging about some girl giving him head. 

"We don't have to," Steve started to say, at the same time that Bucky said, "Okay."

"Okay?" Steve said.

"Yeah," said Bucky.  "I... would like to try that.  For you to do that, I mean.  If you want to."

"Of course I want to!" Steve was grinning again.  "Okay.  I've never done this before so I'm gonna hide under the blankets at first, okay?"

"Okay."  Bucky had to get up so Steve could drag the blanket out from underneath.  He started unbuttoning his pants.

"Yes.  Let's get those offa you," Steve said, kneeling with the blanket around his shoulders.  "Come on.  Let's see it."  He grabbed at Bucky's pants.

"Hey," Bucky laughed, dancing away.  He shimmied out of his jeans.  Still in his underwear, he hopped back into bed. 

"You don't have to be so shy."  Placing himself between Bucky's legs, Steve leaned up for a kiss.  "I have a dick too."

"I know," said Bucky, but the nerves were setting in now.  Steve was going to suck his dick.  It felt so monumental.  It would change everything.  But then, hadn't everything already changed?

Steve laughed and flipped the blanket over his head.  Bucky let his own head rest against the pillow, and tried to figure out what to do with his hands.  He wanted to be touching Steve.  It felt safer to reach up and hang onto the headboard, though, especially when he felt Steve's breath against his stomach, felt those lips touch down softly on his abdomen, below the navel.  Then he had to force himself to exhale, when all he wanted to do was moan loud enough to wake Sam, whose bedroom door had been closed.

Inch by inch, kiss by kiss, Steve tugged Bucky's underwear down.  Nerves or not, he was hard as fuck by the time the fabric popped over the tip and Steve's exhale tickle against his bare nether regions. 

He wasn't even aware that he was moaning as Steve's tongue moved up the shaft.  By the time Steve's mouth closed down over his dick, Bucky couldn't have said whether his own eyes were open or closed (they were closed) or what his hands and feet were doing (gripping the headboard and curling toes, respectively).  He was lost in that feeling of Steve's hot wet mouth sucking at that most sensitive place like he could pull Bucky's orgasm right out of him.

Some dim part of his mind thought he should tell Steve how good it felt.  He got as far as, "That feels--" before moaning again.  He could feel the pressure building and his hips were twitching, wanting to thrust or something.  At that point he opened his eyes and watched Steve's head move under the blanket.  Then noticed Vision blink into view in the corner.

"Uhhh," he managed to say, but in the next blink Vision was gone and Bucky wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not.  He closed his eyes just to be safe.  He'd rather not know.

When he started to feel himself come, he wanted to warn Steve somehow.  He didn’t want it to go all over Steve’s face, that would be a poor thank you for all the good things he was feeling right now.  Steve’s mouth never seemed to let him go, however, and he couldn’t seem to get the words out anyway.  A few seconds later it didn’t really matter.  He didn’t think he had come all over Steve’s face.  He pulled back the blanket, ready to apologize.

Steve grinned up at him, his lips red and wet.  “You like that?” Steve asked.  He crawled up and settled himself against Bucky’s bare chest.  “It sure sounded like you did.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, a little breathlessly.  The sun streaming in through his windows hit Steve’s blond hair just right, and everything seemed to sparkle.  He pulled Steve close and kissed, not even thinking about it until he tasted himself on Steve’s lips.  But he didn’t even care, didn’t think it was gross.  He had never been so intimate with anyone.  He wanted to wrap himself up in Steve and never let him go.

“Good.”  Steve was rubbing his hand on Bucky’s chest.  Bucky wasn’t about to get hard again anytime soon, but it felt nice all the same.  “Because I really like you.”

You’re my best friend, Bucky wanted to say.  I love you.  But it was too soon for that, wasn’t it?  If he had said this to a girl, she wouldn’t have believed him.  They had only been dating for a couple of weeks.  Yet in Bucky’s mind, he had known Steve forever.  If this had been his Steve, he could have said those words, and Steve would have understood. 

Instead of answering, he kissed Steve again, peeking out from under his eyelashes to see if Vision was going to pop in again.  He was glad he’d been able to have this before going back… but he was still a little disappointed.

Chapter Text

“Anyone want coffee?” Natasha asked, after dinner was done.  “Or a beer?”

“I’m good,” said Pepper.  She glanced at the date Nat had invited over for her.  Rhodey looked a lot different out of his War Machine suit.  He had worn a tie, which he had taken off shortly after arriving, making some excuse about coming straight from work.  “I’m really tired.  I might go to bed soon.”

“Coffee, then.”  Natasha put her hands on her hips.  “Anyone else?”

“I have enough coffee at work,” Bucky said.  “Beer for me.” 

Steve smiled and shifted slightly on the couch, just to make his presence at Bucky’s side known.  “Me too.”

“Coffee,” said Clint, and he got up and followed Natasha into the kitchen.

Dinner had been some pasta dish that could have been served at a restaurant.  Bucky felt full and content, and would have been happy to sink into the couch and hold Steve’s hand for the rest of the night, but his bladder wouldn’t let him.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked Steve.

“Down the hall, on the left.”  When Bucky went to get up, Steve tugged him back down, and Bucky consented to give Steve a little kiss before going.  He had a feeling Pepper and Rhodey were both hating his guts right now.  He found it hard to care what they thought.  He was still buzzing from this afternoon.

Down the hall and on the left, Bucky found a neatly appointed room with a candle lit that made it smell like vanilla and jasmine.  He shut the door and had just unzipped when he heard a rustle in the shower.

He immediately re-zipped.  “Vision?” he whispered.

“Yes.”  The shower curtain scraped to the side, revealing the red and green man.  “I am pleased to see that you are alone at this moment.”

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his face.  “I knew it.”

“Do not worry, Mr. Barnes.  I saw very little.”

If Bucky could have blinked into some other alternate universe just to escape this conversation, he would have.  “So did you figure out how to get me back?”

“I believe so.  Mr. Stark believes that contact with the Mind Gem is necessary.”

“Okay, so I need to touch… your forehead.”  Bucky held up one hand, hesitant. 

“Indeed.  Let us commence.”

“But… what about…”  Bucky looked toward the closed bathroom door.

“You have concerns?”

“When the other me wakes up here, he’s going to have no idea where he is.  How he got here.  Anything.”

Vision nodded.  “That is true.  However, he will have his arm back, and no enhanced abilities.  The damage he may cause will be minimal.”

The physical damage, maybe.  Bucky hated what had already happened to his other self.  “Okay.”  Bucky swallowed.  Lifting his arm again, he said, “Let’s do this.”

He placed his hand on Vision’s forehead.

Between one blink and the next, Bucky dropped from the bathroom – at least, his stomach dropped, like he'd just ridden the Cyclone for the fortieth time in a row – and found himself standing, or reeling, in the middle of a concrete-floored aisle lined with caged doors.  He could barely think for all the barking. 

Barking?  

He quickly assessed his surroundings.  He appeared to be alone, in some kind of kennel or animal shelter.  The dogs were all barking at him and his ears hurt.  He realized it wasn’t the sound, but something akin to what happened when he flew in a plane.  He worked his jaw until his ears popped.

Was this Wakanda?  He turned around slowly.  All the signage was in English.  Couldn’t be. 

Naturally, Vision was nowhere in sight.  “Vision?” he called out.

The dogs only continued barking.

He patted himself down, noting his flannel shirt and torn jeans, and also noted the twinge in his left arm as he did so.  He had a ring of keys and a tube of Chapstick in one front pocket.  His wallet was in his back pocket.  Flipping it open, he discovered a license nearly identical to the one he’d found after waking up in the freezer at Starkbucks.  The address, however, was in North Carolina. 

“What the fuck?” he asked himself.

A bell sounded, and Bucky’s head snapped up.  Relief flooded through him when he saw, through the glass partitions, that Steve had just entered the building.  Must be a lobby or something on the other side of the wall.  This Steve looked just like his Steve, maybe a little older or more mature than… Bucky had to come up with a way to think of him.  Coffeehouse Steve.  And he was wearing a police uniform. 

Suddenly Bucky was back in Romania, finding Steve in his apartment waiting to bring him in.  Had he done something illegal?  He looked around again, trying to decide if there was some evidence of wrongdoing here.  Trespassing was the only thing he could think of.

“Hey,” Steve said, strolling into the kennel area.  “These guys are all worked up tonight, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky slowly.  Steve continued to approach him, until they were practically touching.  Bucky did his best not to shrink away.  It seemed like in this world, wherever the fuck it was, Steve and Bucky knew each other well.

“You ready to go home?  I figured you wouldn’t mind a ride.  I know you’ve had a long day.”  Steve put his hand on Bucky’s lower back, a casually intimate gesture that made Bucky feel flustered. 

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, noting both the fact that his hair was tied back and the glint of metal on his finger.  “Yeah, sure.  Uh, let me just go to the bathroom first.”

“You can’t hold it till we get home?” Steve gave a little smile.

“Uh, I drank a lot of water,” Bucky said.  He walked toward the lobby area with Steve trailing behind, luckily able to spot the bathroom on the way. 

He shut the bathroom door and held up his hand.  That was a gold band on his finger.  His ring finger.  Was he married?  Could he be married to Steve?  “Fuck,” he said as quietly as he could.  Then, “Vision?  Vision?”

The bathroom remained empty.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed again, then flushed the toilet and took his time washing his hands.  What the fuck was happening? 

A knock on the bathroom door.  “Bucky?  Are you okay?”

He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed.  He had done this before, and he would do this again.  He opened the door.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “Let’s go home.”

He climbed into Steve’s SUV.  It was dark, and the roads were mostly empty.  As soon as Steve had shifted into drive, he reached over and took Bucky’s hand.  Bucky could see the ring on Steve’s finger, confirming his suspicions. 

His arm felt… different.  In two weeks he had managed to get used to having a fully functional arm, as opposed to an arm that was insanely strong but had no nerve endings, or an arm that wasn’t there.  But this arm… it felt different from his right arm.  Like something had happened to it, and there was some nerve damage.  Maybe it was like the Bucky he had just been, only before he’d completed physical therapy.  He wondered what had happened to this Bucky.  Was he an ex-soldier?  Had he fallen out of a plane?

Steve pulled up to a big old farmhouse.  Bucky had never imagined himself or Steve living anyplace but Brooklyn, but this felt good.  Natural.  Steve (his Steve, not this Steve or coffeehouse Steve) would have liked it, he thought.  A nice quiet place.

Quiet, that was, until they walked in, and more dogs were barking.  Just two dogs this time.  “Guys, knock it off,” Steve said to the German Shepherd and the brown and white bulldog yapping at Bucky.  “Did you get some new dogs at the shelter today or something?”

“I don’t know.”  Bucky edged past the dogs and imitated what Steve was doing: kicking off his shoes by the door. 

Steve gave him a strange look.  “You don’t know?”

“I mean, no,” Bucky amended.  “Sorry.  It’s been a long day.”

Then Steve was hugging him, and Bucky could help but lean into it.  It was a protective hug.  Bucky couldn’t remember ever being hugged like this.  Maybe this is how Steve felt when I hugged him.  Coffeehouse Steve, not his Steve.  Original Steve.  See, Steve is a good hugger, too.

This Steve kissed him on the top of his head.  “Why don’t you go upstairs and get in bed?  I’ll take care of these guys.”

“Okay.”

Upstairs.  Bucky saw the staircase and headed up, hoping this wouldn’t be like his first time in the apartment he had shared with Sam.  At the top landing, there was a room with the door open and a bed visible.  The other two doors were closed.  He walked into the open door and turned on the light.

A king-sized bed, with a blue plaid comforter.  Some things never change, he thought with a smile.  Then the smile faded.  Get in bed, Steve had said. 

He could hear Steve downstairs trying to corral the dogs into a spare room -- “Come on, Cheddar, stop being such a spaz.”  There was a bathroom off this bedroom, and Bucky ducked in.  “Vision?” he said as loudly as he could without Steve hearing.

Then Steve was coming up the stairs, and Bucky still didn’t know if he was supposed to find pajamas or strip down to nothing.  He sat on the edge of the bed and took off his socks.

“It’ll be nice when they have me do something other than directing traffic around road construction,” Steve said as he unbuttoned his shirt.  Bucky followed suit, taking off his flannel and waiting until Steve removed his undershirt before doing the same.  “My neck keeps getting sunburned.”  Impossibly fast, Steve was in his boxers – white with red stars, which made Bucky smile to himself – and headed into the bathroom. 

Swallowing, Bucky removed his pants and stared at what he was wearing underneath.  The boxers he wore were red silk.  They felt slinky against his palms.  He gathered up his clothes and deposited them in the hamper where he’d seen Steve put his stuff, then looked at the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna brush your teeth?” Steve asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said.  Steve moved aside when he entered the bathroom.  No mistakes here: he selected the one remaining toothbrush and started brushing.

Steve spit into the sink.  “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

There was the touch at his back again.  “Nick didn’t get on your case again, did he?”

Who the hell was Nick?  “No.”  Then he remembered Fury, Nicholas J., who he had killed as Winter Soldier.  Or thought he had killed.  Fuck.

“Okay.”

After they both finished brushing, Steve pulled out his dick and started peeing, and Bucky quickly vacated the bathroom.  Only now he had another dilemma: which side of the bed was his? 

His body seemed to know.  His feet were already moving toward the left side.  What would he say if Steve came out and said, “Hey, that’s my side?”

But he didn’t.  Bucky crawled under the covers and curled up facing away from Steve, despite how wrong it felt.  He had become used to sleeping with Steve curled against him, and this Steve looked just like the other Steves.

He didn’t have to worry for long, because moments after the light snapped off, big arms wrapped around him.  Steve’s lips pressed into his neck.  “Are you too tired?” Steve asked softly.

“Too tired for what?”  As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew exactly what Steve had been asking.

A hand moved across his waist and then down, until Steve’s warm palm was cupping Bucky’s cock through the soft silk fabric.  This body hadn’t recently had a blow job from Steve Rogers, because he felt it jump at the contact.  “For whatever you want,” Steve murmured into his ear. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.

Immediately Steve removed his hand and shifted so that he could turn Bucky onto his back and look at him in the dim light.  “Is it me?” he asked.

“What?”

“I mean…”  Steve looked down, put his hand on Bucky’s chest, then bent and kissed him there.  “I know you’ve been tired, but… maybe it’s me.  Maybe you’re tired of me.”

“No,” Bucky said immediately.  “I’ll never been tired of you.” Could he say you’re my best friend? He wondered.  They were married.  People often said that their spouse was their best friend.  The relief on Steve’s face made him say something else.  “I’m not too tired,” he said.  “Um, we could do whatever you want?”

The Steve smile almost blinded him to the fact that he had just given Steve free rein over his body.  They were married.  Steve was going to want more than a simple blow job. 

“Well,” said Steve, a twinkle in his eye.  “I was thinking…”  He crawled over and pulled something out of his nightstand.  “We haven’t used this in a while… and you’ve never worn it.”

Steve held up a small ring, made out of translucent blue plastic.  Silicone, because it seemed flexible.  There seemed to be some kind of battery on the thicker side of it.  Bucky had no idea what it was. 

“Okay,” was all he could think of to say.

“You want me to put it on you?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“Okay,” he said again.

Then Steve was kissing him.  He could handle that.  He remembered his safe zone, and kept his hands there, starting to feel out the differences between this Steve and his Steve – no, Coffeehouse Steve.  This Steve’s hair was cut a little shorter.  His neck was a little bigger, stronger, and his hands were tugging down those silk boxers until they were completely gone, a whisper as they hit the floor.

“Spread ‘em,” Steve said. 

Feeling vulnerable, Bucky shifted his legs apart slightly.  He tried to tell himself that this Steve had seen him naked before, probably a lot, but it didn’t really help as Steve knelt between his knees.  But Steve soon leaned back down and kissed him, and Bucky didn’t feel quite so self-conscious, not with Steve covering him up. 

When Steve’s hands started fumbling around with his testicles, Bucky couldn’t keep that same detachment, especially not when Steve pulled away a little and said, “Apparently this is more difficult when you have a hard-on already.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be trying not to get hard, when Steve was tugging at his balls.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re so cute,” was Steve’s response, and then they were kissing again.  Steve exhaled a little when it seemed he had finally gotten everything in place, which meant the blue ring was tight around the base of Bucky’s dick. 

Steve reached across the bed again, giving Bucky a moment to freak out.  What was going to happen now?  Were they going to have gay sex?  What did that even mean?  Then Steve was back and kissing him and there was a tiny click that set the cock ring vibrating and Bucky lost the ability to think coherent thoughts.

No doubt he was hard as a rock now.  He heard himself groaning and knew that while Steve was kissing him, he wasn’t even in the right head space to kiss back, or keep his mouth shut.  He became vaguely aware that Steve was rubbing himself up against Bucky, that Steve was also hard now, and then felt something rubbing against his asshole. 

Instinctively, he arched away.  That lubricated something wasn’t just rubbing against his asshole, it was inside his asshole, and Steve wasn’t letting him get away.  The vibrations against his balls weren’t helping him think clearly at all.  Most of his brain was telling him to just go with it.  It didn’t feel bad.  Actually, it felt nice, especially when he realized it was just Steve’s finger up there. 

God, his dick just felt so hard and big and swollen.  He wanted Steve to do more than just rub their dicks together.  But when Steve did do more, he nearly stopped breathing. 

Steve’s dick felt enormous, and yet it had slipped in as easily as his finger.  Bucky gasped and sucked in air.  What was even happening right now?  There was too much stimulation.  He didn’t know how he had gotten into this position and wasn’t sure how to make it stop, or if he wanted it to stop, which he decided he didn’t once Steve started pounding into his ass.  Each time he entered Bucky, he hit some spot that sent even more waves of sensation through him than the vibrating ring. 

Bucky gave up the struggle to comprehend what was happening to him.  How had he and Steve never done this before?  This was amazing.  He barely noticed that Steve had taken Bucky’s arms and had them pinned up over his head.  He couldn’t do anything but just feel everything.  Sounds he never knew he could make were erupting from his throat, and then he was erupting, shooting come everywhere.  The orgasm ripped through him, so much more powerfully than the one he’d had earlier.  It lasted longer, too.  He gasped his way to the last of it leaking onto his own chest. 

He had a moment of confusion when Steve continued to fuck him.  Had he come too soon?  He was about to apologize again when Steve let go of his hands, grabbed one leg, and neatly flipped him over onto his stomach.  He had only a moment to reorient himself before Steve started thrusting again, which hit that spot in a whole new way that had Bucky collapsing into the pillows on his face when his arm gave out.  His own dick was still hard.  Was this even possible?  He had never heard any man talk about having multiple orgasms.  But here he was, primed and ready for number two.

This Steve had a level of confidence that had been missing from Coffeehouse Steve.  This Steve knew what he was doing, and he knew what Bucky would like.  And it was fucking hot as hell.

By the time he shuddered out his second orgasm of the night, and Steve grunted out his, Bucky’s muscles felt like jelly.  When Steve pulled out, Bucky had a moment where he felt so empty and depleted he wanted to cry, but then Steve was back, rolling him over and rubbing the stickiness off his chest with a hand towel before pulling Bucky over to his side of the bed.  “Don’t want you to sleep in the wet spot again,” Steve whispered.  He kissed Bucky’s face, just a random spot on his cheek under his eye. 

Bucky sighed.

Always before, Bucky had felt a sense of protectiveness for Steve.  That was how it had been with his Steve.  Back before Steve got the serum, anyways.  That familiar feeling had broken him out of Winter Soldier mode, when Bucky rescued Steve from the Potomac.  The same with Coffeehouse Steve: Bucky had just wanted to pull Steve to him and hold him there, keep him. 

And while Bucky had always felt like Steve had his back, and would protect him, he had never felt this sort of protectiveness.  This love.  Bucky didn't have to worry about anything.  Steve was here, taking care of him.

He fell asleep, and did not dream.  He didn’t even think about getting back to whatever world was his home.

Chapter Text

He woke up in the middle of the night.  For a while he thought about not getting up.  It felt too nice being here with Steve draped over him, warm and cozy.  Eventually, though, his bladder insisted, and he extracted himself (Steve sighed in his sleep), scooped up his boxers from the floor where they'd landed earlier, and went into the bathroom. 

Strange how comfortable he felt here, in this body, with this Steve, like putting on an old pair of favorite jeans.  He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, that made him less hesitant than he'd been about his relationship with Steve in the last world.  Maybe because they hadn't fully been in a relationship in the last world.  He hadn't been sure how long he'd known Steve, or what would be weird.  With this Steve, however, he was certain that Steve loved him, and that it wouldn't be weird to love Steve back.   

Steve's confidence was another factor.  Bucky didn't have to worry about what he should do, because Steve was taking care of everything.  He felt his body start to warm, his face heating up, at the memory of just how Steve had taken care of him last night.  There was no other way to explain it.  When Coffeeshop Steve had gone down on him, Bucky had felt nervous.  Excited, but nervous.  Maybe that small experience (however huge it had seemed at the time) had prepped him for this.   

Imagine if he and Coffeeshop Steve hadn't done anything more than cuddle and make out.  He wondered how he would have felt about having sex with this Steve then.  Of course, once Steve had put that vibrating ring on him, he probably would have consented to just about anythi--- 

A soft pop behind him startled him out of his thoughts.  "Jesus Christ!"  

"I am sorry," said Vision.  "I—I will turn around until you are finished." 

"Thank you," said Bucky, trying not to sound annoyed.  He was going to have to stop going to the bathroom at this rate.  He took the opportunity, while Vision's back was turned, to put on his boxers, thankful he had thought to grab them off the floor – mostly because he wasn't used to sleeping naked, and somehow Steve had put his boxers back on.  "So, um, what happened?  How did I end up here?" 

"You seem to know me, so I am assuming you are the Bucky I was sent to find," Vision stated, a bit unnecessarily, in Bucky's opinion.  "Yes.  So.  Mr. Stark believes because you touched the Mind Gem before I was prepared, I sent you here.  It has taken quite some time to find you." 

"I'm sorry," said Bucky.   

"Not your fault," Vision acquiesced.  "So, I must have a firm idea of where you need to go in my mind beforehand.  All right."  He closed his eyes. 

Bucky looked around.  "Um, maybe I should sit down when I switch?  Because I almost threw up last time." 

Vision opened his eyes.  "Happily, it is night now, and one can hope that you will be returning to a body that is asleep."   

"Yeah, but for the me that's going to pop back into this body." 

"Yes, certainly." 

Bucky closed the toilet seat cover and sat down.  "And, I mean, you already said my body was sedated.  Right?" 

The silence that preceded Vision's answer made Bucky a little nervous.   

"There are many universes, Mr. Barnes.  So many, in fact, that this little blunder could cause much confusion should all the souls involved become scrambled.  The best course of action, I believe, is to first reverse the mistake that transported you here." 

"Okay," said Bucky.  "That makes sense.  And then you'll switch me and other me, well, you know what I mean.  After this, then we switch me back home." 

"Yes," Vision affirmed. 

Vision once again closed his eyes, and Bucky waited until Vision took his hand and placed it on the Mind Gem.  Bucky closed his eyes just before it touched, so he wouldn't have that disoriented dizzy feeling from the sudden displacement. 

The closed eyes didn't stop his stomach from feeling like it had dropped out of his body.  This time it hit hard enough that he had to turn his head and vomit.   

Through blurry eyes, he oriented himself to a world that was sideways and dim.  He was lying down – that might have accounted for the awful feeling.  He coughed up a little more bile, and lifted a hand to wipe his mouth.  That was when he saw the hospital bracelet on his bare wrist. 

A hospital, then.  He shifted away from the vomit on the bed and tried to sit up.  There was an IV attached to the middle finger of his right hand, and he could feel some other wires taped to the skin of his forehead.  In the armchair across the room, Steve reclined, snoring slightly.     

The light from the hallway gave him a pretty good view of things, until a shadow blocked it and said, "Oh, honey, they said you wouldn't wake up for hours!" 

His mother's voice.  He smiled at her weakly.  "I threw up," he said. 

"Oh, dear.  I'll call the nurse."  She hurried to his side and pressed a button somewhere behind his head.  "How are you feeling?" 

"Dizzy," he said.  "Better now that I threw up, I guess." 

It was hard to tell, because Steve was all the way across the room, whether he had landed back in coffeehouse world or not.  This mother seemed like his mother from there.  She was alive, anyways.   

"Do you... remember how you got here?" she asked, smoothing down his hair. 

He almost wanted to make something up.  The other Bucky must have found himself in the bathroom at Natasha's apartment and been confused enough for Steve or Sam to take him to the hospital again.  At least, he hoped it hadn't been a scene like Vision had described, where a lab had been destroyed.  Couldn't have been.  If that had happened, surely the doctors would have restrained him. 

"No."  He sagged a little. 

"Don't worry, honey.  You're getting help now.  Steve – he seems like a nice boy," she smiled at Bucky encouragingly, "he said you were throwing up and very confused.  You knew people but not where you were.  Do you know where you are now?" 

Bucky looked out the window at the dark skyline.  He tried to remember the name of the hospital he'd gone to before.  "Saint Anthony's?" He guessed. 

It must have been the right answer, because his mother let out a big sigh.  "Good boy," she said, and kissed him on the cheek before hugging him close.  "You wouldn't speak to me before," she said into his hair.  "You looked at me like you didn't know me.  You didn't even want me to touch you." 

At that, Bucky had to hug her back.  He didn't know what might have happened to the mother of the Bucky who worked at the animal shelter and was married to a police officer named Steve Rogers.  Hopefully, that Bucky was waking up in the bathroom and thinking he'd just had a terrible dream. 

"Your friend Steve," his mother said, pulling back a little.  "He's your boyfriend?" 

"We just started dating," he told her. 

"He's a nice boy," she repeated.  "You didn't want him to go.  You wouldn't let go of his hand.  It wasn't until the doctors gave you a sedative and you fell asleep that he could pry his hand away.  I told him that if he needed to go home he could, but he insisted on staying." 

That was his Steve, Bucky thought with a fond smile.  His coffeehouse Steve.  The smile faded.  He couldn't just leave this Steve without an explanation.  Dog owner Bucky might be able to explain away a couple of hours as a weird dream, but coffeehouse Bucky would be returning to a new boyfriend and two strikes against him at work.  

The nurse came in then and helped Bucky get out of bed so she could change the sheets.  His mother was helping to arrange the wires that connected him to the machines so he could sit in the hard plastic chair at the bedside when Steve woke up.  "You should sit in this chair."  Steve's voice surprised them all.  "It's more comfortable." 

"I don't think I can move that far across the room," said Bucky. 

"Here."  Steve stood up, stretched.  "You should sleep for a bit, Mrs. Barnes.  I'll stay up with Bucky." 

Later, once the bed had been remade, and Mrs. Barnes had finally consented to Steve's offer of the chair, Steve held Bucky's hand in the soft light, his head resting on his arms on the mattress.  "Do you remember anything from last night?" Steve asked quietly. 

Bucky squeezed Steve's fingers.  "I remember before we went to Natasha's apartment," he said. 

Steve's laugh was an exhalation of air against his arm.   

"I remember eating.  It was after the bathroom that I don't remember.  I was dizzy..."  Bucky bit his bottom lip.  He needed to tell Steve something that might explanation a future memory loss.  "I think when I fell in the freezer at work..." 

"But the doctors said the CAT scan looked fine.  There were some irregularities, I guess, like, it looked different from the CAT scan you got a couple weeks ago."  Steve looked down at Bucky's hand and kissed it.  "They were saying it might be psychological." 

An idea came to him.  "I heard that concussions can change your personality." 

"Do you..."  Steve's face scrunched up.  "Not remember what you were like before?" 

For a minute Bucky didn't want to answer.  He remembered himself as the Winter Soldier.  He remembered himself as just plain Bucky, before the war.  He had those memories, and over the past couple of years he had been remembering more and more, filling in the gaps.  He remembered what he had been like, but that was different from remembering how to be that person. 

And besides, none of that mattered, because what Steve meant was whether Bucky remembered who he had been before he'd woken up in a freezer in a coffee shop two weeks ago.   

"No," Bucky said finally. 

"But you said..."  Steve stopped himself.  "I thought..." 

He had lied to Steve, hadn't he?  He had told Steve he remembered stalking him.  "It was easier to pretend I remembered," Bucky whispered.   

Steve was quiet for a long time.  Bucky hated that he hadn't been honest with Steve.  Even though this wasn't his Steve, Bucky had never lied, and it felt awful.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "Everything was really confusing, and I didn't want you to think... think I was crazy." 

Steve was looking at him now.   

"And I don't want you to think that this," he squeezed Steve's hand, "isn't real, or that I pretended to like you." 

Those words hung in the air.  Like you.  Bucky wished he had said a different word.  What he felt for Steve was bigger than that.   

When Steve finally spoke, Bucky knew he hadn't been thinking along the same lines.  "But if you don't remember... how did you know all that stuff about me?"  

Shit.  In the dim hospital room, Bucky had a fleeting moment where he thought he might be able to tell Steve everything.  The parallel universes, how his Captain America was real in the universe Bucky came from.  Then all of that seemed to crash down on him, and he couldn't.  They were already looking to do a psych eval, he didn't need to give them another reason. 

"I have these notebooks," said Bucky.  "Journals.  And I read them.  There was some stuff about you.  And I just pretended.  That's all." 

Lying to Steve again.  He hadn't even been able to look him in the eye.  No wonder his Steve had known he was lying that time he said he read about Steve in a museum.   

Steve had a hard time swallowing that down.  "So you didn't remember me.  But you knew my name." 

Bucky was still trying to figure out what he could say to that when the nurse popped back in.  "Do you need something to help you sleep?"  

He looked at Steve, back down at the IV in his hand, then nodded.  Sleep was better than trying to figure this out.   

After the nurse gave him some pills and he swallowed them down, he and Steve didn't talk much.  Steve was looking pretty drowsy himself.  "I shoulda asked her for some for you," Bucky said.  His mouth felt too big and a little numb.   

"It's okay," said Steve.  "I'll fall asleep eventually." 

"Can you come up here and sleep with me?" Bucky asked.   

His eyes fell shut and they were too heavy to open again.  But he felt something weigh down the side of the bed, and then a familiar warmth nudging him over.   

"Is this okay?" Steve whispered in his ear.  "Am I hurting you?" 

"S'okay," Bucky managed to say.   

A hand brushed away a stray hair from his face.  He turned toward the movement, and was rewarded with a kiss on the nose and a gentle pressure holding him to the firm plane of Steve's chest.  Before sleep stole him away, he mumbled, "I love you."

Chapter Text

Bucky didn't know what made him open his eyes in the milky early morning light filtered through the hospital blinds.  A change in air pressure, maybe – but then, why hadn't Steve or his mother woken up as well?  He had a feeling, after lying there in Steve's arms for a minute, that someone was watching him. 

Carefully, he rolled away and sat up, and saw, in the corner, blending in with the shadows so well that for long seconds Bucky wasn't sure his eyes were correct, Vision standing there.

"Vision?" Bucky whispered.

An exhale from the corner.  "Yes.  Good.  I am pleased that you are returned to this body."  With a glance to the door, Vision stepped forward.  "Let us commence reuniting you with your original body."

"Um, okay."  He looked down at Steve.  He had hoped to have time to explain.  "Wait, can I leave a note?  You know, to explain..."

"It's best if you do not," said Vision. 

"But..." Bucky looked at Steve again.  "I mean, when the other me comes back, he's not going to know why Steve's in bed with him."  After a moment's further reflection, he added, "In a hospital bed."

"We must not interfere any more than has already been done," said Vision.  "Now, I must focus, as before."

Bucky watched Vision close his eyes.  The Mind Gem began to glow.  Vision took Bucky's hand – gingerly, because of the IV – and pulled it toward his forehead.  Just before he touched the stone, the heat of it warming his palm, Bucky heard the door to the room begin to open.  He had just turned his head when he blinked and --

Flopped back onto the bed, stomach roiling.

For a second he lay there in the dark, slowly realizing just how dark it was.  He had Steve's arm under him.  The same light snoring he was growing used to.  Or had been used to, all his life, from the nights when Steve would sleep over at Bucky's house, or Bucky at Steve's, couch cushions on the floor.

But the longer Bucky lay there, the more he began to realize that he wasn't still in the hospital.  It sounded different.  Smelled different – more like Steve, actually.  As his eyes grew used to the dark, he saw the outlines of windows on the wall where in the hospital, there had been a door and a bathroom.

His stomach clenched and threatened to expel whatever was in there.  What could be left? Bucky thought, before realizing that if he had been catapulted into yet another body in another universe, this body might have just eaten a huge meal.  He took slow, even breaths, trying to keep it all down, whatever it was.  His stomach clenched again, and then Steve woke up.

"You okay?" He asked sleepily.

It was a small comfort that this Steve's sleep-breath smelled the same as his Steve's.  Coffeehouse Steve's. 

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," he told this Steve.

Steve's hand slid onto Bucky's stomach, which he only just realized was bare.  His whole body was entirely bare, and the movement, so close to his unclothed groin sparked something that was most certainly not nausea.  Was there any universe where he and Steve were not a couple?  "I hope it wasn't my cooking," Steve said, nuzzling Bucky's neck.

"I don't think so," said Bucky.

The palm of Steve's hand ran wide, slow circles around Bucky's belly button.  "Does this help?" Steve asked, after a bit.

Surprisingly, it did.  He nodded, and he heard Steve's breathing slow back into sleep.

Should he go to the bathroom and see if Vision could find him there? He wondered as his eyes drifted shut.  Or would it take a while for Vision to find him again?  He didn't think he had landed back in the same world as last time.  The room was different, smelled different – except for Steve.  He couldn't make himself care much about where he'd been dropped this time.  He had a feeling it would all work out the same.

***

He was only dimly aware of an alarm beeping when Steve shook him.  "You getting up?"  His brain didn't want to function.  Steve shoved at him again.  "Come on, man!"

Bucky shoved back blindly.

His eyes opened when Steve not-so-gently climbed over him to slap at the alarm clock atop the nightstand on Bucky's side of the bed.  "Ugh," he managed to say.

"Hey, you still feeling sick from last night?" Steve asked.  He didn't bother to climb back to his side of the bed.  He laid himself right on top of Bucky and licked the side of his face.  Bucky grimaced.  What the hell was this?  "You wanna stay home with meeee?"

Bucky waved at him.  "Ugh," he said again.

"Come on," Steve whispered, climbing atop Bucky more properly. 

This meant that Bucky and Steve's naked genitals were touching, and Steve was moving Bucky's flailing arms out of the way so he could kiss Bucky's eyelid.  "What are you doing?" Bucky cried.

"Come on!" Steve responded in the same whine.  "Call out sick.  Stay home with meeee.  We can cuddle aaaall day.  Or we can play doctor."  Steve waggled his eyebrows and shimmied his shoulders.  "You can be my patient.  No, wait – I wanna be the patient.  You can examine my prostate."

Bucky had to laugh. 

"You look like you're feeling better.  Did I dream it?  That you were feeling sick?"  Steve contemplated.  "That's a fucking boring dream, if I did."

"That was real," Bucky said, finally looking directly at this Steve.  Same blond hair, same face.  Same beefed up muscles.  Except... "Hey, you have tattoos."

He wanted to smack himself the second he spoke.  But it was bizarre to see Steve with two stars tattooed on his chest.

Steve thought this was hysterical.  "So do you."  And then there was a hand snaking down to his hips. 

"Hey!" Bucky yelped.  Damn it, he was hard, even though he wanted to get out from whatever this was.  It wasn't like police officer Steve somehow seducing him into multiple orgasms.  Or coffeehouse Steve's cautious make out sessions.  This was more like being licked to death by a golden retriever.  He tried to escape from the prison of Steve's limbs to find some clothes.

"Where are you going?  If you're still going to work, can we just have a quickie? Look."

Against his better judgment, Bucky looked.  Steve was gesturing to his erection.  Bucky immediately looked away.

"I, uh," Bucky found himself saying.  "I... uh..."  In the open closet, he found a laundry basket and started yanking on some pants.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.  "Why are you putting on my pants?  Without underwear?  I mean, let's leave a little mystery in our relationship."

Bucky looked down then at the jeans he was putting on, and saw the tattoo of a red star near his hip bone. 

"Hey," said Steve, suddenly behind him.  He was trapped by Steve's arms wrapping around him.  Oddly enough, after everything he'd been through with Coffeehouse Steve and Police Officer Steve and his own Steve, he still felt a little put off by this Steve.  "Hey, what's going on?  Talk to me, Buck.  Please?  Are you still sick?  I'll lay off, I swear."

The little touchdown of Steve's lips on his neck made all that hesitation go away.  It was too similar to all the other Steves he had met.  He sighed.  "I'm just not feeling well, I guess," he said.

"I'm sorry."  He could tell Steve meant it.  "You want me to cook you breakfast?" 

Bucky wasn't sure he wanted anything cooked by Steve.  He didn't remember Steve having any culinary talent.  Unless ramen noodles counted, he thought with a smile.  "Like what?  Cereal?"

"Fuck no," said Steve, his mouth still against Bucky's skin.  They felt good right there.  "I was thinking omelets, but if your stomach still feels like shit, I could make oatmeal."

It would hard to screw up oatmeal.  "Okay," Bucky agreed. 

Steve kissed him and moved away.  Pulling open a drawer, he withdrew a pair of boxers and tossed them Bucky's way, then pulled out a pair for himself and stepped into them as he moved toward the bedroom door, where he stopped.  "You still going to work?"

Bucky thought about that.  He certainly didn't feel like going to whatever job he had here, and dealing with all that.  "No," he said.

Steve threw up his hands.  "Then why are we even awake?"

Bucky shrugged.

"The things I do for you," Steve said with a sigh, and disappeared from view.

At least that gave Bucky a chance to get dressed, although being naked in front of Steve was starting to feel weirdly normal.  He returned Steve's jeans to the laundry basket and found some sweatpants in the dresser which were hopefully his own.  Before putting them on, however, he spotted the full-length mirror on the door of the bathroom and took a look.

He couldn't believe he had a tattoo right next to his dick.  And now he could see he had another tattoo as well, on his left shoulder.  Like the star tattoo he had in Starkbucks land.  Exactly like it.

He looked around.  Could it be possible that he would be in the same coffeehouse world, just years in the future?  A phone.  He picked it up and pressed the button that made the lock screen light up.  Typing in the same password as before – S-T-A-R – he unlocked the phone and navigated to the date. 

Same date.  Same year.

There went that theory.

He tugged on a t-shirt, again hoping it wasn't one of Steve's.  Before leaving the bedroom, however, he peeked into the bathroom.  "Vision?" He whispered.

The room was empty.

Sighing, he left and entered the living room.

The apartment was small, but clean and full of light.  A couch sat in the middle of the room, facing a flat screen TV and built-in bookshelves, along with a record player.  Huh, Bucky thought, and peeked at a few of the album covers.  Most seemed to be modern bands, but there were a few older sleeves with swing and jazz music.  Moving on, he noticed the plants hanging in the windows and lining the sills around a drawing desk similar to the one coffeehouse Steve had in his apartment.  Bucky took one look at the drawings taped to the wall by the desk and had to stop to catch his breath.

All the drawings were of Captain America.  It shouldn't have been such a shock, but somehow it was.  He felt a little dizzy at all the strange similarities. 

"So what did they say?" Steve called from the kitchen, where Bucky could smell something like cinnamon and apples.

"What did who say?" Bucky asked.  He had wandered over to the desk and was flipping through the drawings.

"Your work?  Or didn't you call them yet?"

"Oh.  No, I haven't called yet."

Bucky returned to the bedroom and retrieved his phone, then scrolled through the contacts, hoping – and yes, one of the contacts was labeled "Work."  He dialed the number. 

Thankfully, it was too early for anyone to be in the office at the martial arts studio he apparently worked at, and he left a message.  So that was done.  Now he could just spend the day with Steve alone, and try not to make any weird mistakes that would alert Steve to the fact that he was not this Steve's Bucky.  Like exclaiming about Steve having a tattoo.

He wondered if this Steve had a vibrating blue cock ring. 

In the kitchen, he found Steve concocting the most elaborate oatmeal he'd ever seen.  He was used to oatmeal that was scooped into a pan with some milk or, more likely, water, and served like gruel.  Steve had actual bits of apple in the pot, and had apparently grated actual cinnamon sticks instead of sprinkling it out of a shaker.  "That smells amazing," he said.

"It would have been better if I'd been able to make it in the slow cooker over night, but I suppose it'll do."  Steve gave it another stir, then looked over at Bucky with a mischievous twinkle.  Before Bucky could fathom what was going on, Steve had reached out with his other hand and pinched Bucky's ass, making him jump.  And then Steve was hooking his arm around Bucky's neck and kissing him.

As Bucky did his best to reciprocate – none of the Steves thus far had liked to surprise him this much – he caught a glimpse of a comic book cover, framed on the wall.  It was, of course, Captain America.  He couldn't ask, but he assumed it was Steve who had drawn it, given the desk and the sketches. 

The face in the drawing didn’t look like Steve’s, however.

It looked like Bucky’s.

Chapter Text

"This is the best oatmeal I've ever tasted in my entire life," Bucky said through a mouthful of apple cinnamon goodness.  "Who knew you could cook?"

Steve sat back and sipped at his coffee.  "Well, I thought you knew I could cook, given that you rave about my cooking every day."

He swallowed hard.  He needed to stop talking.  It had been so long since he had been a "talker."  As the Winter Soldier he had hardly ever spoken.  Somehow, these trips to parallel universes seemed to have woken something up inside of him.  Sides of himself that he hadn't realized were still there. 

"I was just kidding," Bucky said with a weak smile.

"Sure," said Steve.  "Remember the last time you decide to joke about my cooking?  We had to eat your cooking.  That was a punishment for both of us."

Bucky's pride flared up.  "Are you kidding?  I am a master at mac & cheese."

"Since when?" Steve laughed.  "If I recall, that was the meal that made us both decide we should order a pizza.  I have no idea how you managed to undercook the noodles and burn the cheese, but somehow, you did it."

He needed to stop talking.  Apparently, the Bucky who could follow the instructions on the side of a box in Starkbucks land was a total failure at the same task in this world.  Or, maybe it was himself who could do that, and the Bucky who made coffees for a living couldn't figure it out.  Maybe in every other universe, Bucky was a terrible cook.

After the remainder of breakfast, Bucky followed Steve's lead and put his dishes in the dishwasher, than stopped at the window over the sink.  He recognized this place.

They were in Brooklyn!

He wanted to run outside and see what he could recognize. 

"It's a nice day out," Steve commented behind him.  "But I'd rather spend it in bed."

Steve slapped Bucky soundly on the ass, making him jump and let out a strangled cry.

"What?" asked Steve innocently.  "Come on, let's go back to bed."

"Um..." Bucky couldn't quite think of an excuse.  And why the hell was he trying to think of an excuse?  Was he still so uncomfortable with the idea of him and Steve together?  He'd thought he was over that.  The blow job had been nice, sex had been fucking fantastic, so what was he jumpy about?  "Okay," he said.

"That's the spirit, I guess," said Steve.  "What's wrong?  Are you still feeling sick?"

"I guess.  A little."  Rubbing his face so that he might appear sicker than he was, he walked past Steve and into the bedroom. 

When he laid down, Steve laid down right beside him and immediately started stroking his hair.  "What's wrong, baby?" Steve crooned to him.  "Do you need a doctor?  You want me to doctor you up?" 

"I want you to stop talking to me in that voice," Bucky said, annoyed.  "I just... I guess I'm just not in the mood right now."

"Oh."  Steve rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed.  Bucky looked at Steve's broad back.  He looked so much like Bucky's Steve that it made him feel homesick.  Abruptly, Steve stood up and said, "I'm gonna go talk to Nat before she goes to work." 

Then he was gone from the apartment.

Bucky exhaled.  How had he felt so comfortable around this Steve last night, but this morning he felt so off-kilter?  It made Bucky wonder if nothing bad had ever happened to either of them, if this would be what the two of them would have turned out like.  If there had been no war or accidents or serum or any of it, would Steve have turned out so eager and full of humor?  Bucky didn't know what this Bucky was like, but it seemed like he must love dealing with Steve's energy.

While Steve was gone from the apartment, Bucky took the opportunity to check the bathroom again.  "Vision?" he asked to the empty room.  He stepped inside and shut the door and counted to a hundred and twenty.  Two minutes, and still no Vision.  He slowly eased his pants down and sat down on the toilet.  Like a conditioned response, he ended up peeing, but Vision did not appear.  "Fuck," he said glumly.

He returned to the living room and looked around, skimming the book titles and checking out the framed photos on the shelves.  How long would Steve be talking to Natasha?  Natasha, who apparently lived in the same apartment building, just like coffeehouse Steve.  Was this a normal thing, hanging out with Natasha every morning?  Maybe they all liked to go out for coffee together.  Bucky wondered if it would be Starbucks or Starkbucks here.

He had just found a photo album and pulled it out when the door opened and Steve and Natasha walked in.  This Natasha's red hair was straight and blunt cut and she did look ready for work... if Natasha worked at an office.  A tired-looking Clint was right behind them, still in a t-shirt and pajama pants.  Looked like Clint and Natasha were together in this world as well.  Huh.

"Hi," Bucky said, fumbling to return the scrapbook to the shelf.

"Looking at photo albums at six in the morning?" asked Natasha.  "I mean, that's what I enjoy doing as well.  Have some breakfast and then reminisce."

Bucky felt his shoulders tense, like he was preparing for battle.

"You do that sometimes, don't you, Steve?" Natasha continued.  "You know, when you've slipped into a parallel universe?"

Steve looked a little wary himself, but he was looking at Bucky and not Natasha.

Carefully, Bucky turned and smoothly slipped the photo album back on the shelf.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Oh, you don't?"  Natasha stepped in toward him, and he took a step back.  "What day were you born?"

"March tenth," he said. 

She arched an eyebrow.  "What year?"

He had to think about that one.  Before he could answer, she said, "Oh, you don't remember?  Do you remember being Captain America's sidekick?  Huh?"

"W-what?" Bucky sputtered.  "Sidekick?"  The idea offended him somehow, even when it made sense.  Wasn’t that what he’d told Steve?  “That kid from Brooklyn, I’m following him.”  Steve was the leader of the Howling Commandoes.  Steve was a leader.  Back when they were kids, though, when it had been just the two of them, neither had led.  Unless he counted Steve leading them into fistfights.  Then yes.

"Yeah.  Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier.  That's what Steve told us, anyway.  When he was visiting from whatever comic book universe you guys live in."

Steve had been here?  Or.... Bucky looked at Steve.  He wanted to be able to read Steve's facial expression like a book, to learn that this was his Steve somehow here, but he couldn't.  "Wait.  Did you...?"

"Did he what?" Natasha jumped in, even as Steve shook his head.  "Did he somehow switch universes with Captain America?"  Her mouth twisted into a knowing smirk at whatever expression Bucky had on his face.  "Gotcha," she whispered, almost to herself.

"Got me how?  I have no idea what you're talking about," Bucky grumbled.  "It's too early to be interrogated, thanks."

"Ha!" said Clint.

Bucky looked at him, confused.  What he’d said wasn’t that funny.

“How about you stop pretending,” said Natasha.  “Just tell us the truth.”

“Stop pretending what?” Bucky threw up his hands and started walking away, which meant going into the kitchen.  “I’m not feeling well.  If you all would leave, go to work or whatever, and you let me go back to bed, I’m sure the next time you talk to me everything will be normal again.”  At least he hoped so.

“Sit down,” Natasha ordered, surprising Bucky by being right behind him.

“Jesus!”

She pulled out a chair and glared at him until he did as he was told.  He looked at each person who took a seat at the kitchen table.  He’d fought both Steve and Natasha in his world, both while he was the Winter Soldier and when he wasn’t.  He wasn’t sure how he’d do here, or if hand-to-hand combat would be necessary.  Back when he’d thought the coffeehouse universe was all Hydra brainwashing, this kind of scenario would have made sense to him.  Yes, they were all sleeper agents, awoken now that he was aware of what was going on.  They were here to stop him.

“Fine.  I’m from a parallel universe.  But this isn’t the Steve I know.”  Bucky looked at Steve, just to make sure.

“Yeah, well, we know your Steve,” said Natasha.  “Our Steve got hit by a car and your Steve woke up in the hospital.  He went back last fall.  And now here you are, but apparently this all happened in the middle of the night.  What the fuck is happening in that world of yours?”

Last fall?  Steve was here?  “I don’t know anything about that,” Bucky said.  “All I know is, I went into cryo and woke up in a freezer—”

“Cryo?” Steve asked.

“Cryostasis?”

“What even is that?” Steve asked.

“Is that like when you’re cryogenically frozen?” Natasha asked.

Clint tapped Nat on the shoulder and made a gesture like he didn’t understand.  She made some motions with her fingers.  It took Bucky a second, but he realized she was finger spelling in sign language.  Clint was deaf? 

“Yeah, it’s like that,” Bucky said.  “So I woke up in a freezer in a Starkbucks.  I’ve been trying to get back to my world, but instead I got sent here.”

“Starkbucks?” asked Steve.  “Don’t you mean Starbucks?”

“Oh, thank god,” said Bucky, oddly relieved.  “I can’t even tell you how stupid it is to be working at a place called Starkbucks in a world where no one’s ever heard of Starbucks.”

“Ooo-kay,” said Steve.  “So, anyways… you’ve been to other worlds too?  Other than your home planet or whatever?”

Bucky had a sudden realization.  “Wait!  You switched places with my Steve, so… have you met me before?”  He shook his head.  “No, six months ago I was still in hiding.”

“I don’t actually remember anything.”  Steve looked at his hands.  “I thought I was in a coma the whole time.  But apparently your Steve was here for something like two months.”

Bucky shook his head.  “No, that can’t be right.  I would have heard something if Captain America had been in a coma for two months.  I was keeping up with the news.  The Avengers were doing a lot of missions.”

“Huh,” said Steve.

“It’s possible,” said Natasha, “that time works different in each universe.”

Great, thought Bucky. 

“I can’t believe you – I mean, my Bucky – is off hanging out with Captain America,” said Steve.  “Unless he’s in a coma.”  All traces of joking had vanished from Steve’s face.  He was really worried about his Bucky.

“No, he’s probably back in the world with the Starkbucks.  I was in the hospital, they thought I had some kind of concussion because of my memory problems.  So, hopefully he’s sedated or something.”

Natasha and Steve exchanged worried looks.

“So how are you doing this?  Jumping to different worlds?  Because…” Natasha looked at Steve again.  “Because how Steve got back last time… it wasn’t… Let’s just say I don’t think you would like it and I know Steve wouldn’t like it.”

What exactly had happened here?  “Um… Well, I guess I can tell you about it.  So, Tony Stark – do you guys have a Tony Stark here?”

Steve’s brow furrowed.  “Our yoga teacher?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that.  “Hmm.  Okay.  Well, in the other world, he’s the one, well, his dad is the one who started Starkbucks.  But in my world, he’s an inventor.  He does a lot with technology, military technology.”

“What the fuck.”  Steve whispered this, looking thoroughly confused.

“So he accidentally created a being with artificial intelligence.  Vision.  The being’s name is Vision, I mean.  It had something to do with one of the Infinity Stones or something, I’m not sure.  I wasn’t there.”

Steve was shaking his head.  “What the fuck,” he said a little louder.

“Basically, Vision finds me in whatever world I’m in and then he transports me to wherever… we haven’t quite worked out the kinks yet, apparently.  Someone walked in the room right as the transfer was happening and I woke up here.”

“Sounds better than choking him out,” said Natasha brightly, slapping Steve on the shoulder.

Bucky winced.  “That’s how you sent Steve back?” He tried to imagine this happening, and his memory conjured up the fight on the helicarrier, when Steve had choked him out.  “Yikes.”

“Yup,” said Natasha, when Steve didn’t answer.  “So, long story short, you’re here until your pal Vision comes and finds you to do the switch.”

Bucky nodded.

“Well that’s just great,” said Steve.  “I’m stuck here with this jerk who doesn’t think I can cook?”

“I told you it was the best oatmeal I’d ever had!” Bucky exclaimed.

“After you insinuated I was going to burn it or something.”

Bucky knew he had insulted Steve’s cooking abilities, but how was he to know?  And, “I’m not a jerk,” he said.

“Yeah, okay.  Are you gonna go ask some chick out, too?  Pretend you’re straight?”

With no idea as to what Steve was talking about, Bucky could only respond, “What?”

“Yeah.  Apparently your Steve comes in here, knowing full well that he was dating you – I mean, my Bucky, not you – and asks out some nurse from the hospital.  Like hello?  Fucking rude.  Let me tell you, if you start chasing skirts I’m not going to stand for it.  No cheating on me while you’re here inhabiting my boyfriend’s body, got it?”

Bucky started to laugh, because “chasing skirts” was such a Steve thing to say.  “Sorry, but the Steve I know has never had a girlfriend.  Or a boyfriend.  I can’t even imagine him asking a girl out.  I always had to get dates for him.”  With Steve, Natasha, and Clint looking at him curiously, Bucky smiled at the memory.  “Oh, there was Peggy.  I mean, she was the closest thing to a girlfriend he ever had.”

“That was her name,” said Steve.  “Peggy.”

“That makes sense, then.”

“I don’t care if it makes sense to you!  No cheating, got it?”

Bucky held up his hands.  “Fine by me.  Just, um….” He glanced at Natasha and Clint.  “Um, in my world, Steve and I were never… together.  So it’s kind of hard to… you know…”

“Get it up?” Clint asked.  Natasha rolled her eyes.

“No, no,” Bucky said quickly.

“Fine, I won’t expect you to have sex with me.  You should know that your Steve and my Bucky did, though.  Have sex.  Boring sex but yeah.”

His Steve had sex with a Bucky?  And yet when Steve had found him, it hadn’t been a sentimental reunion.  Steve hadn’t tried to tell Bucky that he loved him or anything.  “Wait,” Bucky said slowly.

“I hope your friend Vision gets here soon, ‘cause I don’t know how long I can be celibate.”

“Wait,” said Bucky, louder.  “I was never with Steve in my universe, but… um, in the other universes I’ve been to, we’ve…. Well, we’re basically a couple in every other universe.”

Steve looked at him.  “Really?  Does that mean we’re, like, soulmates?”

“I don’t know.  But… um….”  Again Bucky glanced at Natasha and Clint.  “I’ve done some stuff with other Steves.”

“Like what kind of stuff?” Steve asked, that mischievous look back on his face.

Bucky couldn’t say it.  Not with an audience.

Steve stood up.  “Thanks for your help, Nat.  And you too, Clint.”  As Steve spoke, he also signed.  “I think I can take it from here.”

With a smirk, Natasha said, “But we wanted to hear what kind of stuff Bucky’s done with other Steves.”

“Leave now,” Steve said, but he laughed and the other couple departed with only a few good-natured jabs about measuring up to the performance of the other Steves.

“Now that we’re alone,” Steve shut the door to the apartment and turned to face Bucky, “you need to tell me everything.”

Chapter Text

Bucky could not seem to come up with an answer for Steve other than "Um" or "uh."  He just kept backing up and stuttering until he hit a wall.

Steve watched him with a growing smile and laughed when Bucky couldn't move further away.  "This is so great!  Were you a virgin before?  I can't even tell you how much shit I got because your pal Steve was all like," his voice turned high, "I'm a virgin.  Ha!"

"I'm not a virgin," said Bucky as his face turned what was surely a shade of purple. 

Steve laughed again.  "But you're shy, which is just as funny."  He leapt forward and hooked his elbow through Bucky's, then dragged him into the bedroom.  Bucky just barely saved himself from getting slammed into the door frame.  "Oops, sorry!  Okay."  Steve deposited Bucky on the bed, then shoved him down and sat on top of him.  "Okay.  Now talk!  Or I'll tickle torture you."  He held up two crooked index fingers as a threat.

"Steve, what the hell!" Bucky cried, but a sudden memory flashed before him.  He remembered tickle-torturing Steve one night when they were kids, when Steve wouldn't tell him something.  What was it?  "Hey!"  Steve had begun the torture.  "Fine, fine!  I'll tell you what you want to know!  Just stop!"

"Good."  Steve stopped tickling him, though he remained sitting right on Bucky's hips.  "So.  When was your first kiss?"

"First kiss?  I don't know, I was maybe thirteen?"

Steve pondered this for a minute, then waggled his eyebrows. "And when was the first time you kissed me?"

"Um."  Bucky had to think about that one.  "Well, I guess... the first time, you kissed me.  On the neck.  And then we made out.  And that was... two weeks ago?"

Grinning, Steve put his hands down on either side of Bucky's head and lowered his face really close.  "I kissed you... like this?"  He savagely sucked at Bucky's neck until Bucky screamed at him to stop. 

"No, no, not like that!"  Bucky realized he was also laughing.  "No, it was nice.  Gentle.  God," he wiped at the saliva on his neck.  "I'm gonna have a hickey."

"You won't mind.  Okay," said Steve, his smile softening a bit.  "Was it... more like this?"  He leaned down, and pressed his lips into Bucky's throat.  Bucky could feel the tickle of Steve's breath there, the longer those lips stayed against his skin. 

It was hard not to respond.  He could feel the blood zinging around under his skin, and after how guarded he had been around this Steve, he could feel his defenses lowering.

"Yeah," he said with a little sigh.

"And then what next?" Steve wiggled his hips.  "We make out?"

"I think we just hugged for a long time."

Steve blew out an exasperated breath.  "Seriously?  I mean, you're already hard."  He wiggled his hips some more, and squeezed his butt muscles, and since both were pressing into Bucky's groin region, they could feel exactly how hard Bucky was.

"I was hard then, too.  And we still just hugged."  Bucky tried to shift himself.

"I'm sorry," said Steve, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck for a huge hug.  Though the apology sounded sincere, Steve started stroking Bucky's head and whispered, "It's okay, my scared little non-virgin."

Bucky sighed.  The hug did feel nice, though, so he squeezed Steve back and put up with it.

He hadn't given Steve a time limit, and they hugged for a good long time – at least five minutes – before Steve asked, "So, what came next?  Dry humping?  Hand jobs?"

"No, then we started making out."

"Okay, but then what?  This?"  Steve snaked his hand down between them and grabbed Bucky's dick.

"No!" Bucky said, pulling away.  "Geez."

"Oh, come on," said Steve.  He moved with Bucky, keeping his hand firmly in place.  "You said you did stuff already.  How come you're being all shy?"

"I didn't do any of that stuff with you!"

"Am I that different from your Steve?  Or the other Steves?"  Now Steve looked at him with big sad eyes.  Bucky couldn't tell if he was genuinely hurt or joking.  The way Steve had started to rub him through his sweatpants felt good, though.  "I mean, I don't get why you wouldn't like me no matter what universe you were in."

"It's not that I don't like you," Bucky said.  "It's more that I don't know you."

Steve flopped down on top of Bucky again and kissed his neck softly, all while still massaging his cock.  "You could get to know me by fucking me," Steve suggested.

For some reason, that just made Bucky laugh.  Or maybe that was just all the strange and awesome feelings that were coursing through his body right now.  "I—um... Uh, I—I mean, you were the one who—um..."

Steve paused in the kissing, and looked at Bucky with his head propped up on his elbow.  "I was the one who what?"

Bucky couldn't make himself say it.  He reached out and tried to push Steve's hand away from his dick, but Steve just took Bucky's hand and moved it so it rested on Steve's ass.  When Steve returned to Bucky's dick, he slipped it under the waistband of the sweatpants.  Bucky had to bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry I'm making it hard for you to concentrate," Steve whispered, kissing the corner of Bucky's mouth.  "I'm so, so sorry."

In response, Bucky moved his other hand to Steve's ass as well, and gave an experimental squeeze.  Then he turned his head slightly so they were kissing for real now.

Maybe he shouldn't have done that, because Steve was rocking his hips now, as he held Bucky in his fist.  Bucky could feel his heartbeat pulsing against Steve's hand.  And he was also groaning, now that Steve had pulled his face away to ask, "I want to know what you were gonna say."

Bucky bit his lip again.  Apparently he was not going to communicate this to Steve by staring at him.  "You... um..."

"Yes?" Steve asked lightly, squeezing Bucky's cock.

"Uhhnh," Bucky said.  "You were, um..."  He stared at Steve.

Another squeeze.  "Is this better or worse than tickle torture?"  The next squeeze had Bucky kicking his legs, because he could feel wetness leaking out of him.

"You... you.... it wasn't... this is complicated and hard to explain while you're doing that!" Bucky cried.

"Just tell me what I did," Steve purred into his ear.

"You fucked me," Bucky said louder than intended.  "I don't know how it happened but you put something on my dick that vibrated and then you fucked me up the ass and I came twice."

After an astonished moment where Steve stopped squeezing him and kissing him and just stared at him, Steve laughed.  "Seriously?  Are  you fucking kidding me?"  He rolled off of Bucky and held his stomach while he laughed. 

Bucky's dick missed Steve's hand.  That made him almost as angry as Steve's reaction.  "What?"

"It's just—It's just--"  Steve let loose a flurry of giggles.  "It's just that you're acting so shy and all and – you had sex like that?  With some version of me?  Jesus!"

"That you was very gentle!"

"Oh, I'm sure I was!" Steve cawed.  "I'm sure I was gentle as fuck!"

Bucky reached down to adjust himself, then moved to get off the bed. 

"Oh, no, you don't!"  Steve caught him.  "Buck, come on.  Can't you see how funny this is?  I mean, I sitting here just trying to get you to fuck me, because my Bucky fucked your Steve, and you're acting like a monk or something, and you fucking had multiples!  I've never had multiples!  I don't know any dude who has had multiple orgasms!"

"So?" Bucky asked.

"So?  So?  What I'm saying is, you experienced some majorly awesome sex, and you don't want to have sex again?  I mean, you said you only knew this other Steve for, like, two weeks, and you're having sex like that?"

Bucky refused to tell this Steve that he'd actually only known that particular Steve for a few hours.

"Okay, so, I'm sorry.  I guess you need a couple of weeks to work up to that?  I'm sorry for rushing you."  Steve did sound sincere now.  He rested his head on Bucky's shoulder with his arm twined through Bucky's.  "I mean, you must have done other stuff, though, right?  You don’t just start with barely kissing and end up fucking that hard after, like, a day."

If only he knew, Bucky thought.  That was exactly how it had happened.  Maybe even less than a day.  Well, to be fair, the kissing had been going on for a while.  It was just the blow job and mind-blowing sex happening in the same day.

"You're smiling," said Steve slowly.  "What haven't you told me yet?"

Bucky stopped smiling.  "I'm not smiling."

"Come on.  Spill."

He couldn't look at Steve.  Instead, he looked at the corner of the room, which was fairly immaculate, and said, "A lot has happened in the last two days."

When he glanced back, he saw Steve waiting with eyebrows raised.  Go on.  Bucky sighed.

"Okay, so I was in this Starkbucks world for a couple of weeks.  And it took me a while to get to where we were making out, and that was all we did was make out, until the exact day when Vision showed up to try to get me home.  Only he hadn't quite figured it out yet, and he disappeared and then you asked if you could give me a blow job."

A smile began to bloom on Steve's face.  "And then?"

"So you gave me a blow job, and it was pretty good, I mean, you said you'd never done that before, and I'd never received one before.  So it was good.  And then we went to this dinner party at Natasha's apartment, and then Vision showed up in the bathroom and I thought I was going home but I blinked and I was in an animal shelter."

Steve blinked, his smile dropping away.  "An animal shelter?"

"It was weird.  And then you walked in, and you were a cop, and you kept asking if I was okay, and you took me home, because apparently we lived together in this big old farmhouse, and it was all really weird.  I was trying to play along, but we were married, and that felt very strange, because if I was going to pretend to be this other me, I had to pretend I was married to you."

"This sounds like a really messed up dream."

"It felt that way, too.  So, um, we were lying in bed, and you were just trying to... feel me up, or whatever, and when I pulled away you asked what was wrong, and I said I was tired, and I don't know if we were having marital problems before but you seemed upset, and I didn't want to ruin some other me's marriage, so I just said, okay, we can do whatever you want.  And then... the sex."

"Aw, you're so sweet, saving our marriage."  Steve kissed him.  "So what was the vibrating thing?"  As Steve asked the question, he got up and moved to the nightstand and opened the drawer.  "Was it like this?"

Steve pulled out a hyper-realistic dildo.

"No!" Bucky said, wincing.

"Like this?"  The next thing he pulled out was a neon pink plastic nub that whirred when Steve flicked a switch.

"No.  It was like," Bucky made a circle with his hands, "a ring?  A blue ring that--"

Steve pulled out the exact device that cop Steve had used on him.  He looked a little freaked out.

"Yes," said Bucky.  "It looked like that."

When Steve looked at Bucky again, his eyes were dark, and a smile tugged at his lips.  "This could be fun," he said.

Chapter Text

While Steve buzzed around the room gathering up various supplies, Bucky subtly covered himself with a sheet and decided to satisfy his curiosity.

“So what do I do here?” he asked.

Steve leaned out of the closet and winked.  “You lie there and wait for me.”

“No,” Bucky said, “I mean, what do I do for a job?”

“Oh.”  Disappearing back into the closet, Steve said, “You teach martial arts.”

“And I guess you draw Captain America comics.”

“You got it.  What gave it away?  The giant drawing table in the living room?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”  Bucky had no idea what was taking Steve so long.  It made him a little nervous.  “Who else am I friends with here?  Sam?”

“Sam?  Sam’s my friend.  You don’t really know him.”

“Oh.  What about Wanda?”

“Who?”

“Wanda.  Wanda Maximoff?”

Steve backed out of the closet.  In his arms were a bunch of silk scarves, a long green wig, and a leather belt.  “Who the fuck is Wanda?”

“I guess maybe you don’t know her here,” Bucky said.  “Um, how about T’challa?  Or Scott?”

Steve was just staring at him now.

“What?  You don’t know them?  That’s weird.”

“Well, who are they in your world?”

“Wanda has psychic powers, she’s called Scarlet Witch.  And T’Challa is the ruler of Wakanda.  He turns into this cat-person?  I don’t know if it’s a special suit or if he really becomes a cat, but he’s fucking scary.  And Scott’s Ant-Man.”

For a long minute Steve stared at Bucky.  “Did you just make that up?”

“No.”

“Who’s Wanda?  Is she somebody you work with?”

“I guess.  At the coffee shop.”

Steve shook his head.  “I can’t… I don’t get this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“Okay, come on.  You couldn’t just be from one parallel universe you had to be from, like, three?  Come on.”

Bucky didn’t know how to answer that.

“Sputnik,” Steve said.

And Bucky definitely didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Sputnik,” Steve repeated.  “You know what sputnik means.  What are you talking about?  Who are all these people?  Did you make them up just to fuck with me?”

“No,” said Bucky.  “They’re people.  They were all on our side, when we had to fight Iron Man, and all of them work at Starkbucks, so I figured you would know them--”

“I said sputnik!” Steve yelled, dropping everything in his hands.  “Come on, Buck.  This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m just explaining—”

“What’s the point of a safe word if you can’t stop fucking roleplaying?  Jesus.”  Steve stalked out of the room. 

Easing out from under the sheet and pulling on his underwear, Bucky followed Steve into the living room.  “What’s a safe word?” Bucky asked.

“Stop it!” Steve said, whirling around.  He looked ready to cry.  “Stop, okay?  I know I said I was jealous of the other Steve but I don’t want you to really be other Bucky and you’re freaking me out.”

“But… you said…” Bucky was beginning to put it together.  “You said you knew I was from a parallel universe.”

“Yeah.  I said that.  Because we fucking agreed last night that we would have to do a roleplay where I got to have my way with the other Bucky, because you got to have two months with fucking Captain America.  So when you woke up and started acting weird I figured it was starting.  Right?  I mean, all that shit about some dude who can just find you and beam you back, that’s a convenient story.”

“It’s true,” Bucky said, and that was when Steve came at him.  Bucky backed up - he didn’t especially want to get punched by an angry naked Steve – and Steve, without touching him, got Bucky’s back up to the wall. 

“I said the safe word,” Steve said again.  He blinked, and his left eye overflowed.  The tear tripped down Steve’s face and landed on Bucky’s bare foot.  “Are you mad at me for wanting this?  Are you mad because you couldn’t say the safe word and have me back right away, is that what you’re trying to prove?  Because I’m sorry.  I don’t want it anymore.  This is weird and I want you.  My Bucky.  Not some other universe’s Bucky.  Okay?  So please stop pretending.”

“I wish I was pretending,” Bucky said.  “I’m sorry.”

Finally, Steve backed up.  He backed up until he hit the coffee table, then he stumbled back a step further until he collapsed on the couch, fists in his eyes.  “I hate when you’re mad at me,” Steve said, his voice breaking.

“I’m not mad at you.” 

“Obviously you are!  Look, I’m sorry I was jealous, okay?  I’m sorry I said I wondered what it would be like if you had swapped.  I don’t wanna play this game anymore.” 

Now Bucky really didn't know what to do.  Steve was upset, but he seemed upset at Bucky.  Because somehow Bucky wasn't playing this game right.  "So, you and I agreed to do this playing roles thing last night," Bucky began.

"You can stop pretending," Steve said.  "You're not even that good at it.  Who doesn't know what role playing is?"

"I don't," said Bucky.  "It's like you're acting out a scene?"  He thought about what was about to happen in the bedroom.  "All just to have sex?"

Steve stood up.  "I'm going to see if Nat is still here."  He actually opened the door before realizing he was naked, then went back into the bedroom.

There didn't seem to be anything Bucky could do to change Steve's mind.  Apparently, he thought Bucky was just pretending to be from a parallel universe.  And whatever Bucky had said in the bedroom had bothered Steve.  He tried not to flinch at all the slammed drawers and doors, and when Steve stormed back out, Bucky said, "What did I say that bothered you so much?  I don't get it."

"Who is Wanda?" Steve said, throwing up his hands.  "I thought you were just going to use the characters from the comic books, and now you're just making all kinds of shit up that doesn't make sense!  There's no Wanda or Scott or that other dude, I don't even know his name.  It's like you were speaking in tongues and it freaked me out, and now you're ignoring the safe word and I don't like it!"

"But even Nat thinks I'm from a parallel universe!"  At the look on Steve's face, Bucky understood.  "Oh.  She was just part of the game."

Steve glared at him and flung open the door so hard it bounced off the hinges and slammed shut behind him.

With a sigh, Bucky turned to the windows.  This was messed up.  He had popped into this world at the absolute worst time.  Maybe if this Bucky and Steve had discussed a parallel universe role playing thing a long time ago, that would have been better.  But now, in a world where Bucky thought maybe Steve actually understood what was happening, Steve couldn't make himself believe that it was actually happening.  Because that would be a huge, unbelievable coincidence.

Bucky didn't quite understand a life where you'd pretend to be somebody else just to make it more interesting.  It made him homesick for his own Steve, especially after all the different Steves he had met.  It didn't help that he was staring out at a city that used to be his whole world.  Rain lightly misted over the view below, softening its edges, reminding him of the Brooklyn he once knew.  It suddenly occurred to him that while he had been running around trying to pretend to be the Bucky each Steve knew, he had started to lose himself a little bit.  He had already lost so much of himself that he hadn't noticed.

He returned to the bedroom and found clothes, a light jacket, and shoes.  What else did he need?  Keys to the apartment, he supposed, maybe an ID.  But did he really need those things?  Before he could really convince himself that no, he did not, Steve returned with Natasha.  "Where are you going?" Steve asked.

"For a walk," said Bucky.

Natasha just looked at him, observing.  He met her eyes, then continued out the door.

"Do you have your phone?" Steve asked.

"No."

"What about your keys?  Or your wallet?" 

"What do I need them for?" Bucky asked, feeling tired.  "They're not mine."

Steve went into the bedroom and returned with all three items.  He held them out, and Bucky took them.  He supposed it would help the Bucky whose body he was occupying, should the switch happen while he was out.  Steve didn't say anything else.  Neither did Natasha.  Bucky looked at each of the familiar strangers, then left.

***

He'd had so little time alone lately, no time to catch his breath, that the fresh rain that smelled of wet leaves (with an undercurrent of garbage) hit him hard.  He took another deep breath, and another.  How long since he'd been able to breath big and deep like this, without his mind scrambling along to the next thing? 

A lot of the buildings looked different, but if he squinted, he found that he could see the shape of the city from his childhood.  This city hadn't been destroyed by an alien invasion a few years ago.  There had never been a threat quite like that – not here, anyway. 

For nearly an hour Bucky walked around, even stopped in at the Brooklyn Public Library (he left almost immediately – it was all too different for him).  Finally he stopped at an actual Starbucks, bought a cup of hot coffee, and sat down on a bench to drink it and people-watch.  He thought about buying a newspaper and learning more about the world he was in, then decided not to.  He didn't need to know much more about this world than he already did.  Vision would find him, and he would go back.  Maybe if he sat still, Vision would have an easier time of it.

When the streets filled with people on their lunch break, and Bucky's ass started to hurt from sitting so long, he started walking again. 

He found a building with a circular logo on the windows that looked familiar.  Stark Meditations, the sign said, and it all made sense.  Steve had called Tony their yoga teacher.  It seemed like the one common thread about Tony was his business sense and the need to have his name slapped on a building.

Bucky walked on past. 

In a record store a few blocks down, Bucky spied a familiar face: the kid, Spider-Man.  He had on a pair of headphones and was bopping his head around while he switched out a display in the store's front window.  Bucky smiled at him, though the kid didn't seem to see him.

His stomach began to rumble, and he headed to an old-fashioned diner where he found a seat at the counter and ordered a roast beef sandwich. 

He was alone, as he had been in Bucharest.  He wondered if he could hide here, away from everything.  Here he'd be safe from himself.  No code words implanted in his brain.  No brainwashing, period.  Or maybe he'd been fooling himself.  Maybe the words were still there, and if someone here spoke them, he'd become Winter Soldier again, only without the super strength.  The switch would be permanent if he died in this body. 

Still, it was nice to not be hunted.

He could walk off into the sunset, hop a train – could people still do that? - and vanish. 

But there was Steve.  They were like magnets, the two of them, revolving around each other even when they weren't drawn together.  He'd had a long time to be someone else without Steve, and he didn't like that person.  The Winter Soldier.  The killer.  Steve reminded him of who he had been, who he could be. 

His Steve, though.  Not these other Steves.

Except...

He remembered that first kiss from coffeeshop Steve, how shy they'd both been.  How nice it had been to just hold each other.  Bucky still wanted that.  His Steve, when he'd found Bucky after years, had barely touched him.

But he had faith that his Steve could do these things.  Hugging.  Maybe kissing.

Oh, and then there was cop Steve.  Confident and caring and dear God... Bucky stared down at his plate while his body remembered, and hoped the waitress didn't notice.  He wouldn't mind that again, either.  And while this Steve had completely thrown him off, he remembered Steve's sense of humor.  How willing Steve had been to go along with any scheme of Bucky's, and vice versa.  And clearly Steve had been playing some kind of game with Bucky this morning, and thought Bucky was in on the game as well.  It had been a long, long time since Bucky had played any kind of game other than hide-and-seek. 

It might be nice to have a fun-loving Steve again.  And maybe if Steve didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, didn't have to protect Bucky from everyone and had someone to share the burden with... well, maybe that Steve could have fun role playing too.  With Bucky.

When he was finished eating lunch, Bucky used the restroom.  He took much longer than needed.  Vision never showed up, however, and Bucky left feeling disappointed.  There didn't seem like there was much else for him to do, unless he actually planned on running away.  He just had to let this run its course.  Which meant he would need to return to the apartment, make amends with this Steve, and deal with it.

He took his time, and the afternoon shadows had started making long stripes across the sidewalks when Bucky arrived back at the address on the ID in his wallet. 

Inside, Steve was sitting at his desk in a pool of light from the adjustable lamp.  He had heard the door opening, clearly, because he was looking up when Bucky walked in. 

"Hi," said Bucky.

"Hi," said Steve.

"I'm sorry," said Bucky.

Steve sighed.  "No, I'm sorry.  This was all a stupid idea.  I guess... I didn't realize how you felt.  I mean, I know you were worried about me when I... wasn't me, but we've been treating it like this funny story for so long that it didn't seem like a big deal anymore.  I didn't realize what you went through.  I'm sorry."

At the end of this speech, Steve looked at Bucky with such sorrow Bucky knew he couldn't do this how he had planned.  He crossed the room, and hugged Steve tight, pulling Steve's head into his chest.  Steve's arms wrapped around his waist.  Bucky didn't let go for a long time. 

"I have an idea," he said finally, when he could talk. 

"What?" They released their hug and Steve looked up at Bucky with shining eyes.

"A new roleplaying game," said Bucky.

Steve's eyes dulled a bit.

"You pretend to be captain America, and I pretend to be Winter Soldier."

"We've already done that one," Steve complained.

Bucky grabbed Steve's head and crushed it to his chest again.  While Steve's arms flailed, Bucky said, "Not the way I'm thinking."

Chapter Text

The Captain America uniform Steve had hanging in his closet wasn't quite the same.  This was more along the lines of the old costume.  The first costume.  The one Bucky had asked Steve if he was keeping.  That was okay.  He still looked like Steve.

Bucky waited until Steve put down the photo album and “noticed” him.  They looked at each other across the living room, Steve in his bright red, white, and blue costume, Bucky in his undercover clothes and a baseball cap.  The cap had the Yankees logo on the front.

“Do you know me?” Steve asked.

His voice had that same deep quality Bucky remembered.  Despite the different room, different country, and vaguely different outfits, Bucky almost couldn’t speak.  He was right back in Bucharest.

“You’re Steve,” Bucky said finally.  “I read about you in a museum.”

Steve should have been an actor.  He said his lines just as Bucky remembered.  “I know you’re nervous.  You have plenty of reason to be.  But you’re lying.”

Now it was time.  Time to play this out the way it should have been.

“I’m sorry,” said Bucky.  “I’m sorry for everything I did.  Everything they made me do.”

“That wasn’t you,” Steve said, stepping forward. 

“I almost killed you.”  This came out as a whisper.  “You’re my best friend and I almost killed you.”

Steve was moving closer, and instinctively Bucky backed away.  That’s what he would have done back in Romania, anyway.  “Bucky.”  He kept backing up until he was against a wall.  Steve approached until he was about a foot away.  “Look at me, Buck.”

He couldn’t look Steve in the eye.  He had said this out loud – he had almost killed Steve.  How could anyone forgive him for murder?  Bucky had recognized Steve in those last moments of the fight on the helicarrier, and had hurled him down anyway. 

Another step closer.  Bucky cringed back against the wall.  Shame heated his body.  If he had been stronger, somehow, he could have broken through Hydra’s brainwashing.  So many lives might have been saved. 

Steve’s hand cupped his face, tugged at it until Bucky finally looked up at Steve.  “Bucky, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was!” Bucky said, knocking Steve’s hand away.  “I should have fought harder!”

“I’m still alive, Buck!  You didn’t kill me!” Steve’s voice had risen.  “We’ve all done things we regret.  It’s time you got your head out of your ass and realized that I’m still here.  And you’re here.  And we’re stronger together.”

Steve took another step closer, and he dropped the flimsy plastic shield he was holding so he could grab both of Bucky’s hands.  Bucky looked at Steve through blurry eyes.  “We’re together,” Steve repeated. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, glancing back down at their hands. 

“I’ve been trying to find you.  For the past two years I’ve been looking for you, because I finally realized something.  I realized –”  Steve’s voice choked off, and he took a moment to compose himself.  “I realized that I love you, Bucky.  Not as just a friend.  I love you.”

Even though they had discussed how they wanted this scene to go, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to say those particular words.  They’d never said those words to each other, unless it was something casual thrown around like Love you, ya big idiot.

And Bucky found that he couldn’t say the words back.  His mouth opened and closed and no sound came out. 

But Steve.  Steve wiped away the tears on his cheeks and kissed him, and that was when Bucky could show Steve how he felt.  He pushed his mouth against Steve’s, gripped Steve’s hips tight.  It didn’t take long before Bucky was feeling that familiar craving for Steve’s body he had felt back with coffeehouse Steve, only he was somehow feeling a little confused in his head because this Steve almost felt like his Steve.  He wrapped his arms fully around Steve’s narrow waist, and Steve had him pinned up against the wall with just his mouth.  Two years had passed since Bucky had dropped Steve into the Potomac and hauled him out again.  Seventy years had passed since Bucky had reached for Steve’s hand only to miss and fall from a train down into the depths of hell.  And even though Bucky had kissed a Steve as recently as yesterday, he felt the ache of all that time as he kissed Steve now.

When they finally came up for air, who knows much later, they looked at each other, gasping for air.  “Whoa,” said Steve.

In response, Bucky kissed him again.  They moved to the couch.  In the back of Bucky’s head, he found himself thinking that the soldiers would be there to take him out any second.  He couldn’t quite get himself into the present moment.  He was back there, in that crummy apartment, with Steve.  “We have to leave,” Bucky panted. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Steve kissed Bucky’s neck.  “It’s just us, Buck.  No one’s coming.”

“They’re coming,” Bucky sighed.  “And I’ll end up hurting you again.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“I’m going to hurt you again!” Bucky shoved Steve away from him.  Steve staggered a few steps back and stared in shock.  “I can’t let that happen, Steve.”

In an instant, Steve was back on him.  He pushed Bucky back up against the wall.  “Bucky, I love you,” Steve said.  “I love you and I won’t let them hurt you.  Please, stay with me.”

“We have to get out of here!” Bucky said.

Steve looked a bit perplexed, but then he was reaching down and picking up his shield.  Holding it so that it protected himself and Bucky against the wall, he said, “Let’s go.  Into the bedroom.  We’ll be safe in there.”

But there is no bedroom, Bucky wanted to say.  And when he remembered the bedroom, he thought, They’ll find us in there.  We’re surrounded.  Then he surfaced from this fantasy.  That’s what this was.  He crept along behind Steve’s plastic shield.  Steve did seem to move exactly as his Steve would have, keeping him safe until they got into the bedroom and closed the door.  This was a fantasy, and this wasn’t his Steve.

“We’re safe now, Bucky,” Steve said.  He moved toward Bucky again, but Bucky had backed up and was sitting on the bed.  “What’s wrong?”

"I... I don't know how to do this," Bucky said.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, then shook his head.  "Are we still role playing?"

Bucky looked at the worn spots on the knees of his jeans.  "Can we try a different scenario?"

"Okay..."

"It would require us going in the elevator."

"Dressed like this?" Steve didn't look thrilled at the prospect.  "I mean, it's been a while since we've had elevator sex but I don't know about the elevator in our building..."

"Maybe... we could pretend the bathroom is the elevator?"

"Buck, what's going on?"  Steve sat down beside him.  "I don't know what you want me to do."

He had thought this would work.  If he could rewrite some of those moments, make Steve react the way he wished Steve had.  Of course, in those moments, he hadn't been aware of his own feelings.  He hadn't known what he had yearned for from Steve until now.

"Okay, so let's pretend..."  Bucky stood up, took off his cap and jacket, then stripped until he was down to his undershirt.  "Pretend I'm about to go into cryo.  I decided that until someone's come up with a cure for brainwashing, I want to be frozen, and you have one last chance to say something to me."  Bucky quickly explained to Steve what he had to say. 

"Can I take off this stupid helmet?" Steve asked.

"Oh.  Yeah.  You don't need the shield either.  And pretend I have only one arm."

Giving Bucky a sidelong look, Steve took off his helmet.  Bucky smiled a little at the way Steve's hair stuck up. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve said, "You sure about this?"

"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky said.  "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing... for everybody."

Steve watched Bucky lie down.  Bucky actually closed his eyes like he was going to be blasted with intense cold air any second.  Finally Steve said, "It's not the best thing for me." 

He sounded so broken that Bucky opened his eyes. 

"Bucky, I should have told you before."  Steve knelt down, took Bucky's hand.  "It's a long story, but I realized... I realized how much you mean to me.  You're my best friend.  And more.  And... I only just now found you and I can't lose you again.  Not this soon.  Please, I only just got you back."

"It's better for everyone this way," Bucky repeated.  "I don't want to hurt you.  They can make me hurt you."

"So I should just let you do this?  I should watch you freeze for how many years, forget about me all over again?" Steve pressed Bucky's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.  "Please, Bucky.  I... I love you."

"You can't love me," Bucky said.  "I murder people, Steve.  I'm a killer.  I've done terrible things..."  He had to look away.

"I don't care!  I know you, and I know you didn't want to do any of it." As he spoke, Steve began to crawl onto the bed with Bucky.  "Please.  Stay with me."

It was hard to resist Steve when he was fighting Bucky with not just words but his whole body.  "How can you love someone like me?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Bucky..." Steve pulled him close and wrapped his limbs around Bucky – not just his arms around Bucky's neck, but his feet around Bucky's thighs, like he could physically prevent Bucky from deciding to go into cryo.  "I've always loved you.  You can't change that."  He kissed Bucky's temple before pushing Bucky's head back into his chest.  "Not even... Hydra can change that." 

It had taken Steve a second to come up with the unfamiliar word.  That one second, though, was enough to throw him out of the pretend scenario.

If only Steve had tried to stop him.  Like this, or at all.  He felt the front of Steve's uniform becoming damp against his face and knew it was his own tears causing it.  Steve hadn't tried to stop him.  He had only asked Bucky if this was what he really wanted.

In a way, that was exactly how Steve would have reacted.  Neither of them had ever tried to stop the other from doing something they had their mind set on.  Bucky hadn't tried to stop Steve from going to recruiting center after recruiting center trying to get into the army, even though Bucky feared Steve would get killed over there.  Sure, he might have told Steve he was being stupid, but he never said, "You shouldn't do this."  He had only challenged Steve, asking him what his motives were.  Was Steve just trying to prove something to himself, or did he honestly want to be a soldier?

That was what Steve had been doing.  Making sure Bucky really wanted this, that he wasn't doing it because he was afraid, or wanting to hide.  And that was all because Steve really did love him.  He loved him enough to let him make his own decisions.

Bucky cried himself out.  To Steve's credit, he didn't try to do anything.  Obviously, the sexual aspect of the roleplaying wasn't working out, but Steve wasn't doing what he had been doing before.  He was just comforting Bucky, and that was nice.  But eventually Bucky had to end this.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he said.

"Okay."  Steve watched him go with worried eyes.

In the bathroom, Bucky looked hard at himself.  He couldn't pretend to be this Bucky.  Where the hell was Vision? 

He splashed some water on his face and walked out of the bathroom.  "I'm sorry," he said to Steve, who was still lying on the bed. 

"Come here."  Steve patted the bed beside him.  Warily, Bucky approached.  "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything."

"I'm not your Bucky," Bucky said as he sat down.

"I know.  Come on."  Steve pulled Bucky down beside him. 

They lay there for a while without speaking.  Steve knew.  Of course he knew.  Bucky hadn't exactly been playing the part of a boyfriend very well. 

"I've known you since before I can remember," Steve said.  "Our moms were friends, so we grew up together, almost like brothers.  I can't even really remember when I realized I liked you as more than a friend.  It just happened.  I always looked up to you, I couldn't imagine you would like me back the same way."  Steve's cheek, where it was pressed against Bucky's shoulder, felt warm.  "And it grew inside me until that one time, when we were maybe thirteen, we were playing truth or dare, and I picked truth.  Just to screw with you mostly, because I always picked dare, and I knew you would try to make the truth question like a dare.  And you said, If you could kiss any boy at our school, who would it be?"

Bucky smiled at that sneaky way of asking Steve to kiss him.

"Obviously, I picked you.  And then kissed you just to prove it."  Steve looked up at Bucky, and kissed him then, softly, on the lips.  "Sorry, I know you really want your Steve to kiss you, and not me."

"I know you want to be kissing your Bucky, too."

"Yeah.  I mean, I guess I at least have memories of kissing my Bucky.  But your Steve has never kissed you, right?  That's what all this was about?"

"Yeah," Bucky whispered.  "I just... I wonder why, when I know he came here and kissed me."

"And more," Steve added.

Bucky flared his nostrils at Steve.  "Yes, and more.  So why wouldn't he tell me how he felt when he found me?"

Steve shrugged.  "Maybe he needs you to take the lead."

"Steve's always been a leader, though," Bucky mused.  "Well, I guess he's a leader if people shove him into that role.  Geez.  I'm an idiot."

Laughing, Steve kissed him again, this time a big sloppy one on his cheek.  Bucky groaned and wiped it off. 

"So, do you need me to choke you out?  To get you back?  Or were you serious about this psychic dude?"

"I was serious.  I don't know what's taking him so long, though.  Normally he figures out the mistake within a few hours.  Normally."  He shook his head.  "There's nothing normal about any of this."

"I'm sure he'll show up."  Steve smacked another kiss on him and sat up.  "What do you want for dinner?"

"Oh, I get to pick?"

"As long as you don't insult my prowess in the kitchen, I'll make whatever you want."

Chapter Text

When Vision finally showed up, Bucky was in the bathroom brushing his teeth.   He had leaned down to spit and then, when he stood up, Vision was standing right behind him.

“Jesus,” he mumbled through his toothbrush.  “I really wish you could warn me or something.”

“I do apologize.  I will be quite relieved when you are returned to the correct body.”

Bucky spit again, and rinsed his mouth out.  "So am I going back to Starkbucks-world first?"

Vision cocked his head.  "I do not understand what that means."

"I mean... I'm going back to the other body first?  Where I was in the hospital?"

"No, no.  You will return to your own body."

Carefully, Bucky put his toothbrush into the cup alongside Steve's.  He imagined blinking out and waking up with his Steve right there.  It was all he had wanted earlier... and yet, now, he knew he had to go back.  he had to try to explain things to coffehouse Steve. 

He gripped the edge of the sink and said, "Is there any way we can have a little detour?"  Only once he'd asked the question did he dare look at Vision's unreadable face.

"Mr. Barnes, I must insist that we return directly.  We have greatly disturbed the balance of the universes with this."

He made it sound like this was Bucky's fault.  Bucky was ready to take the blame for a lot of things, but "disturbing the universe" was not one of them.  What would be his fault, however, was if he left coffeehouse Steve with a Bucky who didn't remember anything, with no explanation.  Never mind what it would do for that Bucky's fragile mental health after this whole ordeal.

"I understand what you're saying, but I think I can make things right," Bucky said.  "I need to go back there.  I need to at least prepare Steve for the Bucky he's going to get."

Vision stood there for a moment.  If only the guy had some facial expression!  "Please," he said, hoping maybe that would get him somewhere.

A knock on the bathroom door had them both jumping – at least, Vision's shoulders twitched, which Bucky decided had to count for something.  "Who are you talking to in there?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked at Vision, who looked back at him with wide eyes, and Bucky decided that all this shit about disrupting the universe was just that: shit.  He opened the door.  "There's someone you need to meet," Bucky said, as Vision backed up into the shower curtain.  "This is Vision."

"Holy fuck!"  Steve also backed up until he hit the bed and sat down hard on the mattress.  "Holy fuck.  What the fuck.  Shit.  What the shit."

Through Steve's string of expletives, Bucky started talking.  "Vision's here to take me back.  I might not have mentioned that the 'psychic dude' looks a little different.  But anyway, I just wanted to prove to you that I'm really not your Bucky and all this stuff did happen, so you didn't think I was crazy."

"Shit fuck," Steve said.  "Why is his face red like that?"

"He's an A.I.  Artificial intelligence," Bucky explained.  He looked at Vision, who had recovered somewhat.  "I'm glad you didn't just blink out.  Um, can you explain what you are a little better?  I don't actually know that much about you."

"This is... this is most certainly... irregular," Vision said.  He made irregular sound as much like a swear word as anything Steve had said. 

"Sorry," said Bucky.  "I mean, I already told Steve about you so I figured it wasn't really a problem if you met him."

"We need to leave immediately," Vision said.

"So you're, like, a robot?" Steve asked.

Vision gave Steve a withering look.  Or maybe it was just his face.  "I merely inhabit an android form," he stated.

"Whoa."

Bucky left the bathroom and joined Steve on the bed.  "So, we've learned that lying down is the best way to do this," he said.

"This is no best way to do this," Vision said.  "Lying down does not help where you land."

"Well, it's best for whoever's coming back here." Bucky lay down and folded his hands over his chest.  "See, Steve, all I have to do is touch that jewel on his head and he sends me wherever.  Just with his thoughts."

"This is so crazy.  Can I get Nat and Clint to come down here and meet you?  Sometimes I get the feeling Nat thinks both me and Bucky are crazy because of all this."

"Absolutely not," said Vision.

Steve looked at Bucky.  "This is so crazy.  I love it."

"Let's do this," said Bucky, noticing the way Vision had his thin lips pressed into a flat line.  No need to piss off the artificially intelligent android.  "In a couple of seconds you'll have your Bucky back."

"Awesome."  Steve smiled, then leaned down and kissed Bucky quickly on the lips.  "I'm gonna tell him that you and I had super crazy sex."

"Please back away," Vision said to Steve.

Holding up his hands, Steve crawled backward on his knees so he was about a foot away from Bucky.

"As before," Vision instructed, and Bucky reached for the Mind Gem.

He wished he could go back and say good-bye to coffeehouse Steve.  Maybe, once he was back in his world, Vision might be talked into letting him go.  He sighed, closed his eyes, and touched down.

***

The air had a brief moment of coolness to it, then settled.  One inhalation and he knew he was in a hospital. 

He also knew he had his left arm.  He curled his fingers into a fist.

Opening his eyes, he found himself in a dark hospital room, alone.  The light shining in from the hallway gave the room a bluish cast. 

After the wave of nausea passed, he sat up a bit and tried to find some clue as to where he was.  This was definitely not his "home planet" - no way they could have gotten him an arm.  And he wasn't in the same hospital room he'd been in last time he'd been to Starkbucks land.  He turned his hands over and looked at his palms, then remembered the tattoo that had been on his wrist in the last universe.  He ran his hand up his left arm and pushed up the sleeve of the hospital gown.  There was that tattoo of the star. 

He was in Starkbucks land, but how?  Vision had told him he was going back to his own body.  What had gone wrong this time?

The quiet night hours gave him lots of time to think about that.  Maybe the universes had decided there was unfinished business here.  Or maybe he had some kind of control over where he went, and because he wanted to come here, was even thinking about this world as he touched the Mind Gem, that was where he went.

When the nurse came in, around 3 in the morning, she seemed surprised that he was awake.  "Are you having trouble sleeping, James?" she asked, checking his IV and taking his vitals.

He didn't correct her on the name.  "I was just thinking."

"Your mother brought in your journal," the nurse said, pointing to a familiar spiral-bound notebook sitting on the bedside table.  "I'm sure Dr. Pierce would be thrilled if you wrote down some of your thoughts.  You can turn on a little light here," she added, pointing to a button on the wall.

The name made the air on his arms stand on end.  He rubbed them.  "Sure.  Do I... have an appointment with him tomorrow?"

"First thing." Her voice had a patronizing tone.  He must have already been told this. 

After she left, he reached out, flicked on the light, then took the notebook into his lap.  Flipping to the end, he saw a new journal entry written in scrawled, shaky handwriting.

I don't know what's happening to me.  I had this dream that felt so real, only it couldn't have been real.  I woke up without an arm, in some kind of lab.  And I was super strong.  At first everything felt so real I couldn't believe it.  But then Steve (aka Triple Venti No-Foam Soy Latte) was there, and he was super strong too, and that was when I knew it couldn't be real.  And then they drugged me and I woke up here.  I'm not at the VA again, but I guess I'll end up back there soon.  Who did I see when I woke up?  Fucking Mr. Soy Latte.  I kinda lost it and screamed at him, and then my mom came in.  Once Steve left and it was just Mom and later Dad I felt better.  But that was a weird thing when I thought it was just a dream.  Mom told me that Steve is my boyfriend now.  I don't remember any of that.  She told me I went to the hospital a couple weeks ago but I don't remember that either.  Something about hitting my head? 

They told me when I left the VA that my memory problems would get better in time and I'd have fewer nightmares.  I guess I should have gone to those meetings with Sam.  

Shit.  He was glad he ended up back here, so he could attempt to fix this.  Of course it meant that James was going to end up back in Crazytown, aka Bucky’s actual life, but he needed to fix this.  All this time he’d been thinking more about Steve than himself.  His other self. 

He started with that other self.

James,

What I am going to tell you is probably not going to help you feel less crazy.  But you are not crazy.  Please remember that.

It seems like, for a long time, you’ve been having dreams nightmares about my life.  I’m you, from a parallel universe.  (Please keep reading).  That’s where you are right now.  Things are very different there, and I’m sorry you have somehow tapped into my experiences while you were suffering on your own here.  I think if I tell you all the shit that’s happened during my lifetime, you’d really go think you were crazy, so I won’t do that. 

I need you to trust Steve.  In my world he’s my best friend, has been my best friend for a very long time.  He will be there for you.  And I’m going to write a letter that you need to give him. 

You are not crazy.  If it helps you to believe all the gaps in your memories and your memories of waking up without an arm were nightmares, please do that.  I’m sorry for messing up your life in a matter of weeks and I hope you don’t get fired or committed to a mental hospital because of me. 

I’m not sorry for starting a relationship with Steve.  You’ll find out, it was the best decision for both of us. 

If you need to, rip up this note, burn it, flush it down the toilet.  Don’t let Alexander Pierce see it, or you might end up committed. 

Take care of yourself.  Let Steve take care of you.

Love, Bucky

He felt a little stupid signing off like that.  He wasn’t exactly sure how James would take this letter.  Would he freak out again?  Hopefully not.

Bucky turned the page and started his letter to Steve.

Steve,

I know I’ve been completely unpredictable lately.  We’ve been together such a short time and you don’t deserve this, but I’m going to try to explain and even though we haven’t known each other very long, I think you feel the same connection I do, and I can tell you in the end it will be worth it. 

The person who calls himself James doesn’t really know you.  I hope he will come to trust you and love you the way I have.  But you might need to give him some time.  Please give him some time.  It might help to completely start over.  Introduce yourself.  Tell him about Captain America – he probably won’t be as weird about it as I was.  Tell him how Natasha hooked you two up.  Answer any questions you’ve already answered for me like it was the first time.

Take care of him when he’ll let you, be patient when he won’t.

Love, Bucky

This time, signing his name with love didn’t feel so stupid.

After he snapped off the light and lay back down, sleep made his eyelids heavy.  Where are you, Vision? he asked silently.  I’m ready to go back now.  By the time he finally slipped into a dreamless slumber, Vision still had not arrived.

Chapter Text

And Vision still hadn't arrived when he woke up the following morning.  Bucky struggled out of a deep sleep and didn't say much to the nurse who brought a breakfast tray and took his blood pressure and temperature.  He felt cranky and restless.  Why couldn't anything go right, just this once?

Bucky’s father came in with something in a brown paper bag that smelled delicious.  “Figured you might be interested in some real food,” he explained, pulling out an egg sandwich and handing Bucky a hot coffee. The smell of coffee made him think of Steve. 

“Yes, please.”  He still felt wary of this father, but he recalled how Steve had said one of the other Buckys had been freaked out about his mother being there and how upset she’d been, so he wasn’t about to make a scene. 

Bucky’s father sat down on the edge of the bed as Bucky devoured the sandwich.  “You seem to be in a better headspace than last night,” he said carefully.

A full mouth was a good excuse not to speak.

“Your friend Steve was very upset,” Mr. Barnes continued.  “I hope you’d be willing to visit with him today?”

Bucky nodded, still pretending his mouth was too full to talk.  He swallowed.  “I have an appointment with Dr. Pierce this morning,” he said.

“Yes, you do.  I’m glad you remember.”

Licking some imaginary crumbs off his fingers, Bucky said, “Maybe I could visit with Steve this morning, and have my appointment with Dr. Pierce this afternoon?”  Maybe by this afternoon, Vision will have shown up and we could do this right. I’d have a chance to talk to Steve, to warn him, and then Dr. Pierce would meet with the Bucky who actually liked him.

“I’m afraid not, son.  Your friend Steve has responsibilities.  He has classes this morning.  You’ll have plenty of time to visit with him after your consult with Dr. Pierce.”

Bucky nodded, despite the grip of fear squeezing his chest.

“How are you feeling about your mother?  Are you willing to see her today?”

A wave of guilt for something he hadn’t done or had any control over.  “Yes,” said Bucky.

“Okay.”  Mr. Barnes squeezed Bucky’s knee under the blanket.  “I’ll go get her.”

The brief visit with his mother and father was completely awkward.  They seemed relieved that he was calm, but their careful sidestepping around anything involving his memories made for very little to talk about. 

And then Dr. Pierce arrived.

***

Afterwards, Bucky couldn’t quite figure out where it went wrong.  Of course, the sight of that man, his leathery skin and patronizing manner, made Bucky’s skin crawl.  He couldn’t quite pretend that he liked Dr. Pierce, and it was clear that Dr. Pierce could tell.

“What name would you prefer me to call you today?” Dr. Pierce started out.

Bucky replied, “James,” because he didn’t want any more confusion about that.

“I hear you were quite upset last night, James.  Can you tell me what was upsetting you?”

Bucky could not.  He tried.  “I’m having trouble remembering things.  Sometimes, when I wake up, I think I’m… someplace else.  Like a parallel universe.  That’s stupid.”

“Why is that stupid?” Dr. Pierce’s pale eyes bore through him.

“You know, because there’s no such thing,” Bucky said.

“No?  Not even a possibility that there’s another world just like ours out there?”

He remained quiet.  “Maybe it’s possible.  But why would it be happening to me?”

“I don’t know, James.  Why would it be happening to you?”

“I’m not special,” Bucky said.  Not here, anyway.  He had been injected with “special” by Hydra back where he came from.  Here he was just a normal guy.

“You’re avoiding the question.  If such a thing happened to you, why do you think it would happen?  Why would you, of all people, be transported into a parallel universe?”

Bucky tried to come up with an explanation.  “I don’t know… Maybe, because of my head injury, somehow that linked me up with another version of myself in another universe?  And that made it easier to switch?”

“Do you mean your head injuries from when you served?  Or your more recent head injury?”

“Both?”

Dr. Pierce wrote something down.  “You say you’ve been confused when you wake up.  Do you feel like you’ve been to another universe?”

Bucky did not want to answer that question.

“Let me ask this, then.  When, as you said, you wake up and are confused by things that are different, what are the differences?”

Bucky didn’t want to answer that either.  He knew he had dug himself a hole with that initial answer.  How could he explain why he’d think things were different, if it wasn’t a different version of himself? 

“Can you explain why you yelled at your mother the other day?”

Bucky couldn’t.

“Or why you didn’t recognize your boyfriend last night?”

And the next thing Bucky could comprehend was his father signing paperwork to have his son tranferred to the mental health ward. 

“It’s for the best,” they all said.

Bucky didn’t know how to convince them that no, it wasn’t for the best, without losing his temper.  He could get spirited away by Vision, but James would be left here, thinking he was crazy. 

His mother went home to get him some pajamas, because on the psych ward patients could wear their own clothes.  Bucky knew she would cry as soon as she left the room.  “I’m not crazy,” he said to his father.

“No one thinks you’re crazy,” Mr. Barnes said.  “They’re just going to help you feel better, okay?  Don’t worry.”

He followed an orderly up to this new room in his socks.  They had removed his IV, and he clutched his journal to his stomach, not sure what else he could do. 

“This is a nice room,” his father said about the room that looked basically like the room downstairs.  “You’ll have a roommate, I guess.”  The other bed looked rumpled and there were books on the bedside table and clothes on the chair.

“How long do I have to be here?” Bucky asked.

“I’m sure Dr. Pierce will get you transferred to the VA as soon as he can.  They just need to observe you and get a firm diagnosis.”  His father seemed to think there was some specific thing that would explain everything. 

His mother returned, and she had brought along some homemade sandwiches.  Her eyes were red and Bucky didn’t know what to say to her to comfort her.  She kept rubbing his back, and then touching his head, which he had to admit felt nice.

Finally, though, a nurse came in to tell them that they needed to do some intake stuff and an evaluation.  “Will Steve be able to come visit me later?” Bucky asked, as his parents shuffled around getting ready to leave.

“I’m afraid you won’t be allowed visitors unless they’re family.  Not for the first week.”

He was left feeling like he was in a glass prison, pinned down by metal restraints.  Trapped, and completely powerless and vulnerable. 

The intake evaluation wasn’t anything like his conversation with Dr. Pierce.  These questions were more like, “Are you currently taking any psychotropic medications?” and “Have you ever had feelings or thoughts that you didn’t want to live?” and “Do you ever want to hurt yourself?”

Once he had successfully answered the questions (success was determined by the nurse not immediately stuffing him into a straitjacket and throwing him into a padded cell), he was left alone.

Without anything to do – there wasn’t a television in the room, and he didn’t want to venture out and see what the other inmates were doing – he opened up his journal and started to write.

James – I have completely fucked everything up for you.  I hope that by the time you read this, you are no longer in the hospital, but I don’t have control over that.  Or over much of anything at the moment.

For the past seventy years I haven’t even had control of my own mind.  Even after I broke free, and thought I had escaped, ten little words were ready to unlock that beast inside me…

Even in another universe, where there is no Zemo, no Hydra, I’m still powerless against my own mind. 

I wish I had been able to pretend to be happy, like you.  It should have been so easy.

“Heeeey, roomie.”

Bucky looked up.  He didn’t recognize the guy walking in, wearing hospital scrubs.  “Are you a nurse?” Bucky asked.

“Nope.”  The guy had reddish blond hair and some scruffy facial hair.  He pulled a magazine out from under his mattress before jumping onto his bed.  “I said,” his voice rose several decibels, “Hey, roomie.”

“Why are you wearing nurse’s clothes, then?”

“They’re more comfortable.  They don’t have ties in the back, like yours.”  Bucky hadn’t changed into the clothes his mother had brought yet, and he suddenly felt the draft.  “I’m not allowed to wear things with ties.  Not even if they’re Velcro,” the guy answered happily.

“Are you on suicide watch or something?”

“Nah.” 

Without anything else to go on, Bucky asked the obvious question.  “What’s your name?”

“Peter Quill, also known as Star Lord.”

“Star Lord?”

“Uh, the polite thing to do would be to tell me your name.”

“I’m B—”  He stopped himself.  “James.”

“Buh-James.  Interesting.”

“Just James,” Bucky said.

“Sure.  I know an assumed name when I hear one.”

Bucky frowned.  “And Star Lord isn’t an assumed name?”

Peter didn’t answer him.  He was tilting his magazine sideways and unfolding a page.  “Whoa,” he said.  “Now that’s what I like.  A girl with legs.  Legs for days.”

“They let you look at Playboy in here?”

Turning the magazine, Bucky saw that he was wrong.  Peter was ogling a photo of a giraffe.

“Now I see why you’re locked up in here.”

At that, Peter laughed.  “Locked up?  We’re not locked up.  We are ‘voluntarily committed.’  They don’t like to tell you that.  But you can walk out of here at any time.  You wanna go?  There’s the door.  Don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.”

Bucky looked at the open door to their room.  Free to go?  He looked back over at Peter.  “So how come you’re still here?”

“Because I need help, duh.  Don’t you?  I mean, it’s better in here than out there.  We get meds, don’t have to work, you can spend all day doing puzzles in the day room if you want.  Unless you’re really crazy, then they send you someplace else.  This is just a holding area.”

Bucky looked at the door again.  This was not how he had ever imagined a psych ward. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.  I come here, like, once a month, for a little rest and relaxation.  Keeps things interesting.”  Peter sat up and swung his feet off the edge of the bed.  “So, what’s your deal?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug.

“Come on.  The doctors don’t send you up here for nothing.  What is it?  Anxiety?  Anger issues?  Depression?  What?”

“None of those,” Bucky said, even though all of them might apply at one time or another.

“You a delusions guy?”  Bucky hesitated before shaking his head, and that was all Peter needed.  “You are, I can tell.  What do the voices tell you?  Do you see shit?  Come on, hit me with your best conspiracy theory.  I’ve heard some doozies here.  You tell me and I’ll rate it on a scale of ho-hum to fucking insane.”

Bucky looked down at his journal.  “I’d rather not.”

“Come on, buddy, I’m not a doctor, I’m just your roomie.  Who fuckin’ cares what I think?  I’m not gonna get you sent to solitary!”

Another glance at the door.  “They have solitary confinement here?”

“No!  Weren’t you listening?  If you’re crazy enough for solitary, they ship you someplace else.”  Peter got up and moved towards Bucky’s bed.  “Don’t you want to know how crazy you are?  I’ve been here long enough that I can tell you.”

“I just have some memory problems, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.  And what crazy shit are you remembering?”

It was a bad idea to tell Peter anything.  Bucky knew that the second he mentioned parallel universes, everyone on the ward would know, because Peter would tell them.  You know that new guy?  He thinks he’s from another universe!

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky said.

“Come on—”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”  Peter returned to his bed and flopped down with his National Geographic magazine. 

Bucky looked down at his journal.  Fuck, if Peter were to read this, he’d know everything.  And if Dr. Pierce were to read this…

But he could just walk out.  That’s what Peter said. He could leave whenever he wanted.  Not that he had his phone, or wallet, or any idea how to get from this hospital to home.

All he knew was that he needed to get out before Vision showed up and switched James back into this body.

Chapter Text

Vision usually didn't show up when other people were around, that first time when he was on the street being the only fluke.  And here Bucky was never alone. 

There was only the bathroom.

He avoided the bathroom until his bladder felt about ready to burst, which was after the hospital's lunch and dinner, where Bucky met the other inmates, then realized there wasn't a bathroom in his room.  The only bathroom was a two stall bathroom, and he had to tell the nurses he had to go so one of them could stand watch at the outside doorway – there wasn't a door. 

So Vision wasn't going to be able to surprise him in the bathroom here, anyway.  In that case, he could take his time.  Maybe he could convince Dr. Pierce that he was well and be released. 

He expected bedtime to be announced, as lunch and dinner had.  But it was more of a darkening and a quieting more than a hard and fast "everyone must be in bed by nine."  Visiting hours ended at eight, not that Bucky had any visitors.  He supposed his parents would come by tomorrow.  It would be easier to pretend he was James if they didn't.

He was settling in under the covers with a paperback book from the bookshelf in the common room – a tattered old copy of something that hadn't been published when he was born, that looked like it was vaguely about soldiers – when he heard a sharp voice at the doorway.  "Barnes!"

Struggling to his elbows, he looked over the gruff figure in the doorway, wearing olive green scrubs.  "Yeah?"

"You missed med call."

That was when Bucky noticed the little paper pill cup in the nurse's hand.

"Sorry, I didn't know I was on any meds." 

"Everyone here is on meds.  Let's go."

"Oh."  He got out of bed, and walked over to the nurse.  The nurse's nametag labelled him as Chester. 

"Bottoms up."

Bucky took the cup, then hesitated.  "Is there any water?" He asked.

"If you'd gone to med call you would have gotten water."

He stared at the two white pills in the cup.  He could probably choke them down without water, or chew them up, but he didn't want to.  "How am I supposed to...?"

Chester sighed and stepped out of the doorway, then gestured to the water fountain.  "Let's go, princess."

"What are these pills for?"

"You take the pills now, and you talk about them with your doctor tomorrow."

"I mean, he didn't say I would be put on any meds..."

"Talk to your doctor tomorrow."

The pills tasted bitter, and shortly after climbing into bed and reading a few pages, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

The next morning, more meds.  He joined the line of zombies when it was announced, hoping he would be turned away, but he was given another paper cup.  "When's my appointment with Dr. Pierce?" he asked.

"How should I know?  You gotta wait until after meds, then we can check."

"What kind of pills are these?" Bucky asked.

"Look, it says in your file to give you pills, I give you pills.  You have to talk to your doctor about it."

Bucky did not want to take those two little green pills.  Part of him understood that they wanted all the patients to sleep well, but what meds did he need when he was awake?  He wasn't violent – not that he knew of.  "Can't you even tell me what kind of pills they are?  Don't you have a chart or something--?"

The nurse heaved a big sigh.  "You're holding up the line."

"I didn't get prescribed any pills!  I just want to know what I'm taking, what it's for!"

Now the nurse was looking over her shoulder at the other nurse, who was a burly man with a goatee and tattoos.  "Is there a problem?" The other nurse said.

"This one wants to know what pills he's taking."

"You refusing to take your meds?"

"I just want to know what they are!"

The burly nurse attempted to stare him down.  Finally he looked at the chart and grabbed a file out of the stack.  "Lurasidone," he said, then challenged Bucky with his gaze again.  "Does that help?"

Bucky had no idea what kind of drug that was.  The last thing he wanted was to be doped up like he was last night when he had to deal with Dr. Pierce.  "What's it for?"

"You have to discuss this with your doctor," the first nurse said, slowly and loudly. 

"Are you refusing to take your meds?" The other nurse demanded.

If he said yes, they might label him as uncooperative.  Or maybe they would somehow force him to take the pills, hold him down.  If he said no, he might not be able to think clearly. 

Bucky handed the cup back to the nurse.  "Yes.  I am refusing to take them."

"Fine," the first nurse snipped, and took the cup back and made a big red X on the chart.  "Next!"

He hovered there for a moment, waiting for a consequence, then hurried away while he still could. 

"Fuck, refusing meds on your first day?  You got balls," said Pete.  "You're gonna hear it when you meet with your doctor."

Bucky threw up his hands.  "I don't even know when that will be.  They don't want to tell me anything!"

"Whatever.  Let's get breakfast."

Pete talked his ear off about the ward, how things were, who all the different patients were and why they were here.  Bucky only half listened.  When he attempted to go back to his room after breakfast, Pete stopped him.  "They clean the rooms after breakfast.  Come on.  Let's go play a game."

The last thing Bucky wanted to do was play games.  He looked over at the nurse's station.  "When can I go ask about my doctor's appointment?"

Laughing, Peter said, "Yeah, good luck with that."  He tugged on Bucky's arm to pull him toward the couches and recreation tables, but Bucky shook him off.

"This is stupid.  I need to talk to him.  I need to get out of here."

"Sure, dude.  Like I said, good luck with that."

Bucky headed over to the nurse's station.  He stood there for a minute, waiting for one of them to notice him, but it seemed like they were pointedly ignoring him.  "Excuse me," he said finally.

"Ah, the new guy," said the burly nurse, folding his arms across his chest.  "What's the problem now?"

"I just want to know when I'm supposed to meet with Dr. Pierce," Bucky said.  All this work, like he even wanted to see Dr. Pierce.  He'd be happy if he never saw that man again.

The nurse heaved a sigh and said, "Name?"

"James Buchanan Barnes."

The nurse looked like he was suppressing a smile.  "Fancy.  Here we go.  Barnes."  For a few moments he was silent, looking over the intake form.  "Says here you prefer to be called 'Bucky'?"

"No," Bucky said.  "James.  Or Jay."

"Interesting."

The nurse fell silent again, until Bucky couldn't stand it.  "Does it say when I'm meeting with Dr. Pierce?" he asked.

"Nope."  The nurse snapped the thin file shut. 

"So how can I talk to him about my meds if I don't have a meeting with him?"

"He should be making rounds sometime today or tomorrow," the nurse told him.

He wanted to scream.  He wanted to shout at the nurses that it wasn't good enough, he needed to talk to Dr. Pierce now. 

"You look like you might be a little angry," the nurse said, getting to his feet.  "Are you feeling unsafe?"

Bucky unclenched his fists.  "I'm fine," he said.  "I'll just go wait..." He gestured to the rec area.  "Over there."

"You don't want to cause problems on your first day," the nurse warned.

Bucky didn't bother responding.  His chest felt tight and he was clenching his jaw.  He definitely needed to get out of here, sooner rather than later.

There was a television mounted near the ceiling, playing old movies.  Well, movies that were old now, but which were probably not as old as Bucky was.  He sat down and tried to ignore Pete.  No, he didn't want to play a board game.  Fine, he would help Pete do a puzzle.  The whole time he brooded over what he could do. 

Eventually, he saw that he could go back into his room, and he did that after telling Pete he had to use the bathroom.  Lifting the mattress, he felt around for his journal, but it wasn't there.  He checked the whole room, under the bed, under Pete's mattress.  There weren't too many places something could be lost.

Back to the nurse's station.

"Hi," he said, this time not waiting for the nurses to notice him.  "I had a journal in my room and now it's gone."

"Ah, yes.  One of the cleaning staff turned this in."  The nurse held up the journal, and pointed to the spiral wire holding the pages together.  "See this?  This is contraband.  You can't have this."

"But I had it when I checked in!  No one told me then!"

"Sorry."  The nurse chucked it in a bin with a bunch of other things that were apparently contraband, including cell phones, sneakers, and belts.  "I don't make the rules."

"But... But I use that for my therapy," Bucky said.

"Then I'll make sure Dr. Pierce sees it when he gets here."

No!  Bucky sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm.  If Dr. Pierce saw that, he'd be locked up forever.  "Please, can I just write in it?  Like, I'll sit right here and write in it."

"Nope.  Sorry."

The guy didn't look sorry.

Bucky returned to his room.  He found himself pacing, tugging at his hair.  He needed to get out of here.  Dr. Pierce would have a field day with that journal.  He needed to get that journal back, and then get out of here.  Maybe he could make a run for it.  Jump the counter that separated the nurses from the patients, grab his notebook, and bolt out the door. 

He was so used to punching his way out of things, using brute force, that he had forgotten that he didn't have enhanced strength in this world. 

Returning to the common room, he sat down at the puzzle table with Peter. 

What followed was the most excruciatingly long day of his life.

***

On his third day in the ward, he finally met with Dr. Pierce.

“How have you been feeling?” Dr. Pierce asked, without looking at him.

Bucky stared at the man through bleary eyes.  When they had called him for meds after lunch that first day, he had refused again.  The nurses had lectured him about not complying with treatment and what that would mean.  Without the meds, he found himself alert in a room full of the walking dead.  Even Pete zoned out for several hours in the afternoon. 

He had to do whatever it took to get this body out of this hospital.  Maybe he needed to “comply with treatment.”  So, yesterday morning, he had agreed to take the meds.

It was a mistake.  The nurses didn’t seem to notice his balance was off, that his speech was slurred, that he couldn’t focus on anything except a fixed point on the wall for half the day.  And when it came time for meds again, he couldn’t quite come up with the words to refuse.

“Tired,” he said.

“That’s to be expected, until you get used to the Lurasidone.  What I’ve prescribed for you is a pretty heavy antipsychotic.  I’d be surprised if you weren’t tired.”

Bucky thought for a long time.  He couldn’t quite remember how to put together a sentence.  “So if I take the pills I can go home?” he asked finally.

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Pierce said, and pulled Bucky’s journal out of his pile of papers.  “Based on what you’ve been writing, it sounds like you’ve been suffering from delusions for quite some time, perhaps even as far back as your time in the VA hospital.  Once you’re stabilized on your meds we’ll have you transferred there, but we need to ensure that you’re not dangerous or suicidal.”

“I’m not,” Bucky said.  His voice sounded far away.

“Yes, well, the nurses have reported that you’re defiant and aggressive, and we can’t have that.  Hopefully the medication will help.”

Before he could think of how to respond, Dr. Pierce was filing all his papers away and saying, “I’ll see you next week, then.”

“Next… week?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, at our next appointment.  Tell Janet she can come in when you leave, yes?”

“But…”  Bucky looked at the door, then back at Pierce.  “But how do I get out of here?”

“The door,” Pierce said, gesturing.

“I mean… Can I call Steve?  I have to talk to him.”

Pierce gave him a patronizing look.  “I’m afraid not.”

“They said… after a week… I could call him.”

“James, based on what I’ve read here,” Pierce patted the journal, “your relationship with Steve is extremely unhealthy.  It’s best to nip that in the bud.”

“No!” Bucky cried, though the sound didn’t quite relay the horror he felt.  “Please, he’s my best friend.”

“How long have you known him?”

“My whole life… he’s my best friend…”

“James, I think we both know that isn’t true.  Now, we will discuss all this next week, once you’ve stabilized.  Please ask Janet to come in.”

“This… isn’t fair!” Bucky said.

“I’m beginning to see what the nurses were talking about.”  Pierce flipped open Bucky’s file and made a notation.  “The defiant behavior.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else he could do.  He got up, holding onto the arms of the chair until the room stopped spinning, then shuffled to the door.

Maybe, if he didn’t take his pills tonight, he’d have a clear enough mind to escape.  Because it looked like escape was his only option.

Chapter Text

It was nearing midnight, and things would have been quiet on the ward if Bucky didn't have a headache making every tiny sound stab at his brain.  The nurses barely attempted to be quiet, and the night staff liked to watch TV and joke around, since all the patients were drugged into a deep, dreamless sleep.  Pete was snoring, something Bucky hadn't noticed yet because until now he had spent every night also drugged.  Doors kept opening and shutting, and people kept walking by, and all of it was excruciating.  He knew it was withdrawal – withdrawal, already?  But yes, these were the unmistakable signs of withdrawal after only three days.   

When he did manage to fall asleep, he had the same shivering cold dreams of cryo.  He curled into a ball with his thin blankets clutched around him, wishing Steve was here.  With Steve he wouldn't feel this way, not at all. 

Earlier, he had thought nighttime would be the best time to escape.  But if he got out of bed, he'd be the sole focus of all the nurses on duty.  They'd be watching him go to the bathroom.  They'd be taking notes on his poor sleep and up his dosage tomorrow night.  When he met with Dr. Pierce next week, he was sure any nighttime activity would be proof that he wasn't ready to be discharged, or even transferred to the VA. 

His parents had come in for brief visits the past two days, but they gave vague answers when Bucky brought up the idea of going home.  "Do you think if I moved back in with you guys that they'd let me out of here?" he had asked, only to get hmmms and I don't knows and We'll have to speak with Dr. Pierce.   

He'd be better off slipping out during the commotion of the daytime.   

So he suffered through the night and tried not to look too tired the following morning.  At med call he did the same thing he had done last night: swallow his pills, then hawk them up as he walked away and subtly dropped them in the trash.  Pete saw it, and said, "Nice, dude." 

Bucky pretended like nothing had happened.   

He spent the morning doing a puzzle and watching the door.  As Winter Soldier he had done so many missions, and his manner had been mostly brute force, nothing subtle about it.  But he did know a thing or two about stealth.  He had observed the times when shift change happened, after lunch, around one o'clock.  There were several exits: four stairwells in each corner of the building, and two elevators both near the nurse's station.  He was going to avoid the nurse's station, and instead had chosen the stairwell furthest from it, around the corner.  It seemed to be the least monitored, although he was sure there were video cameras.   

After lunch, he wandered around, peering out the windows, going down other hallways.  He tried to act the way he had on his meds – shuffling along, staring into space. "Do you need help with something?" one of the nurses asked as he passed by the elevators. 

"No, I'm just looking around," he slurred.  "Is there a pay phone?" 

"No, they took it out years ago," said the nurse.  "If you need to call someone, you have to use this phone, but I'm pretty sure you only have your parents on the call list, and they usually visit you in the evenings, don't they?" 

"Yeah," Bucky said, and swayed a little on his feet as he stared at the sign taped to the counter: ALL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN.  The nurse gave him a polite smile and returned to her work.  Eventually he shuffled off. 

Now was the time.  He shuffled off down the hall, stopping to peer into the open rooms.  He didn't even look behind him to see if any of the nurses were watching when he pushed open the door to the stairwell.  He stepped inside, and then ran like hell. 

Of course it was going to look strange that he didn't have any shoes, but that couldn't be helped.  He just hoped that there was a door to the outside at the bottom of the stairwell, and thank god for fire regulations, because there was.  It led to the parking garage, but that was fine.  Bucky stopped by the door and removed his socks.  Aside from his bare feet, he was dressed normally today, if normal could mean some gray sweatpants and a matching zip-up hoodie.  He tucked his hospital bracelet under the cuff of the sweatshirt and strolled through the cars.  There weren't any people, which was fine.  He walked out and waited by the low wall of the parking garage.  He was looking for a clothing donation bin, and he wasn't disappointed.  Just a quick jog across the street and into the uncovered section of the parking lot, and then he was scrambling into the bin through the narrow opening. 

There wasn't much light to go by, so it took a long time to sift through bags of clothing until he found some that included shoes.  The smell was foul: a combination of cigarette smoke and body odor and feet.  He figured he was in a pretty good hiding spot if the nurses had noticed his absence, which he figured they wouldn't until dinner.   

Eventually he found a pair of worn workboots that fit him, and he laced them up.  He had a pretty good view of the parking lot through the entrance hole, and he figured he could pretend he was homeless or something if someone did see him climbing out.  But all was well: it was amazing that something could turn out right. 

Now his job was to pretend to look just like any other person going for a nice walk on a sunny day.  He didn't run, took his time.  It was a long walk to Steve's apartment, however, and Bucky was feeling uncomfortably warm before long.  Part of it could have been the withdrawals, too, but he couldn't take off his sweatshirt, or people would see the hospital bracelet.   

Luckily, though, his Winter Soldier training had given his brain the ability to remember locations as if he had a GPS in his head.  He remembered the drive to the hospital that first time with Sam, and the drive home.  After that, it was easy to triangulate how to find Steve's apartment.  And by the time he got there – his grumbling stomach told him it was around dinnertime – Steve was home for the evening.   

He paused as he lifted his fist to knock on the door. 

Steve wasn't expecting him.  Bucky's parents must have told him Bucky was being sent to the psych ward, so Steve basically thought he was crazy.  No – Steve probably hadn't been in contact with Bucky's parents after being told that, so maybe Steve would believe that Bucky had been discharged.  As much as Bucky didn't want to lie to Steve, he didn't want Steve thinking Bucky was an escaped mental patient.  

Even though that was exactly what Bucky was. 

Inside the apartment, he could hear music playing – an old song, one he recognized.  Kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time... 

Bucky knocked. 

It took a minute for Steve to get to the door, and when he swung it open, the look on his face showed that Bucky was the last person he expected to see standing there.  "Oh," Steve said.  "You're here." 

"Yeah, I, uh, got released this morning," he said, and tried to smile.  "I wanted to see you." 

"Okay."  Steve stepped aside to let Bucky in.  "They released you?  No offense, but you look like shit.  Do you feel okay?  Sit down.  I'll get you some water, and... are you hungry?  I can make you some ramen.  I have bananas." 

"Sure," Bucky said, to all of it.  The couch was a welcome respite from all the walking.  The couch cushions enveloped him, and he immediately let his head fall back.  He felt his t-shirt clinging to his skin.  A fan was blowing in the window.  The cool air felt nice. 

"So what did they say?  Did they give you any medication, at least?"  Steve returned with the water and sat on the coffee table, looking at Bucky with concern. 

"They tried to, but it fucked me up.  That's why I look so awful.  It's like withdrawals or something."   

The water was good.  He downed the whole glass in seconds and gave it back to Steve. 

"I don't think they should have let you go home like this.  Didn't your parents want you to maybe stay home and rest before you're out visiting people?" 

Bucky looked at Steve.  He hated lying.  He hated that Steve was so concerned when it was all a lie. 

"I... I ran away," he said. 

That perplexed wrinkle in Steve's forehead appeared.  "From your parents?" 

Bucky looked down at his hands, and picked at the dirt under his fingernails.  When was the last time he had showered?  "From the hospital." 

"Oh, Bucky.  Er... James?" 

"I'm sorry."  Bucky sat forward and dug his fists into his eyes.  "I don't know how this all got so fucked up."   

Steve moved to the couch and put his arm around Bucky.  "What happened?"    

"I don't know.  I'm so confused.  They put me on these meds and it was awful, I could barely think, and I kept falling down.  And they wouldn't let me call you or anything.  My doctor stole my journal and wouldn't give it back.  I wrote a letter in there to give to you..." 

The warmth of Steve's body beside him felt good.  He leaned into, dropped his head onto Steve's shoulder.  "I'm sorry.  I probably smell bad."  He wiped his nose with his sleeve.  "I'm not crazy, I swear." 

"Your mom said the doctors think you're schizophrenic or something," Steve said softly.  "That's pretty serious.  I know it all seems real to you, but..." 

"It is real!" Bucky cried, pushing away from Steve.  This was it.  He had to tell Steve.  "I know it sounds crazy, but it's real.  I can't... I can't lie to you anymore." 

"Lie to me?" Steve asked. 

"I'm not... the guy you were flirting with at the coffeeshop, okay?  Somehow, I switched bodies with him.  I'm from another universe.  In my world... a lot of crazy stuff happened, stuff that would never happen here.  You wanna know why I was so surprised when you brought up Captain America?  Because in my universe, there is a Captain America.  It's you, Steve.  The army wouldn't take you, so you signed up for this secret government program and you got injected with this serum that made you big.  It made you a superhero.  And we were on a mission, together, when I fell from this train and Hydra got me... Hydra's this Nazi organization, and they injected me with this same serum, and they brainwashed me.  And..."   

Bucky couldn't continue.  The look on Steve's face said it all: he didn't believe any of it.  Telling Steve all the rest was only going to make him get up and call the hospital faster. 

"It's true," Bucky said, feeling tears dripping off his nose.  He hadn't even known that he'd started crying. 

"Okay."  Gently, Steve placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder.  "It seems like you've been through a lot.  Maybe you can take a shower, and I'll make something for dinner, and then we can talk about what we're going to do." 

"Right.  I'll get in the shower, and when I get out you'll have the white coats here to take me away." 

"I won't, Buck.  I promise."   

In his world, Steve's promise was unbreakable.  In this world... Bucky wasn't sure.  He wiped at his eyes.  "Really?"  

"I promise.  Come on.  You can borrow some of my clothes." 

In the bedroom, Steve picked out a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt that was soft and worn and smelled like him.  Then Steve showed him into the bathroom.  "The faucet's a little funny, you have to turn this and then turn this so you don't get scalding hot water.  You can use my shampoo and stuff, it's just 2-in-1.  And... maybe you'll want to shave?"  Steve immediately seemed to regret offering up his razor.  "I mean, if you're okay enough to do that?  You're not..." 

"I'm not going to kill myself," Bucky said.  He set the clothes Steve had given him on the lid of the toilet.  "Thank you." 

"Okay," Steve said, and then he left Bucky alone in the bathroom. 

Bucky peeled out of his clothes very slowly.  Mostly because his body was shaking – he felt like he might collapse if he moved too quickly – and also because he half-expected Vision to appear.  He imagined Vision would be upset that Bucky hadn't been able to be alone for the past few days.  When he hazarded a look in the mirror, he expected not to recognize himself, but unfortunately he did.   

He had lost some weight.  His cheeks looked hollow and he definitely needed a shave.  His hair was stringy and oily and hung in his face.   

He looked like the Winter Soldier. 

The water was so hot he must have forgotten Steve's special instructions already, but he didn't care.  Maybe the hot water could burn away everything that had happened.  He would crawl out of the dead skin like a snake, reborn. 

He showered for a long time, until his hair came unknotted and his fingers pruned.  He knew he was procrastinating getting out, because he would be cold then.  Eventually, though, the hot water ran out, and he toweled himself off and put on the pajamas.  Then he got to shaving, taking extreme care.  It had been a long time since he had shaved. 

He folded up his dirty clothes in the towel, but then he wasn't sure where to put it.  Yet he hesitated about leaving the bathroom, listening to the sounds on the other side of the door.  Had he suspected Steve of breaking his word?  His shoulders slumped.  Yes.  He had.  He expected a roomful of people waiting for him when he came out.   

Taking a deep breath, and making one last wish for Vision to appear, Bucky opened the door. 

"Oh, good, I was starting to get worried!"  Steve hurried over.  Bucky's mouth immediately started watering – he could smell pizza.  But then Steve was hugging him, and the smell of Steve filled his nostrils.  He shifted his damp towel and its contents so he could hug Steve back.  "And I ordered pizza.  I figured I could splurge a little because you look hungry.  You're hungry?" 

"Yes," Bucky croaked into Steve's neck.  His eyes were wet again.  "Thank you." 

"Let me take these.  Go on, get some food." 

Bucky felt guilty even as he slid two slices onto a paper plate.  He was already cramming them in his mouth before he sat down at the table. 

Steve returned, and wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders.  "I've been really worried about you," he said.  "Come on, let's go sit on the couch and eat." 

It was cozier on the couch, and Steve had a blanket they could both sit under.  This felt right, elbow to elbow with Steve.  More than the pizza and the shower, this made him feel like everything would be okay. 

"So what was it like, in the hospital?" Steve asked through a mouthful.   

"Well, it wasn't all straitjackets and padded rooms," Bucky said.  "But I felt... helpless.  They put me on meds without even telling me, and gave me a hassle when I asked what they were.  And then they took my journal... I wanted to try to convince everyone that I wasn't sick, but everything about the place made me feel worse." 

"That's not right.  They should have told you if you were getting prescribed meds." 

Bucky wondered if they might have, during one of the times he had swapped out.  He didn't say that, though.   

Steve ran his finger through Bucky's wet hair.  "So how did you escape?"  

"One of the other patients told me I could just walk out, so that's what I did.  Apparently you can't involuntarily commit someone unless you've murdered someone or something." 

"Really," Steve said. 

They finished the whole pizza, and watched TV for a while.  Bucky drowsed on Steve's shoulder.  Once his hands were free of the paper plate, he had wrapped them around Steve's torso and kept them there.  As Bucky's eyes began to droop more and more, he was startled by a buzzing coming from Steve's pocket. 

"Who's calling me?"  Steve pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.  "Huh." 

"What?" Bucky asked, a little more alert.  He had wondered how long it might be before the hospital noticed he was missing, before they contacted his parents and his parents contacted Steve.   

"You're calling me."  He showed Bucky the phone.   

"It's probably my parents," Bucky said.  "They have my phone." 

"Should I answer it?" 

Bucky didn't respond.   

"I won't answer it."  Steve hit the ignore button and tossed his phone onto the coffee table.  "Come on.  You should go to bed. You're exhausted." 

"Will you come to bed with me?" Bucky asked.  He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care. 

"Of course." 

Curled up against Steve's chest, Bucky sank into sleep.  The last thing he remembered was Steve pressing a kiss into his forehead. 

Chapter Text

For a few hours after they woke up, it felt like everything was completely, weirdly normal.  They had coffee and scrambled eggs.  Bucky flipped through some of Steve's sketchbooks while Steve was in the shower.   They watched a few episodes of House Hunters, and then, instead of selecting the next episode, Steve gave Bucky a long look and asked, "Do you think you should call your parents?"

"No," said Bucky.

"I guess what I'm thinking is that you can't live here forever.  As much as I'd like you to," Steve added quickly, reaching over to stroke Bucky's hair.  "I mean, just financially... I can't afford it.  Unless you're planning to go back to work at Starkbucks, or find another job.  I mean, don't you even want to go to your apartment?"

"Not really."

Steve's fingers in his hair were really soothing, despite this discussion that was making his stomach quiver.  "Why not?  Do you not trust Sam the way you trust me?"

"I trust Sam."  Unsure of what else to say, why he couldn't bring himself to trust anyone else, he said nothing.

After a moment, Steve shifted in closer to Bucky, and kissed the side of his mouth.  "Tell me more about us in another universe."

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay... Well, remember when we went to Coney Island?”

Steve scrunched up his face, suddenly remembering some of the odd things Bucky had said and where this was going.  When Bucky started telling him about times they’d gone, back before the war, all the things he’d reminisced with Steve about in the elevator.  Then he told Steve about the war, and had Steve laughing about how he’d lied on the forms to try to get the army to take him.  “Yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve done back then,” Steve said.  “When I was in high school and challenged every big guy who looked at me funny to a fight, just to prove I was as tough as them.”

"I bet you got in lots of fights," Bucky said.

"Well, not so much.  No one ever wanted to fight me.  They just laughed."  Steve sighed.  "I bet things would have been different back in the forties, before everyone worried about getting sued."

"Oh."  Bucky hadn't even thought of that.  All this time spent in the modern world and he still didn't know how normal people did things.  "You know, you'd think by now they would have invented time travel.  I went to this expo right before I shipped off for war and there was a flying car.  A prototype, but if they can land a man on the moon, why hasn't anyone figured out time travel?"

"Whoa, you just gave me this awesome idea," Steve said.  "I haven't been sure about what time period to set my Captain America comic in, but what if he somehow travelled forward in time?"  He got up and grabbed his sketchpad and started making notes. 

Bucky watched him, but his mind was moving in a different direction.  Did Vision have the power to time travel?  It seemed possible.  And if Vision could time travel, then Bucky wouldn't have to worry about convincing everyone in this world that he wasn't crazy.  He could just ask Vision to put him back before that.

The more he thought about it, the better that idea seemed.  Imagine if none of this had happened!  He felt better already.  Now he just had to wait for Vision to show up.

"Maybe we could go to my apartment," Bucky suggested, twisting around on the couch to where Steve was working at his easel.  For a second his brain saw the Steve from the universe where he was a comic book artist.  Maybe he had already time travelled – maybe that Steve was this Steve in a few years. 

But no, that didn't make sense.  He had checked the date.  Same date. No time travel.

"Hey."  Steve was getting up, and leaning over to peer into Bucky's face.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah.  I, uh, I think it would be safe to go to my apartment.  I can explain everything to Sam, get some of my stuff.  Maybe I have some money.  Or another ID or something that I can use at the bank to get more money."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded.

As soon they reached Bucky's door, he remembered that he didn't have a key.  He also remembered that Sam would likely be sleeping, so he felt bad for knocking and waking him up.

"Wait – what?  What are you doing here?"

"Just grabbing some stuff."  Bucky left Steve to explain to Sam in whispers what was going on.  It didn't matter.  He was going back in time and that was it. 

"Will you be back?" Sam asked when Bucky was ready to leave.

"I don't know," Bucky said, suddenly worried.  What if Vision couldn't time travel?  What if he was stuck here?  "Maybe."

"I mean, your parents offered to pay your rent while you were in the hospital," Sam said.  "They said they'd let me know if you got moved someplace more permanent."  Sam gave Bucky an appraising look.  "They made it sound like you would get moved someplace more permanent."

"I'm fine," Bucky said.  "Don't worry."

"Dude."  Sam shook his head. 

"And please don't tell my parents where I am," Bucky said quickly.  "Please."

Sam sighed.  "I'll cover for you for a couple of days, tops.  You need to figure yourself out, okay?  Please call me if you need help."  He was looking at Steve when he said that last thing.

"I'll be fine," Bucky said again, and pushed his way through Sam and Steve.

"He's just worried about you," Steve said when they reached the car.  "We all are."

"All?" Bucky demanded.  "Who's all?"

"I mean, I told Natasha you were in the hospital, and she was worried.  And Sam says your other friends are worried too."

Bucky tried not to let that bother him.  But it did, especially when two more days passed without Vision appearing.

Where the fuck is he? Bucky glared into the bathroom mirror.  He'd been taking many trips to the bathroom and epic showers, just in case.  But he had long hours while Steve was at his classes, because Bucky insisted he should go.  He felt like he was caged in Steve's tiny apartment. 

He got dressed again, not sure why he bothered putting on Steve's jeans when he wasn't going out.  He had talked about going to the bank, but hadn't yet – he was worried that somehow his parents might have frozen his bank account, or that there had been a news story or alert and when he walked into the bank, full of security cameras and guards, that he would be trapped.

He was munching on a handful of cereal – there wasn't much else to eat – when he heard a knock at the door.

Holding very still, he waited.  Another knock.  Then he heard voices. 

"You're sure this is the right place?"

"This is the address." 

The next knock was so loud that Bucky jumped.  "Bucky?  Are you in there?"  That was his mother's voice.  "Bucky, please open up.  We just want to help you."

Slowly, silently, Bucky set down the box of cereal.  He knew they couldn't see him.  But he had to be careful on the old wooden floors as he crossed the room to the window... He cursed when the floor creaked anyway.

"Did you hear that?" His mother said.

Pounding now on the door.  "Police!  Open up!" 

Bucky moved quickly to the window and heaved it open.  The fire escape didn't look especially sturdy, but that didn't faze him.  He swung his legs out and started running down, the iron mesh of the platforms digging into his bare feet.

He had just dropped from the bottom of the ladder when he saw the cop coming down the alley.  "Hey, he's out here!"

Then he was running and trying to climb over some trash barrels to scale the fence that blocked off the end of the alley, cursing this body's lack of super strength, when the cops caught him.

He fought them even as they wrestled him to the pavement and cuffed him, then he went limp. 

He was fucked.

***

Days passed in a blur of medication.  He barely registered that he was strapped down to a bed or being force-fed.  The only times he was remotely conscious were when he was face-to-face with Dr. Pierce.

"Don't you think these memories you say you have might have been fabricated from something you read?  Perhaps you saw this character, Captain America, and concocted this whole multiverse centered around him as a means of protecting yourself?  He seems to be a central figure in your delusions."

Bucky tried to explain.  He tried to come clean and tell Pierce about it.  "In the other world you brainwashed me," Bucky spat at him once.  "You're an evil man."

"It's only natural to blame your therapist," Dr. Pierce said calmly.  "I'm here to help you through difficult feelings and memories."

Some time later, days, weeks?: "Let's talk about your arm and how you say in this other universe you had a metal arm that had superpowers.  Do you still have weakness or pain in your left arm?  I thinking there might be a physical source for this particular set of delusions."

Gradually, he acclimated to the medication.  The hospital staff allowed him to be in his room without being tied to the bed, although he had to wear an ankle bracelet reserved for patients who were flight risks.  He shuffled to and from med call and meals, and spent the rest of his time lying on his bed. 

"James?  You have a visitor," came a voice from his door. 

Bucky sat up.  "Who is it?" he asked dully.

"Your friend Steve?"

He hadn't known that friends could visit him.  His father came to visit every other day, his mother a little less often.  He followed the nurse, wondering what he would say to Steve.  He didn't especially want to see him, not like this.

"Can I go to the bathroom first?" Bucky asked. 

"Are you all right?"

"I feel nauseous."

"It's your choice, you don't have to visit with your friend if you don't want to."

Bucky nodded.  "I just need to use the bathroom."

"All right."

He sat down on the toilet and dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh, dear," he heard, and his head snapped up.  Vision stood in the corner of the stall, covering his eyes.

Bucky rubbed his eyes and looked again.  Vision was still there.  "You're not real," he said, and hid his eyes.

"I assure you I am," Vision whispered.

"James?  Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," Bucky croaked, loud enough for the nurse to hear.

Vision pursed his lips.  "This is a conundrum."

This isn't real, Bucky told himself.  Not real.

Vision sighed.  "I'll be back."

"When?" Bucky demanded.  "When will you be back?  It's been fucking weeks!  You can't just pop in here whenever the fuck you feel like it--"

Vision disappeared, and the nurse was coming into the bathroom stall.

He never saw Steve that day.

***

Vision returned later that night.  Bucky struggled to open his eyes as Vision undid the strap on his wrist.

"It is time to bring you home," Vision said.

"Wait," Bucky said, feeling drool sliding out of the corner of his mouth.  "I can't... I can't go back."

"It is necessary."

"I had... an idea?"  Bucky thought about it.  He'd had a plan once, hadn't he?  Vision was holding his hand, ready to place it on the mind gem.  "Is this a dream?" he asked.

"No.  This is all very real, Mr. Barnes."

"But... I can't... I fucked up.  Bad.  I shouldn't be in here.  I mean... James shouldn't be in here?" 

Vision lowered Bucky's hand, but still held tight to it.  "There is not much to be done for that."

"I had an idea," Bucky repeated.  "Wait."

It took him a few minutes, but he finally remembered.  "What if you took me back in time, so then James just wakes up in the freezer and none of this happened?"

The weight of the medication made it hard for him to keep his eyes open, or to know if Vision was anything more than just a dream, wishful thinking.  Then Vision spoke.

"It would be difficult," Vision said.  "And I am unsure of the consequences across worlds.  It is unfortunate that you traveled to more universes than this one."

"But can't you just move this universe back?  I don't think it matters for the others.  Just this one."

Vision thought some more.  Finally he said, "This might work.  I will return momentarily."

He blinked out before Bucky could tell him not to go.  Had he just imagined this whole exchange? 

Then he remembered his freed wrist.  His left wrist.  He curled his hand up to his face and warmed his fingers with his breath.  This was real.  This was real.

***

"I had a dream last night," Bucky told Dr. Pierce the following day.  He kept staring at his left hand.  "I dreamt that Vision came into my room and freed my hand.  He was going to take me out of here, to before all this happened."

"This Vision character, he seems convenient," Dr. Pierce said dryly.  "A bit deus ex machina, wouldn't you say?  Wishful thinking?"

Bucky had been afraid of what Dr. Pierce would tell him.  Now he wasn't sure if he was dreaming.  "But he unbuckled one of the shackles--"

"You might have done that yourself.  The restraints are not locked.  They are simply a way to keep you safe while you are in an agitated state.  Tell me about what happened in the bathroom.  The nurse said you were shouting about someone 'popping in to visit whenever they felt like it.'  Were you angry at your friend Steve?  I added him to your visitor's list despite my reservations, because he was very concerned about you.  It seems like I made a mistake."

"I just... don't want him to see me like this," Bucky said.

He moped through the rest of the day, and did his best not to get upset, so he didn't need the restraints.  He tried not to fall asleep, hoping Vision would arrive.

He fell asleep anyway.

When he woke, the early morning light was just peeking through the window, and Bucky found Vision sitting on his bedside.  "It's time," Vision said.

"Are you real?" Bucky asked.

"Put on these clothes."  Vision didn't explain how he'd gotten the outfit Bucky remembering wearing when he woke up in the freezer.  He shivered but did as his delusion told him.  Maybe Vision was just a vision after all.  He wouldn't know until he found out.

"First we must get to the location where you awoke."

Bucky held out his hand and obediently closed his eyes.  Vision's gentle fingers on his wrist pulled his hand upwards until his palm met the faceted surface of the Mind Gem.  A little pull and a pop and when he opened his eyes he immediately felt the chill of the freezer.  He looked around, hoping this was real.  It could still be a dream.

Carefully, Vision had Bucky lay on the floor.  He popped in and out of sight several times, returning to alter some small detail.  Each time, Bucky wondered if Vision was gone forever, and what would happen when Tony Stark found him in the freezer?  How could he explain any of this?  Finally, Vision was done. 

"This will be tricky," Vision said.  "I must take us back to the exact moment when James left his body vacant, so I can return the empty vessel here, and this body you currently inhabit there.  Then I will switch you."

"Okay," said Bucky, his face pressed into the floor.  He closed his eyes.

He felt the Mind Gem pressed into his palm again, though he wasn't sure how that could be unless Vision had somehow become part of the floor.  Before he could come up with an answer, the floor dropped away, and he was falling.

At first it was slow, like a parachute ride through the clouds.  He gathered speed, falling faster and faster, and even though he could still feel the cement floor against his body, he had the strange sensation that he was going to land, hit the concrete.  More than anything he wanted to open his eyes and reassure himself that he was still lying on the floor, but what if he did that and saw something awful?  He imagined himself falling through time, seeing whatever lay between the layers of one second and the next.  Then he would truly go mad, if he wasn't already.

When it stopped, the air was squeezed from his lungs, but it was a false stop, a heavy stop, then a springing up, then he did truly fall, because his head cracked against the floor.  He woke up to darkness.  He couldn't open his eyes.  When he did, he didn't see Vision. 

This was it.  He was truly crazy now.  He gathered his muscles to stand.

"Don't move!" Vision hissed.  He grabbed Bucky's hand and pressed it to his forehead. 

Bucky blinked as the world spun away.  Something changed in the colors, and he closed his eyes as the spinning continued.  He didn't want to open his eyes.  He didn't want to see where he had landed.   All those times things had gone wrong, and somehow Vision mastered time travel?  He doubted that.  So he kept his eyes closed, even as the spinning made his stomach heave.  He just rolled over onto his left side, noting that he was on a soft mattress, and vomited again and again.

He felt a hand scraped his hair back.  "It's okay, Buck."  That was Steve's voice.  But he had heard Steve's voice so many times, and all those times it wasn't his Steve.

Slowly, the nausea passed.  He still kept his eyes closed, waiting for more clues.  He felt a dull ache in his shoulder, then realized he couldn't feel his left arm.  But he remembered that other world where his arm hurt.  Maybe there was another world where he had lost the arm completely. 

The hand holding back his hair let go, and started stroking it.  He sighed, remembering how much he liked when Steve did that.  But not his Steve.  That was the other Steves.  Almost all of them liked playing with his hair.  Did that mean this wasn't his Steve?  He missed all of the Steves, the ones who hugged him tight and made him feel safe.

"Bucky," Steve whispered.  "It's okay.  You can open your eyes."

"Is this real?" Bucky asked, still with his eyes closed.

"This is real," Steve assured him.

"Which Steve are you?"

A breathy laugh.  "I guess I was wondering the same thing."

"Which Bucky are you talking to, you mean?"

The hand on his head stopped.  "Is it you?"

He had to do it eventually.  He had to open his eyes.

The Steve looking at him looked like all the other Steves.  The room was bright after all this time, and he had to blink rapidly to be able to see – to try to tell which Steve this was. 

Then Steve brushed away some moisture from his face.  "Don't cry, Buck," Steve said, his own eyes welling up.  "I'm here."

He closed his eyes again.  Whatever world this was, as long as he had Steve, it was home.

Chapter Text

Bucky was so exhausted from the ordeal that he fell asleep – but not before whispering, "Will you sleep in the bed with me?"  He hadn't been able to stay awake long enough to know whether or not Steve had heard him.  He woke up with a warmth along one side of his body and sighed happily.   

"Steve?" Bucky asked, in case Steve was also asleep. 

"Yeah?" 

"How long was I out?" 

"Uh... just now, or....?" 

"I mean, how long was I in cryo?" 

"Oh."  Steve absently started playing with Bucky's hair.  Was this really his Steve?  They had never done this with each other.  And yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  "Only a few days." 

"Why did you unthaw me?" 

Steve didn't answer right away.  "Um..."  He shifted, which meant Bucky had to move, and now they were looking at each other.  "Okay, so I have something to tell you." 

"Is the world ending?  Am I going to prison?" Bucky asked. 

"No, nothing like that." 

"Oh.  I mean, I kind of remember Vision saying it was an emergency that I get back," Bucky said. 

"Oh, that was just because the other you destroyed the lab."  Steve shook his head.  "Uh, the reason I asked that you get brought out of cryo... um... Sorry, this is hard.  I should have said this a long time ago." 

"What?"  Bucky couldn't get up on one elbow like Steve was, so he just looked up at him.   

"I..."  Steve looked at Bucky.  His mouth opened and closed. 

"For a guy with enough guts to fight Tony Stark and the United Nations..." Bucky trailed off as Steve gave a little smile and looked down at his hand, which was picking at the threads of the bedsheet.  But Steve didn't say anything else.  "You know, we're together in at least three other universes," he said. 

Steve looked at him. 

"And I know you slept with me in one of those universes," Bucky continued. 

Now Steve was blushing.  "It was a weird situation.  You don't--"  He stopped, as if he had just realized that Bucky did understand.   

"The other you was very upset that you slept with the other me." 

Steve's face was bright red now, so naturally Bucky continued, unable to hide his own smile any longer.  "Well, guess what.  I slept with another you, so I guess we're even." 

"Buck--" Steve choked out. 

"I mean, that's what you were going to tell me, right?"  Bucky reached up with his one arm and touched Steve's face.  It seemed to startle him, but Bucky kept his hand there.  "Steve."  He laughed a little.  "Goddamn it, Steve.  You know me better than anyone.  We fought in the war together.  We were both human experiments.  And now we both went to other worlds together...  You know, I think... maybe before the war, we didn't really know how much we meant to each other.  How deep it was." 

Steve was looking at him now.  His eyes shone.   

Bucky took a deep breath.  "In every other world, we aren't this stupid and stubborn." 

"I love you, Buck," Steve said, all the words coming out in a rush.  "That's why I got you out of cryo, because I should have said it the moment I saw you." 

Bucky laughed, feeling tears at the ready behind his eyes.  "Well, there was a lot going on.  Kinda hard to talk about feelings when SWAT teams are ready to break down your door." 

"I know.  And I almost said it on the elevator--" 

"I knew it!" 

"God, I'm an idiot." 

"We're both idiots."  They were both crying, but smiling and laughing a little at the same time.  Steve had his hand back in Bucky's hair and was holding on so tightly it hurt.  Bucky wasn't about to complain.  "You might be a little more of an idiot than me.  Why did you kiss Sharon?  That was weird." 

"Yeah, I'm the bigger idiot." 

"Don't feel bad.  Apparently I'm your sidekick.  I'm the sidekick to Captain Idiot." 

They laughed and wiped each other's faces and then, once they'd settled down, Steve said, "So." 

"So?" 

"Should we... make out now or something?" 

"It's amazing, after all these years, you still suck at romance." 

"Are you kidding me?  How is calling me an idiot romantic?" 

They laughed again, shorter this time.  Bucky was too preoccupied with thinking about Steve's mouth.  Would kissing this Steve really be that different from kissing all those other Steves?  Suddenly it all felt too much.  He wanted to go back to where he and Steve only hugged. 

"I mean, we don't have to make out..." Steve said, at the same time Bucky said, "Maybe we could just hug first?" 

They laughed at that, and then Steve said, "Okay," and then his arms were wrapping around Bucky and squeezing tight.  "Sorry, am I hugging too hard?"  

But this body was strong enough to withstand a Captain America squeezing Steve back.  "This is good," he said. 

*** 

He thought about why he'd gone into cryo, how afraid he'd been of someone triggering the Winter Soldier again.  His time in the hospital fresh in his mind, he knew this was still a problem.  But he wanted some time with Steve first.   

The rooms T’Challa had them staying in were nice.  Like, penthouse hotel room nice – well, T’Challa was royalty.  Bucky would have preferred a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, but he was a wanted man.  And even though Stark had outfitted him with a new arm (“Least I could do, since I still kind of want to kill you”) Bucky hadn’t wanted to try to wear a disguise and try to sneak back into New York just for that purpose.  The doors here closed and had locks. 

The other Avengers had given them some very interesting looks when they had emerged from the hospital room where Bucky had woken up. 

“This is the correct Mr. Barnes, yes?” Vision had asked, and Steve had given the startled android a hug instead of just nodding. 

“I see how it is,” Sam had said, giving them each steady look.   

Wanda had smiled, but she looked tired.  When they had broken their team out of the Raft, Wanda had been in a straitjacket, and Bucky felt a sudden kinship to her.  Maybe someday she would be like the happy college student he had met in the coffeeshop.  He hoped so, anyway. 

Tony just kept looking between the two of them with a smirk.  Steve told Bucky later that Tony knew everything, somehow.   

For a while, Steve and Bucky spent a lot of time alone together.  They watched a lot of TV, always managing to be touching even if they were on opposite ends of the couch.  Sometimes they spooned, sometimes it was shoulder to shoulder, sometimes just their feet touching in the middle while they each had an armrest for their heads.  Steve, flipping through the channels, asked if there was a show called “America’s Got Talent.”  

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.  “Is there a show called 12 Monkeys?” 

Both shows existed in this universe, and they watched an episode of each before deciding it was too weird.  Then Steve found a movie he had watched while he’d been stuck in the other universe.  “Let’s watch this.” 

It was a romantic movie that took place during the forties, lovers who were separated by years and war. In the present, the lovers were older, and every day, the man told the woman their love story, hoping to reach through her memory loss. 

The ending had them both wiping their eyes.  "We're like them, you know," Steve said.  They were now sitting with their arms around each other.  It had been days and they still hadn't kissed, even though they had shared a bed and done a lot of hugging.  They also seemed to touch each other a lot, as if neither of them wanted to be more than an arm's length away from the other. 

"But I have my memories back.  Most of them." 

"You do."  Their faces were only a few inches apart.   

The silence between them had Bucky thinking about kissing Steve again.  He'd done it in the other worlds; why was it so hard here?   

Because here it's permanent.  Here it means something. 

If Steve kissed him, that would be the easiest thing.  Somehow Bucky knew he wouldn't.  He wanted to make sure Bucky was okay.  Still protecting me... 

He remembered how coffeehouse Steve had pressed his lips into Bucky's neck, like a kiss, but not.  So that's what Bucky did.  He pulled Steve into a hug, and pressed his lips into Steve's neck. 

Steve sighed. 

That made Bucky smile, because it had been his own reaction, too.  Then Steve was pulling away.  "Are we ready for kissing now?" he asked.  

Instead of answering, Bucky pulled Steve back to him until their mouths met. 

Kissing this Steve wasn't much different from kissing the other Steves.  In the midst of exploring each other's mouths with their tongues, Bucky wasn't really aware he was looking for differences until Steve pulled away again and said, "I like kissing you better than the other Bucky." 

Bucky laughed.  "Well, that's good, I guess." 

"How do I rate?  You've kissed more than one of me." 

"I like kissing you best, too."  All the other Steves were just practice for this one. 

"Natasha said I kissed like I hadn't kissed anyone in seventy years." 

Now Bucky was really laughing.  "You don't!  Hold on, does that mean you kissed Natasha?  When was this?" 

"We were undercover." 

"Well, I think you're a good kisser. Unless I'm just as terrible as you are." 

Steve smiled and planted a good kiss (in Bucky's opinion) on Bucky's lips.  

They made out for a long, long time.  Sometimes they pulled together as tightly as they could, with all their superstrength, fitting against each other like puzzle pieces.  Other times one of them would decide to change position, and they would wrestle around like when they were kids.  It was more fun, knowing they couldn't really hurt each other.   

Around hour two, Bucky started to realize that Steve was moving his hips against Bucky, and he could feel how turned on Steve was.  The heat and that knowledge that Steve was turned on by him turned Bucky on.  Of course Bucky was wearing thin hospital pants that were more comfortable for lounging around, while Steve had on jeans, so Steve felt Bucky's erection almost immediately.  Their kisses built in intensity.  "Do you wanna..." Steve gasped between kisses, "do anything else?" 

"Like what?" 

"I don't know." 

Bucky had an idea, a memory, of when Steve first offered to give him a blow job.  He closed his eyes, and remembered how that had felt, and knew that if he let Steve do that now, he'd still be thinking of the other Steve, somehow comparing.  He didn't want to do that.  He needed to wait until those memories faded a bit more.  "I like just doing this." 

"Me, too." 

*** 

"Have you thought more about going back into cryo?" Steve asked one night, a few weeks later.  They were lying face to face on the silk sheets, almost naked.  They still wore their underwear to bed – plain white briefs for both of them, since they had barely left their rooms.  It was too nice having meals served to them and watching TV and making out.  But Steve insisted that the exiled Avengers keep up their fighting skills, so at least once a day they joined the others in a training room to spar and work out.  "I know T'Challa said he would work on some kind of reverse brainwashing, and he's got a team of people on it, and I think Tony's working on it too.  I mean..." Steve kissed the divot in Bucky's chin.  "Maybe you don't ever have to go back." 

"I should probably go back."  The idea of cryo felt so far from this warm, safe place.  He shivered.  "I just... there's stuff I want to do first." 

"Stuff?  Like what?" 

He couldn't see Steve in the darkness, but somehow knew Steve had that little smile on his face.  He said, very quietly, "Like have sex with you." 

"I'm ready whenever you are," Steve whispered. 

"Maybe we should wait." 

"Bucky."  Steve stroked his hair.  "You don't have to go back into cryo the second we have sex." 

"I know."  Bucky enjoyed Steve's fingers combing through his hair for a while.  Then he said, "So, now?" 

Steve laughed.  "I thought you'd never ask." 

*** 

"Oh, God, oh God, Bucky, fuck!"  Steve collapsed beneath him.   

Bucky only came for a few seconds longer, then he was falling on top of Steve.  "Fuck is right." 

"Shit." 

"Goddamn." 

"You think the serum made that better?  I mean..." 

"It's gotta be.  I don't remember it being that good any other time." 

Steve rolled over onto one side and propped his head up on a wobbly elbow.  "How many times?" 

"How many?" 

"Yeah.  How many times did you have sex in that other universe?" 

Bucky slapped at Steve's sweaty chest.  "Only once.  And I was on the receiving end." 

"Really?  Maybe we can try that next time." 

"I wouldn't mind," said Bucky, remembering.  "There was this vibrating blue ring--"  He mimed putting it on his cock.  "But it still wasn't as good as this.  Jesus." 

"A blue ring.  I'll have to see about that," Steve mused.  "But... you weren't a virgin before that." 

"Steve, this was way better than any time I ever slept with some girl.  Come on." 

"Okay." 

Bucky rolled over a little and nudged Steve's hip with his own.  "What about you?  How many times did you have sex in the other universe?" 

"Oh."  Steve smiled.  "Well, a lot." 

"A lot?"  Bucky pushed at him, hard.  "Slut!" 

"Well, more than once!  Prude!" 

"I wouldn't mind being a little slutty with you," Bucky said. 

"So you're not going back into cryo tomorrow?" 

"Not until we try a few things." 

"I have some ideas..." 

Resting with Steve's head on his chest and his chin in Steve's hair, Bucky thought about how strange this world was, to be able to find love after nearly a century.  And if he and Steve could do that, then anything was possible.  They would find a cure for Hydra's brainwashing.  Wanda could be happy again.  Maybe Tony could forgive him. 

"Hey," Bucky said, shaking Steve awake.  "I love you." 

Steve smiled up at him.  "I love you, too," Steve said sleepily.  

Maybe he could even forgive himself. 

THE END (except for the epilogue)

Chapter Text

The last thing James remembered was reaching for a tub of caramel flavoring – people had been ordering caramel macchiatos like crazy this morning.  The next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor of the freezer with a headache and Tony Stark barking his name. 

"Yeah," he said, sitting up.  He touched his forehead.  It was bleeding.  "Shit." 

While Tony flustered about, worrying about workman's comp, James bandaged up his forehead and puzzled over the clock.  Only a couple of minutes had passed since he had entered the big freezer, but it felt like more time had passed.  Like a few days, which was ridiculous.  Wanda would have noticed if he'd been gone that long, if Tony hadn't been so worried about what James was doing, fucking around on the clock.   

"I'm fine," he told Tony.  "I don't need to go to the hospital."  He hated hospitals, and besides, his favorite customer was about to walk through the door.  "Is he here yet?" James whispered to Wanda when he returned from mopping up the blood on the floor of the freezer. 

"Not yet—oh, there he is!"  Wanda grabbed Clint by the back of his t-shirt and yanked him out of the way. 

James stepped up to the cash register and immediately grabbed a large plastic cup and a Sharpie.  "Hi," he said with a huge grin.  The hot blond guy who wore the tightest t-shirts ever gave him a shy smile.  "Your usual?" 

"Yeah," Steve said, looking relieved. 

"And that's Steve, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"Great.  It'll just be a few minutes."  Even though this was their usual exchange, even more than usual, James hesitated before turning away.  Something about it felt wrong.  Like he knew Steve much better than this. 

Back behind the whirring espresso machines, Wanda hissed, "When are you going to make your move?" 

"I don't know!" James sighed.   

"Just write your number on the cup," Clint said.  "That's what I did with the redhead that keeps coming in here." 

"You're a genius!"  James scribbled his phone number underneath where he'd written Steve.  "How did I not think of that in all this time?" 

Clint shrugged.  "I mean, it was, like, the first thing I did.  I think she just threw it away, though, 'cuz she never called me." 

Now James stared at the numbers on the plastic cup.  What if Steve didn't call him?  He finished brewing the triple venti no foam soy latte, but paused.  What could he do to make sure Steve called him?  He stepped to the pick-up counter and found Steve standing there, waiting. 

"Hi," Steve said. 

"Hi," said James.  "I was just about to call you."  He placed the cup down on the counter, and spun it.  "Uh... but maybe you could call me?" 

Steve stared at the cup.  "Oh." 

"I mean, if you want to.  No big deal.  I just..."  James took a breath.  "Think you're cute." 

He waited, hoping he wouldn't see rejection all over Steve's face.  The "I'm not gay" face.   

But slowly, Steve started to smile.