Reunion

02

The door clicked open when Steve’s gaze sliced across the one bed in this lavish suite. Footsteps were almost inaudible behind him. He whirled—and there was Bucky, slipping inside.

“He should be fine,” Steve said flatly.

Bucky gave him an amused look. “Of course—you didn’t really want to hurt him.”

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. Steve’s eyes snagged on Bucky’s left arm—and froze. This was not the metal arm Steve remembered: there was no red star.

“Your arm?” Steve’s mind raced, thoughts colliding too fast to catch. “It looks nothing like I remember.”

Bucky cocked his head. “You remember the one Hydra gave me?” He stepped closer and raised his arm for inspection. “This is Wakandan tech—just like your shield.”

Steve studied the dark-gold plating, then reached out to touch it. The texture felt oddly familiar, yet unmistakably different. “Vibranium?” he whispered as he traced the segmented plates. “T’Challa had yours replaced? How’d they remove the old one?” Steve knew the twisted metal had once fused to Bucky’s bones and flesh—he couldn’t imagine Wakanda prying it off without agony.

Bucky hesitated. Steve looked up, “What happened?”

“In your time… I still had the Hydra arm?” Bucky paused, “Doesn’t matter anymore. This arm works great.”

“I know.” Steve’s voice dropped. He’d never underestimate Wakandan science—but whatever replaced that arm, it wasn’t the same living limb that had once lifted him from alley fights and draped across his shoulders in blood.

Bucky cleared his throat, cautious. “In your world… we never went to Wakanda?”

“You and me?” Steve frowned. He’d never visited Wakanda—despite T’Challa’s invitation, extended out of guilt and compassion: guilt for hunting Bucky, compassion that Steve had also lost someone.

Steve bore no grudge against T’Challa—but he hardly yearned to see the man who’d helped force Bucky to the brink. How could he?

“Yes.” Bucky answered.

So in this timeline, Steve and Bucky had gone to Wakanda? How did they made it? Steve felt a twinge of envy.

But—“If we went to Wakanda,” Steve pressed, voice taut, “then why are you with Zemo?”

“He was locked away on the Raft,” Bucky explained, “Wakanda arranged a deal with Ross to let him out for… certain tasks. Wakanda’s been through a lot lately, and Ayo and the others couldn’t come out themselves. I was just helping.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. Bucky was carefully skirting around—of something he thought would hurt Steve. But what could be worse than that happened in Steve’s timeline? At least Bucky was here, alive. Steve studied those gentle blue eyes—no cold Winter Soldier blankness, no steely resolve from last time. No… he could not think of that final glimpse he’d had of those eyes. Steve looked away, forcing down the lump in his throat.

“He kissed you.”

Bucky relaxed fractionally.“It doesn’t matter, Steve.”

Steve’s stomach dropped—he knew that look all too well. On those double dates, if Bucky stayed over with his girl, while Steve always the one returned home early, Bucky would give that same uneasy half-smile—trying to keep it light and gloss over the details to protect Steve’s feelings. Steve exploded, “You slept with him?”

Bucky’s brow rose. “Steve, I know he’s got problems with the Avengers…”

Steve let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Oh, it isn’t about the Avengers,” he spat between bitter chuckles. “Bucky, in my time, he stole your mind again—controlled you like Hydra did. He blew up the UN, got you wanted by 117 nations, he killed T’Chaka, and—” Steve’s laughter cracked as he trembled with rage, “how dare he lay a hand on you?”

“He did those things here, too.” Bucky nodded. “He got what he deserved—”

“He’ll never get what he deserves!” Steve panted. What could ever repay Zemo? Even if Bucky survived here, what then? A dark shadow squeezed Steve’s breath. He fixed Bucky with blazing eyes. “He’s still controlling you.”

“Steve, what are you talking about?” Bucky frowned.

“He’s controlling you. You know who I am. You seem to know yourself—yet you can’t resist him. You do what he asks.”

God, Steve had known the moment he saw Zemo standing beside Bucky he should have killed him. He was going to—if Bucky hadn’t shielded Zemo.

Bucky’s frown deepened, but his tone softened. “He’s not controlling me, Steve. Wakanda removed the programs Hydra set—no one can control me now.”

“He told you that?” Steve’s scoffed, “Bucky, if he wasn’t controlling you, how could you—? Do you even remember that you like girls?”

”You think I am being controlled because of that? ” Bucky let out a short, rueful laugh, his expression caught between amusement and something darker. “So just because you married Peggy Carter, I’m supposed to date women too? Steve, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Married Peggy?” Steve’s voice faltered. “That—how is that even possible? Peggy has her own family.”

“What if she didn’t? What if you could go back and have a second chance?” Bucky kept his eyes down, his voice soft but weary. “It’s not the first time I saw you time-travel, Steve. Seeing you again feels like a dream. Look, you’re exhausted—get some rest. Then we’ll figure out the thing bringing you here, okay?”

Room service delivered a sumptuous dinner. Bucky watched Steve eat with bright eyes. Steve had almost forgotten this old habit of his—observing Steve eat, which had meant Steve’s body was healing, that he’d made it through another winter.

Steve realized that he hadn’t once shared a proper meal with Bucky, ever since he got Bucky back. In Washington, Belgrade, Berlin, then Siberia…there were always too many fights and too little time.

Steve hurried to eat more, barely noting the dishes. Whatever they were, they bought him Bucky’s smile. He didn’t remember the last time he’d sat down to eat.

And yet—Bucky was here, alive. Every second felt miraculous.

Steve showered and donned Bucky’s clothing. Bucky reappeared, murmured a few words into his phone, then handed it to Steve.

On the line was Sam, who greeted Steve warmly, promised he was wrapping up the Flag-Smashers investigation, and would be with him soon. It was very heartwarming. Sam was one of the closest friends Steve had known in this era—always so supportive … and informative?  Steve stoped Sam when he went on to give him more about Bucky — “Thanks, Sam. But I will ask Bucky if I want to know anything.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam agreed — he was never one for subtlety, “If Zemo had the Winter Soldier under his control, he wouldn’t be this quiet now, would he?”

When Steve finished the call and returned to his room, Bucky was leaning against the headboard, lost in thought. The TV was on, broadcasting the news in German, but Bucky was clearly not listening. He still seemed wrapped in the steam from his shower; his hair clung damply to his forehead. Hearing Steve approach, Bucky looked up at him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t you ever think I don’t trust you, Bucky,” Steve said, with his voice softer than he anticipated, “I do have trouble seeing you with Zemo. But that doesn’t mean I think you’ve lost your mind. Well, maybe I do, to some extent, but still, I have you and that’s enough. I don’t need Sam as an alternative source of information.”

A flicker of nostalgia and affection passed through Bucky’s eyes. “OK.”

A cool breeze from the Elbe drifted in through the balcony door as Steve lay back in darkness. He shouldn’t have been surprised that something happened to this timeline’s Steve had done—otherwise there’d be no way he’d have let Zemo anywhere near Bucky. And Zemo’s hints had been blunt: this Steve must have come from another time because here, the original Steve was gone.

Steve had never paused fighting. Death didn’t shock him then—although he’d never wanted Bucky to be left behind, before the serum, they’d both known one day Steve would have to go first.

Marry Peggy? He’d always imagined that—back to Brooklyn with Peggy, living in a white-picket-fence house near Bucky and his wife, missions shared or long nights by the fire, laughing at old blunders.

He’d never once pictured living in a world without Bucky.

But the truth was even uglier: in that world, Bucky did exist — yet in Hydra’s grip. Steve felt his blood boiling. He drew a trembling breath. “I don’t know what that me was thinking. But if it really was me—unless it was to change something—I would never have you stayed behind.”

Bucky was silent a moment, then said quietly, “Actually, I’m glad you did go to Carter. I’m thankful that after everything, you still made a life for yourself, still chased happiness. Carter is a good woman. You deserve her, and you two are good together.”

Bucky’s words tightened like a fist around Steve’s heart. Steve’s voice cracked. “Oh, so you think I’m a coward? A liar? Someone who’d break up someone else’s family—whether she had one then or not, I know she would? Someone who doesn’t keep a promise? ‘To the end of the line’—that was your promise, too. Sorry.” He collapsed back onto the pillows. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I truly am. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t worry.” Bucky’s tone was gentle, but Steve hated the concern threading through it. “What happened, Steve? You look awful.”

Steve shut his eyes. He’d never let himself speak the truth—refusing to say the words was his last defense against admitting it had really happened.

But he would answer Bucky. He would never lie to him.

“Zemo led us to Siberia: you, me, Stark, and T’Challa. Stark—” Steve forced it out, “—discovered the Soldier had murdered Howard and Maria. He tried to kill you. And you, under Zemo’s control, tried to kill Stark. I tried to stop both of you.”

“Then I got hurt.” Steve’s fist pressed against his trembling lips. “You were yourself for a while. But Zemo was still there, and you… you…” He saw the nightmare flash again, time and again in his dreams: “You stopped fighting. You let Stark—” He choked on the words.

A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Bucky’s voice, low and steady: “It’s okay, Steve. I know. You don’t have to say more.”

“It’s my fault, Bucky,” Steve rasped. “If I’d told Stark earlier—if I’d stopped it from tearing open like that—” He swallowed as the metallic taste of old blood welled in his mouth. “Zemo wanted to tear the Avengers apart to avenge Ultron. You paid the price because of me.” Each breath seared his lungs. “You looked at me then…and I knew you gave up—because of me.” He thought seeing Bucky again would soothe that agony. “Hydra couldn’t break you. Years on the run didn’t break you—but I did—it’s because of me.”

“No, Steve. That’s not true. I’m sorry, Steve.”

Bucky pulled him into an embrace, and Steve felt that familiar battlefield warmth engulf him. He clenched his fists and pressed his forehead against the smooth vibranium collarbone—he finally let himself tremble.

⸻

When Steve next woke, Bucky’s metal arm was draped across him like a warm, living limb. Steve opened his eyes to find Bucky watching him with a tender smile.

“Good morning, Steve.”

For the first time since… everything… Steve awakened without hating that he was alive.

Sunlight streamed in as they shared breakfast in the suite—so ordinary, so vivid. Steve watched with near-reverence. Bucky picked at his food, lost in thought.

“Bucky, you didn’t sleep last night,” Steve said softly, looking at the shadow that had darkened Bucky’s eyes. “You won’t told me you could only sleep near Zemo, right?”

Bucky’s eyes met his. “Steve, I did need to tell you something—Stark is gone, in this timeline.”

Steve went pale.

“No—you didn’t kill him, nor did I. No one died in Siberia. He fell three years ago in a battle. He won the war for us.”