Chapter 2
“Noah?”
For a split second, neither Bucky nor Steve moved.
Noah stood in front of them, frozen in place. his uniform a ghost of the past—faded but unmistakable. The same standard-issue boots, the same jacket, the same insignia that marked him as a soldier. He looked like he had stepped straight out of the war, like no time had passed at all. But time had passed. Decades.
And yet, here he was.
Steve felt his stomach twist. It was like looking through a crack in time, like the war had never ended and Noah had just walked off the battlefield. The uniform, the stance, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides—like he was ready to salute, like he wasn’t sure if he should.
But what really got Steve was Noah’s face.
Confusion. Wariness. That same sharp focus he had always carried, but now tinged with something else—something raw.
Lost.
Steve knew that feeling. Waking up in a world that didn’t make sense. Finding out that the life you left behind was gone. That everyone you knew had either moved on or was gone .
He knew exactly what Noah was feeling.
Bucky wasn’t waiting for answers. He moved first, closing the distance in an instant, pulling Noah into a crushing hug before Noah could react.
Steve wasn’t far behind. His arms wrapped around both of them, gripping tight, grounding himself in the reality of it.
Noah squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling shakily. It was them. It was really them .
It didn’t make sense.
Steve had drowned with the Valkyrie.
Jamie had fallen from the train.
They were supposed to be dead, but it only made his hold on them even tighter.
Bucky felt Noah’s weight against him, solid and real. He could feel the slight tremor in Noah’s shoulders, the uneven rhythm of his breathing. For years, Bucky had forced himself to stop thinking about the war, to shove every memory into the deepest part of his mind, because all it did was remind him of everything he lost.
And Noah? Noah had been part of that loss.
They had looked for him. He had looked for him.
And when nothing turned up, Bucky had forced himself to accept it.
Noah Bishop was gone.
But he wasn’t .
Noah pulled back first, just enough to get a good look at them. His eyes flickered between them, searching for something, anything that would prove this wasn’t some cruel trick. That was when his gaze landed on Bucky’s left arm.
“Buck… your arm.” Bucky tensed, stepping back slightly. His Vibranium fingers flexed unconsciously, and for a moment, he couldn’t meet Noah’s eyes. “Long story.”
Noah stared for a moment before shaking his head. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “You’re alive. Both of you.”
Steve felt the way Noah’s grip tightened on his shoulder, his fingers pressing in just enough to feel the warmth of skin beneath them, as if he needed that reassurance. And Steve understood. He understood it too well .
Because that’s exactly what he had done when he found Bucky again.
There was too much to say. Too much to ask. But right now, none of it mattered.
Noah just closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting himself believe it, letting himself feel it. The steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing. The quiet hum of Steve’s presence beside him. The weight of the moment anchoring him to the here and now.
Steve exhaled slowly.
Noah opened his eyes again, and something had settled in him—no hesitation, no lingering uncertainty. Only the undeniable truth.
Bucky and Steve were alive. And nothing else mattered.
That was enough.
The moment broke when Tony clapped his hands together “Hate to break up this wonderful moment, truly, but there’s some things we need to address first.”
Noah’s gaze flickered away from Steve and Bucky, landing on the dark-haired man standing near the couch. The way he carried himself, the sharp eyes scanning the room, the presence —he was someone important. Someone who had seen his fair share of fights but never quite gotten his hands dirty the same way soldiers did.
Noah studied him, taking in the tailored suit, the casual confidence, the way his mouth twitched slightly at the corner as if he was always a second away from delivering a sharp remark. There was something familiar about him, something that gnawed at the back of Noah’s mind. And then it hit him.
He had never met Howard Stark personally, but he had seen him—on the stage at the expo, larger than life, full of showmanship, dazzling the crowd with promises of technology beyond their wildest dreams. Howard had been smooth, charming, quick with a grin, and even quicker with a boast. But beneath all of that, there had been something sharp in his eyes. A mind that worked too fast for most to keep up.
And now, standing in front of him, was his son.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “If this is the future, then you’re probably Stark’s kid, huh?” He tilted his head, lips curving in a half-smirk. “You got a better mug than your old man. Must’ve taken after your mother.”
Tony blinked once before a slow smirk spread across his face. “I like him,” he said, shooting a glance at Steve and Bucky. “Can we keep him?”
Noah rolled his eyes. “I ain’t a stray, pal.”
Tony ignored him, tilting his head. “Alright , so—time-traveling war buddy who was supposed to be dead-”
Steve cut in, “MIA, Tony.”
Tony waved his dead, dismissing his words. “MIA for decades, that’s basically dead. So how exactly did you get here? Did you come from a portal? Fall out of the sky? Just poof into existence or what?”
Noah shifted uncomfortably. “I… well, I woke up at my apartment.”
Tony blinked. “Your apartment?”
“Yeah.”
Tony rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful “Right. Okay. So we should start there. Your apartment.” He turned to the others, who nodded but said nothing, their attention settling on Noah instead. They were watching, waiting—letting him take the lead on this. “We need to check it out, see if there’s anything weird going on.”
“You mean besides me bein’ alive?” Noah deadpanned.
Tony smirked. “Exactly.”
Steve gave Noah a reassuring nod. “If that’s where you woke up, maybe there’s something there that can explain this.”
Noah hesitated. He hadn’t been back since he left. Waking up in a place that should have been lost to time had already thrown him off balance. Going back— deliberately —felt like inviting a ghost to sit beside him.
But he had questions, and if there was even the slightest chance of answers, he had to take it.
“Alright,” Noah said, exhaling slowly. “Let’s go.”
--
The trip to Noah’s apartment was surreal.
They took one of Stark’s sleek cars—something too smooth, too fast, and too quiet for Noah’s comfort. There was a different man driving while Stark lounged in the passenger seat, occasionally messing with some kind of floating display. Steve and Bucky sat on either side of Noah in the back, a silent but steady presence.
Noah spent most of the ride staring out the window, watching the city blur past. The towering buildings, the glowing signs, the sheer noise of it all. He had walked these streets just hours ago, overwhelmed and disoriented. Now, he had company, but the world still felt too big.
Eventually, the car pulled up in front of an old brownstone, the kind that had somehow survived time itself.
“This is it?” Tony asked, peering out the window.
Noah nodded. “Yeah.”
They stepped out, and Noah led them inside. The hallway smelled faintly of dust and old wood, and for a moment, just standing there, he felt like he was stepping back into his time.
His hand hovered over the doorknob before he finally turned it.
He’d already seen it earlier when he woke up but it was still so weird to see that the apartment was exactly as he’d left it.
The same furniture, the same books on the shelf, the same jacket draped over the armrest. Even the half-burned candle on the table was still there. Like nothing had changed. Like no time had passed.
Noah took a slow step inside, his breath shallow. He touched the back of a chair, half-expecting his hand to pass through it. The walls still had those faint scuffs from when the three of them had roughhoused, back when they were just stupid kids who didn’t know what war would take from them. The dent in the doorframe was still there too—Bucky had hit his head on it constantly, too tall for the apartment’s narrow spaces even back then.
Bucky ran his fingers over a small tear in the couch fabric, a familiar, rueful smirk tugging at his lips. “I did this,” he murmured. “You and I were fighting over the last piece of your Ma’s pie. You shoved me, I went down, and my hand caught the couch.”
Noah huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That ain’t how I remember it. You shoved me first.”
Bucky shrugged, smiling. “Details.”
Steve moved toward the small wooden table by the window, fingertips grazing the edges. “We used to sit here for hours,” he said softly. “Talking about everything and nothing. The war. The future. What we’d do when we got back.”
Noah swallowed hard. “Yeah. And now, we’re here.”
Bucky turned toward the bookshelf, reaching for a framed photograph wedged between some old novels. He pulled it free and stared at it before showing it to Noah and Steve.
It was a photo of them three. Noah and Bucky, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing at something just outside the frame. Steve was there too, thinner than he should have been, but grinning wide, the city lights behind them. A snapshot of a world that had moved on without him.
Noah's gaze drifted to the other frames lined neatly on the shelf. He reached for one carefully, his fingers brushing against the glass. His mother smiled back at him, her dark hair pinned back the way she always wore it at the shop. Her smile — bright, unchanging. Her eyes—warm, knowing, as if she could still see right through him, even now.
And then—his fingers hesitated over the next frame. It was a photograph of him and someone else, taken after a battle. Their uniforms were in tatters, buttons missing, fabric stained with mud and blood. The battlefield was behind them, smoke still curling in the distance. The other person’s arm was slung over his shoulder, grinning despite the exhaustion in his eyes. Noah himself looked just as worn, but there was something in his face—a sharpness, a sense of purpose.
They were alive. Both of them. But they hadn’t survived the war—not really. No one did. Even those who made it home had left parts of themselves behind.
Noah let out a slow breath and set the frame down with care. The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had gotten heavier.
Steve peered over Noah’s shoulder, looking at the photo. “Who’s that?”
His throat tightening, Noah said, “My — uh, someone in my unit.”
Bucky tilted his head. “What’s his name? Don’t think you’ve ever mentioned him before.”
Before Noah could answer, Tony’s voice cut in, casual but pointed. “Hate to interrupt your sepia-toned stroll down memory lane, but I’d love to fast-forward to the part where we figure out why time’s apparently playing favorites with you.”
Noah exhaled sharply, setting the photograph back down. “Right.”
Tony leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “So, Bishop. What’s the last thing you remember?”
Noah frowned, digging through his mind. “I… the last thing I remember is dying. ”
Silence.
Bucky’s hands clenched at his sides. Steve’s jaw tightened.
Tony finally looked up from his device. “Okay. That’s one hell of a last memory.”
Noah exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, no kiddin’.” He looked around the apartment—his apartment. It shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here.
Steve crossed his arms. “Are you sure you—” He hesitated, glancing at Bucky before finishing, “Are you sure you died ?”
Noah gave him a flat look. “I was there, Rogers.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed in response.
“Maybe he was frozen,” Steve said, but the second the words left his mouth, he frowned. “No… that doesn’t make sense.”
Tony shook his head. “If he was frozen, someone would’ve found him way before now.” His eyes flicked over the apartment. “And if he was unfrozen, why would he wake up here ? Why not a lab? A facility?”
Bucky lifted a brow. “Yeah, not to mention why his place looks like it’s been preserved in amber for nearly a century.” He gestured vaguely. “Seriously, the furniture, the books, even the damn dust—this shouldn’t still be standing, let alone intact. Places get torn down, rebuilt, abandoned— something should’ve happened to it.”
Steve studied the walls, expression hard. “Buildings don’t last like this.”
Bucky nodded. “Even if it somehow didn’t get torn down, nothing inside should be exactly the way it was.”
“Okay, so freezing theory is out,” Tony said, waving a hand. “Which brings us to two —you got snapped and came back with the Blip.” He glanced at Steve. “You ever hear of people coming back to places that shouldn’t exist?”
Steve shook his head. “No. They came back exactly where they were when they vanished.”
Bucky exhaled through his nose. “So that leaves three —some kind of time-traveling, sci-fi nonsense, reality-breaking bullshit.”
Tony pointed at him. “Ding ding ding.”
Noah let out a short laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “Great. That’s just swell. ”
Steve was still looking at the walls, the floor, as if expecting something to shift before his eyes. “If someone—or something —put you back here, there has to be a reason.”
Bucky frowned. “And we’re not gonna find it standing around.”
Tony gestured between them. “Alright, so we check this place top to bottom, see if anything off pops up. But after Bishop gets some rest.”
Noah scoffed. “I’m fine.”
Tony gave him a look. “You time-traveled. Or resurrected. Or both. Either way, you need a minute to let your brain catch up.”
Steve nodded. “We’ll head back to the tower first. Then we can figure out what’s going on.”
Noah wanted to argue, but the weight of everything pressed against him, exhaustion settling deep. He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “…Fine.”
Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, old man.”
Noah huffed a laugh, shaking his head, but it lacked any real amusement. He cast one last glance around the apartment—the walls, the furniture, the lingering remnants of a life that should have been his. It was all familiar, yet it didn’t feel like home.
Noah lingered for a moment longer, glancing around the apartment—the place that should have been home but only made his chest tighten. The weight of the past pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. It was too much.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and stepped out, leaving the eerie stillness behind.
The others followed in silence, and Bucky was the last to leave, hesitating briefly before shutting the door. The sound of the latch clicking into place felt final, like sealing a tomb.