No More Second Chances

Stark greeted him with a nod, leaning against the wall as he gently slid the door closed. There wasn't much to say, but it didn't feel right to leave the man without a word. Tony seemed to catch on quicker than he could say anything.

Raising his hand for a shake, he cleared his throat. "He's in good hands Barnes." 

Bucky hesitated in meeting his hand. Drawing in a resolute breath, he pondered what he wanted to say for a moment. “Stark, be careful. Whatever happens, staying together is the most important part. Nothing else. Not even secrets.” 

Tony began to open his mouth, before deciding to withhold his thoughts. Instead, he shook Bucky’s hand in agreement. 

“Goodluck, Sergeant.” Howard appeared again, with the same phrase and firm handshake. Bucky smiled sadly at the memory and the man before him, turning toward the elevators with nothing more to be reconciled. 

In the lobby, Steve and Nat waited by the glass doors, discussing something quietly. Steve appeared to crack a joke that made Nat chuckle, before she noticed Bucky loitering by the elevators. Her kind eyes beckoned him over to where they stood. 

“What's with that look Barnes?” 

“Don't know. Trying to remember this.”

Steve crossed his arms in speculation. The thoughts displayed on his face went from confusion, to realization, to an impassive front. “Buck. Come back safely alright?” 

Bucky scoffed. He knows the conclusion here, he most likely wasn’t going to come back. They know what Sam knows, and from that knowledge, they’d be able to guess that Bucky wasn’t going to stay here in this timeline. Nat shuffled uncomfortably, looking away from the two of them. Hell, even she knew. He sighed, “Steve-”

Steve released his arms, standing taller. “Barnes. That’s an order.” 

Taken aback at his commanding demeanor, Bucky was left speechless. Yet, a part of him knew it’s what he needed. He was going to come back, whether this timeline or another one. As Nat said, everything will work out as it's supposed to.

Pulling Steve in for a hug and laughing, he said, “You haven’t given me orders since 1945.”

Steve patted his back in return, “That doesn’t make me any less your Captain soldier.”

Taking a step back, he balked again at Steve. A boisterous laugh erupted from his stomach, straining his face in ways he forgot it could. Steve joined in, leaning against each other for support. When they finally calmed down, Bucky nodded in acceptance. Facing Nat, she wiped her left eye, and Bucky opened the glass door to let her through. 

“One more thing Cap.”

Steve shook his head, “Always need to have the last word Buck.”

He grinned, winking. “Secrets aren’t always worth keeping if it can hurt a friendship.” 

With those final words, he let the door swing closed behind him, leaving Steve to watch them until they disappeared.

He could only hope his final warnings stay with them.

They rode one of Starks 'inconspicuous’ motorcycles, if inconspicuous was a neon green and black Suzuki Hayabusa. With their helmets obscuring their faces, and weaving through traffic without difficulty, they arrived at the Sanctum surprisingly fast without any issues. As Bucky parked in the empty street, he took off his helmet before observing the area. There were people around, but it was fairly sparse considering they were in Greenwich village. 

“Huh.”

Nat dismounted the bike, securing the helmet. “Didn’t expect it to be that easy?” 

He looked back at her before following suit, scratching his head. “Actually yeah. Guess I dramatized it a little. I thought we’d…actually I’m not sure.”

She smiled at that, waking him over as she walked up the steps. “Come on drama queen.” Pushing the bulky wooden double doors open at the same time, a putrid smell immediately  induced a coughing fit from both of them.  Over her elbow, Nat gagged, struggling to breathe. “Barnes, are you sure we didn’t need the hazmat?!” 

His eyes stung as he tried to get his lungs under control again. He held a hand in front of her to stop. 

He was so sure this had to be the Sanctum. It was the same address, looked very similar to the pictures…so why was it in such a state of disarray? The stairwell in front of them had half of it missing, the walls  peeled away to expose mold and huge stains, holes in the paneled floor were sprawled everywhere. 

“Natalia, something isn’t-”

“In here.” 

A soft spoken call came from an attached room, causing both their heads to snap quickly in the direction it came from. Exchanging a quick look of trepidation, they stalked as quietly as they could on the rotten wood. Once they reached the entrance to presumably a living room, a bald woman in a golden robe sat in front of a dusty, cobbled fireplace with her palms together. If the atmosphere could be described in any way, it would be extremely dense. Bucky felt practically intoxicated with anxiety, somehow knowing it wasn’t just from his nerves. Looking at Nat, he could tell she was feeling the same, sweat began forming on her forehead and he knew that woman didn’t sweat even in the face of death.

Bucky signaled to Nat to wait by the doorframe. She nodded, a little too agreeably. 

Stepping forward, the floorboard creaked with his weight, though the woman clearly knew they were already there. 

“I've been waiting for you Sergeant Barnes. Dare say, you took your sweet time arriving here.”

He cleared the mucous stuck in his throat as much as he could. “Who are you?”

She smiled a little at that. “That’s a bit of a silly question. I’m who you’re looking for.”

He took another daring step forward. “Then…you know what’s happening to Sam?”

This time, she turned toward him, finally opening her eyes.  

There was an article he just finished reading on the paper, and shared it with Sam one lazy Saturday morning. Alpine hopped onto his lap and he summarized it as Sam began slowly extracting coffee from the french press. 

“Astronauts apparently get this feeling, when looking at earth from space called the Overview Effect. Researchers have characterized the effect as ‘a state of awe with self-transcendent qualities, precipitated by a particularly striking visual stimulus’. An array of emotions from existentialism, gratitude, wonder and insignificance, but all lead to the conclusion of contributing to something larger than life.” 

That was the only feeling he could describe to have this woman look at him. He could tell, she was older than time itself, wiser than philosophers yet deceptively humble. Her mere existence created pressure in the air around them. 

Then, he realized, it was because she was angry .

“Indeed I do.” She rose to her feet swiftly, patting off the dust on her legs. Clasping her hands behind her back, she continued. “I will inform you further, however. The reason for this mess, is that a future disciple of mine appears to have been experimenting where he shouldn’t have.” 

Walking behind covered furniture to the boarded window, she continued.  “That exact moment the bullet penetrated your skull, Dr. Strange exercised a complex spell that he was never supposed to find in the first place. Regardless, that spell targeted you. ”

He tried to relax, that made some sense. Kind of. Not really, if he tried to think about what she said. But at least he was correct in his assumption it had something to do with the Sorcerers. “Why me? What was the spell?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Completely random happenstance. Like a gambler winning a million dollars in the lottery and getting hit by a car that same afternoon. Or an office worker planning to quit their job and receiving a promotion the next day. Indeed, sometimes random things can happen as a consequence of wishes, but it is only another layer to the specific complexity of what is random and rarely occurs."

Shaking her head as if to refocus, she moves on, “Regardless, a collection of these miniscule random events create the timeline, and I oversee it. There are things that occur I can’t predict within each individuals locus of control, but larger events I see with vivid detail and ensure they come to pass exactly as they should. Thus, complications can transpire fairly frequently from this factor of humanistic error, though typically on a much smaller scale. Dr. Strange’s dangerous whim to explore the Darkhold before locking it away forever, is one of those moments. You are just a random consequence of that mistake.”

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Ignoring all the superfluous information in her speech, he didn’t cause this mess to happen in the first place. 

“I will say however, your reckless endeavors to save the future has broken the timelines in half." Then, almost to herself, she shakes her head and scolds.  "Once again, the Avengers struggle to keep order and chaos separate."

Swallowing back the absolute terror of speaking against this serenely furious woman, he posed one of the most important questions he had.  “Why does it have to happen that way? Why can’t I save them?”

She scoffed, sharply replying, “Why do you think? Just look at your track record. The timeline is like a rubber band. The more you stretch it, the harder it hits back. It is simply the way of time. Just like earth's existence just is, this is the same. “ She sighed frustratedly. 

“You escaped from Hydra too early, you didn’t attack your friends on the highway, you managed to minimize the damage in D.C., you fell in love too early. Now, if this happened naturally from random inconsequential variances, it’d be a different story. Time is fickle with things like intention, and you had too much of it. Sam’s insanity and coma is a result of that stretch. It’s a curious miracle that your other two friends haven’t succumbed to the same coma yet, although I don’t doubt they’ve started to feel similar symptoms. Isn’t that right, love?” The sorcerer leaned a little to the left to peer behind Bucky at Natasha, who was currently gripping the door frame with vigor. 

Bucky’s eyes widened in fear. “Natalia, is…is that true?” She averted her gaze, muttering, “It’s- It’s why I couldn’t stay in Wakanda after taking Sam. I started to feel…unsettled, in pain, dizzy. I…I don’t know about Steve.”

He turned back to the sorcerer. “If you keep stretching the rubber band, it’ll break into more pieces than it already has, and by then, I really can’t save you.” 

“Please-” 

“I cannot save them the way you want me to, either. You have two options. Stay here, and have your memory wiped completely. Everything gets reset to the way it was, but you still get to see your friends again. Who knows, maybe you might make some different choices - the subconscious memories can never be removed - but everything will happen as it's supposed to, and you’ll likely find yourself with a bullet in your skull regardless.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. So restart, forget all the new memories he has, forget future Sam, make the same mistakes, and die at the end, which sounds pointless. “What's the second option?” 

“You get sent back to where you were, three seconds before you were shot. You can keep your memories, because things will be placed as they were, with no opportunity for you to change time. However, you risk the same ending.” 

Bucky bowed his head. Nothing about this made much sense. Although, he can't say he is surprised, figuring it’d end in a similar way, uncertainty and death.  His chest still ached at the decision before him. 

This all happened because of a random mistake, a chance to relive it all was presented in a neat bow to him. He could still have a chance to make better choices sooner, he could act on his feelings sooner, he could have more time with Nat and Steve. 

But…would it matter if he didn’t remember? He couldn’t remember Sam sometimes in Wakanda, missing the chance of even more new memories with him and explore their relationship sooner because he didn’t know him. The time’s he did weren't enough to recover the lost time forgetting the way Sam makes his coffee, gives orders, laughs, quips, sighs and angers. Spending more time with Natasha, becoming close with her again helped heal the everlasting wound of her death. Accepting Steve was easier this time, because he was self assured and understood what it meant to see him in a different context, and speaking with Tony eased some of the guilt of his and Howard's death. 

He has had the opportunity to gain a new perspective on his life, on those around him. He’s learned so much through this accident, but if he couldn’t remember, there wouldn’t be any new choices to make. 

And in the end, he’s more likely to get shot if he doesn’t know it's coming. 

He turned around to Natasha again, looking paler by the second. “Nat-”

As she collapsed, Bucky rushed to her side, bundling her up in his arms. “Nat-” He shook her, only prompting moans instead of a response. “Natalia?!” This can’t be happening why- He pleaded with the sorcerer, failing to contain his panic, " What's happening?!”

She looked at him with pity, briskly walking to their side. “You’re running out of time. You must decide now, or I’ll decide for you.”

He took in Natasha's face, scrunched in pain and damp with cold sweats. “Nat…I…” 

He could have more time with her. With Steve. Start off a better relationship with Sam. 

Natasha suddenly gripped his vest, yanking him in. Through clenched teeth, she mustered up what little strength she had. “Go. Stop being an idiot and just go. ”

A wave of clarity washed over him. As she released her hold, he grasped her hand and laid it gently on her stomach. Time works in funny ways, as the sorcerer said. He supposed it was fitting for her to tell him off, as he tried to during their escape. Except this time, there would be no reconnecting. There'd be no more chances to call her rabbit, little one, to sit in comforting silence, to spar on the plains of Wakanda and trade stories of Steve. There'd be no more chances to protect and hold her. A sob racked his body, as he held her tighter. There'd be no more chances to joke with Steve, brawl with him, reminisce on their past, and relive their highlights. There'd be no more chances to save him from stray bullets, make fun of his bed head, and hear his incessant teasing. 

There'd be no more chances to love either one of them. 

“Natalia, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be дорогой (dear), I told you before…” She trailed off, smiling weakly before passing out. He couldn’t bear it, the weight of the bodies in his arms will never cease to pile up. 

“I’m sorry…” He leaned back, shifting his hold to be able to move sticky strands of hair from her face. 

The Sorcerer kneeled in front of him, speaking with urgency. “What will it be, Sergeant Barnes? This is the last I ask.”

He didn’t take his sight off Natasha, cradling her as carefully as he gave his reply. 

“Take me back, to before I get shot. “ 

If the Sorcerer had eyebrows, they’d probably be raised. Somehow Bucky thinks this isn't what she anticipated, and a small part of him whoops in triumph. She stood, rhythmically tracing shapes that manifested like fire in front of her “You do realize you will only have three seconds? That is all I can give you.” 

Bucky huffed, refocusing on Natasha. If he survived, he doesn’t want to have missed a moment basking in her beauty. “I understand.” 

“And... a word of advice, Sergeant?” 

He glanced at her for the unexpected question. “Uhm, sure?”

The sorcerer finally finished burning her symbols into the air, catching his gaze one final time. "Find the green cat.” 

“Wait wha-”

He opened his eyes to Sam standing in front of him, smiling at something he said. The immediate feeling of euphoria was replaced with dreadful anticipation. 

One.

He stepped in front of Sam, reaching for his gun as he hastily scoured the walls for the green cat. It didn't take even half a second before he found it. A barely noticeable cat poster on a faded green background located on the wall opposite of the door opening. 

Two .

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, his gun was already poised, finger applying the slightest pressure on the trigger in the direction of the cat, now replaced with the head of a man with a ski mask with his own raised gun. 

Three .

Two gunshots went off at the same time as he heard Sam shout, before his world went silent. 

“Got me singin'-”

Music…?

“-are my business with all my might-”

Marvin…Marvin Gaye…

“Had to win, then start all over-”

My body aches…just sleep…

“-come up hard but that’s okay, ‘Cause Trouble Man-”

Bucky sat up quickly, shutting his eyes quickly from the acute vertigo. “Ugh-”

He had to wait a few minutes for his head to stop swimming, the soft croon of Marvin Gaye easing his stress. Upon opening his eyes, he realized he was in a hospital bed, evident from the standard issue blanket and gown he had on. He looked to his right to see the monitors beep with readings. When he looked down again, he noticed his metal arm is black and gold. Not silver gray. Flexing his hand, his brain took a moment to catch up on the significance. 

Wait-

Sam sat to his left, dozing in a chair positioned as close as possible considering the bulkiness of the bed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he leaned slightly to one side, but his core clearly kept him upright. The maroon leather jacket looked good on him, although some sweat seems to have made his dark blue shirt stick to his chest. 

“Holy fuck…I fuckin did it…”

Absolutely shocked by the fact that he wasn't laid on a slab of concrete, he laughed, turning his hands in front of himself.

"I fucking did it...what the fuck..." Bucky pulled his hair back in disbelief, leaning back and wincing at a shooting pain in his ribs. 

“Did what?” Sam opened one eye, before yawning and stretching to wake himself up from his nap. It was so much like his Sam, and the best part it is. 

But...this Sam, his Sam didn't return a kiss in Wakanda. Didn't wander the street markets with him in wonder. Didn't hold him when he was amnesic and confused. This Sam didn't accept him quickly, didn't welcome a stranger into his home, didn't read to him when he was comatose and saw the worse parts of him when he was an asshole. This Sam didn't...didn't know of his feelings yet. 

“Sam-”

Sam’s velvet lips met his own faintly, as if to assuage whatever thoughts he was about to express. Sam pulled back a few inches, rubbing his thumb on his cheek in circles. 

“I love you too.” 

He knows, he knows, he knows-

“You- you heard that? You remember?” 

Sam grinned handsomely. “I do remember. Sort of. It's like remembering things through a kalaidescope, but it's there all the same."

Bucky grabbed his hands as if he were about to disappear. "That...that...Is that considered subconscious memories? The sorcerer said-"

Sam shrugged, "I'm not sure about a sorcerer, I'm assuming you saw someone like Doctor Strange?"

"Yeah, she said-" Discussing his options was too painful at the moment, "only I'd remember. I can't believe-"

Sam leaned in for another kiss, prompting another temporary bout of amnesia but in the best way possible.

"I'm going to be honest, I don't really care how right now, but I couldn't be more happy you saved us. You won sweetheart. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say it then, but I’ll say it now. As many times as I can.” 

Stunned, Bucky could only watch those dark ember eyes radiate the same heat he saw back then. He reached for Sam's shirt, pulling him closer. “Say it again, say it again please.” Sam laughed, giving him lingering pecks in between repeating “I love you” over and over. The saccharine tenderness Sam kissed him was euphoric. He couldn't think or breathe or say or feel anything except "Sam". By the looks of it, he appeared the same, holding onto Bucky with such confidence yet fear as it was clear that lingering paranoia affected them both.

He lost track of all the “I love you’ s”, but there was a lot of them. Eventually, Sam just observed his face, and he did the same. Taking in the stubble that was a few days old, his adorable tooth gap and deep gaze, Bucky wanted nothing more than to melt into Sam. He was finally safe.

Until he suddenly choked up and began bawling.

Yes, he won, he made it home safe and sound, just like Steve ordered.

He won, but all those new memories, precious moments of friendship and love and care, with everyone, were forever now lost to time. For all he knew, it never happened. Yet to know Sam remembered, was too much. Who knows what feelings will emerge when the weight of losing the Wakanda's, Nat and Steve settled in. At least, if he was the only one to remember, only he'd have to bear the weight of loss alone. With that, he crumbled in on himself, trying to shut out the invasive what if' I'd stayed, what if I'd shot the sorcerer, what about Natasha, laid on the floor cold and alone, and Steve's hesitance and orders, and-Sam’s weight sank the bed a little, before strong arms wrapped in leather enveloped him, sweet nothings whispered in an attempt to calm the whirlpool of anguish and joy and relief. 

Sam could only hope his comforts helped Bucky, although he felt very similar. While the memories weren't distinct like a video recording, the impressions and emotions were still there and ached through his body all the same. He told Bucky he'd won, and he had in a sense, but it wasn't all triumphant. They still lost, and lost again. Bucky's sobs shook him to his core, quickly removing his jacket before returning to holding his love as tightly as possible. Maybe if he held on enough, it'd ease the burden off both their tired backs. 

Sam kissed the top of his head, rocking them back and forth slightly. 

“Sweetheart, it's okay. It's all okay. It worked out the way it was supposed to. You're home."

Bucky's sigh shrank him further into Sam's hug. He kissed his head more, sending warmth with every single one.

"I love you. In the past, in the present, and in the future. I always will. Never, ever doubt that.”