"Two, one..."
Bucky shut his eyes, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, body still slightly warm over the shoulders and on the small of his back from Steve's hug. He wondered, idly, if he'd ever get that again. If he could just open his eyes, and his nightmare would be disregarded.
He wasn't stupid. Steve could've asked him to go with. Bucky would give anything to go, to watch his six across the galaxy to return those damn stones. Maybe five years had changed Steve more than Bucky could understand.
A moment, a blink, and Bucky was left behind. And it wasn't like Steve didn't deserve to go; he could go anywhere, be anyone. He could travel the galaxy and watch the history of the earth unfurl. He could go back and see his mother. He could go to the forties, leaving their dimension untouched and changing another for the better.
He could go back to Peggy.
Steve had told him, once, what it was like. To wake up seventy years in the future - alone, with everyone he loved dead, and Peggy old, frail and senile. The isolation he felt as he drifted in a world that knew Captain America, that drowned Steve Rogers. Unlike Bucky, who understood the modern world before he understood who he was, Steve was unpicking everything with very little help. And Bucky knew better than anyone that Steve Rogers was too damn good for their world, too damn good for what he got.
And yet, Steve was leaving him here. Alone.
"Bruce- stop," Bucky finally said, opening his eyes. "He's not-"
He let his mouth stay open as his eye caught a figure over by the edge of the woods. The sun had begun to set, and the pinks and golds that sank into Bucky's surrounding were bright and gentle, as if the universe was trying to sooth his nerves and seep into his skin, tell him it was all right. The figure was sat at a bench, looking out over the world as if it was engulfed in flames.
"Sam. Look."
They stepped around the pad, cautiously, and Bucky swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. Sam came up beside him, and Bucky could feel his metal fingers twitching inside his pocket, his body screaming at him to leave, to forget.
He wanted to be put in the chair. The thought of that electric current flowing over him and erasing this was like a calm air. Maybe it would be like going to sleep, now. Instead of having his world being ripped from him, he could start over. If Steve gets to, he should too.
"Go," Bucky said to Sam, because the thought of having to face the man in front of him - the man he no longer knew - was so much more than Bucky could handle. He was like tinfoil, and he was being crushed gently in a fist, and he just wanted to come out without any rips.
He met Sam's eye, and the other man shook his head for a moment. "No. He looked for you for years, Barnes. Maybe he can explain."
Sam placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder, and the latter had to grit his teeth and clench his fist, pushing down the compulsion to deck Sam. He didn't want this, he didn't need this. Steve had left him, had left their friendship, and that was okay, that was Steve's choice. Bucky could go on, Bucky could forget. He was the Winter Soldier, he wasn't a fool to think he was worthy of Steve's friendship.
Regardless, Bucky found himself stepping forwards, his joints and muscles screaming at him to stay back as the tightness in his throat reached his stomach, but then he was sat down on the bench.
He turned to face the man, who was looking out at the evening, a smile on his lips and crowsfeet wrinkling at the edges of his eyes - evidence of a life of happiness, of smiling and laughter.
"Captain," Bucky said, and his throat sounded hoarse and grated.
Steve turned to him, and his smile widened. "Hey, Buck."
He couldn't help the small smile that edged at his mouth, and furrowed his brow at the tears threatening behind his eyes. "You... Was it good? Did you find what you needed?" Did you forget me?
He couldn't help but map out Steve's face, and tried to just brush away the voice that told him it would be the last time he saw it. This was what Steve would've looked like if they survived the war; if they left Brooklyn like they'd planned, travelled the world - two old bachelors without a care. This was the Steve Bucky would never know, and that made his chest ache with something like mourning.
Steve looked down, and Bucky followed his gaze to a silver wedding band over his ring finger. "Something like that." Bucky felt like he was drowning.
At this point, he was allowing the tears just to build. He was allowed to cry. His best friend had gone forward and lived his life, and Bucky never got to see it. He would never get to know Steve Rogers again, and with his memories still so scraped up and tattered, he wondered if he'd ever know Steve. How would he get his memories back without his friend? How would he create more?
He wished for the chair. He prayed for the chair.
"Peggy?" Bucky kept his eyes shut, and didn't lift his head.
He felt a hand on his elbow, and opened his eyes to look up, sheepishly, at Steve. His blue eyes looked different - milky and ancient, no longer filled with the tight fury Steve had always carried. Calm. Satisfied. Like Steve had never been.
Slowly, Steve shook his head.
Bucky gulped. "What- what was she like?"
He watched as Steve's smile grew, and a tear rolled down Bucky's cheek - fucking traitor - as he found he couldn't hate or hold anger towards any woman that made Steve that visibly happy. Lighting up his face like a damn Christmas tree.
"Trust me, Buck," Steve said, and moved his hand to Bucky's wrist, pulled his flesh hand out of his pocket and turning it up, open. Steve removed the ring, and placed it into Bucky's palm, then closed his hand around it, "you know him better than anyone."
Bucky's body froze, stiff through to the tips of his hair and the wires running through his arm. He shakily opened his hand, and looked at the ring that sat there, weighing his hand down immensely and somehow making him feel lighter than he ever had before.
He looked up to Steve, begging not to see a sadistic smile over a cruel joke. But Steve's eyes were watery, and his skin looked soft, wrinkled and worn over from years of experience.
"I don't understand." Steve chuckled lowly, and shook his head.
"He needs time, Bucky." Bucky closed his hand around the ring, too scared of losing it. "Your Steve - he needs time. Don't worry, I won't take too long. He's lived so long fighting, he doesn't know what to do with himself. But he'll find you."
Bucky opened his mouth, and a small sound escaped from his throat, mixed between a sob and something else, something joyful. He swallowed, and licked his lips. "I... I don't understand." He furrowed his brow. "How can you get back here? Without the pad?"
Steve smirked and sighed, shaking his head. "I was never the best at talking now, was I?" He reached into the pocket of his sweater - truly, Steve had been waiting his whole life to wear grandpa clothes without judgement, and Bucky knew it - and pulled out something small, and white. He picked it up with wrinkled fingers, between his thumb and forefinger, and held it to Bucky's line of sight. It looked like the suit young Steve had been wearing, but microscopic. "Pym Particle. I returned, but I shrank when I did. Right now he's on a flying ant - I learned a few things, jumping around time. You'll see him soon, I can promise you that."
Bucky's mouth dropped open, and his head was swimming. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was interpreting this all wrong, that he had missed something vital, or that this was just some strange trick.
"How did you get here, then?" Bucky challenged. "How- how did this you get here?"
"Same way he left," Steve said, nodding his head to the pad behind them, then he pulled up his sleeve, and showed a loop of kimoyo beads around his wrist. "Shuri enjoys a bit of modification now and then. Don't even need a suit for it, just tap these and I'm back home. Back to the future."
Bucky snorted involuntarily, and Steve chuckled a bit. "Do I ever watch that?" Bucky asked, now smiling as the tears reached his lips.
"Christ, if you did I need to reassess my wedding vows."
Bucky let out a real laugh, feeling the hysteria rush over him as the ring in his hand warmed him, imprinted into his skin. He shook his head fondly, and looked up at Steve, his jaw aching and his cheeks feeling the strain of his joy.
"Why did you come here?" Bucky asked, his voice hushing slightly.
Steve's smile faltered, and he sighed. "A lot of reasons. More practical ones, like..."
He reached under the bench, and pulled up a large, circular case, curved over one side. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.
Steve nodded in Sam's direction. "Don't tell Sam it's for him, the guy's head is too big for his own good. Your Steve will hand it off to him soon enough."
Bucky grinned, and let his hair fall in front of his face, giddiness and warmth moving through him.
"And... More selfishly," Steve started, his voice lower, less even, "I wanted to see you. And, I wanted to thank you."
Bucky let his smile fall slightly, and he used his metal hand to push back his hair. "For what, Steve?"
Steve smiled sadly. "For giving me that ring."
He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the words to express how he felt, how confused and immensely happy he was, and how it was bleeding through his entire being.
Instead, Bucky reached forward and pulled Steve into a hug, shutting his eyes as he mapped over the differences in this Steve and the one he'd embraced only moments ago. He kept the ring in his hand, and only let a few more tears escape as he felt Steve running his fingers through the ends of his hair.
"You won't have to wait long, Bucky," Steve said, quietly. "You know I'm with you."
Bucky let out a small sob, finally, and buried his face in Steve's shoulder.
"All right, punk," Bucky managed, and pushed back slightly so he could wipe his eyes. He shook his head, and huffed out a small laugh. "Planned to get me tearing up like a dame, huh? Real classy, Stevie. Ain't no way to treat your past-future husband."
Steve laughed again, and Bucky knew he would look forward to that foreign, older laugh. He'd look forward to every version of Steve before him. Every wrinkle and change, he'd always get to know a new Steve.
"I should be getting back," Steve said, quietly. "Any longer, and I won't want to leave."
Bucky's mouth went a little dry, and he felt his face go slack, his smile wiped clean off. "Is he..?"
Steve looked up through his eyelashes at Bucky, and smiled. "He lived a good, long life, Buck. You're going to love it."
Bucky nodded, slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Full of stupid ideas?"
"You bet."
"And you putting your dumb ass in danger?"
"Oh yeah, constantly."
Bucky grinned bright, and laughed. "I'm dreading it."
He could hear his heart in his ears as Steve laughed once more, and turned his head to see the sun setting lower, turning the skies a deeper pink and letting the air cool slowly. Steve turned his head, too.
"I'll see you soon, jerk."
When Bucky looked back, Steve was gone.
He let out a shaky breath, and looked down at his enclosed fist. With ritualistic delicacy, Bucky used his metal fingers to open his palm, and took the precious band between his fingers, turning it in the light. He saw black on the inside of the ring, a tiny message written in cursive, and tilted it so he could read the words.
'Til the end of the line.
Bucky inhaled, his chest stuttering with tension and emotion, and his lips almost cracking as they spread into a wide smile.
He could wait. Steve would make it worth his time.
"Barnes," came a voice from behind the bench, and Bucky closed his fingers around the ring as he turned to look at Bruce and Sam.
"Wilson," he replied, watching the concern deepen on the other men.
"You okay there?"
Bucky looked down to where Steve had been sat, and he knew his own Steve wasn't far off. "Never better."