Chapter 1
It was odd that he never once considered this a possibility. He considered death. He considered failure. He hoped for success. They poked and prodded, shut him in a tube, and he emerged something out of Greek myth; beautiful, perfect, deadly. He wondered why it never occurred to him that it might not be forever.
He'd voice the thought, of course it wouldn't last—but it scattered to fragments in his pounding head. He would ask, what's happening—but when his mouth opened, another piercing shriek emerged. It's the sort of pain he wasn't used to feeling. He'd been hit, and shot, and drowned, but this was the pain of disintegration, the sort of pain he had only ever experienced one other time, in the tube.
He wasn't in a lab this time. He wasn't hooked up to monitors, with scientists gazing down at him, scrawling notes with dark ink. He was lying on his bed in his perfectly authentic 21st century apartment and his limbs were splayed out, muscles contracted in some sort of deadly rigor. He thought he was still breathing. He felt ripping heat tearing apart his lungs in rhythmic pulses so he figured the organs were still functioning—breathing. There was the weight of a hand on top of his own that pressed down and he thought he squeezed a response. Bucky. Bucky was here. It'll be fine...
He gasped out another breath and tried not to think about the pain in his chest that reminded him all too closely of closed-off memories; of what he used to be. He could feel dampness on the pillow; sweat, tears. Another excruciating flare of electricity coursed through his muscles and his jaw snapped open. He finally screamed. The authentic 21st century apartment faded to black.
***
Bucky held onto Steve's hand throughout the night. He felt every shudder and convulsion. It was a slow process this time around. He watched the bones shrink and re-knit. After the first few hours, Steve had stopped screaming. Now, it was silent in the room.
His left hand carded gently through Steve's hair. It was still amazing to him, even after all these years, that he could feel each individual strand fall into place with the tips of his fingers. Steve's hair was so soft—and he kept it longer now that they didn't have to fight so much. Steve kept saying he was gonna get it cut again, shave it real close, like it used to be. He never did though, and Bucky liked it that way.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he carefully pulled his hand free and reached over.
Tony:I've got the lab set up. Sent a car. Be there in ten minutes. Let the docs load him in.
Bucky sighed, and picked up the phone with his metal hand. He fumbled for a second, not wanting to relinquish his grip on Steve with his right.
Don't bother. He's doing alright. Thanks though.
He started to set the phone down when it buzzed again.
Tony:Probably don't have the best judgment pal. I really think you ought to let my team look him over. I've already been running his blood, isolating fragments of the serum as it breaks down. Pretty sure I'm on to the reversal. But I need him before it dissolves out of his system completely.
Bucky leaned back in his chair. His head was pounding from the stress of the night, from the worry. His eyes flickered back to Steve, who was starting to breath easier again. He was layed out on his back, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with Bucky's own. He looked small against the large king bed. Delicate. Bucky looked down to his hand that was wrapped around Steve's. He carefully released his fingers and pulled away. Steve's hands were still calloused, but in new, different areas. That itched against Bucky's memory, and suddenly, he could almost smell paint thinner.
Steve's hands didn't look like those of a fighter anymore. They looked like those of an artist. Bucky glanced back over at the phone's screen.
I'm serious. We're not coming. He's done enough. He's been fighting long enough. Sorry, Tony. We're out.
He pressed 'send' and set the phone back down. Ignoring the return buzz, he stood up from the chair and stretched upward, then rolled his arms back a few times trying to loosen the muscles. He looked down at Steve, and smiled—a sad, but hopeful thing. Then he carefully crawled under the covers and wrapped his arms around the smaller body. He buried his nose in the nape of Steve's neck and inhaled deeply. The memories kept spiraling out around him, releasing their tendrils up towards the sunlight.
“You've done enough, Steve.”
He closed his eyes.
***
Steve woke from a dream he'd had many times. He blinked away remnants of ice, of terror, and groaned as his head started to pound in time with his heart. He felt Bucky's arms around him, felt them tense up, and then Bucky was awake too.
“How you feelin', champ?”
Steve grimaced, “Christ, don't call me that. You used to call me that. Just...” he paused, and untangled himself from the blankets, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Don't.” He ran his hands through his hair, and tried to think.
“Sorry.”
He felt Bucky move behind him, and leave the bed for a moment—heard him walk around and stand for a split second, before sitting down next to him.
“Really, though. How're you feeling?”
Steve looked over at him—looked up at him for the first time in a century.
“Fine. Nothing hurts. I'm fine.” He looked back down. He needed to call Tony. He needed to get over to the lab, find out information. They'd tried to replicate the serum before—Jesus, they practically had replicated it on Bucky. He'd work it out and they'd fix it, he'd be fine...
“Steve.”
Steve groaned and looked back over. “I'm fine, Buck. Seriously. Thanks for...staying with me, and all, but I need to call Tony—” he paused for a moment, eyes lighting on the phone. “I need to figure out what went wrong and fix it.”
Bucky suddenly reached across the bed and grabbed his hand.
“Hey. You've spent a hundred years trying to save them all. You don't owe the world anything else. You're finally free.”
Steve looked up into Bucky's eyes—saw the sincerity, the pleading.
“I can't, Buck. I can't go back to that sick kid. I can't fight back that way—”
Bucky kissed him. Steve closed his eyes, and reached up. He placed his palm on the side of Bucky's jaw and pressed in for a moment, then pulled back again. Bucky swallowed, then cupped Steve's hand in his own.
“You're free, Stevie.”
He could get lost in those eyes. He saw the pure pools of calm reflecting himself—small once again. He felt in his heart before anything else. A small smile bloomed across his face.
Bucky smiled back.