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[ It's Tuesday in Avengers Tower.

A lot of the particulars of this arrangement had gone over his head, given that he'd been all but catatonic from shock and exhaustion through half of it (turns out using the Cube for a major temporal displacement actually took a lot of energy from the bearer, in this case him) but it seemed to include a lot of shouting and posturing while he'd suffered a fatal disconnect over which Steve he was supposed to back up, the tiny angry one or the big angry one. But the gist of it, explained by Howard Stark's son, is this: the Tesseract fucks with time, and sometimes deigns to answers wishes. Even those not spoken out loud. One flash of blue light later it had dumped all four of them here in the future in some kind of 'temporal bubble,' whatever the fuck that was, and it's keeping them here indefinitely.

Stark promises he's working on fixing it, but the future has things like inhalers and endless amounts of hot water, so there's that. Bucky's not in any big freaking hurry to head back to the war front in any case, even if being stuck here means staring at the frankly terrifying person who is supposedly future-him, or one possible version of future-him.

They're all under what's effectively house arrest in Stark's future robot building, given leave to go wherever they want in the Tower. They've all got their own bedrooms, their own kitchens, even their own floors if they want them, but Bucky had shown up at younger Steve's door at first opportunity and hadn't left him since.

(Part of him thought that maybe, maybe he should be throwing in with the other one, the older one with shadows under his eyes and a look on his face like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, the one Bucky remembered from Europe, but stress had brought on one of Stevie's attacks and Bucky couldn't leave him alone for that.)

He'd been kicked out eventually, though, told to go do his worrying and hovering somewhere else and take his stupid glowing alien box with him, which meant that Steve wanted some space to be upset in peace and that was fine, that was all fine, Brooklyn Steve didn't really know him since he'd been taken off to the camp and. Yeah. He's different. He's killed a lot of people since then, has watched his best friend waffle between science experiment, propaganda darling and one man army with maybe 10% of the training he needs to do the jobs they've got him doing. He's got a glowing alien box that always comes back to him, no matter how he tries to get rid of it. It bothers Steve that he's different. Not a one of them really know each other right now.

He drifts into the kitchen out of lack of anything better to do, still dressed in yesterday's clothes because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep while Steve rasped in the bed next to him, mechanically opening cabinets and going through drawers, staring in something like hopeless frustration at the array of supposed edibles. The packages are all brightly colored and there are three kinds of everything, all declared to be low-fat or pure organic or a good source of vitamin whatever, like it wasn't possible for a guy to just get milk anymore without having to make some kind of choice about it. The labels are in every kind of language possible, of which he can only read three with his fragmentary French, Italian, and German. There's butter, more than he knows what to do with, and real meat, impossibly fresh, and the house robot has told him that if there's anything he wants that isn't there, he just has to ask for it and it'll be delivered.

All he wants is a goddamn loaf of bread and some cheese to make a sandwich, jesus. ]

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[ At least if he were there but in the newer body, it wouldn't be so irritating, but no. They have a whole section of a medical wing set up to try and 'fix' him, after how much is wrong with him. It's infuriating. ]

He's callin' other him an it, acting like it isn't him.

[ Which, to be fair, Steve gets to a point. It's fucking jarring, he knows, to see this other version of you and understand you're missing years of your life here and that this is what you have to look forward to (or in this case, not.) Doesn't mean this is acceptable, though. ]

[ Steve frowns at that. Bucky's not an it, Bucky's been through hell and had come out the other side different -- and while Steve sort of understands the other Bucky's aversion to what he's become, while he's guilty about it, it doesn't mean that it's any easier to swallow.

He is, of course, less angry than the other Steve is, and he sighs. ]

Don't be so hard on him. He's afraid. [ Who wouldn't be? ]

[ Of course he's afraid. Steve's fucking terrified of watching his Bucky shift into this other version, the one that looks like he can melt into the shadows and vanish and be happy about it.

Steve clenches his teeth together so tightly it starts to hurt. ]

He doesn't need to be. He's got you and me to make sure whatever- to make sure it doesn't happen.

[ Yeah, about that. There's nothing quite like a statement like this to be a sharp slap in the face. The truth is that Bucky's the way he is because Steve failed. He hadn't been faster, hadn't reached for him quite far enough.

He can't react quickly enough to mask that flinch, when his stomach turns to lead and his heart tightens. This Steve shouldn't know. This Steve should never know -- not like this. He'd failed the one man who had done everything he could to protect Steve, and when it was his turn to do it, he'd failed him. Steve turns away, and heads to where they store the bread loaves. ]

...C'mon. I'll make you a sandwich.

[ It doesn't take a genius to figure out that someone has said something wrong and it's probably him. Steve stares mutely for a moment when the other him flinches, looks like the floor's been ripped out from under him. Of fucking course no one tells him anything. They expect him to just settle down and not ask questions, apparently, but that's not how he works no matter how badly they want to imagine that.

He digs his feet in and crosses his arms, thoroughly unimpressed. ]

I don't need to be fed to be placated. I'm not an idiot. I know you aren't telling me everything, same as he's not.

[ do this must be what it's like to be subject to the steve rogers brand of tenacity and stubbornness. he just hadn't thought that the day would come -- bucky barnes is a saint for putting up with him for so long.

he doesn't look at him, deciding to focus instead on making him a sandwich -- god knows the man needs one, even though it won't pacify him in the least. ]

I know you aren't. You're me. [ is he stalling? damn straight he's stalling. ]

[ This delaying tactic isn't working - because he recognizes it for what it is. For who's using it. Steve doesn't move an inch, not even looking at the stupid sandwich, so fucking done with this conversation and it's barely even started. ]

Which means I know when you're not telling it to me straight.

[ And god, he keeps making the damn sandwich. ]

I'm not eating anything until you talk to me.

[ yeah, it's dumb to believe that steve is going to let this go.

he grimaces where the other him can't see, and sets it on a plate in front of him. ]

What did he tell you?

[ Oh my god Steve. ]

What, just 'cause you got a few feet and some extra inches on me, you think I was born yesterday?

[ He's honestly fucking insulted that Steve thinks he's going to spill, just like that, and let him pick and choose what he reveals. Like. Hell. ]

[ Steve scowls at him -- the other is definitely not making this easy, and he's on the fence about it because what if he tells him, and they get to go home and do things differently? what if bucky hadn't died after all?

would they have lived out their lives as old men, or would steve still have died and left bucky behind on his own? still, he's not going to budge on this, weighing his options and staring his younger self down. ]

No. This is an information exchange. You tell me what I want to know, and I'll do the same.

[ Yeah, sorry, pal, but his job isn't to make things easier. Steve sours even further and looks away, weighing his words.

It's one thing to tip all your cards, but he needs the information all the same and this is as good as it gets, it seems. ]

Well, he hasn't told me squat. Not him or the other one. They dance around it like they think I'm gonna faint or run away. Somethin' bad happened to both of them, something I - you weren't around to stop.

Because it's my fault.

[ Steve says simply, and the truth of it hurts just the same when spoken aloud as when he'd said it to himself.

he leans against the counter and regards him. ]

I couldn't save him in time.

[ He's prepared for a lot of shit. There's a whole laundry list of things that he's braced himself for if it came down to it, but nothing quite hits the way that simple string of words does, harsh and seemingly over-loud in the quiet of the room. ]

Couldn't save him from what?

[ From the fall? From the plane? There are so many differences between everything that he doesn't even know. ]

From falling.

[ Steve's holding it together, but the truth of it is that he had never not been wrecked by that. He sees it in his mind's eye, again and again, and he sees it now in the other man's eyes. He doesn't even pretend to smile this time, pained and still hurting. ]

The one time he needed me, and I wasn't fast enough. He fell, and HYDRA took him.

[ It clicks in to place, just like that. The differences between the older Bucky and the younger, the cube, the mission, the little bits and pieces he's been fed in hopes he wouldn't get a full picture.

The floor drops out from under him and Steve stares, mute and horrified and a little sick. ]

We didn't go back?

[ I would have gone back, he wants to say. ]

We [ couldn't ] didn't.

[ Steve should've gone back, he knows he should have; but grief is blinding and crippling and it was all he could do not to fall apart. To finish the mission, to know, in the last moments of the sinking plane -- that maybe he could have joined him. ]

I thought he was already dead.

[ Jesus. Steve sinks to the nearest place he can sit and try to sort through this. No wonder everything is such a mess. It doesn't take a genius to figure this out - that there was more to this than what he's being told now, too, but even this much is nauseating. ]

But he wasn't. What -- what happened?

No, he wasn't.

[ ...Yeah, no. He can't do this. He remembers everything that's been done to him because he'd read the reports over and over, seen the photographs. He swallows, hard, and it's difficult not to drown under all the guilt, the blossoming hatred for himself. What use is a supersoldier when he can't do something as simple as save the person he loves?

He rubs tiredly at his eyes, and feels the sting behind them. ]

Listen to me. When you get bigger, when you go to war and when you find Bucky again, send him home. Even if ten guys need to drag him back kicking and screaming. [ To save him from this -- Steve had been so selfish, so stupid, too blind to see what was happening to Bucky before he'd asked him for the moon and stars. ] You need to send him home.

[ This whole conversation feels like something he's woefully unprepared for no matter how hard and how badly he wants to be. Steve digs his teeth into his bottom lip, his stomach aching in a way that has nothing to do with ulcers. ]

Before -- before that happens?

[ He can do it. He'll have to, to save Bucky, because there isn't anything in the world Steve wouldn't do to save him. ]

What if I don't remember when we go back?

You have to, for Bucky.

[ And they both know the lengths they'd go to for him, the things they'd sacrifice just so he would be safe, unhurt. No matter their ups and downs the only thing is constant in their lives: their love for Bucky Barnes. He's quiet for a few moments, then. ]

You love him, don't you? [ A pause. ] You love him like I do.

[ how is that even a question. Steve's head jerks up, shoulders squaring, tensing. Of course he loves Bucky. He loves him more than anything in the whole goddamn world, and the idea of failing him is fucking terrifying. ]

You know I do.

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