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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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[ even if JARVIS hadn't told him, steve would still know it. bucky had been haunted ever since the rescue, and they've barely had time to talk about it. that, and -- ]

Nightmares, and the bed, right?

[ well there goes his appetite. He swallows hard and sets the sandwich down. ]

I'm fine, Steve.

You're not.

[ Steve's gaze is steady. Funny, now they actually have the time to address all the things they haven't before. ]

Did you think I wouldn't notice? I've known you all my life.

[ yeah, funny what gets overlooked in the middle of a war zone. they should have shipped him home for shellshock but he couldn't bear to be separated from Steve, and then there'd been the mission on Zola's train and Steve had jumped after him like a lunatic, had saved him, and by the time they'd gotten on that plane he'd understood. They would go together. They were meant to go together. ]

I feel like I left him back there.

[ They should have shipped Bucky home, Steve knows that now. Mission or not, they should have sent him home -- Steve shouldn't have asked of him what he did, because nothing is worth the price that Bucky is paying. ]

Back where?

In the-- past. Whatever. He's on the plane right now, and I'm here.

[ being useless. when he'd grabbed for the Cube he'd had one clear thought in his head, save him, save him no matter what, but then it had dumped him here with two versions of Steve that aren't his own and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. Is it a message, that he's supposed to be saving one of them? Both of them? ]

On the plane?

[ Wait, what? Steve stares at him, taken aback. ] What plane?

[ non-plussed, ]

The plane. Schmidt's plane? He had all the bombs on it, and you and he were fighting and he grabbed for the Cube to use it on you. I got it first.

[ Steve looks stricken -- is there a time when he'd saved him? He'd thought about it so often, ran it over and over again in his mind; that Bucky wasn't dead when he fell off of it, that he should've gone back to save him. ]

No. That wasn't -- it wasn't what happened.

Yeah, it was. You tried to go on ahead, got on that damn plane by yourself and you knew full fucking well that you weren't coming back. You tried to leave me.

I didn't want to leave you.

[ Not in this lifetime, not in the next -- not in anywhere that would've counted. Steve had been crippled with grief and pain, and everything had moved so quickly that he hadn't had time to jump back after him.

And then he'd gotten on the plane, and he'd made peace with it in his final moments, because he knew he could've joined Bucky again, that Bucky was waiting for him. He'd been so very, very wrong.

He rubs at his face tiredly. ] I'm sorry, Buck.

You've got a funny way of showing it.

[ He's mad now, jaw tight and fists clenched. ]

We go together or not at all. I made you promise that when you jumped off a goddamn train after me.

[ Oh, God.

Steve's silent for a long moment, the words caught in his throat -- we go together or not at all. The confession that's on the tip of his tongue, the words that would make him a terrible, terrible person. The Steve that had jumped in after Bucky was not him, no matter how much Steve dreamed, hoped, wanted it to be.

He bites his lip, suddenly cold and sick, and he watches Bucky's fury on his face. ] ...I didn't jump off the train after you. I wanted to. I --

[ Wow. ] I wanted to kill them all, and join you after.

Jesus Christ, Steve.

[ the anger is gone, wiped clear off his face and replaced by stricken shock. that's not supposed to be something steve would ever say or admit to-- wanting to end someone, wanting to end himself. Even when he'd been coughing his lungs up he'd never given in to despair.

Then it's back. Not the twisty, half jealous anger over Steve getting his new body, his new life, but white hot fury. Steve wasn't supposed to let the war change him. Steve was supposed to stay good, stay uncompromising, and go home whole when bucky couldn't. ]

You goddamned idiot. [ his voice shakes. His hands shake.]

Is that what you think I'd want? If we didn't go together, that you needed to catch up? I wanted you to promise that you'd stay alive.

Edited 2014-12-29 20:10 (UTC)

You said it, we go together, or not at all.

[ And that extends to life and death too, buddy. Steve might not be outwardly suicidal, but it sure as hell didn't mean that he had no problems just giving it up and joining Bucky when the mission's completed. Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky, and without Bucky Steve had lost everything. How bad had it been, then, to simply sink into the frozen depths of the ocean?

And in the few years after he'd come back to life, he'd forgotten how to be happy, how to adjust to a world that didn't have Bucky Barnes in it, a world that didn't belong to him anymore.

He looks up at him, jaw set as he meets that white-hot rage head on. Home was Bucky, home was his smiles, his teasing, their days and nights together; their bad days and their good. So how can he go home when he doesn't have a home to go back to anymore? ] I missed you. So much, and every day.

[ he moves before he even realizes he's decided to, lips peeling back in a snarl and fist balled like this is a brooklyn back-alley. He's spent more time recently gunning people down at a distance than punching their them in but he remembers, the body remembers, and he doesn't give a shit if he splits his bare knuckles open or breaks his hand entirely on the scientifically engineered perfection of steve's jaw. this guy, this version of steve can probably take him down in a second, probably catches bullets and swats away missiles in the future (and goddamn them, every single one, for taking steve and making him something that bucky doesn't even recognize, he and that thing wearing his face and the metal arm don't even move like humans anymore), but he swings as hard as he can, the way he'd never let himself in any lifetime. He's never raised a hand to Steve with real intent. He's never let their ugliest fights get past words. ]

[ Steve takes it without a word, when he sees it coming. It's the first time ever that Bucky's raised a hand to him; he's taken worse hits than that, but something about this hurts him much more than physically.

The punch splits his lip and he tastes blood in his mouth, but it doesn't matter -- he won't retaliate, and he doesn't back down. Wryly, however, he massages his jaw, quietly accepting. ]

Definitely deserved that. [ And so much more. ]

Shut up.

[ he shoves him back, out of the kitchen and away from all the sharp and/or breakable objects, furious at the way he just takes it. ]

Don't tell me you deserved it. Fight me for real.

No.

[ Bucky could beat him up to half an inch of his life, or kill him, but there's no way Steve will raise a finger against him. He lets himself be shoved, and perhaps a part of him is grateful for the anger in his eyes. ]

I'm not going to fight you, Buck. So you can keep on hitting me, for breaking the promise we made.

[ Till the end of the line, right? He's sorry he sucked at that the first time around. ]

That's not why I'm hitting you, Captain Rogers.

[ it's the first insult that comes to mind, back when they'd have fights without speaking directly to each other in the tone of your father and our fearless leader. He doesn't bother throwing another punch, his hand already aching, and instead grabs fistfuls of his shirt and shoves him back bodily against the nearest wall. ]

You gave up. After everything-- you gave up.

It doesn't change a thing.

[ Steve lets himself be shoved against the wall -- as far as he's concerned his missions were complete, he'd done what he'd needed to do. Beyond that, well. Beyond all of that, beyond war, there's nothing for him here. What else is there for him out in the world?

He knows that tone, forces himself to shake off that insult (now there's something he hadn't thought he'd hear again). ] What did I give up?

Edited 2014-12-30 08:55 (UTC)

Everything that made you you.

[ everything that bucky used to be afraid of, before, how steve threw himself into fights and kept getting back up when it would've been smarter to stay down, how he'd shrug off asthma attacks and conveniently forget to tell Bucky that he'd stayed home from work because he'd been too dizzy or weak to get down their building stairs. He'd clung to life like a barnacle, tiny and stubborn, and then he'd gotten big and stubborn, taking on tanks and bullets and entire hydra bases wearing a bullseye on his chest. He used to care. Maybe he didn't know exactly what God had intended for the serum, but he'd cared enough to stand his ground and defend himself over Bucky being sore about it.

Of all things, apparently surviving was the pressure that had finally worn him down. This Steve drifts like there's nothing anchoring him to reality, forgets to smile, apparently has forgotten that it's a goddamned miracle that he didn't die in the same TB ward as his mom, coughing his lungs into nothing.

he grips the back of steve's head, his voice raw and cracked. ]

I barely recognize you, Stevie. What the hell happened?

[ Things change. Steve's most fundamental principles are still very much in effect -- he still fights tooth and nail for what is right, for what is good instead of what is easy; but other than that there's nothing more left for him, even if he tries reaching out, forging friendships.

He's lost so much in his years asleep, and no loss rings as painfully and tragically as his best friend he'd failed to save when he needed him. To know, too, that Bucky had still been alive, that things could've been different if he'd fell in after him -- see, these things take its toll on a man. These things change a man.

Steve doesn't remember what it's like to be happy anymore; the smiles he carried are all buried with Bucky Barnes, and he moves into his grip, a hand coming to close around Bucky's wrist, aching to touch, to know that he's real. ] I let you go when I shouldn't have.

[ And this, this is what happens. It hurts to know that Bucky doesn't know him anymore, and he presses his forehead to his, closing his eyes quietly. The touch is welcome, curling warm in the pit of his stomach even as Bucky's tone breaks his heart.

Since when has it become so difficult to be happy? ] I wouldn't blame you if you kept hitting me, you know.

There's more to you than me.

[ but he's pulling Steve into him, brows pressed together and Bucky's arms slip around him automatically, taking his weight. Asking without asking to lean on him. ]

I'm not gonna hit you, you stupid mook.

Can't be me without you, buddy.

[ He's tried. He's been trying so hard, for years. But now Bucky's back here, those arms slipping around him -- but Steve hesitates, his breath catching when he's so close, when all he can think of is the impossible, the only thing he's wanted to do for the longest time.

And now it's the nerves that set in, makes him anxious and exhilarated all at the same time. He could do it, he could lean closer; he could finally, finally press a soft kiss to that mouth the way he'd always thought of, he --

-- Steve holds his breath, eyes dark when he meets Bucky's, when he's shifting his head just a little, lips parting before he slowly closes the inches between their mouths, careful and jittery. Surely, Bucky wouldn't kill him for it?

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