Chapter Text
There is one, single, inscrutable fact of the universe. That is that the universe is a spiteful bitch. She wants something, she gets it. End of discussion. And, well, apparently she wanted more from Steve because he was, decidedly, not dead. He had meant to be. Crashed the Valkyrie into the ice in 1945, thoughts only on the love he lost a few short months before… but that’s the funny thing in all of this. The universe had other ideas for his love as well.
Steve, obviously, didn’t know this when he went down. He might’ve listened to Peggy if he had. Might have found another way. Might have searched for the rest of his intended lifespan. But. Steve didn’t know. And he did crash that plane. And Steve slept, in the ice, for seventy years.
Then, two weeks ago, he was fished out. Maybe in another universe, he’d have woken in some horrible, stilted way. Maybe he would have been alone. But not here. Here, Steve opened his eyes to a quiet room. White walls, sheer white drapes, a too soft bed with a small mountain of covers, and, a scent so intrinsically familiar to him he knew its source even before seeing it.
“…Buck?” Steve knew it was probably only wishful thinking that manifested these familiar traces of Bucky everywhere he went. It happened more than he’d like to admit, and it made him equally hopeful each time. He knew nothing would come of the hoping. Bucky was dead. Nothing was going to change that. But then… come to think of it, wasn’t Steve?
“I’m right here, Stevie.” Steve turned his head away from the window towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. Bucky smiled at him, a tired kind of smile that only really existed during the war. “Your a punk, ya know that?” He told Steve, like it was any other morning and yes, Steve was pretty sure he was, in fact, dead. Fine by him, so long as he got the job done and he was with Bucky again.
So, Steve smiled back. He didn’t know what kind of smile he was putting forward. He didn’t think it was a matching one - he was too relived for that. “Jerk.” He retorted, on reflex and Bucky rolled his eyes.
Steve pulled himself up, finding that the room was warm even without all the blankets. He slid his feet off the bed and landed them a few inches from Bucky’s. That’s when he noticed the socks. His were plain white, but Bucky’s were dark blue with red toes and heels and little tiny Captain America shields all over them. Steve blinked at the weird socks. Bucky wiggled his toes. Steve startled and pulled his gaze back up so he was eye-to-eye with his husband.
Bucky stared at him with a smirk half hidden under a mop of dark hair that looked like it might have been tied up at some point, but had long since forgotten it was supposed to be and was now awkwardly shrouding his face. It’s then that Steve wondered, *wait, are we not dead?* Bucky cuts the thought off with a gentle flick to Steve’s forehead. “Ya with me, Stevie?” he checks.
Steve blinked again. “Yeah, Buck, I’m with you.” Steve told him, though honestly, he wasn’t sure. “Um…” he adds, “where are we?”
Bucky eased, the tired smile returning. “DC. They wanted ya in New York but I wasn’t about to just let ‘em keep ya after seventy fuckin’ years…” he stated, only realizing the bomb he’d dropped after the words have already been said. Bucky winced. “…I meant to tell ya that better…” he mumbled, apologetically.
Steve, for his part, was frozen to his seat. *Seventy years*? What the fuck was going on? He opened his mouth to ask, but no words formed. None of this made a lick of sense. Bucky was dead. By all accounts, Steve should’ve been too. So what the fuck?
“Its 2012, Stevie.” Bucky cuts through his panicked confusion. “Ya crashed the plane - which we’re gonna talk about later, by the way - and got yourself frozen in ice. They found ya and pulled ya out two weeks ago, when the Valkyrie resurfaced…” he explained.
Steve stared. For a while, that’s all he could do. But eventually, his brain caught up enough to notice the elephant in the room. “No.” He insisted, with a shake of his head. “You fell… I- I couldn’t catch you and you fell and you died.”
Bucky’s expression darkened. He sighed, “not your fault, Stevie. But yeah, I fell…” he paused to pull off his hoodie, revealing a very metal left arm wired into a chest composed almost entirely of gnarled flesh and scar tissue. On the shoulder of the arm was a red star, small and angry looking. “Hydra.” Was the only explanation he gave to the, frankly, disturbing revelation. It was the only explanation Steve needed to finally start believing this was really happening.
Hesitantly, Steve reached out. It was a mostly involuntary act, but he still found himself hesitating last-minute, his fingers hovering over the angry seam between metal and flesh. He looked back up to Bucky’s face in a silent request for permission. Bucky lifted his metal arm and pulled Steve’s hand the rest of the way to the juncture. It felt weird under Steve’s fingers. Rough where smooth skin once was, and cold where a flesh arm had been. But. It felt solid. Real.