Archive of Our Own ^beta

The last thing Steve remembers is falling, looking up at the sky at a familiar face (a bit older, a lot more worn, but still all too familiar), and wondering, Was this what it felt like for him, too?

No, that’s a lie. The last thing he remembers is a silver arm, reaching into the depths of the water, reaching for him, before everything disappeared and he felt nothing at all.

Waking up, his first, absurd thought is Oh God, please don’t let it be seventy years again this time. After what he’s went through, maybe that isn’t so absurd after all and that’s just a level of crazy he’s not prepared to think about right now. But he turns his head, and sees Sam smiling at him from his bedside, and it reassures him enough to let him smile back and say, “On your left.”

He’s stuck in the hospital for a few days though, because faster healing or not, he’s still human, as the nurse in charge has no problem reminding him. She’s a bit older, a bit brusque, but she’s obviously good at what she does, and he can see the kindness in her eyes. He learns that her name is Susan, and she is the one who wheels him out the day he’s discharged. Her voice is warm, and she pats Steve on the shoulder lightly before walking away.

He goes back to his apartment (not home, no, that’s Brooklyn, probably always will be), feeling oddly flat. It feels wrong, now, the place, with everything in it recently fixed and the apartment opposite his newly-empty. Everything had happened so quickly, just like New York all over again, but worse. Because after New York, at least he had SHIELD. At least he had something to fight for again, something to believe in again. Now even that has been taken away, and to be honest, Steve feels like he’s just treading water at this point, not sure how much longer he can keep doing it.

During his time at the hospital, Steve had nothing but time on his hands, time he used to mull over the events in his head until it made some sort of sense. The thing he kept coming back to is, of course, Bucky. He still can’t get over how strange it is, to think of Bucky in the present tense. How they are both here, in the twenty-first century, alive and breathing. That feels like a miracle enough, but for the fact that Bucky saved him.

Nobody can say for sure, of course, everyone was focused on the hellicarriers crashing, but Steve knows that it’s true. He remembers the metal arm reaching for him, and more importantly, he remembers his best friend, always there to pick him up whenever he falls. And if it’s true, it means that Bucky jumped, dived all the way down to haul him from the water. Despite himself, it makes him remember Bucky’s last day as Howling Commando, the conversation they had before zip-lining down to the train. Steve wonders if great heights still makes Bucky nauseous, and hates himself a little for that thought.

The next day, Steve goes for a jog early in the morning, before the sun even peeks through the horizon. He’s been still for too many days, and thrumming with excess energy that left him tossing and turning through the night. He is treading a familiar path, one that winds through the woods, when he feels someone watching him. Still on high alert, his hand twitches for a shield that is not there.

As soon as he spots the silhouette leaning against a tree, his whole body relaxes. It’s not a conscious decision, it’s practically instinct by now. After all, how many times had he watched that same shadow, propped up against a boulder or high up on a tree, making the one perfect shot to save his life?

He moves towards the tree, not too close, just enough to make out the features of Bucky’s face. His face is gaunt, and his too-long hair hangs limply in his face, but eyes are clearer. Red and bloodshot, but for the first time in a while, more Bucky than the Winter Soldier.

The relief he feels is so profound that Steve had to stumble nearer, just to be able to hold on to something solid, because his feet seems incapable of supporting him any longer. Bucky flinches, and for a split second Steve is terrified that he is going to run, that he is going lose his best friend all over again.

But Bucky only moves away slightly, putting back a little distance between them, and then settles down into an almost unnatural stillness, something that Steve would never be able to achieve no matter how much spy training he gets. In the quiet stillness, the only thing Steve can focus on are their breaths. Bucky’s are slow and carefully controlled, not giving anything away, but Steve’s breaths are coming loud and fast, almost like he’s the skinny asthmatic kid that Bucky knew again.

The silence stretches, almost to the point of snapping, but Steve is still trying to figure out what the right thing to say here when Bucky breaks it first.

“Did you find your shield?” he says, his voice rough and scratchy like he hadn’t had much use for it in a while.

The question seems so inane that it takes Steve a second to remember why that is important; to remember that he had dropped his shield in order to avoid having to fight Bucky. Oh.

“Yeah, someone fished it out of the Potomac,” Steve paused, “Just like someone did me.”

Steve watches Bucky carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. There’s just the barest sliver of smile there, a ghost of one, and it almost breaks Steve’s heart because he remembers what that smile was like, before. When that smile would stretch across Bucky’s face, crinkling his eyes and softening his expression. Steve has seen that smile a million times, when they’re getting into trouble and during late night sleepovers. Seeing him with it now hurts, mostly because Steve didn’t think he would ever be able to see it again.

“Maybe they decided that it was worth saving,” Bucky says, looking Steve dead in the eye for the first time.

Steve swears his heart stutters for a bit, but he tries to keep as much normalcy as he can in his voice as he says, “Maybe they did. So what now?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately, rising his head to watch the morning sun that is starting to rise above the horizon. The light catches his metal arm, making it glint and drawing Steve’s eyes towards it. He wonders if Bucky could feel anything with it; if it hurts when it’s cold outside.

“I remember you, you know. A bit. But you were always smaller, in my memories,” Bucky says out of the blue. “Feels like I’ve known you for a long time, though.”

That startles a laugh out of Steve. “Forever, Buck. We’ve known each other since we were kids.” Silence. “Why did you pull me out of that river, Bucky?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m Bucky anymore. Maybe not, but I think I made you a promise once. Not without you?” he shrugs. “I guess I’m just keeping my words, yeah?”

Steve is struck silent for a moment, before nodding. “And I’ll be keeping mine, too. ‘Till the end of the line, I mean it.”

The rays of sunlight streaming through the leaves throws Bucky’s face into sharp contrasts of light and shadow. Steve can’t see his expression too clearly, but he hopes Bucky understands what he’s saying, what he’s offering. Bucky’s head dips, maybe in acknowledgement, maybe in acceptance. Steve rather hopes it’s the latter.

“See you around, then,” he says, and abruptly moves away. Then, as quietly as he had appeared, he moves back towards the shadows, blending in with the gray. Steve doesn’t try to stop him, just watches as he disappears from view. A few seconds later, there is no evidence that he was ever there at all.

Steve heads back with a lighter heart, anyway, because that ‘see you around’ gives him hope. It’s not a final note, it’s not a goodbye. They’ll see each other again, of that Steve is sure; the only question is when, and under what circumstances.

When he gets back to his apartment, he runs his fingers across his shield, and decides to leave it behind. For now. He grabs his motorcycle keys, and gets Sam on the phone. They have work to do, after all.