Chapter Text
Santa Fe, New Mexico, 1998
“Loki, what did you do?” asked Mobius, stopping in his tracks, in the middle of the woods. They had gotten intel that the Loki variant they were after had stopped in 1998 of the sacred timeline. Time was of the essence to catch the variant and bring them in and the boys had been following their trail across five states with no luck. At any point, the variant could time travel again and they’d be back to square one.
“What makes you think I did something?” Loki, who was following closely behind Mobius, asked as he rubbed his nose after bumping into the other man following his abrupt stop.
“Because you always do something,” Mobius replied, already exasperated. “I just received a message from the TVA that one of the time stones is missing. Tell me Loki, you won't happen to know anything about this, would you?”
A pregnant pause filled the air and Mobius sighed deeply, a Loki-sized headache beginning to form.
“In my defense-” The god of mischief started, hands in the air, ready to plead his case.
“I knew it. Damn it, Loki,” Mobius is already searching his TemPad, trying to locate the heat signal of the missing time stone.
“In my defense,” Loki stressed once more, “I thought it was useless, seeing that they’re so plentiful as to be used as paperweights at the TVA.”
“Exactly! Useless at the TVA, which exists outside of time and space. If you bring an infinity stone to any reality, it becomes an all powerful force that controls its deigned fundamental aspect of the universe.” Mobius rubbed his fingers between his scrunched eyes, as if the action would erase this critical mistake.
“Okay, okay, I’m sure I can fix this,” Loki bargained, he only barely avoided being disintegrated. This would definitely be the last straw for Judge Renslayer, if word got out.
“Now there are two time stones in this reality, do you have any idea how dangerous that is to the sacred timeline?” Mobius sighed, finding it difficult to locate the missing infinity stone because of the continued interruption from the signal of the sacred timeline’s own time stone. “Loki, if that stone gets into the wrong hands-”
“It won't. Also, correct me if I’m wrong— an impossible ask because I am never wrong,” Mobius rolled his eyes and Loki unfazed, continued, “but if a mere mortal picks up the stone, won’t it be a shorter end to their already short lifespan? We just have to follow the trail of unnaturally dead bodies.”
“And to absolutely no one’s surprise, you’re wrong,” Mobius replied flatly. “The stone is not of this timeline so its effects are a bit diminished. Every stone reacts differently in the wrong timeline but none have ever been strong enough to kill its beholder. Something about the different frequencies.”
“Okay, so no trail of dead bodies. Unfortunate, but there is still hope. We will find the time stone and return it to the TVA, and all will be right with your precious timeline,” Loki reassured him, already mentally retracing his steps to figure out where he might have dropped the misplaced time stone. His life depended on it. “Trust me.”
“That’s rich.” Mobius scoffed.
The god of mischief, for once, had no defense.
Delacroix, Louisiana, 1998
The sun was low in the sky, red and orange light reflecting over the large lake. The beauty of it was breathtaking, or it would be, if Sam Wilson had any breath left to be taken. He was on mile four of six and he felt like he would collapse any moment now. This was Sam’s last month home before leaving for the Air Force and still didn’t know why he joined the military, all he knew was that he had to get the hell out of Delacroix.
His parents’ deaths, although two years had passed, were still fresh in his memory. He remembered it all like it was yesterday: the unusually heavy snow for the middle of April, his parents’ calling to let him know that they were running late from picking up his birthday cake, his mom yelling “honey, watch out!”, the sound of the car screeching, of the crash, then of nothing.
He hated that they died and would give anything to spend one more day with them, yet somehow, what he hated more, was what came after. Sam thought it would be over after the funeral, but they just never stopped. The stares, the whispers, the goddamned pity. Like he and his sister were porcelain dolls that would break at any moment. It didn’t help that damn near everyone in Delacroix knew his parents, so there was no corner in that godforsaken town to hide. It only seemed to be getting worse as time passed. Suffocated out of his mind, he took the only way out of town he could think of. Now, with his start date fast approaching, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Who would be there for Sarah? Who would help her take care of the boat, which was their home? Deep down, he knew that she thought he was running away, and he couldn’t exactly say she was wrong.
Lost in thought, a strange reflection buried in the grass a few feet off the running trail, almost knocked him off his feet. Shins aching and lungs burning, Sam didn’t feel too bad taking a break to investigate. Drawing nearer to the object, he could make out that it was an emerald colored stone. Something about it made him bewildered: it didn’t look like anything he’d seen before. It had a magical aura about it and almost felt like it was emitting a strong wave of what Sam could only describe as power. As someone born and raised in Louisiana, Sam knew better than to pick up random objects, especially of the mythical-looking-and-feeling kind. Yet, almost as if he was drawn to it, he reached out and grabbed it.
Brooklyn, New York, 1929
“Now I ain’t gonna ask this twice. Who’re you and what’re you doing in my room?” The child who had walked in not too long after Sam suddenly materialized in what appeared to be a bedroom, asked, grabbing the baseball bat from where it laid on the wall next to the door. “If I gotta ask again, I’ll shatter your kneecaps.”
“Well, ain't you just lovely,” Sam drawled as he looked around, brows scrunched in deep confusion as to what just happened. He soon realized that it was the wrong thing to say when the child began approaching him with the bat.
“Wait, wait. I promise I’m not dangerous,” Sam pleaded as he backed up for every step the child took forward.
“That’s exactly what a dangerous man would say,” the younger countered, still approaching. “You like children, you sick fuck, sneaking into a kid’s bedroom?” Sam was now against the wall with nowhere else to move. He put hands out to stop the child from approaching further, only to realize the stone he’d picked up was still clutched in his right hand. His head was beginning to spin from the sheer confusion but he had a more immediate issue before him. He pocketed the stone.
“You’re lucky my folks ain't home or my pa woulda beat the life outta you,” the child finished, still gripping onto the bat, a fierceness in his eyes like he could fight Sam right now and win.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happening but I understand why you’re alarmed. I promise I’m not dangerous. My name is Samuel Thomas Wilson, I was born on April 12, 1980 in Delacroix, Louisiana, and I am nineteen years old. Can you please put down the bat?”
“No,” the child replied, if anything, he gripped onto the bat tighter. “You think I’m stupid? How're you born in 1980 when it ain’t even 1930 yet. ”
“What?” That’s when Sam spots the calendar on the wall with March 10 circled in red and at the top right corner, there it was: 1929. All the other dates prior were crossed out with an “x” and “Bucky’s birthday” was written in the red circle. Sam’s knees gave out and slid to a fall, back against the wall. It would’ve been harder to accept that he just time traveled, if he hadn’t teleported into a stranger’s bedroom not even ten minutes ago.
“What’re you doing?” The child—Bucky, judging by the name on the calendar— asked. He looked as confused as Sam felt.
“You Bucky?” Sam confirmed, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Bucky geared up like if Sam made one wrong move, he’d knock his lights out.
“How’d you know?” The younger was clearly on high alert.
“Relax,” Sam pointed to the calendar on the wall behind Bucky, who turned over to look at it, then back to Sam as he reached into his wallet for his ID. He handed it over to Bucky, who after a moment of contemplation, took it.
“By the way, happy birthday, kid,” Sam wished, as he leaned his head back and let it thud against the wall.
“Thanks, creep,” Bucky replied, looking over the ID in his hands.
“Again, not a creep.”
“Again, I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam closed his eyes, his headache growing more and more, every passing second.
“This could be fake,” Bucky tossed the ID back at Sam.
“Suit yourself,” Sam said again, exhausted and not entirely sure this wasn’t some sort of psychosis. He picked up his ID from where it landed beside him and put it back in his wallet.
“That’s it?” Bucky replied, lowering the bat. If Sam meant him harm, he was doing a really bad job at it.
‘Look kid, no one’s more lost than me. One minute I’m on a run outside my home in Delacroix, Louisiana, and more importantly in 1998. Now I’m here and you’re telling me it’s, what, 1929?” His eyes were still closed, his headache was still growing, and he was still very much confused.
“Umm, I don’t know if this helps, but we’re actually in Brooklyn,” the kid said, finally putting down the bat. He was still not convinced, but he was sure that Sam didn’t pose a threat.
“What do you mean Brooklyn?” Sam jerked up, alarmed, “and how does that help?!”
“I don’t know!” the kid shrugged, “you keep saying Louisiana and I felt like you should know that we ain’t there.”
“Oh my god,” Sam buried his face in his hands and Bucky decided to sit in front of him, no longer on high alert.
“You’re really not from here?” Bucky asked, criss-crossing his legs and leaning back to read on his hands.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” the older raised his head to meet the younger’s gaze.
“Then how’d you get here?”
“I told you, I was on a run,” he began, remembering the stone in his pocket and reaching in to get it out. “Then I saw this stone glimmer or shine or whatever. I touched it and I was here. That’s all I know.”
“Some stone,” Bucky said, a little amazed, and reached out to touch it but Sam pulled his hand back.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Right, potentially time travelling stone.”
“You believe me?” Sam asked, pocketing the stone again.
“No,” Bucky replied,”but I’m not gonna shatter your kneecaps.”
“Gee, thanks.” Sam said flatly, leaning his head back against the wall again.
“So how are you gonna get back to your time?” Bucky asked, after a long moment of silence which Sam was grateful for.
“And you said you don’t believe me,” Sam couldn’t help but tease.
“I hope you stay lost in time forever.” Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms.
“Evil little shit,” Sam chuckled. This wasn’t too bad, he thought. If he was gonna end up lost in time, he was glad it was here. He was glad it was with the kid. “Well, clearly touching it again isn’t how. If it was, when I got it from my pocket, I should’ve been gone.”
“So, what you gonna do now?”
“Is that concern I hear in your voice?” Sam teased again and Bucky rolled his eyes, getting up to his feet. “I’m gonna go call the cops on you. Tell ‘em you broke into my room. You can tell your jokes from prison.”
“Calling the cops on a Black man? That’s cold, kid.” Sam fixed him with a look and the younger immediately tensed, eyes widened at the implication.
“No, no, that ain’t what I meant. I–” He started to explain but was cut off by Sam’s rumbling laughter.
“You suck,” He pouted and Sam kept laughing till tears streamed down his face.
“I needed that,” he sighed then reached out his hand. “Help me up, kid.”
“Help yourself up.”
Bucky was red from being had. Redder still, from thinking Sam was pretty when he laughed. He turned his face away.
“Alright, alright I’m sorry. Help me up, I’ve had a long day” he asked again, wiping his face with his other hand.
Bucky took a deep breath to calm his now racing heart. Maybe Steve’s sickness is contagious and now I have a heart condition, he thought, then turned back to face Sam and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet.
“Thanks, Kid–”
And Sam was gone, leaving Bucky standing alone in his bedroom, stupefied.
Brooklyn, New York, 1932
“What the hell?” Bucky exclaimed, before looking around to make sure no one else was in the aisle. He’d just turned into the aisle in the grocery store, only for his cart to hit someone he immediately recognized as Sam, who had just popped out of thin air.
“Ow!” Sam bent over to rub at his knees, before looking up to reprimand the culprit then stopping mouth agape upon recognizing the person before him. Except, he was different somehow. Bucky was taller and his face was a bit slimmer.
“Samuel?”
“Bucky?”
They said at the same time.
“Where did you come from?” Bucky asked. Was this how Sam had come into his room, three years ago?
“Where did I come from? Kid, when did you grow?” Sam was perplexed, even more so when he looked around finally taking in his surroundings. “Woah, I was just in your bedroom…”
“Yeah, three years ago. I’m not twelve anymore.” Bucky replied and Sam’s mouth fell wide open.
“You were in my room and then you weren’t. You disappeared, Samuel” The teenager explained and Sam scrunched his face.
“Please, it’s Sam. Samuel is what everyone called my dad.” He offered, then started to put the pieces together. “I think I time travelled again.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky sassed, reaching over to grab the pasta sauce on his list from the shelf.
“My bad for being disoriented from all this time travel,” Sam bit back, reaching into Bucky’s cart to grab the pasta sauce and put it back on the shelf because he’s petty like that.
“You’re a shit,” Bucky grabbed the sauce from the shelf again and put it back into his cart.
“No, you.” Sam picked it back up and put it on the shelf again, “and don’t you know how to respect your elders? I’m older than you.”
“Technically, I’m older than you, Sam. I was born in 1917 and you were born in 1980. Matter of fact, push my cart. How dare you let your elder do all this hard labor?” Bucky grabbed it again from the shelf, putting it back in his cart. Sam reached into the cart again and Bucky jerked the cart, “touch the sauce again and I’m gonna bash your knees with this cart.”
“What’s up with you and my knees?” Sam questioned, but left the sauce alone.
They walked side by side in silence for a bit as Bucky continued to grab stuff from the grocery list his mother gave him.
“What’s today’s date?” Sam finally broke the silence after Bucky had paid for the groceries and they began heading out of the store.
“March 10th,” Bucky told him and Sam smiled.
“Happy birthday, kid.”
“Thanks, creep,” Bucky smiled back.
“Again, not a creep,” Sam rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t offended.
“Again, I don’t believe you,” Bucky’s cheeks hurt from smiling too hard. He hoped Sam couldn’t see his blush.
“Why you runnin’ errands on your big day?” Sam asked, side stepping a woman pushing a stroller.
“The world don’t stop just cus it’s my birthday,” Bucky shrugged.
“Here, lemme at least carry the bags for you. Consider my help your birthday present,” The older offered, reaching out and taking the bags from Bucky who laughed.
“Some birthday present. Can’t even give me money?” He turned to face Sam, only to find strangers walking by.
“Sam? Sam?!” Bucky called out, looking around, frantically. “My groceries…”
Brooklyn, New York, 1934
Bucky placed the bowl of hot soup on the bedside table, along with the bottle of pills.
“Steve,” he shook the boy who was asleep on the bed. “Steve, wake up. It’s time to take your meds and you gotta eat lunch.”
“Buck,” Steve mumbled, still half asleep, “mmh, later.”
“Nah, you gotta eat and take your meds so you can get better,” Bucky advised, shaking Steve awake again.
“I never get better, Buck,” Steve sighed, “just let me sleep.”
Bucky groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. He hated that his best friend was always sick and wished he could do more to help. Steve was so good and so pure. He didn’t deserve to go through this. “Alright, I’ll let you sleep for one more hour then you gotta eat and take your meds, alright?”
“Mmh,” Steve moaned, turning over to lay on his back. “Sorry for ruining your birthday.”
They were supposed to go to the Smithsonian and then catch a movie to celebrate, but then Steve came down with a fever last night.
“Apologize again and I won’t let you sleep anymore,” Bucky threatened and Steve managed a small smile before dissolving into a coughing fit.
“I’ll be back,” Bucky told him before heading out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with a basin of ice water and a small towel which he folded and soaked before placing it on Steve’s forehead. The latter was already deep in sleep.
“How maternal,” a voice cooed from behind him and Bucky startled.
He turned around to see Sam smiling at him.
“Lemme guess,” Bucky whispered, “we just finished grocery shopping.”
Sam laughed and walked towards Bucky.
“I believe these are yours,” he said, reaching over to give Bucky the bags.
“Can’t believe you stole my groceries. Had to tell ma that I got robbed,” Bucky laughed, but didn’t take the bags.
“I’ve been thinking since you last disappeared,” he said, soaking the towel again before squeezing it and placing it back on Steve’s forehead. “You time travel every time we touch. It happened after I helped you up back in my bedroom and again when our hands touched as you took the groceries from me.”
Sam considered this and Bucky could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Oh, and you always show up on my birthday.”
“It’s March 10th?” Sam asked and the other nodded, “yeah, 1934.”
“Happy birthday, kid.”
“Thanks, creep.”
“Not a creep.”
“Not a kid.”
Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m still older than you.”
“Doesn’t matter, I was still born before you,” Bucky countered and stood up to sit at the edge of Steve’s bed before nodding at the chair next to it.
Sam put the groceries down then headed over to sit on the offered chair.
“Who’s this kid?” He asked, nodding at the blonde boy, fast asleep on the bed.
“My best friend, Steve. He’s sick, so I’m taking care of him.” He explained, repeating his previous actions with the towel and placing it back on Steve’s forehead.
“This his room?” Sam asked and Bucky nodded. “His folks are out so you don’t gotta worry ‘bout anyone coming in and seeing you. They ain’t gonna be back for a while either.”
“Nice. Honestly, I’m just surprised your rude self has a friend,” Sam teased and Bucky bristled, fake offended.
“Says the guy who refuses to show respect to someone born decades before him.” The younger bit back.
They both laughed.
Bucky told Sam to sit tight before taking the soup to the fridge in the kitchen.
“I think the reason I keep showing up on your birthday is because it was March 10th in 1998 when I found the stone.” Sam told him when he’d returned.
“Makes sense,” the younger replied, although they both knew that none of this really made any sense.
Sam sat with Bucky as he watched over his friend. He hid in the bathroom when Steve woke up to take his meds and eat his reheated soup, only to come back out when the sick boy had fallen back asleep. They talked for hours. Bucky told him about his sisters and his folks, about being friends with Steve all his life, how he was always sick, and how he’d give anything if it meant Steve having good health for the rest of his life.
In return, Sam told him about his parents and their accident, about his sister, and for the first time, he voiced his uncertainty about the Air Force; how he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t just running away and leaving his sister alone to take care of everything. How even still, he knew he couldn’t stay in that town because every day there felt like the walls were closing in on him.
Bucky didn’t realize when he’d reached out to hold Sam’s hand as an act of consolation. By the time it had dawned on him what he did, Sam was gone and he couldn’t take it back.
Brooklyn, New York, 1936
“Happy birthday kid,” Sam said, upon materializing on the bed next to Bucky.
“Took you long enough,” Bucky reprimanded, wide smile diminishing the effect of the scolding.
“Not like I can control this time travel thing. And you touched me, remember? It's your fault that I left you.” Sam accused, mirroring the other’s smile.
“Excuses, excuses,” Bucky dismissed his very valid point. “Hey, I’m nineteen now. We’re the same age. Next time we meet, I’ll be older than you.”
“So you admit I’ve been older than you this whole time,” Sam readjusted himself on the bed, careful not to touch the other boy.
“Nope.”
“Rude little shit.”
“Cry about it,” Sam grabbed the only pillow on the bed to whack him. Like children, they began to fight over the pillow, hitting each other with it whenever one of them got control of it. They only stopped when Sam almost fell on Bucky accidentally.
“Do you know I’ve stayed in my room every birthday since I last saw you?” Bucky said, apropos of nothing, after they’d finally settled down.
“Wanted me all to yourself that bad?” Sam teased, surprisingly enjoying the light blush that began to spread across Bucky’s face.
“No, stupid. It’s so you don’t just appear out of thin air in public and they stone you to death for being a witch.” He defended, unable to meet Sam’s eyes.
Sam smiled and laid down on the bed and they stayed like that, in the gentle silence of the room.
“I need a shower,” Sam said, breaking the long silence. “I was running before this whole thing started so I’ve been sweaty this whole time. Gotta wash it off.”
“And you laid on my bed? You suck,” Bucky complained, shooing the other off the bed.
“It's been a whirlwind of a day. I forgot,” Sam countered, although he did get off the bed. Bucky set him up with fresh clothes and a towel and pointed him in the direction of the bathroom
“Hey, we should do something,” Sam suggested, upon his return. Now clean and smelling like soap. “It’s your birthday. We shouldn’t just let it pass in here.”
“What did you have in mind?”
They went everywhere: the museum, the movies, the park. They walked and talked and ate and laughed and exchanged countless stories. They watched the sunset from the Brooklyn Bridge pier. The dark sky found them sitting on Bucky’s fire escape, trying to find constellations in the barely starry skies.
“I’ve been wondering,” Sam said, “what the hell is a Bucky?”
“It’s short for Buchanan.”
The loudest laugh Bucky had ever heard tore through the air.
“Your name is Buchanan?” Sam managed between gasps of air, tears streaking down his face. “What’re you, a hundred and six?”
“You can’t talk,” Bucky resisted the urge to shove at him, “you have two first names”
“Wilson is a perfectly normal last name,” Sam pointed, then started his laughing fit again, as if remembering how funny the other boy’s name was. “Buchanan, really?”
“It’s James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky informed him, realizing he’d never told Sam his full name.
“Wow, so formal”.
“You can stop laughing now,” Bucky said, blushing up his cheeks. He almost forgot how goddamn pretty Sam was when he laughed so brightly.
“I can’t, it’s such an old man's name. Buchanan.” And he began to laugh all over again.
“You should really stop laughing,” Bucky warned again, bracing himself, although he was unsure for what.
It hit him when Sam turned to face him, face bright in the moonlight, tears running down his cheeks, and that heart-aching pretty smile.
Between one moment and the next, he reached out to grab onto Sam’s face, pulling him close, and pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. One breath, two breaths, three… and Sam was gone.
Paris, France, 1946
Sam was expecting to find himself still in Bucky’s bed. The other did say he made sure to stay in his bedroom on his birthday. Yet, looking around, he was immediately sure that wasn’t the case. He was standing in what could only be a hotel room hallway if the lavish space and countless numbered doors were anything to go by. The hallway was intricately detailed and the doors looked like they were made of rich mahogany. Maybe Bucky got rich and could afford such luxuries. Sam was going to bleed his pockets dry. Served him right for kissing him out of the blue.
Sam scanned the area and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t down the hallway so he turned the corner to continue his search only to stop short immediately.
There was a man not ten feet from him. He was dressed in all black, with shoulder length hair and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face. Everything about him screamed: intense. Especially the silver metal arm that he was sporting.
Sam was about to speak when he heard the sound of a gun cock. He looked down to see that the man was holding the weapon in his other hand and Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach. Raising his gaze fearfully, he met eyes with the stranger only to be hit with the biggest shock yet.
He’d recognize those piercing blue eyes anywhere.
“Bucky?”
“Who the hell is Bucky?”