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New York looks different to Steve. But maybe that’s just him. The sky is pinker, the blues more bright and vivid against the gold of the buildings surrounding Avengers Tower. Even the dirty sidewalk is a more vibrant shade of beige dotted with multicoloured pieces of gum like an abstract painting. It should be an indicator that something is wrong, but all of Steve’s attention is on the man in front of him.
Bucky Barnes.
He’s supposed to be dead, but here he is, right in front of Steve’s face with sparkling blue eyes and the same mischievous smirk he remembers from all the years they spent getting up to what they weren’t supposed to.
Their shenanigans always came with bubbling laughter, spilling freely past their lips as Steve tried to bail Bucky out of whatever idiotic mess he’d gotten to. Usually talking back to a teacher or accidentally flirting with a dame while her fella was within earshot. Bucky always had a smile for him, vibrant and bursting with life.
So, not dead, he was probably just hanging out with some other fellas, he was allowed to have different friends without Steve thinking the worst. He doesn’t even know where the idea of dead came from, Bucky is very much alive and kicking in front of him. Steve’s just getting unreasonable at this point.
Shaking his head he looks back up at Bucky who is eyeing him skeptically and Steve tries to rearrange his face into an open smile. This is his best friend, Steve is the one that’s acting odd.
“Are ya comin’ Stevie?”
The Brooklyn accent washes over Steve in a comforting wave and all he can do is nod, following his friend down the sidewalk and further away from the bright and harsh lights of Avengers tower. The path feels familiar under Steve’s feet, but at the same time, he feels like he can’t recognize any of the shops they pass. It’s a weird juxtaposition that Steve tries his best to ignore. He’s here with his best pal, Bucky. It’s always been the two of them against the world.
Except it’s not, not anymore. They were supposed to be with each other until the end of the line. Steve’s train of thought falters, flitting away like a butterfly shaking dew off its wings. Steve can’t remember what he was thinking about a moment ago and the thought chills the edges of his mind. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and a feeling of wrong tenses his shoulders.
Like always, Bucky’s calm presence pulls him out of it, their shoulders blushing as he babbles about his day. Steve’s cheeks redden as he realizes he hasn’t been paying attention at all. Hoping Bucky hasn’t noticed his preoccupation, Steve turns back to him, tuning in to the words spilling from his mouth in his heavy accent.
“I was thinkin’ of baking blueberry tarts for this dame I like,” Bucky is saying as Steve easily falls into step beside him. It feels much easier to match his strides now that they’re the same height but the absurdity of the thought gets lost in the depths of Steve’s mind the moment he thinks it. “Do you have a coupla extra pennies for fresh blueberries?”
“No,” Steve scratches the back of his head. While he loves baking, the offers of dates that they accompany are usually rejected and Steve doesn’t want to spend all his money on a fruit that isn’t in season. “Ma should have some strawberries in the fridge, we could use those.”
Steve’s ma loves strawberries so there are always some in the Rogers household. Hopefully she won’t notice that a couple of them are missing so he and Bucky can make tarts.
Slowly the streets of Manhattan melt into the walkups of Brooklyn, familiar faces dotting the sidewalk as Steve tries to remember where they started and vaguely recalls giant high rises in the distance where there is only sky now. Must be his mind playing tricks on him, buildings don’t really go that high. The feeling of wrong is ephemeral this time and he quickly forgets all about it as he waves to some of his neighbours loitering outside his apartment, climbing up the steps with Bucky.
Settling back into himself, Steve takes in the vibrant peeling wallpaper and yellowing carpet in the hallway. It wasn’t much but it was home. This small apartment was his anchor in life, his quiet sanctuary when the world was too loud and oppressive against his lungs. Steve needed it more than he could ever imagine.
There’s a newspaper on their doorstep in a pretty cream that Bucky bends over to grab, tucking it under his arm before turning to Steve. He squints down at the page as he digs through his trouser pockets for his glittering keys. He frowns for a moment before his whole face lights up and he fishes a balled-up tissue from the depths of his pockets.
Steve stares at the lump of balled up paper that Bucky is offering him with a raised brow. He doesn’t really want Bucky’s snotty tissues, but he’s so surprised he doesn’t know what to say.
“Here, I was able to snag a cookie for you after ma baked them” Bucky unwraps the tissue, giving Steve a small chocolatey bite of goodness in a rich brown dotted with inky chocolate chips. Despite the fact that they had been in Bucky’s pocket the whole walk, steam is still coming off them and when he accepts his, it’s warm in his palm and smells like long nights with Bucky, talking under a blanket well after they were supposed to be in bed.
His chest warms at the memory and Steve can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. It’s something so small but it brings him so much joy. It’s always been the little beauties in life that have brought him eternal happiness.
Lifting the cookie to his nose, Steve sniffs at it, surprised at how they smell exactly like his childhood. The way he would grab them straight off the pan after Bucky’s ma baked them. Taking a bite, Steve finds that they tasted the same too, which was ridiculous because they included a secret ingredient in them that died with Mrs. Barnes.
Dead.
The word feels too familiar on Steve’s tongue like a punch to the gut.
Bucky is.
He’s dead.
But he’s not. He’s right here.
Steve looks up to find his best friend gone, his heart jumping in his throat. A door slams behind him and he turns frantically as the room spins around him in bright flashes of colour. That’s where he grew up, but that’s impossible because the place was torn down.
Torn down, right? For the more expensive apartments in Brooklyn Heights with the snobby people that Steve hates. For the clean lines and clinical glass of the twenty-first century.
The forties were seventy years ago right?
But that’s not right either is it. Steve can’t remember the date and all the clocks of his mind are spinning backwards. The ghost of a Cheshire cat smile blooms on Steve’s face. He can’t decide which way to go and the hallway is pulling him in two different directions.
Silence. He needs silence to think, but the empty air is ringing in his ears louder than thunder though he hasn’t said a single word.
The cookie in his mouth tastes different. Like laughter and his family. A tall high rise in Manhattan and movie nights with buttered popcorn and chocolate chip cookies. That’s ridiculous because Steve can’t afford living in Manhattan much less the memory of a warm body against his side to keep him company.
This is all wrong in the worst way possible.
Steve doesn’t belong here. The thought hits him square in the chest and he tries not to hyperventilate. He’s not small anymore though so he’s not plagued by asthma. There’s nothing wrong with his lungs but he can still feel an oppressive weight on them pulling heavily at his spine.
Hunching over, Steve tries to take a couple of deep breaths and pull himself together. He’s being ridiculous. This is exactly where he’s meant to be. He must have hit his head or something.
Striding down the hall with purposeful steps, Steve grips onto the glittering door handle. Behind the door is going to be his ma’s apartment. Bucky is going to be standing in the entry hall asking what took Steve so long to get to the door. They’ll both have a good laugh or something and then retire to Steve’s room to hang out.
There is nothing for him in Manhattan. His mind is betraying him. He’ll go see the doctor in the morning and be told that it was all a daydream, something his mind conjured up because he hasn’t been getting enough sleep in order to stay up late with Bucky brainstorming different ways to woo dames.
He settles his hand on the door.
Something’s different. There’s soft humming behind the wood that’s foreign and familiar at the same time. It sounds like Back in Black but Steve’ not sure how he knows that. He doesn’t remember there being AC/DC in the forties.
The wailing of guitars and the backing drums fill his mind in a memory of glowing light and expensive cologne. It’s not something Steve should recognize considering he barely has a couple of dimes to his name. The sound of metal against metal echoes in his ears and Steve relaxes just the tiniest bit. It feels like home in the best way possible.
Without hesitation, Steve pushes on the worn wood. The door swings open easily without even a creak and when Steve steps in, he’s greeted with the comforting humming of the most beautiful voice in the world. He recognizes it from the laugh track in his mind, his guidance to do the right thing. It’s Tony-- his husband-- his mind helpfully supplies, though the word doesn’t fit quite right in his mouth.
Tony looks up from where he’s tapping away at a tablet on the worn sofa. His face immediately melts into a smile that warms Steve’s chest and he abandons the glass on the coffee table to stand up, his spine straightening in a fluid motion. There’s a beautiful grace about him that has Steve wanting to just gather him up in his arms. With a lazy salute, Tony grins widely at him. “Hey there, soldier. How was work?”
“Good,” Steve responds as he shuts the door behind him. He suddenly feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, warmth swells in his chest as he sheds his coat, hanging it up by the door. He doesn’t remember the hook for his coat being there, but something in his subconscious does and Steve is kicking off his shoes by the others at the door. He doesn’t know why it feels so incredibly right but the motion is familiar as he heads toward the couch. He’s done this a thousand times and he will do it a thousand more for as long as Tony lets him.
Holding his arms out, Tony tips his chin up, clearly expecting a hug. Steve gathers him into his arms the way he wanted, pressing his nose into Tony’s shoulder and inhaling the warm smell of coconut shampoo and grease. It smells like home and safety and everything Steve didn’t know he needed to until now. He savours the hug, loving that Tony doesn’t immediately pull away after the perfunctory pat on the back. Somewhere deep down, he knows that Tony will hold him forever if he needs it and that knowledge is a safety blanket over his broad shoulders grounding him to this moment here.
Steve pulls away and when he lifts his hand to cup Tony’s face he notices a wedding ring on his finger. He doesn’t remember it being there until he sees it and then he doesn’t quite know how he missed it, the glittering platinum stark against his pale skin. It doesn’t startle him the way it should have. It’s like deja vu, an ‘oh, I’m married’ that flits into his mind before dissolving into warm fuzzies. It’s so right that he doesn’t dare question it.
Sitting back down on the couch, Steve pulls Tony into his lap, relaxing after a hard day at work. He doesn’t quite remember what happened a couple of minutes prior. He was in the hallway talking to someone. Eating cookies. Must have been Bruce. He always made the best cookies.
For some reason, Steve’s mind settles on Bucky and his heart aches in his chest. He misses his friend, wishes he had been able to catch him when he fell, but Tony had run the numbers a thousand times, assured him it wasn’t his fault. It didn’t stop him from feeling that way.
Tipping his head forward, Steve buries his nose in Tony’s neck, kissing the warm skin of his collarbone. Tony’s nimble fingers are soft against his scalp as he cards through Steve’s hair, piecing through the strands and massaging across his crown. He loves the feeling, all his tension melting out of his frame as he lets Tony move him.
When he leans back against the couch, Steve’s gaze settles on Tony’s chest, the soft blue light emanating from it and casting light shadows across his features. Lifting his hand, Steve rests his palm against the glass, a pleased hum running through him when Tony doesn’t flinch or cower from him. Usually, he hates people touching the arc reactor. It’s his most vulnerable spot and the fact that he’s allowing Steve to do this means the world to him. They’re married, so he’s sure he’s done that to Tony, but he can’t seem to remember and that makes this moment so much sweeter.
The sound of shattering glass echoes in Steve’s ears and he yanks his hand back from Tony’s chest. The glass is still intact, but his own fingers are shaking as he looks up into Tony’s confused brown eyes.
This is wrong. Steve doesn’t know where the sudden thought comes from, but his heart is suddenly free-falling in his chest. This is wrong. Tony doesn’t have the arc reactor. Tony’s suit did. Steve shattered it into a thousand pieces while trying to save Bucky. But Bucky is dead.
Steve frowns. His brain is starting to hurt like it’s melting out of his ears and he resists the urge to cringe away from the ringing in his skull. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Tony, the love of his life.
But he already has.
A frigid chill runs up Steve’s spine like he’s back in the ice, the cold Siberian winter piling up in walls surrounding his heart. He can’t see through the snow. Doesn’t want to see what he’s done to the first person to show him true friendship in this new world. The man who gave him a home.
And what had Steve done? Abandoned him in the cold.
“Beloved?” Tony’s voice cuts through the icy temperatures, a sunny patch of warmth in his voice that Steve wants to curl up in. He focuses on it, the daydream fading away. It’s not real, Steve chants to himself, eyes fluttering open to focus on the beautiful man in his lap. “Darling,” Tony is still speaking. “Please come back to me,”
“I’m here Tony.”
But was he really? Not when he was needed most.
Steve shakes off the terrifying thought, biting his lip as he tries to come up with a way to ask Tony if everything is okay between them. His husband doesn’t seem upset, but then again, he’s very good at acting and while Steve can usually tell what’s going through his pretty little head, his weird thoughts have made his thoughts uncertain.
“Where did you go, handsome?” Tony asks, warm hands cupping Steve’s cheeks and grounding him further in this reality. Steve just wants to melt against his warmth and kiss every inch of his body. He doesn’t want these scary thoughts, he just wants Tony lying on his chest and sleeping softly, safe and sound.
“Nowhere.” A phantom shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he hates lying, but he doesn’t want to worry his husband. “What matters is that I’m here right now with you.”
Tony nods in agreement, curling into Steve’s chest and picking his tablet back up off the coffee table. He powers it on but instead of going back to work, he asks Jarvis to pull up a photo album of the two of them. He sets the projection back down on the table before kissing Steve’s chest, right over where his heart is.
It’s absolutely adorable, the quiet passion with which Tony expresses his love. It’s in the little details, randomly modified suits, increased security, the occasional watch or pair of earrings. Tony is a giver and Steve only hopes to pay him back for everything one day. He can’t take anymore.
He can’t take it anymore.
He’s a monster.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut. Erksine's formula had finally found the cloying darkness within him that rot his soul from the inside out. It had tainted his being, dying embers and dull gold that leached from his fingertips and stole from the people he loved. His plague had gone after the one thing he couldn’t live without. It had taken the beauty in his life and ruined it until it was ugly and broken. Until Steve didn’t have a person he could call home. And he had done the most unforgivable thing. He had hurt Tony.
Desperately, he tries to will the thoughts away. He’s trying to have a quiet night with his husband. Now is not the time for mind fucks or whatever is turning Steve’s brain into a mish mash of memories that are real and in no way possible. Tony is in his arms, this is exactly where he always wants to be, and yet he feels like he doesn’t belong, an imposter in his own body.
Ignoring his instincts, Steve gets lost in Tony’s eyes, the swirling green competing with the steady brown that circles his irises like stirred hot chocolate. Steve has painted them a million times, has fallen asleep missing their colours, has made Tony cry out with pleasure while gazing into them. It’s comfort safety and love against his heavy, sinning soul and Steve feels dirty from the inside out for what feels like no reason at all.
Tension fills his body, like glass right before it’s about to crack. Something is wrong with the facade Steve is pretending is real. Because it’s not and he knows that but he wants it so bad, with every being in his body.
He never knew what he wanted until it could never be his.
Tony tips his head up for a kiss as Steve feels a violent tearing sensation in his chest. It’s like sand slipping through his fingertips and he resists the urge to grab onto Tony with all his might, hang on to this dream the way he really wants to. It’s better than the reality he fucked up. And if he could, he would stay in this ephemeral mania for the rest of his life. Anything is better than a world where Tony isn’t his.
His world goes dark just as their lips are about to touch and Steve wants to scream, his heart aching with the loss. He’s unmoored, tossing waves of anxiety swirling in his belly as his face twists in a wordless yell. He’s floating, stress and pain pulling at his heartstrings. He hates it, he hates himself. He wants to pull apart his brain until he can’t remember what he’s lost. He’s never wanted anything more than to be free of the burden of hurting the one man he loves the most.
Nothing is right as a faint beeping enters his stream of consciousness, steady and slowly growing louder as Steve squeezes his eyes shut tighter out of stubbornness. He’s angry at being torn away from Tony just as he was getting what he wanted. If opening his eyes means he won’t get to see his face, Steve doesn’t want to, he wants to stay asleep forever in that dream because that’s what it was and he only recognizes that now that he’s awake.
He’d been asleep for seventy years, what was seventy more?
The media dubbed Civil War destroyed him. Every blow against Tony was one against himself. One against his happiness. And for what? To avoid telling Tony what he would have always found out. If he could go back and do it all over again he would do it all different. He would tell Tony the truth, he would keep him close, he would love him the way he deserved.
The way he’s always needed and Steve has never had the courage to do.
He remembers being in Wakanda and seeing Bucky in cryo. He remembers needing to see Tony and heading out to an Avengers call despite the fact that everyone warned him against it. He had taken a blow meant for Tony that had tossed him clean into the side of a building, bricks flying. But the pain had been worth it to have Tony rushing to his side and asking if he was okay.
“Steve,” the voice sounds just like Tony’s but Steve knows that after everything he’s done he doesn’t deserve it. After all the lies and deception and fighting and hurt Steve doesn’t deserve this man that has given him everything. That has offered him the world at the cost of himself.
There’s pressure against his hand, calloused fingers rubbing across his limp ones and Steve wants to push the phantom sensation away. It’s a warm comfort that he feels like he didn’t earn but he so desperately needs. He doesn’t want to hope that those are Tony’s hands in his because if they’re not, that will break him.
“Steve, please, they’ve taken you off the sleepy meds. You’ve got to wake up.” The voice is more insistent now, urgent and panicking for every second that his eyes stay closed. It sounds close to tears and Steve’s heart hurts in a way it hasn’t for a really long time. It’s like he finally knows exactly what he’s lost. Steve desperately wants to reassure him, to tell him that everything is going to be okay, to tell him that things can go back to the way it was, but he can’t. He doesn’t even know how to reassure himself.
“Please stay with me.”
The words crack his resolve and the drops of water that splash on his cheeks convince him further. Squinting, Steve tips his head to the speaker, tears welling in his own eyes when he sees Tony, sitting at his bedside with salty tracks running down his cheeks.
It’s weird how the world around him is dull, the vivid vibrancy of the dream fading away. Only Tony is in technicolour now, painted in vibrant reds with a gold aura surrounding him like a halo. He’s angelic in a way that reminds Steve that his heaven is here with Tony and he ruined it.
Even now he’s gorgeous. He’s wrecked, his hair greasy and falling into his red-rimmed brown eyes, swollen with lack of sleep and underscored with dark bruises. His cheeks are pink from his tears, his lips chapped because Steve knows he licks them when he’s nervous.
Steve has all these facts about Tony squirrelled away in the soft parts of his mind and at times like these, he hates how well he knows his best friend. It makes the fact that he hurt him so much harder. He wants to cut out the part of his brain that knows Tony like the back of his hand in all his eccentric idiosyncrasies.
“I’m here,” Steve whispers, one hand coming up to swipe away the water on his cheek. He can’t bear to wipe the salty water off his finger, letting Tony’s tear dry into the pad of his thumb. He can feel it’s wetness even after it dissolves like he’s marked forever by the sadness of this beautiful man. He hates himself so much more. “Please don’t cry.”
“I thought you were dead.” Tony is distraught, his voice rough from disuse as he runs a trembling hand through his hair. Steve wants to lace their fingers together and be his anchor but he lost that right the moment he drove his shield through Tony’s chest.
Guilt is a sick and awful feeling that drips down the back of his spine holding his body up as much as it drags him down. Tony opened himself up to him in all his vulnerability, had held Steve together when his memory felt like it would shake him apart. And Steve repaid him in the worst possible way. The least he can do is give him a promise that isn’t empty. He’ll stay for him.
“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” Steve reassures him, lifting his hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. He doesn’t deserve the way beautiful, teary brown eyes look up at him, a whole swell of hope and fear laced in scared irises. Steve tries to offer him a smile, musters up everything within himself and offers it on a platter to Tony. He deserves more than that. “I’m not leaving, I’m sorry.”
It’s too little two late. Six little letters that he should have said a long time ago. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry my best friend killed your parents. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you deserve. I’m sorry you love me anyway. Six sentences are not even enough to convey how much remorse he feels over the way the chips fell.
He wants to tell Tony he loves him.
He loves him.
It’s not enough and it never will be.
Tony huffs running his hand down his face. Beautiful, kind, self-deprecating Tony. Steve wants to hold him and tell him all that he’s worth. Because he’s worth a lot more than the shitty hand he’s been dealt out by his father, by the world, by Steve. Tony’s ears are red betraying his embarrassment and Steve wants to draw him into his arms and hold him against his chest so he can hear his heart beat. If only to ease the anxious ramblings of his buzzing mind. “You better not,” Tony laughs through his tears looking away. “I need you, you asshole.”
Reaching up, Steve cups Tony’s face bringing his gaze back to his. He looks in familiar brown eyes, ones that have guided him through this future. Eyes that have given him everything and all Steve has done is take and use him up until he had nothing left to give.
Steve still remembers Tony’s terrified eyes as he looked up at him, blood dripping through his curls and matting them to his forehead. He remembers the fear radiating off of Tony expecting Steve’s final blow to be the one that ended his life. His repulsors were live. Steve remembers that only now but in his own desperate haze he hadn’t thought about the glowing blue lights aimed at his face. Tony had had a clear shot. But he hadn’t taken it. He had allowed Steve to drive his shield into his chest and shatter something that had once been his lifeblood.
He had been ready to die. That’s clear to Steve now and it makes something sick and dying bloom in the pit of his roiling stomach.
That’s why Steve has to try.
“I love you.”
The shocked silence in the room is deafening. It rings in Steve’s ears like a cry for help starting in the depths of his chest until he’s on fire, his cheeks burning with embarrassment that crawls down his chest and settles like a nauseous heat in his heart.
On the bright side, it can’t get any worse. Steve’s hurt him in every possible way. His own pain was long overdue. He’s said what he needed to say. At least Tony knows now
It comes as a shock when Tony crawls into the hospital bed with Steve, collapsing against him and crying harder, tears soaking through the thin fabric of Steve’s hospital gown. The words “I love you too,” are muffled against his chest and Steve cups the back of his head.
Exhaustion hits him harder than he thought it would, his shoulders slumping as tears of relief trail down his own cheeks. Tony’s weight is a comfort across his body like a heated blanket of love and affection as he tips his head back, revelling in the idea of a life with Tony. Like he’s always wanted but will never deserve. He’s so grateful for the incredible man crying into his body, each joyful tear cooling the firey self-hatred in his soul.
They’re going to be okay. Steve knows that now. Has always known that Tony is the one person he needs in his life. The only person who can balance out the fierce heat that burns angrily in his chest. Who calls him out on his bullshit and loves him anyway. Who always forgives him even when he doesn't deserve it.
Steve still has a thousand more apologies to make but they can wait until he was out of the hospital. Until he could hold Tony in his arms and kiss him the way he couldn’t through the looking glass. He couldn’t wait to press their lips together. To bury his nose in Tony’s neck and be put back together.
His eyes flutter shut into a peaceful sleep with Tony lying on his chest and his dreams are sweet.