Cosmic Sandbox

He nods at Steve’s question, though he was mostly teasing. He enjoys cooking himself, but he hasn’t had much of a chance to do it in recent years. He’d experimented a little on the run, but the kitchens where he crashed were never this nice. Steve had a point about him being up early, though. Steve could keep doing breakfast. Bucky feels safe here, and there’s no way in hell he’s getting his ass up early now that he has that.

He watches Steve as he goes on, unable to keep from feeling like Steve seemed nervous the way he kept rambling and wondering why that might be. Of all the people on this earth, Steve’s been the only one who’s treated him like he was human 100% of the time, even when he wasn’t, and not a threat, even when he was. He finds it hard to imagine that has changed now.

But a lot has changed, hasn’t it?

When he takes the plate, he nods. “Coffee’s alright,” he says. “It’s fine. And honestly, I doubt either one’a us is gonna drop dead from a heart attack any time soon now, so I think it’s okay to not eat so wholesome and nutritious if we want to sometimes.” With the serum running through both of them, they could frankly probably eat terribly every day, but he doubted Steve wanted that. “Shuri told me about chocolate chip pancakes,” he adds with a grin, watching the way the light from the window caught in Steve’s hair and just barely managing not to reach out and touch it.

“C’mon an’ eat with me,” he says, heading toward the table.

Steve’s about to reply, but then Bucky smiles at him, and he forgets how to talk for a moment. That smile is as handsome as ever, but it’s so rare these days that it’s an absolute treasure now. He finds himself smiling back by instinct, hoping there’s no pink in his cheeks (there is). 

“‘Course, ‘course.” He follows Bucky to the breakfast table, wishing he could get a hold on his nerves and act like everything is normal. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to think he’s wary of him or something, when it’s really just that his lifelong feelings for the man are becoming too much to keep inside. “Chocolate chip pancakes, yeah? In all the time I’ve been in the future - “ Technically it’s the present, but it still feels like the future to him. “ - I don’t think I’ve tried those. I’ll find a recipe and make them for you, though.” 

It took a second for the man’s words to sink in, long enough for Diego to lose his grip on him.

“Goddamn it -- wait, what?” There had been no doubt in his head that this man was part of the operation he was taking down, and he had to be trying to convince him otherwise to throw him off. Still, though, he couldn’t his curiosity. 

Even though Steve Rogers appeared human, he knew that everyone around him knew what he was, and knew to keep their distance. Regular humans couldn’t necessarily catch the werewolf scent, but they certainly picked up the vibe, and he was always given an ample amount of space when he stopped by the bar. He was never anything but polite to the bartender, who still appeared scared shitless of him regardless, but at least this place served him at all. 

Currently he nursed a whiskey at the end of the bar, not expecting anyone to get near him. At least it wasn’t personal - people seemed to avoid anyone like him by instinct. Werewolf, shifter, vampire, any other kind of paranormal creature - they all seemed to unsettle most humans. 

When he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked up from his drink, not having expected it. Hopefully it was just some drunk unable to control the direction they were walking. To his bewilderment, he found himself staring at a very pretty part-feline man. 

THERE’S ONLY THE SMALLEST CRACK OF A SMILE at her words, and honestly? He just looks tired. Tired, relieved, glad it’s all over —— but he’s been bearing the weight of the world for so many years, and it feels almost strange to not feel the overwhelming weight of something looming upon them all. 

“ It wasn’t for nothing. ” The words are a swift reassurance, cracked just a little under the edges of it all —— and he squeezes her hand, gentle. The next question, though —— that’s easier to answer. He’s never been good at navigating emotion, and at least some things? Never change.

“ After it was all over, we had to take everything back. Put the stones back where we found ‘em so we didn’t mess up the time we took them from. ” There’s a certain —— surreal quality to it all, even now, as though he has trouble wrapping his ever-pragmatic mind around it all. “ I don’t know what happened, Nat. I really don’t. I put it back where Clint said he got it from, and then next thing I knew? I saw you. ” There’s the tiniest bit of a smile. “ I’d like to take credit for it, say we had a plan for it, but I’m just glad it happened. ” 

His brow creases, though, at her discomfort. “ Can I do anything to help? ”

Natasha can’t remember the last time she’s seen Steve look so...tired. It makes her heart twist painfully in a way entirely unrelated to her injuries. Without thinking, she gives his hand a squeeze, brushing her thumb over the side of his hand. 

“God, that’s...I’m just glad I’m back, and it wasn’t for nothing.” It’s hard to comprehend the sheer magnitude of everything, especially doped up on god knows how many pain meds. “I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you, though. Seemed too good to be true.” Natasha squeezed his hand again, reassuring herself that they both were, in fact, real. “Glad it really was you, though.” Natasha feels a squirm of discomfort when he looks at her like that, still not used to people being so kind about her pain, even after all these years.

Boredom couldn’t begin to describe the level of despair Scott had reached. For all that his professions – those both legitimate and less so - required traits such as patience and focus, the monotony of house arrest had worn thin after only a couple of days. It was some comfort that friends and family had been willing to pitch in and keep his spirits up, but on days like this, when Maggie and Paxton were taking Cassie out and Luis had his own life to lead, the slow drag of the day was torture.

It probably didn’t help that this still reminded him of the drudgery that had been prison. Still, this was easily doable by comparison: he could still see Cassie.

He had been trying to eke out the supplies he’d been left with this week (all carefully vetted prior to delivery, of course), but Scott had caved to impulse and spent the last couple of hours fiddling about with making a new little system for X-Con’s newest pitch. It was only by sheer fortune that it was not long after Steve’s arrival that he had decided to stretch his legs and head down to the kitchen for a drink. In running the tap he couldn’t help but notice a shadow through the blinds.

He frowned. Huh. Nobody was supposed to be passing today, let alone just lurking in the back yard. At once he was cautious – though some sliver of logic dictated that if it was immediate danger they’d not be hanging around for him to open the door. Would they? Maybe it was a more elaborate scheme or some kind of distraction. It could also just as easily be some weirdo.

Taking the chance that he didn’t need to scramble to find the suit just yet, Scott took his time before heading to open the door. He’d fully intended a smug sort of nonchalance, a ‘the jig’s up, pal’ at the ready, which promptly fell apart when he recognised the man.

“Cap?” he spluttered, then, just as quickly, “Steve—uh. Hi. What the hell are you…?” At once he took a step back, gesturing for the man to come inside. “You can, uh, come in, but you shouldn’t even be here. Why are you here?” A thousand scenarios suddenly leaped into his imagination, each more anxiety-inducing than the next. “Is everything okay?”

Steve quickly realized that coming here had probably been a mistake, and lurking in Scott’s backyard even moreso. He definitely should have at least knocked. Oops. He held up his hands in a bit of a surrender, following the other man inside and trying to ignore the surge of guilt that had arisen upon seeing him. 

“Everything’s fine, everything’s fine. Don’t worry,” Steve said, wanting to make sure Scott didn’t descend into a full blown anxiety attack. “I, uh, just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. Sorry I didn’t knock.” Steve half expected Scott to be angry with him after everything, and Scott would totally be within his rights to throw him out. 

THERE’S A TINY LITTLE SMILE, and he takes that hand without thinking about it. He squeezes it lightly, wraps fingers ‘round hers, and that smile just looks like the weight of the world is in it. He’s tired, but it’s —— for once, after so, so many long years, it’s a good kind of tired. The world feels bright again. Feels like there’s HOPE out there again. 

“ —— dead, ” he finishes, quickly, so as to not let her wonder for longer than he has to. “ We did it, Nat. We brought ‘em all back. We fixed it. Everything. ” There’s a weight of emotion in his eyes, though the smile doesn’t fade, as small as it is. “ There’s a hell of a story I have to catch you up on sometime, but the end of it all is? We ended it. ”

He takes a breath, then, taking a seat again at the edge of the bed. “ I went to go put the stones back where we got ‘em when I found you. God, Nat, I —— “ His breath snags in his chest, his smile falters a sec, and he finds it again. “ We thought we lost you. ” 

Natasha feels like she might cry when he takes her hand, and even more so when she takes in the gravity of his words. She can scarcely believe it, but she knows he’d never lie to her about something that serious. She can’t even muster up words for a moment, so instead, her grip on his hand gets twice as tight, and she clings to it like a lifeline. Finally, she manages to speak. 

“We did it. Oh my god.” She’s willing herself not to cry in front of Steve, but she can’t help the pinpricks of tears in her eyes. She lifts her free hand to discreetly wipe her eyes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of everything. “It wasn’t for nothing.” Her heart gives a painful wrench when he mentions her fall from Vormir. 

Natasha doesn’t sleep much. She knows she should, and multiple people in her life remind her to, but it doesn’t stop the nightmares. So insomnia is better, and she often finds herself haunting the halls of the Avengers HQ at night, too restless and afraid of her own mind to let herself try to sleep. Tonight is one of those nights, although she’s surprised that she has company this time.

Normally, unexpected and sudden touch would make her balk, but she can tell it’s Steve from his voice, and she can’t help but relax into his arm. The kiss to her head makes her go faintly pink, but she’s hoping he can’t see it in the dim light. She’s reasonably sure neither of them know what they are as a pair, but they’re important to each other, and that’s what matters. Putting a label on it would make things more complicated. In the meantime, she leans into him, hoping he’ll stay where he is for the moment.

“Sometimes I just don’t sleep, even after a day like this.” Especially after a day like this. She was exhausted from combat, but the combat itself made things surface up in her brain, made her remember days in the Red Room she’d tried to forget. “I’m just not someone who needs a lot.” Mostly true. 

HE’S BEEN SITTING IN THIS ROOM ON AND OFF FOR DAYS. He’s been in and out —— there’s a lot going on out there, and he has to be present for much of it. But on the heels of his apparent retirement comes a certain freedom that he’s not sure he likes quite yet, but it’s left him with the ability to at least hang around here without much worry about what’s going on out there. 

He’s sitting in a chair, flipping absently through a two-month-old National Geographic —— the title article is about the global effects of the snap, ironically enough —— and so it’s not until she speaks does he notice she’s awake.

He’s swift to discard of the magazine, tossing it to the table and rising. “ Hey. ” And god, how his voice is laced with relief and worry. “ You’re in a hospital. Clint was here earlier, but you just got me for now. How you feeling? ”

It is an utter balm to see Steve, even if he looks incredibly worried. She reaches for him with one hand instinctively, though it still hurts to move, even through all the drugs she’s undoubtedly on. She feels reasonably lucid, though, and she makes herself speak again, giving him a wry, tired smile.

“Like I got hit by a truck. But hey, I’m here,” Natasha said, and then she felt a jolt of panic, remembering the context of how she had gotten here in the first place. If she hadn’t died, they wouldn’t have gotten the Soul Stone, and Thanos was still undoubtedly out there. Alarmed, she spoke again.

STEVE HAD DREADED COMING HERE, and thus it’s his last stop in this journey. The other stones have been placed back in their timelines, and hopefully they haven’t been upended to a degree that they will not be able to heal from their interference.

But this place?

This place is a graveyard. It’s full of ghosts. Old enemies. Coming here?

Yeah.

It’s done. The soul stone placed back in the pool from where it came ( —— taken back into the waters with a glow that was almost too warm, too bright, and it causes a twist in his gut that he doesn’t know quite what means but he knows he doesn’t like. )

He’s about to leave, but those huge spires? They distract him for a moment, and his fingers curl against themselves —— an old foe he can’t fight, not here, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t ——

Movement. In this cold, desolate nightmare of a place.

And once he gets there? Fuck, it’s like something punched all of the air out of him, and he’s kneeling beside her before he can think about it, hang reaching for her. “ Nat. ” And his voice sounds like it’s being torn in two, but god, that look in his eyes? That’s relief punched through by pain. Grief. Guilt. “ Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Come on, let’s get you out of here. ”

Natasha is still not entirely convinced she isn’t dead, but if the afterlife includes a Steve hallucination, she’s not going to complain about it. Except for the look in his eyes - even through her physical pain, it makes her heart twist to see him so distraught. She’s fading in and out of consciousness, and being moved sends a shock of pain through her, but she does her best to hold onto Steve as they return from Vormir. 

The next few days are a haze of medical treatment and various states of consciousness, but at least for some of it, she’s sedated enough that she can get some rest without pain. She’s not sure how long it is before she’s fully conscious again, but when she wakes, she looks around, desperate for a familiar face.

 The first thing Natasha registered was excruciating pain. She wasn’t able to think very clearly, but one thought did slip through - pain meant she was alive. She was too agonized to wonder why, or think about what that meant for the fight against Thanos, but she knew that much at least. 

Also, it was cold. Very cold. That was absolutely making the pain worse, and Natasha struggled to move, not getting very far. She wasn’t sure how far she had fallen, but the impact had been intended to kill her. Maybe this was death, and her consciousness was permanently stuck in that last moment of pain. 

She wasn’t sure how long she watched the snow fall, but after a while a face came into her vision, one she was sure she must be hallucinating. The last time she had seen that face was before she had left for Vormir, and there was no way he was really here. Still, though, she couldn’t help trying to speak, even over the howling wind. 

Bucky groaned softly, light filtering through his eyelids signaling the morning. As soon as the weight of soft blankets registered, though, he sucked in a sharp breath, lifting his head to look around him, heart racing. Letting out a shuddering breath as remembered where he was, he dropped his head back to the pillow, pressing a hand to his chest. He’d had two years in Wakanda. Two years of waking up to the desert heat, the smell of the earth baking in the sun, and children (or goats) that had sneaked into his little hut. It had been the most peace he’d had in decades, in between trips to the city for treatments. Then another war came to his doorstep, and of course he said he’d join as soon as they asked.

That was five years ago. Whenever he thought about that part, it was difficult not to let the guilt swallow him whole. Five years he was gone while Steve suffered and struggled without him. How many times could he keep disappearing in front of his best friend? It wasn’t his fault, and he knew it, but knowing it didn’t help. Maybe he could make up for it now, especially since Steve had put down the shield. They had a chance to just be together again, for the first time in ages. And sure, it was harder to keep his feelings at bay with Steve close all the time now, but he’d done it his entire life, when he was in his own mind. He could do it now.

He could smell food and coffee, so once his heart slowed back down, he rolled out of bed, tied his hair into a messy bun, and pulled a light robe over his briefs, tying it loosely around the waist for at least some semblance of modestly. Padding down the hallways barefoot toward the kitchen, he ignored the way his chest felt like it was being squeezed to see Steve standing over the stove cooking, and went for the coffee first. “Morning, Stevie,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep as he poured himself a cup and added sugar and cream.

Once stirred, he leaned his hip against the counter to watch what Steve was doing, brain not awake enough yet to offer to help. “Think I could get used to this,” he said, smiling softly.

Steve faintly wondered if Bucky was trying to kill him. It took him a moment to realize Bucky was speaking, thanks to that incredibly distracting robe, and the way he just lounged casually against the counter. Bucky likely had no idea about the effect he had on him, and Steve tried to remember how to speak. Bucky had grown his hair out since Wakanda, and it looked incredibly lovely at its current, longer length. Steve shoved that thought out of his head, determined not to be distracted.

“Mornin’, Buck,” Steve said, feeling his heart do a funny little twist when Bucky used his nickname. No one else called him that, and he didn’t want anyone else to call him that. That was Bucky’s privilege, and he never wanted to hear that name in anyone else’s voice. 

“Get used to me making breakfast for you?” Steve’s cheeks went faintly pink. “That can happen, I can keep doing it. I just figured since I’m the one who keeps getting up early, I might as well, and I like doing it for you - “ Steve stopped himself before he babbled further, trying to get a hold of himself. If Bucky wasn’t wearing that damned robe this wouldn’t be such a problem, but it wasn’t exactly a long robe, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination. Steve made himself look at the eggs he was scrambling, trying not to ogle. 

“I made eggs, bacon, and pancakes,” Steve continued, trying to talk like a normal person would to a roommate and friend. “Just simple stuff. I like it better that way and I thought you might too. But I promise, we’ll eat way better than we ever did back then. Just wholesome and nutritious.” Steve finished the eggs, preparing them both plates and piling them high with breakfast food. 

@weaponizedembrace

Steve hadn’t had this much time to think about his feelings in years, and he hated it. It was easier to compartmentalize and focus on the mission at hand, but now, there was no mission. Steve Rogers was retired, and Sam had taken up the Captain America mantle. There was no one more worthy, and Steve was very proud of him, but now he had no idea what to do with his time.

Unfortunately, the more free time he had, the more he thought about Bucky. It was a damned miracle that they were both here in this timeline together, and he was very grateful, but now he had to acknowledge things he had left unsaid for many, many years. Well, at least in theory. Steve was absolutely never going to tell Bucky how he felt, but he considered it progress that he could put a name to the feelings and sit with them now. That would have to be enough. Bucky had been through so much and was still recovering, and the last thing Steve wanted was to make things more difficult for him.

Right now, Steve’s job was to help Bucky through that recovery, and keep watch over him now that they finally had time to heal. They had become roommates again now that everything had settled down, living in a secluded countryside house for the moment. Steve felt better knowing Bucky wasn’t living alone and dealing with the aftermath of everything by himself, but it was slightly torturous living with the man he was quietly in love with. Still, though, that was his problem, and Bucky’s wellbeing was more important.