The Dreamscape

Steve’s already on his second cup of coffee when Bucky wakes. The footsteps inside the house are slow and unrushed, just the way they had been for the past few years. Just as they intended.

The cupboard door creaks a bit when it opens and closes, and Steve has a perfect memory of Bucky reaching for his favourite mug — some terribly cute Captain America mug that Steve’s tried to throw out half a dozen times.

He’s not sure if Bucky somehow manages to rescue it each time or if he just keeps a mass stock of them in the floorboards somewhere. Neither would surprise him, really.

The front door rattles as it closes when Bucky finally comes out to join him on their porch. Sure enough, Steve’s least favourite mug is in his hands.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, still a little sleepy. His hair’s gotten longer, like it had been in Wakanda, and it’s currently mostly tangled, draped over his left shoulder.

“Good morning, love,” Steve responds, just like he does every morning. He sets his sketchbook to the side, entirely focused on Bucky making himself cozy in the cushions.

It’s a beautiful day in Sedona, Arizona. Their swing faces the mountains and Steve’s been watching the light across them turn from dusky pinks to the warm oranges they are now. He drapes his arm over Bucky’s shoulders to pull him in, enjoying their usual morning snuggle.

It’s quiet here, despite the occasional sounds that float in from town in the warm air, muggy air. It’s peaceful.

It’s what they wanted.

 A peaceful life, away from the superhero spotlight, away from the busy rush of the city. No more schedules, no more deadlines and having their lives dictated by an agenda. They don’t even own a clock. They’ve both lost so much time, it didn’t seem to make sense having to look at it any more. Now they simply rise with the sun (or after, in Bucky’s case) and turn in with the sunset.

They traded in their cell phones for a landline.

“How’s your painting going?” Bucky asks, nuzzling into Steve’s jaw like a giant, sunbathing cat.

“A little distracted right now,” Steve replies with a smile, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. He runs his fingers through the knots in Bucky’s hair, and they don’t move from their positions until they’re all undone.

The sun is high above them by the time he’s finished.

“Lunch?”

Bucky nods, uncurling himself and stretching, soft pops and cracks following. “Let me get some of that fresh basil…”

They’re not young anymore, there’s no two ways about it. Even excluding the years they were frozen, excluding the years lost from Thanos, they were still old. They’d spent their earlier years saving the world. They spent the years following that trying to make sure it wouldn’t need saving again.

“... I must still have some of that garlic too, hmm…”

Now they both sport greys in their hair and patches of it in their beards. They’re starting to get crow’s feet when they laugh or smile (which is often) and their friends are even wrinklier.

Steve does crossword puzzles and Bucky has a garden now. Sometimes, Steve watches out the kitchen window, listening to Bucky mumbling to his plants. It’s exactly as they always envisioned their retirement to be like.

“... Could make pesto. Hey, you listenin’ to me, punk?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, following suit. “Basil, garlic, pesto. Get inside, old man.”

Bucky snorts when he laughs, and tries to lock the screen door, trapping Steve outside, even if they both know that the serum still flows in them and Steve could yank the door open with ease.

Instead, he dangles Bucky’s mug in his fingers and threatens to drop it.

Bucky opens the door with a fake scowl.

The weather is always warm in Sedona. It’s one of the reasons they chose to come here — to shake off the frost from their pasts. Neither of them are particularly fond of the winters now. Even when the sky turns purple, the breeze is still warm.

They clean up the kitchen from their homemade meal.

Suddenly, their bubble, their slice of heaven, their perfectly calm routine, erupts.

They’d been winding down for bed, sharing kisses as soft as their touches. Steve will never know how he’d managed to get so lucky to be given this second (and third, and fourth) chance to spend his life with someone like this. Undying, unwavering lover that doesn’t seem to dim.

And that it’s Bucky.

“Love you,” Steve mumbles softly. Bucky’s close enough that Steve feels the smile against his lips.

“Love you, too.”

Bucky wakes first — Steve knows because he’d been whacked in the face with the blanket. It happens from time to time, two soldiers who have been in service too long and have seen too much; the nightmares are inevitable. They’re far and few between these days, but Steve still worries.

“Buck?”

“We’ve got company.”

Steve launches into action because he knows. It’s the way Bucky stands, tensed and sharp eyes focused somewhere beyond Steve, his training taking over naturally. It’s the way he’s already got a gun in hand, jaw working as he grinds his teeth.

“Let’s go tell ‘em to get off our lawn.”

Bucky digs in the back of their closet and tosses Steve his shield before he winks. “Captain.”

It’s always fucking Hydra.

It’s been years since they’ve encountered any traces of them, and they’d even thought it was too good to be true. They should’ve known those years of silence were just too lucky — that they would be quietly rebuilding for a big comeback.

“Steve,” Bucky says tersely, reloading his gun from their doorway. The agents hadn’t even reached the house before they were struck down and now their bodies currently littered their lawn. Bucky’s already gone through two clips and he doesn’t miss a shot even to this day. Steve’s not really sure how much ammo is even in the house, but Bucky’s tone suggests that it’s not a lot. Other than the shield, they don’t have a ton of weapons stocked away but Bucky turns around anyway.

He hears it too — the rumblings in the distance that are most certainly out of place and walks towards it. It vaguely reminds him of —

He blinks, trying to come back to the present. The field of ash and smoke turns back to their green lawn. Thanos and his army fade and he’s faced with the towering mountains once more.

Bucky re-emerges from their house to stand beside Steve, his own eyes seeming a million miles away. Steve knows Bucky sees Azzano because the rumbling, mechanic noise sounds like a war tank to him too.

They’re outnumbered and outgunned, and even if Bucky’s made a call while he was restocking, they’re too far away for anyone to get there in time. They both know what it means for them.

Steve straps the shield on tighter and Bucky’s arm whirs softly. They turn to look at each other — one last moment suspended in time to enjoy their peace and the life they built together. With a nod, they turn back to face the hoard of assailants coming their way.

They’ve done this plenty of times before — the war, the battle of Wakanda, the battle for Earth. They walk forward together.

They’ve lost a lot of ground. This is usually the part in a battle where someone says “fall back” except there isn’t anywhere to fall back to.

“Stevie?” Bucky calls out, not even the slightest bit out of breath as he steps over the bodies littering the ground at his feet.

Steve’s wary of Bucky’s grin that he can see even from a few feet away – it never bodes well when Bucky wears that expression. “Yeah?”

“Kept my promise,” Bucky answers, far too jovial for their situation. Steve’s stomach drops, too familiar with Bucky’s antics, particularly in the face of danger. “Always said it to ya, til the end of the line.”

“Don’t —”

Steve brings his shield up at the last second to deflect a round of shots. “Don’t give me that, Buck.”

“Shit…”

Steve turns to see what’s caught Bucky’s eyes and the sight chills him to the very bone. It crackles with energy, a bright blue that’s too reminiscent of the beam that disintegrate their men in the war, too reminiscent of Loki’s staff and the portals that brought aliens to invade their planet.

“What the hell is —”

Again he’s cut off, this time by Bucky seizing up beside him as a bright light shoots in their direction.

Steve’s arm is singed and he looks down in surprise to see a crack in his indestructible shield. Fear floods his veins and when he turns to Bucky, that fear turns into full-blown panic.

Bucky’s arm recalibrates, awkwardly and clunky in a way the vibranium never does, making Bucky drop his gun.

Bucky never drops his gun.

“N…”

“Buck?” Steve asks, instantly afraid. Bucky has nightmares, has flashbacks and episodes, but nothing that looks like this.

Bucky winces as he stumbles back, hand coming up to crackle his head, digging the heel of his palm into his eye.

“Bucky?!”

“Come, Soldat. It is time we make the world anew.”

The command echoes in the clear night sky, loud enough to reverberate down Steve’s spine.

They’ve found a way. The truth crashes into Steve like a freezing cold tsunami and he nearly stumbles himself.

“It’s — nnn…o. No. I can’t — Steve.” Bucky’s voice trembles as much as his hands do as he turns his wide, fearful eyes to Steve. “I kept my promise, now you gotta keep yours. Please, Steve.”

Steve’s stomach plummets. “You can’t mean —”

“Don’t let them take me,” Bucky pleads, breathing heavily as his eyes start going out of focus. “Plea….s… я… я готов… Steve.”

The desperation is unlike anything Steve’s heard. He’s heard Bucky whine his name before — when it’s too early and he wants to keep sleeping, when he’s trying to convince Steve to dance with him, when he’s demanding Steve’s attention, when they’re in bed —

Not like this. Not this broken, half-sob with tearful eyes.

“This isn’t the end of the line,” Steve says determinedly, despite the stuttering words. “I’ll always find you again.”

They don’t say “goodbye”, because it isn’t. They don’t say “I love you”, because it’s simply a truth they’ve always known and never doubted.

Steve turns away from the assailants coming for them and kisses Bucky with everything he has.

Bucky’s warmth, the scent of their soap on his skin, his lush lips that press into Steve’s — he memorizes it all, even though he knows he’ll follow right after.

He steps back and raises his damned shield against the love of his life.

The years they’ve spent together flash before him and he grits his teeth, praying for strength. To make it worse, Bucky only smiles at him — small and tearful – and nods, mouthing “it’s okay”.

He makes it swift, puts every ounce of his willpower behind it so Bucky doesn’t suffer and aims for the weakest part — the temple.

Crack.

It’s quick. Steve only keeps his eyes long enough to catch his beloved.

The world already starts to fade around him as he resolutely keeps them shut, lowering them to the ground. He doesn’t want to see the damage he’s done, the hole in Bucky’s skull, the blood that’s trickling down Steve’s hand before staining the ground he kneels on.

His arms stay tightly wrapped around the still-warm body as he mourns, silent tears falling to join the pooling blood.

There’s voices that seem angry, blending in with the sound of machinery. He couldn’t possibly care less about what they’re saying. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the hair that he’d so painstakingly combed through that morning, the hair that still smells faintly of green apples.

He registers a searing pain, though it’s dull compared to what he feels in his heart.

‘Til the end of the line.

The funeral is small and private, the way they would’ve wanted.

They’re buried just the way they are, arms wrapped around one another protectively. Lovingly.

There’s no coffins, because Bucky never wanted to be trapped again.

There’s no headstone, nothing to mark where their bodies might be buried, in hopes that they’ll get to return to that peace they found for themselves.

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