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2024, Stark Lakehouse, by the edge of the water.
"Alright, Sam," Bruce says, "Two minutes, and I'm bringing you back. No detours."
"Got it."
Bucky paces nervously back and forth, "No, seriously. Don't fuck around with this. That's it, doll. Get in, get out."
Shuri is busy logging the coordinates, smiling at Bucky's fussing.
It's late one evening, the sky is dark and starless overhead the water, everything is ominously quiet. The world around them seems to wait in nervous silence with the knowledge of what Sam's about to do.
"I know. There and back. That's all." Sam assures him and activates the quantum suit. Shuri had helped Bruce engineer a unique set of wings with this mission in mind, too. They expand with the suit, stretching wide and blue at his sides.
Even with this mission ahead and nervousness thick in the air, Bucky gapes at the wings (and Sam) in wonder, as if this is the first time he's ever seen it.
The truth is Sam hadn't been able to stop thinking about any of this since Steve returned the stones, having lived his life the way he had always wanted. He kept thinking that there is someone else, someone that he cares for deeply, that never got to do the same.
And so in the name of science and research and perhaps a little selfish curiosity of his own, he'd been planning this mission with Shuri, Bruce, and Bucky for a couple of months.
They had found a way to duplicate a timeline, a way to leave the original safely in place, and subsequently alter the duplicate without any effect on the current future.
Bucky's frown seems everlasting, his eyes piercing into Sam. He's saying, please be careful, he's saying I love you. Sam offers him a small smile; with it, he means I'll be back before you know it, I love you too.
Shuri counts, "In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"
And Sam is sucked into an impossible vortex and hurtled around through space and time.
Bucky's wide-eyed and worried gaze is the last thing he sees.
1944, Swiss Alps, hundreds of feet above a frozen ravine
Sam had not been expecting the wind to be so brutal. It cuts like a thousand knives, stabbing and ice-cold, right to the bone. Everything is dead and frozen white around him, and all he can hear is the deafening whistle of the wind.
He lands atop the speeding train, right behind Gabe Jones. There's a part of him that wants to lunge forward and embrace the guy, say, hey! I've read so much about you, you're a hero in my time, sign my wings, but he keeps his distance.
They don't know he's there as they crawl along the length of the cart, but he can see both Steve and Bucky now. Steve much younger, lither somehow, and Bucky plenty younger, unscathed, and moving just like Steve. That should have been a dead giveaway in itself that his body had been altered.
And because he knows this is his Bucky- that is the same body he loves and sleeps next to every night, his heart squeezes tight in his chest. There's something reverent here, something deep and painful that he holds in his hands.
The three men climb down a side ladder and enter a compartment, and then they're out of sight. Sam crawls his way to the right side of the train and waits.
He hears gunfire, their voices, a clang of metal- unmistakably the shield, a crackling explosion, and then at last Steve's harrowing cry, "Bucky!"
"Hang on!—Grab my hand!—No!"
And then a long, terrifying scream follows as the seared metal bolts finally give way and he falls down, down, down.
For a split second it's devastating and terrible to watch this piece of history unfold. Sam wants to kneel and mourn the loss but this is his cue. He kicks off the side of the train and dives headfirst down into the piercing wind. Following in Bucky's wake.
The new wings withstand the force of the winds, they're bent so that he doesn't get jerked sideways. He launches the boosters and speeds down until he's within reach of the falling soldier.
He can't feel his face, it's numb, but he smiles.
The ground is coming up fast and clear now, but Sam angles left, crashes into Bucky, and wraps his arms around his waist. A meter or so from the frozen-solid earth, he swoops them both back toward the sky.
"I got you," He says, "I got you."
Bucky's still screaming, clutching onto the quantum suit for dear life, and as his voice dwindles and the realization of rescue dawns on him, he shoves his face into Sam's neck and repeats, "Oh god... oh god oh god," like a desperate prayer.
It's that same voice Sam has come to love, deep and rugged and soothing, a little hysterical now, but still Bucky's in more ways than Sam can say.
The man in his arms is someone else though when Sam sets him down. Hair cropped short, clean-shaven face, wearing his badges with honor, original left arm still intact.
Sam drags them to an inlet of rocks and thick bushes, away from the blizzard's unforgiving winds. Bucky shivers and sinks to the ground. It takes a while for him to gather his wits, and Sam takes the time to collect some branches and leaves for a fire.
They're both silent at first, only stolen glances and quiet observance of one another.
Bucky eyes Sam's wings as he shakes off the snow and folds them back into the jet pack. Then he finally speaks, "You know, a couple of months ago, I'da asked a lot more questions about that kinda thing."
Sam starts up the fire with one of Bucky's lighters to keep them warm; Bucky helps idly by tossing in a few sticks.
"Yeah? Bet you've seen some shit, huh?" Sam smiles.
"Fellas tearing off their goddamn faces, evil Nazi doctors. A pair of wings is nothing." Bucky pulls his knees up to his chest, and Sam sits down beside him, "I've also seen enough to know you ain't from around here, are ya?"
Sam shakes his head, "The year 2024, actually," he tells Bucky, watching his eyebrows shoot up.
"Jesus Tapdancin' Christ. No shit, doll!?"
Sam laughs fondly, he imagines his Bucky calling him that same thing. That makes him think they'd belong to each other in any lifetime; wherever Sam is, whoever he is, he'd be Bucky's doll.
"I, uh, know you," Sam says, "In the future." Bucky looks at him intrigued. "In another life, no one saved you from that fall."
Bucky laughs like he's not shocked at all, "I always knew I wouldn't make it home from this war. Told my friend I'd die here." Mournful acceptance flashes across his face, then, "But how do you—"
Sam shakes his head, "You didn't die—" he contemplates for a moment, "You didn't really live either, actually."
Bucky makes a sound like, of course , "Let me guess, HYDRA?"
"HYDRA," Sam laughs. And he guesses he can laugh about this now, Bucky is safe—in this timeline at least—and no one loses anyone.
"What's your name, babydoll?" Bucky asks, Brooklyn suddenly dripping off his tongue.
Sam's definitely not blushing right now, that's just ridiculous. "Sam. Sam Wilson."
"Hey, tell me something, Sam," Bucky says, shifting closer to him.
"There is a fuck tonne of shit I need to tell you, especially about your best friend, his piloting techniques, and this goddamn war."
"Stevie? You know him too?"
Sam nods, "Crazy motherfucker."
Bucky laughs out loud, cackling, head falling back, and he's beautiful in the flickering firelight. Sam rarely sees his Bucky laugh with such abundance, so open for all the world to see.
He says, now even closer than he'd been before, looking at Sam all wild and hungry and full of wonder, "Now tell me, doll, tell me I was smart enough to bag you in two thousand and fuckin' twenty-four. Huh? Was I?"
"Hm," Sam stares at Bucky for a second, shifting so he's right underneath Bucky's arm, "On any other night, you'd be asleep in our bed, curled up at my back, but tonight you're pacing the grounds, probably yelling at Bruce about why it's taking so long, cussing about how Steve's stupidity rubbed off on me." Bucky's grin widens, and he's watching Sam with rapt devotion, "You sleep with nothing on, and your hair's longer—" Sam reaches out and brushes his finger along Bucky's collar, "—this long, you tie it up, and you got a metal arm…"
"HYDRA again?" Bucky loud-whispers, eyes fixed on Sam's mouth as he tells the story.
"Yeah, but it holds me all the same...opens jars like magic." He takes Bucky's left hand and presses it to his heart. "And even though you said how crazy this plan was, how you gonna murder me if I get killed out here, I know you'll be waiting for me in your fluffy nightgown when I get back."
"Fluffy nightgown, huh?" Bucky smiles, small and fond, then says, "And do you love me?"
"More than anything," Sam says instantly before pulling Bucky closer and kissing him.
1944, Europe, the burnt remains of a pub.
Sam delivers Bucky Barnes unharmed to Steve Rogers late the following afternoon, gun smoke and soot hang thick in the air.
Sam is very much aware that his boots are treading upon world history. Beneath his feet ashes crunch, and Steve's head whips around. Agent Carter shoots up fast and draws a pistol.
She lowers it as soon as she sees Bucky.
"Sergeant Barnes?"
Steve's face is ghastly, eyes swollen red, now shocked, "Bucky?"
"Who the hell is Bucky." Sam murmurs to himself and suppresses a laugh. Steve shoots him a glare, but ultimately his eyes fall back on his friend.
"In the flesh, pal." the Sergeant says and does a playful twirl.
Steve crumples with relief or perhaps disbelief and throws himself at Bucky. "What? You fell, Buck. So far. How did you—what?"
"Get off me, you lug," he shrugs Steve off, saying, "My best guy over here has a nifty pair of wings." patting the wing pack on Sam's back, "I'd be a goddamn bloodstain if it weren't for him."
Steve rubs his face, "Jesus Bucky, I thought you—I thought you died , Buck."
"And who might your best guy be, if I may ask, Sergeant Barnes?" Peggy Carter says, carefully observing Sam.
She's flawlessly gorgeous, more so than any history book ever managed to depict. Not even the Smithsonian video reels do her justice. For a second Sam is completely captivated with those red lips and fixing brown eyes.
He comes forward to shake hands with her, "Sam Wilson, ma'am." The lady has a deadly iron grip, but she smiles.
Then Steve comes up to him, immediately taking Sam's hand in both of his, "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Wilson, sir, I—"
"No need to thank me, Cap," Sam says, "Now, Buck will fill you in on some real important stuff because I gotta run, but I'll tell you what you can do."
Steve nods vehemently, "Anything."
Bucky comes to stand beside Sam and slings an arm around his shoulders, staring at the side of his face with a grin wider than the horizon at their backs.
"The year 2014, Washington D.C, the National Mall. Come find me. I won't know y'all then, but I'd want to. Deal?"
Steve looks confused, yet he agrees without a doubt. "Of course, and thank you again, Mr. Wilson. I owe you."
With that, Sam salutes them, and Bucky walks him out to the town square.
"You sure you can't stay, dollface?" he says, his hands on Sam's hips, lazily pulling him closer.
"No, sir. Gotta get back to my guy and go deal with your grumpy future ass."
Bucky laughs, "Yeah, alright. Do me a favor, honey. When you see him, tell him to kiss you like he means it, will ya?"
"I'll do you one better," Sam says and pulls Bucky into a hard, bruising kiss.
He hits the quantum activation, and the last thing he sees before time swallows him back is Bucky, eyes youthful and unhaunted, smiling at him.
2024, Stark Lakehouse, beside the water.
As he expected, he finds Bucky pacing the wet grass outside, back and forth, puffing nervously on a menthol cigarette and wrapped in his fluffy black nightgown. He's so entrenched with worry that he doesn't notice Sam reappearing on the platform.
"Buck," Bruce says quietly, relieved, and Bucky turns to find Sam standing there.
Sam retracts his wings, lets the quantum suit flit away to nothing, and sucks in a deep breath of fresh and familiar and only slightly chilly air.
"Baby," Bucky calls out, quite desperate sounding, all the worry and anticipation fixed thick in his throat. He reaches Sam and starts feeling him down from the crown of his head to the dips between his ribs.
"Babydoll," he finally breathes once he's sure Sam is unharmed. Even softer, and dragging Sam against him, he whispers, "My babydoll."
Sam holds him tight. This Bucky smells so different, like peace and tenderness, the mix of them both, their sheets and clothes, and the faint tang of his smokes. The Bucky from 45' smelled like war, sharp, like the wind and damp earth.
"Miss me?" Sam laughs into his neck, fingers curled into his nightgown.
"Did you get that poor bastard?" Bucky asks, righting himself and giving Sam one last injury patdown.
"Two inches from the ground, baby." Sam smiles, nodding at Bruce, "He's safe. Steve and Carter will intercept the Valkyrie before take off now that they know."
"Jesus. You ever felt two minutes turn into a goddamn century?" Bucky asks no one in particular and heaves another sigh of relief.
"Tell you what those couple of minutes on the side of that train came pretty close." Sam drapes his arm around Buck and kisses his temple.
"Thanks, honey," Bucky says loud enough only for Sam to hear. "I owe you. He owes you."
"He already made it up to me. You can make it up to me in kind, too," Sam says, winks, watching Bucky smirk at him with moonlight glittering in his eyes.
"Actually," Shuri says, noting stats from the expedition, "While you were away, Sergeant Barnes made quite an interesting suggestion." She looks up at Sam, "Tell me, Captain; you were in Bakhmala, Afghanistan in 2010, correct?"
"Riley…" Sam breathes. His chest is tight.
Bucky smiles, "We're gonna get your boy."