Bucky nodded at the doctor as she left, then stood and moved to stand in front of Steph, clearly favoring one leg over the other. He chewed his lip a bit as he gently started unbuckling her shield from where it was still strapped to her obviously injured arm, trying not to jostle her too much.
But once that was set aside, he paused for a minute. Throughout their lives, he'd seen her in all sorts of states of undress and even helped her himself when she was sick a few of those times, propriety be damned. But that was before she knew what she meant to him. "Do you- Do you want me to help you with your suit or do you want me to get you the doctor?" It definitely wasn't that he didn't want to see her or anything, but more that he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured or anything. "I'll do whatever you want, Steph." Ever the respectful man from the 40s.
"I want you," she answered, a dark flush coloring her paler than usual face; she meant that more than just helping her with the suit, too. She was no prude — a few years in the Army, back when it was mostly men, would do that to you — but she'd never actually been with anyone. Tony and Nat used to tease her about it and her old-fashioned sensibilities, but it hadn't even been about that. She just hadn't been interested. Everyone else only saw the body the serum gave her, not who she truly was, so why even bother?
"You've seen me in much less. It's fine." He'd even slept on her bed those times she was sick, and during those too cold winter nights in her rundown apartment. They'd also shared a tent on several occasions back during the war, when the nightmares and the horrors got too much and they needed a reminder that they weren't alone. This really wasn't that much different. Besides, it wasn't like she wasn't wearing anything under the suit, or that they were going to do something indecent. She wanted to, but sure as hell not in a med tent.
Bucky nodded again before reaching out to begin unhooking things for her. "Alright. Just didn't want things to be weird for you or anything." He would never want anything to be awkward for her if he could help it. But one of the big plus sides of being friends with her for so long was that he usually knew what was alright and what wasn't. Just because she was physically stronger now than she used to be didn't mean he was going to stop trying to look out for her.
As he got further into trying to get the suit off of her, though, he couldn't help chuckling a little. "You might have to direct me some here. Why'd you get such a complicated suit? Mine's just a jacket and some pants." And a couple belts but still, it was nothing compared to this thing.
"What's weird is I don't gotta hold back now," she admitted with a quiet laugh, catching and squeezing his flesh hand. She wasn't complaining though. After all, she'd only wanted this since they were teenagers. She could still remember the moment: when he took her Coney Island for her 15th birthday and convinced her to ride the Cyclone. He held her hair while she threw up in a trash can afterward, then she punched his arm because he was the worst, and as he hugged her in apology, she thought that she would do it again, if he asked. She would do anything he asked.
Except stay in Brooklyn while he went off to die in the war. She'd figured she was going to die eventually anyway — and her health had been in a state of decline after he'd left, not that she ever told him — so she might as well go out there and die with him. Thankfully, neither of them were really dead, but she gave his hand another squeeze just to be sure.
Then he commented on her suit, and she laughed. "Tony is as bad as Howard in making practical gear." Was, she mentally corrected a second later, but didn't say it out loud, just swallowed back the lump in her throat. She turned her gaze to the fabric around her left forearm, where Tony had seamlessly attached some electromagnets so she didn't need to strap on the shield all the time. "I think this was his backhanded attempt to get me to agree to some armor, or a petty payback for Siberia." Her voice broke at the end then, that particular loss hitting her now too. Fuck, Tony was dead.
It should've been me, she thought, before feeling a strange sort of guilt wash over her at her relief that it wasn't her.
Bucky squeezed her hand back for a moment, leaning down to press another kiss to the top of her head, before letting go to resume the unbuttoning, unbuckling, and undoing whatever else it was Tony made. What the hell was with the Starks and making things too complicated? And he never even got that flying car they were promised, either.
He worked quietly at her suit, finally getting the back open, at least, until he heard her voice break at the end there, then a rush of worry flooded through him. "Steph?" he asked softly, moving so he could kneel (because crouching was out of the question with how his ankle was acting up) in front of her, looking up at her. He brought his natural hand up to rest on the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone gently. "Hey, I'm right here. What can I do?"
Tony had been trying for years to get Steph to agree to wear light armor instead of a suit, but she'd thought it impractical, and besides, what if she needed it repaired and Tony wasn't around? She could sew fabric, at least. Metal? Nanotech? She had no fucking idea what to do with those. In fact, she hoped Bucky's arm would never malfunction because she wouldn't know how to help. Such technologies were beyond her.
She'd been guiding his way through her suit, but their conversation had derailed that. She tilted her head to lean a little more into his hand, closing her eyes. "Tony is dead, Buck. He used the Stones. That's how we won." She'd been gunning for the gauntlet when it happened. Perhaps she should've stayed to help or something, but he had Pepper and Rhodey and the spider kid, and she'd needed to find Bucky. "Natasha, too. The Soul Stone needed a sacrifice. Clint came back alone."
It should've been me, she thought again, but the words did not come. For the first time in what felt like a really long time, she wanted to live. She covered his hand with hers, pursing her lips together as she fought back her tears. "There might still be others. I don't know, no one's given me a sitrep yet. We gotta check before we leave."
Bucky wasn't sure what to say about that news. He was far from close to Stark Jr, to the point that it caused a whole issue a couple of years earlier when they learned he killed Howard and Maria. Which Bucky, honestly, could not blame him for. But still, he was Steph's friend and it made Bucky's heart break for her.
And so was Nat. Bucky got along with her a bit better than with Stark, but he could understand where she was coming from a lot easier than the science guy. He knew they had a few similarities in their histories and, while that didn't automatically make them the best of friends--especially since he shot her that one time--it did make it hurt a little bit more.
"Of course, we'll find out whatever you need to," he said matter-of-factly. Even if he had to carry her around himself, letting her ask every person that was still on the battlefield how they and their loved ones were doing until she was satisfied, he would do it. Captain America was the one in charge, after all.
"Thank you." She met his eyes, looking like she had something more to say, but in the end she just quietly asked, "Can you hold me? Just for a minute?" The doctor might walk back in anytime soon but she felt too far away, needing something, someone to ground her.
Wrapping her good arm around him, she buried her face into his chest. "I'm really glad you're back," she whispered, feeling a little guilty that she had something to be happy about in the face of all the loss. "You're all I got left, you know?" She had friends and her team, sure, but it wasn't really the same. She was a lost, old soul, and only he really understood what that was like.
Bucky wrapped his arms around Steph, holding her to him and just letting her be. "You're all I've got, too," he said just as quietly. And it was even more true for him. While Steph had a while network of support and friends, Bucky really had barely anyone. He'd gotten fairly close to Shuri, making her kind of like a little sister to him, and he'd mended things with T'challa. Sam was alright, mostly. But Steph, she was the most important person in the world to him, past or present, and he wasn't sure what he'd do without her.
"But I'm back, alright?" He moved his natural hand up to stroke the back of her hair gently, just trying to comfort her. "I'm not gonna let anything separate us again. Not if I can help it."
She pulled back to look at him. "You better. I can't lose you again." Especially now that she knew he loved her back. If he died again, she wouldn't be able to take it. She'd already had enough of the universe trying to keep them apart.
Then she brought her hand up and gently ran her fingers through his hair. "Come on, let's get you looked at." Which wouldn't happen without her getting checked first. She gave him a small smile and shyly joked, "Then you can take off my clothes properly."
Bucky pressed another kiss to her hair, taking every chance to do things like that now that he was allowed, and pulled away just to finish getting that suit off of her. "Don't worry, Steph. You're stuck with me now." At least the situation they were in was serious enough to keep his mind from wandering as he helped her, getting her good arm out of one sleeve before being gentle with her hurt one.
Once they got her to a point they thought was good enough for the doctor, he stepped out from behind the curtain to wave the woman back down. When the doctor walked in he was already taking off his own jacket to get that out of the way, then tossed it aside on top of Steph's suit before limping back to flop down on his chair again.
The doctor had recognized Steph, but she still marveled at how Steph remained standing despite the extent of her injuries. She had bruises and cuts in many different places, a broken arm and broken ribs, probably a concussion. "I'm used to feeling like shit," Steph joked, not that it wasn't true, considering how sickly she'd been before the serum. The doctor wasn't having it though and insisted on bed rest and fluids while she splinted Steph's broken arm.
"After I check on the others," Steph insisted in turn. She wasn't leaving until she had everyone accounted for, and Bucky had promised to help. She asked the doctor then who else had been through the tent, if she had any idea where the others were staying, and if there was any food because now that the battle was over, she was starving. The pain she could ignore; the hunger, not really.
"I could use a pizza. Make that ten, with all the toppings. And a bath." Her initial thought, if she survived the fight, had been just to head back to her apartment in Brooklyn and pass out for the next three days, since it wasn't all that far from where they were. Reminded of that, she turned her head toward Bucky. "How did you get back? I mean, I saw the portals, but where were you before that?" Because if her hunch was right — that the vanished reappeared where they'd been dusted — then the whole world was probably still in chaos right now. Traffic would be bad.
Bucky listened carefully to everything the doctor said about Steph's injuries, filing it away so he could remind her as needed. After all, he remembered how often she'd try to get back out of bed when she was sick, long before she was actually well enough to do so. And that was before she could point out she had gotten the serum. "Told you you needed to be checked," he muttered, a humorless smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Pizza sounds great, yeah. Lets go check on the others so we can eat," he started, standing up to pick up their things. He was ready to help Steph out of the tent and get on with their responsibilities, trying to escape his own checkover, but the doctor caught on way too easily. Having spotted a petty large wet patch on the side of his thigh, as well as the obvious limp, she told him to take off his pants and sit on the stretcher.
"I just showed back up in Wakanda," he started, explaining as the doctor checked him out. "Lying on the ground where I fell. We all kinda gathered up in a central area and someone made a portal here." During his exam he discovered the wet patch was a large gash, seemingly from someone's knife or sword, a fractured ankle, and some of his own broken ribs, not to mention several other cuts and bruises. Bucky barely even flinched as she stitched his thigh up then put a splint on his ankle with the promise that he'd keep it on, dammit, he would just loosen his bootlaces to do it. She also wanted him to use a crutch for the time being, though, and that he was less sure of. "It'll heal in no time. Can we go now?"
"I'll carry him if I gotta," Steph pitched in, ignoring the exasperated eyeroll the doctor gave them both for their stubbornness. She smirked at Bucky. "Won't be the first time."
Pretty big words for someone who had to be helped up and out of the tent, but she always did run her mouth and that hadn't changed. This time, however, she insisted on walking, so the pair of them limped together with their arms around each other. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, though they could do with less of it from now on. They'd already fought more than enough wars, hadn't they?
Bucky pulled his pants back on, followed by his boots - one of which could only be laced up halfway to fit the splint inside of it properly - before he limped out with her, leaving the crutch behind as he ignored the doctor muttering, "Jesus, they're stubborn as Stephen," as she rolled her eyes and walked away.
Once they got out of the tent Bucky frowned as he looked around. There were people still scattered everywhere, some in much better condition than others. "I guess we just pick a direction and go for right now? Do a quick lap before seeing if there's any updates from the other tents?" he asked. After a moment of thinking it over, and since Steph wasn't saying no, he started off in more or less the direction they came from. He figured he could start that way and then sort of circle around.
After walking for a few minutes and stopping to check on some people they saw along the way, Bucky spotted something on the ground. Once he got close enough to see what it was he changed their direction just slightly. "Hey, sweetheart, that weird hammer you had is over here," he said as they reached it. But Steph had one broken arm and the other wrapped around him so Bucky did the only rational thing. He picked it up for her. Easy peasy.
Steph was more than happy to let Bucky take the lead this time. She wasn't saying it out loud, but she was tired. It was only the need to make sure everyone else was accounted for that kept her going. For one, it was her responsibility as the leader of the Avengers. More importantly, however, there was a part of her that worried some universal karma would come back to haunt her and take Bucky away again if she didn't do her job; this was the least she could do in return for being spared and being reunited with her love.
Bucky's method was efficient, she had to give him that. He even did most of the talking, which allowed her to zone out for a bit. It wasn't rest, technically, but she was taking it.
That wasn't why she looked dazed when he turned to her after picking up Mjolnir, though. She'd heard him when he pointed the hammer out, and she'd been preparing to bend down to get it and tell him about that time the Avengers played a party game with it.
"Buck—" Oh, God. She believed in him, she'd always had, and the hammer coming away like it weighed nothing was proof that she was right all along. Tears springing to her eyes, she cupped his cheek with her good hand. "I knew it," she breathed, proud and fond and utterly vindicated. "You were always the best of us." Sure, she was the sick, scrawny girl who picked fights she could not win because it was the right thing to do, but he was the boy who always came to her rescue, who even followed her to the ugliest depths of war despite his mortality. She'd believed amount of brainwashing and reconditioning could change that.
Bucky stared at Steph when she cupped his cheek like that, confusion and worry written all over his face as he watched her. "Hey, I'm not- Sweetheart, what's going on? Are you hurting worse? I'll carry you again if you need me to." He genuinely had zero idea why she would have started saying that, or why she was looking up at him like that with tears in her eyes. After simply looping the strap of the hammer around his wrist, Bucky brought his natural hand up to rest on the side of Steph's face, his thumb wiping away a tear that escaped her eye.
Whatever it was that happened, he was more than willing to help her through it. He had put her first since they were kids, and he would continue to put her first for the rest of his life, whether she wanted him to or not.
Steph laughed then, only realizing she wasn't making sense to Bucky since she hadn't had the chance to tell him what the fuss was about with the hammer. "The hammer," she said with a laugh, before leaning in to kiss him. "You picked it up. Nobody just picks it up, it's magic. You gotta be worthy."
Fleetingly she wondered, by whatever merit system Asgardian magic operated, if she'd only been allowed to wield it out of necessity. She'd be fine with that, actually. She didn't think of herself particularly worthy of anything, not after failing spectacularly to stop Thanos and causing half the universe to disappear for five years. Even now, with the knowledge and certainty that Bucky loved her, Steph still felt she didn't deserve him, though she was ready to spend the rest of her life making sure he wouldn't regret choosing her.
She didn't say anything after that, letting the information sink in. He'd beat himself up over the things he'd done as the Winter Soldier, thought the worst of himself for it. And while this didn't erase any of that, it was proof that he was more than what he'd been forced to become. Not that she would've stopped loving him anyway.
Bucky's brow furrowed at that information. Magic? Had to be worthy? Honestly, Bucky didn't think he was worthy of much of anything. Hell, he didn't even think he was worth anything, he was just greedy enough to take what was offered to him. Like help in Wakanda and, even more importantly, Steph's friendship through the years, and the surprising love she seemed to have for him. Okay, maybe that last one made him feel like he was worth just a little instead of nothing.
So he just shook his head, not actually believing it. "Musta gotten broken in the fight or something," he said simply. That was the only explanation he could come up with, at least. The spell or whatever it was had gotten broken at some point and that's why he could pick it up like it was no big deal. "Or it's just because I'm helping you. Something like that."
Of course Bucky would brush it off. Steph wasn't surprised. Still, she wanted him to at least feel the gravity of the honor, so she asked for the hammer back, intending to use whoever they next came across to make a demonstration.
It happened to be Sam.
"Hey, Sam, pick it up, will you?" she said by way of greeting, though she was glad to see he was alright. He'd become one of her close friends since meeting in DC and going on the run from the government.
"Very funny, Steph," Sam retorted, not even bothering to try. Instead he gave her some kind of half-hug, which felt like a group hug with how she was still holding on to Bucky.
The hammer was forgotten for a moment as updates and condolences were exchanged. Nat's death, in particular, caused an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Which led to Sam glancing back at the discarded magic hammer by Steph's feet. "Can't you just hold your hand out and let it fly to you?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe you can now, too."
Bucky just gave Sam a nod in greeting when they approached him, but he likely wouldn't have even done that much if Steph wasn't beside him. Something about Sam just irritated the hell out of him but Bucky couldn't put his finger on what it was.
It couldn't possibly be how close he and Steph had gotten when Bucky hadn't been around for one reason or another. And especially now, when Bucky had no way of knowing who else did and didn't disappear for what was apparently five years. Jealousy? Nah, that couldn't be it.
He mostly stayed quiet while they talked, though, letting them have time to update each other, and pressing a kiss to the side of Steph's head when Nat's death was brought up. Was he laying claim? Maybe a little. But he was also trying to give her a little comfort. She had already told him about Nat's sacrifice, but it still sucked. She seemed pretty alright from the little bit he'd known her.
But then the topic circled back around to the hammer. "Hold my hand out and let it what now?" Bucky asked, confused. He really had zero experience with this thing that everyone was making a big deal about, and trying to make it fly to him sounded ridiculous. But, on the other hand, it sounded like it was something Sam couldn't do.
So with an eyeroll, Bucky held out his good hand and stared at the thing, wondering what exactly he was supposed to be doing to make it fly to him, when it seemingly jumped up into his hand. "Oh, shit."
"Oh, shit," Sam echoed, just as shocked. Probably even more so considering Bucky's history as the Winter Soldier, though he was kind enough not to say anything about that.
Steph only laughed, leaning in to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Told ya. Magic," she said, in a tone of utter vindication. He could refute it all he wanted, he could refuse to believe it even, but she'd proven her point and she was happy about that.
"Wait just a minute," Sam muttered. "How—"
She shrugged, still grinning like an idiot. "I dunno, Asgard magic rules. You'll have to ask Thor."
"No, no, I mean this." He made some kind of back and forth gesture at them before giving her a look. "When did this happen? You finally told him?"
It took a moment for Steph to realize that Sam's expression was also one of vindication. When she'd turned him down all those years ago, he'd gotten the hint that there was someone else. Then Bucky had shown up and tried to kill them, and then disappeared, and Sam had clocked, from Steph's reaction to everything, that there was more to it than the pair of them being friends from childhood. He and Nat had tried to bully her into acting on her feelings every time she'd visit Bucky in Wakanda in those years they'd been on the run together, but Steph was impossibly stubborn when she wanted.
This time, she just blushed. "He told me first."
"Oh." A beat. "Oh."
"Shut up, Wilson." She waved him off. "Go find the others and give me a sitrep, will you? I'd really like to have some pizza now, and sleep for a whole week."
"Roger that, Cap." He gave her one last teasing grin that he even dared to throw Bucky's direction before walking away.
Bucky gave Sam another nod before the guy turned to walk off, then looked back down at the hammer in his hand, brow still furrowed. Worthy, huh? There had to be something else to it aside from that. He'd done too many awful things over the years to be worthy. Even if it wasn't him deciding to do them, it was still his hands that carried out the orders. They all still lived in his memories.
But, this wasn't the time for pondering all that. He'd worry about it later, when he wasn't trying to help Steph off yet another damn battlefield. She said she was hungry and tired, so finding her some food and somewhere to sleep was his priority. "C'mon, sweetheart," he started, pressing another kiss to her forehead before gesturing back towards where a building... used to stand. Sure wasn't a building anymore. "Lets go find you something to eat. And somewhere for you to at least steal a nap."
In the end, her apartment was where they found something to eat and a place to nap. Not that Steph was particularly interested in sleeping, despite her exhaustion. For one, there was that fear crawling just beneath her skin — that this was only a dream, and she'd wake up once more in a world where Bucky was gone. And the other, well, now that he was here, she wanted to do anything else but sleep.
It wasn't pizza, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were slumped together on the couch, Steph half-asleep with her head on Bucky's shoulder. With his help she'd stripped down to a tank top and shorts, then curled up barefoot next to him on the couch. They'd salvaged all manner of food from her pantry and fridge, and now they lay on the coffee table in front of them, in various states of consumption. In the kitchen, a pot of coffee was brewing.
"We'll go back to your goats tomorrow," she promised sleepily. The universe was alright again, but there was still work to be done. She'd agreed to meet with Bruce and T'Challa sometime after everyone's had time to rest to take care of things, but she figured Bucky probably already missed the quiet life he'd had in Wakanda. Brooklyn, after all, was as chaotic as it had always been again.
Bucky had only partly stripped down, himself. After all, he didn't exactly have clothes at Steph's house, so he had pulled off that half jacket he'd worn to the fight and kicked off his boots, leaving him sitting there in his own tank top undershirt, socked feet - one of which still had that snug splint strapped around his ankle - resting on the table in front of them beside an empty leftover container. While his head was tilted back, resting against the back of her couch with closed eyes, he had his natural arm wrapped around her shoulders, fingers drifting idly up and down her arm.
Sure, several parts of him were in a good bit of pain, but the fact that he was able to sit like he was with Steph, his Steph, made it so he barely even paid attention to the pain. Instead, he could focus on the woman he'd always been in love with tucked into his side. Bucky had pulled his hair back into a bun, and he was relaxed enough that the way it was pinned between the back of the couch and his head wasn't even bothering him.
"There's no rush," he began, then sighed softly. "It's been five years for half the world. If they're even still there, I'm sure someone else has them now." In that moment, Bucky didn't care where he was. Brooklyn, Wakanda, wherever. He just needed to be with Steph.
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But once that was set aside, he paused for a minute. Throughout their lives, he'd seen her in all sorts of states of undress and even helped her himself when she was sick a few of those times, propriety be damned. But that was before she knew what she meant to him. "Do you- Do you want me to help you with your suit or do you want me to get you the doctor?" It definitely wasn't that he didn't want to see her or anything, but more that he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured or anything. "I'll do whatever you want, Steph." Ever the respectful man from the 40s.
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"You've seen me in much less. It's fine." He'd even slept on her bed those times she was sick, and during those too cold winter nights in her rundown apartment. They'd also shared a tent on several occasions back during the war, when the nightmares and the horrors got too much and they needed a reminder that they weren't alone. This really wasn't that much different. Besides, it wasn't like she wasn't wearing anything under the suit, or that they were going to do something indecent. She wanted to, but sure as hell not in a med tent.
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As he got further into trying to get the suit off of her, though, he couldn't help chuckling a little. "You might have to direct me some here. Why'd you get such a complicated suit? Mine's just a jacket and some pants." And a couple belts but still, it was nothing compared to this thing.
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Except stay in Brooklyn while he went off to die in the war. She'd figured she was going to die eventually anyway — and her health had been in a state of decline after he'd left, not that she ever told him — so she might as well go out there and die with him. Thankfully, neither of them were really dead, but she gave his hand another squeeze just to be sure.
Then he commented on her suit, and she laughed. "Tony is as bad as Howard in making practical gear." Was, she mentally corrected a second later, but didn't say it out loud, just swallowed back the lump in her throat. She turned her gaze to the fabric around her left forearm, where Tony had seamlessly attached some electromagnets so she didn't need to strap on the shield all the time. "I think this was his backhanded attempt to get me to agree to some armor, or a petty payback for Siberia." Her voice broke at the end then, that particular loss hitting her now too. Fuck, Tony was dead.
It should've been me, she thought, before feeling a strange sort of guilt wash over her at her relief that it wasn't her.
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He worked quietly at her suit, finally getting the back open, at least, until he heard her voice break at the end there, then a rush of worry flooded through him. "Steph?" he asked softly, moving so he could kneel (because crouching was out of the question with how his ankle was acting up) in front of her, looking up at her. He brought his natural hand up to rest on the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone gently. "Hey, I'm right here. What can I do?"
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She'd been guiding his way through her suit, but their conversation had derailed that. She tilted her head to lean a little more into his hand, closing her eyes. "Tony is dead, Buck. He used the Stones. That's how we won." She'd been gunning for the gauntlet when it happened. Perhaps she should've stayed to help or something, but he had Pepper and Rhodey and the spider kid, and she'd needed to find Bucky. "Natasha, too. The Soul Stone needed a sacrifice. Clint came back alone."
It should've been me, she thought again, but the words did not come. For the first time in what felt like a really long time, she wanted to live. She covered his hand with hers, pursing her lips together as she fought back her tears. "There might still be others. I don't know, no one's given me a sitrep yet. We gotta check before we leave."
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And so was Nat. Bucky got along with her a bit better than with Stark, but he could understand where she was coming from a lot easier than the science guy. He knew they had a few similarities in their histories and, while that didn't automatically make them the best of friends--especially since he shot her that one time--it did make it hurt a little bit more.
"Of course, we'll find out whatever you need to," he said matter-of-factly. Even if he had to carry her around himself, letting her ask every person that was still on the battlefield how they and their loved ones were doing until she was satisfied, he would do it. Captain America was the one in charge, after all.
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Wrapping her good arm around him, she buried her face into his chest. "I'm really glad you're back," she whispered, feeling a little guilty that she had something to be happy about in the face of all the loss. "You're all I got left, you know?" She had friends and her team, sure, but it wasn't really the same. She was a lost, old soul, and only he really understood what that was like.
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"But I'm back, alright?" He moved his natural hand up to stroke the back of her hair gently, just trying to comfort her. "I'm not gonna let anything separate us again. Not if I can help it."
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Then she brought her hand up and gently ran her fingers through his hair. "Come on, let's get you looked at." Which wouldn't happen without her getting checked first. She gave him a small smile and shyly joked, "Then you can take off my clothes properly."
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Once they got her to a point they thought was good enough for the doctor, he stepped out from behind the curtain to wave the woman back down. When the doctor walked in he was already taking off his own jacket to get that out of the way, then tossed it aside on top of Steph's suit before limping back to flop down on his chair again.
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"After I check on the others," Steph insisted in turn. She wasn't leaving until she had everyone accounted for, and Bucky had promised to help. She asked the doctor then who else had been through the tent, if she had any idea where the others were staying, and if there was any food because now that the battle was over, she was starving. The pain she could ignore; the hunger, not really.
"I could use a pizza. Make that ten, with all the toppings. And a bath." Her initial thought, if she survived the fight, had been just to head back to her apartment in Brooklyn and pass out for the next three days, since it wasn't all that far from where they were. Reminded of that, she turned her head toward Bucky. "How did you get back? I mean, I saw the portals, but where were you before that?" Because if her hunch was right — that the vanished reappeared where they'd been dusted — then the whole world was probably still in chaos right now. Traffic would be bad.
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"Pizza sounds great, yeah. Lets go check on the others so we can eat," he started, standing up to pick up their things. He was ready to help Steph out of the tent and get on with their responsibilities, trying to escape his own checkover, but the doctor caught on way too easily. Having spotted a petty large wet patch on the side of his thigh, as well as the obvious limp, she told him to take off his pants and sit on the stretcher.
"I just showed back up in Wakanda," he started, explaining as the doctor checked him out. "Lying on the ground where I fell. We all kinda gathered up in a central area and someone made a portal here." During his exam he discovered the wet patch was a large gash, seemingly from someone's knife or sword, a fractured ankle, and some of his own broken ribs, not to mention several other cuts and bruises. Bucky barely even flinched as she stitched his thigh up then put a splint on his ankle with the promise that he'd keep it on, dammit, he would just loosen his bootlaces to do it. She also wanted him to use a crutch for the time being, though, and that he was less sure of. "It'll heal in no time. Can we go now?"
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Pretty big words for someone who had to be helped up and out of the tent, but she always did run her mouth and that hadn't changed. This time, however, she insisted on walking, so the pair of them limped together with their arms around each other. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, though they could do with less of it from now on. They'd already fought more than enough wars, hadn't they?
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Once they got out of the tent Bucky frowned as he looked around. There were people still scattered everywhere, some in much better condition than others. "I guess we just pick a direction and go for right now? Do a quick lap before seeing if there's any updates from the other tents?" he asked. After a moment of thinking it over, and since Steph wasn't saying no, he started off in more or less the direction they came from. He figured he could start that way and then sort of circle around.
After walking for a few minutes and stopping to check on some people they saw along the way, Bucky spotted something on the ground. Once he got close enough to see what it was he changed their direction just slightly. "Hey, sweetheart, that weird hammer you had is over here," he said as they reached it. But Steph had one broken arm and the other wrapped around him so Bucky did the only rational thing. He picked it up for her. Easy peasy.
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Bucky's method was efficient, she had to give him that. He even did most of the talking, which allowed her to zone out for a bit. It wasn't rest, technically, but she was taking it.
That wasn't why she looked dazed when he turned to her after picking up Mjolnir, though. She'd heard him when he pointed the hammer out, and she'd been preparing to bend down to get it and tell him about that time the Avengers played a party game with it.
"Buck—" Oh, God. She believed in him, she'd always had, and the hammer coming away like it weighed nothing was proof that she was right all along. Tears springing to her eyes, she cupped his cheek with her good hand. "I knew it," she breathed, proud and fond and utterly vindicated. "You were always the best of us." Sure, she was the sick, scrawny girl who picked fights she could not win because it was the right thing to do, but he was the boy who always came to her rescue, who even followed her to the ugliest depths of war despite his mortality. She'd believed amount of brainwashing and reconditioning could change that.
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Whatever it was that happened, he was more than willing to help her through it. He had put her first since they were kids, and he would continue to put her first for the rest of his life, whether she wanted him to or not.
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Fleetingly she wondered, by whatever merit system Asgardian magic operated, if she'd only been allowed to wield it out of necessity. She'd be fine with that, actually. She didn't think of herself particularly worthy of anything, not after failing spectacularly to stop Thanos and causing half the universe to disappear for five years. Even now, with the knowledge and certainty that Bucky loved her, Steph still felt she didn't deserve him, though she was ready to spend the rest of her life making sure he wouldn't regret choosing her.
She didn't say anything after that, letting the information sink in. He'd beat himself up over the things he'd done as the Winter Soldier, thought the worst of himself for it. And while this didn't erase any of that, it was proof that he was more than what he'd been forced to become. Not that she would've stopped loving him anyway.
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So he just shook his head, not actually believing it. "Musta gotten broken in the fight or something," he said simply. That was the only explanation he could come up with, at least. The spell or whatever it was had gotten broken at some point and that's why he could pick it up like it was no big deal. "Or it's just because I'm helping you. Something like that."
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It happened to be Sam.
"Hey, Sam, pick it up, will you?" she said by way of greeting, though she was glad to see he was alright. He'd become one of her close friends since meeting in DC and going on the run from the government.
"Very funny, Steph," Sam retorted, not even bothering to try. Instead he gave her some kind of half-hug, which felt like a group hug with how she was still holding on to Bucky.
The hammer was forgotten for a moment as updates and condolences were exchanged. Nat's death, in particular, caused an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Which led to Sam glancing back at the discarded magic hammer by Steph's feet. "Can't you just hold your hand out and let it fly to you?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe you can now, too."
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It couldn't possibly be how close he and Steph had gotten when Bucky hadn't been around for one reason or another. And especially now, when Bucky had no way of knowing who else did and didn't disappear for what was apparently five years. Jealousy? Nah, that couldn't be it.
He mostly stayed quiet while they talked, though, letting them have time to update each other, and pressing a kiss to the side of Steph's head when Nat's death was brought up. Was he laying claim? Maybe a little. But he was also trying to give her a little comfort. She had already told him about Nat's sacrifice, but it still sucked. She seemed pretty alright from the little bit he'd known her.
But then the topic circled back around to the hammer. "Hold my hand out and let it what now?" Bucky asked, confused. He really had zero experience with this thing that everyone was making a big deal about, and trying to make it fly to him sounded ridiculous. But, on the other hand, it sounded like it was something Sam couldn't do.
So with an eyeroll, Bucky held out his good hand and stared at the thing, wondering what exactly he was supposed to be doing to make it fly to him, when it seemingly jumped up into his hand. "Oh, shit."
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Steph only laughed, leaning in to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Told ya. Magic," she said, in a tone of utter vindication. He could refute it all he wanted, he could refuse to believe it even, but she'd proven her point and she was happy about that.
"Wait just a minute," Sam muttered. "How—"
She shrugged, still grinning like an idiot. "I dunno, Asgard magic rules. You'll have to ask Thor."
"No, no, I mean this." He made some kind of back and forth gesture at them before giving her a look. "When did this happen? You finally told him?"
It took a moment for Steph to realize that Sam's expression was also one of vindication. When she'd turned him down all those years ago, he'd gotten the hint that there was someone else. Then Bucky had shown up and tried to kill them, and then disappeared, and Sam had clocked, from Steph's reaction to everything, that there was more to it than the pair of them being friends from childhood. He and Nat had tried to bully her into acting on her feelings every time she'd visit Bucky in Wakanda in those years they'd been on the run together, but Steph was impossibly stubborn when she wanted.
This time, she just blushed. "He told me first."
"Oh." A beat. "Oh."
"Shut up, Wilson." She waved him off. "Go find the others and give me a sitrep, will you? I'd really like to have some pizza now, and sleep for a whole week."
"Roger that, Cap." He gave her one last teasing grin that he even dared to throw Bucky's direction before walking away.
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But, this wasn't the time for pondering all that. He'd worry about it later, when he wasn't trying to help Steph off yet another damn battlefield. She said she was hungry and tired, so finding her some food and somewhere to sleep was his priority. "C'mon, sweetheart," he started, pressing another kiss to her forehead before gesturing back towards where a building... used to stand. Sure wasn't a building anymore. "Lets go find you something to eat. And somewhere for you to at least steal a nap."
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It wasn't pizza, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were slumped together on the couch, Steph half-asleep with her head on Bucky's shoulder. With his help she'd stripped down to a tank top and shorts, then curled up barefoot next to him on the couch. They'd salvaged all manner of food from her pantry and fridge, and now they lay on the coffee table in front of them, in various states of consumption. In the kitchen, a pot of coffee was brewing.
"We'll go back to your goats tomorrow," she promised sleepily. The universe was alright again, but there was still work to be done. She'd agreed to meet with Bruce and T'Challa sometime after everyone's had time to rest to take care of things, but she figured Bucky probably already missed the quiet life he'd had in Wakanda. Brooklyn, after all, was as chaotic as it had always been again.
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Sure, several parts of him were in a good bit of pain, but the fact that he was able to sit like he was with Steph, his Steph, made it so he barely even paid attention to the pain. Instead, he could focus on the woman he'd always been in love with tucked into his side. Bucky had pulled his hair back into a bun, and he was relaxed enough that the way it was pinned between the back of the couch and his head wasn't even bothering him.
"There's no rush," he began, then sighed softly. "It's been five years for half the world. If they're even still there, I'm sure someone else has them now." In that moment, Bucky didn't care where he was. Brooklyn, Wakanda, wherever. He just needed to be with Steph.
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i hate using the same icon twice in a row but this is the face he's making dammit
also his face in those pictures 😌
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i had to now
yesssss
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