Chapter Text
It had been six months since Steve decided to go back in time. You didn’t take it well—clearly. Since the 1940s, you had been chasing him, always running after him since he took that damned serum, but he was all you had left.
Losing him the first time had hurt like hell. You had lost everything about him—even the annoying shadow of Bucky. You were so used to both of them being like a second skin to you that when you lost them, you felt colder than ever. Maybe that’s why you didn’t put up much resistance when someone knocked on your door offering you a serum alternative like Steve’s.
You spent the following years hiding from the public eye, doing only small missions—until you had to face the Winter Soldier shortly before Steve was thawed out. Maybe you could have won that fight, but after recognizing those eyes, seeing that face without the glasses and the mask, you simply weren’t strong enough to keep fighting. He left you nearly dying on the riverbank, and you did nothing but wait for death to come.
It didn’t come that day.
Steve woke up, and suddenly, he was angry about your decision to take the serum. The dumbest thing he could’ve ever done—and as if you hadn’t spent years waiting for him to wake up—you gave up and decided to move to the West Coast of Florida, buying a family house with water access in St. Petersburg. You had no idea what you were doing there. It was just you, in a house too big for one person, but if your brother ever decided to visit, there’d be space for him.
Sometimes, when you were needed, you went to help—but you always came back. After so many years, it was nice to settle somewhere after running for so long.
When Thanos snapped his fingers, you stayed—and with that, your house was full for a while with Steve, sometimes Natasha, and the occasional Avenger. You didn’t mind at all, and you were grateful to have your brother nearby, after all.
But all that love turned to hatred when you found out he had decided to go back in time. Oh, you were furious. Blinded by rage, especially when you realized he hadn’t even said goodbye. It hurt so much—hurt even more knowing that Bucky had come to comfort you even though it had hurt him too. Though, he had gotten a goodbye.
He handed you a box Steve had prepared—with a letter, some of his belongings, and even the dog tags. You gave the tags to Bucky and Steve’s notebook, saying you didn’t want any of it, that all of that had ruined your family.
“What will you do now?” Bucky asked.
You looked at him with sadness, shaking your head. “I’ll go home. My real home here,” you said ironically, putting away Steve’s things without looking at them. You didn’t want to find any justification in those words or pieces of your brother in his notebook.
“Alright. If you need anything, I’ll be here,” he gave you a faint smile, barely there, as always.
“If someday you want or need anything, you know where to find me,” you said, standing up and walking out the door, not looking back until you reached the airport, completely sure you had nothing left to do in New York.
There was something you had been keeping secret. But when you returned from New York that last time, you stood at a place where you knew they were waiting for your answer.
When the snap happened, you saw people disappear around you—including your neighbors, who had a little blonde one-year-old girl. You felt obligated to take care of her for the next five years.
It hurt to know that Steve also chose to leave without saying goodbye to her, because in the end, the two of you had spent years together raising her.
But when everyone came back, her parents didn’t. They were part of that small percentage that never returned—no one knew where they were or what had happened. It was as if they were lost in the void.
So when Steve left, you agreed with social services to take full responsibility for the little girl until she reached adulthood.
You had nothing left—maybe it was time to start your own life and stop chasing Steve.
Apparently, stupidity came with age, because Bucky never showed up at your place. You wanted to be mad, but in the end, that was his decision, and you questioned the bond you had shared. Maybe with Steve gone, there was nothing holding you two together.
Still, you kept up with the news and knew what he was doing with the Falcon.
You admitted you were a little proud of him—knowing he was leaving that old Winter Soldier persona behind.
“Where are you going now?” Sam asked Bucky after dinner in his town.
Bucky stared out at the ocean. “You could make a home here.”
Bucky shook his head. “No, I… I have something left to do. I owe someone an apology.”
“I thought you finished the list,” Sam muttered, confused.
“I did,” Bucky confirmed, walking off with the backpack that held his entire life.
(…)
“Mary, lunch will be ready in a few minutes,” you called out as you stepped onto the porch, watching the six-year-old girl play with her dolls on the ground.
She turned her head and smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” She knew her story—she was a smart girl—but had been clear when she said she felt more comfortable calling you Mom.
Your thoughts were interrupted by footsteps entering through the garden gate. The door opened, and the surprise on your face was clear as you saw him, looking serious. “Do you know him?” she asked.
You nodded as he frowned slightly upon seeing the girl but returned his gaze to you as you stepped closer. “Bucky,” you said, putting your hands into the pockets of your denim overalls.
He closed the door behind him. “Don’t you think it’s way too hot in Florida?” he asked, clutching the backpack that was clearly all he owned.
You couldn’t help but smile a bit at the familiar tone.
“Hi, Little Rogers,” he returned to seriousness, maybe with a hint of pity on his face—you weren’t sure why.
You did nothing but give him a light hug. He tensed immediately, clearly not expecting it, but after a few seconds, he returned it and let the bag slide off his shoulder.
When you pulled back, you lightly punched his arm, though his muscles barely registered the hit. “Short hair looks good on you.” He nodded with a smile, then looked behind you. “Do you want to know who she is?”
“Not even a little bit curious,” he replied dryly, making you laugh and motion with your head for him to follow. “I’ve seen you in the news. Almost a superhero.
“Don’t call me that,” he asked, shaking his head.
Once in front of the girl, who had stood up from the ground, you spoke,
“Mary, this is Bucky, an old friend of Steve’s and I. Bucky, this is Mary. She’s my little girl now.” You smiled and winked at Mary, watching Bucky’s surprised expression.
“Are you the metal-arm guy Steve always talked about?” she asked, amused, and then widened her eyes. “You’re that guy!” she nodded.
“I guess I am,” he admitted with a shrug.
He looked at the wide, dark green house—clearly with at least two bedrooms. On the right side, there was water access and a boat far too battered to function. That side likely looped around to the backyard. From the way Bucky arrived, you assumed there was no emergency that required you to run anywhere.
You took your hands from your pockets to check the time—12:14. “Mary, 12:30 inside for lunch, okay?” The girl looked at her Hello Kitty watch and nodded. You looked at Bucky and gestured toward the house. “You’re in luck, I made extra.” He smiled faintly and followed you inside.
He looked surprised—you saw it on his face. “I didn’t know you were with a child,” he confessed. “I thought Steve had told you. I… I’ve been with her since the snap,” you said, watching him leave his backpack by the door.
“He didn’t mention it.”
“Well, it was the only thing I asked of him,” you admitted, entering the kitchen, knowing he would follow.
You served a glass of water and placed it in front of him, watching as he sat on the stool and started taking off his jacket. “It’s way too hot here, seriously,” he complained.
“You get used to it,” you said, leaning against the counter, facing him.
“I’m surprised you came,” you admitted.
He took a deep breath, looking at you fully but brushing off any emerging thoughts. “I had to come see how you were doing.”
You nodded with a slight, crooked smile. “I’m okay. What about you?”
“I think—for the first time—I stopped running. Now that things with Sam are wrapped up, I think I can stop going place to place.”
“You don’t have to run anymore?”
He shook his head, gaze soft but with a somber edge. He looked at you.
“I finished my list,” he confessed—and you suspected very few people knew that.
“That’s amazing, Bucky. I’m proud of you,” you said, smiling.
“But I still owe one person an apology.”
“Didn’t you finish the list?” you tilted your head, resting it on your palm, as he pulled out Steve’s red notebook. Your stomach knotted. He slid it across the table to you. You opened it with one hand—flipping past Steve’s notes to Bucky’s list. All the names were crossed out… except for one blank page with only your name on it. “Buck… you don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I remember nearly killing you—and as if that weren’t enough, I torture myself thinking I should’ve been there for you afterward,” he admitted. “Really, I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Really. I don’t blame you. You couldn’t give up everything—you went to Wakanda, healed, spent time with Sam and did missions. You couldn’t be running after me.”
“But I think I would’ve liked to,” you looked at him after his confession, seeing how tired he was. “You managed to settle down, find a place. You did it alone but… I don’t know. Now you’re all the family I’ve got.”
You stretched your free hand and touched his metal arm. “We’ve always been family. And you know you can stay here as long as you need. You can—and should—stop running for a while.”
You saw him lower his gaze, a little embarrassed. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be a bother?”
“Not at all, Buck. I probably owe you something for what you did for me back in the ’40s,” you joked, reaching for his human hand, and as always, he tensed at the contact. You didn’t care—you gently stroked his hand with your thumb. “Stay as long as you need,” you assured, then looked at the clock.
“Back room on the right is free. It has a bathroom. It’s yours. Across from it is mine, and next to mine is Mary’s. Take your things, wash your hands—food’s almost ready.”
You walked away, amused.
“Won’t she mind if I stay?” he asked.
“Mary?” you replied without turning. You laughed. “Are you kidding? The question should be the other way around. She’ll be more than happy. Now, I can’t promise you won’t mind her.”
Bucky smiled slightly, getting up and grabbing his backpack to go where you had pointed.
Lunch was a shower of questions from Mary to Bucky, who was clearly overwhelmed but unable to interrupt her or leave any of her questions unanswered. "You know? She reminds me of you when you were a kid," Bucky teased, looking at you.
You laughed while shaking your head. "Got it already. Mary, how about you ease up on the interrogation a bit?"
The girl laughed, nodding."Okay. Okay," she agreed.
Bucky couldn’t put into words how good it felt to eat real food after so long, but you could see the satisfaction on his face and how slowly he ate. "Don’t tell me you’ve got a small stomach, ‘cause we eat a lot in this house," you warned, pointing to the food.
"Oh yeah, Mom has a rule that if you don’t finish your plate, you can’t leave the table," Bucky smiled, still surprised to hear the little one refer to you like that.
"I’ve got no problem eating anything you put in front of me. In fact, you should probably guard your plates," he warned.
"I wouldn’t recommend eating my food," Mary warned, pointing at him with her spoon. “I’ll tear you to pieces," she threatened.
Bucky opened his mouth, clearly amused. "You really think so?"
"Oh, I don’t think. I will," You laughed, watching Bucky raise his hands in surrender. And for some reason, that sense of familiarity made something feel... off.
That night, you were in your room folding clothes while Mary was asleep and Bucky had gone out for a short walk around the block. The open bedroom door creaked, and you saw him in the doorway with his jacket in one hand and holding something in the other. "I took the jacket in case it got cold, but I think Florida’s going to give me a hard time," he said.
You nodded, amused. "I think you’re going to have to give it a break and hang it on the rack, ‘cause I don’t think you’ll need it."
"Can I?" he asked from the doorway, gesturing.
"Sure."
He placed the jacket on your empty dresser and leaned his body against the wall, watching you. "Thank you so much for letting me stay here."
"You don’t have to thank me again, really. Just... when you want to leave, don’t run out. Say goodbye," it came out almost like a plea. "But if you feel like things really work for you here, then you don’t have to go." This time you didn’t look at him—for some reason, the air felt tense.
"This is yours," he said, and you looked up at the sound of a strap. You saw Steve’s dog tags in his outstretched palm. You knew he’d been wearing them around his neck constantly.
"No, it’s okay. You can keep them," you said, setting the folded clothes on the bed as a memory came to you.
"But they’re yours, sweetheart," That nickname made you shiver completely, and you blushed slightly. You turned your back to him, opening your nightstand drawer.
"Not long ago I found something I had tucked away. I kept it to give it to you, but you never showed up, and they started gathering dust, so I had to keep them closer to me."
He frowned, still holding his hand out with the tags, but lowered it the instant you showed him another set of dog tags. You saw him freeze. "These are yours, Buck," you murmured. He took them, and you saw his hand tremble.
"How did you get these?"
"Every soldier has two copies. When you fell, I asked for your other set. I kept it," you smiled slightly. "Same thing I did with Steve’s. So you don’t have to give me those back."
You saw tears threaten his eyes as he finally looked at you."Why did you ask for the copies?"
"Because just like Steve, you were family too. Family claims them," you said, slipping your hands into your pockets. He swallowed hard, shaking his head while wiping away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen but were certainly there.
He looked into your eyes, and you couldn’t quite figure out how to read it. Then he opened the chain, took one of the tags, closed it again, and held it out to you. This time, it was you who was caught off guard. But you took his chain, watching as his eyes moved to the one with Steve’s tags and then added his to that set.
You smiled, and without a word, you slipped his dog tag around your neck. He watched you, inexplicably, in a way that made your heart ache. He smiled faintly. "Good night, sweetheart," was all he said before leaving the room.
You looked down and grasped the tag now hanging from your neck, swallowing hard.