Chapter Text
A red haze rose from the Stone clutched in his fist, and closed the wound in his chest.
He heard exclamations and yells. He wanted so badly to sleep some more.
“I’m fine,” he muttered before he even opened his eyes.
He wasn’t fine. He’d healed his wound, but he could already feel, without even looking, what he was missing. This he couldn’t fix with the Stone—or he’d lose the Stone itself, because it was the price he’d paid to have it. But he’d have time to worry about all of it later.
Cracking his eyes open, he lifted his head up with an effort and saw that Thor was restraining Wade. “Thor, let him go. Every Stone we got gave us a hint as to how to get the next one. Wade just did what he needed to do.”
“Luckily I’m used to voices in my head telling me to stab people. That Mind Stone’s chatty,” Deadpool said. He looked slightly disappointed as Thor loosened his hold. “And c’mon, he’s clearly the protagonist. What’s a little stabbing gonna do to him?”
“Quick question,” Tony ground out. He was very pale, and his eyes kept bouncing off Steve’s blood-soaked shirt. “What does it take to shut you the fuck up?”
“Other than the X-Men Origins director? Beats me.”
“I liked him better when he was numb with trauma,” Nebula rasped.
“Sadly for everyone else, that never lasts very long. I’m a walking coping mechanism for, oh! So many things. Yep! All buried down there with the rest!” They couldn't quite see his face under the mask, but the line of his shoulders was just this side of too tight.
“Nat,” Steve mumbled, and found she was already close to him—in fact, he had his head in her lap, which squeezed at his heart in a way he couldn’t afford right now, not so close to the end. “Nat, can you help me up?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low and hoarse and sorry. He didn’t want to meet her gaze for fear of finding pity there. “Yeah, okay, Steve.”
He got up, with her help, and looked up to find Okoye at the edge of the group, staring at them all.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” she said. “I believe the gauntlet is ready.”
*
Okoye was still reeling from the Power Stone flaming through her veins, but the quest was almost complete, so she’d dragged herself up and forward, up, General, up, this is no place to die. She watched as Thor broke the mold with his axe, in one powerful blow; the metal cracked in half and a small object rolled out.
They all stared at it for a perplexed minute.
“That’s… not a gauntlet,” Natasha said eventually.
The god bent down to pick up the tiny golden ankh. His brow was furrowed. “I do not understand. How is this possible?”
“Hey, you were warned,” said a warm voice. “Symbols all over the place.”
Deadpool squealed.
“Hi, Wade.” Smiling, Death turned her cheek just in time for him to plant a kiss on it. “How was the quest?”
“Honestly?” He looked around at them. His energy felt fake, somewhat—forced, ever since he’d recovered the Mind Stone and stabbed Rogers through the chest. “I think we’re… about ready to go home.”
She hummed, then looked at Rogers. No pity flashed in her eyes—what could Death ever pity about life?—but she did bite her lip. “Aw. Did Dream do this to you? That’s just typical.”
“It’s okay,” Rogers said, making an effort to speak. “I was asking for a lot. This was a fair bargain.”
“Yeah. A cruel way to be fair.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll have to talk to him one of these days. All he’s ever done since he’s come back is brood.”
“O Ukufa,” Okoye said respectfully. “Is this yours?”
Thor showed her the ankh.
Death smiled at him. Only then did Okoye realize she did have an ankh on her, a little silver cross around her neck. Symbols, symbols, symbols. Except the ankh was a symbol of life—something Okoye knew very well, worshipping Bast from Egyptian descent. Maybe it made sense after all, for Death to wear it. Part of her was afraid to think about it too long, or too closely.
Thor stepped forward. “I have nothing left to lose.” His voice was shaking. “Name your price. I shall pay it.”
The silence almost felt like it had texture, sleek and cold like glass. They’d paid and paid their dues, to Destruction and Desire and Despair, to Delirium and Dream, to Destiny. Like going through all the stages of grief, one after the other. And now, finally, it was time for Death.
“Name it,” Thor repeated hoarsely. “I am—I am ready.”
Death looked like a mother trying not to laugh at her toddler’s efforts to sit up and walk—because while it wouldn’t have been an unkind laugh, the child might still hear it as mockery, and feel hurt.
“Aw, Thor,” she said. “Do you know why all my siblings asked you guys for compensation?”
Nobody answered her.
“Because they know they’ll only ever have a fleeting grasp on you—even Destiny,” she said. “So… they gather what they can get. They add more paths to the garden, more portraits in the gallery, more notches on their belt, more bad paintings and talking dogs, more dreams and nightmares. Hoarding and hoarding people, in bits and pieces, to forget that it’ll all go away one day, that in the end it’ll be earth to earth, dust to dust…”
“…ashes to side chicks,” said Wade.
“But I don’t need that kind of insurance,” Death went on. “I don’t need a place to put stuff in. I’m not in a hurry; I’ll be waiting at the end of time. I’ll get each and every single one of you. And, me? I’ll get you for good.”
She smiled again. Her smile made you want to smile with her.
“So thanks, Thor, but it’s okay. You’re off the hook. I don’t need anything from you—and I think I’ll even give you something instead.”
“Give me something?” His eyes were wide, his face very pale.
“Ah, you’ll see. It’s a surprise.” She beckoned with both hands. “Come on, now! Time to return the gems. I’m sure Dream’s especially anxious to get his own back.”
Shuffling, hesitant, they all came closer.
Natasha was first in line. “Here,” she said. In her hands, the sword had turned into a tiny blue stone, somehow without seeming to change at all. The gem set itself around the ankh’s curve, with a sharp clinking sound. “About… about Destruction…”
“He’s where you left him, making a mess of things.” Death shook her head. “I know it’s complicated. For what it’s worth, we all miss him. He’s such a sweet guy. Give it some thought?”
Natasha nodded, and turned away.
Okoye was next; she held out her book of prayers, and Death took the gem out of its pages with a wink.
“Destiny’s a bit boring, isn’t he?” She grinned, holding out her little finger. “So boring. Don’t let him get to you, really—it’s not like he ever writes anything in that log of his.”
Okoye just smiled, linking her pinky with Death for a moment. Stark came next, twitchy, reaching under his shirt.
“Hi, Tony. I know you don’t like me much,” Death said.
“You know, when I was called Merchant of Death, it was really more of an image…” He cleared his throat, then handed her the Soul Stone. “Your sibling’s a dick.”
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
He went very silent, and just stepped back to leave room for Nebula, who slipped the hooked ring from her finger.
“I was told I would get to kill Thanos,” she rasped, giving it away.
Death accepted the Time Stone. “Yeah. He’s back on Titan, if you want him. But you do realize your sister’s still alive, right?”
Nebula stared at her.
“What?”
“She’s the sacrifice,” Death explained, like it should have been obvious. “She’s what Thanos’ Soul Stone is made of. So… maybe try not to kill him until you’ve fixed that. Because when he dies, his loves and wants and desires die, too.”
Nebula looked aghast. “But—” she said. “But—but—” She had never sounded more like a machine, stuck in a loop. “But—how do I get her out?”
“Not my area of expertise, I’m sorry. At least now you know, though. Right?”
Before Nebula could answer, Deadpool elbowed his way to the front of the line and spread his arms wide. “Darling!”
“Honey,” Death smiled.
Tony gathered Nebula close to him and started talking in a low voice with her. Okoye looked away. So there was still hope for the blue woman. Which really did, in this case, make it a component of despair. Her fingers tightened around her spear.
“I’m sorry, gorgeous, I gotta be honest with you,” Deadpool was saying, “I just—I really feel like staying in bed with Vanessa for approximately twenty years.” He rubbed the back of his head. “And—you got two of me already. Thanks to your little sister. So… ships passing in the night?”
“Ship’s the word,” she smiled, and he laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d heard in years, then flipped the Mind Stone at her.
Rogers stepped up next.
“Hiya, Steve,” Death said, and took him in her arms.
Okoye saw him blink over Ukufa’s shoulder. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed, maybe for the first time since Okoye had met him. Nobody said a word. After a while he stepped back, without looking at anybody.
Natasha put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
“All right.” Death held out her ankh; the stones were all there, pinpricks of color on a background of gold. She considered it with a raised eyebrow. “Bit gaudy for me. I’m more of a black-and-silver kind of girl.”
Everything slowly melted into a bright, blinding light.
Wade looked around. He didn’t recognize this place. There was nothing written in the sky. Where had the universe brought him?
His phone pinged.
gps app says you’re in new jersey?? everything all right?? xoxo ness
*
Thor sat on a grassy hill somewhere. He didn’t know where, and didn’t care much; he only knew Death owed him a surprise.
He stared into space until he heard a distant, high-pitched sound. Getting to his feet, he suddenly recognized the place. Norway. Where Death had taken Odin.
It was a baby, crying the coughing cry of a newborn. After a moment of wandering in the grass, Thor found him and cautiously took him in his arms. He couldn’t remember ever holding one before. The baby’s cries turned into strangled hiccups; on instinct, Thor wiggled a finger under his tiny nose, making silly noises. The baby’s breath hitched once, twice; then he blinked and reached for Thor’s finger, wrapping it in a surprisingly strong grip.
It was then that Thor noticed his blanket was black and green and gold.
“Gods,” he breathed, tears blurring his eyes. “Bump you up the reincarnation list.”
*
“Hey, Nat.” Destruction swallowed. “What, uh… did you forget something? Extra Stone? Slap in my face?”
She took a deep, deep breath, then let it out.
“Coffee,” she murmured. “Can you make coffee?”
He blinked. “I’m—kinda bad at making coffee, actually. Always burn it.” Then Clint smiled, tentatively. “But, I mean, I can try.”
*
“Wow,” Tony said, shuffling into the living room to flop onto the couch. “God. One flight of stairs and I can’t breathe. That’s gonna be fun.”
“You can rest, now,” Nebula rasped.
“No. No I can’t. I have to call Pepper, tell her… tell her everything. And announce my retirement to the p—” He stopped himself. Looked up. “Hold the phone, Blue Suede. Didn’t you say your whole body was mechanical?”
“Nearly.”
“Uh-huh. Say, I’m gonna have a lot of free time on my hands. And you’re off to kill the biggest, baddest villain in the universe, after you figure out your Stone-extracting impossible quest. So. Care for an upgrade?”
Nebula’s lips twisted into a smile.
Then a loud clang made them both jump—she pulled out weapons, aiming them at the closet. A confused teenager stumbled out, clad in red and blue and gold.
“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “I have no idea how I got in there.”
*
Okoye was back in the forest, wandering. She wasn't sure why she was here. She wasn't sure of anything; secretly, she had never been. Everyone just pretended, maybe.
"Okoye," said a voice behind her, making her spin round and aim her spear at the intruder.
Then she lowered it when she saw the puzzled look on T’Challa’s face.
“General? What happened? What’s wrong?”
She breathed out. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all is wrong.” Tears came to her. She raised her kimoyo beads to her mouth. “My Queen—please come at once. The challenge is won.”
*
Steve walked through shifting shapes until they coalesced into a quiet suburban street. In the distance, the DC skyline was slowly rising out of the fog.
He walked to Sam's house, took a deep breath, and allowed himself a minute of being so terrified he couldn't breathe. Then he knocked on the door.
“Steve! Man, I was wondering when—” Sam stopped short, staring at him.
Steve grimaced a smile. “Hi, Sam.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam breathed like he’d been punched in the gut. “What, what did you—Christ.” He came down the porch. “Steve…”
He reached for him, without daring to touch. Steve was the one to grab his hand and awkwardly squeeze his fingers.
“Good to have you back,” he managed.
“Can’t even remember being gone. I just saw on the news that—" He shook his head. "Everything. Yeah. But you… Christ. Look at you. What happened?”
Steve shrugged tiredly, then smiled. "We got you back."
They sat down on the front steps. Sam’s brow was furrowed in worry; he kept looking at him, up-and-down little glances. “Steve, are you—are you gonna be okay?”
“Oh, a few trips to the hospital, maybe,” Steve said. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What about you?”
“I told you. I’m okay. It was clearly easier for all of us who were gone. Half of mankind’s gonna wind up with PTSD now." Sam's voice grew softer. "But you did it, huh? You did it again. You’ve saved everyone.”
Steve thought of Tony, and thought of Clint, and of Nebula's sister, but just shook his head again. He had no energy to argue the point.
“Right.” Sam didn’t look any less concerned. “Steve, are you sure that—”
“I’m fine, Sam.”
“Yeah. Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I assume there’s someone else you came to see.”
Steve looked up, eyes wide. “What? He’s here? I thought he'd be in Wakanda—I—”
“We both woke up here a few hours ago. Me in my bed and him on the couch. Like someone set us there playing house.”
“Is he all right? Is he—”
“Steve,” Sam said. “Maybe you should go ask him that yourself, huh?”
Bucky was in Sam’s kitchen.
Bucky was in Sam’s kitchen.
Looking into his glass of orange juice like it was his last Scotch before the bar closed up. His hair fell around his face; his shoulders were hunched, his head bowed. His new arm, black and gold, purred quietly in the silence, echoing the fridge’s humming.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
Steve couldn’t breathe. The miracle took up all the room in his lungs. Then he looked at the arm again, the sleek deadly metal arm, and could breathe even less; he felt guilt choke him like rubber smoke.
“Why d’you follow me, Buck?” he said. His tears were rolling down, but he tried to keep them out of his voice. He didn’t want Bucky to turn around just yet. He wiped his eyes, his nose. “Why do you always follow me?”
“Hell, Steve.” Bucky turned his head just enough that Steve could see the line of his profile, his tired blue eyes, his scruff, his long hair. “After all this time. Do you gotta ask?”
“You didn’t want to fight,” Steve protested, tears rolling and rolling down. “You were done. And I dragged you back in.” He was talking about Wakanda. But he was also talking about Romania. And World War II before that. “You were done. And I kept dragging you back in.”
“Steve—” Bucky said, and Steve panicked—he couldn’t let him turn around without warning.
“Bucky, wait—wait. Just…” Steve wiped his nose again. “Just—there's something... Just look at me one time. I need you to see—to see me. And then after that, I need to tell you something.”
Bucky got up from his chair, took the time to brush his hair back with his metal hand, then turned around at last. “Steve,” he said, soft and kind and already so full of forgiveness, “you don’t hafta—”
And then he stopped.
Eyes round, mouth half-open, frozen still.
Steve drank in the sight of him. He was here. He was here. Did anything else matter? No. It had all been worth it. Even his breath rattling in his hollow chest, the muted sounds through his deaf ear, the ache in his crooked spine.
“Remember Azzano? You asked me if it was permanent.” Steve managed a smile. “Turns out the answer’s no.”
“Steve.” It was a breath of pure horror. Bucky took one step forward, then stopped. “Steve, what did you do?”
“Bargained a dream for half the universe. Really, I bargained a dream for you. And I didn’t have that many at hand, so...” Steve made a helpless gesture, then wiped his eyes. “Do you know, I’m stupid. I’m real stupid. I can only stop when someone’s stopping me. For a while there, it seemed it’d never happen. That I’d never find someone stronger than me. But I finally did, and he’s stopped things for me. I can’t fight anymore. I won’t fight anymore.”
Bucky was speechless.
“So—now that I can’t drag you into any more fights—” Steve’s throat closed with fear. “Now maybe I can tell you something else.”
God, this was hard. Harder than he’d thought it would be. Why was he even doing this? Just because he’d promised Tony, in a moment of anger and sadness? He could have said nothing; he could have kept lying and stalling like he’d done all his life.
But he realized now part of him was glad someone had finally dared him to do it. The same way he was glad that Dream had ripped Captain America out of him, even though the wound was fresh and still hurt like hell. In the end, Steve Rogers was nothing but a coward. A guy who waited around for other people to take the choice out of his hands.
“Steve,” Bucky said very quietly. “Tell me what? You’re—you’re scaring me.”
Steve huffed. “Oh, Jesus, no, don’t be scared, Bucky. It’s nothing. It’s nothing important. Just…”
Bucky was waiting, tense and wary. Steve took a deep breath, then let it out.
“I, uh,” he said, looking at the ground. “I—I love you. I’ve been in love with you.” He must sound so trite, so flat, even to him though the words felt like they were hot coals, burning his lips on the way out. “It’s just, it’s been decades, and. Some people thought I oughta tell you. So here it is.”
No answer.
Didn’t come as a surprise; that had to have been the worst declaration in the history of the world. Completely soulless. He’d never been good with that, his feelings and the words that came with them. He couldn’t look up; he cleared his throat, still looking at his shoes. Maybe he should go back to sit on the porch with Sam. Let Bucky sort it all out, give him space.
“What?” Bucky said eventually, bewildered.
Steve winced.
“No, Steve, hold on—just—” Bucky stepped forward, grabbing his skinny arm. “Steve, what?”
“I’ve just embarrassed myself, is what,” Steve muttered. “Big deal. You’ve seen me do worse.”
“Stevie.”
That was a fucking low blow. Steve took a sharp breath, then looked away instead of down. Bucky shook him gently. He was so tall and broad now, next to him. Really brought a guy back.
“Look at me,” he said softly. “Your turn to look at me.”
Steve never backed down from a challenge. He looked up, and the expression on his own face—a lot of stubborn, probably, and a lot of afraid—made Bucky smile all of a sudden. He hadn’t smiled like this since before the war, when crinkling eyes and sunshine fondness came as naturally to him as breathing. Steve felt like someone had punched him in the chest. Again.
“Feel like you’re about to fight me in a back alley,” Bucky grinned.
Steve’s entire face wobbled. Bucky shook his head, then drew him close and held him tight; and for the first time in his life, Steve hugged him like he wanted to hug him—clung desperately to him, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, buried his face in his neck. There was no need to hide anything, to worry about anything. It was all out in the open. It was such a relief it hurt in every cell of his body.
Bucky didn’t back-slap him into platonic manliness, either. Just held him.
“The hell were you afraid of,” he mumbled in Steve's ear. “Thought I was gonna throw you out of the house or something?”
“Shut up,” Steve mumbled into his shirt, cheeks heating.
“No, Steve, I mean it. I told you, way back when. I’m with you—”
“…till the end of the line. I know,” Steve said, throat tight. “I know, Buck.”
“Do you? ‘Cause that’s love.” His voice rumbled through Steve’s entire body. “Don’t you know that’s love, Stevie? And, look, I don’t know—apparently you want to see me naked and do things Father Gabe would disapprove of—”
“God—” Steve said, trying to pull away, “Buck—”
“—and I haven’t thought about anything like that ever since I fell off that damn train, so I got no answer for you right now,” Bucky went on, gripping him tight to keep him from squirming away, “but Jesus Christ, Steve. Don’t you know I love you? Don’t you know we’re family? Don’t you know that?”
Steve swallowed. He wanted to cry again.
“Yes. I do know, Buck.”
“The hell were you afraid of?” Bucky repeated, softly. “That I couldn’t say it back?”
“No. I don’t care about that.” And it was true. Steve had never wanted anything from him. How could he? He had him already. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky.
Bucky’s hair was tickling his cheek. “Then what?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
And this was true, too. Here, now, in his true body, in Bucky Barnes’ embrace, Steve couldn’t remember ever being afraid of anything.
“Come back with me,” Bucky murmured. “To Wakanda. And—stay, this time. We can talk about it. We can figure it all out. We can have all the time in the world. If you just stay.”
This was, Steve understood, as momentous as his own declaration had been—something Bucky had wanted to tell him for a while, too. Waiting for the right moment to ask him, quietly telling himself now wasn’t the time, now wouldn’t work. Must have been eating at him from the inside, because it was so obviously what Steve couldn’t ever want, fighting all around the world as he was. Always, always fighting. Steve really was the dumbest idiot to ever live. All this time, Bucky had been following him in the hope that one day Steve would stop. And maybe turn towards him and say all right, I think we're done here, let’s go home.
“All right,” Steve murmured.
Bucky pulled back to look at him. “Yeah?”
Steve cleared his throat, then shrugged. “Sure. Where else am I gonna go? I’m retired.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” Bucky threw his arm over his shoulders, and suddenly it was like neither of them was a day over twenty, still thinking maybe there wouldn’t be a war at all, and even if there was then it’d be over quick. "C'mon. Let’s go find Sam and grab a drink. S’been a long war, we’ve earned it.”