Note: Revision and re-post of a story of the same name originally posted 2016-09-12.

It was that time of day during the summer when the sun was setting but no one had turned the lights on inside yet — it was just right. Steve stared at the golden remnants of sunlight coming through the windows. The light was creating a mosaic with the shadows on the floor. He could be anywhere, because this was the same sun that shone seventy years ago. If he looked at nothing but that light, he could be back where he belonged. The light used to shine like this through the dirty window of his apartment in 1935. He imagined the light still shone the same way when he was away at war.

When he sat for long enough, just staring at it, Steve could see the life he would have wanted for himself. It looked like this.

After V-E Day, he'd have a drink or six with the Commandos in the same pub he'd assembled them in. Steve would consider telling the men how much he really cared about all of them. He would consider making a mushy speech about how they were the real heroes, because they did everything he did and they did it without any serum running in their veins. But Steve wouldn't invite their teasing for making a serious speech. That was never the Commandos' style. So this is what Steve would say instead.

For the first drink, Steve would say, "To Gabe, the favorite of French women everywhere!"

For the second drink, Steve would say, "To Monty, the best-kept secret in the entire S.S.R.!"

For the third drink, Steve would say, "To Frenchie, the least favorite of French women everywhere!"

For the forth drink, Steve would say, "To Jim, worst attitude west of the Maginot Line!"

For the fifth drink, Steve would say, "To Dum Dum, the undisputed potato-eating champion of the European Theatre!"

"Of any theatre!" Dum Dum would correct him.

For the sixth drink, Steve would say, "To Bucky!" Because there really wasn't anything else that would need to be said.

Steve made all these toasts, alone in an apartment, seventy years too late. But in the life he wanted for himself, Steve would be with his men, smiling, and saying all this to their living, breathing faces.

And they'd laugh at him and they would raise a seventh glass. They would toast him with insults, all of them so colorful. Later, Howard and Colonel Phillips would show up. They'd drink together, and Steve would be able to feel the warm drip of alcohol and beloved company. Peggy would show up in her red dress, and they would get their dance. They'd dance the night away. They wouldn't care that everyone's making eyes and hooting at them. Steve would be making plans to propose marriage to her right then and there. But he wouldn't do it. Not yet.

He would come home from Europe several months after the end of the war; he couldn't force the wheels of the government to roll any faster, not even in a perfect, imaginary world. Bucky would be coming home with him, because Steve still couldn't imagine a life without Bucky Barnes in it. They'd stick together on the ship home, excitement and apprehension growing in their stomachs with each passing hour. They were going home! The two of them — together — were going home!

George and Winifred Barnes would meet them at the dock when their ship finally reached New York. The place would be packed with reuniting families. Winifred would be bobbing side to side on her tip-toes trying to get a glimpse of them through the crowd. Steve would be fighting his way through that same crowd, up on his own toes.

Bucky would be beside him (where he belongs) saying, "Do you see them? Steve, you see 'em yet?" Because now Steve would be the taller one who had to be the lookout.

Steve would point. He'd be so happy that he would nearly poke a father hugging his son in the eye. Steve would say, "There!" He'd wave and Winnie would see him. She'd be crying already, yanking on George's sleeve. "Buck, I see 'em!" Steve would grab onto Bucky's arm and pull him firmly but gently through the crowd. Both of them would be smiling and shouting. Steve would be filled with a buoyant sense of pride when he delivered Bucky, safe and sound, back to his parents.

Winnie would yank Bucky out of Steve's hold and into hers. They'd hold each other hard. She'd be crying in earnest. Happy. She and George would hug Bucky first because, even though Steve is their son, too, they didn't create Steve like they created Bucky.

When Winnie would let Bucky go, they would both wipe their eyes. George would wrap his son up and not say a word. He'd rest his cheek on top of Bucky's head. (Steve never could imagine anyone taller than his best friend's father.) George had been through war, too. He'd come home, too. He would know what Bucky needed right then.

But Steve wouldn't be watching any of that, because Winnie would say, "Aw, come on! You, too, Steve!"

And Steve would hug her as hard as he can, but it still wouldn't be as hard as she hugged him.

George and Winnie would take them back to their house (past the little flag in their window bearing two blue stars on a white field) and there would be a party. Everyone they've ever known would be there. And they'd all be happy that night. Bucky's sisters would introduce their husbands and show off their brand new babies.

After a while, Steve would be tired and a little overwhelmed. He'd just gotten back from war and a crowded ship. He'd be relieved when the party broke up and there was more air available. He'd find Bucky out on the back step smoking a cigarette and breathing.

Steve would clap a hand on Bucky's shoulder, and he'd want to say, We made it, but what he would actually say is, "You're Uncle Buck now, huh?"

There would be a proud, proud smile on Bucky's face. He'd be suddenly shy and say, "Guess so."

Together, they would look at the sky and be relieved that they couldn't see the stars anymore.

Peggy would be one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. very soon, and Steve would be there for it. He would let her build her career and garner the respect she deserved. Peggy and Howard and Colonel Phillips — the guy would never be just Chester to Steve — would offer him a job, and he'd accept on the condition that he never be ranked above Peggy. And the rest of the Commandos would take contracts from S.H.I.E.L.D. because they want to do more good, not because they'd forgotten how to stop being soldiers.

But Bucky would refuse, and he'd say, "I don't know what I wanna do, Stevie, I just know that I can't do that anymore."

Steve would understand, and he'd be happy that Bucky made the decision for himself this time. He wouldn't make a different decision because he thought he had to protect Steve. Bucky would go back to college on the G.I. Bill, and he'd get that geeky degree in physics he'd always wanted. But he wouldn't use his degree. He'd go to work in a factory, and he wouldn't explain why even though Steve would keep asking. But the two of them would still be content and would see each other often.

Steve would meet Peggy when she returned from one of her missions, and he would propose to her right then and there. She would say yes. They'd spend the day around New York; Steve would show her everything he knew. They would go to Coney Island to ride the Cyclone, and neither of them would throw up. They would go dancing that night to celebrate. They would choose their song. They would be so, so happy.

The next day, Steve would tell Bucky. And Bucky would punch him, but he'd be smiling. It would be especially gratifying because Bucky wouldn't smile like that very much. (Not even in Steve's most beautiful fantasy could he deny that Bucky would come home with heavy boots.)

"You punk," he would say and shake out his fist. "Congratulations! I'm best man, right?"

And Steve would say, "Of course, Buck, who else?"

"That's what you'd better say. Tell me everything, Rogers."

That same day, Steve would introduce Peggy to Bucky's parents, because they're Steve's parents, too. George and Winnie would love Peggy. Bucky's sisters would take her in as their own, because they were Steve's sisters, too. Peggy would give each of them a holster as a gift before the wedding.

It would have been a few years since all of them really got to talk to each other, but the Commandos would be there for the wedding; they're Steve's groomsmen, after all. They would demand an open bar, and they'd get it. Much to their amusement, Howard Stark would be among Peggy's bridesmaids. He would bully his way into a position to pay for the whole affair, but he'd also demand that their wedding be the way he wanted it.

And it would be extravagant and nothing Steve or Peggy want, but they'd all have a good time. Steve would meet Peggy's family, and he would love them. And they would, hopefully, love him. He'd meet her parents and her aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces and all the rest. He'd meet her closest friend, her maid of honor. Steve and Peggy would try to fix her up with Bucky, but it wouldn't work. It would be fun to watch, though.

"Nothing against your gal, Carter," Bucky would say, "but I don't think I'm so far gone that I can't get my own date."

Peggy would say in that authoritative, sneaky, political voice she'd cultivated at Camp Lehigh, "We weren't trying to say you couldn't, Sergeant."

There would be a finger pointed at each Steve and Peggy, and Bucky would say, "You two better watch yourselves."

A good laugh would be had.

There would be a lot of laughing at Howard's over-the-top reception. Bucky would embarrass Steve as much as humanly possible when he gave his speech. Talk of how they met and all the stupid fights Steve had picked. A few precious tales from their time in Europe with the rest of the Commandos. Bucky would edit them for the younger kids in the audience. There would be the requisite serious bit at the end that would leave every last eye in the building watering. The first dance wouldn't be Steve and Peggy's actual first dance. They would have practiced a lot because Steve would still be worried about stepping on her feet after all these years. He would accidentally do it during their wedding night, for old times' sake. It would be a great night, one of the best, if not the best.

Before he would drive away that night, destination: honeymoon, Steve would corner Bucky and say, "So when're we doing this for you? 'bout time you settled down."

Bucky would roll his eyes and say, "Don't know if all of this is for me."

Steve would roll his eyes back and say, "You sound like me ten years ago."

"I wouldn't go that far," Bucky would say into his drink. But not in a bad way. In a happy way.

Then Steve would embrace Bucky and say, "Love you, Buck," because, outside of this perfect world, Steve regretted not saying it more often, not saying it more plainly.

And Bucky would say, "Yeah, yeah. Stay outta trouble on your honeymoon. I'd hate to crash it because you need saving again," but Steve would know that he meant to say, Love you, Steve.

In a few years, Steve and Peggy would have a couple of kids. Maybe two boys, one with blond hair like Steve and the other with brown like Peggy. Maybe they would have a brood of fierce girls that would have their mother's steely will and would make Steve immeasurably proud every day. Maybe they would have some mix of the two, maybe both.

Eventually, Steve and Peggy would move to Manhattan. It's closer to their office. Leaving Brooklyn would be painful, but Steve would remind himself that it's really not that far. George and Winnie would host another party before Steve and Peggy moved. The Barneses would be getting on in age now, and Steve would second-guess moving away from them. Then he'd remember that all the rest of the Barnes children would still be close by, and so it wouldn't cause Steve so much anxiety to move out of his parents' neighborhood.

Bucky would act betrayed that Steve was leaving, but he wouldn't mean any of it. He would have a girl by then. She would have red hair because Bucky always was sweet on gals with fiery hair. This one would be just as fierce as Peggy, because that's the avenue through which Bucky would meet her. Bucky and his redhead would be together for a long time, and everyone in the family would keep asking when the two were getting hitched.

All Steve's kids would call Bucky Uncle, but he'd really be their godfather. He'd be great with all of them and love them like they were just as much his nephews and nieces as his sisters' kids were. He would give the kids things Peggy and Steve didn't want them to have. He would spoil them rotten and teach them the vulgar songs the Commandos used to sing during the war.

Every time Steve and Peggy invited Bucky and his redhead over for dinner, Bucky would knock on the door and the kids would go running. "Uncle Bucky," they would yell and throw the door opened. They'd throw themselves at him, and Bucky would pick up as many as he could carry.

"Hey, Uncle Bucky," one of Steve's kids would say.

And Bucky would say, "Hey what?"

"Lookie my bruise."

"Holy cow. Where'd you get that?"

"Margot at school said the Dodgers left Brooklyn 'cause it smells like garbage and eggs."

"You must be Steve's." Bucky would catch Steve's eye over the little kid's head and smile. Then he'd look back at the kid and say, "And the Dodgers left Brooklyn because they're ungrateful, heartless monsters. OK?"

"OK."

"Say it."

"The Dodgers are ungrateful, heartless monsters."

He'd touch his fingertip to the kid's nose and say, "Good. And don't forget it. They'll break your heart."

The life Steve wanted wouldn't be a fantasy where everything was perfect. Bad things would happen, too, because that's life. They would see all kinds of horrible and wonderful things: The Korean War, and the Cold War, and the Vietnam War, and Kennedy and the space race, and second-wave feminism, and the civil rights movement, and everything in between. Phones and color televisions. Computers. Vaccinations.

When Howard Stark introduced Steve and Peggy to his son, Steve would take one look at the kid and say, "Now here's trouble."

"Nah," Howard would say. "He's an angel, really." Howard would mutter, "If his mother is to be believed."

Childcare wouldn't be a concern for anyone. Peggy and Steve would take turns staying with the kids. Or, if they were both busy, Bucky and his girl would take them. Or Winnie and George would take them. Or one of Bucky's sisters. Steve would watch little Tony Stark when his father was busy. And those would always end with something being irrevocably broken and a few tears. When Tony got older, it took both Steve and Bucky to look after the little terror.

"It's like watching you all over again," Bucky would say.

"That's exaggerating things," Steve would respond.

Howard would eventually hire someone more qualified to watch his son.

George Barnes would die at a ripe age, and they'd be devastated all the same. Winnie's health would decline the next few months, and all the adult kids would take turns staying over at her house to take care of her. Steve and Bucky would mix up the schedule and both turn up on the same night. Winnie would have a bad night, and the two of them would sit on the floor with the couch cushions scattered around them.

"Don't know how you went through all this on your own," Bucky would say. Winnie would have days to live, and George would hardly be gone.

Steve would say, "I wasn't on my own. You were right there the whole time. You, the girls." He would nod to the hallway where Winnie was sleeping and say, "Ma and Dad were there for me."

And Bucky would crumple a little bit.

Steve would say, "It was just my ma back then, Buck." He'd throw an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "I didn't lose 'em like we're losing both of 'em right now."

After they would comfort each other and after Winnie would succumb, Steve would meet Bucky at that restaurant they'd always said they'd eat at when they were just dirty kids playing kick the can in the street. They'd talk about their parents and the kids and family.

Steve would say, "I just reckon your ma wanted to see you married before she went."

Bucky would make a guilty smirk and not meet Steve's eyes. That's how Steve would know that Bucky had been married to his redhead the entire time.

"What, you been hiding a couple kids, too?" Steve would say after he was done lamenting not being able to repay Bucky an embarrassing best man speech. All smiles and a little bit of anger that Bucky had kept this secret for so long.

"No," Bucky would say. Make a grim face and say, "But not for lack of trying."

"Geez," Steve would say. He'd think about Krausberg, but he wouldn't dare ask. "Sorry I brought it up."

Waving a hand, Bucky would say, "S'OK. We've come to terms with it a long time ago."

But then they would all be surprised when Bucky and his wife announced that they'd adopted their first kid. They would be happy.

They would, all of them, grow old together. They'd see all the same things and experience them at the same times. They'd make jokes when their kids started dating. They'd get damp eyes when the kids announced their engagements. Each of their hearts would soar when a grandchild was born. Steve and Peggy, Bucky and his redheaded wife, each of Bucky's three sisters and their husbands, the Commandos and their broods, Howard, his wife Maria, and little Tony — it was all family. They would have reunions every three years where they rented out the ballroom of whatever hotel Howard wanted. Their family was so big. It was so content.

It was what should have been.

Eventually, when Steve would turn grey and a little goofy, when Peggy finally decided to step down (which would happen years after Steve called it quits), he and Peggy would finally move away from all the city noise. They'd go somewhere quiet upstate where Steve could see the stars again — he would have long made his amends with the night sky by then. They'd be more in love every single day. There would be pictures on the wall of the life they'd lived both together and before they knew one another — pictures of their big, beautiful family that would confuse anyone who wasn't a part of it.

During the summer, Bucky and his wife would come out to visit. Bucky would finally be wearing his glasses, vanity leaving him far after his youth. On the front porch, Steve would sit next to Bucky and they'd be in rocking chairs because they would be old farts now. Rocking back and forth in their chairs, they would watch the stars just begin peek their faces through the fabric of the pending night. The sun would nearly be done setting, but the lights wouldn't be on yet.

"I still can't believe you got married without telling me," Steve would say.

And Bucky would say, "I still can't believe you agreed to Project: Rebirth!"

"Give it up already," Steve would yell. "It's been seventy years, Bucky!"

And they would laugh in their creaky old man voices. They would laugh because they got to spend all this time together. To grow — apart and closer — together. They would laugh because they both got to live the lives they wanted and deserved. They got to have families and friends and futures and jobs. They got to work hard, and they didn't have to kill anyone anymore. They would laugh, because, despite it all, they were together. They would throw their heads back, laugh, feel like kids getting up to no good on the streets of Brooklyn.

Steve would get to be.

Steve's head fell forward and he opened his eyes. He saw the future spread out below him; there was no Bucky beside him. No rocking chairs, no house behind him filled with pictures of his sprawling family. No Peggy. The smile faded from his face. The laughter fell out of tune inside his head.

" . . . still can't believe," a voice said—

Steve whirled around.

"—that we literally fought off an alien invasion."

Facing the window again, Steve watched the sun wink good-night over ruins. It wasn't the life he imagined for himself.

Note: This work is inspired by, and shares its title with, the song of the same name by Of Monsters and Men.