Epilogue

A.K.A. To Infinity and Beyond

1:16 AM, June 4, 2017

Somewhere over the Indian Ocean

Steve jerks awake, his breath coming fast, Bucky's scream ringing in his ears. It's been awhile since that memory was part of his nightly routine.

With a shake of his head, he re-orients himself. He is in the Quinjet, on his way to Wakanda… to see Bucky. Relaxing, he settles back in the pilot's seat, checks the map. Another hour. Thank God for autopilot.

He is still tired, maybe from all the memories; he has never let himself go back that way. He gets up to fetch his phone.

No texts from Sam or the others. That's fine.

He brings up his pictures, finds one in particular. Setting his phone on the dash, he stares at it until the screen goes dark. But he can still see it.

Shuri took it a couple days after Buck got out of cryo. Sitting on a bench in one of the outdoor markets, Bucky's arm across Steve's shoulders, grinning and hamming for the camera. Steve, a Coke in one hand, his other arm slung around Buck's neck; except for his hand, behind Bucky's head, two fingers raised.

Steve closes his eyes again, holding on to the image.

"Bucky?"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

…

"Even when I had nothing I had Bucky."

…

"Please don't make me do this… You know me."

"No I don't!"

"I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."

"And you're my mission. YOU'RE. MY. MISSION."

"Then finish it. 'cause I'm with you to the end of the line."

The end of the line… end of the line… end of the line… line… line… line…

Steve cracks his eyes open, squinting at a dark, but definitely unfamiliar, sky. He can hear the soft swish of water against shore, the warble of a jungle bird, and something that sounds almost like… a bullfrog?

He sits up with a jerk, teetering on the edge before he catches himself. Woah. Okay. He is on a wooden dock, just like Maine, except… this is Wakanda.

He catches his breath, finds a fuzzy recollection of being instructed to land on the outskirts of the city, being escorted to a hut in the middle of the night, and at some point wandering down to the river. Looking for Bucky… He grips the edge of the boards with a sigh and lets his feet dangle in the water again. Bucky must be nearby; no one else would build a dock like this.

The sky is almost grey in the east now, a couple stars wink out. Behind him the land settles, the animals begin to hush. He breathes deep, the dreamy peace settling in his bones, reaching his soul.

The dock creaks and Steve catches the whisper of bare feet on wood. He goes quite still, waiting.

"Steve? Remember when-?" Bucky breaks off, laughing softly. "Ya know, it's so funny what I remember now. I remember your face when you ate your first strawberry at the cousins' farm. I remember my parents yelling at each other that Christmas when the boiler blew. I remember the smell of your mom's coffee when I'd sit on the front steps Saturday mornings. I remember a guy we called Muse—'cause he was such a serious fella—with two or three bullets in his hip and another in his lung, taking out a big gun that had us pinned–" He stops and Steve knows how that memory ends. "I remember you laughing 'til you choked over– what was his name? Cheat? Chet? Chet! In the Hardy Boys books."

Steve can hardly breathe now, the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

"Hey. Steve."

He turns, sees a hand stretched out to him, looks past it and up. Navy sweatpants, a plain grey t-shirt, dark hair down to his shoulders now, thick stubble coating his chin, dark eyes deep with dark memories, but with that spark of mischief… Bucky, smiling.

And one arm…

Something inside Steve shatters; something he didn't even know was there. Something he thought he'd faced up to years ago.

The smile disappears, and there is a furrow between Buck's brows now. For some reason, a fresh onslaught of memories hits.

The knife.

Fighting.

His best friend punching him in the face.

Not caring whether he lived or died, if Bucky would just say his name.

The look in the Soldier—Bucky's—eyes when Steve said those words: "'cause I'm with you to the end of the line."

The pain is swift and sharp, catching him somewhere between the past and the present, everything twisting and blurring in a kaleidoscope of hopes and heartache.

"Steve." Bucky's voice is chiding, as if he'd called once or twice already. "Grab my freakin' hand."

Steve shifts his weight, starts to put out his hand. He sees suddenly the space between their fingers, and reaches, snatching at Bucky's hand, clinging as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The hand is warm and solid, Bucky hauling him to his feet with ease, as always. Steve stumbles, a drowning man, dragged from the deep.

"Steve." The voice is as gentle and hesitant as the grip is strong and determined. "It's okay. I'm here. Just breathe, pal. Come on. Just breathe."

Steve takes one breath and then another, looks full into that face he knows better than his own. The truth of now is settling around him, but he still teeters on the cliff's edge.

"Stop looking like you're seeing ghosts," Bucky says, his one hand on Steve's shoulder now. "I promised, old man. To the end of the line."

To the end of the line…

"Stevie," Bucky says, then stops. All Steve sees are his eyes going soft and gentle. Without another word, he wraps his arm around his Steve's shoulders, pulls him in against his chest, holds him tight.

Steve's hands come up to press against Buck's back, before clenching fistfuls of his shirt, and the tears begin to fall. Slowly at first, like the first raindrops announce a summer thunder shower, before the storm breaks.

He is weeping now, a torrent tearing from inside him, and he is lost, helpless against it. But Bucky stands in the teeth of the wind, holds him close, an anchor and a shelter.

"Bucky!" he gasps, "Buck–"

The whisper in his ear, "It's okay, Stevie. I'm here."

It is as if, all in the same moment, they are standing outside his apartment in Brooklyn, they are standing in a forest in Austria, and they are standing on a dock in Wakanda. And he doesn't know how much more he can take. Because it hurts. Getting his heart broken, putting some of it back together, getting it shattered again, trying to figure out what pieces are gone and what's new and how the heck this will ever turn out right… It hurts. All of it.

Though talking with Sam more often, especially in the last six months, has helped, Steve still knows—deep down in that place that has no words—that only Bucky can make it work. Because he's the only one who knows. Who knows what it's like, knows what happened. Who's been there.

Because, even if he doesn't remember all the facts, Bucky remembers the feelings. When he needed Steve, Steve was there, and when Steve needed Bucky, Bucky was there. They promised each other, to the end of the line.

And here they are, together, the end out of sight once more.

"Buck–" he sobs.

"I'm here, Stevie. I'm here."

Bucky.

This is Bucky. His friend, his brother, his protector. Whatever he may have done, wherever the memories may have scattered to, whatever he might say about himself, Bucky is here.

With him.

Holding him.

"Buck-y," he manages.

"S'okay, Stevie. S'okay."

Gradually, the downpour lessens, but not until the sobs have been reduced to uneven breaths, does Steve feel Bucky shift his position. His elbow stays firm against Steve's shoulder, but his hand comes up to rest on the back of Steve's head.

He buries his face against Buck's neck, catching the scent of something earthy and dry, but good, mixed with soap and sweat. He finds that he can breathe, deep, once, twice. He realizes that the shoulder of Bucky's shirt is soaked with tears and snot, and he manages to croak, "Sorry." But he isn't, that isn't what he meant and Bucky knows it.

"You're welcome," Bucky whispers.

They stand, breathing in time.

They sit on the dock, shoulders brushing, feet dangling in the water, silent. Steve slumps against Bucky and Bucky's arm is draped around his neck. For a while he is still sniffling, and he wipes his sleeve across his nose…

His mother's voice: 'Always, always keep a clean hankie with you, laddie. You never know when you might need it.'

More tears. But these are easier, almost soothing. Bucky does not ask, but Steve feels obligated to say something so he whispers, "Mother."

Bucky's arm cinches just a little bit tighter around him, and he rests his cheek on top of Steve's head. They could be perched on the fire escape outside their apartment, or on the seawall at Gravesend, or on their favorite tree branch in Prospect Park, the one on the edge of the lake, right near the boathouse, where they could spy on people and giggle and snack on apples they had stuffed in their pockets, until the grown-ups came hunting for them.

The words are on the tip of Steve's tongue, Do you remember…? before he catches them. He doesn't want to risk that pain in Bucky's eyes, when he wants so badly to remember and make Steve happy, but can't.

Steve takes in a long slow breath, tries to remember what Bucky had said, before Steve lost it. "So… do you remember a lot?"

Bucky shifts, sitting straighter, not quite tense, but nervous. The words come slower than they did back then. "Bits and pieces. But always more. Some things are gone for good. Some aren't. It doesn't feel like enough. It probably never will. But I just take what I can get, and… be grateful, I guess. I mean, if I stop to think, this is all… way more than I ever hoped for." He draws a long breath. "I'm free now, and wherever things go from here, well, I just want– I mean, you–"

Now it is Steve's turn to react, once the words sink in. He pulls away, sitting up to look Bucky in the eyes. "Free? You mean… they did it? They're done? Shuri… the words…" He is fumbling.

Bucky opens his mouth. "Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtstat'. Rassvet. Pech'. Devyat'. Dobrokachestvennyy. Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin. Gruzovoy vagon."

There is a moment's breathless silence.

Steve's mind whirls, stunned. "What-?"

"Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy," Bucky starts again, but his breathing is uneven, fast, and he has to stop. He makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I did it! Steve, I-I-I-"

He is stuttering, almost hyperventilating, and Steve comes to his senses. He grabs Buck's shoulder. "Breathe, Buck. Just breathe."

"I- am- breathing," Buck gasps. "Punk!" He throws his arm around Steve's neck, and Steve is laughing and Bucky is laughing, and maybe they are crying. Steve has a dim sense of some great weight or shadow melting away, but the joy of this moment is overwhelming; he can't think beyond now, and he doesn't want to.

Then Bucky is telling how it's been two weeks since Princess Shuri just walked into his apartment one morning and rattled off The Words in perfect Russian, and it had taken Buck a couple minutes to realize what the heck had just happened.

Again there is laughter, again there are tears, but it's quieter now, the reality settling in.

At some point Steve notices the stars are gone. Clear sky, morning mist on the water: it should be a beautiful day. Though it will be a little while longer before the sun tops the mountains to reach them. Bucky seems to notice at the same moment and they sit in silence, taking it in.

"Remember?" Bucky says, suddenly. "When we went to the cottage in Maine after your mom died?"

Steve starts in surprise. His thoughts scramble to catch where Bucky's going, but he comes up blank. Until…

"And we had that motorboat. What was it called? The Brother-something?"

"The Brotherhood."

"Right! And–" Buck stops suddenly, laughing.

"And what?" Steve is smiling too, trying to imagine…

"You don't remember?" Bucky raises his eyebrows.

"I have a brain, not a computer."

Bucky's grin gets bigger. "Okay then. Never mind."

"Aha. Must have been embarrassing then. Did it involve a girl?"

Bucky ducks his head.

"Come on. Tell me!"

"Nah. I like knowing something Captain America doesn't."

Steve grabs his friend, putting him in headlock, which he is laughing too hard to get out of. A troop of monkeys goes screeching and leaping back into the woods.

They wrestle until Bucky almost falls in the water, and Steve catches both of them.

"Punk!" Bucky gasps.

"Jerk," is Steve's reply.

They fall silent again, and a contented peace settles over them.

They are here.

That is all that matters.

The sun is peeping over the mountains, when Bucky gives a perceptible start. "Hey. Happy Birthday, big 99."

"What about you, Mister Century?" Steve teases huskily.

"D'you ever think…?" Bucky stops, scratches his chin through the stubble, stares out over the river, not looking at Steve. "D'you ever wonder if–?"

"No, I never ask 'what if'," Steve tries to interrupt.

"If it's worth it?" Bucky finishes. "To still be here? To still be… alive?"

Steve gives a quiet snort. "You're worth it."

Bucky's head goes down, and he covers his face with his hand. Steve's arm circles his shoulders, pulling him in against his side. Finally he looks up, tears clinging to his lashes. "You did catch me, Steve." He sniffs, rubs the back of his hand across his nose. "You know that, don't you?"

Steve stiffens, his arm sliding off Bucky's back.

"When I fell, you caught me. Stevie, you never even let me go."

And now Steve is the one with his head in his hands, and Bucky's arm is around his shoulders, and they hold on to each other. Old wounds healing.

A fight between two birds breaks out in a nearby tree and they stir, slowly getting to their feet.

A new day has come.

Still without speaking they walk back to land, and Steve stops. He turns, looks back down the length of the dock.

Bucky turns too, gives him a quizzical look. "What's eating you?"

Steve smiles. "How about we wake everybody up at once?"

Bucky's eyes go wide and he laughs; he knows, he gets it. Then he looks nervous. "I dragged you out, you dragged me out. I think we're even." But he is rolling up his pant legs one-handed, much quicker than Steve would have thought possible.

In that simple action Steve knows something: this isn't 1927. It isn't 1940. But that's okay. They're okay. Because sometimes time makes friends stronger.

"Go!" Steve shouts. They are off, running pell-mell, the dock shuddering under their weight. A moment of laughing competition, before there is one step left.

Bucky's hand closes around his.

Then they launch into freefall, and in that moment before they hit the water, Bucky's yell changes to a startled gasp, as he remembers—too late—that he has no left hand with which to grab his nose.

...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

–Psalm 30:5b

...

And when you call, and need me near,
Saying, 'Where'd you go?'
Brother, I'm right here.
And on those days when the sky begins to fall
You're the blood of my blood
We can get through it all

…

Brother, let me be your shelter
Never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you're feelin' low
Brother, let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

–'Brother' by NEEDTOBREATHE

Author's notes:

So, yeah, I totally believe Shuri would do something like that. She's so confident in her own abilities, and such a strong believer in Buck's humanity that she would totally spring the final big test on him. And then of course, give him a hug and help him calm down after. I think she's so awesome and I have really enjoyed writing her in my sequel This Is Me, which is basically Steve and Buck hanging out in Wakanda, but mostly from Buck's POV.

Galloping grasshoppers! I cannot believe how this project has revitalized my writing. Or how many people have actually taken the time to read it. Thanks a million, every one. If you have time to leave a comment, feedback is also massively appreciated.

I will always draw inspiration from fellow writers who are much better than me, so thanks especially to caristiona7 and Griselda Banks. Passing the torch. :)

I loved doing this, and I hope you loved reading it, and no matter what happens in Avengers 4, no matter who lives or dies, Steve and Buck will remain brothers, best friends, to the end of the line, and beyond.