the darkness that encompassed him gradually lightened. every once in awhile, his eyelids would flutter but the heaviness that lingered over them made it near impossible for him to open them completely despite his acute awareness of his conscious state. focus on breathing, steve. in and out. in and out. in and out comes a shaky sigh. his nerves escalated with each second, the uncertainty of where he was sending him into the beginning stages of panic. how could he have ended up at home? red skull, the plane, his promises to peggy. steve rogers had felt the coldness of the ice that the valkyrie was buried in before his eyes slowly slipped shut. this was home as far as he was concerned. during the spring and summer, the windows were left open in an attempt to circulate the fresh and warm air that he would dream about in the fall and winter. he could feel that same breeze glide over his skin.
it suddenly occurred to him that his thought process could not be right. after enlisting, he had allowed his lease to end under the pretense that he could find something else if he ever made it back. he recalls writing the letter to his landlord. it is not until he hears the static and exuberant voice of a man on the radio does he attempt to open his eyes once and for all.
the light is too harsh for his adjusting vision, causing him to blink for a few moments until the brightness within the room does not provide him with any strain. blue hues immediately zero in on the radio ( the ceiling was easy to get lost in but there were more pressing matters to attend to ). bemusement washes over him. there is something familiar about this particular broadcast that is unsettling. the realization hits steve like a pound of bricks. 1941. baseball. dodgers. one of the few games that him and bucky had scrounged up enough money for to go see in person.
a sinking feeling is evident in his chest, prompting him to push himself up from where he was laying on the bed. the most likely scenario was that this was a diversion attempt. the enemy hydra could they have found him while he was under? these thoughts have him distracted. when a woman walks through the door, steve startles at her voice. a recovery room in new york sounds too practiced for him to thoroughly believe but when guards join the woman who eerily resembled a person from his own past, he makes a hasty exit through what was basically a cardboard box ( so he was right about this being a diversion ).
once he barreled out on to the street, running alongside traffic was not difficult. after all, it was not the first time he ran with cars. it does not even strike him that they look different until he is surrounded by vehicles that are sleek black in color and constructed more futuristically. his chest rises and falls with the effort to even out his breathing. where was he? the sound of another voice has his eyes fixating on the man with determination. though none of the words were processing just yet, the surprises did not stop coming. another person is added to the mix except this time the voice it couldn’t be.
but it is. and for once in his life, steve rogers is rendered silent as he comes face to face with bucky barnes. the same bucky barnes that he watched fall. perhaps he was dreaming. yes, there was no other explanation. still, a glimmer of hope resides within his hoarse voice as he questions, ❛ bucky? ❜ his heart beat in his chest erratically though he was unsure as to whether it was due to his recent jog or the fact that he was standing in front of his best friend once again. ❛ what do you mean? the future? ❜ it is then he takes a look at his surroundings, an overwhelming confusion bubbling up once more, thus convincing his gaze to return to bucky. ❛ you’re ❜ he pauses, lips pressed together in frustration at not being able to comprehend this situation entirely. ❛ i don’t understand. ❜
THERE’S THE SOUND and flash of phone cameras all around them, bright enough even to stand out among the gaudy lights of the illuminations around them. Despite the S.H.I.E.L.D. officers and uniformed police keeping people back, it seemed as if they were becoming quite an attraction. Add to that there’s the sounding of angry car horns from their impromptu roadblock, the yelling of New Yorkers starting to become enraged because they can no longer get from point a to point b. Bucky has no sympathy for them in reality, they should know to expect unusual things in the middle of the city as a common occurrence - it’s New York, after all - but he’s the Director of a government organisation and to completely disregard citizens and tourists alike doesn’t send a great message. His priority is getting Rogers off the street, but before that he has to try and ease some of the confusion that’s coming off the man in waves.
“Alive? Yeah I know,” he says with a huffed laugh, handing a nearby agent his helmet and the keys to the bike he’d arrived on with the instructions to take it back to the garage. His attention casts about, scanning the crowd gathered as close as they dare to the men in suits with their serious black cars and even more serious facial expressions. Most people are pointing their phones at Steve but a few are pointed in his direction, something that Bucky doesn’t appreciate but is powerless to stop. “You think you’re dreamin’, or this is some kind of sophisticated trick, right?” He looks back at Steve, expression mildly apologetic “Well, I’m afraid that it’s neither. Welcome to the gaudy mess that is Times Square.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his tone, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips, but there’s sobriety there too.
Heaving a sigh, he steps forward, gloved fingers carding through his hair in an attempt to tame what had been messed by the helmet. “Like Fury said, the Valkyrie had been lost for nearly seventy years.” Nearly seventy years since they last saw each other that fateful day in the Alps, an unhappy memory for both of them; nearly seventy years since Rogers’ stubborn ass didn’t give coordinates of where he was putting the bird down - not that Bucky can blame him for that. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you sooner, the glacier you were found in drifted a long way from where we were lookin'. In hindsight I should’ve taken that into account. My bad.” He falls silent for a moment, bottom lip pulled under his top teeth as he gives himself a moment to compare the blond in front of him to the one in his mangled memories. “It’s good to see you, Steve,” he says, eventually, his voice lacking the bravado that he’d put forward before. “It’s been too quiet without you around.”
There’s sirens off in the background that snaps him back to the present and he’s distracted by Fury stating that the NYPD are requesting them to leave as controlling the crowds is becoming an issue. Clearing his throat and straightening his jacket, Bucky takes a step back and gestures to one of the cars. “I’m willin’ to answer any an’ all questions you might have, but we gotta get out of the street otherwise I’m pretty certain we’re gonna cause a riot.” An agent opens the door to the indicated SUV’s and Bucky offers a smile to Steve. “C’mon, there’s a pot of coffee an’ privacy waitin’ back at HQ.”