An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Captain America - All Media Types
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Dimension Travel, Comic Book Science, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Minor Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers, Selfcest, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Commander Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers, All the Steve Rogerses, Prayer Circle for Bucky's Asshole, Double Penetration, Dominance and Submission, Voyeurism, Rimming
It’s a very normal morning on a very normal Thursday when Steve Rogers pops into existence on Bucky’s patio.
With the kind of things Bucky has seen and the life he leads, this wouldn’t usually be cause for concern. Steve gets up to all kinds of shit with the Pym particles these days – something about time travel having inter-dimensional consequences. And since Steve exchanged Grant for Responsibility sometime between lying on army enlistment forms and crashing a plane into the Arctic, he’s running around under the careful watch of Hank Pym and Stephen Strange, doing things Bucky takes care not to ask about.
But the Steve Rogers that pops into existence on Bucky’s patio is not the right Steve Rogers.
He’s dressed all in black, for one thing.
He’s got a metal arm, for another.
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Post-Thanos, Bucky Barnes has happily settled into a life of peace and pining. That's when alternate versions of the best friend he's secretly in love with start showing up.
“It’s like we’re mirrors,” alt-Steve says, peering curiously at Bucky’s Wakandan-made left arm. Alt-Steve’s arm is also clearly vibranium, not the titanium-adamantium model the Russians put on the Winter Soldier(s). But the design is different; the black’s a deeper, more matte shade than Bucky’s, and the veins threading through it are silver, not gold.
“I have a feeling we are,” Bucky says, redialing his Steve – and it’s embarrassing, how thinking of this world’s Steve as his makes something warm bubble up in his chest, even though he knows full damn well it doesn’t mean what he wants it to mean – without looking away from alt-Steve.
Alt-Steve isn’t looking away from Bucky either. Quite the opposite. He’s staring intently, with a look in his eyes that makes Bucky want to squirm. It’s not hostile, far from it, just very intense. But Bucky’s helpless to look away, meeting jewel-blue eyes like a man bewitched.
In his ear, the phone rings and rings, but there’s no answer.
“You’re taking this very calmly,” Bucky says carefully, putting the phone down. He’s left six missed calls and an all-caps message, but there’s been no response so either Steve’s working or–
Bucky doesn’t think about the or. Steve will get back to him when he checks his phone. He always does.
Alt-Steve shrugs and finally blinks. Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“I’ve been in this situation before. Well, not quite,” he amends. “But close enough.”
