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CHAPTER EIGHT: THE ENDGAME

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 15K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Typical Marvel violence, major character death(s), angst, grief, slight fluff if you really squint, lots of time skips!

A/N: This chapter hurt to write and it is the last one in the series (for real this time)! I cannot thank you all enough for the support. Grab some tissues and enjoy. Bonus chapters coming soon! <3

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Empty. That was the emotion swirling through you, raw, gaping, and infinite. The Quinjet’s quiet hum barely registered in your ears over the static of shock. Making it out of Wakanda felt like a fever dream. Your body had gone limp from the exhaustion that grief brings, too heavy to move, too hollow to feel. Bucky was gone. The dog tags resting beneath your shirt felt heavier, pressing into your chest, tight and constricting.

They were all you had left, his name etched into cold steel, the only proof he had ever existed. The Quinjet touched down with a mechanical sigh, the lowering ramp exposing the gray skies above the Avengers compound in upstate New York. The air was crisp, biting against your tear-streaked cheeks. Natasha’s grip around your hand tightened, a firm, grounding squeeze, one last act of solidarity before she stepped back, letting you move forward on your own shaky legs.

Wiping the sting of unshed tears from your eyes, you scanned the crowd. Your gaze locked with Pepper’s. “Mom.” The word cracked in your throat, more a whisper than a cry, but it shattered whatever wall you’d built to hold yourself together. Pepper stood only a few feet away, her eyes wide and glassy with disbelief, the sight of you reducing her to trembling silence. Then she moved, arms open, steady despite her own heartbreak.

You fell into her without hesitation, nearly collapsing in her embrace. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” She whispered, voice breaking as she clutched you to her chest, fingers threading through your hair like they used to when you were little. Her embrace was warm, familiar, but even that couldn’t fully thaw the cold that had taken root inside you. Over your shoulder, she met Natasha’s eyes and nodded, a silent thank you, heavy with emotion. Together, you made your way inside, your footsteps echoing through the quiet halls of the compound.

It had never felt this empty.

Almost by instinct, you drifted toward your old room. The door creaked open on its own, as if welcoming you home, though the space inside was frozen in time, untouched, unmoved. The photos still sat where you left them, frames dusty and askew, your younger self smiling up at you from beside your father. Tony's smirk, full of life and mischief, hit you like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard. He was probably gone too. Somewhere out in the abyss of space all alone.

You shut your eyes, clenching your fists as you tried to banish the image from your mind. It was all too much. Even with all the tension and harsh words, he was still your father. And the idea of losing him too, of never getting the chance to say everything left unsaid was unbearable. Your breath hitched as you turned away from the photos, retreating to the bed you hadn’t slept in for years. The mattress creaked beneath you as you and Pepper sat down, the weight of the universe pressing down on your shoulders.

You were safe. You were home. But nothing would ever be the same again. Silence blanketed the room, thick, suffocating until it shattered. A low rumble coursed through the floor like a pulse. Pepper gasped, her hand instinctively clutching the doorframe. You stumbled to your feet, heart hammering in your chest. The windows quivered in their frames as the sky outside lit up with a blinding, celestial flare, like a star tearing through the clouds. You rushed to the glass, breath fogging the cool surface.

A sleek, alien silhouette sliced through the atmosphere. A ship. And it was landing just beyond the compound. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “Go,” You rasped, the word barely escaping your throat. You didn’t look at Pepper, couldn’t bear to because you already knew what was written on her face: hope. Desperate, fragile hope. “Go. I’ll catch up.” She hesitated only for a heartbeat before she turned to you, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead.

Her lips lingered for a second longer than necessary, as if memorizing the warmth of your skin. Then she turned and disappeared down the hall, her footsteps quickening with each stride. You stood still, frozen. Heart thudding in your chest. Fingers curled around the dog tags at your neck. Cold metal kissed your fingertips, grounding you, reminding you who you’d lost, and who you might get back. You inhaled slowly, exhaled shakily, and forced yourself into motion. One foot in front of the other. Inhale. Exhale.

The hallway felt endless, stretching like a tunnel between past and present. After what felt like an eternity, you stepped outside. You squinted toward the ship, a ramp extended with a slow mechanical whir, forming into metallic steps. Two figures emerged through the haze of smoke and light. You stopped breathing. A few feet away, stumbling slightly, propped up by what looked to be a hovering, blue-skinned droid was a silhouette that looked all too familiar. You pinched your arm, half-expecting to wake up. You didn’t. Your eyes watched as Steve sprinted forward with purpose.

“Couldn't stop him.” You heard your father rasp as Steve caught his arm, bracing him gently. “Neither could I.” Steve muttered, voice laced with guilt. Then a silence hung in the air, thick as smoke. “I lost the kid,” Tony whispered hoarsely, eyes glassy. “And Y/N… I haven’t heard from her in over two years. What if she’s gone too? What if I didn’t get the chance to—” You had heard enough. “Dad.” Your voice cut through the air like a blade. His head jerked toward you. He saw you. Really saw you.

His shoulders slumped instantly, all the weight of space and silence and failure collapsing into one moment of sheer disbelief. His lips parted, but no sound came. You ran. The world blurred around you. Wind whipped past, heart pounding in your ears. As you reached him, you didn’t stop, couldn’t. You collided with him gently, wrapping your arms around him like he was made of glass. You could feel the frailty in him, the tension, the pain, but you held him anyway.

You heard him exhale like he’d been holding that breath for years. Tony leaned away from Steve, his arms locking around you despite the protests of his aching muscles. His fingers curled into the back of your jacket, holding you like he might vanish if he let go. You sobbed, your face buried in his chest, fists bunching into his torn shirt. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He just held you tighter. The two of you stood there in silence as the wind settled and the light dimmed, surrounded by chaos but wrapped in something unshakable. There was still pain. Still things left unsaid. Still wounds that needed healing.

But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you had each other. Not even a second later Pepper rushed forward, arms wound around you and Tony. “Oh my god.” Her voice cracked under the weight of emotion. She clung to Tony and you, fingers digging into fabric and flesh as if to prove he were real, solid, breathing, here. The sobs wracked her shoulders as she buried her face into Tony’s neck, and her other hand cradled the back of your head, pulling you tighter into their embrace. Tony, whose body had been trembling from exhaustion and near-starvation, exhaled a shaky breath.

And then he let go, not of you or Pepper, but of everything else: the fear, the guilt, the ghosts of Titan. He shut his eyes and let himself be held. You felt his chest rise and fall in rhythm with yours. His heartbeat, though weakened, was steady beneath your ear. The arc reactor buzzed faintly against your cheek, a distant thrum of life that grounded you. For the first time in years, you were the child in his arms. And he was the father who came home. Minutes passed, though they could have been seconds or hours, you weren't sure. Time felt irrelevant now.

Then, gently, Tony pressed a kiss to Pepper’s cheek, soft and lingering, a thousand promises wrapped into one. And then, he turned to you. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, fingers trembling slightly, and pressed his lips to your forehead. The warmth of it seeped into your skin like sunlight after a storm. His eyes met Steve’s, and for a moment there was only quiet understanding. No blame. No bitterness. Just a shared weariness. Tony exhaled and looked back at you, his voice gentle, cracked with emotion.

“It’s okay,” He whispered softly, arms still tight around you and Pepper. “We’re gonna be okay.” That word, okay, felt foreign. Like a language you’d forgotten how to speak. Fine. That word had always felt like a fever dream, distant, imagined, fleeting. But now, with your head resting against your father’s chest, your mother’s arms still cradling you, you had no other choice but to believe it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But somehow, eventually, you would somehow be okay.

Five years. 1,825 days.

It had been five long years since the sky went dark with ash and silence swallowed the world. The day Thanos snapped his fingers, time didn’t just fracture, it froze. Each day since heavy. Slow. Exhausting. You counted them not by seasons or birthdays or holidays, but by absences. By who wasn’t there. Yet somehow, life didn’t stop. It couldn’t. So you did the only thing you could: you stayed busy.

The cabin your family retreated to after the dust had settled became your sanctuary. Nestled deep in the woods of upstate New York, hidden behind layers of trees and silence, it was a place untouched by the noise of a broken world. Sometimes you sat on the dock for hours, legs dangling over the edge, watching the ripples bloom across the surface, pretending they were echoes of another timeline.

Your days became carefully structured to keep the grief at bay. You offered therapy to children, those left behind in the wake of the Blip. Their eyes often mirrored your own: haunted, distant, searching. They painted pictures of empty dinner tables and hugged you with desperate arms. You listened. You let them scream, cry, go silent, whatever they needed. Because you needed it too. You taught them how to find safety in memory, how to carry love in absence.

But you still hadn’t figured out how to do that for yourself. Your evenings were often spent at the compound, where Natasha still held the threads of the Avengers together with stubborn hands and sleepless nights. You'd find her sitting in the dark briefing room, surrounded by empty chairs and glowing monitors, her eyes never really focusing on any of them. Just waiting. Hoping. Trying to believe the dust could be undone.

You brought her food she never ate, shared quiet conversations where neither of you said much, but somehow said enough. She became one of the only people who understood the specific weight of losing someone who wasn't supposed to die. And yet even in all of that, something was missing. Or rather, someone. Bucky. His absence never dulled, it just settled into your bones like a second skin. You felt it in the silence between words, in the moments you forgot.

The dog tags never left your neck. Cold, familiar, grounding. You’d press them to your chest, eyes squeezed shut, and imagine the sound of his voice. The warmth of his hand. The steady way he always seemed to know when you were unraveling. As if pressing them hard enough to your heart might bridge the impossible. Might call him back. Might undo the universe. But the world never rewound. It only spun forward, slowly dragging you with it. Still, you held on.

To the memories. To the ache that reminded you he had once been here, once held you, once loved you. Because even if he was gone, you weren’t. And that had to mean something. After the world steadied, barely, and your father started sleeping for more than three hours at a time, Tony and Pepper got married. It was quiet, nothing extravagant. Just family. Just a soft afternoon in the clearing by the cabin, under an arch Pepper built herself, and vows whispered through shaky smiles and damp eyes.

You remembered how beautiful she looked and how your father looked at her like he’d finally found something in this world he couldn’t invent, improve, or replace. That night, wrapped in the afterglow of a bittersweet celebration, you did something you hadn’t done since Wakanda: you talked. Really talked. Sitting between your parents on the old porch swing, you opened up. About Bucky. About the nights in Wakanda when you thought maybe, just maybe you could have something normal.

About the way he traced the curve of your jaw when he thought you were asleep, or how he called you "doll" in a voice so tender it made your heart ache and those butterflies everyone described erupt in your stomach whenever he’d look at you. And how you had been silently struggling everyday since he vanished before your eyes. Pepper’s arms were around you before you even finished the story. She held you close, whispered that she was proud of you for loving so fiercely, for surviving something that could’ve broken you completely.

Tony, on the other hand... was silent. Too silent. At first, you thought he was processing. Then you saw his jaw, clenched tight, eyes completely unreadable. Not anger. Not grief. Something else. He didn’t say a word. Not then. Not that night. Not the next morning. He didn’t speak to you for a week. No sarcastic comments. No overbearing attempts to monitor your nanotech. Not even a passing “don’t die” when you left to visit Natasha. It hurt. Worse than you’d expected. Because it wasn’t just silence, it was his silence. Familiar in a way that made your chest twist.

Because you had finally believed that there had been a breakthrough, but that week felt like you were fifteen again, screaming through slammed doors over things neither of you really meant but hurt nonetheless. But then came the day at the lake. You sat at the edge of the dock, legs pulled tight to your chest, phone pressed loosely to your ear. A quiet voice echoed back, Steve’s voice. The only person who truly seemed to understood what Bucky meant to you.

You didn’t say much. You didn’t have to. It was in your breath, in the tremor of your silence, in the occasional broken word. You told him you couldn’t sleep. That sometimes you reached for someone in the dark and hated the way your fingers closed around nothing. You kept your voice soft, nearly a whisper, the words just for Steve, just for yourself. What you didn’t realize was that you weren’t alone. Tony stood back beneath the overhang of the trees, concealed by branches. He hadn’t followed you, not exactly.

He’d just needed air, but ended up close enough to hear your voice carried by the breeze, soft and raw in a way he hadn’t heard in years. You weren’t angry. You weren’t yelling. You were grieving. And he’d missed it. He saw you hunched over, shoulders shaking, phone pressed against your ear with both hands like you needed to anchor yourself to something solid. Every few moments you’d go still, staring at the water like it might answer you. Then your hand would curl into a fist over your chest, clutching the chain of the tags that hadn’t left your neck since the Blip.

Tony’s breath hitched and he hated himself for not noticing sooner. You looked like Pepper had the night after the Snap, small, hollowed out, lost in a way that couldn’t be fixed by machines or suits or second chances. He realized, in that moment, that your heart had been broken long before he ever noticed. You didn’t see him when the call ended. When your phone dropped gently into your lap and your hands came up to cover your face. You leaned forward, forehead against your knees, letting the grief roll through you like thunder, silent but all-consuming.

Tony didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, arms limp at his sides, the weight of your pain crashing over him like a wave. He’d built entire worlds with his hands, but he hadn’t known how to reach for his own daughter. Not when it counted. When you finally stood, wiping your eyes and tucking the tags back beneath your shirt, you didn’t look toward the trees. You didn’t know he’d been there, watching, breaking quietly behind the leaves. Seeing you so distraught, Tony finally began to understand. Not how to fix it, but how to start being there for you.

Tony hadn’t said anything the next day. Or the one after. Not in words. But he started showing up. It began quietly, without any kind of announcement or expectation. He left a steaming mug of tea on your windowsill one morning before sunrise, still warm when you stirred. Later that afternoon, you found your old sketchbook sitting on the porch swing, untouched but dusted clean, a mechanical pencil nestled into the spine. Small things. Quiet things. You didn’t speak about what he’d more than likely had overheard at the lake. But something shifted.

You saw it in the way he lingered longer at the dinner table, even when conversation faltered. In the way he listened more than he talked. How he didn’t flinch anymore when your fingers ghosted over the dog tags hanging around your neck. And eventually, you let your shoulder lean into his when you sat side by side on the dock. You didn’t pull away. That was how it started. No grand apologies, no dramatic confessions. Just time. Quiet understanding. It was enough. Then came the news.

Pepper’s hands trembled when she told you. Her eyes were shining, but the corners of her mouth twitched with nervous joy. Tony stood behind her, hands buried in his pockets, trying and failing to mask the way his eyes welled when you blinked at them, stunned. She was pregnant. Your fingers pressed against your lips as your heart stuttered. A thousand feelings crashed into you at once, shock, awe, and even fear. But most of all, there was hope. A warmth. A fragile hope blooming between the cracks of your grief. Morgan.

When she arrived, she was sunshine incarnate. Small, squirmy, impossibly loud for something so tiny, but radiant. Her laugh, a spark that reignited parts of your father you thought had burned out long ago. And her love for you? It was endless. Every morning, like clockwork, Morgan would climb the stairs to your room. She never missed a day. And this morning was no different. Slowly, you peeked one eye open just in time to see the crown of unruly curls appear at the edge of your bed, little fingers grasping the quilt with all the determination of a girl on a mission.

She climbed with clumsy grace, breath puffing out in soft huffs as she struggled halfway up. She paused, then wriggled one arm up, then another, until finally she flopped unceremoniously onto the bed. You snapped your eyes shut again, biting back a smile. “Y/NNNN,” Came the familiar whine, her tiny finger jabbing at your cheek with increasing persistence. You stayed still, barely breathing, feigning sleep. A pause. Then the blanket tugged. Then a poke. Another. “Y/N, I know you’re not really sleeping,” She grumbled.

You nearly cracked. Then suddenly, she climbed higher, nose nearly touching yours. You heard the soft squeak of her socked feet shifting on the quilt. “I brought Mr. Snuggles to help wake you up.” She declared, as the fuzzy stuffed bear you had bought her was deposited onto your face. That did it. You broke into laughter, wrapping her in a hug and pulling her under the covers with you as she squealed in triumph. Her limbs tangled with yours, warm and fidgety, like a miniature hurricane of joy.

“We should get outta bed before Dad comes in here and drags us outta bed.” After a few more stolen moments under the covers, exchanged with tickles and whispered promises of a juice pop later, the two of you finally peeled yourselves from the cocoon of warmth. By the time the sun had reached its highest point in the sky, the cabin was humming with life. At some point, as the gentle rhythm of lunch preparation settled into place, your eyes drifted toward the wide kitchen window. The soft clang of the knife stopped mid-motion.

Outside, in the late spring sunlight, Tony knelt in the grass, arms wide as Morgan launched herself at him with glee. He caught her effortlessly, spinning her in a circle, both of them laughing like there wasn’t a care in the world. But that warmth quickly shifted. Out on the gravel path leading to the cabin, a sleek black vehicle turned in. Your eyes narrowed slightly, the hairs on your arms prickling as the car slowed to a stop near the porch. Pepper followed your gaze, frowning just as the engine cut.

You recognized Natasha first, her silhouette unmistakable, even from behind. Steve stepped out next, tall and steady, eyes scanning the cabin with quiet urgency. But it was the third figure that gave you pause. You squinted, trying to place him. He looked uncertain, like someone who didn’t quite belong here. Yet before you could question it further, the front door opened with a creak. “Dad?” You called softly, turning just as Tony stepped in with Morgan cradled in his arms, her cheeks flushed from laughter.

His expression was no longer playful. There was tension there now, jaw tight, brow furrowed, a different kind of weight settling across his shoulders. “What’s going on?” Tony gently set Morgan down, brushing a kiss over her curls before guiding her toward the playroom without a word. Only once she was out of sight did he speak, voice low. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” Without waiting for you to catch up, he strode toward the porch. You followed, heart already picking up its pace.

Natasha was the first to open her arms to you, and you didn’t hesitate. She looked tired but strong, her grip firm. Steve embraced you next, brief but grounding. When you turned to the third figure, you extended a hand cautiously, not quite sure why he seemed familiar. He gave a sheepish smile, shaking your hand. “Wait…” Your eyes narrowed. "Scott Lang, weren’t you snapped?” The question hung there, weighted and cold.

He glanced at Steve and Natasha, almost like he needed reassurance before answering. “That’s why we’re here, дорогая.” Came Natasha’s voice, touched with something more than urgency. You listed as Scott recalled how he came back in detail, gears turning at possible solutions you deemed were impossible. "We know what it sounds like." Scott exasperated. "Tony, after everything you've seen, is anything really impossible?" Steve chimed in, arms crossed.

Your father, who’d been standing with one hand on the porch rail, finally spoke. His tone was clipped, intellect sharp as always. “Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale,” He muttered, almost to himself. “Which then triggers the Deutsch proposition. Can we agree on that?” There was a beat of silence. Even Scott looked mildly impressed. “In layman’s terms,” Tony added dryly, glancing toward you. “It means you're not coming home.” You rolled your eyes.

“Technically, Dad, Scott did come home,” You pointed out, matter-of-fact, earning him several pointed looks from the group. Tony threw his hands up. “No. He accidentally survived. A cosmic hiccup. A billion-to-one quantum fluke. And now, he wants to pull off a, what do you call it again?” He asked snapping his fingers as if that would make him recall what Scott had said. “A time heist.” Scott chimed in proudly, the term rolling off his tongue with too much confidence. Tony gave a humorless chuckle, slow and laced with sarcasm.

“Of course. A time heist. Why didn’t we think of that before? Oh, that’s right, because it’s laughable. Because it’s a pipe dream.” You shifted your weight, jaw tightening at his tone. God, you absolutely hated this side of him. “The stones are in the past,” Steve recalled carefully, taking a step forward. “We go back, we get them, and then bring everyone back.” Natasha finished softly. “Or screw everything up worse than Thanos already has.” Tony snapped. His voice was louder now, not cruel, but cracked with fear barely concealed beneath his bravado.

You held back the growing frustration burning in your chest. “I’ve gotta say,” He continued, pacing now, hands on his hips. “I miss the optimism. Really, I do. But all the hope in the world doesn’t help if I can’t find a logical, tangible, safe way to pull it off. Right now? The most likely outcome is we all die trying.” Scott opened his mouth to protest, but Tony cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I can’t.” You blinked, caught off guard, but before you could push back, tiny footsteps padded across the porch.

“Mommy told me to come and save you.” Morgan announced as she climbed into Tony’s arms without hesitation. Tony’s voice softened immediately. “Good job. I’m saved.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, his defenses folding as he held her close. But the look he gave everyone else was final. “I wish you were coming here to ask me something else. Anything else.” He turned to walk back toward the house, Morgan clinging to him. Steve, unable to let it go, tried one last time.

“Tony, I get it,” He coaxed, gesturing toward you and Morgan. “And I’m happy for you. I really am. But this… this is a second chance.” Only you could see the flicker of pain in your father’s eyes. The hesitation. But the moment passed, and his voice was firm when he answered. “I got my second chance right here, Cap.” He looked down at Morgan, then toward you. “Can’t roll the dice on that.” The screen door clicked shut behind him, leaving the rest of you in silence.

You let out a slow, uneven breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, arms wrapping tightly around yourself. Steve turned to you, eyes heavy with understanding. You forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He’s stubborn,” You muttered. “But so am I.” There was steel in your voice now. Determination threaded through every syllable. Steve nodded solemnly before pulling you into a hug that you melted into. Natasha followed, her grip tighter, grounding.

This was your team, your family. If there was even the smallest chance to undo the Snap, to bring everyone back, to hold Bucky’s hand again instead of a pair of dog tags, you were going to fight for it. You were going to pull every string, break every rule, and turn the impossible into possible. One way or another… you weren’t done yet. Later that afternoon, the cabin was cloaked in a quiet silence that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing.

After a dinner filled with only the clinking of silverware and Morgan’s soft humming, you lingered behind, sleeves rolled up, standing shoulder to shoulder with your father at the kitchen sink. The water was warm, but your hands had gone numb from the routine of scrubbing plates and stacking them to dry. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Just the rhythmic sound of running water and dishes tapping against porcelain filled the space.

You pretended to be engrossed in organizing pots and pans, lining them up by size in the lower cabinets, giving yourself something to do with your hands while your mind ran a mile a minute. And then you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle movement, your father reaching for something tucked behind a cluster of mismatched mugs. A simple wooden frame, half-concealed and almost forgotten, except not really. You knew that picture. You’d seen it once, briefly, before he had quietly shuffled it out of sight like it hurt too much to look at for long.

It was the photo of him and Peter.

The boy stood in his Stark Internship t-shirt, grinning ear to ear, Tony’s arm slung over his shoulder, sunglasses perched haphazardly in his hair. You said nothing at first. Just watched as he swiped his sleeve gently over the glass, wiping away water that had splashed from the sink. He held it for a second longer than he meant to, and that’s when you finally broke the silence. “I know you miss him, Dad. He’s an amazing kid. Brilliant. Brave. He had so much potential.”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the way his hand paused, the knuckles tightening slightly around the frame. “What’s the harm in trying?” You continued, keeping your tone light, even as your chest tightened. “I mean, if we bring him back… he and I could finally meet, properly. Drive you completely nuts together." You tried to smile, to make it easier, but the weight in your throat betrayed you. There was a long pause. A silence so still, you realized you were holding your breath. Then, his shoulders slumped.

Not in defeat, but in something closer to surrender. “Follow me.” He sighed, voice quiet and tired. You didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, you dried your hands on a dish towel and followed him down the hall, heart thudding in your ears. He moved slowly, almost hesitantly, like he was still unsure about what he was about to do. He led you to the back study, a place rarely visited since the Snap. A single worktable was pushed up against the wall, cluttered with half-finished designs and dusty prototypes. But it wasn’t the table that caught your eye.

It was the holographic interface that flickered faintly to life as he stepped toward it, like it had been waiting all this time for him to return. He stood there for a moment, fingers hovering just above the console, hesitating, not from fear, but the weight of what it meant. “Don’t say anything.” He murmured, not turning to look at you. And then, slowly, carefully, he started to work. "I've got a mild inspiration, I'd like to see if it checks out." He muttered almost to himself.

You stood still, watching as he moved with that familiar precision, deft fingers gliding over the interface. Lines of quantum equations unraveled across the screen. Simulations began to layer on top of each other: time curvature maps, Planck-scale field shifts, and projected fluctuation loops that warped and pulsed with impossible energy. Your breath caught when the calculations didn’t collapse, when the theory held. “Shit!” Tony breathed out, eyes wide. He leaned back hard into his chair, arms limp at his sides. You blinked, barely able to believe what you were seeing.

He had actually done it.

"Shit." A tiny voice echoed behind you. Both you and Tony froze. Slowly, you turned around and there, at the bottom of the staircase, stood Morgan. She blinked sleepily between the two of you, completely unbothered. “Shouldn't you be in bed, missy?” You asked, raising an eyebrow with mock sternness. “Shit.” Morgan repeated matter-of-factly, this time enunciating it even clearer, just to prove she had learned it correctly. You clapped a hand over your mouth, biting down a laugh as Tony straightened up, pointing at her with wide, mock-horrified eyes.

“Nope. No, no, no. We do not say that word. That’s word belongs to Mommy. She coined it. It belongs to her.” You choked on another laugh, shaking your head. Morgan tilted her head. “Why are you awake?” Tony threw his hands in the air. “Cause Y/N and I’ve got some important shit going on here.” You elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Language. In front of the five-year-old.” You gestured towards her. “I’m aware,” He muttered, rubbing his side with a dramatic wince. “Y/N and I have something on our minds. That’s all.” Morgan squinted at him, unconvinced. Then she grinned like she had solved a great mystery.

“Was it juice pops?” You opened your mouth, but Tony beat you to it. “Sure was.” You watched proudly, as she she spun on her heel and marched straight to the kitchen. You both exchanged a look, your lips twitching with amusement as you followed her. “You’ve taught her to be sneaky,” Tony scoffed under his breath. “I don’t like it.” You simply shrugged. He should’ve known better. Morgan had already pulled open the freezer door and was digging around like she ran the place. You handed her the purple one, her favorite, and grabbed a napkin while Tony leaned against the counter, watching her with quiet affection.

Eventually, after some laughs and sticky fingers, you helped tuck her into bed. Her small voice broke the silence as you adjusted her blanket. “Love you tons.” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, 3000.” Morgan whispered, eyes fluttering closed. You felt your heart swell as your father’s face lit up with wonder. Like even now, after all these years, she still found new ways to undo him. “Wow,” He breathed. “Three thousand. That’s crazy.”

You leaned in next, brushing back her curls gently. “I love you times infinity, Y/N.” Your jaw dropped, and you turned to Tony with a triumphant smirk. “Ha! She likes me more.” You mouthed dramatically as you backed out of the room. He rolled his eyes, closing the door softly behind you. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You walked in silence together back toward the kitchen, the house dark and quiet again. But it didn’t feel heavy anymore.

Something had shifted. You paused, looking at him as he rubbed a hand over his face again. “Looks like you and I have some work to do." He met your eyes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Your mom’s not gonna be thrilled about that.” You shrugged. “Probably not,” You agreed. “But she’ll understand. She's known you long enough to know you won't drop this no matter how hard she still tries.” He didn’t argue. And that told you everything. The time heist plan was now in motion.

The following morning you and Tony pulled up to the Avengers Compound. Neither of you spoke much during the drive, too many thoughts, too many what-ifs lingering in the space between. Yet, there was something grounding about the way he rested his hand briefly on yours just before the gates opened. As the car came to a stop, you stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath your boots.

Steve was already there, arms crossed, his face a careful mix of skepticism and surprise, until he saw Tony step out beside you. His expression faltered. Shocked was putting it lightly. You gave Steve a look as you passed him, lips quirking just slightly into a half-smirk. Told you so. Your hand squeezed his forearm in quiet reassurance. He nodded once, still trying to process it all. You didn't blame him. Your father was stubborn yet you knew just how to wear him down.

Tony said nothing, simply patting him on the back, and then walking toward the hangar bay, where the rest of the team was gathering. The plan was officially in motion. All that was left… was to build a team that could pull off the impossible: recover the Infinity Stones from the past, and bring back everyone they had lost. Tony had made quick work of recruiting Rhodey, who was in long before the conversation even ended, suit already charging.

Bruce had teamed up with Rocket to retrieve Thor, taking a long trip to New Asgard. They returned with someone barely recognizable, you had barely recognized him when he walked into the compound. Thor was not the man he used to be, still powerful, still capable, but carrying grief like an anchor around his chest. You knew it all too well. The only different being that you had only you had lost Bucky temporarily, while he had lost Loki forever.

Natasha had volunteered to find Clint. You knew her well enough to recognize how much that mission weighed on her. She returned with him two days later, quieter than usual, the shadows under his eyes speaking louder than words ever could. Then there was Nebula. At first, she kept her distance from you, wary, closed off, all sharp edges and guarded silence. But you kept showing up. Offering help. Asking questions no one else bothered to ask.

You were patient with her. And before long, the edge in her voice softened when she spoke to you. It wasn’t quite friendship yet, but it was something. The days that followed were a blur of plans, equations, suit diagnostics. The lab buzzed with life. You worked elbow to elbow with Bruce and your father, surrounded by holograms and wires. Every step of the way, Tony made sure you understood what was happening, how the tech would allow time travel, how the Pym Particles would limit jumps, how dangerous it all still was.

But the one thing he never budged on?

You were not going back with them.

Instead, you would stay at the compound, overseeing the mission, monitoring vitals, analyzing every jump, every return, every stone recovered. You didn’t argue. Not out loud. But you hated it. You wanted to be out there. You wanted to fight. You wanted to bring Bucky back yourself. Still, you stayed. Because someone needed to be the anchor. So you poured yourself into the work, testing biometric sensors, syncing suits, running simulations until your eyes burned.

At night, you barely slept. You’d lie awake in your room overlooking the hangar, eyes tracing the ceiling, hand clutching the chain around your neck, the dog tags cool against your skin. You whispered to the dark, voice soft and private. And in the lab below, Tony worked just as tirelessly, because even if he never said it aloud, you knew he was doing this for more than just the world. He was doing it for Peter. For Morgan. For you. Together, without saying a word, you both understood that the countdown had already begun.

Several days later, after a heated debate about the plausibility of time travel in Back to the Future versus Hot Tub Time Machine, Clint, stepped forward and volunteered to test the time-space GPS. You stood shoulder to shoulder with Bruce and Tony, every muscle in your body wound tight. Your hands fidgeted unconsciously, knuckles whitening as you wrung them together. The Quantum Platform hummed to life, as Clint stepped up onto the metal disc, helmet locking into place. One final shared look. A nod.

And then he was gone, sucked into the Quantum Realm with a sudden flicker, leaving only the sound of displaced air behind. You swallowed hard, stomach in knots, eyes glued to the blinking monitors tracking his biometric signature. Seconds dragged into what felt like an eternity. And then, boom, a sharp gust of air burst from the platform as Clint reappeared, crashing down on one knee, a sharp howl of pain echoing through the air. You were the first to move, Natasha close behind.

You dropped to your knees, arms hooking under his to help lift him. Natasha’s voice was firm but gentle, fingers cupping his jaw. “Hey, look at me.” He blinked hard, disoriented, grounding himself with the weight of your support as you helped steady him. Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “You okay, Uncle Clint?” He looked at you for a second, eyes wide, glassy with awe. “It worked.” He rasped, breathless. You froze. The words echoed in your mind. “It worked.” He repeated it, louder this time, as he turned toward Tony.

Tony's expression cracked open into one of shocked, undeniable pride, his eyes flicking between you and the data scrolling behind Clint’s shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but his chest rose with a heavy exhale, the burden of doubt visibly lifting from his shoulders. It worked. It was real. Possible. And now, it was happening. Back in the conference room, the adrenaline hadn’t worn off, it had simply turned into focus. Everyone was crowded around the long table, coffee cups abandoned, half-eaten food pushed aside.

Holograms floated midair, slowly rotating, projected maps, energy signatures, date-stamped attack points. The glow reflected off your father’s face as he rubbed a hand down it, muttering equations under his breath. "Okay," Steve drawled, hands resting on the table. “So the how works. Now we’ve gotta figure out the when and the where.” It was a logistical nightmare. There were only enough Pym particles for one round trip per person, no retries, no second chances. Each move had to be calculated with surgical precision. Mistakes were not an option.

As everyone began throwing out dates, battles, and known locations of the stones, you sat back, scribbling furiously in your notebook. Your mind raced, flipping through memories like pages in a book, times when New York had erupted in chaos, times you remembered watching the city burn on TV, the tension of growing up with a superhero for a father and never quite feeling safe. And then, click. “Wait,” You whispered aloud, not lifting your gaze yet. Silence fell across the room as everyone turned to you.

You slowly looked up, heart hammering. “If you time it perfectly and I mean perfectly, aren’t three stones in New York in the same year?” The room went completely still. “Then that just leaves three stones scattered elsewhere.” A beat. And then—“Shut the front door.” Bruce blurted out, his eyes wide with disbelief. You felt Natasha lean closer, her hand finding yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her proud smile sent warmth flooding through your chest. You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips.

“You really are my daughter.” Tony muttered, his voice full of admiration. You rolled your eyes at him, but your heart thudded with pride. You’d done something that mattered. The table buzzed again as Steve stood, nodding slowly. “Six stones. Three teams. One shot.” Everyone went quiet again. It was all real now. And that reality sank into your skin like ice. Everyone you loved: Nat, Clint, Thor, Bruce, Steve, your own father, were all going back in time. Into danger. Into a mission with no backup, no do-overs.

You tried not to let it show, but your chest ached. You bit your lip to fight back the rising tide of fear. Because no matter how confident the plan was, how careful the preparations were, you knew what was at stake. And yet, no one even hesitated. Because if it meant getting everyone back, then all the risks involved were worth it. You took a breath, looking around the room to the people who were you family, anxiety crawling up your spine knowing that the countdown had officially begun.

You stood off to the side, heart in your throat, the hum of final preparations echoing around you. The others were suiting up, voices quiet but determined, some sharing glances filled with unspoken thoughts, others lost in their own nerves. You’d gone over the plans a dozen times, checked and even double-checked every circuit, every calibration, every fail-safe. Now all that was left was the hardest part: letting them go. You moved before your mind could talk you out of it, closing the distance to your father.

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, squeezing tightly. He froze for only half a second before returning the hug with equal intensity, his metal-clad fingers pressing gently into your back. “Please be careful.” You whispered into his shoulder, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Always.” He murmured back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away, hands settling briefly on your shoulders like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. One by one, you moved down the line, offering what strength you could, even as your insides felt like they were breaking apart.

Steve gave you a soft smile and a firm squeeze of your hand. You could see it in his eyes, he was scared too, but trying his best not to show it. Clint pulled you into a brief but meaningful hug. Thor rested a heavy hand on your head affectionately, flashing a small, crooked smile. Bruce gave you a reassuring look, more Banner than Hulk now, and whispered something about keeping your heart rate down, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, however you appreciated the effort. Rhodey grinned and gave you a half-hug, tapping your back like an uncle trying not to get emotional.

And finally… Natasha.

She walked up slowly, her expression unreadable for a moment, but then her features softened into something maternal and knowing. “See you in a minute.” She winked. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You gave her the best smile you could muster, your eyes already burning, and hugged her tight. You turned next to wish Nebula, Rocket, and Scott good luck, each one returning the gesture in their own awkward way. Nebula gave you a firm nod. Rocket muttered something about keeping the tech intact. Scott beamed nervously and held up a thumbs-up.

You stepped back and held your breath as the Quantum Platform powered up. One by one, they stepped onto the pads, your family, your friends, your world. And then, in a flash of impossible light, they were gone. You didn’t breathe. You couldn’t. The room was painfully silent afterward. For them, it would feel like hours, maybe longer. For you? Barely a blip. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier. You paced the floor restlessly, eyes darting between the monitors, your fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the console. Each second stretched like a lifetime.

Fifteen seconds.

The machine began to whirl again, louder this time, as if straining under the weight of what it had just done. And then, they were back. You exhaled sharply, stumbling up the stairs, disbelief and relief colliding all at once in your chest. They looked exhausted but alive. You felt joy bubble up, your heart aching with it. “Did we get them all?” Bruce asked breathlessly, already stepping forward. “Are you telling me this actually worked?” Rhodey breathed out, half-laughing, like he didn’t quite believe it.

You were about to join in the celebration, lips parting to speak, but then you saw Clint. Your smile faltered. His face was pale. Haunted. His hands shook at his sides, fingers twitching like he couldn’t unclench them. He wasn’t celebrating. He wasn’t even moving. And beside him… there was no Natasha. Your stomach dropped out from under you. The joy that had just started to form in your chest cracked like glass and splintered through your ribs. “Clint,” Bruce’s voice broke through the air. “Where’s Nat?” Clint looked up.

And you knew.

The way his jaw tightened. The glisten in his eyes. The absolute, soul-deep ache in his expression.“No…” You barely recognized your own voice, soft, broken, trembling with disbelief. “No, no, no…” Your knees buckled. But Steve was there in an instant, catching you before you hit the ground. You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit like a lifeline, sobs wracking your frame. He led you gently away from the platform, his hold firm and grounding, even as your world fell apart around you. Natasha was gone.

Your second mother, your confidant, the woman who had held your hand through nightmares and taught you how to fight back, was just, gone. Just like that. In a matter of seconds. The weight of it pressed down on your chest like you were being crushed. You couldn’t process it. You refused to process it. But the tears kept coming, hot and unrelenting. You didn’t remember how you got outside. You only knew that you were curled in your father’s arms, tucked against his chest like you were a little girl again, crying so hard your lungs ached.

You’d never hear her voice again, never feel the warmth of her touch on your shoulder, never have her dry your tears, never sit beside her in silence when words weren’t needed. She was gone. And the world already felt so much colder without her. You wanted to scream. To hit something. To tear down the sky with your bare hands and demand to know why her. But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift your head. Couldn’t do anything but sob. Each breath hurt. Your ribs ached from how violently your chest shook.

Your throat was raw, lips bitten bloody from how hard you were trying not to fall apart again. But it didn’t matter. You were already in pieces. The others stood nearby, grief thick in the air like smoke. “Do we know if she had any family?” Tony asked quietly, his voice hoarse. “Yeah,” Steve replied, his voice raw. “Us.” Thor’s voice broke through like a tension. “Why are you acting like she’s dead?” He snapped, eyes stormy and desperate. “We have the stones. We can bring her back.” You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. “She’s not coming back,” Clint whispered softly. “It can’t be undone.” You felt like your heart cracked in half all over again.

Their voices grew distant as they argued about who would wield the gauntlet, about the power of the stones, about what came next. Only, you heard none of it. You were still stuck in that moment. In denial. Still waiting for Natasha to step out from the shadows and say it was all a trick. Still hoping. “Y/N, honey,” Your father’s voice finally pierced the fog of your inner turmoil. You blinked, lifting your head, red-rimmed eyes meeting his. “I called Happy.” He explained gently. “He’s here to take you home, okay?”

Every part of you screamed no. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to fight. To stay. To do something. But the words caught in your throat. "Okay.” You exhaled quietly, entirely defeated. Tony pulled you in again, pressing his lips to your temple. “Come on, I’ll walk you.” The others watched silently as you stepped away. You paused before leaving, looking over your shoulder, your gaze landing on Steve. “Just promise me…” Your voice cracked. “Promise me you’ll make it worth her sacrifice.” Steve’s eyes met yours and without hesitation he replied, “You have my word.”

You swallowed the sob rising in your throat and nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. Tony led you to the waiting car, where Happy stood by the door, eyes full of concern. You paused, looking at your dad one last time before lunging into his arms, wrapping yourself around him like you were five years old again and scared of losing him. He held you so tightly you thought your ribs might bruise. “I love you, kid.” You returned the words immediately, hugging him tighter before reluctantly pulling away.

And as the car pulled away, your heart shattered all over again.

The whole ride back remained silent, save for the haunting instrumental of Metallica's To Live Is to Die murmuring through the car speakers. Its heavy, mournful chords adding to the ache in your chest. You didn’t look out the window. You couldn’t bear to. You stared forward, eyes unfocused, trying to keep yourself tethered to the moment, to anything that wasn’t the image of Natasha’s absence.

Every few minutes, you felt Happy’s eyes flick toward you. Just a glance. Like he was waiting for a sign, any sign, that you might need him. That you might break. But he never said a word. And you were so, so thankful for that. If he had spoken, if he had so much as asked, “Are you okay?”, you knew the last thread holding you together would have snapped. You were barely holding yourself upright as it was.

As the car finally curved through the tall trees and into the familiar dirt driveway, the sight of the cabin, hit you like a punch in the stomach. Pepper stood waiting at the front door, arms wrapped around herself like she’d been out there a while. Her hair was pulled back, face bare, her whole posture still and quiet, but the moment she saw you through the windshield, her whole expression shifted. Eyes softened. Brow furrowed. Your father had called. Of course he had.

Happy parked the car carefully, gently, like even the way he shifted gears was meant to keep from startling you. Then he stepped out and came around the side without a word, opening your door. You hesitated only a second before taking his hand to steady yourself. But it wasn’t until you stepped out and truly met Pepper’s eyes that the dam inside you finally shattered. You didn’t have to say anything. Didn’t need to. She opened her arms before you’d even taken a full step, and then you were running.

Your legs carried you forward like they had a mind of their own, and the second your face hit her shoulder, you broke. Your knees nearly gave out from under you as the sob tore through your chest. You clung to her like you were drowning, fingers twisting into the fabric of her cardigan, chest heaving so violently it felt like you might throw up. Pepper didn’t say anything. She just held you tighter. One hand moved slowly through your hair, the other wrapped firm around your back. She rocked you gently, grounding you with a soft murmur of “I know, baby. I know.”

Your voice cracked against her shoulder. “She’s gone. She’s really gone, mom.” The wind rustled the trees above you, birds calling in the distance, but all of it was muffled under the thick, suffocating veil of grief. Your fingers clenched tighter. You felt like a child again, small and desperate and unbearably lost. “She was my family,” You choked. “A-And I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Pepper pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your tear-soaked face. Her own eyes were glassy.

“She knew, Y/N. She knew how much you loved her. She always did.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You allowed Pepper to guide you through the door, your legs moving as if by muscle memory, the ache behind your ribs deepening with every step. Happy followed quietly behind. He didn’t say anything, but his hand gave your back a supportive pat before he moved toward the kitchen, like he needed to do something, anything, to be useful. Morgan’s voice suddenly rang out, singing along with the cartoon blaring from the TV in the living room.

Her tiny body was perched in front of the screen, legs crossed, completely unaware of the heartbreak the rest of you were drowning in. The second she turned and spotted you, her little face lit up like the sun. “Y/N!” She squealed, scrambling to her feet and running toward you with outstretched arms. That was all it took. The moment she slammed into your legs, wrapping her arms around your knees, you sank down and scooped her up into your chest. You hugged her tighter than you ever had before, your lips pressing to the crown of her head as tears welled up in your eyes again, but you blinked them back.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You whispered, voice thick but steady. You couldn’t fall apart. Not in front of her. She giggled and peppered your cheeks with kisses. “Are you sad?” She asked innocently, tilting her head. You managed a weak smile and nodded. “Yeah, a little. But holding you helps.” She grinned, nestling into your arms as if that was the only answer she needed. You moved toward the couch and sat down carefully, still cradling her. Pepper lowered herself beside you with a tired sigh, placing a comforting hand on your back.

She didn’t say anything, just started gently running her fingers through your hair, slow and steady, like she used to when you were a child. Morgan’s head rested on your shoulder, her soft breath warm against your neck. The white noise of the cartoon on the television, the warmth of Morgan’s little limbs curled against you, and the rhythmic motion of Pepper’s touch dulled the intensity of your thoughts, just slightly. For a fleeting moment, the grief blurred at the edges. Until the sharp ding of a text pierced through the quiet.

You flinched, the sound jarring. Pepper reached for her phone from the coffee table, barely glancing before she froze. Her entire body stiffened beside you. “Mom?” You asked, your voice suddenly cautious, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. “Everything okay?” She didn’t answer. She just stood, abruptly. Eyes met Happy’s across the room. It was fast, just a flicker, but enough to know something was wrong. There was an unspoken urgency in her face, a barely veiled panic under her calm exterior.

“Y/N, stay here with Morgan.” Her words firm and final. And then she was gone, practically sprinting toward the garage. Your mouth opened to protest, but you were too slow. The door shut behind her, and your chest tightened like a vice was wrapping around it. Something was wrong. You knew it. Morgan tugged on your sleeve, and you turned toward her, your arms instinctively wrapping tighter around her. She looked up at you with those big, doe eyes and gave you the gentlest smile.

“Let’s finish the episode.” She chirped, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. Only, you couldn’t hear the TV anymore. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears, pounding like a war drum. You stared at the screen without registering a single thing. Your heart was racing, your stomach twisting into impossible knots. The look Pepper gave Happy, the tone in her voice. Your fingers began to tremble against Morgan’s back. You should’ve gone with her.

You should have gone.

“Hey,” Happy’s voice came gently from across the room. You turned your head slightly, eyes unfocused. “You alright, kid?” You wanted to scream. To say no, you weren’t alright. That your chest felt like it was caving in, that your bones were cracking under the weight of not knowing, of feeling so helpless and small. That you had just lost Natasha, and now, now, the silence, the tension, the look on Pepper’s face, it felt like you were on the edge of losing everything else.

But instead, you just nodded. “Yeah.” You whispered, more to convince yourself than him. You held Morgan tighter, pressing your cheek to her hair. Happy lingered in the doorway for a second longer before nodding and turning away, giving you the space you hadn’t asked for but so desperately needed. And you just sat there, the world blurring at the edges again. The weight of uncertainty clawed at your insides and your eyes drifted to the window. You couldn't help but think, Please… don’t let it be him. Not him too.

But the world didn’t answer.

So you held Morgan close, and tried to keep breathing steady. Your heart nearly lunged out of your chest when you heard someone knock on the cabin door an hour later. The knock was soft, almost uncertain. Your heart stopped. Pepper wouldn’t knock. You stared at the door, your breath caught somewhere between dread and a hope so wild, so reckless, it hurt. “Y/N, let me—” Happy started from behind you, standing protectively, but you held up a hand. “No.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was firm. With each step to the door, your fingers trembled. Your knees were jelly, but you forced them forward. You could feel Morgan’s small presence nearby, still humming softly to her cartoon, blissfully unaware. Your heartbeat roared in your ears, adrenaline crackling down your spine as you wrapped a shaky hand around the doorknob. One… two… three… You opened it. And the world stopped because there he was.

Bucky Barnes. In the flesh.

Standing just beyond the threshold, half-lit by the porch light. He looked like he had been dragged through hell and spit back out, his vibranium arm scorched, his combat jacket torn and caked in dirt and ash, a line of blood trailing from his temple. But his eyes. God, his eyes were still the same. That impossible shade of cerulean, wide and glassy as they locked with yours. They were filled with disbelief and exhaustion and something else, yearning.

A whimper escaped you. You didn’t even know you’d made a sound. You didn’t think. You just moved. You launched forward with a sob so raw it cracked through your chest. Bucky caught you in midair, his arms wrapping tight around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. He buried his face in your neck, exhaling like he’d finally taken his first real breath in years. You clung to him like you were afraid he’d vanish again. Your arms looped around his neck, your fingers tangling in his sweat-matted hair as the tears came fast and hot.

He held you tighter in response, his metal arm pressing firmly against your back, grounding you. You didn’t care about the dirt, or the blood, or the fact that you could feel him trembling beneath your touch. All that mattered was that he was here. That the universe, somehow had given him back to you. You didn’t pull away, not really, but you leaned back just far enough to see him, to feel the heat of his breath against your lips. Your foreheads rested together, your noses brushing, and your tears mingled somewhere between his jaw and your cheeks.

He was here.

“Bucky.” You whispered, your voice crumbling. And then you kissed him. It was slow, painfully slow, but there was nothing hesitant about it. You sank into each other with the desperation of people who had waited too long, hurt too long, missed too long. His hands cupped your face, trembling as his thumbs brushed away tears he hadn’t caused, while yours slid across the back of his neck, into his hair, grounding yourself in the texture of him, the weight of him, the truth of him.

You were so starved for this. For the warmth of his mouth, the press of his chest, the solidity of his embrace. The kiss deepened slightly, still careful, still conscious of Morgan nearby, but you could feel the ache in it, feel how much he needed you, how much you needed him back. His lips parted against yours like he was relearning how to breathe, like everything he wanted to say had been locked in his chest for five years and now he had nowhere to pour it but into you.

You made a small sound, something broken, full of disbelief and relief, and his grip tightened. He didn’t let you pull away far. His lips brushed yours again, softer this time, as if he couldn’t bear for the contact to end. You finally pulled back, just enough to rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as you took in the moment. His hand came up, fingers ghosting over your cheek as if he didn’t trust the image in front of him. As if you were a dream. His hand, the flesh one, cupped your jaw with a reverence so gentle it shattered you all over again.

And though he didn’t anything right away, the look in his eyes told you everything. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, hearts pressed together, holding the pieces of each other like you could keep the world from shattering again. But then something shifted, like something sharp and unfamiliar. You noticed it slowly at first: the silence that had suddenly become too quiet, the subtle way Bucky’s grip around your waist stiffened, the way his eyes didn’t meet yours anymore. Then, like gravity itself had changed direction, you turned your head and saw them.

Steve stood a few feet away, shoulders bowed under a weight that looked too heavy to bear. His hands were wrapped tightly around your mother’s arms, as if he was the only thing keeping her upright, and maybe he was. Pepper was trembling. No words. No sound. Just trembling. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, her face streaked with dirt and dried tears. The wind blew through the trees behind the cabin, but the only thing you could hear was the sudden pounding in your ears.

You didn’t realize you’d started walking until Bucky’s arms slipped hesitantly from around you. Step by step, the world dulled around you. Steve’s eyes met yours and your stomach dropped. The look in them, raw and glassy, was one you had seen before. Too many times before. “W-Where’s my dad?” You asked, voice cracking at the question. No one answered. Not at first. You looked between Steve, your mom, and then finally Bucky, who was now lingering just behind you, afraid you’d break if he moved too quickly.

“W-Where is he?” The words hung in the air like fog. Your chest tightened, breath catching halfway up your throat. No one had to say it. Not really. The grief was written all over their faces, in the slump of your mom’s shoulders, in the quiet devastation in Steve’s eyes. You knew that look. It was the same one Clint had when Natasha didn’t come back. The same one you had seen in the mirror when Bucky had turned to dust right in front of you. “Mom?” Your voice was smaller now. A breath. A plea.

Pepper let out a shaky exhale as she stepped toward you, her arms opening but unsure, almost like she was waiting for you to collapse before she could catch you. Her mouth opened, then closed. The words wouldn’t come. You stepped back. Once. Twice. Shaking your head. “No, no—he promised.” Bucky was behind you in an instant, steadying you with a hand against your back, another wrapping around your forearm as your knees wobbled. “He promised he’d come back.” You cried, barely able to breathe now. No one corrected you. No one offered reassurance.

And that’s what made it real.

“Where is he?” You whispered again, this time so quiet it almost didn’t carry. Pepper finally moved, closing the last few steps between you and wrapping you into her arms. Her hand found the back of your head, cradling it as your face buried into her shoulder. She didn’t say it. She didn’t need to. The sob that tore from your throat cracked through the air, sharp and guttural. Your knees gave out completely and Bucky was there too, holding you from the other side, helping Pepper lower you gently onto the grass.

You clung to them both, the ache in your chest becoming unbearable, grief swelling up and spilling over like a dam breaking open inside you. The wind rushed past, cool against your skin, but you didn’t feel it. Because this moment was everything you had feared and denied and prayed would never come. And still, there was something inside you that didn’t quite accept it. Not Natasha. Not your own father. You couldn't. Because if he was really gone, the world should have stopped spinning. But it hadn’t.

Somehow, that was the cruelest part of all.

You stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back at you. The black dress clung to your figure like grief itself, silent, heavy, suffocating. You blinked at the reflection, hoping it might clear the rawness from your bloodshot eyes or smooth the dark circles that had formed from too many sleepless nights. But the mirror showed no mercy.

The version of you staring back looked hollow. Like the spark had been drained straight from your chest. You adjusted the fabric over your shoulders out of habit more than necessity. A breath trembled in your lungs, shallow and short-lived. “Doll?” Bucky’s voice was soft, as it broke through your thoughts. You turned toward him slowly, almost afraid of breaking the fragile quiet that surrounded you. He stood in the doorway, his own suit neatly pressed, though his tie hung slightly crooked.

He looked tired, haunted in his own right, but his eyes softened the second they met yours. There was nothing but patience and understanding in them. “You ready?” He asked gently. “Everyone’s downstairs. Morgan’s asking for you.” Your lips parted as if to speak, but only a shaky nod followed. You took the step toward him, and without hesitation, his hand found yours. His fingers, warm and calloused, wrapped around your palm with a grip that told you you weren’t alone.The walk downstairs felt longer than usual. Like each step was pulling you deeper into something you couldn’t reverse.

As you reached the living room, heads turned. Clint stood near the fireplace, eyes cast down. Rhodey sat rigidly in one of the armchairs, hands clasped tightly between his knees. Bruce stood by the window, unmoving. And in the center of the coffee table, like a monument to the man you lost, rested the Iron Man helmet. You barely made it to the couch before Morgan ran to you, eyes wide and red from tears she didn’t quite understand. She climbed into your lap like it was the safest place left on Earth. And it probably was, for both of you.

You curled your arm around her, resting your chin gently on the top of her head. Her little fingers clutched at the fabric of your dress like she was afraid you might disappear too. On your other side, Pepper reached for your free hand. You took it without hesitation, your grip firm. She didn’t look at you, but her thumb brushed over your knuckles in a rhythm that said I’m here. Bucky sat beside you in silence, his hand never leaving yours. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him. Steady. Solid. Anchoring you.

Then, as if summoned by the moment itself, the helmet came to life with a soft, familiar hum. The blue glow flickered, and Tony appeared, projected into the air like a ghost, like a memory made real. His voice filled the room.

“Everybody wants a happy ending. Right? But it doesn’t always roll that way...”

The sound of his voice cracked something deep inside you. You felt your chest seize, eyes burning as you blinked rapidly, struggling to keep it together. Morgan stilled against you, her wide eyes fixed on the image of her father. Pepper bowed her head, a tear rolling slowly down her cheek.

“Maybe this time. I hoping if you play this back, it's in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored, if there ever was such a thing…”

As Tony continued, his words somehow felt both like a goodbye and a promise. His movements, familiar and warm, were tinged with something else, an unspoken fear, an ache masked with humor.

“God, what a world. Universe, now... And for better or worse, that’s the reality Morgan’s gonna have to find a way to grow up in. But I know Y/N will be with her every step of the way...”

Your lips trembled, breath catching as you fought the sob crawling up your throat. He had left this for you. For Morgan. For all of you. Knowing the risks. Knowing what might happen. And still, he went. You looked at the hologram, your father’s expression soft as he faced Morgan first.

“I love you 3000.”

Then he turned his head, as if somehow even in death he knew where you were sitting.

“And I love you times infinity.”

You couldn’t stop the sob this time. Morgan turned in your lap, clinging to you tightly as you buried your face into her hair. You cried like you hadn’t allowed yourself to cry since the news first broke. Not just for what was lost, but for what would never be. No more late-night talks in the garage. No more sarcastic banter. No more shoulder nudges or eye rolls or last-minute suit upgrades. He wouldn’t walk you down the aisle.

Wouldn’t see Morgan grow up. Wouldn’t be here the next time you needed a guiding word or a silent hug. Pepper leaned against you, her own shoulders shaking as she reached for her daughters. You were three pieces of a man who had held so much of the world together, and now, somehow, you'd have to hold each other. The hologram flickered once… then faded to black. You reached for Bucky’s hand again. This time, not just to feel him, but to remind yourself you still had someone.

That not all was lost.

But the ache in your heart would never be the same. Not without him. Not without Natasha. You inhaled slowly, forcing your lungs to breathe past the pressure in your chest, past the ache in your ribs that hadn’t quite let up since the moment you watched your father’s hologram flicker into darkness. You wiped under your eyes with shaking fingers, knowing that more people were waiting outside. People who knew him. People who fought beside him. People who owed their lives to the man you had just lost. You weren’t ready, but you knew you had to be.

Pepper gently squeezed your hand, and it steadied you, just enough. Her eyes met yours, glassy but calm, and you knew it was time. You gave her a small nod, straightening your posture as best you could. Morgan’s tiny hand found yours, instinctively, warm and familiar, grounding you in a world that had begun to feel dangerously weightless. You didn’t let go. With heavy steps, you followed Pepper through the open cabin door. The yard was full, and yet it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Familiar faces turned as you stepped outside, Rhodey, standing stiffly, eyes hollow; Peter Parker, his head bowed, suit jacket too big for his slender frame, trembling beside his Aunt May; Doctor Strange, arms folded tight; T’Challa, stoic but solemn; Hope and Scott, standing hand in hand. Even Thor was there, standing alongside Valkyrie, both looking as though the world had been broken one too many times. The Wakandans. The Guardians. Agents. Former SHIELD operatives.

They were all here. And they were all mourning.

You kept your eyes low, unable to handle the weight of their sympathy. Each glance felt like a stone added to the pile already sitting on your chest. You slowly made your way to the wooden deck by the lake, where the water lapped gently at the shore, unbothered, unknowing, uncaring. Pepper knelt gracefully at the edge, her hand trembling only slightly as she reached down and set the bouquet of wildflowers into the water. Nestled between the petals was the arc reactor.

Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart.

The words gleamed in the late sun. The flowers and reactor drifted across the surface of the lake, and everyone stood in silence, watching the piece of him float away. It felt like watching the final part of him leave, yet it also felt like a promise. That piece would rest here, where he had lived his last peaceful days. Where he had been a father. A husband. A man, not just a hero. You felt yourself sway, and instinctively Bucky pulled you closer, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist.

You melted into his touch, tucking your head against his shoulder, unable to tear your eyes away from the lake as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into your side. Morgan stood on your other side, leaning into you, her free hand clutching a small drawing she'd made for him. It was crinkled now, tear-stained, but she wouldn’t let it go. You weren’t sure she understood everything yet, but she knew enough to know something was missing, someone. A hush settled like fog over the group. No words were spoken. There was nothing to say that could measure up to the size of the man you’d lost.

This was real.

He was gone.

The ache came in waves. Some were bearable, others completely gutted you. And standing there now, surrounded by the strongest people on Earth, you had never felt more small. But you didn’t cry. Not anymore. You had cried too much already. You stood tall for Morgan, for Pepper, for the man you knew wouldn’t want you to fall apart. When the arrangement finally disappeared past the treeline, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Slowly, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from Bucky’s embrace.

The warmth of him lingered, a temporary salve to the raw edges inside you, but there were still people to thank. Pepper had already moved through part of the crowd, graceful and poised, her strength admirable in a way only someone who had loved and lost in equal measure could understand. You followed her, offering quiet thanks, managing the smallest smiles, most of which never reached your eyes. Wanda was the first to reach you. Her expression was already wet with emotion, eyes rimmed red, and without saying a word, she pulled you tightly into her arms.

Her touch was warm, almost electric with empathy. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, no pity, just understanding. Then came Harley. All grown up, taller than you now, standing there awkwardly in a dark suit that still didn’t fit his lanky frame quite right. His voice was soft as he leaned in close. “I wish we were seeing each other under different circumstances.” You gave him a faint nod, fingers brushing his arm gently before he stepped aside. Shuri and T’Challa approached with the quiet dignity of royalty. Their presence alone was comforting.

T’Challa clasped your hand between both of his, while Shuri offered a genuine, steady embrace. “Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to call.” She declared softly, and it didn’t feel like an empty promise. You didn’t respond verbally, afraid your voice would crack, so you simply nodded, thankful beyond words. Each face blurred into the next. Familiar. Kind. Thoughtful. They meant well. They all did. And you were grateful, but the more people you thanked, the more the grief rose in your throat like a tide ready to drown you.

All the while, Bucky stood back, watching.

He knew you too well. He saw the way your smile faltered just a second too late, how your hand kept clenching and unclenching at your side, like you were trying to wring the grief from your skin. How you nodded along to stories and memories about Tony, but your eyes always drifted toward the lake, to the place where a piece of your soul had been released into the water. He could see you unraveling. So he waited, waited until Nick Fury offered you a firm nod and Maria Hill squeezed your shoulder before walking away.

Waited until you were finally alone again, barely holding yourself up on the weight of polite thank-yous and the pressure of being Tony Stark’s legacy. And then he stepped forward. “Hey.” Your voice came out quieter than intended, rough and frayed at the edges. “C’mere, doll.” His voice was a whisper, but it may as well have been a lifeline. That was all it took for you to fall into his arms. His arms curled around you instantly, anchoring you, steadying you. You gripped the back of his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. “I’ve got you.” He murmured, voice firm and warm against the shell of your ear.

And he did.

Your fingers curled into the fabric at his back, needing to feel something solid, something real, when everything else felt so impossibly far away. People passed by the two of you, some stopping briefly to offer quiet nods of respect before moving on, giving you space. Bucky didn’t care who saw. He tightened his hold like it was the only truth that mattered. Because he knew this wasn’t just grief over Tony’s death. It was the pain of a daughter who didn’t get to say goodbye. Of a girl who had lost so much, too much, and was still standing in the ashes trying to breathe.

When your cries finally quieted to soft, uneven breaths, Bucky pulled back just enough to brush your hair away from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still holding your waist, grounding you. “I’m here.” He whispered again. And you believed him. Because even with the hollow ache in your chest, the pain that no amount of hugs or condolences could ever fix, you weren’t alone. You still had people who loved you. People who would help you carry this weight, even when it felt unbearable.

You inhaled shakily, your tear-streaked cheek brushing against his stubbled jaw, and finally let your body relax in his arms. Just for a moment, that was enough. “Y/N?” A soft voice spoke from behind you. You and Bucky both turned, slowly peeling apart as you looked over your shoulder. There he was, Peter Parker. Standing just a few feet away, his hands awkwardly fidgeting at his sides. His brown eyes were wide and wet, rimmed with red, his face a mixture of grief, guilt, and exhaustion.

“Mister Stark, he was—” Peter’s voice caught in his throat. He tried to blink the tears away, but they kept falling faster than he could stop them. His shoulders trembled. That was it. That was all it took. You moved before you could think, before he could try to pull away or talk himself into staying strong. You closed the distance in three steps and pulled him tightly into your arms. Peter flinched at first, but then you felt the tension in him melt. His fingers gripped the back of your dress, shoulders heaving as the first sob tore out of him.

You squeezed him tighter, tears stinging your own eyes as you rocked him gently in place. “I know, kid,” You whispered, own voice breaking. “You meant a lot to him too.” At that, he broke completely. His cries were quiet but devastating, each one tugging at something deep inside of you. You held him like you would a younger sibling, grounding him as he shook in your arms. “I’m so sorry,” Peter sniffled after a long moment, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m sorry about what happened back in Germany.” You let out a wet laugh, your hand rubbing small circles against his back.

“It’s forgiven.” He pulled back slightly, enough to look up at you with tear-filled eyes and a wobbly smile. You cupped the side of his face, brushing his messy curls away from his forehead. He looked so young. Too young to carry this kind of pain. “If you ever need anything and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call me. I gave May my number. So you’re stuck with me now, kid.” Peter sniffled again, nodding. “Thanks… I, uh… I’d like that.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, the both of you reluctant to let go.

Now bound now not just by the man you’d both lost, but by the shared hole he’d left behind. Eventually, Peter took a step back, his grip loosening but his eyes lingering. “See you around?” He asked, tentatively. You nodded, giving him the softest smile you could manage. “Count on it.” Peter turned slowly and made his way down the gravel path, wiping his face as he moved through the thinning crowd. You watched until he was gone, your heart heavier but also, in some small way, full. Bucky was beside you in an instant, his fingers curling gently around yours. No words were needed.

Your eyes drifted through the dwindling crowd, the soft rustle of wind in the trees the only sound breaking the stillness. And then they found her. Morgan. She sat quietly just a few feet away on the edge of the porch, small knees pulled to her chest. Her tiny fingers clutched the hem of her dress, her face solemn, too quiet for someone her age. Happy sat beside her, his large frame slouched in a way you’d never seen before, hand resting protectively on Morgan’s back. His eyes were on the ground, red-rimmed and glassy.

You could feel the grief coil again in your chest, a sharp twist at the mention you’d overheard, that Morgan had asked for cheeseburgers. Tony's favorite. The irony wasn’t lost on you. That of all things, she wanted the same comfort he once found in a paper-wrapped meal after crawling out of a cave in the desert. She didn’t know the weight of her words. But you did. Bucky trailed quietly behind you as you approached, a steady warmth at your side. You crouched in front of Morgan, tucking a stray curl from her face and gave her a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Her head lifted immediately, eyes brightening just a little at the sound of your voice. You could still see the remnants of dried tears on her cheeks, but she was trying to be brave, just like everyone else. “I’m gonna go with Bucky to help Uncle Steve, okay? I won’t be long.” Morgan looked up at you, thoughtful for a moment, before nodding slowly and leaning further into Happy’s side. He didn’t speak, just wrapped an arm around her, anchoring her to something steady.

Happy met your gaze then, and the look he gave you said everything he didn’t say aloud — I’ve got her. You didn’t need more than that. You gave him a grateful nod, fingers lingering just a moment longer against Morgan’s little shoulder before you rose. You turned to Bucky, who instinctively held out his hand for yours. You slipped your fingers into his with a quiet sigh, letting yourself be grounded by the familiar press of his palm. Together, you walked through the quiet path toward the Quantum platform.

Up ahead, Steve stood beside Bruce and Sam, the three of them silhouetted by the light from the platform. Steve’s shield rested at his side, his expression unreadable, heavy with something you couldn’t yet name. You stopped just a few feet from them, still holding Bucky’s hand. Another goodbye was coming. You could feel it in your bones. You watched as Steve methodically placed the last Infinity Stone inside the compact, high-security briefcase. "If you want, I could come with you?" Sam asked gently, stepping closer, his voice tentative, uncertain.

Steve shook his head, slow and sure. “You're a good man, Sam,” He coaxed. “But this one's on me.” His gaze drifted then, over Sam’s shoulder, until his eyes landed on you and Bucky. A soft, familiar smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the kind of smile that held years of battles, of friendship, of love earned and endured. He moved toward Bucky first. You watched as your super-soldier boyfriend gently let go of your hand, stepping forward, posture already betraying the emotion he was trying to keep in check.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back." Steve grinned. Bucky let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” You stepped back slightly as they embraced, firm and brief, but packed with everything they couldn’t say out loud. When Bucky pulled away, there was a sheen in his eyes, but he didn’t wipe it away. Then Steve turned to you. His expression softened even more, the familiar blue of his eyes locking with yours.

He didn’t speak, not at first. He didn’t have to. You saw it all in the way his face crinkled gently with affection. This was your second father. The man who believed in you even when you hadn’t believed in yourself. You stepped forward and fell into his arms. He held you with that unshakable strength only Steve Rogers had. Arms that had carried the weight of the world, now holding you one last time. "I’m so glad you two found one another." He murmured, voice low and thick with emotion. You nodded against his shoulder, a tear slipping free, catching on your bottom lip.

Because it was true. Bucky had been your light in the darkest corners. And now, standing here at the edge of another uncertain chapter, the future didn’t seem so terrifying. “Take care of each other.” Steve whispered, one final squeeze before he let go. You stepped back into Bucky’s waiting arms. His hand found your waist instinctively, pulling you in closer, and together you watched as Steve took one final breath, his shield slung across his back, the case in his grip. He stepped onto the platform. Then, with the whir of the Quantum Gateway, he was gone.

Silence followed, heavy but not hopeless.

Slowly, you leaned your head on Bucky’s shoulder, his palm brushing your knuckles. You exhaled slowly, feeling something inside you shift, not just grief, not just exhaustion, but the beginning of something new. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, the word fine didn’t sound like a lie. Because Bucky Barnes, who had once been lost to time, was beside you. And with him, through all the pain, all the trauma, all the grief, you knew you’d learn to be okay.

Together, you’d find your way forward.

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