Chapter 11: Epilogue
This ravine was emblazoned in his memory. He knew the exact spot. The precise moment. Dressed in black, he pressed himself to the side of the cliff, anchor stakes deeply embedded, harness secure. He could no longer feel his ears and nose, but he wouldn't have to wait much longer.
His timing needed to be perfect. If he failed, he'd move to Plan B. Bucky would still lose the arm, but Steve would get to him well before the Russians.
The roar of the train broke the silence. A few more minutes….
The climbing anchors vibrated with the approaching locomotive, and he closed his eyes for a couple of seconds—all the time he could afford. He knew what was coming, but when the railing gave way and Bucky screamed, he felt all the same emotions he had the first time he'd watched his best friend plummet to his apparent death.
But this time would be different. He launched himself away from the cliff, and…
Gotcha!
Both arms wrapped around Bucky in mid-air, and then they were both falling until the line caught and a bone-jarring hard snap sent them swinging. Steve twisted, his legs extended and straddling Bucky to face the oncoming cliffside. He bent his knees with the impact, clutching Bucky between himself and the mountain.
Bucky was silent, his right shoulder pressed into Steve's chest, hands clutching Steve's arms, his fingers twisted in the fabric of Steve's shirt.
Steve tightened his grip, his face splitting into a grin. "I gotcha buddy." You're safe.
He couldn't believe it worked.
Wide-eyed and face nearly as white as the snow, Bucky looked up at the retreating train. A younger Steve Rogers was on that train, clutching the side, closing his eyes against the horror of watching his best friend die.
"Steve?" Bucky asked, voice shaky, his entire body trembling as he looked between Steve and the tracks overhead.
"It's a long story," Steve said, adjusting his grip on Bucky. "Hang on."
They were only 20 yards from the ground. He'd chosen to intervene as far below as possible to avoid his younger counterpart catching a glimpse of the interception and deciding to double back. That Steve Rogers needed to complete the mission and end up in the ice.
Steve pushed away from the cliff face, snapped the line, and landed squarely on the icy rocks of the ravine. His feet slipped as he hit, and they tumbled into the slush.
Getting to his feet, he gave Bucky a helping hand. The look on Bucky's boyish face—confusion, disbelief, suspicion—was a delight to see. Steve smiled, and it gave way to a full-fledged laugh until he lost all control, falling onto his butt and clutching his stomach.
"What's so funny?" Bucky huffed, visibly shaky as he cocked his head, a hint of a smile on his lips but disbelief still heavy in his eyes. "And what the hell is going on?"
Catching his breath and gaining control of his emotions, Steve pushed himself to his feet and slapped a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "It's a long story, pal, and you're probably not going to believe it. I can't tell you everything, but I'll give you the gist on the way back to camp. We better get moving. It's going to be a long, cold walk. I stashed some gear up ahead, should keep us warm enough."
The sun was close to setting by the time they got within distant earshot of camp.
"What did I get for my 10th birthday?" Bucky whispered, breath visible in the snow, eyes scanning the terrain.
Steve sighed, ears and eyes tuned to the surroundings. Bucky had been testing him for hours. "A train set."
"What did you get for your 10th birthday?"
"My mom got me mittens. You got me a sketchbook. You did odd jobs for Mr. Cramer to save up enough money for it." Despite the cold, Steve felt a sudden warmth in his chest. "You've always been a good friend, Bucky." He stopped and turned to his friend.
That face, so young and…full of life. Spunk. Wonder. The eyes more hooded, a seriousness in him that hadn't been there before Zola's table, but still relatively unscathed.
All things considering.
"What?" Bucky's face twisted with anxious confusion.
"I'm just glad I caught you." You'll never be the Winter Soldier, never even know what that is, I hope.
"You're really from the future?" Bucky's eyes narrowed with a skeptical tilt of his head.
Steve nodded. "I am, and that's why you can't breathe a word of this to anyone, not even the other me. They won't believe you."
"I'm not sure I believe it, but I haven't believed half the things I've seen the last few months." He pursed his lips, eyes calculating. "Come on, tell me something about the future!"
Steve's shoulders slouched and he chuckled. "Nope!"
He hung onto the feeling a moment longer, but it couldn't last. What he had to do next would be almost as hard as leaving Bucky in Wakanda. Indulging in a few more seconds, Steve stared at his friend, soaking in his bemused expression and trusting blue eyes.
He hated to break that trust, but he hoped Bucky would understand. Eventually.
Leaning forward, Steve pulled his friend against him, one hand cupping the back of Bucky's head. "I love you, buddy. And I'm sorry, but you need to stay out of commission for a bit. Where I'm going, you can't follow."
With a clench of his jaw, Steve pulled back, grabbed Bucky's left wrist, and snapped it. The scream echoed through the quiet terrain, sure to reach the base camp. They'd have company soon.
"I'm sorry." Steve said, letting go as Bucky yanked away from him, falling onto his butt in the snow, eyes wide with disbelief.
Raising his hands and taking a step back, Steve shook his head. He hated the accusation in Bucky's eyes. The betrayal.
"It has to be this way. The fate of the world depends on it." Steve heard the crunch of boots in the distance. "When the other me gets back, you can't follow me on missions. You have to stay here, injured, until you get sent home. Promise me."
"Why?" Bucky clutched his broken wrist to his chest.
Because I know you. You'd follow me onto that plane, and when I aim it toward the ice, you can't be on it.
"I have to go. Just…promise me. I mean it, Buck. I have to do something alone. Billions of lives depend on things happening a certain way, but I'll be back. I'll see you in 1949, no matter what you're told, or what you read, count on it. 1949. Okay?"
The men were approaching. Bucky's jaw clenched then, after a moment, he nodded.
Steve turned and ran, disappearing into the trees. His fingers touched the Pym particles at his side, enough for one last trip through time to keep his promise.
AUTHOR NOTES:
I am embarrassed to admit how long I spent pondering what Steve would do when he went back in time. I couldn't see him standing by and leaving any version of Bucky to suffer. Then I had to figure out how he would interfere? What would make the most sense? I'm interested to hear your thoughts! There are so many lovely ambiguities in the MCU to play with.
Thank you all for going along for the ride with me. I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, and even constructive criticism on this story. What did you really like? What didn't work so well for you? Did you notice an oops and didn't want to offend me? Don't be shy. I have a thick skin (and I do go back and correct errors whenever I have a chance).
I hope you all have a great weekend. As I mentioned, I have another story in the works. I told myself I was done with long stories for a while, but this next one is definitely going to be on the longer side. I'll give you a little hint of what's to come: It starts in the 1920s and follows a certain couple of guys all the way to 21st century Avenger times.
Thanks to Fictitious for beta reading this story.
