Marvel One-Shots

Stucky (Steve + Bucky)

Title: Through the Years

Steve Rogers sat on the worn-out couch in his Brooklyn apartment, the same one he’d rented after deciding to stay in the present.

The light filtering through the blinds cast long shadows across the room, and the familiar weight of memories pressed down on him.

He glanced over at the only other occupant of the room — Bucky Barnes, his oldest friend, and the man who had been with him through thick and thin, even when everything seemed to fall apart.

Bucky was lounging in the armchair, his metal arm glinting under the soft light. He looked relaxed, something Steve wasn’t sure he’d seen often in the past few years.

There was a peace that hung between them now, something they had fought for but rarely acknowledged aloud.

“You still drinking that terrible coffee from the bodega down the street?” Bucky asked, his voice soft and teasing, though there was an undercurrent of affection.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s better than what they gave us in the war.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s any good, pal.” Bucky smirked, leaning back, his eyes glinting with that same mischievous spark Steve had always known. It was one of those things that hadn’t changed, even after everything.

Steve didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a sip of the mentioned terrible coffee, letting the warmth spread through him.

“You ever think about the old days, Buck? When it was just you and me against the world?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and the playful glint in his eyes faded, replaced with something more profound. “I think about it all the time,” he admitted, his voice lower now, more serious. “Back when everything was simpler. Before... all of this.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, his mind drifting back to those days in the 1930s.

They were both scrawny kids back then, Bucky always looking out for him, dragging him out of fights he couldn’t win, but fights Steve was always determined to start anyway.

“We had each other then,” Bucky added, his eyes locking onto Steve’s. “Just like we have each other now.”

Steve swallowed, feeling a lump rise in his throat. They’d both been through so much, and yet somehow, here they were — together, after all the pain, the loss, the decades that had separated them.

“It’s not the same, though, is it?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky tilted his head, considering the question. “No, it’s not. But I don’t think it ever could be.” He paused, his metal fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. “But maybe that’s okay.”

Steve looked at him, really looked at him.

“Do you ever think,” Steve started slowly, his heart pounding, “that we... we might’ve had something more? Back then, before the war?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with something Steve couldn’t quite place. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “Steve,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, “I’ve thought about that every day since I got my memories back.”

Steve felt his breath hitch, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking into him. They’d been dancing around this for so long, neither of them wanting to admit it, not even to themselves. But here it was, laid bare between them.

“I didn’t know if I could ask,” Steve whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bucky’s lips quirked up into a sad smile. “You never had to.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with the things unsaid, but also with an understanding that neither of them needed words for.

“Bucky,” Steve began, but he stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Bucky stood up from the chair, crossing the small space between them in just a few strides. He knelt in front of Steve, resting his hands on Steve’s knees, looking up at him with an intensity that made Steve’s heart race.

“You and me, we’ve been through it all. I know we don’t need to talk about it. But I want you to know that, whatever this is,” Bucky gestured between them, “I’m here for it. For you.”

Steve felt something warm bloom in his chest. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand gently brushing against Bucky’s face, the rough stubble familiar under his fingertips. Bucky leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

“We’ve both lost so much,” Steve said softly. “But we’ve still got each other.”

Bucky opened his eyes, meeting Steve’s gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all that matters.”

In that moment, Steve knew it didn’t matter what they’d been through — the war, the decades of separation, the pain. What mattered was that they were here, together, now.

Slowly, Steve leaned forward, his forehead resting against Bucky’s, their breaths mingling. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it didn’t need to be. It was just them, as it always had been, as it always would be.

“You and me, Buck,” Steve whispered. “Always.”

“Always,” Bucky echoed, his voice soft but full of certainty.

And for the first time in a long time, Steve felt at peace.