It's Always Been You

Chapter 3

Brooklyn, New York, 1934

Steve leads Bucky to their old shared apartment, not at all surprised when the door isn't locked.

They didn't use to lock their doors back then, despite living in a neighborhood where burglary happened so often they thought it was normal. That's something neither of them can't figure out now— why their past selves were so trusting of people that they practically bared their privacy to the world. Well, not to that extent, but nowadays, they don't even know if they trust themselves sometimes.

"I've missed this place," Bucky whispers, basking in the morning sun. The large window on the wall beside their living room allows so much light in, they don't have to turn the lights on to see clearly.

Steve smiles, looking at the man beside him.

His hair is pulled up in a bun, his eyes gleaming in under the sunlight. Bucky has always been beautiful without even trying, and sometimes, it takes everything in Steve not to just blurt it out to him.

"Where were we, you think?" Steve asks, motioning to the empty shoe rack near the front door (because Bucky didn't like shoes in the house). The house is too quiet to be filled with sixteen, seventeen year old Steve and Bucky.

Bucky glances at the calendar, and it all feels so strangely... familiar. Like he didn't even leave the house in the first place. "June 16..." he thinks. "It was probably summer vacation or somethin'."

Steve laughs, remembering how the two of them would run around the park like a couple of weirdos. He also remembers how they used to be so careful when showing their love to the world— following the rules strictly to avoid being caught when times were particularly hard on the two.

"We were so young," Bucky sighs, looking down at his hands. The hands that have took so many innocent lives.

"We still are," Steve objects, nudging Bucky on the side. He can sense when Bucky's thoughts are going to directions they're not supposed to. "Physically, we should be about..." he does the math in his head,"35 and 36?"

"You call that young?" Bucky asks sarcastically.

"Well, if you compare it to how old we're s'posed to be, then yeah," Steve replies, waving his hands around. "What I'm saying is... we've got a whole lifetime to spend, and it's all up to us, Buck. We have the resources now. We can go back here and then return to the future without anyone noticing."

Bucky has a mischievous glint in his eyes, and boy did Steve miss that.

"What?"

"Are we allowed to... ya know, make changes to the past? 'Cause I really wanna change some things and, you know, make life easier for the younger us."

"Yeah. This won't affect us at all."

"Great. Now, where did we put loose pieces of paper? I'm sure-"

"We are not going through my old sketches."

"I never said we were!" Bucky acts surprised. He knows damn well how Steve can almost read his mind. "What, are you hiding something from me?" Bucky teases, and Steve slaps him on the metal arm.

"No," he answers too quickly. "I mean," he hesitates, trying to recall what exactly he had drawn that might make things awkward between them,"not that I remember..."

"Steve, I can see when you're lying," Bucky tells him, snickering. "'S okay if you don't want me to see them."

Steve audibly sighs in relief, but takes the stash of papers from the kitchen drawer, where he knows the younger versions of them will never open again anyway.

The sketches are his, and he doesn't want anyone going to the past and discovering that Captain America used to draw— and especially when he used to draw his best friend, his boy, his Bucky.

But Bucky should never know that.

"Got it?" Bucky asks as he roams around the short halls of their old house, the resurfacing memories making him feel so content he almost forgets what sadness feels like.

"Yeah," Steve shouts from the kitchen. "How 'bout you?"

Bucky stuffs a framed old picture of Steve that rests on the nightstand, knowing that the young Bucky won't even notice that it's gone because of how oblivious he is, into his backpack.

They both brought the things that mean the most to them, to a place where everything used to feel exciting. They don't realize that aside from the things they love, they also brought each other to the place where it all started.

Them going home after school together, walking side by side as they chatter animatedly on the sidewalk, careful not to touch each other's hands. Them sharing the same apartment but different bedrooms, and how Steve would always go to Bucky's bedroom and have board game nights in there. It all felt so peaceful... so normal.

Neither of them know what feels normal or not, at this point. Hell, even their bodies aren't normal.

With that thought, Bucky replaces the picture on his nightstand to a copy of his favorite picture, where Steve is all big and bulky and still as beautiful as he used to be. Plus, the picture is in color. God knows how the boys will react when they see it the first time.

"Buck?" Steve calls out, his footsteps light on the wooden floor, though Bucky can still hear then approaching the room he's in.

Bucky quickly zips up his backpack, making sure that Steve doesn't know what he's just done.

Not that it's embarrassing or anything, how much he deeply cares for the captain, but... it is to him. If Steve manages to figure out just how much he means to Bucky, things might go sour, and Bucky doesn't know how he would handle that.

"Let's go," Bucky says, tilting his head up as a sly smirk creeps up on his face. "We don't want them coming home and seeing us here."

"That'll be weird to explain," Steve says as he pulls out a slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "You wanna write them a message?"

Bucky gladly takes it, and quickly writes:

This might be weird, but bear with me. You'll find this true someday, trust me.

Bucky, don't worry too much about Steve, okay? He's going to be alright. He's not going to die because of, what, pneumonia this time around. He's a tough cookie. You should know that by now.

And Steve, just... remember to breathe, kid. Keep drawing and painting and doing what you love. You'll be right as rain someday, and you'll know it soon enough.

- Bucky, 2019