Chapter Text
Coming back from the mission, Steve is exhausted. His shield is dirty, streaked with blood, every bone in his body aching. All he wants is the comfort of a hot shower. But, like too often, that small mercy is denied.
Tony had already called in, his voice sharp and amused, telling Steve to get his ass back to the compound. Because your living wet-dream’s strutting around my halls , he’d said. The words had been delivered with Tony’s usual brand provocation, but Steve still didn’t waste time. With Tony, you never know. Better to be safe than sorry.
When he steps into the building, his eyes sweep the room, half-expecting to find Tony there, one hand on his hip, a brow arched in smug triumph. Instead, the space is empty.
Steve exhales through his nose, shoulders easing as his hand slips free of the shield’s straps. He walks down the small set of stairs before taking off his helmet.
“Jarvis, where’s Tony?” he asks.
“Good evening, Captain. Mr. Stark is currently in your quarters. He is accompanied by Agent Romanoff, Sergeant Wilson, and Sergeant Barnes.”
Steve stills, helmet in hand. “They’re all in my room?” His voice roughens with confusion as he lets the helmet slip from his grasp. “Why?”
“I’m… not entirely sure. The situation is—how did Mr. Stark phrase it? Ah, yes, laughable . Would you like me to replay the recorded audio?”
“No, thanks. I’ll see for myself.”
He makes his way down the hall toward his quarters, voices already reaching his ears.
The door slides open automatically. Inside, Tony, Natasha, and Sam are scattered across the space, leaning against his dresser, perched on a chair, arms folded. None of them are looking at him. Every gaze is fixed on the figure at the center of the room.
The flash of polished metal draws Steve’s attention first. His shield, gleaming in the dim light.
Strange. Didn’t he just leave it outside?
And then Steve sees who’s holding his shield. He freezes.
It’s Bucky.
Not the Bucky who’d left for a mission two days ago. This is the one Steve lost in 1945, except he’s not supposed to look this alive.
His hair is short and neatly slicked back, no longer a curtain around his face. His jaw is clean-shaven, his expression unclouded. He isn’t scowling, isn’t carrying the weight of everything HYDRA carved into him. He looks like the man Steve used to know.
And he’s wearing one of Steve’s suits.
Steve realizes only then that his mouth has been hanging open, staring like an idiot. Forcing himself to move, he crosses the room. Conversations falter. One by one, heads turn toward him: Natasha, Sam, then finally Tony, but only after Bucky’s head has shifted.
Their eyes meet.
Steve’s heart stutters, skipping a long, aching beat. Because Bucky’s eyes are bright. Alive. Shining in a way Steve hasn’t seen in decades. They’re beautiful .
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Tony drawls suddenly, snapping Steve out of it.
Steve tears his gaze away from Bucky. He wants to glare at Tony, really wants to, but decides against it. “This is what you called me in for? A costume party?”
“Costume party,” Tony echoes, glancing at the others with disbelief. “Can you believe this guy?”
“Steve,” Natasha cuts in. His eyes shift to her. “As ridiculous as it looks,” she says, nodding toward the man with his shield, “this isn’t what you think it is. This…” her hand gestures lightly, “…is Captain America.”
Steve blinks, the words refusing to land. His eyes flicker back to Bucky, who’s still staring at him.
“Not our Captain America, obviously,” Tony chimes in, breaking the silence. “And not our—your James, either.” He gives a little spin of his hand. “Multiverse special. He’s from another dimension.”
“Another dimension? The multiverse?”
“Yes,” Tony replies. “Looks like I was right. Again. The multiverse is real, folks.”
Sam drags a hand down his face. “Man, it’s already giving me a headache.”
Steve frowns, confusion pressing down harder with every passing second. One thing, at least, is clear. This isn’t his Bucky.
“How’d you get here?” he asks, finally directing the question at the man holding his shield. His voice softens without meaning to, dropping lower, like muscle memory guiding him.
Bucky offers a crooked, almost sheepish smile. “No clue. One second I was in the Tower and—” His brow furrows as he glances around the room. “You guys do have the Tower here, right? Avengers Tower?”
“Yeah, we’ve got one,” Tony says. “Go on, Barnes. Story time.”
Bucky nods, shifting his grip on the shield. “Right. Uh, next thing I know, there was this massive explosion. I tried to move, react, but it was too late. Everything went white. And then I… ended up here.”
Natasha narrows her eyes. “Could it have been an attack?”
“I don’t know. Honestly.” His voice dips, apologetic. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright, pal,” Steve murmurs before he can stop himself, the nickname slipping out like second nature.
Bucky’s smile stretches wider, and Steve feels something beam in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s the word that did it or something else, but the expression is the warmest, most genuine smile he’s seen from Bucky in decades. His Bucky still smiles, sure,but never like this. Never so open. Never so hopeful.
“I’m guessing, from the outfit,” Bucky says, still grinning as he gestures toward the star on Steve’s chest, “that you’re Captain America here. So what, nobody knows me in this universe?”
“Oh, we know you,” Tony says, smirking. “Trust me. You’ve been a pain in the ass in this timeline for quite a while.”
Bucky’s frowns, his smile fading. “I don’t understand.”
“Tony,” Steve warns, his voice low.
Tony lifts his hands in mock surrender. “What? The least we can do is tell him the truth. He seems reasonable enough to handle it.”
“Handle what, Tony?” Bucky presses, his voice firmer now. Steve catches the flicker of surprise in Tony’s expression at the sudden harshness.
Steve glances sideways at Sam, who’s already watching him. A faint, knowing smile tugs at Sam’s lips. Steve can’t help grinning back.
“The you in this timeline,” Natasha cuts in, arms folded, her delivery sharp as a blade, “was a brainwashed Hydra assassin. Responsible for over two thousand confirmed kills across the globe. He broke free of it recently and is working to make amends as part of the Avengers.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, factual and merciless.
Bucky’s frown deepens, his gaze sinking to the floor. He doesn’t look confused. If anything, he looks like pieces are clicking into place. The silence stretches until, finally, he speaks.
‘I know.” His head lifts, eyes steady now. “Because in my timeline, Steve is the Winter Soldier. He’s the one who carries this burden. I never—” he falters, shaking his head. “How is that even possible? How can timelines twist so far from each other?”
“That’s the multiverse for you,” Tony says, shrugging. “Beauty or tragedy. It really depends.”
“So what now?” Sam asks. “We just let him hang around here? You know this won’t look pretty when our Bucky comes back.”
Tony exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strolls toward the door.“Relax. I’m calling in Bruce. We’ll poke at the science, see what we can do. If we figure out how to shove him back into his own dimension, great. If not…” He glances over his shoulder, smiling faintly. “Well, guess the Avengers doubled their Captains on board.”
Bucky lets out a quiet chuckle. “I hope it’s not a problem if I stick around. This place isn’t half bad.” His gaze drifts across the room.
“It’s my room,” Steve blurts, far too quickly. Heat prickles at the back of his neck. “I mean, uh, my quarters.” And because he’s greedy, because it’s Bucky , no matter the version, he adds, “You can stay here if you want. There’s… plenty of space.”
Bucky studies him for a moment, face unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curve into another smile.
“Sure, pal. We can share. Like old times, right?”
Steve’s smile answers Bucky’s, genuine. “I—Yeah. Yeah, like old times.”
Tony’s footsteps are the first to retreat, Natasha and Sam close behind. Sam throws Steve a look, half amusement and half warning, before disappearing with the others.
And then it’s just the two of them.
Silence settles in, awkward and a little disorienting. Steve shifts his weight, suddenly unsure of himself. He doesn’t know how to talk to this Bucky. Doesn’t know what kind of person he is. Brave and heroic, sure. That much is obvious. Not everyone gets to carry the shield. Even if it started as nothing more than wartime propaganda, it’s became something larger, something earned.
But none of that changes the truth: this is a version of Bucky he’s never known.
Bucky is the first to cut through the silence.
“Wow, this is painfully awkward,” he admits with a crooked grin. “Sorry for staring earlier. It’s just… I’m not used to seeing you with short hair. My Steve—” his hand makes a vague motion near his face, “—his looks like curtains.”
Steve chuckles, the sound slipping out before he can stop it. “Yeah? My Bucky’s got the same look.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“Out on a mission. He’ll be back in a few days. Maybe sooner. He’s good, so you never really know.”
Bucky nods, then his grin spreads wider, softer. “You still call him Bucky,” he says, voice warm with something wistful.
Heat creeps into Steve’s cheeks. “Yeah. That’s—well, that’s his name.” He clears his throat. “What about you?”
Bucky gives a small shrug. “Only Steve calls me that. I guess the name never really caught on anywhere else.”
“Is it alright if I call you James, then?” Steve asks carefully. “It’ll get confusing once my Bucky gets back.”
James considers it for a moment, then nods. “Sure. Don’t see why not.”
He crosses the room and sinks into one of the chairs, the shield slipping from his hand to rest against it. Steve moves to follow, arms folding over his chest as he stops nearby, a little too restless to sit.
“There’s one thing I’m curious about,” Steve says. “How did you become Captain America in your timeline? Did the super-soldier serum never happen there?”
James leans back in the chair, smirking as his eyes find Steve’s. “No, it exists. You want the long story or the short one?”
“The long one. I’ve got time.”
James gestures to the empty chair across from him. “Then you’d better sit down. This isn’t a five-minute story.”
—
“Jesus Christ,” is all Steve manages.
James has just finished telling his story, and Steve can only sit there, reeling. The realization is impossible to ignore: in James’s world, they’ve switched places. Everything Steve endured—the scrawny kid from Brooklyn, the endless fights he couldn’t win, the serum that turned him into Captain America—James lived instead.
The details are different. The faces in his life, the motivations driving him forward, even the way he carries himself. But the arc of it? It’s Steve’s story, just lived through James. And Steve can’t even begin to imagine himself surviving what Bucky had endured under HYDRA.
But the part that sticks with Steve most?
James and his Steve had been a thing, too. Together. That truth sits heavy in Steve’s chest. Good, without a doubt, because it means something more than coincidence. It means their bond, their feelings, are bigger than timelines. Bigger than one universe.
“What, my story that different from yours?”
“No. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s… too similar. All of it,” Steve says, then he smirks. “I’m guessing I’m the one with the metal arm in your timeline, huh?”
James’s brow furrows. “Metal arm? What metal arm?”
“Uh, my Bucky lost his arm. Had it replaced with a metal one,” Steve explains, shifting a little in his chair. “It’s supposed to be a prosthetic.”
“Ah,” James says simply. “Well, my Steve’s still got all his limbs intact. Thankfully.”
Steve huffs a laugh at that, unsure if it was meant as a joke but letting it slide anyway.
Pushing up from his chair, he crosses the room. When he turns back, James’s eyes are already on him.
“Alright. Nice talk, but I gotta hit the shower.” Steve jerks a thumb toward the bathroom door. “Just got back from a mission and probably smell like hell. You’re, uh… welcome to do—whatever. Anything. Make yourself at home.”
James smiles. “Thanks, pal.”
Steve gives a small nod and turns away, heading for the bathroom.
Talking with James hadn’t been as awkward as he’d braced for. If anything, it was better. James spoke with this passion, an easy enthusiasm that pulled Steve in. Addictive, even. In so many ways,he was like Steve himself. And in just as many ways, he was like the Bucky Steve remembered best. Refreshing.
He’s a step from the bathroom door when James’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Mind if we sleep together?”
Steve freezes, arm hanging midair, fingers hovering just above the handle. Slowly, he turns. James is watching him again, eyes fixed, unreadable. Again.
Why does he keep staring like that?
Steve swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Sorry?”
James snorts, shaking his head. “Oh, shit. That came out wrong. I meant, like actually sleeping. In the same bed.”
Steve blinks. “At the… same time?” he asks anyway, even though the answer is obvious.
“Yeah.”
Steve’s brow furrows. “Why?”
“Why?” James echoes, brows knitting. Then something shifts in his expression, like a lightbulb flicking on. “Oh. Wait. Are you and your Bucky not together in this timeline?”
“No, we—I mean, we are.” His voice trips over the words. “But we share my quarters. One bed. Wouldn’t it be… weird? When he gets back?”
“I guess.” James shrugs, easy, like it’s nothing. “But for now it shouldn’t be a problem. Right? We’re kind of the same person, aren’t we? Me and your Bucky?”
Steve feels the air catch in his chest. Oh, how wrong he is. They’re not the same person. Not even close.
“You—Yeah. You are.”
—
It’s only been a day since James started staying at the compound, or more accurately, in Steve’s quarters, and things are already getting complicated.
James has this direct way of doing things. Maybe even more direct than Bucky, though less blunt about it. Steve gets along with him far too easily, like slipping into an old rhythm he didn’t realize he still remembered. Being around James feels like being around two versions of Bucky at once: the old, charming guy from Brooklyn Steve once knew, and a fearless, passionate man who carries himself with the easy confidence of Captain America.
But unfortunately, that isn’t all.
James is flirty. Dangerously flirty.
Steve can’t decide if it’s intentional or just ignorance. Maybe James doesn’t understand that timelines aren’t interchangeable, that his Steve isn’t this Steve. Maybe, to him, closeness doesn’t cross any lines. But for Steve, it does.
Normally, God help him, if another version of Bucky fell into his lap with that same charm and sweetness, he’d already be tangled up in the sheets with him. But this isn’t just another Bucky. This is James. And Steve already has his Bucky. Which means every glance, every smile, every brush of flirtation feels like betrayal.
Another good thing, besides the constant, dangerous flirtation, is that James fits in effortlessly with everyone else.
He talks to the others with such ease it’s like they’ve already built years of trust together, bonds carried over from his own timeline. Even Tony, somehow. Well enough,in fact, that Tony had smirked and suggested they replace Bucky with James. Steve ignored him. He’s too tired of his bullshit to waste energy on glares.
He’s pulled from his thoughts by a sudden chill pressing against the back of his neck. The coldness bites into his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Sam asks, handing him the water bottle. “Didn’t even hear me calling your name.”
Steve smirks faintly as he takes it. “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”
“I bet.” Sam drops onto the bench beside him, eyes fixed on the gym floor. “This about the whole Bucky situation?”
“James,” Steve corrects automatically. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “And come on, you really gotta ask? Isn’t it obvious?”
Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, it is. But I don’t get why. Tony and Bruce’ll figure something out, and he’ll be outta here before long. All you gotta do is keep him entertained in the meantime.”
“I don’t know,” Steve admits, brow furrowing. “He’s—it’s weird. I mean, it’s great, but it’s also weird.”
Sam snorts. “You realize you sound kinda crazy right now, right?”
Steve twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long sip. “Yeah, well, I feel crazy.”
“You know,” Sam says, sly, “I figured you’d be a little more excited about this whole thing.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Sam grins, slow and a little dirty. “Not to assume anything—but two Buckys?” He makes a vague gesture with his hands. “C’mon. Thought you’d be into that.”
Steve huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t a pervert, Sam. Jesus.” He turns his face away.
“I never said that,” Sam fires back. “I just figured it’d…I don’t know, light a spark.”
Steve hasn’t admitted it yet, but in some strange way, Sam isn’t completely wrong. Something about James does light a spark, but not the kind Sam’s thinking. At least not yet. Hopefully not ever.
He can already picture it: Bucky coming back from his mission, tired and irritable, only to find a short-haired, clean-cut version of himself holding Steve’s shield like it belongs to him. The confusion, the scowl, the demand for answers. Steve doesn’t even need to imagine it. He knows exactly how it’ll go.
And when Bucky inevitably notices how his Captain America doppelgänger keeps tossing Steve those easy smiles, keeps leaning in a little too close—oh, hell. He won’t just be annoyed. He’ll be furious.
Steve swallows hard. Maybe he’d underestimated the whole situation. This wasn’t just awkward anymore. This was a ticking bomb.
And he seriously doesn’t want to be the spark that sets it off.
Steve pushes himself up from the bench, giving Sam’s shoulder a quick, firm tap before stepping back. “Nice workout today,” he says, voice steady, like nothing’s bothering him.
“You heading back to your quarters?” Sam asks, eyeing him knowingly.
“Yeah. Just need to check in.”
Sam smirks. “Right. You make sure to check in .”
Steve levels him with a look, already halfway to the door. “Sam. Shut up.”
Sam chuckles, leaning back on the bench like he’s won something. “Didn’t say anything, Cap.”
“Exactly,” Steve mutters, pushing the door open and stepping out before Sam can add anything else.
—
Steve stands at the sink, brushing his teeth, steam from his shower still clinging to the mirror. He’s already in the clothes he counts as pajamas: a white tank top and gray shorts. Today had been long, the kind of long that makes the quiet of the bathroom feel almost holy.
He’d spent most of it with Natasha, helping her run through preparations for her next mission. Bruce had finally shown up too, pulled right into Tony’s orbit, both of them buzzing around James like a pair of mad scientists. Steve’s memory of that part is fuzzy at best. It had flown right over his head. What he does remember is the relief of not having James around.
Because if Steve has to be honest with himself, James is too much. Too fond of him. Too charming. Too Bucky and not Bucky all at once. And the way he smiles, the way he talks, the way his eyes linger on Steve like there’s no shame in it. It’s tempting. Too damn tempting.
Steve spits into the sink, rinses his mouth, and grips the edge of the counter a little too hard. He has to keep reminding himself that this isn’t his Bucky. No matter how similar the laugh, no matter how natural it feels to slip into the old rhythm of pal and grin and shoulder nudges. This man isn’t his.
God, he can’t wait for Bucky to get back. The one with the heavy scowl and the tough exterior, the one who melts only when Steve’s fingers thread into his long hair, the one who lets him kiss away every thought that’s on his mind.
Yeah. He just has to hold out until then.
Steve turns off the bathroom light before stepping out. He crosses the room toward his bed and halts when he sees James already lying there, blanket pulled over himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His hair is loose, undone, but he doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.
Steve returns the smile, polite, not genuine, then climbs onto the bed. He pulls the blanket over himself and reaches for the switch, plunging the room into darkness.
Silence stretches between them. When James doesn’t speak, Steve closes his eyes, ready to drift. That’s when he hears movement in the sheets, a shift closer.
“You don’t get nightmares, do you?” James asks at last, his voice threaded with amusement.
“Uh, no,” Steve replies, eyes still closed. “I’m nightmare-free.”
“Good, then,” James says, his voice quiet. “My Steve always has nightmares. Can’t really blame him, but it’s been stealing my sleep more often than not.”
Steve opens his eyes to the dark ceiling above. There’s a tug in his chest at the words. At the way James says my Steve .
“Guess some things don’t change between worlds,” Steve murmurs. “My Bucky’s the same. Nightmares. Nights he can’t sleep.”
“And you stay with him through it?”
“Every time.”
Steve hears James huff out a breath, soft and amused. “That’s real nice of you.”
“It’s not about being nice,” Steve says. “We’re friends. Partners. Lovers . Of course I stay with him.”
The silence stretches, but Steve doesn’t dare look at James. His gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, steady but uncertain. Maybe he said too much. Maybe his words scared him off. With a quiet sigh through his nose, Steve closes his eyes again.
He hears movement. The soft rustle of the blanket, the subtle shift of weight. And then suddenly, his body feels heavier, pinned down by something he can’t place. His eyes snap open, widening instinctively.
James is straddling him. Sitting firmly on his hips, arms braced on either side of him, staring down with heavy eyes
Steve’s breath hitches, chest tightening under the sudden weight. His hands twitch at his sides, instinct urging him to push James off, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. Not with James looking at him like that.
“James,” Steve says, his voice low and warning, though it comes out softer than he intends.
James tilts his head, smirking. “Relax. You should be used to this by now. Don’t you and your Bucky do this all the time?”
“That’s none of your business. And you—” Steve’s jaw tightens. “you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not right.”
“Not right?” James echoes. “Look, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. But what’s the problem here? I keep giving you hints, and you… keep shutting me down. I thought you were in love with me.”
“I’m not,” Steve says firmly, heart hammering. “I love Bucky. My Bucky.”
“I am your Bucky,” James says, voice low but certain. “In every timeline. We’re all the same, and we all love you equally.”
Steve shakes his head, a nervous edge to the movement. “No… you can’t know that. It’s—it’s not the same. What about your Steve? What would he think of this?’
James lowers his gaze, disappointment softening his features. His shoulders sag, and there’s a long pause.
“My Steve wouldn’t say anything,” he murmurs. “We’re not—he doesn’t like me that much anymore, I don’t think.”
“But you said—”
James quickly cuts him off, pressing a palm over his mouth. Then he leans in closer, voice earnest. “I know what I said. And it’s true. We used to be partners, but not anymore. Those times are over. He’s not the same person he used to be.”
Funny enough, Steve can relate to that. More than he wants to admit.
Sure, he and Bucky had managed to find their way back to each other. They’re together again, stronger than ever, bound by love that never really went away. But getting there? God, it had been a long road. Complicated. Messy. And the hardest truth of all? Bucky isn’t the same. Not anymore. He’s changed, scarred and hardened. Not the easygoing boy from Brooklyn Steve first fell in love with.
And it stings, every time he’s reminded of it.
Steve shuts his eyes for a moment, weighing his response. Finally, he lifts a hand, and wraps his fingers firmly around James’s wrist, pulling it away from his mouth.
“I understand. I really do,” Steve says, his voice steady but soft. “But I don’t want this. Not when I don’t know what Bucky thinks of it. Not without his permission. I’m sorry, James.”
James studies him for a moment, the fight in his expression draining away until all that’s left is sadness. He gives a small, reluctant nod.
“Okay,” he murmurs, barely more than a breath.
But James doesn’t move. He lingers there, motionless, like the weight of his choice has pinned him in place. Steve releases his wrist and shifts his hands to James’s hips, intent on pushing him off.
Before he can, James speaks again, soft and almost pleading.
“Can I kiss you, at least?”
Steve’s hands freeze, eyes widening as he locks onto James’s gaze.
The sadness on his face hasn’t faded. It’s just different now. Desperate. Vulnerable. Like he needs this, like he depends on it. Steve exhales shakily through his nose. He wants to say no, he really does, but the way James is looking at him,so heartbreakingly familiar, makes the words stick in his throat. He looks just like Bucky: sad, fragile, and achingly sweet in a way only Steve knows too well.
Hell, how is he supposed to say no to that?
“One kiss,” Steve murmurs.
James’s lips curl into the tiniest, most hopeful smile. “Just one,” he says, soft enough that Steve can’t help but believe him.
Slowly, James leans in, and just like that, his lips meet Steve’s. They’re soft, surprisingly soft. Unlike Bucky’s, which are usually dry.
The kiss deepens quickly, James’s intent clear: he wants to pour everything into this one moment. Steve closes his eyes, hands resting on James’s hips, holding him in place. The kiss lingers, long, deep, and it feels unbearably good. Better than it should. Better than Steve wants it to.
When James pulls back, Steve opens his eyes. James is looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, his mouth slightly ajar. He straightens his back a little, pulling his arms in, then offers Steve a warm, genuine smile.
Steve can feel it, the craving for more. More of this. More of Bucky. More of James.
“I love you, Steve,” James murmurs. “Always have. Always will.”
Steve doesn’t reply. He can’t. The words land heavy in his chest, too complicated, too dangerous to answer. What could he possibly say in a moment like this? His jaw tightens, and all he can manage is a single, silent nod.
Eventually, James shifts off of him, and the weight lifts. But the words linger, echoing in Steve’s head long after. At some point, exhaustion drags him under, and he slips into sleep with his chest tight and his thoughts tangled.
—
By morning, Steve is already out of bed. He’d made sure to wake up earlier than James, knowing it would be a bad idea to still be lying there when James opened his eyes. Breakfast seemed like the safer distraction. Fried egg, bacon, and a mug of coffee. Simple and routine, just how Steve likes it.
He’s just finishing James’s plate, turner still in hand as he reaches for the plate, when he hears the sound of footsteps. Steve turns, and there’s James, padding toward the kitchen island with a small, easy smile. His hair’s a little messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep and—
Are his cheeks flushed?
Christ.
Steve forces himself to smile back, his grip tightening faintly around the turner. Please, let it just be his imagination.
“Morning, James,” Steve says, aiming for steady.
“Good morning, Steve,” James answers, still smiling as he steps closer.
Steve clears his throat and gestures to the plate. “I made you some breakfast. You hungry?”
James’s eyes flick from the food back up to Steve. “I could eat,” he says softly. “Anything. Anytime.” His grin widens just enough to make Steve’s stomach twist.
This fucking guy.
Steve forces a nod. “Let’s sit down, then,” he says, gesturing toward the table.
James slides into the chair casually, like he’s been doing this with Steve every morning of his life. His grin hasn’t faded either, it lingers as he watches Steve set down the plates.
Steve places the food in front of him, careful to avoid looking too long at James’s face. Or his flushed cheeks. Or the way he’s sitting there, so damn at ease in his kitchen.
James picks up his fork. “You always cook for him too?”
Steve takes his seat across from him, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Most mornings.”
James hums, stabbing into the egg. “Lucky guy.”
Steve decides to stay silent, unwilling to read into James’s remark, or risk encouraging it.
They eat in heavy silence. The only sounds in the room are the scrape of silverware and the slow sound of chewing, over and over again. For Steve, it’s unbearable. Awkward. The memory of last night keeps flashing back, hitting him like a punch to the gut each time.
Why had he agreed to it? And how the hell was he supposed to explain any of this to Bucky? Did kissing your lover from another timeline count as cheating? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the guilt is already biting at him.
When he finally finishes his food, Steve reaches for his coffee, taking a slow sip
“Why are you acting so awkward?” James asks suddenly, halfway through his plate.
Steve meets his eyes over the rim of his mug, muffling his words. “I’m not.’
“Yeah, you are. You’ve barely said two words since we sat down. And you weren’t this awkward when gals were kissing you. I’ve seen it myself. So what gives?”
Steve sets the mug down a little harder than he means to. “First of all, you’re not a gal, are you? Secondly—has it ever occurred to you that I feel bad about what happened last night? I let you kiss me. That’s cheating on Bucky.”
James groans, rolling his eyes like Steve’s the one being unreasonable. “Jesus Christ, Steve. It’s not cheating. Not really. I’m literally him. Same memories, same history, same love for you. We’re the same damn person. What’s not clicking?”
Steve’s frowns, his jaw locking tight. “Oh, give me a break,” he snaps, voice sharp. James’s eyes widen, startled.
“You don’t have the same memories, nor the same history,” Steve presses on, firm and unrelenting. “You didn’t go through all the bullshit Bucky did when he was tortured for decades. You have no idea what you’re talking about. So don’t you ever fucking compare yourself to him.”
For a long moment, James just stares, caught off guard by the heat in Steve’s words. His lips part, then close again as he swallows, visibly reeling.
Finally, he clears his throat and says, softly, “Sorry.” His voice has lost all its teasing edge, quiet and almost fragile. “I didn’t mean to sound ignorant. I guess I hit a nerve, huh?”
Steve’s frown softens, faltering just enough before he nods. “Yeah… I—I can be a little protective when it comes to Bucky. Anyone, really. But mostly Bucky.”
“That’s sweet,” James says, and with a sly tilt, adds, “And hot.”
“You’re only making things worse. You do know that, right?”
James shrugs. “I just like being honest. I’m direct like that.”
Oh, I know, Steve thinks, but keeps it to himself. Instead, a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips before he can stop it.
James notices. He doesn’t say a word, just smiles back, softer this time, like they’re sharing some private joke.
—
“Why am I here again?”
Steve’s arms are folded over his chest, eyes locked on Tony and Bruce as they move around James. James sits calmly in the chair, shirt off, electrodes pressed against skin.
Steve isn’t used to this version of him. No metal arm biting into his skin, no scars scattered across his pecs and abs, no reminders carved into his body. The absence makes everything feel unreal, like he’s stuck in some strange dream.
“I’m wondering the same thing,” Tony mutters, not bothering to look at him as he taps at the tablet in his hand. “If you’re not going to contribute to the science part, at least make yourself useful. Grab us coffee, stand around looking pretty, something.”
“Tony,” Bruce warns softly, adjusting one of the electrodes on James’s collarbone.
Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. He just exhales through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s here because James asked him to be. Because apparently, out of everyone in this tower, Steve’s the only person he trusts enough to sit and watch while others prod at him like a lab rat.
“I’m not leaving,” Steve says firmly.
Tony sighs. “Fine. Stay. I can always do an audience.”
“So what are you gonna do with me?” James asks, his eyes sharp as they flick up at Bruce.
Bruce offers a small, reassuring smile. “We’re just going to look for traces of dimensional travel in your system,” he explains. “Anything unusual—changes in your nervous system, cellular modifications, things like that. If something shifted when you crossed over, it might give us a lead. With that, we can figure out not only how you got here, but how to send you back.”
James nods slowly, brow furrowed like he’s working through the explanation in his head. “That sounds… complicated.”
“It is,” Tony cuts in before Bruce can respond. “Which is why distractions are absolutely not necessary.”He turns his head toward Steve, his face screaming don’t think I don’t notice you.
Steve only answers with a smug smile. A bastard’s smile, and he knows it.
“Mr. Stark—”
“Ugh, not now, Jarvis.” Tony lifts a hand without looking up from the screen. “Spare me the headache.”
JARVIS doesn’t miss a second. “But it seems Sergeant Barnes— the sergeant Barnes of this timeline—has just returned from his mission.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Tony mutters, irritation dripping like oil.
Steve’s heart skips at the mention of Bucky, and almost instinctively his eyes flick to James. Sure enough, James is already watching him, face unreadable, like he’s testing Steve’s reaction.
“Alright,” Tony says, spinning in his chair to point at Steve. “Go fetch your boyfriend.”
Steve narrows his eyes, uncrossing his arms. “I was going to anyway,” he says before reaching for the door.
Steve leaves Tony’s lab, walking out into the compound’s hallway. He doesn’t have to walk far before he spots Bucky. He’s already heading straight toward Steve, a plastic bag dangling from his flesh hand. Takeout, probably. His hair is messy, tangled in places, his lip split open, and one eye swollen purple-blue like an old bruise made fresh again.
Bucky’s stride slows when he notices him, the hard edge in his face softening. Steve can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips in return, relief flooding him just to see Bucky home, alive, here.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his voice soft. “How was the mission?”
“A pain in the ass,” Bucky replies, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might almost smile. “But successful.”
Steve’s smile spreads wider. His eyes flick down toward the bag in Bucky’s hand. “What you got there?”
Bucky lifts the bag slightly, the plastic rustling. “Got us some chicken. I’m fucking starving.”
“Us?”
“You and me.”
That hits Steve like a slap to the face, guilt crawling up his throat.
Even while Bucky had been out there, bruised and bloody, still thinking of Steve enough to bring food back, Steve had been kissing someone else. Not just someone else , but an alternate version of the man standing in front of him.
God, he really is the worst.
“Okay.” Steve swallows hard and nods, voice tight. “Thanks. We can eat later. There’s… something I need to show you.”
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Something you need to show me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Promise me you won’t freak out?”
“Steve, you know I can’t promise that,” Bucky replies with a sigh. “What’s going on?”
Steve taps Bucky’s metal arm gently. “You’ve gotta see it for yourself, or you won’t believe me. C’mon.”
“Fine,” Bucky mutters. “Lead the way.”
They walks toward Tony’s lab, Steve’s heart hammering in his chest like it might burst. He dreads Bucky’s reaction, but he knows he has to show him eventually, and sooner seems far more responsible than later.
When they finally reach the lab, James is still there, standing near the chair. The electrodes are gone, and his upper body is covered by a shirt. His eyes flick briefly to Steve before settling on Bucky.
Bucky freezes mid-step, brows furrowing and eyes widening in obvious confusion. He glances at Steve, then back at James, a silent question in his expression.
“What the hell is going on here? Why’s… why does this guy look like me?” Bucky murmurs, his voice so low it feels like only Steve can hear it.
“It’s you,” Steve says gently. “He’s you, Buck. From another dimension. An alternative version of you.”
“But why’s he here?”
“It’s complicated. He… he came through some kind of dimensional travel. Tony and Bruce are checking him out, trying to figure out how it happened and how to send him back.”
Bucky blinks, still confused. “So this—this is me? But not me?”
“That’s right,” Steve says softly, his hand brushing Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, letting out a long sigh. “Aw, shit. There’s always something going on with you people. Can’t have one normal day, can you?”
Steve chuckles softly, but before he can respond, James steps closer and comes to a halt. He studies Bucky for a moment, then glances back at Steve with a teasing grin.
“You weren’t kidding about the hair,” James says. “Makes me look intimidating.”
Steve’s eyes dart between them, and yeah, it’s weird. Seeing two Buckys at once, one tense and scowling , the other relaxed and smiling, feels more than just strange.
Is this what being high feels like?
“What is this guy talking about?” Bucky snaps, voice sharp and cutting.
“Um, his Steve has the long hair, too,” Steve blurts out, hoping that explanation somehow makes sense.
“ His Steve? Yeah, no, sorry. I’m too tired for this.” Bucky grips Steve’s hand with his metal one, the cool press of titanium firm and insistent as he tugs him toward the door.
“Buck, wait—” Steve resists, pulling back just enough to stop him. His voice is low but firm. “We can’t just leave him here. He’s staying with me.”
Bucky stops mid-stride, turning back toward Steve with a glare that could cut glass. His grip on Steve’s hand tightens, cold metal pressing into his skin.
“With you?” Bucky repeats, incredulous. “You’re telling me some… some copy of me drops out of nowhere, and you’re just fine with letting him crash at your place?”
“He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, Buck. And until we figure out how to send him back, I’m not throwing him out. He’s you. I can’t just abandon him.”
“Uh-oh,” Tony calls from across the room, his tone smug and amused. “Trouble in paradise? Don’t get me wrong, this whole situation is premium entertainment, but for the love of Christ, deal with it somewhere else. Some of us are working here.” He waves a hand toward the lab equipment and Bruce hunched beside him.
“If I’m too much trouble,” James says softly, his voice careful, “maybe I can stay with Sam. Or I could just find an apartment for now.”
“No,” Steve cuts in quickly. “It’s okay, James. You’re not trouble. Me and Bucky—” he glances at Bucky, then back at James “—we’re happy to have you here.”
“Right,” Bucky mutters, eyes fixed on James. “So damn happy.” He cuts his glare back to Steve. “There ain’t enough chicken for three.”
With that, he drops Steve’s hand and walks out of the lab without another glance.
Steve watches him go, exhales hard through his nose, and drags a hand over his face. When he finally looks at James, James is already watching him with a look that’s equal parts apology and regret.
“C’mon,” Steve says at last, voice low. “He’s just had a rough day.”
—
“Have you calmed down?” Steve asks, sitting across from Bucky at the table while he tears into a piece of fried chicken.
Bucky snorts, not quite rolling his eyes but flicking them upward. “I was calm,” he mutters. “Sorry I’m not jumping for joy at the sight of a carbon copy of me hanging around you the second I get back from a mission. Guess that makes me the asshole.”
Steve leans back, folding his arms. “Are you planning on being shitty all night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Depends how often I’ve gotta see that other guy hanging around.”
“He’s only staying a few days”
“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, chewing slowly, eyes narrowing. “I hope so.”
Steve keeps his eyes on Bucky as he finishes the last piece of chicken.
The whole thing is already a disaster, worse than Steve ever let himself imagine. He knew Bucky would be upset, but not like this. And James hasn’t even done anything in front of him yet. Not anything Bucky’s seen, at least.
How the hell is he supposed to confess now? Tell him he let another version of Bucky kiss him? Bucky would probably strangle him first and snap James’s neck second. And Steve doubts anyone would try too hard to stop him.
“So where’s James right now?” Bucky suddenly asks.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Outside. He said he’s going out for a walk. Not sure if he knows his way around, though.”
“Okay. Good.”
The answer lands heavy, and Steve doesn’t need to ask what Bucky means by it. Good that James isn’t here. Good that Steve and Bucky don’t have to look at him side by side. Steve swallows against the knot in his throat, the guilt pressing harder now.
But then Bucky gets up from the chair, walks over to the sink, rinses his mouth, and throws a mint into his mouth he grabbed from his pocket. He comes back over to Steve, grabbing his hand and tugging him up out of the chair.
“Let’s go,” Bucky says.
Steve frowns, confused. “Where to?”
“Bed.” Bucky’s grip tightens on Steve’s hand, a filthy smile tugging at his lips. “I wanna fuck.”
Steve freezes for a moment, taken aback by the bluntness, then lets out a small smile. “Ah… so that’s why you’re grumpy.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’ve been gone a while and need me to fuck you senseless.”
Bucky smirks, leaning in, his voice dropping low. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanna remind you who you belong to… so you don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Buck—”
Steve gets cut off by a kiss.
Bucky pulls back for a second, eyes heavy and dark, before crashing back in like he wants more. Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand and closes his eyes, sliding his own hand to Bucky’s waist, tugging him impossibly close until their hips press together. Their mouths collide again and again, each kiss hotter, rougher, deeper, the quiet sound of ragged breaths filling the room.
Bucky’s hand slides beneath the waistband of Steve’s shirt, tracing his fingers along his abs. He nibbles at Steve’s bottom lip, tugging with a mix of teeth and lips. Steve opens his eyes, locking onto Bucky’s, who meets his gaze with a teasing, provocative stare. Impulsively, Steve grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair, tugging just enough to make him release the lip.
“More,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low, adding a short, playful pout. “Please?”
Steve’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “You know I don’t need to be asked twice.”