Chapter 1: Bucky

Bucky looked down at the periodical before him. Small town No Where, New Jersey publishes a  monthly pamphlet of the happenings around town. The scent of the ink and the feel of the low-quality paper brought Bucky back to Brooklyn, 1939.

He is reading the newspaper before heading off for his gig at the docks. Steve is in the bedroom, coughing again. Running a fever again. Needing a refill of his medicine again. Bucky did a mental check of their money in hand- just enough for one trip to the market and one more refill of meds. And it was another month before the dock master would pay him again. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. It was time to enlist. Steve coughed again, and Bucky took the medicine and walked into the bedroom. He rubbed his friend's back through the coughing fit, then poured out the concoction on a spoon and pressed it to his dry lips. Steve shook with disgust as the thick syrup worked its way down.

"I'm headed out, Pal," Bucky stood to leave the room.

Steve looked at him sideways. "Your shift doesn't start for a few hours."

"I found a new prospect," he replied with a shrug. If it was up to him, he would be learning chemistry from the masters at Columbia, then working somewhere in Stark Enterprises. But money was tight, and Steve was sick. His dreams would have to wait. Bucky saw the enlistment forms on the floor. "You're from Paramus now?" he asked with a smile.

Steve shrugged. "I will be from Timbuktu if it gets me in." He picked up his sketchpad and a pencil and began drawing the red bird sitting outside his window.

Bucky took a swig of his coffee, the hot, bitter liquid pulling him back to the present. He set his mug on the table too hard, too loudly, and he was pulled away again, but not as far back.

His arm slammed into the wall and he crumpled to the floor. He felt vulnerable, exposed, insignificant, and the amount of guilt that plagued him wrenched his heart into a million unfixable pieces. He was shattered, through and through. It didn't matter that it was Hydra who had ordered those deaths, or that it was Hydra who had programmed him to be a living weapon. It was his hand that did the work. What was left of him? What was left to love about him? A single sob escaped his throat as he slammed his fist into the floor. Anger, confusion, guilt, and hopelessness coursed through his veins. One sob, and then another until he was a puddle of hysteria on the floor. Steve walked in and found him there, closed the door, and sat next to him, pulling his head into his lap and rubbing his back. When Steve was sick and vulnerable and worthless to the world, Bucky was always there to pick him backup. Now their roles were reversed. Bucky knew he could never survive in a world without Steve.

The searing pain on his flesh hand brought him back to the present. He didn't realize how much he was shaking until the coffee jumped out of the mug and burned his skin. He put down the mug and walked to the sink, cool water a balm to his burns. He splashed some water on his face. He knew he could never survive in a world without Steve.

And yet, here he was. Surviving in a world without Steve. Or trying to, anyway.

While healing in Wakanda, Steve made it a regular point to spend time with him. They talked a lot about the present- who was doing what, how grateful Steve is to Sam and their friendship- to have a friend in a manner that is equal. It is not a friendship based on dependency as theirs was. Steve expressed his gratitude to Bucky; he would not have survived many of the winters in Brooklyn without Bucky working extra shifts on the docks to make sure Steve had enough medicine. To make sure Steve took his medicine. They talked about Sharon and how Steve tried to make it work, but his heart still belonged to Peggy.

Always Peggy.

They talked about what if... what if Steve wasn't sick, and Bucky never enlisted. What would he have done instead? Bucky liked to think that he would have gone into chemistry and worked with Howard Stark, gotten married, and had a nice life. He never had a chance to meet the right person. He never had a chance to learn science, more than just the basics. Steve would have enlisted anyway, or died trying. He chuckled at that, Bucky didn't find it amusing. Died trying is right. But, if he didn't enlist, didn't become Captain America, didn't follow his passion to always stand up for what is just, he never would have met Peggy.

Always Peggy.

Bucky understood why he made the choice he did. Given the chance to go back in time, and make his own choice, wouldn't he do the same thing?

Steve told him his plans- someone needed to put the Stones back in their timelines, and he volunteered to do so. This, he explained, would give him a reason to go back and find Peggy and have the life that was stolen from him when he crashed into the ice. This would give him the freedom to find the happiness that he sacrificed for the greater good.

Bucky had no one to go back to, and had no one to look forward to. He was just...alone. Surviving in a world without Steve, who passed on peacefully in his sleep just a few weeks after putting the Stones back; just a few hours after finally letting slip to Bucky and Bucky alone that, upon returning with his wedding ring, he got his happily ever after with Peggy.

Always Peggy.

Bucky returned to the pamphlet on the table and his eyes scanned down to "science fair". It was today. He had a few hours to shower and head to the middle school to take in the fair.