[II]

[onlyforthedream]

There are, immediately, the smells of motor oil; mortar; gunsmoke and the sea. Not the warm, fragrant azure waters that surround the island of Tabula Rasa, but those colder, sharper, stormier waters of the North Atlantic. I know where I am just from breathing in the air, though it shouldn’t be possible. My hands are gripping the handlebars of the

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[onlyapassenger]

It's sudden, the change, like the world around him is making up for slowing down. The ground comes up too hard and too fast, biting at his shoulder when he first makes impact before tossing him back up in the air. He tumbles over the pitted stone, repeating the process twice more until, finally, he comes to a stop, face pressing into the dirt.

Blood trickles out from the corner of his mouth, and with a groan, Bucky draws himself up to kneeling, disoriented and winded, his mind scrambling from implications he can't fully comprehend. His mouth, however, doesn't suffer the same confusion, and the moment his eyes land on Steve, Bucky says, "What the hell did you just do?!"

[onlyforthedream]

What the hell did I just do. I use the back of my hand to push blood moving sluggishly from a gash in my brow away from my eye and manage to stand. It’s suddenly quiet without the plane’s engine roaring in my ears or the bike rattling as it tears down the uneven runway. Zemo clearly doesn’t know we’re still here or there would be a lot of shouting. I look at Bucky, my jaw set, my shoulders almost square. What the hell did I just do?

“I stopped it.”

[onlyapassenger]

He stopped it. How many times over the years have I wished for just this? To change history? To not die this day? Knowing all that follows, of course Steve would have the same regret, but...

A disbelieving laugh that’s easier a cough more than anything else escapes from Bucky’s throat, but he succeeds in swallowing back whatever emotion threatens to take hold of him. Relief, anger, simple, selfish joy: he doesn’t know which, each applicable in their own, unique way. Slowly getting to his feet, he nearly stumbles on his first step towards Steve, his legs protesting from having to walk so soon.

This isn't real. It sure as hell feels it, but it can't be. This is the same trick that sent me to Russia -- it’s the only explanation that makes a lick of sense -- but still it makes me wonder... Is this really my nightmare?“Steve

[onlyforthedream]

“Bucky,” I reply, looking him over. He’s young. I wonder if I am, too. The way he carries himself, though, the look in his eyes- I’d bet money he only looks young. Which makes next to no sense. This doesn’t feel like a dream. I have to operate under the assumption that it isn’t one. This means it’s still my responsibility to stop that plane, but I will be damned if I can’t find some other way.

“I don’t know if this will make any sense to you, partner,” I tell him, rotating my shoulder a little, feeling the strap of the shield pull under the green of the army uniform that’s torn enough to show blue underneath in a few places.

“But I’m not letting that happen to you again. Not again.”