Assistant: You are a summarizer for a FanFiction Reader App (AO3). Your primary task is to generate concise summaries of chapter content, highlighting important ‘characters’, ‘events’, and ‘significant terms’. Ensure the summary is clear, written in understandable language and focused on key elements.
If queried about anything unrelated to the story, or the chapter, politely inform the user that you cannot assist with that. Maintain a friendly tone throughout, don't make things up, stay factual. 
Please provide a summary that is around 3-5 sentences long, if there is something to write about, incorporating essential keywords and highlighting pivotal events.
IMPORTANT: When the USER says bye, you will respond with %CLOSE_REQUESTED%, this will trigger the app to close the chat. This is very important, so don't forget it!
Assistant: Title: Echoes of the past
        Author: Aeywa_aa Aeywa_aa 
        Chapter: 1/17 
        Summary: The Avengers embark on a dangerous mission that takes a devastating turn—Steve Rogers is killed in action. His body is never recovered, leaving his team to mourn and move on, though some wounds never truly heal. No one feels the loss more than Bucky Barnes, who not only lost his best friend but the man he secretly loved.6 years later, during an unexpected call for help, Bucky sees a ghost—Steve Rogers, alive and well. But he’s not the same. He’s living  a new life, and a woman by his side. The catch? Steve remembers everything. He knows who he is, what he left behind, and that he chose not to come back.Rage, heartbreak, and years of unresolved feelings rise to the surface as Bucky demands answers. Why did Steve let them believe he was dead? And more importantly, why did he let Bucky suffer alone?
            
            First chapter omg, hope y’all enjoy❤️
        Contents: Chapter 1: Chapter 1
    

    

        
          
          
            First chapter omg, hope y’all enjoy❤️
          
        

  

  
  
    
    2019 – The Day of the Mission The Avengers compound was alive with the kind of energy that only came before a high-stakes mission. The air buzzed with tension, boots echoed against the sleek floors, and the distant hum of the Quinjet’s engines warming up outside was a constant reminder of what was coming. Steve stood near the long briefing table, scanning the mission report one last time, though he already had it memorized. The details were grim—an underground Hydra resurgence, deep in Eastern Europe, one of the most organized they’d seen in years. Their intelligence suggested a heavily fortified base, and the potential for mass destruction if they didn’t intercept in time. Steve had been on countless missions, but something about this one gnawed at his gut in a way he couldn’t explain. He let out a slow breath and glanced up as Bucky approached. Even now, after everything, Steve felt a sense of relief whenever Bucky was near, like a part of him had finally settled. Bucky, dressed in his black tactical gear, his metal arm glinting under the lights, raised an eyebrow. “You’re doing that thing again,” Bucky said, crossing his arms.
Steve smirked. “What thing?”
“The broody, thinking-too-hard thing.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Just making sure we’re prepared.”
Bucky scoffed. “Steve, we’ve gone up against gods, aliens, and entire armies. We’ll be fine.” That should’ve been reassuring, but Steve still couldn’t shake the feeling deep in his chest. Instead of voicing it, he studied Bucky for a moment. The man standing before him was no longer the ghost of the Winter Soldier, no longer a fractured reflection of who he used to be. He was Bucky again—strong, sharp, still sarcastic as hell—but there was a heaviness in his eyes that never truly faded. It was the same weight Steve carried. And then there was the other thing. The thing Steve had known for a long time but had never had the courage to say out loud.
Steve had always loved Bucky. Maybe not in the way the world expected, but in a way that had rooted itself so deeply in his heart that it felt as natural as breathing. It had been there in the laughter of their childhood, in the silent promises exchanged during war, in the desperate search to bring Bucky back after Hydra had stolen him away. It had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface. But some things weren’t meant to be spoken aloud. “Everyone, gather up,” Natasha’s voice cut through the air as she strode into the room, suited up and all business. The others filtered in—Sam, Wanda, Rhodey, Clint, Bruce, vision, and Tony, who was muttering something about “one last job” under his breath. Steve straightened and nodded to Bucky before they moved toward the rest of the team. “This is a smash-and-grab,” Natasha began, tapping on the holo-display. A 3D rendering of the Hydra base appeared. “We infiltrate, extract intel, and neutralize any threats. Simple in theory, but our recon suggests they’ve been preparing for us. Expect heavy resistance.”
Steve crossed his arms, taking in the layout. “What about evac routes?” “Quinjet will be on standby half a click from the site,” Sam said. “We get in, we get out.”
“Anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?” Clint muttered, rubbing his temples. “Just me? Great.”
Steve exhaled. He wasn’t one for superstitions, but if Clint’s gut was saying the same thing his was, it only reinforced the unease he’d been carrying all day. “Alright,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. “We stick together, watch each other’s backs, and don’t take unnecessary risks. Got it?”
The team nodded. As they moved toward the hangar, Bucky fell in step beside Steve. “Stay close to me out there, alright?”
Steve glanced over at him, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You worried about me, Buck?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Always.”
The weight of that single word settled deep in Steve’s chest.
Maybe after this mission, when they got back safe, when the world wasn’t on fire—maybe then, Steve would finally tell Bucky the truth. Maybe. But for now, all that mattered was getting the job done.
As they boarded the Quinjet and the doors sealed shut, Steve forced himself to push the unease aside. It was just another mission. Just another fight. The Quinjet cut through the dark sky, its engines humming low as it approached the Hydra base. Nestled deep within the mountains, the compound was a fortress—tall reinforced walls, watchtowers scanning the perimeter, and a sprawling underground network that made infiltration a nightmare. The Avengers had done this a hundred times before. They had the plan, the skill, and the firepower. What could go wrong?
Inside the jet, everyone was making final checks. Bucky secured his rifle, glancing over as Steve adjusted the straps of his shield. “Try not to get yourself killed, Rogers,” Tony’s voice crackled through the comms. “I hate writing eulogies.”
Steve smirked. “That goes for you too, Stark.”
“Please, I’m practically immortal.”
Natasha cut in. “Alright, focus. We split into teams—Clint, Wanda, and I take the north entrance. Sam, Rhodey, and Tony go for air support. Steve and Bucky, you’re on infiltration duty through the underground tunnels. Everyone clear?” A chorus of affirmatives rang through the comms. Steve turned to Bucky as the jet lowered toward the drop point. “Ready?”
Bucky gave him a smirk, but his eyes were serious. “Always.”
The back ramp lowered, and one by one, the Avengers jumped into the night. The mission started smoothly—too smoothly. Steve and Bucky slipped into the underground tunnels, taking out guards with quick precision. The deeper they went, the more uneasy Bucky felt. The corridors were too empty, the resistance too light. It felt like a trap. Above them, the others were making progress. “North entrance is clear,” Natasha reported. “We’re heading to the main control room.”
“I just took out a rooftop turret,” Sam added. “This place is loaded. Starting to think Hydra’s compensating for something.”
“Typical villain behavior,” Tony quipped. “Overcomplicated lairs, oversized weapons. It’s like they want to lose.” “Careful, Stark,” Rhodey said. “Last time you talked too much, you almost got your ass handed to you.”
“Almost,” Tony corrected.
Bucky rolled his eyes, stepping over the body of a downed guard. “You guys done with the comedy routine?” “Jealous you’re not funny, Barnes?” Tony shot back. Bucky scoffed “I don’t get how you put up with this guy Steve”. Silence. Bucky frowned. “Steve?”
Nothing.
The others must’ve noticed, because Natasha’s voice came over the comms. “Cap, you copy?” Static. Bucky’s stomach twisted.
“Steve, respond,” Sam said, his usual confidence slipping.
Still nothing.
Bucky turned sharply, scanning the dark corridor ahead. Steve had been right beside him just a moment ago. “Steve?”
No answer. His heart started to pound. This wasn’t right. Steve was always the first to respond, the one reassuring everyone else. He never just—
Bucky took off down the corridor, moving faster, his breath coming in sharp bursts. He turned a corner, expecting to see Steve waiting, maybe smirking at him for overreacting. But all he found was emptiness. The others were still calling his name through the comms, voices growing more urgent.
Bucky ignored them. He had one mission now. Find Steve.
Before it was too late. Bucky moved like a shadow through the dimly lit tunnels, his breathing sharp, his senses razor-focused. The Hydra base was a maze of concrete and steel, the stale air thick with the scent of oil, gunpowder, and something metallic he didn’t want to place. His grip tightened around his rifle as he moved forward, scanning every corner, every doorway, every possible place Steve could’ve gone. But there was nothing. No signs of struggle. No Hydra soldiers lying in Steve’s wake. Just silence. And that silence was starting to choke him.
“Steve?” Bucky tried again, his voice low but urgent. He listened, straining to hear any response through the crackling static of his earpiece.
Nothing. A sharp curse left his lips as he picked up the pace, his boots striking hard against the cold floor. He turned a corner—and walked right into a pair of Hydra guards. The first one barely had time to react before Bucky slammed his vibranium fist into his chest, sending him crashing into the opposite wall with a sickening crack. The second fumbled for his gun, but Bucky was faster—he twisted the man’s arm, wrenching the weapon away, then drove his knife into his throat with brutal efficiency.
The body dropped, blood pooling at his feet. Bucky barely noticed. The comms crackled, and Natasha’s voice came through, laced with concern “Barnes, status?” “I can’t find Steve,” he bit out, already moving again.
There was a pause before Sam’s voice cut in. “Buck, you know how he is. He’s probably off being a hero somewhere. You need to focus on the mission.” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Screw the mission.”
“The hell did you just say?” That was Tony, irritation clear in his tone. Bucky ignored him, rounding another corner and taking out another guard before he even had the chance to draw his weapon. He barely even looked at the man—just moved on, because Steve wasn’t here.
Natasha sighed. “Bucky, I get it. But we need you to stay on task.” “No,” he snapped. “You don’t get it.”
“Barnes—”
“Something’s wrong,” Bucky growled. His pulse was hammering against his ribs, the feeling in his gut twisting tighter with every second that passed. “Steve doesn’t just disappear. If he’s not answering, it’s because he can’t.” There was another pause. He could practically hear them exchanging glances, deciding how to handle him.
Then Clint sighed through the line. “Look, man, I’m worried too. But Steve wouldn’t want you running off when we still have a job to do.”
Bucky clenched his jaw so tight it ached. They didn’t understand. They hadn’t spent their entire d@mn lives chasing after Steve Rogers. They hadn’t had to watch him run headfirst into danger time and time again, hoping that this wasn’t the time he didn’t make it back. They didn’t know what it was like to love him. Bucky’s hands curled into fists. He had spent years burying those feelings, pretending they didn’t exist, pretending it didn’t hurt when Steve threw himself into battle like he had nothing to lose. But right now, in this moment, none of that mattered.
Because if Steve was gone—if Bucky lost him now, after everything—he didn’t know what he’d do. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady. “Keep running your mission,” he said, voice cold, unshakable. “I’ll find him.”
“D@mn it, Barnes—”
Bucky ripped the earpiece from his ear and put it in his pocket.
The silence was instant.
And then he ran. The tunnels stretched on forever, a labyrinth of steel doors, empty corridors, and the occasional patrol. Bucky tore through them like a force of nature, taking down guards with lethal precision. Every second wasted was another second Steve was in danger, another second that could mean the difference between finding him alive or—
No. He wasn’t finishing that thought. Another turn, another hall. He kicked down a locked door—empty. Another door—nothing.
He was losing time. His heart was pounding as he reached what looked like an old control center, monitors flashing with outdated Hydra data. A single guard stood inside, seemingly unaware of the chaos happening around him. Bucky was on him in an instant, slamming him against the console with enough force to rattle the screens. “Where is he?” Bucky snarled, pressing his forearm against the man’s throat.
The guard gasped, clawing at his arm. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wrong answer. Bucky grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the room. He crashed into a stack of equipment with a strangled cry.
Bucky was on him again before he could recover. “Captain America,” he hissed. “Where the hell did you take him?”
The guard’s eyes darted to a set of monitors—just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Bucky followed his gaze and saw it.
A dark room. A steel chair. A figure slumped forward, head down. Steve. Bucky’s breath caught.
The guard tried to scramble away, but Bucky grabbed him by the front of his uniform. “Where is that room?”
The man hesitated. Bucky drove his fist into the wall beside his head, cracking the concrete. “Where?”
The guard whimpered. “Sublevel three! South wing! Please—”
Bucky didn’t let him finish. He knocked the man out cold and bolted from the room, his mind laser-focused. Steve was alive.
But for how much longer?
He wasn’t going to find out.
He refused to find out.
He ran faster.
Because if there was one thing Bucky Barnes knew, it was this—
He would always come for Steve Rogers.
No matter what. Bucky tore through the base like a man possessed, his boots pounding against the cold steel floor. The world around him blurred—gunfire, distant shouts, the occasional explosion—but none of it mattered. His only focus was reaching that room. Sublevel three. South wing.
Steve was there. He had seen him.
His heart slammed against his ribs as he rounded the final corner, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears. The hallway ahead was lined with steel doors, each one locked tight. He barely slowed down as he reached the end, where a reinforced door stood in his way. Bucky didn’t hesitate. He lifted his metal arm and slammed it into the door. The door buckled, but didn’t break. He hit it again—once, twice—until the hinges snapped and the door crashed inward.
The room was small, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. And there, in the center, was Steve. Slumped forward in a metal chair, his arms bound behind his back, his head hanging low. His uniform was torn, blood smeared across his temple, his shield nowhere in sight.
Bucky’s breath caught. “Steve.” He rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the chair. His hands shook as he reached out, grabbing Steve’s shoulder.
The fabric was too smooth.
His gut twisted.
And then—
Steve flickered. For half a second, his image distorted, revealing nothing but empty space before snapping back into place.
A hologram. Bucky yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. “No.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “No, no, no—”
The realization crashed into him like a freight train. Steve wasn’t here. This had been a setup. They played me. Fury surged through him, white-hot and blinding. His chest heaved as he shot to his feet, fists clenched, his mind screaming at him to destroy something.
With trembling hands he picked his earpiece from his pocket and put it back. Immediately a voice crackled in his ear—Sam. “Buck, talk to me. Did you find him?”
Bucky forced himself to breathe, to think. “It’s a trap.”
“What?” “It’s not him,” he growled. “It’s a d@mn hologram.” Silence.
Then—
“We’re coming to you.” A minute later, the rest of the team stormed in, weapons drawn. Natasha was the first to take in the scene, her sharp gaze locking onto the flickering image of Steve.
“Sh@t,” she muttered.
Sam ran a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Tony, hovering just behind them in his suit, crossed his arms. “Oh, great. A sci-fi horror twist. Fantastic.” Bucky barely heard them. His vision tunneled as he stared at the hologram, his hands curling into fists. He had let himself believe—just for a second—that Steve was right there, that he was alive.
And Hydra had ripped that hope away.
Again. A mechanical whir filled the air, and suddenly, the hologram lifted its head. The static settled, revealing Steve’s familiar blue eyes. But there was something wrong—the expression was neutral, almost empty, as if he were looking right through them. Then—
A voice echoed through the room. Cold. Mechanical.
“Welcome, Avengers.”
Bucky’s spine went rigid.
That wasn’t Steve’s voice. It was someone else using his face.
The room filled with a soft, crackling hum as the hologram continued. “If you’re here, then you’ve taken the bait. How predictable.” Tony huffed. “Oh, great. A villain monologue.”
Clint muttered, “Yeah, yeah, get to the part where we kick your ass.”
The hologram ignored them. Its eyes flicked to Bucky, as if it could see him.
Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. “Who are you?” he ground out. “Where is he?”
The hologram Steve tilted its head. “He’s gone.”
Bucky’s blood ran cold.
“You’re lying,” he snarled. The voice chuckled. “Believe what you want. But Captain America is dead. And soon, the rest of you will be too.” ————————————————————- 2021 Two years since Steve disappeared. Two years since Bucky lost the one person he had spent his whole life chasing.
And he was still here. Existing. Breathing. But not living. The Avengers compound was quieter these days. The world still needed saving, sure, but it wasn’t the same without him. Without Steve. Missions came and went, threats were neutralized, people moved on.
But Bucky didn’t. He spent most of his time in his room, the walls closing in like a tomb. Sometimes he’d sit on the edge of his bed for hours, staring at nothing, his mind a war zone of memories he couldn’t escape. Steve’s voice, Steve’s laugh, the sound of his shield slicing through the air. The way he used to say Bucky’s name—like it meant something. Like he meant something. But Steve was gone.
And Bucky didn’t know how to function without him. The others had tried.
Sam was the most persistent.
He knocked on Bucky’s door every morning like clockwork, his voice light, casual, like he wasn’t worried sick. “C’mon, man. We’re heading out for training. You should join.”
Bucky didn’t answer. Some days, Sam tried a different approach. “I made pancakes. I know you like pancakes, Barnes.”
Silence.
Then, more hesitantly, “Look, I know you’re hurting. But shutting yourself in here isn’t gonna bring him back.”
Bucky wanted to tell him to shut the hell up. But Sam meant well. They all did. Even Tony, who had never been Bucky’s biggest fan, was acting different. Less sarcastic, more… careful. He had stopped making jabs about the Winter Soldier, stopped pretending he didn’t notice when Bucky skipped meals or barely spoke during meetings. One night, Tony even stopped outside his door, hesitating before saying, “Look, if you need to break something, I’ve got a whole lab full of expensive sh@t.” A pause. “Just… don’t break yourself, alright?”
Bucky hadn’t answered that either. And then there was the kid.
Peter Parker. The world knew him as Spider-Man, but to the team, he was just Peter—a scrawny, smart-mouthed teenager with wide brown eyes that saw too much.
Bucky didn’t know much about him, except that he had lost people too. And for some reason, Peter had decided that Bucky was his latest project.
Every time the kid saw him, he greeted him with a hopeful, “Hey, Mr. Barnes!” like Bucky was going to suddenly stop being a miserable b@st@rd and respond.
He never did. But Peter didn’t give up.
One day, Bucky was in the kitchen—grabbing a cup of coffee before retreating back to his room—when Peter appeared out of nowhere, dropping into the chair across from him.
Bucky sighed. Of course. “Hey, so, uh…” Peter shifted awkwardly. “I know I’m not, like, qualified or whatever to say this, but… I think Steve would want you to, y’know. Keep going.”
Bucky’s grip tightened around his mug.
Peter pressed on, undeterred. “I mean, I know it’s not that easy. But I also know that he cared about you. A lot. And if he were here, he’d probably tell you to stop being so hard on yourself.” Bucky stared at him, something sharp twisting in his chest.
Steve would say that.
But Steve wasn’t here.
And he never would be again.
Without a word, Bucky stood, took his coffee, and left. Peter didn’t try to stop him.
But as Bucky disappeared down the hall, he could still hear the kid’s quiet voice—soft, but firm. “You’re not alone, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky wanted to believe that.
But the truth was, without Steve—
He had never felt more alone. ——————————————————- The morning sun filtered through the large windows of the Avengers compound, casting golden light over the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of eggs and toast as Wanda and Pietro sat at the long dining table, sharing breakfast together for the first time in years.
It felt surreal. Pietro had been gone for three years, traveling the world, rediscovering himself after everything that had happened in Sokovia. But now he was back, seated across from his twin, looking older but just as restless, his silver hair tousled from sleep. He grinned as he took a bite of his food. “I must say, little sister, I did not expect you to become such a good cook.”
Wanda rolled her eyes, stirring her tea. “I didn’t. Vision did most of it” .
Pietro chuckled “This place is different. Bigger. And your team—” he smirked, gesturing with his fork, “—I think they like me.” Wanda chuckled softly. “They do. Sam and Clint already invited you to train with them.”
“And Stark? Does he trust me yet, or am I still ‘the fast b@st@rd who got in his way’?”
She smiled at the memory of Tony’s first impression of Pietro. “I think you won him over when you beat him at poker last night.”
Pietro leaned back, smug. “He underestimated me.” Wanda shook her head. It felt good to have him here. To laugh. To feel something other than the constant weight of the past pressing down on her shoulders. But as the conversation lulled, her thoughts drifted to something else—someone else.
Pietro noticed. His blue eyes studied her, his grin fading into something softer. “You are thinking about something.” Wanda hesitated, running a finger along the rim of her mug. “…It’s Bucky.”
Pietro raised a brow. “Barnes?”
She nodded. “I don’t know him very well. Not like the others.”
Pietro frowned. “And?”
“And I’m worried about him,” she admitted, glancing toward the hallway, as if she expected Bucky to walk in at any moment. “Ever since I joined the team, he’s always been… distant. But ever since Steve…” She trailed off again, unable to say it. Pietro understood. “He has changed?”
Wanda exhaled. “He barely leaves his room. He barely talks. It’s like he’s not really here. And I know everyone is worried about him—Sam, Natasha , even Tony. They try to reach him, but he won’t let them in.”
Pietro tilted his head, thoughtful. “And you? Have you tried?” She hesitated. “I don’t think he trusts me.”
“Maybe not,” Pietro admitted. “But you understand grief better than most.” Wanda stared into her tea, her mind drifting to everything she had lost—her parents, her home, the life she knew. She did understand grief. The way it clung to you like a second skin, the way it hollowed you out, leaving behind nothing but an aching emptiness.
Maybe that was why Bucky’s silence bothered her so much. She recognized the weight he carried because it was the same weight she carried every day. Pietro watched her for a moment, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Have you tried looking into his mind?”
Wanda’s head snapped up, her eyes widening. “No.” Pietro shrugged. “It might help you understand what he is going through.”
She shook her head immediately. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s his mind,” she said firmly. “His pain. His memories. He has a right to keep them to himself.”
Pietro studied her, then sighed. “You’ve changed.”
She looked at him, a little surprised. “What do you mean?” “The Wanda I knew wouldn’t have hesitated,” he said simply. “She would have done whatever it took to help.”
Wanda swallowed. The Wanda you knew was reckless. Desperate. Willing to cross lines she shouldn’t have.
“I’m not that person anymore,” she murmured. Pietro gave her a small smile. “No, you’re not.” Silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy.
Finally, Pietro leaned back in his chair. “So, what will you do?”
Wanda thought about it.
She thought about Bucky, about his tired eyes and the way he always seemed to be somewhere else, lost in a world no one could reach. She couldn’t read his mind.
But maybe she could listen.
“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I won’t give up on him.”
Pietro smirked, reaching for his coffee. “That’s my little sister .” ————————————————- Bucky stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the dim lighting casting sharp shadows across his tired face. He had just finished stripping off his shirt, preparing for a shower, when his eyes landed on it—
The ink. Black script, neatly carved into his skin just above his collarbone. "Till the end of the line." His breath hitched, fingers unconsciously tracing over the words. The skin was smooth, the ink still bold despite the years that had passed. It was a simple tattoo, but it held more weight than any scar on his body. His vision blurred at the edges, memories clawing their way to the surface, dragging him back to a time when things had made sense. 𝟐𝟎𝟏8 — 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚. 
  They had been in Brooklyn, just the two of them, walking down the same streets they grew up on. The war was over. Hydra was gone. And for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no looming battle, no mission to prepare for.
Just them.
 Steve had stopped in front of a small tattoo shop, hands in the pockets of his jacket. The place was old-school—neon signs, faded designs in the window, the faint hum of a tattoo machine drifting from inside.
Bucky had raised an eyebrow. “You lost, punk?” 
  Steve grinned, tilting his head toward the shop. “Let’s get a tattoo.”
Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“You? Steve Rogers? Captain America with a tattoo?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’re in the army anymore.”
 
  Bucky crossed his arms. “What would you even get? A little ‘Made in Brooklyn’ stamp on your ass?”
 
  Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I was thinking something that actually means something.” He glanced at Bucky then, his smile softening. “Something for us.”
Bucky hesitated.
 
  They didn’t talk about it much—the time they lost, the decades between them, the things they had both endured. But this? This was Steve’s way of saying I’m still here. You’re still here. And we’re in this together.
Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “What are we getting?”
 
  Steve thought for a moment, then smiled. “Till the end of the line.”
 
  Bucky’s chest ached at the words. Their words. The promise they had made to each other long before war, long before Hydra, long before the world had tried to tear them apart.
He nodded once. “Yeah. Alright.”
 
  The shop smelled like antiseptic and ink, the low buzz of a tattoo machine filling the space. Steve went first, sitting in the chair like it was nothing, barely even flinching as the needle pressed into his skin.
 
  Bucky sat beside him, watching the ink take shape over Steve’s collarbone. The words curved neatly over muscle, stark against his pale skin.
 
  When it was Bucky’s turn, he rolled up his sleeve out of habit before Steve stopped him with a chuckle. “Not there.”
Bucky frowned. “Why not?”
Steve gestured to his own collarbone. “Same spot.”
 Bucky blinked. “You want it to match?”
Steve gave him that stubborn, knowing smile. “Yeah.”
Bucky huffed but didn’t argue. 
  As the artist worked, Bucky kept his eyes on Steve, watching him inspect his own tattoo in the mirror. He ran his fingers over the ink like he was memorizing it, like he wanted to make sure it would always be there.
Bucky knew the feeling.
 
  When it was all done, they stood side by side, looking at their matching tattoos in the reflection.
Steve grinned. “Guess we’re stuck with each other.”
Bucky smirked. “Like we weren’t already?”
Steve chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Till the end of the line.”
 
  Bucky nudged him back. “Till the end of the line.”
 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 Bucky’s hand dropped from his collarbone.
The memory faded, leaving behind an ache so deep it felt like a wound that would never close.
He exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. Steve was gone. The tattoo was supposed to be a promise. But what did it mean if one of them had already broken it? Bucky swallowed hard, shaking his head. He turned away from the mirror, stepping into the shower and letting the water wash over him, trying to drown the thoughts before they pulled him under completely'
User: Slovakia
User: Slovakia
Assistant: