#look at me unable to not sneak in a little iron dad lmfao

[toosicktoocare]

[Post-Infinity War Stucky reunion fic anyone?]

When Steve and Tony shattered the soul stone, per Shuri's careful instructions, they were told that those who turned to ash would come back in small increments. Each person would piece back together in a different place at a different time, with no way to really determine when and where.

Some arrived almost instantly, with Peter being among the batch to show up three blocks away from Stark Tower. Tony cried when he found him, a lot more than anyone expected, and Peter was tired, relieved, and scared.

When Peter was a little more coherent, Steve asked about Bucky, but Peter didn't know much-- his memories too hazy from straddling the line between life and death. He was apologetic, but Steve dismissed the almost constant "I'm sorry's" with a soft smile.

And, that was two weeks ago. More people have come back since then, but Steve has yet to reunite with Bucky, his heart sinking just a little more when someone else shows up with no knowledge of Bucky's whereabouts.

After week three, Steve stops taking trips to Wakanda to look for Bucky, taking to his apartment to be alone while the rest of the world works to recover from Thanos's actions.

His friends check up on him, but he politely declines lunch dates, or meetings, or runs with Sam. He just wants to be alone with his thoughts, to wonder if it's possible that Bucky could be the rare 1% to get stuck in limbo.

His thoughts keep him up most nights, and if he does nod off, as right now, his dreams are filled with Bucky's face, his smile, his hair blowing in a cool breeze, his laugh, his snarky jabs, his--

A sound in the kitchen pulls Steve from his sleep, and he shoots up in his bed, sleep long forgotten against a pulse of adrenaline that has his eyes wide, alert, quickly adjusting to the darkness as he reaches for Bucky's handgun under his pillow, a habit he picked up from Bucky himself.

He swaps off the safety as he swings his legs over the bed, padding quietly across the floor, muscles tensing up when he hears the faint sound of glasses clicking together, followed by the rushing sound of the tap turning on.

He'a got the gun aimed forward as he slips out of the bedroom and down the hall to the dark kitchen. He can see a shape, a mere silhouette, standing at the sink, with his or her back to him, and he points the gun to the intruder's back.

"Don't move," Steve calls out. "I'm armed." He keeps his voice low, deep vibrato echoing against the walls.

The person goes still, glass hovering before their lips, and then a voice calls back.

"Is that my gun?"

Steve's heart skips a beat, forgetting to function in favor of lurching up his throat with rapid jumps. His arms go to jelly, and he just manages to swap the safety back on before the gun slips from his fingers, clattering loudly to the floor.

"Hey, Rogers. Watch the merchandise. That was expensive."

Steve can't speak, and when Bucky turns around, he can only reach blindly for the wall to turn on the lights. When he hits the switch, Bucky comes into full view-- he looks tired, pale, a little rough for wear, but he's got a smile across his lips, and it melts the ice that's coated Steve's veins for weeks.

"Buck." Steve mutters, and he steps over the forgotten gun, around the small kitchen table, until he's standing just before Bucky. "You're okay?" He asks, hands hovering over him, afraid that Bucky may be hurt somehow.

"Yeah."

That's all Steve needs. He pulls Bucky to him, pressing his lips against Bucky's so hard, as if he can't get enough. Bucky groans against Steve's lips, a deep growl in the back of his throat. His fingers dig into Steve's back as one of Steve's hands finds his hair, long fingers getting lost in the tangles.

They stay like this for minutes, drinking the other in to make up for lost time, to physically illustrate the pain from separation, but Bucky is the first to pull away with light gasps.

"Think we can pick this up in the morning? I'm exhausted."

Steve's quick to step away with a worried frown. "Of course. I'm sorry. Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Shower first," Bucky says, Steve guides him to the bathroom before waiting in the bedroom for the fifteen minutes it takes Bucky to wash away the past setting of the soul stone.

When Bucky's finished and changed, he climbs into bed, and Steve positions himself so Bucky can use his chest as a pillow.

The wet, dripping strands of Bucky's hair are cold against Steve's bare chest, but it's a familiar chill he's come to miss the last few weeks.

"I've missed you."

Bucky traces one finger across Steve's torso as a yawn slips past his lips. "I can tell. You left the spare key on the the top of the mat instead of underneath."

"Some people have come back with broken memories," Steve informs, and Bucky hums in agreement.

"I did too. But three bus trips to get back here helped me piece everything back together."

Bucky's tone is easy, but there's a hint of something more-- something that has Steve frowning.

"Are you okay?"

Bucky considers this for an extended moment as he smooths his hand over Steve's chest to feel the rise and fall.

"I am now."