Frozen in horror, Steve stared at Rogue on the table for an unknown time, his mind unable to process what was happening. It was Bucky, it was supposed to be Bucky there, not Rogue!

"Steve." His head jerked around toward the new voice, and there stood Bucky ─ not wearing his tattered army uniform like the first time this had happened, but his blue winter stealth outfit, that he'd died in.

Spurred into action at the turn of events, Steve rushed over to Rogue's arms, trying to undo the restraints. He tugged and yanked at them, but they held fast. "Help me!" he shouted at his best friend.

"You knew this was gonna happen," Bucky said impassively, wandering over to stand beside Steve, but not reaching out to Rogue to help.

"No─I─didn't!" Steve grunted. Rogue had stopped speaking, and now her eyes were following Steve's face as he moved, her expression still vacant. "The war's over! This isn't happening!"

Bucky sighed softly. "Steve. You're dreaming." The words were so unexpected, Steve stopped his frantic movements and glanced up at his friend in confusion. Bucky looked at him with pity, and compassion; an expression Steve had seen frequently, but that Bucky had always been quick to hide when he realized Steve was looking. "You need to wake up."

And Steve did. With a quick, violent inhale, Steve was thrust back to consciousness. He lay still for a moment, waiting for his racing heart to settle down, cataloguing everything he could hear, feel, smell. He was in his room; he remembered going to bed with Rogue, the first time they'd actually slept together, after an amazing day with each other. He was laying in bed, and he could feel Rogue beside him.

Finally opening his eyes, he looked over beside him, where Rogue was already awake.