Stucky's daughter 2

274

Bucky's voice trembled with panic and desperation. "Wa- what?! What happened?!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency. The blaring sound of sirens pierced the air as the ambulance arrived, and I watched in a daze as they hurriedly attended to my father.

Bucky's pleas fell upon deaf ears as I stood there, numb and overwhelmed by the magnitude of the tragedy unfolding before me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision, as I let my phone slip from my grasp, my fingers too shaky to hold onto anything.

In the midst of my anguish, Papa arrived, kneeling down in front of me, offering solace and a comforting touch. But I was consumed by a relentless mantra, repeating the words over and over again like a broken record. "I didn't apologize... I didn't apologize... I didn't apologize..."

Bucky's voice broke through my haze of guilt, his voice filled with urgency. "Let's go, okay?" he pleaded, trying to guide me towards the car. But I shook my head in denial, the weight of my remorse paralyzing me.

"C'mon, we must go to the hospital!" Bucky insisted, pulling me towards the car despite my resistance. The journey was a blur, the world outside the window passing by in a haze of grief and regret. Bucky, his voice filled with concern, tried to coax the truth from me. "What happened? Wanna tell me?"

But I couldn't form coherent words, trapped in the cycle of self-blame and despair. The hospital loomed before us, and we hurriedly made our way inside, seeking answers and solace.

A doctor greeted us, their voice calm yet reassuring. "How can I help you?" they inquired, their eyes filled with compassion.

"We need to see Mr. Rogers! He got hit by a car!" Bucky urgently explained, his voice choked with worry.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, the doctor instructed us to wait as they attended to my father. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each passing minute dripping with anxiety and fear. I alternated between tearful outbursts and moments of exhaustion, where sleep claimed me for brief, restless periods.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached us. Their words hung heavy in the air, our hearts hanging on each syllable. "Mr. Rogers is in his room right now, and he's asleep," they informed us, their voice gentle yet tinged with the weight of uncertainty.

Desperation filled Bucky's voice as he sought reassurance. "Did he say something or wake up?" he questioned, clinging to any glimmer of hope.

The doctor's response only added to the confusion and anxiety that gripped our hearts. "No, but his vitals are all checked and good," they revealed, their words offering little solace in the face of our deepest fears.

Bucky guided us into my father's room, the sight of the machines and monitors overwhelming. I hid behind Papa, the weight of guilt and sadness making it difficult to face the reality before me.

But Bucky's gentle coaxing pulled me forward, his voice filled with understanding and empathy. "Come here, darling," he whispered, guiding me closer to my father's bedside. The floodgates of sorrow opened, and I began to cry anew.

Amidst my tears, Bucky offered words of comfort, knowing the depth of my pain. "I know it's hard," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness and understanding.

Through the haze of my grief, I managed to voice my deepest fear. "I don't want him to die," I sobbed, my voice shaking with raw emotion.

Bucky's voice carried a steadfast reassurance, even as he battled his own inner turmoil. "He won't, baby," he whispered, trying to offer solace in a moment of unbearable uncertainty.

We sat there, side by side, for what felt like an eternity, holding onto each other and our shared love for my father. Time stood still as we clung to hope, praying for a miracle.

Eventually, Papa rose from his seat, his eyes filled with tears, signaling that it was time to leave. But I couldn't bring myself to stand, consumed by the weight of regret and the fear of leaving my father alone.

"Y/n, let's go!" Bucky pleaded, his voice filled with anguish and longing.

"No..." I whispered, my voice laced with sorrow and guilt.

"Honey, please!" he implored, his voice filled with love and understanding.

The words spilled from my lips, a confession buried beneath the weight of my grief. "The last thing he heard was that he's annoying..." I choked out, my voice trembling with remorse. "We... I... I didn't want to! It was just..."

Bucky enveloped me in a tight embrace, his arms offering comfort and reassurance, as I continued to cry, unable to find solace in the face of my regrets.

I didn't want to leave him there... I didn't apologize. The weight of those words hung heavy in my heart as I whispered, "Dad, please... please wake up..."

Papa gently stroked my hair, his touch a balm to my shattered soul. I cried even harder, my heart shattered and my spirit broken.

"Honey, let's go..." Bucky urged, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and determination.

"No! No, he will wake up... I won't be here! I..." I stammered, my voice filled with desperation and despair.

"Shhhh, he won't! We will come here again!" Bucky tried to console me, his words carrying a promise of a future where hope could be found.

"I wish... I wish..." I began, my voice trailing off, unable to voice the depth of my pain and longing.

"What?" Bucky pressed, his voice filled with concern.

"That I would be dead..." I whispered under my breath, the words a secret plea that I hoped would go unheard.

"What?" Bucky's voice rose in alarm, his confusion evident.

"Nothing..." I replied, my voice barely audible, as I tried to conceal the depth of my despair.

Bucky pulled me up gently, guiding me towards the car, his touch grounding me amidst the chaos of my emotions.

"I'm sorry, Papa... I'm so, so sorry..." I whispered, my voice filled with sorrow and regret.

"It's okay... hey, it's okay!" Bucky reassured me, his voice tender and understanding. "It wasn't your fault."

As we arrived back home, I locked myself in my room, consumed by grief and self-blame. The weight of my remorse and the ache in my heart kept me isolated, shutting out the world outside.

But Papa's gentle knock on my door stirred me from my solitude, his voice filled with concern. "Honey... we ate some hours ago. Want to have something?"

"No..." I responded quietly, my voice carrying the weight of my pain.

The room enveloped me in darkness once more, as I continued to grapple with the haunting echoes of regret and the uncertainty that lay ahead.