oblivion. ▷ captain america. [1] •••DISCONTINUED•••

vii ▷ mourning bucky.

S E V E N

07. | mourning bucky.
maybe there is a silver lining in all this

steve.

•

EVERYTHING JUST seemed to collapse. I reached out my hand, hoping to get his back in return, but the rail snapped and he fell. It's all my fault. If I moved faster, he would've been here now. Bucky's dead. Because of me.

I don't know what to do anymore. Not a word came out of my mouth or Gen's the whole way back. Gen was still traumatized from almost plummeting to her death, which makes sense, and witnessing Bucky fall made it even worse. All that piled on top of the cold made her shake the whole way back, her face entirely drained of color except for her pink nose from the snow.

We've both shut ourselves out from everyone, not letting anyone try to comfort us. She thinks it's her fault, but it's not. It's all on me. But like she'll listen. She just shakes her head, clenching her jaw every time that I insist to her that she didn't do it.

I hear shards of glass crush underneath combat boots in the ruins of a bar, undoubtedly Gen's. I can barely hear her over the ringing in my ears and the radio humming the circumstances of London. The Nazis are hitting us harder than ever, and no one is taking it too well. Although we've had a win with capturing Dr. Zola, we can't keep our head in the clouds long enough to escape the chaos happening.

The steps footsteps come to a halt, and I turn around to see Gen, her dark silhouette hiding her red and puffy eyes. I can make out her uniform underneath a tan trench coat. I wear my own uniform, the badges and pins acting like an insult. Bucky had a lot of them too. I sniff, turning away from her to wipe away my tears.

"Dr. Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, that it would affect my cells," I remind Gen, pouring myself another glass of scotch, "and create a protective system of regeneration and healing."

Gen takes a step closer to me, and I can see her hands trembling as they hold something tightly. She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as if to block everything out.

"Which means, uh." I stop on my words for a moment, setting down the bottle of scotch. My eyes avoid her sad ones, completely unlike the last time we were here at this bar where this all started, where I pretty much recruited the Howling Commandos. "I can't get drunk."

I stare down at my lonely little round table in the center of the bar, one table with one chair in a pile of rubble that used to be such a happy and boisterous place. "Did you know that?" I ask her.

She inhales a sharp breath, glancing at a chair underneath the counter and pulling it to my table. "Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person," she mumbles, taking a seat next to me. Her voice is small and weak too. "He told me that he thought it might be one of the side effects." She takes another breath, trying to conceal her quavering voice. "So I'm guessing that brandy won't help."

I glance up at her as she gently sets a bottle of the alcohol on the table, staring down into her lap. Her soft skin is so pale, so much lighter than I remember.

"And before you offer, it is a gift," Gen says to me. "Besides, I had a glass or three of whiskey before I got here."

I bite my lip. "It wasn't your fault," I tell her softly.

"And it wasn't yours either," she adds. "Y-Yes, he's gone, but sulking around isn't going to change anything."

"I'm guessing you know from experience?" I ask her. After Howard told me what happened to her family a few years ago, I can't help but think about what it did to her. Maybe she can help me cope now since she's done it before. Bucky was like my brother and she had a sister, so maybe she can give me some advice.