Who Am I? » [Stucky]

2. Aftermath

"Thank you," Bucky at to Steve, trying to hide the tears shining in his soulless blue eyes.

They explored the Smithsonian's acres, the sun setting on the Lincoln memorial in the distance, causing the gigantic obelisk to cast a dark foreboading pointed shadow over the ground. The orange glowing ball of fire appeared to be impaled on the point as it loomed just above it.

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure," Steve promised, clapping him on the shoulder.

"It means a lot," Bucky said gratefully, feeling a slight tugging at his heart strings.

He felt like he had learn quite a bit about his past today. He felt like he had learnt his story; but it had been odd, like reading about someone else in a newspaper - he was somehow dissocaiated, distanced. He had learned a lot more about Steve as opposed to himself though, not only through what Steve had told him, but by how he had acted with him too.

The pair wandered around the prosperous green grounds of the Smithsonian for a while, basking in the cool last lights under the red and orange and pink sky, like a watercolour painting that had been painted across the horizon. The sun was setting on DC and the air was becoming more frigid and its bite became more vicious as the air lapped at their skin

They took a stroll to the Lincoln memorial, walking alongside the iconic pond as silhouettes against the backdrop of the red spectral sky. The pond was like a mirror, a perfectly reflective surface, undisturbed like a sheet of polished silver perfectly mirroring the image of its surroundings. The sky was cast in the water and it sparkled and glistened as the light hit it. All was peaceful, all was tranquil.

They came to the building with the statue of Abraham Lincoln in his throne of jurisdiction, residing watchfully at the head of the pond looking out upon his presidential kingdom. The statue was just as almighty and spectacular as when it had first been erected.

They sat on the ice cold white stone steps side by side, silence settling between them like a mist settling.

"How did I... Die?" Bucky asked out of nowhere, staring off into the distance at the dramatic needle-like point of the shadowed obelisk that stood tall across the river from them. The damned question had been nagging at him from the moment he had seen the D.I.A certificate during the presentation at the Smithsonian.

"You fell..." Steve quietly murmured to his feet. "Off a train," he reminded himself, struggling to swallow the saliva that had welled in his mouth.

He tortured himself with the memory, letting it loop in his mind, over and over again like a stuck record. He could still distinctly remember the look on his friend's face as he fell, the tormented terror and the despair before he plummeted out of view and the train sped away. He remembered how deep the mouth of the canyon was, how the snow clung to the spiny rocks and the swirling void that went so far below. He remembered Bucky's echoing cry. The way he had been just frustratingly out of reach, the way it was his fault that he couldn't rescue his friend.

Steve shut his eyes and shook off the sickening memory, his stomach knotting and clenching as he relived it all over.

"And I..." He shifted, uncomfortable, and gestured in with a hand. "Died?"

"We all assumed so. It was a massive drop, into a canyon between mountains layered thick with snow. If the fall hadn't killed you, hyperthermia surely should've," Steve explained. It was undoubtedly the worst day of his life - he had lost someone so dear to him. He felt only the more grateful when he looked at Bucky now and saw he was alive - except he wasn't the Bucky he once knew, he was different.

More figments drew together, tiny puzzle pieces. Bucky remembered falling, whirling out of control, and feeling like he would never stop, he remembered the world spinning and black. He remembered pain.