Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

49. BUCKY: In The Next Life pt.2

Words: 4.5K

A/N: Part two was requested and well deserved! Hope you like it, @BuckysGirl42 !

Bucky Barnes has gone off the map. No longer the Winter Soldier or the man you helped him become again; the empty shell of a human disappeared into a world that's grown dark without you. From place to place he floats like a deflated balloon on the ocean's grimy, salty surface. Every few days he'll sputter and drown—collapsing on the floor and clutching onto the invisible thought of you in his arms. He's torn between wanting to push all thoughts of you out of his head, to keep himself away from all the pain, and spending every moment of his life dedicated to remembered: remembering your laugh, the way you smiled, the scent of your perfume, your warm fingertips, the salt of your lips, the way you'd talk during movies, the songs you'd sing in the shower, the color of your eyes. You were the only thing keeping Bucky Barnes human. Now you're dead. He feels like he should've joined you in the grave. Sometimes he thinks about doing just that—leaving it all behind to follow you. But whenever he gets close to ending it he remembers how it felt to see you cry and how much you'd hate him if you knew he'd done such a thing. So he always throws the gun to the ground and pushes his fist through a wall instead. He never gets deposits back on the apartments he stays in for a few weeks at a time.

He didn't even go to your funeral. He blames himself for your death—he's your murderer. Part of him still believes that the reason he didn't go to the graveyard that day was because of that, but deep down he knows that he couldn't bear the thought of watching them lower you into the dirt. There's no way he would've made it through the ceremony: hearing your mother cry or your siblings make their speeches, siblings that he'd heard you talk about endlessly. His hands would've frozen when they instructed him to toss a bit of dirt atop your casket. He would've rather died a thousand deaths, lived a million more lives as the Winter Soldier, than to hear that subtle tap-tap-tap of the gravediggers smacking their shovels on the fresh dirt mound—finalizing your muddy, crusty resting place.

This month he's gone to Spain. He doesn't necessarily like it here, but then again, Bucky doesn't like anywhere or anything anymore. He was never fond of much to begin with—outside of you, of course. You were the only thing on earth that made him happy. He thought he'd met an angel when he first saw you. And when you said his name he thought he'd been dreaming—hearing a damn siren song that was lulling him to sleep. And when he realized that the two of you would be together forever... well, Bucky knew something had to be wrong. He'd done too many awful things in his life to deserve such a reward.

Turns out he was right. Your presence turned into a punishment. You were an angel sent down to give Bucky a taste of nirvana before you were plucked away by death himself.

Maybe if he'd never loved you, you'd still be alive. Or maybe if he could've loved you better—been a stronger protector—you'd still be with him.

Bucky will never know. Still the thoughts torment him. The only thing that brings him any sliver of comfort anymore is the sight of a butterfly in the flowers: a monarch fluttering her wings in the sun. It's the reason he's chasing the summer months. He refuses to live a day in the winter. He wants to see the butterflies. Until he sees you in the next life, it's the best he's got at a glimpse of what he had.

...

"Any word on Barnes?"

Steve sighs—head swaying left and right. Tiredly he yanks the reading glasses from his nose and tosses them onto his desk. Dirty boots propped onto a stack of books his legs ache from the hundreds of miles he's trekked searching for his best friend. Steve spent weeks looking for Bucky after he disappeared. It took a dozen dead ends to realize that maybe he wasn't meant to be found: not this time around. This is the second time Bucky's done this to Steve. Steve's convinced that the only thing that could bring Bucky back now would be you—not Steve, not their friendship, not their history. Nothing mattered to Bucky as much as his love for you. And when you died... Bucky Barnes died, too.