Stucky Prompts

9 - Fatal Gravity

He watched him fall.

There was nothing he could've done.

"Bucky!"

Bucky didn't look. He couldn't watch the man he loved fall to his death off a train because he couldn't save him in time.

////

He opened his eyes for a moment and glanced down at his left arm -- a bloodied, shredded mess clipped off just above the elbow. Everything was fuzzy. 

Steve rolled onto his side and bit back a moan as the world spun violently around him, blackness swooping in and out of his vision. He staggered to his feet, losing his footing, and clutched at the remains of his arm. Unable to hold himself upright, he collapsed again and looked blankly towards the sky as snow rained down upon him.

A thoughtless prayer ran through his head, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to be saved or simply finished off. All he knew was that his last thoughts were of Bucky before blacking out.

////

"You did everything you could."

Bucky stared at the table, at the glass of whiskey in his hand. Peggy's words barely reached him, lost in his thoughts. Peggy sat next to him, concerned. He sat there, dimly, not caring about the puffiness of his eyes, the redness of his face, tears streaking his cheeks.

"You read the report?" He gulped his whiskey. "Then you know that's not true."

Peggy reached out and lay her hand over his own, words on the tip of her tongue she doesn't say.

Years passed. The mantle of Captain America remained with Bucky, who had decided to adapt it slightly. Sure, he loved fighting for the good of the many. However, Steve's Captain America didn't use guns. Steve's Captain America fought with honour. 

Bucky Barnes was mad, and he was going to take it out on every godd*mn Nazi he could. 

////

It was during a HYDRA raid he saw the soldier for the first time; quick and agile, completely masked and armed to the teeth. Something about his movements was familiar, but the shadow of familiarity -- Bucky could feel it but every time he attempted to analyze exactly what he was seeing, the familiar feeling was gone and it was back to fighting for his life. Before Bucky had had time to pull his gun the soldier had fired his, and Bucky barely had time to duck behind the shield as it pinged off the metal. He understood quickly that for now, the soldier was messing with him. He could afford the time. 

Over the years when they met again and again, the somewhat sickening playful nature of their fights was lost, and the soldier managed hit after hit of vital organs and areas, almost putting Captain America out of commission many times over. This went on for decades, and Bucky was ready to throw in the towel until one day, it stopped -- because he took a plane into a nosedive right into the icy ocean. 

There was one problem with that; the soldier was on the plane with him. 

Bucky dragged himself toward the control console, grunting with the effort, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The soldier remained unmoving near him, but Bucky kept his distance. "Peg," he said hoarsely into the radio, "I'm not gonna make it for dinner tomorrow night." He tried to keep his voice light but the seriousness of the situation came crashing back to him. Peggy and Sousa had promised that he could come over and they'd all have a get together before the end of the war, or the end of the world -- whichever came first. 

"Where are you?" Peggy's voice was tight, pained, struggling to keep composure. Bucky didn't need to glance at his compass for the location, only for the small picture of Steve sitting behind the glass. He looked, and said nothing. 

"That's not gonna matter, this thing's going too fast towards the city. I need to do this, Peg."

Peggy took a trembling breath and closed her eyes. "I expect you to come home this Saturday, Barnes," she wavered. "Eight o'clock."

Bucky would have laughed, only managed a watery smile. "I promise." The plane was rapidly approaching the icy field. "Peggy, thank -- "

The plane made impact. 

////

Days they remained there and Bucky knew he was going to die with his worst enemy. He thought vaguely of Steve instead of the masked soldier, and is reminded with a flash of horror that this is exactly how Steve had died -- except he had been all alone. 

Bucky, despite his protests, had company. Sure, said company was now awake and trying to reach his gun to finally finish his mission, but his metal arm had essentially fused with the metal floor, already coated with ice. For a brief moment, the shock brought Steve back; back to the ever-present fear of dying cold and alone. He was going to die for real this time. 

He sobbed behind his mask before he realised it and struggled to yank the thing off of himself, his movements sluggish and pained. His shaking hands finally grabbed hold of his goggles and he pried them free, blinking in the sudden harsh light. He was gasping for breath, and all he wanted was Bucky. He slumped onto his back once more, trembling, and felt hot tears run down his cheeks. 

Bucky was still and silent a couple feet away, but his pale lips moved in a quiet prayer. He wasn't sure what he was praying for, exactly. He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to be at home, watching Steve draw a portrait of the neighbor's cat. He wanted to walk the streets of Brooklyn a final time, feel the sun on his back. He wanted to see Steve Rogers smiling at him, bruises and scratches on his face after a rough mission, but still smiling. Not yet, he reasoned. When and if he got to Heaven, he could see Steve again. 

Steve and Bucky waited together for the end of times. 

////

It was 2014 when Bucky awoke and looked to his left automatically, finding nothing. There was a bed next to him, long since emptied, and he wondered vaguely what happened to the soldier. 

Time pressed onwards, and Bucky Barnes was a man out of place. He once again reluctantly took up the moniker "Captain America", this time with people by his side that understood the concept of trauma and knew how to help -- people like Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff were godsends. After four, five years, Bucky had adapted, more or less. He had felt exhaustion like he couldn't remember, and it was almost impossible to sleep at night, but he was still here. He was alive, and unsure how to feel about that. 

Just after he had been settled into a modest Manhattan apartment, his calm world was suddenly sent crashing to the ground, because the soldier was... in his apartment. 

No -- not the soldier, he was gone, had been since the moment Bucky had woken up. The soldier was gone, and none other than Steve Rogers was standing in his apartment, with an unkempt beard, shaggy hair, and a dull metal arm.

"Steve..? I watched... you fall, I... " Bucky staggered back, eyes wide. Steve said nothing, just stood there. The Winter Soldier was dead; shortly after defrosting and the world coming crashing back to him, Steve had fled to figure out what he was supposed to do with all the new information. So he kept journals, he reflected, he attempted to forgive himself -- journals, at least, helped him keep things in order. Forgiving himself was a long-term goal.

Steve said nothing still, at a loss for words. He looked at him and opened his mouth, closed it, and felt himself steadily getting redder as shame engulfed him. "Bucky," was all he could manage, and it sounded helpless even to him.

Bucky wasted no time. He threw his arms around him and held him close, subconsciously rocking from side to side. After a moment too long, Steve hugged back, finally slumping into his hold and closing his eyes. 

He was home. 

////

Kind of a different idea to how the whole Winter Soldier thing would go!