It's funny how in movies, tragedies were always on rainy days. The sun was never shining at a funeral, it was never blue skies when the main character was in tears. No. It was always bleary, rain drenching the world. Yet as he stared up at the sky, eyes wide in shock, all he saw was a brilliant and bright blue.
It was oddly calming.
The clouds were so stupidly fluffy as they floated across the blue sea hanging above. Nature was beautiful, never letting the follies of man sully it. It could find a way to shine through any chaos; blood on snow, the stiches of the earth reclaiming ground torn by war, the brilliant blue sky swimming above the loss of an icon. It just never stopped.
Nature was terrifying.
Maybe all of that dreary rain on the eve of a tragedy really was just fodder for the movies, something for the actors to take advantage of. Maybe it was a way to make nature less terrifying. It was truly all a load of bull. Hell, he couldn't recall a single funeral he'd ever been to where the sun didn't shine.
Maybe his would be different.
His breathing was slow, but not steady as his gaze faltered. His vision couldn't focus on the soft clouds anymore. If it weren't for that distinct copper taste in his mouth he could pretend that maybe he was lying on the roof of their old Brooklyn apartment, with that scrawny blonde that would always hold his heart.
[ "Don't you wanna do somethin', oh I don't know, actually fun," he teases as his gaze strayed from the sky above and darting to the blonde lying next to him. They'd taken the comforter off their small bed and brought it up here. If they were gonna lay on the gravelly, hot roof, they might as well try and make it as comfortable as possible. They hauled it all the way up here just so they could lay down and watch the clouds blow by.
"This is fun Buck." He can see the way his cheeks pinch with a smile. His own lips twist up in a smirk as his gaze stays on him, tracing over the profile of his face. The kid wasn't even watching, his light lashes lay against his cheek, eyes shut lightly. The blonde strands blow faintly in that too light breeze and as he turns his gaze back up to the everlasting sky, with the sounds of Brooklyn all around them, he can't help but agree.]
His head lolled limply to the side, the beautiful blue of the sky turning into a sea of chaos. Bodies were surging all around, people running to and fro. The world is muted, the volume turned so far down he's not sure that there's actually any sound to the scene playing out.
Shock. He was going through shock. It was a feeling he could never forget.
"Bucky!"
The voice snaps his attention back, the world coming rushing back in a blaze of noise. Blonde hair's falling in his face and god for just a second he sees those sparkling blue eyes filled with concern. A name tries to form on his lips but dies as he blinks rapidly, as he realizes that the lashes are too long, that the makeup is out of place.
It's not him.
Sharon.
She's speaking, worry all over his face but can't make out the words. There's a ringing in his ears, the sounds of the world around them consuming him. All he can hear is the sounds of panic, the shouting and the screaming.
The Captain's down. I repeat, the Captain's down.
Did you see that?! Where did it come from?!
We need a medic here!
Where's fucking sniper?!
Sniper?
His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest. The stairs are digging into his back, into his arms, completely unwavering and unforgiving. Every breath is a struggle, pain licking straight through him like a dagger being twisted.
[ It should be more of an embarrassment than it is. But he doesn't feel it. He can only feel guilt for how he's tarnished the title, how he's dragged it through the muck.
God.
How could he do that?
He takes the slurs, takes he insults and threats in pride. He deserves them. All he's done is brought pain to the people that he was trying to protect.
His shoulders are back, chin tilted up.
And it's a good thing because otherwise he might have missed it. He wouldn't have seen the dot, the sign of a snipers sights being locked on.
He doesn't waste any time to think, a choked out no escaping him as he surges forward to shove the guard out of the way and…
P a in.
He's been hit. There's no doubt about it.
He can hear his name.
He can hear running and screaming.
He can feel the bullets, at close range.
That's when the world tilted and went black. ]
He struggles to sit up. They weren't safe here. He needs to push past that nauseating pain that's consuming him. They weren't…
Help me!
Somebody help me!
"….Sharon…" the sound is shaky, rattled, as he tries to focus on her. "The…crowd…." Every word is a struggle, the sound of it broken. Every breath between is wet. "…get them to… Safety…."
She's speaking again, he can see her mouth moving but he can't hear her. Her words around drown out as his head spins, vision blurring. He can feel her hands on him, cradling his head, but god they feel so far away. He needs to get up, they need to move. He struggles to control his body, to make it move.
God he can't.
His arms are weak, shackled behind him from the cuffs.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
"…No more… innocents… hurt…" His head's lolling to the side, falling from her grip to search the crowd. He needs to make sure nobody else is hurt. There's too much blood on his hands already.
That's when his eyes catch those startling blue ones, staring and wide at him. Blonde strands falling into his face and fuck Bucky can feel his heart clench,
No.
No.
No.
He can't be here.
[ It's the tenth time he's tried calling, at least. But he still can't get through to him. There's no voicemail and he's just grateful that the line hasn't been disconnected yet. His hands shaking as he dials the number again, not trusting the redial. He presses it against his ear so hard he's sure that he's bruised it by now.
Answer. Come on just answer.
The phone kept ringing, the sound was drawn out with it one it seemed.
Why wouldn't he answer?!
That was a stupid question. He knew exactly why. It was over. God he'd made it so clear that it was over but it had been months since he'd seen the blonde. Since the incident…
He just needed to know that he was safe.
"The number you have dialed doesn't have a voicemail…"
With a frustrated cry he's tossing the damn phone across the room. It shatters against the wall and he finds himself slumping to his knees.
He's never going to find him. ]
He presses against Sharon's grip, tries to push past the bile rising in his throat and the way that his head spins. He needs to get to him...
He tries to get his mouth to work but the words won't come out past the scarlet liquid pooling there.
[ "You need to let him go James," her voice was soft, an attempt to be soothing. It's anything but. He jerks away from Sharon's grip, muttering to himself that he'll let him go when he's good and ready to.
He's never given the chance to get good and ready.
There's no time to look for Steve, not anymore. There's chaos amongst America, a war brewing over night.
Stamford.
Children are killed and heroes are the ones to take the fall. Who can blame the public? You can only be above the law for so long before needless deaths are done with.
The attacks begin small. Curses and yelling. The people are angry and they have every right to be.
But then it escalates.
Heroes are attacked, Johnny Storm is put in the god damn hospital.
That's when the solution is created.
What a damn solution it was.
He knew of the meetings that the others had, to discuss what they thought of their dear presidents idea.
He had a meeting with Maria Hill.
It went less than favorably.
He was going to arrest his fellow heroes. How she could ever ask that of him was offensive.
And that was how Captain America got on SHIELD's radar in a negative way once more.
America's radar as well.
The news that Tony Stark is leading the registration is devastating.
The betrayal is on par with the original SHIELD having been infiltrated by HYDRA.
Whose side are you on? ]
The world is spinning and he can feel strong hands on him. For a moment they feel familiar, strong and loving. Like the hands that's spent ages covering with his own, even if one isn't even flesh. But they're not. His gaze is still locked onto those blue eyes as the world comes back into focus.
He hasn't moved.
His wrists are freed as the cuffs are snapped, or maybe they're just removed. He can't tell anymore through the fog in his head, but his arms fall weakly to his sides as he's hefted up. The world goes bright for a moment, a pained sound drawn out of him. It's wet and strangled. In those moments he can't draw a single breath. Suddenly there's something under him, support and soft.
The world won't stay still as he can't remove his eyes off the other.
His hand reaches towards him, fingers out stretched as the world goes black and all he can hear are voices so muffled he feels like he's worlds away.
I'm sorry
He tries to work his mouth, tries to form words. He needs to tell them not to be. Nobody should be sorry.
Nobody but him.
He let this get too far.
I love you.
When the world finally returns to him, colors coming in bursts and his vision focusing, the blonde in the crowd is gone and he's not even sure if he was there to begin with. But his heart can't help but clench at the idea, at the thought of him ebing there. He can't help but wonder if those whispered words weren't real as his eyes slide shut, breath stuttering for the final time.
Steve.