They say that until you meet your soulmate, you can only see in black and white, and then suddenly you can see the color. This is true. Colors then fill the world in a vast array. You can see the color of their eyes, hair, or skin. But it doesn't matter to you then. By then, you're already together, forever
Living in color..
But what if your world turns grey again?
What then?
Steve Rogers ducked, falling backward onto his hands while swinging his legs underneath his black-suited opponent. The enemy fell to the ground, striking his head on a silver metal rail. Red blood started to seep from the wound. Steve moved on.
His shield whizzed with each throw, the red, blue, and silver mixing together into a patriotic swirl. Throw, knock out one target. Toss, knock out another. Slam it forward, push one back. Twist it back, throw one away. Throw, toss, slam, twist. Red, blue, silver, blue, blood, red, bruises, purple, green, metal, silver, red; on and on and on.
A pattern. A pattern of colors. The pallet of war.
An endless pattern.
Or at least it seemed endless.
"Sam, I'm gonna need some help here!"
"Coming in."
Red, grey, black. Bird in the sky. Blue.
The pattern again.
Throw, toss, slam, twist.
Red, blue, silver.
Blood, bruises.
Red, blue, silver.
Black, blue, silver flash.
And suddenly, grey.
Only grey.
Not just the wings or the metal. All of it.
Everything grey.
Steve faltered. His shield arm, raised to hand a blow, fell. The shield, now a simple grey disk, clattered to the ground. His eyes gazed out, seeing nothing but grey. He knew what colors the sky should be. It wasn't. He knew color the trees were. They weren't. He looked at his hands. They were gloved. He knew what color. But they weren't.
"Cap?"
Sam was grey. Dark grey. The red was gone.
He looked down.
The men he fought. Where he knew blood was, it wasn't. Just dark grey rivulets. Pooling. Pools of grey, turning black.
The colorless shades swirled together. He fell to his knees. A bullet struck him. Pain. He touched the wound. His fingers came up dark.
The world had been draped in grey.
She had been taken.
She was gone.
His color had been wiped away by Death.
But all he could do was stare out into the grey, waiting silently for someone who would never return, while rivulets ran down. Colorless streams. Water.
Silent grey.
He knew.
She was dead.
A/N: This was inspired by a tumblr post by apharthurkirklands. Really sad. I just got so moved, and then I thought of this and I died. So here. Have some feels.
I'm going to go cry now.