A/N: Hey everyone! I've been writing trash fanfiction for about as long as I can remember, but this is the first time I've actually been able to gather the courage to post some of it and I'm not gonna lie, I'm kinda really nervous, but that's okay. Anyways I'm not gonna bore you with my annoying rambling, just wanted to offer a bit of context to this oneshot. It's set during Captain America: The First Avenger and follows the plot through Bucky's perspective, except the plot of the soulmates au is added in a way. That was super vague but hopefully it'll make sense by the end of the story (although I don't give myself that much credit, the au is pretty confusing). Anyways, without further ado by me, here is until I break

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America: The First Avenger, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Peggy Carter or any Marvel Universe characters and plotlines

Rating: T for some language and darker themes, nothing too explicit but be warned, it's pretty grim/dark

Word Count: 4734

Bucky had never known a time when he couldn't see color. This was unusual, if only for the fact that one begins to see outside the realm of black and white when they've met their soulmate. Evidently, he had known his soulmate practically his entire life, but what evaded him was who it could possibly be. What if I never find them? He thought, the worries and doubts pounding in his head every night What if they don't find me? His fear was only heightened by the fact that his soulmate's lifeclock, the amount of time they have left to live, was way to low. This combination was incredibly problematic. Bucky would be the first to admit that he had commitment issues, caused primarily by his parent's deaths, one to war of man the other to war of heart. In fact, the only source of consistency in his life was Steve. Steve Rogers, a scrappy, pint-sized blonde with a death wish, was Bucky's best and only friend, the one person who hadn't abandoned him. The day they met was Bucky's first, and only, childhood memory, the others had all been washed away by the convenient forgetfulness of grief. From the instant he saw Steve's scrawny, feisty self he knew he'd never forget him, but oh, how he wished he could.

It was the day of his father's funeral that he realized it, who his soulmate was. It was shocking, but then again it made the most sense of anything in the current mess of his life. He had been sitting with Steve on the steps of Steve's apartment, Steve's mother humming an old war tune inside as she baked a cake for the pair. Bucky most definitely had not been thinking straight, and that was where Steve came in, offering unconditional companionship. And then Bucky saw it: the undeniable yellow-hued glow that was emitting from Steve at that very moment, and every moment, Bucky soon realized, he had just neglected to realize it. He couldn't breathe, or think, or speak: he was stuck, stuck in a state of immobilizing fear. Not because of who it was, because he loved Steve so damn much, much more than was probably healthy. But because it was forbidden, any love between them, it could never be anything more than platonic kinship, a best friendship. He could never have his one true love in the way he was meant to. And in that moment, Bucky felt himself slowly begin to break in a way he had never thought possible. It was a way he would know for the rest of his short life.

The next time he felt it was the day Steve's mother died, the horrible sinking feeling that hit him that day was crippling, destructive, torturous, but he endured it (he would endure anything for Steve). They once again found themselves on the steps of Steve's apartment, only this time there was no singing or smell of baking cake, there was only heartbreak, mutual and permanent, as it always is. He asked Steve to come with him, because he knew that if he let Steve go, the Steve he had known would be gone forever, he would destroy himself with guilt and sorrow. But Steve was much too stubborn to accept Bucky's help, now or ever. Much too stubborn to admit he needed it. Bucky knew this, he knew Steve in his entirety and god, did he love him. Everything about the stupid punk and his dumb death wish, he couldn't seem to stop loving him, even though he'd been trying ever since he realized it was impossible. That hadn't hurt him as much as this did, Steve pushing him away, not letting him in. So he felt himself begin to fall, further and faster than ever before, fall into the sort of despair that you can't remove, can't ever escape. He felt himself realize that Steve would never love him, or need him, or be his in anyway that he should, that he was supposed to. He wasn't sure if Steve had realize that they were meant to be together, that they were soulmates, and he wasn't sure which answer he hoped to be true. He supposed it didn't really make a difference; no matter what Steve realized they could never be together, Steve would never let them, and he would do whatever Steve wanted. Even if it killed him, for the rest of his life, he would do anything to save Steve, to make him happy. So he told him.

"I'm with you 'till the end of the line, pal."

And he meant it, more than he ever meant anything else.

Forever.

He got his letter in the mail, the letter he was sure signaled his rightful death, utter destruction. It wasn't the thought of death that scared him though, he had thought of dying for a long time, ever since he realized the loveless existence the fates had granted him. He stared at the painful numbers on the paper, the numbers he would be known by until he was gone, until his end. How could he leave Steve, how could he leave the best part of himself, the only part he was certain was good? It was the one time in his life he allowed himself the cry, sob disgustingly into his pillow as he let out all the pain he'd held back, the horrible, horrible suffering. How could he do this alone? He felt guilty, immensely guilty, as if he'd stolen something that Steve so desperately wanted: to fight in the army, to fight for something greater than himself. Bucky had always felt lucky that Steve was denied enlistment, he didn't think he could handle not being around him, or worse, losing him forever. But this was different, Steve didn't need him, not in the same way, at least, and he would move on, he would live without Bucky. He wouldn't have a choice. Bucky composed himself, he had to meet Steve at the movies, after all, and he couldn't let Steve see him like this. He knew Steve had this idea that he was strong, physically and mentally, multiple times he had said Bucky was the strongest person he knew, which was both a blessing and a curse. For a moment, whenever Steve would tell him this, he would feel important, special, as if he was the most powerful person in the world. But then the all too familiar feeling of sadness would greet him, as he would remember that Steve didn't know him, that he never could, not while Bucky had anything to say about it.

He knew something was wrong the instant he arrived at the theatre, for the movie had let out and Steve had not arrived. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what was wrong, and it scared him shitless. He fervently glanced around for any alleyways, or hidden entrances or anything of that sort, knowing for a fact that's where he'd be. He spotted one in a matter of seconds, sprinting to it as if his life depended on it, for in a way it did, as Steve could very well be dead if he didn't hurry. He refused to even think that he might already be. Then he saw it, the much taller, much bigger boy kicking Steve, hurting him while he was on the ground, and he saw red. He couldn't quite remember what happened next, all of it transpiring in a sea of crimson anger, rage at the bully for hurting Steve, who couldn't defend himself but could never run away from a fight. It was wrong, it was so utterly wrong and Bucky was horrified by it. But of course, he couldn't let Steve see this, it was much too personal, far too inappropriate for the just-friendship. So he did what he always did, deflected his real emotions with humour. He saw Steve's failed enlistment form, the fourth one, to be exact and he felt that deep guilt threaten to take over him once more. Steve desire to fight in the war could very well get him sent to jail; lying on enlistment forms was illegal and Steve had done it, not once, but three times in his desperate attempts to be a soldier. Bucky began to feel like a major douche for wearing his uniform, but it wasn't like he had a choice, after all, it was his last night in New York and he was leaving directly for the battlefield the next morning. Steve told him he should probably get going, knowing all too well what it meant to receive your orders, not first hand, unfortunately for him. Bucky refused, it was his last night in the city and he refused to spend it sad and alone, no, he would spend his last night of true life with the one who gave it to him. So when Steve asked where they were going, he replied honestly

"The future."

And it was true because, like it or not, they were heading into the unknown where the only thing that was certain was his own demise. So he wrapped his arm around Steve in what he played off as a friendly gesture, meaning so much more by it than he could ever say, hoping that Steve's future would be as bright as he deserved it to be. Bucky would sure of it, in whatever way he still could.

Bucky figured the least he could do before dying was set his soulmate up with a hot date. Unfortunately, no one seemed to think Steve was as wonderful as he did, although that would be impossible. Bucky thought Steve was the best person ever born, no exaggeration at all, as he was quite literally the only person Bucky though deserving of pure happiness, innocence that was so absent from the hellish world they lived in. To say Bucky was a pessimist would be an understatement, but it was the only way he could live with himself, the only way he could live at all. For some reason, Bucky seemed to have a way with women, which was both cruelly ironic and slightly comical, as it was a skill he wouldn't need if the world was as perfect as it should be. He thought he had talked Steve up perfectly, the honesty in his proud description seemed to sell the young woman, but somehow she still ignored Steve. Bucky never could understand it, why all the girls would overlook Steve. How could they not see he was the best person alive? What Bucky would give to be in their situation, to have a chance to date Steve, to be with him in they way they we supposed to be: absolutely and completely united. Bucky decided to focus his attention on the display, the flying car, which was so utterly incredible he was sure he had dreamt it. It spurred a dream in him, a dream of a world with flying cars, a world where he could be with Steve and it wouldn't be forbidden, he dreamt of a future he knew he didn't have. It was dangerous, but it was far too late, the dream had already entered his being, and it would never leave. Turning back around his shoulder, he started to speak to Steve, but he was gone, and Bucky sighed, knowing all too well where his companion had disappeared to.

Steve was looking at the soldier again, destroying himself even though he couldn't see it, but Bucky could.

Bucky always could.

Bucky knew what that soldier meant, the same thing it had meant at the fair, the local bookstore, even the movie theatre; enlistment was taking place and inevitable Steve was going to try again, try again to assume what he felt was his rightful place on the battlefield. Bucky felt a pang of guilt, that he was going instead of Steve, that Steve was going to be here all alone with no one to protect his dumb ass. Their conversation was dry, unintentionally so, but still, as neither was willing to compromise on their stand, neither was willing to admit they were faltering, and in that moment Bucky felt like doing nothing, lying on the ground and weeping pathetically in distress. He wanted to scream it, proclaim it to the world, everything he had ever felt and never said, everything he'd bottled up until it became hidden and he became cold. Bucky had to walk away, he had to go and drown his emotions in alcohol somewhere else, anywhere but here, anywhere away from Steve.

"Don't do anything stupid 'till I get back"

He told his soulmate, knowing he wouldn't be returning, knowing he'd never see him again. He turned away, long suppressed tears threatening to spill out of his cerulean eyes, when he heard Steve call after him. He could've helped it, he could've walked away, but he didn't. He turned around and practically ran back to his dearest friend, his family, his soulmate and wrapped his arms so tightly around him he might've suffocated him, but only for a second, for anything longer than that would be inappropriate. This Bucky knew all too well.

"Punk,"

"Jerk,"

He made to leave, attempting to freeze the image of Steve in his mind, impress it on his very soul so that he'd never forget it, so that he'd be able to look at it when he died.

"Don't win the war 'till I get there."

Steve called after him

Bucky didn't plan to win the war at all, but Steve couldn't know that, so he turned around and saluted him, the gesture meaning so much more than the smaller boy could ever know.

Fighting was everything Bucky thought it would be; horrible, tedious tasks that made no difference in the outcome of anything, that only resulted in massive death counts and fatherless children. Bucky kept checking the timer on his wrist. At this point it had become a habit, seeing how much longer Steve had to live, to be happy, to exist. This time it was much too low, showing a matter of weeks instead of the years and years it should've displayed. It was normal for time clocks to fluctuate, this Bucky knew, but for them to change this drastically was never a good sign, and to Bucky it could only mean one thing: Steve had somehow joined the army. The first night he'd seen this he cried himself to sleep, silently sobbing into the European night, knowing the world may very well lose the best thing it ever had. This was the moment Bucky truly lost the last bit of hope he had for humanity, you see, the only thing he'd ever thought good about the world was Steve, and Steve was gone, at least to him. Maybe he had been fighting carelessly, scratch that, he had been, his fellow sergeants saw it, his utter lack of desire to live, but they never pushed it. They had seen it before, the hopelessness in a soldier's eyes, the look they got when they couldn't find anything left worth fighting for, when they didn't have anyone left to fight for. Today was different, Bucky was quite literally throwing himself into the line of fire, taking shot after shot into the swarm of opposing soldiers, not caring to even look if they made their mark or not. He felt something hit him, a certain blackness falling over his being, until he started to fade out of reality.

Of course he dreamt of Steve, he'd been doing so since the day he met him, the boy's blue orbs haunting his every fantasy, every realm of his mind. But this dream was different somehow, colder, as if a part of him had shifted the world in which his dreams lay, his reality. This Steve was bigger, taller, stronger, encased in swarms of blue and white and red. He towered over Bucky, a gun in one hand, a shield in the other. But this Steve wasn't smiling, he wasn't the happy Steve of dreams past, no, this Steve was covering in deep, red blood. The crimson stained his clothes as he fell, collapsing to the ground as he seemed to shrink before Bucky's eyes. So he ran, ran as fast as he could to try and reach Steve, but he was too slow and Steve was falling too fast. And then he was gone, and Bucky was alone in the emptiness of his own mind, like he had always truly been. And he felt himself begin to crumble, fall apart at the seams. What was his name? Where did he live? What was happening to him? He felt himself begin to drop, sinking to the bottom of a nameless void, one he'd never truly be able to come back from.

He hadn't expected his eyes to open again, for Bucky had truly thought he was dead. But they did, slowly, heavily, but surely, much to Bucky's dismay. A sense of relief flooded over him momentarily, the dream wasn't real, which meant Steve was still alive, for now. He checked his arm, the wristband showing a grim two weeks, two weeks left of Steve's life. Were he in a better state of mind he would've proceeded to have a full blown mental breakdown but alas, your mind cannot break down when it is already broken; this he knew very well. He heard shuffling, but it was cloudy, as if it was playing on the radio a few rooms over, muffled by the walls in between. And then he saw it, and he knew he must be crazy. Steve was standing over him, shaking him, saying his name in a manly voice that was foreign, unfamiliar. Bucky stumbled to his feet, shakily attempting to regain his balance.

"Steve?"

He couldn't trust his own mind, it truly had betrayed him, this new, different Steve seemed to have woven itself into his consciousness, appearing instead of the real one every time since he first dreamt it up. Steve had thought Bucky was dead, he said. Bucky attempted a smirk, but failed. He had thought Steve was smaller, but this, he guessed, was the new Steve. The Steve who had joined the army, successfully, the Steve who was going to die in two weeks, the Steve he was supposed to be with forever, the Steve he was forbidden to love.

They were on a balcony of sorts, Bucky didn't recognize it but he supposed he'd seen in when he first came in fighting however long ago it was. His vision was still blurry, his legs still weak from whatever had happened to him. He couldn't remember any of it at first, but slowly, as he came back into his consciousness, bits and pieces came back to him. Injections, the man in glasses standing over him, whispering his name, telling him how strong he was going to be. Bucky didn't want to be strong, he thought, he just wanted to be with Steve. He didn't say this, of course, he refused to let the strange man know before Steve did, so he never would. The strange man was across the opening, positioned next to the man with the red face on the other side of the balcony. He was staring at Bucky, observing him as if he expected him to fall over and die. But he didn't, instead Bucky glared back at him, resenting whatever he'd done to him, to Steve, to all the innocent people who just wanted to protect their country. That was when the bridge broke, and the fire started, or something like that. Bucky wasn't exactly sure what happened, but the next thing he knew Steve was telling him to go, get up, climb up to the next level. And then he was crossing the metal beam, carefully as he could with his limited awareness, and just as he was to the other side, it broke. And they were apart, in every way they shouldn't be, a river of fire between them that'd had always been there, just never in real life. And Steve told him to go, get out of here

"No, not without you!"

Because he'd be damned if he left without Steve

If he let those two weeks get cut short

If he lived instead of Steve

They got out, somehow, Bucky couldn't quite remember, his brain was an absolute wreck for the entire walk back to camp. He was desperately trying to sort out his memories, his thoughts, while simultaneously avoiding any interaction with Steve. He wasn't sure he could handle it, not after what he'd just experienced. They got to the camp quicker than he'd expected they would, maybe because he'd been lost in thought, maybe because he didn't have to stop and wait for Steve to catch up anymore. He blinked and all of the sudden they were in a circle, everyone crowding around Steve, patting him on the back, congratulating him, and that's when Bucky saw it: Steve's timer, broken.

Bucky froze

He panicked

He didn't know what to think

He didn't know it until later, but that was the moment his heart truly broke, because he knew what he had always known would happen, what he'd always expected: Steve didn't need him, he had left, met someone else, chosen someone else. It was possible, to break your clock if you think you've found someone to be with, someone other than your soulmate, if you think fate was wrong (it never is). He'd met someone, Bucky figured, a heartless emptiness filling the cavity where his heart used to rest.

"Let's hear it for Captain America!"

He cried out, because that's who Steve was now.

He was Captain America, the fearless, powerful soldier.

The national icon, symbol of peace and victory.

He was Captain America, who didn't need him, didn't love him, didn't want him.

Bucky had no tears left to cry, not this time.

To him, there was nothing sad about Steve finding love, even if it wasn't with him.

They were at a bar, which Bucky was immensely grateful for, as alcohol seemed to help him forget the utter destruction of his heart that had transpired not-so-long ago. He met the men he'd be working with, fighting with, as they joined Steve to fight whoever. To Bucky, it didn't matter who or what they were fighting, he'd never let Steve go without him. He still wanted to protect him, even if he didn't need it. He took a sip of the whiskey in front of him, the familiar bitterness match his own. Steve was there, somehow he always was, in Bucky's mind, in Bucky's life, in his entire being; he couldn't seem to escape the ever-angelic Steve Rogers. Not that he wanted to. Steve asked if he was ready follow Captain America into the jaws of death. Bucky wasn't, he'd never follow Captain America anywhere, no, he'd follow his Steve, the one he grew up with, the one he fell in love with over and over again, the one who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.

"I'm following him,"

And he was, he always had been.

He knew she was the one the minute he saw her, the red dress, the red lipstick, his red anger, rage, jealousy. He saw how Steve looked at her, the minute he laid eyes on her he knew that Steve had chosen this woman, this Agent Carter, over him, his soulmate. Bucky did what he always did, he tried his humour, his typical charismatic flirting, but it didn't work on her, no, she was looking at Steve the whole time. Steve's eyes lingered on her as she walked away, and in them Bucky saw what he'd always hoped to see: love, but it wasn't for him, it never would be.

"It's like I'm invisible,"

Bucky said, but he didn't care about her, no, the only person he ever wanted to see him was Steve. He'd tried so hard for so many years, but it had never worked, no, and now it never would. Because he could tell Steve loved her, or he was going to, at least, and who was he to get in the way of true love? It would've broken his heart, if he still had a heart to break. But he didn't, so he sat back down, and poured himself another drink, praying for the first time since his parents had died, praying that Steve would be happy. It was all he'd ever wanted, it really was, and now he realized he could never have brought that to him. No, he was too dark, to fucked up to do any good, to bring any love, to deserve a soulmate. He was the devil, and Steve was the angel, but they only belong together in fairy tales, Bucky realized. In real life the angel finds his princess, and the devil goes back to hell, and oh, Bucky was planning on it.

They had found him, the man they'd been hunting, and of course he had to be on a train. Bucky hated trains. The descent was horrifying, motion sickness threatening to compromise his fighting ability, but alas, he couldn't allow that. Steve's clock was almost out of time, and Bucky was almost out of options. He had to keep himself from panicking, he knew it would do him no good, for currently he was engaged in a gunfight, and concentration was key. He shot, his bullets flying out into the air with purpose, making their intended target as perfectly as could be expected. He could hear Steve fighting in the other room; he was losing, badly, from what Bucky could hear. Steve shot throw the room, the door between the compartments clattering down, falling completely off by the hinges as Steve and the man pursuing him came stumbling into the train car. And for a moment, the fought as one, a tandem unit, a team, a pair, but alas, it was only a moment. The man in the glasses shot something that hit the wall of the train, and the next thing he knew, he was falling.

The air beneath his feet was cold as the train zipped along with no intention of ever stopping. He was holding on by a thread quite literally, gripping a bar on the outside of the train for dear life as he hung above a ravine. And Steve was there, holding out his hand, telling Bucky to grab it, to take his hand. It was just for a second, but Bucky felt something, he felt like Steve cared, like maybe Steve could love him. No he couldn't, Bucky thought, he deserved better. His decision was made up, he couldn't take Steve's hand, he couldn't live anymore, he didn't deserve to. It was at this moment that Bucky remembered something his mother had told him a long time ago, about giving time from your life to your soulmate, adding it to their clock. It was perfect, it was the solution he'd always wanted, and the best part was that Steve would never know. He did it, with all his will and strength, he gave it all to Steve, every last second of what should've been his life, was now Steve. The fates had to know that Steve deserved it more, much more than Bucky. He felt his hand slip, his body begin to fall, but none of it mattered, none of it affected anything. He looked up, one last time, and saw Steve. In this moment, he truly looked angelic, like a messenger from above. Bucky had never been very religious, but even he knew what angel looked like, and in his mind, this was it, the trademark yellow hue of a soulmate transforming into something spiritual, something not forbidden, something holy. He closed his eyes, relaxed his body, and let himself freely fall. He hoped Steve wouldn't miss him, he hoped he wouldn't suffer, but he supposed, Steve could never miss him as much as he would miss life. The ice and snow of the chasm encased him, but it didn't make a difference; he was already freezing cold. In this last moment of his painful existence, he realized he had been his entire life.

Thanks for reading! I would love to hear any feedback/suggestions you might have for me!

-Vallie