"Bucky!" you exclaimed as you felt a familiar set of arms wrap around your waist from behind, the man pressing against your back. It took a moment of maneuvering in his arms to face him, his grip not faltering for a single moment.
As you looked up at him with the smile on your face, you had to push down the sadness as well. He was leaving the next day for The War, dressed in his uniform for his last day in New York before shipping out. You were tasked with keeping his secret from Steve, that he didn't enlist but was drafted; his friend not paying attention to the draft long enough to realize due to his unmatched need to get himself enlisted.
"How did I come to be the luckiest man in Brooklyn, Doll?" he asked you with his own sad smile, suppressed emotions evident behind the gray of his eyes.
"By being you." It was a simple answer, but a true one.
Having met in high school, the two of you had hit it off though the man was two years ahead of you in class. By the end of your junior year, the two of you were going steady. And right after graduation he'd asked your father permission to marry you. Saying yes was a given, a 'simple ring for a simple lady' he'd told you as he slid the metal over your finger.
Not even a year later, the two of you were married, living a simple life. A simple life for simple people, and you would not have traded it for the world. Being with James was fate, the perfect man sent from God.
When the two of you had gotten married four years prior, you never would have imagined he'd be sent off to fight in a war. The First Great War had ended the year before you were born, nobody thinking a second would be on the horizon two decades later. Yet, here the two of you were on the eve of his deployment.
"Promise me you'll come back," you requested softly, resting your head against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat audible. "Promise me you'll come back to me, Bucky."
"Doll, I don't want to make a promise I can't keep." He didn't mask the sadness or the fear in his voice as he held onto you a little tighter, as if you were the one who would disappear into thin air. "But I promise, I'll do everything I can to come back home to you."
You accepted his alternate promise, knowing his fate was in God's hands now. Whatever happened was meant to happen, but that didn't mean you weren't scared or angry at what you'd been handed. You had friends whose husbands had never returned, plastering smiles over tears as they had to continue on with their lives.
The two of you spent the night together, soft and gentle touches with hungry lips. And in the morning, he was gone with a kiss and a reminder of his promise to try his damndest to come back.
—
When Steve had told you he'd finally been able to enlist, you couldn't pretend to be happy for him as much as you'd tried. The two people you were closest to both leaving for The War was a terrifying thought, the possibility of losing them both a terrifying notion. Yet, here you were, telling the man who was like a brother to you goodbye.
You knew your parents were there for you, as were James' and his sisters. But it wasn't the same, knowing your trio was split up for the foreseeable future. Yet, you continued on, plastering a smile to your face during the day, and keeping yourself up at night.
The only time things felt truly okay were when you received letters from the boys. Your husband keeping details of The War vague, sending you words of love instead of horrors. It was the one thing you could look forward to.
—
You didn't receive a letter after the first of September of 1943, worried for your husband. Anxiety never left your mind, wondering what was happening to him.
Yet, you'd seen Steve's propaganda, unsure of the details of how he went from a small man shorter than you to a muscular soldier a foot taller. The thoughts of Steve's transformation could not overshadow your fears about Bucky.
A month later, you heard a knock on your door. And there stood military personnel with the news of your husband's capture, and being deemed a casualty of war. You didn't believe them, adamant that they'd had the wrong home. Denial as you would later learn. That was the day your world came crashing down around you.
—
The next month was a blur, having turned into one of the women who would allow days to pass without truly living. What was the point when the love of your life was gone? Your families had rallied around you, never leaving you alone for a night as you refused to work through your grief. The nightmares didn't let you sleep most of the time, your parents worried about your wellbeing to the extent of considering institutionalization. Yet, you functioned just well enough to keep that on the back-burner.
The letters from Steve didn't stop, though you rarely wrote him back. A small nagging in the back of your mind kept telling you it should have been Steve that got captured, not your husband. Yet…There was no changing the past.
—
You were dreading Christmas, the first without James. Trying your best to get into the holiday spirit, it just wasn't there. When there was a knock on your day four days before Christmas, you weren't sure what to think. You weren't the next of kin for any other soldiers, fear creeping up in the back of your throat that it was for Steve since you were the closest thing to family he had. Your heart wouldn't be able to handle another heartbreak.
You straightened your skirt out with your palms, partly to look put together, but also to get the sweat off your palms. A smile was on your face, though the dark circles under your eyes told a different story of countless sleepless nights that even the makeup couldn't hide.
As you opened the door, there was no way this wasn't another one of your nightmares. Because on your porch stood your husband, arm in a sling with bruises and cuts littered on the visible skin. Even if you wanted to move, you couldn't out of fear that he'd disappear again.
"I promised I'd do my best to come home, didn't I, Doll," he told you softly, setting down the duffle-bag he held in his good hand.
You saw him swallow hard, Adam's apple bobbing as he did so, neither of you moving for a minute longer until you were sure it wasn't a dream. And when that realization hit you like a ton of bricks, you fell into his chest with an audible sob. He was there, you in his arms again after you'd been told he wasn't coming home. A Christmas miracle one may say, but you said God.
The two of you stood in the doorway, breathing each other in. His ribs were more prominent under your hands, but the beating of his heart was there. Which meant he was alive and truly with you. When you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, you couldn't help but smile. The moment your lips met his, nothing else in the world mattered.
"How?" you asked softly when the two of you broke away for air, James pressing his forehead to yours with a deep breath.
"Steve came for me as soon as he'd heard my unit had been captured. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing you again, (Y/N)," he answered before leading you inside to sit on the couch.
There was no hesitation as you sat next to him, curling into his good side as he stroked his hand along your face, neck, arm, wherever he could reach with ease. The silence was comfortable as you just sat in his presence, wondering when you were going to wake from this dream. But as the minutes ticked into an hour, and then two, you knew it had to be real.
The sun began to set when you made the first move, pulling him in for another kiss.
"Are you back?" you asked, the rest of the question known though it was unspoken.
"I have two months state-side before they send me back to Germany," he answered. "Steve is fighting now, not just a pretty face on a poster anymore. And I get to be there with him. Let's not worry about that now. I want to spend every waking moment with you."
You couldn't help the tears welling up in your eyes at the thought of him being sent back, your breath caught in the back of your throat. He read you so well, not saying anything as he continued to embrace you.
"They told me you were dead," you managed to choke out. "Told me you'd been captured, been considered a lost cause. Now you're back, and you're tellin' me I might lose you again? I can't go through that again, Bucky. I can't."
"Shhh," he cooed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Let's not think about that right now. I'm home, that's what matters."
You knew it was something you'd have to talk about eventually, but could stay content for now knowing he was safe with you. Whatever may happen in the future wasn't an issue in the present.
—
The nights didn't get easier with James home, though your nightmares had lessened. The feeling of the familiar body in bed putting your mind at ease. It was James that kept you awake, tossing and turning in his sleep just to wake up with a scream catching in his throat.
"You're okay," you assured him softly, stroking through his hair as you pulled him to your chest.
His skin was slick with a thin coating of sweat as his chest heaved. Sometimes you'd look into his eyes and see the ghost of the man you loved looking right through you. Other times he was very present. His eyes squeezed shut this time to block out whatever his mind had tormented him with.
"You're home," you continued, fingers gently kneading into his scalp. "You're safe, Bucky."
It didn't take long for his breathing to even out again, slipping back into the darkness of sleep. You quickly joined him.
—
February came sooner than you wanted it to, ending with him leaving you in his uniform yet again. The fear was back, similar to the last time. This time it was multiplied, knowing that the worst could happen to him. His promise meant nothing when it came to God's plan for the two of you. Whether he came home again or not wasn't up to him.
—
His letters were frequent over the next two years, detailing his time with Steve. Again, he omitted details of the actual missions. He told you of the men he'd helped save, friends he'd lost, how much he couldn't wait to return home to you and to finally meet his daughter. The ones you'd sent were just as detailed, including pictures of you and Amelia.
Going through your pregnancy without him, every milestone was difficult, but necessary. You knew he couldn't just leave in the middle of it all, that despite being drafted he wanted to be there with Steve. Your emotions surrounding the entire ordeal were a continuous fluctuation.
At times you were so angry at God and the world that your husband hadn't met his daughter yet. Other times you were distraught that he was missing out, that your daughter hadn't met him. This was the hand you'd been dealt, and you'd handle it with grace.
—
You woke early in the morning on February 18th 1945 to knocking on your door. It didn't take long for you to get out of bed and to the front of the house, hoping the visitor didn't wake Amelia. Pulling your robe a little tighter around your body, you opened the door.
"Mrs Barnes," the soldier said softly, handing you an envelope. "I'm sorry to say your husband and Steve Rogers were killed in action."
This had to be a nightmare right? There was no way this could happen twice. He hadn't even met your daughter yet.
"When…When can I bury them?" you asked, hand shaking as you held onto the envelope, not sure what it contained.
"Unfortunately, neither body has been recovered, and we are unsure if we will be able to recover them."
"That's not acceptable. You find them so I can bury them, do you understand?" The soldier nodded before turning on his heels to walk away.
Maybe there was a chance they weren't dead, like last time. A small nagging in the back of your heart continued to believe that, even when it seemed all was lost.
—
2014
Over the years, you could have sworn you'd seen glimpses of Bucky in crowds, but never landed eyes on him long enough to know for sure. Your heart had continued to believe he was somehow still alive, and that for whatever reason he just couldn't find his way back to you yet. Which was the reason you never remarried.
You'd continued to live in the same house your father had bought the two of you for your wedding, raising Amelia to know her father and Uncle Steve were war heroes no matter what anyone may say. In turn, you'd helped Amelia with her own children in this house. It had been well lived in.
As the decades passed, it was harder and harder to believe that he would come back. But, news had broken of Steve's return after being frozen in ice since that fateful day, so maybe there was a chance. Bucky wasn't a super soldier though. The first time Steve came to visit, he'd told you that was the only way he'd survived.
He visited as often as he could, helping you with small things here and there until your health began to decline. Yet, you refused to leave knowing that if you did, Bucky would never be able to find you if he did return. Steve and Amelia had tried to convince you to move into a nursing home, but you were adamant. He seemed to understand more than your daughter, seeing as she hadn't remembered losing her father – having never met him.
Then came news of the Winter Soldier, a familiar face on the screen. You wanted to believe it was him since the assassin looked so much like him, but there was no way Bucky – your Bucky — would ever do any of the horrible things he'd been accused of. Yet, Steve stood in front of you, telling you it was Bucky, one-hundred percent without a doubt.
To imagine after 79 years, he was still alive, and still as young as the day you'd lost him. Though, you knew there was a chance he would never be the same man you'd known. Steve had explained the amnesia, the possible torture, and God knew what else. Still, you'd spent the last 79 years letting it be in God's hands.
When you heard a faint knock on the door, it took you longer to get out of your chair than it had in the past, grabbing the walker they all insisted you use. There were some things you knew you needed to compromise on. After your last fall, it was obvious. You figured it was just your health aide with a handful of groceries that she'd bring once a week. However, the obvious male figure when you opened the door begged to differ.
It didn't help that your eyesight was horrendous, and the sun cast a bright light silhouetting the man.
"I told you I'd try my damndest to come home, didn't I?" he asked, voice raised slightly to accommodate your loss of hearing as well. You could have had a heart attack right then and there with how hard your heart was pounding in your chest.
"James," you said softly, wrinkled hand reaching up to caress his face, barely any change aside from the stubble on his chin and the length of his hair…and the metal arm that caught the sun just right for you to notice.
"I'm home, Doll."
"It took you long enough," you told him softly before leading him inside. "Amelia told me she'd be coming over today. We'd understand if you weren't ready for that."
You eased yourself carefully into your chair, watching him walk through the house slowly. Not much had changed since he'd left. New pictures added on the walls and other surfaces, furniture having been replaced with newer items over the years. Other than that, you could never bring yourself to change it more.
"It seems like you've lived a good life," he told you softly before sitting across from you on the couch.
"I did the best I could given the hand I was dealt," you agreed, leaning back a little as you continued to look over his features. "Aside from the hair, you look exactly like you did the day you left."
"Well, you're forgetting," he flexed the fingers of his left hand before letting it relax again.
"It's a part of you, Bucky. It's like every other prosthetic for an amputee. Yours is just a little…different. So, Amelia took after you a lot. It really begs the question of nurture vs nature. She has two amazing sons, James and Steve. You should have seen the look on our Steve's face when he met them for the first time. James has a daughter, Samantha. Steve has a son and daughter, Aaron and Jessica. We're a happy little family. And having Steve back for the past few years has been amazing. He's really helped out," you explained, knowing he was letting you talk it out like he always did. "I had a fall about two years ago now. Steve and Amelia tried to get me into a nursing home, but I couldn't just leave our home, you know. It was the last thing I had of you. I mean, obviously, I never got to bury you back then. A part of me always believed you were still out there, so I had to stay to make sure you'd find your way home."
"You always were my beacon," he agreed softly, just now beginning to relax. "(Y/N)...I've done terrible things over the last 69 years. I'm not who I was before I left."
"Steve explained it all to me, Bucky. It was your body that did those things, not your mind. We all know, had you had the choice, you never would have done it. You were their puppet. That does not make you a bad guy," you assured him, knowing he wouldn't listen to the logic. "I know it doesn't mean much, but I forgive you for it all. You deserve at least one person to forgive you."
You heard him let out a shaky breath as the door opened.
"Mom, I brought you lunch," Amelia called out. Your family was back together. Now you could rest.
—
"Bu-Dad," Amelia said when he answered the ringing phone.
He was trying to catch up for 71 years, getting to know his daughter and her family – his family. In turn, they'd reached out to their cousins who could finally get to know their uncle and great-uncle and great-great-uncle Bucky. It kept his head on straight, kept him motivated to continue to get better and do better. So these phone calls weren't unusual over the past six months. Yet, something about this one was different.
"What happened?" he asked, knowing there had to be bad news. He hoped it was something with one of the great-grandkids, that one of them had the stomach flu or needed a babysitter for a couple of hours. But when was Bucky ever that lucky?
"Mom was rushed to Brooklyn V.A. You should head here. They're saying it was a stroke. It's bad." He couldn't ignore the fear in her voice, his body going on autopilot to get him there fast as he hung up the phone.
When he reached the hospital, the family was in the waiting room, seeming like most of them were crying. As soon as Amelia saw him, she stood and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, sniffling into his chest.
"How is she?" He tried to not let himself feel the fear bubbling in his chest. He knew she had lived a long life, a happy life, but for once he wanted to be selfish and get to keep her longer. Six months wasn't fair when he lost a life-time.
"They don't think she's going to make it through the night," she cried. "She…she's there but she's not there."
"I want to see her." Amelia stepped back, leading him to your hospital room.
He didn't want to be there, seeing your small, frail frame in a seemingly too large hospital bed. Wires hooked up, IVs dripping into your veins. He sat next to you, taking your hand in his like he'd done a million times before, that he wished he could have done a million more.
"Hey, Doll," he said softly, clearing his throat to attempt to avoid the tears. "It's okay."
The tears welling up in his eyes didn't go away, no matter how much he willed them to, so he just kept talking to you, hoping you could still hear him.
"The first time I met you, I knew you were it. Steve pushed me towards you when he saw my eyes linger a bit too long for a gentleman. Your smile has always been so infectious," he continued, voice cracking occasionally. "You were fine without me for so long, so brave. But you had to be, for our daughter. Now." He wiped away his tears, feeling the cool metal in contrast to his warm face. "Now, you can let go. We'll be okay. You've held on long enough to make sure I came home. I'll make sure they're okay. I'll…"
There was no movement from you other than the rise and fall of your chest, hand lip in his.
"In the moments where I remembered…when I was awake for too long, it was always your face that came through. Not Steve, you. I couldn't remember your name for the longest time, I just knew that I loved you. I wish I could have come back so much sooner."
He didn't say anything for another minute. "I love you, (Y/N). That will never change. We'll see each other again, in another life. I promise. I'll stay with you until the end. I won't let you leave alone," he promised.
It wasn't a hard promise to keep. Less than 5 hours later, he saw your chest rise and fall for the last time. And with that, you were gone.
—
He almost didn't attend your funeral. He wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for Steve, his friend's words echoing in his head.
"She never gave up on you, so don't give up on her. This is the one last thing you can do for her, for yourself. Let yourself have this closure."
He cut his hair for the funeral, getting dressed in his nicest suit. He was half tempted to leave the gloves, but decided against it, feeling more comfortable covered. When he walked into the church – the same one the two of you had gotten married in – he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stay, tears filling his eyes.
Sometimes, it felt like yesterday for him that he'd left for The War. Other times, he'd felt the time all too well. And now here he was at your funeral. Oh how the time flew.
"You'll get through this, Buck," Steve promised him, clapping a hand onto his shoulder before leading him to a seat. It took every ounce of love, every ounce of self control to stay. But he did it for you.
—
He wasn't quite the same after losing you, but he did his best. And when The Blip happened, the relief he had couldn't be explained. Because he knew he'd be with you again.
—
Then he wasn't. Instead, he fought in another war, ending Thanos for good. It was Steve that pulled him aside, voice hushed.
"I know you don't exactly know where all the stones go back to, but I can tell you," Steve told him softly, beginning a slow walk around the lake. "There's five of them. I can give you an extra Pym whatever. You can go back and be with her Buck, for good. Live out your days with her. You can have the life you'd always dreamed of."
"I don't know much about…time travel. But wouldn't that screw it up?" he asked his friend, not wanting to get his hopes up. He wasn't the kind of guy that got the happy ending – as they'd learned.
"There's more to the story that you don't know…" Steve took a deep breath. "You did get that life with her. I don't know much about it, obviously, Stark and Banner were really the brains and they tried to explain it. But you did. I don't even know if I'm allowed to tell you this, but you died just a few weeks before I convinced you to go see her again. We couldn't tell you because we couldn't risk changing anything. I helped take down most of the pictures, adjust some things here and there so that you wouldn't know."
"She…didn't have to wait for me?" he asked, trying to process all this information.
"It depends on when you decide to go back to her. I suggest not during the war. She mentioned something about…'46 or maybe it was '47. Either way, she was never without you."
"What about you? This…I won't see you again will I?" The chance to have a life with you was in his grasp, but he didn't want to have to choose between you and Steve. Mainly because you'd always win, and he didn't want his friend hating him.
"You'll see me again, Buck. Don't worry about that. You'll just be old and gray, and I'll be me." Bucky couldn't help as he hugged his friend in a tight embrace. "Now, go get your girl."
"I remember you saying that to me in the hallway, right before you pushed me into her." The two laughed as they finished their walk around the lake, reminiscing. But soon, it was time for Bucky to go. Steve looked at his friend, a sad smile on his face. He knew he wouldn't see him again in this lifetime, but that paled in comparison to the fact his friend finally would get to enjoy the life he deserved.
—
(Your Birthday), 1946
Bucky changed out of the white jumpsuit, stopping in to buy slacks and a button down shirt. He didn't think to wear appropriate clothes under everything before returning the Infinity Stones. Steve had made sure that he was sent with enough cash to get the two of you by a few extra months, despite the fact that you had been collecting Bucky's pension for the past year. It also gave him the opportunity to stop and get you flowers on his way home.
Now he understood why you stayed, why you'd told him you'd stayed so he could find you. Because you knew he would. It hurt his brain to think about the logistics of it all, to know that you all had hidden him from himself. It didn't matter though, not when he was knocking on the front door.
He didn't want to just walk in, afraid to scare you. So, he waited at the door, hearing you tell Amelia to get ready for lunch. When you opened the door, he could have sworn his heart stopped. You looked the same as the day he'd left.
"I told you I'd come home," he told you as you threw your arms around him, the flowers dropping to the ground as he embraced you, kissing you. He couldn't believe he was home. Finally, for the first time in 78 years does Bucky allow himself to be happy. Finally, for the first time in 78 years does Bucky truly feel at home again.