I haven't decided on an exact posting schedule yet, but I will be sticking to 3 chapters a week plus the occasional bonus chapter. It's been so long since I've had a big story to post that I'm out of practice with keeping up with updates!

Chapter 2: The First Envelope

Steve had planned and arranged his own funeral long before he died. In fact, he took care of just about everything, right down to making a list of people who were allowed to ride his motorcycle. Bucky was immeasurably grateful for that because, in his current state, there was no way he could have managed more than calling the necessary people to tell them to act on those prearranged plans. Time flowed around him, but he felt like he didn't quite follow it at the same pace as before. It was like his consciousness resisted moving forward. Steve's existence was fixed now, a finite beginning and end, while Bucky's was still fluid. However, he constantly willed that fluid to thicken and congeal so it wouldn't flow too far away. But there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had already been three days, three fucking days, since Steve took his last breath. How the entire world hadn't crashed and burned was beyond Bucky.

He'd stayed at Josiah's overnight. The next morning, the two of them had journeyed together back to Bucky's house and got rid of every single piece of medical equipment, pill bottle, pharmacy receipt, and any other shred of evidence that they'd lived anything but a typical suburban dream life. Bucky didn't want to remember the illness that took his husband from him. When he walked around that house, he only wanted to see the accent wall that Steve designed and painted for him on their first anniversary, the barbell in the basement still loaded with Steve's bench press weight, the Gauntlet of Love that Dr Lee gifted them on their wedding day, Steve's favorite books lined up on their shelf alphabetically by author's name like a proper library, the drawers and closet space filled with clothes that still carried his scent.

When the work was finished, he'd cried in Josiah's embrace for another hour.

While going through a stack of papers in the guest bedroom, he'd found a list of nearby grief counselors. At the bottom, in Steve's handwriting, read, "Peggy swears these are the best of the best." Even in death, Steve still found ways to look after him, and that knowledge fueled his tears more than anything else, because he'd never get a chance to make it up to him. Never again could he do anything for Steve, only in his memory or in his honor.

He thought he heard someone mention that Wanda set it up, but he wasn't sure. No new information had stuck in his brain this entire week. Whoever was responsible, they'd made sure he was never alone in the house for longer than a few minutes at a time every day from that Tuesday after until the day of the funeral. On top of that, there was a seemingly never-ending supply of food. Each time he opened the fridge, a new Tupperware or casserole dish appeared. Bucky wasn't really eating much of it, but his constant guests were, which was good. He'd hate for all the food people generously donated to go to waste.

After finding the note from Mr. Hodge on the porch, Bucky told him he could pop in any time to join the other guests. He and Tony quickly got to talking about his new VAD. Tony said something about his impending surgery date, but once again the exact fact slipped Bucky's mind as easily as a wriggling fish. Parker and Michelle never appeared at the same time, one or the other always back home with Carol May. Bucky realized that all these people were commuting from the city, and he ought to tell them to stop coming, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't know what he'd do without all these voices here to distract him from the one in his head futilely calling out for Steve.

Seeing his parents and the Rogers for the first time since it happened immediately brought him to tears. He might've lost his husband, but the Rogers lost their only son and that had to be worse. As Steve once pointed out to him, he could find another love one day, but Sarah and Joseph would never find anybody to fill that role for them. Bucky supposed he was now the closest thing they had, and if that wasn't a hell of a lot of pressure.

People kept telling him stories, sharing memories they had of Steve, some of which Bucky had never heard before. Those were his favorites because they provided him with new pieces of his husband. He'd never get another piece from the man himself, but during his life Steve had scattered little shreds among all these wonderful people, and now they returned them to Bucky. Every so often, his brain jumped to years from now, when gaining even one new piece would be a miracle because he'd already gathered the rest, and he choked back a fearful whine. He forcibly shoved all thought of for years from now from his head.

~0~

Steve Danvers texted Bucky the day before the funeral to ask when would be the best time to pay a visit, just the two of them. He couldn't perform this task with the house full of people as it had been for the past several days. Bucky's initial response had been, "I'm sorry, but can it wait until after?" He'd expected a response along those lines, but he didn't know exactly what to say to convince Bucky to agree without revealing too much. Steve left him specific instructions for when to deliver these packages, and this one was clearly labeled, "Before my funeral." He was supposed to hand it over without suggesting its contents, but he wasn't sure how to convey to Bucky the importance of opening this package without telling him what was inside.

"Steve gave me something to give to you before," is what he decided on, hoping it would be enough.

Bucky's response didn't arrive for a solid three minutes. "What is it?"

"I can't tell you." He didn't even know, not really. Steve told him the concept, but he didn't explain the specifics of the envelope's contents. Whatever it was wasn't for him; he was just the chosen messenger between the two husbands, tasked to deliver only in one direction.

"Okay. Come over two or three hours before the funeral?"

"Will do. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Just bring me that package."

It was clear the conversation was over. Steve opened the door to his bedroom closet and grabbed the box off the top shelf. He'd organized the envelopes by the dates he'd need to deliver them, at least his best guess at it. The one for before the funeral sat right at the front. Steve gently lifted it from the box and set it on the dresser. Before closing the lid, he took a moment to marvel at the contents of that box.

Steve thought so far ahead. These envelopes would mean everything to Bucky in the months and years to come, and of all the people in his vast circle of friends, Steve chose him to guard them. Ever since he'd been charged with the responsibility, Steve had been asking himself why. His first guess would've been Natasha or Tony or one of his high school friends. In all the time he'd had to ponder his role, he'd narrowed it down to two likely possibilities. One, Steve worried about anyone closer to him and Bucky feeling tempted to open them. He didn't think any of the Avengers would actually act on such an urge, but in all likelihood, Steve hadn't wanted them to worry about suppressing it. Two, Steve chose him because of his name. There was something poetic about Bucky receiving these from Steve, even if it wasn't truly the Steve that sent them.

The morning of the funeral, he grabbed the envelope and set off for Bucky and Steve's house. He texted Maria and Monica to let them know he'd meet them at the funeral home. Once arriving at the house, he spent an inordinate amount of time staring at Steve's motorcycle pondering its fate. Bucky didn't ride it, so who else would? Steve found it hard to believe Bucky would let it leave their immediate circle. Maybe he'd pass it down to a friend. Steve secretly hoped he'd be that friend, but didn't dare ask about it.

He knocked on the door. Bucky, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt with both sleeves, answered the door. Steve felt a bit awkward in his black suit and tie, already funeral ready, when Bucky clearly wasn't, but he tried not to draw attention to it. "So what's this something Steve gave you?" he asked without preamble.

Steve handed him the envelope. It was one of those big yellow ones that sometimes came in the mail. The outside of it read only, "Before my funeral." Bucky took it into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He worked the clasp and removed a smaller, purple and gold, envelope. This one was address to Bucky from "Your adoring husband." Steve watched Bucky crack a pained smile as he read that. It must've been an inside joke or maybe just a term of endearment Steve used often.

Bucky took a deep breath and laid the envelope flat on the table. He pinned it down with his index and middle fingers and used his thumb to work it open. Steve didn't know what he should do as Bucky read the undoubtedly personal and emotional letter. Staring at his face as he reacted definitely wasn't right, but Steve didn't think he should outright leave in case Bucky wanted human comfort. He decided for a middle ground of sitting across from him and looking at his twiddling thumbs.

It took a while, but Bucky eventually got the envelope open and removed a card from inside. With another deep breath, he opened it and began to read.

~0~

Bucky,

When I married you, I made a vow: Whatever happens, I will be there, in whatever sense I can. I'm afraid this is the best I can do at the moment. I know it's not enough, and I'm sorry. But I have a few things to say that I know you need to hear. First: You're going to be okay. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you are the strongest person I know and you have one of the best support systems in the world. Which brings me to the second thing, which is to accept help, goddammit. Let people cook for you or mow the lawn or go through my stuff with you. Don't you dare try to soldier through this alone. You promised me you wouldn't be alone. I know from experience that a promise made to the dead holds a lot more weight than a promise made to the living. Even if you apologize, you'll never know for sure if a dead person forgives you.

I'd forgive you, but it would probably take me a while.

Third: Go ahead and get that cat. As soon as you can. You spent practically your entire life taking care of me, and I worry you'll feel aimless without somebody relying on you. So go drive around the city searching for strays, or visit a shelter, or find someone with a few extra kittens in their litter. Just please don't name it after me. And lastly, please don't bug Steve about these little notes. He graciously agreed to hold onto them and give them to you when the time is right, and it's not fair to make him think about them any more than he already has to. Just enjoy them in the moment and keep them around for as long as you need. There will be more, but I can't say when or how many. You've still got a lot of line left to travel, Buck, and though I may not be there in person, nonetheless I'll be with you.

Love,

Steve

Bucky's hand trembled so badly he could barely read the note. Another piece of paper poked out from the big yellow envelope, and he almost didn't want to look at it. But he didn't have much time before he had to get dressed for the funeral, and he knew if he didn't open it now, he never would. Bucky laid the envelope on his lap and gently eased the second piece of paper out. It was thicker than the first, a higher quality paper. It was also blank. Disappointment washed over him until—he could have kicked himself—he thought to flip it over. His silent tears turned to gut-wrenching sobs when he laid eyes on the drawing, instantly recognizable as one of Steve's.

It was Barnes and Rogers, styled exactly as they were in the book. Only the scene depicted was nothing like any they'd ever written. Barnes stood before a grave stone, one that bore Rogers' name. That in itself made Bucky sob harder. But beside him, with a hand on his shoulder, stood Rogers, his less defined lines and shading giving the impression of an incorporeal spirit. Bucky had to put the drawing down so he didn't drip tears onto it and ruin it. Steve, incredible, thoughtful, perfect Steve, had planned ahead. He'd left this note and who knows how many others in order to fulfill the very promise upon which their marriage was forged: I'm with you 'til the end of the line. Bucky didn't know how he could possibly thank him.

For the time being, the best he could do was to bury him.

I don't even know how long it's been since I first mentioned Steve working on a special project for Bucky. It feels good to finally reveal it.