– Bucky –

I was in a pit of fear and rage so deep I couldn't see straight.

My vision swam, and everything had a red tint to it. I stormed off the roof, surprised that Percy couldn't feel the aura of anger that I figured had to be coming from me. I slammed the door behind me, not caring about anyone else at that moment. I knew I shouldn't have been so quick to react harshly, but I had to go somewhere else. I couldn't look at Percy and know what I now knew.

It should've been the opposite; I should've been trying to spend every spare second I had

with him because of what I knew. But I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to watch him so happy because he didn't see what I had seen about him. I knew I had to keep the secret from him, no matter the toll it took on our relationship. I knew that I'd have to lie to him to keep it a secret, but I would've done anything in the world so he could be happy before what was coming.

Even after I had gotten inside the tower, I was a raging disaster. Thank the gods I didn't see anyone on the way to my room as I changed into a pair of shorts and put on a pair of shoes. I took a moment to stand still, to try to breathe and calm myself down from the rage or the fear or both, but couldn't seem to do it fast enough. So, I did the only logical thing that could be done; I threw something. The closest thing was a baseball, but I wanted to see something break. I wanted to throw something so hard against a wall that it broke into a million pieces and then leave it there. I nearly threw the bookshelf next to me, but I enjoyed reading too much for that to cross my mind for more than a millisecond. So instead, I settled for a desk chair. I picked it up off the floor, heaving it at the wall as hard as I could. Upon impact with the wall, it smashed into multiple pieces and dropped to the carpet. There were marks left on the wall, a few indents, but at that point I didn't care. I stormed out of my room and took the stairs three at a time down to the front door so I could pound the pavement and somehow infuse it with my problems.

I took off down the sidewalk, ignoring the strange looks I got as I started to build up my pace. The sound of my shoes against the pavement and the pounding in my joints settled my mind. My body went on autopilot, somehow dodging people and light poles as I weaved through the sidewalks. I used this time to think, the only time I had where my mind was empty. I didn't have anywhere else to be, no one depending on me.

I had to have looked like a lunatic, running at seven in the morning faster than most people sprint. I was vaguely aware that a few people asked me who I was running from, but my mind was so far away I barely noticed.

The truth was plain and simple; I couldn't tell Percy. I would lie, spin him a yarn until everything came out.

I would regret it in the end, in the few seconds I would have to explain myself to him, but until then it would be beneficial for everyone involved. Or so I thought. Most of my ideas backfired quickly, either hurting me or someone else.

I wanted someone to tell me what I saw wasn't true. I was in a stage of full-blown denial that was slowly starting to hit me like a freight train, and I couldn't stop it.

I cooled my anger off after ten miles, ending up back at the tower in seven minutes. That was an atypical run; my average was about 60-70 miles per hour. That time, it was 86.

It made sense, considering all the cars I passed.

I walked back into the tower, immediately heading for the kitchen and dousing myself in water. Steve came into the kitchen, fixating his eyes on me for a moment and then looking away.

"Buck. Is there something you need to talk about?"

I stood at the sink, taking the dish sprayer and hosing my face with it simply because I felt like it; not because I had overexerted myself.

"No."

I opened one eye to see what Steve was doing, and he glared back at me questioningly.

"Then what was your little explosion on the roof? Buck, you can't go around in a fit of rage all the time! You've done so well for a long time; what changed?"

I can't meet his eyes, so I pull the bottom hem of my shirt up and dry my face off.

"Steve, I'm sorry. I can't talk about it because it'll kill me, and I'll end up crying if I do. If I cry in front of you, that makes me less of a man that can't deal with his problems."

He studied me carefully, trying to find chinks in the tough exterior I'd shoved at him.

"What is the matter with you? I haven't seen you this bad since your last war. You're going to hurt someone, Bucky, whether it's yourself or someone else. Tell me what's going on!"

It hurt me so much to not have it in me to tell him.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I can't."

"James Buchanan, you need someone to help you. You have to tell me what's going on because I'm afraid for you. I'm afraid that you'll realize too late that you should've talked sooner. I'm trying to get us on the same page."

I clenched my jaw and ran my fingers through my hair.

"Same page. Steve, we're not even in the same freaking library! I'm sorry, but I'll hurt more people if I say something than I will if it stays quiet."

"That's a stupid reason to keep it quiet," Steve said, and I knew what he was trying to set me up for. But I wasn't in the mood, not at that moment. I ignored him trying to fix the argument and walked out of the kitchen, not having the heart to tell him what I'd seen.

I went back up to my room, still a simmering pot of frustration, fear, and anxiety. Rage had subsided to a less formidable afterthought. I began to sit down at the desk, but then I remembered that the chair was still laying in splinters on the floor.

I settled for my bed, found a notebook, and leaned against my headboard. I had some things to figure out, and it was going to take a long time.

Then came the knocking at my door. I leaned my head back against my headboard, pinching my eyes shut and hoping that it wasn't Steve. I couldn't face him after what I'd just said to him, because I'd felt horrible about it.

"Come in," I responded dully, and I heard the door open. I looked over to see Natasha standing in my doorway.

"Bucky, you're hurting," she stated plainly, and as I looked at her all I could see was what my nightmare brought to me.

I glanced around the room, trying to buy myself some time before answering.

"Maybe."

"I know you well enough. You may not realize that I know you that well, but I can tell when there's something you need to say."

I stared down at the navy blue of my comforter, dodging questions with one-word answers as I'd always been so proficient at.

"Nat, I believe that you know me well. I do. It's just… I have the feeling that I should feel stupid with my mouth shut instead of opening it and proving it."

She walked over and sat next to me, the closest we'd been in a long time.

"It's okay, Bucky. No one here thinks you're stupid. We all know you're the exact opposite."

I looked at her, reading the expression in her eyes. She was being honest, which was more than I could say for myself.

"If you're sitting in here, hurting and dealing with it by yourself because you want to or feel like you have to, please don't lie about it. But, I think you need to go fix Steve. He's not mad about you, he's just worried. Please, Bucky. If you won't talk to any of us about what happened then at least try to take back what you said. I can see it on your face, you regret it."

I sighed, realizing that she was right. She smirked at me, seeing the conclusion I'd come to.

I stood up and walked out of my room, on a warpath to find Steve. Anyone that got in my way was subject to being ignored.

I found him sitting in the living room, reading a book.

"Steve?"

He glanced up for a second, probably replaying the earlier conversation in his mind.

"Hi, Buck."

"Steve, I'm sorry, and I shouldn't be like this-"

The look on his face told me that we'd be okay. He gestured for me to sit next to him, so I did.

"Buck. Listen. I can tell there's something on your mind, and if you don't want to tell me that's fine. Just please don't lie to us about it. Everyone in this building wants to help you, in any way we can. We just can't help you if you don't let us."

I took a deep breath, ready to tell him after a few hours what I didn't have the nerve to tell him earlier.

"Steve, I'm going to tell you this, and you can't breathe a word to anyone. Please," I admitted, and he nods gently. "There's going to be a war, a big war, and I don't know who it's against, or what they're fighting for, but what I've seen is terrifying."

He watched me for a moment, waiting to see if I'd be able to tell him what I wanted to without breaking down. Steve was an intuitive man, and I could tell he wanted more than anything to know what I wanted to tell him. He knew it was taking a toll on me, and I had only been acting like that for a couple of hours.

"It's okay, Bucky. I'm not going to run from you, or abandon you, or forget you because of whatever you're about to tell me."

I took a deep breath and accepted that as a truth, that he truly would help me. I just hoped he wasn't too afraid after what I was going to say.

"Steve, I had a dream last night, as demigods do most nights. In that dream, I saw… I saw the end of the war. I saw how everyone dies."

The look on his face was one I'll never forget. He looked like I had just slapped him across the face with my metal hand, and I might as well have. Steven Grant Rogers, the world's strongest body, mind, and soul, seemed to have broken right in front of me.

"Everyone dies?"

I shrugged, looking down at the floor because I was unable to form a coherent sentence.

"That's the variable, the wild card. I don't know. It could be the enemy just putting it into my head, or it could be a true prophecy. But I saw you," I choked out, and it was then that I found the resolve to look at him. I met his eyes with a glance, and I leaned in as he hugged me.

"Am I allowed to ask what happened to me?"

His question caught me off guard at the moment; I thought, surely, that no one would want to know their violent end. I was afraid to tell him because I didn't want him to avoid me after what I wasn't able to do for him. I knew how useless I would be to him, and I hoped that he wouldn't hold it against me.

"I wasn't fast enough to get to you, and you were on the ground after you got stabbed, begging me to save you. I couldn't, and you died in my arms, your blood all over me. I moved you into one of the strongholds on the battlefield because I couldn't bear to leave you there. Then, I left you there with the healers and went out to slay their entire freaking army because I was so mad. I was crying the entire time."

He sat with me, and I had been shaking just at the admission alone. Nothing had happened yet and I was a trainwreck. My vision was blurred; everything in my line of sight had melded together into a group of neutral colors. I was afraid to blink because I knew if I did the tears would fall. Steve knew, too, because he looked at me and saw the pained, defeated expression on my face. He looked near tears, just having listened to how he could die.

"I'm not going to try to die, but I have to admit that's not a bad way to go. My best friend next to me, everyone I care about around me."

I put the hem of my shirt to my eyes, trying to dry them out to no avail.

"Please don't talk like that, Steve. You sound too resigned."

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly; a forced smile.

"Buck, I've done everything I need to in life. I'll fight like a demon alongside my best friend, watching his six and the other numbers all the way around."

I smiled at that because I knew I could always leave it to Steve to make me feel better about just admitting his death to him.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I whispered, affixing on his face again. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"Why? We both know that I would've yelled at you too."

I looked at him and I laughed because I needed to and he was the person that I wanted to laugh with the most.

"That's a stupid thing to say," I commented, leaving it open for him to take. It would've been so easy for him to blow it off as I had earlier, to leave me as I had him just hours before.

"How can I say anything stupid? You have all the stupid," he replied, knowing what I had set him up for.

"Jerk," I joked as he pulled me into a hug.

"Punk," he replied, clapping me on the back a few times before releasing me. "Now you, sir, need to go fix whatever you said to Percy. He's not mad, he's-"

"Worried," I finished his sentence, already knowing what he was going to say. "Nat said the same thing about you."

He smiled a genuine, bright smile. My favorite Steve Rogers smile.

I ventured onto another warpath to find Percy, but in a better mood this time. I felt relaxed now; Steve Rogers just did that to you at times. He worked magic in a metaphorical sense rather than literal.

As my feet pounded against the tiles of the stairs as I took them three at a time, I felt an odd rush of energy course through me. At that moment, I felt like I could take on the entire world's problems and still have energy for Thanos's army.

All in one day.

I knocked on Percy's door, and the only reason I can remember that I took the time to knock was because my left fist went directly through his door. As I pulled my arm out of the center of the door, I noticed Percy gaping at me through the hole.

"Uh, Bucky, if you're still mad about earlier, I'm sorry, just please don't break something in here-"

I laughed and opened the door, practically jumping into the room. Something was off about the way he was acting, like he had something to hide. I ignored it, because I needed to fix our first problem before I pressed into another one.

"I'm not here to break anything, and I'm not mad anymore. I just came back to say that I'm sorry for what happened earlier. I had seen something in a nightmare, and I didn't want to talk. But I'm here now to talk about it. I hope I haven't destroyed whatever brotherhood, friendship, whatever relationship we had before. I don't get many chances at things like that. Percy, my dream was about the war. I saw the end, and whether or not it's true, I don't know. But I saw how many people close to us are supposed to die."

His mouth didn't fall open, and he didn't burst into tears, and in fact, he barely reacted at all. The red flags began to reveal themselves and made me wonder what in the world could have been wrong with him.

"I had a dream about it last night too. We have to get to camp, and I feel like our time to do that is ticking," he explained. I nodded, agreeing with him. I paced back and forth across his room, helping me think.

"So. Game plan, just on how to break the news that we're in for another fight. They just lost a lot of their demigods in the wake of the Triumvirate. The odds are already stacked against us, pretty heavily."

Percy scoffed, standing from his bed to pace beside me. "No kidding, Sherlock."

"Hey. That's not very nice. But anyway. We have to go to camp, tell Chiron, and ask for his counsel. See what he has to offer. We go according to the plan he gives us, and we fight whatever is coming at us now."

Percy nodded, agreeing with my plan until the end. "If he says to fight. He might tell us to shut up, go away, and leave it alone."

"No, that's Mr. D. You can't confuse Chiron with Mr. D, or else we've got a problem bigger than this impending war drama."