Whenever it was said that one's life would 'flash before their eyes' when they knocked at Death's door, Bucky expected to see short segments of all the highlighted points in his life. He expected to see himself looking at a first lost tooth, pinched between chubby fingers and smudged with the dull grey of his blood. The moment he flung his graduation cap in the air, one arm slung over the shoulder of Dum Dum, one of his best friends at the time. Or maybe even the day he decided college wasn't his forte and packed his bags for a cross country road trip that only took him a few states over before he was leaden with homesickness and turned write back around. He expected to see the... the time he met Steve.

The very moment when he was slammed with a force of brights and darks and reds and blues, blinking and staring wide-eyed at the scrawny boy whom he'd just knocked off balance in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store. He wanted to see again that shocked expression on the blond's face, the way he knitted his brow together and set his jaw as he scrambled back to his feet, refusing Bucky's outstretched hand. More than anything Bucky just wanted to relive that moment because colour or not, he fell in love with Steve right then and there. Soulmates be damned.

He honestly didnt think he'd see his entire life play out for him. Strange how he thought that all the bad things would be skipped over.

The worst of it all came up in the last few months before Steve died. Five whole years had passed since that moment. That was at least seven since he'd seen him vibrant whole, before the cancer. It seemed like longer to Bucky.

There was a rushing sensation deep inside him, like his entire life was scrambling to get out. Bucky gasped and was shocked to feel no air filling his lungs, and when he brought a hand up to his chest there was no heart beat. It seemed he was suddenly hyper aware of everything that went on around himself. He felt tingling skin and empty veins, he could feel himself leaving his body, crushed and poisoned.

It was freaky as hell, to say the least.

Everything around him started spinning in a whoosh of light and colour, streaks of it running through his vision that left him blinking forcefully. Bucky couldn't feel pain- or anything for that matter- but the whirlwind would have given him a migraine if he could.

Soon everything seemed to slow down and settle, take shape into actual items, people, things he could make out.

He recognised the room with in an instant. There where sketches scattered across the counter by the window, some having been taken to the floor by gravity's hand. He almost found himself smiling to see them, this time in full colour and not the drainage he'd been looking at them as all those years ago. The room was small, crowded with a bed, chair, and wide bathroom, as many hospital rooms are.

Hospital.

The word slammed itself into his skull, forcing himself to look at the being leaning upright in the bed. The sheets smelled strongly of cleaning products. It would probably be safe to assume that the vased flowers at Steve's bed side were meant to mask the smell. Even now they didn't do much good.

A bone-breaking cough sent Bucky's eyes shifting to the figure in the bed. Hair buzzed short to even out the loss from chemo, skin pale- coming closer to a yellow that would make one cringe to see painted across their own- small and frail and just so sick and peering at Bucky with those eyes he'd been trying so so hard to forget. He couldn't get enough now, and stood drenching himself in Steve's image, letting his eyes soak in those blue eyes.

Swallowing down a mass of shock, Bucky finally opened his mouth to speak. "S-Steve-"

"You shouldn't be here."

Bucky's face fell. He creased his brow at the other man, who had shifted to sit straight up in his bed (not without some struggle) and was staring down at the thin blanket clenched in his fists. It was an old quilt, Bucky noted. The one he had given to Steve as a gift from his own mother.

"I... What?" He took a step forward, mind tripping over itself to find answers for all his questions. For one, what did Steve mean by that?

Steve gave him an irritated sigh, as if Bucky had asked that ten times before.

"iHere/i, Bucky," he said again, his voice holding a bitter sadness, "It's not your time yet."

No words passed between them for a long time after that. Bucky swore the space between then lengthened in that time, even though neither of them had moved. The words didn't set well with him; they made him nauseous with realisation. Steve wasn't happy to see him?

He pinched his bottom lip between his teeth. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. He didn't want to have spent half a decade dreaming to see Steve again, only to be slapped in the face because Steve hadn't been felt the same.

So the brunet did what he always did with things he didn't want to deal with- he ignored it. Steve's words and the pain he felt from them were pushed down, making room for him to change the topic.

"Why are you still- still like that?" Steve frowned, knowing full well what Bucky was doing. "Sick, I mean"

"This is how you remember me so..." The smaller man shrugged.

He was right. When Bucky thought of Steve, he was always like this. Sick. Dying. Never the too-bold-for-his-own-good guy he used to know, that part of Steve was always forgotten. That hurt too.

"Oh," was all he could say.

It was stupid really. With all the time that'd passed, one would think to have more to say to the love of their fucking life, but that was all Bucky could find to say. Just 'oh'. Nothing more.

He'd spent so many nights imagining conversations in his head that he would have with Steve is ever given the chance. He would have liked to talk about the hard time he was having to cope, about how he'd been laid off for coming into work late and drunk one too many times, about how much he absolutely hated the taste of alcohol and yet couldn't keep himself away from a bottle. About how much he missed Steve.

But now he was quiet.

"You need to stop what you're doing to yourself, Buck." Said man looked up to meet those blue eyes again, which were looking at him with a mix of sadness and worry and disappointment. "It's bullshit, okay? You're killing yourself- ideliberately killing yourself/i- and for what? Do you think I ilike/i seeing you so wasted that you can't even get up off the couch to vomit? I want to be with you, really I do, but..."

He looked away, voice trailing and anger setting his jaw. Steve looked as angry as Bucky felt. Deliberately killing himself? He hadn't thought of it that way before, but now that it'd been pointed out (more like shoved in front of his face), he realised that was exactly what he was doing. Steve was right to be disappointed in him.

"Isn't it a bit late for this? I mean, I am dead right now," Bucky mumbled. He was shocked to see Steve shake his head.

"Dead? Is that what you think you are?" He let out a forced laugh, morphing quickly into a fit of coughs. "Bucky, you're lucky you're not dead."

"W-wait... What? What do you mean I'm not-?"

"The crash didn't kill you," Steve's voice was serious again, "Neither did the alcohol in your system. Miraculously. This is just a near death experience, and I'm here to knock some sense in that stupid head of yours."

"I'm not dead..." The words were sent echoing all around his consciousness, ricocheting off of every other thought. He wasn't dead. That meant he'd eventually he'd wake up, leave Steve behind and return to his fucked up life. This was just a cruel, brief chance to see Steve again.

For a second time Bucky felt like he was going to puke. He didn't want to leave! Not after all the shit he'd been through! He didn't want to go back to that- he wanted to stay with Steve!

"No. No, Steve, I don't-"

"Bucky." Steve's voice was stern and commanded attention, "I'm sorry. You'll be waking up in a hospital soon."

"No no no no no- Steve, please- no," Bucky whispered frantically. He dropped to his knees, chanting and pleading to stay.

Steve only sighed, looking at him from his bed with a faint smile. "Good-bye, Buck. I love you, but don't let me see you again any time soon. Take care of yourself," he mumbled, so that Bucky barely caught it.

Bucky looked up at him, crawled on his knees to Steve's bedside. Tears were streaking down his cheeks, dotting the sheets as he leaned down to kiss Steve. He paused before their lips met, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Steve..." He said softly, voice hitching in his throat, "I-"

And then, with a snap of light, Steve was gone.

/AN: I'm so sorry for taking so long with this chapter! Thank you for putting up with me, and I hope you're enjoying this fic so far! I plan to write one more chapter after this one (:

Big thanks to my beta, magicsintheair, who has been a great help. She's also been badgering me to work on this after so long, so without her this fic would literally be nothing. Check out some of her fics too! /