47 Boom
Sometimes, there are low days. Bad Days, Bucky used to call them, and Steve thought he ought to adopt the phrase, with it's big, official, capital letters, because sometimes, there are days that are too bad to only be lowercase. Some days deserve capitals in order to properly demonstrate their horrendous and unlivable quality.
That day was one of those days. Relapses happen, and right when Steve was beginning to breathe, beginning to live, beginning to prove to himself that he wasn't worthless, he slipped and took in a lungful of cold, dark water. And he didn't know which way was up and he didn't know where he was and he couldn't even see the broken ice above him and he was thrashing wildly and waiting to feel Bucky's arms wrap around him and pull him out to a place where he could breathe, but the longer he kicked and the longer his chest burned, the more he was forced to realize that Bucky wasn't there this time.
Steve steadied himself, gasping, in the middle of the second RAID attack that week, throwing up his shield, trying to find the bombs in time before they went off.
There were less RAID attackers this time, but where there were less attackers, there were more bombs. And the city was still unable to completely recover from the last attack; large sections were off limits and under major construction to repair the damage, so Fury had put the available team, consisting of Steve, Natasha and Clint, under some pressure about DC damage control.
Of course, everything was moving as well as could be expected. Some explosives went off, but most were found. Clint disarmed them from afar, shooting accurate enough to sever the red wire yards away, and Natasha got to the ones he couldn't see. However, Steve found he was doing relatively little. He felt this great overwhelming wash over him, and this deep, digging fear. There had been a shift in him when he listened to Bucky's refusal to talk and suddenly, all the progress he'd made had been set back and he hated himself again.
Well… Given that there had been any progress to begin with. Steve looked at the gnawing hate and anxiety and shuddered because he recognized it so well. It seemed to him that it had never truly gone away, had hardly even subsided, and it was difficult for him to concentrate on anything else as bombs went off around him and the screaming in the streets and the screaming in his head all collided.
He heard Natasha underneath the din.
"One bomb left," she was saying. "We've nearly got them all."
"I promised Bucky," Steve said. Promised him I'd come back.
"You say something, Cap?" Clint said, but Steve had already spotted the last bomb. One of the remaining RAID terrorists was kneeling next to it, and he looked up and Steve could swear they made eye contact and the man was about to manually detonate the bomb
and
Steve tensed himself
and began to run into it.
I promised Bucky, Steve thought. I promised him. It's not too late to stop. But something kept Steve going, probably the fact that no matter what he promised, they would be happier without him and he would be happier gone, even as Natasha called back to him. He could see the explosion begin in a terrible burst of color and he could feel it, like a wall of heat and pressure and Steve thought he was close enough to the detonation to see his own feet off the ground and there was shrapnel in the air and he thought he saw blood and he smelled burning but he didn't think much more before his back his the ground and his head smacked the pavement painfully and he saw stars that faded into black.
And Steve saw death and he recognized it, like he had time and time and time before, and he slipped right into it as everything went black.
I really don't want to scare anyone too badly, so let me just reassure you that it's not over yet. -BB