1945 - Location Unknown

Days blur into nights, into days, and back again; until time means nothing at all. Bucky crouches on the floor beneath his 'bunk', arm coiled tight around his knees, and stares at nothing.

He did everything he could, didn't he? He fucking died to protect Steve… or at least ...he should have.
And that's it, isn't it? It should've been him. That's what it boils down to. He was supposed to keep Steve safe. He was supposed to die so Steve could live, and instead… His head drops hard against his knee and his shoulders shake.
Instead, he thinks miserably, dragging in a ragged breath and feeling hot tears stinging at his eyes,instead I'm here and he's-
...He can't make himself say it.

Did he do everything possible? The thought is terrible, but it lingers. The doubt. Could he have done more? If he'd tried, could he have convinced Steve to go home? Would he have run for it if Steve was willing to run with him? … He should've found out.
Better to go AWOL than crash and freeze to death in god-knows-where. Better than falling into enemy hands again.
What a fucking mess...

"I'm so sorry, Steve…" Bucky whispers, dry throat turning his voice husky and harsh. "I did my best, kid. I really tried. Jesus, Steve, I tried."

The silence that answers is condemning. It doesn't matter if he tried. What matters is that he failed. He'd made a promise to himself, to god, to Steve's ma (who was practically a second mother to him); that he'd keep Steve safe, no matter what. And he botched it…

He can still see her like it was yesterday, abruptly clearer than any of the other contents of his brain: Mrs. Rogers, pale and wasted, in those last few days before the end. She'd been confined to her bed by then, every struggling breath wheezing in her chest, fighting against time not to die before Steve's birthday. To give him that one last thing in this world.
She hadn't made it.

Bucky had been at the Rogers' place every moment he could get away from work, trying to help out. He'd swept the place clean last night, and hung the neglected washing up to dry so Steve wouldn't have to. The kid had started to look like a ghost himself, the way he was drifting around, staring at nothing. He knew the end was closing in, same as anybody else. He just didn't know what to do with that, so he refused to see it. Steve hovered by his mother's bed most of the time, put on a brave face for her. She wasn't fooled anymore than she ever was, but she pretended right back. For Steve.

Steve had finally left the room to make her some broth for dinner, only after Bucky had promised to stay with her, in case she needed anything. Really, it had been in case she passed, so she wouldn't be alone when it happened. None of them acknowledged it, but they all knew it just the same. It was part of why Steve had to be pried away with a crowbar for the littlest things. He was so afraid she'd be taken before he could say goodbye…

Bucky honestly would've happily kept Steve out of the sick-room completely if he'd had his way; terrified that Steve would catch it too. That he'd be sitting by Steve's bedside next, watching his best friend gasping out his last breaths, just like Mrs. Rogers was doing now.
Bucky doesn't get his way. He doesn't even try to keep Steve out. They both know he'd never succeed, and there's enough terrible in their lives as it is without the two of them getting into a stupid fight neither of them will ever win.
Steve won't leave Mrs. Rogers to fade away alone, and Bucky won't leave Steve to face this thing without him. So they compromise. Steve leaves the room occasionally, reluctantly, gets a breath of fresh(er) air, takes a few moments to break down in the relative privacy of the kitchen. Then he's back like nothing happened. Bucky tries to take it in stride and keep his fears to himself. He think he does alright.

"I'll be right back, Ma." Steve was promising. "Bucky'll be here if you want anything. Five minutes, I promise." He'd lingered for a moment or two, hovering by the door until his ma had smiled for him and nodded. Steve finally took his cue and went.

And then it was just her and Bucky, alone in the stuffy, dusk-touched room.
That had been when she'd taken Bucky's hand in her fragile fingers and she'd made him promise.

"James... you've always been good to Steve and me." Mrs. Rogers had said softly, rasping like her chest was in a vice. A thin, wet cough interrupted, but she fought her way past it. "You can't know how… how much that means, knowing he has you. He'll need you … more than ever… when I'm gone." God, she sounded awful. He pushed away the sharp needle of fear that stabbed into his chest to see how fragile she'd become and looked into her sunken eyes, the same brilliant blue as her son's. There wasn't much he could do to make her more comfortable, so he lied instead.

"Nah, you're not goin' anywhere." Bucky soothed gently, covering her cold, cold hands with his rough, warm ones and trying vainly to give her a little heat back. Nothing seemed to keep the chill out her bones anymore, despite the muggy June weather and every blanket in the house. Death wasn't far behind Sarah Rogers. "Tough gal like you?" He offered her a watery smile. "You got ages left."

"You'll… you'll look after him ...won't you?" Mrs. Rogers had wheezed, not bothering to waste air on contradicting him. Her lungs sounded heavy and wet. Her lips had gone just the faintest bit blue around the edges. "Keep my boy out of trouble?"

"Course I will." he'd promised her, eyes darting to the door and back. He was a little afraid she'd slip away right here, before Steve came back, and he wasn't sure what that'd do to his best friend... only that it'd be catastrophic. Hurry up, Steve... "I won't let nothin' happen to him, you know that." And really, it wasn't like she even had to ask.

She'd smiled at him, apparently relieved to hear him confirm it, and sunk back into her thin pillow, weary and weak. A stiff breeze might've blown her to pieces. She gave his fingers a frail squeeze.
"You're a good boy, James Barnes." she'd whispered, as Steve's footsteps sounded in the hall outside, back as quickly as he'd said. "And a blessing."

Bucky had had to leave a few hours after that, and it'd been the last time he spoke to Mrs. Rogers. He'd been given triple shifts by the foreman when one of the other guys got sick, and barely had time to sleep between them. Mrs. Rogers passed away in her sleep two days later, while he was still at work. He wasn't able to get back in time.
Steve had sat with her throughout. He'd still been sitting there, holding her cold, stiff hand, as rigid as a rail, when Bucky got there.
Steve hadn't said a word to him, just looked up at his friend with red-rimmed eyes like the world had just ended. There was no blame. No anger. Just so much pain. Steve had never looked so lost in his life. Bucky'd set a hand heavily on his friend's shoulder and tried to lend silent support as best he could. It hadn't been enough, but it was all he had to give.

Bucky'd been helpless to protect Steve from the world then, and he's failed to protect him now.

Bucky digs his fingers into his eyes, hard, and rubs, trying to scrub away the pain that's building there.
He lied to Steve's ma is what it amounts to. He promised. And now look where he's gotten them.