O Freedom!

Bucky turned away, his attention now shifting back onto you. You were at the edge of the crime scene, sitting on the rear bumper of an ambulance. The vehicle was angled in a way that your back faced him, hiding your expression while a medic applied pressure to your bleeding arm. An officer stood directly in front of you, asking specific questions about the incident and your actions to protect the deceased.

Underneath the streetlight, you were shivering. The snow seeped into your sweater with every second, as the officers had taken your blood-stained coat away for evidence. Someone had told you that you could reclaim it later if you desired, but who the fuck would want that?

Despite your tremors, Bucky could see that you didn’t react to much. No flinching from the pressure on your injury—no nodding at the officer speaking to you—no crying as it weighed on you that you failed to save someone. He grimaced at the sight, longing to run over and shield you from loneliness. However, he couldn’t leave just yet, as the police were still conducting their investigation and needed his presence.

After a while, the police lieutenant who had approached Bucky earlier finally returned and gave him a nod. “You did great work out here, Sergeant. Seriously, you made our jobs a lot easier.”

But Bucky barely listened as he turned back towards the covered corpse. “Does his family know yet?” he asked, his voice low with dread.

The lieutenant paused at the question and shook his head. “No. I have my officers on their way right now to inform them.”

Bucky didn’t speak, gazing at the sheet for another beat before deeply exhaling. “He said he had kids. I’m sure you already knew that, but break the news to them gently.”

“That’s the plan,” he responded, empathy clear on his face. “I heard you tried to save his life after stopping those guys. You did a lot for these people.”

“It wasn’t me,” Bucky said, turning his head back towards you. “It was…”

But his words trailed off when he didn’t see you by the ambulance. The medic and officer from earlier were still around, but now engaging with other people in need of assistance. Panic flickered across his face while he scanned the crowd, but he quickly spotted you in the distance, walking away from the scene. Bucky exhaled sharply and frowned at the officer. “Am I good to go or what?”

In the meantime, you stumbled down the street, your eyes dull and steps jagged. When nearby bystanders glanced at you, they immediately turned away from your haunting appearance, wary of all the red stains on your hands and sweater. 

It was crimson underneath your fingernails, and the blood on your palms couldn’t dry as the snow revived it. Your cuffs stood out against the rest of your beige sweater, and your sleeve clung to your drenched skin, while the tear showcased your fresh gash. Although your wound had stopped bleeding, its appearance was still horrible, the edges of your skin raw and the center disgustingly inky.

The medic tried to wrap it up, but you had pushed her aside when she mentioned something else in particular. 

The sound of your boots scraping against the concrete pierced your silence, each step threatening to trip you while the cold air seeped into your weakened body. With your thoughts adrift, you walked without a destination in mind, only desperate to escape your failure.

Kids, that man said… He had a family—a family that now lost a husband and father and uncle and…

Your eyes were glistening, your cheeks were freezing, and your heart was breaking, and breaking, and br—

You gasped when something lightly brushed against your shoulders, and you instantly spun around to shove the touch away. However, you faltered from seeing Bucky with widened eyes, clutching his coat as he had just attempted to drape it over you. His expression softened at how alert you were, but then his breath hitched when he saw your gaping wound.

“They didn’t wrap it?” he said, then his eyebrows furrowed with fury. “Fucking hell. Come on, let’s go—”

“I didn’t want it,” you blurted, your voice hoarse from all your screaming from earlier. “I walked away.”

His anger was short-lived, his frown vanishing as he met your eyes with concern. “What? Why wouldn’t you…”

“It’s just a scratch,” you quietly said. “It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“It still needs to be—”

“I can’t,” you interrupted.

Despite the lack of strength in your voice, it ceased all words from leaving Bucky’s lips. He watched you carefully while your gaze landed on the powdery sidewalk. “The medic got too pushy with me, so I left.”

“Pushy? With what?” 

Your guts twisted as you lowered your chin, feeling embarrassed. “…She told me I needed to go to the hospital to get properly treated, but I don’t remember the last time I…I…”

You never had a reason to go.

You always died before making it to the hospital.

Bucky didn’t say a word, comprehending what you were trying to say. That said, he still took another glance at your wound and how exposed it was to the snowy atmosphere. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped closer and swung his coat around you.

You flinched, trying to turn away. “I’ll get blood on it.”

But he ignored you, placing it onto your shoulders before holding a sleeve out for you. For a moment, you didn’t barge, but then reluctantly guided your arms into the sleeves. 

It was incredibly warm. Bucky’s body heat lingered inside the coat, combating the chills on your skin, and your cheeks flushed when he stepped even closer to adjust the coat. His chest, his shoulders, and his beautiful face were all right there… Another step, and he might’ve been close enough to give you a—

When his fingers grazed yours, you jumped again. Lowering your gaze, you gulped as he tugged on a glove onto your hand.

His favorite leather gloves. The ones he wore every single time he went out.

“No, James,” you stammered, immediately trying to push him away. “Please, I’ll get blood in them—”

“You’re cold,” he softly said, but his voice held a firmness that made you stop resisting.

Your shoulders loosened as he slipped on the left one first, his warmth enveloping you like a much-needed embrace. When he pulled off his right glove, he paused to hold your hand gently, staring at the red stains like he could wash them away with the frost within his eyes. With a soft squeeze of your palm, he slid the glove over your hand, and in that moment, you felt more cared for than ever before.

That said, this was the least he could do, right? After all, you had done the same for him not long ago—adjusting his jacket and gloves with a farewell back in D.C., all while wrapping him in the tightest hug you’d ever given.

But this time, you wouldn’t leave each other.

Your eyes glazed over as Bucky buttoned the coat shut and pulled up the collar to protect your neck from the wind. Both of you were silent as he ensured you were as warm as you could be, though he noticed how blank your stare was as the night settled.

Then he saw it all—the numerous blood specks on your face, splattered when the suited man had been shot in your grasp. He grimaced slightly at the sight, unsure if you were aware of it or didn’t care. Either way, he finished bundling you up, his clothes making your figure appear smaller than how you already felt. His hands lingered on your arms, waiting for you to say something—anything—but even your breaths were silent.

You only blinked, staring straight ahead as if he wasn’t in front of you. Although you survived, the light in your eyes was nowhere to be found. Bystanders continued to pass by at a distance, their footwear crunching softly into the snow as they murmured about the nearby commotion, but not a single sound or movement swayed you.

Bucky hesitated, as it felt wrong to interrupt your thoughts, but he wasn’t even certain if you were thinking of anything in particular. You seemed lost—trapped in an endless dream that possibly showed you more mercy than life. But you weren’t living like this.

You were gone.

So, despite feeling ashamed, Bucky slowly dropped his hands to his sides and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Finally, you woke up. Your eyelids fluttered as you met his gaze, unsure if you heard him correctly. “What?”

He rolled his hands into fists as he tried to stay collected. “It was my fault. I pulled you back when you were trying to save him and—”

“Please don’t,” you immediately heaved, almost angry at yourself for making him feel guilty. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t know. I mean… I… God…”

Bucky watched you curl into yourself, your body shaking violently again. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell who it was. That’s never happened before. He… I was supposed to save him and I…” You let out a strangled breath, grabbing your arms as if you could protect yourself from this pain. “What’s happening to me? I…I was supposed to know. I always do… I… Why did I…”

Bucky couldn’t respond, as he had no answers to your questions. It was horrific—he had spent the past two months researching your curse, but still struggled to give you a solid reply. All he could do was let you shiver, weakened by both the blooming cold and your seeping punishment. His hands twitched, longing to pull you into his embrace, but then you dropped your gaze to the snow as your breath hitched.

“James… Can you please take me home?” you wheezed through trapped tears.

He hesitated, his lips parting to say something, but the way you couldn’t look at him any longer made it clear that there was nothing left to say. His heart urged him to comfort you, but he didn’t know how. He had no intention of giving up, but it was evident that you needed to warm up soon, considering how much you were trembling. So, he nodded and placed a hand on your back, guiding you toward his bike. You barely leaned into his touch, as if your body had decided to drift away like a wandering ghost.

Snow continued to fall, growing heavily by the second and weighing you down. But Bucky tried to keep you as steady as possible, determined to shield you from any further danger.

Everything was so painful, and he was tired of seeing you in agony.

<><><>

The tires slowed on the snowy pavement, jolting you slightly as the vehicle came to a stop. You had zoned out against Bucky’s back, your arms wearily wrapped around his waist while he drove through Brooklyn. It had all been a blur since he draped his coat around you, your mind drifting in and out of focus as he navigated the streets.

Although your eyes were open, you were barely awake as you both walked back to the restaurant to retrieve your belongings. Like everyone else in the area, the staff had witnessed the end of the chaos, as Bucky fought off criminals and you tried to save an innocent man. When Bucky went to your table, he was surprised to be greeted by the owner and learned that the staff had kept his helmets and your bag safe until both of you returned. He was grateful, and even more moved when he was told that both of you were welcome to come back for a free meal.

Bucky tried to assure the man that a free meal wasn’t necessary. Yet, the owner’s firm insistence led him to accept the prospective meal with a slight smile. Then you both found yourselves speeding away on his motorcycle.

At a certain point, you stopped seeing the world. The visor of your helmet was sprinkled with droplets of melted snow, turning the streetlamps and neon signs into specks of light that any artist would relish in painting, but you didn’t notice it anymore. Silent and unresponsive, you dreaded returning home. The night felt stagnant since you had failed to save that man. Yet, you could already feel the tension in your muscles and aches in your bones as your punishment eagerly waited to rip you apart. You knew the pain was inevitable—you could attempt to stay awake as long as possible. However, the moment you succumb to slumber, you would be dying.

Just let it happen. You couldn’t stop it.

Trying to survive was always pointless.

You slightly tightened your grip on Bucky as he brought his bike to a full stop, the wind no longer biting at your body. However, when he turned off his engine, you realized your complex was nowhere to be seen. Instead, you looked up at a familiar building, made up of crimson bricks and foggy windows similar to your apartment building. 

A frown appeared on your face as you watched Bucky take off his helmet. “James? What are we doing here?”

“Keeping you safe,” he softly said, looking back at you.

You blinked before slipping your helmet off, your hair frizzy against the friction of the gear. “What?”

“You can stay here while I get your car, then I’ll drive you home.”

Your eyes slightly widened, perplexed by his plan. “But we can—”

“I don’t feel comfortable taking you on my bike,” he gently interrupted. “You’re freezing, and you’re barely holding onto me right now. You almost fell off two blocks ago. I should drive you in your car so that you don’t get hurt.”

At that, a pained scoff cracked from your throat. “What does it matter?”

“You matter,” he replied instantly, as if it were the firmest of truths.

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “If I get hurt, then I get hurt. If I…die, then I’ll just come back. It doesn’t change anything.”

Despite your words, Bucky continued to look at you with eyes that rivaled the dancing snow. Neither rage nor bitterness bled into his stare—only pure concern radiated onto your cold cheeks. Your stubbornness prompted you to linger on his bike, but as snow gathered on your lashes, melting into tiny droplets that clung there like unshed tears, you began to grimace at Bucky’s refusal to start his motorcycle.

Then, with a soft sigh that instantly shifted into fog, Bucky murmured, “I just want you safe.”

Slowly, you faced him to see a storm whirling in his eyes, tangled in wishes that only you could grant. After a moment, you exhaled and closed your eyes. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’d never.”

Before you could continue your weak argument, he rested his hand on your wrist, squeezing it as a last act of plea. You bit the inside of your mouth, curling into yourself from humiliation for how weary you looked. Eventually, you carefully climbed off his bike, but swayed when your feet touched the ground. Bucky immediately caught you by the arm, and you winced at the sharp pain that spiked through your limb.

He faltered, but you muttered before he could speak, “Sorry. I’m already… You know…”

“It’s okay,” he responded, slipping off his bike before pulling you closer to his side. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You slowly nodded, letting Bucky guide you through the snow once again. Flurrying snowflakes threatened to bite your skin, but his broad shoulders shielded you from them, and you hid deeper into the collar of his coat as your curse siphoned your strength.

<><><>

By the time you snapped back into reality, Bucky was dusting the snow off your shoulders.

You blinked ahead, already feeling relieved by how warm his apartment was. The heater was humming softly, but you also heard the television playing a film on rewind at a low volume. While it seemed like a waste of energy, you couldn’t fault him for wanting to fill his space with some life. After spending so much of his life cold and alone, you couldn’t blame him for preventing his home from being a barren wasteland.

Besides… Leaving the television on to pretend like someone else was home… That was an activity you knew too well.

While he briefly stepped into his bathroom, you gradually shrug off his coat. As it began to slide off your body, Bucky returned and caught it in time. He threw it onto the nearby hook before leading you to the sink, which was now expelling warm water. The whole time, you kept your eyes low and lips sealed, clutching the silence as he gently tugged your gloves off. 

When you saw red in the corner of your gaze, lit by the blaring light bulbs above you, your knees nearly buckled. With a hitch in your breath, you closed your eyes as you were unable to confront the evidence of failure on your skin. Bucky noticed this, and rather than asking what was wrong, he gathered your hands together and drifted them towards the water.

The water touched your fingers, but you didn’t flinch. In fact, you were relieved to wash the blood from your hands, although you couldn’t bear to look as the water turned pink. You should’ve been dead, yet instead, the remains of that man were being washed away into the endless drain, as if he were disposable.

But he wasn’t. He was brave enough to defend strangers. Undoubtedly, he was loved and adored by his family and friends. You wondered if his kids looked up to him, inspired by his selflessness and wishing to be just like him. 

Would they still aspire to be like him now? A dead man lost to the violence, forever gone from this world?

You were supposed to save him. You should’ve saved him.

Why didn’t you?

Unlike you, he still had children. Alive and well, and they were never going to see their father again.

You couldn’t save your own child, and now you’d made a few fatherless.

Didn’t you always believe that you preferred to die rather than let your baby suffer? 

So why were you letting those kids wallow in despair?

Why didn’t you just die?

Why were you still fucking here?

Why?

Why?

Wh—

“Rose?”

You lifted your chin just enough for Bucky to see you were listening, but aside from that, you stayed motionless. This whole time, only your fingers were under the running water. He had waited for you to lean in and scrub the blood off, but it was clear that you had collapsed back into your haunting thoughts.

With a tight frown, Bucky whispered, “Can I…wash your hands?”

Your lips quivered as you barely managed to nod, pained from the torment swirling in your mind. While you kept your gaze disconnected from both the sink and him, Bucky worked to wash the blood off your skin. His movements were deliberate and gentle, lathering your hands with soap and checking every spot for signs of red. He peeked at you, and his expression softened as your eyes were still closed.

It felt as if you could escape tonight’s events by shutting yourself out with sight. It sounded pathetic, but Bucky knew this feeling all too well; he had his own days of squeezing his eyes shut, clasping his palms over his ears as he desperately attempted to hide from his thoughts. In the end, however, he learned that the best chance of survival involved letting the world seep in—just enough to anchor him somewhere other than his darkest thoughts. So, he gently squeezed your hands as he washed them, hoping that his touch was enough to ground you with him.

And it did work, as you suddenly felt the courage to see the world around you. Slowly, you opened your eyes to see your hands spotless, and heat tickled your cheeks as you processed everything else. The cuffs of your sweater were still disgustingly dark, but Bucky’s determination to cleanse your skin overpowered the horrid visual.

Soon, Bucky shut off the water and dried your hands thoroughly. Your heart then stuttered, fighting against shame as you felt like a helpless child in his home, but there was never a sign of irritation or discomfort on his face.

No, this man truly cared for you; he wanted you in a way that no one else could understand. How could they? No one else had once been an assassin, bearing a silver arm marked with a red star—whose mind was imprinted with a twisted sense of worship and obedience until a guardian angel saved him. He was a weapon of destruction, yet he received a shield of flesh and bone dedicated to protecting his life. There were moments during training and missions, despite what he did or didn’t remember, when the assassin wondered if death might be a mercy.

But his mercy always had been you, and he gently guided it all to the living room.

Your legs gave out before you realized just how exhausted you were, forcing you to plop onto the stone-gray couch. A long, shaky breath shivered out of your throat, and you blinked around to examine Bucky’s apartment, afraid of crashing back into your thoughts. It was relatively clean—maybe a little disorganized, but definitely not messy. A lone mug sat on the coffee table next to a stack of envelopes, cluttered with junk mail and random magazines. One of his jackets was lying on the armrest of his accent chair, tossed aside after a demanding mission.

His bookshelf, however, fully caught your attention.

A new row of novels from the forties and earlier rested before you, and it took a moment to realize that these were all stories you had brought over. The worn spines expressed the love past readers had for these tales, and the subtle scent of aged paper added a nostalgic layer to the living room. Your heart felt more cherished as you then began to see how well Bucky had taken care of them. Even though you had told him that these books were old—temporary in his home if he wished—he kept them all neatly propped up as if they were in a gallery.

He viewed everything you had ever shared with him as a masterpiece created by someone so beautiful, and you blushed at the semblance.

“Is the TV too loud?” Bucky asked, gently snapping you from your thoughts. “I can turn it off if you want.”

You looked up at him, your eyes still glazed but your cheeks warmer. “No. It’s good.”

He gave you a small smile, placing the remote nearby while you noticed a hoodie and a medical kit in his grasp. Without another word, he sat down on your right side and set the hoodie by your knee, and then he opened the case. “Let me wrap your arm up before I go.”

Your chest instantly tightened. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s not good if it’s exposed.”

“Th-Then I can do it.”

“It’s easier if I—”

“No!” you wheezed, then froze when Bucky snapped his head up with wide eyes. The two of you stared for a while, not a single muscle moving, while your hearts quivered at the sight of each other. Then your breath hitched, and you coiled into yourself, swiftly sliding the medical kit out of his grasp as you murmured, “I-I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal, really.”

You then snatched the hoodie and jumped to your feet before Bucky could say another word, leaving him in shock as you scuttled away to the bathroom. Immediately, the medical kit clattered onto the countertop, and the hoodie fell to the floor. You leaned over the sink as you tried to escape a potential panic attack.

Sweat began to glisten on your forehead as you squeezed your eyes shut, and then you frantically tugged your sweater off as your own body felt so claustrophobic. When you heard the gentle thud of the sweater on the floor, you quickly took a breath and snapped your eyes open to be reminded of…

Oh.

Your eyes enlarged at your reflection, spotting every drop of blood that splattered onto your face. You were unaware of these crimson specks, touching up your cheeks and forehead like a shitty piece of Halloween decor. This whole time, you were hyperfixated on hiding the violence—recent and old—inflicted on your…

Arms.

As you dropped them to your sides, your gaze fell to the very history you had been terrified of revealing. Every line and splotch on your limbs, caused by your neverending deaths, glowed underneath the bathroom lights. Your scars were as ugly as ever, always making you squeamish and pathetic.

And yet, at this very moment, you felt worse for hiding it. Wasn’t it pointless to do so? Between the blood on your face and failure to save a life, there was nothing left to maintain this image of your strength.

You were weak. You were useless.

You were…

At the collar of your shirt, you stared at the scar Bucky had once noticed. It was a faint line that everyone struggled to see, but not him. 

It was always him who acknowledged your pain, whether through gentle questions of care or silent gestures of concern. After everything you’d done for him, he did his best to soothe your despair at any chance he got. He was right there, and yet you chose to be…so alone.

You were always alone—suffering in the shadows—and that exhausted you. But none of it could change unless…unless…

Unless…

…When the bathroom door clicked shut, the silence immediately became heavy, weighing on Bucky’s shoulders as a wave of unease washed over him. His stomach twisted at the thought that he was too much—that he had crowded your space when you needed room to breathe. He peeked at the hallway numerous times, waiting to see you turn around the corner. While doing so, he selfishly hoped you’d offer reassurance that he hadn’t pushed past your boundaries.

The mere minutes that had passed only made the discomfort in his chest tighter, prompting him to fidget with the hem of his shirt. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a single sound leaking from the bathroom. The serum should’ve allowed him to pick up on the steady stream of water running or the plastic clasp of the medical kit closing, but only silence accompanied him. He couldn’t stop his concern from worsening as he wondered if you were handling your wound well, and he wanted nothing more than to be at your side.

But instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, curling his hands on his knees as he did his best to wait and—

“James?”

Bucky jumped in his seat, looking back towards the hallway to see no one there, as you were just around the corner. He swallowed the lump in his throat—he didn’t even hear you open the door. “Yeah?”

“I…”

When you suddenly choked on your breath, he stood up, his feet glued to the floor as his heart lurched helplessly. “Are you okay? Do you need help? Or… Sorry. Rose, are you—”

“It didn’t hurt before.”

At the sheer whisper, Bucky went completely still. Your voice was fragile, despite existing in the safety of his home, and you lingered just out of sight. Although he heard the soft sounds of your unsteady breaths, Bucky hesitated to approach you, assuming that you were still in need of space.

“I-I mean…” You suddenly stuttered, your voice trembling as you fought to steady it. “At least, not as much as before… I… Years ago, when I saved someone, I used to wake up with just a few aches. Nothing crazy—everything would be fine after a few hours. But now…” Your words faltered, and Bucky could imagine your eyes glimmering with unshed tears, reflecting the burden of your life. “Now, no matter how I die, I get this pain…and scars.” 

Without another word, you stepped out into the hallway, and Bucky’s heart shattered.

The television almost went silent while the air thickened, wrapping around Bucky like a suffocating blanket as he stared at your arms. Underneath the hallway lights, scratches glowed as silent testaments to your past deaths—tales of pain etched into your skin like disdainful lines of poetry. As his gaze locked onto those markings, you forced yourself to move closer, your feet scuffling against the floor until your body demanded you to stop. A few steps from him, you lowered your head, unable to watch horror unravel on his face as he examined each scar further.

Neither of you moved as Bucky’s eyes traced the jagged edges that told tragic stories—all that ended with you a little more damaged. But unlike most people who would look at a scar and wonder how it appeared, he—as an ex-assassin once forced to complete the most horrific mission—could envision all the possibilities.

Glass and metal scratching across your skin as you get hit by a car. 

Bullets piercing your arteries as you fought against an armed robber.

Concrete tearing your muscles as you pushed a little boy away from a collapsing ceiling.

Of course, he couldn’t be certain about the accuracy of his assumptions, but he knew the severity of your scars aligned with his thoughts. In his chest, there was this sudden loss he couldn’t navigate around—a realization that despite his attempts to alleviate your pain, there were wounds far too deep to close.

Eventually, Bucky couldn’t help but raise his hand and brush over the scar near your elbow. While you grimaced, you didn’t flinch, letting him gently feel the rough ridges of your past injuries.

“At the park, you asked me if I get scars all the time,” you finally whispered after a while. “When I was first cursed, I didn’t. I’d die and wake up to eventually feel like nothing happened. But then…it changed when half of the universe disappeared.”

Your hands rolled into fists as your sides while you battled with your tremors. “I just couldn’t understand why I survived while half of the universe died—why I couldn’t reunite with everyone I love. I just thought after everything—everyone I saved—it would be my time to leave. So…”

A wet hitch to your breath made you gasp, and you forced yourself to say…

“So I tried to leave.”

As a cold shiver ran down Bucky’s spine, his hands gripped your arms. His touch was still light, naturally careful around your fresh wound. But his body immediately needed your presence, as nothing could’ve prepared him for your confession. The pulse in his throat quickened into a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaos stirring within you, and it felt like the room was shrinking.

And, worst of all, he suddenly pictured it: a world in which you no longer existed, not for having triumphed over your curse, but for having surrendered to its torture.

However, before Bucky could say something—whatever that may have been—you lifted your head. You met his gaze, tears shimmering in your eyes from admitting your worst truth.

“But…as you can see…” You forced out a broken grin—your first smile since dinner. “I’m still here.”

Those frost-blue eyes, once wide and full of dismay, softened at your attempt to appear unfazed. With one blink, a waterfall of tears rolled down your cheeks, passing by your weary smile as if they knew it was beyond saving.

“Not surprising, huh?” You then let out a sharp, weak laugh, like it was funny that you were in absolute agony, “The world wouldn’t let me go, so it brought me back. I failed to escape. Mandy said it’s a good thing that it didn’t work out, but… I don’t know. I feel like I’m always drowning. Like I’m stuck in one place, trying to swim up and up and up, but never being able to make it out. I should be dead—I’ve been stuck under the surface for so long, but I can’t get out.”

You then lowered your gaze, observing the way Bucky kept his palms around your arms. “I knew I wasn’t ever gonna leave, so I kept going… But my curse—the world—wasn’t happy that I tried to leave in the first place, so it punished me. Now, I get scars for every death I experience. I wake up unable to move or speak. Even when nothing happened, I might still wake up weaker. I’ll get terrible migraines or cough up a storm like I’ve been ill for weeks. Sometimes, I’d go to the store just fine, and then faint or collapse. My curse… It keeps reminding me that I’m just meant to drown forever.”

Another weak laugh slipped from your throat, and you shook your head. “Then I had my existential crisis. I was tired of documenting how I drowned, so I stopped journaling. I couldn’t stop existing, but writing about my life seemed pointless when I was barely allowed to be alive. I…I couldn’t do it anymore, James. I just wanted to disappear, but I can’t. All I have now are memories always fading away and these fucking scars that—that—”

You choked on your breath and suddenly tilted to the side, your feet feeling detached from the floor. But Bucky quickly pulled you closer to his warmth, the tension in your body easing slightly under the weight of his presence. You trembled harshly, overwhelmed from sharing a sensitive part of your past, but Bucky didn’t rush you to gather yourself. 

It felt like an eternity had passed before he slowly navigated you back to the couch. You kept your head down, not daring to meet his eyes despite always finding comfort in that frost-blue hue. While you focused on the soft murmurs from the television, your hands found each other on your lap for stability, and you quietly slowed your breathing.

Soon, the softness beneath you shifted slightly, and you glanced up to find Bucky easing himself down beside you. He returned with the medical kit and his hoodie, though a damp towel now rested on the coffee table as well. You silently observed him as he rummaged through the kit, pulling out antiseptic, gauze, and tape with deliberate care. After gathering the supplies, he met your gaze, seeking your permission before proceeding. All it took was a small nod from you before he began to tend to your wound with a focused determination.

When he eventually started to wrap your arm, it felt too familiar.

It was as if you were both back in the woods, surrounded by the corpses of HYDRA while James tied cloth around the gash on your upper arm. The same day you found him before your curse did, and he confessed that he couldn’t forget you anymore. The exact moment you told him “we,” as you were so desperate to keep him in your complicated lives.

It was when you were so close to achieving your dream of running away and building a life with him—when you accepted that as much as he wanted you, you needed him.

You both were broken, but that was what made your bond stronger.

It was what made you love harder.

You…loved him.

You always had.

You…blinked when the warm, damp towel contacted your cheek, prompting you to look at the pure concentration in Bucky’s expression. His eyes slightly narrowed as he tenderly wiped the blood off your face. Glancing down, you noticed that he’d already carefully finished wrapping your arm, the gauze neatly protecting your wound from bacteria.

When the towel neared your eyes, you closed them, exhaling softly as you squeezed your hands together. “I’m sorry. I ruined a good night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Bucky softly replied.

Your lips weakly curled upward, sickened with shame. “That’s a blatant lie.”

“It’s not a lie. We still had a good time.”

“I know, but it shouldn’t have ended like this.”

Accepting that you would continue to argue through guilt, Bucky silently finished cleaning off the last bit of blood and tears, making you feel anew. He then set the towel on the coffee table and offered you his hoodie, concerned you were still shivering from being outside. You weren’t, but you couldn’t bring yourself to decline, so you slid it on and let his scent envelop you. You almost wanted to sink into the hoodie, hide your face, and disappear from the world. A shaky breath slipped from your lips as you watched Bucky reorganize his kit before closing it, and then you both settled further into the couch.

The flickering television light illuminated the room, signaling the start of another movie. The silence between the two of you felt more like a heavy blanket than a comforting embrace—it was thick with the weight of the night’s memories. And yet, there was also an undeniable light sparking between you. Glimpsing over, you could see the exhaustion etched on his face, and it mirrored your own fatigue. You were still both trying to process the aftermath of the hellish night, but the subtle reminder that you weren’t alone in this continued to survive.

For a moment, you found yourself captivated by the television, watching the main protagonist strum his guitar on an empty street. Even with the volume low, the passion in the busker’s singing somehow resonated with you, making you tug at your sleeves to cover your wrists more snugly. Bucky noticed that while you were more in tune with your surroundings, there was still this weight on your shoulders—the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

He then let out a nervous breath, “What’s gonna happen to you?”

You stopped fidgeting with your sleeves as you processed his question. It took a second for you to come up with an answer, and even then, you only responded with: “I’ll be dying.”

His breath hitched, and his hand curled into his knee. “You…”

“That’s the best way I can describe it. I won’t actually die, but I’ll be on the verge of death,” you slowly explained. “I won’t be able to breathe or see or…do anything, really. It’ll last a while, but maybe if I’m lucky, the worst of it will end by evening.”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Is there anything we could do to stop it?”

At that, you could only shake your head, making him grimace at the inevitable. Then you shifted in your seat, clenching your hands together. “The moment I wake up, it’ll start. Even if I stay awake until the next day or the day after, it’ll still happen. I can’t avoid it.”

“But…”

“It is what it is. I mean,” you let out a crumbling laugh, “I did fail. Everyone saw it. You…saw it.”

Bucky’s lips went ajar, and he inched closer to you. “That doesn’t mean you deserve it.”

Instead of denying or agreeing with him, you reacted with a fragile smile, and Bucky recognized the suffering behind it—that you had accepted the agony that would greet you tomorrow. It was dreadful to see you embrace the feeling of brokenness, having already come to terms with the curse’s anguish on your life. It felt like smiling to yourself could lessen the pain—perhaps even assure you that everything would be okay tomorrow—but it was really meaningless.

You looked past him to the window, where you saw that the snow had grown heavier. “It’s getting bad out there.”

Bucky sighed, “Yeah. I…probably should get your car before it gets worse.”

Although you nodded and he got to his feet, it was clear you both were hesitant to proceed with the idea. You gripped the edges of his hoodie tighter while he barely stepped away from the couch, his back facing you as he fought his pleading heart. He came to a stop, standing with his hands curled at his sides while you tried to pretend it was him you were holding.

And just when Bucky finally mustered up the strength to take another step away, you spoke, “James?”

He turned around, carefully watching you. “Yeah?”

You stared briefly, then slowly gave him another broken smile. “Thank you for everything today. And…I’m sorry. I really wanted the day to go well.”

His chest tightened, and he whispered, “It did.”

“Not really. It didn’t end…normal.”

“Normal,” he repeated with a hum. “You’ve already given me a lot of that.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You freed me,” he quietly said. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Pressing your lips together, you looked at him as if his words had traveled long before they reached you. You, as always, wanted to undermine all your efforts to keep him alive, but the gentleness behind his voice made it difficult to do so. Without fail, he talked about your sacrifices as if they were truths—an obvious fact that both scientists and magicians had to agree upon.

But still, believing in it was hard.

Bucky could see the resistance in your eyes—the way your eyebrows possessed a faint crease, and your shoulders stiffened. Doubt persisted in your posture before you could voice it, and he softly frowned at your incapability to see how you did good, and only good by him.

Then his gaze drifted away, landing on the television that had the busker and a woman, a flower seller, walking through a music store together. His chest fluttered at the scene, and with another peek towards you, he reached for the remote and clicked the volume higher.

You slightly frowned, confused by his sudden movements, but then widened your eyes when he extended a hand in your direction. “What are you doing?”

“Dance with me,” Bucky said, his voice soft and yet almost eager.

Slowly, you sat up and blinked. “Huh?”

“They’re about to sing,” he said as he gestured to the screen, which showed the busker explaining his song to the seller who had sat at a piano.

“…You know this movie?”

A timid smile invaded his face. “It might’ve played one day and…I might’ve kept watching.”

But even then, you didn’t move. Your eyes flickered between Bucky’s hand and the film, watching the seller elegantly play the piano to the busker’s voice. Then it occurred to you that your heart—oh, your flimsy heart—was beating too fast. 

That said, before you could shrink away, Bucky extended his hand further, his eyes unwavering while yours darted around. “Come on.”

Your breath hitched at his intention, and you murmured. “I haven’t danced in a while.”

“I haven’t either. Not since 1943, but I think I still got it. I’ll lead.”

“I…”

“Just one thing,” he whispered. “One…normal thing to end the night with.”

And at that, your eyes once again enlarged. How often have you dreamt of this exact moment? Dancing with the love of your life, late at night in the comfort of a warm home. You had wanted this— No. You begged for this.

And you gave up on this. You believed that you could never attain something good—normal—like this.

Maybe you still didn’t believe it, but Bucky wouldn’t do this if he knew there was no hope for you. Not only did he persist in believing that you’ll get an ending, but that it would be a happy one.

So you finally gave him your hand.

When you got to your feet, you were immediately close to his chest, one hand interlocked with his while the other went onto his shoulder. Then a breath stuttered out from you when his free hand rested on your back, but you quickly relaxed.

Then, as if you both cued the musicians, the busker and the seller began to play their instruments and sing, and you two began to move.

As promised, Bucky gently stepped to the side first, allowing you to find your footing. The dance wasn’t formal by any means—there were no perfect steps or practiced rhythm, but rather a tender sway across the floor. Each time he shifted his weight, you mirrored him, learning his unspoken language. For someone who claimed not to have danced in decades, he sure was extraordinary at it.

Outside, the snowfall thickened, turning the world beyond the windows into a pale blur, in which only the streetlamps could capture. And yet, Bucky’s home was full of warm lights that softened the shadows that haunted you. Even though the snowflakes tapped against the window, threatening to rattle this little haven, neither of you ceased to look at each other.

His eyes. It was like watching the sky break open after a storm—clouds disappearing to reveal a brand new day sprinkled with hope. The frost-blue hue deepened constantly, never in shade, but with a feeling that shook your core without fail. The perceiving nature behind it should’ve terrified you, as it had with everyone else who dared to confront the assassin. Fortunately, that fear didn’t have a place in your heart.

Those eyes were never a place of judgment.

They defined your comfort.

So even when you stumbled over your feet, you kept your gaze locked onto his, feeling his hands tighten around you to ensure you wouldn’t fall.

A faint grin returned to Bucky’s face, and he steadied your steps. “You’re doing great.”

You blushed. “I nearly fell.”

“Still, you haven’t stepped on me once.”

“Yet.”

And he repeated with a soft chuckle, “Yet? Don’t promise anything.”

A gentle breath of a laugh slipped from your lips, making Bucky’s grin broaden while his thumb brushed the back of your hand. The dance slowed even more, but you didn’t mind, though it took years before you arrived at this exact position. He then carefully raised your hand, directing you to spin around before falling back into his chest, and you let out a long, deep breath that you had restrained to yourself.

“You know,” Bucky delicately broke the silence again, “when I moved back to Brooklyn, you were the first thing I thought about. I told myself that once I was done with therapy, I’d find you. But…to think you were already here…”

Your lips twitched into a tiny grin. “But I wasn’t always here, remember? I lived around the country.”

“I know, but still, I didn’t think to look in a place where I first saw you… A small bookstore, where you surprised the hell out of me.”

You glanced away, your cheeks flushing further with embarrassment. “I did scare you back then, huh?”

“Yeah, but I can’t blame you.” He lightly laughed, “Though, I remember Becca was so concerned even when we left your store. She kept asking me what was wrong, but I couldn’t explain who you were to me without sounding crazy.”

You hummed, “It was weird for me too. When you were at war, I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if I told her that I saved you. I…” You dropped your gaze as your strength faltered. “Now, honestly, I wish I got to tell her. Or, at least…properly said goodbye before I left Brooklyn. I could’ve done that at the very minimum.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lightly furrowed at the regret unfolding on your face, and he squeezed your hand to lead your attention back to him. Then, he took a quiet breath before whispering, “Becca’s alive.”

A gasp quickly escaped your lips. “Wh-What?”

He smiled, though there was a hint of sorrow to it. “She’s alive. She lives here in Brooklyn, actually.”

“Are you— Really?” you stuttered. “Have you visited her?”

“No. I want to, but it’s just… I’m nervous after everything I’ve done.”

“But everything…”

“I know it wasn’t me, but it doesn’t make it easier to go.” He deeply inhaled, calming his nerves before exerting his energy to grin again. “But I’ll visit one day. I have to.”

Your lips parted at his determination that was wrapped in terror, and your eyes softened at just how brave he tried to be. “Maybe…we could go together,” you gently offered. “You came with me to see my daughter, so maybe we can visit Becca together. It could be her turn to hear all about our chaotic lives.”

As his heart leapt tenderly, Bucky chuckled at your words, “That’s gonna be an earful.”

“Yeah, we might give her a headache.” You then breathlessly let out a laugh, almost shaking as you continued, “God… I wonder if she would even remember me.”

“She would.”

“But what if—”

“I know she would,” he assured you. “You’re unforgettable.”

Something hugged your heart, and you knew exactly what it was.

Your eyes began to dampen again while you shoved down the overwhelming feeling that stirred in your chest. But as you tried to give Bucky another smile, a sudden ache spiked through your body. You nearly tripped, but Bucky quickly steadied you against his body in concern while you painfully gathered yourself.

When you met his gaze again, he saw the fear for tomorrow reflecting in your eyes. A moment of silence surrounded you both, its heaviness threatening to shatter this beautiful dance. 

And suddenly, despite knowing it was not the right moment, Bucky felt an overwhelming urge to say—

“I love you,”

You let out a strangled breath. “James—”

“I’m sorry. I-I know you told me not to say it, and especially not tonight of all nights… I’m so sorry, but…” Bucky’s exhale quivered severely, and he shook his head, “I needed to say it aloud. I’ve never felt this way before. This...much in love. I just need you to know that.”

While the growing agony in your body lingered, its power slightly faded as Bucky’s words echoed in your mind. Your suffering stepped into the background, letting the confession weave through the chaos of your numerous lives. Your memories then cheered you on by reminding you of all of those times when he had been your anchor—when he made you feel like your story could be different. 

With each passing second, the notion of survival moved aside for the feeling of living, and your chest loosened once again as you felt the need to answer a question from a simpler time.

“You…asked me if I would love you again,” you cautiously reminded him.

And when Bucky slightly paled at your words, already feeling so vulnerable and nervous from his own confession, you locked onto his frost-blue eyes and whispered, “I never stopped.”

Just as the protagonists on the screen sang the sanguine chorus louder, Bucky froze in his steps. Neither of you swayed any further, but your souls continued to dance ecstatically from hearing your words—both overwhelmed, but celebrating the same. He watched the ways your eyes glimmered under the lights, and it truly dawned on him that you…still loved him.

You…

Bucky gasped, his own eyes watering as the very relief he longed for washed over him. He was right—you loved him. You did. God, you still…still…

Although you were startled by his audible breath, you continued to meet his gaze, your heart racing under the weight of your admission. Your entire body then began to tremble, for the pain of tomorrow slowly bubbled beneath the surface. Despite that, you forced yourself to stay upright, and a sense of freedom then accompanied you.

Saying your truth aloud… It made complete drops of tears form in your eyes—not from sadness, but from a rush of emotion that surged like the crescendo of the music that played around you. A quiet contentment settled between you, and you couldn’t find the right words to say.

And when Bucky pressed his lips against your forehead—your gentle kiss in decades—you couldn’t help but choke on your breath. Your sudden cry was wet, broken…but so loved.

God, he loved you. Despite everything, he also still loved you so much.

You trembled violently, your hand almost slipping out of his own, but he kept a firm grasp. He felt the way your body shook, but that only made him want to hold onto you more.

But you beat him to it.

You dropped your chin and finally started to sob. When Bucky went to comfort you, you yanked your hand out of his grip and fully wrapped your arms around his body. 

The hug shouldn’t have lasted long. There were so many reasons for him to push you away—you believed that he should push you away. After all, he was a constant force while you were a trembling mess.

Then again, opposites did attract. 

Your neverending death and his everlasting life—those were always meant to find each other.

Bucky embraced you, setting his hand on your head as you sobbed into his neck. He shut his eyes, letting your cracking voice replace the music and dialogue. He hated that your cries erased the silence, but it was also proof that you were right beside him and that he would never let you go again. 

While Bucky had spent his only life cherishing you, you had woken up hundreds of times to a new one—a new body and breath and flesh and bones—and still discovered that it was him you loved.

You would always love him…and he would always love you.

You desperately clung to his body as your cries deepened, “I’m sorry. I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Bucky murmured with a gentle shush.

“No, I… God…” you wailed, “I’m so scared. Fuck— I’m so scared of waking up. Every day I do and I just… I don’t know what to do… James… James, I…”

He turned his head just enough to kiss your temple. “Stay here tonight.”

“But—”

“You’re okay. Stay here. I’ll be with you.”

“But then you’ll see me in this…awful way. I’ll…I’ll be dying. I’ll… James, I might bleed. I-I might be suffocating. I might lose myself, and there’s nothing you can do. You’ll have to see me in this way, and—and it’s horrible. It’s… God—” You choked on your tears. “It’s horrible and scary and—and—”

He softly shushed you again, tightening his hold around you. “And I’ll still be here. You don’t have to hide anymore, Rose.”

“I can’t… I… Fuck—” You whimpered as your legs gave out, and it took Bucky’s strength to keep you standing. “Please don’t leave me. When you see me, please don’t be scared. Please don’t run away. I…I don’t want to wake up alone again.”

“You won’t,” Bucky assured her through his own tears that had silently been rolling down his cheeks. “I won’t let you.”

“James…”

“I promise. Rose… I promise.”

And as you continued to cry through your panic and pain, Bucky made sure you were as comfortable as you could be before your curse greeted you.

It was horrifying.

It was ghastly.

You were about to be torn apart by life and death.

But…maybe it would be okay this time.

Sure, you had woken up hundreds of times to anguish.

But this time, you would wake up next to the love of your life.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: As always, thank you for waiting as I deal with my health stuff! It’s gotten better, and I’m able to work more without feeling awful, so life is good :)

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