Ria

SERIES

Life on Your Line (on-going)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

PART 1: LIFE ON YOUR LINE 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

PART 2: BREATH IN YOUR MARGIN 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22

PART 3: WHISPERS AT YOUR PAGES 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

—<><>—<><>—<><>—

ONESHOTS

Something Sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!f!Reader

Summary: Bucky had a sweet tooth and stumbled across a candy shop. He found sweetness inside—but not just from the candy.

<><><>

Something Sweet: Hot Chocolate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!f!Reader

Summary: “Hot chocolate helps me. It reminds me that there’s something sweet to look forward to.”

Whenever Bucky had a nightmare, you were always there by his side, ready to make him a cup of hot chocolate. Then, one night, it was his turn to make you a cup.

<><><>

Something Sweet: Roasted Hazelnuts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!f!Reader // Thunderbolts* & candymaker!f!Reader

Summary: When Bucky unexpectedly brought his team to your candy shop, they were caught off guard by you, surrounded by milk chocolate with roasted hazelnuts, and how you showed them the kind of warmth they all didn't believe they deserved.

<><><>

Something Sweet: Apple Pie

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!f!Reader

Summary: After a terrifying event that left both of you shaken, a fight erupted between you and Bucky. Hours later, he returned home to make things right with you, but also found you curled up on the couch and an apple pie sitting in the oven.

<><><>

A Beautiful Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes & Rebecca Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Winnifred Barnes

Summary: On a beautiful day, shortly after the Blip, Bucky returned to a place he cherished as a child to explore his past. Unexpectedly, he met a stranger who also found comfort there, and soon befriended her as she became a steady presence in his conflicted life. Soon, with her gentle guidance, he reconnected with his youngest sister, uncovered the startling truth about his mother’s fate, and learned to heal by reclaiming pieces of his past.

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 :)

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @lilfuturescars @glossy01 @starstruckfirecat @moon-shampoo @buckysdoll1940 @rainbowpr1sm @phoenix666stuff @hangingmooncloud @ajanauia @maribirdsteele @intothesoul @nexxen24 @baguwagu

“Thinking or zoning out?”

“Thinking,” you firmly said.

“About?”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “You know what.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do,” Mandy snickered.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms, staring ahead at the front door while Mandy inched closer to you. She began tapping her finger on the countertop to a subtle melody.

“So…” she began, her voice no longer as giggly as before, “this hangout of yours… It’s not a date?” 

“That’s right,” you immediately said.

“It’s not?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

Mandy raised an eyebrow, glancing up and down at your outfit for a tenth time that day. You insisted that you didn’t dress up for the occasion, but she found that to be complete bullshit. 

Despite wearing your usual oversized sweater, she noticed that, for once, you had paired it with the color of the shirt you wore underneath, the collar peeking out right by the scar on your neck. Neutral tones wrapped around your body, but it wasn’t so bland this time; light tans and browns were layered to mimic gentle warmth. Rather than wearing your standard, battered shoes that were well-acquainted with the shop’s floor, you chose to wear boots that only seemed to emerge on days when you anticipated a visit from Bucky.

It wasn’t that you typically looked like shit or made no effort to look decent each day, but there was something lovely about how you gave a bit more attention today. No, Mandy wasn’t happy that you dressed up for Bucky’s eyes, but because you felt excited to see your James and wanted to do something a little different.

Imagining you waking up and contemplating what to wear because you actually had something to look forward to… That brought a soft smile to Mandy’s face.

However, the most shocking change that she noticed today was the trench coat you decided to wear. It was currently in the back room, but when you walked in with it, Mandy couldn’t help but stare at you. 

She’d only seen you wear it once—years ago, when your friendship was still new like freshly-fallen snow. A heavy snowstorm was about to pass through Brooklyn, so you were looking for a new coat instead of relying on your tattered one. At a thrift store, you found this particular wool coat, its caramel exterior catching your eye, so you brought it home without a second thought. There was something about it that felt welcoming—familiar and almost necessary.

But when you tried it on and stepped in front of your mirror, it slipped off your shoulders, and you soon joined it on the floor with tears streaming down your face.

Mandy had no idea this happened, or that when she saw you on that snowy day, it was your second attempt at wearing the coat. She remembered complimenting it with a laugh, and you smiled back.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best comment to make, considering you never wore it again. But it wasn’t until the following winter that Mandy noticed, and she found herself wondering why you weren’t wearing one of her favorite outfits. After a while, she assumed it had become one of those pieces that stayed better in your closet.

However, years later, when you collapsed onto your knees and sobbed out James’s name and the story of when you met him, it slowly dawned on Mandy that her compliment hit too close to home.

Your coat was vintage, she had said.

Just like you.

The day you bought the coat marked the first anniversary of your horrific discovery—so horrible that you had tried to distract yourself. Reading, going on walks, and trying out a new recipe all helped, but not enough to save you later that night when you tried on the coat. The moment you put it on, you saw the person you once were: a bookstore employee from the forties, waiting for her life to change for the better. That visual shouldn’t have hurt you, but then you saw yourself again.

And that time, you found yourself staring into a pair of frost-blue orbs that were just as surprised to see you.

You lost it, screaming tearfully into your hands as reality hit you once again. 

Bucky was gone. He had died with half of the universe. 

One year since you lost the love of your life. One year since you tried to end it all again and again. One year since your body and heart splintered like broken glass stuck in your lungs, slicing every breath into an agonizing reminder that the laws of your realities had been twisted.

He was the one who always survived, and you were the one who always died.

But the world fucking hated you, so it killed him and kept you alive.

Vintage.

Ageless.

Endless.

Forever and ever, you would suffer.

But then today, there you were, walking into your store with the same coat, acting like it hadn’t broken you before. Mandy glanced towards the back room, almost feeling the presence of the piece of clothing that once shouted out all of your losses. Then she turned back to you, quietly watching you reply to a few emails that you’d procrastinated on.

Eventually, you sighed. “Mandy, I can feel you staring at me.”

“I’m not staring,” she quickly said.

You spun in your chair to face her, and a slow, slight smile found your face. “Yeah? Then, what, were you thinking?”

“Nope. Zoning out.”

Both of you chuckled before you turned away, resorting to answering emails. However, Mandy continued to gaze at you, then tilted her head with a hint of curiosity. “But like, are you sure this isn’t a date—”

“I’m certain,” you quickly replied. “James knows that until he tells me how to end my curse, I’m refusing any…romantic advances right now.”

“Okay, so… Asking to visit your daughter and getting dinner afterwards…isn’t romantic?”

“No. We’re hanging out.”

“That’s such an intimate hangout.”

“Mandy.”

“Avery.”

“Stop.”

“No.”

You both narrowed your eyes at each other, the silence so sharp that it could slice through the paper that surrounded you. Neither one of you broke eye contact until a nearby customer coughed, making Mandy peek at them for a millisecond. 

At that, you lightly smirked and pointed a finger at her. “You lost.”

“Shut up!” she hissed, though her sentence ended with a laugh. “You know I get easily distracted!”

“And yet, you can’t stop talking about my plans for today.”

Mandy snorted. “Only because I refuse to believe that—”

The front door swung open, and before either one of you glanced over, you felt an overwhelming wave of warmth enter your body. You turned in your seat and immediately met frost-blue eyes, prompting your lips to form a bright smile. Without realizing it, you began to stand up while Bucky walked over to the front desk, his own lips curling at the sight of you. He wore a navy-blue peacoat, its collar high and protecting his neck, and you couldn’t help but notice the tint of pink in his cheeks.

“Hi,” Bucky greeted, his voice almost shy. “I, uh, came a bit early.”

You peeked at the time and raised an eyebrow like you were caught off guard. “Yeah, an hour early?”

Slowly, Mandy looked at you with a blank stare, briefly unamused by you acting like you weren’t intensely focused on the time all day. Bucky, oblivious to her reaction, let out a sheepish chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I came too early.”

“No, no,” you said lightly. “It’s okay.”

“Good, because I figured we should get to the cemetery earlier than we planned, or else we might not have enough time to say hi to Rose before the sun sets.”

You glanced out the window to observe the sunlight. “That’s a good idea, but…” 

Right as you turned towards Mandy, she waved you off with a grin. “Go. I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? Not my first time running the store alone.”

You smiled at that, grateful for all those days Mandy kept the store alive when you vanished into nothing. “Thanks.”

“Nah, don’t mention it.” She then bumped into Bucky’s arm and winked at them. “Just don’t go off having too much fun.”

Immediately, your cheeks flared up while Bucky’s chest tightened. But before either one of you could quip back, Mandy skipped away with a whistle, looking for a shelf to reorganize like she didn’t just leave you both wide-eyed. For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the room get hotter and hotter until Bucky finally cleared his throat.

He shifted on his feet and offered a nervous smile. “Uh, we should…go?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding a bit too urgently. “We should.”

Before Bucky knew it, you were already heading back to retrieve your coat. When you turned around and stepped away, he began to fidget with his gloved hands, then peeked at where Mandy had walked off to. He blinked to see her head poking out from the aisle, staring back at him before a mischievous grin seeped onto her face.

“Let’s fucking go,” she silently mouthed, winking and disappearing behind rows of books before Bucky could react.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe, so he cleared his throat again while dropping his gaze to the floor. But then he heard your footsteps again, and looked up to…

His heart yelped with affection at the sight of you adjusting your coat, your eyes narrowed as you fixed your collar and tied your belt. It was strange—it was just a coat, and yet it sent Bucky into an alternate universe where everything was different.

Maybe there was a universe in which he never went off to war, staying at Riverside to figure out if you were really his savior. Or a universe where he came back home in 1945, taking the first chance he had to visit you. Or a universe where you revealed the truth to him early on, and he got to learn more about his guardian angel.

Maybe there could have been a place where Bucky simply got to have you all to himself, and you’d also want that.

Maybe…you two were already there.

You stepped right up to him, causing him to snap out of his thoughts. “Ready?”

He nodded, his cheeks still full of blush. “We’re taking your car, right?” 

There was a brief pause as you pondered, then you smiled. “Actually, could we take your bike? I don’t have much to carry, so we don’t have to take my car… If that’s okay with you.”

Of course, it was okay. But still, as you both exited the store, a small part of him wondered why you would rather endure the freezing wind and hazardous road conditions than be safe and warm in your car. He was curious, but he didn’t ask.

To be fair, even if he did ask, you wouldn’t have admitted that you just wanted an excuse to hold him.

<><><>

White rose petals fluttered from the gentle breeze and Bucky’s light laughter. The air was refreshingly smooth, and for once, you found the cemetery peaceful as both of you sat in front of your daughter’s grave.

Your cheeks rushed with warmth as Bucky chuckled again. “Did you expect Rose to do that?”

“Hell no,” you said, letting out a small giggle. “I didn’t think she was gonna take me literally when I said to fight for herself. I thought she was gonna stand her ground—not shove the boy into it.”

“What happened after that?”

You chortled, “The kid’s parents got mad at me, obviously. Saying Rose was not ‘lady-like’ and that I needed a husband to discipline my child correctly.” 

Bucky scoffed. “Gross.”

“Yeah, but I may or may not have told them their son was worse,” you smirked, “despite having both parents.”

The two of you laughed, louder than before, while leaning back against another breeze swaying by. Bucky collected himself first to see your bright smile, the one that always made his chest ache with something so wonderful. A warm grin seeped deeper onto his face as he shifted on the blanket you provided for the visit, ensuring that neither of your clothes would get damp by the winter grass.

“You must’ve been proud of her,” Bucky said.

“I was. Well, I was upset at first because I didn’t want her first move to be attacking people, but yeah, I was proud of her. I mean, to defend herself like that when all the other little girls would’ve waited for help…” You began to softly smile. “I don’t know, I just felt so…”

“Happy?”

“Relieved.”

At that, Bucky’s grin faltered—not from being disappointed, but because he was intrigued by your answer. You let your gaze linger on your daughter’s tombstone for a moment longer, then faced with your lips curling further up.

“I was always a bit unconventional,” you started to explain with a lightness to your voice. “Obviously, I wasn’t the only one back then who believed we didn’t need a man to support us, but I was definitely more vocal about it than others. Even before I was cursed, I just had a different way of viewing the world. Got into a lot of disagreements and fights because of it. I’ve even lost friends over it.”

You shifted in your seat as your smile softened at your past life. “My baby’s father abandoned me the moment he found out I was pregnant. It’s crazy, really, considering it was always him who talked about marriage and having kids. But then we got reckless, and he said he wasn’t ready to be committed yet. Told me that I was on my own, and then a few weeks later, he moved away.”

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat, realizing he had let his words slip out uncontrolled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, you’re right. He was an asshole,” you managed to softly laugh. “But when he left me, it only made me believe harder that I could handle it alone. So despite being a single, soon-to-be mother with constant nausea, I worked. My mother and Henry were a little worried, but they knew I was stubborn enough to figure it out. They were also willing to help me. And then…my baby was born, and I never felt more excited and afraid in my life. I just wanted to be a good mother.

“But when my…Rose was born,” you spoke carefully, your throat slightly tightening over your daughter’s name, “it made people more judgmental. My family stayed the same—if anything, they became more supportive of me. But everywhere I went, when people found out it was just me and my baby girl, they asked how I could possibly take care of her on my own. They all doubted me and weren’t afraid to show it.”

Slowly, you turned back to the tombstone as your shoulders sagged. “Even though Rose didn’t live too long, she already saw so many people trying to push me around. She heard people say that I could never be the mother she needed if I tried to be the breadwinner. I mean, the way that boy’s parents spoke to me—she saw all of that. So, I guess I was just worried that she would also think I wasn’t enough… But then…”

You let out a soft, bittersweet laugh, “When I saw her defend herself, I just knew that if she had gotten to grow up, she would’ve been so…brave. Independent. Smart. And that made me more relieved than anything. Knowing that she was gonna be okay in this damn world… That meant everything to me.” 

A gentle cloud of silence fell over as neither one of you moved a muscle. Bucky kept his gaze on you, taking in how your eyes lingered so longingly on your baby’s name. Within them, he saw a whirlpool of conflicts—guilt and hope clashing while love and pain coexisted. And yet above that, he saw the warmth of a mother who felt more grateful to retain memories of her child than to grieve over them.

With a quiet breath, you directed your eyes back onto him, and much to his surprise, you faintly smiled. “Rose would’ve loved you.”

Bucky tilted his head, his lips instantly curling at the thought. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. She was always so adventurous. She tried to climb every tree and fence she saw. It was a lot to keep her in my sights,” you laughed. “I know she would’ve asked you all about your adventures. I can see it happening—her grabbing your hand and jumping around for one more story.”

Leaning back a bit, he nervously chuckled, “I don’t know if she would’ve wanted to hear about my life.”

“Seriously? Fighting bullies since childhood. Defending the nation as a Howling Commando. Saving the world from an alien who wanted half the universe to vanish,” you listed off with another giggle. “She would’ve been in awe of you. I swear, she would’ve begged you to share everything as bedtime stories—”

Suddenly, both your and Bucky’s cheeks flushed with warmth, and it took your mind an extra moment to realize the implication behind your words.

Imagining Bucky in your home, late at night, reading your baby to sleep… 

Wow. Wow, wow, wow—

You immediately cleared your throat, and your eyes darted away in slight embarrassment. “So, yeah. She would’ve loved you.”

Bucky blinked, then another grin seeped onto his face. He didn’t pry into what you said, although he relished the thought, and instead shifted a bit closer to you. “It still must’ve been hard raising her alone.”

You nodded. “It was, but thankfully, I had my mother and Henry to help me. Henry actually decided to move in with me, so I had someone around when I was pregnant. Eventually, he moved out after I got a handle on things…but then when Rose died, he moved in again because, well, I lost my mind.”

Scooting forward, you brushed your fingers against the flower petals as if you were reaching for your child. “I had no idea how to go about living afterwards. It felt like…my life was aimless, really, and things only got weirder when I got cursed a month later. But despite that, I used to come here every single day. For how long—I can’t remember. I brought all of Rose’s favorites. Her dresses, books, and dolls… Everything. I couldn’t tell you if I was doing it for her or myself, because…”

You bit your lips, and Bucky saw you gather your trembling hands. “I realized that everyone was right.”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart beating quicker than he’d liked. “About what?”

“That I wasn’t meant to be a good mother.”

A breath got caught in Bucky’s throat, and he quickly frowned. “Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “All those people saying I wasn’t gonna be good enough for Rose… When you hear it enough, and the worst does happen, you can’t help but believe that they were right. If I tried a little harder, then who knows? Maybe my baby would’ve lived a whole life. Maybe I wouldn’t have been cursed. Maybe…”

No more words slipped from your lips as you closed your eyes, reliving the same shame you always felt whenever you imagined your baby growing up. But before you found yourself falling deeper into the abyss, a gentle yet firm phrase pulled you up.

“Those people are wrong.”

As you opened your eyes, you glanced back at Bucky and saw a fierce determination etched on his face—a resolute conviction that you had given it your all.

“From what it sounds like, you were amazing,” he continued, then sat up straighter. “You still are.”

A chuckle of disbelief escaped from your throat as you shook your head, but then you flinched from Bucky’s hand on your arm.

“If you really were the bad mother like those assholes said you were, then you wouldn’t be here,” he said, gesturing to the cemetery. “You wouldn’t be visiting your daughter. You wouldn’t share your memories of her or grieve for her. You’re not anything like what they said. Not even close.”

Something danced with your heart.

The warmth in your cheeks deepened with every sentence Bucky said, and your body stopped trembling despite feeling so overwhelmed by his touch. It was extraordinary—you had known him for so long, but right now, he came off as a different being. In this very moment, in front of your baby’s resting place at the beginning of winter, Bucky was not just someone you shared the past with, but rather someone who made you look forward to the future. Over a hundred years you’d been alive, and yet you felt something new whenever you spent time with him.

The descending sun brightened the quiet strength in his expression—the kind that always steadied you regardless of the suffering you’d endured. If anything, his presence startled you, as the affection behind it was hotter than the sunset itself. It acted as the only light you would ever need. No matter how often you attempted to deny it, you always needed Bucky, and right now you understood that you wanted to weave him into the threads of your delicate lives.

Being open like a book available for all to read… It was a terrifying idea, but what about being a novel only meant for one person?

Your James.

The thought should’ve challenged you, but you’d endured worse. You endured the agony of saving him again and again—of losing him and dying over grief.

So why die again?

After all, it was like he said…

“Letting people in after everything… I’m not used to it either. But… Maybe, we can try together.”

And you wanted to try. No matter how small a step you took, you still wanted to walk with him.

So you lightly pulled away from Bucky’s grasp and reached ahead, silently setting the bouquet of roses aside. You then moved the smooth white rocks that almost stung your fingers. Sparked with interest, Bucky leaned closer to you while staring at your hands, wondering what you were doing. As the rocks got pushed aside, his frost-blue eyes slowly widened to see a glimmer underneath your touch.

Soon, a metal container was revealed.

A shaky breath left your lips as you picked the container up from a hole, and you stared down at it. Bucky stayed quiet as you unlatched the lid, and his curiosity shifted into awe at seeing so many books. They were all slender and unlabeled on the spines, but judging by your gaze, he knew you recognized every single one of them.

Your grip tightened on the container one last time before you set it between you two, and you softly spoke, “These are my journals.”

Bucky’s breath hitched before he snapped his head up, staring at you with unimaginable wonder. Then he dropped his gaze, examining the rows of books behind him. “Jesus, there’s so many.”

You snorted, “Well, yeah. I’ve been alive longer than you. This whole time, I’ve kept them all here because, one, I like the idea of Rose protecting my memories, and two…you’d have to be a real piece of shit to steal from a graveyard.”

Nodding in agreement, Bucky brushed his fingers along the spines of the journals, his touch so light as if he believed they were made of glass. The way his index finger twitched made you realize that, while his curiosity was so heavy that he wished to pick up one of your journals, his gorgeous soul whispered against it. Each volume was full of your lives—memories you hoped would stay alive while you lost your final breath again and again.

He hesitated for good reason, and that made you smile softly and open your heart to him more. Much to Bucky’s surprise, you pulled out a journal with ease and offered it to him. His lips went ajar, and he glanced at you like he was asking for permission. When your smile widened, he slowly accepted the journal and flipped it open.

But a frown appeared on his face when he noticed a particular pattern.

September 13, 1956. 8:49 PM

September 14, 1956. 7:23 PM

September 15, 1956. 8:02 PM

September 16, 1956. 9:01 PM

September 17, 1956. 7:52 PM

Bucky leaned closer at the rows of dates and times, puzzled to find no story at all. But when he flipped to the next page, his breath hitched at a memory that was so distant from you.

October 2, 1956. 7:16 PM

November 3, 1956. 6:17 AM

I saved an elderly woman on October 3, and woke up on my floor unable to move.

I was walking home from work. I got off a bit later than usual, but I didn’t mind. The weather was still nice and calm, so I enjoyed being outside in the fresh air. But then I started crossing the street and saw this woman walking towards me. I didn’t think much of it, but then I felt the pull and screeching wheels, so I grabbed her out of the way.

It was a moving truck that hit me, so it couldn’t stop immediately. I don’t know how far I went before it did, and I fell to the ground. I do know that when I was lying on the ground, it didn’t take long for me to die. It was quicker than I expected, and honestly I’m thankful for it. I hate being reminded of how different it is to get hit by a car and a truck.

That said, is it selfish for me to be pissed about who I saved? This woman was so frail that you would think she was ready to pass away in the coming week. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had died while I was gone and

I’m glad everyone was okay. My body is still aching, but I’ll get better. I always do.

“I forgot about that death,” you murmured, reading the entry along with him. 

“God, I…” Bucky stammered before looking up at you. “I…”

Before he said a word—not that he could’ve from the shock he endured—you gave him a faint smile that made him falter. It was still unbelievable to him that you naturally smiled at your pain, using the curl to your lips as a shield from both pity and sympathy. 

“I know. It’s not great,” you said on his behalf. “But it’s okay.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment longer before glancing back at the page, processing your words and your handwriting and…

The date. 

You wrote this entry eleven years after his death was declared to the world, and four years before you saved him for the third time. You wrote this memory when Bucky was the Winter Soldier without his Rose—without you to ground him in humanity. You wrote this when he was truly a mindless puppet, rather than a man with someone so dear to his heart.

This was before Bucky even realized he was once a free man with a whole life behind him.

The sound of metal grazing on paper filled the silence as Bucky’s left hand traced the faded ink. With a soft breath, he spoke, “You said you had an existential crisis that made you stop journaling.”

“I did,” you said, your voice just as quiet as his.

“What was it?” He then lifted his chin, meeting your eyes with his own that were now a bit haunted. “What happened?”

Your words briefly caught themselves in your throat at the sight of Bucky’s sorrow for you, but you still sadly smiled in return. “I thought about my purpose again. I’ve been a ghost my whole life, James. You know how it feels—to be a secret because something bigger than you decided you have a greater purpose. Honestly, I got lonely again. I fell back into a dark place, wondering why people got to fall asleep forever while I stayed awake. And then I—”

Suddenly, you choked on your breath, and you realized how much you were quivering from sharing this part of your life. Your fingers twitched at the need to be honest with Bucky, but your heart began to rapidly beat—utterly panic—at the entire truth. You wanted to tell Bucky what happened when half of the universe disappeared. But…to say to him now—after all the wonderful moments you’d shared together—that his death and revival led to you giving up on everything was too…too…

A gentle hand slipped into yours, and you blinked to see Bucky observing you with so much care in his eyes. He squeezed your hand, silently saying that you didn’t need to force your way through the explosions within your heart.

He asked you to take your time.

For someone who had too much of it, it should’ve been an offensive request, but it wasn’t.

It was too cruel to tell him. Maybe one day you would, but…just not now. Your bond had never been stronger, but strength always came with the fragility of loss until both parties were determined to endure the pain.

And you could not do it right now.

So you smiled back, nodding in appreciation for his patience. Then you lightly exhaled, tightening your grip around his hand. “I didn’t see the point of documenting my life anymore, so I stopped about a year ago. I was here when I wrote my last entry. It was the middle of the night, cold enough that I could see my breath in the air. I was just…exhausted.”

You dropped your gaze, and Bucky followed to examine the very last journal in the container. “When I finished writing and walked away, I took one more look at this tombstone. Suddenly, I wanted to burn my journals. I lost all of my baby’s belongings between my lives, so it made me angry that I still had these entries lying around. But…I was afraid of losing the memories I’m already struggling to keep, so I didn’t.”

After reaching for your journal from Bucky’s grasp, you slid it back into the container and shut it. As you began to bury it back underneath the stones, you sighed, “I always journaled with that hope that one day, I would write a happy ending. To have one entry that says I’m pleased with how my life is going. I mean, everyone gets to be happy. They get to live. But I…” 

The last white stone fell into place, and you set your hands onto your lap as your voice cracked, “I won’t get that. I don’t believe that it’ll happen to me anymore.”

Bucky swallowed back the lump in his throat, hesitating for a brief moment before whispering, “Why not?”

A scoff of a laugh slipped from your lips as you shook your head. “Because when the world’s so shitty, why bother thinking anything will change?”

“Maybe because we do.”

The world went still while his words swirled between both of you.

At first, you didn’t move. Bucky’s response was so simple—almost easy for him to say—and yet it wrapped around your bruised heart and aching soul with intense warmth. For a moment, your breath halted, as if it itself needed to catch some air. You inhaled slowly before lifting your quivering eyes at him, seeing that Bucky was already looking at you.

There was a familiar kind of calmness in his expression—not a single part of him desperately urged you to see that life could be sweeter if you believed. That said, you also saw a flicker of surprise, like he didn’t realize the hope he had until it shifted into a single sentence. Bucky didn’t try to push you; he instead quietly sat with the understanding that while you had gone through hell…maybe there was something lovely beneath the ashes.

You stared at him, and he stared at you. Doubt and certainty flirted between you both, and soon it felt like existence narrowed, leaving only you two in the world. It wasn’t that everyone else—all of the people who cared for you in life and death—didn’t matter anymore. But…getting lost in the frost of his eyes forever seemed more possible now…

And that didn’t scare you as much as before.

A small smile, both playful and appreciative, crept onto your face. “Since when did you become so wise?”

Bucky chuckled, his cheeks becoming pinker. “I don’t know… I have been reading a lot. Maybe I’m just smart now.”

“You’ve always been smart.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Hey, c’mon now.”

“Would a smart man jump off a plane without a parachute?”

Your eyes shot open at that. “What?!” 

And Bucky laughed loudly. “Yeah, that’s the reaction I was expecting.”

“When the hell did you do that?” you quickly asked.

He smirked back at you and stood up. “I’ll tell you during dinner.”

“Fine,” you huffed with a slight grin, following his lead and brushing down your coat. “Where should we go? I haven’t given it much thought, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t worry, I have an idea.”

Your breath hitched as you blinked. “Yeah?”

Bucky nodded while reaching down for the blanket, folding it as he continued, “I don’t know if you’ve been there, but there’s a small restaurant called Agnolo’s near my place. Mainly Italian food, and even though it’s cold right now, the outside patio in front of the restaurant is actually nice and…”

Unbeknownst to him, you watched him speak with a fluttering heart. Your chest bloomed with affection for the man who had once stumbled over ordering a drink at a cafe, and your eyes welled with tears of bliss. Seeing Bucky talk without hesitation—describing delicious meals and a warm atmosphere that reminded him of his childhood—made you so…

Happy.

Relieved.

When Bucky straightened up, the blanket neatly folded in his grasp, he turned back towards you and faltered at the sight of your glistening eyes. “Rose, are you okay?”

Immediately, a laugh spilled from your soul as you gave him a nod. “I’m more than okay.”

He blinked at you, perplexed by your response, while you lightly brushed your sleeves over your eyes. With a hum, you kneeled back in front of the tombstone, arranging the bouquet as if you were composing the perfect still-life for all of history to witness. While Bucky watched you, he wondered what unfolded in your mind so gently that it caused you tears. But whatever it was, it had brought you a laugh, and that made Bucky’s shoulders relax.

Seeing you smile was simply beautiful—so ethereal that his confusion didn’t poke at him too much. As you fluff up the petals to create the final details, Bucky softly smiled at your…everything, really. Everything about you was perfect to him.

Then, slowly, he shifted his gaze to the side until it fell onto your tombstone, and he silently read the name that had never been spoken between you two.

“I feel like I don’t deserve to be called that anymore.”

“Why?”

You looked at him, lips ajar, but no words slipped out from them for a while. After a moment, you could only offer him a poignant smile. “I don’t know.”

There was much that both you and he didn’t know—couldn’t decide or ponder too much without crumbling. But…

You stood up with another grin, pleased by how the flowers highlighted your baby’s grave, and faced Bucky to receive a smile of his own.

…Perhaps it would be easier to make choices—to give in and get what you both wanted—if you had the other to catch you when you fell.

<><><>

You were warm, but it had nothing to do with the heaters around your table.

They shimmered along the fence of the small patio, humming with warmth as the sun finally disappeared behind the city line. The evening was now freezing—much colder than the previous nights—but the restaurant had done an exceptional job at retaining the cozy atmosphere in their outdoor seating. 

Outside the low, black fence decorated with string lights, the streetlights had all flickered on, joining the storefronts and cars in illuminating the sidewalks. The comforting scent of fresh bread and garlic lingered in the air. Rambling passerbys, rolling tires, and scuttling leaves kept the streets moving. At the same time, clattering plates and flowing strings sparked excitement inside the restaurant. However, out here, it was perfectly quiet and private, and you rolled your eyes with a chuckle while Bucky shrugged. 

“I’m just saying,” he began, his voice light as he poked at his plate of gnocchi, “it was a good idea at the time.”

“Yeah?” you said, resting your chin on your hand in pure amusement. “So, now that you tried that and fell through all those branches, do you still think it’s a good idea?”

“Hell no.”

You laughed before you both took the last bite of your meals, cleaning your plates of all the pasta, since the dishes had been absolutely delicious. Shortly after, Bucky grabbed another piece of the never-ending bread and used it to scrape the sauce off his plate.

“When I was a kid, there was this Italian restaurant my family always went to,” he said with a charming grin. “Every time we went, my mom made sure my sisters and I all finished our meals like this. She said that nothing should ever get wasted.”

A smile seeped onto your face as you took a piece of bread as well, following his lead. “Your mother was smart for that.”

Bucky popped the bread into his mouth and chewed while watching you do the same, his cheeks blushing at the sight of you copying his actions. 

“It must’ve been chaotic for your parents,” you then said, causing Bucky to quickly meet your eyes. “Raising four children. I only had Rose, and it was hard.”

“It was definitely a lot, especially since we were all rowdy,” he replied. “But unlike my sisters and me, my parents were always calm. They weren’t the type to yell or run around like us, so honestly, we had no idea where we got our rowdiness from.”

“Maybe your parents were like that as kids, and just never admitted it,” you suggested with a giggle. “Rose was wild, but I didn’t expect any less considering… Well…”

Immediately, Bucky lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward, a smirk quickly finding its way onto his face. “Were you wild as a kid?”

You gave him a shrug. “Maybe…”

“Maybe? It’s either a yes or a no.”

“What? It doesn’t have to be strictly one or the other.”

“I don’t know, Rose. The way you’re being defensive tells me that you were the wildest kid out there.”

You snickered. “I’ve definitely had my moments.”

“Like?”

You dramatically shut your mouth until it was a thin line, and Bucky groaned with a snap of a laugh. “C’mon, you gotta tell me now.”

“I don’t really have to.”

“But I want to know.”

“Nope.”

“If you tell me something crazy you did as a kid, I’ll tell you something I did.”

You shook your head, undoubtedly enjoying the way you were teasing him. “No.”

Bucky threw his arms up in an exasperated fashion, and you both burst into light laughter. As the noise settled down, a breeze flowed past you two, sending shivers down your spine even though you had your coat on.

He noticed, sitting up swiftly. “Cold?”

“Just a bit,” you said while waving him off. “It’s fine. I tend to get cold easily.”

His chest tightened as he raised an eyebrow. “Because you normally do, or…your curse?”

You didn’t use words to reply, opting to give him a sad smile instead. Bucky slightly winced before nodding, keeping that new information fresh in his mind. While you then watched people amble out in the street, his eyes once again darted around your coat. His cheeks quickly flushed as his imagination ran wild, projecting images of you two from the forties. 

Bucky knew that if he had survived the war, he would’ve gone back to Riverside Bookshop immediately, seeking his guardian angel who had saved his life twice by then. He wondered how life would’ve looked afterwards. Would you both have remained friends, or would you have surrendered to your feelings right away? One thing for sure was that no matter what happened—whether you continued to save his life or not—he would’ve fallen in love with you just the same.

Would you have as well?

Would you…

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist against his knee while a familiar thought greeted him again. It was a question that always dwelt despite his best attempts to push it aside. Although it was a gentle thought, it was stubborn and relentless, refusing to be anything other than a sharp ache deep within his soul.

Decades of fighting—of blood and tears that could never be wiped off—would follow him wherever he went. He had accepted that and was slowly able to live with his past, understanding that he truly was a man without a choice. But along with the horrors came his guardian angel, who mimicked his specific thought in quality.

So gentle. So stubborn. So relentless. So…deep within his soul. 

Though you only appeared once every few years, it was enough for the Winter Soldier to sense that there was more to his imprisoned mind. The way you sprang into action, catching every threat before it could reach him, made him realize that there was something deeper connecting you both—a bond between protector and protectee that transcended your roles.

You had stayed when he was violent. Fought and sobbed for him when he was vulnerable. You never only protected him. Despite never saying it aloud…

Bucky knew, without a doubt, that you had loved him when he was at his worst.

All those attempts to keep him alive… All those times you had no choice but to witness your final breath take its bow before the audience… You had been profoundly in love with him.

But now, he wasn’t sure how you felt.

The years between running away from the firework explosion in D.C. and catching you as you slipped off the wooden ladder felt like a blur to Bucky. He often found himself confused about what had truly transpired. You still cared about him—there would never be a second where you didn’t—but love? He couldn’t say whether it was out of the question or not, as you never elaborated on your true feelings even now.

Within barely two months, you two had found so much laughter, hilarious stories, and a comforting presence that welcomed you both every time you said hello. Bucky also noticed the way you looked at him occasionally, your eyes catching his face a second too long, or your lips twitching without you realizing. 

To him, you were no longer this unreachable angel, but rather someone who works at a bookstore. Someone who had a baby girl. Someone who loved eclairs and hated the cold. Someone whose favorite color was frost-blue, even though Bucky still believed frost was a shade of white.

You were Rose, and he liked to believe that whatever your true feelings were, there was still a bit of the love you once had for him.

…Once had? Still had?

Bucky didn’t know anymore.

He…

“I don’t need the change. That’s for you.”

He blinked, then his eyes shot open as the server beamed at you, thanking you with a bright smile. Bucky couldn’t find a moment to speak before she turned and walked away with the tab and the cash you had handed her.

“You zoned out,” you said with a giggle as he snapped his focus back onto you.

“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to pay,” he stammered, his cheeks glowing red from embarrassment. “I was the one who suggested dinner.”

“And it was delicious,” you added nonchalantly, “so I’m happy to pay.”

“Shit,” he murmured under his breath, and that only made you giggle again.

“James, it’s okay. I mean, come on,” you raised an eyebrow at him, “you don’t even let me pay for coffee.”

“That’s because I got it.”

You lightly laughed, waving off his guilt, “I got it too. Seriously, I can pay for dinner. Tonight… All of today has been great, so…” you grinned, “thank you.”

Bucky’s lips parted, no longer sheepish, but the shade of red continued to remain in his cheeks. He then returned the grin, his hand finally uncurling on his lap. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad we got to do this instead of going out during your break.”

“Hey, I do enjoy those days, but…I’m also glad. I mean, it’s just nice to feel…”

“Normal,” he softly finished.

You hummed, happy to remember the first time you two went for a walk. “Yeah.”

The evening stretched on as silence settled, not awkward in the slightest, as you both found comfort in the presence of one another. You watched as Bucky glanced at the street, his eyes shifting between the civilians walking by, while his shoulders loosened. It never got old, really, to see him in this kind of setting: bundled in a warm coat while sitting at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, relaxing after a hot meal and hilarious anecdotes. His frost-blue eyes glowed under the lights, their beauty making your chest flutter and heart sing.

Another smile reached your face as you slightly leaned forward. “What’s on your mind?”

A bit startled, Bucky faced you again. “Nothing.”

You chuckled, “Nothing? You’re a trained soldier, and yet, you were completely distracted when our server came by earlier. What were you thinking about?”

His shoulders tensed once more, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air as his breath hitched. You felt a wave of regret for pushing too hard, but before you could retract your words, he exhaled softly, “Us.”

You blinked, leaning back in your seat. “...Huh?”

“I was thinking about us,” he admitted, his voice tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. “About when we first met. All the times you’d saved me. Me finding you again, just— All of it. I… We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Something unraveled your heart.

You stared at Bucky as his words seeped into your soul, and your breath slowly went off-beat against the storm within you. You felt it both—the anguish for the hell you two had been forced to endure, but also the gratitude that you two had survived at all. Your smile didn’t fade away entirely, but it was now poignant as you quietly spoke, “We have.”

Bucky bobbed his head, lowering his chin to avoid your gaze, for the pain in his memories began to spread to the present. You faltered at his reluctance to look at you, and he let out a small, disappointed sigh, “So much happened back. I wish I could’ve protected you.”

“James,” you immediately breathed, shaking your head with a weary smile. “You did protect me.”

“I could’ve done more.”

You didn’t know why he was suddenly being so harsh on himself, but your heart ached with the tenderness of being cared for so deeply. “You did your best back then… It’s the most anyone’s ever done for me.”

The air shifted as your reply rested on Bucky’s heart, easing the tension just enough to give you relief. He didn’t speak right away—if anything, he looked lost in his own thoughts once again. You watched him silently, letting him think while wondering what images were playing in his mind. But then, slowly, he looked up and met your gaze.

You felt it from him before he even uttered a word—a spark of bravery that you longed to have for yourself.

“I did do my best, but…” he released a trembling breath, “I can do better now.”

A familiar bubble formed around you both, shielding you from the rest of the world as the silence returned. With every second, your eyes widened at his vow that was so soft, and yet unmovable against all odds. Finding the window to jump in and the courage to confess his beliefs, Bucky gave you a smile full of hope and anxiety.

“Rose…” he could barely say without his voice quivering. “I’ve always liked to think…that you once loved me.”

Your breath hitched, and you stuttered, “James—”

“But now, I know you did.”

All of your words seized in your throat, leaving you to stare as Bucky pushed himself to continue, “Every time you saved me… Every time I lost you… There was always something between us. When did it start? I don’t know, Rose. But even though they erased my memories after every mission, there was always a part of me that remembered that. That…remembered you.”

He shifted in his seat, and at any other time, he would’ve heard your heart rapidly pounding against your chest. However, his own uncontrollable, loud heartbeat tampered with his hearing. Nevertheless, he leaned a bit closer, as if he yearned for you despite sitting right across from him.

“We’ve come a long way, Rose, but the thing is…” his smile disappeared, “I’ve spent more of my life trying to hold onto you than actually getting the chance to spend time with you. And…”

His eyes locked onto yours, and the space between you and him transformed into the very shooting star you never wanted to become. 

Something rare. Something seen maybe once in a lifetime. Something destined to burn as it fell toward its end.

But what you failed to see was that once it reached the ground, it wouldn’t dissolve into nothingness. Instead, it would be caught by someone who had stood beneath that very sky for countless decades, choosing to cherish what the world had never intended to save.

Bucky chose you… And…

“Above that, I’ve spent the longest loving you,” he confessed with every ounce of his heart poured into those words.

Both his eyes and yours threatened to glisten. You bit the inside of your mouth to retain your composure. Bucky clasped his hands together underneath the table, the leather gloves squeaking as he struggled against his tremors.

“What I felt from you back then… Even though we never said it aloud, it was real,” he continued quietly. “And I know you’re afraid of considering it again because of your curse, and that’s okay, Rose. Like you said, you don’t want to hope for something you might not have in the end. I get it—I really do. But…”

Slowly, a smile graced Bucky’s face, reflecting both hope for a beautiful future and longing for the one person he wants to share it with. “You don’t have to answer me now, but I have to ask… Knowing that you did love me once…”

A small laugh slipped from his lips, and a single tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered…

“Would you love me again?”

Snow. 

It began to snow.

It wasn’t heavy at all, made up of delicate flurries that fluttered down with a playful urge to tickle the city. It danced through the air, so light that neither science nor magic could have predicted its arrival. Emulating the hidden stars above, the specks of white twinkled in the streetlights, settling softly onto glassy storefronts and the gleaming roofs of cars. Most passersby disregarded it, but a few paused mid-step to look up at the sky, finding themselves grinning at the frozen shower.

But you? You didn’t look up. Didn’t care for the fluffiest of snowflakes that made children laugh. You’d seen the same white hush between switching names and homes, and now it felt stripped of its whimsicality. When you were young, it represented new possibilities, but now it only reminded you of the weight in your bones. The flurries drifted past you, and you knew it was pretty, but all you could do was stare at a sight more beautiful than everything else.

Your James stared back at you, unaware of the tear that slipped down his cheek for a moment too long. He hurriedly wiped his face, not out of anxiety, but from a deep-seated fear that he had said too much. That said, he didn’t regret it—as a man who once didn’t have a say in what he wanted, it felt so freeing to let his heart speak for itself. The gloss in his eyes accentuated their frost-blue hue, becoming a vivid testament to the depth of his love for you.

You had walked past millions of people and seen thousands of lives unfold right before you. You witnessed love in many forms—teenagers laughing in the park, young adults sharing a meal, and elderly couples holding hands with a tenderness that spoke of years spent together. Even in your cozy bookstore, you observed couples entering, clearly infatuated with one another, and each time, a gentle wave of envy washed over you.

But in this moment, you witnessed something entirely new. Countless lives you had brushed past before, and yet you had never seen this kind of devotion one person could carry for another.

Bucky loved you. He loved you cautiously and recklessly as he had promised to cradle your soul against his own. You had seen love daily, but no one could understand the one you two shared—one that endured the brutality of life and fragility of death, withstanding history so that it could prosper in the present.

Fear bit into your skin, harsher than every blizzard you’d suffered through as it stemmed from…

Hope.

Hope for a life worth living.

Hope for a love worth more than life itself.

Taking a gentle breath, Bucky looked up at the sky, watching the delicate flurries descend onto the city he had known all his life. He then turned back to you, a smile crossing his face, filled with a mix of apologies for bringing up the subject and relief for finally doing so.

“You don’t have to tell me now. It’s just something to think about,” he then said quietly.

But what was there to think about?

You already knew the answer. You always had, and it had never changed despite all the torment you faced.

As Bucky averted his gaze and reached for his glass of water, you moved. He froze when his hand found yours instead of his drink, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you both lowered your hands to the table, lingering in that moment of connection. He noticed your lips tremble and the moisture gathered in your eyes as you fought to speak, your chest tight with emotion.

Then you opened your mouth, sharply inhaling to tell him your answer—

Something tugged at your heart.

Your breath hitched, and Bucky widened his eyes at the horror that suddenly bloomed in your face. Immediately, you squeezed his hand and frantically looked around, trying to spot the incoming danger that was planning to hurt him and…and…

There was nothing.

As civilians strolled by, laughter mingled with the sounds of cars passing through the streets. Some were saying their goodbyes for the night, while others brushed off the lingering snow from their shoes against the sidewalks. The snow fell lightly on the concrete, quickly melting away in the warmth of the evening. A few stores began to prepare for closing, with owners moving behind the windows to tidy their spaces and pull down the blinds. The scene was one of serene tranquility, with nothing out of the ordinary in sight.

Your chest tightened, and you stood up abruptly, your chair screeching against the pavement as your breathing quickened. You turned your head, eyes darting between every movement and sound, but panic only deepened in your chest at nothing. Bucky rose from his seat as well, reaching to comfort you. But he stumbled back when you spun around and grasped his arms, positioning yourself in front of him as his shield once again. His breath caught in his throat at your firm grip, pain swelling within him at your willingness to put your life on the line for him again.

However, nothing continued to happen, and a strangled gasp tore from your throat.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to know what was happening.

But where was it? The soaring bullet—swinging knife—spiraling explosion—where the fuck was it? Where was the danger? What was the threat?

Why the hell was your instinct failing you now? This— This never happened! Focus! You had to find the danger. Please, you must find the—

“Rose,” Bucky broke the silence from behind, trying to stand in front of you.

But you shoved him behind your body again. “Stop! Stay behind me!”

“It is my turn now?” he rushed out.

It was a simple question, but it had frozen your body.

“I…” You could barely speak as you continued to look around.

Was it him? Who was it?

Who the fuck was it you had to save?

Without realizing it, your breaths turned erratic, uneven, and rough against your ribcages. Your knees nearly buckled, but Bucky quickly caught your arms and held you against him. His stomach twisted when he felt the violent shakes coursing through you, and he pulled you closer.

“Rose, is it me?” Bucky quickly asked, squeezing your hand.

“I don’t know!” you yelled, your voice cracking like glass from absolute horror.

Bucky’s breath stuttered at the pure uncertainty in your scream. He had seen you afraid, but never like this—vulnerable to not knowing for the first time in…in… 

Shit. Was there ever a time when you didn’t know who to save? Was now truly the first time?

Following your gaze, Bucky also scanned their environment to spot anything peculiar, but there was no speeding vehicle, no glowing red dots, no disappearing shadows. Furthermore, as he inspected every detail of their surroundings, it dawned on him that he didn’t actually feel threatened. Of course, you always noticed the incoming danger and stopped it before he could process it, but he wasn’t on a mission this time. He wasn’t fighting any agents, dodging bullets, and evading grenades in the middle of a wasteland or broken city. He was home in Brooklyn, ending one of his favorite days with a lovely dinner and a heartfelt question that danced around his soul for too long.

Bucky didn’t feel…unsafe. Not really.

But you were losing your fucking mind.

How could you not know? Surely, it had to be Bucky who needed protection; he was placed right in front of you as if you two were a part of a choreography that would end with your death and his life saved. But nothing was happening. Why the fuck was—

Gunshots and splintering glass erupted through the street.

You both jumped sharply before twisting to your right, watching chaos unfold down the street. All terrified by the sudden noise, everyone in the area scrambled—some running wildly, others tripping and leaping back to their feet. Some dropped their belongings like they meant nothing; others grasped them tighter before ducking for cover.

Then a set of doors, its windows all already shattered, flung open, and more people spilled out with gasps for help. A few were already dialing emergency services, and when you took another look at the building they all came from, you halted.

It was a bank. A robbery that had gone sideways.

No, it wasn’t Bucky who you had to save. It was—

A man in a sharp gray suit emerged from behind a parked car, urging the terrified victims to hide. He ran back into the street, rushing towards those frozen in fear and guiding them to safety. It was clear he was also frightened, but the drive to do the right thing overpowered his fear.

He was so brave, but also too exposed.

So when a masked man with a submachine gun stepped out of the bank, your breath caught.

“Shit!” You barely had time to process before you took off running. “Sir—”

Seeing the gunman at the same time, Bucky’s instincts kicked in, his grip tightening around your wrist, desperation coursing through him as he pulled you back. He wished to protect you, but you yanked away immediately, causing you to stumble before you crashed to the ground. Knees scraping against the unforgiving concrete, you hissed in pain despite the rising tide of adrenaline in your system.

“Fuck, Rose—”

You didn’t give Bucky another second before you bolted through the black gate, frantic to save the man who was now guiding a scared mother and child to safety. Bucky didn’t even have a chance to yell for you before he also noticed the brave civilian, and he realized what your intentions were. The masked man shouted threats to anyone who dared to stir more trouble, but then he spotted the suited man who had successfully pushed the mother behind a car.

As the gun aimed for an innocent life and your feet leaped off the concrete, an empty glass soared through the air. 

It cut into the chaos violently, thrown by Bucky, who mustered all his strength into it. The ex-assassin sprinted towards the bank the moment he hurled the cup, and watched the glass strike the masked man in the head. For a moment, it seemed like all would go well, but even as the man staggered, his finger tightened reflexively around the trigger.

Right as you collided into the suited man, wrapping your arms around him in a protective embrace and tumbling to the ground, bullets erupted into the crowd. Bucky’s heart plummeted at the sight of crimson sprays blossoming from where you shielded the man.

“NO!” he roared with thunder in his voice, and he bolted forward with fury igniting his every step. 

By the time the masked man regained his focus, Bucky had driven his knee into the man’s stomach. All of his breath immediately exploded from his throat, and he didn’t get a chance to steady himself before Bucky grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground. As the criminal cried in pain and Bucky kicked his weapon far away, two more masked men, also wielding machine guns, burst through the doors, holding briefcases full of stolen cash. 

However, the moment they spotted their sobbing friend and Bucky’s look of death, they froze. They barely could stumble back—process that the Winter Soldier was right in front of them—before Bucky lunged at them. 

His vibranium hand clamped around the barrel of one gun, bending the metal while his right hand swung into the other man’s face. A disgusting crack rang out as the man screamed, his broken nose causing him to drop his weapon and case. Bucky then quickly shifted his focus to the other man, who panicked over his weapon’s malfunction. With a swift yank, Bucky pulled the gun down, sending the man staggering forward. Without hesitation, his fist came crashing down onto the offender’s back, slamming him into the cold concrete. Finally, Bucky pivoted, delivering a final brutal blow to the first man before sending him crashing against the wall, knocking him out.

All three men stilled, either unconscious or terrified to move, while one of the deadliest people on the planet loomed over them. Bucky released a huff of breath, a low growl rumbling in his chest, embodying the predator as the men remained vulnerable prey before him. Then he looked up at the doors, wary of any additional threats, but all he saw were wounded guards slumped against the walls and bank tellers frantically calling on the phone for help.

Suddenly, a chill shot up Bucky’s spine, compelling him to spin around and find you… 

Alive. 

A gasp escaped Bucky’s lips as he processed the sight of you: for once, you weren’t bleeding out and waiting for death to take you away. Relief washed over him, but it quickly fell apart when he then realized what you were doing.

You were kneeling beside the suited man, shivering as you pressed your coat against his chest.

And your coat—its lovely, caramel exterior—was turning red.

“No!” you choked out as you put more pressure on the man’s numerous wounds. “Sir, it’s okay! You’re gonna be okay!”

The squirming man tried to speak, but ended up coughing up more blood that joined the puddle that pooled underneath his body. A stream of red dripped from his lips as he then tried to sit up, his eyes wide with horror as he realized the extent of his injuries. You instantly pushed him down, gasping as you struggled to fight your tears. “Stop! Stay down, please!”

“Rose!” Bucky yelled as he skidded to a stop, kneeling across from you. “Hey—”

“Please!” you shouted again, shaking your head at the man. “You’ll be okay! The ambulance is coming! Right—” You snapped your head up at Bucky with the widest eyes. “Right, James? They’re coming, right?!”

Bucky joined you, pressing his hands into your coat and wincing when the man seized in pain. “You’ll be alright! The medics are coming. Just— Just hold on—”

“My—” the man wheezed, his eyes darting frantically between you and Bucky. “My kids… Home… Kids…”

“Y-You’ll go home!” you stammered, desperation coating every word. “We’ll get you to a hospital, then you can go home!”

Bucky lifted his head, his heart weeping for how anguished you were becoming. But then his eyes widened at your upper right arm, your sweater torn and bloodied from where a bullet grazed your skin. His breath hitched, and he leaned closer to you. “Rose, your arm—”

“PLEASE!” you cried out, your tears finally rolling down your cheeks when the man briefly closed his eyes. “Stay awake! You have to!”

Suddenly, the distant wail of sirens pierced through the disorder, all converging on the exact location. Both you and Bucky looked down the street, spotting flashing lights speeding towards the crime scene. The snow fell more heavily, the air growing colder as chaos continued to unfold around you—people assisting the injured, restraining the battered criminals, waving down the approaching medics. 

A fragile smile broke out on your face, and you looked back down at the man. “Sir, they’re here! They…”

As your words faded, Bucky’s heart sank. He felt the sudden stillness beneath his hands, a chilling realization dawning on him. He shifted his gaze back to the man, whose open eyes now lacked any light. Although his blood continued to pool through the coat and between your fingers, the desperate rise and fall of his chest had stopped. Time seemed to freeze as you stared, immobilized by disbelief and terror. 

You watched this man for any sign of life, all while your own body became incapable of moving a muscle. You stared, and stared, and stared, until you finally whispered, “Sir?”

He didn’t respond.

When the wheels of police cars and ambulances screeched to a stop, you still didn’t move. You couldn’t, because for the first time in years…

You failed.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: Again, thank you so much for waiting patiently as I figure out some health stuff!

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @redtaytan @lilfuturescars @glossy01 @starstruckfirecat @moon-shampoo @buckysdoll1940 @rainbowpr1sm @phoenix666stuff @hangingmooncloud @ajanauia @maribirdsteele @intothesoul @nexxen24 @baguwagu

However, all of that was simply a distraction for what came next.

For the third time—not that he was counting—Bucky reached for the doorbell, but his hand shook so violently that he pulled it back. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, and he clenched his notebook even tighter while wondering if Becca could sense his fear behind the front door. He’d been standing there for nearly half an hour, and at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if a neighbor called the police on him for suspicious activities. His heart pounded against his ribs, so he brought his hand up to his chest again in hopes he could soothe it.

He was so scared.

Today was the day he would lose his sister again. To admit that she had lost her dear mother because of his actions. When she watched her mother fall asleep forever, Becca was barely in her twenties, carrying many questions yet unable to seek her mother’s advice anymore. Within a few years, her family went from six to four, and she had fallen apart too many times from grief and anguish. Despite being an adult, Becca was still a lost little girl who had to mature faster to cope with her pain—to accept that her big brother and mother would never come back. 

She grew up so much, and Bucky couldn’t be prouder to see the person she was today. But he also knew that he couldn’t hide the truth forever. As always, his nightmares were getting worse from how his actions as the Winter Soldier lingered. It tainted his life with every second, so he had to make things right.

But for the first time in a while, his focus wasn’t to erase his nightmares or ease his pain.

“You go to these people and say “sorry,” because you think it’ll make you feel better, right?” Sam gently said with a slight curl to his lips. “But you gotta make them feel better. You gotta go to them and be of service. I’m sure there’s at least one person in that book who needs closure about something, and you’re the only one who can give it to them.”

“Probably a dozen,” Bucky replied with shame.

But Sam didn’t look at him differently and instead nodded. “That’s cool. Start with one.”

As much as the birdman was a pain in the ass, Sam was a great counselor and the kind of friend anyone could rely on. Bucky knew he was right, and fortunately, he also had the perfect person to start with.

It felt like the doorbell electrocuted him when he pressed it, but he didn’t retreat to his motorcycle with a tail between his legs. Keeping his feet firm to the ground, Bucky listened to Clover bark at the door before Becca shushed him. With a deep breath, Bucky stood up tall when the door opened, and his little sister stared at him.

“James?” she breathed, darting her eyes around his anxious expression.

“Hi…” he managed to say, then averted his eyes. “Uh… I know I—”

His words vanished when a pair of arms wrapped around him, and he sagged in his sister’s quiet embrace. He didn’t hug her back as he felt too much guilt for what he was about to do next.

After a moment, Becca exhaled into his shoulder. “You bastard. Running off and not picking up my calls.”

Bucky grimaced, but didn’t move away, believing this would be the last time his sister would hold him. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” she said as she released him, then gently pulled him into the house. “You had me worried sick, Jimmy.”

“I know,” he whispered, following her to the living room where Clover was leaping around. “I…I just had some things to figure out.”

“Oh, I’m aware. I watched the news and saw all the nonsense happening with the fake Captain America.” She pet Clover before the dog jumped towards Bucky, wagging his tail as he spun around the man. “I assumed you’d be busy with all that mess.”

“That…definitely was a part of it,” Bucky said while kneeling, letting Clover lick his face to receive some scratches and pets in return. “But it’s been taken care of.”

“I’d say. Have you seen the news of that man’s proceedings?” Becca placed her hands on her hips with an unamused frown. “He still thinks he’s Captain America. What a joke, thinking he could be like Steve. If I had it my way, I’d give it to him.”

At that, he lightly chuckled and stood up. “I’m not sure there’s much you could do with him.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy. That guy has a punchable face. He’d never seen me coming.”

Bucky laughed a little harder, but his tone was all cracked and rough like a worn-out sheet of sandpaper. Instead of sitting on the sofa, Becca took another glance at his state. She slowly approached him again as her eyes softened.

“Are you alright?” she gently asked. “This week must’ve been difficult for you with that guy and the whole Flag Smashers stuff. Were you injured?”

He nodded with a weak smile. “A bit, but I’ll be okay. The battle isn’t over, but we’ll fix it.”

She took extra time to examine the exhaustion on his face, and then bobbed her head with a light grin. “Alright. But next time, when you run into trouble, you don’t run away from me like that. Got it?”

Becca expected her brother to agree with a laugh, so she faltered when he didn’t respond. He lowered his head and looked away, his eyes focused on the floor as his breathing deepened slightly. Furrowing her eyebrows, she gently reached for his arm.

“Jimmy,” she whispered, assuming that this past week truly had beaten him. “Hey… It’s alright. Go sit down, and I’ll bring us some tea. Then, you can tell me everything that happened, yeah?”

But he didn’t move from his place.

Slowly, Bucky raised his notebook towards her, making her blink at the object before accepting it. She peeked at him to see that he still wasn’t looking at her, then slowly began to flip through the pages. Her lips curled upward as she noticed a few more lines crossed through the names, showing his steady progress in making amends.

“Would you look at that,” she said with a soft giggle. “You’re almost…”

All words trailed off when she turned to the last page and spotted the latest name.

R. Proctor

Becca’s smile vanished. 

Although her body reacted immediately, her mind paused at her name, unable to comprehend why it had been recently added to the list. And despite it being her name, it looked unrecognizable, as if it were wrong for Bucky to call her anything other than Becca Barnes. Her own name didn’t look like it belonged with the rest, for there was nothing for them to reconcile on. 

Unless…

“Jimmy… What is this?” Becca quietly asked, finally looking up at her brother.

Bucky’s throat tightened, and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Curling his hands into fists, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? What…” She took another look at the notebook, ensuring that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. “What is this for?”

“The protest where Mom was at… I…” He slowly lifted his head, and his breath got caught in his throat upon seeing the confusion on her face. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re…” Becca shook her head and closed the notebook with a shaky breath. “You’re not making any sense. Jimmy, I don’t—”

“It was me.”

“What?”

“It was me,” Bucky choked out as tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “The bomb. The chemical spill. Mom… It was my fault.”

“I-I don’t…” Her breath hitched, clutching the notebook against her chest. “Jimmy, I don’t get it…”

But rather than explaining any further, he hiccuped. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know…”

And that was all it took for Becca to fully understand, and her body went rigid. And the moment Bucky noticed her brown eyes shimmering, his heart shattered, sending pieces to pierce his soul like how windshields explode during a car accident. He made his sister cry, and knew that this was it. There would be no more Bucky and Becca. No more of this duo of troublemakers.

Wracked with repentance and shame, Bucky began to hiss through his tears. “I didn’t know, Becca. Until you told me what happened, I…I had no idea… It was me. It was—”

He then collapsed to his knees, and his sister gazed at him as he planted his hands on the floor, keeping his head down so the teardrops landed on the wooden boards. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know until now. It was me… I did it… Mom… She…”

He couldn’t even say it.

How pathetic. He killed his mother, and couldn’t even fucking say it.

Just say it.

“I…”

Admit it.

“Becca, I…”

Tell her the truth!

“I ki—”

His words halted when his chin found Becca’s shoulder. Bucky widened his eyes as she tightly hugged him, placing an arm around his upper shoulders to guide him to the crook of her neck. The notebook had been thrown aside, nearly slipping underneath the sofa where Clover cautiously watched the siblings embrace. Bucky’s palms were no longer firmly on the floor, but they still didn’t reach for his sister.

But just being in her arms, Bucky felt his racing heart slow itself, still hurting but no longer worried because… Well, there she was. Holding him like he was the real victim.

Perhaps, he was.

“Becca…” Bucky slowly started, “I—”

“Don’t apologize,” she immediately pleaded, her voice wavering as she tried to fight her tears. “Don’t do it.”

“Bec—”

“Please. God, please…please don’t do it,” she begged, and he felt her shivering as she hugged him tighter. “Don’t blame yourself, Jimmy. Please…”

But it was hard to accept that he had no part in their mother’s death.

His lashes fluttered as more tears escaped his glacier-blue eyes, and he closed his eyes as a guilty man. “You lost Mom because of me.”

“No… You lost all of us first,” Becca whimpered. “You lost us way too soon. It wasn’t you, Jimmy. Don’t say it was you…”

“But it was. All of it was me. No matter what you say, it was all my fault,” Bucky still said, and went to pull away. “I don’t deserve—”

She yanked him back into her arms, and she choked on her breath. “I forgive you.”

Bucky’s eyes instantly widened as the world spun around him. “What?”

“I forgive you,” she quickly repeated as if she was running out of time. “James, I forgive you. If you blame yourself, then I forgive it all. Everything… I…”

And Becca continued to murmur words of reassurance to the man who refused to believe he was allowed any. Bucky remained in his sister’s grasp, his gaze unfocused as he listened to how strong her voice was despite the tremors within it. Although her voice wavered, her desperation for him to understand that they were okay was so powerful against all odds. He wanted to match her strength, but the weight of her forgiveness suddenly made him so brittle, and he could no longer fight his own denial.

He was a victim. 

All these years, he was the real victim.

As he finally accepted the truth, Bucky sagged in Becca’s arms, which felt so sturdy despite being thin, and all his tears began to spill down his cheeks. His breath continuously caught as his cries deepened, expressing every ounce of helplessness he’d carried throughout the decades.

“I…” he sharply inhaled before sobbing harder. “I’m no longer the Winter Soldier… I’m James Bucky Barnes. And you’re part of my…my…”

Although he never finished his line, he succeeded in making amends, and Becca held him tighter when he broke down completely. He tucked his head further, and his tears alone conveyed all the pain he’d felt in isolation. While he let go of the chains around his heart, his sister proceeded to hug him in silence.

But then, her breath hitched.

Bucky opened his eyes, seizing his cries to listen again. Slowly, Becca began to snivel, her shoulders bouncing as her grip weakened around him. Then she gasped aloud, for an intense revelation crashed upon her.

As she realized that her mother had been killed by the same devils who killed her brother, Becca bawled. Bucky suddenly didn’t hear an elderly woman anymore, but rather his baby sister, and instinctively wrapped his arms around her. And as she sobbed for their mother, Bucky placed a hand on her head to hide her from the world, as it was his turn to protect her again.

<><><>

The morning wind graced the trail towards the gazebo, and Bucky quietly walked as the sun glowed like honey above him. 

It was neither hot nor cold outside, as May had softened the chaos of Brooklyn for a bit of peace. The breeze gently brushed by patches of flowers and grass while Bucky’s feet crunched on the pathway. His hands swayed by his sides in restrained rhythm, and he sighed as his chest began to tighten further.

He was exhausted, but for once, it wasn’t caused by nightmares or wars that dragged him around. Since revealing the truth of their mother’s death, Bucky had been staying at Becca’s house. He wanted to say that he was there to take care of her, but really, she was also there to take care of him. They reminded each other to eat even when they had no appetite, and sleep when their eyes refused to shut. 

Bucky needed Becca as much as she needed him, as the grief between them was its own entity. She had been forced to revisit the feeling of losing their mother, while he was stepping into it at its greatest strength for the first time. 

It was severely draining, but as long as they had each other, everything was okay.

Above, Bucky, birds chirped as they soared through the sky, landing in the trees to tend to their babies. Not a single word escaped the tired man as he continued to walk towards the place that held numerous memories. Then, when he spotted the gazebo, his eyes softened at the familiar being sitting at the bench, and it felt as if the world became magical around him. With a soft breath, he reached the steps to the platform, and the older woman opened her eyes to glance over.

Before she could even open her mouth, Bucky whispered, “Hello, Wendy.”

At that, Wendy paused, and he noticed the sudden awe in her eyes. He found it a little unusual that she was surprised he had said hello first, but he brushed it aside as her elated smile soothed his mind.

“Hello, Bucky. It’s been a while,” she greeted.

He nodded, trying to seem relaxed. “It has.”

“How are you?”

He didn’t respond right away, and instead grimaced at how the woman still had the heart to care after their last interaction. Shifting on his feet, he glanced down. “I told my sister what happened.”

“And?”

“She hugged me,” he quietly said, then looked back at her. “I gave her a big hug too.”

Wendy’s smile softened, still bright but now also calm. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you two are alright.”

He slowly nodded, then took a sharp breath as he struggled to speak, “When we saw each other last time, I…”

But he never finished his sentence as she gently raised her hand. “It’s alright, sweetie. You were grieving.”

“That doesn’t mean I should’ve yelled at you.”

“Maybe, but I’ve done worse when my son passed away,” she said, her voice light but honest. “It might not be right, but I understand how it feels to lose someone.”

Bucky’s eyes quivered at the woman before he nodded again, and she moved over on the bench to make room for him. But when she settled and looked at him, she blinked at how he had his gaze back onto the ground and continued to keep his distance. She watched him, waiting for him to make a move, while Bucky stayed silent.

After a moment, he finally asked, “How did you know my sister’s name is Rebecca?”

Wendy’s lips parted, then she let out a small chuckle as if she had been expecting this question. “I’m just good at guessing.”

“I don’t think so.”

She tilted her head in slight amusement. “You think it’s strange for me to assume that ‘Becca’ comes from ‘Rebecca?’”

“I think it’s strange that you were so confident. Like you’ve known all along about…me,” Bucky whispered before meeting her eyes again. “Like…who I am.”

“But who are you exactly?”

Bucky couldn’t say. 

While he had an idea, he was still nervous to admit it aloud. It was easier for him to hear others say he was a victim than to claim the title himself. Although he accepted that it was the truth, his tongue twisted at every attempt to say it. So he didn’t speak, and his gaze dropped as his shoulders slumped, and Wendy offered him a faint smile.

“Something’s troubling you,” she gently said, knowing that the world was challenging him.

Bucky bit his bottom lip, tucking his hands in his jacket to hide his tremors. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“How so?”

“I…” He winced, feeling like his heart was going to explode from his chest. “I’m starting to think you’re not real.”

He waited for her to question him—to ask why he would have such an insane belief, and he was ready for it. Words tangled in his throat, preparing to explain that he’d noticed how she wore the same outfit every time they saw each other, and how she was always around whenever he visited, and how she disappeared when he least suspected it.

But rather than asking a question, Wendy’s lips curled upward as she hummed, “What an interesting thought.”

Bucky immediately faltered. “You don’t think it’s crazy?”

“Please, there have been alien invasions and battles between gods. To call anything crazy now would be crazy in itself.” She lightly chuckled. “Besides, interesting thoughts such as yours are what make the world so wonderful. Magical, you could say.”

“Are you magical?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“If I was, would that bother you?”

“No. If anything, it’d make me feel better, because then I’d know I’m not hallucinating.”

As if it were cued, Bucky turned around towards where a horn echoed once more. He stared at the tracks, trying to pick up the sound further, but the volume remained low. Though it was just as direct as the last time he heard it, it was still faint enough that it made it seem like he was losing his mind.

“Did you hear…” Bucky barely said before shaking his head, frustrated by his brain playing tricks on him.

“I can assure you,” Wendy began, unfazed by his distracted state, “that you’re not imagining things.”

“…So you’re real?”

“If you would like me to be. But even if I wasn’t, does that mean my presence here doesn’t matter?”

He stared at her, once again puzzled by her whimsical lines, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Who…who are you?”

At that, she smiled with bittersweetness strong enough to color the air around them. “I’m just an old woman waiting for something you’d gotten: a reunion with my loved one.”

“And they’re still coming?”

“Yes. They’ll be here very soon. And who knows,” she let out a small laugh, “maybe when I reunite with them, we can watch the train come by again.”

“But this line is inactive.”

“Only because no one cares about this place. It’s just you and me who do. But if enough people care, you never know what could happen in the future. Maybe one day, we could retake this train.”

He glanced at the tracks, his lips parting at the possibility. “Where would it even go?”

“Now that,” she chuckled, “is an excellent question.”

He blinked at her, making Wendy let out more soft laughter. She then lightly tapped the space beside her, finally prompting Bucky to sit beside her. The moment he relaxed his shoulders, she turned to face him better.

“Do you remember yet? If you’ve read Peter Pan?” she asked with pure curiosity, and Bucky wondered if it was also hope he was hearing in her voice.

“I think I did, but it’s still all…fuzzy.”

“Well, in the story, Wendy always believed in Peter’s existence, despite many people saying he wasn’t real,” she explained, reminding him of the narrative. “But she ignored them all. She believed in Peter so much that eventually, he showed up at her window. She got to fly into the sky with him in absolute bliss. So…”

Wendy looked up, taking a deep breath to admire the sweet air of the abandoned gazebo. “Maybe I’m your Peter Pan. Or…” she laughed, “maybe you’re mine. After all, you’re the one who keeps finding me here, not the other way around. And I believe in you, sweetie, that you’ll get what you want.”

Bucky gazed at her, his gentle eyes a little lost, but in a way that mysteries feel exciting. “…Do you know what I want?” he breathed, wondering if this magical woman actually knew him more than he realized.

“I can make another good guess, but in the end, only you’ll know.”

He hummed, facing ahead to stare at the distant tracks. But then he quickly glanced over when Wendy began to move, her hand rummaging in her coat. Then she pulled out her white handkerchief and stared at it with longing eyes.

With a soft exhale, she raised it towards Bucky with a grin. “Here. Take this.”

Bucky froze, his gaze falling to the cloth. “What?”

“Take it. Regardless of everything, I’d like to think I’m real. Consider this proof that I am.”

With uncertainty, he slowly reached for her handkerchief and settled it in his lap. He cradled it as if it was whispering to him—like it carried a lifetime of memories that he found familiar, but couldn’t recognize. He brushed his fingers over it, his chest fluttering with overwhelming care from his old friend.

“Everything will be okay, sweetie,” Wendy then muttered, her voice tinted with gentle joy.

Then, unexpectedly, Bucky widened his eyes when she stood up, and he quickly followed her movement while she brushed down her coat. “Wait— Where are you going?” he immediately asked, the tremor in his voice loud.

“To see my loved one,” she brightly said.

“They’re here?” He glanced around, but found only the two of them.

“They’re arriving shortly. It’s time for us to say hello.”

With motherly warmth, Wendy gently grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and gave him the widest smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll see me again, but the next time you do, I’ll be giving someone a big hug. I’ll have what I’ve always wanted.”

Bucky’s lips went ajar, then his eyes softened at his friend as he slowly nodded, quietly happy to see that she was finally attaining her dreams. Wendy’s hands slipped away from his own, and Bucky took the moment to offer her a smile as well. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing them again.”

“Me too,” she giggled. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

“Bye, Wendy.”

And with that, the older woman turned around, walking in the opposite direction from the start of the trail. Bucky watched her amble away, but within one blink, she was gone, leaving him to look around for his friend. His mind rushed, immediately questioning the existence of the older woman—of his sanity. But when he clenched his fists, a soft gasp tumbled from his lips as he lowered his gaze.

The white handkerchief lingered in his grasp, and Bucky brought it up closer for him to observe. Nothing about it seemed odd—the stitches and crinkles were very much real. He examined every little detail, noticing which edges were worn and seams were loose. He then paused when he turned it over and spotted a minor detail.

In one corner were two letters: WD.

Bucky blinked at it before his chest fluttered with amusement. Though he knew her surname wouldn’t be the same, he still found it funny that her initials were the same as Wendy Darling herself. With a soft huff of a grin, he lifted his head to look towards where she disappeared one more time, then walked towards the trail to go back home.

<><><>

Brooklyn was busier than ever, typical for New York summers, as people found time to visit the city. And as June passed and July arrived, the air outside became humid enough to swallow a breath.

Despite how hot it was, Bucky appreciated the breaths he was allowed to take.

The past few weeks had neither been slow nor fast for him. There wasn’t a day when he felt claustrophobic by time looming over him, or overwhelmed by how it rushed by without any concern for his well-being. Bucky was back at his apartment, which had more furniture than before because he realized that when Becca eventually visited him, she would tear him apart for how depressing his place looked. So, there were more places to sit, and he finally threw the blanket from his floor into his closet and accepted that he could relax in his bed.

Bucky sat on his couch as the sun began to vanish from the city line, and he flipped through another page of his novel. He found it wonderful to reconnect with stories again and enjoyed the free time he had to visit another world. That said, the world he was in was now quieter—he was almost done with making amends, his sister was as amazing as always, and his friendship with Sam helped him understand that, yes, he didn’t have to run away anymore.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

As much as his life was becoming sweeter with every second, the cherry on top that he always had was now missing.

For the first time since they met in November, Wendy wasn’t around when Bucky came to visit. 

Just a few days after they said goodbye, he found himself back at the gazebo alone. He was stunned to see no one at the bench and didn’t know what to do but wait for Wendy, hoping it was simply her turn to be Peter Pan. But when she didn’t show up for a long while, he decided to stop by another day. So, he went the next day, then two days later, then three.

But no one waited for him, and his heart broke at the thought that she was gone forever. He began to believe that he was initially right—that maybe she wasn’t real and only existed in his head.

And yet, the handkerchief still lived on, tucked in his pocket for him to clutch whenever he doubted her presence or needed comfort. The thin piece of cloth gracefully tested his disbelief, ensuring that Bucky would never think that he had lost his mind again. Although he hadn’t seen Wendy in weeks, he could feel her warmth as he navigated each day, almost able to hear her guidance.

So, one day, he returned to the bookstore and purchased a copy of Peter Pan, finally ready to listen to one of the first suggestions she ever gave him.

“Oh, you should start reading again. It helps pass the time when life gets boring.”

His life wasn’t exactly dull, but he only had so much to do while he waited for Sam to call him about the Flag Smashers. 

Besides… It was interesting, really, to read a story about a boy who wouldn’t grow up as a man who couldn’t grow up.

Maybe Wendy was right… He really might be her Peter Pan.

The sun finally settled for the night when Bucky flipped to the next page of the final chapter, and he hummed as his mind leaped in delight once more as he recognized another sentence. As he read Peter Pan, he realized he had indeed read it before as a child. He was pleased to find many moments familiar. Then, he became more excited about unfamiliar sections, intrigued by how the plot would unfold. He was almost sad to be done with the story, but also eager to start a new one.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

“Hullo, Wendy,” he said, not noticing any difference…

Bucky placed his empty mug in the sink, holding the book with one hand as he continued to read through the passages. The sink waited for him to clean his dirty dishes, but frankly, he was too invested in the ending to switch tasks. His eyes never left the pages while he returned to the couch and plopped down as he flipped the page again.

“Of course; that is why I have come.” He added a little sternly, “Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?”

She knew it was useless to say that he had let many—

Bucky paused, glancing over his buzzing phone to see his partner’s name on display. Keeping a finger in between the pages to hold his place, he picked up the call with a hum. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey. It’s time,” Sam immediately cut to the chase. “Karli is gonna strike soon.”

Bucky sat up with furrowed eyebrows, already on alert. “Where?”

“The GRC meeting in Manhattan. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Bucky grumbled. “Seriously?”

“Yup, so get off your ass and get there as soon as possible. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Tossing his phone to the side, Bucky groaned as he sank deeper into his couch and stared at his novel. He narrowed his eyes, debating whether he had time to finish the chapter, but ended up sighing before sliding his bookmark between the pages. He stood up, set the book on his side table, and gave it one last look as he pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket.

He gazed at the cloth, gently placed it on the novel, and went to prepare for another battle.

<><><>

Bucky rolled over for the fourth time in the past half-hour and stared at the ceiling with a deep sigh.

Since the night before, his muscles were sore, his bruises were throbbing, and his joints were stiff, but none of these issues was why he couldn’t fall asleep tonight. He was restless, his mind spinning, though he didn’t have a series of nightmares—especially considering he had completed all of his amends. It was as if a thought was clawing at him, trapped behind a foggy wall and desperate to reveal itself, but Bucky was unsure as to what it could be.

It was simply an uncomfortable night of tossing and turning, so Bucky sat up with a groan. He glanced at the time, cringing at how sunrise was quickly approaching when he hadn’t slept a wink. And yet, despite not sleeping, his glacier-blue eyes weren’t stinging, and he didn’t have a headache, so he rose from his bed and stretched carefully. 

He stepped out of his bedroom, flicking the light on and aiming towards the kitchen for a glass of water, when a white cloth caught his eye. Turning around, Bucky reached for the handkerchief and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric with a faint smile. After he slipped the keepsake into the pocket of his sweatpants, he grabbed the children’s book and sat down on his couch. Now that the fight with the Flag Smashers was finally over and nothing could interrupt him as he finished the story, he began to read again.

She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring-cleaning times pass.

He slowly read the text, processing each word to create his own interpretation of Peter and Wendy’s reunion. As Wendy told Peter that she had forgotten to fly, to which he said he’d teach her again, Bucky’s eyes softened at the scene unraveling. He shifted in his seat when Wendy began to show Peter how much she’d grown, and the boy fearfully begged her not to turn up the light to reveal her age. Then, Bucky softly exhaled at how the woman gently played with Peter’s hair, and…

She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet smiles.

And she continued to smile as she cupped Bucky’s face and let out a tearful laugh.

Bucky froze, his heart stumbling over multiple painful strikes. His hands clenched around the book as different images snapped into his head, linking together to create motion with sound. A train horn echoed within his memories, followed by the staggering sounds of rushing people. Most of their voices were desperate—sobbing as they said their goodbyes—but Bucky slowly began to hear a woman’s laughter. The fog disappeared, sharpening the scenery of a train station. Colors seeped into every fragment, and Bucky’s breath trembled as he could feel a gentle set of palms resting on his cheeks.

Then he heard it again. He saw it again—the woman who cradled his face with the brightest smile.

“I’ll be right here when you come home, and we’ll go watch the train again, alright? Back at the gazebo as always,” she said, her warm voice shaky but full of love. “Be safe out there, James.”

Bucky grinned through his own tears and nodded. “I will. I’ll be back before you know it.”

But he never came home, did he? He said goodbye that day. 

It was 1943, and he was just a young man in a sharp uniform, carrying his life in a bag as he watched the train near the station. His whole family was in shambles; his father teary-eyed as he quietly reached for his son, his sisters all sobbing for their brother’s departure, and his mother’s tearful smile as she tried to hold her son for a moment longer.

His…

Mom?

His mother softly laughed again before wrapping her arms around him for the last time, as if she could pass all of her strength to him. “I’ll always be waiting for you. I love you so much, sweetie.”

Right. She had called him sweetie.

She had…

With a tear rolling down his cheek, Bucky slowly looked down at the page, and his heart dropped when his eyes caught the passage further down.

She had to tell him.

“I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago.”

The novel dropped to the floor, clattering against the cold wooden floor, while Bucky bolted out of his apartment.

<><><>

The candlelights flickered as the snow whirled outside the window, threatening to snuff out the flames. 

At only seven years old, Bucky watched the blizzard worsen, leaving a film of white on the glass. Clutching his blanket tighter, he winced when a sudden harsh wind barreled by, but then looked up at his mother. 

Blowing out the match after lighting the last candle, Winnifred glanced at the shaky window. Without hesitation, she made her way over to the window and pulled the curtains together to hide them from the storm. Then a sneeze broke the silence, and she turned around to see her son sniffling and rubbing at his nose.

She gently chuckled, “Bless you, sweetie.”

“Thank you,” he replied instantly, having learned to always give thanks whenever someone was kind to him. Then he looked at the window and frowned. “Are we gonna be alright?”

“Of course,” she said with such confidence. “A little snow can’t hurt anyone.”

The window suddenly rattled harsher, making the boy yelp before throwing the covers over his head. Winnifred blinked before humming a slight grin and walking up to his bed.

“James,” she quietly said as she tugged the blanket away and tenderly brushed her hand underneath his chin. “Look up, or else you might miss it.”

“Miss what?” he whispered with a trembling voice.

“A better day. Once this storm passes by, you’ll see just how beautiful everything could be.”

Bucky peeked at the window and shifted around. “It’s scary.”

His mother ran her hand through his hair, nodding. “It is a little bit, but don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He looked up at her, his eyes big with awe. “Really?”

“Of course. After all…” 

Winnifred quickly squished his cheeks, making him squeal while she laughed. “You’re my beautiful boy! And nothing will stop me from loving you, and protecting you, and—” she tightly wrapped her arms around him, “hugging you!”

Bucky loudly giggled, holding her back as best as he could with his little arms, and all his fears of the storm vanished. With one more squeeze, his mother released him and leaned back, chuckling at his toothy grin. Once she adjusted his blanket so that he was tucked in for the night, she stood up from the bed and brushed down her gown.

“Now, you give me a moment to check on your sisters. Once they’re settled…” Winnifred picked up a book on his bedside table with a smile, “I think tonight’s the night we’ll finish this story.”

While his copy of Peter Pan lay abandoned back at home, Bucky sprinted through Brooklyn with heavy breaths. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the air was already so humid since buildings trapped the moisture between the streets. Only a few cars and strangers roamed around, groggily making their way to work, and a couple of people glanced at Bucky as he ran right past them, not noticing how his eyes were watering.

“‘I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago.’” 

As Winnifred read with a soft voice to match the tone of the final chapter, Bucky snuggled against her side, his head peeking out from the blanket. They both sat against his pillows, resting against the headboard of the bed while the candles brightened the room. Although the flames worked hard to warm the space, sitting right beside his mother brought Bucky the most incredible comfort, whose quivering eyes stayed glued to the text as the story progressed.

Then Winnifred gasped, adding a jolt to her movement to surprise her son, and recited Peter’s line, “‘You promised not to!’”

And Bucky winced when Peter sobbed over how much Wendy had changed—how he could no longer bring her back to Neverland so that she could look after him like a mother would.

Bucky let out an anguished yell as he sharply turned the corner, his hands swinging at his sides as he tried to reach the trail faster. More strangers watched him run through the streets, some flinching at the sight of his metal arm, but he didn’t care about their confusion or judgment. He was solely focused on finding the woman who cared about him more than anything else.

As Peter met Jane, Wendy’s daughter, Bucky slumped into his bed and glanced at his mother, who continued to read about how Peter planned to take Jane to Neverland. The boy turned back to the pages, following along as Wendy became sad to lose her family, and his breath hitched.

Rather than taking the stairs, Bucky leaped over a railing and fell onto his feet. He rolled forward to cushion the drop and continued onto the dirt, heading towards the trail that led to the gazebo.

“‘If only I could go with you,’ Wendy sighed,” Winnifred gently read, and she felt her son lean closer against her. “‘You see you can’t fly,’ said Jane.”

The dirt trail crunched beneath his stomps, and a painful cry tore from Bucky’s throat as his breath wavered and his heart pounded against his chest. He rushed by the colorful flowers and hearty leaves that had grown against all hardships.

“Of course, in the end, Wendy let them fly away together,” Winnifred narrated softly. 

Bucky pushed himself to run faster, ignoring the pain in his aching body as he needed to find her.

“As you look at Wendy…”

He cried out against his joints stiffening up, and suddenly, his legs faltered.

“…You may see her hair becoming white and her figure little again…”

He tripped over his own feet, and he began to tumble into the dirt ground with a yelp.

“…For all this happened long ago—”

“Ma?”

Rocks dug into Bucky’s right arm as he brutally landed, his knees scraping into the ground harshly enough to tear holes in his sweatpants. He didn’t rise right away as he struggled to catch his breath, and his eyes slowly began to widen at the sound of his mother’s voice.

With a low hum, Winnifred looked down at Bucky, and her eyes enlarged to see his own glimmering with hot tears. Before she could ask what was wrong, he hiccuped, and more tears flooded his face. The boy began to cry, sitting up as he brought his fists to his face to hide his sorrow. His mother also sat up, setting the book down before she placed a hand on his head.

“James, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned by his sudden burst of emotions.

“I don’t want them to say goodbye!” Bucky wailed. “I want them to stay together!”

For a moment, Winnifred watched her son in surprise, then a small smile tugged at her lips from seeing how empathetic her little boy already was. “Oh, sweetie. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” he sobbed. “They’re not together!”

Slowly, Bucky placed his hands on the ground, trying to sit up against the violent tremors traveling through his body, and he sharply breathed while his eyes dampened further.

Winnifred reached for her handkerchief that was folded on top of Bucky’s bedside table, as it was a piece of her that she’d never leave behind. She began dabbing her son’s cheeks, wiping away his tears while gently shushing him with love. But he continued to cry under her touch and shook his head.

“And Peter forgot Wendy. He didn’t remember the spring-time cleanings…” Bucky muttered as she continued to wipe his tears, and then he looked up with flushed cheeks. “I don’t want him to forget. Is that what happens when people don’t see their family? Do they forget them?”

“James,” Winnifred hummed, cupping his face with a gentle smile.

“I don’t want to forget anything,” he hiccuped, his tears refusing to stop. “I’m scared…”

Bucky got onto his knees…

“Ma, I…I don’t…”

…Lifted his head…

“I don’t wanna forget you.”

…And gazed at the gazebo in the distance.

The world was still. No wind passed by to sway the branches and grass, and Bucky continued to silently stare with tears running down his face. Too distracted to feel his injuries, he got onto his feet and walked towards the structure, his steps hastening as he neared the cherished place from his childhood.

But when he saw no one at the bench, he quickly ran off to the side towards the tracks. Pebbles and chunks of dirt tumbled down the slope as he sprinted, and he nearly slipped before he stopped at the railroad. With shallow breaths, he spun all around, urgently trying to spot a little figure who should’ve been here—who had to be around.

When he found no one, he let out a cry and bolted up the slope, barely managing to catch himself at the top before jumping onto the gazebo platform.

“Mom!” Bucky shouted, looking around frantically. “MOM!”

No one responded.

“Where are you?!” he yelled, and his voice continued to rise. “Mom, please! You can’t leave now! Not yet! Not when I—I finally—” He began to sob, choking over his words. “Not when I have you again!”

No one responded.

“MOM!” he screamed, running along the edge of the platform in search of her. “Mom, come back! Please! PLEASE!”

No one responded, and Bucky finally broke down. He collapsed to his scratched knees in defeat and leaned forward. His hands planted on the ground as he let all of his tears land onto the concrete.

“Please… Ma…” Bucky cried, his body violently trembling. “Mom, please… Come back… I…”

He finally dropped his head, unable to look up anymore, as it tore him apart to find no one around. Bucky continued to sob as his heart painfully twisted in his chest, and he had never felt so alone in his life.

“You said I’d see you again…” he hissed, his hands curling. “You… Ma… Please… Please don’t go… I…”

The sun rose over the city line, casting a spotlight on the man as if he were the lead of a tragic play.

“I need you…” he whispered.

And perhaps, this play wouldn’t have a happy ending, for no one responded once again.

For a long time, Bucky bawled. The sun continued to rise, illuminating the world’s beauty, while his tears glowed with all his grief. On the gazebo, he was no longer a broken man who wandered through torture and pain, but rather a little boy who wanted his mother back. 

And this little boy never got to grow up, and forgot his mother until it was too late. She had grown up—only a few more years after he fell off the train, but she still lived a life without her son. And she waited for him to come back, spending hours by the train tracks in hopes she’d feel his presence. Hoping that if she believed enough, then Bucky would return home to be with her again.

His mother missed him, and he missed his mother.

“Mom…” he whispered once again, unable to accept that she was gone. “Please… Ple…”

No one responded, but…

The word trailed off from his lips as a gentle touch met his hair. Gasping loudly, Bucky snapped his head up, staring up at the woman kneeling before him. Her hand rested on his head, and she looked the same as before, but also…so different.

Her salt-and-pepper hair was loosely tied in a bun, though it used to be dyed coffee-brown to abide by societal pressure to look youthful… At least, until her son died too young.

Her black scarf swayed as the only clothing saving her from the wind, other than the hospital gown that acted more like a sheet around her fragile form.

Her oversized gray coat reached her ankles, once owned by her husband, who had thrown around her body the moment he found her, for he tried to protect his wife’s slowing heartbeat from the snow.

Her warm silver gloves were a little tight around the wrists, as they didn’t belong to her but to her youngest daughter, who grabbed the first pair she saw after learning her mother had escaped the hospital.

Despite her husband and three daughters’ attempts to keep her warm, her cheeks were flushed with chills, hiding just how pale she had gotten over the last few months of her life.

But her glacier-blue eyes—the same shade as her son’s—were still bright as ever, and glistened at how her little boy was no longer so little.

Winnifred took a deep, shaky breath, examining every little detail of her son’s face, and she whispered with a broad smile, “Hello, James.”

Bucky didn’t speak, nor did he move. Instead, his eyes darted around her face as he processed her gaze and touch. She patiently waited for her son to react, but soon raised an eyebrow at his frozen state. After a brief pause, his mother tilted her head and let out a soft chuckle. “This is the part where you say hel—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence as her son lunged forward, yanking her into his embrace with immense desperation. Before Winnifred could blink, Bucky began to sob, the sounds ragged enough to shake his body from within. His voice cracked between every breath, as if he was screaming out all his pain. For a moment, his mother was stunned in silence, unable to recall the last time she had heard such anguish in his voice, or if she had ever heard it to begin with. She then slumped in his hold and wrapped her arms around him, tenderly patting his back with tears in her eyes.

Her smile didn’t fade away, and she muttered in his ear. “Hello, sweetie.”

“Mom!” Bucky cried. “I’m sorry!”

“James…”

“I’m so sorry!” he wailed, adjusting his hold to hug her closer. “Ma, I’m sorry! I couldn’t remember. I forgot about you!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Winnifred softly hummed, letting her son quiver in her grasp. “Don’t say that. You never forgot me. We don’t ever forget the people we love.”

“No, I…”

She lovingly shushed him, bringing her hand to his head as if she was protecting him from the world. “It’s alright. I’m here now.”

“I hurt you,” Bucky choked out. “You died because of me.”

She carefully guided his head, letting him hide the crook of her neck. “You did nothing wrong.”

“But—”

“You didn’t hurt me. That wasn’t you, and you know that. Don’t you remember?” He felt his mother’s body shake with gentle laughter. “You introduced yourself to me as Bucky, and Bucky Barnes did not hurt his mother. Not for a second.”

Bucky’s breath sharply hitched, and his voice became muffled in her scarf. “I tried to come home. I promise. I’m sorry… I really tried…”

Winnifred nodded as tears gathered in her eyes. “I know.”

“I really tried…” he could barely repeat, clutching onto his mother tighter as he struggled to breathe. “Mom, I wanted… All I wanted was to come home… I swear… I-I swear…”

“And you’ve made it,” she grinned. “You’re home now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he hissed as he felt so small in his mother’s arms. “Ma, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And he continued to whisper his apologies, despite his mother’s gentle attempts to stop him. Winnifred soothingly shushed him, keeping one hand on his head while the other patted his back. Bucky’s cries were anguished—full of regret—but never once did his mother hinder him from letting his emotions spill out. She simply hugged him tighter and began to lightly sway both of their bodies side to side, like she had done when she was rocking him as a baby.

Eventually, when his cries mellowed out, Bucky sniffled and slowly pulled away, meeting the eyes that mirrored his own.

“You’re here,” he whispered, still in disbelief that he was holding her. “You’re really here…”

“I am.” Winnifred’s grin widened. “Hello, James.”

He inhaled deeply, gathering all the air he could before he replied, “Hello, Mom.”

“How are you?”

Bucky blinked at the normalcy of the question, and his mother instantly laughed, clearly trying to lighten the mood with small teases here and there. Winnifred then reached for his face, cupping his cheeks with her gloved hands as she took the moment to admire his face. She brushed her fingers to wipe away his tears, and her gaze softened.

Then she let out a small laugh, a little damp but so warm. “Oh… My baby boy.”

Out of pure instinct, Bucky raised his hand to his face, clutching his mother’s palm as more tears began to fill his eyes. With a hitch in his breath, he began to tremble. “Ma, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said, still staring at him like he was the source of her happiness. Then she grinned sheepishly, tinted with a bit of guilt. “I’m sorry for tricking you.”

Her son straightened up as he gathered her hands into his, setting their grasp onto his lap. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me it was you? Why…”

“Because I love you.” Winnifred squeezed his hands, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she gave him another smile. “And I needed you to love yourself too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, once again confused by her whimsical wordplay. However, his heart leapt at the memory of how magical his mother could be. A chuckle slipped from her throat as she squeezed his hands again, and she hummed with the warmest gaze possible.

“Do you remember what I’ve said before? That you should never underestimate a mother’s love for her child,” she began, her voice so soft like a pillow that Bucky could lie in it. “I love you more than you could ever know, and it broke my heart to see how you couldn’t. I wanted to tell you to love who you are, but I knew if I showed up as me, then you would only listen with a grain of salt. After all, I am a mom who’d do and say anything for her child.”

Bucky shifted around, his eyes softening at his mother. “I would’ve listened to you.”

“Please, you’re my son.” She then leaned forward, scrunching her nose before whispering with a teasing smile, “You’re just as stubborn as I am.”

At that, he couldn’t help but let out a laugh, causing the remaining tears to slip down his face. Winnifred reached for his cheeks again, wiping away his teardrops as she gently continued, “I didn’t want to be the one who changed how you saw yourself… I wanted you to see that you’re a good man—not because I said so. James… I’ve always believed in you…and I’m so happy that you now believe too.”

No matter how weak it was, a smile still seeped onto Bucky’s face, and the curl to his lips made Winnifred’s heart leap. Her hands fell from his face and landed on his shoulders, and she admired her beautiful child as she let out a gentle breath.

“Sweetie…” She smiled brightly. “What a beautiful man you turned out to be.”

Bucky’s grin faltered, and his eyes darted around his mother’s face from the warmth of her words. While he tried not to cry again, Winnifred squeezed his shoulders with a proud chuckle. But soon, she went silent, and Bucky widened his eyes to see her lips starting to tremble.

“You’re alive,” she said, her voice cracking, and tears filled her eyes as she let out a broken laugh. “All this time, you… Thank god, I…”

The moment Winnifred’s breath hitched, Bucky immediately brought his arms around her, sensing that she was going to fall into his embrace. His mother wept softly, her hands trembling as she held him close, realizing with a heavy heart that her son had continued to breathe, even after nearly eighty years. Through her tears, Bucky sensed her gratitude—that, as a parent, she was fortunate enough to indeed pass away before her children did.

Winnifred curled her hands into Bucky’s shirt, and she whispered with jagged breaths, “I was supposed to protect you.”

Bucky’s breath stilled for a moment, then he shook his head. “You did. You always did.” 

He then pulled back just enough to meet his mother’s damp gaze, and his lips curled upward past his own threatening tears. A wispy laugh spilled from his throat as he softly continued, “I mean… Look at me, Ma. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m…I’m here because of you.”

She returned the laugh with her own and ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re here because you’re strong.”

“I got it from you,” he replied with a glimmer to his grin, and the two laughed once more before hugging each other.

For a while, their arms would tighten and loosen as if they were testing each other’s presence, stuck in a bit of disbelief that they were finally together. Bucky tilted his head to lean closer against his mother, and found that he still fit against her like a missing piece to a puzzle—that he was no longer a ghost, but rather just someone’s child.

Winnifred’s hands rested on Bucky’s back, tearfully smiling at the familiar pattern of his breathing and warmth that had chased winters away. For so many decades, she had imagined this embrace, wondering what it would feel like to hold her son again. Now, she realized that their hug was just as lovely as the ones they’d shared all those years ago. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he sure still was her kid.

All but their hearts were quiet, for they were pacing themselves to match the rhythm of one another’s. It was as if the music within their chests recognized each other, as it had always been the case that Bucky resembled his mother the most. Winnifred was a person of true beauty inside and out, and he was endowed with the same virtues—not only from birth, but also from the lessons his mother taught him as he grew up. Every little bit that made up these two individuals sparked joy, despite not understanding how they had come to reunite in the first place.

However, perhaps comprehension truly wasn’t as important as it seemed, for the mother and son had decided to cling to their beliefs for each other and themselves.

With a soft sniffle, Winnifred pulled back to gaze at her son’s face, and she giggled at the sight. Bucky lightly chuckled as well, but faltered when a familiar train horn echoed in the air. He looked back over his shoulder to examine the rusty train tracks as always—to conclude that his imagination was playing tricks on him again.

But he froze, noticing that the tracks were no longer so rusted. They weren’t brand new by any means, but definitely not as corroded as before. Bucky blinked at the unusual change, but then swiftly faced his mother to see that she was also staring at the railway. The only difference was that while Bucky was confused and shocked, Winnifred carried acceptance.

A slow exhale slipped from her lips as she whispered, “The train is coming.”

Bucky immediately widened his eyes, his breath hitching at the horn being real the entire time. “The…train?”

Winnifred nodded and turned towards her son with a bittersweet smile. “It’s on its way to pick me up.”

“What?” he squeaked before he could even fully process her words.

“It’s my time to go,” she explained, keeping her voice as gentle as possible to ease Bucky’s heart.

But he began to sputter, shaking his head, “Wait— No. No, you…”

“It’s alright. I was always meant to—”

“No!” Bucky suddenly yelled, gripping his mother’s arms with horror embedded in his eyes. “Y-You can’t!”

For a moment, Winnifred’s lips parted from surprise, and her own heart began to ache at how terrified her son looked. But then, she took a deep breath to collect her fractured bravery, tying the pieces together to build a shield around them. “I’m sorry, but I do have to go.”

“No… Why?” He adjusted his grasp, afraid to let go of his mother as his eyes dampened once again. “Why?!”

“Because I finally got what I wanted.” 

Bucky’s fear shriveled ever so slightly when Winnifred brightened her smile, and it radiated against the darkness on his face. Quietly and so tenderly, his mother continued, “James… It was you. You were who I was waiting for all this time, and you finally found your way back to me. I got to see you one last time.”

“But this doesn’t have to be the last time,” he argued with a crack to his tone. “You don’t have to go.”

She lightly shook her head. “Sweetie…”

“You can stay! J-Just stay with me.” A broken laugh then spilled from Bucky’s chest as he tried to convince his mother to change her mind. “There’s a place for you back at mine. Or— Or, I’ll just come here. I can keep coming back, Ma.”

But when Winnifred offered no response and continued to watch her son with a soft, loving gaze, panic struck Bucky’s chest as if a bullet flew straight through him. His fingers tightened around her sleeves, and his breath became shallow, and his words spilled out, “I’ll keep coming back, Ma. I-I’ll visit every day! You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

Winnifred softly let out a breath as her teary smile deepened. “James…”

“Please don’t go,” he pleaded as his grin finally cracked, and his eyes welled up. “Mom, you can’t leave now. You have me now. You— You have Becca! She’s still here. You can see her again.”

“I’ve said my proper goodbye to Rebecca many years ago,” she quietly said, then a hitch of a laugh escaped her lips. “Though, if you wouldn’t mind…could you tell her I’m not mad? That I’ve never been mad at her.”

“You can tell her. I can bring her here!”

“It’s alright, sweetie…”

“No, no, no! Please! Please don’t go,” Bucky begged.

“Ja—”

“Don’t fly away!”

And as Winnifred went still—for once, surprised by his wordplay—Bucky grabbed her upper arms before falling forward, his forehead landing on her shoulder as his cries broke out once again.

“Don’t fly away from me,” he choked out, his body quivering while he desperately clutched his mother. “Not now. Please… Ma, please…”

The sun was warm, the light unhurried as the day had just started, and the glow caught onto the folds of their clothes. Bucky’s fingers twisted further into his mother’s sleeves as if he could tether himself to her spirit, and his tears soaked her shoulder. Other than his cries, there was only silence between them—no more desperate suggestions or gentle denial. Perhaps, if Bucky listened a bit harder, he could pick up on his mother’s heavy heartbeat. However, he was too occupied by his own sorrows.

For a while, Winnifred didn’t say a single word, but instead listened to her son’s sobs gently quiet down. Eventually, she slightly moved, brushing her hand on his hair before lifting his head upward. Bucky tried to resist, knowing she wouldn’t consider staying, but he failed against his mother’s overwhelming love. But when their eyes met, Bucky faltered from seeing tears gathered at the corner of Winnifred’s eyes, only to unravel further when she offered another one of her warm smiles.

Before he could beg again, she whispered, “I’ve already flown, but not in the way you’d think. I never went to Neverland, and I never needed to.”

At that, Bucky went silent, letting his mother take a deep breath before widening her grin. “James… I never needed magic to fly. I’ve already got to soar through the sky, as free as I could be, all because of a sweet, brave little boy.” Winnifred cupped his face, wiping his tears with the same familiar swipe of her fingers, and she softly laughed. “Because of an adventurous teenager who made me feel like I could do anything with his love. An amazing young man who made me believe that I did alright as his mother.”

Immediately, Bucky reached for his mother’s wrist and squeezed it. “You were the best, Ma.”

Winnifred’s tears rolled down her cheeks as a breathless chuckle slipped from her lips, almost relieved that she had done her best with him. Then she leaned forward and lightly kissed his forehead, and Bucky melted underneath his mother’s presence.

“It was you, sweetie… My beautiful boy…” she softly said as she met his gaze again, and she laughed aloud. “You made me a mama, and that’s all the magic I could’ve ever needed.”

Bucky hiccuped through the last of his tears as Winnifred kissed him on the head again, and again, and again, before finally pulling him deep into her embrace. When she laughed again, it wasn’t clamorous, but still full of heart. The sound was a bit broken as pain had cracked it, but her love for her first child had stitched it together.

Most of all, her laughter was real, and it managed to coax a fragile laugh from Bucky’s throat as well. Although it shattered his heart that a goodbye was creeping closer, Bucky decided to live in the moment and returned the hug, and they began to sway side to side again.

“It’s your turn to fly where you want to go, sweetie,” Winnifred said, her voice soft and mystical. “All those years… You didn’t get to grow up. You didn’t get to remember. Now’s your chance.”

“Ma…”

“James Buchanan Barnes…” She kissed his temple with a chuckle. “The gentle boy who’s always ready to help someone else… That’s the son I raised. You’ve been giving people freedom by saving the world so many times. It’s your turn to do whatever you want, so….what do you want?”

Bucky inhaled deeply as he gently pulled away and glanced at the train tracks with a softened gaze. “I…I just want to be here with you. Until you have to go.”

“Well, the train won’t be here for a while longer,” she softly said. “So, why don’t you tell me all about…everything?”

The two of them moved back to the aged wooden bench, sitting exactly at their usual spots of the past few months. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue that matched their eyes, and the sun moved with the breezes, reminding them that the day was alive. Bucky, for a moment, stiffened with anxiety, his tongue twisted as it was afraid to form the words that’d revealed the horrors of his life. But when Winnifred rested her hand on his shoulder, he gathered up all the courage he honed from her and began to narrate his life.

As words slipped out, his voice became low—sometimes cracking like his past was stepping onto a thin sheet of ice. While Bucky didn’t dare to go into the specifics to protect himself, the way his breath trembled from describing his stolen life was enough to pain his mother’s heart. At one point, she reached for his hand and held it tight, quietly comforting him though he suspected she needed it too.

For the most part, Winnifred listened in silence as the ache in her chest was too harsh to convey. Her eyes instead dampened as she squeezed his hand numerous times, occasionally interjecting with questions and clarifications that even scared her. She wished she had been there when Bucky needed someone—when her son was revived for every mission like a puppet dragged out of a toy chest—but right now, she did her best to support him by simply listening.

Eventually, as Bucky neared the end of his story about HYDRA, the darkness in his eyes lifted, and he began to explain his life after he found freedom. He spoke of small moments that helped him realize he was freed, such as purchasing groceries and cooking himself a meal. He spoke of reuniting with Steve and finding what it meant to be his best friend again. He spoke of meeting people who allowed him to heal—who encouraged him to embrace his past and find the light ahead. Through it all, Winnifred focused on how Bucky’s lips slightly curled—how his eyes twinkled at the mention of peace—and she found herself smiling with him.

There were simply not enough words to describe how proud Winnifred felt of her son.

Soon, the afternoon stretched on long enough that the sun was on the verge of setting, and Bucky asked his mother for her stories. Although she only lived for a few years after he supposedly died in the war, there were still many tales for her to share. Winnifred dove into how his sisters prospered, finding love and purpose each day that passed, while his father remained humble and kind. While Bucky had already received some anecdotes from Becca, to hear his mother’s perspective—her voice full of love as she recalled wonderful days—was everything he could’ve asked for.

Neither of them had enough time with their family, so finding laughter in their memories was the greatest gift they could have.

And they laughed a lot. Yes, they were getting ready to say goodbye…but they still got to laugh together.

Then evening came, the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon and turning the sky purple. The humid air grew cooler, as if it were a reminder to them that this was their last day together before their lives pulled them down different pathways. And soon…

Bucky faced the train tracks as another horn echoed, and this time he could hear rolling wheels and roaring engines. His chest tightened, and his hands gripped the edge of the bench, and he slowly looked at the incoming train. His breath hitched upon recognizing the design of the train—a copy of the one he took the day he went off to war. The only difference was that there was a single passenger car attached to the locomotive, for it only needed to pick up a single person. As the train approached the gazebo, Bucky began to quiver at the thought of his mother leaving.

A hand then brushed against his, and he faced the other way to see Winnifred already grinning at him. Without realizing it, he quickly returned the smile. He exhaled deeply, turning his hand around to grasp hers as tightly as possible. As the wheels screeched to a stop, both of them stood up and quietly made their way down the slope. Out of instinct, Bucky looped his arm around his mother’s own, helping her walk down the whispering grass and crumbling dirt, and Winnifred chuckled at his actions as she saw a lot of his father within them.

Although they didn’t speak, both mother and son slowed down their steps, wishing they could prolong this moment forever. But despite their desires, they found themselves staring at the passenger car. Bucky was in awe of its magical quality, still unable to believe the train had been real all along. At the same time, Winnifred hummed at it as she had been waiting for its arrival. 

That said, neither one of them wanted to let go of the other.

Minutes passed in silence, with the train never blaring its horn like it understood the gravity of this moment. A shaky breath tore from Bucky’s throat, and he already felt his eyes starting to water again. He wondered if he could try again—to convince his mother to stay with him. He didn’t want to lose her anymore. He…

Slowly, he glanced over at his mother and noticed how she already had her gaze on him. She blinked, letting her quiet tears roll down her cheeks while her lips curled upward. Before Bucky could muster up anything to say, she turned just to face him directly and cupped his cheek.

“James,” she softly began, and judging by her calm voice, Bucky knew she wouldn’t change her mind. “Sweetie…”

“Yeah?” he could barely respond without his voice wavering.

“Do you remember the last time we said goodbye?” she asked, her hand so warm on his cheek. “Right before you boarded your train, you said you’d come back. Well…look at us now. You were right. You did come back to me.” Winnifred released his arm, only to bring her other hand to wipe away the tears he didn’t realize he’d already shed. “And it’ll be just like that again.”

She then dropped her hands, letting them rest on his upper arms while all her pride and joy seeped into her smile, sharing just how much she loved him through her tone. “This may be goodbye, but I know we’ll say hello again. You’ll come right back to me when you’re ready—when you’ve lived a long life full of wonderful memories. And I’ll wait for you like always.”

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “You might have to wait for a while.”

“I want to wait as long as possible,” she grinned, “if it means you could have the life you’ve always deserved.”

“What if I take too long? What if…what if we don’t…”

Winnifred squeezed his arms and shook her head. “You and I… We’ll always find a way back to each other. I promise.”

A weak smile found its way onto Bucky’s face, and he nodded. “Okay.”

“Right then. Now, give me one last hug, sweetie.”

With a broken laugh, he wrapped his arms around his mother, letting her rest her chin on his shoulder as he listened to her gentle breathing for the last time. Although he was now taller and stronger than his mother, within her grasp, he felt like a little boy again—the same one who used to get swept up the moment he reached for her, clinging to her like nothing else mattered. He remembered being held up with one arm while the other stirred stew in a pot gifted by their neighbors. He always glanced at his mother’s face to see only ease, as if holding him for hours wasn’t tiring at all. Winnifred was always relaxed—calm and collected—no matter what was going on.

So with one last squeeze, she pulled away to admire her son’s face again, and she tearfully laughed at how beautiful he was. “I love you, James.”

Bucky smiled through his own tears and whispered, “I love you too.”

“Goodbye, sweetie.”

“Goodbye, Ma.”

Despite wanting to hold on—to never let go of his mother—all of the tension in Bucky’s arms disappeared, letting Winnifred slip out of his grasp. Before his arms could even fall to his sides, the door to the passenger car slid open loudly, signifying the end of their time together. They both gazed at the opening, and with a soft, quivering breath, Winnifred offered her child one last smile before stepping into the car.

And the door shut, becoming an unbreakable barrier between the mother and son.

Nervously exhaling, Bucky ambled down the aisle carefully, keeping his bag close to himself. The other men were settling in on the train; some were rowdy, using the experience to catch up with old friends and meet new ones, while others sat quietly, terrified of what would come next. Bucky operated right in the middle, greeting his fellow prospective soldiers in a low voice and a faint smile, while also giving the silent ones the peace they desired at the moment. Once he loaded his belongings with the other men’s, he found an open seat at the window and plopped down.

Bucky barely closed his eyes and sighed before a series of taps broke him out of his thoughts. He glanced over to see his family on the other side of the window, his mother in front of his father and sisters, all smiling and waving. With an aching heart, the young man waved back, his motion already stiff with anxiety and regret for everything he hadn’t done yet. When his hand began to shake against his will, Bucky placed it on the window, and his mother quickly followed and pressed her palm over his.

However, the unexpected then happened.

His mother’s smile vanished. 

All of her strength had dwindled, and her lips could no longer retain the hopeful smile she always tried to carry to soothe others. With wide eyes, Bucky watched his mother’s breath hitch before she began to sob over her boy. He couldn’t hear any of it, but he felt just how devastated she was from his departure.

From the moment Bucky informed his mother of his eventual service to the country, she plastered on a wide grin, telling him that she was so proud of him—and she was, as there wasn’t a day that went by that she wasn’t. But knowing that her son would be in constant danger—on the verge of death—challenged her optimistic perspective.

And now, she was broken. Defeated. Wailing over the potential loss of her child.

Bucky trembled at how Winnifred openly cried for him, and his own eyes began to well with tears. He hated this—hated how he shattered his mother’s tender heart. Every muscle in his body wanted to jump out of the car to hug her again, but he knew it was far too late to do anything.

There was nothing he could do.

…Or…maybe he could do what his mother would’ve done.

He could offer her one last smile.

Regardless of the pain etched into every single piece of his being, Bucky smiled as wide as he could. Like the sun emerging from the clouds to melt the winter snow, it radiated warmth strong enough to freeze time. He cut through his tears with a light laugh and reached up to press his hand firmly onto the window. Winnifred, upon seeing his expression on the other side, no longer trembled in her seat, while her wide eyes filled with her own tears. Though he couldn’t hear it, he saw his mother let out a loud laugh before returning the smile, and she placed her hand over his.

At that moment, the train yelled with its horn, and the engine hissed as the wheels began to move. Just like Winnifred had done with him, Bucky paced himself with the car, keeping his hand on the glass while another wave of tears streamed down his face. His mother gazed down at him, still laughing at her baby boy as the train sped up. Eventually, it became too fast for Bucky to keep walking, and he considered running to keep up with his mother.

But he knew it was better to let go.

So his hand slipped from the glass, and he slowed to a stop as he waved widely at his mother. He couldn’t see her anymore, but knew that she was waving back. Bucky locked his gaze onto the train, watching it get smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and…

The train disappeared along with the sun, but the world felt so alive. There were no more sounds of wheels and horns, and when Bucky glanced down at the tracks, he noticed how they were back to being rusted. Only the breeze echoed around him while he shut his eyes to paint an image of his lovely mother. After a while, he turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets before walking back home.

But he paused, surprised by something soft in his grasp, and pulled it out to examine it. His eyes softened immediately from the sight of the handkerchief, and his heart then skipped with a squeal as he realized that, despite his mother being gone, this memento still stayed with him. His lips curled, and he dabbed the handkerchief against his cheeks to remove the last of his tears.

As Bucky let out a deep sigh and lowered the cloth, his eyes caught something peculiar. Blinking, he turned the handkerchief around to examine a corner, and he stared at the initials that no longer said WD, but rather…

WB.

Maybe Bucky misread it the first time, or maybe it had changed right in front of him. Who knew what happened? But one thing was for sure…

These initials spelled out his mother’s name.

Winnifred Barnes.

Would you look at that?

She really was real.

<><><>

For once this summer, the air felt refreshing, rather than being humid and suffocating.

In the distance, Brooklyn chattered with its usual noises of rushing cars and shuffling people. However, on the trailway, it was quiet as always. The path stretched on between luscious grass and colorful flowers, swaying gently in the breeze while birds chirped from above. At the end of the pathway stood the same old gazebo, weathered and neglected by time, yet still hanging on for a family who considered it theirs after the history they shared. 

While Clover pranced around with a busy nose, Becca stood off to the side, watching Bucky sweep loose leaves and wandering insects off the old bench. His metal hand gripped a familiar book, closely snuggled against his chest as he examined every part of the surface to ensure it was clear.

Becca’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she raised an eyebrow. “Jimmy, are you sure it’s okay for us to sit there?”

Bucky glanced up with a growing grin. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s strong enough.”

“It better be. I am not breaking my back today.”

He lightly laughed, “I swear it’s safe. Trust me.”

“Oh, you want me to trust you? Impossible.”

“Your loss,” he replied before standing up and dramatically gesturing to the bench.

Of course, Becca didn’t hesitate to sit down as she trusted her older brother with all her heart. She was still careful with lowering herself, but then she released a breath when the bench barely creaked under her weight. Bucky followed her, sitting down in his usual spot with a slight bounce before setting his novel to the side.

Immediately, his sister nudged him teasingly. “Watch it. The bench might break with you on here.”

“Please, I’ve sat here more than you have,” he shot back with a chuckle. “If it falls, I’m blaming you.”

“Rude,” she laughed, her voice fluttering as she looked around. “Wow… This place looks the same. Old, but it still feels like it’s ours. Although,” she peeked at the holes in the rooftop, “it definitely could use some work.”

“I’ve actually been thinking about it,” Bucky softly said with a spark in his glacier-blue eyes. “I mentioned this place to Sam, and he said if I really wanted to renovate it, he’d help me talk to the city to get permits and fix it up with me. He said he owed me for helping with his boat. I think it’ll be nice. Maybe if it happens, other people could come here too. Bring their families and have picnics like we used to.”

Becca smiled as Clover sat in front of her, putting his head on her lap in contentment. “That’d be nice. For them, it might be a little better, considering there wouldn’t be a train screaming at them every second in the distance.”

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was irritating,” she laughed, “but I guess it wasn’t too bad.”

Bucky chuckled before exhaling a deep breath, letting the silence fill the space between them. He lifted his head until his gaze landed on the holes Becca had glanced at earlier. While the roof was overdue for some repair, he couldn’t help but admire the sunlight leaking through, becoming little specks of hope that he didn’t think he’d have so soon. Another smile crept onto his face, soft in all its joy.

“Jimmy?” Becca gently broke the silence, and Bucky looked over to see slight nervousness in her anticipation. “Can I see the…”

Immediately, his grin brightened as he reached into his pocket, and he pulled out a familiar piece of cloth. His sister’s breath hitched while he smoothed it out neatly, and her hands trembled as she accepted the prized possession. The moment it met her skin, a jolt of shivers spiked through her body, and she released a breath she didn’t realize she held. But as her body relaxed again and her eyes locked onto the handkerchief, she finally smiled at the keepsake.

“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s…”

“Real?” Bucky softly finished. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“A bit. I mean, Ma always believed that you’d be here, so I’m not too surprised that she was here instead. But…” Becca flipped over the handkerchief and brushed her fingers against her mother’s initials. “To hold something like this… I could’ve never imagined it.”

A pause went by, and Bucky watched his sister clutched onto the handkerchief tighter before she faced him with a teary smile. “I still can’t believe you got to see her again.”

His smile wobbled, then he glanced away with a tint of sorrow. “I wish you had the chance to see her too.”

“It would’ve been nice, but you needed it more than me. Besides,” Becca wiped away a rogue tear with a chuckle of relief, “knowing that Ma’s never been mad at me is everything. It feels like…a big weight lifted off my shoulders, you know?”

Bucky’s smile returned as his heart embraced the acceptance he found in himself. “Yeah.”

Becca then handed back the handkerchief, and Bucky cradled it dearly. She then let out a long breath and began to pet Clover, who had somehow fallen asleep despite sitting up against her leg.

“I’m happy you got to say goodbye,” she quietly said, her voice full of warmth.

He nodded, then whispered with a light amusement to his voice, “I’m glad I got to say hello too.”

Suddenly, Becca stiffened, her eyes widening at her brother before she let out a hearty laugh. “Hello… That’s… Wow.”

Bucky blinked at her. “What?”

“I didn’t even tell you, and yet…”

Another laugh from deep within Becca’s heart burst out, almost uncontrollable, as if it was designed for this exact moment. Her shoulders bobbed along with the music of her voice, and despite being in a place that had haunted her for so long, her body began to relax. The sound traveled between the pillars of the gazebo as Becca realized that her memories of grief didn’t torment her. They were softer—simple reminders that her love for her mother was greater than she could’ve ever handled.

“When Mom was here,” Becca finally began with a sheen to her eyes, caused by both delight and tears, “the last thing she said to all of us was…‘I’ll say hello to James.’”

A loose leaf brushed past the siblings, dancing around in the warm air while the sister’s words landed like gentle snow. Through the snow, those glacier-blue eyes widened, and Bucky’s lips went ajar as he couldn’t comprehend what his sister said. Suddenly, a breath cracked from his throat, for it hit Bucky that his name was his mother’s final word—that she had dedicated herself to keeping his memory alive until her last breath slipped away. Without another second to spare, tears began to fall down Bucky’s cheeks while his smile blossomed.

And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

Something inside of him spilled out—not because he was broken, but rather freed of the guilt that swallowed him up since he got his life back. Bucky leaned against his sister as she began to laugh, elated for her brother, who had never been forgotten. Each of Bucky’s tears that flowed down was a thank you to his mother, capturing every bit of love and appreciation he had for her. Becca wrapped her arms tightly around him, and she had never been happier to hear someone cry.

“Looks like Mom got what she wanted,” she said.

Bucky nodded, his heart leaping from catharsis, for he had gifted his mother a peace of mind before she reunited with the rest of their family. It was fulfilling to let his tears flow after decades of believing he didn’t deserve to feel joy or sorrow, and he was ready to keep feeling… Well, everything.

As his cries faded away, Bucky grabbed his copy of Peter Pan, brushing his fingers against the cover as a laugh escaped once more.

Then he raised the handkerchief to his face.

Winnifred softly hummed as she continued to dab his cheeks with the cherished cloth, but Bucky couldn’t halt his sobs. He then pulled away with a hitch to his breath, his body trembling in defeat.

“I don’t wanna forget you,” Bucky repeated before dropping his face into his hands in broken sobs. “I don’t want you to forget me!”

“Oh, sweetie, we could never,” Winnifred gently replied. “We don’t forget the people we love.”

“But Peter loved Wendy…” he hiccuped. “And he still forgot. I don’t want that… It’s not fair… They…”

Soon, Bucky’s body slacked, and he leaned forward until he fell into his mother’s lap. Immediately, she gathered him into her arms, rubbing his back as he cried into her chest with another flood of tears.

“They were supposed to be happy, Ma…” he whimpered. “Ma, they…”

Winnifred gently shushed him once more, squeezing him close to her as the storm outside proceeded to rattle the window. Even in her whisper, Bucky could hear how her smile refused to fade away, and she infused all her love into her voice as she began to speak.

“They are happy, James,” she said.

“But…”

Slowly, Winnifred pulled back until their eyes met, the glacier-blue glow reflecting off each other’s. A breath of a grin seeped onto her face as she started to comb back his hair with her fingers, the touch so gentle that it rivaled the harshness of his tears.

“They’re happy,” she repeated more firmly. “I promise.”

Bucky gazed at her with awe in his eyes, but then he sniffled again as he shook his head. “But they lost each other… They don’t…”

Unable to speak from the ache in his chest, his words trailed off. He dropped his head and sighed deeply, his body now exhausted by his emotional loss, as his mother continued to brush his hair. She could see it in his posture—the way he managed to accept the unexpected ending of the novel. She was proud, to say the least, to see how her little boy carried more empathy than the average person. When she reached for his damp cheeks again, he didn’t pull away, allowing her to wipe her handkerchief over them.

“You know, sweetie,” she carefully began, “one day…many, many years from now, I won’t be around anymore. I’ll grow older. Slower. Maybe wiser. It’s scary to think about, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever.”

Bucky slowly blinked at her, wincing at her words. “But what happens…if I don’t remember you?”

“You’ll always remember me.”

“But…”

“You will. Because…well, if you forget me…” Winnifred said as she placed a hand on his head, “it’ll only happen up here. You’ll always remember me somewhere else.”

“Where?”

She smiled, then moved her hand to his chest, resting over his heart. “Right here. This is where I’ll be for the rest of your life.”

At that, a weak smile found its way to Bucky’s face, and it was enough to make her lightly laugh. The window suddenly trembled with pure aggression, causing the boy to flinch and hide in his mother’s grasp. But then he looked up to see how she held onto her calm composure, and she cupped his face.

“Peter got lost and forgot Wendy, but he loved her so much that he found her in the end. They still got to see each other one more time, right?” she quietly said. “You see, James… Things get lost so that they can be found again. If you ever lose me, or I ever lose you, we’ll find each other. We’ll always figure out a way to say hello.”

Bucky perked up, his lips ajar in wonder. “Like…how Peter and Wendy say hello every time they see each other?”

“Well… I think you mean to say…” Winnifred grinned, then began to tickle his sides. “Hullo! Hullo, James!”

A loud squeal filled the room as Bucky fell back, squirming around on the bed with bursts of laughter, unable to defend himself from his mother’s quick attacks. Winnifred then stopped, giggled loudly, and scooped him back into her arms to hug him close. “Nothing will ever stop us from being together. I promise, sweetie. Alright?”

Bucky bobbed his head, finally smiling as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder. “Alright, Ma.”

“Good. But, also…” she pulled back and kissed the top of his head. “I think we could make your own story, don’t you think? Peter and Wendy are happy, but maybe later on, they will see each other again. Maybe he comes back with all their friends, or maybe they make new memories with new ones. What do you think?”

Bucky gasped and quickly nodded at the idea, his body quivering with pure excitement. Winnifred chuckled before kissing his head again, then her eyes glimmered at the sight of her beautiful boy.

Then she whispered, “Tell me, sweetie… How should your story go?”

Bucky wasn’t so sure, but he had a few ideas.

Perhaps in his story, the boy who couldn’t grow up found a way to cherish the people who took care of him.

Perhaps the boy accepted life and watched the years affect his body, his mind, his soul.

Perhaps the boy could fly without pixie dust or magic, and laugh as love would lift his feet off the ground.

He could just be happy.

With a long, deep breath, Bucky opened his eyes and brightly smiled at the world.

After all…

It was a beautiful day.

—<><>—<><>—<><>—

It had been a few weeks since he reunited with Becca, and his body had become significantly lighter, feeling more like his own than someone else’s. His feet didn’t scuff the earth as much, nor did he angrily mumble awake. Though the notebook in his jacket still weighed him down, it no longer forced him to crawl towards a hopeless future.

For once, Bucky felt like he deserved to live like everyone else.

Sighing leisurely, he looked straight ahead to see the gazebo slowly appear in view. A wave of nostalgia then washed over him as more childhood memories fluttered around him. His chest then tightened as a recent memory joined in. His feet shuffled briefly, but he continued to walk quickly to greet an old friend who always seemed to slip from his mind.

Wendy, sitting in the same spot as before, looked to the side to see who was approaching and straightened up. “Hello, Bucky.”

“Hello, Wendy,” he returned, not hesitating to sit beside her this time. “How are you?”

“I’ve been well. How about you?” She then glanced up and down at him and lightly chuckled. “I believe it’s been a while, but you seem like you’re in a good mood this morning.”

A soft smile tugged at Bucky’s lips. “I visited my sister.”

Immediately, Wendy’s lips went ajar as she turned her body to face him better. “That’s wonderful to hear. How was it?”

“Better than I ever expected.”

Her face brightened like the season, and she bobbed her head in pure bliss. “I’m glad to hear it. I bet she was happy to see her brother again.”

“Yeah.” He then took a gentle breath and smiled wider at her. “Thank you.”

“Me? What for?”

“You convinced me to go see her. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t know that.”

“But I do. Really.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “I can be very stubborn.”

Wendy lightly laughed with her hand up to her mouth, careful to not let a cough escape her throat. “Well, then, you’re welcome. I’m just happy to hear your reunion went great.”

Bucky nodded, as if the light within him bobbled up and down, and then he quietly watched Wendy set her gloved hand back down. The day was lovely—almost beautiful—as it continued to hum around them with melodies designed to ease a soul. And yet, he could see that something lived underneath her smile, like a shadow cast too harshly by intense brightness. It wasn’t quite sorrowful or guilty, but a weight that lingered until someone came to lift it. Bucky had noticed this before, but never took the time to process it, as Wendy was always helping him first.

So he leaned until his arms rested on his thighs, then he softly spoke, “Who are you waiting for?” 

The older woman blinked, gathering her hands together on her lap with a weak grin. “Me?”

“You told me before that you’re waiting for someone. And it’s just…every time I come by, you’re always here. Who is it?”

Though her smile didn’t falter, it also didn’t expand. Instead, her dim eyes softened at Bucky’s wonder, and she sagged in her seat. Her hands tightened around each other as she faced ahead towards the slope. “I’m waiting for someone very dear to me,” she quietly responded. “Someone who’s currently lost, but on their way. Slowly, but surely.”

Then she lowered her chin, and Bucky followed her gaze at the train tracks, no longer hidden by mountains of snow. He heard her let out a small chuckle, hearing how her joy was trailed with cracks.

“I told them that the next time we’d see each other, I’d be waiting at these tracks,” Wendy lightly explained, and her smile finally widened. “So I’m still waiting, and I know they’re still coming.”

“Do you know when they’ll be here?” Bucky asked, still perplexed by her interesting wordplay, but not enough to dig into it, as the bittersweetness in her voice stopped him.

“Soon.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting up straight with curious eyes. “You feel it?”

“Of course. I feel warmer each day. Like they’re about to come and give me a big hug.”

“Are you sure it’s not because winter is ending?”

She lightly giggled, “Well, when you say it like that…”

Bucky joined her gentle laughter, both of their shoulders bouncing with the music within their hearts. The sun above them grew brighter as clouds passed by, illuminating the growing grass around the gazebo and the train tracks. Soon, the younger man and the older woman looked down the slope again, observing that, despite being covered in rust and dirt, the tracks seemed to speak to them both in a soothing whisper.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Wendy glanced at Bucky again. “Do you remember why I go by Wendy?”

“Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck from the unexpected question until a spark ignited in his head. “Peter Pan, right?”

She nodded and offered him another grand smile. “The person I’m waiting for… We read it together all the time. Discussed what it would be like to go to Neverland. To never grow up. To… Well, forget everything.”

Bucky blinked at her latter words, tilting his head to the side as he responded, “I don’t remember that detail.”

“Oh? So you have read it before.”

“I…probably did. I mean, I did read a lot when I was a kid.”

“Again, you should pick up on reading again. It helps out when life gets too…mundane.” She stifled a cough and continued on, “We talked about the story a lot. Asked what it would mean to be so timeless, but also to forget to cherish time itself. It’s a wonderful story. If you read again, you should start off with that novel. I recommend it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Wendy smiled, then closed her eyes as a breeze blew through her salt-and-pepper hair. With a deep breath, her voice softened along with the world. “The one I’m waiting for… I think they’re finding their way here from Neverland. They got a little lost.”

A light grin pulled at Bucky’s lips as he was fascinated with her imaginary thoughts, and he leaned back. “So, what, they’re coming to take you there?”

She laughed. “Perhaps. Or maybe, it’s them who are returning from there…to come back to me.”

And with that, the two became wordless once more. Occasionally, they did break the silence here and there to chat about joyful memories. However, for the most part, they enjoyed each other’s warm company in peace, simply as two individuals who’d become familiar with loneliness.

At one point, Bucky glanced at the tracks again when he believed he heard another train horn, but quickly turned back to Wendy after pushing aside that thought. Again…there shouldn’t be any active trains around.

Perhaps, he was simply imagining it.

Eventually, Bucky got up, and Wendy watched him leave again. Her eyes stayed on him until he faded from view, and with a laugh, cleared of all coughs and wheezes, she vanished from the gazebo as well.

<><><>

The names in his notebook still haunted him, but they didn’t petrify Bucky anymore.

Instead, he still had enough strength to quietly flip through the book, noting that he had finally crossed off half of the names within the pages. He still remembered a brand-new name to add to the list now and then, but that ordeal slowed down as he made amends faster. But still, there were too many names—too many lives he’d changed for both their worst and his, and he let out a deep breath that was mixed with a groan.

“What are you sighing in my house for?” Becca broke the silence as she finally began to leave her kitchen, holding a tray with coffee mugs and cookies.

“Nothing,” Bucky swiftly replied.

But as he tried to slip his notebook into his jacket, Becca raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk. “Ah! Hold it right there. Let me see the book.”

He sighed again, “Becca.”

“Jimmy.”

“Becca.”

“James Barnes.”

“Jesus— Okay, okay,” he huffed through a faint smile, setting the notebook on the coffee table as she placed the tray down too.

While Bucky helped himself to freshly-brewed coffee and homemade sugar cookies—and ignoring Clover’s puppy eyes as he silently begged for treats—Becca sat beside him. She opened the notebook, examining each page with a tenderness in her hands and heart.

“Wow,” she grinned, “you’ve been working hard.”

He lifted his eyebrows with amusement. “You say that like I’m not a hardworking person.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy… You can be pretty stubborn.”

With a chuckle, Bucky took another sip of his drink while remembering he had said the exact same thing to…to…somebody.

Before he could think about it longer, his sister closed the notebook and handed it back to him with bright eyes. “You’re slowly getting there.”

He chortled. “I’m only halfway.”

“That’s still a lot. You should be very proud.”

A light blush seeped onto his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. Am I embarrassing you right now?”

“Shut up.”

Becca snickered at him before whistling at Clover, prompting him to stop staring at Bucky and retreat onto the sofa to sit against her leg. He lay his head on her lap, closing his eyes as she began to pet him, and Bucky softened at the sight.

After placing the mug back onto the coffee table, he lightly nudged her arm. “I was thinking…”

“Oh, how dangerous,” she immediately quipped, still staring at her dog.

Bucky rolled his eyes with a playful grin. “I was thinking, do you remember that old gazebo by the train tracks? The one we had picnics at when we were kids?”

Becca’s hand stilled, causing Clover to look up at her and wonder why she looked so fragile. Her brother’s grin vanished as she slowly collected herself, and she looked up at him with a shaky smile.

“I do remember it. Why?” Becca carefully asked.

Bucky frowned at her vulnerability and continued on just as cautiously, “I thought maybe we could go visit it together. I’ve been going there lately.”

“I-It’s still around?” 

“Yeah. It’s definitely rough now, but it’s still here.” Then he turned his body to gaze at her head on. “…Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

The elderly woman couldn’t reply right away, her hands trembling occasionally while she stared back into his blue eyes. Then, with another broken smile, she shook her head. “I can’t go there anymore. I haven’t been there since Mom died.”

Bucky’s heart halted, a tremor blooming in his chest while his guts twisted like a wrung-out, wet towel. Slowly, his fractured mind gathered its shards to connect Becca’s words together into something sensible, as they were far too heavy to carry all at once. His shoulders slumped into the sofa, and his eyes darted away, drifting to the memory of someone so dear to him.

Right. Mom was gone, and she died too early.

With a sliver of breath, Bucky met Becca’s gaze again and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I read that Mom had lung disease.”

Becca nodded with a creak in her neck. “That’s right.”

“Did she…suffer?” he asked, though his heart tried to yank the words back, too terrified to know the answer.

He wanted Becca to shake her head—to say that his mother went as peacefully as he hoped. But instead, her smile faltered.

“A lot,” she whispered, unable to hide the truth despite wishing for a lovely time with her brother today.

Bucky choked on his breath suddenly, curling his hand around his leg in an attempt to compose himself. Immediately, his sister reached for his arm, squeezing it to comfort them both. Neither sibling spoke for a while—one recalling how ill their mother was, and the other imagining how her last days played out.

“I won’t lie to you, Jimmy,” Becca softly said, her voice wavering from the memories. “Mom didn’t have the easiest time. Some days, she was too weak to move, coughing up a storm until she passed out because she couldn’t breathe properly. Other days, she would be fine, but still had to lie in bed thinking about how her life was ending.”

“She knew how long she had?” Bucky gasped, his eyes widening as the story proceeded.

“She did. Doctors gave her six months, but she was gone within four. And…” Becca took a sharp breath and tried to force a smile. “That gazebo was the last place Mom was at. She died there.”

Freezing underneath her touch, Bucky couldn’t turn away from his sister, his eyes still enlarged at the discovery. Although he opened his mouth, no words could describe how he felt to know that all the time, he had been visiting not just a place from his childhood, but his mother’s final memory. Dropping her hand from Bucky’s arm, Becca shifted in her seat and pet Clover again, watching the dog exhale deeply as if he could feel his family’s sorrow.

“Mom didn’t wanna die in the hospital,” Becca began, knowing that her brother wanted to know what happened even if he couldn’t speak. “But no matter how much she asked to leave, the doctors didn’t give her permission. To be honest, none of us did, because we wanted her to have the best chance of survival. But she said she didn’t want to survive. She wanted to live, but accepted that it wasn’t gonna happen anymore.”

Clover then lifted his head, pawing at Becca’s leg until he snuggled closer to her, and she faintly smiled at her companion. “She begged… Even when she could barely say a word without spitting up blood, she kept asking. But the doctors kept denying her, especially as the weather grew colder and the air grew drier. We all…particularly Dad, told her to please stay still. To rest. Recover so that she could come home. But then…she snuck out.”

“What?” Bucky grimaced, his head shaking at his mother’s action. “That’s…dangerous. Stupid.”

“It definitely was,” Becca let out a broken chuckle. “She snuck out early in the morning without telling anyone, even us. God, we were so angry when the doctors called Dad and said she was missing. Dad was gone for like, what, a few hours to take care of some family stuff, and this happens? How do you lose a patient? We all went on a wild goose chase. We looked everywhere… And then, she was right there.”

She locked eyes with Bucky’s and her faint smile deepened with both love and grief. “We finally found her at that gazebo. She was freezing and covered in snow, but…” she let out a suppressed laugh, “she was so happy to be there with all of us, just like the good old days when we had picnics by the train, no matter how loud it got. She wouldn’t let us take her back to the hospital, so we stayed with her until the end.”

“She went all the way out there? Alone?” Bucky whispered. “Why there?”

But instead of answering, Becca quietly sat there long enough for him to notice her quivering lips. So he let out a heavy breath before it simply hitched. “But she… If she had just…” Bucky couldn’t finish his sentence as his throat was too strained to string together a coherent sentence.

However, his sister knew what he was trying to say and lightly shook her head. “Mom refused to go back to the hospital. And even if she did go back…her time was up.”

Then, with a stuttering heart, she slowly rose from the sofa and walked towards her bookshelf. Bucky watched her skim over her collection of books until she plucked out a scuffed, leather-bound album and returned to his side. Quietly, she slid it onto his lap, whereas Clover dropped his head back onto hers with a sigh.

“Here,” Becca smiled before opening to a specific page for him.

A soft gasp escaped Bucky’s mouth as he stared down at black-and-white photographs, all taken more than seventy years ago. His whole body hesitated to move, terrified of damaging the stories that felt so far away, but after Becca gently grabbed his upper arm, he finally began to flip through the pages.

A movie played in his head, beginning on the day he left for war and rewinding into his childhood. He lingered on every photo he and his family had taken throughout his life—holidays, school pictures, special occasions. Among all these photos, he saw the person he was with his loved ones.

He saw a young man with a dazzling smile, decorating the house for the holidays with his sisters, a year before their country joined the war.

He saw a teenage boy with a faint black eye standing beside his father, proudly showing off his high school graduation outfit.

He saw an infant with the biggest eyes, gazing up at his mother, who cradled him as if he were the source of all happiness. And his mother… She smiled at the camera so brilliantly, wondering how such a beautiful boy could come from someone like her.

God. He missed his family. He missed his father, sisters, and mother. He missed…all of it. A whole life with them. Their accomplishments, their mistakes, their beginnings and ends—all gone in the blink of an eye because he fell off a train.

His mother… She was so happy to be with her family one last time…but he wasn’t there when she died.

He missed her.

Becca silently watched her brother put his hand on the photo of him as a baby, but it wasn’t himself he was looking at. As his fingers inched closer to his mother’s face, Bucky bit his bottom lip to force it to stop quivering. And at that moment, it hit him—his mother was always smiling. No matter how difficult life got, she had found a way to share her love through everything they endured together.

So…when she passed…she must’ve…

“Mom smiled, didn’t she?” Bucky finally whispered. “When she passed away.”

Becca’s eyes widened just a bit, then she quickly hummed out a grin. “How did you know?”

“She always smiled, even when things got bad.” Bucky brushed his hand against his mother’s face once more. “I remember every time I got injured, she’d just fix me up and smile, saying I was brave for protecting Steve again. And when… We had a nasty snowstorm at one point, right? Nearly took out half of Brooklyn. But Mom…”

“Mom told you to look up and that a better day was coming,” Becca gently finished, recalling the story before her grin turned fond. “She was always positive, wasn’t she? When she was sick… It was hard, but you’re right. She was always smiling. I mean, she was happy to be there with us at the end, but I think she was also trying to stay positive for us. It’s like… Remember when you were about to leave for the war, and Mom tried her best to keep a smile on?”

“I can’t forget it,” he said tenderly. “She was crying so much, but still made me feel better about leaving.”

“That’s Ma, alright.”

“Yeah.” Bucky traced his thumb over his mother’s smile, and he lightly laughed. “Ma really was the best.”

<><><>

Even though it was morning, Brooklyn was so fucking loud.

With a heavy, annoyed sigh, Bucky brushed past the numerous people on the street, walking home after another terrible therapy session. If he had gone yesterday, he would’ve assumed that the whole session was an April Fool’s joke, but instead, it was unfortunately real.

“Stop lying to me, James,” Dr. Raynor exhaled, already tapping her pen onto her notebook.

“I’m not,” Bucky repeated with the same amount of disdain.

“Our inability to communicate is making our sessions really difficult, you know that?”

“You say that, but I think we can both agree on that.”

Dr. Raynor scoffed, writing down who knew what in her notebook. “If you can’t be honest with me, then I can’t help you. So, I’m gonna ask you again… What have you remembered about your family?”

That his sisters used to have competitions over who could make Bucky the happiest, sharing doodles and snacks and waiting to see who he’d choose as the winner. That his father would often come home with sore muscles after a long day of work, and Bucky would knead his shoulders without hesitation while his father shared how his day went. That his mother always welcomed him home with a firm hug, then guided him to the dinner table where she had laid out his favorite meals.

That out of the four Barnes siblings, Bucky resembled his mother the most, much to his sisters’ dismay, as she was a woman of true beauty inside and out. With luscious, coffee-brown hair and gentle, glacier-blue eyes that made every woman gawk in jealousy and every man fall in love, she’d walk around with a laugh, spreading joy wherever she went.

But all of this—everything he had learned since visiting Becca—felt too personal to share even with his therapist. Also, it didn’t help that Dr. Raynor was unaware that Bucky had reunited with his sister, and he knew she’d go insane now if she found out he was hiding that fact.

So he crossed his arms and shrugged. “Not much.”

And with that, Dr. Raynor sighed.

Of course, she continued her attempts to dig into his head, and he built a shield around his family. For once, he had memories that belonged only to him, out of HYDRA’s reach and the government’s control, and he was not about to let someone else get ahold of them. But that only made the session more intense, even prompting Dr. Raynor to warn Bucky that his noncompliance could end his chances of being pardoned.

But honestly, he couldn’t give a fuck right now, not when he was going to see Becca again today. Since first visiting her over a month ago, Bucky had been stopping by her home three, sometimes four, times a week.

“At this point, you should just move in,” Becca said.

And he did think about it, but decided against it because he didn’t want to be so bothersome and intrusive to her personal space.

“You’re my brother. We’re meant to annoy each other,” she then chortled.

Maybe that was true, but in the end, they agreed that, for Bucky to adapt better to the modern world, he needed to live as his own man. Not as Becca Barnes’s brother, or Steve Rogers’s best friend, or HYDRA’s fist.

Simply James Bucky Barnes.

A smile bloomed on his face as he continued to make his way home, wondering if he should pick up food before going to his sister’s so that they could have lunch together again. He had once stopped by with pastries from a bakery, but got scolded because she claimed her goods were a million times better than his. So, desserts were usually off the table, but everything else? 

“I’m not gonna say no to free food.”

She was still the same Becca he’d known as a young man, and that brought a chuckle to his lips. He looked around as he strolled, glancing past the civilians around him to see if any local restaurant caught his eye. But then his feet slightly skidded when he noticed his reflection glimmer in a glass window, and he turned to face the tiny bookstore with novels displayed behind the window. There were new editions—modern stories of love and heroes—among the older stories he did recognize. But at the center of the display was a title he’d been hearing about so often.

Bucky gazed at the copy of Peter Pan, noting the watercolor cover of flying children against a starry sky. It wasn’t the largest book on the shelf, but it was undoubtedly the most whimsical out of all of them. Without realizing, he stepped right up to the glass, unable to look away from the novel as he slowly began to remember…

Wendy. 

It had been a few weeks since he’d stopped by the gazebo—since he’d seen his old friend and told her how he’d been while she listened with the closest attention. There were days when he would wake up with the urge to visit the site and his friend, but then the feeling would dissipate before he’d eaten breakfast. As much as he regretted not saying hello to the older woman who’d helped him more than she could realize, it was difficult to step onto the trail.

Since learning that the gazebo was where his mother took her last breath, he had been reluctant to visit. The air of that place almost felt wrong now, despite him not breathing it in since discovering his mother’s fate. If anything, all of the nerves in Bucky’s body spiked whenever he considered the idea of walking there, his arms tingling while his knees threatened to buckle.

Maybe he was too scared. Maybe spineless. A coward. Maybe…

He was sad. 

His heart was already covered in stitches, sewn poorly by him as an attempt to keep it together. The idea of his mother crawling to this sacred place with a trembling body and bloody throat…it tore him apart in an unimaginable way. He wondered how much she suffered—how painful it was to breathe in frozen air with damaged lungs beyond fixing.

Despite all that, to know that she still smiled as she passed…

God. She really was amazing.

A bell jingled as someone stepped out of the bookstore, snapping Bucky out of his sorrowful thoughts. His gaze found the children’s novel once more, and he glanced at the door with a small desire to buy it. However, as minutes passed and the streets became louder, a defeated sigh escaped his lips before he turned away.

Maybe, as strange as it sounded, he was afraid of visiting Neverland.

<><><>

It was the middle of April when Bucky noticed something odd about Becca. And no, he wasn’t saying that as her “annoying” big brother.

When he arrived at her house, he immediately sensed that the air around them was slightly off. He had looked into her eyes when he said hello, and saw that while they weren’t cold or distant, it was clear that Becca was simply…elsewhere. It was as if someone was tugging on a string attached to the back of her mind, distracting her from their usual conversations.

Bucky asked if she was okay, and she said yes.

Bullshit.

And yet, instead of calling her out, he stayed silent. In any other situation, he would’ve quickly pointed out her lies. However, once he realized that she didn’t seem sad, or worried, or even nervous, he began to suspect that it was he who was thinking too hard. After all, he spent decades analyzing his surroundings, trained to find remnants of people no matter how hard they tried to hide. So Bucky decided to bite his tongue and not pry, letting his sister speak for herself when she chose to.

Sounds of pages fluttering and water running filled the silence as Bucky flipped through an album and Becca washed dishes in the kitchen. After getting kicked out into the living room for attempting to clean their plates after dinner, Bucky retreated to the sofa with an album of stories from the past decade. Clover lightly snored against his thigh, keeping the man company while he appreciated every family photo with a soft smile. 

When he first discovered that Becca was still alive, he had assumed she’d already had children and grandchildren. But to see photos of her great-grandchildren—his great-grandnephews and nieces—made another scar on his heart fade away. He admired every picture, reading each caption as if it could tell the whole story of what happened that day.

Hawaii 2017

Charlie’s 4th Birthday

Thanksgiving 2023 (family reunion!)

As he examined every photo, Bucky let himself imagine how family dinners and vacations would’ve gone if he were there. He wondered when he would be ready to meet his extended family and whether he would ever have these kinds of memories.

He hoped he did. That would be nice.

With a soft exhale, he closed the album as Becca walked over with two mugs of tea, prompting Clover to lift his head in anticipation.

“No more treats for you!” she immediately scolded her dog with a light tone. “You ate enough today.”

A brutal sigh huffed out of Clover’s nose, and he dropped his head onto Bucky’s lap, making him gently laugh and pet him. “Aw, c’mon, Becca. Maybe just one more?”

“No!” She grinned while handing him a mug and taking a seat in her armchair. “Trust me, I spoiled him enough for today.”

Bucky chuckled as he set the album onto the coffee table and took a long sip of his warm drink. On the other hand, Becca didn’t drink her beverage, but instead watched her brother with a careful eye. Then she followed Bucky’s movement and placed the cup down by his, and he glanced up with curious eyes at her demeanor.

She took a soft breath. “I was thinking…”

“That’s surprising,” he immediately quipped.

“Quiet, you,” Becca giggled. “I was thinking about what you said a few weeks ago.”

Bucky’s grin faltered, and he sat up. “About what?”

“The gazebo,” she said with a nervous smile, and her brother’s expression shone in surprise and awe. “I think we should go there.”

“Really?”

She raised a playful eyebrow at him. “Yes, really. Why?”

“You seemed unsure about it before.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to change my mind?”

“You are,” he finally let out a laugh. “I’m just wondering what made you change your mind.”

Becca hummed, fidgeting in her seat as her eyes focused on the rug underneath her slippers. “A lot of things. Mainly…I think I want to stop being afraid and forgive myself.”

At that, Bucky lifted his head, his lips parting as he blinked at her. “Forgive yourself?”

She nodded, and her smile became weak. “For being angry at Mom.”

The living room went still. Bucky’s lips shifted into a frown while shame seeped onto his sister’s face. With another weary breath, she moved from the armchair to the sofa, sitting right beside her brother, who immediately offered a hand for comfort.

As she squeezed his hand with both of hers, Becca closed her eyes. “I…I didn’t mention this before… Honestly, I was a little scared to see how you’d react.”

Bucky kept quiet, but his heart began to race from the million possibilities of what she could say next.

But he didn’t have to wait long, for Becca opened her eyes to stare at her hands around his. “Mom always had this belief that…that you were still around.”

“…Like as a ghost?” he asked, his voice already fragile while he became more puzzled.

“I don’t know, but she always believed that you were still with us. Watching us from afar… Making sure we were okay.” She inhaled deeply before continuing, “When you…died, Mom grieved like hell. We all did, but she broke the most. Out of all of us, she held onto the most hope that you’d come back in one piece. So when we received the letter about your death, she lost it… Cried, saying that a parent shouldn’t outlive their child.”

Bucky’s eyes began to glisten, but that was as damp as they got while Becca proceeded to narrate, “One day, a few weeks after we had your funeral, Mom started to visit the gazebo. We went with her the first few times, but with work, school, and getting settled, we all got busy. Ma, on the other hand, never stopped. Once a week, she’d go and stay there for hours. She believed that one day, she’d get to see you there. That your…spirit, or presence, or whatever she saw it as…would show up.”

Finally, Becca looked up to meet her brother’s eyes with her own as tears slowly slipped from them. “You asked me before why Mom went to the gazebo the day she died. It was because…she wanted to be with you.”

Bucky’s throat tightened as his eyes shot open. “Mom died because of…”

“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. Mom was gonna go there no matter what. I mean… Oh, James,” she softly said, giving him a half-smile with another squeeze to his hand. “You have no idea just how much she missed you. Even when she was hospitalized, she thought about you more than herself. And when her condition got worse, and she knew she wasn’t making it, she told us that she was gonna see you again.”

Immediately, he began to shake his head, looking down at the floor as his breath hitched. “But she didn’t… I’m still…”

“Alive, and that’s better than what she could’ve ever wanted. I just know she’s thrilled to see you’re still with us, and I’m sure she’s patiently waiting for you now.”

Then, Becca released his hand and reached for a tissue to wipe her face, whereas Bucky continued to sit there with a sheen to his eyes. His mom went all the way there just for him, even though he was frozen by HYDRA the entire time. To imagine his mother sitting at the bench alone, waiting for any sign of him to pop up when he was nowhere near the gazebo to begin with…

He hated it. He hated knowing that it happened this way. He hated—

“I hated her for sneaking out.”

His hands clenched against his knees, and Bucky slowly turned to see Becca’s eyes lost—distant—as she held her tissue tighter. “I was mad at her…and the world, really. I hated her for sneaking out. The doctors for not saving her. That she was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and still was stupid enough to—”

Her breath hitched, and she clamped her mouth close, trying not to let any more tears fall. With a sharp breath, she whispered, “I was so mad at her that I stopped going to the gazebo, even when our family asked me to join. And I only stopped by the cemetery to see her when Dad wanted to go. I just…couldn’t understand why she had to be so stubborn and reckless, even when we begged her to stay still. Even though I loved her and grieved, I refused to do much with her. But…”

A broken, bittersweet laugh crackled from her throat. “Then I had kids of my own, and I suddenly understood it all. She always said it herself—no parent should outlive their child—and I finally realized that, if I was in her shoes…I would’ve done the exact same thing. With my grief, I would’ve gone to wherever my kids were the happiest and stayed until…”

A few more teardrops fell from her face, landing on her lap as she lowered her head. “I was so angry at her that when I finally understood how she felt, it was like…I didn’t deserve to see her anymore.”

“Becca,” Bucky whispered.

“And I want to believe like Ma did. That maybe…she’s also around.” She smiled through her tears. “Maybe she’s still here as a spirit, or presence, or whatever. But then, that means if I go there and she’s around, she might not be happy to see me—”

She suddenly stopped speaking, surprised by Clover leaping off the sofa and plopping his head onto her lap. The Barnes siblings both blinked at the dog, who gazed up at Becca with such warmth, and Bucky felt a wave of relief when Becca giggled, the sound light unlike before. 

As she began to pet Clover, she sighed, “But I think…regardless of everything, I want to go there and forgive myself for…for hating Mom for everything. Is…is that silly?”

Bucky swiftly shook his head, offering her a soft smile. “I think it’s brave.”

“Brave.” Becca managed to laugh at that word. “I’m not like you, who’s…you know, stubbornly reckless and stupidly brave.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They both laughed together, and she wiped away more of her tears as she hummed. “I felt horrible resenting Mom for doing the right thing. I just hope she knows I’m not mad anymore.”

Bucky’s lip slightly curled into a grin, and he softly spoke to comfort his sister. “I’m sure she knows. But also…she’s gotta know that sneaking off by herself wasn’t the right thing to do. I mean, scaring the shit out of all of you? I don’t know about that.”

She weakly laughed. “Maybe not, but saving lives definitely is.”

At that, Bucky paused.

The whole room—the mood of their conversation—suddenly shifted, and Becca immediately felt confusion radiate off her brother. She turned to look at him and noticed his furrowed eyebrows.

“Mom saved people?” he slowly repeated.

For a moment, Becca stared at him, just as confused but for different reasons. Her hand stilled on Clover’s head, but he continued to keep his eyes closed as she blinked at her brother. “She… Wait, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“…Mom saved a whole bunch of people. That’s…how she got lung disease.”

Time went still—the hour and minute hand no longer ticked loud enough to fill the silence in the room. Bucky gazed at his sister, his breath caught sharply in his throat from the words that had slipped from her lips. If it wasn’t for the sofa, he would’ve collapsed to the floor from gravity bending around him. He didn’t expect this—never once considered that his mother’s death wasn’t caused by genetics—as nothing in her obituary had mentioned it. All it said was that she died of a lung disease, survived by her husband and three daughters.

Nothing mentioned her dying as a hero of some kind.

Bucky continued to sit there, all oxygen drained from his lungs as the shock simmered underneath his skin, and Becca watched his posture change so rapidly. His shoulders began to curl, and his hands threatened to tremble. Biting the inside of her mouth, she reached for his shaky hand and squeezed it, making his breath hitch before he managed to look at her again.

“You didn’t know…” Becca whispered, the realization hitting her brutally as well. “Oh, no, Jimmy… I didn’t know you didn’t know. I’m sorry… I would’ve told you first thing. I’d assumed you found out about it somehow.”

“It wasn’t mentioned in her obituary,” he said with a crack in his voice. “What… What do you… Becca, what happened to Mom?”

“James—”

“Rebecca, who hurt Mom?”

“No one hurt Mom, Jimmy,” she quickly said, but then immediately winced. “Well…”

His breath stuttered. “What?”

She squeezed his hands again, and it was enough to get him to slump back into his seat. His breath slipped away as he observed Becca, who had clearly been unprepared to share this unexpected story. But with a sigh, she managed to put on a bittersweet smile for both of their sakes. “There was a protest that ended badly.”

“When?”

“A few years after you passed. There was an event in Manhattan where she was volunteering. Some political thing, but it was supposed to be fun to relieve the tension everyone was feeling during the Korean War. But then the anti-war protesters came along, and things just got intense. Everybody was fighting somebody—you know how it is.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” he scowled, unamused by society’s flaw of resorting to using fists before words.

“Yeah, but while everyone was fighting, someone decided they needed to smoke right by a gas tank. But there was a leak or something, and it set off an explosion. It shouldn’t have been deadly, but it still managed to blow up an entire block. We later found out that a bomb had gone off with it. Authorities said that one of the protesters—the insane person they were—must’ve been carrying it. So many people died from that, and to make it worse, there was a giant chemical spill. Colored smoke and fireworks went off everywhere. Ma was nearby when it happened, but instead of running away, she…” 

Becca’s eyes glistened as she took a heavy breath. “She saw these people—these children—hurt and surrounded by fire, so she helped them to safety despite being injured herself. She inhaled a lot of the fumes and gas in the process—so much that she ended up at the hospital months later and…”

When she couldn’t finish the sentence, Bucky’s lips parted to only let out a sharp breath. He felt…hollow, like someone had gone and scooped out a part of his soul that was dedicated to his mother. How could he not have known all these years? It was shortly after HYDRA’s fall and his escape to Romania when he found the articles about what happened to his family. 

His father passed away from natural causes in 1967. His sisters did as well in 2002 and 2009, respectively. His mother succumbed to lung disease in the middle of February in 1951, when the snow was at its heaviest and the world was merely white.

That was all the text said, but rather than digging deeper, he became terrified by the fact that he had lost a family he didn’t realize he had, so he stopped looking further into it.

Still…that was years ago. Now, Bucky had his mind back—he was being pardoned. Good things were truly happening, and he had all the time in the world now to research deeper into his family’s fate.

But he was too afraid of reconnecting with his loved ones who were far gone. He knew what he had left behind—his mother, father, and sisters—but who he had left behind was still a mystery. Yes, Dr. Raynor told him to remember his life with them, and he was proud to say that he was, but to figure out who they all had become before they passed… To learn if his sisters changed when they started a family, if his father still read the paper in the morning, if his mother still made his favorite meals despite his absence… The idea of it shook him to his core, and once again he felt…

Lost.

He was free, but so lost.

His mother died a hero, and he had no idea this whole time.

His mother died because someone hurt her, and he had no idea this whole time.

His mother died with hopes that she’d reunite with her son, and he had—

“James?” Becca gently whispered, and he slowly looked up to meet her worried gaze. “Are you okay?”

He blinked and forced out a faltering grin, trying to act like he didn’t feel ill. “Not really. I didn’t expect to…to grieve for Mom like this. I always thought she got lung disease from our family history. Not…that.”

She nodded, then slightly grimaced with shame. “I really didn’t know you were unaware of this… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I know now.” Bucky then deeply exhaled and plastered on a wider grin as an attempt to lighten the mood. “I definitely wasn’t expecting this, but…I don’t know. It’s nice knowing Mom was a hero at the end of her life.”

Becca hummed in agreement, her own lips curling upward. “Mom was always a hero. You know…you could say she was stubbornly reckless—”

“—And stupidly brave,” Bucky finished.

“Just like you,” she said while nudging him, and they both huffed out a more genuine smile. “Because let’s be honest… You did not get your bravery from Dad.”

“You said it, not me.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“Maybe,” he breathed with a gentle chuckle. “Ma was the fiercer one between the two of them.”

“Certainly,” Becca said as she rose from the sofa, ambling to the kitchen to get desserts now that they’d digested their dinner. Then, pushing aside the lump in her voice, she quickly tried to change the subject to move on from the sorrow. “Do you remember when she caught a thief by Richard’s?”

A wave of nostalgia smacked Bucky in the face, and his smile expanded despite the lingering twinge in his chest. “Oh god, yeah… Didn’t she trip him?”

“Stuck her leg out while he was running,” she confirmed while retrieving her strawberry cheesecake from the fridge. “He broke a tooth from falling so hard, and Mom scolded him while he was getting arrested.”

He laughed lightly at that, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure the police were shocked by her.”

Setting the cheesecake on the dining table, Becca giggled. “They were, because I can never forget their faces. One of them even asked Mom if she wanted to work for the police, and she just laughed, thinking he was joking.”

With a hum, Bucky began to stand up, but his sister immediately pointed at him with sharp eyes. “Don’t you dare help me.”

He rolled his eyes. “It feels wrong to just sit here. I can at least cut the cake.”

“I don’t trust you. You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”

“You do realize I’ve been trained to use a knife for literally every situation, right?”

“Just sit still, and I’ll bring over the dessert.”

Bucky grumbled, but continued to sit back down with a playful grin while Becca lowered her hand at him. She winked before heading back into the kitchen, looking for the fancy dessert plates that she’d only use whenever special guests were over, and Clover walked towards her with a skip in his step. The sound of kitchen doors and plates clinging filled the silence, and Bucky let out a small sigh before closing his eyes.

Right… He did get his bravery from his mother. A pang of guilt spiked in his chest for forgetting, but it was quickly overcome by sudden memories of his mother’s courage. There were moments when life seemed scary, but his mother would comfort him by saying everything was going to be okay.

A bully had teased and punched him when he was thirteen, but then she dragged the student to his home to speak to the parents about their child’s misbehavior.

A cop had arrested him for being involved in a bar fight when he was twenty-two, but then she argued with all of the officers at the station with the notion that self-defense should never be punished.

A blizzard had knocked out their power when he was seven, but then she lit some candles in his bedroom and snuggled with him as she read their favorite bedtime story.

She was brave. She was amazing.

She was Winnifred Barnes—the person he missed the most out of everyone he’d left behind.

Slowly, Bucky opened his eyes and glanced over to see Becca walking back to the dining table with plates. He realized he hadn’t been zoning out for a while, though it felt like years had passed. As she carefully navigated the knife around her delicious cheesecake, he examined everything about her—the visible veins on her hands and sunspots by her temple—and his eyes softened to see just how much time had affected her.

And yet, he could still see her as a teenager—seventeen years old with a spark to her eyes, though the flame extinguished when she said goodbye to her big brother during the war. A faint frown reached his lips when it occurred to him that his family had watched their country enter one devastating war after another, never receiving a break from violence and conflict.

Like Becca said, everyone felt the tension during uncertain times, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that a deadly fight broke out the day his mother got hurt.

Damn. He honestly could envision just how Manhattan looked during the Korean War, and—

He calmly waited for the politicians to approach the stage, watching their every move through a pair of binoculars.

Bucky froze, his lungs seizing, his eyes going still.

Too focused on the aesthetic of her dessert, Becca didn’t notice the sudden shift in the room and instead giggled at Clover, who stood right beside her, hoping that she’d drop a little piece of filling onto the floor. As she placed a slice on the first plate, her brother’s hands curled into his thighs as his breathing became irregular, fighting against his chest’s unwillingness to loosen. Suddenly, his left hand twitched before—

His metal finger rested on the trigger, but he narrowed his eyes at the sudden commotion in the streets—of a large group of people marching in with anti-war signs and screams of protest. 

How strange. This certainly wasn’t part of the plan.

Bucky dropped his mouth open, trying to get air into his lungs, but none would go in, and no sound would come out. He was utterly silent, despite feeling so much revolting agony in his heart. All noises around him—the spatula sliding underneath the second slice, Clover’s panting, and Becca’s words—became muffled, as if Bucky was floating helplessly underwater, and—

He flinched ever so slightly when an explosion went off, momentarily stunned by how it blew up the crowd into hundreds of pieces. People shrieked in horror, scrambling to flee from the swirling smoke and fire. Others lay on the concrete, unable to move from shocking agony and leaking blood. 

Slowly, he glanced at his trigger, the button still untouched and waiting. 

Surely, someone was calling for him. Someone was saying his name, but—

He set down the device and analyzed the scene with dark eyes, concluding that one of the gas tanks in proximity must’ve exploded—that an idiot must’ve used their lighter nearby. Nonetheless, he was planning on pulling the trigger for his bomb at any second, so maybe the plan didn’t change too much. 

With his binoculars, he examined the chaos again, watching civilians escape from the massacre while a few ran directly into the fire to save who they could. But those people didn’t concern him; once he located the corpse of every politician he was assigned to kill, he stood up from his post.

Congratulations, Winter Soldier, for another successful mission. It was time to go—

“James!”

Bucky wheezed, releasing his knees with a wince before he snapped his head up, meeting Becca’s horrified eyes.

“Jimmy,” she breathed heavily with her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong—”

But she flinched when Bucky scrambled away, and she watched him tumble to the floor while Clover began to bark. She plopped onto the sofa, her knees startled by his frantic movements, and she saw him violently shaking on his side, unable to catch a single clear breath. In his eyes was the purest form of terror, burning him from the inside out while he suddenly smacked his hand against his chest.

“Jimmy,” she gasped, rising to her feet again before slowly approaching. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself. It’s alright. You’re—”

Becca widened her eyes at how her big brother immediately scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door. There was no chance for her to yell at him to wait—the front door was already swung open, and he ran down the street away from the setting sun.

<><><>

Stop it. Please stop it.

But Bucky couldn’t. His feet kept moving, his heart kept pounding, and his eyes kept watering against the wind hitting his face. And his left hand—the potential that turned him into a weapon—kept clutching at his chest.

Stop it. Why was this happening? Just breathe. Breathe.

But he choked, unable to grasp a single puff of air as he ran. The world blurred around him as the sun disappeared, coloring the sky from orange to black, which mirrored his hope for a better future. His feet unevenly stomped into the gravel pathway, his body on the verge of collapsing as if everything around him was trying to drag him down to punish him.

Slow down. Just stop! Take a breath, please! This couldn’t go on any longer. Please stop it—

When his foot caught on something, Bucky yelped before falling to the ground, and he hissed as shards of a broken bottle cut into his right hand. But the pain in his hand was only temporary, for his whole body screamed through torturous memories flooding into his mind.

Autumn of 1950. Five years after he was captured, Bucky went on one of his first official missions as the Winter Soldier. It took HYDRA all those years to deploy him on his own, as his mind had fought relentlessly to stay intact and escape their control until it became severely fried. Unlike his previous missions, in which he received only a single target to erase after dusk, this one asked him to be a ghost in the middle of the day, in the middle of a city, in the middle of a festival.

But if he could prove to his handlers that he could accomplish it without any assistance, then they’d know just how valuable he was.

The pebbles cracked within Bucky’s hands as he curled them into the ground, some digging into his bloody skin and others disintegrating from the vibranium’s force. Again, with his head down and damp eyes glazed over the dirt, he sharply gasped for air, but none of it reached his lungs.

After all, did he deserve it? How dare he— How fucking dare he beg for air when all those people stopped breathing? The Winter Soldier complied and killed all of those men, mangled their bodies with explosives, while burning innocent lives made up of children and their mothers and fathers and…

Mother.

He killed his own mother. 

She was there. Bucky’s mother was right there, and he… He was a monster. How could he ask for a breath when his mother couldn’t even…

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe— No, please, stop, please someone— Someone help—

Bucky wheezed, shifting onto his knees as he slammed his fists into the ground. His eyes welled up with hot tears that threatened to fall, his internal machinery rebelling against HYDRA’s mandate that prohibited him from mourning his own victims.

Wipe his mind. Erase his thoughts. Destroy every part of him that sympathized with his victims. They were prey! Nothing more, and nothing…

No, that was his mother. That was Ma. She was just a building away, and he didn’t help her. He couldn’t help her because he was too weak to stop HYDRA—too scared to refuse orders—too much of a fucking monster to notice the brave human running into the flames.

She died twice because of him; in Manhattan and at the gazebo, she succumbed to death because of him. Him, and only him! This was all of his fault, and no one else’s!

And he dared to breathe? To have fucking mercy? To be alive?

Tears rushed onto the ground as Bucky grabbed his head, and he squeezed at the exact spots where HYDRA would place the machine to wipe his head, hoping that he could erase his memories right now. His throat choked on nothing, his eyes quivered at nothing, and his heart tore at everything as he remembered his mother’s grace—how her laugh made the room flutter—how she smiled at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

She was gone. She was dead. He wanted her back. He wanted his mom back, so please bring her back! She wasn’t supposed to go yet. She had more time! Give her time— Give her his time!

He wanted his mama back, so please— PLEASE! Bring her back! BRING HER BACK—

When the sun finally vanished, Bucky shrieked at the world with all his tears flooding his heart, and he wished that he had just died when he fell off that train.

<><><>

April was a week away from ending, but Bucky didn’t notice how much time had passed since sobbing for his mother.

His soul was both hollow like a gutted corpse and overflowing like a surging sea storm, all while his head poked at the truth of his mother’s death. It felt like the world was taunting him, forcing him to stare at the very hands that wiped away the most beautiful presence in the universe. Now, he could no longer comprehend where his grief ended and anger began.

He was so fucking angry, and the tender side of him died to join his mother.

Bucky was a ghost in his own apartment—a place that barely resembled a home as a single sheet lay on the floor beside his armchair. He clung to it as his skin welcomed the freezing surface of the wooden floor, hoping that he’d get frozen in time again to stop feeling everything and nothing all at once. His eyes lingered on the chipped ceiling, and every time he tried to recall who he once was, he was immediately back to plummeting to his death on that snowy day. Perhaps it was his mind punishing him for attempting to find the young man he once was.

He couldn’t be that younger soldier from the forties anymore, nor the teenager or little boy who ran around Brooklyn like life could last forever.

Life did go on, but he was still here—physically living, but mentally dying.

His phone was now silenced, its notifications turned off after Becca had tried to text and call him one too many times. He knew he scared her, but maybe that was just meant to be. He was a monster designed to bring terror to all kinds of lives, not judging whether people were innocent or guilty before slicing their throats. According to him, none of them was allowed to breathe.

So, as Bucky continued to check off the names in his notebook, he broke the rules he had once tiptoed around. Hacking vehicles, breaking bones, and spreading nightmares to those he had once assisted as the Winter Soldier became a norm again. Eventually, Dr. Raynor would ask how making amends was going, and he’d just lie as always.

It wasn’t a surprise. He was always a monster and a liar.

And it was the monster who marched towards the gazebo, his boots digging into the familiar trail like he wanted it to perish. He couldn’t hide anymore—to pretend he was this innocent, sweet man that a lovely woman believed him to be. The sun was barely awake, but his head screamed with all the memories and hardships he had endured, and he wanted them to shut the fuck up.

He was so fucking angry to the point that he didn’t hesitate to walk up the small steps of the gazebo, meeting Wendy’s eyes right as he stopped at the edge of the platform. Although the older woman’s natural instinct to smile immediately kicked in, her lips faltered when she noticed Bucky wasn’t wearing a jacket. Without a word, she stared at his vibranium arm, slowly processing the metal plates that acted as a void to his soul.

And Bucky watched her gaze shift as she saw the real him.

Before she could say anything, he harshly broke the silence. “Are you afraid?”

Wendy looked up instantly, widening her eyes at his burning ones. “What?”

“Tell me. You’re afraid, aren’t you? You must be.”

She didn’t say, and instead carefully stood up with her hands tightening around her handkerchief. “Bucky… Are you alright?”

“Don’t— Don’t do that. You must’ve figured out who I am by now,” he hissed, raising his trembling left arm and clenching his fist. “Everyone knows. It’s easy to find out what I’ve done. They all know, and you must too.”

“Whoa, sweetie—”

“Don’t call me that!” he yelled loud enough to make Wendy flinch, and her eyes went wider at how he began to hyperventilate. “You don’t get to call me that after everything I’ve done! Come on, you must’ve known! Even if I never said anything about it, you must’ve at least felt nervous or scared by me! Look at me!”

But rather than responding, she gazed at him, stunned by how he was quickly spiraling between broken breaths. Once again, she lowered her voice and took a step forward, “Bucky… You’re shaking. Please, just… Have a seat and…take a breath for me.”

Bucky refused, as so many people lost their breath because of him, and he gritted his teeth. “You must be so scared now, huh? To finally know who I am and what I’ve done.”

Wendy’s breath hitched, and she shook her head. “I’m not scared.”

“Bullshit! That’s such fucking bullshit!” he screamed, and Wendy’s shoulders slumped once she noticed the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not,” she said, her voice never rising or quivering from fear, and she took another step. “There’s no reason for me to be scared of you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then maybe you haven’t truly figured out what I am,” he growled, daring to take a step towards her as well. “I’m a murderer.”

“Bucky—”

“And I’ve killed hundreds of people. Hurt thousands of lives with every death I’ve claimed.” His breath hitched painfully, but he continued to lose himself as tears rushed down his face. “I’ve destroyed cities, ruined nations, and ended peace everywhere I go because that’s all I ever do! I hurt, and hurt, and HURT everyone!”

“Sweetie, please,” Wendy tried again, raising her hands in hopes he’d calm down. “You’re not—”

“I’m a villain.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am the Winter Soldier. An assassin for HYDRA.”

“Stop—”

“I’m not the man you think I am. I’m a killer who showed no remorse for anyone! I’ve killed, and only killed!”

“Bucky, that’s—”

“I’m a MONSTER!”

“ENOUGH!” 

With a violent intake of air, Wendy stumbled backwards, swiftly covering her mouth with her handkerchief as her body lurched from her coughs. Bucky instantly faltered, his hands twitching at his sides with the urge to help her, but his feet didn’t move. Instead, the rest of his body locked in place with the terror that he would hurt her just like he had hurt everyone else.

The air between them shifted while Wendy’s labored breaths continued to echo, and neither one of them moved any closer to each other. Bucky’s hands then curled into fists, and it was as if a line had formed between them—a boundary that couldn’t be crossed anymore. So he took a nervous step back, his head screaming at him to run, but Wendy cleared her throat and looked up at him before he could, and her eyes softened at his frightened state. Quietly, she lowered her hands, letting them rest on the center of her chest.

And with a gentle breath, she whispered, “You’re not a monster. You’re far from it.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, but not another teardrop fell. Instead, his angered, broken frown returned. “That’s what you think.”

“No. It’s what I know,” Wendy said, her voice cracking and yet still so strong.

“Then you never knew me.”

“I know who you are because you told me yourself.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“When we met, you introduced yourself as Bucky,” she calmly explained. “And you sat down with me. Spoke to me like I was someone you were always happy to see, even when we haven’t seen each other in a long time. You are kind.”

“I-I just… No, you don’t understand. I’m…” His breath hitched as he tried to stand his ground. “I am a monster.”

“A monster doesn’t cry for its victims,” she immediately responded, breaking down his walls. “And I can feel all the guilt you carry.” 

At that, he couldn’t respond, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Wendy slightly grimaced at how much disgust Bucky saved for himself, and sighed. “You say you’re a monster, but your actions say otherwise. If you really are as heartless as you say you are, then you wouldn’t be here right now. You would’ve hurt me long ago, or never bothered to see me again. You are a good man, Bucky.”

But he shut his eyes as he shook his head, and sharply inhaled a desperate breath. “I’m not, Wendy… I’ve done awful things… I…I did something terrible a long time ago.”

“Whatever it is,” she began to say with a tender tone, “it’s not—”

“I killed my mom.”

The light disappeared, as if a candle had been blown out by a harsh wind. Time froze, as if a blizzard stormed through to turn everything into ice. Wendy went silent, as if Bucky had taken away her breath as well.

Her soft eyes were shot open, locked onto Bucky, who kept his head low, unable to meet her gaze. Suddenly, he became a different man—the pure personification of all the guilt he had carried for everyone but himself. Despite his declarations, all Wendy saw was a soldier who never wanted to be one in the first place. He was a man who only wished he could’ve stayed home with his family. To be a man who never painfully realized that surviving a demise was less merciful than dying.

If he had just stayed home… If he had simply died when he fell off that train… Then his mother would’ve…

“I killed my mom,” Bucky repeated again, barely able to choke out the words. His expression cracked, and his lips began to quiver, and he lifted his eyes to meet her shocked ones. “I didn’t know. I just found out. My sister told me how she died, and I realized…it was me. She was at one of my missions. I did it. I killed her. I…I couldn’t think. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stick around and tell my sister, so I ran. I left her behind again after scaring her and—and I—”

He slammed a hand against his chest, struggling to stop another panic attack from eating him away. Tears threatened to fall again, and he pressed his lips together to prevent any more hiccups from escaping. Wendy watched quietly, never moving a muscle despite the pain she felt from watching Bucky slowly lose himself again.

Who knew how long had passed before she finally exhaled, sending warmth towards him with just her gentle gaze. “Your mother would forgive you,” she whispered.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Bucky said, meeting her eyes again with expressive fear and silent anger. “Don’t say that she would. How could anyone forgive that? My mom… My mother— I killed her. She had so much life left. So many things left to do, and I took that all away.”

But Wendy didn’t falter. Instead, she fought against her own tears and lightly shook her head. “She’d still forgive you.”

“No, she wouldn’t!”

“She—”

“Just— Fucking stop! Don’t act like you know my mom more than me!”

“I’m not trying to…” Her words trailed off, and her shoulders slumped as a storm of emotions surrounded them. With another soft, trembling breath, she put on a determined gaze and whispered, “I’m speaking as a mother…that she would forgive you.”

“You’re wrong. God, you’re so wrong,” Bucky denied her words, his body quivering once again. “Family or not, no one can forgive that! They can’t look past something like that.”

“But she can. She would,” Wendy softly said with a hint of desperation. “She’d know that it wasn’t you.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Bucky—”

“No! I killed my mom! My sisters lost their best friend! My father lost the love of his life! They all watched her die, and there was nothing they could do about it. All because I-I poisoned her to death! It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t myself back then… I still hurt my family.”

“And your family knows that you had no choice.”

“Fucking damn it—” Bucky suddenly stomped towards her, and a part of him that hoped she’d see the monster he was and run away. But when she courageously didn’t move, he stopped a few steps short of her. “How would you feel, huh? Would you feel the same if your son had killed you?! Would you forgive him?!”

Wendy’s eyes widened once more, and she took a small step forward. “Don’t—”

“You wouldn’t. You fucking wouldn’t!” he snarled, his anger overwhelming all reasoning in his mind. “I know for a fact that you’d never look at him the same. That if you found out that he killed you—or someone else you love—that you would walk away from him.”

“I—”

“If you found out right now that your son was a murderer, would you still miss him?! Would you still be proud of him?!”

“I’m telling you—”

“If he came back from the dead and came to kill you—”

“James–”

“Would you still love him?!”

“Do NOT speak poorly of my son!”

This time, Bucky stumbled backwards, his heart frozen from the power of her voice. Unlike before, no coughs threatened to break down Wendy’s body as she stood there firmly, heaving through her emotions. Her eyes were filled with motherly rage, disappointed at how someone could bring up her deceased child in this manner. But then, she let out a soft gasp as she realized her tone—the fear and shame in Bucky’s still posture—and slowly straightened up as her tears finally rolled down her face.

Neither one of them spoke. Neither one of them knew what to say at this exact moment.

With immense remorse, Bucky gulped before turning around, his gaze fallen to the gazebo platform and nothing else. He hated this. He hated himself and the way he hurt his friend…but that was all he ever did, right? He hurt, and hurt, and…

What was he doing? Why was he like this? How could he run right up to this kind woman and rip her apart? Dig up her past and throw it around like it was nothing? This was terrible. Horrendous. He was a fucking monster—

“What was your mother’s name?”

Bucky lifted his head up, and though he didn’t turn around to face her, he heard Wendy softly exhale and wipe at her tears, and her voice was once again so calm. “Your mother… Do you remember her name?”

He curled his hands into fists, and he barely managed to say it. “…Winnifred.”

“And do you love her?”

“I do…” His breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I love her so much…”

“…Then she loves you too,” she said, her voice wavering.

“No… She…”

“That’s enough,” Wendy softly stopped him. “She loves you, Bucky. Always have, and always will.”

Her footsteps neared, and Bucky stiffened when he felt her hand rest on his left shoulder. Although he still refused to face her, he didn’t flinch away or run. Instead, he felt her squeeze against the vibranium, and for a moment, he felt just how warm she was, despite being the one who always trembled between them.

“Never underestimate a mother’s love for her child,” she said with such certainty that it felt like the absolute truth. “It goes beyond what you’ll ever believe. And…no matter what my son did, I’d give anything to hug him again. I promise you, Bucky, that your mother would’ve wanted the same thing.”

No words formed in Bucky’s throat, but his mind carried her words cautiously, like they were fragile, regardless of how much strength each of them possessed.

Wendy squeezed his shoulder again, and Bucky heard her breath slightly hitch. “And…if you can’t believe that, then believe me when I say that there’s someone out there who needs comfort. Someone who needs her big brother. You know that, don’t you?”

Lowering his head, he gave her a weary nod, and he swore he heard Wendy huff out a sorrowful smile.

“Good,” she quietly said with such relief. “Go on. Get back to Rebecca, and give her a big hug. She’ll need it.”

And she was right. Bucky knew that, but to go back and tell her that he was the one who damaged the core of his family… It was necessary, but there was nothing that could prepare him for it. He just got his sister back, and he knew that telling her the truth would end their relationship for good. She was his only family left—the only sacred bond he had outside of public knowledge—and didn’t want to ruin it.

She’d be so hurt. So scared of her big brother. There was no way that once he told her, Rebecca would…

Rebecca?

“Wait,” Bucky spun around with his eyes shot open, “how did you—”

His eyes shot open at the sight of no one, and he staggered backwards in pure disbelief. Whipping his head around, he tried to locate the older woman, but didn’t find a single silhouette in the area. The sun finally rose, but not even the light could reveal her whereabouts, nor bring him solace in these confusing times.

“What?” he breathed out, continuing to look around. “How… Wait, Wendy!”

Rather than hearing her respond, a train horn echoed in the wind, making Bucky jump and spin around to stare at where the abandoned tracks proceeded to. Compared to before, the sound was less muffled, as if there truly was a train coming towards him.

But this track had been inactive for decades, and there were no other lines nearby.

God… With Wendy disappearing and a random horn going off, maybe Bucky was right in thinking he was going insane. He just got his mind back, and yet was entirely losing it from trying to live as a normal person. He wasn’t normal! He was a mon…

Silently, Bucky turned around and stared at the empty bench, right at the spot where he’d always find Wendy. He allowed a few minutes to pass, partly because he believed she would pop up during his wait. But when she didn’t, he released a heavy sigh and looked down at his left hand, examining how the sunlight reflected off the metal.

With a feeling of horror, he slowly gathered his courage and walked away from the gazebo.

—<><>—<><>—<><>—

NEXT PART >

Seriously—why did he have to deal with this? He was finally free, and yet he felt more trapped within the confines of society, forever viewed as a malfunctioning waste of life. If he had never survived that day—that horrendous, frozen day—so many lives wouldn’t have vanished. They could be alive right now, laughing with their loved ones as they shared hope and dreams. 

But no. Bucky took them all away.

More than two dozen assassinations were credited to the Winter Soldier, but that was just what the public records say. Only Bucky knew just how many lives he destroyed.

All because he survived that fucking train.

He kicked a loose bolt lodged in the dirt, sending it flying into the tracks. The sharp ringing in his ears made him pause in his steps, and he stared at the railway that once kept his heart at peace. 

“Your next homework is to dig into your past,” Dr. Raynor assigned as she wrote in her notebook.

Bucky huffed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Haven’t I done enough of that already?”

“Are you kidding me?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You’ve only looked into your past to figure out who you were supposed to be if HYDRA had never caught you. You found what you solely needed to function in the future—not to relish the past. You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“Okay, then what do you want me to do exactly?” He sat up with a slight glare, his hair falling forward in frustration with him. “Because, honestly, I’m tired of reading about myself and realizing I can never go back to being that guy.”

“Then don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t expect to be that guy, and don’t research just yourself, James.”

“Then what—”

“You have a family, don’t you? If I remember correctly from your files, you have a lovely mother—”

“Had.”

“—Had a lovely mother and father, and three younger sisters. Although I believe your youngest sister is still alive.” Dr. Raynor then straightened up to match his aggressive energy. “Think about your life with them. What did your mother cook for dinner? What did your father do for work? What activities did you do with your sisters? Where did you all go when no one wanted to stay home?”

Raynor leaned back in her seat while Bucky stayed still, though his heart pounded violently against his chest. With one quick scan of his tense posture, she sighed and shut her notebook, no longer finding it necessary to write more.

“If it’s difficult for you to learn more about yourself, then think about your family. That’s your next homework, and there’s no due date for that one. Just…remember your life with them.”

But remembering was hard. 

HYDRA ensured that Bucky would always recall the worst before the best, placing all of his memories with his family beyond a foggy wall. He knew of particular moments, such as his father reading the papers at breakfast, his sisters skipping through the park at noon, and his mother reading him a story at night. However, he couldn’t remember how they carried themselves, their bodies shifting around in his head as smudged drawings ruined by a worn-out eraser.

Again, he knew of their features—their personalities and habits—but damn, he could barely describe their faces, despite seeing some photographs of them recently. It was like his brain was wired to forget, forget, and forget.

So Bucky continued to stare at the train tracks, hoping the sight would help him recall more memories of his upbringing. Unlike the one that ruined his life back in 1945, this railroad opened a window into his life from 1924, of those sunny days when this line still operated. His parents took him to this place to see the train speed by, simply because he wanted to. Technology and machinery—he had always found them exciting—almost magical—as they had the potential of bringing ease into people’s homes.

But his? His potential turned him into a weapon.

Bucky barely flinched when he tried to roll his shoulders, but it was still an unpleasant reaction to have. Five years might’ve passed, but for him, it had only been a month since he was gifted a vibranium arm to prepare for the greatest war in the universe. Despite the internal structure having no pain and movements being smooth, unlike the monstrosity HYDRA sewn into their puppet, he still needed a while to fully get used to the new prosthetic. The last arm was connected to his body for over seventy years—no one should expect him to be immediately comforted with this change.

Change was difficult, but he had no choice but to live with it. 

Proceeding forward, Bucky swore he could sense laughter. It was a gentle sound in his heart that was once carried by his family. It stemmed from a mixture of his parents’ chuckles with his sister’s giggles as he watched the next train approach in awe. He could barely pinpoint how it sounded, but somehow he could still feel it.

He wanted to feel it. He missed his family.

Occasionally, Bucky leaped from one side of the tracks to the other, his boots sinking into pebbles and patches of mud. The longer he walked around this lonely part of Brooklyn, the more stupid he felt for coming here. The wonder he carried as a little boy was gone, for the memories barely let him grasp onto it. This train route was once full of excited footsteps and eager hellos, joined with embraces that burned the coldest of hearts. But now, all he could see was the last time he engaged with the train that once operated here.

It was 1943, and he was just a young man in a sharp uniform, carrying his life in a bag as he watched the train near the station. His whole family was in shambles; his father teary-eyed as he quietly reached for his son, his sisters all sobbing for their brother’s departure, and his mother’s tearful smile as she tried to hold her son for a moment longer. Bucky had cried too, but he had told them that he’d do well—that he was nervous to serve his country, but also ready to make them proud.

But how could any of them be proud of a monster?

Bucky wouldn’t know, as there was no one left to ask. Dead or alive, his family was gone. He couldn’t accept himself into the current Barnes family anymore, as no one would ever want a murderer in their family history. Everyone he once knew was now swallowed up by time, while he lost the right to age—to grow up like everyone else. 

Dr. Raynor wasn’t wrong, for his youngest sister was peacefully living out her last years in the same city she was born in. Bucky also discovered through obituaries that his other sisters had passed away from old age, and he was happy to see they’d been granted the beautiful kind of death everyone wished to have. His father went too early for his siblings’ liking, but still lived long enough to enjoy life. His mother wasn’t so lucky, for she had died from a lung disease just a few years after the war ended. 

Bucky wondered if she hoped to reunite with her son the night she passed away. After all, he was the one who told his family that he would come back safe.

It seemed that he was a monster and a liar.

Bucky’s feet skidded to a halt when he finally spotted it: a small gazebo at the top of the hill that overlooked the tracks. As a child, it was one of his favorite places in the world. Since not many people wanted to spend time where the train would interrupt their conversations, Bucky had plenty of room to watch the railroad in action. He always begged his parents to take him here, pulling on their hands as he hurried on the trail that led them right to it. Even when he was old enough to explore on his own, his family would join him if time allowed it. But now, it was strictly abandoned, serving as a potential location for a thriller movie or an aesthetic photoshoot.

As Bucky walked up the slope towards the familiar sight, he could see just how badly cracked the concrete platform was now. The brown, rustic roof had a few holes in it and was overgrown with moss and foliage. The wooden railing around it was weathered and hanging on by a thread to endure the upcoming winter. Bucky wondered if the benches up there were still intact.

With a soft sigh, he trudged towards this place that once held so much astonishment, but now it was just hollow and empty—

Bucky blinked at an older woman looking at him from the only bench that survived, and she looked just as surprised to see someone else in this abandoned area. They stared at each other, and the silence felt heavier as the wind blew by. The woman’s salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a loose bun, bouncing lightly at her long, black scarf wrapped around her neck. She was wrapped up in an oversized gray coat that reached her ankles, and donned warm silver gloves that looked a little tight around the wrists. Her cheeks were flushed with the chill while her gentle eyes were locked onto Bucky.

Her lips parted, the visible breath slipping from them, and then she gave him the widest grin, as if she was excited to see him. “Hello. I wasn’t expecting company this morning.”

“Oh… Hi,” Bucky faltered before clearing his throat, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you, ma’am.”

“Who said you were disturbing me?” she lightly chuckled, her hands gathered at her lap with comfort. “I’m just excited to see someone else who knows of this place. Do you come here often?”

“Uh… Not really. Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, a little flustered by this sudden conversation, “I used to. I stopped by a lot when I was younger, so I was just curious what it looked like now.”

“I see.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Do you come here often?”

“You could say so.” She gently smiled, sensing his unease but not being bothered by it. “I used to come here a lot with my family for picnics.”

He nodded, but then tensed up when the woman moved over on the bench, leaving enough room for him to sit by her. Although she looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, her movements were slower than expected yet heartfelt as she made Bucky realize he wanted a break from the endless walking. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he made his way over and accepted the silent invitation to sit down, unsure if the bench could hold both of their weight.

It did, and Bucky settled beside the woman.

“I’m Wendy, by the way,” she then said.

“Bucky.”

At that, she huffed out a smile. “Is that short for something?”

“Buchanan, ma’am.”

“Oh, wow. Not many people have that name these days.”

“Yeah. Although Buchanan is my middle name,” he lightly explained, surprised that he was letting himself be more talkative with a stranger. “My first name is James.”

“James Buchanan… Now, that does sound familiar…”

He froze, wondering if he had said too much and she knew about the man behind the Winter Soldier. His shoulders began to ache as he clenched his fists tighter, regret slowly twisting his stomach.

But then, she hummed. “I swear there was a famous person with that name…”

Blinking, Bucky nodded. “The 15th president was named that, yeah,” he said, and found his lips twitching upward when she chuckled. “My parents didn’t do it on purpose. My mom wanted to name me James after my dad, but he liked Buchanan for…some reason. So, they made a compromise, despite knowing there was a president with that name.”

“Smart move,” she said with another chuckle. 

Quickly after, she let out a soft cough, her throat chilled by the air too harshly. She lifted her hand, and Bucky noticed how she clutched onto a white handkerchief as she covered her mouth. It felt nostalgic, strangely, as most people nowadays didn’t carry them, unlike those from the forties. 

He patiently waited for her to collect herself, and then she grinned. “Well, my name is based on a character from Peter Pan. Wendy Darling. I do love that story… Have you read it?”

“I might’ve when I was a kid,” he replied, hiding his uncertainty since he genuinely couldn’t remember if he had read it before. “It’s been a while since I opened a book.”

“Oh, you should start reading again. It helps pass the time when life gets boring,” she encouraged.

He nodded. “Maybe I should.”

Then the world went quiet again, but for the first time since Bucky returned from the dead, it was comforting. The silence wasn’t the kind that he’d been familiar with—the one that locked up his chest and hindered him from breathing. Usually, when the noise around him simmered down, he’d be invaded by thoughts about the amends he had to make, remembering the endless list of people he had to confront. 

But right now, the silence that embraced him was the gentle kind he wished for whenever the yelling of crowds, the honking of vehicles, and the screaming in his memories tormented him too much. For once, he could hear his own breath, feeling time slow down for the man who wasn’t allowed to run with it.

It was as if the world now waited for him to accept his place within life—eager for him to allow himself to age like he was supposed to, despite taking away that opportunity for many people.

The older woman beside him, no matter how much she was a stranger, didn’t make Bucky nervous. It seemed like she didn’t know the weight of his pain or the violence in his stories, and that made it easier for him to sit there in silence. There was no need to explain his actions—right now, he could just be another stranger to her.

As inconspicuously as possible, Bucky glanced at Wendy, only to falter when he saw that she had already been looking at him. Her gaze wasn’t direct, as it only came from the corner of her eye, but not an ounce of it was judgmental or intrusive.

With another small smile, she tilted her head at him. “Are you waiting for someone here?”

Bucky shook his head, gathering his hands together like a child caught in trouble. “I just needed to clear my head. Are you waiting for someone?”

“You could say that.”

Before he could ask her to clarify her bizarre response, Wendy shivered as a harsh breeze brushed by. She rubbed her hands together, curling into her scarf with another cough. Then, she glanced at him, bringing back her smile. “It’s quite cold today. Aren’t you cold with just that jacket?”

“Uh, not really,” he said. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“How lucky. I envy you.”

Bucky gave her a bittersweet grin, unable to speak of his time as a frozen assassin. “It’s not much to be envious of, ma’am.”

She raised a playful eyebrow at him. “I’m sitting here all bundled up, and I still feel like my fingers are gonna fall off. Believe me, I envy you.”

He could only offer her a quiet, half-restrained laugh, and she joined him softly. Then, like a spear piercing through the air, the buzz of Bucky’s phone broke the peace. He quietly sighed as that sound reminded him of his therapy appointment today, and stood up with another weak smile. “I have to go now. But, uh, it was nice meeting you, ma’am.”

“Oh, stop it with the ‘ma’am’ nonsense,” she laughed, but then bobbed her head at him. “It was nice to meet you too, Bucky. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

With that, Bucky started on the trail that was so important to his childhood, his body already knowing where to turn through muscle memory. The woman continued to sit on the bench, watching the man leave without another word from her.

And then, just as suddenly as she appeared, Wendy disappeared from the gazebo.

<><><>

Bucky wanted to scream at the world to shut the hell up.

The snow crunched harshly underneath his feet, and the tips of his ears were flushed as his hair could no longer keep them warm after his haircut. The morning air was frozen, but it couldn’t overpower the radiating heat of his anger, stopping him from freezing along with the trees and bushes around him. The sun was barely up, shining weakly over the horizon, and Bucky could only scoff at it for being lazy when he had already been awake for multiple hours.

Another night of nightmares. Another night of reminders.

But, unsurprisingly, it wasn’t a night of tears. 

While Bucky had cried a few times since gaining his freedom, it was clear that HYDRA had stripped him of his ability to shed tears for his victims. Too many people died in his mind last night, and yet he couldn’t let go of his agony through cries. It was horrid, really, that his body could never cry for the innocent lives he murdered, whereas he’d sobbed his heart out for himself back in Wakanda.

He felt selfish.

Furious, Bucky stomped through the familiar trail, purposely breaking the snow with his boots like it could erase the pain he felt from watching the bloodshed he created with his own hands. The notebook in his jacket, once carried by an old friend, weighed him down; his brain dug up new names for him to write down faster than he could make the actual amends.

He then glanced at the peeking sun and scowled, wondering how it could be at peace when he was forced to scream awake. He turned away, shifting on his feet to reach the gazebo faster—for the place that was always empty and gave him plenty of room to—

Bucky halted, his eyes landing on a figure who also looked over to see who was approaching. After a moment, her lips curled up into a smile. “Hello, Bucky.”

For a moment, he couldn’t remember who this older woman was, but then his breath hitched. All the anger crept below his skin, as he was afraid to hurt this innocent being like he had with everyone else. With a quiet gulp, Bucky walked the rest of the way to the gazebo, stopping just at the top of the step and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Hello,” Bucky paused, needing a brief moment to recall her name, “…Wendy.”

“I’m glad to see you again,” she chuckled. “I see you’ve gotten a haircut. How long has it been?”

He nodded, standing nervously at the edge of the gazebo. “I think it’s been about…two months since I last saw you.”

“Oh, I see. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” he repeated back, although he didn’t feel much joy with another year passing.

His shaky response made Wendy pause, her eyes turning softer as her lips parted with concern. “You don’t look well.”

Clenching his fists tighter, Bucky averted his eyes to the side, and he wanted to brush off her worry. But the warmth in her voice was loud, despite her body trembling from the cold, and it made him want to be honest, as if he were talking to his own parents. With a slight shrug, Bucky spoke quietly, “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

“Oh, dear. Nightmares?”

He snapped his head up, stunned by her perfect guess, and nodded. Wendy hummed, watching him like she was trying to listen to more than just words. She straightened up and gently asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

Immediately, Bucky shook his head. “Not really.”

Even if he did, how could he tell her of all the deaths he’d caused? Lives he’d destroyed? Love he’d ruined? Bucky found comfort in the fact that this woman didn’t know his past, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

Luckily for him, Wendy nodded with a tiny smile, her compassion stronger than Bucky could ever be as a whole person. Then, just like last time, Wendy slowly moved over on the bench, her body fragile but still dedicated to giving him a place to rest. Unable to refuse, Bucky finally pushed aside his fear and approached her, taking his time to sink into the seat beside the stranger who seemed to understand him better than people who knew him personally.

For a moment, they didn’t say a word, offering only each other’s presence to fill the silence. Eventually, Bucky peeked at her, watching her body tremble under the cold before frowning.

“It’s a lot colder than the last time I saw you,” he gingerly began, speaking like a son worried about his parent’s health. “Are you okay?”

She turned her head to meet his gaze and smiled softly at his concern. “I’ll manage. I’m afraid I couldn’t bundle up as much as I should’ve.”

Bucky examined her outfit, noticing how similar the layering was to the one she wore the last time they met. Were the colors also alike? He couldn’t exactly remember, but with another frown, he tugged on his sleeve. “You can borrow my jacket, if you want.”

“Oh, no. It’s alright. I don’t want you to be cold.”

“I don’t really get cold.”

“Everyone gets cold at a certain point,” she gently laughed, which was quickly interrupted by a cough. “I’m sure you do too.”

“I do…” Bucky agreed, though his hand continued to stay on his sleeve, “but not as easily as most people. I don’t mind, Wendy.”

But still, she shook her head with the same heartwarming smile. “I’m alright. If anything, it won’t make me feel better knowing I’ve made you shiver because I didn’t dress up properly for the day.”

Although he hesitated, Bucky let go of his sleeve before staring ahead. His eyes landed exactly where the train tracks would be, despite being hidden by the snow.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Wendy gently pried open the silence, making Bucky turn his attention back to her. “This place. You said you came here when you were younger, right?”

“I did. My parents used to bring me here to watch—look at the, uh…tracks.” Bucky adjusted his phrasing midway, remembering that the train on this line hadn’t been active for decades now. “We spent a lot of time here.”

“I came here with my family as well. How funny… What if we’ve passed by each other and never knew?” she lightly joked, but there was a semblance of possibility in her voice.

But Bucky couldn’t tell her she wasn’t even born when he explored this area as a child, so he put on a half-grin and bobbed his head. “Maybe we did.”

“Perhaps. That’s a nice thought.” She then gestured towards the hidden railroad. “My son and I used to walk along these tracks when he was little. He loved to jump between the bars and always tried to find any flattened coins people left behind.”

“Sounds like something I would’ve done,” he replied, although he actually had done it with the addition of being the one to put coins on the track. He considered doing it again until Dr. Raynor informed him that it was now illegal to put change on the tracks to flatten them.

As much as Bucky understood why, he thought that the world had gotten more boring since he’d last lived in it.

“He did manage to get some of those coins,” she continued, her lips curled up by the fondest memories of her child. “Oh, he was so excited.”

The corner of Bucky’s lips twitched as he spoke, “Maybe there’s still a few left he could find.”

Rather than responding, Wendy then went quiet—so quiet that Bucky’s smile faltered as he watched her stare at the snowy ground. After a few seconds, she faced him wearily, her grin no longer bright, but somewhat bittersweet. “Maybe there are.”

And then, another wordless moment went by before she softly hummed, “My son passed away a long time ago.”

With a hitch in his breath, Bucky’s glacier-blue eyes widened at her. His heart began to beat aggressively against his chest, almost punishing him for making the stranger sad. Biting the inside of his mouth, he grimaced before speaking with a quivering voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No need to apologize,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Like you said, you didn’t know. It’s alright.” 

With a deep exhale, she turned forward to face the tracks again and closed her eyes. “My son loved it here. I would love to walk along these tracks with him again.”

Bucky stared at the older woman as a tightness sharply strained his chest. Her sorrow wasn’t brash, but instead resigned for the person who once walked the same paths she had. The ache he felt was caused by memories that he couldn’t see for himself, but still could comprehend, as he had his own losses. As the wind brushed by, sending puffs of snow their way, the silence slowly grew heavy.

So, drawing a quiet breath for himself, Bucky picked up the weight off both of their shoulders. “I feel the same way with my parents.”

Wendy opened her eyes, her gaze landing on Bucky with curiosity glowing between them. Gathering his hands, he cleared his throat and continued, “My parents passed away. A while ago.”

Parting her lips, the older woman let out a soft breath, “I’m sorry to hear that… If I may ask,” she began while taking note of Bucky’s supposed age, “did they pass naturally?”

He faltered, but took a quick breath before shaking his head. “My dad died of old age, but my mom… She died before then. She was ill with lung disease.”

“I’m sorry. I hope they both went peacefully, still.”

Bucky didn’t know if they did, but he gave her a splintered grin. “More or less. At the very minimum, they weren’t alone when they passed.”

“That’s good. That’s the best thing anyone could ask for when they have to go—to be with their loved ones one last time.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They were surrounded by family and friends when they passed.”

The smile returned on Wendy’s face, pleasing Bucky enough that his chest loosened to give him a break from suffocation. He didn’t understand why, but it was easy for him to speak to this woman—to be vulnerable, despite having spent years being wary of others. A gentle cough from her throat interrupted their peace briefly, but then she collected herself and gave him her full attention once again.

“Do you have any siblings?” Wendy asked with a spark of interest.

“I have a sister,” he replied, deciding not to mention his other siblings to avoid piling too much death on her. “Her name’s Becca.”

“Bucky and Becca. Sounds like a duo of troublemakers.”

He chuckled at that. “Maybe we were.”

She giggled as well, then tilted her head towards the bottom of the slope. “Perhaps you could come here with her then. If not with your parents, then with your little sister,” she suggested.

A lump formed in his throat, and his hands tightened in each other’s grasp, and with a slow breath, Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t seen my sister for years.”

“Why?”

Bucky gazed at Wendy, who didn’t have a single meddlesome bone in her weary body. Once his eyes darted around and he adjusted his jacket to hug his body better, he sighed, “I haven’t been the best person for the past few…years. My sister wouldn’t want someone like me back in her life.”

“Oh, I see.” She bobbed her head, but then leaned towards him with a warm grin. “But how would you know that? Have you asked her?”

“No. I just… Uh…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck while shame built up in his heart. “I just know she wouldn’t want me back anymore. Not after…everything I’ve done.”

“But you never asked?”

“No, like I said…”

“Then you don’t know that, Bucky,” Wendy calmly interjected, her voice never once falling into a nagging tone. She continued on, sounding like a mother teaching her child an important lesson, “And you will never know until you ask.”

His eyes wavered, his lips pressing into a thin line as a huff of breath got caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. As he leaned back in his seat, his hands, uncomfortably tense within each other’s grasp, Wendy straightened up.

“Are you nervous to see her?” she softly asked, though she already knew his answer.

“Yes,” he blurted before he could even think, and his heart spoke in his stead. “Wendy, I know she’ll… She just wouldn’t…”

He stopped speaking when Wendy weakly raised a hand and tilted her head earnestly. “Despite what you’ve done in your past, I can tell you’re a sweet boy, Bucky. You may be nervous to see her, and even more so to find out how she feels about you now. But there’s only one way to find out, don’t you think?”

It was funny—Bucky had been in therapy for nearly three months now. Yet, this stranger was doing a far better job at encouraging him to open up to possibilities than Dr. Raynor could. There was a calming essence to her that soothed his heart and gently asked the rest of his body to slow down its shivers. 

Another breeze blew by, and Wendy coughed, a bit harsher than the last one. Before Bucky could react, there was a faint echo of a horn nearby, causing him to glance at where the tracks stretched on with wide eyes. He blinked, wondering if he had imagined the sound, as there were no active trains near them. 

While he simmered in his confusion, Wendy lowered her hand back to her lap, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward while her eyes gleamed at him. “I don’t know what you dreamed about last night, but maybe seeing your sister might help with that. Just a thought.”

And it was a valid thought, as Bucky began to believe that seeing his little best friend from home could actually help him. So, with a faint smile of his own, he nodded at her and slowly stood up. “I’ll try to visit her.”

“Trying is good.”

He then glanced at the snowy slope, furrowing his eyebrows in worry. “I heard it’s going to snow a lot again later today. Are you going to be here for a while?”

“Not too long. I’ll head back before it does, if that’ll comfort you.”

“Please.” He smiled brighter this time, making the woman just as happy to see some warmth back on his face. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

She chuckled, “You’ll always find me here. Have a good day, and try to rest for now.”

“I will. Thank you, Wendy.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie.”

Bucky paused at the endearing nickname, feeling his cheeks blush as he nodded one last time. Then he turned away, offering her a wave before heading back.

Then, just like last time, the moment Bucky left the area, Wendy was also gone.

And even when he reached home and slid back underneath the covers of his warm bed, shutting his eyes to catch up on his slumber, Bucky never had a particular realization.

That, not once during their conversation, did he tell the stranger that Becca was younger than him.

<><><>

The house was right there, and yet Bucky couldn’t bring himself to move forward.

With his feet frozen to the sidewalk, he stood on the other side of the street, staring ahead at the white house that blended into the snowy neighborhood. It was a two-story duplex, yet he could focus only on the right side. The first-floor walls were covered in cream-colored stone, the roughness catching some of the snow as if it had been dusted with powdered sugar. On the second level, the walls switched to wooden panels that broke away from the white palette, painted baby blue to match the January sky.

A thick layer of snow lay on the rooftop, stopping Bucky from seeing if it was made up of concrete tiles or asphalt shingles. The mahogany front door waited for him at the top of a small porch built with red bricks, most of which were now chipped after years of welcoming people into the home. Behind the many windows were heavy curtains, hung closed to prevent outsiders from peeking in.

But Bucky didn’t have to look through the glass to know his sister was inside.

His body was quivering, but the weather wasn’t causing the tremors to blaze through his muscles. Nearly eighty years had passed since he’d seen his little sister, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if their relationship hadn’t been preserved at all. Surely, Becca must know of his savagery as HYDRA’s fist by now, so Bucky wouldn’t blame her if she saw him as the monster he had believed himself to be. But he did wonder if she would even remember his face now—if she could find her big brother in those hollow eyes of his.

Bucky curled his hands into fists as a weak attempt to steady himself. Unfortunately, another wave of shivers spiked through his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be brave—he wanted to see his sister and have closure, knowing whether she’d accept him for who he was.

Before he knew it, he stood right in front of the door, the red-brown hue of the wood almost mocking him in the face. His breathing suddenly became uneven, and he held his breath, terrified that even a slight sound would alert his sister to his arrival. But…that was why he was here, right? To say hello again after so many painful years? His heart was beating in the most erratic rhythm, but Bucky forced himself to stay on her porch. 

He needed to know if he could be allowed back in her life again.

“But there’s only one way to find out, don’t you think?”

There was, and it was time to get an answer.

With a deep breath, Bucky raised his hand to knock—

Laughter erupted from inside, followed by a dog loudly barking as its paws skittered on the wooden floor, and Bucky froze like a statue trapped in place by humanity’s greed.

“Grandma, you didn’t!” a man yelled beyond the front door, his voice cracking with excitement as others continued to laugh.

Grandma?

Gra—

Bucky nearly tripped down the steps as he retreated from the front porch, and his feet slipped on the icy sidewalk. He barely managed to ground himself, and with a gasp, he rushed to his motorcycle as fast as he could. While hurriedly trying to escape the scene, he glanced over to see a red car parked nearby with no snow covering it, indicating that it had moved just recently.

Becca’s family was visiting.

Becca had a family.

The sound of his bike echoed throughout the peaceful neighborhood as he drove away as fast as he was allowed. Flurries attacked his face, but he couldn’t care about how his cheeks became slick with ice while he struggled to breathe.

Becca was a grandmother now. She had a life without Bucky. She didn’t need him anymore. Of course, she wouldn’t want him anymore. Who could possibly want a monster around them—

Once he exited the neighborhood, Bucky sped to his apartment with an incensed yell, his heart colder than ever before.

<><><>

Bucky was bleeding, but frankly, he couldn’t give a shit about it.

A skinny stream of blood trickled down the side of his head, stemming from the cut he received on his forehead. The injury landed just above his right eyebrow, caused by his inability to catch himself when he slipped on the ice earlier. The afternoon sun blazed directly above him, illuminating the cut for anyone to see and laugh at. 

For someone once deemed as the Winter Soldier, he was sure fucking pathetic with the aftermath of a strong, February ice storm.

However, Bucky couldn’t bother to wipe off the blood as no one was around him—he was once again walking on the trail to the gazebo. The branches above him, encased in glistening ice, hovered dangerously as one tiny movement could send them hurling towards the ground. Despite the hazardous environment, the irritated man continued to wander through the desolate pathway.

Suddenly, he flailed his arms out when he slipped on another patch of ice, and quickly balanced himself before any more damage could impact his pride. Grumbling underneath his breath, he carefully stood up straight before turning his gaze away from the ground, his eyes landing on the neglected gazebo up ahead.

His foot didn’t dare to take another step, as Bucky halted from seeing a familiar person—no longer a stranger now—sitting at her usual spot on the bench. This time, her head didn’t turn towards him with curious eyes, but instead faced forward while her eyes continued to stay closed.

Even from afar, Bucky could see that she was shivering, occasionally coughing into her hand. Yet, she was still here in the freezing cold.

Frowning at the sight before him, he proceeded to walk towards the gazebo with his hands already unbuttoning his navy-blue peacoat. His steps faltered briefly when he observed her outfit, his mind whirling through his memories to confirm whether she was wearing the same coat and scarf from their last interactions. He couldn’t exactly recall, but then he decided the thought wasn’t significant enough to dwell on.

The sound of his boots digging into the snowy path eventually reached the woman’s ears, prompting her to look over and find the familiar figure walking towards her. A smile automatically seeped onto her face, but it vanished the moment he stepped onto the gazebo, getting close enough for her to see his bloody face.

“Oh, dear,” she breathed as she prepared to rise. “You’re bleeding—”

Her words tripped in her throat when she tilted her chin down, gazing at the peacoat being offered towards her.

“Here,” Bucky softly said, extending his arm further. “You’re shivering.”

She snapped her head up, her soft eyes wide in awe and warmth as she stared at the younger man before her. Then she shook her head, gently pushing the coat back towards him. “You’ll be cold, Bucky.”

“I’ll be fine…Wendy,” he replied, his tongue needing a quick second to form her name. “I have another layer on.”

She glanced at his black hoodie, then weakly frowned. “That is not enough to keep you warm.”

“It is. Trust me.” Bucky then took another step forward, offering her a timid smile along with the coat. “Please take this.”

The older woman hesitated, but her shoulders sagged when he proceeded to drape the peacoat over her, enveloping her in immediate warmth. She grabbed the opening and wrapped herself tighter with it while Bucky took a seat beside her. With both her oversized coat and his own peacoat, Wendy looked even smaller—frailer—than before, but that only motivated him to look after her more.

She exhaled deeply, comforted by the younger man’s kind gesture, and looked back at him before narrowing her eyes at the wound above his eyebrow. “How did you manage that?”

“I might’ve slipped on some ice earlier.”

“Might’ve, or absolutely did?”

Bucky sheepishly smiled, no longer feeling bitter about his injury and instead tickled by Wendy’s reaction. “Maybe I did.”

She shook her head with slight disappointment, though it was overpowered by amusement lingering at the corner of her lips. Adjusting his peacoat, Wendy reached into her own trench coat and pulled out a white handkerchief. “Here you go.”

He blinked, then raised his hand at it. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay. If you’re worried about germs, I haven’t coughed into this. It’s clean.”

He lightly laughed for the first time in weeks. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t wanna get blood on it.”

“And I don’t want to see you bleeding out.”

“It’s just a small scratch, Wendy.”

“And it’s bleeding. Take it, sweetie.”

The nickname reached deeper into Bucky’s chest this time, giving him no other choice than to accept the cloth. He lightly pressed at his wound, unable to tell precisely the state of it.

Meanwhile, Wendy watched him without ever glancing away and huffed out a grin. “You are missing every spot of blood.”

“Well, I can’t exactly see what’s…”

Bucky’s words trailed from his lips when she reached for her handkerchief, and he let it slip from his hand. He quietly sat there as she began to dab at his face carefully. His cheeks turned rosy as his mind pulled up memories of his own mother gently wiping away the tears and blood on his face after he was involved with…anything. All throughout his upbringing, Bucky had thrown himself into fights to protect his loved ones or had injured himself after he and Steve had done something…well, absolutely stupid.

His mother had always sighed upon seeing his injuries, but still tended his wounds and soothed his pain without hesitation. Any other child would’ve been scolded profusely or nagged at for their recklessness, but his lovely mother always smiled at him with so much love.

A soft breath escaped Bucky’s lips as his shoulders dropped, and he realized just how much he missed his mother—his family. And he had the chance to see his little sister, but he…he was too scared. He was spineless. Cowardly. He was at her doorstep, and yet…

“Have you visited your sister yet?”

Bucky flinched, and Wendy immediately pulled back her hand with a soft gasp, believing she had stung him. But before she could utter an apology, he quickly turned and grinned weakly at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to move. I… No, I haven’t visited her yet.”

The older woman took a beat, her eyes darting around his face to ensure he didn’t lie to make her feel better, then resorted to wiping away the blood. “I see.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky continued, “I have thought about it, and…I think I’m gonna go soon. Maybe once the snow melts a bit.”

Wendy smiled, moving her handkerchief to get the last of the blood. “That’s good. Are you nervous?”

“Just a little bit.”

Bucky was actually terrified, and he knew that Wendy could sense his fear. Despite that, she never called him out on his attempt to look brave, and instead leaned back with a satisfied hum, scooting back a bit as she folded up her cloth. “All done.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You should get that looked at, though. I’m afraid you’ll get an infection.”

“I—”

“And don’t say that you won’t.”

Bucky shut his mouth, making Wendy chuckle under her breath. Although the sound was faint, he still smiled back before letting out a soft laugh of his own. After a moment, she let out an exhale while tucking her handkerchief back into her coat. But then she paused, her eyebrows furrowing as her hand fumbled within the coats.

When she pulled her hand out, Bucky’s breath hitched from seeing his notebook in her grasp. Wendy blinked at it, then glanced back at him with curiosity lingering in her eyes. “What’s this?”

“Uh…” He curled his fists into his pants, and a visible puff of air escaped his mouth, condensation working its magic to reveal how nervous he immediately became.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Wendy said with an apologetic frown, quickly able to sense his discomfort. She tucked his notebook back in his peacoat as she turned pale from guilt. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

“No, it’s…” His jaw clenched before he shook his head, managing to give her a tiny grin. “It’s okay. That notebook’s just… It means a lot to me.”

“I can see that. I’m sorry.”

“No, please, it’s okay,” he reassured her. Then he faltered, realizing that he had also made a terrible mistake, and his mouth fell open. “I…I should be the one sorry, actually.”

She coughed before tilting her head at him, her cheek burying into her scarf. “What do you mean?”

“We haven’t seen each other in a while…again. I’m sorry. I’ve just been having a terrible time remembering to stop by here.”

At that, Wendy softly giggled and waved her hand at him. “You don’t need to apologize for that. It seems like you’ve been busy.”

“I actually don’t have much to do…”

“I never said you’re busy with your schedule. Sometimes, having a lot on your mind can hinder you from doing what you want to do.”

He stopped in his movements, slowly processing her words before nodding. “Yeah, you could say I’ve been thinking…a lot.”

“That’s good. Contrary to what most people believe, thinking is good. Unfortunately, I don’t think most people nowadays think at all.”

A half-snort escaped Bucky’s mouth. “You’re not wrong.”

Wendy gently laughed and coughed once more into her hand. She then smiled at him, her presence as soothing as a hand resting over a racing heart. “How long has it been since you last came here?”

“It’s been a few weeks.”

“Well then, what have you been up to?”

And Bucky responded, sharing stories of his uneventful days with the older woman who seemed so invested in his life. To no one’s surprise, he never spoke of his past as a monster, choosing to talk about how he befriended an old man who now joined him for sushi on Wednesdays. Wendy beamed as he spoke, elated to hear that this troubled man was slowly finding his path.

As they engaged in light banter and mundane anecdotes, Bucky slowly wondered if, one day, he could invite Wendy for lunch as well. He didn’t want to assume, but he couldn’t help but notice how lonely she looked every time he found her at the gazebo. Within her eyes—no matter how soft they were—there was an overwhelming wave of longing, as if she was still waiting for something.

Or…perhaps, someone.

While Wendy released another gentle laugh, Bucky blinked as his mind suddenly played a moment from the day he first met her.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“You could say that.”

Who was she waiting for? Interest piqued in his chest, but he bit his tongue back from asking about it, for he was nervous of accidentally bringing up sorrowful memories from the woman who’d shared so much comfort with him. So, he just smiled, continuing to carry on in their conversation that never felt too invasive.

But there was still something strange about their encounters, and yet Bucky never noticed. Even later, when he eventually told Wendy to be careful of the glistening ice above their heads and left for home, and she disappeared shortly after him…

It never occurred to him that, despite arriving second, his footprints were the only set in the snow.

<><><>

The rooftop was made up of concrete tiles.

Bucky gazed at the top of the duplex, finally able to decipher the material of the roof after most of the snow had melted. He then lowered his chin to face the mahogany door that seemed to close in on him, despite his feet being planted on the other side of the street again. Curling his gloved hands into fists, he glanced around to see if a specific red car was anywhere, and began to walk towards the front door once it wasn’t spotted.

He climbed the two brick steps, and his stomach twisted when he stood at the door. For a while, his hand refused to rise, forcing him to stare at the red-brown varnish until he could locate his warped, blurred reflection. He couldn’t recognize the silhouette embedded in the door, and he wondered if Becca would struggle to as well.

God, Bucky was scared. He was so fucking terrified, but he couldn’t run away again—he didn’t want to. So he lifted his fist, only for his arm to falter halfway while his heart lurched, and he choked out an uneven breath. He dropped his chin, harshly exhaling through his nose to collect his sanity, but then noticed the doorbell right at the level of his lowered hand.

Before fear could drag him back to his motorcycle, Bucky pressed the button as quickly as possible, and he froze at the sound of the chime echoing from within the house. His heart then raced in his chest while his ears strained to catch every little sound, from a dog barking loudly at his arrival to a woman shushing her pet with warmth.

Then, before he knew it, Becca’s footsteps were just behind the door, and his mind immediately screamed at him to run—

The front door swung open, and Bucky’s shoulders slumped at the sight of the elderly woman, donned in a burnt-orange sweater that enveloped her with dawn’s first light. She looked up at him with wonder, perplexed to see a stranger at her door, but then her burnt-umber eyes widened after a beat. 

Bucky couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to, because beneath all the wrinkles and fragility of her body, it wasn’t Rebecca P. Proctor who stood before him.

No. It was Becca Barnes who stared back at him in overwhelming shock.

Finally, she sharply gasped, her body starting to tremble as her hands rose in front of him, though she couldn’t bring herself to reach him just yet.

“Jimmy?” she whispered.

It was as if Bucky had been hit by a truck. He stood frozen at the doorway, unable to move despite having the clawing need to retreat—to lie and say she’d mistaken him for someone else. His heart was pounding, but he couldn’t dare to turn his back on her the moment she spoke.

Jimmy. When was the last time anyone had called him that?

Bucky blinked, and he was back in 1943, when he said goodbye to his parents and sisters before boarding the train to war. Of all three of his sisters, he held onto Becca the longest; he loved them all dearly, but secretly, Becca was his favorite. The most teasing of his little sisters, but also the most loving. She hugged him tightly back then as well, trying not to ruin his uniform with her tears.

“Come home soon, Jimmy,” she begged.

And there he was, staring at his younger sister again. Back not so soon, but now right in front of her. He gazed at her, his feet glued to the brick-layered platform while Becca blinked back at him. The two were quiet for a while before she gently grabbed his right wrist, pulling him a little bit closer as she squeezed his hand. 

Her breath shuddered through her ajar lips, and her eyes began to well up. “Is it you, James? Is it really you?”

Bucky gulped before slowly nodding. “Yeah. It’s me.”

With a louder gasp, she then yanked him into an embrace.

Bucky’s steps skidded, nearly toppling forward from the sudden movement. But as he processed the weary arms secured around his body, and the wet laughter in his ears, he slowly began to realize that this was real. That there was no rejection. That his little sister was crying, but so much joy spilled from her voice.

“Jimmy,” she tearfully smiled into his ear, “it’s been so long.”

“I…” Bucky’s breath hitched. “Becca, I—”

“Welcome home.”

Home.

Although Bucky had been back in Brooklyn for months, it wasn’t until now that he was finally home. He was…holding his sister again, his eyes closed and breath shaky as he trembled uncontrollably. His knees were on the verge of buckling, and his throat threatened to close up, but nothing stopped him from hugging Becca as closely as possible.

Finally, after eighty years, Bucky could spend a brief moment as someone other than a monster.

<><><>

Large, beady brown eyes never strayed away from Bucky’s face, while the man also stared back at the quiet creature with the same amount of focus.

While Bucky took a seat in the middle of Becca’s sofa, a great pyrenees engulfed the right side, his white, luscious fur hiding the celadon-green fabric. The dog slowly blinked while his nose twitched every time he made note of the stranger’s scent. For a moment, Bucky wondered if the dog even liked him, but then slumped in relief when he saw his tail lazily wag at him. Eventually, Bucky chuckled when the dog lifted his head, itching closer until he could rest his head on the human’s thigh.

“Hi.” Bucky gently brought a hand to the dog’s head and petted him. “Aren’t you friendly?”

“He’s just waiting for you to give him a treat!” Becca yelled from her kitchen.

“I don’t have any,” he said, continuing to brush back the silky fur. “Sorry, Clover.”

“Oh, don’t apologize to him!” His sister shouted as she stepped out of the kitchen, holding a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies. “I swear, I feed him all the time, and he acts like I’m starving him.”

A slight grin found Bucky’s face as he watched his sister set down the tray, pleased to see how spry she was despite being ninety years old. He tried to reach for a mug, but barely could move a muscle off the sofa with the dog weighing on his thigh, and Becca chortled at the sight.

“Don’t even try. Once he’s on you, you’re not getting up,” she said and passed him a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” Bucky quietly replied as he accepted the drink.

However, Becca’s eyebrows both shot up, and she then smirked at him. “I know we haven’t seen each other for a long time, but you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

“Saying ‘thank you’ is formal to you?” he asked with amusement.

“You used to just say thanks, or rudely act surprised that I even did something nice for you,” she reminded him as she sat beside him, raising her mug to her lips.

Bucky hummed, feeling his body quickly adjust to being in his sister’s presence. “If I remember correctly, it was always you who was sassing me.”

“Let’s be honest… It was mutual.”

“It was one-sided.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

The Barnes siblings lightly chuckled before taking a sip of their coffee, letting the hot drink warm their throats and chests. Bucky sighed into his mug at the sensation, then looked over to see Becca gazing at him once again, still in awe to see her big brother sitting right next to her. Her eyes trailed over his face, finding places where he’d grown exhausted, and others where he’d stayed the same.

With a huff of a smile, Becca shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around the mug, and he was only able to form a broken grin. “Me neither. I…took too long, didn’t I? To come home.”

“Just a little bit,” she softly said before putting down her mug on a coaster, and Bucky copied her action. “But you’ve made it now.”

He nodded, and all the words he wanted to spill got lodged in his throat. Struggling to form a sentence—to raise a topic that was inevitable to ignore—Bucky shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

But before he could finally say anything, Becca took a quiet breath. “I saw you on the news.”

Bucky’s gut twisted violently, and he cringed further into the sofa while gathering his hands together. “I’m sure you did. My name’s come up a lot the past few years. I… Becca, I…”

Fuck. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say anything. 

Yes, he now knew Becca was aware of his crimes, but it was difficult to speak of them. His throat refused to let him narrate all the suffering he had caused, while his mind warned him against bringing up his own, as he didn’t deserve to receive sympathy. Bucky took a quick breath, but no sound escaped his lips, no matter how hard he tried.

And Becca watched him fight with himself, and her eyes softened from seeing how her brother was still at war, despite being freed years ago. Unable to withstand it for another second, she placed a palm on his arm, stopping him from spiraling any further.

Then, with a faint smile, she gestured to his hands. “Take your gloves off.”

Bucky widened his eyes. “I, uh—”

“Go on,” she insisted before scooting closer to him. “Let’s see it.”

“Becca, I don’t think—”

“Ah, ah!” she cut him off, sounding exactly like how she would’ve eighty years prior. Bucky briefly froze at her tone, feeling a sense of nostalgia overwhelming him while she chuckled. “Come on. I’m waiting.”

His hands clutched each other tighter as hesitation pierced his muscles. But when Becca raised an eyebrow at him, he let them go. With a shuddering sigh, he slowly peeled off his right glove first and shakily removed the left.

With her lips already parting at the sight, Becca stared at the vibranium hand hovering above his thigh. Without a word, she curled her hands around it, causing Bucky’s breath to hitch. She glided her fingers around the metal plating, admiring the beauty of scientific possibility while also despising how it pained her brother.

For a while, Becca didn’t say a single word. Instead, she examined his prosthetic with the greatest poker face, preventing Bucky from figuring out what she was thinking.

Nervously, he broke the silence with a murmur, “I’ve changed a lot, haven’t I?”

“You sure did,” she finally replied.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked cautiously, ready to hear some hurtful truth.

But instead, Becca sadly smiled at him. “Why would it bother me? I love you no matter what,” she warmly said, patting his metal hand. “You could have two heads, and I’d still love you.”

Bucky chortled, though sadness was clearly embedded within the sound. “Even if I hurt a lot of people?”

“James,” she lightly shook her head while her expression deepened, “did you choose to hurt those people?”

“I… No.”

“Then I still love you.”

“But I—”

She shushed him, the pitch aggressive but also still full of love. Bucky shivered, another memory of his younger sister shushing him back in the forties coming to him. 

Becca grinned again, squeezing his hand as if she could protect him. “I still love you, and nothing will change that.”

His pupils quivered, and he struggled to breathe as he pulled his hand away. Bucky curled away from her, making Clover lift his head in confusion as the man slid over a bit. It was too much to sit right beside her—to look at her as she confidently gazed past his horrific actions. Becca let him slip away, but kept her smile shining at him.

“Becca, you don’t understand. I…I…” Bucky’s breath began to go uneasy, his hands trembling. “I did horrible things. I didn’t just hurt people, I…I… There are so many people gone because of me.”

“Is this why it took you so long to find me?” she quietly asked. “Did you think I would hate you for being a victim?”

He shook his head. “I’m not the victim—they are.”

“Now, that’s full of shit.” She weakly chuckled, but Bucky heard how her voice wavered. “I may be old, but I know how to use the internet. I read about you. About what HYDRA did to you, and that tore my heart apart. Everything they did… Jimmy, you didn’t deserve any of it. You’re a victim too.”

But still, Bucky refused to accept it, and he dropped his head with tremors in his heart. “I can’t be a victim. I…I’ve killed people.”

“HYDRA killed them. Not you.”

He grimaced, managing to meet Becca’s gaze as he opened his mouth. “But I—”

“And they killed you too.”

And at that, Bucky’s heart splintered open, his eyes wide and quivering as she stared back with such precision in her own. The way she watched him…it made it feel like nothing about him was fallacious—that his status as a victim was the most definitive truth out there. There was no mindless pity or empty empathy within her gaze, and that unraveled Bucky even further.

“I lost you during the war, Jimmy,” Becca whispered. “We all got the letter. We mourned you and gave you a place to rest, even when we didn’t have your body. HYDRA killed my brother, and that’s not something you can deny.”

With a shaky breath, she then smiled, reaching for his left hand once more. “You say you’ve changed, and I agree. Yet, at the same time, when I look at your face,” she lightly laughed as her eyes began to shimmer, “I just see the same guy who gave bullies hell and bought me candy with money he saved up. I still see my big brother.”

A short, broken sound cracked from Bucky’s throat, and he blinked to see someone else. Like a photograph that’d slipped out of his old wallet, he stared at the memory before him: his young sister laughing without care, running around in the grass with her feet bare despite Bucky’s warnings that she’d injured herself. Her eyes, the same shade as their father’s, gleamed brighter than the golden sun above them.

And they continued to gleam, along with the lines on her face that acted as soft etchings, creating a beautiful image before him. She was Rebecca Barnes, the teenager who couldn’t let go of him before he boarded the train to go to war. She was Becca, the child who squeezed his hand extra tight whenever they had to cross the street. 

She was, and would always be, the baby girl whom he carried around when his mother needed a nap—the infant he swore he would protect for the rest of his life.

She was his baby sister, and he was her big brother.

And it was her big brother who held his head down, unable to look at just how much his baby sister had grown up without him. There was still this charm to her, possessed by an energetic spirit that could’ve never been contained, and he had missed seeing it prosper against all odds. His right hand curled on his thigh, while such a loving presence gently cradled his left.

Bucky’s lips trembled, but his eyes stayed dry as he raised his head to meet her gaze again. “I missed you, Becca. I’m sorry. I… I’m so sorry. I wanted to come home.”

“Of course you did. I know you fought hard to come home. Back then and even now.” She tugged on his hand, prompting him to sit right against her again. “You were always a fighter, Jimmy. You always had to protect someone smaller than you…particularly Steve.” They both chuckled at that. “I know you tried to come back, and I’m grateful that you’re here now.”

“Me too,” Bucky whispered.

Then, with a soft exhale, Becca tearfully let out a chuckle. “So like, now that you’re here, you’re gonna keep visiting me, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll stop by more often.”

She pointed a finger at him with a teasing smile. “You better.”

He let out a small laugh before Becca clutched his metal hand again, her playful nature replaced with something more serious. They were quiet for a moment, then she squeezed his hand.

“I’m serious. Don’t leave me again,” Becca whispered. “Please.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and before he could do anything, they finally glistened. Although no tears rolled down his cheek, the sheen on his pupils was enough for Becca to pull him into an embrace, gentle and sweet as his shoulders trembled. Neither sibling could have ever imagined that they would hug each other again, but there they were, overcoming the impossible. 

She patted his back. “I’m so glad you came back.”

“Me too,” he grinned. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They finally pulled away, and Becca playfully hit his arm. “I swear, James. I’ll kick your ass if I don’t see you soon, you hear me?”

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t do anything stupid.”

“It’s been a little too late for that.”

“Of course it is.”

Together, they laughed as brother and sister, and Bucky didn’t feel so alone anymore.

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