#angsty bucky

"You were my happy ending, y'know?"

The sentence catches Bucky off guard, and he looks at you from across the gym.

"What do you mean?" he asks quietly, shifting his eyes from you to the floor.

You sigh, and he can hear the tears clogging up your throat. He always could. He knew everything about you like the back of his eyelids.

"You were my forever, Bucky. I thought you said I was yours, too, but..."

You trail off, and he looks up just in time to see a tear carve its way down your cheek.

"But," you continue, "I guess I was wrong."

Frigid metal at his back and cutting into his skin. Sweat cooling on his forehead. But both were a harsh contrast to the fire burning through his veins as if molten.

He opened his mouth to scream. Why couldn't he scream? "Barnes, James. Sergeant. 32557038…" he barely whispered. Still, he said it over and over. "Barnes. James. Sergeant…" Every syllable was a struggle, and his mind eviscerated them before they'd even left his cracked lips.

His right eye had been crusted shut with blood. He didn't know what from. Dull waves of pain radiated from his left cheek in time with his heartbeat. It had to be broken. If that was broken, what else?

Leather straps dug into his skin and held him immobile. Exhaustion had caused him to stop fighting them hours ago… or was it days? Years? His throat hurt, but he didn't know if it was from screaming or if it was from someone throttling him. What was more horrifying: the fact that it didn't even matter to him anymore.

The dim lighting did nothing to hide the acrid smell of piss and fear that hung heavy in the air, making it difficult to breathe: that, and the sharp ache between his ribs that blossomed with every breath.

Somewhere, a door creaked open, and the lights flickered to life. Fear gripped him, and a voice that made his stomach churn called out, "Are we ready, Sergeant?"

------

Bucky sat straight up, gasping as he looked wildly around the bare apartment. Darkness. Only a slight ache in his bones, but no real pain. Alone. He didn't dare close his eyes; the lab was always there, hiding in the dark. He slowly stood to turn on a light. "Yeah, well, I wanted to get up." That's what he was determined to tell himself. And his therapist.

"Mrowr." Bucky flinched at the sound, even as Alpine wound his way around his legs. He took a steadying breath and tried to hide the slight tremor in his hands from the fading adrenaline. "Mrowr," the cat repeated with insistence.

 Bucky grunted in response, still measuring out coffee grounds. "It's 3 am, you can wait a bit for breakfast. Me? I need coffee." The cat silently hopped up onto the counter and sat, flicking her tail. Bucky tried to ignore her, he really did, but he gave in and got the cat her breakfast when he glanced at her over his first sip of coffee. Big mistake. With a heavy sigh and an annoyed glare at the cat, he set about filling her bowl. The food made a grotesque plop as it hit the ceramic before he unceremoniously offered it to her. The cat tilted her head, and he rolled his eyes before grabbing a sardine from the fridge that he kept especially for her.

"There, happy?" She only purred in reply. The fluffy feline all but pounced on the food when he set it in front of her. The corner of his mouth twitched as he turned the water on, momentarily distracted by his companion.

-

It was your free day, until it wasn‘t. The team that was out on a mission came back in a hurry. With a baby. „You two stay here, keep her safe. We need to find the organization trying to hurt her.“ „Where is her mom?“ „Gone. Just keep her safe. We need to go.“ And Steve and the others were already out of the compound again, leaving you with a baby in your arms. „Friday, put the security level up.“ „Will do.“ When you came back into the living room you saw Bucky watch his favorite show without even noticing you. Alpine made a leap off the couch to come towards you and loop through your legs. A coo made the giant man raise a brow and turn around. „What in the mother of-“ „They dropped her off and currently try to chase down the people wanting her for some reason.“ You shrugged and sat down next to him. „You‘re good with children, right? I didn‘t have much family and I honestly have no idea what to do other than holding her. Help.“ You looked into his eyes helplessly. „I haven‘t- Fine.“ He grabbed her out of your grasp. „Friday? Do we know her name?“ „Her name is Olive.“ „Hey, I‘ll call you Lilly. Alright?“ He cooed down at the little bundle and got a little coo back. The baby looked extra small in his grasp, but it also looked way more relaxed than with you. Her eyes got heavier and heavier the more he slightly moved her just right. „Yeah, you probably had an exhausting day, baby girl.“ He smiled down at her. That smile that was reserved for pets and children. That „I‘m not being judged“ smile. „I‘d never be that good with children.“ You mumbled and had him look up. „What? No, you‘re just not used to it. I think you‘d be great with children.“ „Really?“ „Yeah, you‘re good at taking care of people. Why not put that into a smaller version.“ He put down the little girl between the both of you on the couch and watched her sleep. „Do you want children?“ You asked a little shy. That was a personal question to ask such a traumatized person. „Yeah. One day.“ He smiled down at Olive and took her little hand. „I think you‘d be a great dad.“ You smiled and saw him look up and blush. „Um, thanks. Uh, do- Do you want children one day?“ He stammered. „Maybe. Only if I find the right person.“ You shrugged and looked away. „You will. I‘m sure of it,“ he answered as Olive already started to fuzz again. Watching him be so good at this kinda made you think twice if you really wanted this one day. You felt like anyone would be more qualified at it than you. „You got this, right? I- I think I need to just-“ You gestured towards the door before making your way out, leaving behind a confused Bucky looking at a baby in his arms and a cat that disapprovingly put her head back down.

-

He looked pretty beaten up after this particular intense mission. Two cuts in the face and a bullet wound in is side. You sat down on his bed in the med bay, „Hey.“ „Hey.“ You got a soft smile from him. „Do you need help with cleaning up those wounds?“ You asked reluctant. „I mean, they only did the bullet wound, so I‘d appreciate it.“ He chuckled a bit strained. You got everything you needed and sat down next to him again, moving his head how you needed it. He frowned for a second before his expression eased at...whatever it eased at. You didn‘t notice the stare at your lips that kept him thoroughly distracted. It would be so easy for him to just go for it right now, but he shouldn‘t. He knew he shouldn‘t. „Aaand you‘re all cleaned up again.“ You smiled at him and got a tiny „Thank you“ back. „Anything else?“ You dipped your head to the side. „What else would there be?“ He smiled. „I could get you clothes to change into, make your hair less messy, get you some food,“ you suggested. „Make my hair less messy. Please.“ He played the idiot in need, but he really just wanted to feel your hands in his hair. You sat down behind him, started detangling it and sending chills down his spine. Then you started braiding little braids into it and he was sure that this was his undoing. And as you saw his shoulders relax you gave him a little scalp massage, letting him lose all the tension he was holding. „God, I could kiss you right now. This is amazing.“ He grumbled relaxed. „Wouldn‘t hold it against you.“ You chuckled as you sat next to him again. „Is that so?“ He smirked. „Yeah, well, I‘m pretty good, aren‘t I?“ „Yeah.“ There was this softness, this fuzz in the air. 

-

Alpine came walking towards you in the very early morning as you wanted to get yourself some warm milk with honey to fall back asleep. Nothing she usually did. Normally she was always a step behind or ahead of Bucky. You frowned and crouched down. „Is there something wrong, sweetie?“ „Meow.“ „I take that as a yes.“ „Meow.“ You made your way to his quarters in the compound and knocked at his door. When there was no answer you pushed the slightly ajar door open. „Where is he, Alpine?“ You looked down and saw her rush towards the bathroom door. She scratched the surface lightly with soft meows. She was not a trained therapy cat but she sure as hell was one hell of a buddy. The bond they both had showed especially now. „Bucky?“ You asked soft but nervous. Nothing. „Alpine got me here. What is wrong? Please open the door.“ You explained and asked. „Meow.“ Harder Scratching, paws reaching under the door. „Friday? Can you please unlock this door?“ „Protocol: MHE. Door unlocked.“ You pushed down the handle slowly, letting Alpine rush in first before you could even see anything. You only heard her purring before you saw her forcefully cuddle into a hunched figure. „Bucky…“ You came towards him, sat down in front of him. Nothing. You reached out for his flesh arm to feel him. He was a little cold for his usual supersoldier warmth. „Wait, I‘ll get you a blanket,“ you mumbled, coming back with a giant black soft throw blanket. „Bucky, please talk to me.“ He didn‘t move the head leaning on top of one of his arms. Alpine in the small room between his thighs and his chest pushed against him. She was purring and making biscuits on him as best as she could. Truly a good girl. „James, at least pet Alpine. You don‘t have to talk to me, but she‘s doing a great job.“ A shaky breath left him before his free hand reached for Alpine and carefully went through her fur. „Meow.“ She looked up at him. You just knew. She was verbally mothering him, kicking his ass. „Thank you, Al.“ A deep, nasally and rough voice came from him before his face came up a bit so she could climb higher on his chest to be scratched. „What happened?“ You asked softly again. „Bad dream. Somehow you were a person brought in to make me comply and...you were killed by a drone strike somehow. God, I have a lot of gore in my mind, but that was horrible.“ You saw tears form in his eyes again and pulled him close. „I‘m here. See? I‘m hugging you and I‘m here. You won‘t let anything bad happen to me, ever. I know that.“ You tried to soothe him. He grabbed you, squeezed your arms, your waist, your hips, touched your hair. „It looked so fucking bad. It was awful. I can‘t get the picture out of my head.“ He dug his face into the crook of your neck. „Think about your favorite moment with me then. Or that mission where I accidentally shot Steve in his arm. Or when Alpine tried to tell you to kiss me.“ You chuckled. His hands wandered up and down your body, relaxing both of you. „You know, I really kinda want it. To kiss you, I mean.“ He stumbled over his words. „What‘s holding you back?“ You whispered. „My brain.“ His head came up and looked at you. You could see the troubled mind in his eyes. „Then what‘s your heart saying?“ You asked pointing at it. His face turned soft, „That you‘re cute.“

You went through his hair carefully, still a little concerned about him. „I know, I should cut it off,“ he mumbled. „Huh? No, you don‘t need to. I like you with any type of hairstyle.“ You offered him a soft smile. „I want it short again. I don‘t wanna look like him anymore. Not after that dream.“ He shuddered at the mention. „Now?“ You asked still going through it and saw him nod. „Do you trust me?“ „I do.“ You got up, grabbed scissors and an electric razor from all over his bathroom, before taking his blanket away from him under protest of both him and his cat. The cat proceeded to lay down in the warm blanket pile shortly after. You put his hair in three tails, cut them off while being watched carefully. His shoulders relaxed when that step was finished. You proceeded to get all of his top hair up into a tail, helping with various products in spray bottles, cause you were definitely not used to doing this anymore. Alpine jumped a little when the razor turned on, but when she saw Bucky visibly relax even more she rolled back into a furball on the blanket pile. You shaved down his sides and back a decent amount. Not too much. You didn‘t want to make this look military style. Then you continued with the top of his head. You didn‘t know which length would be ideal. Maybe not too short, but too long also looked off with his fluffy hair. You still wanted to indulge in playing with it though. Maybe about 3-4 cm / 1-2 inches long. It took a while for you to figure out the way you needed to go about cutting it but you were finished with it in no time. With soft brushes over his hair you got rid of any hair that didn‘t belong there anymore before making him stand up. „WOAH.“ His eyes got wide as he went through his hair, looking at your quality work. „You like it?“ „I love it.“ He looked at you in the mirror, seeing a loving shimmer in your eyes. Maybe he DID deserve you. „We should go to bed. I only slept like 3 hours because of that,“ he mumbled and you nodded as you put out the bathroom light and closed the door behind Alpine. You padded after him, making him do a full stop and turn around a little confused. „What?“ You asked rubbing your eyes and he really couldn‘t say no. So he did the next best thing coming to his mind, grabbed around your waist and let himself fall into his bed. „Idiot.“ You giggled into his chest and climbed up a bit a few seconds later. „Hey.“ He smiled up at you as you grabbed into his hair. „Hey handsome.“ You smirked all tired before cuddling yourself against him and planting your face in his neckline. Yeah, maybe he did deserve you.

-

Oh. And that’s when you peaked over his shoulder and noticed Steve standing on the street, leaning against the car. “Sorry, doll,” Bucky apologized, offering you his arms for a hug.

You accepted, pulling him close and tucking your face into his chest. “’S okay, Buck.” He told you earlier that he may have to be leaving to go on missions, he couldn’t say exactly when or where. But this took you by surprise; it was the first mission he’d been sent on since he’s met you – since he started dating you.

“So, it looks like I’m going to have to raincheck dinner on Friday,” he mumbled shyly, pulling away, but still holding you firmly at the waist. He awkwardly chuckled, hoping you’d at least find light of the situation in his old charm.

You smiled up at him. “Let me know when you’re back?”

“You’ll be my first stop.” He moved a hand to cradle your jaw, leaning towards you for a goodbye kiss. You obliged, biting your lip and watching him saunter back towards Steve.

Bucky stood next to the man, giving you a stiff wave. “Make sure he comes back in one piece,” you call out to Steve, waving back at the both of them.

Steve laughed, waving back. “Will do, (Y/N).”

You stood frozen in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you watched the boys climb into the truck, pulling away, heading off to wherever the hell they were going.

Wait, keep me in your skin, Keep me in your chest. I'll wait for it to start, I'll wait for it to end.

Bucky sat at the camp sight, the soft light of the fire illuminating the picture before him. He held the edges carefully, the image creased perfectly in the middle from where he’d folded it up to fit in his pocket.

It was a photo of the both of you. You were at the bar, one around the corner from your apartment, that you took him to months ago. It was the night of your friend’s birthday, and you wanted to bring Bucky along to meet a few of your friends. He was nervous at first, not sure if they’d recognize him, if they knew his past, if they’d be scared of him.

However, everyone welcomed him with open arms. They didn’t ask him too many questions, didn’t pester him about his arm. Instead, they told him extremely embarrassing stories from your past. And, damn, it made him laugh; you were blushing like crazy, trying to cut them off after every story – doing so by buying rounds of shots if they promised to stop talking about you.

It ended up not working, everyone growing more and more intoxicated as they continued teasing you. But you found it to be all in good fun, just enjoying you night out with your boyfriend and your friends. You spent the whole night attacked to Bucky’s arm, linking your own two arms around his, his hand resting on your thigh. You buried your face in his shoulder to smother your laughter or after they said something embarrassing about you.

It was one of the best nights he’d had in such a long time; he doesn’t remember laughing for so long or so genuinely in a while. Your friend had secretly snapped this picture of you, sending it to you the next morning. You groaned and rolled over in bed; your few hours of sleep interrupted by your phone buzzing loudly. Bucky handed you your phone, holding back his laughter at your raging hangover. You mumbled an “oh my god” and showed your phone to Bucky, cheeks tinted pink.

It was dark, the bar had been dimly lit where you were sitting. Cups half full, empty shot glasses, and beer glasses littered the sticky table in front of the both of you. Your face was buried in Bucky’s shoulder, unable to conceal the drunk smile taking up your whole face. You held on tightly to his metal arm, the glare of the metal prominent in the photo. Bucky was gazing down at you, a similar grin painting his own lips.

As you tucked yourself into his side to resume sleeping, he took your phone and placed it on the bedside table, but not before sending it to himself.

That was the picture he carried with him on missions. He tucked it away into his breast pocket, hidden underneath his armor-plated vest, right above his heart. He patted atop his armor for safekeeping.

He couldn’t wait to see you when he got home.

Just crash, fall down, I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work second time around.

It was eight days later when he showed up on your doorstep again. This time, when you opened the door, you were met with a smiling Bucky; he was clean shaven, his hair pulled back behind his head. He was wearing that red Henley you loved so much, and his arms were open wide, waiting for you to run into his arms.

So that’s exactly what you did: hopping off the front stoop into his warm embrace. He caught you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, intertwining your hands behind his neck. The two of you stood on your front steps, embracing each other, kissing each other, for what felt like an hour. Eventually, Bucky made his way into your apartment, plopping down on the small sofa, not taking you off his lap.

That became routine for you two. Whenever he had to leave, you’d spend a whole day holding each other when he came back.

We grew up, We worked and changed our ways. Just like wildfire, Been burning now for days. Tearing down those walls, Nothing's in our way. I said, nothing's in our way.

Time flew by; before you knew it, it was your two-year anniversary. Two years of bliss, two years filled with commitment and trust and love. Despite taking it slow at first, after that first mission, you two became inseparable. Given the fact that he spent a lot of time with the Avengers: working, training, and on missions, you had no choice but to spend every bit of free time together.

You’d spent your fair share of time at the Avengers Tower, spending the night at Bucky’s place, joining him at parties, watching the sunrise on the roof of the skyscraper. But there was something about your place that Bucky felt more comfortable. He was like a giant in your tiny apartment. Meager living room, tiny couch, lined with pillows and blankets; modest kitchen, two small chunks of countertop on either side of the oven, shelves crowded with spices and utensils, pots and pans hanging off the pot rack on the ceiling above the island; crowded bathroom, utilities barely able to fit in the small room, no room to maneuver, shower head just too short for Bucky; humble bedroom, packed bookshelves, clothes strewn about, bed pushed under the one window, narrow enough that you have to sleep half on top of Bucky – not that he minded, except for the fact that his feet hung off the edge.

It made him feel small and safe. He hadn’t felt a home in a long time. He went from the frontlines of World War II to the empty cell of Hydra to a block of ice. He’d spent the majority of his life without comfort. And when he was welcomed to the Avengers, he hadn’t received much either. There were shrouds of hospitality, yes, but something about it lacked an intimate feeling. Vast corridors, high ceilings, large rooms; Bucky decided he wasn’t a fan of minimalism. He much preferred “cottagecore” as you liked to call it.

He loved to garden, taking care of your houseplants almost too much. He’d named all of them, from each viney philodendron to the splaying palm trees. He had an almost aggressive watering schedule. Soon, he began spontaneously bringing you flowers and houseplants – your small apartment turned into a jungle.

It was the morning of your second anniversary when Bucky asked if you wanted to move in together. “Do you mean you want to move in with me?” You clarified smugly, flitting your eyes above the coffee mug currently held to your lips.

He giggled childishly, happily. “Maybe,” he mumbled, drawing out the first syllable. He sipped his tea, mimicking you as you couldn’t contain the smile pulling at your lips.

You sauntered across the kitchen – as in, you took two steps closer to him and you were already chest-to-chest – and tilted your head up to his. He kissed you on the tip of your nose before you could respond, the grin on your face already confirming your answer. “You think you can fit all your clothes in my bedroom,” you teased, eyebrows raised in challenge.

He rolled his eyes, pointing his chin towards the open door of the bedroom. Piles of your clothes and his clothes thrown over chairs, folded on top and in the dresser – he practically lived with you already. “I think my clothes fit just fine in our bedroom.” His tone dropped, as did his face, burying it into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your collarbone.

You hummed, setting your mug down on the counter beside you, wrapping your arms around his neck and broad shoulders. You traced the top of his spine on the back of his neck, barely dragging your finger on the surface of his skin; the tickle brought a smile to his lips against your skin. “It seems so.”

And then he moved in. It’s not like he had much, anyway; everything he had technically belonged to Tony. He spent one Saturday bringing over his clothes – in which you graciously shoved into the dresser beside yours  – knickknacks – to which you’d decorated throughout the apartment, displaying them on shelves, on the walls, between pots of plants – and boxes of memorabilia. Bucky thought about stealing his king-sized bed, just so he’d be able to fit without curling up into you (also so you’d have more room to roll around), but he wasn’t even sure it would fit through the door. He wouldn’t change anything about it, though. Everything felt like home, it felt like you.

You shared countless memories in that apartment: long nights spent talking instead of sleeping as the New York City traffic blared through your window, endless nights of baking (and burning) desserts, numerous movie nights that half-the-time ended in the two of you having sex on the couch or falling asleep innocently in each other’s arms.

No matter how many times he woke up with cramps in his legs and a sore back from falling asleep on your tiny plush couch, he still couldn’t wait to do it again the next night.

…

“(Y/N),” he whispered your name, face pressed up inches from yours, pillows smushed together and against the wall. Your sleeping eyes fluttered, eyebrows twitching, and bridge of your nose crinkling slightly. Soon, though, you were completely relaxed again, and Bucky almost felt bad waking you up – but not really. “(Y/N),” he murmured a bit louder, this time smoothing your wild hair down against your head, pulling his fingers through the knots.

You hummed, stirring in the bed, inadvertently stretching, pressing your palms against the wall, toes lengthening to the edge of the bed, pulling the bedsheets off you (and Bucky). “’Sup,” you mumble, immediately closing your eyes again, burying your face into your pillow and tucking your hands underneath your chin.

He smiles, gazing down at your tired form, obviously exhausted from the night prior’s festivities. “Baby, wake up,” he almost groans, faux upset that you weren’t giving him attention.

“I’m up,” you hum, not moving – not even opening your eyes.

“Let’s get married.”

You laughed in your pretend sleep, reaching your hand out blindly up his arm and up to his cheek, patting it lightly. It wasn’t the first time he said it; although the other times he had either been extremely intoxicated or sleep talking. “Do you have a ring for me, darling?”

“I do.”

And with that, your eyes popped open, meeting his staring back at you. You then narrowed your eyes at him, crinkling your nose. He was beaming at you with a shit-eating-grin, hand curled under the pillow propping up his head, curled up like a goof. You couldn’t find any words.

“So,” he continued, filling the gap of your shocked silence. “Will you marry me?”

Sitting up in bed, you propped yourself up on your elbow, staring down at him. He quickly took the cue, flipping around and digging his hand around under the bed. He returned facing you, sitting up next to you, sheets pooling at his hips. He held up the box, opening it with his metal hand.

Your breath left your lungs.

“Bucky,” gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, eyes flitting between the ring and his eyes: blue, glossy, and glazed over with passion. “Oh my god, Bucky.” You kept repeating yourself, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“So…is that a yes?” He chuckled, nervously holding the box, gesturing it towards you.

“Oh my god, yes!” You nearly screamed, tears now fully flowing down your face, holding your hand out for him to place the ring gently on your finger. You then threw your arms around his neck, kissing your fiancé. He smiled through the whole kiss and you felt his heart beating next to yours.

You pulled back to fully look at the rock now sitting on your left hand. “I hope you like it; I had to go through my sister’s daughter, who had to go through a ton of old keepsakes and it took a while so I would’ve gotten it sooner, but – ” he cut himself off, realizing he was rambling when he met your growingly perplexed facial expression. “Anyway, it was my mom’s ring. And my pop saved up forever for it. I know it’s not huge and probably out of style and you deserve a million diamonds – ” he cut himself off again with a deep breath, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought it would be nice – but if you don’t like it, you can just tell me and – ”

This time it was you who got him to shut up, leaning forward, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours. “Bucky, I love it.” It was beautiful. The diamond was small, still in perfect condition. The gold band was twisted intricately around the stone, newly polished and sparkling in the light shining through the window. What was even more appealing about the ring was the sentiment behind it. There was no two people that Bucky looked up to more than his parents; he often told you stories describing how much they loved each other, how hard his dad worked to finally convince his mom to go on a date with him. He beamed with pride when he spoke of them, recounting their hardships but how that never impacted their love for each other.

There was nothing more he wanted – then or now – than to give pass his mother’s ring along to you. He just happened to be lucky enough that his sister and niece saved it after all this time. He admitted that he could’ve gotten you a new ring, probably through a loan from Tony. Bucky technically didn’t have an income – just Tony’s money. And he did, in fact, offer to buy you the most expensive diamond ring in the world, a ten-carat ring from Antwerp; but that didn’t feel right. This was the only thing that Bucky had actually felt right about in a long time.

…

One month from that day, it was your three-year anniversary.

It happened during dinner – one random Thursday while the two of you sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, enjoying a casual plate of spaghetti.

“What ­– ” You choked on your mouthful of noodles. Coughing slightly, you sipped some wine, washing the rest of your bite down. Then you repeated yourself firmly: “What?”

“You heard me,” he responded, casually, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Now?” You ask, eyes wide, but unable to stop the smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah, why not?”

You stood from your stool, holding your palms against the island counter on either side of your dinner plate. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to do anything special for our anniversary.” You laughed, completely knocked off guard, mind moving a million miles per hour.

He raised an eyebrow. “You really thought I’d say that without some trick up my sleeve?” And, in fact, you were surprised when Bucky wanted to have a very low-key anniversary – he’d always been one for romantics. “Thought you knew me better than that,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his arm. “Are you being serious?” You leveled with him, leaning over so you were staring directly into the eyes of the man sitting beside you.

He smiled back kindly at you. “What do you kids say these days? Deadass.”

And you burst out laughing. Maybe you were a bit wine-drunk – but, god, this was something you’d never grow tired of. And that was perfect, considering you had already agreed to spend the rest of your life with him. There, in all honestly, was nothing that made your heart flutter like Bucky being an old man. “Okay,” you then whispered, cupping his jaw in both of your palms. “Let’s elope.”

So that weekend, that’s exactly what the two of you did.

Bucky had “borrowed” one of Tony’s cars – he assured you that he asked to take it for the weekend, but the smile and laugh in his voice told you otherwise. There was no time to question him further – no need, in fact – as he threw your suitcase in the trunk and opened the passenger door to you, ever the gentleman.

It was a short drive to Brooklyn Botanical Garden. You’d taken Bucky’s word for it, a place he remembered from his childhood; it was somewhere his mother used to drag him to and roam around – obviously with time he grew to appreciate not only the memory but also the serenity. He knew that was where he saw the both of you getting married; he knew that seeing you adorned in white surrounded by the beautiful trees and flowers was a sight he would never get tired of imagining.

Now, it was a sight burnt in his memory, holding your hands in his, a simple white gown falling perfectly on your body, veil pulled back that made it seem as though you were surrounded by clouds, the beautiful angel you were, anyway. Your hair was free, moving ever so slightly with the soft breeze; cheeks tinted pink as your skin glowed in the sun that shined before you; a bright grin painted your lips, so genuine that it made small crinkles form around your eyes. God, those eyes – gleaming in the reflection of the bright light before you, sparkling with love and laced with anticipation.

You faced a similar view, Bucky donning a casual grey suit; you insisted that was the one he brought with, a light grey contrasting his dark hair and deep blue eyes. While you had no doubt that seeing Bucky in an all-black suit was one of your all-time favorite looks, this was much more fitting for the occasion. The bright morning sun, the light-colored leaves surrounding your union; black was too harsh. Black, after all, was the color associated with the Winter Soldier. His uniform was black, his mask, his pants, his boots – his whole life was shrouded in darkness. This could not have been more the opposite; it was untraditional color, but so was your wedding and, hell, your whole relationship.

It was you and him, the officiant and the witness. You couldn’t remember either of their names, and you didn’t care, either. The only thing that mattered was Bucky’s eyes staring down at you, your hands held in his large ones, him slipping the wedding band on your finger.

And the kiss: perfect. You didn’t have the words to describe it. One hand found your waist as the other snaked through your hair, holding the back of your neck, guiding your lips up to his. Your arms folded around his neck, allowing you to pull your entire being flush against his body. He gave you two pecks on the lips before pulling away, letting his forehead rest against yours, staring into your eyes, glazed over with tears. His heart was full, it took all of his willpower not to breakout in tears. “I love you,” he whispered.

Your smile never faltered as you repeated those words to your husband.

…

“Buck, I have to get ready for work,” you called to him, yelling over the sound of the shower running.

“I’m almost done,” he responded, peaking his head from behind the curtain.

You stood at the vanity mirror, holding your hairbrush in one hand, flat iron in the other, makeup bag propped skillfully on the corner of the sink, one wrong movement away from spilling all over the floor. The mirror was fogging up ever so slightly; Bucky always insisted on taking the hottest showers possible. You began work on your hair when the water shut off, curtain swinging open, Bucky stepping out to grab a towel.

The two of you were practically pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, your elbow actually jutting out to nick his side as he toweled-off his hair. He laughed, maneuvering so that he stood behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. “I think we need a bigger place.”

He frowned, holding his hands against your hips. “But I like this place.”

You set the hot instrument on the edge of the sink, turning around in his arms. “I think we’re out of room,” you replied, thinking of the stacked up boxes of wedding gifts everyone sent you; you didn’t have anywhere to set them out or store them, thus everything remained in their boxes stacked up in your living room. Books and clothes lined every wall of your bedroom; you couldn’t fit nearly anything in the bathroom – and, hell, Bucky didn’t even fit without having to crouch under the showerhead.

He smiled down at you as you ran the brush through his freshly washed brown hair. “I guess so,” he mumbled shutting his eyes, reveling in the feeling of you softly brushing out his hair. “Plus, we’re going to be needing some more room to grow.” He peeked open his eyes, shooting a wink in your direction.

You cocked an eyebrow and yelped when his hand tucked against the underside of your thighs, pulling you up against him; you locked your ankles around his back and held onto the back of his neck, droplets of water still rolling down the nape of his neck and down his back, tickling your skin. You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re telling me you want little baby Barnes running around this place? It’s kind of a hazard, (Y/N),” he teased, then pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hand against his chest, signaling him to drop you. Once he did, you turned around, back once again against his chest. “House first, then baby.”

“Really?” He gasped, staring at you in the mirror, wrapping your frame in a backwards hug. His eyes lit up, a huge smile creeping on his lips.

“Better get house hunting,” you said, shooing him off to get dressed so you can finally get ready for work.

Crash, fall down. I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work, second time around.

There was a knock on your front door. You set down the sponge you were washing dishes with, placing the bowl in the drying rack next to you. Wiping your hands on your jeans as you walked over to the freshly painted door. Bucky had painted it a deep forest green before he left. You’d been waiting for ages to find the perfect color, the best shade to match the cozy, rustic – cottagecore – living space the two of you had cultivated together.

Once the door was done, you felt it was finally finished. Everything was so much bigger, but you two made sure to fill it with large, comfy furniture, displaying all of your wedding gifts graciously (and obviously Bucky’s plants). He made you wait outside while he painted the door; he didn’t want you breathing any fumes in that could harm the baby growing newly inside you. You rolled your eyes: “It’s the twenty-first century, Buck. We don’t use lead paint anymore. It’s okay – plus I want to help.” You picked up a paintbrush, reaching towards the paint can.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, grabbing a hold of your wrist, instead holding it up to his chest. “I just don’t want anything to happen. Please,” he pleaded, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, curling out his bottom lip.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you quit protesting. “Okay, baby,” you giggled, gazing up into his blue eyes. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, blushing hard as he did so, laying a hand to your lower belly. It hadn’t grown much, only three months – hell, it was still the size of a plum (which also happens to be your husband’s favorite fruit) – you weren’t even showing yet, nonetheless he was still so excited, so proud, so in love. And nothing had changed since he met you on day one. He still looked at your with the utmost admiration, a lustrous gloss in his eyes as he stared down at you. You’d only grown more beautiful by the day, to him. You were his to come home to, his to protect, his to love.

You spent the afternoon out front in the garden, pruning bushes, watering flowers, and pulling weeds. You’d detested yardwork – everybody did – but there was something about doing it while you called across the lawn to Bucky, still positioned at the front door, cracking jokes and sharing anecdotes that made it all worth it. You wouldn’t trade this for the world: to be able to do chores with Bucky, even the most menial work, because he enjoyed doing them, just because he got to do them with you.

You walked to the door, kicking a few rogue shoes out of the way, and swung it open.

You were met with the sight of a uniformed chest, straight ahead in your line of sight.

You dropped to your knees, holding your hands to your chest, feeling your heart race. You couldn’t breathe – you were almost feeling yourself for a pulse.

He knelt down and wrapped his arms around you.

It was just the two of you in that moment.

You buried your face into his chest, the tough leather scratching your face. The wetness of your tears smeared across the surface of the material, painting your cheeks. His hand rubbed up and down your back, cooing softly in your ear. You didn’t know if he said anything in that moment, your mind couldn’t register anything coming out of his mouth, your ears clouded with a loud ringing behind your eardrums.

It was a loud, open, ugly sob – you sounded like a toddler throwing a fit; damn, this was quite the tantrum.

You pulled back suddenly, fisting at the chest of his uniform. It startled him; he tore himself away from you quickly. There was no way of knowing what you looked like – eyes red and puffy, cheeks glistening with wet tears smudged along your lips and chin as well. You couldn’t even stop, as you pulled away to look into his blue eyes, your own tears kept flowing, eyebrows knitted together and breath still hitching. He looked tired – exhausted; you didn’t know how long he’d been torn up like this. His face was pale, cheeks red and irritated with tears, blue eyes filled with tears exactly like yours.

“Is he really gone?”

He stared at you for a moment, new, fresh tears flooding in his eyes and down his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip, unable to trust his own voice. But Steve found the strength to muster up two words, the words that made you bury your face into his chest again, crying harder than before:

 You held your breath waiting, staring at the lit up screen



“Y/N?”, a concerned voice came out of tiny speaker sounding tinny. “Y/N, honey, hello? Please tell me something babe, I’m panicking here.”



You stuffed your hand into your mouth to stifle the sobs that you couldn’t swallow back anymore. You wanted to tell him to help you. To tell him that you missed him and that you were sorry and that you needed help but you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t breathe. You were suffocating and you needed him.

 

A small sob escaped you, and you heard him inhale sharply.



“Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll be there soon. I promise. Hang on babe. I’m on my way.”



You stopped muffling your sobs. He was coming for you. 



It took longer than Tony wanted to get to your location. You were nestled in a hidden corner of the Amazon jungle, tucked away so hidden that even with the jet at full speed the journey took several hours.

The entire time your sobs echoed in his head. He had only heard you cry one other time, and as he flew he was drawn back into the memory. 

He remembered seeing you from his bench by the entrance, your twin braids that extended halfway down your back, the way you gripped your suitcase so tightly that your knuckles shone white, and the intense way your eyes looked over the school. 

He remembered the man who stood beside you in a grey suit, and the curt nod you gave him before you walked into the building, never once turning back, back ramrod straight. 

You had given the headmaster a dismissive glance and had walked up the stairs to the dormitories. He had gotten up and silently followed from a distance, strangely fascinated by you. You walked up to your dorm room door, taken a quick glance to each side before letting out a deep breath and almost deflating, your suitcase hitting the marble floor with a sharp smack. 

Tony had seen the exhaustion and the sadness in your body, in the way that you gently pressed your forehead against the door, and your shoulders drooped. He stood watching, brown eyes knowing, as your shoulders began to shake and your knees wobbled. He saw your hands go up to your mouth and he heard your muffled sobs.

He had the urge to run up the remaining stairs and hold you, just comfort you, but he knew better. Tony looked down at his shoes, fighting his instinct to comfort and instead quietly walked back down to his book, deciding in that moment that the two of you would be friends.

Tony never told you he had seen you break down, and you had never volunteered a reason, though he had tried to get the answer out of you at several times during your long friendship. You were the most stoic person he knew, never revealing deep emotion, never letting people through the barriers in your mind.

Tony thought about everything that happened in those months you were gone and though he didn’t want to admit it, your sobs had shaken him to his core. He steeled himself for what he might see as he touched down in the jungle, taking care to cloak his plane and hide his features as best he could in the hot humid climate. He strolled out, calmly, and walked up the streets to the little house he had traced your phone to. 



He knocked on the door loudly, noting that the blackout curtains were still drawn and no lights seemed to be on. The worry he had managed to quash on his way to your house started to grow again.

He knocked again, even louder than before, before tucking his hand into his pocket letting his armor coat his hand and asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to read your house for heat signatures.  Friday whispered in his ear that she detected one in the back corner of the house and Tony knew he couldn’t wait any longer. 

He peeked over his shoulder, making sure that no one was watching, and broke the door lock quickly and quietly pushing his way into the house. He lifted his hand, the repulsor illuminating the dark. He saw a pristine living room and kitchen, nicely decorated but lifeless and untouched. Tony could tell that those rooms were just for show. He continued down a small hallway to the one closed door at the end of it.

He opened the door and faltered at the smell that hit him. He saw piles of dresses, wigs, and shoes spilling out of the closet. The bed was bare except for one pillow, one torn stained sheet and a hunting knife he recognized was Barnes’. There were bottles of liquor, the rough biting moonshine kind, all over the place. Broken glass, torn paper, and plastic bags littering the room. He continued towards the back of the room, seeing the light coming out from the bottom of, what he assumed was, the bathroom door. 



He pushed the door open and he almost choked on the thick steam hitting him in the face. He looked around and saw the grimy white bathroom with a broken mirror, and at the back, the only contrast in the room, in the bathtub with water pouring on you. 

Your hair was plastered to your face, and you were sitting down with your knees tucked under your chin wearing an oversized black long-sleeve and shorts. Tony rushed towards you, hands extended, ready to pull you out before cringing back in pain. The water was scalding hot but you were sitting in it without flinching. He turned off the shower and gently reached in and scooped you out. You didn’t even react, and Tony could feel his panic rising even more than before.

He went and sat you down in your pristine living room, pacing in front of you unsure of what to do. F.R.I.D.A.Y. as though sensing his disquietness, offered suggestions ranging from calling Dr. Banner, to singing, to trying to use pressure to get you to snap out of your catatonia. 



Tony faltered, remembering that young girl from all those years ago, before kneeling down and, pressing his hands on your thighs trying to get a reaction. He let out a sigh and delicately, reached up to grab your face and try to get you to focus on his. Grabbing your face must’ve jolted something in you because almost instantly Tony found himself face first on the floor, arm painfully pinned, snarling accented Russian insults being hurled at him. 



“Y/N? Honey? Please? Let go of me. You’re hurting me babe. Please let go”, Tony plead.

 

He tried flexing his hand, trying to catch your attention and desperately starts singing a lullaby he had heard you sing before. Much to his surprise, his arm was loosened. He turned around and saw you kneeling on the floor, hands curled into claws and face frozen unseeing. His heart ached when he saw the pain etched in your wide unblinking eyes, now streaming tears. 

Hesitatingly, he reached out and pulled your body towards him. He hugged you tightly, tucking your head under his chin, and settled you in his lap as he softly rubbed your back and crooned your lullaby. 


It had been several hours since Tony had sung that lullaby to you. You were still curled in his lap, the tears had finally run out. He had stopped singing, and rocking and was now merely stroking your hair. Tired as you were, you could feel the fear and tension in his body and you knew you owed him an explanation. He had flown hundreds of miles and saved you as best as he could.

Yes, you owed him an explanation. 



But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. To speak. To do anything but let the vast ocean of loneliness and pain drown you. It kept dragging you down and frankly and you didn’t want to resurface. You could feel yourself nodding off, blackness closing in on you when you heard Tony speak. 



“You know, I saw you arrive, that first day at boarding school. You carried yourself like a proud queen, regal and proud. I saw you.” 



Tony shifted underneath you, turning your body towards his. He put his hand under your chin to try to lift it up, and succeed despite your stubborn attempt to keep it down. 



“You were beautiful and you intrigued me. I followed you that day. I was going to be smooth and charming and try to sweep you off your feet. I followed you up the stairs towards your dorm room and I saw. I saw you.” 



The embarrassment that went through was swift and harsh, you flinched as your pale sallow cheeks flushed. You hadn’t known that anyone had seen you. No one had ever seen you cry and the fact that Tony had seen you twice, made you feel even more embarrassment. 

You knew Tony felt you flinch when he wrapped his arms tighter around you. He didn’t stop talking, even though you desperately wished he would. 


“I saw you break down”, he repeated, “And I’ve never brought it up till now. Because now, now I’m more worried than I’ve ever been. More worried than I was that day. I’m fucking scared Y/N. I want to help you, I love you. You’re my sister and I can’t help because I don’t know what’s going on. So talk to me Y/N. Please. Please don’t run from me, babe. Just let me in Y/N, please.” 



Tony’s voice was quivering and his eyes shone with tears but still, you couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. They were ringing in your ears, they never stopped but you couldn’t get them out. You needed help.

Instead of answering him, you looked away and stood up. Wobbling, legs unsteady, you walked to your room going to pick up one of the liquor bottles lying around. You put it to your lips and drunk deeply, knowing it was finally time to let someone in. 



You walked back to your living room and sat cross-legged across from Tony.

 

You took a deep breath and whisperingly said, “Ok. I'll tell you.”

You swung a bit more alcohol and looked deep into Tony’s eyes. You could feel fear rising in you but fuck, you had to say it or it would kill you. Everything would change the second you told him. You knew it. No one wanted someone as dark and twisty as you. Still small irrational stupid part held out hope that he wouldn’t see you differently. That he wouldn’t treat you differently. He didn’t know the whole story. He didn’t know what had happened to you, what you had had to endure. What you had had to survive. 



Maybe he would be different. Maybe he would stick by you and make sure that you were ok despite the horrors that littered your past.

God the fear and panic were coating you, you were so fucking scared but fuckfuckfuck, you had to do it. You had to. 

So you took a deep breath and let it out. 


“On the morning of my fifteenth birthday, I killed my sister. I picked up a gun and shot her between the eyes in the middle of the living room. I picked her body up and buried it next to the open hole that would be my mothers grave in the rose garden at my family’s compound.”

You thought you were going to keel over from the pain, and the relief you felt. You wanted to cry and scream but one look up at Tony’s face kept you from reacting. Your old training kicked in and you pulled yourself back because on Tony’s face was a fear, mixed with disgust and pity. He was looking at you, just how you had hoped he wouldn’t. You had lost the last person in the world who loved you.

You smiled grimly and lifted the bottle to your lips again. You were a stupid foolish woman. What did you think would happen? You deserved nothing less.

You could see Tony’s mind going a billion miles an hour. Probably questioning every moment of friendship with you. You had killed your sister, clearly, you were unstable. A dark and twisty monstrosity. Why had you hoped Tony would be different? Fucking foolish. 



Your face betrayed none of your internal turmoil, you just sat there staring back at him evenly, while he gaped at you.

 

Finally, he let out a horrified, “You did what?”


His question cut you. Your last bit of hope died. You just wanted someone to fucking ask you if you were ok. You wanted to let it all out, to comfort. Goddammit, you should’ve known better than to trust him. You were too fucking much. Too much.

He was just like- 


You stopped before your mind conjured his name up or worse, his image. Neither man was ever truly going to be there for you, you should’ve known better.

Your father was right.You could hear his voice in your head now, ‘To trust is to lose. To love is to lose. And losing is unacceptable.’



You hadn’t wanted to admit it, you thought you could have a different life. You thought you could’ve had something more than what you were given at birth. Clearly not. You were done trying to fight it. The world had predetermined that you were to be cold, brutal and unfeeling. 

Why fight it?



“I killed my sister. Shot her right between the eyes.” You smirked, cold and cruel, “Like I was trained to. ”

You finished the remaining alcohol and stood up.

“Now get out. I don’t need you, or your pity or your friendship. Trusting you was a mistake, and it’ll never happen again. I’m going to pack and when I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” 



You turned and walked back to your dark room, closing the door. You stood in your bedroom for a moment letting rage and pain roil inside you, begging for an outlet. But you knew better now, you controlled your emotion, not the other way around.



Centered, you began moving around the room, grabbing what you needed.

Tony still sat in a dazed shock. You had murdered your sister? Had he heard you right? He wanted to ask you to repeat yourself but he knew that he had heard correctly, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. His Y/N, his little sister, had killed her sister.

His mind couldn’t move beyond that, even as he saw you slide your mask into place, even as he saw you drink deeply.

The only thing his mind could come up with to ask was a strangled, “You did what?”

It was a stupid thing to ask, he knew it as soon as the words left his lips but he couldn’t help it. He had to know what happened because his mind couldn’t understand what you had told him. 
As soon as he heard your answer he knew that if he didn’t act quickly, you were going to pull away from him. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

 

He watched you finish the alcohol and he saw the cold fury in your eyes, and the cold cruelty, as you smirked told him you wanted him gone. Once you turned to walk away, he shuddered. He couldn’t recognize you anymore. You were transforming into someone else. 



His mind went into overdrive, he was losing you and there was no way he was letting that happen. He ran to your room, breaking down your door.

 

“No Y/N.”  

You were standing by the empty bed, still as a statue with some scraps of fabric in your hands. He walked slowly to you, voice firm.

“You’re not leaving. We’re family. You’re all I have left. I’m not letting you leave. You can push everyone else out but not me. I will not abandon you.”



He saw you flinch at his final declaration. If he hadn’t been looking, he would’ve missed it. It was almost imperceptible, and in that moment he knew what he had to say. He realized what you needed to hear. 

How could he have been so slow in realizing it?

 

He reached out and grabbed you, turning you towards him. 

“I will not walk out on you. I will not leave you. I am your brother and I will never, as long as I live, abandon you. I care about your past because I can see how it is killing you. But no matter what you tell me, I won’t walk out.”

You could feel yourself reaching your breaking point. God fucking dammit. Why couldn’t he leave you be? You wanted to cry. Tony had just said what you wanted to hear all your life. What you had wanted to hear since you were a child. But now you didn’t know if it was worth it. Could you trust him?



Again you heard your fathers voice in your head, ‘To trust is to lose. To love is to lose. And losing is unacceptable.’

You stood, still as a statue throughout Tony’s declaration. You so desperately wanted to give in but you didn’t know if you could trust him. No one stayed for you. No one. Not your mother and not your sister. Could you trust him with your past and be assured that he would be there by the end of it.


Tony was holding you, and it felt so good to be cared for. You were going to break. You knew it. You couldn’t hold it in. 



Again, your father's sneering voice entered your head, ‘You are pathetic. I trained you better. You are cold. You are unfeeling. You are unbreakable. This is a failure. This is unacceptable.’

Tony was shaking you, trying to bring you out of your head. 

“Y/N, babe, trust me. Please. I’m here through it all, I swear on my life. Please Just let me in. Please, I’m begging you. Let me in.”

And suddenly you really couldn’t hold it back anymore. And with a great gasp, your mask finally broke.

You collapsed into his arms letting out a heartbroken wail, you sobbed, “I killed her. I killed her. Oh, God. Please make the pain stop. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Tony help me. He told me to and I killed her. Why God? Why? Help me. Please help me.”

__________________________________________________________

Tag List:

He was nearby.

You knew, because Nat had told you the closer you got to Bucky, the more frequent your flashes would become. That’s what happened with her and Clint, anyway. You’d been having flashes off and on all morning, five in total so far.

The first three had led you to the street you were on at the moment.

You’d seen the street signs, walked the same sidewalk, smiled at some of the same passersby. Clues had led you to this outdoor café, where you sat with a cappuccino, in the same chair at the same table that you’d chosen in your visions.

That was all good and fine…that made sense to you. Your flashes made you see something, and you followed the clues like a treasure map.

But now you were so freaking confused.

These last two flashes didn’t make any sense, and didn’t follow the same structure as the others. Neither flash had featured Bucky. In fact, the only thing you had seen was the sky. You couldn’t move your head, you couldn’t look down…your only view was the swirling clouds above.

You tapped your fingers on the table at a different tempo than your shaking leg, wondering what it all could mean. Natasha had never ever mentioned feeling uncomfortable or frightened after her flashes. No, she’d always been subjected to sunshine and rainbows in hers, apparently.

Maybe your flashes were reflections of how you were feeling, sort of like your dreams? You were anxious as all hell, and scared to be rejected (which sounds stupid when dealing with a soulmate, but what did you know about acceptance? You could count those loyal to you on one hand).

You let your eyes drift upward, noting the mix of light and dark grey clouds. There was an occasional sun shower peeking through, though, which left the city looking a little mythical, like something that Tolkien had dreamed up. Some small trees lined this street, giving it the feel that you were outside of a major city, when really you were just in one of the boroughs that was a little less pavement and a little more hipster.

Back to the sky, though. Why was it featured so heavily? There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Maybe Bucky was really Superman? It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s James ‘Bucky’ Barnes!

A smile tried to find its way to your lips, but you were having none of it, biting your lower lip to stop yourself. This was serious business, and you were exhausted and having some silly thoughts instead of staying on task. You needed to focus, you needed to find Bucky.

Flashes were a lot more emotionally draining than you had anticipated. There’s this strange tug that feels like it’s centered from your spine, pulling out through your gut and tethering you to this other person. When you see them, you feel this incredible sense of urgency…to be near them, to talk to them, whatever. It was wearing you down when it should be building you up, making you feel whole.

Your eyes flitted across the faces of strangers, searching for any familiarity in their faces and coming up empty. You were so intent on the task at hand that when your phone buzzed, you jumped out of your seat.

“Hello?”

“Y/N? Why do you sound weird?”

Oh, probably because your nerves were shot, no big deal. “I’m fine, what’s up?”

“Did you find him yet?”

You made a face, still glancing around. “Nope. Did you finally get to Clint?”

“I did! Sweetie, it’s unbelievable! It’s just freaking unreal to finally be in his arms. I can’t even explain it. Wait, what am I saying? You’re gonna find out in no time at all what it feels like, then we can discuss!”

“Is he the dreamboat you were hoping for?” You were so happy she finally got to Clint, but keeping up the excitement when you were still waiting was becoming quite the task. “Am I gonna be your maid of honor?”

“You better freaking believe it! And to answer your question, yes. He is a dreamboat. But more than that, he’s absolutely my better half. Clint’s such a good man, Y/N. I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

“Me either. He sounds perfect for you.”

“Thanks for sounding thrilled, I really appreciate it,” she replied dryly.

You laughed. “You know I am, Nat. It’s just…I’m really tired, and he still hasn’t made an appearance, and I’m just ready for it all to be over, you know? I just want to be with Bucky.”

“I know, Sweetie. Soon, your hand will be in his, and you’ll look at him and say, ‘Hot damn, you are one sexy cop!’ And then you’ll find lots of new and fun things to do with those handcuffs.”

“Nice,” you replied, smirking. Your best friend certainly had a way with words. “I’ll make sure that’s the very first thing I say, ya know…reel him in right away with my wit.”

Natasha snorted. “Seriously, as soon as you’re done kissing the hell out of him, call me. I want to hear his voice, maybe lay down a few rules and warnings for how he needs to treat a gem like you.”

“You got it. I’ll call you after I find him. Go be with Clint, make the most of your day. I love you, Natasha.”

“Love you too, Y/N. Good luck!”

Your cappuccino had long since gone cold, and there still was no sign of your soulmate. Heaving a big sigh, you tossed some money down beside your cup and stood, stretching a little. There were still two days left in your trip, so you could try again tomorrow.

It was getting dark, you reasoned. It was a little chilly, and it looked like it might drizzle soon anyways. There were loads of reasons to call it a day and spend another night lonely, wishing you had met Bucky already.

Tomorrow was another day.

You tossed your bag over your shoulder and scooted around the tables, exiting the café’s patio area and finding yourself back at square one on the sidewalk. You decided, just for your own piece of mind, to walk back to the corner you’d seen in your flashes. Maybe it would trigger another vision with more helpful information besides the stupid sky.

After looking both ways, you darted across the street and turned left, staring at the sidewalk dejectedly as you walked. You made it about two feet before you ran smack into someone.

More specifically, you ran into someone’s muscular chest. Your heart pounded, your knees weakened, and you felt that familiar tug from your midsection as you looked up into the bright blue eyes of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

He reached out to steady you, his own eyes wide. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“

“No, no,” you interrupted, feeling your face grow hot. “It was my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I-”

Your voice trailed off when you realized he was smiling at you with a look of recognition. 

“It’s you,” Bucky breathed out, marveling at the sight of you. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Oh, shit…you’d been so caught up in your own flashes that you failed to remember that he was probably having weird flashes about you, too.

“Found someone, you have,” you joked, immediately shaking your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, that was so lame, I’m…I’m just so freaking nervous! I-” You shook your head again, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been looking for you, too.”

Bucky’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen in your entire life. It was just like in the flashes; he radiated warmth, and those little laugh lines appeared, and thank god he was holding your arms because you were sure you would have fallen over.

“I’m Bucky,” he offered, eyes twinkling. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N.”

Your name rolled off of Bucky’s tongue as he repeated it, his smile widening. He had a little bit of stubble along his strong jaw. His mouth was gorgeous, mesmerizing even.

“You’re a sexy cop,” you blurted out, cursing at Natasha in your head. “I mean, uh…What I meant was, I’ve been seeing you in my flashes, and you’re usually in uniform.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, his nose crinkling in the cutest damn way ever. “Yeah, I had a vacation day today. My flashes were becoming more frequent, and…well I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, after waiting this long, I didn’t want to risk missing you.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” This time you smiled back at him. You were sure that if you didn’t look away soon, you were going to fall head-first into those bottomless blue eyes and drown. “Do you want to, maybe, go somewhere and talk? Get to know each other?”

“Yes, yes we should definitely do that.” Bucky let his grip drop from your arms, immediately reaching his hand out to entwine your fingers with his. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you about melted there on the sidewalk. “I know a little pizza joint around the corner, best pizza in the city!”

“I knew we were going to get along. Pizza is the way to my heart.” God, when were you going to stop being so damn awkward?

Bucky laughed again, his perfect teeth on display, and you knew in that moment that you were going to let your dork flag fly for the rest of your life if it meant that your cheesy jokes would make him smile like that.

You allowed him to tug on your hand and lead you down the sidewalk a bit. The two of you were grinning at each other like teenagers experiencing their first dose of puppy love, but you didn’t give a shit what you looked like to anyone else.

The reverie was broken when a man came running out of the building to your right, nearly bowling the both of you over.

“Rude,” Bucky muttered, glancing at the guy before continuing.

There was a little convenience store at the very corner of the street, one you’d been in twice today to buy gum and lottery scratchers to waste some time. It was owned by an elderly Greek couple who lived in the apartment above it.

You glanced inside as the two of you passed by the door, but when you saw what was going on, you stopped short, pulling Bucky to a standstill too.

“Oh my god,” you rasped. “Someone’s got a gun to that poor woman’s head!” Your eyes flew to Bucky’s face, and he immediately went into superhero mode.

“Stay here,” he instructed, pulling his hand from yours.

“Wait, don’t you think you should call for backup first? He’s got a freaking gun!”

Bucky looked at you again, eyes pleading. “Just stay out here, okay? Actually, no. Go across the street. I don’t want you anywhere near this guy. Go!”

He gave you a little push, but instead of relenting, you panicked.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his for the first time, trying to convey everything he already meant to you in this kiss. Bucky was too stunned to react for a second, then he returned your kiss eagerly.

It was over far too quickly for your taste, but, ya know…gunman and all…

“Be careful,” you murmured when you pulled back.

“Go,” he repeated, his eyes a little darker than before. “Please.”

You nodded, then turned and crossed the street quickly, reaching for your phone to dial for emergency help. Your eyes stared at the glass door as Bucky went inside and approached the counter slowly. You lost sight of him.

“What’s your emergency?”

“I need to report an armed robbery, on the corner of-“

A couple customers came running out, screaming at the top of their lungs, but not Bucky. You tried to find your voice again. “On the corner of Third Avenue and Union Street, in the convenience store. The robber has a gun!”

“Okay miss, is the shooter still inside?”

About ten seconds went by and you heard a shot ring out. You tried to move to see inside the door, but the gunman came running out instead, still brandishing his handgun.You ducked behind a small tree, trying to stay out of his line of sight.

“Miss? I asked if the shooter was still inside of the store?”

“No, h-he ran outside, they’re outside, oh my g-”

You watched in horror as Bucky came crashing out the door after him, trying to tackle him to the ground. They wrestled around on the sidewalk, and no one was helping him, oh god, no one was helping Bucky, what if-

Another shot rang out, and this time, you heard a man grunt in pain.

When the shooter stood up and raced down the sidewalk, away from the corner, you knew he hadn’t been the one to take the bullet. No one went after him. What the hell was wrong with people?

“Miss, stay on the line, all right? I’ve sent officers to the scene. Is the gunman still there?”

Bucky couldn’t go after him. He was writhing on the ground.

“Officer down,” you cried out into your phone. “Buc- Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has been shot!” Oh god, oh god, oh god…

“Miss, I really need you to remain calm and-”

You dropped your phone, finally finding the courage to ignore Bucky’s plea to stay put once you realized that he was trying to crawl to the curb. There was blood everywhere, so much blood that you could see it from across the street. Bucky was dragging himself with one arm, on one knee, and clutching his chest with the other hand.

He lifted that blood-soaked hand in your direction. “Stop,” he croaked, immediately covering his wound again, his face scrunched in agony. “Don’t.”

“Bucky!” You were hysterical now, knowing he was trying to spare you the sight of him bleeding out. “Bucky, I’m a nurse! I can help you, I promise!” You leapt across the first lane of traffic, dodging two different cabs as one driver honked at you in irritation.

When you go to the center line, you let another car pass before taking off again toward Bucky. His blue eyes were locked on yours, his brows stitched together as he shook his head at you.

Almost there. “Stay still, okay? You’re gonna be fi-“

You never saw the movement in your periphery. It happened too fast for you, for anyone to react.

You never saw the shooter in his stolen getaway car as he peeled out of a parking space by the curb. You didn’t see him because you’d been too focused on Bucky.

When the car struck your body, you unexpectedly felt yourself go airborne. Screams pierced the air again, but it wasn’t your cry this time.

No, you couldn’t make a sound, because the air was taken from your lungs.

Your bag flew into the street, while you rolled up over the hood of the car and back down again, right near the curb in front of Bucky.

At least, you think that’s where you landed.

You couldn’t move; you knew your spine was at the very least broken, and possibly - probably - your neck. You knew that because you couldn’t feel a thing. No pain, just…nothing.

All you could see was the sky.

“Y/N!” You heard Bucky’s gurgled voice to your right. You couldn’t reply, still didn’t have a voice. From your training, you knew that sound meant that the gunshot probably, at the very least, pierced his lung, maybe even worse. He was bleeding to death, and you were the only one nearby who could help him.

Why was no one else helping him? There were millions of people in this goddamn city…surely one of them…

You stared at the sky. Little shadows were creeping in your line of vision, just like they had in your last two flashes.

Your mind was wandering, your focus on the sky drifting in and out.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was a mere rasp in your ear. He’d somehow crawled off the curb to you, and you knew that he knew…

He moved over you then, blocking that godforsaken sky. His mouth and nose both dripped blood. When he coughed, even more blood spilled out.

He was crying, his eyes lined in red, and you wished you could reach up and brush the tears away. You wished you could whisper something soothing, to reassure him that you loved him the minute you saw him in your flash. You wanted to tell him to get well and move on from this, but you couldn’t do much of anything besides wheeze and stare, stare and wheeze.  

Bucky seemed to be saying something, but you lost all focus. You were so tired…

The universe is cruel, you thought idly.

You’d finally found him, the one you were meant for, the one you’d almost given up hope in ever finding. You were handed three minutes or so of pure bliss, only to have it immediately snatched from your hands.

The universe is so cruel.

Your eyes were leaking now; you only knew because your vision was blurring. His face disappeared, but you saw the top of his head, saw his fluffy brown hair in your periphery. He must have collapsed on your chest. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he thought you were. Maybe you were both on your way out.

You weren’t going to make him smile for the rest of your life.

You’d never see his blue eyes again.

The grey sky disappeared, and there was nothing.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

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