warning: minor tfatws spoilers ahead
Build it better, Aaron Wright
"Hey."
As warm glows of waning light entangle in the fabric of his jacket and in the green grass that brushes the peacefully silent, gravely tranquil grey stone he faces, Bucky stands with his back to the sunset. Golden threads merely coil downward along the dark steel of his arm, flowing into the clefts etched upon the metal with a gentle easiness that makes the prosthetic gleam, the man's fingertips still prickling from the few drops of dew that had ran down the stem of the flowers he had just deposited right into his hand.
"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had... Some things on my plate." An explanation follows while Bucky is crouching to get closer, his voice growing quieter, tainted with slight self-consciousness from the idea that anyone else might hear. His eyes flutter toward the letters neatly engraved upon the smooth surface of the grave, assembling them into a name as though, by some ineffable incantation, their very essence could breathe back life into the syllables. "The past few weeks haven't exactly been a holiday," Bucky chuckles tiredly, shaking his head. "Did you ever get a break?"
"Sam and I are still tracking the super-soldiers I told you about. It's going... Well, we're trying." his gaze is not fixed upon a definite shape anymore, a distant shadow falling from his eyelashes onto the light colour of his eyes, but a faint smile makes the corner of his lips stretch. "Don't tell me you wouldn't get your ass into trouble just so you could make things better." A pause, followed by a soft, tired sigh.
"I got a haircut. I couldn't stand seeing myself as the winter soldier anymore. But I'm still having nightmares. I feel like... Every time it finally feels like all of this is over, it comes back. Sometimes in flashes, sometimes in this poisonous numbness that comes after a nightmare. But I'm trying to make amends. I'm seeing a shrink. It can't control me anymore.
"Sam has given up the shield. There's a new guy now — John Walker. Military, several medals of valour. Says he jumps on grenades with a helmet on." The clenched angle of his jaw speaks for all the words he chokes out. "I watched his inauguration ceremony. He said you inspired him, that he felt you were like his brother... And the worst part is, I know you would've said he's trying his best. Maybe you'd be right. But that's the thing..." Bucky's fist rises up to his mouth, against which the skin of his face rubs, eyebrows knitting together as his hand moves in consecutive small shakes. "That's the thing, Steve. He's not you. I thought, I thought Sam would take up the shield and honour your legacy. It meant a lot to a lot of people. But he didn't, and I don't understand why." Silence again, Bucky's eyelids heavily veiling his eyes as he takes a breath in before they meet the fading light of day again. "You would be crossed at me for giving him a hard time. But I can't help but feel like that shield was a way for you to live still. You trusted Sam with it, but now it's in other hands and I'm so mad, Steve. That shield was what you stood for. What Sam stands for too, because I know he's a good man. I... I guess, deep down, seeing someone else trying to fill your shoes just reminds me how irreplaceable you are.
"Do you remember that winter when we were seventeen? You caught the worst cold you ever had, your mom thought it had turned into pneumonia. We stayed and watched you night and day for five days straight. That's when it hit me. That's when it struck me for the first time that you might go. I worried when you were sick, but for some reason I had always known that it would pass eventually and that everything would be okay. But that time... That time I understood that maybe someday you'd run out of luck. That's when it hit me that you could go first. But then the super-soldier serum happened, and I didn't have to worry about it anymore, because you were healthy and strong. And sure we were at war, but nothing seemed to stop you, and I felt relieved. Because maybe in the end it was me who'd go first, and I wouldn't have to live a life without you.
"I kept your notebook. I used it for my list of amends. I'm trying to cross the past off and start over, but it's not that easy. But you made me believe that I could be a good person. Dammit Steve, why did you have to be like this? So goddamn unforgettable. I remember saving your ass from all those stupid fights, and now it's you saving me, just like you did when I wasn't quite myself. I guess now I need to learn how to save myself. It's still... It's still a mess. Sam and I even got into a fight. I think I might projecting onto him my own struggles, with you, with the shield. The truth is, this is still so hard. I hope you weren't wrong about me, Steve. I don't want to be the winter soldier anymore. Not ever... I guess recovering takes time."
His fingers graze the tombstone in a wandering gesture, and, in a corner of his weary heart, still beats the memory, stronger than anything else he can cling onto, of the man who saved him. His name is on his lips, imprinted in every chapter of his life, everywhere among the scattered parts of who Bucky is, in his past and, still, in his present. But the future — the future is a life without Steve.
"I miss you, punk."
