the escapees || bucky barnes

XXII: why is life so short?

Nobody really talked much in the next few days.

It's like we all made a silent agreement to leave each other alone, let everyone breath a bit. Steve kept up with his routine, as did Pietro, Wanda, Vision, and Scott. Clint went back to his farm, and Nat decided to take a few days off, see his kids and such. They were gone about three hours after Peter died. Rhodey just kinda sat in the common room, staring off into space. He left that night though. Something to do with the government and the air force. I hadn't really been paying attention.

Tony hadn't left the room with everyone else. He just stayed by the bed, his head on the railing, holding Peter's hand and mumbling something over and over again under his breath. I couldn't watch, so I left quickly. The tiles of the hallways were the only thing I could pay attention to without getting nauseous from the grief. So, I just kept my eyes on the floor, Bucky's hands keeping me from running into a wall.

The common room was mostly silent when we got there. I wasn't surprised, either. After all, what do you say when a blow has been hit to the entire team? Of course, Steve tried to say something. Tried to make it sound good, too. It didn't.

"I didn't know Peter too well," his voice was softer than usual. "I did know that he was a good kid. Honorable. Did the right thing, even if it cost him his health."

I still couldn't look up.

"He would've wanted us to move on," my face hardened and I looked up. "We need to start going after HYDRA, striking them constantly. They think we're at a low, and we need to prove them wrong. Missions will start tomorrow. I hope you guys are prepared."

He started to walk away, but someone who I didn't think would stand up to Steve did, and his voice jarred me from my snit for a second.

"Steve, come on," Bucky stared the other man down. "They just lost a friend literally an hour ago. They're going to need more time than that."

"Buck, as much as I'd love to hear it, the people who killed Peter are still out there. We need to stop them."

The conversation was starting to escalate quickly, and I didn't feel well enough to stop it. Bucky moved to stand in front of Steve, and Sam grabbed my hand, softly squeezing it. I leaned up against him, watching the shit show unfold in front of me.

"Steve, not everything revolves around HYDRA and it's antics. Everyone here is grieving, and it takes a while to heal enough to even think or plan missions," Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "God, is this what you did when you thought I died?"

"Yeah!" Steve started to shout. "I cried a bit, but then I hauled ass and went back to fighting. War doesn't wait for people to gather their thoughts, Bucky."

Bucky's eyes were filled with fury. "Well we're not at fucking war! This isn't the forties, Steve! We can exist without there being an imminent threat at all times of day. These people, our friends, have lost someone today. Can't you get off your high horse for long enough to see that they need time?"

Steve didn't respond. He just stared Bucky down for a moment or two before turning on his heel and leaving. Bucky's body was still heaving with angry breaths, and my emotional state was that of a distressed child. I tried my best to hide my crying, but eventually I couldn't. I broke down, slouching into a barstool and burying my head in my hands. Sam came up behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders in a comforting manner.

"Let's get you up to your room, alright?" he watched me pick up my face, his hands wiping away my tears. "Maybe take a shower and try to go to sleep."

I nodded absently, sniffling and leaning into Sam's embrace. He led me out of the common room, and the last thing I saw was the apologetic faces of my friends and Bucky's face, full of regret.

When we finally got back to my room, Sam sat me down on my couch and went over to my newly added-on kitchen. He started to go through the pantry, grabbing a kettle and putting it out on the table before turning to me. I'd wrapped myself into a fuzzy blanket, pretty much only my face popping out of it. As I liked to call it, my sadness blanket burrito.

"Do you want tea?" I nodded. "Passion fruit?" I nodded again.

Sam smiled softly before filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. This gave me time to wallow in my self-hatred about Peter dying. He had only been sixteen. God, he couldn't do anything, really. He never got to vote, never drank, barely saw the world. I hadn't spent enough time with him, had I? He could've had a much better life. He could've been normal. But no, the universe just had to chose him for this horrible, dangerous life.

I hated it.

Sam walked over to me, holding a cup of tea. He handed it to me, and sat down next to my burrito blanket self. I gratefully took the drink and sipped it deeply, my tongue burning from the heat. Sam tried to catch my eyes, possibly figure out my emotions, but I doubted it was too hard. They were probably bright red and puffy. Quite a clear indicator.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam was trying to get to me.

I could nearly hear Dr. Coleman in my head, saying something along the lines of: "If you talk about it, it'll be good for your mental health." I shook that off, just shaking my head and staring down at the ground. Sam pressed his lips together, but didn't press it. That was the nice thing about Sam, he'd let something go if need be.

"How about a movie?"

I looked over to him, and with the weakest smile I'd ever given, I nodded and leaned into Sam. He picked the remote up from the coffee table and turned on Casablanca. I remembered this movie. It had been recommended to me by a friend at some point, hadn't it?

There was a weird feeling. It was like a puzzle piece or something in my head fell into place. It was a small memory, and it was a bit useless, but it made me smile a little. My memories were coming back. Slowly, but they were coming. Sam looked down at my small form, hugging me slightly.

"You want this one?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I nodded, snuggling into Sam's side even more. "Thank you, Sammy."

"No problem, Char," My thoughts started to go fuzzy, and my grief had started to take it's toll on my energy. "I'm here for you."

I took one more deep breath before feeling a small tear run its way down my face. My eyes closed, and everything went dark, my slow descent into sleep accompanied by the black and white movie playing in the background.