the escapees || bucky barnes

XXIV: the funeral

The funeral was held about a week after Peter died.

It seemed unusual on two accounts: 1. Everyone was together, and no arguments sparked, and 2. Nobody even spoke. The air was heavy with the hanging death of Peter, which kind of discouraged any talking from anyone. The darkness of the clothing everyone worse starkly contrasted the nice day. My dark jeans and black coat weren't too happy about being out in the sun, causing me to sweat a little from the heat.

Before even planning the funeral, Tony had desperately asked for Dr. Cho to revive him. A multitude of times. But, for reasons I didn't understand, she was unable. Something about Peter being too young, his brain not being developed enough to be revived. Tony hadn't been happy with that, a clear sign from the fact that he had nearly thrown the first person to talk to him afterwards out the window (Steve was stronger, so he didn't actually throw him out the window.)

The sinking feeling in my stomach was starting to eat away at my ability for emotions. I could hear a couple of people around me crying; May Parker, Tony, and one of Peter's friends. I couldn't really see anything, as I was just staring down into the hole that Peter's casket would soon be lowered into, but I knew that May was really torn up. After losing her husband and sister, this must've been another hard blow to her already depressing turn of events.

Part of me wanted to go up, to say something to her. Maybe something comforting, like telling her that he was in a better place now, but I knew it was useless. It wouldn't stop any of the negative feelings she was probably having right now.

It didn't help me at all.

My hands were shaking, the sinking feeling my stomach starting to turn to nausea, every step making me want to vomit at Tony and run away like defensive turkey vulture. But I eventually just sunk to the back of the crowd, where the heat from people was starting to suffocate my skin.

The November air really clashed with the heat of the sun, the breeze making everyone's coats swirl around their bodies. As I listened to the eulogy being given, my mind started to drift off, only half paying attention. My eyes started to trail towards the lake that laid in the middle of the graveyard, watching the water ripple with every breeze. My hands started to turn clammy in my pockets and I tried to focus on the ground in front of me, trying to be less nauseated. Yet, the movement of the grass just made me more dizzy, and slowly my stomach started to churn more and more.

Eventually it got so bad that I stumbled shakily to a nearby trashcan, trying to sit on the chair next to it so my stomach would settle. It didn't work, causing me to stand, hands on the edges of the dirty-ass trash bin, and choke up the contents of my breakfast.

Whether my nausea was caused by the grief or the throbbing pain in my ankle, (I had elected not to wear my brace today, thinking maybe it was getting better. I was wrong) I wasn't sure. All I knew was that someone had come up behind me and put their hand on my back. Maybe they were trying to comfort me in some way?

It wasn't really working.

Whatever the case, I finally finished my elegant vomit session, wiping my mouth with some of the tissues I'd brought with me to prepare for crying. I looked up, finding Bucky standing behind me, hand lightly resting on my shoulder. Swallowing the bad taste in my mouth, I tried my best to stand, but I failed miserably. My ankle gave out from under me, and Bucky quickly looped his arm under mine.

"Woah there, doll," he helped me sit back down, eyes darting down to my ankle. "You alright?"

I smiled sarcastically. "Yes, Bucky, everything is just peachy keen. Peter's dead, I'm puking at his funeral, and HYDRA's probably going to pop out of the shadows and use me to kill everyone here!"

Bucky didn't appreciate my sarcasm. In fact, his face hardened and he looked at me with more concern than I thought a human could muster.

"You really think that they're here?" he asked, eyes filled with a bit of worry.

"No," I quickly responded, and he relaxed a little. His hand was still on the holster of his gun (because what would any Avengers funeral be like without firearms?) "I'm just not feeling great."

Bucky plopped down next to me on the bench. "Do you want to try going back over?"

I looked up to the group crowded around the casket. Sam was staring back at me, tilting his head a little in confusion. The others were all focused on paying their respects to Peter, which made me feel a bit better. Didn't need anyone else to be bothered from my weird illness.

Shaking my head lightly, I tried to calm my stomach for a second time. "Could we just stay here?"

"Of course, doll."

For the next seven minutes, I tried to just stare down at my lap. I did have to go back to the trashcan another two times, which made me think that maybe I was sick or something. I half wanted Bucky to leave, so that he wouldn't get sick, but he stubbornly stayed. Said that I shouldn't be alone when I feel bad.

Damn him and his kindness.

The sound of the casket lowering device pulled my attention to the group not too far away. Peter was slowly being lowered into the hole, every creak of the gears sending a pang of sadness into my heart. He wasn't going to be coming back at all, and I don't know if that was what hit me hard, or if it was the sobs I could hear from where it was going on.

The tension broke when the coffin was finally down in the dirt, and people began to disperse at the edges of the group. One may think that we'd stay, to pay last respects, but the Avengers weren't a very stay-out-in-the-open kind of group. We weren't exactly protected, so we had to get moving as soon as possible. This was true, even for an event as saddening as this.

So, I stood up slowly, Bucky helping me up and getting to the cars. As I walked away, I could hear the dirt being filled in over Peter's casket, sealing him underground, confirming that there was no way we'd be getting him back.