Inheritance of ash

Day three - part two

Her hand moved to her neck, tugging at the turtleneck that covered the bruise from his hand.

Natasha caught her wrist, gently tugging the fabric down. Her gaze stayed steady, unwavering. "Yes. If anyone can reach him, it's you. Because you mean the world to him."

Vicky's lips trembled. "You mean the world to him too."

Natasha shook her head, a smile tugging faintly at her lips. "Not as much as you do. You... became everything to him. And that's okay. I've got other people." Her voice faltered for a heartbeat. She wanted to say Steve—but she couldn't. Not anymore. Not when things were so completely broken. Instead, she smoothed her tone quickly, adding, "I've got Yelena." And she smiled again.

Vicky noticed. She saw the shift, the choice of name, but she let it pass.

Natasha squeezed her hand. "It's worth a shot. And you can't make it worse."

Vicky hesitated, searching her face. Then finally nodded, soft and small.

Natasha nodded back. Let her go.

And Vicky walked out.

⸻

Vicky stopped in front of his door. For a long moment, she didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't know what to say. The silence on the other side pressed down on her like a weight, thick and suffocating.

Finally, she tried the only thing she could manage. Something simple.

"Hi."

Her voice was barely audible, the word almost swallowed by the empty hallway. She shifted one step closer, as if proximity might help. "It's me... Vicky."

She waited. Listened hard. For breathing. For shuffling. For anything. But there was nothing.

Her chest tightened. She shut her eyes and inhaled slowly, then opened them again, forcing herself to keep going. "I've kinda been avoiding this. And maybe that was... maybe that was doing the opposite of what I wanted. Maybe you think I blame you."

She lifted a trembling hand and rested it against the cold door. "But I don't. I don't blame you for any of it. Because it would be wrong to." Her voice wavered but steadied again, soft and insistent. "You did nothing wrong."

Her forehead touched the door now, her eyes squeezing shut. "You're the victim here, Bucky. We don't fear you. We never did and we never will." She let the words hang there, then whispered, broken but firm, "So you don't get to fear yourself either."

She waited again. A voice. A breath. A knock. Anything.

Silence.

Her knees buckled, and she let herself sink to the floor, back against the door. She tilted her head until it rested against the wood, her tears sliding soundlessly down her cheeks.

"I think you're one of the best people I've ever met," she whispered, her voice fragile. "You're the kindest, most thoughtful, most caring, funniest, oldest older brother anyone could ever wish for."

A pause. Then she tried to laugh, but it cracked into something else—half a sob. "When you think about it, it's crazy. I dropped into your life. Literally. Into the board games and the chaotic breakfasts and the kitchen that never really clears out." Her lips curved into a painful smile. "And into you. My... lifeline."

Her chest heaved. She closed her eyes, whispering through silent tears, "That's who you are, Bucky. Not the things HYDRA made you to be. Not the danger you think you are." Her voice broke as the next words clawed out of her. "You're the reason I'm still alive. I'm still here. That's who you are. To me."