Winter Woes

Snow crunched under the man's feet as he ambled towards his destination. Dim street lights and the bright white glow of the moon illuminated his path. He kept his head down and his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat.

It was Christmas morning, 1:22 AM to be exact. The man, Bucky Barnes, had walked a good mile from his hidden apartment to reach his coveted destination: the cemetery. It was sort of a ritualistic thing he had started a few Christmases ago. That, and it seemed fitting.

The Winter Soldier scaled the cemetery gate with ease, landing on the ground with a dull thud. He surveyed the premise, checking to see if there was anyone else there. He knew the coast would be clear, it always was; who else would visit a cemetery at one o'clock in the morning on Christmas anyway?

Bucky maneuvered through the labyrinth of headstones, flowers, candles, and the like until he had reached the back of the cemetery. He took a deep breath and approached three headstones in the far left corner. Slowly, he knelt down to be at eye level with them. The first headstone read: "Rebecca Barnes Proctor." He couldn't bring himself to read anymore, for the tears in his eyes blurred his vision.

"Merry Christmas, Becca." Bucky's voice wavered and cracked as he ran his fingers over the words inscribed on the headstone. It was fairly new, since Becca had died only a year ago. He slid his hand inside his jacket and procured a single red rose, which he lay daintily before the headstone. A memory began to resurface and Bucky stared at the ground as it did, prepared for the endless shower of tears that would follow.

~

It was May, one year ago. Bucky sat at his sister's bedside in her room at the Alzheimer's care facility she was currently residing at. He studied the framed photos Becca had set up on the bedside table, and smiled fondly when he spied one of him and her at the fair. "You sure have lived a life, Becca." He looked up at his frail sister, who was lying in a hospital bed.

"Mm." Becca mumbled, staring longingly at the photos. She squinted and scrunched up her nose, as if she was trying to remember something. Bucky reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked over at her older brother and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry you never got to live yours," she cooed.

"It's not your fault, Becca." Bucky assured her. Becca's gaze fell upon his metal arm. "Oh James..." She muttered, her bottom lip trembling. Bucky squeezed her hand again, bringing her attention back to his face. "Hey, it's alright," he told her, smiling, which elicited a smile from her as well.

He visited her any chance he could. Somedays were better than others. Her memory was fading fast, so there were somedays where she didn't remember who he was, let alone remember her own name. Seeing his sister like this filled Bucky with woe. He knew what it was like to forget who you are, and it pained him to see his sister struggle through the same thing.

To Bucky, his sister talked about her past as if it was a half-remembered dream. The childlike glint in her eye when she spoke was a subtle reminder that the younger girl he once knew and loved was still in there. At the end of each visit, Becca would always say the same thing: "Don't forget about the fair this weekend!" Hearing this only made Bucky's heart hurt even more.

It was September now, and Becca's health was dwindling. Bucky prayed she'd make it to Christmas.

September 25, he could remember it clear as day. He stood in her doorway and rapped on her door. Becca, who had been staring blankly at the television, looked in his direction. A smile formed on her lips and she struggled to sit up. Bucky rushed over to help her up, adjusting the pillow behind her head. "Thank you, James," she rasped, looking around. "Where's that sweet redhead you were with?"