Scars That Last Forever II

Chapter Twenty Seven

The days after were long and seemed like they never ended. Day turned to night, and the world kept moving, but my world seemed to stop. 

The jet ride back was filled with silence as I silently cried clutching onto Bucky's still warm hand. When the jet landed Steve and Tony had to pry Bucky from my grip while Natasha, Clint, and Thor had to carry me off the jet. 

When the elevator stopped at our floor they finally let me go. I ran. 

I ran to our room and slammed the door shut. The messy room made my heart heavy and my chest hurt. I walked over to one of the chairs and grabbed Bucky's deep red SHEILD sweatshirt and put it on over my suit. 

The sweatshirt comforted me a little bit, but it still wasn't the same. Nothing ever will be. I hugged the sweatshirt around myself and slowly walked towards the bed. 

I fell over on my side and stared at the emptiness next to me. 

It's not right, none of it is. 

Bucky is dead. 

More tears leak from my eyes and I can barely breathe. 

Pain suffocates me. 

I try to gasp for air but it doesn't work. 

I need to get out of here. 

I push myself up from the bed, stumbling at the force. I stumble all the way down the hall and into the elevator. 

The sweatshirt is baggy and the sleeves cover my hands, I use one of the sleeves to try and wipe off tears but there is too many. 

The elevator slides open and I walk into the training room, looking down at my feet. 

He can't be dead, he just can't. 

But he is. 

"Peter," A quiet voice says. 

I can hear Bucky's voice and when I look up I see the glint of his metal arm from the window in the training room. 

My breath hitches and I run to the man hugging him tightly. 

"Peter?" The voice says again. But this time it doesn't sound like Bucky. 

Looking up I see blonde hair and red puffy eyes. 

"Steve?" I whisper taking a step back, almost falling over. "I-I thought..." 

Steve's eyes widen slightly and a shiny tear falls down his cheek. 

The ache in my chest grows, if that's even possible. 

It's like a large pit that will never be filled, never can be filled. 

I always thought I could never be in more pain than I was at HYDRA. 

I was wrong. 

So, so wrong. 

Steve took a slight step forward and I flinched. 

He seemed to notice and started walking towards a punching bag, motioning for me to follow. 

Hesitantly, I do. I take the one next to him and start punching the bag. 

The anger and rage pour from me and into my fists causing the bag to fly backward with every punch. With every hit I feel stronger and stronger, more anger building up inside me. 

Tears fall down my face, and although I can feel the smallest relief I know it is temporary. 

I don't know how much time passes, but my knuckles start to bleed and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, walking me out of the room.