epiphany. (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter Thirteen

TRIGGER WARNING: Character death; trauma. 

(If you want to avoid this, you can skip past the first section of the chapter)

"I watched my friends die. You'd think that'd be as bad as it gets, right? Nope. Wasn't the worst part."

"The worst part is that you didn't."

~*~*~*~

Telluride, Colorado. December 2009.

The main thoroughfare through town sparkled warmly with thousands of Christmas lights. Tourists, bundled up in festive scarves and hats, wandered the sidewalks, moseying in and out of shops and restaurants. Light snow had begun to fall. You smiled, making a mental note to stop by your favorite shops later this week for some last-minute Christmas shopping. After a seven-hour drive, you were just happy to almost home; although, you weren't looking forward to the 20-minute drive up the mountain.

You hadn't been home in 5 months; you left for your second year of college after your grandfather's funeral in August. Hunter had stayed behind indicating she needed to take care of his affairs. You had begged her to come back with you, but she insisted. You knew, despite everything, she couldn't bear to give up your grandfather's mountain cabin. It would be nice to spend Christmas in the mountains. You loved Fort Collins, but it was almost too crowded. You longed for the smell of pines and the silence of the forest.

Even though you and Hunter talked almost every day using some form of communication, you noticed she had become more distant. Hopefully, you could convince her to come back with you this time around. You planned to pose the idea of turning the cabin into a rental for tourists who wanted to "rough it." With your grandfather gone, Hunter was alone in Telluride. No one deserved to be alone.

You smiled as the cabin came into view. White smoke poured out of the chimney. The front porch lights were lit. You could see the Christmas tree in the window. You told Hunter not to bother with it this year, but she knew how much you loved the glow the tree lights gave the room.

You pulled underneath the carport, silencing Bing Crosby's "White Christmas". You took a moment to stretch before grabbing your duffle bag and Hunter's favorite bottle of whiskey from the back seat. You made your way up the steps, careful to avoid the icy patches. Unlocking the door, you pushed your way inside eager to get out of the frigid air.

"I'm home!" you called as you closed the door. You placed down your bag, removed your jacket, and slipped off your boots. The cabin was silent aside from the crackling of the fire in the woodstove.

"Hunter?" you called out again. "Where are you?" you moved into the kitchen, setting down the whiskey on the counter. The kitchen was spotless. "Good," you thought, "one less thing for me to do. Merry Christmas to me!" Between the two of you, you were the more organized one. You usually deep cleaned the cabin every time you came home.

Hunter had yet to greet you. You shrugged it off, assuming she was just "plugged in". You took a glass from the cabinet and poured yourself a finger of whiskey. "I have whiskey!" you singsonged, taking a shot.