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?"
Bucky's cheeks flushed and he wrung his hands. He and Natasha had visited Becca, but that was years ago, when they were still together.
"Natasha," he said briskly. "But we broke up."
Becca sighed wearily. "Oh. I liked her. She was good for you. Are you at least seeing anyone now?" Bucky shook his head. His sister's interest in his love life tugged at his heartstrings. "Why not?" She asked.
"I'm not looking for love right now, Becca," he replied.
"Well you have to have someone in your life. You can't live the rest of your life alone," Becca reprimanded.
Bucky nodded. "I know, I know. And I'm not alone. I have you."
Becca smiled kindly at her brother. "James, I'm not going to be here for much longer. We both know that. Then you'll really be alone." He looked down, feeling tears form in his eyes. He knew she was right. "Please don't lock yourself away, James."
Tears began sliding down his cheeks, like raindrops on a window. Who could he go to? Natasha was off doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who... Almost everyone from his old life were dead. Except for one.
"What about Steve?" Becca inquired. Bucky tensed up. He had only told her bits and pieces about his life as the Winter Soldier, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he tried to kill Steve. She'd hear about Steve on the news though, whether it be about him saving New York from an alien invasion or about him refusing to go along with the Superhuman Registration Act. "I don't know what Steve's up to," he answered. He honestly didn't know what Steve was doing.
Becca shook her head, as if to show that she was disappointed and ashamed. He winced at the thought "You abandoned your best friend?"
"It's not like that..." Bucky trailed off.
"James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me. I want you to call up your best friend and catch up, okay?" She order. He nodded, though he knew it wasn't going to be that simple.
"Becca?"
"Hm?"
"When you go..." Bucky could barely finish his sentence. "Could you say hi to Mom and Dad for me?" His voice cracked when he said 'Dad', remembering the last thing his father had ever said to him.
Becca leaned over and took Bucky's hand. "If only they could see you today, they would be so proud." She smiled. He forced himself to smile back. "Yeah," he lied, "I suppose they would be."
Suddenly, she began to cough, violently shaking from head to toe. Bucky grabbed the water on her bedside table and reached over to put the cup to her lips, but she shooed him away. After her coughing fit ended, Bucky asked, "You sure you don't need water?" She studied his features before exclaiming, "It's been so long, James."
Bucky smiled, tears brimming in his chocolate brown eyes. "I know, Becca. Too long."
She let out a choked sob, grasping Bucky's hands as tightly as she could. "They sent me away, James. I never saw you. You never wrote back."
Tears spilled over and down Bucky's cheeks. "I know. And I'm sorry."
"But it's all going to be okay now, right? Because we're together again?" She asked, staring up at her older brother with a faraway look in her eye. Bucky caught a glimpse of that childlike flame that was ignited inside her, and he watched as it gradually dwindled away.
"That's r-right, Becca. It's a-all going to b-be okay now, be-because we're t-together again," Bucky stuttered, kissing his sister's hands as he sobbed quietly. "I love you, Becca."
Becca smiled at him, but it felt drowsy and distant. "Good...I love you too, James." Her voice was no more than a low whisper at this point, and she closed her eyes. "Don't forget about the fair this weekend.."
Her hands became limp and her skin sported a grayish tint. Bucky looked up at his sister, eyes red and puffy. He kept a firm grip on her hands, shaking them. "Please, no! Please!" He screeched, sobbing violently so that his whole body shook. "Please! Please!" Bucky leaned forward and enveloped his arms around Becca's limp, lifeless body. "I love you. I love you. I love you," he uttered repeatedly, squeezing his eyes shut. A couple of nurses had to come in and pry him away.
The months following Becca's death were hard on Bucky. He grew depressed, reclusive, more impulsive, and suffered occasional bouts of insomnia. Most of his nights were spent crying and drowning his sorrows with a bottle of vodka.
Then those times passed, and Bucky was able to move on. He never exactly fully recovered from his depression though; he found that he never felt truly happy or hopeful anymore. Each night, he would silently cry himself to sleep.
~
Bucky blinked as the memory ended. He looked around to remind himself where he was. Cemetery. He looked back down at his sister's grave. "I love you, Becca," he mumbled before moving on to his mother's grave.
He studied her headstone. She died when he was younger, so he never knew her that well. The thought of that caused elicited more tears from his red and puffy eyes. Bucky procured yet another red rose from his coat and placed it in front of the headstone. "Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you."
Finally, his father's grave. Bucky stared at it, clenching and unclenching his fists. New, hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he grit his teeth. "Oh Dad, if only you could see the person I've become," Bucky began, "you'd be even more disappointed. After you died, the army took me in. And after an eventful series of events, I wound up as Captain America's sidekick. Good 'ole Bucky Barnes. I channeled my anger into beating the crap out of the countless villains we faced off against. Then there was the battle with Baron Zemo...I met my timely demise that day. In the process, I also lost an arm. I didn't stay dead for long though. The Russians fished me out of the water and brought me back to life. That's how I wound up with this." He raises his metal arm. "They brainwashed me to do their evil bidding. That's when I became the Winter Soldier. I was their greatest weapon in the Cold War...well, one of their greatest. I met a girl, we fell in love, we broke up. Eventually, after I had been acquired by one Aleksander Lukin, I was pitted against Captain America, my old best friend... He helped he regain my memories... But I haven't seen him since."
Bucky sighed shakily and looked down at the snow-laden grass. "I-I'm a monster, Dad. I a-always was, I always w-will be. I mean for God's sake, I tried to kill my best friend!" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I've always been a-a disappointment too... I guess some things never change." With that, he removed the remaining rose from his jacket and put it on his father's grave. "Merry Christmas, Dad."
As he walked away, he wrapped his arms around himself, enveloping himself in a hug. When he reached the front, he scaled the gate again and started back towards his apartment. He'd barely made it a couple blocks when his phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He fished it out and read the caller ID. As he did, a small smile crept onto his lips and he answered the call.
"Merry Christmas, Natasha."