Steve had always imagined his death would be something quiet, a simple affair. Light wheezy breathing a final coughing fit and then, nothing. Steve had always thought that his death would be in his and Bucky's small apartment in Brooklyn on some cold winter night or pollen filled spring afternoon. never had he entertained the idea of a cold crushing death. The images that played in his head when the last moments of his life came to the forefront of his mind , it was always him laying in their bed, gasping for air or being swept away by the diseased fingers of illness after illness after illness. But never like this. Of course he never, even in that sickness scenes that played in front of his eyes, would Steve had ever imagined that he would be alone.
Bucky. He had always had Bucky. Even when he'd had nothing, he had Bucky. But now...
Bucky was gone. Fallen off a train in the middle of the mountains and all Steve had done, was watch as he had gotten smaller and smaller, resembling the way Steve's heart had been, stomach dropped down to the pit of his knees and the shock of denial that washed over him, the same way that the snow below had swallowed Bucky. He had stayed there as he watched his best friend fall miles down into the unforgiving ground, heard the scream of agony ripped from the lungs of the man who had always been there for him; saw the way that hopelessness slipped into Bucky's wide eyes as his fingers finally lost their fight to hold on, the metal bar clutched so so tightly, breaking off, in the way that the sturdy one that Steve held onto never would and how he had hoped, had ached, in that moment, to simply let go, in the way that Bucky hadn't been allowed to choose.
So all in all, being completely alone now made this part easy. A decision made in a split second that would have once been so difficult was now easy that Bucky was gone. Steve knew that the plane was going down, and he was going down with it. His own fall, so to speak. One that would be loud and deafly silent, plane meeting ice meeting water, meting fire and flame and hopelessness and a shell that had once been a man, filled with fight and Brooklyn and Irish pride and Love. How quickly though, would remain up to him. Bucky was gone. Steve had died with him, fallen from the train; his fall just took a little longer.
"There's no time, I gotta put her in the water."
The ice approaches, but Steve isn't afraid. One half of himself had already been lost to death to the ice. And besides, he's got someone waiting for him on the other side. So he'll never be alone again.
Steve's eyes close, Bucky's fall replaying behind closed eyelids, rather than a swallowing blackness, and he feels the pressure increase, matching the pressure that's been in his head for so long now, of the plane beginning its nosedive. Static sang over the radio that previously had aa tear-filled voice asking for a dance. Doing this was so easy, easier than breathing, though until recently, that hadn't been so easy either. He hadn't been alone in so long he had forgotten how it felt; not for much longer though.
The humming in his brain quieted enough that he could hear inside his own head for the first time since the cold of metal had bit into the palms of his hands from the too tight disbelieving grip he'd held onto the train with. One thought rang louder than the roar of the plane engine, the pounding of his heart, the pressure in his head.
"Alright, Buck. M'not gonna keep ya waitin' much longer." the thought ran like clipping film through his head. Soon the mantra had transferred to real words that slipped from his lips likke Bucky's name used to. He spoke, not waiting for answer, not acknowledging that he was alone.
The plane hit the water.