"Bucky withers and rots."
Back Then: 1945
There had been times Bucky had thought of death, many times.
He’d thought of it when he was first captured by Zola and Hydra during the war, and he had thought-just thought-what if-
What if he were to just steal a gun? Anything to make the horrors of war cleansed from his mind, to make the screaming in his mind just quiet-just for once.
Memories of his platoon, the way they’d died, blood and guts and intestines. The way each soldier had their own smiles, their own lives, and dislikes, and as soon as they were gunned down on the battlefield, they became nothing more than a number, a number and a name, not even granted the peace of being a corpse, of being buried.
Boys and men become nothing more than half-hearted, bloody words written on paper, sent to mourning mothers and fathers, wives and children.
Bucky didn’t want to do that to Steve.
He couldn’t.
So he lived, and Steve had come for him.
Then Bucky started changing, the dreams, the feelings-or lack thereof, and he wasn’t okay. With every Hydra base they took down, Bucky felt like he could be, though.
He remembers the kiss in the forest, remembers the feel of those lips on his, and Bucky wonders how something so sinful could make him feel so goddamn pure.
But he would ruin Steve, and Bucky had this feeling, it would be wrong to call it a premonition, but it was a daunting feeling, that he wouldn't make it out of this war alive.
It was a small echo, a forbidden thought that grew louder with every life he took, with how he felt less and less guilty each time.
Steve Rogers may have been good at drawing and fighting, but Bucky Barnes was a killer. A very good one.
He hadn’t known then if that was the ugly truth his father had seen in him, or if it was something that was passed down to him from the old army vet, who’d helped give him life.
All he knew was that Steve had to live; he had to, because he couldn’t love Bucky, because Bucky was wrong, and he was going to die.
So after the kiss, Bucky wouldn’t look at him for days afterwards, wouldn’t speak with him, and when Steve had finally cornered him one day, in the army barracks, in his tent, Bucky had been holding his gun, resting on his uncomfortable cot, and just thinking, there was no harm in thinking.
Yet Steve had rushed in, angry and red-faced like always, his beautiful face scrunched up with tears as he begged Bucky to just look at him. Just once.
Bucky had, and he always found it interesting how his and Steve’s eyes were both blue, yet Steve’s blue was the blue of hot summer days, clear skies, of warmth and hope, and Bucky’s was of gray and stormy days, of frigid winds, and hollow winters.
Stevie had cried, and it was such a shock, because Steve never cried, not even when his Ma had died, and yet Bucky was still blank, still unseeing, and Steve had kneeled to the floor in front of him, and had taken the gun, had slowly put it aside on the floor beside him, and had held Bucky’s hands, in his trembling, now larger ones.
His hands were red, from their recent mission, and Bucky found it heartbreaking that Steve’s fingertips were painted red with war, and no longer smudged charcoal from drawing. How had Bucky let this happen? How did he let his best pal go from creation to destruction?
“We’ll forget about it-” Steve was sobbing, “I’m sorry, just god- please be my pal again, Buck. I need you! Don’t you get that?”
Bucky heard the words, he heard them, and they heard him, but he was a million miles away, but feeling the tears on his hands, as Steve knelt his forehead, as though in prayer to Bucky’s knees, and he could move, could breathe, and he nodded.
His face was pale and drawn, because that would be right, wouldn’t it? When Bucky would die, Steve could live with Peggy, he’d be normal, and good, and Bucky would burn in Hell, but that’s okay, as long as Steve got that ending.
So Bucky had nodded, had pasted on a smile that hurt his face, and had stared down at Steve, even though it felt like staring into the sun, like he’d go blind if he looked too close, or wither and rot, if he didn’t look close enough.
“Sure punk, what are you crying like a dame for? We were both tired, it’s been a while since either of us got with a gal, it’s not a big deal!”
The words are harmless, but they aren’t true, and Steve flinches, and looks wounded, because Steve knew that Bucky knew, he’s never been with a girl, Bucky was probably his first kiss.
Steve’s face goes through a plethora of emotions, and he looks troubled, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears, and Bucky thinks he has a face straight outta heaven (and Bucky would argue it’s the same face, even before the serum, just a bit more rugged, now).
There were those eyes, and those stubborn brows, and his lips, which almost always twisted into a serious frown, that Bucky had joked made Steve look old when they were younger. Yet now, he thinks, it just makes him look like Steve. With his too-crooked nose and slightly uneven jawline, Steve Rogers had always been handsome, always. He didn’t need rippling muscles and the world to notice, because Bucky had always thought so, beautiful was his soul, handsome was his too-serious face, and devastating were all the little quirks on his face that the serum hadn’t fixed, and Bucky thanks god, it didn’t.
Steve looks at him probably in the same way Bucky stares, like he thinks Bucky’s the center of the universe, like Bucky’s something sacrilegious and good, and Bucky looks away, because he’s none of those things he reads on Steve Rogers’ face.
Steve makes a wounded sound, and presses his face to Bucky’s knee again, and Bucky wants to cry, because he’s supposed to be the crybaby in this relationship, and he feels awful, because when Steve looks up at him there’s something like hurt and longing in his gaze, but Steve was stupid. He was hopeful and stupid, and had too much of a heart, even if the world would destroy him for it, he didn’t know what was good for him, but Bucky knew, and Bucky knew, he was no good for Steve.
So he stands, and glances away, rubbing a hand over his eyes as a few tears escape, “Steve-” Bucky croaks, and when he turns around, Steve’s standing, and he looks angry, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared, brow pinched, and that was Bucky’s pal wasn’t it? Always ready for a fight, especially when it was one he’d lose.
“Steve-” Bucky warns, and Steve scowls, “No! No- you care about me-” Steve’s pacing, angry, and he glares, and as a six-foot-two giant, it’s more of a dangerous stalk now, as opposed to when he’d been barely up to Bucky’s chest, and hadn’t been able to breathe right.
Bucky rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, they’re shaking as he bites out, “Of course I care about you! But not like that! Not like-”
Steve looks away, and the lies on Bucky’s tongue feel rotten, and he swallows thickly, as Steve turns, and he looks pained.
“You did this!” He accuses, and Bucky flinches, “You did, Buck!” Steve’s hands shake as he presses his palms against his wet eyes, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying.
“I know-” He croaks, and Steve scowls, “You know?! Then why on earth have you been ignoring me for a week? A damn week! Hell, I tried to grab your arm last week and you fucking-”
Steve makes a pained sound, and he softens, while Bucky exhales shaky, “It was a mistake!” He snaps, “The worst fucking mistake of my life! I was tired and-”
Steve growls, he shoves Bucky, and Bucky’s back hits the edge of the tent, and Bucky snarls, cornered.
“I don’t believe you!” Steve snaps, trying to keep his voice hushed, “I don’t believe you! Hell, you never could lie to me, Buck.”
Bucky shoves Steve away, and his pulse is pounding, “Godamnit Steve! This is the shit they used to hang people for! This is the stuff that sends you to Hell!”
Steve’s lips are trembling, “Hell? Why would loving someone-”
Bucky snarls again, like an animal, and he’s pacing, and he can’t hear the words-can’t bear to think of love and Steve, as he bolts forwards and grips the front of Steve’s uniform in his shaking hands.
Steve looks stunned, because as long as they’ve known each other, they’ve fought, sure, Bucky had thrown a punch or two that’d knocked the man out, but never like this, never so serious, never with Bucky glaring at Steve with such loathing and rage.
Bucky’s furious, as he spits out, “I don’t love you-not like that, never like that! Do you understand me!?” The monster in his chest roars in approval, and Steve looks so very at loss, so very upset, because Bucky had never let the man see this side of him, never.
“I don’t!” Bucky roars, aggravated and scared, “Get that through your thick skull, Steve! It’s a sin!”
Bucky’s face crumbles, because the lies are destroying him, and what they do to Steve, the way Steve looks at him, so very betrayed, it’s probably the worst thing James Barnes has ever done in his 27 years of life, the worst kind of slaughter he’s done in his entirety of war, for how Steve looks away and starts to cry.
Bucky’s grip loosens, and choked cries work their way up his throat, because he’s going to hate himself for the words that come next, he’s going to make Steve hate him.
“I’m no-no goddamn queer, Stevie-” Bucky chokes, and Steve’s face is empty, hollow and Bucky wants to grab the gun Steve had taken from him, and shoot himself in the skull.
“I’m no filthy, fucking fag, so don’t-don’t-” Bucky shakes, and Steve’s face steadily grows colder, as Bucky spits out, crying, “You have a beautiful dame, that liked you even before-hell you are supposed to be better-”
The words come out wrong, and what Bucky’s trying to say is, he was supposed to be better, because Steve was good, Steve was so good and kind, and Bucky had always known he was going to do great things.
But the words come out awful and twisted, and Steve’s face shutters, and he steps back, yanking Bucky’s touch away.
“I see.” Is all he says, all professional, and it’s his chorus girl act, Captain America voice, and Bucky’s trembling, his stomach in knots.
“No-no!” He cries out, as Steve makes to leave, his face granite, and it’s how he looks at the people who hurt others, the bullies he used to fight in the alleyways of Brooklyn, and Bucky’s biting his left knuckle, trying to calm the hysterical sob in his throat, because he didn’t mean that!
“Stevie-” Steve flinches, and Bucky continues, “I didn’t mean that, you don’t have to be better, not now, not-not before either! All I meant was-” Bucky’s voice shakes, and Steve gives him such a look, bile rises at the back of Bucky’s throat.
“Stevie-”
Steve stands, stiff and angry, “It’s Captain Rogers, Sergeant.” He snaps, “-and the next time you use that foul language, such as-” His voice hitches, and for a moment Steve looks afraid, he looks young, and then his resolve hardens once more.
“I’ll kick you off the team.”
Bucky blinks, “What?” he gives a shaky laugh, stunned, because is Steve serious?
Steve’s eyes aren’t the colour of the sky anymore, they’re dark and angry, as he grits out, “You heard me, Sergeant.”
Bucky scoffs, and wipes at his eyes, angrily, “Don’t you dare pull that shit with me, Rogers!” He barks, “I’ve seen you in your underwear! I’ve fed you, and washed your hair for you! Do you remember that? When we were kids, and you were so sick you couldn’t even walk!”
Steve looks away, and he’s shaking, his resolve cracking, as Bucky comes into his space again, as he grips the front of Steve’s jaw, “I’m telling you, I’m wrong, Steve. That I need to be better, do you get that!?” He doesn’t want to shout, doesn’t mean to, but he’s terrified, because if Steve makes him go home, if Steve doesn’t even want to be his friend-then there’s absolutely no point in Bucky’s life.
Steve tears his jaw out of Bucky’s grip, and there are tears in his eyes, “You know who you remind me of, Buck?” His voice is cutting, yet it shakes, and Steve’s so hurt, Bucky wants to beg, he wants to beg and say he’s sorry.
Hell, before everyone else, he knew Steve Rogers was a hero even when he was just some skinny guy who got beaten up behind alleys. He wants to say he’s sorry about how awful and miserable he is, now, but he just can’t help it. He wants Steve not to say the words, Bucky knows the man will say, because they will destroy him.
“Your Dad.”
Bucky’s face drains of colour, and he rubs a hand down his face, shaking.
“Steve-”
Steve’s shoulders are shaking as he walks away, and then he stops by the entrance of the tent and glances back, and his face is filled with anguish, with tears that ruin them both.
“Why can’t you just allow yourself to-”
He doesn’t finish the words, and maybe he should have, because Bucky slumps against the cot and cries, as the man leaves.
He never gets to apologise, even though they act normal a few days later. Jabbing jokes, and having each other’s back during missions, and in front of the Howlies, it's like nothing happened. Yet alone, Steve looks at him differently, more guarded.
So Bucky drinks more, his punches get a lot meaner, and his gun a lot looser, and when Steve dances with Peggy, or is on walks with her, the times they’re back at base, Bucky prays to god that he takes him out quicker.
Bucky falls from the train only a week later, and his only thought is; thank god it was me, and not him.