“Captain America Dead.” The headline reads, bold and underlined and covering the front page of every newspaper.
Funnily enough- in a way that isn’t funny but is ironic enough you can only laugh at the absurdity- it’s the second time in Bucky’s life that he’s read that news.
The first time, it was a Russian newspaper being shoved through the bars of his cell, to taunt, to instill the utter hopelessness of his situation. “Капитан Америка Мертв.” At the time, he hadn’t understood the language fluently, but it’s meaning was betrayed by the large black and white picture that showed an empty casket covered in an american flag, with Steve Rogers’ picture displayed on a small poster board to the side. He had known, then. And it had done exactly what HYDRA had hoped. He would fight still, but without purpose. Not quite giving in, but also not quite anticipating rescue any time soon. Resignation.
It had stung, the first time. Knowing that Steve, his best friend, his brother in arms, died in the line of service? Bucky had traced the cyrillic letters with his fingers over and over, trying to extract their meaning through pure will. (It’s the one possession they had let him keep, in the beginning, before they tore his memories away. It’s the one thing he would’ve rather had taken away.)
It didn’t matter in the end, of course. If the “end” is the way to describe it. Perhaps the beginning of the end, or the end before a new beginning. But it didn’t matter all the same. Because Steve was dead but not really, and Bucky was alive but not really, either.
The whole world knows how that worked out. Some say for the better, some say for the worse. People have an opinion on everything. But the indisputable fact is this: Captain America’s death is important. Whether you like him or not, it’s impact is undeniable. International headlines for a whole week after, important.
So it’s the same, kind of, except in the ways it’s not. For one, Sam’s face is plastered in color right in the middle of the front page. It’s all over the internet, too.
“Capitán America Muerto.”
"Capitaine Américain Mort.”
“キャプテンアメリカが死んだ.”
".“كابتن أمريكا مات"
"Captain America tot.”
And again,
“Капитан Америка Мертв.”
For some reason, he forces himself to read through all of them. Maybe just to see what other countries have to say. Maybe to torture himself further.
There’s another difference, too. One he tries not to think about.
Steve came back. But Sam… Sam is gone. Gone, gone.
At night (and during the day, basically permeating every hour of his continued existence-) Bucky’s haunted by the feeling of Sam’s blood on his hands. Hot and wet and too much, too much. Red spilling out over the white of Sam’s uniform, over the cement ground, over Bucky’s shaking fingers.
Sam’s an idiot. A big, sacrificial, idiot.
Sam had said, “I’m going back in.”
And of course, Bucky had said, “Me too, obviously.”
They had shared a look, then. Knew that it was dangerous to enter a building with not one but five dangerous criminals, all with an agenda that directly conflicted with Captain America. But there were still hostages. And a time limit. Backup wouldn’t come soon enough.
And Sam saved the day because of course he did, made an exchange that played right into the criminals’ hands, but secured the safety of the civilians. Traded himself (and Bucky- more of a bonus) for the innocents’ escape.
It was clearly a trap, a play, a strategic choice to manipulate them. And while they knew, it was the only option. Sam had briefly entertained the idea that they might be bluffing. Bucky assured him that a few measly civilians won’t mean anything to the criminals. He knows how these kinds of people operate. They don’t bargain, and they don’t bluff.
From there, everything had gone to hell.
Sam’s an idiot, but he’s also not. He knew he had to go in armed with something, even though the bad guy squad made it very clear that he was to bring no weapons. They may have forced their hand in some aspects, but there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he and Bucky were coming in defenseless.
It went to shit, still, of course. He doesn’t like thinking of the details, despite how frequently they replay and replay in his head. How he sees the bullet hit Sam in the chest of his vibranium suit, not penetrating the armor, but then another guy pulls out a bigger, different looking gun, aiming at Bucky- and Sam…
He could’ve dodged. (Maybe not). Doesn’t matter, though, because Sam’s life is not worth his own. But that idiot, that too-good-for-his-own-good fool decided to wrap his arms around Bucky, taking the bullet and bringing them both to the ground.
They never did find out what the gun was, why it was able to get past the concealed vibranium of Sam’s suit. Does it matter? Does anything?
Sam’s dead.
And it would have been fine, maybe- in a relative sense- if it hadn’t been for the ring.
The goddamn ring.
Because the villains must have known it was a fatal shot and decided to flee before backup did actually get there, cruelly leaving Bucky behind in their wake. (He would have preferred if they had shot him too. Maybe the strange gun only had one bullet. Maybe they knew it would be more painful to live. Maybe they just didn’t actually care.)
But his idiot, his big, too-good-for-his-own-good, sacrificial idiot boyfriend, wanted to… What? Propose?
Sam got what he wanted, at the very least. Took a shaking hand smeared thick with blood and fumbled his fingers around one of the pockets of his pants, trying to get it open. “Surprise.” He said weakly, when Bucky’s own hand clenched around his, helping him pull out the stupid little object.
And perhaps HYDRA didn’t truly understand pain, because there’s nothing more painful than having your new fiancé bleed out in your arms as he somehow slips the ring onto your finger. No torture can outclass that. No weapon can even come close to hurting as much, digging as deep into his heart, as that did.
“Yes.” He had said, because of course he did, “Yes, now Sam, Sammy- You can’t… You can’t...”
But he did.
And so the whole world grieves Captain America. But Bucky- he grieves the loss of a future husband, a soulmate, a partner.
And it’s too much. There’s only so much someone can handle. Over a hundred years old and all this fucking bullshit is still affecting his life. Does the world hate him? It must. Everything that’s good has been stripped away from him like acetone stripping away paint on a concrete wall. Over and over and over again, till the acid tears away at the foundation and leaves nothing but a crumbling frame left.
He can’t do it anymore. And as much as it’s tempting, ending his own life would be a huge disgrace to Sam’s sacrifice. He’ll keep living, but only so Sam didn’t die for nothing. It might not be the life he wanted Bucky to live, but, well. Sam’s dead. That changes a lot of things.
Bucky fakes his death.
Not in the dramatic, over-the-top way movies would describe it. No, just a simple note with no body left to find. He’s there one day, and gone the next.
And as he sits in his motel in Romania- back to where it all began, in a way- watching the shitty tv crackle as a news channel drones on, well. He watches.
“Captain America is dead.” They say.
“James Barnes is believed to be deceased as well,” They tack on, with slight distaste, “After discovery of an apparent suicide note in his apartment. It is unknown if his death has any relation to Captain America’s, but speculation suggests-”
He zones out. Doesn’t care that everyone dislikes him even in “death.” Technically, he’s committed suicide after his very close friend’s passing. After said friend saved his life, a fact that the news is recently privy to and never loses an excuse to slander him further with.
In another life, the truth is this: Sam Wilson is alive. He and Bucky get married in the summer. Sarah is his best woman- insists on it, in fact- and Rhodey is Sam’s best man. AJ and Cass have a lot of fun with the wedding planning, and they snicker as the small list of guests takes in the garish red, white, and blue decorations. It’s quaint and quiet, and even in the sticky heat of a Louisiana summer, it’s perfect.
The truth is this: Sam Wilson is dead. Bucky Barnes is dead. He’s “buried” in a grave next to his mother, father, and siblings, and no one but government officials and Sarah came to speak at his funeral. Sarah and AJ and Cass, who have gone to two funerals within the span of a couple weeks.
The truth is also this: Sam Wilson is dead. Bucky Barnes is alive, in Romania, living in the barest sense of the word. Sarah Wilson and her sons are the only people Bucky feels guilty for abandoning, but they will be better off in the long run without a constant reminder of their brother and uncle’s boyfriend haunting them by sticking around.
And finally, the truth is this: Sam Wilson is dead. And his fiance wears a ring looped around a string on his neck that clinks against his dog tags. Cleaned of blood but still stained red, never to be slipped onto a finger again.