The light flickers against his face.
He doesn't know why he's here.
There's a memorial for Steve in Brooklyn, near where he used to live.
He's near the center of the fray, wearing a hat and a leather jacket with a white star on his shoulder. A thousand years of shame and guilt shackled on him.
A woman passes him a candle, her eyes red with tears but that's not why he's frozen.
She looks like the splitting image of Sarah, and his heart catches in his throat. "Here, son." She says, smiling. "Thank You for coming."
He nods in the smallest movement possible, as the emotion of it all hits him. He wants to say sorry. He wants to apologize to the ghost of a woman who doesn't exist anymore, left the world too soon and a son who was hellbent on doing the right thing. He wants to say sorry that he went black all too soon, leaving that same son to do the same thing he always was going to do. He wants to embrace her, and say sorry that this fallen son had to give himself up, again and again and again, only this time, there isn't any coming back. He isn't in the Arctic, he isn't in Serbia; Wakanda or another dimension. He's gone to the same place she is, gone too soon, too fast, in front of him with no instructions left other than to carry on, and no chance to say sorry to him for being such a burden. Say sorry he had to rescue him and not the other way around. Sorry it took so long.
All he can do is whisper "Thank You", and hold it all back, as she smiles at him like she is, walking back like a phantom no one else knows, being kind to everyone and all, giving a light to the darkness.
And he releases a tear and his breath, as it hits him like a storm again, seeing Thanos end it all with one swing, and him, helpless to do anything. Just like in 1949. Just like 50 years of not being able to. The way he fell still feels like a dream.
He saw so many soldiers die in front, behind, alongside him. He's never said that he hasn't forgotten any of them. He's never forgotten their last words, or their faces. Everyone of them, falling like the last move in a ballet.
But Steve.
Steve fell like burdens upon burdens were relieved, and even though he may have failed, he lived up to trying to uphold all of the weight that was given to him. When he hit the ground, Peter turning with fear in his eyes, Bucky tried to scream. But nothing came out. Just "No." whispered so low that only his ghost could have heard it.
He stays the whole memorial, the flag at half mast, all that political bullshit, and leaves when the crowd disperses, so no can follow him.
He walks back home before he stops.
He turns to his left, overwhelimg deja vu he hasn't felt since Budapest wrapping around him.
There, is the charred remains of the apartment building he and Steve used to live in. It looks like it burned a little while ago, but the building being caught in political limbo, was left in it's state of ashy ruin.
He hops the fence, walking up the stairs, knowing how to detect the sturdier parts of a burned foundation.
He grunts softly as he hoisted himself up a few missing steps with his left arm.
He doesn't like to remember how he knows that knowledge.
He walks up to the 3rd flight, before walking to 302. He opens the door and before he sees the burned out floor, he sees 1943 laying on top of it like overlapped floor plans. Sees Steve fixing some of the disorganized things, reject forms and newspapers hidden under notebooks.
He smells what it used to before it all fades, and he sees only black soot. Memories and memorials. Just like everything.
More people lived here after Steve, maybe hundreds, possibly thousands with the way the landlord gave a fuck. But it still feels like it did to him. The closest thing he's felt since a few days ago.
He sits on the floor, resting his head against the wall.
He doesn't know why he's here.
In his head and heart, it's for closure.
In his heart, he's waiting for a ghost that will, and should, never come. And he feels that same pinpricks of pain he felt earlier.
He's about to close his eyes, before he hears a shuffle.
"Relax." A female voice says, and he knows it isn't a ghost. It's an angel. "Just me." Natasha says, appearing at the doorway.
Bucky looks up at her, wanting to ask questions but he knows all the answers already. So he just looks at her, before looking down at the floor, wishing he had a bottle of bourbon.
"Lonely place to be by yourself. Thought you could use the company." She says softly.
"Following me." He says, more malice in his voice than he means, misdirected from SHIELD.
"No. But the jacket didn't make it hard." She jokes, a small smirk amidst the sadness on her lips. "I followed you for you. No one else, James." She says, sitting beside him.
Her hand is beside his, as he puts it over hers gently, waiting for her. Always.
She slides it through the soot, as they grasp each other hands.
"I'm sorry, James. I really am." She says, her voice hiding a slight waver. "We lost too many. ...Don't feel like you could have done more."
Moments of silence pass.
"Don't feel it should have been you." She says, looking over at him as he looks to her. Speaking the thing he's been hiding to himself.
There's tears in her eyes, as she inclines her head slightly. "They wouldn't have wanted any of us to feel that. ...Steve, wouldn't have wanted that."
He swallows, looking at her, the truth he feels he's never deserved. A light in the darkness. "I know." He says, his voice wavering.
They reach in to kiss, and the pain both intensifies and abated all at the same moment. He puts his hand on her cheek, then through her hair as they continue to hold hands, speaking with their passion their loss, their pain; how they'll get through this, how they'll carry on. How the world goes on with a hole in their heart, and Thank whatever heavens above that they have each other, here, now and in the future to come. However long they have, and all the time they'll squeeze into what they have been given.
They say it all wordlessly, and in gratitude as they kiss, lips parting after a few moments and still holding in the air near each other after the begin to part.
"Let's go." She says, her forehead a breath from his own, as he nods.
He helps her up, the ash of the past caking their hands, but the future of what's to come, out the burnt out building.
Their future unknown. But together-
They hold hands as they leave, walking down the road.
- stronger.