Chapter Text
He died before the ambulance could even arrive, in their arms, they didn’t even get the closure of a quiet goodbye because they were too busy trying to hold on.
Steve Rogers went on a battlefield, like all the great warriors of legend before him, and he left Sam and Bucky behind to mourn with nothing more than an “I love you” and a “Thank you”. He was grateful to have died in the arms of friends, the first time that he ‘died’ he was all alone.
For a moment, they just sat there over the body, ears ringing as if a bomb had just fallen. The world moved around them. They were on the inside of a fish bowl, and all the sadness and shock was contained within. There was still a battle to be fought and won, but who cared?
Bucky was stone-still and silent, but Sam pulled Steve’s heavy, lifeless body close and wept. His eyes were wide open, fear mixing with the sadness to make the streams of tears dripping down onto Steve’s face.
Bucky stood slowly, Sam looked up at him with tightly-knit brows. His dry mouth opened as if he had something to say, but there was nothing he could say. There wasn’t a thought on his mind, not even as Bucky’s arm whirred into readiness and he walked right back out into the gunpowder and smoke, this time with tears clouding his eyes.
Later, Sam would find out that Bucky didn’t get very far away from him at all. “He was guarding you and Steve’s body”, whispered Natasha as Sam watched the medics put Captain America in a black body bag. He was holding the shield. Bucky was nowhere to be found, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood or mindset to chase after him. “I saw him run off, do you think I should find him?”
Sam shook his head. “He saw it as close as I did… and I wish I could run.”
Bucky turned up about three days later. Sam was on the phone making funeral arrangements when he slipped into the door of the apartment they’d shared. It was usually a bright place for Bucky. Light came in through the windows, warm lights lit the space at night. Sam was usually smiling or laughing. When Steve came over, it was even happier. And he would’ve come back a day earlier had he not remembered that Steve wouldn’t be visiting their apartment anymore.
Sam turned to him and sighed. Bucky didn’t move, he stood by the door like a dark statue, his lungs filling with air and holding it there for a hesitant moment before releasing again. He hadn’t slept, neither of them had, really. Every time Sam closed his eyes he could see the moment he really learned that Steve Rogers wasn’t bulletproof. He felt Steve’s hand gripping tightly to his arm, as he whispered for Sam to stay with him in his final moments. He saw the blood gurgling from the corners of his lips. In the distance, Bucky screamed for help, but all Sam wanted to do was wake up and discover that this had all been a nightmare.
Sam tried thinking of something to say to Bucky. It had never really been a problem before. He and Bucky had gotten along famously, just as Steve hoped. Sure, they would bicker like children, but it was all good fun. At the end of the day they were a team, the three of them.
The two of them.
Sam swallowed and tried thinking of something to say as Bucky unlaced his boots and hung up his jacket. I’m going in to look at coffins today, Sharon’s coming. Do you want to?
Bucky kept his eyes low and walked in silence to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Sam heard the shower turn on, and decided that would be his answer.
Bucky squeezed his tie, not too tight. He combed his hair, he buttoned the vest and then the jacket on his suit. Sam said he didn’t have to sit through the funeral. But he wanted to be there the entire step of the way, for Sam as well as for Steve.
He hadn’t actually said a word to Sam since Steve died, the part of his brain that formed words had gone silent, as if someone flipped a switch. He wouldn’t stay silent forever, at least he’d hoped not. He’d already lost Steve, he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose Sam.
“Ready?” Sam asked. He stood in the doorway, looking handsome. His broad shoulders were tense. He looked at Bucky’s suit and gave him a small grin. “Lookin’ good, Barnes. Lookin’ real good.”
Bucky grinned back. You always look good, Wilson. He kept that thought to himself as he followed Sam out the door.
They carried Steve’s casket together. They looked at the floor, and at the faces of their friends lining the pews, but they never looked at the heavy load they carried.
They sat beside each other as the funeral went on. Sam only left Bucky’s side to give a few words. When he returned to the pew, Bucky gave him a nod of assurance. Through their unique brand of telepathy, he told him, You did well .
Sam nodded back to thank him. He wondered if his eyes were as glassy and bloodshot. He wondered if he looked quite as broken.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the service, they didn’t say a word as Steve’s body was lowered into the ground. They didn’t say a word on the long ride home. Once they were home, they let out long sighs, calling it a day and immediately dragging their heavy feet and souls to their rooms.