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☆POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE, AS WELL AS THE BRIEF RECREATIONAL CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL.☆
Chapter Soundtrack: .stage 4 fear of trying. By frnkiero and the cellabration
Note: I highly recommend listening to the chapter soundtrack for this one. It really sets the mood for it, as well as the fact that it's an amazing song. Also, let's pretend that Steve and Tony made up before Infinity War, and Tony no longer holds a grudge against Bucky.
[1945, 72 YEARS EARLIER]
Bucky,
You don't want to hear this from me. But I'm sorry. I know you would have wanted me to live- not survive- but I can't. I can't do it. You would hate that I'm doing this, if you knew. But you would want me to be happy, and this is the only way that I will be.
You were everything and more. After Ma died, you were the only thing I had. Before that, too, but after she died, I was a wreck. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, could barely even breathe. But you stayed with me, even when I begged you to leave, when I yelled and screamed until I passed out. I thought it was because you promised my Ma, because you felt bad that I didn't have anyone left. But you never left, even acted like you wanted to be there. And it meant more to me than anything in the world.
And sometimes I still don't understand why you stuck around- I was a burden. I was costly, sick, nothing but an extra mouth to feed. I don't understand why you tried so hard to get me dates, why you always beat up anyone who messed with me for me, why you had to fall. I still don't understand so many things, and I guess I never will. I kind of hate that, but there are some things I'm glad I don't.
I hope you don't blame me. You probably do, even though I know you would deny it to hell and back if you could. How could you not? I let you go ahead, I didn't react quick enough, I couldn't reach. Everyone else tells me I couldn't have done anything else, but I know I could have. Peggy said that if I wanted to be an idiot and blame myself, then that was my choice. How the fuck could I not? I let you fall. No one else.
But I'm going to make up for it. I'll destroy them for what they did to you. I'll destroy them for everything they've done. If you were here, you'd call me an idiot. Try to talk me out of it. But you're not. And it's all my fault. It's all I can think since you fell; all I'd have thought before I fell. And I'm going to. But I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you.
You won't read this. And I know you won't. But that doesn't change anything. I'd tell you everything you ever wanted to hear if you were with me right now. I'd say I'm sorry, beg you to forgive me. I'd tell you everything you missed. I'd kiss you.
I love you, Bucky. I wish I could tell you that right now. And the fact that I can't leaves a pit in my chest, swallowing up everything else, except for my thoughts. And it's the worst feeling in the world. It's like I'm trapped in all of the worst parts of myself, and this is the only way to escape. But I'm relieved I'm finally getting out. I'm relieved I'll see you again.
People fill up pages upon pages when they're about to die, and I've never been able to understand why. But I get it now. You want to say so much that it doesn't make sense, so you just say it all. I really wish I could say everything, Buck, but I can't. Because then I wouldn't be able to stop. And I'd never do it, I'd just sit here and write forever, but that probably wouldn't sound all too bad to you, I bet. After all, anything's better than this, right?
I used to think so.
Love & Goodbye,
Steve
Steve sighed heavily. He folded the piece of paper neatly in half, before placing it gently on the dashboard to his right. A single tear slipped from his right eye, carving a shining path down his cheek. He took the controls back into his hands and pressed down, plunging himself straight towards the icy water.
Then, all he knew was cold and numb.
[2017, 72 YEARS LATER]
Tony, per usual, was fucking around in the SHIELD archives. It often served as a cure for his boredom, as he usually found interesting things in there. It was a government agency, after all. And his hacking skills had not disappointed him yet.
He was scrolling through the files from the 40's(a time period he often tended to avoid, for obvious reasons) when he came across one that looked different from the rest. There was a small red lock icon on it, which he managed to bypass after a few seconds. He clicked on it, and it opened.
FILE #22147 Valkyrie
Subject: Valkyrie artifacts.
Date filed: May 18th, 2011
Classification: Urgently classified.
Total Recovered: 89 artifacts.
List: [CLICK FOR FULL LIST]
Notes: None.
Status: Closed.
Tony raised his eyebrows. He knew what the Valkyrie was, of course, but he'd never thought to check the file on it. He clicked the list, and a new file immediately opened up, multiple pictures and descriptions filling up the screen. Tony scrolled through them listlessly, nothing really jumping out at him. He stopped, however, at coming upon item number #56- a letter.
Before the, all of the artifacts had been something you would expect to find on a ship- parts, maps, etc. But this seemed different, somehow. He clicked on it, and zoomed in on the image. It was too blurry for him to read.
"JARVIS," he said, clicking his mouse a couple more times. "Enhance and print out a copy of this image."
"Right away, sir." The AI promptly responded, and Tony could distantly hear the sound of his printer starting up. While he waited, he read the description of the item.
Recovered from right side of dashboard, approximately 7.6 inches from recovered subject (Item #2: Steven Grant Rogers). Unable to decifer due to extensive time submerged. Recovered 5/18/11.
"Your item is ready, sir," JARVIS informed him, just as the printer beeped, alerting him that it was finished.
"Great. Thanks, buddy," he said, stepping away from the computer and making his way towards the printer. He pulled the piece of paper away- Front and back, he noted absently to himself- and let his eyes scan the top of the page.
Bucky. He knew who that was, of course. He'd met the guy.
He read the first sentence, the next, got to the third, and stopped. He felt his heartbeat pick up.
If this is what I think it is, he thought slowly. Then Cap and I are going to be having a very serious talk later.
"Jesus Christ," Tony muttered as his eyes quickly scanned through the note, only reading enough to get the gist of everything. "JARVIS..." He didn't know what to say.
"Yes, sir?" He asked, just as patient as ever. Tony cleared his throat.
"Can you... ask Steve to meet me in the gym?"
"Certainly, sir. Would you like me to inform him of the purpose of the meeting?" JARVIS asked, and Tony didn't have to think about it before he shook his head.
"No," he said, a bit too sharply, but he adjusted his tone before speaking again. "Please, just... tell him to meet me."
JARVIS didn't answer, so Tony assumed that he was talking to Steve. He sighed, looked back down at the letter in his hand, then folded it in half, before placing it on the desk in such a way that it was impossible to read what was written on either side.
"Okay," he said quietly to himself, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.
Meanwhile, Steve Rogers was watching a modern TV show he had come to rather enjoy. It was called Outlander, something that most might blanch at at the the idea of him watching. In truth, it does represent some rather... untraditional views, as well as the fact that there's a nude scene in almost every episode.
"Captain," JARVIS said into previously quiet room, something Steve was long used to. He paused the TV. "Mr. Stark has requested your presence in the gym."
Steve blinked. That was unusual. "Um, tell him I'm on my way."
"Certainly, Captain." He didn't speak again, so Steve got up off his couch and put on a pair of shoes, before heading to the gym. When he got there, Tony was standing on the mat in the middle of the room, pacing somewhat anxiously.
"Tony?" Steve asked, making said billionaire startle enormously. Steve winced.
"Sorry," he said apologetically, and Tony shook his head.
"No, it's..." he trailed off. "Whatever."
They stood there awkwardly for another minute or so, until Tony finally cleared his throat.
"Um, so, you're probably wondering why I brought you here," he started, scratching at the back of his neck habitually. Steve raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah?" He asked. Tony shifted awkwardly.
"So, um... you know how SHIELD has an archive?" He asked. Steve nodded, still not completely clear on where he was going with this. "Well, you know me, and I was super duper bored, so I decided that it would be a good idea to go looking around and so I kind of found-the-file-on-the-Valkyrie-and-your-note." The last part ran together so fast that Steve hadn't heard clearly what he was saying.
"What?" He asked, even more confused than before. Tony took a deep breath.
"I said..." he trailed off. "I kind of found the file on the Valkyrie and your note."
Steve's face still showed confusion for a moment, but the very second he finally understood was clear. His entire body went still, and his face paled considerably.
Of course he remembered the note. How do you ever forget something like that? He'd always suspected that SHIELD had uncovered it when they found the Valkyrie, but hadn't bothered to say anything about it to him at first. And now, everytime they had a briefing, the fear constantly lingered in the back of his mind that Hill or Fury would suddenly pull it out and lay it out on the table, there for the whole team to read. Everyone he cared about, knowing exactly what happened before he went down.
And that made this quite possibly his worst nightmare, because he knew that there was no way Tony hadn't read it, and now he even had a crystal-clear copy of it in his hand.
"Tony..." He had the nostalgic impression in his chest of his lungs aching, something he hadn't felt in over 70 years. "Please give it to me."
Tony held his hand out and let Steve take it from him without complaint, immediately shoving his hands back into his pockets as soon as they were free. Steve held the letter in his minutely shaking hands, eyes slowly tracing every line that made up the words.
I'd kiss you.
The words jumped out at him, even despite himself willing them not to. Even despite them being scribbled out, he could imagine them so vividly that it hardly seemed to make a difference. He doubted Tony had been able to make them out, though the thought didn't really do much to comfort him.
"...If I should tell the team about it..."
While Steve was reminiscing, he failed to realize Tony had been speaking to him since God knows when, but when his brain registered the fleeting words, he immediately jerked his head up to make eye contact with him.
"No," he said, his voice the embodiment of ice and steel. Tony reeled back a little bit, obviously caught off-guard by the severity of his tone. In the back of his mind, Steve apologized, but the current situation simply wouldn't allow him to voice it.
"Um..." Tony trailed off awkwardly.
"Don't-" Steve visibly forced himself to relax. "Don't tell the team."
Tony hesitated. "Okay. I won't- I promise," he added, after seeing the look Steve gave him. A tense silence settled between the two.
"Are you-" Tony tried to ask. Steve cut him off.
"Please," his voice was strained. "I don't want to talk about it." Very wisely, Tony kept his mouth shut. After a few moments, Steve sighed heavily.
"Listen," he said, running his hand through his hair. He remembered when Bucky used to do that before they went on a double date, and Steve's hair was a mess. Then, he remembered that he couldn't think about him. "This was a long time ago." Liar. It feels like yesterday. "I'm better now."
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Tony just kind of stared at him for a little bit, before he finally swallowed, looking back down at the floor.
"Yeah, alright," he said. "I won't talk about it."
Steve didn't fail to notice he hadn't said anything about Steve saying he was better, but at this point, he was willing to take anything he could get.
"Thank you, Tony," he sighed in relief. Tony shuffled awkwardly, muttering about how it was no problem.
Without prompting, he left the gym, still clutching the letter in his tightly clenched fist.
☆
Exactly four days later, Tony sat in his workshop, working his dangerously unprotected hand into the jagged and tumultuous engine of one of his most recent experiments. Something inside it had exploded, and he was now trying to dig out all of the fragments and pieces.
"Sir, Captain Rogers has requested that I inform you that he will be arriving in approximately three minutes," JARVIS spoke calmly over the speakers.
"Shit," Tony swore loudly, yanking his hand from the machine. He ignored the stinging of the oncoming scrapes and cuts in favor of sliding away from his desk and springing up from his seat.
He had known this was coming, despite his multiple hopes and silent pleas for the opposite.
"God, I am not equipped to deal with this today," he muttered as he frantically swiped through the monitors in search of Steve, swearing again loudly when he found the one that finally did show him, getting into the elevator and pressing the button that led to the floor of his workshop.
"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" He exclaimed, dashing to his emergency cabinet. He rifled around for a moment or two, until shouting triumphantly and hoisting the 32 oz. bottle of Scotch he had found above his head. He uncorked it and tipped his head back, bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips. He downed about a quarter of it in three long gulps.
He winced, wiping his mouth with his bare arm and pressing the cork back into the bottle. He stuck it back into the cabinet and locked the doors, just in time for JARVIS to announce Steve's presence.
"Sir-"
"Yeah, yeah," he waved his hand, the Scotch already working its pleasant buzz into his bloodstream. "I got it. Thanks, J."
Steve stepped in, thankfully failing to realize Tony's actions just seconds before. He carried no letter in his hands.
"Tony?" He asked, something said engineer had never heard from him before creeping into his tone.
To his credit, Tony didn't let any of it show on his face. "Yeah?" He asked, fiddling idly with a random screwdriver and gadget he had found to his left.
When Steve didn't say anything for a while, Tony looked up at him. "Steve?"
"I'm sorry," he suddenly spoke, making Tony blink at his suddenness. "You shouldn't have read it, and I shouldn't have ever even ignored the fact they had it in the first place-"
"Hey," Tony cut him off, sufficiently making Steve go silent. "As much as I enjoy our emotional heart-to-hearts," he said sarcastically. "This is more of a problem for your therapist buddy, what's-his-name, Dan."
"Sam," Steve muttered, staring dejectedly at his feet. Tony sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Alright, fine. Sam," He put emphasis on the word. "An actual qualified professional, needs to talk with you about this."
"But-" Steve tries to interject, but Tony wasn't having it.
"Hey," he said, holding up a hand. "I'm not finished. And while I know talking to other people might help, you of all people should know that I am just about the worst person in the world who could ever possibly give an intervention, or whatever this is. And I know you want as little people to know about this as possible, but I am not equipped to be telling you about how to fix whatever issues you might have."
Deep down, Steve knew that Tony was right. However, that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Cap, if you're opening that mouth to complain, then you might as well be trying to eat cereal with a fork."
And so he'd shut his mouth, and called Sam.
☆
"Hey, man," Sam greeted him as soon as he opened the door. He pulled Steve into a hug, one he gladly returned.
Sam's house was always clean, something he took pride in. It often reminded Steve of Bucky and the pride he took in his neat appearance.
"Not that I don't enjoy your company, 'cause I really do, but you don't usually come here unless you're on business," Sam said, taking a seat in the chair next to the couch where Steve sat. There was a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, diluted by a cube of sugar and a pack of cream. In contrast with Steve's own cup, it was practically white, as Steve almost always took his coffee black and strong.
In response to Sam's words, Steve sighed. "Uh... sort of." He must've seen the confusion on Sam's face, because then he hastily added: "Well, I mean, I guess it's kind of official business, in a way? But it's really personal." Well, that didn't help at all.
"Um..." he trails off, and Sam sighs.
"Listen, Steve," he says, and Steve thinks he can see his inner therapist coming out a little bit. "I know I'm basically a therapist and everything, but it would be a huge conflict of interest for me to try to-"
"I tried to kill myself."
Well. That's one way to do it.
And now Sam was openly staring, his eyes unblinking and his body so still that Steve wasn't even sure he was breathing. And then he is very slowly setting his coffee cup down and leaning back in his chair, still staring at Steve.
"When." It wasn't a question. Steve swallowed.
"1945." Sam's face doesn't change.
"Why?"
Steve is silent for a moment, yet he doesn't have to even think about it. "Because... I couldn't live without him."
Sam knows who he's talking about. "What made you think that?"
And for a very small moment, Steve feels a white-hot flash of anger in him at Sam. 'What made me think that?' He was everything to me! He knows that! But then he realizes that this is Sam's way of analyzing him and figuring out what he needs to do to help, so he tells him.
"I can't-" He has to stop, to plan his next words out very carefully. "I can't ever remember there being a time before him. Every part of my life always somehow involved Bucky, to the point that that was how I used to remember things. I remembered something from my past, then I compared it to what Bucky was doing then, and that was how I dated things. For a while, anyway," he added as an afterthought. "And then my Mom died, and Bucky was all I was left with. He would work for medicine for me, give up his food for me, practically do anything I asked, even if it wasn't necessary. I could only ever get the odd job of drawing an add for something in the newspaper, so I could never contribute much to the household. Bucky was the one who kept both of us afloat, for everything," he finished, feeling emotionally drained.
Sam, to his credit, remained quiet and attentive to every word. Judging by his face, you would never have known that he was Steve's best friend.
"I know that the obvious reason for why you crashed the plane was because of New York, but you're saying that it was more of a suicide than a self-sacrifice?" He asked, tone completely neutral. Steve nodded.
"Not that New York wasn't the deciding factor, but I had been contemplating suicide before that," Steve admitted, fiddling with his hands nervously. Sam sighed.
"Listen," he stated, looking very seriously at Steve. "It's completely understandable, from what I've heard, that you would... do that," he said. Steve ignored the way he hesitated. "And I think that right now, the best decision for you would be- wait..." he trailed off suddenly, and Steve looked up at him in mild alarm. "Not that I'm not glad you told me about this, but... why are you telling me about this now?"
"Four days ago, Tony talked to me and said that he... found my suicide note," Steve said, watching Sam's face carefully for any reaction. He gave none. "SHIELD had filed it away in their archives, where Tony had found it while he was looking through them to pass the time."
Sam leaned forward and picked up his coffee cup, taking a long sip. Then, he very purposely set it back down slowly and gently, all while aware of Steve's relentless gaze trained on him the entire time.
"Can I...?" Sam's unspoken question didn't go unanswered. Steve slipped his hand into his jean pocket and pulled out the folded and slightly crumpled up piece of paper. Sam gently took it from his outstretched hand.
Once he began reading, he didn't stop, not until his eyes scanned the last word. Once he had finished, he flicked his eyes up to meet Steve's anxiously waiting ones, and very calmly folded the paper back into a little square and handed it to Steve.
"So... you wrote this right before you crashed the Valkyrie?" He asked, and Steve nodded. Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "At this point, I really think the best thing for you to do would be to go see an actual therapist that's not me, and see what they can do."
And Steve knew that Sam knew he didn't like it. "Sam-"
He held up a hand, cutting him off. "No buts."
Steve sighed. He never got his way.
[TWO WEEKS LATER]
Over the past two weeks, Steve and Tony had had very small conversations regarding it, keeping the info to a minimum. As promised, Tony still hadn't told the rest of the team, and, much to their(Sam and Tony's) pleasure, Steve had planned to start meeting with a therapist every Thursday, one Sam himself had suggested.
On this particular day, Tony was actually flying out to Wakanda with the rest of the team per request of T'Challa. Steve was seated in the front next to Tony and the rest of the team in the back, where they all chatted quietly amongst themselves. Tony didn't fail to notice the way that Steve was anxiously shifting in his seat, fiddling with a loose thread in his pants every now and then.
"You okay?" He asked quietly, enough that the team wouldn't hear them. Steve glanced over at him to see that he had put it on autopilot, and had turned his head to look at him inconspicuously so that they could talk. Steve sighed.
"Just nervous, y'know?" he said quietly, a tad bit uncomfortable. If Tony noticed, he pretended not to care.
"Ah, I'm sure it'll be fine," he said, waving a hand dismissively. Never let it be said that Tony was one to successfully comfort another, especially with one as rocky a past as he had.
Steve nodded and looked away, casting his gaze out the window. He observed the billowing clouds floating by, different orange and yellow hues cast upon them by the undiluted sunlight.
His mind must have been wandering for a good hour or so before he finally was brought back to the present by the sensation of his ears popping, a sign that their jet was descending. Sure enough, when he glanced back out of the window, he could see the lush green fields of Wakanda nearing closer and closer.
The hull slowly dropped open, revealing a sight just as marvelous as the first. T'Challa stood waiting not far away with a few members of his royal guard; the palace could be seen not that far off from where he stood.
"Kit-Kat!" Tony called as he stepped off the jet. T'Challa pretended not to smile.
"Stark," he responded in turn. Steve was too distracted to truly focus on their banter, which T'Challa seemed to take notice of.
"He is waiting for you in the village," he said, pointing to a distant line of huts. "Ask for White Wolf."
Fairly quickly, he was able to locate Bucky's hut, thanks to some directions from an older woman.
Bucky stood outside, waiting for Steve at the edge of his yard.
"Hey, Buck," Steve said hoarsely, not even trying to hide the fact that he'd missed him more than he'd thought possible. Bucky responded by pulling him into a one-armed hug. Steve gladly returned it, burying his face into Bucky's shoulder.
"Hey, Steve," He replied, gently pulling away. They stood there in silence for a few moments, until Bucky finally cleared his throat.
"Do you wanna... come in?" He asked, gesturing to the hut behind him. Steve shuffled his feet.
"Sure," he said, following Bucky down the gravel path to his door.
Bucky's hut seemed strangely larger on the inside. That's Wakanda for you, I guess, Steve thought to himself.
"Have a seat," said Bucky, pulling a chair out from the small wooden table in what Steve presumed was the kitchen.
"Thanks," he said, folding his hands and staring openly at Bucky as he held a glass under the sink faucet. Bucky said nothing as he set it down in front of Steve.
Steve sipped at it, not failing to notice Bucky glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.
"So..." Bucky trailed off, making Steve set down his drink and turn his full attention to him. As if he already didn't have it.
"I have to tell you something."
Immediately, Bucky was straightening out, his eyes burning holes into his own. "Are you in danger?" He asked. Steve shook his head.
"No, no, I'm not... I just need to..." he splayed his hands out in front of him, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip anxiously. Bucky waited patiently, unblinking as he waited for Steve to continue.
Instead of attempting to speak again, Steve simply pulled the infamous slip of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table to Bucky. Bucky stared at it for a short moment, before flattening it out against the table with his right hand. Steve saw his eyes flicking back and forth, the confusion clouding them when he saw the letter was addressed to him.
As the seconds ticked by, Steve could see Bucky's fingers getting whiter and whiter until he was pressing them against the paper so hard that they trembled.
"Bucky," he said, gently, quietly. He didn't tear his eyes away from the paper. Steve waited.
It was about a full minute later when Bucky finally looked up. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were tinged red.
"What is this?" He asked, no tremble in his voice. Steve swallowed. When he spoke, it was practically a whisper.
"I wrote it for you," he said, staring at the small chips in the wood of the table. "Before I crashed."
And Steve sat there in silence for a few moments, the stress and fear gnawing away at his insides. And then he was startled by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and he didn't have the time to look before he was being pulled into a strong grip, his vision obscured by a dark curtain of hair.
"I hope you don't feel that way anymore," Bucky murmured close to his ear.
Steve inhaled his scent, moving further into his strong embrace, the security of his hold.
He didn't.