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Steve watched as Thanos raised a hand in the air, the gauntlet gleaming golden in the light. It mocked him, mocked them all, with the way the light curved around it. It held so much power, for the wearer to wield at their twisted will. That much was true of Thanos, anyway.
“I am,” He paused, anticipation wrought into every line of his body. “Inevitable.”
He snapped his thumb and forefinger, and time seemed to stop. Everyone across the battlefield waited, simultaneously holding the same anticipatory breath. Hope reached for Scott’s hand, curling their fingers together as an anchor point. Valkyrie knotted her fingers in Pegasus’s mane, pressing her other hand to one of its wings.
Moments passed, and nothing happened.
Thanos frowned beneath his helmet, turning his hand to observe the back of the gauntlet.
It was empty. The stones were gone, leaving six empty dockets in their place. Thanos blinked, looking across the battlefield at where Steve knelt.
The glove on his right hand had transformed, and the stones hummed with unadulterated power as they positioned themselves adjacent to each of Steve's knuckles, the mind stone in the centre. Impossible iridescent light emanated from them, curling and fizzing its way around Steve’s forearm. He gritted his teeth; his arm felt weighted with the power of the stones, even as he lifted it into the air. It was worth it to watch the look on Thanos’s face – anger, defeat, resignation – as the stones betrayed him.
“Yeah?” Steve said, trembling with the sheer effort. “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”
And with that, he snapped his fingers.
To say Steve had never felt pain like it before would be an understatement. He felt as though his entire body was alight; the power of the stones burned through his veins, singing his bones down to the marrow. He squeezed his eyes shut against the searing light that surrounded him, surrendering himself to their power.
It was worth it. It was necessary. He’d seen the look on Tony’s face; he couldn’t let him make that sacrifice. Not when he had Pepper, and especially not when he had Morgan. He deserved to watch her grow up.
Steve crumpled backwards as the light surrounding him subsided. His glove - singed beyond recognition - slipped from his hand, the stones clinking gently as they rolled free. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was blurry. The right half of his body ached with a roiling pain that seared its way beneath his skin.
He heard footsteps before he registered a body at his side. “Rogers? Are you – are you fucking for real?” It was Tony – of course it was. “Seriously man, what the fuck? Rogers – Steve?!”
Steve chuckled – a small, rasping thing – and turned his head towards Tony. “Someone had to. Couldn’t let it be you.”
“Christ, that didn’t mean it had to be you-”
Tony was cut off by the arrival of another body. Steve heard a muffled sob before he felt vague pressure against his side, cool metal sliding over his hand.
Bucky.
Fingers, both metal and flesh, trembled against his chin as Bucky undid the strap of his helmet carefully. He slipped it off, running his fingers through Steve’s hair and brushing his thumbs over his cheekbones.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve said quietly, forcing the corner of his mouth to curve upwards. “Missed you.”
“Yeah, punk,” Bucky sniffed, rubbing his nose against his sleeve. “I missed you too. Missed you somethin’ fierce.”
“I guess it worked?”
“Worked? They’re all fucking gone, Steve. All of ‘em. Even Thanos.” Tony interjected, gripping Steve’s shoulder. He couldn’t even find the strength to wince, despite the fact that every point of pressure against his skin felt a knife edge.
“Good,” Steve nodded, tipping his head backwards. “That’s – that’s real good.”
Bucky sniffed again – Steve could tell, by the sound alone – and curled his fingers through Steve’s own. He was glad that Bucky was doing all the work; he barely had the strength to open his eyes, let alone move any of his limbs.
“He’s not,” Bucky whispered, presumably to Tony. “He’s not gonna make it, is he?”
There was no response – not one that Steve could hear, anyway – but Bucky’s resounding sob spoke volumes. Bucky relinquished his hand, only to cradle his face instead. His fingertips skittered gently over Steve’s cheekbones, his touch cool and soothing against seared skin.
“This is it, huh?” Steve chuckled softly, hoarse and humourless.
“Don’t say that, Steve,” Bucky chastised wetly, curving his hands around to support the back of Steve’s neck. “Just – just open your eyes for me, can you?”
Bucky applied gentle pressure to Steve’s nape, encouraging him to tilt his head forward a little. As per Bucky’s request, he tried his best to open his eyes. They felt sore and gritty, as though they needed a good rub, but he suffered it to see Bucky again. To lay eyes upon him for the first time in five years.
“Hey, handsome,” Steve grinned. It was lopsided and charred, but genuine nonetheless. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Cut the bullshit, Steve. We – you –”
“Don’t have much time?” Steve offered, tilting his head into Bucky’s metal palm. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just-” Bucky paused, his eyes shining even in the low light. He moved forward, pressing his forehead gently against Steve’s own. “You always said ‘til the end of the line. We both did. I just – I didn’t think this would be it.”
“This isn’t the end, Buck,” Steve said softly, summoning all of his strength to lift a hand to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky closed his eyes, tears dripping down his cheeks and making his lashes wet. Steve thumbed them away the best he could. “We’ll see each other again. You know we will. Nobody can keep us away from each other.”
“God knows they tried,” Bucky said weakly, turning his head to brush a kiss against Steve’s palm. “I love you, Steve. I’ve loved you since the day we met. That won’t stop. Not now, and not ever.”
Steve went to respond but was cut off by a coughing fit that filled his mouth with the metallic tang of blood. He turned his head to the side, spitting a glob onto the ground and grimacing at the taste.
“Sorry,” He murmured, threading his fingers into Bucky’s hair and pulling him close again. “Sorry, that was probably disgusting.”
Bucky laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. “Steve, nothing you do could ever disgust me. I’ve already seen the worst of you a million times over. Winter 1937, remember?”
Steve shuddered, his lip curling at the memory of the winter he’d contracted pneumonia.
“I’ve not made things easy on you, have I?” Steve said softly, sliding his thumb down the side of Bucky’s neck and over his pulse point.
“I’d say we’re even, but you just went and one upped me big time.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the gauntlet that now sat uselessly at Steve’s feet. He was silent for a moment, staring at the stones scattered across the ground. They looked so dull and lifeless now, as though they shouldn’t possess the power to do this to someone.
Lying a little further away was the ruined remains of Steve’s shield, shattered and irreparable bur recognizable still. Bucky reached for the nearest piece; the star, grubby and splattered with blood, surrounded by a choppy section of red and blue. He held it up with a soft, achingly fond smile, and Steve chuckled.
“Lotta use now, huh?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Was good to me for a while, though.” He reached for it with his good hand, laying his palm over the star and pressing gently. After a moment he averted his gaze, looking over Bucky’s shoulder and searching the field for a familiar face.
“Who are you-?” Bucky asked, turning slightly and scanning the assembled heroes.
“Sam,” Steve said quietly, hand still pressed against the remains of shield. “Where’s – is Sam there?”
Bucky nodded, gesturing to Sam to come closer. The man was streaked with blood and dirt, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He took a few stumbling steps forward, falling to his knees beside Bucky.
“Hey, man,” He said softly, laying a hand on Steve’s knee and giving a gentle squeeze. “You, uh, you really did that, huh?”
“Was the right thing to do.” Steve said, one shoulder lifting slightly. He went to speak again but was cut off by another cough, spitting another clot of blood onto the ground.
“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s lower lip. It was slick and dark with blood, dripping down his chin even as Bucky tried to wipe it away. “That sounds sore, bud.”
“It’s fine,” Steve brushed it off, tilting his head to press a bloody kiss against Bucky’s palm. His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, chest stilling, and Bucky and Sam shared a loaded glance. They needn’t have worried – for now, anyway – because Steve’s chest rose again after a few drawn out seconds. “Sam, I want you to have this,” He said, applying a little bit of pressure and directing Bucky to hand what remained of the shield to Sam. “Bit of a rubbish gift, I know, but you get the idea.”
“Steve – me? Are you – are you sure?” Sam asked, his voice trembling slightly as he took the shield fragment from Bucky. He held it with reverence, tucking it close to his chest.
“I’m sure,” Steve nodded. “You deserve it, Sam. You’re a good man.”
“That’s all you,” Sam sniffed, fresh tears dripping down his cheeks. “Steve, man, seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t met you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Steve smiled, reaching out his hand to take Sam’s own and squeeze it as tight as he could. Sam squeezed back, careful not to apply too much pressure, before releasing Steve’s hand. “Take care of it for me. Him, too.” Steve said softly, tilting his head in Bucky’s direction.
Sam nodded, clinging even tighter to the shield now that he didn’t have Steve to hold onto. “Yes, Sir.” He said jokily, throwing up a shaky salute, and Steve chuckled. Unfortunately, his chuckle soon dissolved into a cough that tugged and burned at his throat, making his eyes sting with the sheer pain of it.
Sam swallowed, laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you.” He said quietly, getting to his feet and heading back to where he had been standing with Wanda. She opened her arms and Sam practically fell into them, muffling his sob against her shoulder.
Steve and Bucky sat in silence for a few long moments, hands pressed together tightly. Steve’s eyes had fallen closed again, and Bucky wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to reopen them.
“Buck?” Steve asked quietly, giving Bucky’s hand a weak squeeze. “My – my ring, can you?”
“You never took it off, huh?” Bucky said softly, relinquishing Steve’s hand for a moment and reaching for the neck of his suit. It was badly burned and threadbare, so it wasn’t difficult for Bucky to gently tug it aside. There was a chain around Steve’s neck; Bucky undid it carefully, letting it spool into his palm. There was a ring hanging on the chain; gleaming and golden, engraved on the inside.
“Course I didn’t,” Steve scoffed, his eyes still closed. He blindly offered Bucky his hand, fingers spread apart, and Bucky’s eyes filled with tears as he realised what Steve wanted. He slid the ring off the chain gently, taking Steve’s hand between his own and slowly slipping the ring home. It fit perfectly – of course it did – and glittered on Steve’s finger. It wasn’t even marked, and looked as new as it had the day they had bought the matching pair. Steve opened his eyes slowly, holding his hand up and admiring the way the ring sat on his finger. “Til the end of the line, Buck.” He said softly, looking past his hand to meet Bucky’s eyes.
“Til the end of the line,” Bucky repeated, shuffling close to carefully rest his forehead against Steve’s own. “I’ll love you until my last breath, and even beyond that. You’re my everything.” He whispered against Steve’s mouth, leaning in to press their lips together gently. Through the dirt and blood, Bucky could still taste Steve; his signature taste that hadn’t changed since the 30s.
He brought his metal hand up gently, brushing the backs of his fingers over Steve’s cheekbone. Steve melted into the contact, his eyelashes brushing Bucky’s knuckles in a pseudo-butterfly kiss.
“I love you.” Steve murmured, before giving one final, shuddering breath.
And just like that, he went still.
Bucky took a breath, curling his fingers into the charred remnants of Steve’s suit. He held on tight, pressing his forehead against Steve’s own. This pain was unbearable; like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Seventy years of HYDRA paled in comparison to this.
Bucky’s body was trembling, teeth digging into his lower lip in an attempt to hold back the guttural sob threatening to burst out of his throat. Tears dripped down his cheeks, carving out tracks through the dirt, grime and blood. Bucky didn’t pay them any mind, letting them fall onto Steve’s chest. They splashed onto his suit, soaking into the material and mixing with his blood.
A gentle hand landed on Bucky’s shoulder, and he turned slightly to find Natasha crouching beside him. “Hey,” She said softly, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. She had a cut on her cheekbone, and her lip was swollen and bruised. “Oh, James.” She said quietly, sliding her hand to his cheek and swiping her thumb below his eye.
“I can’t leave him here, Natalia,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head. “I – I can’t. Not here.”
“I know,” Natasha said, looking over her shoulder and making a ‘come here’ gesture. “We wouldn’t ask you to. We wouldn’t leave him here, either.”
Thor and Tony stepped up beside her, pressed shoulder to shoulder and drawing strength from one another. Stormbreaker hung heavy in Thor’s hand, Mjolnir abandoned on the ground a few feet away where Steve had dropped it. Neither of them said anything, their grief written into every line of their faces.
Natasha turned back to Bucky, sliding her hands over his own and gently prying Steve’s suit from between his fingers. Bucky’s fingers trembled, grasping at Natasha’s own in place of Steve. “No, no, no,” Bucky shook his head as Natasha tried to help him stand, to help him move away from Steve’s body. “No, Natalia, I can’t-”
“It’s okay,” Natasha shushed him gently, tugging him into her arms. “Thor and Tony, they’re going to carry him. We’re going to get him out of here.”
“Let me,” Bucky scrambled to try and get out of her arms, to plaster himself to Steve again and to feel the residual warmth that lingered beneath his skin. “Let me, please, let me take him.”
Natasha’s arms were strong around him, and Bucky struggled for only a moment before he collapsed. He crumpled, Natasha following him down and holding him tight. He sobbed into her shoulder; his forehead pressed against her neck. The end of her braid tickled his cheek and grounded him even in his grief.
Bucky very rarely allowed himself to display emotion in front of anyone that wasn’t Steve and, more recently, Sam. Such a public display was not in his nature – the result of years of strict programming – but he couldn’t maintain his fortress any longer. Not now, not when Steve had been so cruelly torn from him.
His heart ached; it had been severed, ripped brutally in two. Death’s cold hand had buried itself in his chest, closing papery fingers around Steve and tearing him from Bucky. The separation was not neat; the two of them had been so far entwined that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Parts of Bucky had gone with him, and parts of Steve remained within him.
Bucky felt a strong presence at his back, curling around him and forming both a physical and metaphorical shield. He recognised Sam and pressed against him, blindly reaching out a hand and curling it around his harness. The hand stroking gently through his hair belonged to Wanda, that much he could tell, and the fingers pressed against his ankle were Shuri’s.
Surrounded by friends, bolstered by their love, Bucky allowed himself to fall apart.