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Was this how Steve felt? Was this how he felt when Bucky fell, falling to his seemingly inevitable death? Did he ache when he watched Bucky fall like how Bucky felt his chest burn when he watched Sam's wings get torn from his back? Bucky remembered doing that. Only when getting his head back did he feel guilty, convinced that Sam's wings were apart of him like his arm used to be. Then Sam strapped on a new pair, and Bucky felt relief and no more need to beg for Sam's forgiveness.
Did Steve ever regret anything? Regret letting his friends fight for him or just watching when Bucky fell? Or was it anger?
Bucky's chest burned, bursting into flames of terror as one of the Flag-smashers got ahold of Sam. He knew Sam could handle himself, that was more than proven these past weeks.
Bucky wouldn't kill, not for Steve nor for Sam. He left that behind, but when the terror turned into a shockingly upsetting feeling of pure unadulterated anger, he lost all morals.
Time slowed as he watched Sam gasp, watched as Sam pulled Hoskins away from Karli, watched Sam's body contort at the force that was pressed against his chest and as he was sent backwards. It was followed with a sickening crack, Sam's spine cracking as the stone pillar made contact with Sam's back. Bucky could only hear the ringing in his ears as Sam's head fell slack against his shoulder, tilting down towards the dusty ground.
From the corner of Bucky's eye, one of the flag-smashers let go of Walker and he had rushed over towards Hoskins. Hoskins' eyes were wide as he watched Bucky stumble. Bucky couldn't breathe. Bucky lost his footing as he reached Sam, falling to his knees as he pressed a hand against his shoulder.
"Sam?" Bucky whispered, he'd never talked like this to Sam before. "Sam c'mon. Get up."
The Falcon did not move, he did not reach up to push away Bucky's hand like he had when Bucky went to wake him up each morning.
"Sam! This isn't a game," Bucky hissed, his anger only burning brighter as the adrenaline of panic set in. "This isn't funny. Now isn't the time for jokes."
He remembered the playful shoves shared between Steve and Sam, Sam would always get up and laugh it off, Bucky remembers the laugh filled bickering. It never stung like this.
"Get up!" Bucky moved his hands towards Sam's neck, pressing his fingers against his sweaty skin, searching for a pulse. He desperately prayed for a pulse. "Sam get up!" His voice cracked- Bucky begged and begged as Sam never moved. Sam wasn't joking around this time.
He took a deep breath, only to have it come struggling out. His lungs collapse, heart shattering as he stared at Sam's corpse. Stared at the limp hand that had fallen into Sam's lap, chocolate eyes glazed over and lips pried slightly apart when he gasped from the collision. Soon, his skin turned like dark ash, color draining from his skin, and it all set in.
Footsteps. They hurried towards Bucky, enough to be cautious but enough for Bucky to tense.
He did not cry, no longer did Bucky beg. As blood slowly made its way down Sam's chin, Bucky could only bring his arm, skin, up to touch Sam's chin. His hand trembled, human and raw. Skin to skin, a burning pain that was interrupted
Hands. Hands reached out towards Sam, past Bucky.
"Oh my god-" Karli choked out. She killed him.
Red. All Bucky could see was an angry red, enough to blind him as his metal arm shot out to grab Karli's arm.
She shrieked, the cracking of bones loud in the room as Bucky let his anger, grief, and woe crush her bones. Crushing her radius into shards as his hand burned into her skin. She writhed in pain. Bucky didn't even look at her. His eyes trained on Sam's lifeless corpse, the one person he had promised himself to keep safe. The man who even Steve loved, trusted, and fought with. He did not cry when Karli begged him to let go, unable to pry his fingers from her arm.
Gasps. Bucky gasped, air ridden from his lungs when his vison returned. Gasps from Hoskins and Walker as they did not move to help the leader of the Flag-smashers.
Guilt. He did not feel guiltily as she cried for help, asking the hero's that stood across the room for help, asking, begging, for her comrades to pry Bucky's hand off.
It all flashed in a blur, his breathing ragged and heart skipping beats. Only then, when he let go of Karli's shattered arm, did he cry. Sobbing over Sam's body, over the man who he'd finally come to terms with, finally understanding his feelings about the man who wore wings on his back. The man who flew like it was what he was meant to do, what he was made for. The man who spent weeks searching for the ghost, the shell, of who used to be a man. A man who clung to the faint warmth of hope, of Steve, Sam, and Natasha.
They're gone.
All gone.
They left him behind.
Maybe god was laughing at him, laughing at his misery, his misfortune.
He outlived the people that were meant to be greater than him, than the Winter Soldier.
And he cried, cried, and cried as it came in waves. Making him choke over the air that tried to bury into his lungs. He ached, felt what Steve felt, felt what Nat felt, what Sam felt. They lost everything, and now that they're gone, he's lost everything.
Shattered and alone, Sam's body rested against the stone pillar he should've been standing on. And Bucky wept.