Work Text:
The Fall
The skies were dark. Cloudy.
Bucky took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his tiller. He could hear Steve’s voice in the back of his mind, shouting at him for being foolish, for taking his life into his hands and then tossing it at the sea’s mercy. Bucky couldn’t help a snort. The sea had no mercy. She did what she liked.
He could see the island he was sailing toward in the distance. It kept being blocked by the waves being brought on by the storm, something his little dinghy was ill-equipped for. He was confident he could get to the island if he could beat the storm halfway. It would just blow him in the rest of the way.
He wasn’t as confident that he would beat the storm halfway. He thought about turning back, but he got the feeling it was too late to do that, too. No one would be bringing their boat out after him to drag him from the water until the storm was over. He wouldn’t survive the cold ocean that long if–when, he admitted to himself–his boat capsized. If he kept toward the island, he’d at least have the chance to be rescued there.
The rip he’d darned a few months ago in his sail ripped open as the wind tore at it. He wanted to swear but couldn’t find the time to as his tiller jerked in his grip at the change in speed. He should have listened to Tony and gotten a new sail as soon as storm season had started brewing this year. He’d been too confident in his mending skills. Too confident in his sailing skills. Too confident in the sea.
Too confident all around, he sighed, as the sound of wood splintering reached him.
The sea was dark, Bucky noticed, before he realized he was actually in it. He clawed his way around, but the water was frothy. He couldn’t figure out which way was up. Something hit his arm–part of his boat, probably. It hurt, a lot, but he grabbed for it blindly, because the wood would hopefully float and take him with it.
He was too heavy, he realized after a moment. The piece of wood was small. He held it in front of his face, making sure he could see it, then let it go. It fluttered about before drifting toward his feet. He was upside-down in the water. He turned, trying to follow the piece of wood as it rose toward the choppy surface, the distance seemed insurmountable. He was so deep, still disoriented, and there was no light, so he wasn’t sure he could keep going in the right direction. He’d lose his breath and fall deeper with the weight of his wet clothes. He couldn’t… wouldn’t make it.
He only had one chance. So Bucky opened his mouth and screamed.
It was probably foolish. He’d probably drown. He figured he’d deserve it.
He saw a flash of glowing blue in the distance. He wondered if it was Tony, or if it was his dying brain hoping.
He hoped it was Tony.