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Bucky sees the argument in his peripheral, and had assumed it was nothing. Steve told him how he and Stark fought all the time, and it wasn't hindering their fighting, so Bucky made the decision to tune it out.
The alien army was still coming full force, and Bucky couldn’t be wasting energy on outside decorations -- Steve was always better at multitasking, something he remembers now. But, looking back, he really wishes he’d intervened. Gone back. Offered himself, maybe. He has a vibranium arm, for god's sake, they should’ve just let him do it.
When he looks back Steve's hand is shrouded in an Iron man gauntlet, while he and Stark attempt at getting close to Thanos -- who’d just placed the purple stone on his own hand. It’s like everything happens in slow motion, and Bucky pauses in place because he knows.
Steve, his self sacrificial punk. The man he followed into the ‘jaws of death’, who never knew how to back away from a fight.
Stark lunges, but gets shoved away. Armor is still covering both of his hands, and Bucky assumes it's the reason his mask is gone. Steve helps Stark get up, and he can only watch as Stark’s hand brushes the back of Steve’s. The punk doesn’t even glance down at his hands, instead he looks up. He scans the area and meets Bucky’s eyes, a soft sort of sadness behind them. As if he’s already made up his mind. Most ways, he has.
The two stand, and Bucky loses Steve’s eyes. Loses the sight of dull blue that used to be bright and blinding. Stubborn and always willing to find another way.
“I am inevitable,” Thanos dramatizes, elongating the syllables and holding up his hand to snap. When he does, nothing happens. And that's when Steve raises his own hand.
The gauntlet only goes to his elbow, and the power is visibly overflowing. His jaw is clenched and its only from years of knowing that stubborn mule, that Bucky can tell he’s biting back the pain. Steve stands straight, and Tony put’s a hand on his shoulder -- Bucky feels rooted in place. The world seems to stop for him. For his Steve.
If someone told nineteen forty-three Bucky how he got here, he would’ve called them crazy. Being drafted to get captured, experimented on, then saved by little Stevie Rogers who was newly 6’0 and enhanced, dying, getting captured again, getting saved, all to end up here? With the same punk who saved him twice, willing to put his life down again. They don’t know what the stones will do, it’s not down to a science, but the chances of life are pretty slim -- enhanced or not.
Bucky couldn’t actually hear what Steve says. His ears feel like they’re underwater and Steve is much too far away, even with his extended hearing. He’s sure its something along the lines of “I don’t like bullies” or “I can do this all day”, or something equally as defiant as the man himself -- but he doesn’t hear it. Instead, he sees the snap itself, and that might be worse.
The gauntlet shines, each colour together performing into a light dance of white that blind his vision. Stupidly enough, it brings forward a memory.
Sunlight shining in his eyes, him and Steve laying in their bed, bodies tangled. They weren’t originally in the way of the beam, but the sun shifted and it brought forth warmth that the apartment lacked. Steve was asleep, and Bucky’s hands were tracing up his spine, feeling the curvature and committing it to memory.
Bucky would be getting his orders the next day, shipping out sometime soon after, and this was a moment of peace.
Steve would wake up and complain how he had work in the evening, and that Bucky didn’t wake him up, but he would’ve already set Steve’s things out. They wouldn’t talk about how they woke up, they wouldn’t talk about what happened before even falling asleep. Bucky would make them breakfast, since Steve’s best attempt at cooking was boiled eggs, and sugary toasted bread would be served alongside baked apples and coffee. The apples were already on their last legs, pruning slightly, but baked they tasted good and it didn’t matter their original state.
Steve would head off to work at one, and get off at six. Any longer and his hands would shake and he’d get too dizzy to do anything. Bucky would be there when he came back home, dinner already made, but that time he’d opted for pre-cooked hot sandwiches from Steve’s favourite place. He knew he’d be getting his orders the next day, but he hadn’t told Steve yet.
He wanted to revel in the quiet comfort for one last day, and the sentiment only solidified when Steve kissed him silly into the night.
Tears are in his eyes. He’d remembered a lot from the war, before the war even, and yet this was new. Not how he loved Steve, no he always knew that, but how his life lived on Steve’s orbit. He planned his day around Steve, his life. He wasn’t upset at this, but more things clicked into place, with the worse timing. Memories played like a newsreal, slowing at different intervals to make sure he understood every second. When he blinked them away, Steve was stark still, while things started to vanish into dust around them. Steve snapped. Thaonos was defeated. And Bucky watches Steve collapse into Stark’s hold.
He moves, then. Finally feeling unstuck, Bucky rushes to Steve’s side as Stark starts pulling him to a small alcove of rubble. After a moment, Steve seems to come back and walk with as much force as he can muster, falling into the small area so he can sit upright, his body reeling from the gauntlet’s use.
He meets Bucky’s eyes first, and in turn Bucky is by his side in an instant, falling to his knees and shucking off the gauntlet -- those damned stones. He grabs Steve’s hand in his like a lifeline.
He doesn’t cry. He can’t cry. Steve, right now, is alive. He has to live, because Bucky just found out he’s the sole reason Bucky has lived for the last eighty years has been to circle Steven Grant Rogers. Keep him safe, alive. Protect him. Love him. It’s so obvious now, and he wonders how he forgot.
His mind flashes with another memory, one he already knows like the back of his hand. Pulling Steve out of the river, saving him because nothing else made sense. Well, it seemed his body never actually forgot.
“Bucky,” Steve says, it's a whisper. He’s looking at Bucky with a smile playing on his lips, but the sadness never ceases from his eyes. Bucky isn't going to cry. He won't let himself. He swears it.
“Steve.” He says back, selfishly bringing the hand to his lips. The name sounds like a plea, a prayer. And Steve must hear it, too, because with all his strength he cups Bucky’s face. A thumb swipes at his cheek and he realizes he’s lost the battle when it comes to his tears.
“We won.” Steve tells him, taking a moment to look past Bucky into what's surely a crowd of people. He can hear crying and hugs being handed out, he can hear harsh breaths and feel eyes on his back. He doesn't look behind him, though. He only has eyes for Steve. “The war is over.”
It's unsaid, but there's a ‘finally’ somewhere inside Steve’s words. With another tear falling, Bucky nods, about to wetly agree with the statement, when his movement shakes Steve’s arm a little too much and the hero winces in pain. The moment is broken, momentarily, and Bucky is all steel when he says, “We need to find you a doctor.”
He goes to turn. To look away from the man he loves, to find T’Challa and see if Wakanda can help with medical care of the injured. He’s stopped by Steve’s hand holding his face, keeping him in place. Placidly, Bucky stays.
“I don't think a doctor can help me, Buck. Not this time.”
He wants to scream and cry, tell Steve he's being stupid again and drag him to the nearest doctor. Or, anyone who can help Steve. He does none of it, because even though he doesn't want to let it be real, even though it hasn't sunk in yet, this is goodbye.
“Steve…” He whispers again, somehow more desperate sounding than the first time.
Steve swallows, Bucky tracks the movement with his eyes and watches how the man tenses with the movement. “I love you.” He tells him, and it's painful like a knife.
‘I love you’ was never said between the two. It was a known thing, something they didn't have to talk about. They promised to come home to each other, they promised to be together ‘till the end of the line' but I love you seemed final. Bucky knew that, and Steve did too. So, Bucky’s eyes widened at the admission, and words rush out before he has a chance to think. He doesn't have to think about them, he’s always had a sixth sense for Steve’s attitude.
“You are not dying on me, Rogers.” He snarls, but it comes out more wet and beseeching. “Not now.”
Steve only looks placating, like he's not the unreasonable one. “Bucky, it's okay.” He shushes, bringing forth his opposite hand and running a hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky leans into the touch. “I-” He takes a breath, “I think this is the end of the line.”
Bucky draws back like he's been burned, and though it doesn't jostle Steve too much, Bucky holds him in place afterword. A hand on his shoulder cuff, while the other still holding his slowly cooling hand. Bucky knows the hand, at least, is dead, and the simple thought of imagining Steve that way has him scared as all hell.
“Don't be sayin’ stuff like that, punk.” He replies, and it comes out more Brooklyn than he intended More than he knew he had in him, with the decades of training his accent into something neutral.
Steve ploughs through, as if Bucky said nothing. “The shield, it shouldn't die with me. It needs to be a symbol of hope.” He looks somewhere behind Bucky, and this time he does turn to look.
Everyone is standing around. Watching them. Half bloodied and broken, but alive because they won. Steve’s gaze pulls him to Sam, who’s holding the shield with two hands while beside the small group of Stark and his family -- including that Spider-kid.
He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, as he says, “Keep it, Sam. It suits you.”
Sam looks between the two, awkward about the whole thing since many are turning to watch the interaction, but eventually nods and slips it on. It's a bittersweet sadness, but Steve pulls him back with a small tug on his arm.
Steve’s eyes are glazed over when he sees them, looking off into a middle distance that Bucky can't quite reach, going somewhere where he can't yet follow. He can only imagine what he sees there, if the priests were at all right about an afterlife. Surely Steve’s would be heaven, after doing so much good, willing to lay down his life multiple times over.
Would Sarah be there? In the dress from her deathbed, one he so easily remembers. An old white dress with lace down the bodice and skirt, something she’d brought over from Ireland, and hadn't worn in years. It was her favourite, nearly twenty years out of date but something she kept in her wardrobe always. Would Joseph be alongside her? The man they’d never met, but Steve strove to honour his legacy in every way he knew possible. Maybe Becca and Bucky’s own parents would be there, as well. They always loved Steve, and made sure he knew it, too. He was family, to them.
Gabe, Dum Dum, Dernier, Falsworth, Peggy. They’d all greet him with open arms, rave about his achievements. They were good friends, his family when they had none.
But Bucky was selfish, and didn't wish to lose him to the middle distance just yet. He has to accept the facts, he knows. Steve’s breathing has gotten much more ragged, and is coming out in wheezes he hasn't heard since before the war. The light is leaving his eyes, and Bucky just wants a moment. But… “I don't know how I’m supposed to say goodbye,” He admits in a low whisper. Steve’s eyes meet his, leaving the middle distance as he looks on with a soft sweet gaze. “You’re- Steve, god, you’re my everything.”
It's still not ‘I love you’, but it's vulnerable and another tear threatens to fall. “Buck…”
“What am I without you?” He threatens, nowhere near as harsh as he means it to come out, but it visibly hurts Steve when he says it.
The hero’s face falls, and Bucky’s sure he wouldn't hear him if it weren't for his enhanced hearing. It sounds more broken than Steve has been through their whole conversation, “Yourself.” Steve’s eyes water, “I’ve been trying to tell you that for years. You are James Bucannon Barnes, Ex Military Sargent of the 107th infantry, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York.” He recites, “You belong to nobody but yourself, not even me.”
“But I love you,” He pleads selfishly once more, But the addition hurts in a way he can't describe, as if he just let the world open a chasm in his heart. All of Bucky’s worst fears come to life because it's at that moment Steve’s body starts to go completely limp, and his last words leave his tongue.
“Then live, for me.” It's a last ditch effort, Steve and Bucky both know, but nothing more can be said as he physically hears the petering off beats of Steve’s heart stopping, and a choked sob fills his throat.
Bucky’s nearly catatonic when he’s dragged away, still and lifeless as if his soul had moved on with Steve. In a way, it did. It feels like a part of him is completely hollow, empty. He doesn't know what to do anymore, he couldn't have just gotten back to lose Steve once more.
Nothing feels right, not with him gone. He wonders if this is what Steve felt when he fell from the train.
.
After John Walker, after The Flag Smashers, Bucky promises to make a difference. He runs for office, he becomes an Avenger. He teaches and trains a whole new generation of superheroes alongside Sam and Stark -- the latter who's retired, but still does anything he can to help. He gets better, but it's not linear. He has bad days, when he wakes from relentless nightmares about Steve dying in his arms, or what happened during his time with Hydra. But other days, he's dragged out of his Brooklyn apartment by Sam or one of the many new teenage superhero's who have, for some reason, taken a liking to him. He doesn't know how Kate, specifically, keeps getting in, especially since his place is bugged to hell and back, but he doesn't question it. Yelena reminds him of Natasha, and he knows they grew up together, so he assumes she somehow helps.
When he's finally given a moment, sees into the middle distance like Steve, it feels like coming home. By then, he’d found himself a life, found who he was. His life still revolves around the sun, Steve, but it's subdue. He made sure the world heard the story of Captain America, knew the man behind the cowl. Like Peggy did, all those years ago, and now that he is older he's more grateful to her, rather than jealous.
Steve is just that kind of person, and he's over glad to see him when the light takes over, and he takes his final breath.