Work Text:
July 3rd, 2016
Bucky's cell phone rang, the blaring sound of some 40s song startling him out of his wild daydreams and bringing him back to reality. He scrambled to answer it, hurriedly clicking the bright green ANSWER button and pressing the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" He asked, and his friend, Steve's, voice rang out in Bucky's eardrums, asking if he wanted to join Steve and few friends (Tony, Natasha, Sam, and Clint) Who we're going to an open field to pop fireworks for 4th of July tomorrow. Of course Steve was hosting it; he was very patriotic most of the time. Bucky agreed, deciding that hanging out with friends for a while couldn't hurt anything. Even if he usually wasn't a people person, having Steve, who had been his best friend since they were kids, around usually made everything easier to tolerate-for certain amounts of time, at least.
Bucky set the phone down, staring at the place on the screen where he'd pressed the bold, red END CALL button just a few seconds ago. He sighed, leaning back on his bed, where he'd been sitting for the past few hours, lost in thought.
He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but Bucky awoke to bright sunlight falling through his window and spreading across his small, dark room. He groaned a bit, checking the time. Noon already? He was supposed to meet his friends in a few hours; he remembered having the conversation on the phone and scheduling to meet at three PM.
Bucky groggily stumbled out of his bed and grabbed some clothes out of his dresser (a black, compression tee and blue jeans) before heading to the bathroom to shower. He let the warm water cascade over his body, and slowly washed his dark, shoulder length, brunette hair and body. He shut off the water, and carefully stepped out onto the bath mat that was laid out on the floor. He stood in front of the fogged-up mirror, using one hand to grab a towel without looking and the other to check the time on his phone, which was on the bathroom counter next to the sink. When had he brought his phone in here? It didn't matter. He looked away from the phone only to realize that he'd forgotten to look at the time like he'd intended to. He tapped the screen again.
One o'clock.
It'd been an hour already? What was going on with his mind? Bucky quickly dried his body and dressed himself, towel drying his hair. He rested the towel around his neck, atop his shoulders, and looked into the mirror that was now cleared of the fog which had coated it earlier. Get yourself together, Buck. He sighed and staggered back to his room, rummaging through his closet to find his size 13, black Dr. Martens. He found them, and dug to find socks in the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled the socks and shoes on before quickly running the towel over his damp hair and checking the time once more.
One fifteen.
Bucky still had time to cook and eat something before staring the one hour drive to the field at two o'clock. He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed something simple (a microwaveable egg owl from the fridge), tossing it into the microwave before sitting at the dining table and waiting for it to finish cooking. Once the microwave beeped, he retrieved the food and sat back down at the dining table to eat. By the time he was done it was one forty five, and Bucky decided that it couldn't hurt to show up a little bit early. He stood up, grabbed his phone, -which he, again, didn't remember bringing in there- wallet, and keys before stepping out of the small apartment he was renting. He walked from the third floor down to the parking garage, swinging his legs over his Harley Davidson Street 750.
He started the engine and revved once before speeding off in the direction of the field where the 4th of July meetup was being held. On the way there, Bucky's mind began to wander again. To Steve, who'd been with him through everything, to Natasha, whom Clint had been trying to ask out for forever, and so on. He almost missed several exits and turns, berating himself each time. When he got there, he saw Steve sitting in a chair next to a cooler, a few more folded up chairs laying on the ground at his feet.
Bucky called out to Steve as he dismounted his motorcycle, stalking through the thick, but not tall, grass and towards his best friend. Steve smiled brightly and called out,
"Hey, Buck!" Bucky smiled and muttered something that sounded like "Hi." as he picked up one of the chairs and unfolded it, setting it next to Steve. He plopped down into it, and Steve reached into the cooler to grab Bucky a drink. Bucky nodded in thanks and opened the can, taking a sip. He and Steve talked for a while as they waited for the others, Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Tony, to show up.
Once they did show up, they began talking and drinking, having a good time until sunset. When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Tony reached for the box of fireworks on the ground, below Steve's chair. When did that get there? Who brought it? Whatever. Natasha took a lighter out of her pocket, and the group began lighting the colorful, exploding fireworks into the big, black ink that was known as the sky.
Bucky didn't remember when, or what had happened. There were sirens in his ears, loud and overwhelming, sending him into a state of shock that he couldn't get himself out of. According to the bits and pieces he heard as he was trying to snap himself out of the trance her was in, Natasha had tripped over a firework. It'd been lit, and had set many things on fire...including Natasha. She was in the ambulance. Had the fire been put out? Bucky couldn't turn his head to look. He was stuck, staring ahead as his blood rushed in his ears.
Steve came from behind him, shaking his shoulders, but Bucky didn't move. Was Steve okay? Who was shaking him? He heard Steve's voice, but was it really him? There was suddenly someone in front of him. Steve.
"Steve...?" He finally managed to speak. His words were mumbled, slurred, but the voice was still there, somewhat.
"Yeah, yeah. It's me. Can you look at me? There ya go...Look, see? I'm fine. Everyone is fine. Natasha only has a minor injury." A minor injury. Then why was she in the ambulance? The sirens were still blaring, filling Bucky's head, consuming him. He was suddenly being pulled forwards, into someone's chest. Steve. Bucky breathed in his scent; it comforted him, made everything better, but not enough. Natasha was hurt, and Bucky remembered now. He'd been standing in the way. Natasha had bumped into him, and in her attempt to move away, had tripped. If he hadn't been there, in the way, if he hadn't answered the phone yesterday...None of it...would've...He didn't remember much after that. Maybe he fell asleep, or passed out. Maybe he went into a worse state of shock. He didn't know. What he did know though, was that it was his fault. All his fault.