from_the_outside | [ WWII AU ] a ghost story

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[ WWII AU ] a ghost story

It's been almost two years since she's been home, and little by little, the grief has gotten easier to live with.

It hasn't gone away. But she's able to focus on her job, watch movies, chat with friends, sleep most nights. She still dreams about him, but the dreams are tinged with wistful longing and only sometimes does she wake up with tears on her cheeks. She can't have his picture out in this apartment, Kate's apartment, but it's safe in the mountain house, along with his last letter to her, and she has a scan on her phone to look at when the long day is over and she's in bed, the stars from the lamp he'd given her filling her dark room.

Steve has helped, more than she could ever explain, and she hopes she's helped him in return. Aside from a few deeply classified missions here and there, they haven't worked together all that much, but she still sees him almost every day. In the halls, she's undercover as his mild-mannered neighbor, Kate, but in her secure apartment they can talk over anything, everything.

And it works. Every day is a little easier. They lean on each other when they need to, and they spend hours remembering and reminiscing about Bucky, talking shop, chatting about how Steve's fitting into the future. It's nice. She still misses Bucky, an ache that never really goes away, but they can both breathe through it, work through it, live through it.

She's on her way up from the basement laundry machines when she hears a familiar step in the hall, and has to smile to herself – first her own, then Kate's sweeter, more open one. "Hey, neighbor."

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He rips the knife out of his shoulder and tosses it aside, then springs for Bucky. Grabbing Bucky's right hand to make sure he can't destroy the chip, he wraps his other hand around Bucky's throat and lifts.

Bucky's strangled, infuriated cry stabs into him just like one of the many blades he carries, but he doesn't let go of the chip. Steve shifts his weight and slams him down into the glass of the dome, then gets leverage on his arm, forcing Bucky's shoulder down while he pulls the arm back. "Drop it!" Steve demands.

Don't make me hurt you more. "Drop it!"

He clutches the chip as tightly as he can and claws at the air over his own shoulder with his left hand, trying to reach Rogers and coming up empty. The man pushes harder, trying to restrain him, and the sound of something tearing apart in his right shoulder rips through the air between them, followed by his own agonized cry.

He could win. The thought makes itself known beyond his subconscious for the first time, blooming like an explosion. Rogers might be able to beat him. He could do what the Winter Soldier's never been able to do for himself. He could end it. This could all be over.

He's still struggling with shock and pain and bone-deep compulsion when Rogers flips their weight, bringing him down on his back with the other man's arm around his throat, strangling him. Choking for air, unable to breathe, the Winter Soldier scrabbles desperately at Rogers' hand.

Steve hangs grimly on, focusing on his form, focusing on keeping the metal arm down. He presses the bone of his forearm into Bucky's vein, blocking the flow of blood and cutting off his air, until Bucky goes limp, the card sliding from his hands.

Based on everything he's seen so far, he doesn't think Bucky's faking. He's like a dog with a bone, unable to stop himself from pushing forward. Steve lets go, hoping against hope that he hadn't hung on so long as to cause irreparable damage, then snatches the chip and gets to his feet, sprinting for the control tower.

Awareness returns slowly. He's lying face-down on the glass of the control dome, unrestrained and alone.

Rogers left him alive. It isn't over after all.

The Winter Soldier pushes himself up, hissing in pain at the discovery his right shoulder isn't working properly, and looks frantically around. One look is all he needs to see that the other man hasn't reached his objective yet. He snatches up his pistol from where it lies discarded and aims as best he can with his left hand.

The first shot tears into Rogers' thigh. Grimly, he corrects his aim, and tries again.

Maria Hill's voice is in his ear as he fights his way back up to the console. "Thirty seconds, Cap!"

"Stand by," he says, and reaches for the chip.

The third shot rings out as he's reaching for the targeting blade, and he feels agony bloom through his back, rip through his guts. Steve stumbles, slipping down, his legs gone suddenly senseless, and reaches down to touch the wet, spreading stain on the belly of his uniform, red seeping through the white stripes.

Thirty seconds. Fewer than that, now. The effort it takes to stand feels like he's lifting the whole damn helicarrier on his shoulders. His insides are ripping themselves apart, but he forces himself one step forward, then another. With numb fingers, he slips the chip into the targeting blade. "Charlie locked."

He watches as the final shot finds purchase and Rogers falls. He'll need to get up to the platform and confirm the kill, but he can hear the distant thuds of Insight's weapons deploying; they've reached altitude, and there's no one left to stop HYDRA's greatest accomplishment.

The Winter Soldier turns away and starts slowly across the dome, ignoring the shrieking in his head, the silent screams in his ears.

Hill's voice sounds, clear and crisp in his head as he slumps to the floor, trying to catch his breath. "Okay, Cap, get out of there."

But there's no time. He can't take the chance that Bucky will get up here and remove the chip, break it, rip this victory away from them. Steve lifts his wrist and speaks into the mic. "Fire now."

For the first time, Hill breaks, just a little. "But, Steve – "

"Do it!" The order burns his throat, his chest.

("There's not gonna be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down.")

He puts everything he has into the words. "Do it now!"

("I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance.")

Hill doesn't respond, not with words. But as the pounding of Insight's guns begins and the helicarrier shakes around him, Steve forces himself up and stumbles forward, reaching for the rail.

Edited 2023-05-13 19:20 (UTC)

He's climbed back to the middle platform when the helicarrier shudders beneath his feet, heavy ordnance tearing into the structure and ripping it apart, and the Winter Soldier staggers as he's torn from the darkness of his own thoughts into the harsh light of realization.

No--

Metal screams as the platform tears free, and he screams with it as he plummets. He crashes into the dome and doesn't have the chance to move before the platform's support girder lands on top of him, crushing him against the glass and pinning him in place from the chest down.

He doesn't jump down to the glass dome so much as fall. His legs give way as his boots hit the glass, sending him sprawling.

He'd found the shield. They've taken down Insight. He has one thing left to do.

Slowly, Steve drags himself over to where Bucky's pinned, then sets his hands beneath the girder and groans as he pulls up, trying to give Bucky space to move.

He struggles while the cannonade continues, while beyond them in the sky the other two helicarriers crash into each other and break apart midair, but he can't get leverage to shift the wreckage. He braces himself to try again, then his eyes widen as Rogers staggers over to help.

None of this makes sense. His mind is chaos, all his thoughts whirling and shrieking madness at him. Why won't this man give up? Why is he risking his own life here, now, to try to save him?

(but I knew him)

He twists on his side as the metal shifts and crawls out from under, then shoves himself to his feet and turns slowly to stare at Rogers.

Edited 2023-05-13 19:48 (UTC)

Steve lets the girder down with crash, then turns to face Bucky. Both of them are panting for breath; both injured, both hurting.

He can't take it anymore. "You know me," he insists, weary but stubborn.

Gasping for air, he listens in utter shock as the other man insists that he's familiar, that he should recognize him.

Nausea wrenches at him, and as everything in his body revolts, the Winter Soldier strikes out at him with his left fist and his voice both.

"No I don't!"

Just as he gains his feet, Bucky smashes him off them again. His voice is as raw and rough now as it had been when he and Sharon were desperately trying to get him to remember, before.

It's only the two of them now. But it's been only the two of them plenty enough times before. "Bucky."

He pushes back to his feet, breathing hard. "You've known me your whole life."

Why won't he stop?

(I can do this all day)

This time he backhands Rogers as hard as he can, a raw, wordless howl escaping him as he does. The force of the blow drags him around as well and sends him sprawling sideways against the girder.

Edited 2023-05-13 20:33 (UTC)

He goes sprawling. It's harder to get up this time, but he does it.

And he doesn't stop. Each word is slow, but stubbornly clear. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"Shut up!"

He slams into him again, crashing against the shield, and goes to his knees with the strength of the blow. He can't catch his breath, he can't keep his balance; the entire world is shifting around him, unsteady and unknowable as he staggers back to his feet and turns to face Rogers.

He's not aware of the desperation in his eyes, nor of the way his expression is drawn and strained.

He staggers to his feet, again. Again, again.

("I had him on the ropes."
"I know you did.")

As he stands, Steve rips the helmet from off his head and lets it drop, falling between the smashed glass panes to the Potomac. When he looks back at Bucky, his face – battered, bruised, and weary – is visible. "I'm not gonna fight you."

What's the point, now? Bucky can't stop what's happening to Insight, what's happening to HYDRA, and Steve can't take a single more hit from his own hands to Bucky's body.

He opens his hand and lets the shield drop. It plummets along with his helmet to the water below. "You're my friend."

You're my friend.

(you know us)

There's something about the angle of the other man's jaw, something about the shade of his hair, the quiet, steady determination in his eyes. The Winter Soldier stares back at him.

(You're from Brooklyn. And Steve Rogers is your best friend.)

It can't be true. It can't. He doesn't have friends. He's the Winter Soldier. He's a weapon. And the man in front of him, no matter what he says, he's--

His expression twists in rage, and he slams into the other man, who doesn't resist as he's knocked off his feet and flat against the surface of the dome. The Winter Soldier pins him there with the weight of his body. "You're my mission," he snarls, and slams his left fist into Rogers' face over and over, trying to obliterate the haunting, sickening familiarity of his features with each blow as he screams the only truth he knows.

"You're! My! Mission!"

Each blow hits with the force of a truck. His head snaps back again and again, lights flashing in his vision as pain explodes.

But he doesn't fight back. He doesn't even put his hands up to protect himself. And when Bucky pauses, his chest heaving and his eyes wild and desperate and agonizingly confused, he does his best to speak through the blood in his mouth. "Then finish it."

He's already been in a world without Bucky. He can't do it again, not knowing it doesn't have to be that way. "'Cause I'm with you... 'til the end of the line."

He's letting it happen, he realizes, even though he doesn't understand why. Beaten, battered, unresisting, Rogers doesn't move to even try to stop him as he raises his fist for the blow that'll silence his claims for once and for all. There's acceptance in the clear blue of his eyes, and he thinks he sees something like the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his mouth as he speaks - and when he does, the simple words destroy everything.

He stares down at Steve Rogers as his face shifts in some impossible way, becoming familiar. He's seen this kind of damage before, usually after another back-alley knock-down-go-round when he'd be helping Steve clean up in their little apartment, but this time it's worse, because he did this, he did this with his own hands. He's seen the trust and certainty and confidence that Steve's had in him all his life, and he sees it again now, and can't fathom how it's even possible.

Bucky stares at his best friend, the man he'd been ordered to kill, while the world falls apart around them, and hasn't the faintest idea what to do next.

One eye has swollen shut, but the other stays steadfastly on Bucky, whose fist is still raised and whose expression has cracked wide open. Steve can't quite tell – his vision is blurry, fading in and out – but it looks like there are tears glossing over Bucky's familiar eyes.

A shadow falls and he feels a lurch, as a section of the platform comes crashing down and smashes through what's left of the dome, shattering the glass and metal that are supporting Steve's body and sending him plummeting down towards the gleaming water below.

He grabs automatically for the girder with his left hand as the dome smashes apart and hangs there above the Potomac, watching in horror as Steve falls, the same way Steve had watched while he himself had fallen into an abyss of snow and pain and darkness so long ago.

He won't let it end the same way. He waits only long enough to see where Steve's body hits the water before he lets go, plunging deep into the river before he jackknifes into a dive and swims down after Steve.

Even this deep, light gleams from the metal of his arm as he reaches for him.

Things come in flashes:

Water, that he smacks into like a block hitting concrete before it enfolds him, dark and silent. Drifting down, down, down. A jerk and pull at his harness, and then air, and cool water rushing over his injured body, washing away the blood even as more seeps from bullet wounds.

Someone drags him to the bank, pulls him up onto the ground by the strap of his harness. He can't focus, keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, but among it all is a feeling he hasn't had in over seventy years.

Safety. Because Bucky's here with him. And Bucky's taking care of him.

He doesn't know what he'll do if Steve isn't breathing. With his right shoulder still dislocated and not yet healed, he's only got one arm to work with, and if he tries chest compressions with his left hand he'll shatter Steve's ribs--

Trying not to panic, Bucky carefully tips Steve onto his side, facing away from him, and is relieved beyond words when he coughs out the water in his lungs and draws a harsh breath. He lets him lie back flat on the shore and looks down at him.

He can't stay. Not with what he's done, what he's become. He knows that. But he can't leave Steve like this. A shudder rips through him at the thought.

Clumsily, he paws at his pockets, coming up with the phone he'd taken from Sharon. Sharon. Another shudder tears through him, a worse one. What he'd done to her, too-- there's no forgiveness. There can't be.

He taps it awake, holding it to his right hand to do so, and clumsily scrolls back through the call log, looking for anything that might help, anyone that he could trust, anyone at all. He can't be sure, so he sets it down on the beach next to Steve's hand and starts searching through his friend's pockets as well.

He drifts back to himself in pieces: there and gone again and back once more. It's not until he feels a hand rummaging in his pockets that he can even crack an eye – one, the other is still swollen shut – to gaze blearily at the shadow looming over him.

His voice is barely a murmur, drunk with pain and shock and the many blows he'd taken to the head. "Bucky."

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