Title: Five Stages of Grief

Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.

Warning: Spoilers, character death, angst.

Notes: Bold Italics is Colonel Phillips.

-x-

"There are five stages in the handling of grief: denial…"

The ride back to base was a blur. You're pretty sure that someone had said something to you when you passed through the gate. It was something… geez, it was something about… oh, yes, it was something about Bucky. It was something about Bucky...

Bucky begging for your help.

Bucky falling.

Bucky screaming all the way down. Screaming, screaming, screaming all the long way down.

"…anger…"

You're running through the trees. You're running from the colonel, from the camp where you see Bucky's ghost, from the suit and the shield and the responsibilities.

You almost feel bad about the gate soldier you punched in the face. But, he had tried to stop you and, damn it all, you had to get out of there.

So now you're screaming at the sky and the trees and the furry little rabbits. You just want to know why.

Why Bucky?

Bucky, who was warmth and comfort and healing and protection – you punch a tree – and the one time he needed you, you weren't there. You weren't enough. You weren't – you weren't…

"…depression…"

You go to a bar and start drinking, not having to pay for a single one. You finally tell the bartender that you just want the whole bottle.

He doesn't say anything as he hands you his strongest whiskey. You nod your thanks and leave quietly.

Sitting in the back alley now, the bottle is at your lips as you gulp from it desperately.

You finally feel a small twinge that lasts all of three and a half seconds before you're sober again.

You let out a shout of rage and agony as you slam the bottle against the brick wall and collapse to your knees. You pointedly ignore the woman at the mouth of the alley. Your insides are turning in on themselves and your mouth begins to water.

"…bargaining…"

You're still in the alley when Howard Stark finds you.

"You're filthy, Captain," he says flatly.

You look down at your dirt- and vomit-stained uniform. You sigh and shrug your shoulders.

"I can't get drunk," you finally say.

Stark just shakes his head at you and takes a step forward, reaching down to help you up. You decide to let him.

"Do you think this is what he would've wanted? You skulking about and vomiting in alleyways?"

"Doesn't everyone wish to be mourned?" you look up. "The sky should be falling, right now."

"Isn't it?" Stark looks at you, an uncommonly serious look on his face.

You keep your face skyward as you respond,

"Yes. Yes, it is. It's all coming down," you level a glare at the man in front of you, leaning in close and getting in his space. Your voice a deep growl and you see the fear bloom in his eyes, "But, not fast enough."

And with that you step away and leave Howard in that stinking alley.

"…and finally, acceptance."

-x-