"...Bucky?"

The whole highway is covered in smoke and ash, with flames flickering over flipped-over cars and screaming civilians running for cover. Dirt and sweat streaks Steve's face. He breathes in heavily, disbelievingly.

He can see Bucky's eyes again. The same gray-green ones that he fell in love with seventy years ago; the ones that crinkled at the edges when they wiped blood from their noses after alleyways fights, the ones that sparkled with laughter when he saw him in the Captain America suit for the first time, the ones that fluttered close when their lips pressed against each others.

The ones that widened with terror when Steve was too late to grab his hand.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

He pulls up the gun and aims it at Steve.

A bullet hits his shoulder, jerking it backwards, but Steve can't feel it. He can't feel his own pulse, or his own limbs. It doesn't matter anymore. He tentatively takes a step forward.

"Bucky." One of his arms reach out towards him.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

Another shot. The bullet digs itself into his leg, bending it backwards. Steve drags it against the ground, limping as he slowly walks closer. The leather straps on the shield slip through his grasp. Steve doesn't need it around Bucky. Bucky is his shield.

Three more bullets. One in his collarbone, the other two in his chest. Steve can feel the blood trickling down from the open wounds, but he can't feel the pain. He can't hear over the small murmurs of hope in his brain, constant thrum of Bucky, Bucky, Bucky….

"It's me. It's Steve." He's so close now, close enough to see the scruff of Bucky's jaw and the tangles of his hair. Bucky stands still, eyes furrowed only to pull the trigger and empty his gun of its bullets into Steve.

too late, too late

And now Steve's face is a few inches from Bucky's. He smiles slightly, and Bucky presses the harsh, cold metal of the gun to his forehead. Steve reaches up to wrap his hand around the handle of it, a small tear running down his cheek.

"It's been so long." Steve reaches out and holds Bucky's face in his hands, and runs his thumb over his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Bucky stares at him, eyes flickering unknowingly. They stand there in silence, the only sound the burning ashes, horrified voices of civilians and smoke gathering around them.

Steve kneels downwards, leg giving out from pain. "Buck-"

Bucky pulls the trigger.

Five years later, a man stands over a shined grave surrounded with flowers, small American flags and red, white and blue pinwheels. A hat shadows most of his face, and a large jacket is pulled tightly over his shoulders. No one notices him, in the rows of other headstones in the cemetery. No one pays attention to the glint of sunlight over his metal fingers.

"Hey, Steve," he mumbles in a soft voice. He kneels on the dirt in front of the grave, and reaches forward to trace his fingers over the engraved words.

"Most of HYDRA is dead or in custody. Your friends helped with that. You hang around a strange group of people, huh?" The man manages a soft chuckle. There's a small pause of uncertainty. "Anyways, HYDRA's not growing new heads anytime soon."

Slowly standing up, he places his hand over the grave. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was too late." He smiles, very faintly.

"I'll see you real soon, pal."

i know there's a lot of this that doesn't make sense but i just wanted to play around with this au.
it'd mean a lot if you commented what you thought about it!