Stucky One Shots

Number Thirty-Five: Undead Guardian

"I love you, baby," Bucky whispers and his voice cracks. He gently slides his husband's eyes closed. Steve Rogers had been killed by a shot to the chest. He hadn't even been in a fight; some drunkard just happened to have a good shot at the right time. The police had arrived and arrested the man before Bucky could kill him for taking the life of his lover. Steve had gone to get some groceries while the brunette opted to stay home. He got the call not from the police, but from a young lady who, apparently, turned the corner to see Steve go down.

It was well known throughout Manhattan that they were a couple; adored by most, helpful, people always said they were so cute. She must've heard that they were together and somehow called Bucky. He remembered feeling suddenly sick and dropping the phone, remembered racing out of their place without bothering to pull a jacket on. He remembered seeing the police shoving a guy into the back of their car and feeling rage boil inside him. He'd wanted to be a killer then. He wanted that guy dead, not Steve. He wanted his husband back.

/////

Two weeks later.

"Hey. How're you doing?" Natasha asks softly, kneeling down on the floor and looking up into Bucky's face, she puts a hand gently on his knee. The brunette was a mess. His hair had grown down to his chin, it was knotted, oily and tangled, a stubble was prominent on his face, which was pale and hollow. Dark shadows were under his eyes and he seemed paler in general.

Their place was a mess. The bed wasn't made, except the side where Steve would've slept. He always kept his side neat and tidy. Bucky's clothes were thrown around carelessly whereas Steve's remained in the side of his closet. At first it was just unreal, Bucky kept trying to tell himself lies like, maybe we've had a fallout, a fight? Steve's probably just at Sam's, that's it, but of course, he knew deep down that it wasn't the case.

"I... still miss him," Bucky whispers, his voice was rough and hoarse. First from crying, then from not speaking at all. Nobody would hear him.

"I know, honey," Nat sighs, rubbing a hand on his cold knee. He stares at his lap, forcing himself not to cry, forcing himself to keep it together in front of Nat. She was his best friend, always had been.

"'Tasha," Bucky whispers and goes to say more, goes to try to explain all the pain he was in, all the hurt, all the rage he felt, but the words wouldn't get past the lump in his throat. He swallows thickly. "It just... hurts." Bucky forces the words from his mouth, swallowing again and feeling wetness beginning to gather at the edge of his eyes, threatening to spill over.

"I know, Bucky, I know," she sighs softly. "When was the last time you ate?" She asks softly, looking around at his place. He shakes his head."Okay. Go take a shower, alright, you smell gross." She teases lightly and he manages a smile, however small or fake it might've been. He gets up and shuffles into his washroom. Nat enters the kitchen and starts preparing some food for him.

Bucky sits under the hot water, finally letting the tears out that were on the verge of falling. He cries but tries to be quiet about it, biting on his knuckle to keep himself from getting any louder. He missed him so much.

/////

The first thing Steve felt was an unnatural warmth everywhere. He sits up, frowning a little as he looks around.

"Hello, dear," a voice hums and he turns his head to see a woman standing there, her hair raven black and her skin pale white.

"Where am I?" He asks hesitantly, thinking he already knows.

"Where do you think?" The lady replies and Steve gets up, looking around some more.

"I'm dead, aren't I," he says. It wasn't a question, more like a statement. She clasps her hands together in front of her and sighs a little, taking a step towards him.