Welcome To The New Age: Bucky/Avengers Fanfiction

Chapter 7

About forty minutes later, Steve walked in the door, arms filled with bags.

"Hey Buck, I'm home!" Steve said.

There was no response.

'Must still be reading' Steve said, brushing it off. He walked through the kitchen into the hall to give Bucky his clothes. On the floor, emerging from the bathroom door was a hand. A metal hand. Steve felt his stomach drop, and he began to feel a suffocating sensation, like someone was sitting on his chest. He didn't want to go any further, knowing what he'd see: his best friend, dead on the floor.

But Steve knew what he had to do. He dropped the bags he'd been clenching onto and took a step forward, and then another, and another and another. As he approached the door, he saw more of the situation.

Bucky was sprawled across the floor in the small bathroom. There didn't appear to be any blood or wound, which ruled out a fight or attack. He was in relatively good health, so Steve wasn't assuming a seizure or heart attack.

He approached the body and checked the pulse. It was there, but so faint that Steve wondered if he was imagining it. The tears were now falling freely. He ran to the kitchen and dialed the emergency number. He went back to the bathroom with the phone on speaker to examine the body. He checked his arms and legs for any broken limbs, examined him for bruises or cuts and checked his head for possible brain trauma. There appeared to be no sign of outward damage on the man.

Steve's eyes darted around the room, checking for anything that may have caused this. In the corner was a small bottle. He picked it up. It was one of his prescriptions. He'd just had it refilled a week or so ago. The bottle had been full.

All the pieces clicked together in his head. Bucky had tried to kill himself. But so far, he hadn't succeeded, and Steve didn't intend to let him. When the emergency operator picked up, Steve followed their directions and gave them his address. He wrung his hands nervously. There were so many things going through his head. Why had he done it?

The feelings of guilt were back. Was Steve too harsh? Did he put too much pressure on Bucky to go back to normal? In a way, Steve felt like this was all his fault. He should have his the pills, he should have paid more attention, he shouldn't have left Bucky alone. But none of that could help him now. His best friend was very near death, and it didn't matter who or what had brought him to this. All that mattered was Bucky being alive.

Steve called Tony while waiting for the ambulance once he'd gained his composure. He told Tony the situation and that he may not be home for a few days. Steve then packed his bags, hurrying to find everything he'd need to keep Bucky company until he could go home.

Once Steve had nothing else to do, he went and sat with the unconscious Bucky. He moved Bucky's head into his lap and pushed his hair off his forehead. Even in sleep, Bucky looked angry and troubled. He didn't used to look that way. Back in the days when all they had was each other, Bucky looked peaceful and happy, with a smirk on his face even in sleep. Now, his eyes were scrunched, his jaw set, and a permanent frown etched into his face. War and bloodshed had killed the Bucky he knew, and from it was born a new one. The Winter Soldier one.

Steve sat there stroking Bucky's freshly washed hair, thinking about days gone by.

When the ambulance finally arrived, they found Steve clutching the nearly lifeless body of Bucky. They carried Bucky away, Steve trailing closely behind, not letting Bucky out of his sight. The entire ride there, Steve squeezed Bucky's hand, a constant reminder that even though Bucky wasn't there at the moment, Steve was; just like he always had been.