Barnes & Rogers

S.R. - Yellow Carnations

Summary: No one could be prepared for this. (A summary in itself but really, a warning in general)

Warnings: child death, vomiting, funeral, angst angst angst

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 1,596

Steve's hand moved swiftly to wipe at his cheek, the dampness spreading over his whiskered skin before falling back to the black tie around his neck. He hated this, loathed it immensely. All his years on earth and the death he had witnessed, the loss he had felt, didn't make him hard-hearted as one would think it would. The pain was unbearable, like a thousand pins stuck in his chest causing him agony with each breath. It was different from when he lost his mother, or even Bucky the first time. It was suffocating and endless, worse than when he lost Peggy.

He felt the hand on his shoulder bringing him back from his thoughts. A hand that was familiar, but it wasn't the hand he wanted, needed. There was no denying that it belonged to his best friend, there to check up on him, make sure he wasn't too wrapped up in his mind.

"How ya doin', Steve?" Bucky asked softly. He didn't turn, didn't move. He knew Bucky was genuinely concerned about how his friend was feeling, but it pissed Steve off. He didn't mean to snap, especially at his best friend, and Bucky would take it as his grieving process. Steve fumbled with the black satin around his neck, cursing under his breath at the blasted fabric that seemed to not want to work the way he needed it. "Here," Bucky said softly, standing in front of his friend and taking the tie in his hand as Steve's dropped. He smoothed the tie after he was done, then buttoned the vest for him.

"Have you seen her?" Bucky asked softly, his eyes downcasted, working the last button before grabbing the black jacket.

Steve shook his head, sniffing softly as he let Bucky out the jacket on him. "She blames me," he whispered. His eyes were shining with the new round of tears, the feeling of guilt rushing over him.

"No she doesn't," Bucky sighed, his brow furrowed as he smoothed Steve's sleeves. "No one blames you, never have and never will. Steve, you blame yourself and hold yourself for accountable for something you had no control over." He looked at the blond with a strained look. It was the first time Steve actually looked at his friend. Bucky's eyes were glassy, rimmed red as he tried to keep a neutral façade. This was hard on almost everyone. Scratch that, even a stranger would have been taking this hard. "You can't beat yourself up over this." Steve looked at him like he was crazy. No matter how much Bucky tried to convince him, he will always blame himself.

Bucky sighed, conceding that he wasn't going to change his friend's mind, blaming his roots of being an Irishmen for being extremely stubborn. "You ready?" The question was soft, but Steve could hear the tightness in his friends voice to know that this was going to be the hardest thing than any of them had to do. He gave his friend a curt nod, walking out of the small room.

The car ride was deafening quiet, both men agreeing that any kind of music wasn't appropriate today. As they turned down Van Sicklen, Steve's stomach lurched and motioned for Bucky to pull the car over, which he then promptly opened the door and emptied the contents of his stomach. He felt Bucky's hand in his shoulder, rubbing and patting Steve to bring him comfort.

"Let me know when you're okay," Bucky whispered.

Steve's shoulder shook as he choked back a sob, his body slumping back against the carseat, eyes closing. "I...I just need a minute," he whispered, his lower lip trembling. Bucky nodded and pulled out his phone, sending a text to Natasha to let her know they were running late. He prayed that she wasn't dealing with the same with the other Rogers, but he knew that was a lofty hope. It was bad enough that Steve was broken, he couldn't imagine how his wife was, as she had isolated herself the last six days from everyone, including Steve.