Stay ➣Romanogers

Chapter 8: In the End

WARNING: Steve is in a very dark place. I wouldn't say he goes so far as to want to kill himself, but he's definitely not caring too much if he lives or dies. This is in addition to more warnings for violence and descriptions of torture. So please read at your own discretion.

They're back in their cell. Steve's drifted a lot over the last day or so (he thinks it's a day – it's so hard to tell). After they... He can't even think it, but he makes himself. After they cut Bucky's arm off, they beat the hell of out Steve, beat him until he lost consciousness. Awareness hasn't exactly come back since then. Part of it is the concussion he thinks he has (again). Part of it is shock, fatigue, starvation and blood loss and the million and one spots in and on his body that hurt.

But the biggest part of it is that he's a coward. He can't wake up and face what happened. It's his fault, and he fucking knows it, and he can't make himself look.

Eventually he does, though. He has to. That's how he realizes they're in their cell again. That's how he knows he's alive, that Bucky's still alive, too. Bucky's right next to him. They're lying side by side on the cold, hard floor, bleeding out into the dirt. Steve blinks into the shadows overhead, blinks and tries to clear his vision, tries to focus on the fact that they're there and this is going to be it. He's not going to see the rest of the Commandos again. Never going to hang out with the rest of his friends back in Brooklyn. Never going to go home.

Never going to see Peggy again.

Peggy.

He can't even think about her. He was going to marry her, wanted to right before he shipped out again. He almost bought an engagement ring, but then he thought that it wasn't fair, to make her wait another tour before they had a wedding. Better to propose when he gets back, right? Make it special. Take her dancing. She's old-fashioned, kind of like he is, and she loves ballroom. There's a place in Manhattan that does lessons. He's hopeless, for how good he is athletically. Two left feet and all that. She keeps telling him that she wants to teach him, her British accent an absolute purr in his ear as they kiss and caress each other in the dark of her apartment. They make love, and she promises, and he dreams about going dancing with her. She'll wear that red dress she was wearing when he first met her at the White House, when he was awarded the Medal of Honor last year. It'll be perfect.

Only it's never happening, because he's going to die here in this hell. Eighteen months after he kissed her goodbye, and he's never going to see her again.

There's a rustle beside him. "Stevie?" Bucky's voice sounds absolutely wrecked, dry and weak and broken. A hand grabs Steve's and squeezes. There's hardly any strength behind the grasp. "Steve..."

"Yeah, Buck?" He doesn't sound much better.

"Still there?"

It takes too much effort, but Steve weaves their fingers together. "Yeah, Buck."

Bucky heaves a sob. Even that sounds dry and dehydrated. "My arm hurts."

Steve closes his eyes. He can't bring himself to move, to even raise his head, because he's a fucking coward, this time and every other time he's woken up since they were brought back here. Fucking Captain America. He feels sick with shame, his empty stomach clenching and roiling, and it's only through sheer revulsion with himself that he props his damaged body up on his elbow to look down on Bucky. Despite the paltry light, he can see the blood. There's so much of it even days later. So much. It's all over Bucky's chest, covering the remains of his undershirt and uniform. His dog tags are glistening red where they poke through a hole by his pec. Steve stares at them, at the glint of silvery metal, breathing through his nose to try and center himself to look further. The stench of their cell is worse now, worse with the smell of dying flesh. Infection. He glances at where Bucky's left arm should have been without meaning to, and he's unprepared for how horrible it is. His brain doesn't process it, not that or the horror of how it happened that's been replaying in his mind, and he's looking away and nearly throwing up before he can stop himself. Bone and pus and God help me.