Multi-Fandom Oneshots

Last Dance- Bucky Barnes

word count: 937

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Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side.

You hold his pillow close to your body, breathing in his fading scene. You let your hand brush over his side of the bed. You let yourself believe that he could still come home. That Steve's cries at night don't confirm what Tony reported after arriving back from a recon mission.

But you know there's only so long you can pretend that he's coming home.

You gently set his pillow back down on his side and drag yourself out of bed. You go to brush your teeth and make the mistake of looking in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, the bags under your eyes grow with each night, your skin pale.

You could chalk it up to the baby growing inside you, but you know it's your own negligence. Tears fill your vision as you think of how your daughter will grow up without her father. How you're going to grow old without your soulmate. Without your rock.

If I can dream long enough, you'd tell me I'll be just fine.

You sink down the wall and hyperventilate through the tears. He's not here to calm the raging storm building in your mind. He's not here to tell you to breathe. He's not here to tell you it's alright. To tell you he loves you.

"(Y/N)?" a voice calls through the bathroom door. You don't move or respond, trying to focus on your breathing. The door opens and Tony squats in front of you. "Hey, look at me." You barely register his words as you look into his eyes.

"I can't do this, Tony," you cry. He pulls you to him, rubbing your back as you sob on into his shoulder, letting out everything that's happened in the past month.

"Listen to my breathing. Copy my breathing," he instructs. You listen, trying your best to imitate his breathing. Once you have it down enough so you're not on the verge of passing out, he pulls away and wipes your tears. He smiles sadly. "You can get though this, (Y/N). You're a Stark. We're nothing if not stubborn." You try to smile but it falls short.

So I drown it out like I always do.

"He's not coming home, Tony. He's not coming home." A tear slips down his cheek, your pain effecting him in ways only a sibling's can.

"I don't want to give you false hope. I don't want to pretend like he'll walk through the doors. But we don't know that he's dead. We don't know that for sure, okay?" You nod, wiping your tears. He helps you stand, your baby girl kicking at the movement. A small smile graces your lips.

"Yeah, I want you to pop out, too," you tell her. Tony smiles, resting his hand gently on your stomach. She kicks again and he laughs. "She's gonna be as jumpy and impulsive as you," you groan. He chuckles.

"Yeah, but she'll be as beautiful and kind as her mother," he replies. You laugh a little.

"Balancing our traits, I suppose." He helps you waddle out of the bathroom. You look at the crib sitting in the corner of our room and glance at Bucky's side of the bed.

He wanted the baby close to him.

"You birthed her. The least I can do is make sure you get sleep, doll," he'd said.

"I'm going to start hanging up baby clothes," you tell Tony. He nods.

"I'll bring you up some breakfast. What do you want?"

"Eggs and orange juice is fine. Thank you, Tony." He ruffles your hair and walks out of your room, closing it behind him. You walk to your stereo and turn on the CD Bucky made you after our first year anniversary. You turn it up a little and get to work hanging up baby clothes.

You work in solemn silence, letting the music fill your ears. As you're hanging up a sky blue dress, our song comes on.

Our first dance song.

You drop the dress. You wait for the tears, but the don't come. Instead, the memory of us dancing around the compound manifests. You smile softly. You and Bucky took dancing classes together and always practiced at random times.

Whenever Buck would have a nightmare, he'd always ask you to dance.

Without thinking, you start to dance as if Bucky were dancing with you.

Dancing through our house with the ghost of you.

You lose yourself in the movements, losing yourself in the memory of the first time you'd danced. As your mind goes through all the times you'd lost ourselves in the dance, it finally lands on the memory. The memory you never think about. That you wish you never had.

Your last dance.

You were afraid of the recon mission. You had a bad feeling and begged him not to go. Of course, his stubborn, noble ass went.

"One more dance before I go?" He asked. You agreed, and he turned on our song. You danced.

You danced and danced and danced until he had to go. He kissed you and told you he'll make Tony throw a ball when he gets back so you can dance for real.

And you're still waiting.

And I chase it down with a shot of truth.

He's not coming home.

You stumble and fall to your knees.

That my feet don't dance like they did with you.

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— Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer —