sebastenstan replied to your post “hello friend i saw you were getting sad about steve and i just wanted to tell u that chris evans has a 6-movie contract with marvel so steve will most likely not die in captain america 3”
stop making me sad
'This can't be the end,' Bucky's voice croaked in the deafening silence that followed the end of the battle, his friend's head still resting in his lap, ignoring the noises of the others walking in the midst of the ruins, calling out for survivors. His voice was hoarse from screaming, and cursing, and screaming some more as the fear had morphed into rage into despair into nothingness.
His eyes registered a group of people hovering not very far or his right, watching him, watching them, and some part of him recognized the silhouettes of the Avengers, and felt the threat coming off them in waves. They were letting Bucky grieve his friend in peace, but nonetheless readying themselves for the possibility of Bucky losing his mind and lashing out without a warning.
Bucky's harsh and unforgiving training as a war machine forced him to be aware of them, but most of his focus was still on the body in his arms.
Steve was still warm against him -- he could feel that unnatural warmth seeping through his outfit and almost burning his skin.
He was still so damn warm... yet his face was relaxed -- too relaxed -- and he was still like a statue, the colors that once bloomed on his lips, the red that rose to his cheeks so promptly whenever he was embarrassed or happy or fighting now fading at a frightening speed, right under Bucky's eyes.
The only color was left from the bruises, standing out on his porcelain skin that was turning ashen, and the grime and dust they were both covered in from head to toe.
He couldn't be gone. He just... couldn't. Bucky couldn't even start to process a world where Steve Rogers didn't exist, proud and strong, a force of nature when fighting for justice and freedom, and loyal and kind to those who had won his affection and respect.
He couldn't be gone. Not now, not ever. Not after everything they'd been through. Call it fate or call it stubbornness, but Bucky always found his way back to Steve's side. There was no explanation for how they had managed to find each other after everything, but they had, and it couldn't be for nothing.
He didn't survive the war, almost a century of brainwashing and slavery and all kinds of horrendous experiments only to lose him. To lose Steve.
It just couldn't happen.
'God damn it, Steve!' Bucky shouted, eyes rising to the sky as if to address God directly, blaming him openly for all the suffering he had put them through, throughout all their goddamn lives, and for what now felt like a gigantic waste.
Burying his left hand, the insensitive one, in the fabric of Steve's outfit, holding on tight enough to hear the fabric tear, Bucky started to rock them both, back and forth, back and forth, the motion keeping him from bolting up and starting to shoot and smash and destroy everyone and everything in sight.
It kept him from shattering.
He didn't know how long they left him like that, kneeling on the ground, chin resting on top of Steve's head, lost to the rest of the world as hot tears were spilling from squeezed-shut eyes. But it was long after the night had fallen that his mind finally cleared, his breathing slowed down and he whispered, defeated, feeling dead to his core: 'Til the end of the line, Rogers.'
s TAY AWAY FR O M eM SFONT Touch ME OR I WIL L FUC KIGN AHKILL U