FAULT LINES
CHAPTER 8
📋 MASTERLIST
C's corner: Hi loves 🖤 This chapter ended up being a long one, and I’m sorry for that, but I really wanted to cover the entire Battle of Wakanda in one chapter so we could move forward in the timeline without chopping the chaos into a million pieces.
Please be mindful before reading. This chapter can be triggering, and I truly mean that. Check the warnings + tags first and take care of yourselves. Step away if you need to, skim if you need to, come back when you’re in a safer headspace. No fic is worth your peace.
From here on out, this is where Em’s real journey begins. The grief. The loss. The aftermath that doesn’t just fade when the fighting stops. She’s about to be forced to live in a world that took everything from her in a heartbeat, and we’re going to walk through that with her.
Thank you for being here, for reading, for loving these characters with me. Please be gentle with yourselves after this one. 🫶🏽✨
On a lighter note, you guys got lucky I am not tech savy and last chapter posted 2 days early 🤪😅 But I learned from my mistakes🫠 anyway, I decided to post this a day early. Like always thank you to everyone for the likes, follows, reblogs and comments. 🥹🫶🏽
This is written in second POV, but reader will have a name, Mara Hart, it won't be used often, but will pop up every now and then, especially her nickname, Em.
WARNINGS: 18+, MDNI, sexual content, intimacy, angst, major canon typical violence, graphic battle/destruction, character death (Vision), The Snap/dusting, intense grief/mourning, panic/anxiety, trauma/PTSD themes, love confession right before loss, implied pregnancy loss/miscarriage themes (“void” sensation), body horror elements (dusting/disintegration), emotional devastation/whump, mention of bloodless death, existential dread/end of the world themes.
✍🏽 WC: 10.4K+
SUMMARY: In Wakanda, you help Shuri attempt to remove the Mind Stone from Vision as the battlefield erupts outside. When Thanos finally arrives, everything unravels fast, and you are thrown into helpless horror as Wanda is forced to destroy the stone, only for Thanos to reverse time and take it anyway. Thor’s strike comes too late, the Snap follows, and your world shatters when Bucky tells you he loves you and turns to dust in your hands.
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The next two days feel like sunlight through fingers. Warm, real, and impossible to hold onto.
You and Bucky don't say it out loud, not at first, but you both move like you're trying to memorize everything. You both stop wasting time on anything that doesn't matter.
You linger longer over breakfast. You take a long walk through the city, fingers linked, shoulders brushing, pretending you don't notice the way people glance at you both like you're a known story. The White Wolf and his other half. The pair that always comes back to the same hut, the same quiet corner, the same steady rhythm.
Bucky stops at a stall to buy something small and silly, a charm shaped like a wolf, and he pretends it's nothing when he presses it into your palm.
"For luck," he says, gruff.
You lift an eyebrow. "You're superstitious now?"
He shrugs, eyes flicking away. "I'm practical."
You laugh, warm and soft, and he watches you like that laugh is something he wants to bottle and keep.
You take the longer path back from the market. You let the elders rope you into repairs you absolutely could have done tomorrow, because the sound of village laughter is a kind of medicine.
Bucky's new arm becomes part of him fast. He stops staring at it like it might vanish. He starts using it without thinking, reaching for cups, lifting baskets, steadying you when the path is slick. Sometimes he still pauses and flexes his fingers, marveling, but the wonder is softer now, woven into the rhythm of his days.
He's affectionate in public in small ways, the kind that would've terrified him months ago. A kiss pressed to your temple before training. His hand at your waist while you barter in the market.
The word "sweetheart" murmured like it's the easiest thing in the world when he wants your attention, and you, still carrying dread like a stone in your pocket, try to let yourself have it.
Every laugh, every warm look, every ordinary moment that feels suddenly precious.
At night, you keep anchoring him through the leftover nightmares, but they come less often now. When they do, Bucky wakes quicker, breath hitching, eyes wide, and your hand is already there.
Your nails scrape his scalp gently.
"Wakanda," you whisper. "Bed. Me. Safe."
He grips your hand like it's proof he's real, and then he exhales and melts back into you, the storm passing.
"You're not going anywhere," he murmurs, half asleep, voice rough.
You kiss his forehead. "Neither are you, James”
On the last night before Steve arrives, the air feels thick with meaning. Not in a tragic way, in a holy way. Like even the hut knows tomorrow is different.
A brush of lips, a sigh, fingers finding familiar paths. Soft touches that say I'm here without needing words. Bucky's hand slips along your side, careful and warm, his new arm moving with quiet confidence now, pressure measured perfectly, never too much.
You thread your fingers into his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp.
He shudders, breath catching, and that sound he makes is quieter now, deeper, like relief. "God," he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough. "You're gonna ruin me."
You smile into the kiss. "Already did."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and half lidded. The air between you feels charged, thick with everything unsaid, fears, promises, the weight of tomorrow pressing in like the jungle humidity outside. But here, in this stolen room, it's just you and him.
His thumb traces your lower lip, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing the shape of you. "Already did," he echoes, voice a low rumble that vibrates through your chest. "And I'd let you do it again. Every damn time."
You don't wait for more words. Your hands slide down his neck, over the broad planes of his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled there, the way his body is always half ready for a fight, even now.
You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he helps you, peeling it off in one fluid motion. The sight of him never fails to steal your breath, scarred skin stretched over muscle, the glint of vibranium where his left arm meets flesh. You press your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, feeling it thunder beneath your touch.
Bucky's breath hitches, and he captures your wrist, bringing it to his mouth. He kisses the inside, teeth grazing lightly, then lower, nipping at the sensitive skin of your forearm.
"Your turn," he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours with that wicked, boyish glint that always undoes you.
You laugh softly, but it's breathless, and you let him undress you, slow and reverent.
His fingers are calloused from a century of war, but they move with a gentleness that makes your skin prickle. The fabric whispers away, pooling at your feet, and the cool night air kisses your bare skin. He steps back for a moment, just looking, like you're a revelation he can't quite believe is his.
"Beautiful," he says, almost to himself.
Then he's on you again, mouth hot against your collarbone, trailing down. His metal hand, cool and unyielding, cups your breast, thumb circling the peak until you arch into him with a soft gasp. The contrast of warm flesh and cold vibranium sends sparks racing through you, and you clutch at his back, nails digging in just enough to make him groan.
He lifts you effortlessly, super soldier strength making it feel like nothing, and carries you to the bed. The mattress dips under your combined weight as he lays you down, hovering over you, caging you in with his arms. You pull him down for another kiss.
This one is deeper, hungrier. Tongues sliding, teeth clashing softly. His hips press against yours, the hard line of him evident even through his pants, and you rock up to meet him, chasing the friction.
Bucky breaks the kiss with a curse, forehead resting against yours. "Slow," he pants, though his voice says otherwise. "I want to feel every second of this."
But you both know time is a thief tonight. Your hands find the buckle of his belt, working it open with practiced ease. He kicks off the rest, and then it's skin on skin, his body a furnace against yours, every inch of him solid and alive.
He kisses his way down your body, worshipful, like he's atoning for every lost year. Lips on your ribs, your stomach, the dip of your hip. When he settles between your thighs, his breath ghosts over you, hot and teasing.
"Bucky..." you start, but it dissolves into a moan as his mouth finds you.
He's relentless in the best way, tongue and fingers working in tandem, drawing out sounds you didn't know you could make. The metal arm braces your thigh, holding you open, while his flesh hand strokes and presses in all the right places. Pleasure coils tight and fast, building until you're trembling, fingers tangled in his hair, hips bucking against his face.
He doesn't stop until you shatter, crying out his name like a prayer. Only then does he crawl back up, kissing the taste of you to your lips. "That's my girl," he whispers, voice wrecked. His eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the blue.
You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length. He hisses through his teeth, thrusting into your grip once, twice, before gently prying your hand away. "Need to be inside you."
He lines up, teasing your entrance, eyes locked on yours. The moment stretches, heavy with meaning. Then he pushes in, slow, inch by inch, filling you completely. You both exhale on a shared groan, bodies fitting like they were made for this. For each other.
He moves with purpose, deep and steady at first, savoring the slide, the way you clench around him. But the urgency creeps in, the battle looming like a shadow at the edge of the room. His pace quickens, hips snapping harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing softly. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper.
"Look at me," he demands, voice gravelly. You do, and the raw emotion there, love, desperation, that quiet fear, mirrors your own. "I can't get enough of you" he says, punctuating it with a thrust that hits just right, making stars burst behind your eyes.
You pull him closer. "Bucky... God, don't stop."
He doesn't. You come together this time, his name on your lips as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling hot inside you with a shuddering groan. The world narrows to his weight on you, his breath in your ear, the aftershocks rippling through both of you.
He doesn't pull out right away. Just holds you, rolling to his side and tucking you against his chest. His metal arm curls around your waist, warm now from your shared heat, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The room is quiet except for your breathing, syncing slowly.
Outside, the sounds of Wakanda stir faintly. Tomorrow will come. But for now, in this pocket of time, he's yours. And you're his.
"Stay like this," you whisper, pressing a kiss to the scar on his shoulder.
"Always," he murmurs back, lips brushing your temple. "Even if it's just tonight."
Eventually, the heat fades into that warm, intimate quiet again, you're both sprawled together in the aftermath, the kind that leaves you heavy and calm, the kind that makes your thoughts slow down.
Bucky's arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting on your stomach absentmindedly, fingers tracing small circles like it's the most natural place for him to be.
Your heart stutters at the touch.
He doesn't know.
He doesn't know about the bathroom, the three minutes, the single line. He doesn't know how relief and disappointment fought inside you like strangers in the same skin.
You swallow the guilt down like you've been swallowing it for days.
Minutes stretch, maybe hours. It's hard to tell when your only clock is his heartbeat under your palm and the way his breathing calms every time you touch him.
Bucky's voice breaks the quiet. "Em."
You hum softly, eyes closed, "Yeah?"
He's quiet for a moment, like he's gathering the courage for something that feels bigger than any mission. "I'm not sure what tomorrow is going to look like," he says.
Your chest tightens, dread flaring again, you open your eyes and look at him. His face is soft in the dim light, eyes dark, honest, a little tired. Not afraid exactly, just aware.
"I don't know what Steve is bringing," he continues. "I don't know what he's going to ask. I don't know what it means for us."
His gaze is on the ceiling, but his expression is open in a way that makes your throat ache.
"But," he says, and his voice roughens around the word, "there's one thing I'm certain of."
You wait, heart pounding.
He turns his head toward you, eyes catching yours. "You stayed," he says simply.
Your breath catches.
"When I was a mess. When I didn't trust myself. When I couldn't sleep. When I couldn't hold a cup without getting mad at my own hands. When I didn't know how to be a person." His jaw tightens as he speaks, emotion pressing close to the surface. "You stayed anyway."
You swallow hard, eyes stinging.
Bucky reaches up, thumb brushing your cheek like he's wiping away what you haven't let fall yet.
"You saved me," he says, quieter now. "By... being here. By letting me become someone again."
Your throat tightens to the point it almost hurts. "Bucky," you whisper, but it comes out broken.
He shakes his head once, almost impatient with his own emotion.
"Shuri gave me an arm," he says, voice trembling just a little. "Wakanda gave me a place. But you..." He swallows. His eyes go bright. "You gave me a reason to believe I'm allowed to want a life."
You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your chest.
Bucky's hand cups the side of your face, steady and gentle. "I love you," he says.
It's not rushed, not dramatic. It's quiet, certain, and devastating in its simplicity.
The words hang in the air like a vow. For a beat, you can't breathe.
Then your eyes burn, and you laugh softly through the sting because of course this is when it happens, of course the universe would give you this right before tomorrow tries to take something away.
You press your forehead to his, hands cradling his face. "I love you too." you whisper, voice shaking but sure.
Bucky exhales like the words finally let him set something down that he's been carrying for years. He kisses you then, slow and reverent, like he's sealing the confession into your skin.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again. "Whatever happens," he murmurs, "don't let it erase this."
You brush your thumb over his cheek, your nails grazing his scalp lightly, and he melts, eyes closing for a moment.
"It won't," you promise. "Nothing can, James"
He holds you tighter, careful but firm, as if he's memorizing the shape of you.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs, like the word belongs to you the way his heart does now.
You smile through tears and tuck yourself closer into him, letting his arm hold you like a shield.
And yet, tucked behind your ribs, there's still that small, sharp shame.
The secret you kept, the almost you didn't share. It presses at you in the quiet, whispering that you don't deserve this softness because you weren't fully honest.
You swallow it down again, like you always do. Not because you want to lie to him but because you wanted to spare him a ghost. Because you were scared of making him carry something that never became real. Because you're still learning, too, that love isn't only about protecting someone from pain.
Sometimes love is trusting them with the truth, even the messy parts.
You don't say it tonight. Tonight you let him hold you. Let him love you out loud. Let the words settle into your bones like warmth.
And as you drift toward sleep, Bucky's hand remains at your waist, steady and sure, and his voice is the last thing you hear before the world fades
"Always," he murmurs.
You close your eyes and whisper it back, even with the shame curling in the back of your mind, even with tomorrow looming like thunder on the horizon.
"Always."
The day Steve arrives, Wakanda feels like it holds its breath with you.
It starts with a ripple.
A shift in the air that has nothing to do with weather. Dora Milaje on the move, quiet urgency carried on quick footsteps and low voices. Shuri's lab suddenly too busy, too alive, like the whole city sensed trouble before it crossed the border.
You're already outside when the procession comes into view. Not a royal procession, not ceremonial. An exhausted line of people who look like they've been running on borrowed adrenaline for too long.
Your heart stutters anyway. Because it's them. It's your past walking toward your present.
Steve is first, you almost don't recognize him.
He's taller than you remembered, somehow, broader in the shoulders, the weight of leadership sitting heavier on his frame. His hair is longer. His beard is full. Wild in a way that makes him look less like a symbol and more like a man who hasn't slept properly in weeks.
Nat walks at his side and you freeze again, because her hair is short now, pale blonde, sharp against her face. She looks like she cut off more than length. She looks like she cut away softness.
Sam's there, eyes scanning everything, posture tight but steady.
Rhodey walks with that familiar clipped confidence, but there's something tired in the set of his mouth.
And then you see the rest.
Vision, pale and strained, moving like his body is fighting him.
Wanda beside him, protective in a way that feels dangerous. Her gaze doesn't wander, it locks, like she's already calculating the cost of what's coming.
Bruce Banner looks smaller than you remember. Not physically, but emotionally, and the first time you see him take in T'Challa, he does it.
Bruce bows.
A full, awkward, earnest bow that looks like a reflex dragged out of him by respect and panic.
Rhodey snaps his head toward him instantly. "What are you doing?"
Bruce straightens too fast, face going red. "I... I thought... you said..."
T'Challa lifts a hand, calm and amused without being unkind. "We do not do that here."
Bruce's embarrassment is immediate and total. He looks like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him politely.
You bite the inside of your cheek so you don't laugh out loud.
Bucky, beside you, leans slightly closer, his hand finding yours like it's automatic. You squeeze back.
Then Steve's eyes find you. For a second, everything else fades. He stops walking, and in his face you see the relief first, clean and sharp. Then it softens into something bittersweet, because he's seeing what you've become too.
Wakanda has changed you. Peace has changed you. Love has changed you.
"Mara," Steve breathes.
You move forward before you realize you're moving, and when he reaches you, his arms wrap around you in a fierce, familiar hug. For one heartbeat, it feels like old times. Then reality returns like a cold wind.
Steve pulls back, hands still on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face like he's checking if you're whole.
"I got your updates," he says quietly. "Thank you."
You nod, throat tight. "You look..."
"Tired?" he finishes with a humorless huff.
"Different," you correct softly.
His gaze flicks over your shoulder and lands on Bucky.
Everything stills for a heartbeat.
Bucky doesn't move at first. His jaw tightens slightly, eyes fixed on Steve like he's trying to brace for whatever version of this reunion Steve brings with him.
Steve's throat bobs. He takes one step forward, slow, careful, like he doesn't want to spook the moment.
"Buck," Steve says quietly.
Bucky's eyes flicker, the smallest crack in his armor. "Steve," he replies.
It isn't a big embrace, it's not cinematic. It's two men with too much history and too much pain standing in the same place again, alive, breathing, trying not to drown in it.
Steve's gaze drops briefly to Bucky's new arm and his expression shifts, surprise and gratitude flickering across his face. "Looks good," Steve says, voice rougher than he probably intended.
Bucky glances at his hand, then back at Steve. "Yeah. It's... new."
Steve nods like he understands the weight of that one word.
Nat steps in next to you, a hand on your arm, her grip firm. Her eyes are bright and sharp and the softness she used to show you is tucked away behind something harder. "Hey," she says. "You okay?"
You try to smile. "I'm here."
"That's good," Nat murmurs, and it sounds like she means, that's one less thing to lose..
You barely have time to brace before Sam sweeps you into a hug that leaves your feet an inch off the ground.
"You're alive," he says into your hair. "That's good. I was gonna be very offended if you died somewhere pretty without telling me."
"Nice to see you too," you wheeze, hugging him back. "You smell like recycled air and bad decisions."
"Been hanging out with Steve," he says, putting you down.
"Checks out."
Rhodey nods at you like he's saving the hugs for later, if later exists.
Wanda's eyes meet yours, and for a moment you see the grief in her like a crack in stone.
Vision gives you a small, strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
Bruce looks like he's trying to make himself smaller and failing.
Then T'Challa steps forward, regal and calm in a way that makes everyone else's urgency look frantic.
"Welcome," he says simply. "You are safe here."
Steve's face tightens. "We're grateful."
Steve looks back at you and you see it in his eyes. He's about to drop the real reason they're here. The reason the air feels heavier. The reason your gut has been right all along.
"We don't have much time," Steve says, voice low. "Thanos is coming."
The name hits like a bell.
Your stomach turns, dread tightening around your ribs.
Steve's words come out fast, controlled, like he's forcing himself to stay in command.
"He's after the stones. He's already got others. Vision's mind stone is next. We're out of options. We need Shuri to remove it, separate it from Vision without killing him."
You glance toward T'Challa, gratitude and fear colliding in your chest.
Steve's eyes flick to him. "Thank you. For agreeing to help."
T'Challa inclines his head. "We will do what we can."
You stare at Steve, the weight of it settling. "If you're bringing Vision here," you whisper, voice tight, "does that mean..."
Steve's gaze holds yours, grim and honest. "It means Wakanda is the best chance we've got," he says. "It means if Thanos wants the stone..."
He doesn't have to finish it.
Your throat tightens anyway. "...he'll come to Wakanda," you finish, barely audible.
You reach for Bucky without thinking, fingers finding his hand, squeezing hard. His grip closes around yours instantly, solid and grounding.
Bucky's eyes flick to you, and the softness there lasts only a second before the soldier in him takes over. He nods once, almost imperceptible.
You brace, breath catching, because you can feel the fight brewing. Not as a possibility anymore, but as a storm line on the horizon.
Steve turns back to the group, voice firm.
"We're going to defend Vision," he says. "We're going to protect Wakanda. And we're going to stop Thanos."
You swallow. Your fingers tighten around Bucky's hand.
Shuri arrives from the side with the kind of brisk energy that pretends the world isn't ending. Her gaze lands on Vision and something in her expression shifts from playful to focused. "Bring him," she says, already turning inside toward the lab. "Carefully."
Vision takes a step, Wanda immediately hovering at his side like a shadow made of love and rage.
Shuri doesn't waste time on speeches, she looks straight at you.
"Mara," she says, brisk. "I will need all the help I can get."
Your stomach tightens. You glance at the others, at Steve's grim focus, at Wanda's protective stance, at Vision's careful steps.
You glance at Bucky. His hand is still wrapped around yours, warm and steady. He reads your hesitation immediately. He squeezes your hand once. Firm and grounding.
"Go," he murmurs, voice low near your ear. "Help her. I'll hold the line down here."
You blink up at him. "Bucky..."
His eyes stay on yours, dark and certain. There's no fear in them now, just resolve. "You're where you're needed," he says. "And I'm where I'm needed. It's fine."
It's not fine. But it's necessary.
You swallow hard and step closer, pulling him into a tight hug like you're trying to memorize his heartbeat. His arms wrap around you immediately, strong, careful, protective.
You feel his breath against your hair. "Doll," he murmurs, soft.
You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes already burning.
Steve watches, clearly surprised by how intimate you and Bucky are, but you don't have room to manage anyone else's reactions right now.
Bucky lifts his hand to your cheek, thumb brushing gently under your eye as if he's wiping away a tear that hasn't fallen yet. "It'll be okay," he says quietly.
You almost laugh at the simplicity of it, the absurd bravery in saying it anyway.
Then he adds, voice warm and certain, like he's building you a future to stand on "Once this is over, we go back to the hut. We rest. You hear me?"
Your throat tightens. You nod, even though your heart is pounding too hard. "I hear you," you whisper.
Bucky's gaze flicks briefly past you, catching the way Steve is watching, and there's something in Bucky's expression that shifts. Not territorial, not aggressive. Just... honest, unapologetic. Like he's done hiding who he is to you.
Before he can overthink it, Bucky leans in and kisses you in front of everyone. A steady, deliberate kiss that feels like a vow.
You hear the tiny intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Steve, maybe. Sam, definitely. Nat's eyebrows almost climb off her forehead. Rhodey looks like he's trying not to look. Wanda watches with a strange softness in her eyes, like she understands what it means to cling to love when war is coming.
When Bucky pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours. Then he says it, plain and unguarded, like he's tired of being afraid of his own happiness.
"I love you."
The room goes quiet in a very specific way. Not silent, just startled.
Steve's face shifts so fast you almost miss it. Surprise, then something like disbelief, then a guarded tenderness he doesn't quite know what to do with.
Because Bucky Barnes doesn't say things like that lightly.
Bucky doesn't look at Steve though. He looks at you, like you're the only person who matters in the sentence.
Your chest aches. You smile through the sting in your eyes and kiss him again, quick and soft, as if returning the words is the only thing that makes sense.
"I love you," you whisper back.
Bucky exhales, relief loosening his shoulders like the words just made him steadier.
Shuri makes an exaggerated sound, deeply unimpressed. "You are both disgusting," she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear.
You turn toward her, still breathless, and she's standing there with her arms crossed, mouth tilted in a smug little grin that says she's been waiting for this moment since the day she upgraded your bed.
"You," you accuse weakly.
Shuri lifts a brow. "Me? I did nothing. I simply predicted the obvious."
You glance back at Steve. He looks confused, a little stunned. Like the world just handed him a new piece of information he never expected to have to fit into the puzzle right now.
His eyes flick from you to Bucky, lingering on the way Bucky's hand is still on your cheek, thumb resting there like it belongs. "Since when," Steve starts, voice low, careful.
"Steve," you say gently, because there isn't time for this, not really.
Steve closes his mouth, swallows whatever questions are burning behind his teeth, and nods once, reluctantly shelving it like he's trained himself to do. "Okay," he says, but his tone is clearly, We're talking about this later.
Bucky gives Steve a look that is equal parts respectful and firm. Then he squeezes your hand one more time and steps back, turning his body toward the edge of the city, toward the place where the line will be drawn.
"Go," he tells you again, softer. "I'll be right here."
You hold his gaze for one last heartbeat, trying to lock it into your bones.
Then you turn. You follow Shuri toward the lab, heart pounding, dread clawing at the edges again.
Behind you, Bucky Barnes stands taller, steadier, new arm glinting in the light, ready to face whatever is coming.
You glance back one last time.
Bucky meets your eyes across the space, and even from a distance you can read his mouth.
It'll be okay.
You swallow hard and step inside.
The lab swallows you whole the moment the doors seal.
It's brighter in here, cleaner, colder. The air smells faintly metallic and sterile, like precision. Holograms bloom across the room in layered rings as Shuri's systems wake up, scanning Vision from every angle.
Vision lays still on the exam table, shoulders tense, face too pale. Wanda stays close, almost pressed to his side, like proximity alone could keep him from being taken.
Shuri runs the scanner with her Kimoyo beads, eyes sharp, mind already ten steps ahead. "All right," she says briskly. "Do not move. Do not faint. Try your best."
Vision gives her a strained little smile. "I will do my best."
You take your place at the console, fingers flying over controls you've learned from months of assisting her. You pull up neural maps and vibranium micro-tools, the displays layering on top of each other until the air looks like it's filled with glowing architecture.
Wanda watches Shuri's hands with intense focus. "Can you remove it?" she asks, voice tight.
Shuri doesn't look up. "Yes."
The word drops with the weight of certainty. Wanda's breath shudders out, relief and terror colliding.
Shuri finally glances at T'Challa, her expression shifting into something serious.
"It is not simple," she adds, voice clipped. "The stone is integrated into his neural network. It is part of him. It'll take time, brother"
T'Challa nods once, calm as ever. "Then you will not rush."
Steve steps forward, urgency carved into his posture. "How long," he asks.
Shuri's eyes flick to him like he's asked how long it takes to rewrite reality. "As long as you can give me," she replies.
Steve's jaw tightens. He nods once, accepting the answer because there isn't another option.
You swallow, heart thudding.
Outside the lab, the world is moving. You can feel it even through the walls.
Then Okoye's voice cuts across the room like a blade. "Something's entered the atmosphere."
The words aren't dramatic, but the tone is.
Your skin prickles.
A beat later, you hear it, a deep rumble, then another. Explosions, distant but unmistakable, rolling through the city like thunder that isn't weather.
Wanda's head snaps up.
Steve's eyes go hard.
Even in the lab, the air seems to tighten.
Vision exhales slowly, gaze lowering.
"It's too late," he says, voice calm but heavy. "You should... you should destroy the stone."
Wanda's face crumples for half a second, grief flashing like lightning. "No," she whispers.
Vision looks at her, and the love in his eyes hurts to witness.
"If they take it," he says softly, "it will be the end."
T'Challa steps forward, voice steady and absolute. "We will hold them off," he says.
Steve's gaze flicks between Vision and Wanda, already making the hardest call. "Wanda," he says, firm. "As soon as the stone is out his head, you blow it to hell."
Wanda's eyes shine, fury and heartbreak twisting together. She nods once, tiny and fierce. "I will"
T'Challa turns to Okoye, who's already in motion.
"Begin evacuating the city," he commands, calm as if he's ordering a routine drill instead of preparing for war.
Okoye's reply is immediate. "It will be done."
Then T'Challa points toward Steve with the kind of clarity that turns chaos into direction. "Get this man a shield."
Steve blinks, thrown for a fraction of a second, then nods like the command just plugged something back into him.
You can hear the comms flare with activity, voices overlapping, orders snapped and acknowledged. Dora Milaje moving, people moving. The city shifting from peace into battle readiness.
Your stomach twists. You think of Bucky outside, on the line, holding it down. You force yourself to stay present, here, with Shuri, with Vision's life literally in the balance.
Shuri claps her hands once, sharply, reclaiming the room. "Enough," she says. "We work."
She looks at you. "Mara. Console. I need the neural map pinned and synced to his current state. No lag."
You nod instantly, fingers moving over the interface. "Yes."
Shuri turns to Vision, her voice brisk but not unkind. "This will be... uncomfortable."
Vision inclines his head. "I understand."
Wanda's hand slides into his, clinging like it's the only thing keeping her from breaking.
Steve steps back, gaze locked on the lab doors like he can hear the war approaching.
T'Challa lifts his hand to his bead, voice low, controlled. "Hold," he tells his people. "Buy them time."
Outside, another explosion rolls through the city, closer this time.
The comms crackle with urgent updates, quick and clipped,
"Multiple impacts."
"Outriders sighted."
"Barrier holding."
"Front line forming."
You swallow hard, eyes on the readouts, trying not to imagine what those words look like in blood and teeth.
Shuri begins.
A holographic model of Vision's neural pathways blooms above him, intricate and terrifying, threads of light weaving through his skull where the stone sits like a star trapped in flesh.
Shuri's tools are microscopic and precise, moving under her control with the kind of finesse that makes it look almost easy.
It is not easy. You see it in her jaw, in the way her eyes don't blink.
Her voice stays steady. "Initiating separation protocol."
You monitor the readings, calling out small changes as they appear.
"Stability holding."
"Neural activity fluctuating."
"Response normalizing."
Wanda watches every line like she can will it to behave.
Then the comms spike again, louder.
Okoye's voice "They are at the border."
Another voice, tight with strain "The shield is holding but..."
Static. A scream cut short.
You flinch, hands stuttering for half a second before you force them steady again.
Shuri doesn't look up. "Do not listen," she snaps.
You swallow and obey. But it's impossible not to hear the war leaking into the lab through every crack of the comms. You hear Steve barking orders outside. You hear the hum of Wakandan tech powering up. You hear the distant roar of something not human.
And through it all, Shuri works, peeling the mind stone away thread by thread, as if she's untying a knot woven into the fabric of a man's mind.
Your beads buzz against your wrist with comm updates, your screen lighting with status markers.
Front line, breach attempts, evacuation in progress.
Your heart pounds. Your hands keep moving.
Because the plan is in motion now. The shield will hold as long as it can. The line will fight as long as it has to.
But the comms keep spitting out clipped fragments like broken teeth.
"Left flank folding."
"Barrier compromised at sector four."
"Too many, too fast."
A scream, then static.
Your hands freeze on the console for a heartbeat, nausea turning sharp, dread punching clean through your ribs.
You look up at Shuri, eyes wide. "We're getting overwhelmed," you whisper.
Shuri's jaw tightens, but her hands never stop moving. Her voice is controlled, furious at the universe for daring to interrupt her work.
"I know," she snaps. "And if you leave now, Vision dies. So you will stay where you are useful."
You swallow hard. The logic is cruel, but it's true.
Then the air changes. Not in the lab, in the world. A low rumble rolls through the distance, deep and alive, not an explosion, not the shield.
Thunder.
Your head snaps toward the windows. Wanda is already there, eyes locked on the sky like she's listening to something only she can hear.
Another crack, louder.
Then the comms erupt.
"Lightning at the perimeter!"
"Is that... is that Thor?"
A voice breaks through, breathless with disbelief and relief. "It's Thor! It's Thor!"
Wanda is already moving, eyes fixed on the window as the clouds outside split open with light. Through the glass, you catch a glimpse of something massive cutting through the sky toward the battlefield.
A massive wheel-like craft punches into view, tearing through the haze with impossible speed. It cuts across the sky like a blessing thrown at the battlefield.
Your eyes lock with Wanda's.
A silent agreement passes between you in half a second.
We're needed out there.
Now.
You turn to Shuri.
She's staring at her readouts, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle jumping, but she feels it too. The shift, the timing. She glances up at you once, then she nods sharply.
"Go," she says, voice tight. "If you die out there, I will resurrect you just to kill you myself. Go."
You don't waste time answering. You grab your beads, your breath, your courage.
Wanda's energy wraps around you before your feet even move.
It's a weightless sensation, a gentle pressure that lifts you clean off the floor. Your stomach lurches, and for a split second you hate how your body is betraying you at the worst time.
The lab drops away beneath you. Wind rushes past your ears as Wanda carries you both through the opening, out into the chaos. When you land, it's on solid ground near the battlefield edge, the air thick with smoke and heat and the metallic tang of war.
The roar of the fight hits you like a physical thing.
Outriders screeching. Wakandan shields humming. The brutal rhythm of impact and pain and shouted orders.
You brace instinctively, flexing your hands, scanning for the line, for Bucky, for anyone you can anchor yourself to.
But Wanda's power doesn't release you right away. It stays wrapped around your body, holding you in place like she's forgotten she's holding you.
You glance at her.
Wanda's head is tilted slightly, eyes unfocused, her energy pulsing around you like a question.
Her brows knit, and her voice drops, quiet enough that it feels intimate even here. "Mara," she says.
Your stomach flips. "What," you whisper, but your voice comes out too thin.
Wanda's gaze flicks briefly to your abdomen, then back to your face, as if she's hearing a sound under your heartbeat that doesn't belong to you.
"You're... different," she murmurs. Wanda's gaze sharpens like she's listening to something under your skin. "There's an echo," she murmurs. "In you."
Your breath catches so hard it hurts. For one suspended second, everything goes quiet in your head despite the war around you.
A ghost of a possibility. A what if that never became real, yet still left fingerprints behind.
Wanda's eyes flick up to yours, and there's a flash of confusion, then something like realization trying to form. "You're..."
Your throat tightens. You feel suddenly cold despite the heat of battle.
But the battlefield roars again, dragging the moment back into reality. The echo is swallowed by screaming and fire and the incoming shadow of something massive.
A Thresher.
The giant wheel like alien drill craft tears across the ground, ripping up earth and bodies in its path, heading straight toward a cluster of Wakandan fighters.
Wanda's face hardens instantly. "No," she says, cold as steel.
Her energy releases you at last and whips outward like a tidal wave.
The Thresher shudders, then lifts. It rises off the ground as if gravity suddenly lost the argument.
Wanda's hand clenches, and the craft arcs through the air flailing, a massive spinning weapon now under her complete control.
She throws it effortlessly.
The Thresher becomes a wrecking ball launched across the battlefield, slamming into a swarm of outriders with a brutal crunch that sends bodies flying.
For a brief second, the line breathes.
You turn and see Natasha watching with relief written plain across her face, and Okoye beside her, spear raised, eyes wide with something like awe she will absolutely deny later.
Nat exhales hard. "Thank God."
Okoye's gaze flicks from the scattered outriders to Wanda, then to you, then up toward the lab structure in the distance. She points her spear toward it, sharp and incredulous.
"Why was she up there all this time?" Okoye demands, voice carrying over the chaos.
Nat shoots you a look, half amused, half exhausted. "Honestly, that's a fair question."
You open your mouth, but you don't have an answer that doesn't involve grief and fear and choices that never feel clean.
Wanda steps forward, already raising her hands again, her magic flaring as she reenters the fight like a storm made human.
And you, heart pounding, dread still coiled inside you, push the echo down for later.
You don't even think. The second Okoye's question fades under the roar of the battle, your eyes start searching the chaos with one purpose, Bucky.
You pivot toward Okoye and Natasha, voice tight. "I'm going to find him."
Okoye's gaze flicks over you fast, assessing. No hesitation. She reaches behind her shoulder and thrusts a spear into your hands, the weight of it immediate, grounding.
"Remember your training," she orders, voice sharp.
You nod once. "I will."
Nat's eyes narrow at you, protective. "Em, don't be stupid."
You manage a quick, shaky grin. "No promises."
Then you're moving. You run into the chaos.
The battlefield is noise and heat and motion. Wakandan shields hum overhead. Outriders pour through gaps like a living tide. The ground shakes beneath your feet. The air tastes like smoke and metal and panic.
You push forward anyway, spear in hand, scanning faces, scanning movement, looking for a flash of dark hair, a glint of vibranium, a stance you know as well as your own.
"Bucky!" you shout, but the sound is swallowed instantly.
An outrider drops in front of you, all teeth and claws and rage. Your body moves before your fear does.
Okoye and Ayo's training snaps into place, clean and practiced. You plant your feet, pivot, spear whipping up to block the first swipe. The impact jolts up your arms.
You twist, drive the spear forward, then yank back and sidestep as the creature collapses. Another launches at you from the left, and you spin with the momentum, using the spear's shaft to sweep its legs out.
It hits the ground hard. You don't hesitate, you finish it.
Your breathing is loud in your ears, but your hands are steady. Your training paid off. For a few seconds, you're not the worried lover or the woman carrying secrets in her chest. You're the fighter.
Then three more outriders hit at once.
Your world compresses.
Claws rake toward your face. Teeth snap at your shoulder. You block, strike, shove, but their numbers swallow your space. Your spear catches one, but another slams into you from the side.
You stumble, boots skidding in churned dirt. Your heart hammers, panic rising, cold and sharp.
There's too many.
Your arms burn. Your lungs burn. You swing again, but your spear catches awkwardly, momentum stalling. An outrider lunges, and in that split second you see it clearly, bright and brutal,
This is it. This is how you die.
Not heroically or dramatically, just overwhelmed. Swallowed by teeth and claws and noise.
A snarl fills your ears.
You brace for pain. Instead, gunshots crack through the air. Sharp, clean, and precise.
The outriders around you jerk mid motion, then collapse like puppets with their strings cut, bodies dropping one after another, suddenly limp and lifeless.
You blink, stunned, chest heaving.
Then you hear it again. More shots, measured, unhurried, familiar.
You look up.
Bucky stands a few yards away, rifle braced, eyes locked on the battlefield like it owes him money. His vibranium arm catches the light as he lowers the gun, scanning you in quick, brutal assessment.
His jaw tightens like he's furious at the idea you were almost taken.
Then his gaze softens when it lands fully on you. "Em," he says, voice rough with relief and something darker.
Your knees go weak all at once, adrenaline crashing.
Bucky strides over fast, and without hesitation he offers you his left hand, palm open. "Up," he says.
The instant your fingers wrap around his, your knees almost buckle. He pulls you into him hard, arms wrapping around you like he's afraid you'll vanish.
You clutch him back, face pressed into his shoulder, shaking. "You're okay," you gasp, voice breaking. "You're okay, you're okay."
Bucky's hand grips the back of your head, holding you there. His breath is harsh against your hair.
"I'm here, doll" he murmurs. "I'm here. You're safe."
You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes stinging. He looks feral and beautiful and terrifying, hair damp with sweat, face streaked with dirt, jaw tight.
"I'm glad you're okay," you whisper
Bucky's eyes flick over your face, catching the fear you didn't get to hide. His expression tightens.
He cups your face with his real hand and kisses you harder than he ever has in public. A kiss that says you're alive and I've got you and don't you ever scare me like that again.
You kiss him back without thinking, grabbing his vest, pulling him closer, the battle roaring around you like it doesn't matter.
Sam Wilson's voice cuts through the comms, urgent and sharp, "We got a Vision situation!"
Your stomach drops.
Sam's voice continues, strained. "He's moving, but we're compromised!"
Panic spikes, hot and immediate. You slam your beads open and yell into the comms, voice breaking through the chaos.
"Shuri! Shuri, talk to me!"
A beat of static. Then Shuri's voice comes through, breathless, tight with fury.
"We were attacked," she snaps. "They broke into the lab. Vision was able to get away, but the stone is still attached. I did not have enough time!"
Your chest tightens. "Where are you?"
"Securing the lab," Shuri barks. "Get Vision back here if you can. Do not let them take him!"
You swallow hard, dread and urgency tangling until your hands feel numb.
You look at Bucky.
His eyes meet yours, calm in the middle of chaos in the way that always steadies you. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't hesitate, he just gives you a single decisive nod.
Let's go finish this.
You nod back, lips pressed tight.
You reach for your spear dropped in the chaos, then shift closer to him, shoulder brushing his.
"Okay," you breathe. "Okay. We go."
Bucky lifts his rifle, scanning the battlefield, then tilts his head toward the direction the comms indicate, voice low but firm.
"Stay on me, sweetheart," he says.
You inhale, steadying, and step into the storm with him.
The battlefield becomes a moving knot of bodies, blades, and desperate intent.
It's not elegant. It's not heroic in the cinematic way people will tell it later. It's frantic, it's loud, it's mud and smoke and the metallic tang of fear.
Everyone is fighting to keep Vision safe, and "safe" looks like a tight knot of bodies and shields and desperate coordination.
Steve barking orders. Sam swooping overhead when he can. Nat weaving through the chaos like a blade. Rhodey's repulsors lighting up the smoke. Okoye and the Dora holding the line with brutal precision.
And you, spear in hand, trying to stay close to Vision while also trying to stay close to Bucky.
It's impossible.
One second Bucky is at your left, rifle cracking, vibranium arm shoving an outrider off its feet. The next second the tide surges and bodies slam between you like a living wall.
"Bucky!" you shout, but the battle eats names.
You spin, searching, heart hammering. Nothing but smoke, screams, metal. The roar of something massive hitting the shield.
You force yourself to keep moving. Keep fighting. Keep Vision in sight.
Because that's the mission now.
Protect the stone. Protect him. Protect Wanda's last piece of hope.
Then Wanda breaks through the smoke.
You feel her before you see her, that familiar pressure in the air, reality tightening around her grief. She moves like a storm given a human shape, red energy snapping at her fingertips as she clears a path with sheer will.
When she reaches Vision, she doesn't hesitate. She grabs his hand like she's afraid he'll vanish if she blinks.
"Vision," she breathes.
His face softens in the smallest way, even as pain pulls at him.
"My love," he says, quiet, like the words are a balm he's offering her in the middle of hell.
For one heartbeat, everything in you hurts for them. Because you can see it. The way they're holding each other like it might be the last time. The way love looks when it's cornered.
Then the air changes. Not the wind, not the smoke.
The air itself shifts, thickening, going cold in a way that raises every hair on your skin.
The battlefield seems to pause, like even the outriders sense it. Like the universe itself is stepping back to make room for something heavier.
A pulse of darkness rolls across the ground and then he's there.
Thanos.
Not rushing, not frantic. Just appearing, calm as a god who knows he's inevitable.
Your stomach drops so hard it feels like falling.
Vision's gaze lifts, and something in him settles into resignation.
He turns to Wanda, voice low, intimate, the way people speak when they're trying to make an impossible thing gentler.
"It's time," Vision says.
Wanda's eyes flood instantly, tears burning bright against the dust on her face. "No."
Vision's hand cups her cheek with trembling tenderness. "It isn't fair," he whispers. "It isn't fair that it has to be you. But... it has to be."
Your chest tightens until it hurts. You want to look away, but you can't.
Wanda shakes her head, sobbing once, sharp and silent. "I can't."
"You can," Vision says softly, and the love in his voice breaks something in you. "You could never hurt me"
You don't know them the way you know Bucky, but love recognizes love. Sacrifice recognizes sacrifice. And this feels like watching someone carve out their own heart with their bare hands.
Wanda's face collapses into grief and rage, and then she nods, tiny and devastating.
She turns, palms lifting toward the stone.
Yellow light begins to gather, bright and trembling, like she's holding a star that's trying to break free.
Steve turns immediately, shield up, face hard with recognition and fury. Everyone shifts toward him at once. A protective instinct, a desperate plan forming in real time.
Stop him, hold him, buy her seconds.
You see Bucky then, finally, cutting through the chaos like a straight line.
He charges at Thanos without hesitation. Rifle barking. Bullets sparking uselessly off armor and skin that might as well be stone. Bucky doesn't slow.
Thanos doesn't even flinch. With one casual movement, Thanos backhands Bucky like he's swatting a fly.
Bucky flies sideways, hitting the ground hard, rolling, disappearing into smoke and bodies.
"NO!" The scream rips out of you before you can stop it.
You start forward, you don't even remember deciding, your body just moves. And Thanos flicks his hand. A wave of force slams into you and throws you across the battlefield like you weigh nothing.
You hit the ground hard, breath exploding out of you, spear skidding away. Your vision blurs, your ears ring.
You try to push up. Your arms shake. All you can do is watch helpless.
Wanda's face is twisted with sobbing resolve as she pours power into the stone. The yellow light intensifies, bright enough to hurt. Vision's body trembles as the connection begins to tear.
Steve and the others throw everything at Thanos.
Steve charges, shield striking. Nat darts in, trying to distract. Sam dives, wings flashing. Rhodey's blasts hammer at him. Okoye and the Dora surge, spears flashing.
Thanos moves through it all like it's weather.
He catches a strike, shoves someone aside. He steps forward, always forward.
Wanda's scream tears across the field as she forces the power harder, her magic cracking like lightning.
And then it happens. The mind stone shatters.
A burst of yellow energy explodes outward, a shockwave of light and grief that knocks people back and rattles your bones. For a split second, the battlefield is lit like daylight.
Wanda drops to her knees, sobbing, magic flickering like a dying flame.
Your heart breaks clean in two for them.
Thanos stops.
He looks down at Wanda with something almost like... pity. He steps closer. His voice is calm, disturbingly gentle. "I understand, my child."
Wanda looks up at him, tears streaking her face, rage bright in her eyes. "You could never," she spits, voice shaking.
Thanos doesn't react the way someone should react to being hated. He just... watches her, patient. Then he lifts his hand.
The Time Stone glows green.
And you feel your blood go cold, because you understand before it happens.
"No," you whisper, hoarse. "No, no, no..."
Thanos turns the stone. Time bends. The world shudders.
The explosion reverses like someone pulling a film reel backward. Yellow light snaps back inward. Dust and debris rise off the ground and reassemble. Broken earth stitches itself closed. Vision's collapse rewinds, his body jerking upright like a puppet yanked by invisible strings.
Wanda's sob becomes a strangled sound of horror as her victory is stolen out of her hands.
The stone reforms. Whole, bright and alive again.
And Thanos steps forward into the restored moment, reaching for what Wanda just destroyed, reaching for the one thing you all bled to protect.
Your body won't move fast enough. Your voice catches in your throat.
All you can do is watch time betray you.
Thanos steps forward through the rewound moment like he owns time itself, and no one can reach him fast enough.
Wanda's scream fractures into a sound that doesn't even feel human as she tries to stop him, tries to pull him back with raw power and grief.
It isn't enough.
Thanos's hand closes around Vision's head.
Vision's eyes flick toward Wanda one last time, apologetic even in terror, and then Thanos rips the mind stone free with a cruel simplicity that makes your stomach lurch.
Like it isn't a life. Like it isn't love.
Vision goes limp.
Wanda's cry turns into a broken sob that echoes across the battlefield.
And Thanos, unmoved, slots the stone into his gauntlet like he's completing a piece of a puzzle. The Infinity Gauntlet flares, all six stones blazing.
For a second, the light is blinding.
The air around him feels wrong, like reality is straining under the weight of all that power.
You push up on shaking arms, dirt grinding into your palms, lungs burning as you force yourself to breathe.
Then the sky splits. A roar like thunder made furious.
Thor slams down with Stormbreaker, lightning tearing across the battlefield, and for one impossible heartbeat you think,
This is it. This is the turning point. This is where we win.
Thor stands there with fury carved into every line of him, both hands locked around the axe, teeth bared, eyes burning like stars.
You stop breathing. Everyone stops breathing.
Thanos staggers, the axe buried deep, his body trembling with the impact.
Thor's voice rips out of him. "I told you... you'd die for that!"
For one second, hope surges so fast it hurts. It feels like the universe might be merciful.
Thanos lifts his head slowly. He looks at Thor and his face is... calm. Almost disappointed. "You should have," Thanos says, voice like stone, "gone for the head."
Your blood turns to ice.
His hand lifts. The gauntlet glows. And then, with a sound like reality swallowing itself, he snaps his fingers.
The sound is small. Just a click. And it echoes louder than any explosion you've heard all day.
Thor's face changes first.
Confusion, then horror. He yanks at Stormbreaker, but it doesn't matter. "What did you do?" he roars, voice cracking the air.
Thanos's body starts to dissolve, black smoke curling around him like a curtain falling.
In a blink, he's gone.
Thor whirls, wild eyed.
Steve stumbles forward, disbelief in his voice. "Thor... where'd he go?"
The battlefield holds its breath. And then the world starts to break.
A voice cuts through the chaos, raw and disoriented.
"Steve!"
Bucky.
You whip your head around.
He's a few yards away, standing unsteady, looking down at his own hands like they've betrayed him. His new arm is still there, black and gold catching the light, but his expression is wrong. Disoriented. Like the world is slipping out from under him and he can't grab onto anything.
Your feet move before your brain can catch up. You run. You shove past debris and bodies and smoke until you're right in front of him.
"Bucky," you pant, grabbing his arm, grounding him. "Hey, hey, look at me. You're okay. You're okay."
Bucky's eyes lift to yours. For half a heartbeat, recognition flashes. Then something softer floods in. Something unbearably tender.
He looks at you like you're the last good thing left. "Em," he breathes, and his voice is shaky in a way you've never heard.
Your throat tightens. "Yeah, I'm here."
Bucky's fingers tighten around your wrist. You feel how careful his grip is, even now, even as the world breaks.
His eyes shine. "I love you," he says, quiet and absolute, like he needs you to hear it one more time.
Your chest caves in. "James," you whisper, a warning and a plea all at once. "Don't. Don't do that."
He tries to smile, but it trembles. "Always," he murmurs, and the word sounds like a goodbye wearing a familiar coat.
Then his gaze drops. He stares at his hand. At the way his fingers start to crumble at the edges, turning grey, turning to dust.
His brows knit in confused disbelief. "Doll?" he whispers, frightened now, not of war, not of death, but of not understanding.
"No," you gasp, grabbing him tighter. "No, no, no, no."
Bucky looks back up at you, eyes wide and shining, and he's still trying to be strong for you even as his body betrays him. "I'm sorry," he breathes, the words barely there.
"Don't you dare," you choke, pulling him into you, arms wrapping around him like you can hold him together through sheer force. "Don't you dare leave me."
Bucky's hand lifts, trying to touch your cheek, trying to memorize you. His fingers fall apart before they reach you. Grey dust drifts between you like ash.
His face crumples, grief and fear and love all tangled, and then, right in front of your eyes, he disintegrates.
He collapses into nothing. Into drifting particles that slip through your fingers no matter how hard you squeeze.
The space where he was is suddenly empty.
Your arms close around air. Your breath shatters. For a second you can't move, can't think, can't make the world make sense.
You stare at the dust floating in the light, at the spot where his eyes were a heartbeat ago. You stagger, staring at the space where he was, hands still raised as if you can grab him back out of the air.
"Bucky," you whisper.
Nothing answers.
You don't even have time to scream. Because your body betrays you again.
A sudden emptiness blooms low in your abdomen, sharp and cold, like something was there and then wasn't, like a cord inside you snapped.
A void.
You gasp, the sound ragged, animal. Your hands fly to your stomach on instinct, protective, horrified.
No.
No, no, no.
It can't be, it was negative.
Your knees threaten to fold. You turn wildly, searching the battlefield through tears and smoke.
Wanda.
You remember her not letting go of you earlier. Her magic lingering. Her voice "You're different."
You find her on her knees near where Vision fell, face wet with grief so raw it looks like it's carved into her bones.
"Wanda!" you choke out, stumbling toward her, one hand still clamped over your stomach. "Wanda, I..."
Wanda looks up at you, and something in her expression changes.
Recognition, horror, guilt.
Then her own body starts to go. Ash creeps along her shoulders. Her hair begins to break apart, caught by the wind.
Her eyes fill with fresh tears, and her mouth opens like she's trying to say a thousand things in one breath. "You..." she sobs, voice breaking. "You didn't know?"
Your throat closes. "Know what?"
Wanda's face crumples completely. "I'm sorry," she whispers, as if the apology is the only thing she can give you before she's taken too.
You stand there shaking, one hand over your stomach, the other still coated in Bucky's ash, unable to breathe properly, unable to process the way the universe just stole him and stole something else from you in the same heartbeat.
👉🏽 CHAPTER 9
