"Hey, um, I hope this isn't weird, but I wanted to get you something for the holidays. I know Hanukkah doesn't start for a month but... with this threat that apparently might kill me coming I dunno if I'll be here to celebrate." Barry passed him a letter addressed to Bucky. It was in his mom's handwriting. "I happened to be in the year you told me she passed, so... " He wasn't supposed to mess with time. However, visiting her on her deathbed couldn't change much. {velocitystruck}
@velocitystruck || Read the letter here!
The smile that had spread across his face at the offer of a gift faded as soon as Bucky caught sight of his ma’s handwriting. Almost 80 years since he’d seen her, and that recognition still hit him like a lightning bolt. She had passed back in the early 80′s, or so the records had said, missing any chance of a reunion by a long shot. He’d made his peace with it, as much as he could. They’d had a long, proper goodbye before he shipped out, well aware of what his chances of coming home had been. Yes, he still missed her in a way that felt like burning some days, but he knew she’d living a long and relatively good life.
Bucky didn’t even want to imagine what she and the rest of his family had gone through once they’d received the letter that he’d been killed in action. In his brief visits with Becca, they didn’t really touch on subjects like that, preferring to stick to stories about her grandkids, and what new thing Bucky had tried recently. Taking the letter in his metal hand (since his flesh ones trembled slightly), Bucky stepped back and slumped into the closest chair, just staring at the lettering of his name on the envelope. He knew he was being rude, just ignoring Barry like this, but Bucky didn’t have much processing space for anything else at the moment.
It had been so long since Bucky had spoken to his mother, and even if it wasn’t her actual voice, the letter was the next best thing he could get. Growing up, even as old as Bucky was now, didn’t change the fact that his mother had been one of his heroes growing up. With a dry mouth he opened it, unfolding the letter, taking a moment to just scan the handwriting. Shakier than before, but still the same rushed and loopy script. Eyes already burning, Bucky blinked heavily and read the letter, a long and cramped thing that took up both sides of the paper. Tears were actively escaping by the time he reached the half-way point, and by the time Bucky finished he was sniffling and biting his lip bright red.
“I… Barry, I can’t…. This is…. Thank you.”
Standing back up he hugged the younger man tightly, trying to express his gratitude despite his words failing him. To some this might not have been such a big present, but to Bucky, who had adored his mother so and hadn’t truly gotten any closure… it was the best gift he had received in a long time. Eventually he pulled back and cleared his throat through a watery smile.
Scrubbing his face, Bucky asked, “So. This threat. You need anything, you call, got it?”
