Death Where is Your Sting? - B. Barnes

Chapter 32

As they watched Ray fall apart, Bucky gathered her in his arms and carried her upstairs to his bedroom. He sat with his back against the headboard and held her to his chest, smoothing her hair, kissing her head, until she cried herself to sleep.

Ray jolted awake hours later, her scar burning, stomach flipping. Bucky watched her face go pale and her hand fly to her mouth, so he rushed her to the bathroom. He held her hair back and ran his fingers along her spine as her body heaved the contents of her nearly empty stomach. He watched as her fingers twitched resting on the toilet bowl...watched the chills of a coming fever begin as she sat on the cold bathroom floor...and he worried that he was finally starting to get her back only to lose her again. For good.

Ray was a wreck. Every time she closed her eyes, she was haunted by flashes of memory from that day...the day she died - the day she should've died. The memory itself was devastating, but the fact that it was she that pulled the trigger...it overwhelmed her in every way. Her head was pounding. It was only midday, but she was exhausted. To Bucky's credit, he had stayed with her as she laid in silence in his bed, worrying the blanket between her fingers, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

Sam had come up to ask if they wanted lunch and Bucky had stepped into the hall to speak with him.

"I don't know what to do, Sam. I don't know how to help and -"

"You're doing it, man. Just be there for her. Give her the space to process it at her own pace. How are you doing? That was a big reveal for you too."

"I'm...relieved? That it wasn't me. That I didn't...but this is almost worse. I'd almost rather it be my fault so she'd have someone to blame."

"She does - Hydra. And she'll get there. She'll see that they drove her to that choice."

It was long past dark when she'd finally spoken. They were seated with their backs against the headboard, legs stretched before them.

"I should be dead."

"No." Bucky looked to her.

"Point blank shot to the heart? No one should be able to survive that." Bucky couldn't argue with that; it was true. It was why he'd never looked for her, never added her to his list of amends - there was no way for her to survive. But...Hydra. Bastards.

"I'm glad your not."

"Don't. Don't do that."

He turned to face her fully, kneeling beside her. "I'm being honest."

"I don't deserve - "

"You didn't have a choice."

She locked eyes with him. "I've killed people, Buck. It's foggy but I can feel it...I know it. Even if I don't remember it all yet, I know I did it. Me, and if I'd just died - "

"Hydra still would've killed those people. If it wasn't you, it would've been me or Rumlow or Pierce or-"

"Is that supposed to make it better? I still - "

He grasped her shoulders. "Don't do that to yourself. You would have never done those things if you had been in control."

"Bucky - "

"I'm just as guilty as you. I did...terrible things. For decades, Ray. But I wasn't in control. And I hate myself for the things I did, to this day. I've made amends to the best of my abilities, but their blood is still on my hands. I understand, probably more than anyone. We may never be able to forgive ourselves, but if we stay in that guilt, they win. Hydra wins. They still control our lives. And I don't know about you, but I don't intend to let those bastards control my life anymore. Or yours. They don't get to win, Ray. Not anymore." He cupped her face. "Don't let them take your life from you. Not again."