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Bucky remembered how Steve made him feel. At the top of a building, a hundred meters off the ground, breaths away from civilization. It wasn’t the first time they were in this position. But perhaps, it was the first time he felt so warm, and not the biting cold of the Alpens. It was also probably the first time he felt so heavy and so bitter, and not the usual emptiness one got after plunging towards death. Steve was looking over the edge, the inky black sky stretched out behind him. And Bucky was looking up at him, the summer breeze the only warmth by his side.
Bucky remembered how Steve made him feel, the empty promises he uttered, the choked out begging, and the sad, dejected look in his eyes. He didn’t blame him. There is, after all, enough bitterness in his world without Bucky adding more. His mouth moved in the shape of a lie. But there is no denying the crack in his voice as he begged,
“Please don’t go.”
Bucky couldn’t move because it was biting cold and his legs were frozen over the edge. He couldn’t move because perhaps his heart has frozen long enough to never be thawed again. He couldn’t move because it was too late, way too late for him to ask now. Most of all, he couldn’t move because he no longer has to.
Dead people aren’t allowed to move.
At the top of a building, a hundred meters off the ground, Bucky Barnes looked up at Steve and remembered how he made him feel so strong, so alive even though he’s dead. And really, the only regret he has is the crumpled look on Captain America’s face as he saw, a hundred meters from the ground, the still body of his best friend.