Chapter Text
You stared at the ramp as it dropped to the ground, unsure if you could compel yourself to walk forward. Across the field you could see the white farm house. You thought about those inside, waiting for news. This was not the news you wanted to give. You felt weighted, heavy, burdened, and you began to doubt that you could lift your own feet. You heard footfalls and felt an equally heavy presence stop at your side.
“How are we supposed to tell them?” You asked as you stared at the house in the distance.
“The same way we've done everything else; together,” Steve replied.
You felt tears building, again, for what felt like the thousandth time in the last 24 hours. You couldn't believe your body had anymore to give.
Steve reached out and took your hand, prompting you to look at him. You saw the same tears reflected back at you from his eyes. You knew, no matter what, this was going to be as painful as the moment it happened, all over again.
You drew yourself up with a deep breath and gave Steve a nod. Steve nodded back and you both descended the ramp. It was dark and the only thing guiding you was the lights from the windows of the house as you approached. You hadn't quite made it to the steps, when the front door swung open. You figured they must have heard the jet.
You and Steve were swarmed by three sets of little arms, hugging and squealing and asking questions. You looked up to see Clint leaning against the doorway. His smile vanished when he saw your eyes.
“Uncle Steve, where's Mom and Dad? They didn't come with you?” Billy asked, ducking around Steve's leg to look back toward the jet.
You saw Steve's lip quivering and you knew he couldn't do this. You stepped over and put a hand on each twin, guiding them back to the house. “Come on, guys, let's go inside, Uncle Steve had a long day and he's tired.”
The twins and Nathaniel ran back through the door and you could vaguely hear Laura telling them that the popcorn was ready.
Steve didn't move as he watched them go. You saw a tear escape down his cheek and grabbed his shoulder, guiding him to sit on the porch swing. Clint closed the door and came to sit with you both.
There was silence, thick and painful, as each of you tried to figure out how to say what needed to be said.
Clint cleared his throat and spoke, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Who?” He couldn't manage anything more.
Steve leaned forward with his face in his hands, tears streaming steadily. “Sam,” Steve paused, his voice catching. “Vision and Wanda… and ...”
You heard Clint swear under his breath as he dragged a hand down his face, leaving it over his mouth. His eyes darted between you and Steve and you saw the moment it occurred to him both of you were missing something.
You saw the panic and disbelief that flashed there, before the tears gathered, his face contorting with despair. He stood, pacing to the railing, turning in a circle and dragging both his hands through his hair.
“Oh, God,” he breathed. “I- I should have been there- I should have- Jesus, Nat,” he fell to his knees, hand clutching his chest as he choked back sobs.
You slid out of your chair to kneel in front of him, wrapping him in your arms as he cried. You turned your head to check on Steve. He was watching you both and he reached out to place a hand on Clint's shoulder.
“You can't put that on yourself, Barton,” Steve told him. “This wasn't on you or any of us.”
You felt him nod against your shoulder. He slowly pulled his head back and cleared his throat. He turned to look at Steve and there was so much pain in his eyes you thought it might knock you over.
“I'm so sorry, Cap,” he said. “I can only imagine what you're going through. But I loved her too, you have to know that.”
Steve nodded. “I know you did,” he assured him. “She loved you too, even if her favorite way to show it was busting your balls.”
Steve tried to offer a weak smile and Clint did the same. You and Clint sat down again. You saw a look flash across Clint's face and he snapped his head back to you, more tears building. You held up your hand to stop him before the words could come out.
“I can't,” you squeaked out. “Not yet. If we say it out loud, I'll never get through the next few days.”
Your hand was clutching the ring hanging from your neck like a vice. You felt your vision blurring with tears and your blood rushing in your ears. You looked back at Clint, pleading that he not make you talk about the fact that Bucky was gone.
But before either of you could say another word, Steve was between you. He scooped you into his arms, pulling you against his body, just like he had been doing constantly for the last 24 hours, since the moment you saw Bucky turn to dust in front of you. You buried your face in his chest, determined to muffle the sobs that were escaping, hands fisting his suit, as much as they could, trying to get a grip on something. Steve tucked your head under his chin and held you tightly, knowing he was probably the only thing keeping you upright.
You heard Clint like he was far away as he told Steve that he and Laura would sit down with the boys and tell them about their parents. Steve told him that would be appreciated and that he had already contacted Yelena and she would be here as soon as she could. Clint asked if he could see her and Steve let him know she was on the quinjet whenever he was ready.
You felt Clint's hand squeezing your shoulder and you lifted your head from Steve's chest to look at him. “Kes, I'm so sorry,” he whispered. He leaned in to kiss your temple, briefly resting his forehead on yours, before going back inside.
Steve didn't let go of you, just guided you both to sit back on the swing. He turned so you could comfortably rest on his chest but maintained his tight grip around you. You could feel his quiet tears slipping down to land in your hair, while yours gathered on his suit. You couldn't tell how long you sat like that, silently clinging to each other exchanging tears. Eventually, your breathing synced and there was just a calm ache remaining.
“I'm pregnant,” you whispered into the silence. The words hung in the air like a verdict, like you had screamed them and they were echoing off of every surface.
“He told me,” Steve finally replied.
You abruptly sat up, staring at him with shock. “He couldn't have told you. He didn't know. I hadn't told him.”
“He knew. He just wanted to let you tell him on your own terms.”
You continued to stare, shock giving way to confusion. You frowned, mouth twisting, but before you could form a question, Steve answered you.
“He could hear the heartbeat,” Steve said. He let out a quiet, sad chuckle. “I wish you could have seen the look on his face when he told me. I've never seen him so excited.”
You just continued to stare, the shock taking over. You had thought he died without ever knowing. Now to find out he had, you weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
“Steve, I didn't tell him because I didn't know if I wanted to keep it,” you finally confessed. You chewed at your lip and tucked your arms around yourself, eyes dropping to your lap. “I never wanted kids and I was upfront about that with him. Even though I knew he would have liked to have them, he chose me and said that was enough. I believed him, but when the possibility was suddenly a reality, I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to take this away from him, but I thought I would end up resenting him if I chose to keep it. I was scared he would resent me if I chose not to. I just thought I would have more time.”
Steve watched as you buried your face in your hands, his heart aching for you. He didn't know what this felt like. He couldn't offer any practical guidance. But he could sit here and let you lean on him. That's what he had promised his best friend and that's what he intended to do.
He peeled your hands from your face and held them, encouraging you to meet his gaze. “We'll just take it one step at a time. You don't have to decide anything right now, okay?”
You nodded. Steve gave you a thin smile.
“Do you know how far along you are?” He asked.
“I think 8 or 9 weeks. I haven't seen a doctor,” you admitted.
“It's okay,” Steve assured. He pulled you back to lay on his chest again, tucking you under his chin once more. “It doesn't have to be right now, but you should go soon.” His tone was kind but firm as he held you tight. “I promised him I would take care of you and I don't plan on breaking that promise.”
***
The next couple days were a jumbled, echoing mess of tears and heartbreak.
Clint and Laura broke the news to the twins and there was instant chaos, which was to be expected when two superpowered children learn their parents are never coming back. It took a day and half to find them after Tommy grabbed his brother and they bolted. Eventually, they were convinced to return to the farm. The Barton family gained two more that day.
Yelena arrived and there was more chaos while she screamed and threw punches, looking for someone to blame, before finally collapsing on the floor of the quinjet by Natasha’s body. You helped her back to the house and you both spent the night crying and laughing and remembering her.
Clint asked if it would be okay if they buried her here and Steve and Yelena agreed. There was a funeral. Everyone who was left showed up. Hardly anyone spoke.
Yelena left, promising to call, as she hugged you tight, and you oddly felt like you had managed to gain something even among all this loss. Kate said she had decided to stay here with Clint and the family and that she too would call. You hugged the twins and cried with them, wishing you could make it better and knowing words were useless.
Clint asked if you wanted to stay, reminded you that you had a home with them, and made sure you felt loved. You thanked him, but declined, reminding him that you were still searching for Tony and Peter and Stephen. And all of that aside, you couldn't leave Steve alone at the compound. You'd never be able to live with yourself.
You closed the ramp of the quinjet behind you as you walked up to the front. Steve was already in the pilot's seat. He turned to look at you, hands on the controls. His jaw ticked as he fought to control his expression.
“Are you sure you're ready to go back?” He asked for what had to be the tenth time that morning.
“Are you?” You shot back.
Steve sighed. “Probably not.” But he lifted the jet into the air, aiming you for home and all the ghosts that would haunt you once you arrived.
***
Impossibly, a few weeks later, things managed to get worse when an orange spaceship landed on the compound green. You and Steve rushed out to find Tony, half-dead and stumbling out of it. You ran to catch him as his legs gave out.
Tony clutched your shoulder, eyes meeting yours and brimming with regret and tears. “I lost the kid,” he managed to get out.
You stopped, color draining from your face. Steve looked at you over Tony's head, worried. You shook your head and pushed the overwhelming grief aside. Get Tony help first. You could collapse later.
And later came, as it always did. After you got Tony medical attention, and Pepper and Morgan arrived to embrace him. After he told you about the battle for the gauntlet, about watching Peter disappear, Stephen too. After he yelled in Steve's face that we were supposed to face this together before collapsing.
After you and Steve spoke with the person who brought Tony home, Carol Danvers, as it turns out, and were told that she and Thor had already tracked down Thanos in an attempt to reclaim the stones, but it was too late and the stones were gone. So was Thanos, for all the good it did now.
After all this, you found your way back to your room. That's what it was now, just yours, no longer yours and Bucky's. You found yourself curling up on the floor at the foot of your bed, still and silent.
And then you collapsed in on yourself like a dying star. You screamed as you hugged your knees, hot tears coating your cheeks, your body wracking with angry, loud sobs. You could barely suck in breaths between cries and you struggled to keep from hyperventilating and passing out.
Steve suddenly appeared in your doorway, panic etched into his face, chest heaving like he had run to you. He took one look at you and dashed over sliding to his knees and then rolling to sit next to you. You felt his arms lifting you off the ground and then you were sitting in his lap, still curled in on yourself. He didn't say anything, just put you in the tightest embrace he could offer without cracking your bones.
He listened as you sobbed and struggled for breath, clawing at your own knees, tears and snot soaking into your shirt sleeves. He held firm when you pushed against his embrace, misplaced anger and grief suddenly directed at him. He didn't budge when you screamed at him to let you go, back off, leave you the fuck alone.
He stayed.
Your sobs subsided. Your breathing evened out. You ran out of tears. You let go of your knees, collapsing against his chest. He still didn't say anything, just ran a hand soothingly over your back. You stayed like this, silent and exhausted, minutes ticking by, perhaps hours, you couldn't tell.
“Peter's gone,” you finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Steve replied. “I'm sorry.”
“I can't take it anymore.” You could hear your voice shake at your words.
“I know.”
“You can't either. And I'm being selfish,” you picked your head up to look at him. “I'm so sorry. I'm just expecting you to hold me together when you lost just as much as I did. You don't need this.”
You tried to turn, intending to leave, but Steve wouldn't loosen his grip. You struggled against his hold again, but he still wasn't moving.
“Steve, please just let go. I feel awful enough without the added guilt of knowing you're ignoring your own pain to coddle me,” you pleaded.
Steve adamantly shook his head. “I told you; I made a promise to Bucky that day, that if anything happened to him, I'd take care of you. I'm with ya ‘til the end of the line.”
You furrowed your brow. “What?”
Steve chuckled. “It's something Bucky and I used to say, a promise to stick by each other. And now I'm saying it to you. ‘Til the end of the line, got it?”
You slowly nodded. “‘Til the end of the line.”
Steve gave you a warm smile. “Now. What do you need?”
You felt your stomach rumble and Steve snickered because he did too. “I assume dinner is the answer. What do you feel like? I'd offer to make something, but we both know kitchens are a dangerous place for me.”
You finally smiled back. “No, let's not. Can we get Chinese? I really want egg rolls.” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “And watermelon. I really want watermelon.”
Steve laughed, the first real laugh in weeks, he realized. He stood up, taking you with him, and set you on the bed. “Who eats egg rolls and watermelon, you weirdo.” He turned for the door, but stopped when he made a connection. He turned back to you, his face apologetic.
“Yes, I imagine it's a pregnancy craving,” you replied to the unspoken question in his eyes.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up,” Steve apologized.
“It's okay. I have to start acknowledging it.” You shrugged as you picked at your comforter.
Steve watched you, feeling concern rise in his chest. This was far too much for anyone to be coping with at once. He sat back on the bed next to you.
“How about this; for tonight, I'll go get food. You take a bath and get into your comfy clothes. Then we can eat and watch a movie and you can take out every single fuzzy blanket we own because I know that makes you happy. Deal?”
You gave him a half smile, resting your head on his shoulder, as you let out a long, slow breath. “Deal.”
“Tomorrow we can tackle another problem. Maybe we can make an appointment to see the baby doctor,” he suggested with a sheepish smile.
You giggled, palm meeting your forehead. “The baby doctor, oh good Lord,” you mumbled.