Bucky sits silently in his hospital bed, fiddling with his hands and keeping his gaze downcast. He was alone at the moment and all he heard was murmuring of patients and doctors outside his room and the occasional beeping of his heart monitor. He looks up when the door opens but he doesn't say anything right away.

"Mr. Barnes? Do you have any contacts we'd be able to reach?" The doctor asks as he walks to the edge of the bed, holding a clipboard in one hand. The brunette nods.

"My boyfriend," he says in a hoarse voice. He swallows as the doctor nods to himself and scribbles something down on his board. "His name's Steve Rogers."

"Okay, Mr. Barnes, now you just relax while we fetch him," the doctor soothes, managing a small smile before walking back out. The brunette leans back and stares up at the ceiling then blows out a breath.

He'd gotten into a car accident, a pretty nasty one, and he was amazed he got away almost unscathed. Well, almost unscathed, save for his legs. They were both broken beyond much repair. His ankles had been smashed in several places, his left knee had shattered and a piece of metal had stabbed through to the bone. Several tendons in his right leg had been torn.
It'd been a snowy night out and he'd been heading home from work, he always got off three hours earlier than Steve. A mother and her daughter had been crossing the street and he tried to stop; his tires slid and he'd had to swerve to avoid them. He jerked the car off the road and full on rammed into a road barrier. His car was old, on the end of its road, and the front had crumpled inwards very suddenly. Pieces of the broken car came back and well... there went his walking abilities.

It was a shame because he loved to dance. He'd never admit it to anyone, except Steve, and they used to dance around their place all the time.

He sighs and brushes his hair out of his face before closing his eyes. The door opens again but he doesn't bother looking up, assuming it was the doctor once again.

"Oh, God. Buck?" A voice said worriedly and he opened his eyes to see Steve standing there. He was well built, had messy blonde hair and light blue eyes.

"Hey," he says and swallows again, waving slightly. Steve goes to his side and lowers himself into the seat beside the hospital bed.

"What happened? Are you okay? How're you feeling?" He asks quickly and Bucky sighs and puts a hand up.

"I-I'm feeling..." he feels the word fine forming on his lips, but he meets Steve's concerned gaze and sighs again. "Physically pretty sore."

"What happened?" Steve repeats, brushing the brunette's hair out of his face. Bucky takes a breath before explaining, trying not to think about the pain, the shock, the fear he'd felt in that wreckage. He took Steve's hand when explaining the difficult to talk about parts, the painful ones.

"I didn't- I was stupid," Bucky mumbles once he's finished and the blonde shakes his head.

"Don't say that, you weren't stupid," he sighs, holding his hand gently. Bucky scoffs a little.

"I was stupid! If I'd been looking where I was going maybe I'd still be able to walk right now, but I can't," he says, blinking back forming tears. He wouldn't be able to walk ever again, unless a miracle happened, and Bucky didn't believe in miracles. "I won't be able to walk again," He mutters, looking back down at his lap and blinking hard. He was not about to cry.

"Won't be able to walk?" Steve repeats quietly and Bucky swallows the lump in his throat.

"Nope," he shakes his head and takes a breath before slowly blowing it out. "Not anymore."

"Buck," Steve says softly, he wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say. Bucky looks up at him and forces a small smile and a shrug.

"S'okay, I'll just have to-" he cuts himself short and squeezes the blonde's hand. Steve smoothes his hair back and kisses his forehead. Bucky leans into his hand and closes his eyes. Steve stayed with him for hours, and Bucky was so thankful to have him.

"I love you," he murmurs as he settles down for bed later that night, turning his head on his pillow to look at the blonde. Steve smiles a little.

"I love you too, baby," he says softly, lifting their joined hands and kissing the brunettes'. Bucky smiles sleepily before closing his eyes and quickly falling asleep.

////

Five days later of waiting in that terrible place, Bucky was finally let home, his legs in thick, hard casts. The doctors hoped (after resetting the bones several times) that leaving it alone would work wonders they couldn't. All it took was some time, they said. They also advised him to take it easy. He hated doing that.

////

He sits quietly in the wheelchair, shuffling a little, because it was uncomfortable and made him ache after mere minutes.

"Okay, all set to go?" Steve asks, walking over from the front desk where he'd had to sign many papers to release Bucky. It reminded the brunette of a prison, only scarier.

"Yeah," Bucky sighs, looking up at him. Steve nods then leans down and kisses the top of his head before pushing the chair, Bucky remains silent.

He's helped up into the passenger seat and Steve puts the wheelchair in the trunk then gets into the driver's seat. Bucky rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window as the blonde starts the car and goes off.

The drive goes by in a blur and soon Steve's getting out of the car. The blonde puts the wheel chair on the icy sidewalk and Bucky stares at it in disgust. His stomach rolls as he's suddenly crushed by the realization that he was condemned to a life in this chair. Steve opens the car door and it takes all that Bucky has not to throw up.

Steve doesn't like the silence that seems to cling to Bucky. He could see his boyfriend was slowly starting to slip away from him and Steve was worried for him.

Bucky wanted to die. Everyone was being so optimistic, claiming that with time his legs would heal. Well screw them. Bucky thinks bitterly. His legs weren't going to get better, you'd have to be an idiot to think they'd ever actually be usable again. Bucky was sick and tired of their lies.

Steve watches Bucky sighing, the doctors had said he would possibly suffer from depression but Steve had never thought it would be this bad. He spent most of his time laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Steve often had to prompt him multiple times before he would get an answer. Bucky wasn't even taking care of his basic needs right now for crying out loud.

It was wearing Steve out and he wasn't sure how much longer he could do this.

Steve eventually can't take it anymore, the house was too silent and he just couldn't deal with it. He packed a bag and left, he didn't plan for it to be a permanent thing but he just needed sometime away.

Bucky wasn't sure what to think, Steve was there one day and gone the next. Bucky blamed himself, it was all his fault. Everything was always his fault. The car crash, Steve leaving, his legs. His wheelchair sat in the corner and Bucky swore he could hear it cackling, laughing at his misfortune, and the fact he'd never be able to escape his own legs.

He pushes himself of the bed, landing with a thump on the floor. He takes a moment to regain his breath before he drags himself to the door. He digs his hands into the carpet as he pulls himself past the wheel chair that stared at him judging from the corner. He slowly drags himself into the kitchen where he has to spend several minutes trying to catch his breath. Sweat beaded across his forehead and his arms ached. He grunts as he pulls himself up onto the counter. After two attempts he managed to grab the bottle of pills. Holding onto the bottle he lets go of the counter, he gasps in pain as he lands back on the unforgiving tile floor. Shaking he twist the cap off the bottle and shakes out several pills. He doesn't give himself time to think about it before shoving them down his throat.

Steve comes home to an all too familiar silence, he drops his bag down at the door and goes down the hallway to Bucky's room. He shoves the door open and expects to see bucky laying in bed. Except he wasn't. Steve races around the house before coming to an abrupt stop in the kitchen. His blood runs cold at the sight that laid before him.

He cries at the funeral, harder than he'd cried in years. Even twenty years later when he'd finally thought he'd moved on, deep down inside he always knew it was his fault.

Because it was.

A/N: oops. Love spideymanandloki

Yeah... I whacked spideymanandloki upside the head for this. I actually had a cute ending in mind but nooo. She wrote the bold (except for this, she wrote the story part) so yeah. Her fault.