The air is thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Explosions rattle the ground beneath your boots as chaos unfolds around you—crumbling buildings, screaming civilians, and the desperate clash of power against power. The team is scattered, overwhelmed. You're out of time and out of options, and you can see it written in everyone's faces: not all of you are going to make it. (©TRS0425CAI)

But there’s still a chance to save the people huddled behind that overturned car. A slim, reckless chance. The decision made itself.

Your fingers tighten around the comm, and even through the static, you know he’ll hear you. “I love you, James.”

There’s a pause. A breath.

“Wait—what are you doing?” Bucky’s voice cracks through the line, panic blooming in the middle of a warzone. “Don’t—don’t you dare—”

You drop the comm.

And then you run.

You threw up a shield of energy, power, or your own body—whatever you had left—to protect the people frozen in terror

The world narrows to the sprint between you and the trapped bystanders, the glowing countdown of the bomb half-buried in debris, the way your heart beats like it already knows this is goodbye. You throw up a shield of energy—whatever you had left—to push the people frozen in terror out of the way. At least they'll live. At least he’ll know—

You brace for pain. You feel the heat of the explosion. Then nothing.

Except—

Suddenly, you're not burning. You're flying—no, being carried—Metal and muscle wrap around you as you're yanked backward just before impact. You slam into the ground hard—but alive. Gasping.

You look up to find Bucky crouched over you, eyes wild, blood on his temple. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he rasped. His voice shook. “You think you get to say you love me and then die? That’s not how this works!”

“I thought I was—” you breathe, disoriented.

“Well, you’re not,” he snaps, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again. “And we are not done talking about that.”