Hello all! This is a story I've been working on for well over a year and I am happy to say its finally finished. This idea came to me and I wanted to fully explore it, so this was just as much for me as it was for all of you. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All mistakes are mine.

It had been three weeks since Bucky had been signed in to the army hospital (big green medical tent) behind Allied lines in France following the train accident that had cost him his left arm. Of course, the loss of his arm had rendered Bucky unfit for duty and he would be honorably discharged from both medical care and the army in two more weeks. Bucky didn't actually remember the rock that had torn his arm off, or being rescued by Steve and the Commandoes, something he was immensely grateful for. He did however, remember the plane flight out of enemy territory and waking up in a medical tent short an appendage.

Bucky had pestered the poor nurses and doctors all the first week for information about his team until a letter from Colonel Phillips himself had arrived informing him that everyone was fine and to 'stop bothering the nurses or so help me Barnes, I'll bust you down to private so fast you won't know what hit you.' After that, Bucky quieted down. The loss of his arm had seriously done a number on him and he found himself sleeping more often than not.

He felt weak and useless. He'd never be able to find work when he got home. He'd dropped out of high school to get a job down at the docs when he was sixteen. Now manual labor was out of the question. Bucky would never be able to support a family.

Most of all, Bucky felt ugly. His left arm was a sickening stump, crisscrossed scars bandaged in layers of gauze. Without the weight of his arm, Bucky tended to lean heavily on his right side. No girl wanted that. Dames wanted big strong, handsome men who could provide for them and their children. Dames wanted a fella that could dance. Bucky no longer fit that description.

Bucky was eating his "breakfast", a bowl of grey, lumpy porridge and a cup of even worse coffee, moping about his arm when none other than Peggy Carter came sauntering into the tent. At least, Bucky thought it was Peggy. Her makeup and hair was immaculate as ever, but her eyes were rimmed with red and she carried an invisible weight that Bucky had never seen on her. She made her way across the tent and to his side with the same determination she'd always had, but this time it felt so much stronger.

Bucky tried to smile flirtatiously at her like he always had. "Agent Carter."

"Sergeant Barnes." Bucky could have sworn her voice cracked. She had bad news. That's the only logical reason why she'd be here. Bucky's shoulders slumped of their own accord.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Peggy could only nod.

"How?"

"Schmitt was personally flying a plane full of explosives to New York. Steve…crashed it."

Bucky went cold. "He died alone?"

"No." Peggy said, forcefully shaking her head. "I was with him over the radio. Right up until-" Peggy broke off, shoulders shaking with soundless sobs.

"Hey," Bucky whispered, scooting over in his tiny cot to make room for her, "come here."

Peggy went. She collapsed into Bucky's good side, ashamed of herself for selfishly crying while Bucky was only just wrapping his head around the fact that Steve was dead. Bucky for his part, wordlessly wrapped his arm around Peggy's shoulders and gave in to his own tears.

X-X-X

One armed or not, discharged or not, army regulations were still a huge pain in Bucky's rear end. After a very long trip across the ocean aboard a medical ship with literally hundreds of other wounded soldiers, Bucky had spent another week at an army medical base in Boston, going through what seemed like novels of paper work, before finally being allowed to return home.

After his parents had been informed of what happened to both him and Steve, they'd cleaned out their meager apartment and canceled the lease. Bucky was grateful for that. He didn't think he could go back to that apartment without Steve. He felt like a stranger standing in front of his parent's door, duffle over his shoulder and hand poised to knock. He'd been thrilled to go home at first. But now it seemed like home had changed, or maybe it was Bucky who'd done the changing.

His fist had barely made contact with the door when it swung open and a tiny person barreled into him. In a flash, Bucky dropped his duffle and was on his knees holding Becca as tightly as possible. She was sobbing into his shoulder while Bucky tried to shush her tears. George and Winifred were right behind Becca and collapsed, gathering both of their children into their arms. Bucky finally gave in and cried, quietly saturating his father's shirt with tears while his mother rubbed his back and sang the lullabies Bucky never expected to hear again.

After an eternity, the family quietly went inside the house. Bucky had his first home cooked meal in months, but he hardly tasted it. As soon as it was polite to do so, he excused himself to his room and fell into bed.