Ghost of You

f o r t y - f i v e

*A/N: this is it friends :( It's hard to believe it's over, but all good things must come to an end 🥺 On a HAPPIER note, I have two new books published! The first is a book of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes one shots! The second is my next Steve Rogers story, a soulmate au titled Until I Found You. Both can be found on my page if you're looking for something new to read!*

My phone vibrates, buzzing loudly against the oak of my nightstand. It's loud enough to wake me, but not enough to stop me from rolling away in the opposite direction, ignoring it completely.

When it vibrates for a second time, I pull my pillow over my ears, a failed attempt at blocking out the noise. My phone continues to rattle relentlessly against the wooden surface, making me groan and turn back towards the nightstand. I reach my hand out, blindly grabbing for my cell until my fingers wrap around the device and bring it towards my face.

I wince at the brightness, struggling to turn it down low enough for my eyes to adjust to the screen. Squinting slightly, I can see that not only do I have three missed texts from Bucky, but that it's eight o'clock in the morning.

The first is just one word, my name.

(Y/n),

The next is longer and more to the point.

You need to come to the compound.

The last text makes me laugh. Or at least it would have, had it not interrupted my sleep before the sun had finished rising.

This is Bucky.

I rub at my eye with one hand, holding my cell in the other, typing out a response with just my thumb.

There is no more compound. Thanks blew it up.
Thanks.
Thanks.
Thanos.
Damn autocorrect.
Too early. Going back to bed.

I drop my phone on my stomach with a huff, shutting my eyes. I'm only given about a minute of peace before the phone vibrates again, twice.

(Y/n),
It's 8:00 AM.

I roll my eyes at the screen. Who the hell taught this man to text like this?

Exactly.
Don't you sleep?

This time my phone buzzes with his response before I can put the cell down.

(Y/n),
I'm up at six every morning.

I roll my eyes for a second time. Of course this man wakes up at six. I was going to have to take some time to teach him some phone manners. No texts before nine, not writing my name at the top of each message like he's about to write a handwritten letter with a stamp.

Can you get here in an hour?
It's urgent.

Get here? What the hell was Bucky doing at the compound at eight o'clock in the morning?

I have half a mind to put up a fight. I don't want to go to bed, much less make this particular trip. Seeing the ruins of the compounds is going to do nothing positive for my mental headspace, that was for sure. But I trust Bucky. If he's saying it's urgent, it probably is.

Getting up now.
Be there, soon.

I toss my phone onto the bed, moving out from under the covers. It takes me just over an hour to check out of the small bed and breakfast I was crashing at and get to what's left of the compound. I'd been staying there since the funeral, taking a breather as I try and figure out what comes next for me. In light of recent events my name had been cleared, the tracking device removed from my ankle and the conditional terms put in place after my work release had been terminated. As much as I was grateful for that, it left with me with no sort of semblance as to what I'd do next.