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Steve walks down the familiar hallway. In the beginning he had to follow the blue stripe on the floor to not get lost. Now his feet know the route, muscle memory taking him there. To the place he’s been every day for the last two weeks.
The smell is the worst part. It haunts you. Even when you get back home, the smell is still stuck in your nose. It hits Steve the moment he enters the building every day. The smell of disinfectant and illness. It’s something you only smell in a hospital.
The halls are all white save for the floors that are a weird gray color to cover stains, with mass produced paintings hanging on the walls to fill the space. He considers donating a few of his own paintings to the hospital, but the thought of seeing them hanging in a hallway where no one ever stops to look at it is too sad. It isn’t the paintings you come for at this place.
On the first day, he stopped just inside the sliding doors, eyes running down the list hanging on the wall to find the right directions. Once he figured out it’s the light blue stripe on the floor, not the dark blue or the teal or the slightly purple medium blue, but the light, sky blue, he followed it on shaky legs.
His mind was raising, trying to imagine what he would see once he got there. For three days he’d showed up at the hospital, wanting to visit, only to be turned down at the reception. Until the fourth day after the incident, when they took him down the hall to one of the rooms.
He was both exited and terrified at seeing his friend again. It felt like months had passed, every day lasting for weeks. A part of him hoped that when he rounded the corner, Bucky would greet him as if nothing happened, but reality was nowhere close to that.
Now, after two weeks, he still walks hesitantly up to the reception. The desk is littered with pamphlets. Some are for information on specific issues. Those are called Substance Abuse, Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety Disorders, Depression, Grief & Loss. The headlines are written in big, bold letters, pages filled with colors to make you gravitate towards them. Then you have the more general ones, Family Relations, Body Image, Friendships, Bullying.
Every day the pamphlets taunt him. They hold the information he desperately needs and fears more than anything. He’s avoided doing any research, holding the truth at arm’s length for a little while longer before he has to face it.
Today feels different. No one is at the desk when he arrives. With no witnesses, he can sneak a few into his pocket, ready to be read at a later date. He grabs a couple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychotic Episodes, Depression. Apparently, depression in men needs its own pamphlet. He grabs both just to be sure.
Steve jumps in surprise when a door opens behind the desk, and he quickly stuffs them into his pocket before anyone can see as if he’s doing something shameful.
“Mr. Rogers. How are you today?” The receptionist asks with a bright smile on her face, clearly recognizing him. He doesn’t recognize her, but maybe that’s his fault. Maybe they all sit at lunch, talking about the sad man visiting his friend every day, hoping to see something that isn’t there.
“I’m good, thanks.” Steve replies. It’s the default answer. She doesn’t really care, just asks out of being polite.
“Mr. Barnes has had a rough night, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” She says in a soft voice, like Steve will break at the mention of his friends struggles. He wants to laugh at her word choice. Happy. That is the last thing he expects from Bucky right now. If he gets anything near okay, that will be enough.
He just nods at her with a polite smile, unsure of how to reply. Every day, he’s told to have no expectations. But every day he comes in, hoping for good news. The last couple of days Bucky seemed calmer, but with that came heaviness, heaviness he’s never seen in his friend’s eyes before.
“Dr. Berg would like to speak to you before you have your visit. If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll fetch him.” Steve nods again, going back to staring at the pamphlets on the desk.
If only he had had those pamphlets two weeks ago. He could’ve seen the signs, could’ve helped Bucky before it went this far. He’s always so energetic, sometimes to the point that it can’t possibly be real. Steve feels exhausted just watching it, but it’s natural to Bucky. It’s just the way he is, even after everything he’s been through.
They should’ve noticed something was wrong when he started acting weirdly energetic so early in the morning. Even Bucky is slow and tired when they have to get up at six in the morning. But not that morning. Rather than losing energy, he seemed to pull it out of thin air until he had so much, he stopped making sense.
By that point it was too late to stop it. That is something Steve can’t forgive himself for. No one knows Bucky better than him, no one sees the small signs and emotions like he does. He saw what was happening, but he never questioned it. Didn’t even pull Bucky to the side to try to ask if he was okay.
He was so happy to see his friend act like he used to back in the day, he didn’t want to see that anything was wrong.
The doctor arrives, leading Steve into a private waiting room. He sits him down and explains that Bucky had a rough night. A nurse found him wandering the halls, muttering to himself and when they tried to lead him back to his room, he lashed out.
“It’s natural for these patients to fall into a depression once they’ve come down.” He explains like Bucky is just another patient, like he’s the same as everyone else. “During a psychotic episode, they can’t always judge what is real, leading them to do things they normally wouldn’t. Once that has calmed down, realizing what you’ve said and done can be very hard for a lot of people.”
Steve listens, takes it all in, but doesn’t allow himself to feel the words. He hates how Dr. Berg talks about Bucky like he’s just another statistic. As long as he stays within the statistic, he’s okay in their eyes. Doesn’t matter what makes his struggles his, the things that are and aren’t normal for him.
“We have to gradually help him get better. If the process is too fast, the chance of hurting themself is higher. The mind hasn’t had enough time to recover, but they suddenly have the energy to act on their thoughts. It can be very dangerous.” He explains slowly.
“For many people with PTDS, it is a long recovery because there are many ways to treat it, and what works for some might not work for others. For other patients they recover rather quickly once the trauma is treated. There’s no way to know in advance how he’ll respond to the treatment.” He keeps talking and Steve keeps nodding, willing himself to remember the words so he can process them later.
Dr. Berg talks about Bucky’s state of mind. Seeing as Steve is his emergency contact, his only living family, they tell him everything they would tell a patient’s family members. They’re upping his medications, adding another to help with the anxiety and something to sleep on tonight. He has a bruise on his jaw and a cut on his arm from when he lashed out last night, so don’t be alarmed. And there’s an IV in his hand, they still haven’t removed that.
Then Dr. Berg takes him down the hall. They pass the section with the ‘private’ rooms Bucky was in his first days. This hospital says they don’t so isolation. Instead, they put patients in ‘private’ rooms and don’t allow them to interact with other patients or have visitors.
Steve doesn’t see the difference. It might not be a bright, white, padded room like you see on TV, but those probably don’t exist anymore, or do they? This is the only psychiatric ward he’s been to.
He is showed into a room where Bucky sits on a bed with a book in his lap. He’s staring at the page, eyes unmoving. The book could be upside down and he probably wouldn’t notice.
Seeing him is both a relief and too painful to bear. Every minute he isn’t here, he can’t stop thinking about Bucky. What if something changes? What if something terrible happens? Or he just needs Steve? He feels so far away even though the hospital is less than ten minutes from their apartment. And every minute he’s here, he can’t stand it, wanting nothing more than to leave, but he stays.
The door is closed behind Steve with a loud click. It’s only then he realizes how loud the hospital is. There are noises coming from all kinds of sources in every direction. Until a door shuts, and he’s left in silence with his friend that isn’t entirely his friend at the moment.
A week ago, when Bucky was still psychotic, he wouldn’t stop talking. Now, he’s quiet, speaking slowly. Like he needs to think about every word before he can speak it. Like it’s too much of a struggle to say the words out loud.
“Hey.” Steve says, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Can I sit here?” He asks, pointing at the bed. Bucky slowly looks down at the bed before nodding. Steve sits down beside him.
No one had to tell Steve that his friend had a rough night. The way his knees are pulled up to his chest so tightly it must be painful, and the trembling that seems to come from his bones, speak volumes all on their own.
Bucky doesn’t react when Steve sits down beside him, the bed dipping under his weight. He moves slowly, unsure of what headspace Bucky is in, where he might be in his mind. The last thing he wants to do is startle him.
“Buck?” Steve’s voice is reluctant, worried. Somehow, he seems heavier today. No recovery is linear, but Steve had been hopeful when he caught a glimpse of the Bucky he knows yesterday. Bucky’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, they tremble right on the edge, almost falling, but somehow being held back.
“Hey, are you okay?” Steve instinctively asks, reaching out for Bucky’s shoulder when Bucky flinches away with a gasp, the book dropping to the bed beside him. Steve pulls his hand back, stunned at the reaction. No touching, the message is loud and clear.
Steve takes a good look at his friend, wondering what happened in the nineteen hours since he left that would cause this. With a deep sigh, Bucky leans forward, almost resting his chin on his knees, but he’s so tensed up his chin hovers just above them. There’s a painful twitch in his neck that tells Steve he’s been sitting here for a while.
“I can see that you’re hurting.” It slips out, meant as more of a quiet observation than a statement. The hurt radiates off of Bucky in waves, threatening to pull Steve down with him. The only response he gets is another twitch in his neck.
Steve wracks his mind for something to say. A way to let Bucky know how much he cares. He wants him to feel like he can open up to him without feeling forced to talk. He knows that Bucky talks in therapy, but they don’t know Bucky. They don’t know what he means when he says something, or when he stays quiet.
“Remember when we first started out and we started going out to dance? You didn’t know how to at first and you acted like you didn’t care, that you were just having fun. But then you cried when we got home. You said it was because you were happy, but I could tell you just wanted to feel wanted on the same level as everyone else.
And it’s not that you needed the confirmation that you were good enough, but you wanted to be part of something. You were scared you didn’t fit in even though deep down, you knew that you did. You never told me any of that, but I saw it on your face. I felt it like I was a part of you. And I never stopped feeling what you feel.
When you hurt, I hurt. I don’t mean to make you feel guilty, that’s not it at all. Because I want to hurt for you. That’s what it is to be a family. I would much rather hurt for you than let you feel this alone.” It’s more than he’s said in a while. He usually isn’t one for talking this way, people know that he cares for them without him having to say so. But right now, Bucky needs the reminder.
Steve hopes he said the right thing. In the few times Bucky has been in an episode of depression, Steve has noticed patterns. He twists and turns people’s words to fit with what his demons are telling him, making the highest compliments into insults, and turning love into hate. He makes their words fit into his own self-loathing, tightening the downward spiral he’s in.
The wheels are slowly turning in Bucky’s head. Steve can tell by the way he moves his eyes back and forth between two spots on the wall. He always does that when he’s deep in thought.
“When-” Bucky’s voice is barely audible. He clears his throat before he tries again. “When can I give up?”
“Give up on what?” Steve knows what Bucky is saying, he just needs to be sure.
“How much pain do I have to go through before giving up is okay?” Bucky speaks slowly, every word is heavy with emotion. He seems to curl into himself even more as if he’s trying to hide now that the words are out in the open.
Steve feels like his chest is caving in. He knew Bucky was struggling, but hearing those words come from his friend hurts. “Is that what you want?”
The tears in Bucky’s eyes spill over. He shakes his head, but his body language is saying yes. Steve is no stranger to the temptation of nothing. Pain can get so bad that anything would be better than continuing to feel that way. But it passes, it always passes. Just like any other emotion, pain isn’t permanent.
“To me,” Steve pauses, collecting his thoughts. He needs to word this right. “You don’t seem at peace with that decision.”
Bucky huffs wetly but doesn’t make a move to wipe at his eyes or the snot running down to his lip. It would be gross if this wasn’t Bucky, the person Steve cares for and loves the most, the one he couldn’t live without.
“If you were, you wouldn’t be so upset, and hurt so bad. This pain you’re feeling, I think it’s about how overwhelming it is that you have to fight for what you want, that you have to live through this pain to get somewhere it seems impossible to get.” He has no idea if what he’s saying is making a difference, or if it’s helping Bucky at all. But he tries, and all he can think to say is what he himself needed to hear, but he didn’t have anyone to tell him.
“Someone who’s at peace with giving up have decided that they don’t want that future anymore. They have nothing to stay for because they no longer hope for what they once wanted. You have hope, you want a future, or you wouldn’t be so worried about how to get there.” Steve hopes he’s right, or he’s just gone on a tangent that does the opposite of helping Bucky.
“You don’t get it.” Bucky says with a sad chuckle. It sounds like he’s disappointed, like he expected Steve to not understand. It’s exactly what Steve wanted to avoid. He needs to come up with some way to explain what he means so Bucky will understand. No matter how broken Bucky feels, Steve still sees a spark of hope in him, and as long as there’s a spark, there’s going to be a flame.
“I’m not in your head.” Steve starts, making it clear that he tries with the limited information he’s getting. “But I know what it’s like to feel this way and the fact that you just told me how you feel tells me that you’re seeking help. Your feelings are valid, I’m not taking that away from you, but I think you have more fight in you. Maybe just a sliver of hope, but that is all you need.”
Bucky still hasn’t met Steve’s eye. He looks at the wall, but his eyes are still moving back and forth. Hopefully, it means he’s digesting the words. It’s a lot to take in. Bucky doesn’t have to say anything as long as he’s willing to listen.
The fight going on in his head is visible. The widened eyes and slight frown are small changes, but Steve notices. He notices when Bucky’s lip twitches as if he’s going to speak, but changes his mind, and he notices when Bucky’s shoulders sag just a little under the weight of his thoughts.
“It-” Bucky finally utters after a long silence. His voice cracks around the word, like what he’s about to say is too heavy for his vocal cords. “It hurts.”
Bucky’s head drops, finally tearing his eyes away from the wall, followed by a sharp intake of breath. His shoulders start shaking, and Steve has to bite his lip to hold back his own tears. Bucky tilts in Steve’s direction and Steve takes it as an invitation to envelop him in his arms.
He holds Bucky tightly, rocking him back and forth as he chokes on shaky breaths that sound painful. By the way Bucky is clutching his chest, it probably does. Steve knows the feeling. Like his heart is swelling with pain, being pierced by broken ribs.
Emotional growing pains. Despite how it seems, this is a step in the right direction. You need to feel the pain in order to heal from it.
“I know you’ll be okay.” Steve says softly where he’s got his face pressed into Bucky’s hair.
“I know it doesn’t make the hurt feel any less now, but we will figure out how to make it hurt less. Just because we can’t imagine how it will happen doesn’t mean it won’t.” It’s pure instinct to say we rather than you. Bucky will never be alone; he will never have to go through anything without Steve’s, and the other members’ support.
“You really think so?” In the way Bucky’s words are barely audible, it’s clear he doesn’t believe Steve. That’s okay. Steve can have enough hope for the both of them.
“I know so.” He tries to put all his confidence into the words to show Bucky that there’s no doubt in his mind. “I know this is hard. This is so, so hard. I promise you; no pain is so great that it can’t heal.”
Bucky sniffles loudly and makes a move to wipe his eyes. It’s clumsy with Steve’s arms around him, so he leans back, and Steve reluctantly lets go of him.
“You’ll be happy again, and your life will be good.” It’s a promise, a guarantee that they will get there. He can’t promise he’ll beat this or never experience an episode again, but he can promise to never give up.
A nurse comes in with medications soon after. By that time, they’ve both had a moment to collect themselves.
When Bucky lifts the small cup of pills, followed by the cup of water to his lips, his sleeve slides down his arm, revealing a fresh bandage beside his healing wounds. The sight sends chills down Steve’s spine, but he chooses not to comment on it.
The nurse apologizes for interrupting but stays while Bucky swallows the pills and shows her his empty mouth. The soft rubber cups remind Steve of where they are and why. Everything here is made softer, blunter, so nothing can be used to harm anyone. Still, Bucky found a way.
The first time Steve met Bucky, he thought of him as one of those people who never has a worry, who always sees the positive in every situation. He believed that for a long time. Over the years they grew closer, and Bucky opened up about his past. It turned out Steve wasn’t the only one struggling with his mind for most of his life.
They were teenagers the first time a depressive episode hit. It seemingly came out of the blue for and lasted for a few weeks before he seemed to lighten up. During the few weeks, he kept working, but the moment he had alone time he would cry and sleep, withdrawing from everyone.
Even as it happened a few more times over the years, Steve didn’t think much of it. It’s normal to have periods of time where stress and pressure makes life harder. Mental health wasn’t a subject in the thirties, Steve didn’t even know one could get sick in such a way.
The war made everything worse. In the years of the world falling apart before either of them entered the army, Bucky walked around in a fog. The person he had been was gone, replaced with a watered-down version of him.
When Bucky first came back after breaking free from Hydra, he was his normal self. That’s when Steve should’ve known. But he had missed that version of Bucky for so long, he just wanted to hold onto him.
Sure, he had flashbacks and depressive episodes and could barely function some days, but most of the time he acted like the past was just the past. Come to find out, Bucky became an expert at hiding his emotions when he was under Hydra. The whole time Steve thought he was doing great; Bucky was falling apart on the inside.
The diagnosis scared Steve. PTSD is such a big thing in his mind. He’s seen many people at its mercy. It scared him to think that Bucky will battle this for a long time, that he might not get to live his life to the fullest because he has this thing that can hold him back very easily if he lets it. Then he realized that thinking that way won’t help anyone. He needs to have enough hope for the both of them, or he won’t be able to hold Bucky up until he gets better.
“How are the others?” Bucky asks, surprising Steve out of his thoughts.
“Oh, just living, I guess. Doing things to fill their spare time.” Steve says, caught off guard. It’s the first time Bucky has asked about them since everything went down.
“Peter has been with his aunt for a few days. Sam looks like he’s going crazy with all his spare time, you know how he gets when he’s stressed.” Steve says as if he’s any better at handling his own stress. Bucky huffs in an attempt at a laugh.
“Nat has decided to learn how to cook. It hasn’t ended well yet, but I’ll keep you posted.” Steve searches his friend’s face for any reaction. There’s a twitch in the corner of his lip contradicting the pain he carries in his shoulders. If Steve can make him laugh, he will smile all the way home.
“Wanda picked up her old violin, which is nothing like riding a bike, let’s just say that. I’d rather die than listen to that again.” His voice trails off, sudden panic striking him when he hears himself talk. Making death jokes to a suicidal person, really?
When Bucky laughs, relief floods through him. He hasn’t heard that laugh in weeks and didn’t realize how much he missed it until this moment. A sliver of the Bucky he knows peeks through. The one who finds humor in even the darkest moments, who lights up the room just because he wants everyone else to feel okay.
“Tony seems the same as always. Maybe a little overkill on the dad jokes, but that is to be expected.” Maybe he should be more honest about how this has affected everyone. Everyone’s a wreck, worried out of their minds. Peter keeps waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming that Bucky died. Sam couldn’t cope with the spare time, sure, but he spent every minute of every day doing research on psychosis to the point that he was sleep deprived and forgot to eat. That’s why he left.
Nat is trying to cook because that is a problem she can fix. She knows her cooking will get better if she keeps trying. Wanda plays the violin for the same reason. It seems impossible, but she knows it will get better. And Tony is telling too many jokes in an attempt to seem normal, which of course means he isn’t okay at all.
And Steve is just a wreck. He knows he should help himself before he can help anyone else, but he doesn’t care. He spends all his energy on being there for Bucky. He doesn’t want Bucky to feel guilty, he is not to blame for all of this, so he says nothing.
“They tried visiting you, you know?” Steve says, thinking that Bucky might be ready for them to try again. It would take some weight off of his shoulders and maybe he could be less irritable and sad when he’s at home.
“They did?” Bucky seems surprised. Not that they came to visit him, but that he forgot about it. The day after he was admitted all of them came together only to be told he wasn’t allowed visitors. He probably doesn’t remember much from that time anyway, if anyone even told him they’d been there.
“Yeah.” He decides not to mention it, just like everything else that could set Bucky off. “They want to come by if you’re ready for that. Doesn’t have to be now, doesn’t have to be all of them, just say when and I’ll bring them with me.”
Bucky nods tentatively. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, looking tired. Steve can see his walls closing back up, a sign that he wants to be alone. A quick look at the clock lets him know he’s been here for a few hours. It’s probably time to leave for the day anyway. Before he’s fully stood up, Bucky speaks up.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” For the first time today, he looks at Steve. When their eyes meet, there’s a fear in Bucky’s eyes that go straight to Steve’s heart.
“Of course.” Steve says with a smile, willing it to reach his eyes. He would never miss a day, no matter how exhausted he is. Bucky seems to feel a little better after the visits and that’s all the motivation he needs.
“And-” Bucky hesitates, looking unsure of his next words. A long silence fills the room while Steve takes too long to put on his jacket and snapback.
“And what?” Steve urges him on when Bucky still hasn’t spoken, keeping his tone light.
“Maybe Nat can bring some of his cooking. I’m sure the food in here sucks more than hers.” There he is Steve thinks. The smile spreading on his face is real this time and Bucky seems to relax a little at seeing it.
“I’ll bring Nat and food tomorrow.” Steve says even though he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to bring in food. He’ll sneak it in somehow. Leaving out the awkward goodbye, he just smiles at his friends and nods reassuringly before leaving, making his way back to the reception to sign out.
The same nurse from earlier sits behind the desk, working on something on the computer when he walks up. She looks up at him with a smile. As if she was waiting for him, she hands him another pamphlet, clearly having seen him grab some earlier. ‘Mental Health Support Guide for Families’ is what the bold letters on the front say.
“I know it’s scary to watch, but he will come back. It might take a little while, but your friend will be okay.” She says with a sympathetic smile. Steve reaches for the pamphlet, tucking it into his pocket with the others.
“I guess I should trust you.” He says, avoiding eye contact. What does a little while mean? Weeks? Months? A year? Longer? Still, something in her voice makes him listen to her words, letting them soothe him.
“You should. I’ve seen this many times before, and they always come back eventually.” She neglects to say that they have to stay alive long enough to get there.
Turning his back to the desk, he follows the blue stripe back out of the hospital. He goes on auto pilot, turning all his attention inward to keep himself together long enough to get to the car. The parking lot feels too big with his car parked on the other end. Even when he’s here before visiting hours open, the parking lot is full already.
Once in his car, he breaks down, just like he does every day. He cries until his chest aches and his stomach is queasy. He has to let it all out before going back to the dorms. Everyone is so busy taking care of themselves and being there for Bucky, Steve should be able to take care of himself. If he puts anything else on their shoulders, they might break under the weight.
With a puffy face and sore throat, he picks up his phone and writes out a quick message to the group chat before starting up the car.
Leaving the hospital now. He’s making progress, seemed a little better today :)