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Day and night no longer have any meaning.
It’s just the three hours he tries to fit between smoke breaks (his therapist had finally gotten on him about chain smoking), and the fleeting minutes of sleep he lives off of when he isn’t working a mission.
He sleeps better during those, for some reason. So, he takes on more, of course. It’s as if there’s an odd security in knowing that he could die in his sleep, that he wouldn’t wake up at all and the horrible things he had witnessed would simply stop, like a movie reel. He would just run out of life to live. It would finally all be over and maybe he could get some real rest. The kind that didn’t leave him empty or yearning for more. That’s what Bucky had decided would complete him (it's not like he had any idea of what would actually do the job). He was very, very tired, after everything, after all.
Sam called it “the hungry ghost.”
Bucky called him stupid.
But maybe there was something to that. The ghost, a void inside him that never seemed to be filled. Not by cigarettes, or odd jobs that came with life-altering trauma. Sure, there were plenty of things to see in this life. Sunrises, shooting stars, rainbows. Nothing to really /live/ for, in Bucky’s opinion. They were beautiful, of course, but they were brief. What happens after the sun is done rising? After the star has been shot? When the rainbow disappears?
All that’s left is the void. And by god, he can feel it eating him alive with each passing day.
Bucky doesn’t really eat anymore. It’s not that he’s trying to lose weight. It’s more that he would rather hide out in his room and complete what he could of Steve’s notebook from behind closed doors. Plus he was taking on more work. It was easier to distract himself than to take care of himself.
In the end, Bucky admits he lost some weight. He comes home from a mission more battered and bruised than he meant to be, and those cuts and bruises aren’t healing as fast as his enhanced metabolism usually fixes them. This sets off alarm bells in Sam's head.
“Some?!” Sam nearly wails, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re down fifteen percent of your previous body weight, Buck!" He catches the brief and expertly masked surprise he sees in Bucky's face. "Yes, I looked at your last physical report!” Sad brown eyes connect with vacant silver ones. “/Please,/ get help. Between these risky-ass missions, and the eating thing… This isn’t healthy!” The worst part is, he didn’t even sound angry. He sounded sad and /worried/ for someone he loved.
Why was it so enraging to Bucky?
“You can’t…” Sam’s voice breaks, shatters, and any anger Bucky had dissipates in an instant. “You can’t just *give up* like this. It’s not what Steve would have wanted.”
Bucky scoffs. He doesn’t mean to. “You think you know what Steve wanted?” Christ, James, he thinks to himself, stop. talking. “I don’t know if /Steve/ knew what he wanted! It went back and forth! And now I-I…” Damn it, now there are tears in his own eyes. How could he question Steve? Is that what all of this had done to him? Is doubt all that remains here in his broken spirit? “I’m left behind with this scathing pit of hatred I feel for who I see in the mirror, and I don’t even fucking /recognize/ him!” Anxious frosty eyes looked away. “...I have no idea who I am.” He said in a voice much smaller than his body.
Sam looked and saw the exhaustion, the anguish in his beloved’s face. So, taking a deep breath, he gathered Bucky into his arms (something only Sam Wilson was allowed to do) and planted a gentle kiss on his temple.
“You’re Bucky.” Sam told him, like it was the most simple fact in the world. “You like baseball, and you burn instant ramen.” He spoke gently, voice rumbling in his chest against Bucky’s cheek. “You don’t know how to use emojis so you describe the picture and then put the word “emoji” after it like it’s the same thing.” That made Bucky smile. Sam had a funny way of teasing him.
It made him feel so, so loved. And a little more human.
Steve had done something similar, a lifetime ago. There’s a bittersweet ache there.
“You have your own way of supporting the people you love.” Sam continued as he stroked the shortened brown hair. “You care deeply, and you fight tooth and nail for the good left in his godforsaken world.” The younger man paused, but continued. “You were taken advantage of for a very long time. What happened to you was cruel and sinister. But now you are free.” He took Bucky’s scruffy face into his hands so their eyes would meet for sure this time. “You can be whoever you want. You, my love, have the rest of your life to decide who you are. With each choice, each step forward, you become more of yourself.” Two souls connected with a kiss.
“And baby, I couldn’t be prouder.”