Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Monday is always a slow day.
It’s a quiet morning this Monday, like any other Monday. Because Bob has a therapy appointment, and because Bucky is visiting Steve’s grave.
Like any other Monday.

Yelena sighs. Yelena stretches, and Yelena looks at her ceiling. She did not sleep well. Because it’s a Monday morning and she knows nobody is waiting for her in the kitchen. It has been hours since she has woken up, but she has not left her bed. Because nobody is waiting for her in the kitchen.
The whole apartment is silent. Cold. She shivers. Her stomach growls. She sighs.

The blonde woman pushes on her elbows to sit on her bed, and her head begins to swing. She squints her eyes in the darkness of the room, trying to stop the nauseous feeling. She stares into space while she considers just laying back down.
The sound of claws against the wooden door echoes in the room and she growls. She hates Mondays.

With unsure movements, she finally stands up, slipping her cold feet in her ugly slippers.

The noises resound again in the room, more insistent.

“I’m coming, one second!!” she yells with exasperation as she walks towards the door, slowly, so slowly.
When she opens it, a white flash runs between her legs.

“Hi Alpine,” the woman says, trying to hide her tender smile. “You’re lucky I like your father, or I’d let you starve to death.”

The white cat meows in return while she rubs her head against Yelena’s leg.
She sighs again, letting her eyes close for a second before entering the common room. Her slippers glide against the tiles on the floor as she walks around the counter separating the kitchen space and the living room. She opens a white drawer, each of her actions punctuated by louder and louder meows.

Finally, the cat’s bowels are full of food and fresh water, and Yelena lets herself ungracefully sink in the couch. She looks at the clock.

9:54.

Yelena sighs. She’s still tired. Her head falls on the backrest of the brown couch, her short hair stinging her neck, and she decides that closing her eyes for a minute can do no harm.

“Natasha?”

Yelena can’t hear her own voice. But she knows she’s speaking. Because her throat burns.

“Natasha!!”

Her sister is here. Facing away. All Yelena can see is red hair. Or blue. She’s not sure. She’s not sure either of where she is. It looks like every place she has been. Ever. It also looks like nothing. A void, but also a sludge of different places.

She doesn’t know if she’s running. It feels like it. Her legs start to burn, as if she had been running for hours. Her steps make no sound but echo in the place all at the same time.

She screams again.

The figure in front of her doesn’t move closer. Nothing changes. She runs, but she’s not going anywhere.

And suddenly she reaches the other woman. Yelena stretches her hand towards her. She feels nothing against her fingers. She stretches her other hand. Nothing.

She can see her skin against Natasha. Yet she feels nothing.

“No, no no no no no.”
Her voice breaks. She moves her hands frantically around the figure.

“Wait, Tasha, no, no no no, wait I’m here, wait for me, please, don’t go, I’m here, look at me, look at me!!”
She cries. Well, at least, it feels like she cries. It burns.

A sob tears her throat apart.

She tries to hug the figure. Her arms fold around herself.

Yelena screams.

She gasps. She gasps for air and the air is not entering her lungs so she gasps louder, black dots forming a blur before her eyes. She doesn’t know where she is. She looks around. She sees mismatched armchairs, a dark coffee table and shelves buried under books, CDs and plants. She’s in the living room, right. Air comes back in Yelena’s lungs, but as soon as she tries to breathe, tears drown her cheeks. She stands up. Everything around her swings.

She tries to look at the clock. She can’t read it. She looks at her hands. She’s not sure if they’re blurry because she’s shaking or because she’s crying.

“Bob!!”

She runs to his room. She opens it. There’s nobody inside. A whine escapes her lips.

“C’mon.”

She’s alone. She knows it. As her brain slowly realizes it, her whole body begins to shake harder.

“Bucky!!” she calls, desperate.

Nobody answers.

Panic starts to crawl under her skin. She runs to Bucky’s room. Nobody. She looks around.

“Alpine?”

Her voice is weak. Where is this damn cat? She enters the room. She doesn’t care if it’s Bucky’s, if she’s not supposed to rummage through his stuff. That dumb white cat is maybe the only thing going to help her.

“Alpine, damn girl, where are you?” Yelena calls, her words interrupted by sobs. “Shit!!” she screams when she finds nothing. She can feel it. It’s right there in her chest. She can’t be alone. She has to find someone. Hitting all the walls, she stumbles in the living room. Her phone. She has to get her phone. She vaguely sees it on the coffee table, the black rectangle blurred by tears. She collapses on her knees on the floor.

She knows she has to be quick, but she can’t even think anymore. There are no words in her head. Only the void, huge, gigantic, enormous, engulfing everything in black and in alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. In between all the words, there’s a flash. Red hair. Snow. Little girls aligned in a room. Blood on a table. On the floor. On a rug. On her shoes. A house in Ohio.

Alone.

Alcohol bottles.

Alone.

Screams.

Alone.

Faces of dead people.

Alone.

A grave.

Yelena doesn’t manage to grab her phone. Her head bangs into the cold floor, her fingers close around her hair. She hears her mug shatter on the ground when it falls from the table. It hurts. She pulls on her hair. It hurts.

All she has in her is a single, last desperate scream.

“Natasha!!!”

Chapter Text

This week is Bucky's turn to shop for groceries. It’s Friday, and usually he would go in the morning since there are fewer people in the huge Walmart, but he has been busy today and he had no choice but to go in the evening. He sighs. There is so much noise, so many people everywhere, so many smells increased by his super soldier metabolism.
The bright lights are blinding, even with his sunglasses on.

One day, he went to Walmart during one of the ‘silent hours’. He didn’t even know those existed, but it was perfect. No music. Less noise. All the lights were reduced. He loved it.
It is definitely not the case right now. Bucky growls under his breath when a man, a crying kid in his arms, walks past him and doesn’t even say sorry when he knocks on Bucky’s arm.

He rapidly takes some frozen veggies and flees this aisle. Too many people.

His prosthetic arm is bothering him. It itches. He knows it’s not real. But it itches. However he would rather die than remove his arm in the middle of the crowd, so he just tries his best not to think about it.

He continues to walk between the bright lights, trying his best not to forget anything.

Basic groceries.
New shampoo for Bob. The one that smells like fruit.
Coffee. Plus a new cute mug for Yelena.

“Excuse me,” somebody says. A young woman squeezes herself in front of him to take yogurts. He walks away. Too many people here as well.

Bucky finds a quieter corner, near the bread aisle, and he closes his eyes, breathing in.

The whole “living-together-because-we’re-all-alone-and-need-safe-people-around-us-to-function-properly” is a great idea, sure, but it also means that he has to function properly or his friends will suffer from it.

For example, buying food. And not letting himself starve to death for days and days.

Bucky lowers his gaze to his bag.

He has only bought absolute trash. He sighs.

It’s okay. He’s got it. He just has to do a detailed mental note of everything he needs, and maybe dissociate a little while he collects all that stuff. He’s got it.

After some calm breaths, the man finally steps out of his hiding place and, with gritted teeth, he manages to find everything. Even the mug for Yelena. He chooses one with little birds on it. Yelena loves birds.

He’s at the checkout when he sees him.
Half of his groceries are already on the conveyor belt, his metal hand is deep in the bag, fingers around a bag of carrots. His sunglasses are set down on his hair. In his peripheral vision, there’s a blond blur. Bucky’s head nearly dislocates with how fast he looks to the guy, who is walking alone in the middle of the aisles.

Steve.

That’s Steve. Bucky’s heart beats fast. That’s Steve, he’s sure of it. With that blond hair and too small shirt, that back, that stature. The guy disappears behind the aisle. Bucky feels the panic in his chest. He can’t just go away like that.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles as he pushes the people in the line behind him. Everybody complains. Bucky doesn’t hear them. He jogs towards the last place he saw Steve. He’s not here.
He runs faster, looks around, bumps into everyone.

Where is he?

His heart beats faster. He has to find him. How is he here? He has to find him.

And then he finds him. The man is choosing his vegetables, throwing some chards in a plastic bag. Steve loves chards.

“Steve?” Bucky calls, but nobody turns around. Not even the blond guy. So he walks up to him, trying his best not to run. His head is buzzing. His heart is spinning in his throat. He can’t feel his fingers anymore.

The guy is right there. Three or four steps ahead.

“Steve?” Bucky calls again, but this time his voice is no more than a whisper.

Steve turns around.

It’s not Steve.

The blond guy looks at him, frowns, and then walks past him without a word.

Bucky feels sick.

He feels stupid, as well.

But mostly sick. His hand flies to his mouth when he gags.

Shit.

He looks around frantically. He has to get out of here, he realizes when an umpteenth person bumps his shoulder in the crowd. He looks around. An exit. He just needs an exit.

He sees the bathroom sign. It will have to do. He runs.

He runs and as soon as he reaches his goal, he opens one of the stalls and collapses on the floor in front of the toilets.

Bucky throws up all he has in his stomach. It burns his throat.
He’s used to it.

More gags shake his body. He whimpers in between them, his tears mixing up with the puke. It burns. He’s trying his best to stop. Another gag make him cough. He cries harder. His whole body hurts, but he doesn’t even feel it.

What hurts the most is his heart.

It feels like somebody grabbed it right in the middle of his chest, and is now squeezing it harder, and harder, and harder each second. It feels like all the blood of his guts is flowing onto the grey floor, it feels like his stomach is being pulled out of his skin. He screams.

At least there’s nobody in the men's bathrooms.

So Bucky cries. He’s loud. He’s so loud but he doesn’t care because he’s so hurt. He sobs like a toddler lost in a crowd. Of course it wasn’t Steve.

Because Steve is dead.

His dog tags around his neck tinkle when they hit the ceramic.

Steve is dead and it has been four years now and the pain is not going away anytime soon.
Behind his eyelids, Bucky sees Steve’s dead, dislocated body, lost between corpses and dirt on the battlefield.

Bucky's whole body shakes as another gag burns his throat. He doesn’t have anything more to vomit. He just drools in the toilet and hopes it will stop soon. He kinda accepts it. He can’t do anything so he just lets all the images go by behind his eyes. He sees Steve on the floor, he sees his blood. He can’t see himself. He just hears a scream and he knows it’s his own because it’s all he has been able to hear for four years now. He sees Steve again. His face. He sees him with his dark blue helmet on, and then without it as memory-Bucky takes it away.

He sees his own tears on Steve’s cheeks.
He sees Steve’s face coming closer as memory-Bucky kisses him.

He gags again.

His cries are worse and worse. His vision begins to blur as the memory starts again. Steve’s body. Bucky’s scream. He can’t take it anymore. Bucky starts to hit his head lightly on his metal arm.

Shit. There’s like a splinter near his aching heart. He knows what it is. Panic.

And he knows why it’s here.

Because you’re all alone, Barnes.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles while his shaking hands are searching through his pockets. Panic grows in his chest, and he can’t breathe properly anymore.

I have to call Yelena.

But he doesn’t find his phone.

Shit. He left it at home.

Panic doesn’t wait another moment to submerge him.

Bucky stays in this stall for hours before he can walk outside again.

Chapter Text

He’s in the bathroom of their shared apartment. Bob is sitting on the floor, the cold tiles making him shiver. He was supposed to take a shower. All he is doing is staring vaguely at the running water in the bathtub.

He didn’t even have the strength to undress. All he managed to do was remove one sock. The other is still on his foot. And now he’s cold from one foot and not the other.

He shivers again.

He doesn’t know why it’s so hard all of a sudden to take a shower. He just knows that the simple idea of moving from his spot on the floor makes him want to puke.
So he doesn’t move.

He just let the water flow.

And he looks at it.

He doesn’t feel anything.

Or maybe he feels a bit of pain, right there, near his chest.

Bob’s not sure, really.

Behind the sound of the water, he can make out other noises. Dishes knocking together. Low mumbles of Bucky and Yelena chatting in the common room. A meow from Alpine. Laughs from Bucky.

Bob closes his eyes as he listens. At least they’re here, he wants to think, but it doesn’t help. Because he doesn’t feel anything.

All he feels is the void.

It has been weeks since the last time it happened. Sure, it would sometimes come back like a jumpscare in his life, without any warning. Because he lost his keys. Because he wasn’t feeling very safe in the street. But it would go away quickly, swished away by a deep breath and some “let’s-name-all-the-blue-objects-around-you-Bob”. But yeah. It has been weeks since the void has been really there. But now it has returned. Bob sighs.

It always comes back.

His head falls against the wall as his eyes open again.
The white light flickers. It bothers him.

At least he is feeling something now.

He hears another laugh from the living room. Yelena. His heart tightens in his chest. Why isn’t he laughing with them? Suddenly, the whole void inside of him becomes tinted with sadness.

A piteous blue-tinted void.

He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed with someone like that. If Bucky and Yelena don’t count. In fact, he doesn’t remember a lot of things. He tries his best to find a memory of him laughing. A memory of a real smile on his lips without it being the results of diverse drugs.

He doesn’t find it.

The light flickers again.

He is angry at himself.

The light flickers.

He hates when he forgets things. He hates it. It's the worst part of it all, not knowing who you are, losing yourself, literally, losing part of you and your life. It hurts.

The light flickers, and with an angry growl, he extends his hand towards the ceiling. The light stops flickering.

His whole hand is black.

Bob’s eyes open wide.

“Shit.”

He withdraws his hand against his stomach and curls his whole body around it.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

This cannot happen now.

He closes his eyes and breathes in hard. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Panic starts to form inside his throat. He squeezes his eyes hard. It’s okay. He’s got it.

Name one thing you know for sure.

My name is Bob. Bob Reynolds.

Name two things you like.

I like reading. And I like the sea.

Name three things you can see.

I can’t open my eyes. Shit, I can’t open them.

Name three things you can feel.

I don’t know, my, uh, my shirt, and the floor, it’s pretty cold, and I can, I can feel my skin. Shit shit shit.

He exhales, trying to chase the panic away. Breathing becomes harder and harder each time. It’s not working.

Please, please, please please please.

He squeezes his hands around his arms. He squeezes his head in his knees. He squeezes everything he can he just wants to disappear he doesn’t want to have a panic attack right now he hates them he hates them, please.

He doesn’t even cry. His body just begins to shake and he feels cold all over, all inside him, in his guts, in his head. He tries his best not to let his whimpers be heard from outside the bathroom.

His hands are violently shaking when he slowly puts them on the back of his head, sinking it even further between his legs. It hurts his neck. It hurts his back. It hurts all over. He tries to focus on the pain. It’s the only tangible thing around him. So he begins to scratch. His nails bite the skin on his head. They dig into it, they pick on all the hairs they find, they pierce the delicate beige surface. It takes all his strength to think about it and not the void the void the void the void.

Name one thing that hurts.

My back.

Name one thing that hurts.

My arms.

Name one thing that hurts.

My head.

Name one thing that hurts.

My skin.

Name one thing that hurts.

Me.

He doesn’t know how long he does this for. When he finally comes back to himself, the first thing he sees are hairs on the floor and blood on his fingers. Which are not black anymore.

Chapter Text

Bucky jumps as his phone vibrates in his pocket. He was lost in his thoughts, sitting in front of Steve’s grave. He gets up as he picks up the call.

“Bob?” he asks as he sees the man’s name (followed by diverse emojis) displayed on the screen.

“Hi, hum, Bucky,” the man begins. Bucky frowns. His voice is shaking. He’s not sure yet if it’s the phone or him.

“Are you good?”

“I think so?” he replies. “I… Maybe not, I called because… Could you… Could you come home? Please?” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence.

“I’m coming.” And without a moment of hesitation Bucky begins to walk to the parking lot where he knows his bike is parked. “D’you know where Yelena is?”

“She said she was going to the library… I don’t know… I’m not sure…”

Bucky hears his breathing speed up.

“It’s okay kid. I’m calling her, okay? We’re coming. Just wait for us.”

He hears Bob nodding and hangs up immediately. He jumps on his bike, starts the engine, and as he drives to their apartment, he calls Yelena.

“Bucky?” she asks when she picks up.

“Bob called me. Can you come back to the apartment now?” He knows the wind must be awful on the phone, but he hopes Yelena will understand.

“I’ll be there in three minutes.”
She hangs up.

Bucky sighs with relief and accelerates.

He runs up the stairs to their front door. The elevator would be too slow. In one smooth motion he takes out his keys, opens the door and closes it behind him. On the couch, he sees Bob, face covered in tears, Alpine in his arms as he hugs her. His head is pressed on Yelena shoulders, the woman still dressed in her hot winter jacket and her outside shoes.

She looks at Bucky while the man approaches them, panting a bit because of his run up the stairs. His heart shatters at the image of Bob, body shaking lightly against Yelena, eyes closed, visibly trying his best not to hurt Alpine while he holds her. The blonde woman is brushing his hair slightly, her whole body pressed the closest possible to Bob.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky whispers as he sits with them. “It’s great that you called us.”

That’s all he says before he joins the embrace.

It’s something they had figured out right away. If Yelena or even himself needs, most of the time, space and some encouraging words, Bob, for his part, needs to be held. To be hugged. To feel he is not alone. So that’s what Bucky does.

He leans against the brown-haired man and lets his arm fold itself around his shaking shoulders. His other hand falls on Yelena's elbow. And he squeezes both of them hard.

Bob exhales. A violent sob comes out of his mouth.

Bucky feels Yelena’s hand moving as she brushes Bob’s hair.

Bob sheds tears for a long time, but as he cries, his shoulders stop to shake, and his body softens between his two friends.

Bucky squeezes a little less hard, and Yelena shifts from the other side of the hug. Alpine jumps out of Bob’s arms to land on the coffee table, and she begins to clean herself.
Bob hiccups. It was his last tears. He sniffs. Wipes his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Anytime,” Bucky replies. Yelena kisses him on the forehead.

They don’t part away.
They hug for a long time, on this couch, for so long that it’s Yelena’s stomach, growling for food, that makes them all burst into laughter and finally pull apart.

“Well, I guess I’m making everybody pancakes,” Bucky declares as he gets up.

“Oh god, thank you”, Yelena exclaims, which gets her another laugh from Bob. They all smile.

The older man takes the time to finally remove his shoes and jacket, before he opens the fridge to take the eggs out. While he heats up the pan, he hears Yelena and Bob talking on the couch.

“I’m happy that you called Bucky.” Bob certainly shrugs, because the woman continues. “No, really, Bob. That’s what we’re supposed to do and I’m really happy that you did it.”

Yes, that’s what they are supposed to do. Be there for each other. Because they are friends, but also because that is the whole point of this house-share idea. They are here for each other in a world where they have no one else.
They were becoming great at this. Helping each other. Sharing chores, talking one or the other through a panic attack, hugging. But they never really… asked for help.

Bucky thinks about that time in the Walmart’s bathroom some days ago, when he wanted to call Yelena.

At least, they never successfully asked for help.

What Bob did today is a huge step. The three of them know it. And it is great.

As he mixes the flour inside the bowl, Bob laughs in the living room, Alpine starts to purr between Bucky’s legs, a sunbeam enters through the window, and for the first time in years Bucky thinks that maybe, everything will be okay.