The Cold Shadow
Title: The Cold Shadow
Summary: Bucky is sinking slowly. He is overwhelmed by negative thoughts of the worst kind. Trouble is, he can’t climb back up on his own. Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to.
Characters: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson
Trigger warnings: sleep deprivation, alcohol and drug abuse, thoughts of suicide and self-harm, mention of blood, depression, PTSD, mentions of nightmares and night terrors
Other tags: Language, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sad!Bucky, Crying!Bucky, Sam Wilson is a good friend, Bucky Barnes needs a hug, Bucky Barnes gets a hug, Bucky Barnes feels
Notes: Dealing with PTSD is a roller coaster. There are ups and downs, good moments and bad ones. This fic is in no way insinuating that he will miraculously get better after an episode like this. It’s just a chapter on his journey to recovery. It puts him on a path that is hopefully forward and maybe we can hope the next drop of this roller coaster won’t sent him as far back down and he will be better prepared to deal with it and ask for help. All my knowledge on the subject comes from TV shows or other works of fiction besides Google and YouTube, and not from any sort of professional qualification or personal experience. Edited by myself. Please message me if you find anything I might have missed.
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44369254/chapters/111587995
Words: 4016
>---<
Bucky listed to the side slowly, eyelids drifting close. His sluggish brain’s delayed response was to get his body upright again.
He blinked blearily, feeling like he was glued to the floor, as if gravity had increased tenfold turning his limbs to lead. His metal arm was so heavy it was just a useless hunk of metal beside him. Moving the fingers on that hand too much of an effort to even bother trying. Anyone who saw it would think it wasn’t even properly connected to his body.
Sometimes, his head would start falling, eyes rolling to the back. On occasion he would catch himself, forcing his mind to work for long enough to lift it again. It wouldn’t stay like that for long and gravity would soon resume its course. Usually, however, it was his head abruptly falling forward and almost hitting his bent knees that would get him to snap it up again. Not too much though. There wasn’t enough energy left in him to get him very far.
He tried to keep his eyelids from drooping, to at least keep them a sliver apart. The tiny slit of blue from the wall across from him slowly getting thinner and thinner. No amount of trying would get him to pry them open again.
A particularly sudden fall of his head woke him. He sluggishly raised it back, getting it to a position it wouldn’t take too much effort to keep it up.
If he had the energy, he would smile for finally getting his mind empty enough to make everything go numb. No amount of alcohol, pills or needles had managed that, his super soldier metabolism too fast to let any of that have any effect. For a moment he had even considered cutting himself. Maybe blood loss would be able to get him there. But then the exhaustion from several unslept days made him consider this.
His dreams had gotten bad enough that sleep was even more torture than wakefulness. Of course, being awake meant thinking too much, feeling too much, hurting too much. But sleeping was even worse. Without any barriers, his subconscious would take over and the nightmares were at a point in which waking up was getting more and more difficult leaving him stuck in a never-ending loop of terror. He would wake up with a sob, drenched in sweat, face covered with tears, lungs sucking in so much air it felt he would pass out straight back to sleep.
So he gave up on sleep altogether.
And right now, because of that, he felt like heaven.
His mind could barely come up with the idea of keeping his body from falling down. Any and all thought had drifted away several hours ago. He was floating in clouds. Finally at peace.
Was this what it would have felt like if the needles had worked?
A deep sense of calm overwhelmed him. He wished he could stay there forever. To just drift away and never wake up again.
Finally be free.
>---<
Sam called Bucky’s name again, his banging on the door more frantic this time.
“Bucky, I know you are in there. Open the door.”
He waited a few beats.
He banged more insistently. “You can’t hide from me, I’m tracking your phone.” More seconds passed. “Bucky, if you don’t open this door, I swear to god I’ll kick it open.”
Still nothing.
Sam sighed. His concern had turned to annoyance when Bucky wouldn’t open the door, but the silence brought the worry back, fiercer than before. This didn’t feel right.
Yes, Bucky would ignore him. He would make Sam wait and knock several times. He would ignore him away, then grumble and groan but would eventually open the door, if only to grunt at Sam and tell him to leave.
Sam shook his head, trying to keep his voice level.
“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said as a last attempt to ease the worry away.
He tried the doorknob, not surprised to see it locked. He looked around the nearly empty street. He lowered himself and looked under the mat, finding nothing there. He tried the empty pots on the dead garden next to the entrance and under the rocks nearby.
“Shit!” he swore under his breath.
He would imagine Bucky to be the type to have more than one lock, so even if Sam managed to pick the obvious one, there would be others on the inside.
Sam took in a deep breath and decided to try the window. It was higher than he would have liked but he eventually managed to get it open. He looked around again, hoping no one had called the cops on him.
He jumped through. “Bucky?”
He continued across the empty living space not seeing much out of place until he stopped by the kitchen counter. It was littered with empty whisky and pill bottles scattered around. He picked up a rubber tourniquet, the kind used to give someone an injection. He saw the empty syringes inside the sink and ominous thoughts swam through his mind.
He forced his legs to move again, his heart now hammering in his chest. He turned into the corridor that led to the bedroom then rushed to his friend’s side.
“Bucky!”
Shaky hands hovered over the limp form on the floor. For a moment he retracted them, too scared to proceed. He swallowed thickly and took in the sight of his friend. No obvious signs of injury or smells that could indicate he had overdosed. He wasn’t even clammy. In fact, he was still breathing. Not only that, but his breaths were deep and steady, and Sam realized the man was asleep. Really very asleep.
“Hey, Bucky!” he whispered, trying not to touch him. When he got no response, he tried again, this time in his normal tone. “Buck, wake up!”
Bucky hadn’t even changed his breathing rhythm. Sam took in a deep breath, resisting the urge to call an ambulance. He remembered the empty bottles of medicine on the counter. They wouldn’t have worked on him. He knew super soldiers couldn’t keep drugs in their systems for long enough for them to have any effect. Not without an elephant-sized dose on a constant IV drip.
But that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t try. If he was desperate enough.
“Hey, Buck, it’s Sam.” He touched his friend’s shoulder gently. “Bucky!” He shook him slightly.
No response. He let out a shuddering breath.
Sam shook him. “Wake up, Bucky!” he said more loudly.
This time, he noticed a slight change and the dread started to fade away. Bucky was alright. Just sleeping.
“C’mon, man. Just wake up.”
Sam tapped Bucky’s cheeks which seemed to rouse him a bit. He continued tapping away, not stopping even after he saw eyes squinting and a moan escaping his lips.
“That’s right, open your eyes for me.” He stopped his ministrations to look at him.
When it seemed like Bucky would fall right back to sleep, Sam continued slapping the man gently.
“Ngh.”
A pathetic arm movement that Sam could only guess it was Bucky’s attempt at waving him off made Sam grab Bucky’s chin to turn his head at him.
“Don’t go all lazy on me. Open your eyes.” he said firmly.
“Shhh. Go ‘way.”
Sam grabbed the limp man’s arm and forced him to a sitting position. Bucky slumped a bit and Sam pulled him back up again. Bucky’s reluctance was making Sam’s worry climb up his esophagus. He swallowed it back down. When Bucky started relaxing again Sam held him upright.
“Na, uh. Stay!” Sam commanded.
“M not a puppy,” he slurred.
“Then stop behaving like one. Now open your damn eyes!”
Eyelids fluttered for a few moments before slowly prying open. Bleary eyes blinked slowly, seeming to have difficulty focusing on him.
“Hey,” he said softly. Sam lifted the man’s chin and looked into his eyes, one at a time. He didn’t see anything that would normally worry him.
They started to close again.
“No. Keep looking at me.” Sam continued to search Bucky’s eyes for anything of concern.
Bucky finally focused on him. His brows drew together in annoyance. He rubbed his eyes then had to gall to pout his lips like a petulant child.
“What the hell, man? What happened?”
“I was taking a nap! What does it look like?” He waved around.
“Here? On the floor? In the middle of the corridor?”
Bucky shrugged. “Good place as any,” he murmured.
“What about, I don’t know, the bed?” Sam waved his arms around towards the bedroom.
Bucky brought his knees up against his chest and looped his arms around them. He supported his head on them. “Why are you here?” he said tiredly.
“Because I was worried about you. I’ve been texting and calling you for days!” He sat down in front of him. “Jesus, Bucky, I thought you were dead!”
He lifted his head. “Well, obviously I’m not. Now, will you leave?”
Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked at Bucky, examining him. The dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, unkept beard, and he didn’t need to sniff the air to know he hadn’t showered in days. His heart sank.
Bucky huffed. “Why are you still here?”
“Bucky, please, talk to me. I want to help.”
“Then leave me the fuck alone!” He shook his shoulder away from the hand Sam was about to place there.
Sam shook his head. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Sam?” His voice cracked and Sam’s heart also cracked a little along with it.
“You need to let me help you, Bucky.”
>---<
Sam moved to sit next to him then just stayed there by his side, their bodies touching. Bucky felt Sam’s body heat and released a shuddering breath, resisting the urge to lean onto him. For several moments Sam was a constant solid presence that wouldn’t let go. “You are not getting rid of me,” he said.
Bucky hid his face on his hands. For several moments, his entire existence was solely focused on getting a hold of himself and yet the vice grip around his chest wouldn’t let go. He felt it tighten and spread all over his body like a cold shadow that turned everything into misery. The pressure inside his head was getting stronger and stronger until it turned into tears that started to sting at his eyes. He suppressed a sniffle and tried to breathe through it but his eyes continued getting wetter by the minute. He started trembling and couldn’t stop himself.
A warm hand circled around his back. Bucky felt himself lose control when the gentle touch pulled him for an embrace. He let himself breakdown for no other reason than the fact he no longer had the energy to hold back. He buried himself on Sam’s shoulder and simply let go. The hand rubbed circles on his back through his tremors, but it only made the weeping turn into desperate sobs.
He gripped tightly and gave up fighting the tsunami of emotions that flooded out of him. He felt himself unable to stop. Every single tear that his body had ever produced overflowed out of him along with all the snot and spit too. He shook uncontrollably and wrapped his hands around Sam.
Sam held him through wails that felt like it would never end. Every single bad emotion that had clung to his chest over the last several weeks, months, years, being washed away.
Time seemed to have stopped. He didn’t know how long it lasted. He felt like he had been sucked into a vortex and come out the other side dazed and muddled. He sniffed away the last few sobs and broke away from Sam, still shaking, feeling a weird sort of disconnect between himself and his body. He was exhausted. Everything moved too slowly. He sat on the floor, shoulders hunched down, mind numb.
“You good?”
Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice to work.
“Why don’t you take a shower? That will help, ok?”
Bucky nodded again, too tired to argue.
Sam stood then an arm appeared in Bucky’s field of vision. He took the arm and gingerly got up onto his feet. Sam held onto him until he was sure he wouldn’t fall.
Bucky walked timidly, still feeling out of sorts. When he got into the bathroom, the water was already running.
“Do you need any help?”
Bucky shook his head and supported his weight against the sink, looking away.
“Okay,” Sam said before he left, leaving the door open.
Bucky shed his clothes and stepped under the stream, the hot water easing the knots he hadn’t realized he had. For several minutes that’s all that he did. He breathed through the numbness and eventually managed to find the energy to scrub himself.
By the time he was finished, he could barely keep himself upright. He put on the clean pair of sweatpants Sam had left for him at some point during his stupor.
He turned his head slowly when he heard footsteps approaching.
“Hungry? I made you an omelet.”
Bucky shrugged.
“C’mon. It’s ready.”
He sighed, too spent to do anything else. Sam had gone through all that trouble; he might as well try. He dragged his feet all the way to the stool behind the counter where the plate was laid out.
He managed to take a few bites before he found himself unable to swallow any more. He pushed the plate away, looking sheepishly at Sam.
“What about the juice?” Sam looked at him across from the counter.
Bucky forced a few gulps down then put the glass down, surprised to find it empty.
Sam rounded the counter. “C’mon. Time for bed.”
“I’m not a child,” Bucky muttered, shaking his shoulder to get Sam’s hand off.
The comment seemed to have no effect because Sam continued to supervise Bucky all the way into the bedroom. Bucky practically collapsed onto the bed.
“You don’t need to tuck me in too,” he mumbled, even though Sam was already pulling a blanket over him.
He really wanted to complain again, but his eyes were already closing and whatever it was he was going to say, he figured it must be less important than the gentle pull of sleep.
>---<
He woke up surrounded by gentle darkness. A faint light came through the window and Bucky figured it must be nearly morning.
He stared at the ceiling.
It was weird. He felt well rested. His body was relaxed, and his mind refreshed. He tried to remember the last time he felt that way.
He couldn’t.
Then, memories came back to him. The bottles, the pills, the syringes. Sleep depriving himself for days in the hopes of a short reprieve. The thoughts of maybe not waking up again.
And Sam.
He shuffled to the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet down, standing up. He realized his bladder was nearly bursting so he made his way to the bathroom.
After he was done, he followed the faint light and stepped into the living room, finding Sam sitting on the lone armchair in the middle of the room, reading his copy of The Hobbit. Upon hearing Bucky’s footsteps, he looked up, putting the book down.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He stood. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” he said, failing to contain the annoyed edge to his voice. He shouldn’t be annoyed. Sam was trying to help.
He walked over to the stool and sat down, noticing that all trash had vanished from his place. He also saw that his sink was empty and that the marble had been scrubbed clean. His shoulders sank.
“You didn’t have to clean up.”
Sam walked over to him. “Yes, I had. This place was disgusting.” He moved over to the fridge. “Hungry? I can heat up the rest of that omelet.”
Bucky scratched the back of his head. “What time is it? How long was I out?”
Despite Bucky’s lack of an answer, Sam had taken the omelet out of the fridge and was putting it in the microwave. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to the second question, but it is now sunrise.”
Bucky’s eyebrows rose. “You stayed here all night? Where did you sleep?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Sam shrugged and placed the food in front of Bucky.
Bucky slumped his shoulders, guilt and shame seeping into him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do any of that. Shouldn’t have.” He looked down at the steaming plate, the smell making his stomach growl. “Not for me, anyway,” he continued softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course I had to. You’re my friend, Bucky.”
Bucky looked up at him finding it hard to find any words.
He looked down again. “Why?”
Sam chuckled. “What do you mean why?”
He sighed. “Well…” He looked straight at Sam. “The first time you saw me, I ripped the steering wheel off your car before crashing it with you still inside. The second time, I tore your wing out then kicked you down to what should have been your death. Then the third time, after blowing up a tunnel on top of you, I knocked you out, trying to escape custody.” He ran a hand over his face. “Do I need to continue?”
Sam laughed.
The man actually laughed.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t you.”
Bucky shook his head.
He grabbed the fork and started to pick at his omelet, suddenly finding himself too hungry to continue the conversation.
“C’mon. After you finish up, get changed. We’re going out.”
Bucky whipped his head up. “Where are we going?”
Sam waved at his fridge. “You need stuff. Besides three eggs, all you had inside was an empty carton of milk. An empty one. What kind of animal puts an empty carton back into the fridge?”
Bucky decided his eggs were more interesting and was in the middle of stabbing it with a fork when an alarm went off. He looked at the direction it was coming from, seeing his phone next to the TV, blinking and blaring at him.
“Ah, yes. I took the liberty of setting up a few alarms on your phone.”
“What for?” Bucky asked making his way to silence the damn thing. He unlocked it and saw a series of alarms programed into it, all with different names. This one was for waking up. The next one for breakfast. There was one for cleaning, showering, cooking...
“So you don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
Bucky continued to scroll through, finding his entire routine loosely timed out for him. He ground his teeth. “How did you even unlock it?”
Sam smiled. “Did you know you are a very heavy sleeper?”
Bucky slumped back onto the stool and tossed his phone aside.
“Look,” Sam started. “I just want to make sure you don’t spiral out of control again. Keeping a routine might help. And if you hate it, you can always change it to something you like.”
Bucky let go of his fork, suddenly having lost his appetite.
“Keeping busy is a great way to stop thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about,” Sam continued. “Keeping a stocked fridge, having stuff inside your place, doing something you like.”
“I don’t need stuff,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you do. You need shelves.” He waved at an empty wall. “Then you need stuff to put on the shelves.” He pointed at an empty space on the floor. “You also need a couch. You know why I didn’t sleep? Because you got nowhere for me to.” He paused. “You need a coffee table. Some magazines to put on it. A side table over there.” More pointing. “And then some more stuff to put on it. Some pictures on the walls would be nice. Some plants that aren’t dead, knickknacks, throw pillows, I don’t know, whatever it takes to make this place feel like it’s yours.” He walked closer to him. “I can help you with all of that. You don’t even need to ask.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I insist. And if you don’t go shopping with me, I’ll go by myself and buy everything on my own and have it delivered. Possibly choosing the worst possible color.”
Bucky finally looked up at him.
“When you wake up and open your eyes, you will find yourself somewhere that feels like it belongs to you. Not an empty shell.”
“What if I can’t stop thinking, Sam?” His tone was quiet, defeated. He slumped even further onto the stool.
“Then you can talk to me.” He took a deep breath. “If reading a book, going to the movies and cooking dinner won’t work, you call me. Talk to me, yell at me, doesn’t matter, just don’t keep everything in then try to pour it out in all the wrong ways.”
Bucky suddenly felt his chest constricting again and had to breathe through several times to get himself back under control. “I don’t know how.” His voice still sounded hoarse.
“Then I’ll help you. Because that’s what friends do.” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are not in this alone and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were.”
Tears started to sting at his eyes. He blinked them away. He still felt like he didn’t deserve any of it. He certainly didn’t deserve Sam.
He sniffed and wiped away the tears. He was tired. He was bone tired of always feeling like his body weighed a hundred tons. That every step was a chore and that every moment that he lived was one he didn’t deserve. He was tired of thinking, he was tired of feeling, he was tired of being miserable. He looked up at Sam.
“Can you try that for me?”
Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t know.”
“C’mon. Get dressed.”
Bucky looked out of the window. “It’s too early.”
“You’ll be surprised how early some places open.”
He didn’t know that was true or not but he knew there was no fighting him. Sam would keep bugging him and bossing him around so he just complied.
“Fine.”
>---<
The door closed behind him and Bucky made his way to the kitchen. Sam walked over to the counter and placed the shopping bags down, Bucky following suit. There were too many things, in way too many bags, what seemed like an excessive amount of food for someone that grew up during the Great Depression. Bucky placed his hands on the counter and just stared.
Sam started to take packages out of the bags and spreading them around. “Are you going to help or not?”
By the time they were done, cupboards were full and the fridge fully stocked. Everything from canned foods that could feed him for a year, to just enough vegetables to last a week.
“I still don’t think it was all necessary.”
Sam ignored his comment, talking the items that weren’t food over near the armchair. He looked back at Bucky then let go of the stack of books and magazines on what seemed like an imaginary coffee table. The items scattered across the floor.
There was something about the scene that almost made Bucky chuckle, but he resisted the urge.
“Come on. You thought that was funny. Admit it.”
Bucky glared at him. “Hilarious.”
“Yes, it was.”
Sam was now grinning, his unwavering smile lighting up the room. Bucky failed to keep his lip from quirking slightly upwards. He rested his hands on his hips and shook his head, lowering it until his chin touched his chest.
“That was so fucking stupid.”
Sam raised a shoulder. “Whatever works, man.”
Bucky let himself finally smile. It wasn’t a grin, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the smile from someone that was finally feeling warm air after weeks of being freezing cold.
“Thanks, Sam.”
>---<
