i was watching thunderbolts again and bucky looks so incredibly exhausted. so here are some bucky headcanons. i wrote this with winter solider bucky in mind. taken in, instead of disappearing for three years. this is what i imagine life is like for him a year into being rescued. (hope that makes sense.)
bucky just being exhausted. tired of this life, tired of all the years he has spent on this earth. tired of his past dragging him down, tired of his past that he mourns. some days he wishes it never happened, others he canāt believe it happened.
a bucky who lives, waiting to die. waiting for the inevitable. heās thought of putting a bullet in his brain, thought of swallowing a bottle of pills, even thought of dipping his head underwater and feeling the sharp sting of the water filling his lungs.
he lives in the tower with the other avengers. or at least when they stay the night. all of them have apartments and homes that they can visit when the avengers tower reminds them of work and the blood on their hands. but bucky remains. no place to call home.
he spends most days in his room, looking at his ceiling or watching random shows that play on his tv. anything to drown out the thoughts in his mind.
he doesnāt shower for days at a time, neither does he brush his teeth. he doesnāt eat, doesnāt drink. but he does smoke. cigarette buds piled high on his nightstand. the smell sticks to his hair and clothes. and while some scrunch their nose when he walks past, bucky likes it. because in all his time on this earth, at least this has remained the same. cigarettes always taste like cigarettes.
his room is a mess, clothes strewn all over his floor, shoes scattered all over.
bucky is tired. a kind of tired that hours of sleep canāt quench. a kind of tired that seeps into his veins through the steel of his arm. thatās where it all started after all.
bucky misses his mom, his sister. misses his dadās laugh, misses New York. his New York. he misses being a dumb kid, rucking up skirts, kissing girls, punching bullies, drinking in alleyways, sneaking pornos, and just being. being bucky. before he forgot who that was.
and if some nights, when he smokes his last cigarette, turns off the lights, and lays his head on his pillow, he runs his own fingers through his greasy hair, pretending that they belong to his mom or his first lover or maybe even his dad. who is anyone to judge him.