still friends

Chapter 14: Luck of the Dead

He screams into the emptiness of his apartment as soon as he slams the door behind him. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he does it again, his throat raw as the sound comes out muffled from his palm.

His vision blurs, swimming and as he begins to sob, he realizes his heart is breaking. He can feel it, like glass, the little pieces cracking and falling into his cavity, stabbing him eternally like pin-pricks.

Why did it hurt this much?

He would gladly take Hydra over this. The physical pain can be healed, but this? He didn't know how to cope with a pain like this.

Like lightning, all the worst parts of tonight whizz by in his mind.

"Two years," she replies, not even avoiding the question. She knows she can't anymore. "I'm sorry."

"You're my best friend, my rock. You're a miracle, Bucky."

"I love you," her voice cracks as she looks down at his hand on her arm. "But...Vision.."

Vision.

What a lucky man. A once-dead-but-back-to-life man. A man that ruined everything, and Bucky couldn't even blame him.

He's quick to find the Asgardian liquor, quick to unstop it and gulp the contents down. He winces at the burn, but relishes in the easy pain of it. Lifting it again, he takes another deep swig, hoping it will help.

Bucky wonders if this is it. After everything he'd lived through, Hydra, the Snap, Steve going AWOL, a god-damned world war, he wonders if this will be the thing that kills him.

He's afraid he might not make it through this one, though. It's scary being alone with your thoughts, especially when they're so destructive.

He doesn't realize he's punching the wall until his index finger on his flesh hand breaks. Biting down on his tongue he holds his hand to him, swearing drunkenly. He leans against the wall, dropping down slowly, salty tears dripping to his tee.

Bottom hitting the floor, he throws his head back, crunching into the wall. He does it again, and then again, until it aches, paint chips flaking into his hair, and he doesn't know how else to stop the feelings. The feelings had been at bay for so long, his self worth being halted by the gate that is Wanda, love of his life.

Now the gate has broken, all the anger and hate flooding in, threatening to drown him.

He's gasping, his lungs aching, and he drunkenly realizes he's having a panic attack. He inhales shakily, willing his lungs to expand but they don't listen.

Dragging his knees to his chest, he curls into a ball and he must look fucking pathetic. He attempts to take air in again, raising his head to take another swig. The liquid makes him cough, wheeze slightly, and he sobs into the bottle.

"Make it stop, please, please," he repeats like a prayer, hoping somehow this pain will end. "Just make it stop."

He rocks back and forth, head digging into his knees, squeezing himself tightly, hoping that will glue him back together. Every atom of his body is aching, and it's all because of her.

He screams, a gut-wrenching scream, filled with the pain he's had since he was a child, filled with pain that his sister's absence caused, filled with the pain of Steve's abandonment, and filled with the heartbreak Wanda has casted upon him.

The door creaks open, and he's surprised it doesn't fall off its hinges. The apartment is a disaster, multiple holes decorating the walls like portraits, and he recoils from the hand that settles on his shoulder.

"Hey," Clint whispers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His face is covered with guilt, and it only makes Bucky cry harder. "I know, I'm sorry."

A female gasp is heard from the front door, soft and short, and the sound of footsteps patting around the apartment echo. Clint pulls Bucky to his side, arm resting over his shoulders as gentle hands peel the bottle from his grip.

"I'm just gonna put it away, ok?"

Laura.

She begins to right the flipped over chairs, gingerly picking up large pieces of his broken wall and putting them into a pile as her husband talks lowly to him. Bucky can't tell what Clint is saying, but he appreciates the gesture.

He doesn't know when Clint and him had become friends, but he's deeply grateful for him.

After a while of cleaning, Laura gingerly sits on the opposite side of him, her frame so much smaller than his, but she takes his hand in both of hers, squeezing, attempting to transfer any bit of comfort she could.

"You both knew." He whispers, his head aching from the assault against the drywall. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Clint sighs. "We knew she was working with SWORD to bring Vision back but we didn't know about the two of you until-"

"Until Christmas." Bucky finishes, shutting his eyes. His heart has slowed a little, but it's still aching all the same.

"We tried bringing it up to her afterwards but she said she had it under control." Laura said gently, her hand still holding his. "It wasn't until today we realized you both...weren't on the same page."

Well that's one way to word it.

"When you showed me the ring, asked for permission," Clint says, cracking his neck for a moment. "I thought you should've known. Laura agreed."

"We just weren't sure how to tell you." Laura whispers.

She's scared. They're both scared of him; of what he might do.

He doesn't blame them.