Warning: Depression, Anxiety, Nightmares
Song: Deep End by Ruelle
Where can I go?
When the shadows are calling?
Shadows are calling me
What can I do?
When it's pulling me under?
Pulling me underneath
When you woke up, the sheets were wrapped tightly around your body, holding you in a tangled mess, constricting your movement just like a restraint that had been burned into your memories from the past. It was an experience that you had thought you had successfully buried away in your mind, but somehow it was resurfacing with a vengeance. You filled with panic and tried to kick them away, only to feel them growing tighter; your fright built with the sensation and you couldn't even free your arms to wipe the sweat from your brow before it was rolling into your eyes.
"Hey, wake up, you're okay," Steve whispered gently, wrapping his arms around you to try to help release the constraints until you came to your senses and realized what was happening. "It's just a dream, doll. I'm here."
"I'm sorry," you panted with shallow breaths, "I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry."
"Shh, don't worry about that. Are you alright?"
"Yeah...yeah," you sighed, rolling yourself free of the constrictive sheets still wound around you, "I'm okay." You pushed up on an elbow and struggled to look past him to see the clock on his bedside table, groaning in absolute frustration when you realized that you had been asleep for a mere thirty minutes. "You've got to be kidding me."
"What can I do?" he asked quietly, allowing you to all but fall against him in your exhaustion and desperate need to find a way back to sleep. He felt completely helpless, being the one who could fix most anything, and to have you be the one that he couldn't help made it so much more intolerable.
"I don't know. Just...just go back to sleep, Steve," you sighed. "Maybe my brain will get the hint eventually."
Even after the slow and steady sounds of sleep had quickly taken him over, and you followed right behind, an hour later the pattern repeated and your eyes shot open, desperate to stop seeing the terrible scenes that your mind was replaying over and over. "Dammit," you murmured quietly, "maybe not."
It's getting close
I lose control
It's taking over
~~~
It pissed you off to no end that even after you trained as the team psychologist, you couldn't even help your own mind, unable to find a way to stop the torment of nightmares that had plagued you every night for no good reason. The images that kept showing in them were of something that had happened so long ago that you thought you had forgotten. You searched your mind for the source of their return, coming up with only one answer; you had been working with Bucky since his arrival to the team after Steve all but begged you to help him, and the discussions you were having were terrifying and traumatic even for you. It wasn't enough to stop you from the work, but it was definitely taking a toll on you in the process.
It was taking such a toll that you were becoming the walking dead, floating through each day in a haze of exhaustion, but too afraid now to sleep. You felt as if you were losing a little piece of your own sanity each day. Even as you sat and gave it every ounce of energy that you had to focus on your work to further Bucky's progress, your mind wouldn't stay on task.
You sat across from your newest teammate with a slouched posture, having to readjust yourself to at least fake the appearance of focus. It was as if your head had suddenly tripled in weight and you could barely hold it up, leaning over to rest it on your hand as he continued his answer to your latest query. His words were muffled and messy, and rather than trying to understand, your mind wandered.
"Buck," you began quietly with a long sigh, your tone flat, "have you ever had an experience or feeling like the world is blanketed in gray and your senses are muted, and with each passing day it only darkens until you can't see? It's like when you look at the sun with your eyes closed and after a while you can't see the light through them anymore. Have you ever done that? There's a light and a world there if you could just open your eyes again, you know? But no matter how you try, they just stay shut. When you do finally pry them apart, the fire of the sun has left large black spots over your vision, and you feel like you'll never see color again?"
"Um...(Y/N)," he replied cautiously, "you're not really asking me, are you?"
"Sure I am."
"Yeah, I've been there. I didn't see colors again until Steve found me and you started helping me work through this stuff. But now I can't help but wonder who's helping you?" Bucky leaned forward in his chair to bring himself just a little closer, motioning to reach out for your hand, but pulling back uncomfortably. He wasn't sure where the line of your new friendship and the line of your therapist-patient relationship met, and he knew now wasn't the time to push it. "You look like hell, (Y/N)."
"Hmm," you scoffed skeptically, "Steve told me that you were such a lady killer. Maybe he meant that more literally than I thought?"
"Well that hurts."
"Sorry," you waved him off hastily. Pushing yourself up to sit straight again, you closed your eyes for a moment to steel yourself, shaking away the personal side of yourself and forcing the professional side to come out. It was harder to hold than you thought it would be. "No more about me, alright? This is your time. I'm fine."
"Do you practice your lies in front of a mirror? If not, you should give it a try to see how badly you suck at it."
~~~
"Mornin', Professor X," Clint laughed, practically skipping with sickening vigor past you, "who's brains are you getting into today?"
You grimaced at the interruption, despite that it was Clint and you normally would have no problem joking around even at this time of morning. You were trying to enjoy the silence, the steam from your coffee rising to your face in a soothing sensation that held a surprising calming when you thought that nothing would work. Slowly opening one eye before the other, you lifted your head and turned to him, seething to yourself that he was allowed to have so much energy all to himself.
"No one."
"Really? I thought you and the new guy had daily appointments? Did you cure him already?"
"Yep," you lied, totally unwilling to engage and avoiding his eyes, "he's all better. I'm that damn good. Don't you have a mission to prep for?"
"Where do you think I'm headed?" he laughed, his mouth now overstuffed with a donut that left chocolate all over his face. You normally would have laughed with him, but you would have had to dig far too deep to find the energy to feel anything. "What about you? Is being Cap's girlfriend finally getting you out of these boring meetings?"
"Nope. Steve talks in his sleep," you replied into a long yawn, "so trust me, I'm all set on the plan."
I'm slipping into the deep end
I'm in over my head
I can't catch my breath
I'm slipping into the deep end
Feel the current within
I can't help, I give in
You had come so close to drifting off in the jet that you almost didn't hear Steve's call in your comm. His voice jolted you back to alertness, shocking you with a hit of nervous energy. "(Y/N), bring the jet to the coordinates that I just sent to you. I'll have the team gathered there in five minutes. We're in a time crunch and want to stay ahead of the group we just knocked back, so hit the mark."
"Gotcha, Cap. I'm on the way."
It took the entire morning and flight to the mission destination to work through the resentment you were harboring from Steve's decision to keep you on the jet rather than being a part of the fight, but as you realized that you actually felt thankful to not be a part of it today, it became obvious that he was doing it for your own well-being and not because he had doubts if you could do the job.
"Guess he does know what he's doing," you mumbled to yourself as you entered the settings and raised the plane into the air. "Stay awake, (Y/N)," you continued, tapping your cheeks and shaking your head to try to clear the lingering fatigue from moments before, "just five more minutes."
With almost perfect timing, you saw Steve right where he said he would be, with the team coming to meet him from all directions. Once you landed and the door opened, you stepped out to greet him, just as you always did, but this time something felt...wrong. Your head was suddenly unbearably heavy and your ears began to ring.
"Woah, (Y/N), you look terrible," Bucky noticed, hurrying to your side, "you should probably sit down."
"Yeah, I will when everything stops spinning. I think I stood up too fast."
"Get her on the ground," Bruce commanded, recognizing that you only had a few seconds and reaching out to help you lie down, but as your vision became spotty and your legs gave way it wasn't him who had you. Bucky had you in his arms and on the plane before your eyes had a chance to close. The rest of the team followed behind quickly; Natasha pushed past Steve to take over piloting since the threat was still imminent, though everyone had seemed to quickly forget that the mission was still in play.
"Has she been sick?" Bruce asked, waiting for Bucky to lay you on a small bench so that he could try to figure out what had happened. "Anything at all?"
"No," Steve answered quietly, standing at your feet and watching as he stood unnervingly still.
"Is she pregnant?"
"No," he replied more emphatically this time, but then paused when his mind took a different path, his own face getting pale now. "No...I don't think so...no..."
"As long as you're sure," Bucky snickered with a slap on Steve's shoulder. "Do we have to have the talk again about how these things happen?"
"Not now, Buck."
"Okay, we can do it later."
"Tony, grab the first aid box and take her blood pressure," Bruce interjected. "Steve, hand me the IV supplies."
The two men hurried to finish their orders, then waited and watched as the doctor did his work and until your eyes wearily opened, blinking into the bright lights that were shining on you and making your head pound. "Sorry guys, that came out of nowhere," you whispered meekly, trying to sit up only to be pushed back down by a cold metal hand.
"Nope, not gonna happen. Lay your ass down until we get home."
"Yes, sir," you huffed, following the order without argument.
"Holy shit, Steve, did you hear that?" Bucky laughed aloud with a clap of his hands. "She called me sir. Bet you never got one of those."
"No, can't say that I have, Buck," he smiled in reply and gave you a knowing wink, "but we can try that one out next time."
"Ew, Steve, no," Bucky grimaced, deciding it better to just give up and finish the flight as far from the two of you as he could get. "That's so not what I meant."
~~~
Like light in my veins,
Darkness is sinking
Darkness is sinking me
Commanding my soul
I am under the surface
Where the blackness burns beneath
Every night since that mission the dreams became more vivid, now replaying the traumatic memories from your past like a 3-D movie that was strikingly realistic and that left you paralyzed with panic as your subconscious denied you when you tried to wake from it. Tonight was the worst of all; even in your sleep you could feel your heart pounding, and the sound of it in your ears deafened you so much that you couldn't hear Steve trying to pull you out from it. Your eyes were held shut tight, and his touch didn't even register in your mind. You were locked so firmly in your mind that it was as if there was nothing existing in the world beyond your terror-filled body.
As memory after memory played in a loop, your body would flinch and cower in reaction, but you weren't in control of it. The voices in your nightmare were silent under the increasing speed of your heart; it sounded as if it could explode in your chest, but you didn't think that would be all that bad. At least it would be over.
Steve now felt as helpless as you were as he felt his own anxiety rising at the sight and his inability to wake you scaring him into a loss at what to do. He could barely think, using any ounce of wherewithal to feel around on the bed and table until he clumsily found his phone, his eyes locked on you while he called the first name that always popped into his head.
"Call Bucky." Each ring felt like an hour had passed between them, and he found himself holding his breath until the answer finally came after the agonizing eternity.
"Shit, Steve, it's 2 am-" came the groggy voice on the other end of the line, but it was quickly silenced.
"I don't know what to do, Buck. I can't wake her up. What do I do?"
The phone went dead and Steve knew to wait, his mind silently counting the number of steps that Bucky was taking from his room to yours as each second ticked by painfully slowly; it was the best way that he could think of to keep himself from trying to grab you and shake you awake. When the door opened, he gasped in surprise when it wasn't who he was expecting to appear.
"Medics are on the way," Tony panted after running all the way from the opposite end of the compound, "I thought she was feeling better lately?"
"She was...this is...I don't know..." Steve stammered, "I don't know what this is. She hasn't been sleeping much..."
Tony moved to the other side of the bed from Steve and stood silently, just watching you for a minute before took a deep breath and groaned quietly in a murmur, "come on, kid. Whatever you're doing, let's just stop, alright?" He reached down and grabbed your wrist, his fingers over your pulse, but he couldn't move it as you tensed involuntarily in response to his grip.
"Banner said she didn't want me to know, but she hasn't been eating much either. She works all the time, with team practice and missions and...with..." he stopped, his eyes growing wide in revelation as his gaze drifted down to you, "with Bucky...goddammit, this is my fault. I suggested that she try to help him adjust to things here and to work through nightmares that he's been having, and all it did was bring on her own."
"Maybe that's why he sent me," Tony offered. "He said he shouldn't be here."
"Is that all he said?"
"I don't know, he mumbled something about looking at the sun, or some shit that I didn't really catch, and then he hung up."
~~~
It's getting close
I lose control
It's taking over
It's getting close
I lose control
It's taking over
The next time that your eyes opened, you weren't sure where you were and your body felt heavy and weak like you had slept for weeks straight. Your thoughts were jumbled and hard to organize, but if you concentrated really hard, you could remember almost every name of your teammates. It was a frightening sensation, and you quickly decided that you preferred the fear of your nightmares over this feeling of helplessness and confusion.
"You're okay, (Y/N)," Steve said, rushing from his chair to your side as soon as he saw the whites of your eyes. "I'm here."
"Steve?"
When you said his name it wasn't a question for him to explain, it was to reassure your mind that you had it right. This was a terrible feeling and you never wanted to experience it again; whatever happened to you while you were out had completely incapacitated you.
"Yeah, sweetheart, it's me," he sighed with relief, "you got it right that time."
"That time?"
"You've been pretty out of it since they moved you here." When your only response was a look of complete bewilderment, he repeated the explanation that he had given you so many times in the past week. If you didn't remember it again this time, it was okay; he'd tell you as often as you needed until you were back to yourself, because this was his fault, he believed, and he would do whatever he needed to. "I couldn't wake you up, like you were locked in a panic attack or nightmare or something...I can't really understand that part very well. But Tony and I brought you to the hospital, and they decided that you were having some kind of...break."
"A psychotic break? Me? That doesn't make any sense."
"Between the exhaustion, the fact that you hadn't been taking care of yourself enough to even eat right...which I blame myself for with working you too hard," he assured, "and because you hadn't been treating your own depression, it finally got to be too much. They've been giving you meds to keep you asleep for quite a few days now."
He sat quietly after that, allowing you to process it and work it out in your mind, seeing in your reaction that it would take a little time to do. You let your eyes wander around the room now, feeling a heavy drop in your stomach at what you were seeing; there were no decorations, only one small window, neutral linens on your bed, and the furniture looked like it was bolted to the floor.
"Why am I in here? I'm not suicidal."
"We didn't know, because we couldn't really ask."
"Who knows?" you asked quietly, regretting it immediately.
"There's a line of idiots outside of your door just waiting to see you. Someone thought it would be funny if we all switched names to mess with you. I didn't agree."
"Oh no, you didn't punch Sam did you?"
"Wasn't him," Steve smiled, "it was Bruce."
"Shut up," you choked, feeling like you might be able to laugh for the first time in forever at something that was so widely out of his character.
"He claims that he meant it as a way to test your memory, but I saw the look on his face. I could see the gears spinning in his head and he was smiling way too much."
Maybe it was the meds that had taken control of your mood, or the inability to pass up an opportunity, but you furrowed your brow and looked like you were in deep concentration as he watched anxiously. You smiled widely and gasped, grabbing his hand eagerly in excitement, "wait, Bruce is the one with the hammer, right?"
You almost felt guilty for how miserable he looked when his expression dropped in defeat, but if he was this easy to mess with, and if he thought this was his fault, he got what he got.
"You're not serious, right? (Y/N), please tell me you're not serious."
"If Bucky has the suit, Clint has wings, Thor uses the shield and Sam has his bow, that only leaves Bruce with the hammer. Tony is a huge green rage monster and can't be trusted with it, and Natasha's metal arm slides too much on the handle when she tries to pick it up. We know it's not you because you look too good in that black leather uniform."
"Oh my god," he whined, "it's worse than I thought."
"Yeah, it sure is. I think I just proved that Bruce has been getting away with shit for years and we owe Barton a hell of a lot of apologies."