Sambucky - Relax, Relapse

Chapter 1

Making their way back to the safe house they were staying at, Bucky sighed as he unzipped the navy blue leather jacket that protected his upper body (minus the metal arm). The two of them were exhausted, the Flag Smashers had gotten away again. Bucky couldnt help but always feel responsible for all of this, and much to his dismay he had found a 'coping mechanism' a few months back. Not a great one, but it helped, he thought.

"Dibs on shower first, Birdbrain." He grumbled, receiving a scoff and an 'okay, cyborg' from Sam as he walked to the bathroom. He locked the door and stripped himself of his dirty uniform, down to his boxers. Starting the shower to hide the hisses of pain he'd make in moments to come he took out the clean sharp blade he hid in his pant leg. Emergencies only in battle, never used for that purpose. It was his own personal weapon. Against himself. A sweet catharsis, a euphoric high that he had become addicted too. Punishing himself for the horrible things he still blamed himself for, while simultaneously getting a rush from the adrenaline that pumped through his body even after a long day's battle.

Every 'session' -as he mentally called it- started with hesitation. Staring at his blank yet scarred thighs and the glistening sharp edge of the blade as he sat on the ground, back against the wall and knees bent. The hesitation never lasted long, if anything it annoyed Bucky more than anything else. Bringing the blade down he started his self torture that wouldnt last more than a few hours as it healed. Damn super soldier serum. As always, the deep gashes pulled hisses and muffled groans from the super soldier as he bit his flesh hand. God did it hurt, but god did he feel he deserved it. He caused so much pain in the world, he felt like he had so much debt to pay, and he could pay it off by inflicting that pain onto himself.

He murmured a small "shit.." as he stumbled to move into the shower, avoiding getting the metallic red blood from staining the white tiled floor. Sucking in a sharp breath and wincing at the water hitting the wounds, he stood and turned so the steamy hot water pounded on his back. Relaxing the tight muscles, soothing the bruises and bone aches. Aggravating the wounds. The amount of blood was striking, probably not healthy, but Bucky played it off as he had been through far worse. The deep pink watered out blood streamed down his thighs and to the shower drain as he began to scrub the dirt off his hair and skin.

Getting out of the shower, thankful that the towels were a deep crimson rather than a bright white, he toweled himself dry and pressed the thick fabric steadily onto his thighs. As much as he loved the high, the aching pain and the pounding anxiety in his chest almost made it not worth it. Almost. He stopped the bleeding and waited as long as possible, till Sam was knocking on the door to tell him to get out, before he got up. Wrapping the towel around his waist and gathering up his things as he left the bathroom, Sam replacing his position.

The brunette pulled out his sweatpants, boxers, and a t-shirt, one that was always too tight and too small (not that anyone was complaining), and quickly changed. His thighs ached and burned against the rather soft sweatpants fabric, something he enjoyed aswell. The lasting pain, his mind's excuse that he deserved it for the lasting pain he left on the families of those he killed. No matter how strong his legs were, they felt weak as they trembled from the pain. He sighed as he sat down, wincing at the jolt and movement of the muscles.

He pulled out his phone, the one that everyone seemed surprised he could navigate, and went to the news. Reading about the Flag Smashers, articles about Sam being Captain America, and torturing his mind with the articles questioning The Winter Soldier's ability to be the 'good guy', Captain Americas wing man. He hadnt noticed the sounds of the steamy hot water stopping, or the rustling of Sam doing who knows what, or him walking back in the room clad in plain sweatpants and no shirt. He simply stared at his phone as he read, one hand clenched in a tight fist, his jaw clenched.

"Buck? You okay?" Sam asked. His voice held genuine concern. No matter how much the older pissed him off, he still cared and thought of Bucky as a friend. He didnt know much, but the things he did know about Buckys past werent something he could just set aside and say 'oh he'll be fine'. Sam was a VA councilor, he knew what those kinds of things could do to a vet, and it worried him how closed off Bucky could be. He had heard, and seen, a few of Bucky nightmares. Ranging from flinching and whimpering to thrashing and screaming, always ending in waking up with a yelp or scream and a panic attack quickly following. Neither ever mentioned it, but those nights Sam would hold Bucky close and play with his soft brown locks, cuddling him till he fell asleep again. It worked well, and it was moments of vulnerability like those that made Sam's heart keen. Bucky didnt trust people well, but he trusted Sam. He trusted him enough to be lulled to sleep in his strong arms, trusted him enough to cry into his chest, sometimes enough to talk about whatever happened in that night's nightmare.

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin hearing Sam's calm, smooth voice. "What the fuck asshole. And dont call me that." He grumbled. He sighed and pushed himself up so he wasnt slouching, clenching his jaw harder to maintain his composure through the annoying pain. It didnt hurt as much as it healed, feeling the itchiness as his super soldier body mended the tissue he so graciously tore apart back together.

"Im fine. Why?" He cocked his head to the side, resting his cheek on his hand that was propped up on the arm of the chair by his elbow.

"I dont know, you look extra broodier than normal. And your face is a total give away, stop torturing yourself with those stupid articles Bucky." Sam sighed and sat on the bed, turning so his back leaned against the headboard. He chose to comply, yet ignore, Buckys command to call him 'Buck'. He understood why. Steve was still an open wound in Buckys heart, hell he was an open wound in Sams.

Bucky rolled his eyes and scoffed before letting his face fall, looking down at his lap. "Theyre right though. Im just a...murder... Ive caused so much pain. And dont go on about that bullshit 'It wasnt you'. As far as the rest of the world is concerned Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier are the same human being. I'm nothing but an ex-hydra agent that can't be trusted not to go bat shit crazy, even if im "Captain America's wing man.""

Sam frowned and crossed his arms, nodding as he thought. "You can't control their fear, what theyre afraid of. But what you can do, is show them. And you do that every damn day, Buck. You know how many people have seen what you do and thanked you for what youre doing right now? With all this Flag Smashers bullshit?" He chuckled lightly to himself. "You are not the Winter Soldier. It's not bullshit saying it wasnt you, because it wasnt." He reassured.

Bucky looked deep in thought, hanging onto Sam's every word. He had put the phone down, layed on his chest, and mindlessly rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and chin. He thought of an answer, trying to find some witty come back, but he was too tired and lost.

Sam recognized that look, exhausted and defeated. He silently sighed and patted the bed next to him. "Come get some sleep, man." His voice was oddly gentle and soft, but not out of the ordinary for Sam to speak in that tone with the super soldier.

Bucky gave in and stood up, biting his lip. He felt dramatic, like he should just suck it up and stop being such a wimp over this pain. He carefully crawled into the bed, laying down with his back facing Sam.

"G'night Birdbrain." He mumbled.

"Night Cyborg."
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