Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

*Chapter 61 - New Fears*

Fear is ubiquitous.

It hides in every crack and crevice of the human soul, taking root like a weed that springs forth in the worst of times. It conspires with anger and dances with jealousy, feeding all the darkest emotions that we hold deep within ourselves.

Fear is primal.

But these layers of emotions - ones that are still so new to you - can't compare to the feeling of helplessness.

Helplessness is a rot.

And as you throw open the door to the prop room, certain that's where James has stormed off to, you're left completely helpless as you find the room cold and empty.

"James?" you call out, your voice bouncing off the tall stone pillars and cracked marble floors. Taking a few quick steps back, you glance both ways down the hall, certain he couldn't have made it far in only a few seconds. "James!" you cry out angrily.

But only silence answers as your breathing grows labored, laced with that fear that settles in your chest. Fear that you dare not acknowledge as you dash down the hall towards the office, certain that he must be there. But it, too, is empty. Dark.

You're completely alone inside the dark and drafty theatre.

"JAMES?!" you shout, choking back a frightened sob.

Your hand flies to the bullet around your neck, and even though it brings a sense of comfort in its familiarity, it also serves as a reminder.

A reminder of the plaza.

A reminder of the last time James had left. How he'd been gone for weeks.

And a reminder of what happened only hours earlier, when you had been left alone and your body had protested.

It seems the simple reminiscence of your last panic attack causes your pulse to pound in your ears as your chest starts to tighten.

"No, no, no," you stammer as the symptoms manifest.

You will yourself to calm, but find it's now difficult to breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting back angry tears. Anger at James for leaving you behind. Anger at yourself for being so afraid. You've never been afraid to be alone before. This is new. This is terrifying.

Yet within every shadow there are eyes watching. Just like the plaza. And in each howling breeze a murmur of warning. Just like the plaza. And each movement, every step, is too slow - you can't hide, and you can't move fast enough.

Just like the plaza.

You start to unravel as a cold sweat breaks out across your forehead. You stagger forward towards the office desk and grip the edge to regain your balance before pushing off towards the lamp and flicking it on, desperate to be able to see your surroundings - to not be in the dark. The dull, yellow glow of the lamp eases your panic slightly, but not enough to keep the tears from welling up.

This isn't fair. This is weak. You are weak.

Out of instinct you reach for your pocket, for the pills you always keep there.

The pills will fix it.

The pills will bring her to the surface. The Interrogator will quash the fear. She always has.

But your shaking hands emerge empty, and you exhale sharply with the realization that James has been keeping hold of your pills. He has them, leaving you without any way to cope.

Dread sits deep inside your chest. You glance towards the desk chair, desperate to sit as your knees shake. You take several steps toward it, nearly stumbling over a hole in the ground. An old safe, once concealed beneath a rug, now lays open with papers crammed inside. You trip on the edge, grabbing at the desk and catching your balance. You straighten, and spot a bottle on the edge of the desk - half full. Eyes widening you grab at it, letting out a choked exhale of relief when you see that the faded label reads "Stirling Company Gaelic Whiskey".