Whumptober 2023 ~ Marvel Edition

'Can You Hear Me?' - Bucky

Day 7:

"I paced around for hours on empty, I jumped at the slightest of sounds."
Alleyway | Radio Silence | "Can you hear me?"

~~~

TRIGGER WARNING FOR DRUG WITHDRAWAL, MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, AND IMPLIED SUICIDAL IDEATION

~~~

Bucky kneaded his hands, pressing perhaps a bit too roughly into his palms. He didn't mind the pain it brought; in fact, it was a welcome distraction.

He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin waiting for this damn man to show up. Having waited in the alley for the past six hours was not only mind-numbingly boring, but his withdrawals had only gotten worse by the hour. His body was aching, he felt vaguely nauseous, he felt detached from himself, his eyes kept watering incessantly, and most of all, he was exhausted. He had thought about and fought off the urge to lay down and take a nap multiple times, but he couldn't risk missing his dealer.

That bastard better show up soon, is all Bucky was saying.

Bucky threw his hands to his sides and let out a low growl as he stood up from his seat on a very uncomfortable bottom step of a fire escape to start pacing. Maybe if he kept moving he would feel less like tearing off his skin. As Bucky took his first few steps, he noticed that his legs seemed a little less stable than they normally were, but he ignored it and kept going. After a few moments, the sensation mostly faded and it was like it had never happened anyways.

A small clanging sound was heard from the other end of the alley, causing a rush of adrenaline to make its way through his body, causing him to jump so high, he swore his soul left his body for a moment. In reality he knew that the sound wasn't loud enough to justify eliciting that kind of reaction from him, but he was so on edge that everything had been making him jumpy. Even hearing planes go overhead seemed to have that sort of effect on him.

When Bucky turned his head towards the origin of the sound, he saw the shape of someone entering the barely lit alley. His heart leaped with joy when he thought it might be his dealer, but his heart stopped and entered his throat just as quickly when he saw the outline of the symbol on the man's chest.

...Steve? No, that couldn't be right, Steve was dead, he remembered. This was Sam; it had to be. The man narrowed his eyes at Bucky to try and make out his form, and a flash of recognition washed over them.

"...Bucky? Is that you?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. Screw Sam for making him think, even if only for a brief moment, that he was Steve. Screw Sam for giving him that hope. Screw Sam for wearing that damn suit. Deep down he knew that it wasn't the man's fault, but he hated that Sam was a constant reminder of what he'd lost - of what had been ripped away from him.

The only reason Bucky had turned to drugs in the first place was because of his inability to cope with having lost Steve. Or, rather, having Steve abandon him for another time. And another woman. Deep down he understood why Steve had done what he did, but on the surface, he was angry. At Steve, but mostly at himself for not telling him his true feelings before it was too late. If he could go back, he would've told him before Steve had gone back in time - hell, he would've gone back to 1945 and told him before he'd fallen from the train. Maybe then things would've been different.

Maybe he could have finally been happy.

But alas, here he was, in a dark, cold alley with no one but himself to blame for how he'd gotten there. It was his choice to not tell Steve the truth, it was his choice to push away the very few people left who cared about him, and it was his choice to try and numb his depression with drugs. What wasn't his choice, though, was running out of his stash and having his dealer flake out on him.