The Fluffy Adventures of Yelena and Bucky

Part 6

So... I may have cried while writing this... but i removed a couple paragraphs.

But it's not that-  oop i guesss it is that bad. sorry.

This is a long and heavy one, but its super important so please stick around. Thank you so much for coming this far, I really appreciate it lots!

I love you, yk.

Flashback

     So much pain. So much pain. Bucky's whole body shook, remembering. Still feeling. He leaned his bare shoulder on the wall. 

   In all his memories as the Winter Soldier, he couldn't remember a time full of as much pain as in that that night. His former life was like a megaphone blaring in his ears, too, images and sounds bearing down on his weak and broken mind. 

   He'd never been so thoroughly torn apart. And the worst part was his past. They let him keep his memory of his real life and how he'd never go back to it. It pulled at him excruciatingly. 

   Two lives. Two lives all at once, with the weight of a freight car on his shoulders. The lives were unbalanced. They would never be balanced, never. 

   No way back. Those words haunted him like phantoms, chasing his mind. He couldn't shout. He couldn't cry, either - his large fountain of tears had run dry. But he could manage a soft whimper. 

   'You ready to follow Capatin America into the jaws of death?'

   Bucky had been ready and eager to do just that. 

    But death was a different thing from hell. This, he knew no one could ever prepare for. Defeat tasted like lead and blood and death. 

   Was it still worth it, curled up on the cement floor?

   Yes.

   Knowing that what you're doing is good doesn't ensure that it'll ever be easy. Bucky learned that many many years ago in his childhood, and over again in World War Two. 

   So why was the world still trying to teach him that, after everything he'd been through? 

   Pain, pain, pain, for every choice you try to make yourself. Being yourself causes the pain... that was what Hydra taught him. What Hydra wanted him to believe. And he wished he didn't have to believe it, but it was true.

   Everything felt dull, hazy... empty...

   And yet he still wished he could see Angela's smile. He didn't remember what it looked like. But he knew it was beautiful. Or his siblings, any one of them. His mom, his pop. 

   They were about as dead as he felt. 

   Bucky gasped, springing up from the floor. He barely felt his back as it leaned against the side of the couch. 

   Sweat ran down his face and hands and back... His dead family's living room rose up in his vision, but tears clouded it just as fast. 

   This was the landmark of the life he once lived, one that he was closer to now that he lived in it. But the punishment from that night lingered heavily on him. 

   If his family were here, mum would give him a piece of peppermint, Rebacca would help him draw a self portrait while sipping hot chocolate, Oliver would be like a gentle therapest, asking how he felt. Ben would wrap his arms around him and ask him if there were any holidays coming up. 

   Bucky tried to take deep breaths. After that flashback, the last thing he wanted was a panic attack. The most likely thing to happen, of course. Counting in his mind, he grabbed a couch pillow and squeesed it against his chest tightly. 

   They weren't here, and they never again would be. 

   He shivered, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders. He turned on the lamp, and a soft glow penetrated the darkness, soothing him slightly. 

   Bucky's phone dinged. 

   "No," he muttered. Whatever it was, it'd have to wait. Especially if it was Sam. He checked the time on his watch. 3:26 AM. 

   The flashback had felt much longer than four hours. He distinctly remembered lying down at 12:03, though. It was probably another trick of his mind. 

   His hands wouldn't stop shaking, and he knew he needed help. He wanted Yelena to be there, but she was tired and the day before, she had dark spots under her eyes. Hewould jsut wait a couple more hours for her. 

   What if she triggers another flashback?

   Bucky sank back onto the couch. Feelings, feelings, feelings. Why did he have to carry so many and so little at the same time? Stop it, he told himself. You're wasting time asking questions you know the answer to already.

   It's not real. He got up and rummaged through the cupboards, making no sound as he found what he was looking for. Phantom pains started to burn through his veins, but he gritted his teeth and grabbed his second item, carrying them outside.

   The front yard was dimly lit by the orange streetlamps. He wondered why they had to be orange and not white. 

   Bucky sank to his knees by the flowerbed, placing his small planter on the grass in front of him. He piled soil into the planter, then sprinkled seeds onto it. As he raked his tired and hurting fingers through the dirt, he felt comforted. 

   He felt his mother's prescence strongly, and a small curve emerged on his lips. He poured water into the planter using the hose, and then  sat next the hydrangeas. They lasted long, he realized. His mum had probably planted these.

   They were her favorite colour, purple, but they looked a grayish pinkish colour in the light. These flowers brought back so many moments, walking home from school decades ago with his siblings and Angela. 

   He touched the hydrangeas softly with his fingers. The phantom pains, a trick of his confused nerves, still prickled and ached as his skin touched the petals. 

   Bucky looked back at the planter he'd brought out, full of soil. Soon, a little sprout would shoot up, and he could finally pick off pieces of peppermint without his mum giving him the stink eye.