𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐑 | 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

dying memories ⋆ winterfalcon

The trees sway in Bucky's peripherals, each one becoming a blurred jumble of green and brown. He's suddenly over aware of the coldness of the granite bench he's sitting on, the dampness of the grass between his toes, and the prickling and dense air surrounding him in what feels like a cyclone of winds. Bucky's mind starts spinning just as fast as the winds around him are, and after the spinning mind comes the spinning thoughts, and after that comes the realization that he's not sure where he is, and that he can't find a landmark that gives him enough hints about where he is through the messy tears in his eyes. The winds and the bench chill him to the bone, and he quickly finds it harder and harder to breathe, feeling as though the air can leave his lungs but nothing can come back in. A single, calm thought makes its way gently through Bucky's mind, soon arriving at the front and seeking attention.

Sam told you to call him when this happens, he tells himself, the patient voice in his head sounding more like Sam's voice than his own. But the air still won't go into Bucky's lungs, there's tears streaming down his face, and the thoughts going through his mind are deadly.

There's no way he can call Sam.

He feels himself slowly slip off the bench he's seated on, his back scraping against the unforgiving juts in the rock before he collapses completely onto the ground. The air strangles him just as much as his thoughts do, and he finds himself grasping onto the grass he's now seated on to try to get a grip on something to try to slow down everything around him.

you'll be gone you're disappearing there'll be nothing left of you you'll be GONE–

Call Sam, his mind urges again. His breathing turns from hyperventilating to sobbing, the tears rushing down faster than before.

Call Sam. The sentence comes out as a demand this time, no longer looking for an argument. But he can't, not like this. He can't, he won't.

As hard as he tries to keep it in, a noise finally escapes Bucky's mouth.

"Help," he starts quietly, his sobbing racking his chest and making it difficult for the word to come out.

"Help," he tries again, the plea coming out just a little bit stronger and louder than before, but he still finds no reply.

His shaky hands make his way to his hair, looking for the long locks he's grown used to but instead finding his newly cut short hair, and his breathing becomes even more sporadic at the unfamiliarity. He bends over with his head in his hands and lets out one last begging attempt.

"Help!"

The word comes out broken and brings goosebumps Sam's arms, who's inside and pulling down a glass to get something to drink in. The scream from outside makes Sam stop in his tracks and drop the glass, which explodes at his feet and sends fragments every each way. He's already running toward the door, feeling his feet become bloody from stepping on the broken glass.

But he doesn't care about himself right now. He needs to find Bucky.

The back door flies open and slams on the side of the house, and by the time it shuts Sam is already halfway across the backyard of their current safe house. He spins around quickly, trying to find Bucky, and spots a figure bent over on the ground about fifty feet away. Sam's feet carry him quickly across the damp grass, and he swings around the granite bench once he's there.

"Hey, hey, I'm here, Buck, I'm here," Sam says, dropping to his knees instantly. Bucky sobs are still shaking his body, the tears shimmering on his face and his breathing labored.

you're disappearing you'll be gone there will be nothing left of you you'll be gone–

"Hey, Bucky, look at me," Sam says, gently reaching his hand out to turn Bucky's face to meet his. Bucky's reddened eyes finally look to his, still streaming with new tears.