BL Lemons and Fluff!

Bucky

//some bad angst here.
//trigger warning: severe depression and homophobia/transphobia. Also, implied suicidal thoughts/actions.
//implied transmasc!Bucky.

"I don't think you should keep showing up..." The man said.
"Everyone knows now. You're going to make people uncomfortable." Another man said.
"This just isn't the group for you." A woman said.

He'd been attending meetings for the past seven months.
It had been working. He'd gotten so much off of his chest. Things had been getting better.

His chest tightened, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. Of course, on the outside he was fine. He just nodded and said things like, "yeah, I understand" and "you're probably right".

He sat on his bed, looking at his palm. He hadn't heard from any of his friends in the past two weeks since it happened. No Tony, no Bruce, no Natasha. No Steve.
The look in Steve's eyes the last time they'd seen each other... Bucky couldn't get that look out of his head. Like he was a monster.
Bucky was broken, and the group designed to help him heal had only hurt him even more. He thought that he could trust them. He thought that it wouldn't change things. He wondered how he could be so stupid. So naive.
"We don't support that kind of thing."
"No wonder you have so many problems."
"Have you not tried therapy?"
"You've ruined your life."
"Stay away from me."
No one was answering his calls. He'd stopped trying to reach people after the first few days. He felt lost.
Not lost, but unwanted.

He didn't know when he'd gone outside, let alone when it had started raining. He took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He didn't light it, and after a while he put it back in the pack.
When he'd told them of the time he served, they understood.
When he'd come clean about his alcoholic tendencies, they supported him. He hadn't picked up a drink in months. He wondered if he should.
His whole body was numb, and yet not. He felt like a ball of liquid sadness was swirling and growing inside his chest, making it's way upwards.
He didn't know when he started crying. It felt like it had been only a few minutes.
Another two months passed in a blink.
He hadn't heard from anyone. He'd stopped going to work. The fridge was empty, but he wasn't very hungry these days anyways.
He wanted to talk to Steve again.
For some reason, he wanted to add 'one last time' to that sentence.
No, maybe he did know the reason.

The nightmares had come back.
This time, they were different. Yes, there was still blood and gunfire, but in these nightmares he wasn't a soldier. No, he was strapped to a table, a faceless surgeon cutting into his chest.
The nightmares were always full of pain and fear, and when he awoke he was always covered in a cold sweat.
He lay awake afterwards, his fingers tracing over the scars on his chest. He had stopped being insecure about them a while ago, but recently...
He was crying again, recalling the words that had been said to him.
"Made the wrong choice."
"Disgusting markings."
"Victim of the media."

Of all of the scars on his body, they were the ones he loved the most. He'd had control over the situation when he'd received them; had the choice of wether or not to get them.
He didn't regret his decision. He didn't think he'd made the wrong decision. It seemed like no one else cared what he thought though.

He looked at the empty pill bottle in his hand, sighing softly.
He felt his heart give a pitiful squeeze, and felt the sickening twist of sadness in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, tears pouring down his cheeks. He was breathless suddenly.
He didn't want to think about how everyone had reacted. Didn't want to think of the look on Steve's face when he found out that Bucky was not only gay, but trans.
He didn't want that look to be the last thing he saw.
Steve's face in his mind was so vivid; he was crying, and Bucky was pretty sure he was yelling too. He wanted to reach out and wipe away the tears on Steve's pretty face. He couldn't really hear anything. It sounded like he was underwater.
He was so tired.

And that was it.

//727 words.
//you don't have to read this part if you don't want to.

//I've been feeling horribly dysphoric recently, and I feel so melancholy. I want to die, but at the same time I really don't. I know it's just a really shitty feeling, and it's nothing too serious. But there's just so much sadness I can keep bottled up, so I poured some out.
//some of what I've written in this chapter has been said or done to me, all by someone I thought I could trust. When I came out, they were nice and supportive, and even helpful. I dont know what changed, or if they were just pretending all along. I know that it wasn't me or anything that I could have done.
//one day, they just brought it up in a very personal, sexual way. They told me that they didn't want to keep taking me to the group we had been going to, and that the rest of the group knew now and didn't want me to come back. She cut me and my little sister off, and then the virus began to spread a few weeks after, so I never got up the courage to go to group by myself.
//I think I would've. I wouldn't let it get to me, but this all happened months ago, during a time when my little sister and I were settling into an apartment, finally away from our abusive mom. This same lady helped us so much; bought us a microwave, all of our dishes, helped us get furniture and assisted in me actually getting my sister approved to move in with me. She knew, that entire time.
//I'm just so confused and torn. She cut us both off knowing that I was still struggling. She didn't check in on either of us. I have never had this happen to me in this way before. My sister was just learning to trust people again, and I think she may never open up again after that.
//I needed to vent. Sorry. I can't leave you guys with a bad ending for the life of me right now, so enjoy the end of the story. And don't worry guys, I'm fine.

Bucky opened his eyes slowly.
He heard the faint beeping of a machine and saw the blinding white of a hospital room. He could feel the cool air against his skin; feel the thin blanket laid over him, taste the clean air.
He could smell the flowers sitting in the vase on his bedside table. Purple Hyacinth.
Bucky sat up, then glanced at the door as it opened. His eyes widened.
"Steve."

"Oh. You're awake." Steve said, his eyes wide as well. Bucky was afraid he would step out, but Steve just shut the door and moved to sit in a chair near Bucky's bed. Bucky was quiet. Steve was quiet.
After a few minutes, Steve looked into Bucky's eyes. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Yeah..." Bucky said. He was far from okay.
"I mean. No, I'm..." Steve sighed. "I'm glad you didn't-"
He buried his face in his hands, sighing. "Bucky... why would you do somethin' like that?"
Bucky looked away, frowning. "It's just something else you won't understand."
Steve put his hand on Bucky's and Bucky tensed. "I'm sorry I cut you off. I shouldn't have acted that way. Bucky, I... I'm sorry. Please look at me."
Bucky didn't want to look at Steve. Steve hadn't been there.
He couldn't stop himself from looking, though. He wanted to find the reason behind Steve's actions.
"I didn't know if you liked flowers or not..." Steve said, trailing off. He sighed. "They're supposed to mean-"
"Regret and a plea for forgiveness. I know." Bucky said, glancing at the flowers. "Didn't take you for someone who was into flower arrangements."
Bucky frowned and looked down at their hands. Steve's was still holding his. Steve looked away, his hand squeezing Bucky's slightly. "I should've been there. I shouldn't have acted the way I did."
"I'm not just going to forgive you." Bucky said, and Steve nodded.
"I know." He smiled slightly, then looked away. "Can you give me a second chance?"
Bucky was quiet for a long time. Then, he nodded shortly. "Yeah. Maybe."

//1068 words, not including notes.
//sorry y'all. I've been pretty down recently.