Work Text:
Let's Hide From The World Together
Clint can’t breathe.
It’s been weeks since he last managed to get through a day without feeling like total and utter shit, or, at least not more so than he usually does.
Anxiety and Depression are old and unwelcome, yet frequent guests in his life. He is used to them, but that doesn’t mean that his bad days get any easier. Not at all. Some days are still better than others, and then he can ignore the creeping darkness in his mind for long enough to actually be happy.
Right now though? Right now, Clint feels like he is suffocating on too many feelings and memories that he pushes away on a regular basis.
Fear sits tightly in his chest, and Clint forces himself to start breathing again in a slow, even pattern. His clammy hands tremble as they rub small circles into Bucky's back, holding him close in the dead of night after a particularly nasty nightmare.
Clint isn’t sure which one of Bucky’s usual dreams it was, but he knows just from the way his partner reacted upon waking up, from the way he clings to him in desperation, that it must have been one of the worse, more personal nightmares.
He hopes like hell that tonight won’t be one of those nights where his programming sets back in.
Bucky slipping back into soldier mode has happened a few times since he was found and moved into the tower, depending on the nightmare he had. Sometimes, a wrong word, the wrong movement, or just scent or color is enough to set off his triggers.
He’s gotten better over time, especially since Bucky started Therapy and got together with Clint. All of this helps tremendously, but none of it is a safe or foolproof way to dismantle decades of trauma and brainwashing.
It’s always messy, and bringing Bucky back to himself is hard those nights, especially because Clint refuses to use any kind of violence against the Soldier. Bucky, his Bucky is still in there, after all, and he deserves better than to be attacked by the man he loves just because his past brainwashing sets back in.
It is more complicated than that, and both of them know it. They have talked about it more than once, but what it boils down to doesn’t change at all and they do their best to deal with it.
The problem is, Clint can barely handle those setbacks on a good day. Mind control issues are one of the things that he and Bucky have in common and it initially helped them bond. It does to this day, because some experiences just stick, and it’s hard to find people who really understand all the baggage that comes with it.
But right now? Clint couldn’t deal with another setback if he tried to, but luckily, it doesn’t look like this is going to happen now. Small favors, really.
Clint holds onto Bucky just a little bit tighter, as if he could disappear as soon as he lets go of him.
Only a few minutes earlier, Bucky startles awake screaming. He wakes up utterly terrified, disoriented clawing at his throat with wide eyes and heavy breaths that slowly turn into deep, wrecking sobs.
Clint is right there, right next to him and wide awake as he immediately wraps his arms around Bucky in an attempt to calm him down. He wasn’t even asleep in the first place, but days of insomnia left him jumpy and exhausted as it is.
Trying to hold it together is getting harder and harder. Clint knows it won’t take long for him to break down as well, and he also knows it won’t get easier when more time passes until he breaks. But…
There is always something .
Mostly the deep, desperate desire to not be a burden to anyone. His team - his friends - deserve better. And goddammit, Bucky deserves better, too.
Bucky is dealing with so many issues of his own, fighting his own demons on a daily basis, it is a miracle he is still standing some days, let alone smile or banter back and forth like anyone else on the team.
This is not how any of this works - neither mental illness, trauma or relationships, Clint knows. He’s heard it too many times over the years, and at least some of it has finally stuck with him. But technically knowing something and believing something are two very different things. He knows this, too.
“It’s okay, you’re safe. I got you.” he whispers over and over again, clinging onto Bucky, nose buried in his unwashed hair as he tries to hold back his own tears. After a while, Clint feels like he is choking on them, and then his voice gives up. Bucky tightens his hold around him, unable to speak but still trying to comfort him, even now.
What a sad picture the two of them must make right now, a small, cynical part of his brain thinks. Two men as broken as they are, clinging onto one another for dear life in the middle of the night, with a small, dim light on in the corner because the pitch black darkness is too terrifying to face, even together.
Both of them are crying now, half-muffled sobs into each other's shirt or hair, clinging onto one another with cold, clammy hands that shake too hard to do anything else.
Arms wrapped tightly around Clint, Bucky shuffles even closer to him than he already is. His legs are now wrapped around him as well because he needs to touch as much of each other as humanly possible - both of them need it.
There is no clear thought left in his head. it is too much of a mess of old and new memories, a lot of fog and trying to swim through dark, muddy waters in an attempt not to drown. The only thing Bucky knows is that he is home , that he is loved and that Clint is alive and he is here. That, and that Clint is very much not okay. Neither of them has been “okay” in a long while, but tonight seems to be catching up to them. Too many painful memories that catch up with them, waking up and expecting - every single horrible thing they can think of.
When Bucky screams himself awake that night, he is completely convinced that he killed everyone around him.
The nightmares are too realistic, almost no different from the… Memories that keep coming up whenever he is vulnerable. His therapist refers to both kinds of dreams as Night Terrors, but Bucky himself attempts to keep careful track of what is real and what is not. If he doesn’t, then who will?
His body count is high - both his, and the Soldiers - he knows there is a difference, but Bucky still counts it as one, because in the end, it was all him, controlled or not. Every dead person at his hand, world war two and… after, is his own. People he couldn’t save, people he actively killed. It’s his issue to deal with, and all of this doesn’t even take the decades of brainwashing and horrific torutre into account. Which is another thing that haunts him.
It leaves Bucky curled up and shaking apart on a cold bathroom floor or in a shower with his clothes on, either scalding hot or freezing cold and nothing in between. It depends entirely on what he needs that day - nearly boiling water to chase the chill away, get back to himself, or ice cold water that reminds him of being frozen so he doesn’t have to deal with anything.
Both extreme temperatures hurt, and truth be told, that is what Bucky is after. Much more subtle than bruises, cuts or burns.
That night, Bucky dreams of working his way through the Avengers tower. One by one, he creeps into everyone's rooms, killing his friends with quick and brutal efficiency.
The knife in his hand is dripping with blood as he walks away from the empty eyed bodies of people he loves. One by one, they die at his hand, too quickly to register what is happening to them. It’s only when Bucky is finished and looks back at his work that he comes back to himself.
Strewn around the tower, his teammates are dead in a puddle of their own blood and it is Bucky who did it. Not the Soldier - him.
He starts screaming in horror when he realizes what he has done. He is screaming until he startles awake, clawing on himself, disoriented and terrified because everyone he loves is dead and it is his fault.
But then, he realizes that he is in a soft, warm bed - and god, when did that happen? Beds feel so wrong, Bucky thinks frantically. He doesn’t deserve a bed, for fucks sake. Still, he wakes up in a comfortable bed, with Clint right next to him because he is alive and warm and here.
Everything else, the murder of his own newfound family was a dream, but Bucky can’t hold back anymore. Blood curdling screams turn into desperate sobs, only muffled by the soft fabric of Clint’s shirt. He has long ago pulled him close and into his arms, one hand slowly stroking his hair in an attempt to soothe and comfort.
Clint is talking to him, as low and calmly as he can, but the cracks in his own facade grow longer and longer until he, too, breaks down. Bucky can feel the hot tears against his skin, can feel his partners slightly larger frame shaking like a leaf.
It hurts to see him in this state, because Bucky knows just much Clint usually keeps to himself. Whenever he breaks down like this, it is always a sign that things are getting too much, and Bucky is desperate to help, even when he has no idea how to help himself.
He knows that Clint feels like a burden, no matter how many times he is being told the opposite.
Some thoughts and habits just stick - Bucky knows this all too well, both from his own experience and from the months he’s spent with the man currently curled around him. In moments like this, the only thing they can be sure of is that they are home to each other, that they are safe and loved and supported - everything else, they can figure out along the way.
After a while, when the worst of the storm has passed over, their hold around one another grows more gentle and a little less desperate. Neither of them is ready to let go yet, not by a long shot, but it’s easier to breathe now, easier to feel safe.
They’ll figure out the rest, they always do. In the meantime, they just hide from the world together.
*+~
15/25
Prompt: Nervous Breakdown