Sparrow_2099

It really shouldn't have been that serious.

Two strings that were meant to fit around his ears stretched across his fingers, nothing but paper in between. It was designed to be light and breathable.

It was simple, it was easy, and everyone else was able to do it.

So why couldn't he?

Well, he knew why, but the truth didn't bring him any comfort. It made him feel ridiculous.

There were so many sacrificing much more for the sake of keeping people safe from the rampent spread, and he couldn't even bring himself to wear the mask to go out with you.

The soldier stared at the mirror before him, attempting to calm himself with a deep inhale. He'd excused himself to the bathroom nut in reality, he was trying to sike himself up to put it on. The face staring back at him was still him, with his overgrown stubble and short stuffs of hair you would probably attempt to fix before walking outside. However, every movement to bring his mask up increased the stony dread in the pit of his stomach.

If he hadn't felt ridiculous before, he certainly did when he brought it up over his ears. The man in the mirror wasn't him anymore. Well , it was, but not the him he ever wanted to see again.

The same steely blues were staring back at him, but they were framed by smears of black and completely devoid of any sort of life. Long curtains of hair matted with blood framed his face, and he felt it before he saw it. The heavy weight of the thick black mask pressed against his nose and mouth. His own hot breath blew back at him, nostrils filled with the smell of the synthetic material as it overwhelmed his senses. Air suddenly became limited, and there was no oxygen in his lungs as he could hear the shrilling screams and caught a glimpse of crimson splatters all over his hands and-

He was only momentarily pulled from his panic by the loud cracking sound. He blinked rapidly, and instead of blood stained hands, he was holding a chunk of your marble counter. Somewhere in it all, he'd gripped it so tightly it broke off in his metal hand, but it didn't matter as he let it roll off his palm and onto the ground beneath him. He stumbled back, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it limply towards the mirror. There was a brief thump and a burning friction of him sliding down the wall as the screams were replaced by the sound of blood pumping in his ears. His rapid heartbeat rattled his skull, and his chest shuttered with depleted lung capacity. No matter how quickly he tried to breathe, there was no air, and his palms pressed up against his eyes, discovering tears he hadn't even noticed were falling.

The next time he looked up, he found you crouched down in front of him, and he jumped so violently the wall was in danger of having the same fate as the sink.

"Hey. I'm sorry, I knocked, but you didn't answer, and I heard the crash." You said softly, looking so concerned for him. Like he wasn't the monster he'd seen in the mirror. Like he was worth being concerned about.

You were still talking, but the words fizzled into distortion.

It was still inside him. His skin was merely a cage for the violent beast within, seconds from rearing its ugly head and ripping through the gentlest parts of him.

"Sweetheart?"

A soft and light touch on his knee grabbed his attention. "It's okay. Everything's okay."

Bucky blinked, quickly wiping sloppily at his cheeks with his palms. His words clumped together in his throat and threatened to choke him, and all he could manage was "I'm sorry about your sink."

"Eh, it was ugly. I've been looking for a reason to replace it." You shrugged, carefully maneuvering over shards of broken marble to sit on the floor beside him. "Can I touch you?"

He must have mustered up a nod because suddenly he felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek. He leaned into it, placing his own hand over it, and leaned so far over he was tipping until his head found its way into your lap. Your fingers were soon smoothing his hair before moving to scratch his scalp.

"You're home, and you're safe." You whispered softly, twirling a soft lock.

He let out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He hid his face in your thigh, letting reality saturate his senses again. Attempting to ground himself as his therapist had instructed, he tried to focus on what he felt. He felt the cold tile where his shirt had ridden up, smelled a blend of your detergent and perfume. However, when he opened his eyes, he was met with the ripped mask on the floor. He'd wanted to wear it for those around him, but also to prove to himself that he could.

"This is so stupid. I don't understand." He whispered against the denim of your jeans, the red hot shame that came after these attacks following like a chaser. He pushed further into your thigh and wanted nothing more than for the tile to split open and swallow him whole.

Your fingers continued to move through his hair. "You went through something horrible. Your brain is just trying to come to terms with it and process it all. It doesn't fully understand that you're safe now."

He hugged your leg a bit. "I'm sorry. You could go out without me."

"We can still go out. I think I'd rather go to the park instead."