#stevebuckynet

Get some rest, they said, with eyes full of a pity he dreads, because he has been on the field for days, and he’ll have to go back soon, he knows. Get some rest, because no matter how hard he tried to conceal it, he’s certain they could see how utterly broken he is.

But he can’t think of that. He can’t he can’t he can’t allow himself to feel because once he does, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to come back from it, and it terrifies him. So he moves. Get some rest, Cap, they said, and he might as well try – regardless of the voice inside his head that tells him he’s never gonna be able to “get some rest” again in his life.

The couch creaks when he stands (like it did so many times when it was two and not one lying there, tangled limbs and soft touches and shared blankets and– no), and his quiet steps feel too loud in the dark and silent apartment. He makes his way to the room (their room– stop) and trying not to give too much thought to his actions –or to anything, really–, he opens the first drawer he finds, suddenly eager to get out of his war-stained clothes.

That’s when he realizes the only clothes he has here are tiny now, which means he’ll have to wear his.

And with that, it all comes crumbling down.

Within a second the world is spinning and his vision is blurry and something is pressing down his chest and he can’t breathe

he can’t breathe

he can’t breathe and–

He stumbles to the bed, uncertain of how much longer his legs will be able to hold him for, and before he knows it, his desperate gasps for air are coming out in sobs and everything hurts. He buries his face in his hands, trying to keep the tears from falling – but he can’t. They come as a waterfall, and with them come the memories he can no longer push back. The tangled limbs, the touches, the shared blankets and cots and tents and the stolen kisses and midnight dances and–

Everything comes rushing, and it hurts so much he feels like his heart is gonna break in half unless he finds a way to stop it.

But he can’t. He can’t stop it any longer.

So he gives in and he cries. He cries and cries and cries until he feels like he’s run out of tears but they keep coming, and without realizing it he’s curled up in a ball  – because for once, for a while, he’s not Captain America. He’ll go after Schmidt, he’s already said. He’ll wake up tomorrow and start planning the next move, he’ll go on because he has to – but tonight, he’s only Steve. Broken and beaten and tired Steve.

And without Bucky, Steve feels like he’s nothing.

So he cries. Lying in a bed that feels too cold, under a blanket that feels too big, in a world that feels too foreign, he cries his broken heart out.

He cries for what he had and won’t come back, he cries for the second in which he almost grabbed his hand, he cries for the moment he realized he was too late. He cries for the tangled limbs and stolen kisses and shared nights, he cries for everything they said and everything they didn’t say because they were young and stupid and took everything for granted and God, he cries until his head hurts and his eyes burn and his entire body trembles as if he was freezing.