The Mimic

191

Numb.

It was a feeling that y/n knew all too well, yet it had never been as severe as it currently was.

Complete emotional detachment. She wasn't present in any conversation, nor did she speak. It was like a constant white noise machine had turned on in her mind, and there was no way of switching it off. A concrete wall in her mind to protect herself from her own emotions. No thoughts, no urge to care for basic needs, nothing.

Just endless emptiness.

It had been around two weeks since the fight, and y/n hadn't processed any of it. She'd stayed by Bucky's side the entire time, trying anything and everything for him to come back, but nothing worked. He was gone as soon as y/n heard that crunch. She had no clue how she left the battlefield that day. Y/n didn't even remember standing up. Hell, the last thing she remembered was sobbing into Bucky's chest. After that, the white noise started.

Steve had been the one to peel y/n up and off of the ground that day. And, unlike y/n, he remembered the whole thing. He remembered that the only way to get her up and away from Bucky was by picking her up. He was the one to listen to her hysterical screams and sobs. He was the one to be made a 'villain' in y/n's mind because he took her away from her soulmate, and his best friend.

Y/n stayed in Steve's apartment, seeming as she had nowhere else to go. The compound had been her only home in America, and she was far from being in a fit state to fly to anywhere like Wakanda or Sweden, so, the tiny spare room had to do. Y/n didn't care, it was the same empty expression every day. Steve was sure that y/n didn't even know where she was, and he was probably right. Whenever he talked to Sam on the phone, he typically told him that it was like the 'lights being on, but there isn't anybody home'.

If Steve didn't put food in front of her, she would've never eaten. It was still only a few mouthfuls, but it was better than no food at all. Hell, if Steve didn't do anything to care for her basic needs, y/n probably would've wasted away in that apartment. All she did was sit and stare. No music. No TV shows. No movies. No conversations. No sleep. She was nothing like herself. Just an empty shell of who she used to be.

It had been a week of funerals. Tony's was on the Monday, Natasha's on the Wednesday, and Bucky's on the Friday. Steve had already told y/n about his plans after Bucky's funeral - taking the stones back and living out his life with Peggy - but he wasn't sure if she'd even heard him.

Tony's funeral was first. Steve insisted on y/n going, despite her having no idea why she even got the invitation. She hated the man, and he hated her back. But, Steve was desperate for y/n to get some fresh air. It didn't work, of course. Instead of her usual sitting and staring into space, she stood and stared into space. Same blank expression, same vacant look in her eyes.

Several people tried to talk to her that day, but she didn't respond. It wasn't on purpose. Her mind just knew that it couldn't handle mourning Bucky, so it completely shut down. The only person that she did slightly have a reaction with was Peter, who came up to her at the end of the funeral to try and apologise, but y/n shoved straight past him, poor kid.

Natasha's funeral was next, and that one was painful. There wasn't even a body to bury, so instead they buried whatever belongings they could salvage from the wreckage of the compound. It was hard to see so many things that Natasha used to love being buried, but the hardest part was the fact that it wasn't her. She was still on Vormir. Alone.