The Mimic (HE/HIM VERSION)

143

"Help him!" Y/n screamed as loud as he possibly could, the Wakandan jet landing in the field. Instead of the overwhelming relief that he should've been feeling, y/n was coursing with adrenaline and desperation. Bucky was dying in his arms. There wasn't time to process that they'd been saved.

Y/n watched as T'Challa, Shuri, and the Dora Milaje raced off of the jet, all rushing toward them as fast as they could. He moved his focus back to Bucky, keeping his head cupped in his hands as he shook him slightly. "Hey, stay with me. Keep those eyes open." He begged, pushing his eyes open with his thumbs. "They're here! They're here to save us!" Y/n exclaimed in a wavering whisper. He was trying his hardest to reassure Bucky and keep him awake, but it wasn't working. He'd already seemed to accept the situation, but y/n wasn't giving up. "Come on, Buck. They're right here. Right here."

Bucky was barely conscious. His vision was far too blurred to even make out any features on y/n's face, and his hearing was muffled enough to make it feel as if he were underwater. He was fading. He was fading right in front of y/n's eyes. His breathing became more and more shallow and laboured as time ticked on, and his body was almost completely limp. He'd lost far too much blood. However, a tired smile was still plastered across his face.

For Bucky, this was a good way to die. Of course his main plan was to grow old with y/n, but that didn't seem to be happening. He'd accepted what was going to happen, and if y/n was going to be the last face that he saw, he was happy. The short amount of time that he'd had with y/n had been perfect. They'd created so many memories together, good and bad. He was his soulmate, and dying in his arms seemed like the perfect way to let go. "Save that seat on the bus for me, okay?" He whispered weakly.

But, before y/n could respond, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He was slowly pulled to his feet and away from Bucky, watching through blurred vision as Shuri and the Dora Milaje begun to work on saving him. The pair of hands belonged to T'Challa, and, as soon as he realised that, he allowed himself to completely break down.

T'Challa had always acted like an older brother to y/n. He'd helped him control and develop his powers for months on end. So, alongside Natasha and Bucky, T'Challa was one of the people that knew the most about y/n's past. He knew about his triggers, he knew about his nightmares, he knew everything. There had been times where training sessions had taken a very emotional turn - whether it be y/n realising the root of certain traumas, or if it had just been a hard day and y/n needed to let his anger out. He was always there. Always there to listen and give advice, always there to be a shoulder for y/n to cry on.

Right now, y/n needed that shoulder, and he knew it.

Y/n turned around to face T'Challa, almost immediately burying his face into his shoulder as he broke down into sobs. Now that Bucky was being treated, y/n was finally able to focus on himself and not force a reassuring smile. It was almost like a tidal wave of emotions. Sadness, guilt, stress, desperation, fear - all mixing and combining to completely overwhelm him, leaving y/n to crumble into T'Challa's hold.

It felt as if he'd been hoisted out of the water after almost drowning. Every sound was heightened, every possible thought was running through his mind at full speed, and every breath was laboured and shaky. His whole body heaved with every breath, desperately gasping for air between sobs. It was all too much for y/n. Bucky had almost died in this field before, and here they were again. The same blood-stained grass, the same guilty person. But y/n wasn't in the right headspace to vocalise any of it. He could barely breathe, let alone talk. All he needed was to be held, and T'Challa was doing exactly that.

T'Challa had a pained look in his eyes as y/n sobbed into his shoulder. He held him close, a protective hand on the back of his head whilst the other rubbed his back. It hurt his heart to see y/n so broken, especially because he knew that there was nothing he could say. He would speak when he wanted to, all T'Challa needed to do was be there for him. He had always viewed y/n as a younger brother, so seeing him crumble so heavily was tough. He'd been through so much, he deserved happiness, but happiness never seemed to last in y/n's life.

His eyes stayed trained on Shuri and the Dora Milaje as they worked on treating Bucky and moving him to the jet. T'Challa knew that he was going to be okay, so did y/n, hell, he'd probably be up and walking by tomorrow with the help of Wakandan tech, but this seemed to be something far more deep rooted for y/n. It had triggered something, and T'Challa didn't know what it was.

*****

Several hours passed in a blur, and it was soon the early hours of the morning.

Bucky was fine. He'd been treated by Shuri, and after a few blood transfusions, he was completely patched up. He was fast asleep in one of the medical bays of Shuri's lab, drugged up to the ceiling on medication so his body had time to heal and recover. She knew Bucky far too well to keep him awake, he'd want to get up and find y/n straight away, but his body needed to recover.

Y/n had also been instructed to rest, but he couldn't. Not after everything that had just happened. So, he was sat on one of the ledges of the training room, a blanket wrapped around him and a mug of hot chocolate cupped securely in his hands. He was staring at the wall opposite him, completely lost in thought.

Luckily, he hadn't been seriously injured. There had been a few deep cuts here and there, but most of it was just heavy bruising and a few grazes. Everything was stiff and sore, and he had deep bruises covering most of his back and his sides. It was all because of that jump from the apartment building. God, they'd hit the ground hard. But, y/n was okay. He always seemed to be okay. Everyone except him seemed to get injured. It felt weird.

That was one of the reasons why he couldn't sleep. He felt like the root of the problem. Everything revolved around him, yet he never seemed to get seriously injured. Even in the Lagos incident, there were people far more injured than him. People died. The only real damage that seemed to inflict y/n was the mental damage. Everything haunted him, and today just seemed to prove that even more.

It was all his fault. It was always his fault.