The Mimic (HE/HIM VERSION)

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. He wasn't present in any conversation, nor did he speak. It was like a constant white noise machine had turned on in his mind, and there was no way of switching it off. A concrete wall in his mind to protect himself from his 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. He'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. He had no clue how he left the battlefield that day. Y/n didn't even remember standing up. Hell, the last thing he 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 him up and away from Bucky was by picking him up. He was the one to listen to his hysterical screams and sobs. He was the one to be made a 'villain' in y/n's mind because he took him away from his soulmate, and his best friend.

Y/n stayed in Steve's apartment, seeming as he had nowhere else to go. The compound had been his only home in America, and he 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 he 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 him, he 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 his basic needs, y/n probably would've wasted away in that apartment. All he did was sit and stare. No music. No TV shows. No movies. No conversations. No sleep. He was nothing like himself. Just an empty shell of who he 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 he'd even heard him.

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

Several people tried to talk to him that day, but he didn't respond. It wasn't on purpose. His mind just knew that it couldn't handle mourning Bucky, so it completely shut down. The only person that he did slightly have a reaction with was Peter, who came up to him 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.