de·pres·sion
/dəˈpreSH(ə)n/
noun
•1• feelings of severe despondency and dejection.
***
"Steve. Steve, wait!" Natasha called after him. His stomps turned into sprinting and he furiously swiped at his eyes. Inside his apartment, he locked the door, shutting the windows and checking for anymore entrances. His breathing picked up, his giant hands clawing at his shirt. Too ....tight.
Natasha stood in front of Apartment 193, hand resting on the blanched wood. His door was locked and so were his windows. Sighing, she picked out one of the many bobby pins holding up her hair and wriggled it in the handle. "I didn't want to have to break in like this, just so you- oh."
She announced, barging in, only to be met with six foot grown man, quivering and whimpering, shirtless. Only one word was leaving his mouth:
"Bucky"
***
"Thank you, Natasha." Steve grumbled. The super soldier sat in one of his various chairs, wrapped in a giant comforter. Currently, he sipped on a cup of warm lavender tea. Nat sat behind him, running her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp. "Are you ok?" She leaned her face towards his. "Honestly?" He sighed. "No."
After showering and dressing in his favorite pajamas, also known as a pair of basketball shorts, he laid down on the couch, head in her lap. They sat there for a bit, watching Disney movies, before he fell into a light slumber and she moved the blanket back onto him, creeping out of his apartment.
*Steve's POV*
I awoke in a slight frenzy. Where was I? Where is Bucky? When am I? But then I realized: 1) I was in my apartment, 2) Bucky was ..... and 3) I was 70 years out of time. The last two almost convinced me to lay back down, to ignore the growl of my stomach, the desert in my throat. Lay back down forever.
Eventually, I rolled off of the couch, angrily making breakfast. Who was I angry at? Mostly myself, but also at fate and at life. How lucky was I, to have killed myself, only to be bittersweetly brought back in a time where no one I love is alive? How lucky to have the everyone I love die before my eyes? Yes, how fortunate!
As I focused on my pancakes, my mind thought 90 miles per hour. Natasha, yesterday, Peggy, Howard, Maria, Tony.
Bucky.
Just thinking his name brought such a hard grief to me, punching me in the gut. Even though I put on a face for my friends and co-workers, the Avengers, I wasn't truly over it. Back then, my sadness had turned into hate, but now it had worn off. Now it was just a mix of loneliness and sadness.
To be honest, it was kind of pathetic.
*Narrative POV*
Placing the sticky dishes into the sink, Steve continued to tiredly trickle through his routine, like a teardrop down a cheek or sweat down a particularly out-of-shape man's shirt. None of his friends saw him that day.
And this is how his week was. Mopey Monday turned to Take-Me-Away Tuesday. Will-I-Ever-Feel-Love-Again Wednesday to....well, you don't wanna know what Thursday is. Let's just say, Steve's week was not very Captain America-like and he didn't want anyone to see him like that. So he holed himself in his apartment for almost a week and a half before he noticed he was starting to act like a bum.
Well, rather his friends noticed he was acting like a bum.
"Hey, Capsicle. Romanoff told me how you weren't feelin' so great and I thought maybe I could help you feel better, maybe? Tuesday, 9 sharp. I'm hostin' a party. You should definitely come. Ciao." Tony. That message's awkwardly failed sympathy made him chuckle, at least inside. He told himself that he would be going to the event, but chances were that he wasn't.
He didn't consider the fact that he wouldn't have a choice.
***
Tuesday came and surprise, surprise, Steve was still in the emotional slums. He sat, curled in the last clean blanket in his house and watching Hot Tub Time Machine for the 10th time that day, when he heard a knock on his door. Groaning, he slid off of the comfortable couch and shuffled to the door, peeking through the hole. He swung open the door, squinting. "Steve, why the hell aren't you dressed yet, man? We got a party to go to!" Sam stood on Steve's porch, hands resting on the velvet of his salmon-colored suit. Steve blinked rapidly.
While he was still stunned, Sam dragged him into his unused room and slammed the door, throwing open his closet. "Alright, Cap, what do you got in this closet? Suit jacket, suit jacket, button up, ooh, is this baby powder blue?" He shifted through the hangers as Steve collapsed onto his bed. "Do you have any eye masks or maybe, just maybe, even some concealer? We gotta get you spruced up so you don't go Gremlin-style, man." Sam quipped, before his brow quirked at the captain's ungraceful flop. "What's the sitch, man? What's got you acting like a drunkard on a Sunday?" He sat next his friend. "I.... I don't know. I was feeling fine a couple of weeks ago but then I... I just don't know." Steve slurred, his spit thick with deliriousness. Sam glanced at the sorry Captain and closed the door. "This better not be about what I think it is, Steve." He sternly stared at the man on the bed. Steve blankly stared back.
***
"This is my one chance to get Bucky back, Sam, and you all just expect me to just not? That's- excuse my language- but that's bullshit. I'm trying to be patient, but if the government won't let me, I'm gonna just go get him, Sam." Steve paced, newly energized. Sam sat on the bed, legs and arms crossed. "So what, you're just going to become a criminal? Of the entire country? For one friend?" Sam queried. "If Riley was in the same situation, would you?" Steve shot back. Sam was quiet for a minute. "Can it wait till after the party at least?" Sam sighed, throwing a baby blue suit onto the bed. "Suit up,Cap. Time to socialize."
YOU ARE READING
Pierdut(lost)
Fanfiction•They call him the Winter Soldier• Last time Steve saw Bucky was almost months ago. Everyone, including the government, would like to keep it that way. But Steve? Steve couldn't stop thinking about Bucky. He just wanted to feel like a sixteen year o...
