Flashlight


Chapter nine


Important notice!
This chapter will deal with a panic attack and some possible triggers. If you are unsure if you should read this, please feel free to message me here or on tumblr and I will answer all your questions!


When Tuesday rolled around, you were incredibly nervous. Or perhaps anxious was a better word for it. It was definitely more than nervous, with your stomach churning, your head aching and your hands shaking. That morning, your alarm had been set for seven, but after a sleepless night you had given up and got up at five instead. With a full day of work ahead, you took a long shower, hoping that the warm water would relax your tired, tense muscles.

By the time you headed out to work, you knew it would be a long hard day for you. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the clock, which was taking its sweet time ticking through the hours of the day. Halfway through the morning, you even got up and checked the battery of the large clock that hung above the door. Unfortunately, it wasn't running slow and resetting your computer didn't speed up the internal clock either. Time was simply moving at an excruciatingly slow pace today. Which it always seemed to do when you needed it to pass, of course.

Yesterday you had spend most of your time at work by getting through the emails that had piled up during your days off. Today, you were supposed to actually be a bit more active, but it was just not happening. Whenever you opened a new file, your mind got sidetracked, nothing was really sinking in and your eyes kept glancing back at that damn clock. However, eventually time did pass and the clock told you that it was 16.45. You quickly began saving the files of the day, shifting in your seat until the clock finally struck five. When it did, you practically ran from the room and out of the building.

Slightly out of breath, you stood by the front door, hoping to regulate your ragged breathing before Bucky arrived. For some reason, it felt important to appear calm in front of him. Even though you couldn't explain it, not even to yourself. In the past he would always see through you quite easily. Though right now, you weren't sure if he still could and even less certain if you wanted him to or not.

When had life gotten this complicated? And why?

You had known Bucky for most of your life and had always been comfortable around him, even during those initial stages of falling for him. So, why did you feel the need to hide away from him now? To appear any different from who you really were? He was a good guy. And you knew him better than anyone, or at least you hoped you did.
You had been confident in your knowledge of him only three years ago, but now you weren't so sure. Perhaps too much time had passed after all.

You were still busy wigging out when a throat cleared next to you. Nearly jumping out of your skin, you looked up to meet those beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much. As always they seemed to see right into your soul.

Bucky smiled at your skittish response and a blush crept up on your cheeks. This was a great start…

"Hi," you mumbled, hoping the redness on your face would fade away soon, even though the burning feeling didn't seem to ease in the slightest.

"Hey," he replied and glanced down at his shoes, as if he couldn't look you in the eye for too long.

It occurred to you that perhaps he really couldn't and the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. It still wasn't clear to you where he stood in this situation. Did he agree to meet you today to placate you, or because he wanted to talk things through? And had he moved on? It could be that he had done so long ago, and it was just you holding on to the past. Oh, what if he had moved on just as you realised that you had never stopped loving him?

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood next to him in silence while your mind was running in mind boggling circles. Neither one of you seemed able to talk. Bucky danced on the balls of his feet, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. For a moment you wondered if that was something he always did, or if being back here had made him more self conscious.
It made you wonder if he had been able to move around more freely away from this place, in whatever city he had ended up. Making you realise just how little you knew of his life after he left. Where had he gone? His doctor had told him about someone in Seattle, who was doing trials with new prosthetics. He had been able to get Bucky into those trials, but you didn't know if he ever went there. Let alone if he stayed.

"So," Bucky drawled out as he finally broke the lingering silence, "Where did you want to go?"

You pondered his question. Naturally, you had thought about this all night and had driven yourself crazy by trying to think for him. What he would want and where he would be more comfortable. Finally you answered him with two options and hoped that one of those would appease him.

"I thought, well, but feel free to suggest something else," you muttered, before stopping yourself and taking a deep breath before continuing, "We could get a drink at that little cafe on 15th, or perhaps my place?"

You were actively hoping, crossing your fingers, that he would be okay with either of those options. There was so much that you didn't know about him anymore and you no longer trusted your judgement with him. You were scared that you didn't know him at all anymore and it was draining to dance around those uncertainties the entire time. You could only hope he would meet you halfway.

"Maybe your place would be better," he offered, wavering at the last word, and began walking. You followed him a beat later.

"Walking or subway?" Bucky asked after your steps synced with the other.

You looked up at the sky, it was blue with not a cloud marring the bright colour of it and the sun was beaming down on you. It created a nice temperature for the time of the year, not even wearing the jacket you had brought to work that morning. It felt like a shame to spend these moments on the train. After all, it wasn't too far from your place.

"You okay with walking?" You asked carefully, and he barked out a laugh before nodding.

"What?" You asked, confused by his laughter, though it did cause a smile to show on your features. His laugh was a good sound to hear and it eased some of your worries.

"You always did prefer walking," he offered with a shrug, the smile still etched on his face. You smiled back, happy that he still did seem to know you, even if this was just a small thing. It was comforting. And you decided then that you still wanted him to see right through you.

The next few moments were spent in silence. Though mostly comfortable, it did allow your mind to wander and soon enough you were driving yourself crazy with worry. It seemed impossible to tear yourself away from those thoughts long enough to break the silence that now lingered between the two of you. Even though that could help stop you from overthinking each word and every move you made.

"So," it was Bucky who finally tried to break the silence, "Sam and Maria seem to be going strong," he said. You wondered if he had been as eager to break the quiet as you had been.

"Yeah," you jumped at the opportunity of conversation, "sickeningly sweet really," you joked and he laughed again. The deep guttural sound of it warmed your heart and you were happy to realise that he still appeared to laugh rather easily. The sound alone was enough to make you fall for him all over again.

"Good," he seemed to mull over his words, "He's a good guy," he finally said and you nodded in agreement. Sam had proven himself to be a great guy a million times over.

You were just thinking of something else to say to keep the conversation going, when cars tires screeched behind you. A loud bang resounded and the crash that followed was deafening. It took you a second to realise what was happening and you turned slowly towards the sound.

A car skidded over the intersection, the driver hanging over the steering wheel, unmoving. A glance to the side showed you another car that had obviously taken a hit in the crash, a large dent covering the side of it. The door was pressed into the seat and you wondered briefly if anyone had been sitting there.

As if frozen, you stared at the wreckage before you. Shock had turned the blood in your veins icy cold and your breath got caught in your throat. From all the sides people were running towards the scene, ready to help whoever was in those cars. Smoke began to rise from the trunk of the heavily dented car and you saw someone running over with a fire extinguisher, ready to keep the flames from catching on.

It wasn't until a little girl, standing close to you, began wailing in a high pitch that you were shaken from your state and rediscovered the ability to move. As if on instinct you moved towards the edge of the sidewalk, ready to join the rest of the responders and help where you could. Before you did, you glanced back to where Bucky had been standing. Confused, you found the space behind you empty. You looked to the right, then to the left and stood stock still when you found him. Thankfully, this time, you overcame it much quicker. Though it still felt too long.

In a few quick strides you were by his side, where he had slid down the wall and onto the ground. He had pulled his knees up, his hands holding his head and he was rocking himself as he mumbled something you couldn't understand. All around you, people were drawn to the wreckage and as they moved towards it, they ignored Bucky, easily overlooking him. Just as well, you thought, he didn't need an audience.

Dropping down to the ground next to him, you wavered momentarily, wondering what he needed in this moment. Unsure if touching him would be a good idea. Still, you ached to wrap him in your arms and comfort him. It made you realise once more that you had so little knowledge of his PTSD, other than that he had it. You had no idea what his triggers were, though considering what had happened to him it should not have been a surprise that a crash such as this could push his buttons. You vowed to yourself that you would look into PTSD more, after you had helped him off the streets and through this moment.

For now you decided to act on your instinct and you wrapped an arm around him, speaking in soft comforting tones. Telling him that he would be okay and that the accident had been louder than it had been bad. You went as far as to say that the occupants had been able to get out of their vehicles on their own. Of course, you had no idea if this was true, but you were certain that he didn't need to hear the uncertainty right now.

It didn't matter either way, as your words didn't seem to reach him at all. Finally you got off the floor, bending awkwardly and asking a strong looking gentleman to help you get Bucky up. The man did so without question, pulling him up and helping you keep him straight, before walking off.

Bucky was too deep into his panic attack to be of any help. He appeared to have difficulty breathing and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. He was shaking as you put his arm over your shoulders, placing your own around his waist and began walking, dragging him along as he clung to you.

Keeping your voice soft, you kept speaking to him, unbothered by his current inability to really hear you or respond. You explained to him what you were doing, where you were taking him and that he'd be safe there. You promised that, soon enough, he'd be able to curl up on the couch. You only hoped that he heard the gist of it. Leaning heavily on you, he kept mumbling, his words jumbled and incomprehensible. You still didn't understand any of it.

The few blocks from work to your home had never appeared as long as it did now, but you didn't stop. You couldn't. Bucky needed you more than he ever had before and you were not about to let him down. You wanted to get him inside, to a place where there would be little to no negative influences. A big part of you was afraid that any sudden sound or touch could push him further into his attack. And it pained you that you had no control over any of it whilst you were outside, you needed a more controlled environment. And at home it would be just you. There would be silence and calm. Hopefully that was what he needed.

Groaning under the weight of his tall muscular body, you struggled to get the keys into the lock. It took awhile for you to open the door to your apartment. Once you did, you worked him through it as carefully as possibly, kicking the door closed behind you with your foot. It slammed hard and you winced at the sound, quickly checking Bucky's features, but he hardly seemed to notice anything at all. Instead he allowed you to move him around the space, dropping him on the couch, where he continued to stare into oblivion as he wrapped his shaking limbs around himself.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you dropped your coat and bag on the coffee table before kneeling in front of Bucky. The edge of the coffee table pressed into your back, but you hardly felt it.

It was warm inside, the sun had been shining its rays on your large living room windows all day. For a moment you wondered if you should help him out of his jacket, but decided it could possibly disturb him too much. It was better to get him back to the present first. Far more important as well. A little sweating wouldn't hurt him in the long haul, being startled while he was so vulnerable could.

Slowly, you reached your hands forward, placing them carefully on his and gently rubbing your thumb over them. Silently cursing yourself for never figuring out what he needed in moments like these, you could only hope that you were doing the right thing. He didn't flinch or push you away, which was something. And it strengthened your hope that what he needed was human contact.

In the months after he had returned home, after the hospital, he had hid his attacks as much as he could and then he had left, but you still could have done the research. You wished you had as you were shushing him.

Thirty minutes later you were still trying to reach him, and he was yet to acknowledge any of it. Finally you decided that perhaps you couldn't do this by yourself. You took a deep breath and moved to grab your phone, which was still in your bag that lay behind you on the table. Releasing his hands, you turned, only to feel him move as well. You froze, turning back to him and found him looking at you with wide eyes. Fear was evident on his features and he grasped for your hands, almost blindly it seemed. He didn't say a word, but he had a death grip on your wrist, keeping you in place.

"It's okay, Bucky. I'm here. I'm not leaving," you whispered, taking both his hands in yours again. Moving closer, you placed your forehead against his and took another deep breath. His was still visibly shaking, but he was trying to control his breath by timing it with yours. Aware of that fact, you took deep calm breaths, holding them a moment before releasing slowly.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," you repeated a little louder now.

In the blink of an eye, things changed as you were pressed against him. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and as he pushed his head in the crook of your neck, tears fell into your hair and unto your shoulders. Quickly you returned the hug, rubbing circles on his back. He held you crushingly close to him as you repeated your earlier promises of staying and you did not stop saying it until he finally calmed down.


A/n:Updates might slow from this point forward since the next few chapters still need a lot of work. They aren't as easy to write as the first seven were, simply because there is so much information…Anyway, I hope you'll understand and be patient with me. I'll try not to make the wait between chapters too long though.

Another huge thank you to the wonderful beanstalk007 on tumblr for checking my spelling again.

And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!