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Bucky had been quiet most of day before his outburst. Steve could tell he was struggling with something he wasn’t disclosing— Bucky was only just starting to be able to open up about his feelings— so Steve helped in ways he knew he could. He made pancakes the way Bucky especially liked, with the little chocolate chips in them. He put on Bucky’s favorite science show as they ate on the couch. He made sure not to touch Bucky unless Bucky touched him first, or gave him some sort of physical or verbal acceptance. Steve thought he was getting somewhere when Bucky barked out a laugh at the following program’s proposal that aliens built that Egyptian pyramids.
But, then again, Steve still had so much to learn about Bucky after their almost century-long separation. He had to keep reminding himself that Bucky wasn’t going to feel drastically better overnight, or after a hearty serving of sweets. Bucky was going to be grappling with his trauma for the rest of his life, just like Steve would with his own. They were both diagnosed with PTSD, but Bucky was also diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder after his seventy year nightmare with HYDRA. Steve couldn’t use his own person experiences to help him on that one, so he tried his best to learn about it through Google and Bruce’s occasional advice. He had to admit, though, there was so much he didn’t understand or handled poorly.
Bucky had started to visibly agitate while scrubbing a particularly stubborn dish. Despite Steve’s reassurances that he could come back to it later, Bucky continued his determined struggle until he exclaimed in frustration and let the dish fall onto the countertop with a thunk.
“The universe has it out for me,” Bucky grumbled, glaring at the offensive item. Steve gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded to the dish.
“I’ll get it Buck, you go relax.”
Bucky seemed to tear his eyes away from the dish, darting to Steve’s for a split second. Steve was beginning to notice Bucky’s left hand with his right wrist in a vice grip. The image stirred a light panic in him. They’d have to discuss it later, gently, when Bucky wasn’t so worked up. “No, Steve, I’ve got this, I just needed to try harder,” Bucky huffed.
Steve fought to not frown and sour Bucky’s mood even more. He wasn’t upset at Bucky. He just wanted him to see that he didn’t need to fix everything, that he didn’t need to be perfect. “Really, Buck, I’ve got it. You don’t need to try so hard.”
That was it. That was was the fuse.
The sound of scratching snapped Steve’s attention down. Bucky’s wrists were red and inflamed where his nails had dragged across. Small pinpricks of blood where starting to well up in the worst places. Bucky just looked down at his wrists blankly, until he snapped back to attention, fire blazing in his eyes.
“Steve, you don’t fucking understand,” Bucky seethed. “You– you’ll never fucking understand.” His breathing was quickening even more than the worrying pace it was already at, along with his pacing. “Y-you’ll never know how fucked up it is to be trapped inside your own head and not even know how you fucking feel and you feel so fucking fake about everything.”
And wow, did that hit Steve hard. Steve had the luxury, if you could call it that, of accidentally forgetting how extra debilitating Bucky’s mind was for him every single second of his day. “Buck, I know, I know. I’m not trying to one-hundred percent get in your head. I can’t.” He took a cautious, tediously slow step forward to where Bucky had stopped his anxious pacing. “I just wanna do whatever I can to help you, babe. I’ll always be here for you.”
Bucky’s anger-contorted face almost instantly dropped. He visibly turned the words over in his mind, trying to find any gap in Steve’s argument. After a solid thirty seconds, the tears that had been waiting to appear were trailing down Bucky’s face and onto the collar of his shirt. And then he was sobbing, barely breathing as he shook. The tremors rocked him like an earthquake, and Steve froze until—
“Buck, can I give you a hug?” Steve nearly whispered. He was met by a frantic nod. Steve slowly maneuvered around the dining room table and closed the gap between them, wrapping his partner in a hug loose enough that it wouldn’t overwhelm him even more than he already was. Bucky didn’t hesitate to wrap his own arms around Steve and bury his face into his shoulder, sniffling and gasping for just one sufficient breath.
Jesus Christ, Steve thought. God, he wished he could just take it away. Wished Bucky wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. Starting with the fucking draft and the war, with HYDRA, with all of the trauma that was heaped upon him for almost a century. He hated that he would never be strong enough to take it away from him, even with his super-soldier serum. Bucky deserved more than this. He deserved so much more than the fucked up hand whatever ethereal powers that existed gave him. Steve fought to choke back tears of his own. Methodically, gently, he ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. He hadn’t been able to shower in days. He tried to keep choking back the tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Bucky said, his voice shaky and paper-thin. “I’m just so tired.” His hands trembled where they rested on the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve swallowed, taking Bucky closer to him in what should have been an impossible feat. They were basically one being now with how tightly they were pressed against and holding each other.
“I know. I’m here, Buck. I’m here for you,” Steve choked out around the lump in his throat. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just take your time.”
Eventually Bucky’s sobs faded into a faint sniffling and Steve felt the weight of him heavier against his shoulder. He still didn’t pull away until Bucky started to untangle himself, revealing his red-rimmed and still-watery eyes glancing back up at him cautiously. Then, after a moment and to Steve’s slight surprise, Bucky huffed out a humorless chuckle.
“God, Stevie, it’s a miracle you’re still here,” Buck muttered as he dried his eyes with his sleeve. He was slightly swaying on his feet. Steve slid his hand still across the back of Bucky’s shoulders down to brace his midsection.
“Hey, Buck, I’m not goin’ anywhere. ‘Til the end of the line, remember?”
Another humorless laugh. “That was before I got like this.”
A pang of sadness struck Steve at the words. “Nothing is gonna change how I feel about you, sweetheart.” Bucky murmured something unintelligible, rubbing his wounded wrist absently. “How you feelin’?” Steve inquired.
Bucky paused, visibly contemplating the question deeply. His face fell, an almost eerie calm washing over his features. “I don’t know. Tired. I don’t know why I had to get so upset,” Bucky muttered. “Empty,” he added after a second.
“It’s not your fault, Buck,” Steve assured. That pang of sadness was back with a vengeance.
Bucky swallowed thickly and nodded. Steve could tell a large part of Bucky didn’t— couldn’t— believe his partner. But if some part, even just a little part, did, that was enough for now. Bucky leaned forward, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.
“Can we go to bed, please?”
“Of course, Buck.”
After Steve was sure Bucky was settled under their blankets, he hesitated. “Want me to stay?” Steve whispered. Bucky took a second, seemingly coming back to himself, before darting his eyes to his partner.
“Yeah,” Bucky croaked. “If that’s what you wanna do.”
“Of course, Buck. I always wanna help you,” Steve assured. Thankfully, finally, this got a small smile to cross Bucky’s face. Even if it was shaky, unsure, and possibly fake, Steve would take it. It was a smile.
Steve waited to touch the other super-soldier until Bucky took Steve’s arm and placed it around his waist. After a moment of stiffness, Bucky melted into the touch and into the mattress below.
Buck was never gonna be same as he knew him growing up. It was never gonna be ‘easy’ to help him process his emotions. But he was so, so worth it. Worth every tear, worth every mess-up, worth every god-forsaken day that was worse than their normal.
“I’m here, Buck. Whatever you need. I love you.”