i healed but i went backwards

by nicknamedherthebolter

Summary:

The anniversary of Riley’s death is not something Sam pays attention to. He knows it’s approaching when nightmares become more frequent, or when his energy and temper dwindle. It’s a vicious cycle he will never break free from.

 

Sam deals with his grief and trauma surrounding Riley's death. Bucky helps.

Notes:

Title is from I Don't do Drugs by Jensen McRae

Riley died in the dead of winter. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, a routine they had mastered. He tells himself that Riley died painlessly, that he was high enough off the ground to die on impact. The truth is that he doesn’t know, it took him hours to locate Riley’s body. He could’ve died slowly, waiting to be rescued. For all Sam knows he may have spent his final moments alone and in pain. Sam remembers that fatal night all too well. He can recall the bitter wind working against him as he scanned the ground searching for Riley. He remembers the blood spilled on the snow, the brief flash of hope he had before desperately checking Riley’s body for any sign of life only to find none.

 

It isn’t fair how these memories stick with him, but he cannot remember the exact sound of Riley’s laughter or the precise shade of his green eyes.

 

The anniversary of Riley’s death is not something Sam pays attention to. He knows it’s approaching when nightmares become more frequent, or when his energy and temper dwindle. It’s a vicious cycle he will never break free from. 

 

On the anniversary this year, Sam wakes up earlier than usual. He can’t bring himself to fall back asleep– he knows it will only mean watching Riley fall. He follows his usual routine of making coffee before going on a run. He does his best to avoid looking at the photo of him and Riley at Sarah’s wedding that has been on his fridge for years now. Sometimes that photo brings him comfort, other times he wants to rip it off and bury it in a box where he never has to be reminded of his grief. He always makes the decision to leave it up. Regardless of if it’s up on his fridge or hidden away, Riley will always haunt him.

 

Sam runs until his lungs burn intensely before returning home. Just like he expected Bucky is in the kitchen making breakfast as if everything is fine. Something about it angers him, he doesn’t know why, Bucky has no idea Riley died exactly nine years ago today. He barely knows anything about him, all Sam told him was that Riley was his partner when he was in the Air Force. He doesn’t know that Sam was in love with Riley for years, or even how close they truly were. He isn’t intentionally being secretive about it, he just prefers not to speak about him. 

 

“Want breakfast?” Bucky asks, looking up from the stove.

 

Sam shakes his head, “I ate before my run,” he lies.

 

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

 

Sarah calls Sam twice. The first time he lets his phone ring. The second time Bucky tells him to answer the call when he notices Sarah’s name on the screen. Sam reluctantly steps into his bedroom to answer the call.

 

“Hey, how have you been?”

 

“You know why I’m calling you,” Sarah replies. 

 

He was hoping to avoid the subject of Riley for a little longer. Sarah knows that’s what he’s doing, and that’s why she won’t let him.

 

“I’m fine.” Fine is a dead giveaway word for not being fine— Sam is aware of this, he learned it from the time he spent as a counselor. It’s moments like these where he’s painfully aware that being a counselor was an excuse for him to not confront his own trauma. 

 

“Sam, it’s okay to admit you aren’t.” 

 

“No really, I’m fine. It was a while ago, I can deal with it.” 

 

“I’m aware you can, but I also know you well enough to know that you’re determined to run away from your pain, which isn’t dealing with Riley’s death in a healthy way,” Sarah points out.

 

Sarah is right, like she usually is. But Sam has no idea what else he should do. It’s frustrating; knowing exactly what to say to someone in his position, yet feeling so damn helpless. 

 

“What do you think I should do then?” Sam challenges. 

 

“Tell Bucky what happened, or at least allow someone to support you.”

 

“I’m done talking about this.”

 

“Don’t shut everyone out—“

 

Sam hangs up. He’s being an asshole; he should pick up the phone, should call Sarah back, listen to her advice and apologize. If there’s anyone who understands how Riley’s death broke him, it’s Sarah. 

 

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

 

“Everything okay?” Bucky asks, pausing the TV when Sam joins him on the couch.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You sure? You’ve been acting off for a few days now.“

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Bucky tilts his head, “What’s wrong; I can tell something’s up.” 

 

“Nothing.” 

 

“I’m not gonna make you talk to me about something you clearly don’t want to, but I heard you arguing with Sarah and you’ve hardly slept or eaten for a few days now. I’m worried about you,” Bucky replies gently.

 

Sam recalls hearing something similar from one of his friends before his tour ended. It was after a standard rescue mission, a few weeks after Riley’s death. In those months on tour without Riley Sam hardly remembers now, he took countless risks, he wasn’t exactly trying to die but he certainly wasn’t concerned with living. If a missile or an accident killed him, he wouldn’t have minded. 

 

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

 

Sam avoids Bucky for the rest of the day. He was beginning to think Bucky would just leave him alone until he knocks on Sam’s door.

 

“Come in,” Sam calls.

 

Bucky steps inside holding a mug of tea, offering it to Sam, then sits on the edge of the bed across from him. 

 

“Enough with the whole shutting me out thing. I wanted to give you some space, but bottling up your emotions and hoping they eventually go away isn’t healthy,” Bucky says, echoing Sarah’s words from earlier.

 

Sam closes the book he’d been reading, “Pretty sure I was the one who told you that.” 

 

Bucky shrugs, “It’s solid advice, and you’re deflecting.” 

 

“My best friend, Riley, he… died nine years ago today. I saw him fall, but I was too far away to catch him. I was in the sky with him but there was nothing I could do,” Sam admits, cringing at the way his voice breaks.

 

Sam has heard so many times that grief heals with time, that eventually the pain lessens— there’s some truth in it, over the years he feels Riley’s absence less intensely. But here he is, nine years later still struggling to reckon with Riley’s death. Grief is not a wound that closes neatly, only leaving a scar behind; it’s a permanent injury that can come back just as painful as the day it happened at any given moment.

 

“What was he like?” Bucky asks, placing his hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

 

Sam wipes away his tears before they can fall, “He was always trying to make everyone laugh—“ he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply in an attempt to stop himself from breaking down. 

 

“We don’t have to talk about him, it’s okay,” Bucky says, lightly kissing Sam’s forehead.

 

“I loved him, he died not knowing I loved him,” Sam whispers. It's the first time he’s admitted it to anyone. Not out of shame or fear, rather because admitting his feelings for Riley felt like something he needed to tell him, and he’s not here to hear it.

 

He wants to escape from his emotions, to go numb like he always does. But with Bucky here, he can’t. His control slips away as the tears he’s been forcing back start to fall. 

 

Bucky pulls Sam into his arms, holding him tightly as he breaks down sobbing. 

 

“Want me to sleep in here tonight?” Bucky offers. 

 

Sam nods, moving to the side of the bed so Bucky can lie down next to him. 

 

“I’m here for you Sammy, always.” 

Notes:

Thanks for reading <3