#hes a broken man. for once his real self on full display. anguish sorrow shame and exhaustion writ into his very being. silent tears

[nerosdayinanime]

reminiscing about a life left behind

this is after the reunion at the bar, when Giyuu left Makomo tried to talk to him & figure out why he faked his death (then came back??) and left pretty soon after when he not so subtly brushed off her questions and vaguely apologized for disrupting things. Tengen & Kyojuro got extremely worried about him immediately ordering as many drinks he could at a time and being his usual happy-go-lucky self after Giyuu- the quietest and least confrontational person in the whole office -sent him to the floor in a fit of cold rage. They watched (and joined, though not to the same extent) as he got absolutely wasted, his suddenly saccharine attitude showing off just how much of his personality is just a performance.

Between the revelation that hes a demon slayer- a hashira just like them -and finally noticing the seam in his otherwise perfect mask, the both of them figure he's just as fucked up as they are from their job. Tengen has his own guise of extravagance, Kyojuro always being loud and proud to hide his insecurities- but Sabito was subtle about it. He was happy and playful, but not too much so like Kyojuro was- he also became a master of diverting attention from himself, they didn't know much about his personal life or hobbies- or anything outside of when they hung out or stopped by the little grocery store he worked at. Didn't know his favorite color, what genre of music he liked, what his favorite movie was- didn't know if he's ever had a partner or other friends, nothing about his school life or parents or if he had any siblings- nothing! He was a ghost of a person, like he merely popped into existence when they met him. That's probably not too far off- they didn't meet Sabito that day, they met his empty smile. Without ever realizing there was nothing behind it.

Thoroughly disconcerted by the realization and very worried about Sabito chugging alcohol like he had nothing left to live for while laughing like there was nothing wrong, they kept a close eye on him. When he starts getting quiet they force him to stop drinking and drag him back to his apartment and stay the night crashed on the couch & floor. In the morning Sabito was fucked. Absolute shit time. Had a vague feeling he shouldn't think about anything so he didn't, just fucked around with a worried Tengen & Kyojuro until they left. Continued not thinking about anything, did a bunch of chores and errands so he didn't have to think about Giyuu. Even fixed a neighbor's ac unit with the help of a youtube tutorial. As soon as the sun started setting he donned his slayer uniform and ignored painful sting in his heart at the sight of his old fox mask hanging on the wall, settling his face into the same empty smile as the default slayer mask he uses now. That night he was a beast- merciless and scathing strikes, chasing down terrified demons like he had a score to settle. Completely ignored other slayers he ran into, simply pushing past them dealing the kill and moving on.

This little routine continued for a few days- overworking himself desperately trying to keep out of his head, deflecting and straight up ignoring Tengen & Kyojuro asking about how he's doing, fleeing any of the other hashira or water-fox squad trying to ask about him and what all he's been doing the last several years, pissing off lower-level slayers he steals kills from. He works until he passes out from exhaustion, getting up and doing all it again when he wakes. A few weeks later and it catches up to him despite his attempts at running.

Giyuu hates him.

Rightfully so, he left him to burn like a coward and a fool. And did what with his time? Do nothing but make more mistakes? How many people hes lied to and let down? He's done nothing but run.

He knew it'd happen. As soon as he stopped moving he would never want to start again, as soon as he stopped running, as soon as he tripped- as soon as he hit the ground he'd never want to get up again. Years of grief stress and denial hit him all at once, he doesn't know what to do. Walls too high to see over, too deep to dig under, too thick to simply power through. No one on the other side who really needs him anyway.

Why does he even bother?

He stares at his fox mask. Hand crafted by the man he thought of as a father, who took him in and taught him to defend himself and protect others. Real good job he did of that. All he's done since he started running was hurt hurt hurt. The people he cared about and respected the most- abandoned. Everyone else left in the dust like they were nothing.

What fucking good..

...

He thinks of the better days. When he was a son, helping his mom water the plants so they'd bloom bright and vivid. When he was a brother, helping his little sister reach the top shelf for candy. When he was a student, fueled by his grief and anger with a promise not to let anyone else lose as much as he had. When he was a friend, pulling Giyuu out to see a meteor shower in their favorite clearing. When he was a boyfriend, feeding popcorn to Giyuu laying across his legs watching a movie together. ...He threw that all away and for what? So he wouldn't have to face his failures? How fucking pathetic.

He'd never have any of that again. Burned his bridges, destroyed the foundations, turned the ground to shifting sand. His head thunked against the wall behind him, why did he have to fuck everything up?

[marvel-lucy]

The Fall, chapter 8

Summary: misery.  Sorry.

Complete story Masterlist is here

When you open up and let someone in you make yourself vulnerable, and sometimes that can be terrifying. Like having an open wound, the urge to wrap yourself up in bandages, to protect your shattered self, can be great.  And when the wound is in your heart or soul, it is even harder to keep it open to the world. 

After she had told her story, and cried, and been cared for, she became desperate for him to leave. It was too raw, too grief-laden, too shameful. She couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t respond any more. She was exhausted too. He saw that, the way her eyelids were bruised with tears and tiredness, the drop in her shoulders and the slow drag of her voice. 

‘I should get going, let you rest. Thank you for telling me about your family. I’m honoured you did’

Her eyes did meet his at that, touched by his words.  Everyone else had seemed to back away when she talked about them, had glossed over her pain with clichés about time and memory.  He hadn’t, he’d accepted all her words, and she knew he’d accept more, if she could find them.

But for now, she needed to be alone. She had shared their memories, now she needed to hoard them to herself again.

‘Can I come by tomorrow? You can text if it’s not convenient.’  She nodded, eyes unfocussed, and didn’t see the need in his eyes.  He wanted to be there, for her and for him. To be needed, to help, to feel good in the world, was something he craved.  She couldn’t see it.  

He left, and she was soon in bed, the last thing she saw was the photo on her phone, and the red cup by her bed.

The next day, she woke from a restless sleep to a bright day.  Her head ached with crying, but she stayed firm, drank water, took painkillers, tried not to think about the relief alcohol would provide.  She moved the Peace Lily to her bedroom, placing it on the deep windowsill where it would catch the morning sun – and where she would see it before she slept and when she woke.  The sun glinted off the green leaves as she watered it carefully.

Around lunchtime, her phone chime

Would you like me to bring some dinner for you? Bucky

A part of her heart longed to say yes, for the company and the solace and the lighter mood, but she had become so weighed down by guilt as she had gone through the day, that she had allowed herself to be comforted, as if her loss and guilt could be wiped away as easily as tears, that she couldn’t.

I’m sorry, I can’t.

She imagined the text on its way from her small apartment to his glossy suite in the Tower, was sure that he would see it as a relief, a get-out from the burden of her pitiful life.  She was wrong.

In the Tower, Bucky had spent the day thinking of food he could take, of how he could perhaps entice her out of her apartment to walk in the park in the sunshine, how he would ask her about the plants that grew there and tell her about what it had been like in his youth. Steve hadn’t seen him smile this much for a long time, and silently blessed this new friend, about whom he knew nothing but a name, and an interest in plants.  Then her text came through, and reality came crashing down.  Of course she didn’t want him there. He was a stranger who had barged into her life, unwelcome, unwanted, and now needed to step back.  She would be glad, no doubt, if she didn’t see him again.  He was wrong.

Pain and sorrow lock you inside your own head, unable to see beyond your suffering.  The world you create behind your own guilt and shame becomes more real than the one you walk through, and so it was for both of them. Trapped by their own unhappiness, neither could imagine there were other reasons for the other’s behaviour, and so they both suffered alone.

Steve noticed the change in Bucky instantly.  His smile gone, his face low, he sat and stared into the dark without seeing it. Steve questioned him, and was rebuffed, and tried again.

‘I was an idiot Steve.  She knew who I was, of course she’s not going to want me around. What was I thinking, buying her presents and going round there, like some kind of creep, like a stalker or a serial killer, which is what I am.’

‘Buck, it might not be you,’ Steve tried offering another view, hating to see the change in his friend. ‘She’s grieving, she needs time, maybe it’s just too much, try again in a few days.’

For three days, there was silence between them, a silence that grew into something much bigger in each of their minds. For her, she saw it as confirmation that he had only been being kind; that like everyone else she knew, he’d run from her anguish; perhaps that he’d seen her guilt and was disgusted by it.  For him, he saw it as a rejection; another person who hated him as much as he hated himself; that she’d seen his guilt and was disgusted by it.

On the fourth day, Steve called Bucky into the Control Room at the Tower.  There were others already there, the mood serious and thoughtful. Bucky sat in a chair, slowly turning it with his foot from side to side as Steve spoke. There was a mission, nothing too unusual but there were rumours of a new weapon, that needed to be checked out.  A Hydra base, located in the mountains in the north of Alaska; they would be leaving immediately.

Glad of a chance to act, to get out of his head for a while, Bucky was up and ready, not paying attention to the full details of the briefing.  His misery turned to anger, white-hot and irrational. He wanted to lash out at Hydra, who had made him this unwanted man.

On the jet, Bucky was impatient. Even at the Quinjet’s top speed it would be a journey of many hours and he fidgeted with unease, needing to release his pent-up feelings through movement.  He paced the confined space, making the others on board uneasy, but couldn’t sit for more than a minute. He checked his phone too often, and there was never anything new.  As the flight drew on, eventually his energy died down and he sat, staring out. The land below was empty of people, thousands of miles of forest, broken by rivers. They were too high to make out details, so all he could do was to watch as the green gave way to the white of snow, the further north they went.

The wind began to buffet the plane, and Barton took it off autopilot, easing the plane to their destination.  They were closer now, the plane cloaked to prevent detection but nonetheless they would need to travel some distance after leaving the plane.  Barton brought the jet as close as he dared while the rest of the group put on masks, goggles and snow gear.  Stark’s designs at least meant the clothes were lighter-weight than the usual cold-weather clothes, but they were still bulky and would need to be shed as soon as they could.

Outside the wind was fierce, and they all staggered a moment before finding their balance, leaning into the wind. Once into the shelter of the forest, there was a little protection but even for their highly trained bodies, the cold and the altitude was hard-going.  

Half an hour’s walk brought them in sight of the base entrance.  Hydra had dug into the mountain, a heavy door looking incongruous in the stony slope. There were no patrols outside, the weather acting as a defence, but they knew there would be surveillance. A brief conversation, and then one of Barton’s arrows took out the electrical wiring on the camera.  With any luck they would think it was a glitch, and not realise they were under attack. There was a pause, and then they began. Stark used his suit to attack the door, which gave under the onslaught, and the rest of the team quickly threw off their outer layers, ready to rush the building.

The fight was simple.  The base was not well-staffed and was mostly populated by tactical officers and not fighters.  They knew that the data the base held was important, but nobody had expected a physical attack in such an isolated location.  The system was set up to prevent cyber-attacks, but once Romanoff was on location, she and Stark were easily able to break through the firewalls and find the information they needed.

All was simple, until it wasn’t.  Most of the soldiers and scientists were now being held in one room, watched over by some of the Iron Legion.  The injured or dead would be seen to once the rest of the base was clear.  Steve and Bucky were working through to the very depths of the base, checking each room, looking out for people or weapons.  Stark was watching their progress via display, identifying anything they might need to bring back for testing.  It was all going too well.  Bucky’s mind wandered now the threat was diminishing. He saw himself, reflected in the dark steel of a door, his face shadowed, a gun in his hands.  Was this all he was? A weapon in the dark, a killer to be feared. No wonder he couldn’t offer goodness to anyone who needed it. To her.

He had separated from Steve, taking a different path through the building, when he reached what seemed to be a final room.  The door was shut, and in his absent-minded, tired state, he didn’t see it properly. As his hand moved the handle downwards, his eyes saw the wires, and at the same time, heard Steve call out a warning behind him.  ‘Buck, no!’

But the door was rigged.  Here was the weapon they were looking for, but it was too late now.  The blast ripped the door off its hinges, flinging him across the room, and sending Steve flying across the corridor into the far wall.  There was a moment’s silence, the ringing in his ears covering up the noise of falling debris, but then another explosion sounded. This was deeper underground, and he felt it through his body as he stumbled to right himself. The ground shook, and then split. Steve appeared in the doorway, holding himself upright on the frame as the world seemed to tilt, and then before he could react, the ground gave way beneath him.  Inside the mountain, once again, Bucky fell, and was swallowed by the dark.

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