#i accidentally took my regular dose of sleeping meds after not taking them for a few days and oh buddy that was a whole thing

[panb1mbo]

i can’t believe i used to hit the pen until it auto stopped i just took like a five second hit by accident cause i had my pen in my mouth but i wasn’t actually holding it and i accidentally inhaled longer than i intended and i am gone i am oh so gone

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #13

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

[AO3]

((edited because I figured out to add some more history facts that I think are important))

~POV Sinbad~

"The Kou Empire, huh?"

"That is going to make things risky."

With all of the Generals caught up with what happened in Balbadd, they needed to start planning for King Sinbad's trip to the Kou Empire, as well as catching him up with everything that had happened in Sindria while he was gone.

"LadY YamuRAI H AA AA A" A yell came from the hallway accompanied by the sounds of running.

((Sinbad is hidden on the left. There's a hint of him poking out.))

A panting magician gave apologies for disturbing their meeting and ran to the head of Sindria's magicians. "I wish I knew you were here so I didn't search the tower first~" Then he started explaining about some magical proof. Most of his words sounded like gibberish to the rest, but it was clear that he had made some kind of break though.

Yam jumped out of her seat. "How did you finally figure it out?! Who figured it out?!" She whipped her head to her King, "Sorry your majesty," and then looked back to the other magician.

"It was the work of the Prophet!” the magician answered. "We were talking about her illness and she pulled out scrolls that- you just have to read them for yourself!”

Mori had said that she had written other scrolls before she started coping down Fate. This must have been what she was working on.

Both magicians bowed out to go test out this new information. Before they could leave, Sinbad ended the meeting; there was no way he was going to wait to learn what other information Mori had blessed them with. Ja'far followed as did a few of the other Generals.

When they got into the court yard, the doctors that had been sent to take care of Mori were already pushing their supply cart back to their main building. The magician that had stayed behind spotted them and raised two scrolls up triumphantly. "She let me take the scrolls!"

---

News of the scrolls written by a Prophet spread throughout the Black Libra Tower within an hour. Yamuraiha and the doctors explained their significance to King Sinbad.

If even a fraction of the theories in the scrolls proved true it would completely changed their understanding of how illnesses work. If Mori wasn't sick she would undoubtedly be swarmed with questions and demands for proof. According to the magicians, nothing in the scrolls went against any known information. Instead, they gave explanations to why certain things that had been attempted in the past had failed. What she wrote about 'cells' was what really caught the eyes of the white magicians and doctors. As an example, according to Mori's writing there were blood types and most couldn't mix; that would explain why most past attempts at blood transfusions had failed.

The 2nd scroll showed a break down of even smaller particles, and how the structures of different particles made up everything. This was going to bring alchemic magic to a whole new era. Sure, such things would most likely be limited to high magicians, group efforts, and the Magi, but it looked possible now. A lot of common magic of the current day took extreme amounts of magoi in the past because they hadn't found the right formula yet. Mori's writing -if true- could easily be used as a guide to finding the right order of commands for many spells.

And even more than that, Mori had said that she had even more information to share; she had just ran out of scrolls and ink.

Mori's presence in Sindria, and everything that went with it were Fate and the Rukh's guidance. King Sinbad could see it -the future he wanted.

---

~POV Mori~

In Sindria's Palace there is a Great Bell. It is rung during celebrations, and to signify the King returning home like it did earlier that day, but it's main use was to ring every 2 hours to tell everyone the time since clocks weren't invented yet. So even though I was a sick person trying to rest during the day, I was woken up by the Great Bell every 2 hours... which of course is also situated right on top of the guest tower.

For obvious reasons, I was awake again.

I wish I knew how the others responded to the scrolls. I really wanted to know Yam's opinion most. Those scrolls basically gave away the secret to Yunan's signature alchemy magic.

I still had the first scroll I had worked on -the one on the science behind blimps-, and the last science scroll I had started. That one was on DNA, and reproductive systems. It was the last one I started in Balbadd. I hadn't started working on it until sunrise on my 2nd sleepless night and it showed; there were missing words everywhere, many incomplete sentences, and I couldn't stay in topic.

These mistakes were too great to fix with an ink knife. Editing was going be super annoying and time consuming since I couldn't work digitally. I'd have to physically cut up the first draft to put everything in the right order before making the next one.

Wait- Did this world have scissors???

Back home the first evolution of shears that could be labeled as scissors was in Roman barber shops in the last hundred years or so before Rome fell. China would spontaneous also create something akin to scissors not long after. Reim and the Kou Empire seemed to line up with Rome and ancient China for the most part, so I tend to use them to place the time period, but the dress Princess Dunya wears is centuries off and throws all historical accuracy questions out the window. Rome was long gone by the time boning was added to women's undergarments, and that dress had all the signs of boned corsetry.

Fuck it. I'll ask for scissors and if they don't have them I'll just invent them myself. I had been drafting professionally for the past 4 years. That may have been for microelectronics, but it uses all the same skills; I could do this. I needed to get a ruler -or at least a straight edge- and a drafting compass which they probably have based on the look of maps in the series, and pencils, or at least colored inks if they had them. I probably needed to reinvent the French curve(stencil tool used in art & drafting)...

Since I was struggling to fall back asleep I moved to the table and pulled out my test scroll. It was full of random marks and some of my early drawing attempts that I used to practice with the dip pen -it's also where I wrote down the dreams from the Rukh. I'd write the list of things I needed, rip the section out of the scroll, and pass the list to someone who could get me what I was asking for. I added some living necessities too like sleep wear and a comb.

The maids that came to give me dinner, and next dose of medicine were not pleased that I wasn't in bed -I was an important guest who was sick after all. And I wasn't pleased to have to drink more of that bitter medicine, but we can't have nice things all the time, now can we?

My voices was strained but I managed to communicate enough. I gave them my list, and laundry (the clothes I wore on the boat) before they left. They'd get me the things the next day. I was instructed to sleep until someone brings me breakfast the next day... which is what I was going to do anyway since the sun was practically gone. I might be a bit of a workaholic but I'm not going to let myself pull an accidental all-nighter when I know I'm still sick. I'm far more self aware than that.

And besides, the Great Bell didn't ring at night.

---

Maids brought my breakfast (& meds) the next morning and let me know that my clothes would be cleaned and dry by the end of the day. I guess they didn't use magic for everything.

They also gave me all of the drafting and inking supplies I asked for except for scissors. In one of the omakes Sinbad was shown cutting his hair with a knife as a part of his normal grooming. I had hoped he was just old fashioned.

For the greater good and the future of my own hair care, I drafted up detailed designs for a few different types of basic scissors. They wouldn't look fancy, but hopefully I had put enough of a detailed explanation on everything for the smith to figure out what I was asking. Steel wasn't developed until the middle ages and some of the counties of this world matched that so I hoped

that God and anime were on my side. I really wanted scissors that would be a good quality.

And if that didn't work I'd just have to get used to using knives and bladed rollers like a regular person.

The Great Bell rung for 10 am. There were at least another 2 hours before someone would show up, to give lunch, that I could ask to take my draft for the scissors to a black Smith.

I should be resting as a sick person. I should be more exhausted and in pain as a sick person. What was making me recover this quickly?

I still didn't feel like laying back down, so I decided to start drafting up the materials and equipment for proving everything I had written in the scrolls I gave the previous day.

Globally, micro-organisms, viruses, and bacteria were not really accept or proved until the late 1800's. Since Magi seems to take place some time around our 100AD-1300, and Yunan hinting at chemical compounds was seen as shocking by Yam, I knew that my bio scrolls were probably causing an uproar in the Black Libra Tower. I refused to use actual people or wait for an outbreak to prove it like how it happened in history -like how John Snow proved it when finding the cause of cholera outbreaks in 1848 and 1854 England. No, I needed to show how to prove these things in a lab, and to do that I was going to need to explain how to keep samples and invent a way to see microorganisms.

First was for a glass petri dish and other containers for samples. I'd need at least 3 -preferably more. I know glass works have been around since BC, and that this world had glass windows in some scenes, but I worried about the quality of the glass contaminating the experiments. I was going to have to boil them beforehand to sterilize them anyway.

Gosh I wish I had access to nonporous, air tight containers, and a temperature controlled environment. The heat and humidity of Sindria could easily mess everything up.

Wait... I suddenly remembered a scene from the Magnostadt arc when they showed how a sample was being stored. They already had good enough glass. I knew there were magic bio experiments but I had no idea how they worked.

With the realization that I was getting ahead myself, I switched to writing about how to use the scientific method to test for germs. It was basically the bread in a bag test to teach young children about germs but with petri dishes. I also wrote about how to analyze samples with a microscope to see micro organisms so I was going to have to figure that out next.

Lunch came as the perfect break.

Just thinking about reinventing this thing made me nervous. I knew magnifying glasses existed in ancient Rome, but they would be nothing like what I was used to. I had to explain how light moves and made multiple diagrams showing how concave and convex lenses affect light as well as the material of the lens. I ended up also showing how to make a telescope even though I knew Yam already had one.

Magicians were the only ones shown with glasses. Maybe now the rest of the world could have them too.

4 o'clock came and so did 3 doctors and a magician. It was less than yesterday, but still more than necessary to treat or analyze one person. I only recognized one of the doctors from the previous day. All of the new faces looked nervous. None of them looked young by any measure, so I really doubted this was their first time treating someone.

They weren't happy to see me at the table and made me return to my bed -their loss.

The doctor from the previous day was the one doing most of the talking. "Your recovery is amazing. You will most likely be better in another 3 days at this rate if not sooner. It's practically a miracle."

I smiled. "It's pretty shocking for me too." As long as I spoke quietly and kept my comments short, I found I could talk again for a bit.

The doctor was silent for a moment before changing the subject. "I know you need rest, but would you be willing to answer a few questions about those scrolls from yesterday?

The 3 other men looked expectant. This was why they were here.

"I don't mind as long as you don't make me talk too much."

Then came the question I was expecting since I had first made the scrolls. "I know you are a Prophet and the information came from your visions but is there any way you can prove what you wrote?"

I pointed to the table with the scroll I had started earlier. "I can't prove it with the current equipment I have, so I've been drafting up the needed equipment and processes for proving it."

They all turned to look at where I was pointing.

I added, "It's not done, but you're welcome to read what I have so far."

I was thanked as they went to the table they had called me away from when they entered.

'He called it 'visions?' Really?' I had to ask Sinbad later what he was telling his people about me so I could keep the story straight.

The magician confirmed for the others what I wrote about light bending. There was magic to do that, but not everyone is a magician. I had just invented a way for non-magicians to bend light.

Just wait until I show them a prism that can split light into colors. Or teach them how light is perceived in the eye. Or even better, show them the double slit experiment that proves that light is a particle not just a wave... Did they know light was a wave yet?

"Lady Prophet."

I was pulled out of my thoughts.

"You said this isn't finished and there is plenty of space in this scroll for more, but would you let us take this back to the tower so we can get started?"

I wanted to say 'no.' I was still coming up with things to add to it, but I also knew that holding things back because I wanted to save paper was a fool's game. Besides, I could always add more to it later.

I nodded and they thanked me before making me promise not to leave my bed. They were grateful for this new scroll but not at the expense of my health -they were doctors after all.

And then they left.

It was probably about 5pm if my internal clock was on schedule, so I had about an hour before the next ring of the Bell.

Even if I wasn't a man of my word, I would have lost the motivation to work with my current project taken from me while I was still in the middle of making it.

So, I did the thing I grew up doing when I was bedridden from illness: I looked out the window. From the bed I could only see the tops of the buildings on the other side of the courtyard. The Tower that was just poking in from the left had to be the Black Libra Tower.

The waves in Sindria were calmer yet stronger than those in Balbadd. It was probably due to Sinbad's influence. He brought stability and security to his people. I could understand why so many chose to follow him or ally with him. But I knew where all this would lead. As he obtains more power and influence he will stop being able to see himself from the pedestal that he and everyone else put him on; his greed will make him blind to the wants and needs of others, and like a middle aged parent that isn't ready for their child to leave the nest he will take out his frustration on the world that was moving on without him. When Sinbad dies at the end of the manga, Drakon realizes that they all put too much on Sinbad's shoulders.

To change Fate, I was going to have to make sure I never put him on that pedestal nor rely on him for much. And I was going to have to convince the 8 Generals to do the same -or at least to start pulling more of the weight.

The 6 o'clock Bell came faster than I expected, as well as my dinner not long after. They brought my clean laundry, a sleeping gown, and some other common clothes and things for my convenience.

I would have preferred something much shorter for the night gown since I hate having a lot of extra fabric around my legs when I already have blankets. I was not going to risk being walked in on by doctors or whoever when sleeping naked, so I would make do for now.

There was no way King Sinbad wasn't going to reward me for those scrolls. If it was some kind of treasure I'd sell it and buy a new wardrobe for myself that actually suited me, and if the reward was a request then I would ask that he pay for everything directly.

The light coming in my windows changed, and I watched my 2nd sunset in Sindria.

When Sinbad found this island 10 years ago, he completely terraformed it. He didn't get rid of all of the vegetation that was here, but he did break down one of the sides to allow for easier access by boat. The side he carved out faced northish towards all of the other known countries, so no boat would have a reason to circle the island. It was a decision that would benefit the merchants and make it easier to defend.

It also meant that my windows faced west, so I could watch the Sun set every day. I couldn't help but see that as a blessing and a curse. Sure not getting the sunrise meant I'd need to put more effort into

waking up in the morning but that wasn't the part I was worried about.

See- The thing is... I have synesthesia (having 2 or more senses overlapping). I see sounds, letters, and numbers as colors and textures. I have it mild enough that I can normally block it out so it's not too distracting (thank God because music is a main stim), but sometimes I'll hear something and get overwhelmed by how it looks.

Each letter and number is a color. So every voice can make every color, but language, pitch, tone, and accent all affect the colors and textures I see from a person's voice like a filter. There have definitely been some people that I struggled to give my full attention to when I first met them because I was entranced by how their voice looked. The more I hear a person's voice the more I'm able to move its visuals to the background so I can focus -desensitizing myself to it.

Luckily, Sinbad's voice is normally not so distracting that I stop paying attention. Since it's like a merger of every voice actor I've heard play him (All the characters I had met so far were like this.) I'm already desensitized. The similarities across all of the VAs meant that his voice looked like a sunset -full of deep purples and magentas, and bright reds, peach, and gold, and with a smooth and flowing texture like painting in acrylic with a wet brush -like a painting of the last moments of a sunset.

His voice was as pretty as he was.

I hadn't actually gotten to see or hear him for a whole day. But I'd get to look at his voice's equivalent every day while living under his protection.

It was frustrating to admit -I barely knew him as a real person- yet I couldn't deny that I missed him. I feel asleep watching the sun set.

((I wasn't going to write about my synesthesia, but this is my fanfic and I thought it might be fun to reference the colors peoples voices make when the characters talk. I'm not going to paint every VA and head cannon, but I will describe them as I go. Ja'far's Japanese and English VAs have voices that look very different so finding the middle ground is proving tricky.

Also, anyone who noticed that the purple I see in Sinbad's voice is the same as the purple I've been using for the illustrations and comics is super smart and cool.))

[cake-writes]

Low

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Mental Illness (Bipolar & Depression), Violence, 18+

Word Count: 3.5k

Requested by @josiewinters1999​: I was wondering if you could write a Steve x Reader where Steve helps Reader (his girlfriend) get over a drug addiction?

This request really hits close to home. To write this, I relied heavily on my own experiences with bipolar and drug addiction. If you - any of you - ever you need someone to talk to, my ask box and messages are always open!

Steve had always known you were big into gym supplements. You didn’t have serum or anything else enhanced running through your veins, just plain human blood, so you were always on the lookout for safe, healthy ways to boost your abilities. Even before the two of you got together, you introduced him to protein shakes, amino acids, creatine, the works – and you were very rarely ever found without a shaker bottle in hand, fresh from the gym.  

It certainly helped you quite a lot to supplement your exercise. You could bench press and deadlift a lot of weight for your small stature, and your squats were in a league of their own. You were strong. Not as strong as him, of course, but for a regular person, you could definitely pack a wallop.

Even though your body was strong, your mind wasn’t. He knew that too, and he didn’t pry. Steve certainly wasn’t without his demons, and he reminded you every now and then that he’d be happy to talk if you ever wanted to. You’d been together for a little over a year, now, and he’d opened up quite a bit about his own past – but you hadn’t. Not about the things that plagued you. Not yet. It would take time, and he knew that. He understood.  

He probably should have paid more mind than he did to the pills you started to take. Over the last few months, your bedside drawer slowly became full of them. Some were for medical reasons, and the rest were vitamins or supplements – or so you claimed.

In some regards, he knew a fair bit about your meds. The little white pill was your birth control. The little blue one was an antidepressant. The capsule was lithium. All for medical reasons.

The others weren’t.

The bigger white pill was oxycodone. The yellow one was valium.

Those weren’t vitamins at all. You lied to him about them, and he was oblivious. He certainly didn’t think to research them, because he trusted you. Vitamins and supplements were nothing out of the ordinary.

What Steve didn’t know was that you were spiralling.

You’d been prescribed the oxy a few weeks back to alleviate the pain from a couple of broken bones in your wrist. You’d mostly healed up by now, but due to your line of work, the doctor had given you a backup supply along with a warning not to abuse them – just in case the pain very likely flared up in your wrist.

And it did.

And you did.

You abused them. Not only did they make you feel good, like everything would be alright, but they also gave you extra energy and made you chatty and sociable. You liked to pop one or two before missions where a lot of teamwork would be involved. Sometimes you’d take them before Tony’s insufferable parties, too, and combine them with alcohol for extra effect. That was always fun.

The valium, on the other hand, was originally meant to manage your anxiety, carefully prescribed by a psychiatrist who monitored your condition. Flare-ups didn’t happen often, mostly just when you made a stupid mistake on a mission, and afterwards you’d stew over it for hours like a broken record, over and over and over. You’d ruminate. The valium took the edge off and distracted you from your thoughts. It, too, made you feel good.

Needless to say, as of late you weren’t in a very good headspace. The fact that you were manic depressive was bad enough. It was manageable, but that kind of diagnosis didn’t just go away, even if you usually did handle it well enough with a delicate combination of medication and therapy.

Work stress was what triggered your downward spiral. The longer you were an Avenger, the more it took its toll on you and, eventually, your mood started to plummet despite your medication. You went low.

Truth be told, you’d been low for weeks. The fact that you’d started to pop pills was a good indication, but you refused to acknowledge that something was wrong.

Steve always made sure you knew that you could talk to him if you ever needed to, but you didn’t about the more serious stuff. For basic things, you did – how your wrist was healing up, how you were feeling today, if you’d achieved one of your top three things for the day like he gently encouraged you to do. They were little questions that showed he cared, and it meant the world to you that he asked them – just as much as when he told you I love you outright.

You knew how much it would hurt him to know that you were feeling depressed, so you didn’t share that with him. He already had so much on his shoulders, and you didn’t want to be a burden. He knew all about your highs and your lows and he did what he could to help you through them – but there wasn’t much he could do and it only made you feel guilty. You knew how helpless he felt on the days you couldn’t even get yourself out of bed, and you didn’t want him to think anything was wrong.

So, instead, you popped pills – pills that made the world seem bright again, if only for a few short hours.

One small dose of valium slowly turned to three as your tolerance increased. It made you feel so incredibly relaxed that you stared into space sometimes, mind blissfully blank. Sometimes it knocked you out, too; made you sleep like the dead. Steve had never known you to be a heavy sleeper, but as of late, you had been. He figured you’d just been having a rough couple of weeks because your body was still healing. He was oblivious.

In the Quinjet before a particularly bothersome mission, you needed the extra energy and ego boost. This mission would require a fair amount of teamwork and you were in no mood for it. Sam sat to your left while the two of you prepped your gear, and Steve was across the aisle from you, his shield in the vacant seat beside him. Clint was piloting. The rest of the team was already on site, ready to raid.

After your gear was all ready and adjusted, Sam just happened to glance over and catch you pull a little orange pill bottle from your pocket. At first, he assumed it was another vitamin or supplement or some stupid new thing you were into, until he caught a glimpse of the label – oxycodone.

You popped two of the tablets into your mouth, and dry swallowed them with ease.

Well, that wasn’t normal.

As you shoved the bottle back into your duffel bag, you caught him eyeing you and asked blankly, “What?”

“Those your, uh,” he chose his words carefully to test the waters, “new supps?”

You beamed at him. “Aw, Sammy, you know me so well.”

Sam had been a counsellor at the VA for a number of years. He knew what drug addiction looked like. Of course he was the first person to catch on to yours. The fact that you’d blatantly lied about it was the first sign – lied and deflected. And then, later on during the mission, when your words slurred just a little over comms, that was the second one.

He was going to have a very difficult conversation with you, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. What’s worse was that he needed to keep it from Steve out of respect for you. Sam was never one for secrets, but for now, he’d keep yours. If the conversation went south like he highly suspected it would, then he’d would have no choice but to tell him. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen and you’d come to your senses, but he already knew you wouldn’t.

In the morning, Sam made you breakfast. That wasn’t too unusual, because he made everyone breakfast every now and then. He liked to cook, and his pancakes were to die for. Knowing he was making them this morning put a tiny bit of light into your otherwise bleak outlook on life as of late.

It was just the two of you in the kitchen so early in the morning. Steve had accidentally woken you up as he was getting ready for his morning jog, and you hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Sam had strangely chosen to forego his, but he did that every now and then so you didn’t think anything of it.

As expected, the conversation went poorly.

“Those weren’t vitamins yesterday,” Sam commented casually, “were they?”

You’d just started bringing your loaded fork up to your mouth, but you stilled. The pause was extremely brief, just long enough to make it obvious that he wasn’t wrong. Then you rolled your eyes and shoved the bite of pancakes into your mouth.

“Sure they were,” you told him, muffled by pancakes. “Gotta get my B-12’s, you know.”

You lied about it so easily, like you’d done it a hundred times before. Sam knew what oxycodone looked like, and he could only imagine what other things you were on if you were popping pills so easily before a mission – and two of them, no less.

Sam said your name firmly, almost in reprimand and immediately, your temper flared.  You purposely dropped your fork down onto the plate with a loud clink and shot him a nasty glare.

“It’s oxy,” he responded. “You shouldn’t be taking it on a mission. You know that.”

“It’s a vitamin,” you hissed. “Ask Steve. He knows.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You lie to him too?”

At that, you loudly shoved your chair back from the kitchen counter and got to your feet. “I’m not gonna put up with your bullshit, Wilson. You wanna counsel someone, go back to the VA.”

“This isn’t about me.” His voice was patient and kind, not accusatory. “You’ve got a problem.”

“No, you’re the one with the problem,” you spat at him. “Get off my ass.”

Projection. He’d expected as much.

“I can get you in contact with someone. She’s really good—”

You interrupted him angrily, “Go to hell, Sam.”  

And then, when you stormed out of the room, he let you go. He knew it was a hard pill to swallow – literally – to be told something like this, and he’d dealt with it hundreds of times by this point. Everyone reacted differently. Some people came to terms with it and tried to do better, while others sank even further into addiction. He hoped you’d be the former, not the latter.

Just in case, though, he sent Steve a quick text.

Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, yeah? She’s low.

When you got back upstairs to your shared room with Steve, you popped another couple pills – valium this time – and cried into your pillow.

After he received Sam’s text, Steve returned from his jog sooner than he’d planned. He found you bundled up in the sheets, staring into space with streaks of tears and mascara drying on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice he was there, or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge him. You just kept staring blankly at the wall.

His heart broke at the sight.

“Oh, sweetheart—”

Steve gathered you into his arms so easily and held you close, bringing your head against his chest as the two of you lay in bed together. Your messy makeup stained his white t-shirt, but he didn’t care and neither did you. It was a small comfort, the way he threaded his fingers through your hair as he whispered sweet things to you, reassurances he always told you when you were low. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I love you.”

You didn’t respond, or maybe you couldn’t. You loved him, but in this moment you were numb. You fell asleep to the sound of his voice, surrounded by the warmth and love that only Steve – your sweet, caring Steve – could provide.

You were low. Almost at rock bottom, as a matter of fact, but not quite.

Rock bottom hit during your next mission, two days later.

You took a couple shots of alcohol before the mission to settle the pre-mission jitters, and then you popped three oxy on the Quinjet, not because you needed them but as an act of rebellion. Sam wasn’t there this time to get on your case, and for that, you were thankful. Instead, you were paired up with Bucky and Natasha. You didn’t need the drugs for this mission because you got along with the two of them, but you took them anyway as a nice fuck you.

That fuck you almost got you and your teammates killed.

It was meant to be a covert mission – pop in and out unseen, grab some intel, but you were, to put it bluntly, entirely too fucked up to be in the field. You couldn’t sneak around when you were so clumsy and uncoordinated. While you’d combined alcohol with oxy before, you’d never done it with three and you didn’t realize to what extent it would fuck you up.

Needless to say, your presence was quickly detected.

The three of you were outnumbered.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Natasha bit out, shoving you behind the wall right before a flood of bullets ricocheted off of it. You just slid down it and fell on your ass, high as hell, not to mention the fact that your vision was blurry and you were seeing double. You didn’t care that you’d nearly been shot.

Maybe it would have been a blessing.

You didn’t even realize that you already had been shot until Bucky was suddenly there, crouching down in front of you, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You weren’t even sure where he came from, but he started applying firm pressure to your shoulder with one hand, patting your cheek with the other. It was the only way he could capture your attention long enough to assess you – and what he found was that you were in a stupor.

He knew it wasn’t shock settling in, because he could smell the alcohol on your breath for one, and for two, all you did was smile up at him like an idiot. You didn’t feel a thing. You probably didn’t even know where the hell you were.

He wasn’t wrong.

Blood seeped through his fingers as he tore open a pack of gauze with his teeth, and then he swore under his breath, packing the wound with practiced finesse. He was no medic, nor was he perfect at it, but he knew enough.

Your blood streamed freely down the back of his hand, the bright colour a stark contrast to his pale skin and the only thought on your mind was that it was a very pretty red.

Then Bucky and Natasha were saying things to each other, but you couldn’t really focus on it with the blood loss and the noise from the gunshots – particularly Natasha’s when she returned fire as Bucky hoisted you up onto his back.

How the three of you made it out, you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t pass out, but you weren’t entirely awake for it, either.

That was the shock settling in.

You didn’t stay conscious for long.

It was all a blur until the next day, when you finally woke to Steve sitting at your bedside with a book. He hadn’t managed to get very far into it. One of his large, warm hands lay atop yours, but the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, awful pain in your shoulder. That was when the memories – what little of them remained – came flooding back.

You’d been shot.

“I thought I was supposed to get morphine,” you joked, wincing from both the pain and at how raspy your voice sounded.

Steve’s eyes snapped up from his novel to your face, and on it you saw mostly relief – but it was coupled with an emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. Not yet.

“They couldn’t give you any,” he told you, squeezing your hand gently but it did nothing to soften the blow of his next words. “You had too much… stuff in your system.”

Oh.

Oh.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hesitant and awkward and it only put you on the defensive because, in that moment, you realized that he knew.

“What do you think?” you snapped at him, pulling your hand from his grasp. That was a mistake, because it was on the same side as your wound and searing pain rushed through you at the action, so much that you were forced to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Every single muscle in your body was tense, ready to fight or to run, to flee from the conversation you knew you were going to have.

You refused to look at him again. You were ashamed. You’d fucked up.

You’d fucked up bad.

“Bucky and Nat are fine,” he reassured you. “They want to see you.”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you chewed at your lower lip, slowly shaking your head. “No. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Like a junkie. That was what you’d become.

He knew what you meant. They’d seen you in a hospital bed before, as had Steve.

“Bucky was really worried, you know?” Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. “Said he’d never seen so much blood coming from such a small—”

“Can we just get this over with?” you interrupted, finally meeting his eyes again. The tears hadn’t yet spilled over, but when you saw the look on his face, you knew they were close. “Rip off the band-aid, Steve. Come on.”  

Steve slowly exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t planning on discussing this right now with you, because you’d literally just woken up, you were in pain, upset and the last thing he wanted to do was upset you further. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now, and truth be told, it made him nervous.

Even still, he ripped off the band-aid just like you asked him to.

“They ran a tox screen,” he told you, point-blank. “Sam’s suggestion. He said the two of you had a conversation the other day, and the mission reports…”

You grimaced. “What did they say?”

“You know what they said.”

Natasha might have covered for you before, for other, smaller things, but for this she wouldn’t – and Bucky wouldn’t, either. They couldn’t rely on you to have their backs, not like this. If you were in no condition to be in the field, then they would have had no choice but to report it. You’d nearly gotten them killed as it was, and you were lucky that it was only you who’d been shot.

You supposed you deserved it. That thought made you look down at your lap in shame, and you fidgeted anxiously with the thin, scratchy blanket on your uninjured side.

“It’s okay,” Steve told you in his familiar way, gently wrapping his fingers around your small hand again. You didn’t pull away this time, but you didn’t look up at him, either, because the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last few weeks.

Steve was always too kind, never judgmental, but right now all you wanted was for him to yell at you. You didn’t want his kindness, not right now. You’d nearly gotten your teammates killed and here he was he was telling you that it was okay.

“It’s not, Steve.” Your voice was weak and pathetic, and it broke when you spoke again, “I’m not.”

That was when the bed dipped, and then Steve gathered you in his arms so easily, just like he always did – except this time, he was a lot more careful with you. He was too gentle, like you were going to shatter to pieces if he wasn’t.

“I know,” he whispered. “I love you.”

He said those three little words so often to you – a couple times a day, at least – but even now you never really understood how he could love someone like you. You were broken, and at your core you had far too many troubles for him to handle, but he tried. He always tried.

Even if he didn’t know what to do to help you, and even if there was nothing he could do, he still tried.

Maybe you’d try, too. Maybe you’d finally talk to him about your troubles.

“I’m sorry,” you managed in between sobs, burying your face into his chest. The words just kept coming, spilling out of your mouth like verbal vomit and it only made you hate yourself more. “I’m sorry. I love you so much, Steve, please don’t leave me—”

“I won’t,” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “We’re in this together. It’ll be okay.”

He’d told you that so many times over the past year that you’d been with him, but this was the first time you ever believed him.

It would be okay.

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