Trauma

why isn't life just easy?

Bucky let out a yell of shock. He had expected something like this, an outburst, a panic, but it still came as a shock. The sudden, aggressive movement made him jump. As usual, imagining things was easier than actually experiencing things. Why couldn't things just be easy for once?

Because he had decided to take on this challenge and he was angry with himself for forgetting about it. He had now what could happen and still here he was, surprised by everything. Wow. What a unreliable, horrible man he was. And how Steve would hate him for this thought.

He snapped back into reality when something broke.

Trauma had jumped against the perfume bottle placed on Steve's sink. It fell to the ground and shattered into a million tiny shards, the scented liquid spilling all over floor.

Bucky had bought this perfume for his friend and given it to him when they were celebrating Steve's birthday. He had been genuinly happy, complimenting the good choice of scent and talking about being able to carry a memory of Bucky around with him wherever he went. There ir lay, the beautiful memory, shattered. What if Steve would forget about Bucky the next time he left the house? What if he wouldn't return?

Bullshit, just bullshit. Steve's mwmory of Bucky had to be more than just a scent that got weaker over time. Because memories of beautiful things shouldn't get weaker over time but more powerful, more vibrant. Or shouldn't they? Were Steve's memory of Buckyeven beautiful? Bucky wasn't sure, knowing how much pain he had caused his boyfriend. So much pain. Just like those shards could induce. For him and for Trauma. Especially for Trauma.

The dog was vulnerable with his soft paws, unprotected and weak. If he jumped into one of these shards, if it dug deep into his skin he'd leave blood pawprints whereverhe went and it would be Bucky's fault. That was what Bucky thought, at least.

And Trauma wasn't keen on avoiding injuries. He hadn't yet managed to get a shard into his pawpads but there was no way that the wouldn't get hurt today.

Trauma bounced against the sinks, let out a shocked yelp, fell to the ground again, then jumped again. His paws slipped over sufaces, more stuff fell off those surfaces and shattered to pieces. The dog banged his head against the wall, the bathtub and other things in the room Hard. And then, he plunged into one of the shard heaps. It was the perfume one. He didn't seem to realize it though for he simply continued his wild race, now leaving little bloody poold wherever his injured paws touched the ground. Or anything else.

Suddenly Bucky realised how dangerous a bath was. There was glass in the form of mirrors and bottles which could (and did) shatter and left dangerous, sharp shards that could cut deep if jumped upon. There was this massive wooden cupboard that could fall over and bury the dog underneath them. There was the razor which could cut deep too. And there were chemicals, probably more poisonous than he could imagine. A bath was a hazard.

Life had never been easy on him, the world had been a battlefield in his eyes. But there had always been safe places, places where he could turn to when he needed it. Now he saw that even those places weren't safe. They held hidden dangers, ready to steal everything you value, maybe even your life.

Bucky was shaking now, staring at a wall, not seeing. He didn't see Trauma go berserk, he couldn't even hear him. He was caught in his very own prison, unable to escape. Just as the dog was. But in a different way. Bucky did not explode into action, his fury was directed at himself alone and that did not require any movement. Standing still and torturing himself with his own thoughts was valid enough. It even was a little bit shocking to him. He had thought that he was doing better now, even felt like it, after finally telling the truth to Steve. He had been wrong.