Fracture
The mission in Istanbul had been a success. The weapons were secured, the mercenaries were apprehended, and the team had made it out in one piece. On the surface, everything had gone smoothly. Yet, as the Avengers filed into the Quinjet, the weight of the day started to settle heavily on Arthur's chest.
He had felt the pressure mounting during the mission. The explosion, the chaos, the mercenaries closing in—each moment had been a little too close for comfort. But it wasn’t until he sat down on one of the seats in the back of the Quinjet, finally able to breathe, that the full weight of it hit him.
What if something went wrong?
The thought nagged at the back of his mind, but it didn’t stop there. No, this feeling was different. It was like his body and mind had reached a breaking point. His hands were trembling slightly as they gripped the seat. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, erratic and fast. His breathing became shallow, too quick, and the noise of the Quinjet seemed to grow louder with each passing second.
It’s too much, he thought, but he couldn’t shake the sensation of drowning.
“Arti?” Bucky’s voice was suddenly at his side, soft but concerned. He could feel Bucky’s hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside him. His heart was racing now, and the air felt suffocating. The walls of the Quinjet seemed to close in, and all he could focus on was the frantic thumping of his own heartbeat.
“Bucky,” Arthur gasped, his voice coming out thin and shaky. His breath was coming in short, panicked bursts, his body unwilling to cooperate. “I... I can’t—"
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said gently, crouching down to meet his eyes. “You’re alright, Arthur. Just breathe, okay?”
Arthur’s mind spun, and for a moment, everything felt like it was spinning out of control. His palms were slick with sweat, his chest tight, his vision blurring. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. He needed out—he needed air, but the space around him was closing in. The Quinjet was too small, too confined, the whir of the engines too loud, and—
“Focus on me,” Bucky said, his voice calm and steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency. “Look at me, Arthur. You’re safe, you’re not alone. We’re not going anywhere. Just breathe.”
But it was like the words weren’t enough. Arthur could hear them, but they didn’t reach him. The panic had taken over. He felt trapped in his own body, unable to move, unable to get control over the tidal wave of fear crashing inside him.
“Breathe with me, okay?” Bucky continued. He placed one hand gently on Arthur’s chest, the other on his knee. His touch was grounding, steadying, but Arthur’s breath was coming in jagged gasps. “In through your nose, nice and slow. Hold it. Now, out through your mouth.”
Arthur’s vision swam, but he tried to follow Bucky’s instructions. His chest rose shakily as he tried to inhale, but it felt like there wasn’t enough air. It wasn’t working.
“Arthur, look at me,” Bucky said again, his voice firm but caring, his hand never leaving Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Focus on my voice.”
The sound of Bucky’s voice anchored him, and for a moment, Arthur’s frantic mind quieted just enough to allow him to listen. His heart was still pounding, but the panic in his chest started to settle, just a little. He forced himself to match his breathing to Bucky’s, drawing in a slow breath through his nose, then releasing it out through his mouth.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to start pulling him back. Slowly, the world came back into focus. His vision cleared, and the tightness in his chest began to loosen.
“That’s it,” Bucky whispered, his voice softer now. “You’re doing great, Arthur.”
Arthur’s hands still trembled, but he was aware of them now, aware of the way his body was slowly coming back under his control. The Quinjet, the loud hum of the engines, and the tight space didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. He focused on the rhythm of his breath, in and out, in and out, until he felt the cold sweat on his skin begin to dry.
“Better?” Bucky asked quietly, not letting go of his shoulder. His eyes were full of concern, but also patience. Bucky had been through this before, and he knew how long it could take to calm down from a panic attack.
Arthur nodded slowly, still breathing deeply. “Yeah. I think so. Just... just need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” Bucky said, giving him a small but genuine smile. “We’ve got your back.”
Arthur didn’t know how long it took him to finally feel like himself again—like he wasn’t going to break under the weight of everything. Maybe it was ten minutes. Maybe it was an hour. But as the panic slowly ebbed away, he started to feel that sense of calm settle into his bones.
When he felt ready, he glanced at Bucky, still there by his side, never leaving him.
“Thanks,” Arthur said quietly, his voice a little hoarse. “I—I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Bucky’s smile was soft, his eyes warm. “You don’t have to do anything alone, Arti. Not anymore.”
Arthur took another steadying breath, and for the first time in a long while, he believed it. He wasn’t alone. Not now. Not ever. The Avengers had his back, and Bucky—his brother, his closest friend—was there when he needed him most.
The Quinjet flew on, the hum of the engines a steady background noise now, as the team prepared to head back to the compound. Arthur leaned back in his seat, feeling the weight of the day lifting from his shoulders, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe.
It was a long road ahead, but Arthur knew now, more than ever, that he didn’t have to walk it alone.
To be continued…