Trauma-Coaster

The day had started off well enough—sun shining, coffee brewing, and the promise of a low-key day. But as the hours wore on, Arthur began to feel that familiar restlessness creep back into his mind, gnawing at the edges of his peace.

He had spent the morning in the gym, going through his usual routine, trying to keep his mind focused on something physical. But as usual, it wasn’t enough to quiet the chaos inside. His muscles were sore, his body tired, but his mind—his mind wouldn’t slow down.

Arthur was sitting in the common area, the team scattered around him. He was trying to read a book, something simple, a light fantasy novel to keep his thoughts at bay. His mind was going one million miles an hour but the words on the page blurred together, and his eyes kept darting away from the text to the sounds in the background—the clink of dishes in the kitchen, the soft chatter from Steve and Natasha as they talked about their latest mission, and the hum of the fridge. His leg was bouncing again, the rhythmic motion a futile attempt to release the pent-up energy inside him.

Focus, Arti. Focus.

But his thoughts were racing, a never-ending stream of "what ifs" and unfinished thoughts. He couldn’t seem to latch onto any one thing long enough to find some sense of stability. The book in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the table. He cursed under his breath, his fingers twitching as though they wanted to do something—anything—to break the tension.

“Arti?”

Arthur blinked, startled by the voice. He turned to see Bucky standing nearby, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “You okay?” Bucky asked, his tone gentle but concerned.

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but the words tangled in his throat. He wasn’t okay. He was far from it. He could feel the familiar tightness in his chest, the anxiety curling like smoke in his lungs. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, though. How do you explain the way your brain never stops, how you can’t keep a single thought from slipping through your fingers? How do you explain that sometimes, everything feels like it’s too much, and you’re just... there, trying to breathe through it all?

“I—” Arthur paused, shaking his head. He didn’t want to sound like a mess. He didn’t want to be the broken soldier, the one who couldn’t control himself. “I’m fine,” he said, though it came out clipped, not quite convincing. He could already feel the flush creeping up his neck.

Bucky didn’t buy it. He moved closer, his eyes scanning Arthur carefully. "Arti, you’re not fine. You’re wound up tighter than I’ve seen in a while. What’s going on?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "It’s just... everything, you know? My brain won’t stop. It’s like there’s too much going on in there, and I can’t... focus on anything. I keep bouncing back and forth between thoughts. And my leg won’t stop moving."

Bucky’s eyes softened with understanding. He knew the signs all too well. He had seen them in himself when he was struggling. "You don’t have to do this alone, you know."

Arthur let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know how to make it stop. It feels like I’m just... stuck in my head, and everything’s spinning."

Bucky sat down next to him, his voice steady and calm. "It’s okay, Arti. We’ve all been there. You're not alone. Do you want to try something? Something that might help you calm your mind?"

Arthur looked at him skeptically. "Like what?"

“Breathing exercises,” Bucky said simply. “I know it sounds cheesy, but it works. Helps ground you when your mind is racing. I’ve been doing them for years.”

Arthur hesitated, but the weight in his chest was becoming unbearable. Maybe it was worth trying. “Alright,” he muttered, still not convinced. “I’ll try.”

Bucky gave a small nod. “Okay. Let’s start with something simple. Close your eyes and take a deep breath in. Slowly... count to four as you breathe in. Hold it for a second. Then breathe out slowly for four. Keep doing that, just focusing on your breathing.”

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his shoulders and neck tighten with every breath he took. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up this charade, pretending like everything was fine when his mind was a chaotic mess. But Bucky’s presence beside him, quiet and patient, gave him just enough courage to try.

He breathed in slowly. Four counts. He held it. Four counts. And then he exhaled, the rush of air leaving his lungs in a slow, controlled motion. He repeated the cycle a few times, feeling the weight of his racing thoughts slowly begin to ease.

“Good,” Bucky murmured, his voice a comforting presence. “You’re doing great.”

Arthur tried to focus, tried to make the thoughts go away. But it was hard. His mind kept drifting back to everything—the mission, the pressure, the weight of his past, the constant anxiety gnawing at the back of his skull. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

"Don’t fight it," Bucky said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "Let the thoughts come and go. Don’t hold on to them. Just let them pass, like clouds in the sky."

Arthur nodded, not sure if he could let go of everything, but willing to try. Slowly, bit by bit, the tension in his chest began to loosen. His leg stopped bouncing, his breathing became steadier, and the relentless chaos in his mind felt a little less overwhelming. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

When he finally opened his eyes, Bucky was still sitting beside him, giving him a knowing look. “How do you feel?”

Arthur took a moment to process the calm that had settled in his chest, something that had eluded him for days now. “Better,” he admitted quietly. “Still not... completely calm, but better.”

“That’s progress, Arti,” Bucky said with a smile. “Don’t expect everything to change overnight. But every little bit counts.”

Arthur let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, guess I’ll take it.”

The tension in the room had eased, and Arthur felt lighter, though not completely free from the weight of his anxiety. But the fact that he wasn’t alone in it, that someone understood, made all the difference. For once, he didn’t feel like the broken soldier or the anxious mess. He was just... Arthur. And that felt okay.

He glanced at Bucky, who gave him a reassuring nod. “Thanks,” Arthur said, his voice quieter than usual. “I needed that.”

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. “Anytime, man. You’ve got this.”

Arthur smiled, the weight of his mind not quite as heavy. Maybe it wasn’t about finding an instant fix—it was about taking the small steps, the quiet moments, and trusting that things could get better. With time. With patience.

And with a little help from his friends.

To be continued…