Thanks for clicking on my TFATWS Novella: You Show Me What Peace Is Then I'll Show You My Smile! Let me tell you a little bit about the book.

Synopsis:

Bucky thought he could find peace with the Wilsons. He'd just started to. But two panic attacks, one car crash, and one dose of reality later, he realizes that maybe...the world would be better off without him. Meanwhile, Sam recruits an old associate of his for their team and the wildfire that Karli's death sparked is only growing… Rated T.

Excerpts:

Unavailable at this time.

Foreword: I'm obsessed with Bucky in Louisiana. Despite the fact that he seems to have found peace with the Wilsons, I can't help but rip that to pieces in this shameless whump fic.

Onward!

I love reviews also! And not because I'm bragging and I want y'all to tell me how great I am. Do you come across a chapter that you think could be improved upon? Some error you notice? Tell me! I strive to improve. :D But if you really like a chapter or something, again, let me know!

So, I think that's it! I hope you will stick around, review, favorite, follow, all that cool stuff. :D

Without further ado, please enjoy this novella!

TW: mentions of past suicide attempts and the topic of suicide. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to that. Seriously– I ignored a fanfic's trigger warning regarding this topic years ago and that mistake cost me many sleepless nights and some anxiety attacks. Please protect your heart.

NOTE: This chapter has been majorly edited as of July 23, 2021 with a couple thousand words added.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer:

I do not own The Falcon And The Winter Soldier TV show, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to their original makers. Everything to them. Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.

Chapter One - Little Red Lines

The Louisiana sunset catches the fresh paint and I clink Sam's beer bottle with mine. "Gotta catch my flight tomorrow." I take a sip and lean against the mast. "Get a hotel room for the night. Crash, y'know?"

Sam quirks an eyebrow. "You're just gonna set me up like that, huh?"

I shrug. "I don't wanna make it weird for your family."

"Just stay here." Sam gestures to the docks. "The people in this town are the most welcoming people in the world. They don't care if you wear small T-shirts– ."

I glance down at my tight shirt.

"–or if you have six toes– ."

A laugh bursts from my chest.

"–or if your mom's your aunt."

I chuckle, letting a warm smile come onto my face. "Okay, I get it. I mean, you know, the people are nice."

Sam scoffs. "But don't flirt with my sister."

I shake my head. "Naw."

"'Cause if you do," his face hardens, "I'll have Carlos cut you up an' feed you to the fish."

"Okay, okay." I swing more beer into my mouth. "I get it."

"And don't think I don't know what you were tryin' to do. I know Bucky, and this ain't him."

I wiggle my eyebrows. "You should've known me back in 'forty-five. I was a ladies' man– ."

"Hey, you two!" Sarah's voice rises above the splash of the waves. "Dinner time!"

Sam slaps me on the back. "All right, time to give you the house tour."

I watch the kids scramble to get inside. "Are you sure it's okay to– ?"

"Aw, stop your worrying, Buck."

I follow him into the house and the soft sunlight melts through the windows, giving every room a chestnut glow. On every wall hangs a children's drawings, calendars, meal plans, maps, family photos, and light decor. The cupboards, drawers, and boxes are stuffed to the brim with clothes, cups, plates, arts-and-crafts supplies, kids' toys, and countless other instruments of entertainment. Off to the left, a marker-stained couch sits against a wall with blankets strewn upon it. A couple plants thrive on windowsills and bits of netting hang from doorknobs, courtesy of the Louisiana docks right outside. A sweet, salty breeze blows in from an open window and carries with it the aroma of sizzling burgers and bubbling cheddar cheese. From the gentle lights hanging above to the well-lived house, peace weighs practically in the air. I take a deep breath. Despite their busy lives and Sarah's single-mother-stress and whole deal about the family business and the boat and Sam's role as an Avenger…

I watch Sam's nephews– AJ and Cass?– clamber for seats at the table.

…they're happy. It's as clear as the food on the table.

"You gonna sit down, or what?"

I snap myself out of my thoughts and find that everyone else is already at the table. Every seat has been filled. Save one: a fold-up lawn chair that they'd obviously dragged from elsewhere.

Which means they're making an effort to have me feel welcome.

Or wasting time.

I shrug the thought off and inch the chair out, pursing my lips.

Sarah watches me as I ease into the seat. "You know, that chair ain't gonna bite you."

I raise my head. I must look lost, because Sarah's face softens in seconds.

She breaks into a wide smile. "You don't have to act like that thing's gonna break as soon as you sit down."

Sam reads me easier. "You're welcome here, man. Come on, relax a little."

Sarah glances at Sam, then back at me, nodding. "Please, make yourself at home."

I clench my jaw. "Sorry. It just…feels weird."

Sarah chuckles. "Go ahead and grab yourself a burger, Mr. Barnes. You boys deserve a hearty meal after all of that work!"

I select a burger and grab a bun. "Please, call me Bucky." Nudging Sam, I gesture to the ketchup bottle. "Sam, pass me the ketchup."

My partner– co-worker– squints at me. "How could you like ketchup? It's disgusting."

"Well, excuse me for asking– ."

"You like mustard?"

"Nope."

Sam almost chokes. "How do you not like– ?"

"Give me a break, Sam!"

"I will most certainly not."

"Really? You're gonna be like this in front of your nephews?"

"They outta learn some self-defense tactics."

"Self-defense tac…?" I growl under my breath. "What does that have to do with ketchup?"

"It has everything to do with– ."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does!"

"You're not making any sense."

"Exactly." Sam pokes my shoulder.

I stare at him, fire smoldering in my eyes.

Sam snickers. "There's the staring thing again."

I return to cutting my burger. "God, I hate you."

Sam's nephews burst into laughter and huge smiles brighten up their faces.

I reach across Sam's plate to grab the ketchup and withdraw with a gob of mustard on my sleeve. I grit my teeth as Sam scoffs. "Aww, shit!"

Sarah purses her lips and glances at the boys.

I shut my mouth and toss her an apologetic look. Wiping the mess up with a napkin, I pull the stained sleeve back and the fabric glides over my vibration arm like water.

Both Cass and AJ gasp, their eyes wide.

I freeze.

They're staring at the arm.

The vibranium glints in the descending sunlight and each metal plate settles over the other like puzzle pieces. My metal fingers twitch, and the material whirs, clicking.

My eyes find Sam's and lock. Just like my spine.

What should I do?

A little hand clamps around my metal wrist and–

Doctors, razors, devyat, nine, devyat, nine–

–I jerk back, ripping my arm out of the boy's grip.

"Cass!" Sarah glares at her youngest son. "Never touch things that don't belong to you unless you ask!"

I flex my hand and realize that I'm shaking.

Sarah frowns. "Mr. Bucky, I am so sorry. He shouldn't– ."

"No, it's…" I shake my head. "It's fine. I'm just…not used to people touching my arm like that. He only startled me." I swallow hard.

Sarah works her jaw. "Still, that doesn't make it okay. Cass, you know better."

AJ looks at me, then my arm, then back to me. "Excuse me, Mr. Bucky, um…may I touch it?"

I lay my arm out, palm facing downward, and force a little smile onto my face. "Go ahead."

AJ scoots around the table and inches toward me, reaching his hand out.

When his skin hits the metal, a zing runs up my shoulder and I catch my breath. This may not be HYDRA's metal arm, but my prosthetic limbs have a bloody history. AJ's tiny hand in comparison to the vibranium metal, a contraption strong enough to snap his wrist in a split second… The dozens of necks that I've crushed with my left arm, the kids that I've slaughtered… Something about this symbol of innocence touching a symbol of death is…

My arm cramps up from tensing so hard. My vision blurs for a second and a wave of nausea washes over me. I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. I can feel Sam watching me, relentless. Pictures rush through my head and even though I'm deprogrammed I can't help but think…I don't want to snap, I don't want to snap, don't snap, don't snap, don't snap, don't–

"All right." Sam lifts AJ's hand away. "That's enough."

My entire body deflates as I sigh out a massive breath. The metal plates on my arm click like a seizing typewriter. I clench and unclench my fist.

Sarah's staring at me, a dark curiosity on her face. The kids are still examining my arm.

The whole room is dead silent.

Dead.

I swallow hard.

I should be dead.

A darkness floods over me, a hollow depressing feeling that's painfully familiar.

Sam clears his throat and the silence shatters.

Everyone returns to their meals and I go to do the same, but instead of hunger, my stomach cramps with nausea. I try to inhale, but I can't. My lungs squeeze– I can't breathe– and I grit my teeth hard enough to break my jawbone. My hands close tightly around the silverware. I can feel my heart rate ramping up as the madness skitters into my brain. All this is familiar: the panic, the dizzying urge to throw up, the buzzing of the voices in my skull…

Zimniy Soldat.

Get of my head, damn you!

Familiar… But that doesn't make it hurt any less.

I scan the pencil-stained table, piled high with burgers, buns, cheese, and, now, tension.

Sam glances at me, then does a double-take. He leans toward me. "Hey, man, you good?"

I look over at him, my eyes wide. My entire body is trembling and I'm panting in short bursts. Under his gaze, my jitters grow. I'm suffocating. I can't breathe. I'm trapped. Backed into a corner.

You're so stupid and weak– this little thing worked you up; look at you! Pathetic!

The voice doesn't shut up.

I force some words out– " 'Scuse me," –and shoot to my feet, rattling the whole table. My legs go weak as I aim for the door.

Sam calls from behind. "Bucky, wait!"

I burst through the door, jerk to the left, and start running in no particular direction.

Docks and boats, trees and cars, everything shoots past me. The ground blurs underneath. My lungs burn with every breath, but I won't stop. I can't. Having a goal, a constant action, and constant pain my thighs, even though I'm on brink of a panic attack, helps a little. I can't–

I bust through a wooden door– some random shed– and tangle my feet in netting. Brooms, rowing oars, jars of paint, and boxes of tools pile high everywhere, the door shuts behind me, there aren't any windows, no light, just darkness, blackness, pitch-black pitch-black pitch-black, all empty–

I whip around, groping in the hollow darkness for a lifeline. My legs tremble uncontrollably, my entire body racked with tremors. I sink to my knees, pressing my back against the wall. Sh-shit, not another one… I screw my eyes shut and tears run down my face. My tongue tingles and pins-and-needles flood through my legs and arms. I'm shaking so hard I can't hold on to anything, so I wrap my arms around my stomach and curl into myself, sobbing in silence. Hot, sweaty, wheezing for breath, my hands jerk around so much I think I'm having a seizure, in the darkness I'm whimpering like a lost puppy, my throat catching, my mouth dry, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe–

Help…!

In through my nose, out through my mouth.

Four in, four out.

It's not working.

Four in, four out.

Come on, you got this.

One look at my metal arm, and I lose control of my breathing again. My mouth dry, my tears fast and constant. I double over, gasping, sucking in what little oxygen I can grab.

In and out. In and out.

That's all it is.

I'm so pathetic!

Huddled in the corner of a storage room, crying, hyperventilating–

Someone knocks at the door.

I try to summon a little strength into my voice, "who is it?" but it trembles pitifully.

"It's just me." Sam's voice helps ground me. "Are you okay? Can I come in?"

"Y-yes, then no."

The door squeaks, and Sam's probably leaning against it. He sighs. "Bucky, please."

"No."

"Can we at least take a walk together? Out around the docks? That'll probably help clear your head."

Clear my head. Because I'm already crazy enough as it is.

Zimniy Soldat.

I start hyperventilating again and grind my teeth together. Damn it, not again…

"Bucky?" Sam sounds closer. "Whoa, okay, okay, just breathe. Breathe, Buck."

I force a complaint through my gasping breaths. "D-don't call me that."

Sam chuckles. "Why not? That's what Steve called you."

"St-steve knew me longer an' Steve…" I swallow hard. "St-steve had a…he had…" My face numbs and the panic takes a stronger hold. "Steve h…" I can't breathe, I can't breathe, damn it…!

"Okay, Bucky, look around. Tell me what you see."

In the darkness, I can make out shapes as my eyes adjust. "Um… Th-there's a net… A broom with a dustpan… S-some fishing gear and bait and bobbers…" I wet my lips with a sandpaper tongue. "A bunch of rowing oars against the wall, some crab traps. A box of tools, jugs of paint, the brushes, some fish ornaments and a saw…" One more the scan of the room– "Oh, and a couple extra sails hanging from the ceiling."

Sam hums. "Sounds busy in there. You feel better?"

I do a self-assessment. Still shaking, but I'm breathing better. Slower. "Damn it, you're good."

Sam laughs. "Can I come in now?"

I nod, then remember that he can't see me. "Yeah."

I laugh. "Can I come in now?"

After a pause, I hear an answer. "Yeah."

I creak open the door and the sunlight fills the little room. Bucky's crouched in the corner, arms around his knees, knees hugged to his chest, face pale and streaked with tears. In the shadows, he looks even smaller. I hold my hand out to him, smiling.

Like a hesitant child scared to abandon his support, Bucky reaches a tentative hand forward, still trembling. He takes mine and I pull him to his feet.

Bucky stumbles a little, steadying himself against me. "Th-thanks."

"Anytime." I step out of the shed. "You still up for that walk?"

Bucky scoffs. "Y'know what?"

I wiggle my eyebrows. "What's that?"

"That does sound nice."

I grin. "Lead the way, Buck."

He punches me in the shoulder.

The salty air blows over us as we start walking. Bucky's got his hands in his pockets– maybe to distract himself from his arm– and is breathing deep of the Louisiana breeze. The creak of every footstep speaks to years and years of family history on these docks and I can feel the sturdiness of the wood underneath. Pride swells in my chest as the gentle setting of the sun dries the damp boards.

Ten minutes.

Seagulls ride the strips of color along the clouds.

Twenty minutes.

Sun dips under the horizon, painting the ocean waves.

Thirty minutes.

The world darkens as dusk takes hold.

Forty-five.

An hour.

We seek out a perch on the edge of a docked boat and listen to the waves. Our feet hang over the water. The chill of the night takes hold. Bucky pulls out a mini towel and starts polishing his metal arm.

As he preens like a damn peacock, a bad memory swamps over me:

" 'Scuse me." Bucky jerks to his feet and rushes for the door.

"Bucky, wait!"

He's gone before I can say anything else.

Bucky shoots past the window, running at top super-solder speed.

I stare at the door, a hollow feeling in my stomach.

My nephew pipes up. "Mom, what did I do?"

Sarah's voice is hoarse. "You didn't do anything wrong, AJ. You did fine."

"Why did Mr. Bucky get angry?"

"He-he didn't get angry, honey, he…" she exchanges a hurried look with me, "he just…gets scared sometimes."

I'm about to get up to follow him when–

"Sam?"

Sarah glances pointedly at me. She juts her head in the direction of the hallway. "Can we talk?"

I clamber from my seat and make for the hallway.

"You boys stay right there. Keep eating." Sarah ducks into the shadows. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

I open my mouth to speak–

"Cass was intrusive of your friend's privacy, and I get why Barnes was startled. But Barnes agreed to let AJ touch his arm and then…" She gestures to the kitchen. "Again, what the hell?"

I cross my arms. "Steve knew more about Bucky's PTSD, but– ."

"PTSD?" Sarah rubs a hand over her face. "Sam, I wish you woulda told me that before I let this stranger into my house!"

"Give me a break, Sarah! I already told you he's a World War II veteran. Steve knew a lot more of the details. I'm still kind of piecing it together as I go."

"Wow, that makes me feel a lot better."

"Sarah, calm down. He just needs to cool down, then he'll be fine. He just gets a little panicked sometimes. HYDRA did horrendous things to him. No one goes through somethin' like and doesn't come out changed."

Sarah's nodding. "Okay, I'm trusting you on this."

"Look, just treat him like another one of my man friends. He acts like one."

"What, drink up all of the beer and be hungover the next morning? Lovely."

I snicker. "Super soldiers can't get drunk."

Sarah raises her eyebrows. "Okay, then." Her face grows serious in a heartbeat. "Really, though. I've heard a lot of scary things about the Winter Soldier. I don't know who he is now, and I'm open to taking him in, but I won't hesitate to kick him out if he threatens my boys."

"I understand."

"Good. Now go find him."

Bucky's voice rattles me out of the memory. "And before you ask: yes, I'm fine."

I cross-examine him. Bloodshot eyes, shivering hands, a tight jaw… "Really?"

"Really." He grins.

"Rip that fake-ass smile off your face and tell me what's really goin' on."

Bucky flinches. He stares out into sea, taking a deep breath. "Sam, I…"

Pause. Silence.

"Take your time."

His eyes gleam with unshed tears. "When-when Cass grabbed my arm, I…I just couldn't…" His bottom lip trembles. "My mind went straight to the HYDRA doctors and their knives and the trigger words and I just…"

I rub his back. "You can't stop the memories."

"Exactly."

Another flashback hits me.

"What did I do?"

Steve's voice echoes through the garage. "Enough."

Bucky lowers his head, his hair dropping around his face like a veil. "Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words…" His voice breaks and for a moment, I think I see tears in his eyes. The infamous Winter Soldier, the ghost, the shadow, the one no agency can touch…is crying? Who the hell is this guy? Who the hell did Steve know in '45? Cuz I'm betting this ain't him.

But for Steve, I stay quiet.

Bucky continues. "And when AJ touched it, I tried to stay calm, but he's…he's just a kid. He's so innocent and I've killed…" my eyes flood with tears, "I've killed so many people. Men, women, children, I slaughtered them all. I remember everything. The scenes play over and over and over in my nightmares until I wake myself up screaming. I was a wolf in a field of sheep. For a kid to touch this thing, it just…I just can't do it." A tear slithers down my cheek and I duck my head to wipe it away.

"There's no shame in tears, Bucky."

I try to stop them, but the tears keep coming and coming and coming. "B-being in your house j-just reminded me…of how badly I want it."

I rub his back. "Want what?"

"A life."

All prepared responses die in my head. Damn. Bucky's…still really hurting.

"A normal life. Even simply my age is a reminder that I shouldn't be here. I've tried to adapt, I've tried my best since the Blip, but I still don't know what I'm doing." I crunch my fists together. "And with Steve gone…with the people I've k-killed…with the families I've t-torn apart… I've-I've ended the lives of so many. Wouldn't it…wouldn't it only be fair to…end mine as well?"

My heart skips a beat and I whirl on him. "Bucky…"

He stares into the waves.

My hand stops on his back. I inhale, trying to stop myself from shaking. "Do you…do you really mean that?"

"Wouldn't be the first time I've tried."

The forward attitude with which Bucky talks makes it even worse. A lump of emotion is lodged in my throat, and I can feel tears in my own eyes. Yet another memory claims my conscious.

"All right, that's all the time we have left for today." I stare out at the ranks of veterans seated before me, some holding tissues, some rock silent. "Thank you for coming, and I'm looking forward to see you all again next week."

My audience starts to clear out.

I turn around and start to pack up my notes, hearing the footsteps and the shoes squeaking as everyone leaves. I hear a couple people thanking me on their way out and I yell a goodbye back. When I'm done shoving everything in my bag, I turn around and almost run face-first into a young woman.

"Whoa!" I stumble backward. "S-sorry, ma'am. I didn't see you there."

"It's-it's okay." She hovers by the speaker's podium, playing with her hands at waist level.

"Katie, right?"

She nods.

I adjust my bag strap on my shoulder. "Is there something I can help you with?"

She licks her lips, wrapping her arms around herself. "I-I really need to talk to you."

I set my bag down immediately. "Of course." Ushering her to a group of chairs, we sit down and I fold my hands in my lap. "I'm all ears."

"U-um… I-I'm not… I'm sorry, I'm…" Tears bud in the corners of her eyes.

"It's okay, Katie. Take your time."

She chews on the inside of her lip. "I-I've…I've been feeling really suicidal lately and…"

My heart squeezes. Shit, I had a feeling…

"…and I've planned it multiple times, but I can't bring myself to go through with it…" Tears slide down her cheeks. "I just can't live this shitty life anymore…! I can't do it!" She cries into her lap, her whole body rippling with sobs.

I reach beside the podium and slide a box of tissues over to her, then bring my chair closer. "Do you want to be touched?"

She nods viciously.

I put my arm around her and she buries her face in my chest. As she clutches at my jacket, her sleeves fold back and I spot something that makes me want to be sick: little red lines cut along her wrists, some quite new. Undoubtedly self-dealt.

Goddamn it, Katie…

Bucky shifting in the present day brings me back. But my stomach churns in real life when I realize what he's doing.

He reaches for his right sleeve and pulls it back to reveal–

Little red lines cut along his wrist.

Scars. Not fresh.

I catch my breath and my mind fills with a torrent of curses.

Bucky shivers in the evening air, tracing one scar with his metal fingers. "In DC. Soon after I rescued Steve from the river. I found a tack on the ground and sliced my arm open without any thought. A friend of mine at the time saved my life. It took four hours to get the blood out of the tile floors."

Silence.

He points to another scar. "One time under HYDRA, I tried to kill myself with a plastic knife. That didn't work out."

Silence.

The third scar. "One time at the Smithsonian, I locked myself in the bathroom and tried with a screw that I'd found on the sidewalk. Someone saw the blood and called a staff member. They were able to get to me just as I passed out."

Silence.

The last and fourth scar. "After Steve's funeral, I went back to the bench we said goodbye at and found a jagged piece of wood. I'd already passed out from blood loss by the time someone found me. I woke up in a hospital the next day."

Tears sear behind my eyes and the feeling of wanting to throw up gets stronger. Damn it, this doesn't get any easier. "Did Steve know about this?"

Bucky nods. "I told him. Before I went under in Wakanda. Shuri and the other doctors had to know that I had a history of suicide attempts in case I tried anything again." He purses his lips.

"Do you want to be touched?"

After a pause, he nods.

I lay a hand on his back, rubbing back and forth.

He breaks down sobbing.

I've overcome by a rush of deja vu.

Just like Katie…

So I console him with the same advice. "You listen to me, Bucky. That is never a way out. I may joke around with you a lot, but you're a damn strong man. And not just literally because of the arm. Life is tough, Buck. But so are you. And don't you forget it."

He pulls away, swiping away the lingering tears.

"Listen, man: if you ever need to talk about anything, any time of the day, you let me know. I'll be there. You've been through hell, man. I'm not going to pretend to know what you've gone through, but I don't have to pretend when I say that I'm here for you." I squeeze his shoulder. "If you're struggling or need someone to pull you out of the dark, you let me know."

Bucky gives a tearful smile.

"How about we have a safe word. What do you think?"

Bucky cocks his head, his face screwing up in what I guess to be confusion.

"Or not. I mean, it's fine. We don't have to– ."

"Ocean." A hint of a smile glides across Bucky's face.

"What?"

"Our safe word. Ocean."

I clap him on the shoulder. "Sounds good, man. Ocean, it is." As I help Bucky off the boat, I stare out into our ocean, picturing Katie's red curls and jaguar-print flats.

Katie…I wonder where you are…

Are you safe?

Are you struggling?

Are you still cutting?

Only the wind answers me.

Katie, are you even alive?

Author's Notes: So? What did you think of the first chapter?

EDIT: what did you think of the edits? That anxiety attack that Bucky has is actually literally the anxiety attack that I had last night before writing this chapter haha lolllllll

I mean not lol but eet eezz what eet eezz

Read and review!