Hi everyone!
This is set post TV show. Sam is Cap, and Bucky helps around.
I will reiterate what is written in the summary. This work contains triggering topics/events, which justify the rating, here is the list:
PTSD, Panic Attacks, Homophobia, Racism (both by the bad guys), kids are in danger (but promise, no harm done to them!) bad thoughts from Bucky (not suicidal)
If you want more information, or find something I didn't list (I'm human) feel free to let me know.
Bucky woke up with a start, his heart pounding. For a second, he didn't know where he was, and his breathing picked up even more. Then he heard the garbage truck down the street. In town. He was in town. The thud of a door closing not so far away; soft material under him. He was in his apartment.
Bucky let himself fall back on his mattress, the last figments of his nightmare leaving his mind. For once, it hadn't been memories from the Soldier. Just regular, plain human. Sometimes he wondered how people could get like that. Maybe there actually had been some kind of virus circulating around the globe at some point? After everything he'd seen, it was hard to phase him. A stupidity virus wouldn't surprise him.
Bucky sighed. His breathing was mostly back to normal, but he knew by experience that the antsy feeling under his skin was going to stay for a while. He turned his head and reached for his telephone. Considering the garbage truck had been there minutes ago, it was probably around five or six. Yep, fifteen past five, according to his phone. No sense in trying to go back to sleep now, when the city was about to wake up. Just another three hours night. Wouldn't be the first nor the last.
Bucky sighed then rolled to the end of the bed – just a mattress, but Sam had insisted, quite a lot – then braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head between his hands, but the movement jostled his tags and they hit him in the face. He huffed then straightened his posture and stared at the wall, his tags balancing slightly. He took deep breaths for what felt like hours before finally standing up. Eating was just the opposite of appealing right now, but maybe a shower would help his mind clear up a bit. Slowly, he made his way to his little bathroom, movements mechanical. As the flat was rather warm, he didn't need much to sleep beside his thin blanket, so he only had to take his briefs off before getting under the spray. Cold water hit his back and he almost jumped off his skin. Heart pounding, he redirected the stream of water away from his body and took deep breaths. Triggering HYDRA memories on his own after a nightmare wasn't the best way to start his day. The air in the cubicle finally turned a bit warmer a short time later, and he stepped back under the water.
Unfortunately, showering did nothing to appease his nerves and relax him. In fact, it almost did the opposite. As Bucky stepped out of the shower, his brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, and there was a tightness in his chest. The antsy feeling was gone for the moment, but he wasn't sure these new feelings were better. He sighed while grabbing his blue towel then dried himself with quick and precise strokes. Once done, he left the bathroom completely naked, not bothering to tie the towel around his waist as there was no one in the flat. Even if it had been the case, he didn't really give a fuck anymore… any sense of modesty had been forgotten a long time ago in between cryo sleeps.
His steps took him to the other side of the flat in a few seconds. Then he stood still in the middle of his small living area for some time. Maybe seconds passed, maybe it was minutes, he couldn't tell. An angry driver took him out of his reverie, and he shook his head, trying to get some clarity back. Of course, it didn't work, but doing that felt almost... hu normal. His eyes wandered around, taking everything in but seeing nothing. What was he doing, again…? Ah yes, nothing at all.
A sudden chill travelled his body and made him curl his toes. The movement caught his eyes and Bucky looked down at himself. Right, completely naked. He cursed his muddled brain then walked back towards his bedroom. There, he opened his underwear drawer and took out the first thing he found. Baby steps, he thought, as he put on the green pair of boxers. His gaze landed on his bomber jacket, and he shrugged. Why not, that had worked before.
Bucky put socks and pants on, then grabbed a shirt that was pitifully hanging on a chair. A distant part of his brain – the part of him that had been left behind in Brooklyn decades ago, the part that always cleaned up nicely – protested because the shirt was rumpled and did not smell the best, but as usual, Bucky shushed it. He grabbed his jacket then crossed the flat to put his shoes on. He picked the keys of his bike from the bowl on the countertop, and then he was on it less than five minutes later.
The city was almost empty at this hour, so Bucky had the roads to himself for the time being. Good. It meant he could drive at whatever speed he wanted without worrying too much. However, driving in the middle of concrete would do nothing to appease his mind, so he quickly got out of the city. He didn't know how much time had passed, he rarely did when his mind was like that – before, he would have known; before, they wouldn't have let him lose track of time.
Bucky reached some wooded parts and felt himself relax minutely. The wind on his face, the feeling – deceiving – of freedom, it settled his heart. After some time, Bucky slowed down and looked at the scenery around him. He could see the sun rising between the trees, colouring the sky in shades of pink and blue. Less than a mile away, he found a little space free of trees and decided to park there.
Bucky cut the engine and looked around. The trees were a vibrant and deep green, there was pale grass under them, and the sky was a mix of blues and pinks only disturbed by a handful of white clouds. His fingers suddenly itched for something to take a picture, because the scenery was really nice and relaxing. He didn't have what was needed though, but he could absorb the maximum now.
As he settled down on the ground, back propped up against his bike, Bucky took a deep breath. He felt the crisp air enter his body, travel in his lungs like a caress. A bird chirped above in a tree before flying away and circle around Bucky, then land at the foot of another tree. He watched the little animal for a few minutes before going back to observe the sunrise. As the forest woke up, Bucky's mind settled and that was with a smile that he decided to get back to civilisation.
The nice feeling didn't last. As soon as Bucky left the wooded area and could see the city in the horizon, the sense of serenity left him. He couldn't explain why, though some might say something about social anxiety.
Call that what you want, but returning to the city filled him with dread.
The feeling got worse when Bucky actually got intra muros. The sun was bright, the city had woken up and workers were travelling. Honks blared, people crossed the street without looking, drivers cut each other's paths… Bucky's mind could easily sort everything, but the ambient chaos only served to negate what little sense of peace he had found in the forest, and put him on edge. Figuring he might endanger people if he gave in the only thing that could relieve him when he was like this, he took the way back to his flat.
Driving had visibly not been the best idea. Not the worst, because it had taken him out of his torpor – which scared him – but now he had restless energy. He parked his bike then took the stairs that led to his floor. Back h... to his flat. Not home.
Home didn't exist anymore. Home, even to his fucked-up memory... Home was a time. Home was a place. Home was people. And the last person left, taking home in his wake.
No more home for him. No more - no, he had to stop, this train of thought never brought anything good.
With a sigh and a pinch in his chest, Bucky dug the keys from his right pocket and opened the door. He kicked his shoes under the coat hanger, threw his keys and his jacket – too tight, suddenly – on the counter then poured himself some water. As he drank the cool liquid, his eyes landed on the reinforced punching bag in the corner of the living room. Shuri had made it for him, along with the structure to hang it.
Bucky mentally shrugged; the itch was slowly creeping back, and he had nervous energy to dissipate. Might as well hit the bag for a little while: he couldn't hurt anyone this way at least. He finished his glass then put it back on the counter, next to the bowl full of fruits.
Bucky took the few steps separating him from the corner of the living room and picked up the bandages laying on the structure, under the bag. He started wrapping his flesh hand, but found the fabric irritated his skin. A shiver ran through him, one that left his throat and trachea constricted, and he ripped away the bandage, throwing it back under the bag.
Fuck, now his t-shirt felt too tight and constricted his chest, and his pants were itching around the knees.
A strangled gasp left his mouth and he rushed to get rid of the two items. His throat still felt clamped when he knew there wasn't anything in or around it. Worse, his skin felt like… like it wasn't his own. Like someone had put a layer somewhere or..
He gasped. He needed that feeling to stop, now. He … he needed to fucking punch something or someone. Or tear at it.
Punching bag it was, and Bucky landed the first hit with his metal hand. Shuri and her team had done great work, but the feeling would never be the same as in his right arm. It lacked some sensation… something. He couldn't describe what was missing when he punched something, but as he repeated the movement with his right arm, the sensation was the good one.
Left hook, nothing great. Right punch, great. As he alternated his arms, throwing kicks once in a while, he felt the weird sensation disappear. Instead, his mind grew a bit quieter, and he started breathing normally. Faster than usual, because of the effort but regularly at least. His right hand tingled a bit, but that was not unwelcome.
Unfortunately - because when was his life ever easy? – his brain being less panicky also meant that a flashback could sneak at the front of his mind more easily. That's how he found himself in front of the punching bag, the memory that had woken him up this morning once again invading his brain.
Bucky had been the one to stumble on the scene. He had sent a quick signal for backup, but saw the situation escalate in front of him, with kids involved, and had felt obligated to jump in.
Three men rounding a dozen of frightened children with guns. Two people on the ground, probably the adults responsible for the kids. One of the men insulted a kid, making Bucky assess the situation with a new perspective and… yes. Those were probably white supremacists. Three white, young men, terrorizing a dozen of children, three quarters of them of colour. Dammit, it had already been the same thing a century ago.
"Hey, hey, hey!", he shouted, not knowing what else to do.
"What?" barked asshole number one, turning towards Bucky. That seemed to be the leader.
"Stop! Don't hurt them!" Real smooth, Barnes. Dammit, why was he the one doing that.
"And why would I listen to you?"
"They're just kids."
"Kids grow up." Shouted asshole number two.
Alright. He needed a new tactic. He couldn't chat up people anymore, negotiating with assholes was even worse. People like that were fanatics, they wanted others to believe the same ideas.
"You want people to join you right?" Silence "People react badly to threatened kids. No matter what they look like."
"Right. I'm sure you have a great idea, smart ass" the leader sneered.
Not really… He said the first thing that came to mind. "Take me instead." Yeah, that could work. A lot of people hated his guts.
"What? Nah. I'm keeping them."
No? Did the guy look up to anyone with a gun? Or did he not know who Bucky was? Asshole number two nudged back one of the kids closer to entry. "You don't know who I am?"
"Not really, no. I don't go around looking for men's pictures. I'm not a fag" asshole number one spat.
Ah, right, classic combo: racist and homophobic. Delectable personality, but maybe they could get somewhere with that. Bucky decided to lighten him about his identity first.
"I'm Bucky Barnes." A flash of recognition, but nothing else. Good, Bucky could buy time, the idiot didn't seem to know what he was really capable of. "Yeah. That would attract attention."
"Say it does. Why should I bother with you?"
"Well. Hurting kids just won't do anything for you. On the other hand, you might get some of the attention you want if you have a person that a good part of the population hates. Especially…" Here went nothing "if that person's queer."
Asshole number one snorted. "And what tells me you're not saying that just to annoy me?"
"Come on, let the kids go."
"No. They're too good to waste."
"Really? With what I told you?"
"Yeah, 'cause I don't fucking believe you."
Of course. Because he could prove them that he was queer. He had spent almost all his life having to hide that part of him, and now a fucking proof was what he needed. As if he had a list of hookups… Wait. He had that. Kind of.
"My phone."
"What about it?"
"I have a proof. But I need you to let the kids go before."
The leader looked him in the eyes for a long time. "Half of them," he ended up saying.
"All."
"Half", he repeated then nodded to the man behind at Bucky's right, asshole number three. He heard whimpers, then saw some of the kids get out. Okay, that was something. But there were still too many children in the room, and Bucky wouldn't take the chance to get them hurt.
"You really don't know who I am?" His name hadn't elicited much reaction earlier, aside from a small recognition. No fear. Either they really had no clue who he was, or they were very sure of themselves. Maybe both. If he had to guess though, first option. These men were very young, barely mid-twenties. If they had not been blipped, that meant they hadn't been eighteen when the UN bombing happened and had been even smaller when he was first revealed.
Once again, his question did not elicit a lot of reaction. He decided to push a bit. "You must have seen my name in the papers a few years ago."
"Few years ago, world was even shittier than today, man, total carnage", asshole three snapped. The others nodded. Bingo.
"Before that then? In class. Come on, let these kids go."
"In class? Give me that fucking proof. I'm losing my time, here. If that's not good enough, I'll just kill you and keep the kids."
Shit. "Okay, okay." Dammit, where was his backup? "I said in class because you probably heard of me in your history lessons. Proof is in my pocket, okay?"
"History lessons?" asshole number two asked, "What's you proof?"
"It's on my phone."
"Answer me!" asshole two yelled. The kids whimpered in the corner.
"James Buchanan Barnes, Captain America's best friend
"And how do I know you're really who you claim to be?" Why did this guy had to have a streak of intelligence right now?
"None of you remember history class? Maybe you've visited a museum where my face was?"
"I do. I remember them teaching us about the Howling Commandos and how Bucky Barnes was Cap, the real Cap, right hand man. But I don't really remember the face." Asshole three replied.
Of course. "Well then, I can give you my ID with the proof."
"Do that", asshole number one gestured with his gun.
Bucky nodded. "I'm going to get them now."
Asshole number one gestured for asshole number three – gosh that was tedious – to come closer and the later pointed his gun to Bucky's face. He barely restrained from rolling his eyes.
Bucky slowly reached for his phone in his pocket, keeping his other hand up - still gloved thankfully, no need to display his metal arm when they clearly didn't know who he was. He gave his ID to asshole number three, unlocked his phone, then opened his dating app. He refrained from giving it to the man, though.
"Proof against the kids going out", Bucky said firmly.
"Does he checks out?" asshole number one asked to the man next to Bucky.
"Yep, that's him."
"See? Let the kids go. I'm worth more. A lot of people hate me"
"That's true, I remember something about him being wanted in a lot of countries."
"Still am" but in very specific countries, as the UN itself had pardoned him.
There were some tense seconds of silence, then asshole number one let half of the remaining kids go. There were only three of them now, but Bucky couldn't risk them getting hurt. The three men were also getting more and more agitated.
"And the others?"
"They're staying here."
"Come on, I'm alone and unharmed"
"The. Proof" asshole number one growled "or I'm shooting you right now."
Bucky sighed, then gave the phone to asshole number three. The man almost immediately made a disgusted face then nodded towards his leader. Said man lowered his gun then approached Bucky.
"Captain America's best friend", he spat, "a fucking faggot." His mouth curled up in a sneer. "If he were here, he'd be disgusted by you." He looked Bucky over then spat at his feet. "Let the kids go. We've got even more disgusting."
Finally, the last three kids stood up and took the directions of the door.
"Did you get under some desks to get there? I bet you sucked a lot of cocks back then. How could you have been promoted like that otherwise, huh?"
The words hurt, but Bucky kept silent; the kids were still in line of sight.
"Answer me. What would he say now, our real Captain America, if he discovered his best friend is a freak?"
The last kid disappeared from his line of sight and Bucky looked at the leader dead in the eye. "Well, probably nothing. Because, see, Steve Rogers was a good man. Unlike you."
At that, Bucky squared his shoulders then let his left arm down. The three men pulled up their guns.
"What are you trying to do fag?" asshole number three asked, a little apprehension in his voice.
"Yeah, you're out numbered"
Bucky turned his head towards asshole number two. "Am I?"
Slowly, he peeled of the glove from his left hand. Then, he lifted his hand for the three men to see.
"See, if you had followed the news a bit more… You would have remembered Bucky Barnes is my name. The Winter Soldier is my old codename."
He fisted his metal hand and saw the three assholes pale. Good.
After that, the three assholes hadn't been upright for long. In under thirty seconds, he had incapacitated them and lined them up for the police to pick them up.
It had been easy. And automatic. One moment the three men had been upright, fear evident in their eyes as Bucky's face had fallen, the next they had been on the ground. None of them dead, but he could have killed them in an instant.
That probably had frightened as much as seeing these kids in harm's way had. These poor kids. An image of a ten-year-old boy jumped to the front of his mind and he gasped. He punched the bag harder with his right hand. Of course, the image didn't disappear, but he did it again. And again, as images of little girls in a gymnasium replaced the frightened boy.
Again, and again, he hit the bag, each time harder than before. He hit until he could feel the blood rush into his head, hear only the sound of his ragged breathing. He had prevented these kids from getting hurt once, but how many times had he been the source of it? Directly – once or twice, that he knew of – or indirectly? How many times had he been that monster?
The words of the man came back to his mind; If he were here, he'd be disgusted by you. He might have been. Probably had been. Not for being queer, no, Steve would never have judged him for that. But the rest… Bucky knew that guy was a bad person. That his hateful words were just that and shouldn't be listened to. He knew that, but … He was disgusted by himself sometimes. No, a lot of the time.
If karma was real, it had to be the wheel turning. Or maybe he was in a sort of purgatory, atoning for his sins.
All the things he'd done.
All the pain he had inflicted, never mind what had been done to him; what he'd become. He hated himself sometimes, what could be said about others? A lot of people hated him, they were probably right. Life would have been a lot easier for a lot of people if he had died in that ravine.
He could still hear Steve's scream as he fell from the train, his own at the same time.
His screams as nazi – or Russians? – doctors cut the rest of his arm.
His screams where they tried to break him – and managed, in the end.
His screams the first time they used the chair to steal his identity, the last piece of himself.
The screams of his victims.
His screams the last time they used the chair on him.
His
BUCK
No, that wasn't right. Nobody had called him that since he fell. Nobody, cause Steve wasn't there anymore. Steve, Stevie left him alone. He was alone, alone with his screams, alone with his ghosts.
BUCKY
Suddenly his head snapped upright, and his eyes fell on someone standing up in the same room.
"Bucky?"
His gaze focused and suddenly it was Sam standing here. Sam, looking concerned and a bit scared too – why wouldn't he, given who Bucky was.
"Shit, man; what's going on?"
What's... what? Bucky felt both of his arm fall along his body. His chest was moving rapidly, too fast even for him.
Sam took a few steps forward then looked down suddenly.
"Dammit, your hand", he swore.
Bucky looked down at his hand, wondering what caused Sam to swear. Oh. It was bleeding. The tingling sensation from earlier.
"Can I come closer?" Bucky nodded in lieu of an answer. Sam took the last steps separating them then looked at the punching bad. "Your metal arm might be invincible, but you certainly aren't!"
He inspected his hand then his gaze fell on the bandages on the floor. He frowned at Bucky. "Man, you really gotta wrap these next time."
Bucky blinked slowly, not so sure what he was supposed to do. Sam seemed to get it though, because he sent him wash is hand and followed him to the bathroom. There, he rummaged through the cabinet then led Bucky back to the living room once he was done. He sat them both on his ratty couch then took Bucky's hands in his.
Bucky felt numb as he watched Sam dab at his knuckles with some disinfectant, then wrap his hand with some gauze.
"You're taking notes, Barnes? Over, under, over, under."
Why was he doing this? It would be healed within hours anyway. Why waste his time? He voiced his concerns and watched Sam's reaction closely. Sam… wonderful Sam, who was making a fantastic Captain America, who had his own shit to deal with, who had been very patient - maybe too much - with Bucky, from the beginning, Sam who was there; Sam's face fell and Bucky didn't understand why.
"Bucky. I'm not wasting my time." Had he said this part out loud?
"Yes you did, and you just did it again." Oh.
"Bucky, I'm not wasting my time. Trying to help you is not a waste of time."
Bucky frowned, his chest constricting in a way it hadn't until now.
"Bucky. I care about you, man."
His eyes suddenly felt damp. Why … why was he reacting like this?
Sam's face softened and a sad smile appeared. "Hey, it's okay. C'mere." He opened his arms and slowly, oh so slowly, Bucky shifted until his body was within arm's reach. With a sigh, Sam closed his arms around Bucky's chest.
Bucky stayed very still for a few seconds, then he threw his arms around the other man's shoulders with a chocked breath. Sam tightened his hold on him, and the sense of safety, of someone close to him, who cared… that was enough to make the tears in his eyes fall.
And once it started, it felt like hours had passed before he could regain control of himself. It probably was only a few minutes, but the time he spent sobbing silently had worn him out.
His breathing slowly went back to normal, and Bucky tried to get out of Sam's embrace. Sam didn't let him.
"Feeling any better?" he asked in a whisper.
Bucky started to nod but stopped the motion. It wasn't true. The panic had subsided – he felt tired, so tired now – but he wasn't feeling any better. "I just… I want to get better. But I don't know how." I don't know what it feels like anymore, he didn't say.
Sam finally let him go, but not too far. He put his hands on Bucky's shoulders and looked him in the eye.
"We're gonna be okay."