Just a note, not only do I not know anyone in the army but I'm aware that American army service is probably different to British. I do not know what happens overseas, I just know small bits and pieces. However, a friend of mine had been in the army and I know how he was treated after and how little psychological support/monetary support he got after everything he'd been through. So that's all I really have to go on. I don't want to offend anybody so if I say something wrong please please please message me and we can work together on those pieces. Also I've never been to America, let alone New York so I probably have the boroughs and streets wrong despite doing my research.

Some tw's in this chapter: panic attacks and flashbacks, ptsd, mental illness in general, dealing with significant injuries, med talk

I'm really happy with how I am starting to bring in other characters into this world and you'll see more of that next chapter. I hope you like what I've done with them too. And don't worry, I promise the doggy playdate is coming. I didn't realize how slowburn-y I would make this.

As always, thank you to my best friend and beta reader and the person who makes sure this makes sense, is Americanized, and is as good as it could possibly be. She lets me bother her constantly with questions and without her it would not be as good. So thanks sis!

/ / / /

9 days earlier

Bucky took the long way from the downtown apartment to the doctors' offices. He was getting antsy cooped up inside - New York was fucking expensive and the pay-out from the army was barely enough for him to stay in Brooklyn, so the place he'd managed to get was small and cramped. As it was, he was at least forty minutes from Steve's apartment, since his friend lived on a decent street and the apartments were absurd prices there.

He'd been out of the army for 8 months and had only recently been able to finally move out of Steve and Peggy's and get a place of his own. It was small - sure it did its job, but more often than not it just felt like the walls were closing in on him.

The outside world was often overwhelming though, so the man often found himself in a catch twenty-two; too stifling inside, too vast outside.

That morning, the walls had gotten to him more than the outside, so he'd opted to leave an hour before his appointment and walk instead of taking his old motorbike (he'd kept it in Steve's storage locker when he was away and his friend, knowing how important it was to Bucky, had paid for a storage locker close to his house so he could keep his bike). He'd brought the dog, though he was a menace and more a nuisance than he was helpful. But he was company and Bucky was sorely lacking in company, probably mostly his own fault, but also because everyone around him had lives that were blooming and blossoming and Bucky was just…surviving, but not really living.

Stevie and Peg were a drive away but Steve's business was growing, he was selling more and more prints, more original drawings, more comic strips, and sometimes he just couldn't take a day off. They talked on the phone all the time but every time they planned to meet up, something came up or Bucky would change his mind and decide that no, he really wasn't up to it after all. And sometimes Bucky just didn't feel like seeing anyone, literally anyone, no matter how close he was to them. Peggy was, if possible, even more busy, though Bucky was still a little confused on what exactly it was that she did. She was up at all hours, often leaving for a couple days at a time, but still always there to answer his 3am calls.

It wasn't even those closest to him that he pushed away sometimes, even the newer, more casual relationships suffered. Last he'd heard, Bruce was off getting another PHD at one of those fancy schools America had to offer, off changing the world and kicking every leading scientist's ass in pretty much every aspect of science ever. Bucky didn't really get science, but he knew whatever Bruce was doing was important and would help a lot of people. He hadn't seen either him or Tony since he'd gone into Tony's offices to get fitted for his latest prosthetic, almost two months ago, though they called one another to either catch up or discuss the latest model Tony was making. It wasn't surprising that he hadn't seen the man though, he'd been snowed under with the pick-up in the new side of Stark Industries. Because Tony offered prosthetics at a rate unseen before, for pittance compared to what other companies sold their products at, he was completely inundated with requests and he refused to turn down anyone who needed his help.

Sam had apparently been doing better, if his messages were anything to go by. He still had his bad days, everyone did, but it seemed like he'd turned some sort of corner in his post-army recovery. He was taking on nearly full leadership of group and had moved into a new apartment. He was probably who Bucky saw most, since he rarely ever missed one of their weekly meetings. Bucky had met Sam when Steve dragged him to a meeting at the local VA and it had turned out that Bucky had met Sam's boyfriend, Riley , during a tour almost a year previous. Now months later, he was good friends with both of them and got to watch two men who couldn't deserve it more, get to move in together and live their lives.

He guessed some people were just fated to meet .

Though why exactly, he wasn't sure.

But pretty much every relationship in his life had felt like that. Had felt like they were meant to be.

His bond with his family had been all encompassing. Realistically, he knew that that was probably the case for a lot of families, that bond. But with Bucky it seemed to be beyond that. He was joined at the hip with his family, particularly Winnifred. He spent so much of his time with her that he got anxious when they were apart, that he missed her when he was at school, when she was working a late shift. He was always worried about her, if she'd be coming home, if she would come back at all, if she was late he worried she'd been hurt. He worried himself physically sick if she was ever more than an hour later than the time she said she'd be home. He would cry, pace the length of the apartment, constantly trying to control the racing of his heart. He was scared all the time that one day a member of his family would not come home again. He hadn't realised until later in life that this constant worrying was actually crippling anxiety, so yay.

He followed Rebecca, his sister, around like a lost puppy. Would sit in on her and her friends and watch them play games. Her friends would always look at him, questioning Becca on what he was doing there. Every time Rebecca would smile over at Bucky and say something along the lines of, "He's my brother and he wants to play with us. If you don't like him being here, you don't have to stay." She was never annoyed with him, never kicked him out of her room. She was often there when his meltdowns over their mother occurred. She would sit with him, arm around his shoulders, telling him all the gossip from the guys and girls at school. She would, depending on the weather, make him hot chocolate or an ice cream sundae, and place him in front of the TV to watch cartoons until he'd controlled his breathing and his mother came home.

Bucky didn't see his father a whole lot, he was working hard to bring in the money for the family, Winnie always told him. But when he was there, it was perfect. They made sure to have Sunday dinner together, since it was one of the only afternoons George had off work. Then George would go to the garage for a little bit, tinkering with his motorbike and Bucky would trail after him. He wasn't sure what his father was doing but he loved to watch. Sometimes his father would ask the boy to pass him something, so he got quickly acquainted with all the different tools so that he could pass him the right one. When he got a little older, George always said, he'd teach Bucky how to fix the bike himself.

His family were the most important thing in the world to Bucky. He felt like he didn't need friends, didn't need anybody but them - but then Steve came along.

Some of his first ever memories included Steve, the scrawny blond haired boy from two doors down. Bucky had passed the boy on the streets often but he'd been a kinda weird kid. He was either too enthusiastic with the children his age, talking too much, too insistent they play together at break time, turning up on the playground only to find the same kids laughing at him for being a loser. He was either that or he was too quiet, head down, unwilling to join in conversations or offer his friendship for fear of rejection, for fear of name-calling, pointed fingers, laughs from the playground.

He'd been quiet with the blond boy, scuffing his shoes on the pavement as they crossed paths, clinging tighter to his mother's hand. One time Winnifred had leaned down, asking if James would like her to go talk to the boy's parents, ask if he wanted to play. Bucky had stubbornly shook his head, focused on kicking a jagged pebble down the street. Well versed in her son's moods, Winnie had just squeezed his hand as they reached their front door. "Go on and get your school books out, I'll make you some chocolate milk and we'll get it done, yeah?" She'd said, sharing what she thought was a secret look with George, pottering around in the living room.

Bucky had caught that look, not really understanding it but noting the worried pinch of his mother's brows.

The next day, when he'd passed the boy on the way home from school, Bucky had lifted his hand and waved. The blond boy had offered a shy smile and waved his hand in response.

The next week passed in that manner, the two boys would wave at each other as they walked home. On the eighth day, the blond was nowhere to be seen. Bucky decided to wait outside his house, anxiety gnawing at his insides. He felt like something was wrong . Winnifred went inside to start dinner, instructing Bucky to come home in half an hour.

Bucky wandered the street, up and down it. Somewhere on the third lap, Bucky heard shouts and jeers coming from the alleyway to the left of the street. He ran the rest of the way, skidding to a stop in front of the opening. There the blond boy was, sprawled across the floor with two older boys hovering over him, fists clenched. Bucky could see that the blond's nose was bloodied.

Immediately Bucky intervened, since it looked like the boys were nowhere near done. He hit out, pushing and punching, ducking and jumping out the way of fists and kicks. He wasn't sure where the urge to fight had come from, he just hated seeing anyone get hurt for no reason. Soon enough, the boys scampered off and Bucky offered out his hand to the boy. "Hi, I'm James. Do you want to come have dinner with us?"

He did.

…

Pulled from his thoughts, Bucky found that he'd arrived at the doctor's. He didn't really remember the journey, but that happened sometimes. At least he still had a hold of Bear because more than one time already, he'd snapped out of his head to find the dog gone.

He was a couple of minutes early for his appointment so he leaned against the railings of the ramp leading up to the sliding doors. He took out his phone, scrolling through the notes he'd made, so he didn't forget anything important. It was his first appointment in months. The last one had been a few days after he'd arrived back in America, when he'd been terrified and broken, seeing things every time he blinked, the phantom pain from his missing limb so bad that all he could do was curl up and sob.

He hoped to not have to come for another couple of months, so if he forgot something, he'd have to wait until next time. As it was, he already had a whole list of shit he needed to go through.

He didn't want more meds, but through talking to Steve and Peg, talking it through with Sam and Riley and the group at the VA, he'd slowly come around to the idea. He couldn't continue the way he had been. If meds could help, he would try just about anything offered.

Adjusting his grip on the lead, Bucky continued to edit the list he'd made. He was still getting used to the prosthetic and sometimes he had problems gripping things properly. But he needed the flesh hand in order to use his phone, so the lead was in the other. All it took was too light a grip on the material and Bear was tugging out of his hold.

Cursing, Bucky fumbled for the lead. "Shit, Bear, shut up!" he hissed as the dog started to bark, running around in circles and jumping up and down on the spot. Bucky thought he was hallucinating when he caught sight of a golden dog chasing after Bear. That dog had come out of literal thin air.

Blinking, Bucky tried to grab the dog's collar, cursing softly. "Bear, honestly man, c'mon." He groaned, trying to get his menace away from the other dog.

The new dog was getting tangled up with Bear and Bucky started to worry he wouldn't be able to control his dog, let alone get them untangled, when a man and a woman stepped out of the doors.

The blond man called for the golden dog and because the other dog was actually well behaved, he bounded right over to his owner.

Tapping his thigh in the way YouTube had told him too, he attempted again to get Bear over to him but no, his dog was an actual rascal and Bucky had no idea how to train animals. "Bear, c'mon." He sighed, embarrassed and flushed as he resorted to baiting the dog over with a treat from his pocket.

"I'm so sorry 'bout him. I've only had him for a couple of weeks." Bucky shook his head, absently lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"Don't worry, man. Trust us, we know. We got Lucky when he was two and he'd never been trained at all. He was, and still is, a menace." Bucky caught the man's gaze as he spoke next, momentarily caught off guard because holy shit was he attractive.

"Bear was a gift from a friend, supposed to be my service dog but I've never had a dog in my life. He needs to be well trained but…I'm clearly not very good at it." He shrugged, bashful.

The woman spoke next and again holy shit. How had he ever thought he was anything but bisexual?

The woman was stunning, pale and sharp and lean. Her hair was the most brilliant shade of red and Bucky thought it was probably natural. It blew in the wind like flames and the woman tried to control it by tucking it behind her ear. She was smiling, though the lines of her face were pinched with something Bucky couldn't determine. She was fiddling with a walking stick, twisting the strap around her fingers. Pain, his mind supplied, her expression was full of pain. But her smile was beautiful, the kind of smile that probably stopped people in their tracks. And she was smiling at him.

Pulling his gaze from those brilliant emerald eyes, Bucky found that looking at the man was not helping how flustered he was becoming. Because damn. He was taller than the woman, all muscles and lean strength packed in. His sandy hair was tousled, like he'd ran his fingers through it and how on earth did messy hair look so good? And could Bucky tug his fingers through the strands 'cause uh…okay brain, don't be fucking creepy, shut up. The man's eyes were full of barely contained humor and his hand had settled around the woman's waist, calloused fingers absently rubbing at her hip.

Bucky looked back down at his dog, the only safe place his eyes could settle. He really needed to get out more.

"Hey, if you want, I have the number of a really good dog trainer. She helped train Lucky and he was quite the handful. She's local too." The woman spoke, gaze even kinder than it had been a moment ago. Bucky glanced at the bandana around the golden dog's neck. He was a service dog too. That explained the empathetic expression on the woman's face.

Bucky couldn't help but grin, "Yeah? That would be great." Inside Bucky was screaming at him to say something else, anything else as the redhead pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled something down. She handed the note over and Bucky swallowed thickly.

He slid the paper into his back pocket, somehow finding his voice, "Thank you…?"

The woman hummed and held out her left hand. Bucky wondered if offering that hand had been because she was left handed or because she'd noticed his arm. Either way, he appreciated it.

"Natasha," The woman's lips quirked as she squeezed his hand and let go.

"And?" He looked over at the man, offering the same hand.

"Clint. And you are?" The blond smiled, light shining in his eyes.

"Bucky. Well, James, but no one calls me James. My middle…uh, my middle name is Buchanan and I'm now realising that doesn't exactly shorten to Bucky but yeah…Bucky." Could he just fucking die right then and there? How fucking awkward did he have to act? He could have been swallowed into a pit right then and there and he would have welcomed it .

Natasha grinned at him and Clint pulled a face that Bucky realised was probably him trying not to laugh. Fucking hell.

"Well, Bucky, it was nice to meet you." Clint smiled, dimples in his cheeks.

"You too, thanks for the number." Bucky kept his gaze on the blond for just a second more before ducking his head, walking in through the sliding doors, calling Bear to follow.

Good one, Barnes, fucking good one.

…

The doctor's trip had not been exactly fruitful; he wasn't going to offer a different pain medication until Bucky had stuck with the current one for a little longer. Didn't matter that it wasn't fucking working and if it wasn't working by now, it probably never would. Not only that, but Bucky had just been...not sleeping at all and yeah, he understood why he wasn't allowed to be given any more sleeping meds for the time being, but it didn't make it any easier. Sure, maybe he was addicted, but was it really addiction if he had nightmares and flashbacks so vivid that he would stay awake for days and days, manic and hyper and unable to close his eyes for just a moment and the pills actually helped him get some sleep, some semblance of a normal life?

One plus was that he'd been given an anti-depressant. He wasn't sure he would take it but having the script was a relief. It was there if he wanted it, if he needed it and that settled something deep inside him.

He'd gone straight home after the appointment, dejected and in pain and feeling like the world was closing in on him. Bear had grumbled when they passed the park and didn't go in but Bucky needed to get home before he freaked the fuck out right in the middle of the street.

He almost made it home. Almost.

The panic really set in as he reached the street the apartment was on. Stumbling, he almost dropped to his knees, breathing ragged and frantic, hand curled into a fist around the lead as his prosthetic reached for the nearest wall for support. He dropped his forehead against the brick as he spiralled.

Instead of the cool breeze of New York, hot air and sand blasted at his face. Instead of children's laughter from the nearby park or the sounds of people walking up and down the street, shouts and screams filled his consciousness, an explosion deafening and knocking him to the pavement. The lead slipped from his grasp, hands coming up to cover his ears, as though that would stop the sounds, but they were in his head and they only got louder. Pain like nothing he'd ever known ripped through his left arm, leaving Bucky gasping and shuddering and dry heaving on the ground. Something wet touched his face and he instantly recoiled, but whatever it was chased his movements. The wet thing touched his cheek, his neck, his eyelids.

Yipping at his ear slowly, slowly brought him back to the present. Bear was almost on his chest, barking and whining, licking at any part of skin he could reach.

Bucky whimpered low in his throat, chest heaving and every part of him shaking as he wrapped his arms around Bear, pulling him close and burying his face against the soft fur. "Good boy ," He whispered, "such a good boy, ain't ya?"

Bear whined softly, butting at his shoulder, nipping at his face.

"I know," Bucky murmured hoarsely, "I know, I'm getting up." He somehow managed to clamber onto his knees, legs shaking so badly he thought he'd just have to pitch a tent and live out there on the street. Eventually, he managed to get one foot firmly planted, using the wall to pull himself up.

He'd never seen Bear so obedient, trotting along after him even though Bucky wasn't holding the lead. If the dog could be that useful when he freaked out, maybe Steve had been right, the dog was a good fit.

Thank god too, 'cause he'd actually started to love the mischievous little furball.

"Let's get you a treat, huh?" He spoke to the dog as he fumbled with his keys and entered the apartment.

Bear barked happily, winding around his legs. "I swear if you make me fall, dog." Bucky hummed, but leaned down to rub at the good boy's little head.

He grabbed the treat bag and flopped heavily down onto the sofa. Holding out his hand, a good few treats in his palm, he let the dog go at it, snorting softly and pulling a face at the slobber covering his fingers.

Smiling, Bucky wiped off his hand and dug around in his pocket for the piece of paper handed to him by the spectacularly beautiful redhead.

Looking from the dog's mournful gaze now that the treats were gone, and back to the number, he hesitated for a few minutes before sliding his phone open. "Worth a try, I guess." He sighed. Besides if it all went spectacularly wrong, he could just buy a shit ton of chips and crash out on the sofa with a bad movie. Bear was still a companion, even if he was never going to be particularly helpful.

But if it did go well, there was a chance he'd get to see Clint and Natasha again, and that was worth the anxiety of meeting with the dog trainer.

Those smiles and pretty faces could make a man do a lot of things.