Bucky dried his wet hair before he readjusted the waistband of sweatpants. He’d just finished showering, and he enjoyed the feeling of being clean. Feeling dirty reminded him of times he didn’t like to recall.
He pulled a red Henley over his head, opening the door to the upstairs bathroom. The sound of a shriek made all of his blood turn to ice.
It sounded like Cass. Bucky rushed down the stairs, his vibranium fist clenched tightly as he prepared to fight whatever intruder that had broken in.
“What? What is it?” Sam’s voice was panicked as he raced into the kitchen from the laundry room.
“There’s a bee!” Cass shrieked, horrified by the buzzing insect.
Bucky looked around the room, before finding the tiny culprit.
“Cass, it’s fine. It’s alright, baby. It’s not gonna get’cha. Just hold the door open and it’ll fly out.” Sarah hummed from the sink as she loaded the dishwasher.
“It’s gonna sting me!” The young boy squealed in fear.
Logically, Bucky could just reach out with his left hand and crush the damn thing. But it wasn’t about logic. He knew the lesson Sarah was trying to teach; that just because things scare you doesn’t mean they’re bad. Or something like that. Maybe it was something to do with killing things and how that was bad, but Bucky knew he wasn’t the best person to be teaching that.
His memory wasn’t known for being the best, but he had faint memories of his own mother teaching a similar lesson. Something to do with school, maybe.
Bucky looked around the room. Where had the damn bug gone?
Just then, something whizzed past his left ear. He gasped, the unexpected—yet somehow familiar—noise so close to his skull sending him into a short panic.
He’d barely dodged the bullet. He pressed himself up against the wall of the freight car, feeling the metal against his fingers. He was shielded by some large box, either filled with supplies or something else that the Nazis needed.
He felt his lips tremble, but he bit down on his lower lip and tried his best to toughen up.
He’d been in the trenches, for fuck’s sake. He could feel the now warmed metal of his dog tags pressed against his chest under his jacket, proof and a reminder of what he’d done; where he’d been.
Steve. He needed to help Steve. Shit.
“Move! Get down!” He shouted, pushing Steve towards the ground, trying to shield him from the weird Nazi machinery.
“Bucky!” That wasn’t Steve’s voice. Steve..hadn’t said his name. Right? That wasn’t what happened.
Another voice said his name. This time, it was a woman’s voice. There wasn’t a woman on that damn train. Where was he again?
There were hands on him. Warm, gentle, hands. Firm hands. Steady hands.
“Barnes. Barnes. Bucky.” The voice was back.
Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His eyes were watering. He wiped at them with his right hand, his brows furrowing.
“You’re alright. C’mon, get up. You’re alright.” Sam’s voice was stern, but in a kind way. The way Bucky responded best to.
Sam helped him stand upright, walking him through taking deep breaths.
“Shit,” Bucky breathed when he came back to his senses. He didn’t feel bad about his use of foul language, considering Sarah had ushered the boys out of the room.
For their safety, you monstrous fuck, a voice in the back of his mind spat.
“She thought you wouldn’t want them then to see you have a flashback,” Sam murmured.“There’s nothing wrong about what happened, shit happens.”
“I’m sorry.” Bucky’s voice was choked up, and he cleared his throat.
“Don’t be.” Sam told him. “I mean that. Shit happens,” he echoed his previous statement.
“It shouldn’t. Not—not in your home.” Bucky’s voice was full of guilt, and Sam frowned.
“Barnes. Shut up.” Bucky could feel the warmth in Sam’s tone, the look in his eye. So he complied.
“The bee’s out.” Sam noted, sitting Bucky down at the kitchen table and getting a glass of water. He sets the glass down in front of Bucky.
“It sounded like a bullet.” Bucky hummed, taking a sip of water.
Sam nodded, his arms comfortably crossed against his chest. “You wanna talk about it?”
Bucky nodded slowly, though he felt unsure. “I didn’t remember that part. I mean, I remember..falling. From that train. But I didn’t remember what happened before.” He explained as his brain processed what he’d just seen.
Sam nodded along, but he let Bucky think it out for himself. Bucky appreciated that.
“You look tired,” he commented after it was clear Bucky wasn’t going to say any more.
Bucky nodded, but said nothing.
“You should take a nap.” Sam suggested. “It’ll make you feel a lot better. Trust me.”
Bucky shook his head, still a little disoriented. “Sam..I can’t.” He mumbled, trying his best to be comprehensible.
Sam knew not to force it. “Okay. Okay. I won’t make you. It’s alright.” He soothed. “Just..know you can talk about it. If you wanted. I..when I got home, after…after Riley was shot down, I got those a lot. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Panic attacks—you get it. All of the shit that comes with doing what we do. It..I won’t bullshit and tell you that you’ll be magically ‘cured’ one day. But I can promise you that you learn to get better at managing it.”
Bucky nods, making his best attempt at a soft smile.
“And I’ll be here. If you wanna talk. Like I said—I’ll help lay those skeletons to rest.” Sam said.
“No matter how many there are,” Bucky murmured as he recalled that afternoon.