Bucky Barnes got by in life. He’d like to think he was no longer the unstable assassin the world liked to think he was. He was doing okay. He had what he wanted, not like he wanted much after what happened. He had Steve. He had Sena now. And he had new friends who would take a bullet for him (it was stupid of them, still). He tried to be grateful for being alive, for being him again. But sometimes, when he felt a little too much and said too little words, he couldn’t feel anything but bitterness that choked his throat like acid and twisted his heart like a knife.
Because it was unfair, he angrily thought as hot tears strung his eyes. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t even want to fight. The memory of the day he got drafted came back to him this morning and Bucky’s hands couldn’t stop shaking for hours. He ended up sitting in his bathroom floor, knees raised to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees, head buried in his arms as he heaved, trying not to throw up. He ended up throwing up his breakfast, the taste lingered as though it was mocking him.
He didn’t ask to get drafted. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to dance and maybe find someone nice he could marry and have a family with, with a white picket fence and a nice little house. He wanted to have Sunday lunch together with his mother, sister, Steve, and his wife, his children running around in the backyard while he drank his beers and listened to gossip. He wanted to hang Steve’s paintings on the walls of his house, showed them to his guests. He wanted to be neighbors with Steve’s family, hanging out together on a sunny day, laughter in the air as they talked about their boring work.
He couldn’t tell Steve. Not when his best friend looked like he was going to cry whenever he had flashbacks and breakdown. Not when he overheard Steve telling Sam about the massive guilt he had to shoulder ever since Bucky fell off the train. He couldn’t do that to Steve. So he swallowed back his fear and anger and bitterness and pretended it was fine, ignoring the small voice in his head that said otherwise.
“Bucky?” A soft voice startled him from his train of thoughts, followed by a little knock on the door.
“I’m fine.” He answered a little too fast, voice hoarse from crying and throwing up. His hands still shook, closing them into a tight fist as he took a shaky breath. One deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. “I’m fine, Sena.” Bucky repeated, his voice a little softer and broken.
“Okay.” Sena replied, sitting down on the floor, her back against the bathroom door. “I’ll be here.”
It took him an hour to get on his two feet and unlocked the door. Hair clung to his sweaty face, lips trembled ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable. He looked up at her a little, eyes still a little unfocused as he took another step closer to her.
“I’m tired.” He whispered, lips tilted into a sad smile.
“I know. Do you want a hug?” Sena opened her arms, a gesture he was too grateful of. She waited for him to close the distance between her, letting him touch her first. He let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding, the words thank you he tried to say lost to time.
They ended up on his bed later, his head on her lap while she gently rand her fingers through his hair. She was humming an unfamiliar song. Her childhood lullaby, she explained, sung by her mother whenever she had a nightmare. She ended up singing to him in her native language, her voice lulling her to a dreamless sleep.
.
“You need to talk to Steve.” Sena told him a few days later, when she found him curled in a bathtub, sobbing quietly, unable to form any coherent word. She rubbed her back quietly, letting him cry into her shoulder. He clutched her shirt so tightly she was sure she heard it ripped a little. Anger and frustration emanated from him, seeping through her skin like needles. “James, please.”
“I can’t.” Bucky quietly mumbled, voice muffled by her shirt. “I can’t do that to Steve.”
“Do you think Steve would feel better to see you like this?”
“Better me than him.” Bucky said, looking up to see her eyes.
“That’s not how this works, Bucky.”
“I know.” He smiled that sad smile of his that broke her heart. He held her hand and rested his head on her shoulder, sniffling a little as he tried to calm himself down.
“It doesn’t have to be today. Just think about it, okay?” She whispered, wrapping her free arm around him.
.
He found Steve a month later. He found Steve in the kitchen of his apartment, preparing a sandwich after his morning run. And the words slipped out of his lips. Steve was startled, eyes wide with surprise and worry. It took everything in him not to turn on his heels and run away.
“Is everything okay, Buck?” He asked as he trailed behind Bucky to the living room.
“Not really. I just–“ he took a deep breath, turning around to face his best friend. “I’m not okay and I need to talk to you and I just– You need to know it’s not your fault, okay? You need–“
“Okay.” Steve nodded, waiting for him to continue.
He surprised himself by how quick the words fell out of his lips even with Steve sitting across him. There were new memories that came up as he told Steve about the bitter anger that seemed to grow in him. Memories of Steve telling him about his date with Peggy, of Steve asking him about dating advice, and how to dance or what he should do when he finally tell Peggy about his feelings. “It’s not your fault but I don’t know how to stop this. I wasn’t going to tell you but Sena said it’s going to eat me alive if I don’t.” Bucky finished, eyes bright with tears.
“I get angry too sometimes.” Steve said after a moment. He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and chuckled. “It never feels fair, doesn’t it? There’s so much thing I have lost and they just keep on taking things away,” he took a deep breath before he turned to Bucky, “I guess the only thing we can do is to take it one day at a time. Sam said it’ll get easier. I’m still waiting for that day, but I’m pretty hopeful.”
Bucky’s lips curled into a small smile.
“I guess so.”
.
“You were right.” Bucky said when he finally got back to his room that night. Sena was sitting on her side of the bed with a book on her lap. She looked up, placing the bookmark on the page before she set it aside.
“I know I’m always right but enlighten me?” She grinned, welcoming him with a kiss and a warm hug that release all the tension from his body.
He pulled away after a while, his right hand coming up to cup her face with a gentleness that seemed to touched her. “I talked to Steve today.”
“How did it go?” She smiled, leaning into his touch.
“It was…” he tried to find a fitting word before he settled with, “good. It was good. I feel a little better. You can say I told you so, I won’t be mad.” Bucky continued with a playful smile.
“Nah,” she shook her head, “you can reward me with a kiss and another hug.”
“That, I can do.”