Chapter Text
Bucky closed the door to his therapist’s office and leaned against it for a brief moment, head falling back silently against the wood. He could hear her writing down notes, no doubt extrapolating how far along the road to recovery this latest B.A.R.F. session had gotten him. One step forward, four steps back, seemed to be the current trend. The intrusive scritch, scritch of her pen on paper, dug into his brain.
Sighing, he pushed away from the door and started towards the main building of the compound. Today had been another intense B.A.R.F. memory filled with things he would rather forget, but thanks to his eidetic memory, nothing short of another meeting with The Chair would get rid of it. He shuddered at thoughts of that torture device, phantom electricity shooting through his veins. Bucky’s heart stuttered for a moment in panic. He breathed in deep, held it for a four-count, and then released it slowly. Just the way his therapist had taught him. It helped, but his trigger finger still drummed a beat on his jeaned thigh, nervous energy needing a way out.
Today he had watched the moment James Buchanan Barnes realized he was never getting away. The second in time when the whole world closed in and exploded at the same time creating an echoing, empty expanse of nothingness. Bucky thinks it was also the same moment at the Winter Soldier sparked into being. It had taken six times through the memory for him to be able to change the outcome.
His steps faltered momentarily before picking back up. Bucky ran a hand through his long hair, scraping his nails a little too hard across the skin. The pain was sharp and created a focus to keep him in the present.
“FRIDAY, doll, where is everyone?” Bucky asked the moment he walked through the door of the main building. His voice was raw from talking through the tangle of emotions his memory had brought to the surface.
“Boss, Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Wilson are in the kitchen. Mr. Rogers, Mr. Lang, Ms. Romanoff, and Mr. Barton are all in the training gym. Mr. Lang is preparing to leave for the weekend. The rest appear to be finishing up, and they are talking about going to the kitchen as well for a post-workout snack,” the AI chirped in her lilting Irish accent.
Bucky’s stomach rumbled, and he altered his course, entering the nearest elevator. “Guess I’m heading there too,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.
He did not particularly want to be around other people, but the super-soldier knew from experience that if he avoided them, it would be twice as hard to reintegrate into the group in a few days. No, Bucky would need to push through the anxiety and triggers at least for a little while. A quick sandwich was enough to tide him over until dinner proper.
Tony and Rhodes gave matching nods of greeting when he entered the kitchen, and Sam handed over a plate of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
“It’ll only take a few minutes to make another, and you look like you need it more,” Sam said when Bucky tried to push the plate back.
Giving in, Bucky took a seat at the table. He took a seat with sightlines for all the exits and his back to the only wall not made of floor to ceiling windows. The food smelled amazing, and that, combined with the kindness Sam had shown by giving it to him, was enough to make a knot form in his throat. B.A.R.F. days always left him feeling over-emotional and off-kilter. Today was no different.
He took a bite out of the grilled cheese and moaned, eyes falling closed as he enjoyed the unexpected flavors. Sam had done something different, but it made the sandwich taste divine.
“You like that, huh?” Sam asked from where he was cooking up his own. There was a smile in his voice. “Sourdough bread, shredded Manchego, and mayonnaise. Best damn grilled cheese in the states.”
Bucky moaned again in agreement. He dipped a corner of it into the soup, letting the hot liquid soak into the bread for a moment before taking a bite.
“I’m never gonna be able to eat another one of Stevie’s Kraft Singles and wheat ever again,” Bucky said.
Sam chuckled, flipping his sandwich in the heated pan. Tony was pointedly ignoring their back and forth, his nose glued to the Starkpad in his hand. Rhodes was eyeing the cheesy meal with barely concealed desire, but he kept on silently digging through his bowl of food. There had been an unease truce between the Rogues and the rest of the Avengers since their return. Bucky tried not to let the tension get to him.
“Smells good, Sam,” Steve said when he and the other Rogues wandered into the kitchen a moment later.
“You’re welcome to make your own,” Sam said with a laugh. He nodded towards where the ingredients were still stacked on the counter. “I’ve waited long enough for this sweet goodness.”
Bucky scooted his chair over to make room for Sam, which left him sitting much closer to Tony. The genius glanced up from his work for a moment, gave a sort of half nod at Bucky, and then went back to work, fingers flying over the delicate glass. Steve chugged half a gallon of water before starting to make his sandwich.
“How was your session today, Buck?” Steve asked without looking up from where he was slathering butter on one side of the bread.
Everyone was crowding too close, and suddenly the kitchen felt smaller. Bucky pushed back the urge to bolt. He knew how to work through this - had done on multiple occasions. Instead of answering right away, he took in a steady breath, held it for several seconds, and released it slowly. Natasha shot him a knowing look from where she was devouring a pear, but she did not say anything. Beside him, Tony kept glancing up, side-eye and furtive.
“It was fine?” Bucky finally answered. His voice was calm and steady, but it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.
“Something wrong with B.A.R.F.?” Tony asked, putting down the Starkpad and turned all his attention on the super-soldier. “I can look at the configurations if you need-”
“No!” Bucky barked out the word, pushing back so that his chair squeaked as it grated across the floor. Everyone was staring now, and he felt his skin heat up in a blush. They were all just worried. He could practically feel the concern in the air like a thick blanket threatening to smother him. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
So much for the breathing exercises. When Bucky finally looked over again, Tony watched him with a thoughtful expression that looked pinched around the eye and mouth. His eyes looked hurt, and Bucky internally swore at his hair-trigger temper. Taking a deep, calming breath, he let it out in a loud woosh and ran his metal hand through his hair, tugging a bit just to feel the spark of pain.
“It’s not B.A.R.F.,” Bucky said, voice gentler. “Just a bad day. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, Buck,” Steve said earnestly.
Natasha and Clint were on edge, standing side-by-side, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only Sam was seemingly unaffected by Bucky’s outburst, still munching away on his sandwich, shoulders relaxed.
“Sorry,” Bucky repeated. He felt bone-deep tired all of a sudden. “I’ll just...go.”
Before he could move, Tony leaned towards him and held up his hands in a ‘surrender’ motion.
“Not to push, but it looks like you’re having a rough day. We’ve all been there,” the genius started with a self-deprecating grin, “but I, personally, have found that distractions work better than wallowing. Peter’s on his way over for a game night. Why don’t you join us? He’s bringing something new. He mentioned you might like it.”
The room returned to average dimensions, and Bucky let his tense muscles relax a fraction. If Tony was volunteering to spend more time with him, there was no way he was turning it down. He rarely saw the genius as it was, and there was hope replacing the hurt in those brilliant brown eyes. Bucky felt a small grin stretch across his face.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed slowly.
“That sounds great!” Steve said, clapping his hands together. “I’ve been meaning to take Peter up on his game night invitations. We can make it a team bonding thing.”
Tony tried to hide a grimace at Steve’s chipper self-insertion in the night’s entertainment. Bucky wanted to snap at him, but the spies were finally returning to their snacking, so he did not want to rock the boat and get everyone tense again. Tony picked up his device and stood.
“Sounds good, Spangles. See you guys there. Common room in, uh,” Tony glanced at his watch, “thirty minutes.”
“What’s the game called?” Clint asked.
Tony glanced over his shoulder as he walked out the kitchen door. “Jumanji.”