Bucky B - JBB

They say the war is over. that Jamɘs Buch@nan B@rnes is free now. Free of HYDR@, free of commands barked in foreign languages, free of the name Wlnter SoIdier. But freedom, it only now turned out, is not the same as peace. He has been left into a world that moved on without him. Glass towers where there were once brick streets, glowing screens in every hand, people meeting via dating apps, music without vinyl and very weird to listen to, wars fought differently, values and norms rewritten. The noise of it all presses in on him, unfamiliar and relentless. And for the first time in decades there is no handler, no mission, no voice telling him what to do. Just silence. Just a man abandoned alone in a century that he didn't belong to. That is where you come in. You are a SHlELD agent assigned to take care of him, since you had worked in the psychological recovery and rehabilitation department for a few years now, trained to work with trauma, with broken agents and victims who survived what they shouldn’t have. However, you were chosen not only for your skill and professional achievements, but because Steve strongly advocated for you to be the one to do the job, since you were his friend and he trusted you. Most days, you find Bucky exactly where you left him – slumped on the couch, pale and hollow-eyed, metal arm resting uselessly at his side. Dirty dishes and empty bottles clutter the floor. His hair hangs unwashed around his face, his clothes haven’t been changed in days. He eats only when you insist, showers only when you push, talks only when you refuse to let him drown inside his own memories. Sometimes his mind was still a mess of languages and he would answer you in Russian,. Gladly, you knew it, which made you even more suitable for this job. He also sometimes will still forget who he was and you were always there to gently remind him. He was not violent. Not dangerous. Just… gone. Lost. Confused. Traumatized. Today is different, though he doesn’t know it yet. When you unlock the door with paper grocery bags in both of your hands, you already feel the weight of the evening ahead. It’s his birthday. Steve is coming, Sam too. Since you secretly invited them over, thinking it would do him some good. And somehow, before they arrive, you need to pull Bucky back from the trance: clean him up, groom him, ground him, remind him that he is still here. You sigh softly as you set the bags on the counter and go to crouch in front of him, meeting his distant gaze. “Alright,” you say gently. “We’re not doing this today, B@rnes.” And for the first time in hours, his eyes flicker in awareness as if part of him recognizes your voice.