Chapter Text
James Buchanan Barnes was absolutely not a fan of Dr. Raynor. Logically, he knew that she was just doing her job. The less logical, more stubborn part of him wanted to use some pretty impolite words that his ma would wash his mouth out for using. But he’s been working on being nicer to people because apparently Sam says he has a “staring problem” and is “scaring the kids” and “Bucky, seriously, stop, you look terrifying.”
But also Sam is biased and Bucky really likes to make Sam mad. It’s one of the few things that make him smile, really smile, and Dr. Raynor, the All-Knowing court-ordered therapist, had told him that he needed to find things that made him happy that were just his. Not him and Steve’s, because Steve was gone, and Bucky needed to move on.
She said that like it was the most logical thing in the world. Sure.
“Get over your best friend of over seventy years. Move on, James, from the one person in the universe that can understand you, that can relate to you, that left you.” Yeah, he wasn’t a fan of that. Moving on was garbage advice, because how was he supposed to? Steve left him like it was nothing. It was going to take a little more than “moving on.”
He’s so lost in his thoughts as he leaves her office that he lets his body take him home on autopilot. Clearly, he should have not let his body do that because clearly he did not know where he was going. Brooklyn had been his home years ago but obviously he hasn’t become completely reacquainted with it. Lots has changed and obviously he should have looked at where he was headed.
He’s come to a stop in front of a little bookstore he doesn’t recognize.
Well, if he’s here he may as well check it out. He used to like reading, right? Maybe they have more of those Hobbit books.
The bell above the door rings as someone comes into the bookstore you work at. It’s not exactly the ideal job, but it makes ends meet and gives you something to occupy yourself with.
“Just a minute!” You hurriedly set down the stack of books you’re carrying, arranging them into something resembling an artfully intentional display. You end up with kind of a haphazard mess, but you shrug and make your way back to the front of the store, weaving through the shelves. You smooth your hands down your knit sweater, trying to find the source of the bell ringing.
You’re greeted with a large, very unapproachable-looking man in a leather jacket perusing the stack of historical fiction displayed by the door with a faintly confused look on his face. Not exactly the type that frequents this joint, but, hey, you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?
The two of you look at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. You clear your throat awkwardly when he doesn’t say anything. “Can I help you find anything, or are you just browsing?” You offer him a bright smile, and to your surprise, he grimaces slightly, as if pained, and spins on his heel to leave. Not usually the reaction you get, but you suppose it’s better than being catcalled or something. The bell jingles, almost like it’s laughing at your embarrassing interaction, and you’re left stunned in the empty store.
Ouch. “Not much of a people person. Noted.”
Why, why, why, did he just do that? Bucky kicks himself internally as he briskly walks away from the quaint little book shop. “That girl was nice to you. There was no reason to run away,” he mutters to himself. “At some point, you’re going to have to learn how to interact with real people.” He slams his fist on the crosswalk button, nearly breaking it. The woman standing next to him waiting to cross jumps a little. He offers her an apologetic smile, but it comes off as more of a scowl.
She steps away a little, eyes wide.
The girl working there wasn’t just nice. She was one of the prettiest girls he’s seen since 1945, and he’s screaming at himself to just turn around, just walk back there, just MOVE, Bucky - and the crosswalk flashes the countdown to start walking.
He makes his way home, donning his signature glower so people leave him alone with his thoughts, and he takes mental notes about where he had ended up on his little adventure. He’s going to be coming back to the store no matter how badly he wants to avoid human interaction. He’s going to put himself out there, and he’s going to tell Dr. Raynor to take her words about him having no friends and tell her exactly where to put them, because he is going to make a friend, damn it and being lost in his thoughts seems to be a theme today because he nearly bowls Sam over when he doesn’t see him standing in front of the door to his apartment.
Perfect. Just what he needs.
“What do you want, Sam? I’m kind of busy, you know, places to be and people to see, and-”
Sam cuts him off abruptly. “Bucky, you’re ignoring my texts. I know that you know how to work that ancient brick of a phone because you seem to have no issues replying to Yori.”
He huffs. “Yeah, well, Yori is my friend. That’s the difference, birdbrain. Also, why are you talking to my friends?”
He wedges his metal arm between Sam and his door, angrily turning his key in the lock and tuning out Sam’s excuse for being nosy. They're always the same. “I was worried about you” or “I thought you were dead” or “Steve wanted me to check in on you.” That one always stung a little. Steve should be here to check on him. Steve shouldn’t have left in the first place.
“Well, thank you for this nice chat, but I really have to be going now. You have a good day, Sam. Always a pleasure catching up with you.”
Moving past Sam, he tries to force the door shut and, to his dismay, a foot blocks it from shutting all the way. Bucky absolutely could close the door on Sam’s foot, he has a metal arm and it would be about as easy as breathing. But, contrary to popular belief, he does have a heart, or some semblance of one. Plus, Steve had to have liked Sam for a reason. Bucky just doesn’t want to find out the reason, because he has no interest in making friends with Sam.
He pauses. Dr. Raynor’s words echo in his head. “Look, you’ve gotta nurture friendships.”
Closing his eyes, he exhales deeply and opens the door all the way. Freaking Doc. Always finding a way to worm into his head and make him feel guilty for being so mean to Sam.
An olive branch. Sam’s surprise is clear on his face, but he quickly schools his features and moves all the way into Bucky’s apartment before he changes his mind and slams the door on his whole face.
His jaw aches from clenching it so painfully hard, but he waits for Sam to speak. He wanted to come in so badly, he can be the one to fill the silence. Bucky spent seventy years being silent, he can do it again.
“Are you adjusting to Brooklyn alright?” Wow, starting off with the real kickers. This is why Bucky strongly dislikes talking to Sam. Mr. Therapist always comes right in and Bucky doesn’t want to get psychoanalyzed by the two people that actually know him best. It would be nice to just have someone want to be his friend without trying to fix him.
A cough. Be nice, Bucky. “Well, I grew up here. There’s not much adjusting to do. Besides the fact that I missed almost a century, not much has changed.”
Sam rolls his eyes. See? There! That’s what Bucky hates about him. His smug little face. It’s so punchable. There’s just something about it. “Bucky, you need to start going out and meeting people. It’s lonely all by yourself, and if you don’t want to talk to me you can at least find someone else to talk to.”
If he had let Sam stop there, it would have been fine. Fantastic, even. He could have not said anything and it would have been nothing new for Sam Wilson. He’s used to getting ignored by Bucky Barnes.
But his big mouth opens and before he can stop it, the words are tumbling out. “I have a friend. A great friend, even, and we get along swell. She’s nice, she’s got a job, and most importantly, she’s not annoying. ” He starts ushering Sam to the door, still blabbing about this imaginary friend. Not technically imaginary, no, but most definitely not a friend. He actually was a jerk to you, and didn’t say a single word to you.
No, you are not friends, but Sam doesn’t need to know that. He pretends to check his watch. “She’s actually getting off a shift at the bookstore she works at right now, and then we’re going to hang out, so I really need you to get going.”
Sam digs his heels in a little, resisting Bucky’s push out the door, but Bucky clearly has the upper hand here.
Literally, it’s a hand. His advantage is his hand.
He forces a cheesy grin on his face, cheerfully says, “Goodbye Sam! Have a fantastic day. It’s really been great catching up with you, but I gotta go. Bye now!”
Sam’s protest is cut off by Bucky slamming the door in his face. He wants to laugh at the look on the big idiot’s face, but he stops himself. Oh. Oh no. He just told the nosiest person in the world, who just happens to be one of his least favorite people in the world, that he has a new friend. A lady friend. A lady friend who he has never spoken a single word to. Who he met today. Who Sam is probably going to now bother him incessantly about, who Sam might try to track down and find and befriend and oh no.
What exactly is he going to do now?