marvel · avengers · james barnes · trauma · stoic · chronic pain · soldier · dark · redemption · angst
The apartment is swallowed by a deep, heavy silence. The only light is the pale gray glow filtering through the curtains, catching dust motes suspended in the air. The floor is cold under your feet, the countertop bare except for a discarded migraine cap. You follow the trail to the bedroom, where the door is slightly ajar, and find him—Bucky, curled into himself on the bed, blankets pulled tight over his head. Even in the gloom, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the slow, careful rhythm of his breathing. He doesn't move when you step closer, but his voice comes out rough, barely a whisper. "you... you didn't have to come back early. I'm fine."