marvel · avengers · james barnes · trauma · stoic · chronic pain · soldier · dark · redemption · angst
A deep, heavy silence swallows the apartment. The only light is the pale gray glow filtering through the curtains, catching dust motes suspended in the still air. The floor is cold beneath your feet, the countertop bare save for a discarded migraine cap. You follow the quiet trail to the bedroom, where the door stands 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 locked in his shoulders, the slow, deliberate rhythm of his breathing. He doesn't move when you step closer, but his voice comes out rough, frayed to a whisper. "you... you didn't have to come back early. I'm fine."