@shlded
The sound of the air moving through the tree’s, the sound of the water moving nearby, even the light sound of voices drifitng over the wind were all things that Bucky has been told would make him feel at ease here. It was all part of the natural way things worked around here and that he would find comfort and peace in the simplicity of life here. Words that had meant very little from the team that not two weeks ago, had tried to stick him back on ice.
Maybe it would be for the best. A few weeks ago he had been running around trying to kill people, innocent people all because some twisted piece of shit with a vendetta had chosen to use him, like so many before him, as a tool in some greater plan. Zemo hadn’t cared how long Bucky had worked to scrape back some semblance of a mind, and some structure to start healing. He hadn’t cared that he had hidden himself away for months trying to just make it to the end of the day. Only a few words had turned him right back into that ghost of a killer he was trying to escape. Maybe being back on ice was where he belonged.
And now he was here. In a place that offered safety and security and yet, Bucky simply could not sit still. Maybe it was the stillness, or the scents in the air, or the knowledge that there was a device nearby that would be capable of freezing him should he choose - or should he step out of line. The people here were kind, but the few that came close enough to interact had waryness in their eyes that spoke volumes and in times like this, Bucky finds himself missing the noise and security of his apartment.
All of the above is why sleep rarely comes. Each time he closes his eyes, Bucky has to relive the things he so desperately wants to forget. More recently it’s the horrific pain that came from having his arm ripped from his body, something so violent that the new tech provided by T’Challa doesn’t quite feel real. The horror’s he see’s with each blink are enough to keep him awake, and coupled with the unease he feels in Wakanda, it results in Bucky wandering around the small building he had been allowed to inhabit with one other guest.
Steve Rogers. A man who looks at him with the world in his eyes and a lifetime of memories that Bucky doesn’’t quite have. Or rather, he hasn’t yet admitted to himself what he really remembers about this man. Perhaps afraid of the outcome.
That’s what fills his thoughts the late night he starts cooking in the kitchen as something to keep his hands busy. In his tme spent away from HYDRA, Bucky’s struggle with his diet had been combatted with learning how to make things he liked the idea of in an attempt to encourage himself to eat for more than just the bare survival. A hard habit to break of course. He had been halfway through frying some onions, garlic and peppers together in a pan when the first twinges of dissociation had crept up. Bucky had gone from quitely cooking.. to pacing the kitchen with his mind miles away.
Which is why the fire alarm is blaring in their lodging at half past 4 in the morning.











