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“I’ll be back in like two hours, therapy.” Steve says to me as he grabs a water bottle from the fridge. “I think I’ll pick up smoothies on the way back, you want?”
“Yeah.” I assent from my position on the couch.
“I love you.”
He moves to the lounge area and kisses me, I let his fingers tangle in my hair.
“I love you too.” I breathe into his neck.
We kiss again, and Steve goes.
I turn my attention back to the TV, an episode of The Office is playing. Scott insisted I watch it, and it’s idle enough that I don’t need to pay too much attention.
I’ve decided that today I’m just going to sit on the couch.
I got out of bed, and I’m eating, that’s good enough for self-care.
I suddenly hear the door to the lounge slide open, and I squeeze my silly putty a little too hard. It squooshes around my fingers, pliant from me having been fidgeting with it for about three hours straight now.
“Oh, hi Mr. Barnes.”
It’s the kid, Peter.
I frown a bit at the name, but shrug it off.
What does it matter, what does anything matter?
Stop thinking like that
, I hear Steve say in my head.
“It’s Bucky.” I grunt.
“Sorry. I’m just taking a homework break. I’m staying here for the weekend, I dunno if Mr. Stark told you.”
Fuck, I forgot he mentioned that.
I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning after all, I am not in the mental state to deal with a kid right now.
Too late now, it would be rude to leave.
“I love this show!” Peter exclaims, sitting down next to me on the couch. “Pam is my favorite.”
“Mine too.” I find myself saying. “Her art is nice.”
Peter nods, and I twirl my putty around one of my metal fingers, feeling the imprint it leaves with my flesh.
Maybe I can handle this after all.
I’m depressed today, but not too depressed.
I barely notice when Netflix autoplays the next episode, until one word of the cold open cuts out harshly at me.
“Faggy.”
I flinch, the putty falling loose from my palm and bouncing onto the carpet, my shoulders hunching.
Faggot.
Pervert.
Disgusting.
I’m kind of surprised I’m still in my brain, and also in a way upset.
I hate going into Winter Soldier mode, but honestly it seems preferably to all the thoughts buzzing around in my brain right now.
Buzzing is the wrong word, more like colliding at high speed.
Fairy.
Queer.
Sin.
Devil.
Hits raining down upon me, needles slicing into my skin, laughs and jeers attacking my senses.
Memories from the war, from HYDRA, both before and after they brainwashed me.
Of course this has to be one of those rare times I remember the torture without going into Winter Soldier mode, of course it’s right fucking now.
I can vaguely sense that I’m hyperventilating and falling to my knees as the memories overwhelm me.
Probably why Rogers kept you around, fucking useless before HYDRA got ahold of you.
Such a pretty little face, shame what we have to do to it.
Aw, so talkative. I’m sure they had plenty of ways to shut your stupid mouth in the army.
Fucking ugly whore, too bad Captain America can’t save you now.
So pretty like this, half naked, tied up, and gagged.
If only he could see you like this, covered in blood and your own drool. Fucking disgusting.
A hand on my shoulder, too gentle, caressing-
“Bucky?”
The hand isn’t touching bare skin I realize, there is no bare skin. I have a shirt on.
Bucky, I haven’t heard that name since I last saw Steve, since before they got me.
“Bucky, I dunno if you can hear me, but it’s Peter.”
I have heard that name recently because I have seen Steve recently.
I blink a few times, tug at my hair.
I’m at the Avengers compound, in the lounge area.
I’ve been living here since after we defeated Thanos, living here with Steve and the Avengers.
I’m on my knees on a plush carpet, crying in front of a kid who has spider powers.
“I turned off the episode.” Peter says, and he sits down next to me on the floor.
I sit down fully, off of my knees.
“Sorry.” I choke out dumbly.
“It’s not your fault.” He sounds like he means it.
He’s a kid, how can he understand?
I thought my PTSD would terrify him, he’d see me as the monster I am.
But he’s sitting here calmly, trying to comfort me.
All the other Avengers just run for Steve when I flip out.
“It’s a really triggering word.” He adds.
I know all about triggers of course, I have a billion of them.
I’ve been working with my therapist on how to cope during panic attacks and try and untrain my brain from Winter Soldier mode. I pop pretty easily into brainwashed Asset when I hear, feel, smell, or even taste the right trigger.
“How do you know about triggers?” I ask, my voice gravelly.
“I’ve got them too. They’re obviously not as intense as yours, but I get it. The f slur used to be worse for me, but I’ve gotten used to it.”
This kid is seventeen, right? Although I guess I forget that he’s a kid with superpowers, and a kid who was snapped out of existence by Thanos. It makes sense he’d be traumatized. But why would fag trigger him?
“They call me things too.” Peter continues. “I dunno if you know what it is, but I’m pansexual. And transgender.”
“Uh…”
“I don’t have a gender preference, and I was born in a girl’s body.”
I nod. “Like a transvestite, I know-knew people like that.”
Peter winces a little, and I know I fucked up.
“Yeah, uh, I guess that’s what they would call it in 1940. But transgender is the preferred terminology now, transvestite is kinda a slur…”
“Sorry.” I say again.
“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I’m used to hearing that too. Sorry I can’t tell you things are much better than 1940. But yeah, in easier terms, I’m gay. I used to run to the bathroom and cry whenever I heard slurs at school. And I mean I’m sure you had worse stuff than words.”
“Yeah.” I say. “Probably started when I was your age. Could defend myself better than Steve at least. HYDRA… Well I’m gay and Jewish and they’re nazis.”
“Gay Jew squad!” Peter says excitedly. “You should come with me and Wanda for Shabbat dinner tonight. We’re going to a deli. It’s tradition, we do it every week.”
“Sounds fun.” I smile. “I know, like, no other Jews.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m here to listen, I know sometimes just talking it out helps.” Peter says quickly, and I notice he has a bit of his spider-webbing wrapped around his fingers.
Is it a fidget for him, like my putty?
“Thanks.” I say a bit sheepishly. “To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting you to react like this? Everyone just calls Steve when I freak out. Even Sam, and he’s actually professionally trained.”
“Adults don’t actually understand how mental health works is the thing. Lucky for you, kids these days are very in-tune with that sort of thing. Anxiety, depression, gender dysphoria, I’ve got it all. Therapy since I was 6, and Dr. Banner made anxiety medication that works through my spider-sense. I’ve had anxiety attacks a while, so I know how to deal with them a bit better. Mental health is pretty stigmatized for adults, and honestly they just kind of shut down when it comes to this stuff.” Peter explains.
How is he opening up about all this so easily?
“Wow…” Is all I can say.
“Anyways, that’s kind of my backstory. Gay culture these days is all about bonding over trauma!”
He says it so lightly, laughing a little.
A coping mechanism, maybe? Laughing through the pain?
“Yeah, I’ve got a lot in the trauma department.” I say, my voice a bit less strained now. “I heard that word a lot, not associated with good stuff. Getting beat up, or at least people attempting to beat me up, and uh, HYDRA stuff. Gory torture you don’t want to hear about. Explicit comments that are way too adult for a kid to hear. Steve was the only thing that kept me going, before they really fucked up my brain, so they’d make fun of that. Faggot, weak, that sort of thing. Rumlow was just creepy about it all, so was Pierce. Either scenario, bad memories. Not supposed to be me.”
“I get that. Both sides, kind of. Uh, it says in my history textbook that Mr. Steve got shoved in dumpsters. I’m guessing being gay is one of the reasons why?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s why we started going on dates with girls, since they wouldn’t let fags in the army. And y’know, it was kinda shit in the army, given that I got called a pervert and shit like that. But with the Howling Commandos, that was amazing. No one cared about any of that, we were like family. Steve and me, we were closer than anything. Getting to be with him now, freely…”
“It feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders.” Peter smiles at me, and I smile back.
“Yeah. That actually really helped, thank you. I haven’t really talked about being gay in therapy at all, too much other shit.” I test a chuckle, and it feels genuine. “Maybe I should start doing daily appointments.”
Peter laughs a bit too, and my brain focuses enough for me to find my silly putty on the ground.
I grab it and start pulling individual hairs off of it.
“Therapy is so lit.” Peter says, and I frown.
“Lit?”
“Oh, it’s slang. Means cool.”
“Lit.” I repeat.
“I’ll give you five bucks if you say it to Mr. Stark.”
“Deal.”
We eventually move back up onto the couch, and Peter puts on an episode of Spongebob. It’s not my favorite, but Steve loves it and has already watched every episode, and Peter is also a fan.
I move my bowl of chips between us on the couch.
“I can make this snack even better.” Peter says through a mouthful of chips. “Ready?”
“Uh, sure.”
He goes to the kitchen and returns with a box of Frosted Flakes, which he promptly pours into the massive bowl of chips.
“Sweet and salty, perfect combination. I figure we can finish the bowl, since we both have the super-metabolism thing.”
I take a handful of the chips and cereal together and shove it in my mouth.
“You’re a genius.” I say immediately.
“Yep.”
We chat idly and snack through the episode, and I find the cloud that has been hovering over me since this morning fading.
Nothing like stupid cartoons, snacks, and a friend to help depression.
When the episode ends, my phone pings, and I check it.
punk
Bucky, I’m getting smoothies. Nat said to try mango today. See you in fifteen minutes! Love, Steve.
I smile and reply back “pick up one more for Peter.”
“Smoothies in fifteen.” I tell him when I set my phone down.
“Yasss!” Peter shouts excitedly, kicking his leg up. “Smoothies with my elder gays!”
“You are going to have to teach me and Steve about modern gay culture.”
“Okay, yes. If you agree to come be a guest speaker at my school’s GSA and JSU.”
“Sounds good, if you explain what those are.”
“Gender sexuality association, Jewish student union.”
“What next, should I write your history paper?”
“I would be lying if I told you I never wrote a paper about you, you were kind of my hero growing up. Gay and Jewish, and close with Captain America.”
“The history books know I’m gay?”
“Oh, they obviously don’t say it, but ‘inseparable on the schoolyard and battlefield?’ Another thing about modern gay culture is find the gay subtext in everything.”
“Noted.”
“So, we’ve got fifteen minutes, wanna paint our nails? I brought some polish, and it’s a very in gay thing. Steve would love it.”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “That I know. Thank Shuri for that.”
“Matching rainbow?” Peter asks hopefully.
“I wouldn’t accept anything else.”