Work Text:
Bucky sat on the floor of his apartment wishing he'd stayed in a hotel. His living room was cold and eerily silent, the TV dark, he could see his sombre reflection glaring back at him. He knew he was just procrastinating going to see Yori. But it definitely wasn't going to be as simple as walking up to the guy and saying, "Oh just to let you know I was the one who killed your son and then didn't tell you until now, enjoy the rest of your day!"
He was worried he would just do more harm than good. However, Bucky knew that closure in regards to Yori's son was what the man needed. Sam had told him to try and help the people he wronged as the winter soldier rather than avenging. Of course, he'd sort out the mess that had formed inside his head involving Steve but right now this was the priority.
Bucky will be forever grateful to Sam for actually telling him to get his shit together. The government enforced therapist would never have gotten close to the truth of what was actually affecting Bucky and it was proof of Sam's insane counselling skills that he had; half the time Bucky didn't even realise he was sharing something quite personal until it had already left his mouth.
Both of them denied even having a friendship let alone knowing each other and yet when it came to advice Sam knew exactly what to say. As much as he hated him for saying 'what Steve thought doesn't matter' he knew Sam was right about trying to not constantly want to be validated by other people. Steve's gone and he's never coming back. That's what he should keep reminding himself of.
An icy breeze rolled passed him and he turned to see the window looking out onto the barren street, was cracked open. Lights from street lamps and the sound of traffic in the distance were the only reminders of other life. Shuffling over to close the window and grabbing a blanket from the couch, Bucky knew it was far too late to be going to Yori's even if it wasn't that far.
He would go in the morning.
After getting back from Sarah's place he couldn't get comfortable enough to go to sleep on the couch. Bucky wasn't sure what the difference with his couch was that didn't allow him to actually sleep. He supposed , at Sarah's, it was one of the few times in months he had allowed himself to relax with no immediate threat other than the water pipe bursting on the boat.
Either way, Bucky would have to at least attempt to get some sort of rest. He carried a pillow and blanket to the usual floor area and lay down. Staring at the ceiling mindlessly he knew that tomorrow would be his first step to regaining the James 'Bucky' Barnes that he had scrambled for, for years. And get as close he could to living. Of course, he would never be alright but he's a 106 year old man. Alright didn't come with the job description.