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"I have a great past, so I'm totally fine."
One of the biggest lies he had ever managed to come up with, honestly secretly some part of him hoped someone, anyone, really would catch the subtle sarcasm he hid so well, but... they didn't actually know him, he was Senator Barnes to most of them, not The Winter Soldier, or Sgt Barnes, not even bucky.
Months had passed, they were living in Avengers Tower, getting used to the team, new dynamics, and the bonus of being in complete control over Valentina's fate, as Yelena said, "We own you," and they made that clear as day every time Val needed a reminder.
But he was dealing with something long forgotten by the rest, Sam's betrayal... at least that's how he felt it, the legal battle was long behind them, but no matter what he tried, Bargaining, begging, nothing made Sam talk to him, NOTHING. His best friend after Steve, the first person he felt like he could trust after everything that happened, his rock, a veteran who could at least begin to understand him... was now gone, A.W.O.L, no contact, just because of a legal issue, a minor Stupidity. Sam had left him... abandoned him... because of a shitting copyright...
Somehow, a simple exercise had left him in this state, curled up, shaking in his non-mashmallowy Wakandan-made bed, his "Great past" back again to haunt him, exacerbated by the fact that he knew that this time, when he woke up from his nightmares, on those nights, nights like this one, where the dark was too much, he couldn't call anyone for help.
Longing.
How he longed for a friend, one that wouldn't leave.
How he longed for freedom, redemption, and peace.
Rusted.
He was rusted, broken, useless, and better yet, he infected anyone who came close.
Seventeen.
1917, the year of his birth, the year that was so celebrated for so many years, but now only reminded him of how much has happened, how much he has lived through, how old he is.
Daybreak.
Maybe one day... something would break and some light would start to shine through, but he was losing hope.
Furnace.
How it burned, his ledger, how it dripped with blood, casualties, Tony's parents, so... so many people feared, blamed him...
How his flashbacks burned made his simple existence unbearable.
Nine.
Hail Hydra... nine heads...nine main missions...
Benign.
Benign, not good, not inherently evil, not damaging, but not giving.
Homecoming.
That wouldn't happen; his home was dead, it had died when the Winter Soldier was born.
One.
One mission, one purpose, one man.
Freight Car.
The one who started it all, the piece of junk that killed Sgt Barnes, that separated him from Steve, that gave Hydra the thing it needed to birth the Winter Soldier...
He hated how those ten words, those horrible reminders of his past torture and brainwashing, described him so, SO perfectly-
"Just breathe."
He didn't know where that advice came from, it sounded familiar, also quite sane, so he tried to follow it, making sure to double-check that he was indeed covering his face, in case of anything.
Every breath burned like a thousand fires, but after some time of soft prompting and hard work, his shaking had reduced and his mind was a bit clearer.
Somehow he had ended up in the floor, back hard against the corner, huddled up in a near fetal position, quite pathetic, he thought, his eyes and part of his mouth were covered by his metal hand, face wet from tears he didn't know were spilled, and once he had the courage to open his eyes and look around though a slit between his metal fingers he saw Bob, torso on top of his legs, back to him, through the panic of his situation he barely felt the surprise, but once conscious he became aware of how soothing the subtle pressure was.
"I read that therapy dogs do this thing called DPT, to calm the nervous system of their owners in stressful moments. I thought it might help."
Bob's tone was calm, measured, but not in the pitying way he was used to.
They both sat in silence, a surprisingly comfortable one, for god knows how long, while he managed to regain complete control over himself.
He didn't know much about Bob, Bob didn't know much about him, but there seemed to be some sort of mutual understanding and respect, and right now that's all he really cared about.