The Keeper of Infinity

How the Mighty Fall!

Earth-616

July 23, 2025; 9.15 am; Washington D.C.

"I don't like this."

Sam gave a long glance at his friend — for he could call Bucky his friend now after everything they went through together with obdurate supersoldiers. His black eyes lingered on the other man's furrowed brows that managed to make the air around him a touch more enigmatic and a lot more murderous.

He sighed, black gaze swinging back on the building ahead as the two trekked up the few steps into the five–storeyed structure that had definitely seen better days. A shiver ran down his spine as soon as he stepped foot inside, despite it being summer. It had nothing to do with the air–conditioned coolness that welcomed them.

"I don't like this either," His voice was quiet, head slanted towards his friend for ease of hearing even though he knew the super soldier had, for lack of a better word, super hearing. "But there's nothing we can do about it."

"We can keep him with us." It wasn't hard to hear the tone of defensive protest in Bucky's voice.

"Do you think we can give him the kind of care he needs?" Sam stared at the other man meaningfully. "We can't. He needs—"

"He needs familiarity. Friends. Love." Bucky's eyes were hard as he turned his blue gaze on him. Sam was a little ashamed to admit that he had to consciously fight back an automatic flinch and the instinctive fighting stance.

He should really be over it by now but every time Bucky's usually soft blue eyes turned steely, Sam's hindbrain took it as a cue to bring forth images of a blank–faced Winter Soldier, flipping knives in an almost methodical dance of fingers, shooting rifles with an uncanny sharpness; of a man who didn't fucking exist anymore and it was high time he got behind that fact.

It wasn't fair to Bucky, not after everything that man had been through, not after everything he had put himself through to overcome that part of himself.

Sam was a therapist. He knew better than most about PTSD — a four–letter acronym that could bring even the most ruthless of soldiers to their knees, and it had. He could see, sometimes even without meaning to, the kind of trauma Bucky was suffering through.

Bucky fought, every single day, to assure himself and those around him that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

Sam believed him. He trusted him even. Come a battle, there was nobody else he'd rather have his back. Bucky was as loyal as loyal could get.

However, there were still moments — few and far in between but existing nonetheless — where Sam got an imaginary glimpse of the Soldat in Bucky's icy gaze or his tightly fisted hands or his straight–spined posture.

Sam's only source of relief that prevented the feeling of being a fraud and a liar from taking root in his mind was Bucky's awareness of his struggles.

Bucky knew, and he understood.

That didn't alleviate Sam's guilt though.

A sudden elbow to his side brought him back from the cobweb of his mind, his head snapping up to lay eyes on the woman — a nurse from the looks of it — approaching them. He hadn't even realised when the floor had drawn his eyes amidst his musings.

"Mr. Wilson, Sergeant Barnes, it's an honour to meet the two of you." The nurse smiled — it was polite and didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm Marta Jones. I'm the head nurse around here."

"Ma'am. I just wished we met under better circumstances." Sam accompanied his words with a courteous smile of his own while Bucky settled for a simple nod as a greeting.