The Fluffy Adventures of Yelena and Bucky

Bonus Part: Moving in

   Bucky grabbed his few bags and piled them in the passenger row of Sam's truck, then made sure everything else in the back was secure. He tightened the strap around his motorcyle. If it got scratched duringn the move, he'd get mad.  

   His nerves felt like live wires. You touch them, you get zapped. That's why a small part of him felt sorry for Sam. He didn't deserve to deal with a guy like Bucky, regardless of whether he said it out loud, which he'd never do. 

   Some things, he couldn't change, he just couldn't. And he recongnized that. But that didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made everything harder, realizing the truth. 

   He ignored the slight stremble in his hands as he gave his bike a fond pat. "Sam! It's all here."

   "Alright, let's go, then." Sam replied, climbing into the driver's seat. "Come on, old man."

   The drive was a short one, and when they got close to the area he grew up in, nastolgia rose so strongly that Bucky was afraid he'd vomit. Kids used to run around on every corner of the city, but now, fewer young people mingled. Older, most likely homeless, people roamed the streets now. Or crouched in corners looking like zombies.

   Whenever he could, Bucky would take trips into the city to talk to some of these people. He learned which ones you could talk to and which ones you stayed away from because they wouldn't be moved and wouldn't give a shit if you were nice to them.

   Taking care of something or someone had always been a pastime of Bucky Barnes'. And now that he was here in the 21st century, he needed being charitable in order to feel satistfied, even if it was only for a moment.

   "So, this the house you grew up in?" Sam asked, sounding distant. Bucky realized he'd zoned out, and sighed, refocusing on Sam. 

   "Yeah," his voice sounded gravelly. "My mom wanted me to have it. She said it in her will."

   "Has anyone else lived in it since...?"

   "Ben let Becca take it to raise her kids, my nephew and neice. After that, no one really touched it."

   "Hmm,"

   "This is where you turn, if I remember right."

   "Yeah, we're not trusting your memory. No offense."

   Bucky sighed, again. "None taken." But it was the street. Murky images, smells, feels from walking home and turning at this intersection flashed through his mind.  "It is the street, though."

   "Relax, I was just messing with you," Sam told him, turning the truck into the Bucky's old neighborhood. 

   "Well, don't." Bucky said firmly, a warning in his tone. The last thing he wanted right now was Sam being stupid in his face. That would piss him off so badly he would start seeing red, he knew.

   He was going back to the place he was raised in. Sam was his first choice for helping him, even if he hated it when Sam asked questions. Anxiety whirled in his head, making him feel high on Red Bull. He hated anxiety, but was all too familiar with it by now, after years of grappling with it.

   Letting Sam help was a risk, but let's be honest, would Sam take no for an answer when he found out that he was moving? No. So Bucky didn't have a choice, really.

   The street was bright and sunny and each house was vintage-looking and homey. Kids sat on their porches, or were shooting hoops on the road with one of those portable hoop stands. The young people stopped to stare curiously at the truck with wide eyes.