Things Bucky Barnes Doesn't Do Well

Talk to Strangers

Bucky pulls the coat closer around him, glancing at the people passing them by, wondering if anyone will bump into him, will notice that he's got a hunk of metal for an arm instead of flesh. No scandalized or confused looks so far, but it's hard to pay attention to what Steve and Natasha are saying to him with all these people nearby, pressing in close.

" – to find him some clothes that fit. He can't just wear yours, Steve. You're inhumanly large."

"Thanks, Nat," Steve replies sardonically.

"It's a compliment," she defends herself, smiling back at Bucky, who forces a smile in return. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't look convinced, and looks over at Steve sharply.

"You doing alright, Buck?" Steve asks, his friendly tone hiding his worry pretty well.

"Fine," he answers shortly.

He ignores the look that passes between them and focuses on staying in their wake, before the crowd closes in behind them. Why is it so crowded here? How can any of them feel safe in this environment? He had more control of his surroundings in almost every combat situation he's been in (that he can remember), even the ones that ended badly. This one can't end well, he thinks. But he lets his best friend and ... well, another friend, he guesses she would be, lead him through the mall in search of something. Clothes for him, maybe. He has clothes, though, so he suspects the goal of this little exercise is more conditioning him to the real world than dressing him up.

It's not that he doesn't need the conditioning; he understands their reasoning. His current heartrate is a clear indication that he needs some work before being mission-ready. But he isn't sure he'll be able to endure this. In the field, he had orders to follow. The Winter Soldier follows orders. The Winter Soldier does not deviate. Sometimes he would go over the mantra in his head to stay calm when things went awry. He supposes he had something similar to cope with missions during the war. But nothing seems to be working now.

"So, James, anything in particular that you're after?" Natasha asks, slowing her pace to walk beside him and link arms. It's a startling gesture, but he understands her motives quickly – if she's on his left, no one will notice anything wrong with him. Well, not the fact that he has a metal prosthetic, anyway.

He allows a grateful smile to cross his lips for a moment before glancing toward Steve, who smiles at him over his shoulder. "Well, I... I guess I could use some workout clothes," he offers, uncertainly.

A winning smile appears on her face and he considers how easily someone would be ensnared by it, if she wanted them to be. "Excellent choice. I get most of mine here," she adds, waving toward a store. "Shall we try it?"

Both of them have stopped and are looking at him, waiting. "Sure," he answers noncommittally. Steve's brow furrows a little, ready to reassure him, to remind him that they can go where ever he wants. But he has no idea what the options are, let alone what he wants. Wanting things... it's a new mindset. He isn't used to it yet.

The three of them walk into the store. It's brightly lit and smells like plastic. Or maybe vinyl. There are no exits; the door in the back likely leads to a stock room, not a way out. There are four people inside: a cashier, male, early twenties, medium build, not a threat; a shopper, female, late forties, large build, not a threat; a young shopper, male, under ten, small build, likely child of the woman, not a threat; a stocker, male, late twenties, large build, possible threat.

Steve and Natasha are enthusiastic as they find him things that will be useful. He keeps an eye on the other people in the store, threats or not, as well as on the exit, and manages to force a smile from time to time as they show him options.