Holding On | Bucky Barnes

10 | Friday, December 31st

"I don't think you should be going today," Bucky says grumpily from my bed.

My back faces him as I pull on a sweatshirt and tuck it into my jeans. I suck in a silent breath and force my voice to be steady. "Bucky, it's fine. I need to do this. I need to keep my routine, but I also think it's best to see Renner today and not push it off."

"At least let me drive you."

"I can drive," I turn to look at him. "I just... I want to be alone for a little bit. Where I'm not being asked to talk about my parents, and I'm not getting pitying looks from everyone here. Just a few hours where it's just me."

Where I'm not being treated like cracked porcelain.

Bucky rubs a hand over his face and stands up. "But it's New Years Eve... People drive like idiots and are drinking and—"

"Bucky, it's nine in the morning. And I'll be coming back just after lunch. I'm sure all the crazy drivers won't be on the road yet," I shake my head, smiling in attempt to lighten the mood.

He sighs before dropping my gaze. "Okay... I'm sorry for pushing, I'm just worried..."

I step forward and tilt his face back up. "Hey, I know. And thank you. But I need to do this myself. I'll be okay."

"If you're not, let me know. I'll come pick you up. We can send someone to pick up the car, okay? We can go for a drive... not stop till we hit Florida," he chuckles.

I smile and nod. "Okay."

He presses a kiss to my forehead and wraps his arms around me. I melt into his embrace and rest my head against his shoulder, wishing I could stay here all day instead. "How are you feeling?"

I bite my lip and scan through my brain.

Other than exhausted?

I just kind of feel... numb. Like my emotions haven't hit me. Or maybe they aren't going to. It's the way I felt after they died.

Constantly waiting for the boot to drop.

"I'm alright, anxious, I guess. We'll see how the day goes... But right now, I feel okay."

Bucky nods and nuzzles his face into my neck.

If I stay like this much longer, I may fall asleep...

Last night was rough. I kept dreaming I was trapped inside the car, and we kept getting hit, over and over. My parents cried for me to stop the oncoming cars, but no matter what I tried I couldn't stop them. Thankfully, I woke up and Bucky was still sleeping beside me. I stayed up after that. Just laying in bed, dreading having to drive into the city to spill my guts once again.

But it's better this way.

Better that I push myself to do something that might help.

Better that I keep myself busy and my brain occupied.

And better that everyone think I'm doing okay. Or at the very least trying to be okay.

I reluctantly pull away from Bucky and grab my boots, jacket, and bag from my desk before we make our way downstairs. Nat is frying something on the stove, while Steve sits at the island, shaker bottle in front of him.

"Morning," I smile, placing my stuff down onto one of the couches and leaning against the side of the island.

"Morning, Y/N, how are you feeling?"

"I'm doing okay... Just want to get through the day," I nod a little.

Bucky hands me a coffee-filled mug and I smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. My fingers wrap around the warm ceramic, and I bring my gaze to Nat again.