You stand side by side, watching him carefully. You've known Bucky a long time, you've spent a long time loving him, and yet, you've never seen him like this. Quiet and pensive in a different way than his normal stoicism.
This was the man from the 1940's, the boy from Brooklyn, the son that woke from his time as the Winter Soldier to find his parents and sister buried.
There's been nothing but silence since Bucky first pulled into the cemetery on this warm, sunny day. His jaw is tense, his eyes fixed on the spot where his mother is buried. "Are you alright?"
"I don't come here very often," Bucky speaks softly. He shakes his head with a shaky exhale, "This part doesn't ever get any easier. Knowing my mom is here, my sister, my dad..."
"You don't talk about him much."
"My father..." Bucky sighs. "He was - it was complicated, you know? He was a hard-ass, he had one hell of a temper, but he loved my Ma, he took care of us, and he - he was my dad."
You squeeze his hand, "I understand."
"They would have loved you."
You smile up at him, "Thanks."
"I left the flowers in the car, I'll go grab them," you tell him after a long moment of pensive, thick silence.
Both you and Bucky know it's less about grabbing flowers than it is you giving him a moment alone with his parents. You squeeze his hand one last time before you walk off.
"Hey, Ma." Bucky speaks, but only after he's watched you walk out of earshot. He smiles down at his mother's gravestone. He reaches down into his pocket, pulling out the small ring box to show her. "I, uh, I managed to track down your rings. Sam helped me out. Steve, well, you know Steve. It's been 70 years and he still can't keep a secret. I haven't told him yet, probably won't until after I've popped the question. You'd love her. She's perfect. Let's just hope she says yes."
Only moments later, you return with three bouquets, one for each of headstone. "Thank you for bringing me here, for trusting me with this."
"I think you're one of the only people that I trust with this," he confesses, his voice thick with grief. He wasn't sure that there would ever be a time that he would stop grieving the loss of his family. All he could really do was turn to the family he'd built in this time. "It makes me nervous, you know? With everything, that's - that's why I don't come here very often. I feel terrible, but I know I'd feel worse if people came here, if they-"
He doesn't have to finish his sentence. You know what he means. Bucky Barnes is a man that appreciates his privacy, not by choice, but to protect himself. The public perception of him improved day by day, but you know there's people out there that would come here only to hurt Bucky.
"You've never told me that before."
"Maybe I'm just paranoid."
Though you believed in the good of people, you understood why he didn't. You'd seen firsthand the visceral reactions people had to him. It wasn't fair to him in the slightest.
You squeeze his hand. "I understand. I don't think you're paranoid. You just... want to protect them."
It chokes him up. You're right. He wants to protect them. He wants to protect them the way he couldn't when they were still alive. Though the rational part of him knew it wasn't his fault, he'd always blamed himself for not being there for them.
He clears his throat. "I'm just - I'm gonna go talk to the groundskeeper real quick."
It's his way of telling you that he needs a minute. You nod, giving his hand an extra squeeze before you let go. "Okay."
You watch as he walks away with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Um...Mrs. Barnes?" you hesitantly speak to the headstone. "I know you don't know me, but I sorta feel like I know you. James still talks about you all the time. And I guess, I just - I wanted you to know that your son means the world to me. And I'll spend the rest of my life taking care of him. You raised a good man. You raised my person, and I'll never be able to say thank you enough for that."