James Barnes was no stranger to guilt. The way its dirty claws scratched your stomach, digging into the flesh and threatening to lurk out of the hole you had tried to bury it in. He was hardly a good man himself; he had more baggage than he would ever care to admit. The shadow of the Winter Soldier followed him even long after the Wakandians had freed him from the grip of the trigger words. He knew firsthand what it felt like to sink. And for a while he believed himself deserving of the pain — no matter how hard you tried to argue otherwise.

Bucky didn’t know much; he was a man still trying to make sense of the world he had been thrown into. He was yet to figure out who he wanted to be now that he was free to make choices of his own. The short hair, he supposed, was yet another attempt at taking control of himself. He was hardly a wise man, and he could never give speeches like Steven. But even with all his doubts, he knew one thing: he would not let you drown.

The tales of the acts you had committed fell deaf to his ears. You weren’t a hero, and neither was he. He would do everything in his power to prevent you from beating yourself up over things you had little control over. Time and again he had to remind you that you were not the only one who had been moulded into a weapon.

James knocked on the door of the bedroom, catching sight of your body curled into itself as you hugged your knees. He walked with heavy steps to your bed, letting the mattress dip under his weight. “Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.” He gestured towards the key in his hand — a spare copy you had given him a few weeks prior. “I know I ain’t one to talk about missed calls, but I can’t let you do this, sweetheart.”

He shifted closer, catching your eyes as your head raised. His vibranium arm came to wrap itself around your shoulders, pulling you into him. "Whatever it is that haunts you, I don't care. I'm not letting go of you. Ever."