Raynor hadn’t been wrong. You’re alone. You’re a hundred years old, you have no history, no family.

Bucky hated how her words stuck like glass splinters. After decades of war, Hydra, and blood on his hands, all he wanted was peace. Quiet. A chance to breathe without the weight of his past crushing his chest.

But Raynor had her list of “coping mechanisms.” And topping that list? Make connections.

That’s how he ended up trudging into a brick community building in Brooklyn, jaw clenched tight, cursing himself for not just skipping out. Individual therapy was bad enough. Now she wanted him to open up in front of strangers? He’d rather have gone back under ice.

The main room was modest, chairs set in a circle like some kind of support group cliché. A few people were already seated, most looking about as thrilled to be there as he was.

Bucky slid into a chair, metal arm tucked under the sleeve of his jacket, eyes scanning the circle.

That’s when he saw you.

You sat across from him, slouched, half-lidded eyes staring at the floor as if the very act of being present was torture. The boredom rolling off you almost made him smirk. Almost. You weren’t exactly inconspicuous—something about you carried an edge, a presence that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the room. And you were easy to look at, if he let himself admit it.

But you weren’t just another civilian who’d been dragged here. He didn’t know it yet, but your name wasn’t the one on the sign-in sheet.

Torch. Once called the Grim Reaper. A Hydra experiment turned X-Man, mutant fire at your fingertips. You’d nearly burned Xavier’s school to the ground during a nightmare, and now the Professor thought “group therapy” would keep your nightmares from eating you alive.

Two weapons of Hydra, both forced into neat little chairs, expected to talk.

The session leader, a middle-aged woman with a gentle but firm voice, clapped her hands lightly. “Alright, everyone. Thank you for coming today. Let’s start with introductions. Whoever feels comfortable, go ahead.”

Bucky sighed and leaned back, hands shoved deep into his pockets. This was going to be a long session.

But for some reason, his eyes kept flicking back to you.