For Steve

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[This is a bad idea.

Bucky knows it as soon as he stops outside the little community centre where these classes run and he sees the other students milling about, chatting to each other in their own little cliques. The thing has been running for a while, it's an art group for anyone with any sort of mental health issue - depression, anxiety, psychosis. He's here for PTSD, practically bullied into it by his therapist at the VA, under the instructions that he needs to get out and start socialising more.

There are only six other people, four women and two men, and it already feels like too large a crowd. He makes sure his prosthetic is properly covered by a glove and long sleeve, stuffed into his pocket so nobody can tell it hangs strangely, and slouches in at the back. From the conversations he can overhear, blonde woman and redhead woman have anxiety issues, brunette #1 and the two men all have depression, and brunette #2 has psychosis. They're all so open with each other, chatting about medications and coping techniques and the work they've been doing in class already.

One of them approaches him and asks his name, and what he's there for, but he just glowers at her until she retreats again. He doesn't want anyone to know why he's here, and he's only here so Wilson will stop goddamn riding him about it.

He slumps into the seat nearest the back and waits for the teacher to arrive, already sure this is going to be a waste of time...]

Comments

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[ooc: I can do Sam for a bit, while Bucky is out!]

[This wasn't the first house call that Sam has made since he started doing this sort of work. It's not one of his favourite parts of the job, it's never good to hear that one of his vets has gone off the deep end and hurt someone. At least this could be worse.]

Nope, what gave me away?

[He's met Steve a couple of times, the guy always goes to every voluntary training course and seems nice enough. He never would have pegged him for Bucky's type.]

You mind if I come in?

[andstripes]

[Steve does know Sam too, and he's normally quicker on the draw but pain meds slow him down a bit so it takes a little for him to recognize where he knows Sam from.]

Oh! Sam, you're Sam. Come in, sorry.

[Steve steps aside so Sam can come on in]

I have cold pizza in the fridge and juice and... I'm sure other stuff?

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That's okay, I brought supplies.

[He holds up two grocery bags stuffed full of things, considering he did tell Bucky that he would bring some proper food and make sure things got done.]

You're not looking so good, Steve, how about you tell me what happened?

[andstripes]

[Steve nods, gesturing to the fridge and the rest of the kitchen as if to tell Sam to make himself at home. He sits down in the meantime.]

It looks worse than it is. Also I just took some painkillers so I'm a little... [He gestures his hand like 'not quite all there'.]

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Uh huh, I got it, but maybe you can still tell me what you remember?

[He got the story from Bucky, but he knows from long experience that the sufferers tend not to be the most reliable narrators for situations like this.]

And how about you tell me why I didn't know about you and Bucky until today? I thought we were kind of friends, Steve, I'm hurt.