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Bucky is shaking so hard his teeth rattle as Sam gets him loaded into the jet. Torres swoops in, the doors to the quinjet slamming shut behind him.
"I saw him get hit. I've never seen anything take him down like that. Is he okay?"
"No, he's not fucking okay." Sam helps Bucky to a seat, buckling him in so he doesn't shake right off the bench. "We need space, man, and as much quiet as we can manage in this tin can."
"Roger that." Joaquin heads for the front of the jet, leaving Sam and Bucky mostly alone.
The minions of the flavor of the week hit Bucky with some sort of sonic wave, overwhelming his super hearing to the point of meltdown. Sam has seen similar responses from people with sensory processing issues, but never like this.
Bucky has his hands over his ears so tightly he's drawn blood with his prosthetic.
"Hey, I've got you." Sam repeats that simple phrase over and over, ever so gently convincing Bucky to let go long enough to slip ear defenders on instead. "There we go, better."
"Too much," Bucky grits out.
"The sound? Or everything?"
Bucky taps Sam's boot twice with his own. The second one, then. Sam grabs a hoodie from their go-bag and drapes it over Bucky's eyes.
"We'll handle more of that when we get home. Deep breaths for me, okay? I don't want to tranq you, not with the shit we have on board."
They get back to DC with Bucky hooded like a bird of prey, heartbeat slowly returning to superhuman normal.
Torres drives them back to Bucky's apartment building so they don't have to deal with anyone else on the way.
"Keep me updated," he whispers, carefully closing the door behind himself.
Sam locks the door and lowers the blinds. Bucky starts peeling out of his tac suit, pieces of gear hitting the floor haphazardly.
"Easy, Buck." Sam helps him out of the rest and into his darkened bedroom. "There we go. It's dark in here."
The shaking has calmed. Bucky isn't strung quite so tight anymore.
"I'm gonna change," Sam says, not sure how conscious Bucky is in his cocoon. "Want me to stay?"
"Please," Bucky whispers.
"I'll stay."
...
Bucky sleeps for hours, curled up against Sam's chest with a hoodie for a sleep mask. When he wakes, his skin doesn't feel too tight anymore, at least no more than usual.
Sam takes up about seventy percent of the bed, snoring like a freight train.
Bucky just smiles and curls up even closer. Here, in the quiet of his apartment, the snoring means he's safe.