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Steve was exactly what Bucky had expected. He’d been through a lot of it himself, really, waking up in a world that wasn’t his own anymore. Navigating the things he hadn’t had a chance to experience yet was easier with Steve there too. And the memories, good memories, came back faster when Bucky had him there to share them. He felt more like himself with Steve there to guide him through it, not having to figure it all out alone. Though it was all different now, them, the entire world, it still felt like a piece of home to have his brother back.
He and Natalia had a lot of history, some of which he knew he hadn’t remembered yet. The Red Room was written on both of them in blood. Unlike her, though, Russian wasn’t his native language, and she had slowly helped him to get used to hearing it again without immediately sending him into a panic. To hear the words and the accent without flinching away in fear. Using her soft, low voice, she had begun by singing him lullabies, happy ones, ones without sadness and death. And eventually, after they had worked on it for a long time, Yasha didn’t immediately panic when he heard Russian. He finally got the chance to appreciate the language he didn’t even remember learning, and actually looked forward to speaking it with Natalia, something special they shared together.
Bruce, though usually reserved and even shy, had uncharacteristically approached him one evening, after a scathing piece about the Winter Soldier had appeared in the newspaper. Of all of the Avengers, Bruce was the one that knew what it was like, having an alter ego he had no control over, and it was a relief to have someone that understood. Bucky didn’t feel so alone, after that, knowing there was someone else out there that had gone through the same thing he had. Someone who lived in the shadow of what his body had done while under the control of someone else. The guilt wasn’t easier to bear, but it wasn’t quite as heavy when Bruce was there carrying the same burden. They made it lighter for each other.
Tony had found out that he felt uncomfortable with his scars, and handled it in a very Stark fashion. James had spent an afternoon in the workshop, playing with the bots and explaining the inner workings of his arm to Tony, both of them shirtless with their scars on display. Steve had been… very confused when he’d walked in on them, until Natasha, who was sitting on the couch wearing a crop top that showed off her own scar, explained the situation. Steve had been a little awkward about it, especially when Clint dropped out of the vents behind him with his own shirt nowhere to be seen, but when Thor joined the party and was just as unblemished as Steve, the guy relaxed. Some scars weren’t on the outside, after all, and after their scantily-clad afternoon lounging in Tony’s workshop together, the scars on the outside didn’t seem so bad. They all had them, after all.
Bucky had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time Clint had clapped him on the shoulder when they passed each other in the kitchen, so unused to being touched that it had come as both a shock and nearly perceived as a threat. He had only been at the Compound with everyone for a few days, and had been as jumpy and nervous as a cat. Clint wasn’t scared, though, had followed it up with a smile and a light jab to his arm. “I’m a hugger too. Get ready for that.” He hadn’t been lying, and after a few weeks of adjusting, Bucky got used to the concept of casual touch, especially when the others got in on it too. Handshakes and pats on the back, quick hugs and even the occasional kiss on the cheek, not to mention movie nights that always seemed to end in a puppy pile on the floor. He liked that.
Thor had been a little bit of a surprise. He had come across Bucky in the common area one night, pale and shaking in the aftermath of nightmares. The demigod had sat down next to him, and turned to look at him with a hollowness in his eyes that Bucky knew very well. Thor had lost more than any of them, after all, everything from his family to his people and even his planet. He knew what it was like to be tortured by those losses even in the supposed solace of sleep. “We all suffer, Barnes. You aren’t alone there. Don’t be ashamed.” So Bucky didn’t. And on the nights when he couldn’t go back to sleep and face what waited for him there, he often had company. They all had nightmares, but it was easier to wake up afterward when you could do so with a friend.
It wasn’t what he would have expected a support group to look like. It wasn’t at all like the pamphlets he’d been given encouraging him to reach out. The Avengers were nothing like a room of ordinary strangers sitting on uncomfortable chairs sharing their stories. They were so much better, in spite of the fact that they were all so broken and hurting in their own ways. But that was what made it work, Bucky suspected. Nobody knew how to help someone in pain better than one who had felt that pain themselves. They all had scars. They all had nightmares. They all had pasts that hurt, guilt that didn’t go away, fears that dogged their every step. But they didn’t have to bear it all alone. Bucky never expected that to the be one of his favorite things.