yourbestguysgun | → you get mistaken for strangers by your own friends

[ There's a clear view of the Rogers-Barnes kitchen coming through on the feed, Bucky hunched over the counter with a pen and a pad of paper, a half bitten pen between his fingers. He scrawls for a minute before it ends up propped by a coffee mug for the whole world to see. Why, he has no idea, it just feels like a good idea at the time. ]

Dear Santa,

Sorry I told Steve y'weren't real when we were eight, okay buddy? It was a mistake, but Johnny did tell me first, so I can't be blamed for the big fuss it caused, right? Anyway, I figure as it is the season an' all, I should write.

For Christmas I kinda only want like a few things, so don't worry.

A carton of those fancy cigarettes Jones smokes, cause I kinda miss the taste.
A bagel from Marcy's Diner, that's impossible, I got it, but you don't get good cream cheese here like Marcy does.
My Johnson. I guess Santa don't know much about guns, so it's the M1941. We served well together. And I want mine, not just anyones, it's kinda important.
For the people I care about to catch a break, okay?
I want Steve to have a good Christmas. Yeah, I don't care, he's usually sick, or alone, or working, and then there's the war, and I just want him to have a good time, so you can ignore the crap I've written there if you do this one thing for me. If anyone can swing it, it'd be you.

Thanks,

J. Barnes.

[ There's a moment of silence as it all finally registers, and Bucky starts swearing. ] Oh, you've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me, what is this crap?

[ Then the pad is snatched up, Bucky's hand hovering in place holding an old silver lighter, and the whole thing goes up in smoke. ] Shit. [ Feed snapped off. ]

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Yeah, no. Sorry, I'm distracted.

[ Brushing ash into the palm of his hand to lose it down the sink. ] Didn't sleep real well last night. So, okay, tree? We're gonna get in the festive spirit?

Nightmares?

[Concerned Steve is concerned]

I thought that we could decorate it, that's all. I haven't had one since I was a kid.

No. [ Yes. ] It don't matter, not the only soldier to have nightmares.

We can get a tree. [ Flashing him a smile. ] It'll be neat. 'Course, I'm blamin' the whole ordeal on you.

[Pause.]

I get them all the time.

[Forget the tree. Steve's gonna press this issue first.]

Really?

[ And there's a flash of concern in his eyes, because they're both this way, worried more for their friend than themselves. ] You've never said.

[Steve shrugs]

Who am I to complain? Plenty of people been through so much worse.

[He sits at the table and unloads his bundle of goodies from the landlady]

You're Captain America, I think your allowed to worry about your mental wellbein' and people'll take note.

[Another shrug]

I figure as long as I don't yell out secrets in my sleep, I probably should just keep them to myself.

Why didn't you say anything?

Ain't no point. Mostly I just wake up and find somethin' to do instead of tryin' to drop back off. Seems t'work.

Are you telling me you go wandering through the apartment in the middle of the night and I never wake up?

[SNORT]

Some soldier I am.

Maybe I'm just stealthy, huh? You ever thought of that?

Or I just got so used to you bringing dames by late that I sleep through your movements.

[That's a lie, because Steve always sat up and listened to Bucky and his dames. Not on purpose; when he was smaller, sleeping was more furtive, harder to reach.]