That sort of thing is enough to make him stop and smile. A slow smile, a smile made out of nerves. He can still make other friends.
"...Maybe not sic on. Just...convince to pee in his shoes occasionally. If he's pissing me off."
He leans into his friend for a moment before putting his hands in his pockets, "...Sgt. Rodriguez isn't having nightmares anymore. The program seems to work."
Sam laughs full out at that. "Somehow, I think that'd be worse. He'd heal pretty quick from any scratches or bites, but the smell of pee would linger of a while."
The weather's pretty good as they walk out of the building and down to the diner. "Yeah? Glad to hear she's doing better."
For a moment, he wants to ask if the program's working for Bucky, too, but he pulls himself back - he knows Bucky will share about himself if he feels like it.
He studies the sun for a moment, considering, "...I think- if she can. As an ex-navy seal? I...I could give it a shot. With the anxiety medication and all."
Something like that would be tricky, but he nods, turning the thought over in his head.
"If you want to try it out, we can discuss it more with the people in charge. If none of the current medicines work," which is always a big possibility, given all the changes Hydra's made to Bucky over the years (and the reminder always makes Sam want to punch something), "then we can talk to Stark and Dr. Banner. I'm pretty sure they could come up with something."
Taking note of Bucky's discomfort, he slows his walk to something more leisurely so they can both unwind a little in the warm sunshine.
"Me? Well, in the mornings I go jogging with Steve, have breakfast, then get ready for whatever needs to be done. I spend a lot of time at the VA. I like to keep busy." It helps to feel like he's making a difference.
He stops talking for a moment, hands in his pockets. Hate is a hard word. He doesn't hate, he's not really allowed to hate. Brow furrowed, he watches his feet on the stone.
"...I hate feeling useless." The words are spoken slowly, "All I do is go to the VA and if you say that "recovery is a full time job" I will hit you."
That overly serious nature vanishes and he grins. It makes him look slightly unbalanced.
"I'm not about to tell you something like that, and it doesn't even have to do with that threat you're holding above my head." He grins to show there's no hard feelings over that, then shrugs.
"That's not to say that getting better doesn't take up a lot of time because it actually does. I'm just of the mind that we also do need things to keep us busy, to keep us from feeling stuck in one place, you know?"
He reaches up to clasp the back of Bucky's neck, an attempt at comfort and stability. "You've got a ways to go still, but just remember: you've made progress. And if you feel okay enough for it, we can head to the pet shelter instead of the pet store, and look into volunteering there together to take care of some of the animals. You think that would help?"
He's asking him to make a decision. And it frustrated the hell out of him because decision making was not something he had done for years. IT came upon him suddenly, like a storm - suddenly enough to overlook being touched. What was worse was that it was over the stupidest things. Toothbrush colors, what to watch on TV, he'd freeze. (Agency Bucky, his SHIELD ordered therapist said. Agency.)
"...I have money. I want a puppy."
The words are tasted, savored, "I want one. I couldn't have one when I was a kid, neither could Steve. Then I could volunteer. I like animals, I've always liked animals I..."
He stops himself, drawing in a deep breath, "...You should ask Steve about that."
"Then we'll go look at the pet store and check out the puppies there, no problem."
Truth be told, Sam hates how conflicted Bucky seems at times like this, the many expressions flitting across his face as he struggles with simple things, but... baby steps. It's still a sign that Bucky's improving, that he feels comfortable enough to try and make decisions for himself even if it's difficult for him.
Sam plans to keep supporting him as much as he can on the things that would help, and it looks like taking care of another life other than his own would do that for Bucky.
"When we're settled at the diner, we'll give Steve a call. If he doesn't want to have the puppy around his place, it can always stay with me until we manage to win him over to the idea." Though he doubts Steve would say no this one, not when Bucky looks so enamored with the thought of a bundle of fluff to call his own.
Bucky? Bucky smiles. It's a quick flicker, mouth turned upward before he follows him, "...I brought money so you only have to pay for ice cream like you promised."
He tries a grin but this backfires. Just a bit. Hard to look happy when you also look like a sadist.
They were probably going to have to work on expressing emotions if they wanted Bucky to blend in more with the general populace, but Sam caught that earlier tiny smile and pats Bucky's shoulder again.
"What kind of breed did you have in mind? Or did you just want to head over and see if any of the puppies there catch your eye?"
They finally make it to the diner, and he pulls the door open, gesturing the other man in and to one of the booths.
At least. Bucky held the menu up I can still read. In fact he could read English, french, German, Spanish and greek - and languages came considerably easier then they ever had before.
"Steve says something big is the best idea because he wants something that I can't..."
He lets Bucky choose what he wants, skimming over the choices before deciding on a burger and fries with a sundae for dessert.
"Maybe a Labrador Retriever then." Those were good dogs, intelligent and friendly - there was a reason why they were usually picked and trained as therapy dogs. "We'll see what other options they have at the shop."
"Something that can take the kind of hugs that I can give."
Bucky stares at something in the distance before examining the menu, "...I want a hamburger, curly fries, bacon on the hamburger, blu cheese two, and a sundae with waffles."
He imagines Bucky with a squirming armful of puppy, one that would place loving, slobbery dog kisses all over his face, and his smile is rather wide when he places their orders with the waitress he'd flagged down.
"There's lots to choose from, then. Plenty of sturdy breeds out there."
That sobers Sam's expression, and he reaches across the table to rest his hand on top of Bucky's.
"This is totally your decision to make, so don't feel like you have to do it all at once. We could just go and look at the pets, then come back to buy one another day." He gave his hand a light squeeze. "That said, you don't have to be scared of trying. I wouldn't even suggest getting you a dog if I didn't think you were at a stage where you could handle the responsibility."
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"...Maybe not sic on. Just...convince to pee in his shoes occasionally. If he's pissing me off."
He leans into his friend for a moment before putting his hands in his pockets, "...Sgt. Rodriguez isn't having nightmares anymore. The program seems to work."
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The weather's pretty good as they walk out of the building and down to the diner. "Yeah? Glad to hear she's doing better."
For a moment, he wants to ask if the program's working for Bucky, too, but he pulls himself back - he knows Bucky will share about himself if he feels like it.
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He studies the sun for a moment, considering, "...I think- if she can. As an ex-navy seal? I...I could give it a shot. With the anxiety medication and all."
He snorts, "If it'll even work on me."
He studies his shoes, "Where do you go all day?"
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"If you want to try it out, we can discuss it more with the people in charge. If none of the current medicines work," which is always a big possibility, given all the changes Hydra's made to Bucky over the years (and the reminder always makes Sam want to punch something), "then we can talk to Stark and Dr. Banner. I'm pretty sure they could come up with something."
Taking note of Bucky's discomfort, he slows his walk to something more leisurely so they can both unwind a little in the warm sunshine.
"Me? Well, in the mornings I go jogging with Steve, have breakfast, then get ready for whatever needs to be done. I spend a lot of time at the VA. I like to keep busy." It helps to feel like he's making a difference.
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He stops talking for a moment, hands in his pockets. Hate is a hard word. He doesn't hate, he's not really allowed to hate. Brow furrowed, he watches his feet on the stone.
"...I hate feeling useless." The words are spoken slowly, "All I do is go to the VA and if you say that "recovery is a full time job" I will hit you."
That overly serious nature vanishes and he grins. It makes him look slightly unbalanced.
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"That's not to say that getting better doesn't take up a lot of time because it actually does. I'm just of the mind that we also do need things to keep us busy, to keep us from feeling stuck in one place, you know?"
He reaches up to clasp the back of Bucky's neck, an attempt at comfort and stability. "You've got a ways to go still, but just remember: you've made progress. And if you feel okay enough for it, we can head to the pet shelter instead of the pet store, and look into volunteering there together to take care of some of the animals. You think that would help?"
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Pet store or pet shelter?
He's asking him to make a decision. And it frustrated the hell out of him because decision making was not something he had done for years. IT came upon him suddenly, like a storm - suddenly enough to overlook being touched. What was worse was that it was over the stupidest things. Toothbrush colors, what to watch on TV, he'd freeze. (Agency Bucky, his SHIELD ordered therapist said. Agency.)
"...I have money. I want a puppy."
The words are tasted, savored, "I want one. I couldn't have one when I was a kid, neither could Steve. Then I could volunteer. I like animals, I've always liked animals I..."
He stops himself, drawing in a deep breath, "...You should ask Steve about that."
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Truth be told, Sam hates how conflicted Bucky seems at times like this, the many expressions flitting across his face as he struggles with simple things, but... baby steps. It's still a sign that Bucky's improving, that he feels comfortable enough to try and make decisions for himself even if it's difficult for him.
Sam plans to keep supporting him as much as he can on the things that would help, and it looks like taking care of another life other than his own would do that for Bucky.
"When we're settled at the diner, we'll give Steve a call. If he doesn't want to have the puppy around his place, it can always stay with me until we manage to win him over to the idea." Though he doubts Steve would say no this one, not when Bucky looks so enamored with the thought of a bundle of fluff to call his own.
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He tries a grin but this backfires. Just a bit. Hard to look happy when you also look like a sadist.
"...I have dog money too."
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"What kind of breed did you have in mind? Or did you just want to head over and see if any of the puppies there catch your eye?"
They finally make it to the diner, and he pulls the door open, gesturing the other man in and to one of the booths.
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"Steve says something big is the best idea because he wants something that I can't..."
he pauses, "break. Or that can't break me"
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"Maybe a Labrador Retriever then." Those were good dogs, intelligent and friendly - there was a reason why they were usually picked and trained as therapy dogs. "We'll see what other options they have at the shop."
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Bucky stares at something in the distance before examining the menu, "...I want a hamburger, curly fries, bacon on the hamburger, blu cheese two, and a sundae with waffles."
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"There's lots to choose from, then. Plenty of sturdy breeds out there."
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"This is totally your decision to make, so don't feel like you have to do it all at once. We could just go and look at the pets, then come back to buy one another day." He gave his hand a light squeeze. "That said, you don't have to be scared of trying. I wouldn't even suggest getting you a dog if I didn't think you were at a stage where you could handle the responsibility."