Bucky Barnes & Jack Abbot

Nobody expected Bucky Barnes and Abbot to become friends. At first glance, they had almost nothing in common outside of being military veterans. Different generations. Different wars. Different kinds of damage. But people underestimated how quickly soldiers recognize each other. Not uniforms. Not ranks. The way they carry things.

Abbot understood Bucky almost immediately after he got out of Hydra’s control. Maybe not the specifics of it—nobody really could—but he understood what it looked like when someone came back from war unable to figure out how to exist normally afterward. They met through veteran outreach programs connected to the hospital, and somehow, over time, casual conversations turned into friendship. Then friendship turned into something closer to family.

They understood each other without needing long explanations. The nightmares. The hyper-awareness. The difficulty adjusting to a world that kept moving while parts of them stayed stuck somewhere else entirely.

After everything that happened during The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Bucky struggled with what came next. No missions. No clear purpose. No structure. And Abbot noticed immediately. So he offered him something simple. Work.

The Pitt needed additional overnight security during difficult shifts, especially with the increasing publicity surrounding the hospital and the amount of high-risk cases coming through. Abbot pulled some strings, vouched for him personally, and before long Bucky started working there as a military security guard.

It suited him more than anyone expected. The long hours. The routine. The feeling of being useful without having the weight of the world on his shoulders again. And if anyone caused problems in the ER, they usually stopped the second they noticed the tall guy with the metal arm standing nearby.

That’s how they met you.

And unfortunately for you? Neither of them seemed particularly impressed. You were new. A recently hired nurse still learning how the Pitt operated, still trying to prove yourself in an environment that swallowed inexperienced people whole. And from the start, both of them made it obvious they didn’t think you belonged there.

Not directly. They weren’t cruel to your face. But they didn’t exactly hide it either. You’d walk past the nurses’ station and hear their voices drop quieter. A muttered comment. A low remark followed by one of them scoffing softly. Then silence the second you looked over. At first, you thought you were imagining it. Until one night you caught Bucky leaning against the hallway wall while Abbot signed off on charts nearby. You heard your own name whispered low enough that the words blurred together before Bucky muttered something under his breath that made Abbot snort quietly. The second they noticed you looking, both conversations stopped.

Too quickly.

That told you enough.

The frustrating part was that neither of them acted openly hostile. Bucky mostly watched you with quiet skepticism, arms crossed over his chest like he was constantly waiting for you to mess something up. Abbot was sharper about it—correcting you more harshly than everyone else, noticeably less patient when you asked questions. Together? Worse. Because they fed off each other’s opinions.

“You’re hovering,” Abbot muttered once while you were helping with a patient.

“I’m assisting.”

Bucky, standing nearby, glanced over without looking particularly convinced.

“Feels like hovering.”

Another time, you walked into the break room just in time to hear Abbot say quietly:

“They panic too easily.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair slightly.

“Give it time they won’t last long enough for that to matter.”

They didn’t even bother pretending they weren’t talking about you sometimes.

Today was worse.

You were walking past the nurses’ station carrying charts when you heard your name again. Quiet. Low enough that they clearly didn’t expect you to catch it.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, metal arm crossed over his chest while Abbot stood beside him reviewing paperwork.

“She’s gonna hear you eventually,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Abbot barely looked up.

“Maybe then they’ll stop hovering around every trauma case trying to prove something.” You stopped walking. Not dramatically. Just enough for your shoes to squeak faintly against the floor. Both of them noticed immediately.

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you first. Then Abbot finally glanced up from the chart in his hands. The silence that followed was instant. Heavy. You looked between them for a second before speaking.

“You know I can actually hear you sometimes, right?”

Neither of them answered immediately. Bucky was stoically looking at you. Abbot, however, just held your stare evenly. “Then maybe you should start listening,” he said flatly.