I swear, this started out happy and it was supposed to be, but I couldn't resist when the idea came to mind.
The next one will be humorous entirely! I promise! -Red
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That flannel

The one flannel that, no matter what you wore, made you look perfect. It could be just the flannel and a pair of shorts, or a full outfit with the flannel thrown over your shirt or when it was tied around your waist. It was Bucky's favorite piece of your clothing.

And, it was the flannel that Bucky held close to him tonight.

You were on a mission. A long one. You had been gone for three months now even though the mission was only supposed to last a week. Everyone thought you were dead. Everyone including Bucky.

He clutched the piece of fabric that still retained your smell close to him. He felt it's softness with his right hand as he buried his face in it. New tears sprung from his eyes as he remembered the happy memories you had had with him. From the day you met, to the day he asked you out, to the day he proposed. Had everything gone to plan, you would have become Mrs. Barnes a week ago. His heart shattered every time he thought of your beautiful face that was perfectly framed by your (H/L) (H/C) hair and your (E/C) eyes that he could spend an eternity wandering in. He thought of your huge, toothy smile and the way you would squint when you laughed. Now he thought of the fact that he would never get to tenderly kiss your soft lips again. Nor would he ever get to feel the warmth that came from you when he held you. He would never have the chance to say he loved you again. It was too much for him.
He wailed out, calling your name as he dreamt of a life and future with you that would never happen. He constantly moved around in the bed as he searched desperately for your form that wasn't there. He yearned so badly for you to be there to hold him like you had only a few months ago.

The flannel now rested in his left hand. The black and white cloth offered him what little comfort it could. Its plaid design seemingly trying to hug him better as you would. It was nearly soaked with his tears, as was his pillowcase. He had cried himself to sleep every day since they proclaimed you dead. That was seven days ago. He lifted his head barely to see the trashed room you two used to share. Beer bottles and whiskey glasses littered the room and the feeling of depression and hopelessness was covering the room in a blanket of pain.

A soft knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. He got up slowly. His pajama pants hung loosely on his hips and his muscles rippled with pain under his tank.
The knock was heard again, making Bucky evermore agitated. He still sped up a little.

Once he reached the door he opened it to reveal someone he wanted to see more than anyone else.

You.

You were finally standing on front of him. All (Y/H) of your gorgeous being stood before him, a little bruised and batted, but you had been through worse.

"(Y/N)?" Bucky asked as Hope found its way into the empty hole in his heart.

"Yep!" You answered with a sense of energy in your voice.

"H-How? We all thought you were dead!" Bucky exclaimed as he ushered you in, picked you up, and gave you what was possibly the biggest bear hug you've ever gotten.

You broke the hug, Bucky giving a noise of disapproval, and found a seat on the bed. You noticed all the beer bottles and whiskey glasses, making a mental note to ask about it later.

"Well, the mission was going to plan. I was on my way back a week after I left like I was supposed to. Turns out, the original pilot of the quinjet had been captured and a Hydra agent was the one flying me home. I thought all was good until I looked at my watch. The flight had gone on longer than it was supposed to. An hour longer. I was about to start investigating when we landed roughly and agents stormed into the quinjet. I took a few out before they managed to knock me unconscious." As you told your story, you saw a look of guilt and sadness bleed into Bucky's face. You really wanted to comfort him, but you needed to finish your story. "When I woke up I was in a place that I didn't recognize. I wanted to ask where I was and scream out for help but they had muzzled me and strapped me to an uncomfortable, metal seat. From then they tortured me everyday, wanting info on S.H.E.I.L.D. and the Avengers. I never broke for them. Instead I told them a few clever lies that they believed.
I also don't know how I escaped.
I was knocked out after the session two days ago, and when I came to, I was laying in the snow about a mile north of the quinjet. I eventually found it and flew home." When you finished you saw that a few tears had fallen from Bucky's eyes.
Quickly, you scooted over on the bed and hugged him, wiping away the tears that dared to fall from his lashes. He hugged back, not even thinking of loosening his grip for fear of losing you again.

"I missed you so much (Y/N)!" Bucky whimpered. "I can't put it in words how much joy I feel in holding you again!"

"Nor I, Bucky, Nor I." You whispered.

When you parted Bucky asked about how they tortured you, saying that it was okay if you didn't want to talk about it. He would understand.

"No, it's okay. They mostly tried mental torture, but when they did use knives and such it was pretty bad." You lifted up the shirt to show Bucky a fresh scar that ran across your stomach from the upper left to the bottom right.
He gasped when he saw the scar, new tears immediately started welling in his eyes like a reservoir behind a dam of pain.

"Don't cry Bucky, please, because when you cry, I cry, and we both know I'm an ugly crier. Nightmare material." You giggled a little, making Bucky smile.

"Alright Mrs. Barnes. I won't cry. Just for you." He promised.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes." You replied.

That night the two of you fell asleep holding each other and reveling in the warmth and joy radiating from each other.

Your black and white flannel had long since been discarded onto the floor and forgotten. Bucky didn't need it anymore now that you were home and in his arms.