Archive of Our Own

“Who is this guy?” Maria Hill asked, adjusting the helmet in her hands.

“Me?” Sam questioned, incredulous. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sam, this is Maria,” Natasha supplied. “SHIELD.” 

“We’re getting you all out of here,” Maria continued, igniting the laser device.

“No,” Steve disagreed quietly. “No, I’m staying.”

“Steve-” 

“I’m serious, Nat,” Steve interrupted. “They have Bucky.” Three pairs of eyes stared back at him as if he’d grown two heads. Steve exhaled harshly. “Go. Before it’s too late.”

Sam shook his head. “They’re just gonna kill you-”

“I’ll handle it,” Steve said. “I can’t leave him. Not again.”

Maria looked confused but didn’t waste any time as she started slicing through the floor of the van. She freed Sam and Natasha from their restraints before looking back at Steve. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Steve responded. “I’ll see you soon,” he added, glancing between Sam and Natasha.

Both appeared as though they wanted to argue with him. 

“Be careful,” Sam said before ducking through the hole. 

Maria followed shortly after with a wary glance. 

Natasha lingered, wincing as she hugged her shoulder closer to her body. “Steve, are you sure? He doesn’t remember you.”

“He will,” Steve vowed. 

She shook her head slightly before dropping through the hole, leaving Steve restrained and alone in the back of the van. 

There were a few more twists and turns before they eventually slowed to a halt. Steve strained his ears, listening for any indication as to where they were.

“Three holes, start digging,” Rumlow announced before the doors to the van flew open. 

Steve watched as they stared in disbelief at the mostly empty van and unconscious agent. 

“Where are they?” Rumlow demanded, the end of his gun trained on Steve. 

“Who?” Steve questioned.

Rumlow tightened his grip. “You-”

“Rumlow!” Rollins called from somewhere Steve couldn’t see. “Boss wants us to wait.”

He grinned, lowering his weapon. “You’re in for it now, Cap.”

Steve didn’t react, letting them pull him from the van. They didn’t rough him up as they guided him into a facility, though Steve almost wished they would have. There was a sort of bureaucratic efficiency that he found worse, not at all helped by the silent presence he felt a few steps behind him as they marched him down a hallway. They put him into a cell that was clean and gray before unlocking his restraints, the door sliding shut with finality. Steve had considered making it difficult for them, automatically checking sight lines and counting the number of men. It wouldn’t have been impossible to escape, but he didn’t push it. Bucky was here and Steve wasn’t planning to leave until he understood what that meant. 

He sat down on the cot and listened, but all he heard were footsteps and doors opening and shutting. Steve closed his eyes and thought about the highway, about those voided eyes and unmistakable chin. It was Bucky, without a doubt, even if he didn’t know how. He pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum and forced himself to breathe. Steve pushed down the urge to shout, to demand answers. He wanted to ask anybody who could hear him what his friend was doing here but he continued to shove it down. He didn’t know who knew what or what giving it away would cost, and he didn’t plan to hand it to them. 

He heard him before he saw him. There were measured footsteps, the kind that belonged to somebody who never needed to hurry or attempt to keep quiet. The door opened and Alexander Pierce stepped inside the cell with two armed guards flanking him. 

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted, looking genuinely pleased. “I have to say, I didn’t think today would go this well.”

Steve stayed sitting on the cot, deciding not to answer.

Pierce clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the cell with mild interest. “You’ve been a considerate problem for a considerable amount of time. That’s not a criticism, I have a great deal of respect for people who stick to their beliefs. Which is why it would be a waste to simply eliminate you.”

“What do you want?” Steve asked eventually.

“To show you something better.” Pierce tilted his head slightly. “You’ve been fighting for a world that doesn't exist anymore, Captain. Operating on faith, following SHIELD, or Fury, and a set of values that only the 20th century had the luxury of holding. We want to help you.. Update your perspective.” 

Steve didn’t react. 

“We’ll get there,” Pierce said once it was clear Steve wasn't planning to respond, seemingly unbothered. He turned at the door and gestured to whoever was waiting on the other side of it. There was a pause before the door opened wider and in walked the Winter Soldier. Pierce glanced between them curiously before turning to the man next to him. “He’s not to leave this cell without my authorization. If he attempts to escape, you know what to do.” 

The Soldier didn’t respond, his eyes trained on a spot on the floor. 

Pierce left without another word, gesturing for the two armed guards to withdraw. 

Steve watched them go before turning his attention to Bucky, who had his hands clasped in front of him and jaw set. He almost couldn’t believe that they were dumb enough to leave Bucky here, but he told himself it’s possible that they don’t know. Or maybe they were just that confident in whatever they had done to Bucky to make him this way in the first place. Neither said anything, and Bucky continued to not so much as acknowledge Steve’s presence. 

“You don’t have to stand,” Steve said eventually, patting the bed next to him. “There’s plenty of room.” 

The Soldier’s eyes flicked emotionlessly in his direction before returning to the spot on the floor. 

Steve exhaled, leaning his back against the wall. He wondered if he should be fearful, but he easily found that he wasn’t. Despite everything, he had an innate belief that Bucky would never harm him. Steve didn’t push, letting the silence fall comfortable between them. He’d never been once for patience but he did rely on his instincts, and everything about the Winter Soldier was screaming for him to be cautious and take his time. So, he sat on the edge of the cot and waited, never letting his gaze linger for too long in case it came off as aggressive. Steve considered saying his name, or telling him who he was, but he knew it’d be useless. He was also sure that they were listening, always. 

“I’m not going to try anything,” he said eventually.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes slowly moved to him, a glint of something in them. 

“Just so you know,” Steve added, keeping eye contact. 

Bucky’s eyes went back to the spot in the middle of the room.

He didn’t know how long it was before somebody came, summoning Bucky from the room. It was long enough that Steve had cataloged every detail of the cell, learning that there was absolutely nothing that could be used as a weapon. Steve watched Bucky leave without a backward glance, the cell falling into a different kind of silence. He lay back on the cot and stared up at the ceiling, shoving away the thoughts that bombarded him as he wondered where Bucky was going and what was being done to him. 

He eventually heard faint footsteps before the door opened. Rumlow’s voice carried throughout the corridor, always loud like he enjoyed hearing himself talk. 

Steve sat up, watching him and Bucky file into the cell. His first look at Rumlow was nothing more than an assessment, gauging weapons and his mood. He then moved his attention to Bucky and something cold passed through. He kept his face blank as he took in the sight of the pair in front of him. Bucky’s expression was vacant, but different than before. It was deeper somehow. His eyes were glassy and there was a redness on his cheekbones that could have been from cold, but Steve knew better. His lower lip was swollen at the corner, and his hair was in disarray. 

Steve’s hands rested on his knees and he intentionally kept them still as he tried to breathe normally. 

“Comfortable, Cap?” Rumlow paced the room like he owned it, turning his back to Steve. “You’re going to be here for a while.” 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are.” Rumlow’s gaze turned critical, flicking between Steve and Bucky. “Insight goes live in,” he checked his watch, “not long. And without you out there throwing your little shield around, it’s going to go smooth. We should thank you, and I suppose we will, in our own way.” He glanced at the Winter Soldier with something that was almost warmth but was more closely resembling proprietary. “Don’t go anywhere.” He smiled at Steve before exiting the cell, his hand squeezing Bucky’s shoulder as he went by. 

Steve sat very still for a moment, letting the array of emotions he was feeling wash through him before he took a deep breath. “I grew up in Brooklyn,” he said eventually, keeping his voice quiet. “I don’t know if that means anything to you.” The Winter Soldier didn’t move, and Steve continued. “It was loud. Always smelled like something cooking, or the river when the wind was blowing. I used to hate that river smell, but I miss it now sometimes. S’not the same.”

More silence. Bucky’s gaze never flickered away from the spot on the floor. 

“I had a friend,” he continued. “Grew up in the same building as me. His family was on the third floor and mind the second. I used to hear him coming down the stairs in the mornin’, his fingers tapping on the railing and making it obvious it was him. I knew that sound by heart, it pulled me from my sleep more than once.”

There was something. Not movement, but a kind of stillness that was different from the stillness before. Steve knew he could be imagining it, but he continued anyway.

“We got into a lot of trouble.” Steve smiled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well.. I got into trouble. He got into it because I was there and he wouldn’t leave my side no matter how much I told him to. I remember this one time, I got into a fight outside the theatre. It was 1939, I think. Not long after it opened. I was running my mouth, and there were three of them. He showed up out of nowhere and hit the biggest one so hard that the other two reconsidered their choices.” He let out something that maybe would have been a laugh under different circumstances. “He did that a lot. Savin’ me.” 

There was a distant noise, a vibration through the floor that meant something was happening far away. Steve glanced at the ceiling but Bucky didn’t move.

“He always used to tell me that he thought I liked getting punched.” Steve looked back down at his hands, his knuckles white. “And I never told him this, but really, I think I just liked knowing he’d come. Even on the rare occasion he wasn’t there, he was always there for the aftermath. Never let me feel alone.” 

The explosions started maybe an hour later. Steve stood up instinctively and the Winter Soldier shifted, the first real movement he’d made, bracing himself. 

“I’m not-” Steve started but stopped, shaking his head. He thought of Natasha and Sam. “I should be up there,” he said, mostly to himself. Steve sat back down on the cot. “I know that. But I’m not. And I’m not saying it’s the wrong call. I just..” He paused. “I already lost you once. I’m not doing it again.” 

The explosions faded and silence returned. It wasn’t long before more noise started up around them. There were people shouting and boots running through the corridors. Steve did his best to listen and track what he could, trying to assess what had happened. He realized that what he was hearing was panic, and his body instantly relaxed with relief.

Whatever had happened, HYDRA hadn’t won. 

The Winter Soldier didn’t seem to notice the noise around him, his posture never changing. The bruise on his lip had faded, and his face had gone pale a while ago. It took all of Steve’s strength to not drag him to the bed, to not shake his shoulders and beg him to snap out of it, to come back to him. 

But he knew it wasn’t that simple. Whatever had happened, happened over the course of seventy years. While Steve was in the ice, Bucky had been here. In rooms like this one, or worse probably. He’d obviously been brainwashed and tortured, and Steve couldn’t let himself think of what else. Whatever had been done, had been done over and over and over until the man that he’d known since he was a child had been–

Steve pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, muffling the noise that threatened to escape. He wasn’t going to do this, he told himself. He took a deep breath but it came out of him badly. He refused to sob, to make a noise. But he couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his face while he sat very still, his jaw clenched and his eyes locked onto the floor. It was the kind of crying that happens when the body insists and the mind is still arguing, like two separate entities fighting for control. 

Steve thought about the last time he’d seen Bucky. He’d thought about that moment ten thousand times in his life, asleep and awake. He’d thought Bucky was gone. The fact that he was here and still so far away caused his chest to ache beyond comprehension. He shut his eyes, another sound escaping him. 

There was a noise across the room and he snapped his head up. Bucky hadn’t moved, not really. He was still near the door, between Steve and the exit. But he’d turned fully, looking at Steve. His expression was unreadable; not the flat assessment he’d been wearing or the terrible vacancy from when Rumlow had brought him back. This was something else. Bucky’s brow was drawn together just slightly, and it was so achingly familiar that Steve had to look away for a moment and take a breath. When he looked back, Bucky was still watching him. Something had shifted in his expression, unreadable but curious. 

Steve didn’t say anything at first, letting Bucky watch him. After a moment he wiped his face with the back of his hand and exhaled slowly. “Take all the time you need, Buck,” he said quietly. 

Bucky’s brow twitched slightly before he turned away, moving his gaze back to the spot on the floor. 

The door opened twenty minutes later with considerably more force than necessary. Rumlow appeared, looking as though a building had fallen on him. A gash above his eyebrow had been roughly dressed and was bleeding through the bandage, and he was holding himself carefully, as if he’d broken a few ribs. His eyes were bright with anger, his gaze sharp. 

“You knew,” he spat at Steve. 

Steve didn’t answer, keeping his expression steady. 

“Pierce is dead,” Rumlow continued, glancing at Bucky. “The entire operation is-” he cut himself off. He stood in the doorway breathing heavily through his nose before continuing. “It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t change anything for you. Do you understand that?” 

Steve only blinked. 

Rumlow turned to the Winter Soldier. “With me,” he said. “Now.”

The Soldier moved immediately, with no hesitation or transition. He was in the corridor before Steve fully processed it, and Rumlow gave Steve one last glare before the door closed behind them. 

Rumlow returned a few hours later, with a few armed guards and electro-magnetic cuffs. They pushed him down the corridor without a word before shoving him into a van and securing him once more. Steve considered fighting, but then he caught sight of Bucky getting into another van and immediately decided against it. The facility they were leaving had clearly been abandoned in a rush, with doors left open and papers thrown about. He figured they were taking him to a different location, one that hadn’t been compromised. 

His theory was proven correct an hour later when the van finally stopped. Steve knew they were somewhere north but he wasn’t sure exactly where. It was night when they pulled him from the back and led him to the different facility. This one was older, and smaller, than the previous one. The cell was not as clean and smelled of mildew, and there were bars instead of an enclosed wall. They deposited Steve without ceremony before turning the lock firmly into place. 

**

“Hit me back,” Rumlow sneered, rubbing his hands together. 

Steve didn’t answer, righting his head after it’d snapped to the side from the impact of Rumlow’s punch. 

“Come on, Cap.” Rumlow spread his arms. “Come on. You took down ten of us the other day, and now you’re not even going to put up a fight? We both know you could have busted out of here if you really wanted to. You want to be here, you want this.”

The second punch split his lip. He felt the blood drip down his chin and kept his hands steady on his knees. Steve could end this in about two seconds. He knew that, he knew Rumlow knew it too, and he knew that Rumlow knew he knew it; but knowing that meant acknowledging the obvious which means confronting it. 

Rumlow broke first. “You know he knew you, right?” 

Steve made eye contact for the first, prompting a twisted grin to spread across Rumlow’s face.

“Oh, that got your attention.” Rumlow cracked his knuckles. He’d removed the bandage above his eye before coming in, and Steve counted six stitches. “Got all weepy about it.” His fists clenched in his lap and Rumlow tracked the movement. “We fixed that, though,” he continued. “We’ve had him a long time, you see.” Rumlow turned and beckoned for somebody to open the door. 

The Winter Soldier walked in, his expression blank as he took his spot next to the door. Rumlow moved toward him, like a predator stalking its prey. He stroked the back of his finger down Bucky’s cheek in a gentle manner, and it immediately made the hairs on Steve’s arms stand up. Bucky didn’t flinch at Rumlow’s closeness, his eyes unmoving from the floor. 

“You know what I appreciate about him?” Rumlow started conversationally, turning back to Steve. “He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t give judgemental looks or talk back. At least not anymore. I heard he had a lot more to say back in the day, but we trained that out of him.”

Steve clenched his jaw and forced himself to look down at his hands, which were shaking just slightly. 

“It’s sad right?” He saw Rumlow grip Bucky’s jaw out of the corner of his eye. “You think this is your friend? That’s not your friend anymore, Rogers. It’s not anyone’s anything.” He let go, slapping Bucky lightly on the cheek. “That’s hardware.”

Steve saw the faintest movement in Bucky’s throat, a swallow, he figured. For some reason it calmed him, like Bucky was protesting in his own way. He could feel Rumlow’s gaze burning holes into the side of his head but he continued staring at his hands.

Rumlow shoved at Bucky, who absorbed it without moving his feet. Then Rumlow smacked him hard across the face with the back of his hand. The Winter Soldier’s head turned with the impact before moving back to his original position without a sound. 

Steve took a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm, but the feeling in his chest was enormous and required somewhere to go. He shoved it aside, with everything else, telling himself to wait because reacting helped no one. Reacting meant giving Rumlow the shape of what this cost him and handing him leverage, which was the only thing either of them had left. 

Rumlow continued staring for several minutes before he turned, banging on the door once. It opened and he left without another word. The Winter Soldier remained, glued to his post. 

They sat in silence for a beat before Steve exhaled. He pressed his knuckles against his mouth, letting the shaking in his hands happen quietly. Steve calmed himself down, letting his hand fall back into his lap once his breathing had evened out. After a moment, he looked up and found a pair of familiar eyes on him. 

The blank look had cracked, letting in something that Steve couldn’t name. His eyes were moving over Steve’s face as if searching for something. The side of his face was marked from where Rumlow had struck him, and Steve forced himself to take another breath. 

“He’s wrong you know,” Steve said quietly. “You’re not hardware. I don’t care what they told you or what they did or how long it’s been.” He paused. “You’re not hardware.”

The Winter Soldier said nothing though his brow furrowed just slightly. He turned away, his gaze resting on the floor. 

**

The following days developed a rhythm as Rumlow came and went. His visits slowly became less frequent and Steve assumed that whatever he was managing now demanded more of his attention than Steve did. It also meant that his visits were more intense, like he knew he had less and less time to work out his frustrations.

Steve was glad that he ended up being on the receiving end of his anger more than Bucky. Rumlow was more than happy to smack or push Steve around, which resulted in a broken nose and multiple split lips. He started giving small reactions because he quickly found that kept the attention away from Bucky.

Rumlow seemed strangely fond of the Winter Soldier, his touches always lingering in a way that made Steve want to break something. He often pulled Bucky away with him after his visits, and Bucky would return a few hours later looking disheveled and sometimes bruised. Steve couldn't think about what that meant.

Somebody came to collect blood samples from Steve, and it took all of his strength to let them. He didn’t want HYDRA to have anything that could allow them to make more serum, but he also knew this wasn’t the time to fight back yet. They had ways of getting it even if he didn’t comply, so he let them. He decided he’d just have to burn the whole fucking building down as a result.

In the space between visits, Steve talked. Not constantly, or loudly. He spoke quietly hoping only Bucky’s ears would be able to hear. He talked about Brooklyn, about specific streets or sounds. He talked about Bucky’s mother’s kitchen and the window that stuck in the summer. He talked about the roof they used to sit on when they moved in together and how they’d watch the city move below them. He talked about conversations they used to have, dreams and fears they used to share. He never said explicitly who he was talking about, always saying a friend, but he had a feeling that Bucky knew it was him. 

He talked, letting the stories be what they were, and he watched. Steve was positive Bucky was listening, picking up on subtle eye movements and eyebrow twitches. The way he stood in the room when Rumlow was in it versus when they were alone was different, even if he couldn’t specifically pinpoint how. 

Steve had also developed a sense for when Bucky was looking at him, which he was doing more and more. It was always when Steve wasn’t looking at him or talking, and Steve was more than happy to give him the space and silence he needed if it meant Bucky having his eyes on him instead of the floor. 

**

Steve was almost asleep when he heard voices out in the corridor. Almost asleep was as far as he was willing to go in place like this, needing some part of him to stay close to the surface even when he was utterly exhausted. He thought it had been a week since the helicarriers, and he was starting to feel more restless with each passing day. 

Rumlow’s voice was recognizable, low for once like he thought the two supersoldiers down the hall wouldn’t be able to hear. Steve didn’t recognize the other person, whose tone was clipped and businesslike. 

“-can’t keep him like this indefinitely. You know this. We’re risking-”

“I know the timeline,” Rumlow hissed.

“Then you know we’re due for a problem soon. He’s been out of cryo for too long. When, not if, he starts-”

“He won’t.”

“Rumlow.” A pause, the kind that meant this man was exercising patience he didn’t have. “He’ll become a liability-”

“He’s not a liability, he’s an asset.” Rumlow’s voice had an edge to it. “We’re not putting him under until I say so.”

“The directive-”

“Pierce is dead,” Rumlow said flatly. “Which means there is no directive, there’s only me. And I’m saying we wait. The chair is ready, he can go another day.”

“For what?”

A pause. “Rogers. I want him to be the last thing he sees before we take it all away.” 

There was nothing from the other man and eventually footsteps made their way down the rest of the corridor. Seconds later Rumlow appeared, pulling the Winter Soldier from the cell without a word. Steve closed his eyes, not wanting to give away that he’d been listening. He opened them once the footsteps receded and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. 

**

Bucky never came back to the cell, and the next morning they came for Steve. He heard more footsteps than usual in the corridor before the door opened. 

Rumlow grinned as he entered, followed by a handful of armed guards but no sign of Bucky. He held up a pair of cuffs. “Big day, Cap,” he said. 

Steve stood from the cot slowly and offered his wrists to Rumlow. 

“You may wish you hadn’t been so willing,” Rumlow commented once his hands were bound. 

He followed the group down the corridor and into a different hallway. Halfway down they turned left and entered a large room, the hair standing up on the back of his neck immediately. Steve’s body relaxed slightly when he spotted Bucky standing in the corner of the room, but he couldn’t push away the animal instincts telling him to run.

The room had a large chair in the middle, with restraints and panels configured around it. There were instruments he didn’t recognize and the lights overhead were too bright and angled downward. It was colder than the cell had been, and smelled of metal and something chemical, making him almost nauseous. 

Steve’s muscles tensed as they approached the chair, his heels digging in as he refused to move any further. He looked around the room, trying to do the math of how to get free. There were even more armed guards stationed around the room, and a few scientists that barely spared him a glance. Bucky kept his gaze on the chair, his expression painstakingly blank. 

“Took us a while to set up,” Rumlow said, watching Steve with evident satisfaction. “This one is older and needed some modifications. Otherwise, we would have done this sooner.” 

Steve didn’t respond, his whole body tense. 

“Let’s go,” Rumlow snapped, gesturing to the chair. 

He didn’t move. Steve had been telling himself all week that being compliant was a tactical move, and that keeping steady and unreadable was the play. He believed that to be the right choice, but every instinct he possessed was screaming at him that this was different. That this was a line he wouldn’t walk back from, and that he needed to do something. 

“Rogers.” Rumlow hit him, his head snapping to the side. 

Steve’s feet stayed where they were, his wrists testing the strength of the cuffs. Rumlow grabbed him by the collar and hit him again, harder. And then a third time before he was being grabbed by three agents and maneuvered into the chair. His body fought back, but it lacked any real threat since his mind was torn on whether to comply or not. 

The restraints engaged, strapping down his wrists, ankles and chest. Steve pushed against them and at once realized he’d made a mistake. These were different from anything else they’d put him in. The panic arrived at once, like it’d been standing just outside the door waiting for an invite. His hands were immobile against the armrests and the chair began angling backwards. The lights overhead were beaming down on him, and he couldn’t help but struggle against the metal. He forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to come up with a plan. 

“Here’s the thing about that serum of yours,” Rumlow said over the noise in his head. He was somewhere to Steve’s left but Steve couldn’t see him. “We’re not entirely sure how you’ll respond to this. This chair does a lot of things but primarily it’s about access. See, we gotta get past whatever you think of as yourself and work with what’s underneath. Memories, associations, all of that architecture that makes you.. You.” He moved into Steve’s eyeline, appearing casual with his hands in his pockets. “Then we just rearrange things a bit. Clear out what we don’t need. It won’t be quick and it won’t be painless, I’ll tell you that much. But it’s very effective.” He glanced to the corner Bucky had been standing in. “You’re going to be very useful to us when we’re done, Captain.” 

Steve’s chest was heaving under the restraint. He fought to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to give Rumlow the satisfaction, but he wasn’t sure he was successful. A scientist reached over and shoved a piece of rubber into his mouth that he recognized as a mouthguard, and Steve suppressed the instinct to spit it out.

“Here,” Rumlow instructed to somebody, and Steve realized a moment later it was Bucky. He appeared beside Rumlow, who made sure Steve could see him clearly. Rumlow gave one last nod to Steve before disappearing. “Let’s begin.”

A low hum filled the room, building in frequency. He felt it in his back teeth and the restraints seemed to tighten even though he was sure they hadn’t moved. He instinctively closed his eyes, unable to watch whatever came next. 

The room around him seemed to explode. He heard the distinctive sound of a body hitting the floor and opened his eyes. Bucky was gone, and he heard another body hit the wall followed by gunshots. He turned his head, trying to track what was happening but he couldn’t see around the machine. Eventually there was silence, Steve’s breathing being the loudest noise in the room. 

A metal hand appeared, yanking off the restraint on his left wrist. Then the right, then his ankles. Steve pulled the one around his chest off with a burst of desperation before spitting out the mouthguard. He swung his legs off the chair and stood upright, quickly taking in the scene around him. There were bodies covering the floor, some dead and some still breathing shallowly. He saw Rumlow on the ground, his neck snapped in a way that surely meant death. Steve swayed slightly and he had to brace himself against the chair for a moment while the room stopped being so loud inside his own head. 

Eventually he straightened and looked to Bucky, who hadn’t moved since he freed Steve from the chair. His flesh hand was shaking and his eyes were trained on the chair, as if he expected it to come alive and swallow him whole. Steve understood with a clarity that was almost unbearable that the Winter Soldier knew exactly what that chair did. 

Steve took a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. “Hey,” he said softly.

Bucky’s eyes slowly moved to him, the gaze somewhere far away. 

He resisted the urge to grab him. “We have to go,” Steve said. He kept his voice level, not letting it reflect the urgency he was feeling as he counted seconds in his head. “I know, okay? I know this is a lot. But we have to move.” 

There was no response, or any indication that he’d been heard.

Steve took a slow step backwards, hoping he’d follow. 

Bucky did, following Steve’s pace as he slowly backed out of the room. Steve paused once he reached the corridor, poking his head out and straining to listen for any sound of reinforcements. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to get Bucky’s attention. “I need to blow this place up. They have samples of my blood, and I can’t let them keep that. Can you help me? Do you know where explosives are?”

His eyes moved over Steve’s face in that same searching way he’d become familiar with. He wasn’t sure what Bucky found but he eventually nodded, his shoulders squaring as if he’d accepted a new mission. 

“I won’t leave without you,” Steve said, because he needed him to understand. “But if we get out here and you want to go your own way, I won’t stop you. But I’d really like it if you came with me.”

There was a long moment of silence as they stared at one another. Eventually there were unmistakable sounds above them--a door, voices, boots snapping on the floor. 

The Winter Soldier stepped across the threshold, gesturing for Steve to follow. Something loosened in his chest as he took the first step after him, following Bucky down the long corridor. 

He obviously knew his way around the base and led them to a storage area while avoiding any other HYDRA agents. Bucky helped Steve put together the explosives without hesitation before grabbing half. Steve followed him through the rest of the base as they set the devices, refusing to let Bucky out of his sight. 

Eventually they made their way out of the base, finding that it was cold and dark outside. Steve took a deep breath, letting the fresh air cleanse his lungs. The base was isolated, with nothing around as far as Steve could tell. He turned to find Bucky watching him with a questioning look that he didn't have the time to unpack quite yet.

He gestured for Bucky to follow and they ran a safe distance away before detonating the explosives, watching the base cave in on itself before going up in flames. They both stood watching for several minutes to see if anybody escaped but nobody did. 

“Let’s go,” Steve said quietly. He turned and felt Bucky following behind him.

They found an old car about a mile away and Steve got it running in under thirty seconds. Bucky got into the passenger seat and looked straight ahead, saying nothing as Steve pulled out onto the road, heading south. They eventually came across a road Steve recognized and he pointed them back towards DC. 

**

Sam’s house was dark when they pulled up. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, casting soft shades of pink into the sky. 

Steve put the car in park and turned to Bucky beside him. “This is a friend’s place,” he assured. “You’re safe here, okay? We can trust him. I know that maybe doesn’t mean much right now, but I mean it.” He waited a minute to see if Bucky would respond, getting out of the car when it became clear he wasn’t planning to. 

He paused for Bucky to join him on the doorstep before knocking. The light came on fast, so he figured Sam had already been awake before the knock, which made him feel slightly less guilty. 

The door opened and Sam stood there, taking in Steve’s face and bloodied clothes with an expression that quickly moved through relief and onto something else. “Steve,” he greeted after a moment. His eyes slid past Steve, widening slightly before he neutralized it. “Okay,” he said. “Come inside.” Sam moved out of the way, ushering them into the house. 

Steve made sure Bucky was following as they made their way into the kitchen. 

Sam immediately went about starting coffee before opening his fridge and pulling out eggs. “You look like hell,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “Do you need to be stitched up or anything?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m fine.” He glanced at Bucky, who was hovering awkwardly in the corner of the room. “We’re fine.”

“Why don’t you take a second and get cleaned up?” Sam suggested, though his tone made it sound more like a command. He turned to Bucky, who had picked a new spot on the floor to stare at. “We’re good, right?”

Bucky didn’t acknowledge him. 

“I’ll grab you both some clothes,” Sam continued, moving from the room. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly as soon as they were alone. “I’m going to go upstairs and shower. I’m not leaving, I’ll be back down here in ten minutes. Then you can get cleaned up and we can eat and get some rest. Sound good?”

Bucky glanced up, his eyes glassy and far away. 

Steve figured that acknowledgement will probably be as good as it gets and nodded.

Sam returned, pressing clothes into his chest without a word. 

Steve turned and made his way up the stairs, into the familiar guest room he’d stayed in previously. There was another pair of clothes laid on the counter that he assumed Sam left out for Bucky, and Steve let out the wave emotions that began rushing to the surface now that he was alone. The tears started streaming at once, but he didn't dare make a noise yet. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror as he stripped out the clothes, darting into the shower as soon as the water was hot enough. 

He stood under the stream until he stopped feeling like the walls of a cell were still around him and the sobs had stopped. Steve didn’t take long as he dried himself and redressed, hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was downstairs. He hung up his towel and made his way down to find Sam in the kitchen and Bucky in the same spot he’d left him in. 

Bucky’s gaze flicked up to Steve as he entered and he wondered if he imagined the specks of relief. 

Sam handed Steve a full plate and glass of water without a word, gesturing for him to sit. 

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked Bucky as he sat, his fork poised in his hand. 

Bucky’s eyes moved to his plate and then to Sam before going back to the floor. 

“There’s plenty,” Sam said, offering Bucky a plate. 

“When did you eat last?” Steve asked, trying a different approach. 

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Steve looked at Sam, who looked back at him with an expression that was doing its best to be neutral. 

“Buck,” he tried again. 

Bucky looked up, making eye contact. 

“You should eat something.”

His eyes glanced down at the plate Sam was offering and his hand slowly reached out to accept it. Bucky dropped to the floor and began eating with the veracity of somebody who hadn’t eaten in days. 

Steve looked down at his own plate, suddenly having lost his appetite. He forced himself to swallow most of it, knowing his body needed it. 

Sam was silent as they ate, watching with a pensive expression. He turned and filled another glass with water before setting it on the floor beside Bucky without a word. “More?” Sam asked Steve, eyeing his plate. 

Steve shook his head. “Buck?” he asked. “Are you still hungry?”

Bucky didn’t answer, his eyes not leaving his plate. 

“Thirsty?” Steve offered. “Why don’t you drink the water Sam gave you?”

Bucky picked up the glass, sipping hesitantly. A full minute passed before he took another drink, finishing the glass within seconds. 

Sam gave Steve a look from across the room that asked approximately fifteen questions at once, most of which boiled down to what do we do now and are you okay. Steve shrugged and answered with a look that he hoped said I don’t know and thank you for everything. 

“There’s a bathroom upstairs in the guest room,” Steve said eventually. “You can take a shower. There’s warm water and clean clothes. How does that sound?” 

Bucky looked up at him, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ll be right here,” Steve said, not knowing what Bucky needed to hear. “And then we can get some sleep, okay?”

Bucky glanced at Sam, who nodded. “Second door on the left at the top of the stairs.” 

Bucky silently rose from the floor and went up the stairs without comment. Steve listened as he made his way into the bathroom, the water eventually turning on. 

“Hey.” Sam was beside him, his hand coming down to squeezing his shoulder. “You did good, Steve.” 

Steve didn’t say anything, his throat closing up slightly. 

“I’m serious.” 

He cleared his throat. “How are you?” he asked, lifting his head. “How’s everyone? They-”

“I’m fine,” Sam cut in. “Everybody’s fine.” He started gathering up their dishes, waving Steve away as he went to help. “Go get some sleep. We’ll do the long stories later.” 

Steve nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Sam smiled, shrugging. “I’m calling Nat, though.”

He laughed, the sound foreign even to his own ears. “I’m glad.” 

“You can sleep in my bed, or you can share the guest room,” Sam offered. “Whatever’s more comfortable. I’ll be up if you need anything.” 

“Thank you.”

Sam waved him away and Steve made his way upstairs, listening as the water shut off in the bathroom. He waited in the hallway for Bucky to open the door, not wanting to crowd him. 

He emerged slowly, looking around as if he expected somebody to jump out at him. The too big shirt was clinging to him as if he didn’t dry himself off before dressing, and his unbrushed hair was dripping down the back. Steve made sure to animate his movements as he stepped fully into the doorframe. He knocked gently, pulling Bucky’s attention. 

“I’m about to pass out, and I know you must be tired, too,” Steve spoke gently. “Would you rather sleep here together, or would you feel more comfortable if I slept in Sam’s room and you slept here alone?”

Bucky looked at Steve, then the bed, then around the room. 

Steve exhaled slowly. He really needed an answer on this one, and he didn’t know how to go about getting it. “Do you want me to stay?” 

He glanced at Steve again, his eyes searching once more. Eventually, just barely, he nodded. 

His whole body relaxed and he stepped further into the room. “Do you want to sleep on the bed?” 

Bucky looked back at the bed and then the door and then at the corner of the room. He made his way to the corner and sat down with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. 

Steve went to the closet and found a few spare blankets before taking the extra pillow from the bed. He sat them next to Bucky without ceremony before shutting the bedroom door. 

Bucky glanced at the pile and then picked up one of the blankets. He pulled it around himself with a movement so practiced and so small that Steve’s heart stopped beating in his chest. He blinked away the tears and switched on the bedside lamp. Steve shut off the main light before crawling underneath the covers. He turned to his side, facing where Bucky sat in the corner. 

Bucky was staring at the ground in front of him, his eyebrows pulled together. 

“I know I can’t make you stay,” Steve said softly. “And I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to be here. But I want you to know that I’m really hoping you’ll be here when I wake up.”

His eyes moved from the floor to Steve, assessing. Minutes passed before he looked away, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. 

Steve reached up and switched off the lamp before settling further into the pillow. “Goodnight, Buck,” he whispered into the dark before closing his eyes. 

**

Steve opened his eyes to find Bucky sitting in the same exact spot. The only difference was that his head was tilted, leaning against the wall beside him. His eyes were glazed over and unseeing, and Steve wondered if he got any sleep. 

“Good morning,” he said quietly after clearing his throat.

Bucky blinked, lifting his head. His eyes came into focus a moment later, searching Steve’s face. 

“Or evening,” Steve amended, realizing the sun was going down. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, sitting as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’m going to go downstairs. You’re welcome to come, or you can stay up here. Whatever you want.” He waited thirty seconds to see if Bucky would respond before he made his way from the room. 

He found Sam in the kitchen, the smell of spices wafting through the space. 

“Hey,” he greeted, assessing Steve calmly as he stirred a giant pot on the stove. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Steve replied honestly. He took a seat at the kitchen table and turned, watching as Bucky silently made his way into the room. He sat in the same corner he did that morning and pulled his knees up to his chest, staring at the floor.

Both Sam and Steve watched him without comment before turning their attention back to each other. 

“Dinner should be ready in about thirty,” Sam offered. He filled a glass with water and sat it beside Bucky before doing the same for Steve. He sat across from him at the table, his expression expectant. 

“You first,” Steve said.

Sam’s story came out evenly and without dramatization, more a report than anything. “War Machine showed up,” he surmised eventually, shrugging. 

“Rhodes?”

He nodded. “Hill called him in, said he was in the area. We were able to replace the drives while Nat and Fury confronted Pierce. They weren’t expecting us, but it was nice to have backup. Went relatively smoothly, all things considered.” 

“They told us he was dead,” Steve said. “Pierce.”

“Yeah.” Sam hesitated. “They leaked everything, Steve. All of SHIELD’s and HYDRA’s secrets were out there on the internet for everyone to read.” He glanced at Bucky. “Maybe not everything, but a lot of it. SHIELD is done.”

Steve took a sip of water, trying to decipher the emotions that were popping up. “Is there anything that needs to be dealt with?”

“Nat’s handled most of it.” Sam smirked. “She covered for your disappearance too, so nobody’s expecting you to explain where you’ve been.” He paused. “She wants you to call her.”

“I will,” Steve assured. 

“Your turn.”

Steve took a deep breath, trying to arrange his thoughts. He started from the beginning, telling Sam of the cell and then being moved. He told him that they took his blood, and about Rumlow trying to force a reaction out of him. Steve only touched on Rumlow roughing him up a bit, not mentioning Bucky. The way Rumlow grabbed and lingered around him still made Steve want to throw up, and he wasn’t planning to bring it up now. He fought to keep his voice level and account factual, watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye the entire time.

Bucky didn’t move or show any sign that he was listening until Steve reached the part about the chair. His hand twitched just slightly, and he heard Bucky swallow from across the room. Sam didn’t interrupt as Steve described the restraints and device, glossing over the fear he felt the moment he realized he couldn’t break out. 

“And then Bucky-” He paused. “I’m not entirely sure what happened. I couldn’t see all of it. But he took them out and freed me from the chair. He.. The way he kept looking at it. He knew what it did.”

Sam nodded once, his expression grim. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I imagine he did.”

The room was quiet before Steve told the last of it. “He helped me set some explosives and then we ran.” Silence fell once more as they looked at each other and then over to Bucky, who was still staring down at the floor. 

“I’m glad you’re both okay.” He got up from his seat and walked into the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove. “Steve,” he said, hesitant. “Natasha has a file.” His eyes flicked to Bucky just barely, making it clear what he was talking about. “Just a heads up.” 

Steve nodded. “I should call he-”

“After we eat.” Sam began spooning whatever was in the pot into bowls and handed them out. 

Bucky took it and sat it on his lap, staring at it with an unreadable expression. He glanced up at Steve, who nodded. He picked up his spoon and started shoveling it into his mouth. 

**

Natasha picked up on the second ring. “You’re alive.”

“You too,” Steve said, shuffling from where he was standing in the hallway. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot.” A pause. “But I’m fine. How are you?” 

“I’m fin-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve. Tell me how you really are.”

He exhaled. “Freaking out a bit, I guess. He hasn’t said anything.” 

“He got you out, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “How did you-”

“Lucky guess. Look, he made a choice. And he may not know what to do with that yet.” She paused. “How is he otherwise? Eating? Moving? Sleeping?”

“He’s eating once I prompt him. I’m not sure if he slept, I don’t think he did. He keeps sitting in corners but I got him to take a shower and he's nodded in response, so I know he’s listening.” 

“I’m sure he’s always listening, Steve,” Natasha said, her voice grim. “He’s spent a long time in an environment where listening was all he could really do. Everything was dictated for him, he’s not going to understand that he has agency and choice right now.” 

Steve exhaled harshly. “What do I do?”

“Does he know who you are?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Tell him. Tell him everything, Steve. Don’t worry about overwhelming him, he’ll want all the information he can get. And he’s going to be waiting for consequences, for the other shoe to drop. Some part of him is still probably sitting in that facility waiting for something to happen. He needs to know where he stands, and what you want from him.” She paused, her voice softening. “He’s not going to know what to do with do whatever you want. But he needs to hear it anyway, keep giving him small choices. Give him consistency and patience. He’ll come around.”

Steve felt like throwing up. “And if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Maybe not in the way you want or are expecting. But he won’t be like this forever. He just needs to understand he’s safe, which is different than knowing.” 

“Nat, I don’t think I can-”

“You can,” she said matter of factly. “And you will. Because he needs you to.”

Steve nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m just scared of messing it up.”

“You probably will.” Nat scoffed into the phone. “I’d bet on it. But that’s because you’re a human being who isn’t perfect. Not because you can’t do this. And you’re not alone. So buck up.”

He laughed once, the tension slowly easing from his body. “You’re right.”

“I know. Now, there’s something else I wanted to-”

“The file?”

“Yes. I’ll warn you that it is.. Grusome. And specific. And-”

“I don’t want to know.”

Natasha paused. “Are you sure?”

“If.. if he decides to tell me one day then I’ll be more than willing to listen. But I’m not going to read about it behind his back. It doesn’t feel right.” Steve finished softly, his words fading. 

“That’s fine, but Steve.. You need to at least understand where he’s coming from.”

“What do you mean?”

She exhaled, taking a moment to respond. “He was severely abused, Steve. Physically, mentally.. The things they did to him should never be done to another person.”

Steve nodded. “I saw the chair.”

“You did?”

“Well.. they put me in it-”

“What?”

“That’s when he saved me. Before they could..”

“Fuck, Steve.”

Steve began pacing in the hallway, his eye flicking down the staircase every time he turned. “I know.”

“The chair is.. Bad. But it’s only part of it. It came a few years later because their.. Usual methods were proving ineffective. Your friend resisted for a long time. They were brutal to him, Steve. And relentless. And I’m not saying this to upset you but-”

“I know,” he said again. “Trust me, Nat.. I know.”

“I do trust you,” she said easily. 

“Thank you.” Steve quit pacing, leaning against the wall. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m going to stop by in a few days. I’m putting a safe house together for you two.”

“What would I do without you?”

“I’ve wondered that myself.”

She hung up. 

Steve put Sam’s phone in his pocket and stood in the hallway for a moment, thinking. After a few minutes passed he made his way downstairs and handed Sam his phone back without a word. Sam didn’t say anything before heading upstairs, likely reading the look on Steve’s face and the way he was looking at Bucky.

Bucky hadn’t moved from his spot on the corner, but Steve could tell he was tracking Steve as he walked across the room. 

“Hey,” he said, sitting down across from him. “I want to talk to you. Not at you, like I’ve been doing. But actually to you, if you’ll let me.”

There was no response but Bucky’s eyes snapped up to his face, seemingly alert and giving him his full attention. 

"First," he started. "Are you hurt? In any pain at all?"

Bucky hesitated, and then shook his head.

Steve relaxed, nodding. “Please let me know if that changes. I know you may have questions, so I’m going to try and answer them best I can." He paused. “My name is Steve Rogers, though you may also know that I’m Captain America. I was born in 1918 in Brooklyn, and you were born there just a year before in 1917. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but all your friends called you Bucky. We grew up together and were good friends. I used to be smaller-”

Bucky sat up straighter, his brow twitching just slightly. 

“A lot smaller. Had a bunch of health problems, too. But then the war happened. You were drafted, you left in 1942 to go overseas. You were a Sergeant I kept getting denied when I went to enlist, but I was eventually selected for a special project. They gave me a serum that made me like this,” he gestured to himself, “and it’s been permanent so far. You were captured by HYDRA in 1943 and they must have experimented on you. You were rescued and we fought in the war together for several years. Until.. In 1945 we were on a mission and you fell from a train. You fell a long way.” He paused, swallowing. 

Bucky’s flesh hand clenched slightly, though his gaze never wavered from Steve’s face. 

“I thought you died. I assumed there was no way you could have survived a fall like that, but I was wrong. HYDRA found you.. And.. they’ve had you ever since. I was frozen not long after that, accidentally. They woke me up about two years ago. I didn’t know you were alive until I saw you on the highway, or else I never would have left you. I swear, Buck. I would have come.” Steve knew he was appeasing his own guilt, but he couldn’t help it. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s how we got to where we are now.” 

Bucky glanced down at the floor then back up to Steve’s face, his eyes searching. Steve waited to see if Bucky would say anything.

He continued when a few minutes passed in silence. “I know I’ve said it before but you’re safe here. There are no punishments, or missions. Never again. What you did back at the facility.. I know what that cost. I don’t know all of it, obviously. But I know it wasn’t nothing. So.. thank you. The only goal is for you to get as healthy and strong as you can. I don’t plan to leave you, okay? Ever. Not unless you ask me to. You’re not being forced to stay here. If you want to leave, you can. But know that I’m really hoping you won’t. I just want to help however I can. Sam and our friend Natasha are here to help, too. You can trust them.” Steve paused, exhaling deeply. “Does this make sense?” 

A minute passed before Bucky nodded, his eyes shifting away to the floor. 

“Part of getting healthy and strong means getting your autonomy back. We’re gonna move to a safe house in a few days, just you and me. We can stay there as long as you want, or we can go whenever or wherever you want. I know that maybe doesn’t mean much to you now, but it will. And I don’t want to be telling you what to do all the time, because that’s not good for either of us. But I will remind you to eat if I notice you’re not eating. To sleep, and shower, and drink water. All the things you deserve to do without second guessing. But if you need me to tell you, that’s fine, I will. I’m not in charge of you, Buck. But these things matter, and you should be reminded of that as often as you need. You’re allowed to move around, sit wherever you want, go outside, do whatever.” Steve paused, the words spilling out of him. “I just want you to be okay.”

Bucky was frowning, which seemed different than his usual neutral downturn. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Steve added. “You don’t owe me a response; you don’t owe me anything.” 

He glanced up, his expression smoothing out. Bucky’s chin dipped down once, nodding in acknowledgement. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “Good.” 

**

Natasha showed up two days later, knocking once and then opening the door before Sam could answer it. She looked better than when he’d seen her last, her shoulder seemingly healed enough and not visibly harmed otherwise. 

“You look awful,” she greeted.

“Thank you,” he said before kissing her on the cheek. 

Her eyes moved past him to where Bucky was sitting in the corner. He really only alternated between this spot and the corner in the bedroom, only moving when Steve went to bed or he was reminded to shower. 

Natasha’s expression shifted, almost recalibrating. Whatever happened when she looked at him was complicated and private and she moved through it quickly. “I found you a place,” she said, turning her attention back to Steve. She shoved a file into his chest and went to sit on the couch, feigning relaxation. 

Steve opened the file and sifted through the contents. “The suburbs?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting me?”

“You don’t think I’ll be recognized?”

“No.” Natasha shrugged, glancing at Sam and then Bucky. “I did my homework.” 

Steve relented, trusting her opinion. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m driving you out.” 

Sam walked them to the door an hour later. He pulled Steve into a hug, which Steve held onto for a moment longer than he’d planned to. 

“Thanks again, Sam,” he murmured.

“Call me,” Sam said, squeezing his shoulder. 

“I will.”

Sam nodded goodbye to Bucky, who was close on Steve’s heels. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

Bucky didn’t respond, but he nodded just enough for it to be noticeable. Steve led them to the car where Natasha was waiting, her expression unreadable.

Steve ended up driving. He insisted and Natasha gave up easily before settling into the passenger seat beside him. Bucky sat directly behind Steve, who couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror every so often. He had hesitated before getting in the car and then folded himself into the back seat with the movements of someone who was used to fitting into whatever space was available. The sight broke Steve’s heart a little but he shoved it away. 

They’d been driving silently for fifteen minutes before Natasha spoke. It took Steve a second to realize her words weren’t in English, but in Russian. He glanced back at Bucky, who had his head tilted towards her in interest. Natasha’s cadence was unhurried, her tone low and even. 

Steve heard his name once, and then again. He looked back at Bucky, who had turned to face out the window. His expression was almost contemplative, like he was trying to make sense of whatever he was being told. Eventually he closed his eyes, resting his head against the glass. 

Natasha tapered off, ending with a noise that sounded encouraging. Steve’s eyes flicked back to Bucky and realized his shoulders had lowered slightly, the most relaxed he’d seen him since before the war. He reached over and squeezed Nat’s hand before gripping the wheel, staring ahead at the open road. 

**

Steve understood why Natasha wasn’t worried about him being recognized once he saw the house. It was secluded with trees blocking all sides, and lots of space between them and their neighbors. It was a small neighborhood, and Steve figured it was the kind of place people move to if they wanted to escape the closeness of the city. 

The house was two stories and fully furnished, with curtains and a small garden that had been left to its own devices for too long. The front door stuck slightly in the frame and Steve fixed that within sixty seconds of arriving. 

“Two bedrooms upstairs,” Natasha said. “Kitchen is stocked with the basics. There’s two cells, a computer and a landline. Car in the garage. Cameras out front and out back.” 

Bucky stood in the front room, his stance awkward like he wasn't sure what to do. 

“Why don’t you go pick a room, Buck?” he suggested. “Have a look around?” 

He glanced at Steve and then Natasha before moving towards the stairs. 

“What did you say to him?” Steve asked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Nothing you haven’t already said, I’m sure.”

“It seemed to help.”

“Sometimes things land differently in a different language.” 

Steve nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t make a thing of it.” Natasha picked up her jacket and paused in front of him by the front door. “He’s in there. But you need to stop being careful and start being Steve Rogers.” She smirked, kissing him on the cheek. “Worm your way in. That’s what you do.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. 

Natasha winked before ducking from the doorway, leaving without looking back.

Steve walked slowly through the house, opening cabinets and taking inventory. He made his way upstairs and found Bucky standing in the hallway, in between the two bedrooms. “Have a preference?” he asked.

Bucky, of course, didn’t answer. He turned to look at Steve with a blank. 

“Hungry?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve counted that as a win. 

He made pasta for dinner, eating in the silence that was begrudgingly growing to be more familiar each second it passed. He considered filling it, but he found he didn’t really have much to say. They ate across from each other at the table, which Steve considered another win. He pulled out a chair and offered it to Bucky, who sat with a confused look on his face. Steve could feel Bucky watching him every so often and he did his best to appear relaxed, only looking at him when he knew Bucky was glancing elsewhere. 

Steve did the dishes while Bucky hovered, his fists clenched by his sides. He then followed Steve as he did a last sweep, checking the windows and locks. They made their way upstairs and Steve paused, glancing between the two rooms. 

“Do you want me to pick?” he asked.

Bucky blinked. 

Steve glanced into the identical rooms, taking the one on the right. “You can sleep in the other room if you want. Or we can share. It’s up to you, Buck.” He sat his bag on the bed and pulled out a pair of clean clothes. “I’m going to shower, though.” 

He made his way a bit further down the hallway and shut the door, exhaling heavily. Steve felt guilty about needing a minute, but he needed a minute. He took his time as he showered, waiting until the anxiety and stress in his chest had eased into something manageable and the tears had stopped before turning the water off. He shuffled back into his bedroom and found Bucky sitting in the corner, his eyes full of trepidation as he watched Steve walk into the room. Steve didn’t say anything as he went into the other bedroom and pulled the pillows and blankets from the bed. 

“Use these, please,” he said softly as he set them next to Bucky on the floor. 

He turned on the lamp and pulled down his own covers before shutting off the main light and cracking the door. Steve crawled into bed before glancing at Bucky, pleased to see that Bucky had taken two of the blankets and pulled them tight around his frame. His head was leaning back against the wall, eyes still on Steve. 

“Get some sleep, Buck,” he whispered before turning off the lamp. 

**

On the third morning, Steve came downstairs to find coffee already made. He poured himself a cup and then turned to look at Bucky, who was sitting on the floor in the living room with his back against the couch. He was watching Steve with a peculiar expression and said nothing. 

The days built on each other slowly, the pair falling into a loose rhythm. Bucky was usually awake and gone by the time Steve opened his eyes and there would be fresh coffee when he came downstairs. Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky was drinking it or just making it for him, but he didn’t comment on it. 

They ate breakfast together, and Steve noticed Bucky becoming slightly more interested in food the more reliably he had it. It started with subtle glances, and on the fourth day he sat in the corner of the kitchen, watching with interest as Steve cooked dinner. 

He wasn’t sure if Bucky was sleeping, but the bags under his eyes got better so Steve figured he must be. Steve noticed that some mornings there would be a pillow by the window instead of the corner or a blanket in the living room, like Bucky was mapping out different parts of the house. Steve didn’t comment on that either. 

Steve talked a lot, though. Not constantly, and not usually about the past. He talked about what he was reading, about the news when it wasn’t SHIELD/HYDRA related, about food or his plans for the day. He made observations about the neighborhood, like the man across the street who went for a run every morning or the cat that appeared on the back step every afternoon and sat there with a curious look. 

Bucky listened, Steve was sure of it. His eyes were almost always on Steve, but they became bright with interest when Steve spoke. Steve asked questions sometimes, never really expecting a response. Bucky never did more than small nods or the faint shake of his head, but sometimes he tilted his head just slightly and Steve wasn’t sure what it meant. 

A week in, Steve noticed a book was missing from the stack on the coffee table. He was thankful Sam and Natasha made the decision to bring them, as Steve found himself reading more often than not. He didn’t find where it went until that afternoon when he passed the doorway to the bedroom and glanced in. Bucky was on the floor in the far corner, not the sleeping corner but a different one by the window, where the afternoon light filtered in. He had the book open on his lap and was reading with a stillness that Steve thought may be peaceful. He didn’t look up and Steve kept walking. 

Two weeks in, Steve woke up at three in the morning for no obvious reason he could identify. He lay still for a moment as he listened to his surroundings before turning to the corner, finding it empty. This didn’t alarm him and he figured Bucky must have migrated elsewhere for the night. He turned onto his side and realized that Bucky was in the bed next to him. 

Or, on the bed, at least. Bucky was on top of the covers at the far edge, fully dressed. He was on his side facing away from Steve but his breathing had the depth and slowness of actual sleep. Steve did his best not to move, afraid to wake him. The ache in his chest was lighter than it’d been since before he could remember, like something had righted itself in the world. He was careful to fall asleep before Bucky woke up, and didn’t mention in the next morning. 

A few nights later he was awoken by a noise and was upright before he was fully awake. Steve knew it came from Bucky, who was on his side facing away from Steve but had tension running throughout his body. His breathing was rapid and wrong and his metal hand was clenched around his own shirt. A sound kept coming from him that was barely a sound, or trying hard not to be a sound. 

“Hey,” Steve softly, hoping his voice would wake him. “Bucky, wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Bucky didn’t surface, or even show any sign of having heard him. Another noise ripped out of him, like it was painful to produce and Steve acted without thinking. 

“Hey,” he said again, reaching a hand out to Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s Steve, you’re-”

One moment Steve was reaching out and the next he was on his back with his wrist pinned above him, something cold and unmovable against his throat. Bucky was above him with an expression that was completely absent, one he hadn’t seen since they’d been with HYDRA.

“It’s Steve,” he managed against the pressure around his throat. “You’re safe, we’re in the safe house, nobody is going to hurt you.”

A second passed, and then two. Three seconds later something moved behind Bucky’s eyes. The hand at Steve’s throat loosened but didn’t pull away.

“Buck,” Steve said softly. 

Bucky’s eyes came back into focus and Steve watched it happened, like watching someone surface from deep, dark waters. He released Steve completely and scrambled off the bed and into the corner, putting as much distance between them as possible. His chest was heaving and his eyes were trained on Steve’s neck, his expression a kind of horror that made Steve want to throw up. 

Steve sat up slowly, his hands raised in front of him in order to counter the urge to touch his neck. “I’m fine,” he assured, clearing his throat. “You’re okay. We’re okay. You had a nightmare, that’s all.”

Bucky shook his head, just barely.

“That was my fault, I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” Steve continued. “I’m sorry. I knew better. That’s on me, okay?” 

Bucky’s gaze hardened slightly and before Steve could open his mouth he was gone, disappearing down the stairs without a sound. 

Steve didn’t fall back asleep. He waited until the sun began to rise before climbing out of bed and making his way to the bathroom. His neck was bruised but he knew it would fade within the day. He brushed his teeth and went back to the bedroom to pull on a hoodie to cover his neck as much as possible so that Bucky wouldn’t see before making his way downstairs. 

The coffee was fresh and Bucky was sitting on the ground in the living room with a book open on his lap. He didn’t look up as Steve entered and neither of them said anything. 

A week had passed since the nightmare and Bucky had withdrawn. Steve hadn’t realized how much presence his quiet friend had until it was gone, replaced with somebody who only appeared at mealtimes and refused to meet his gaze. 

He made his weekly calls to Natasha and Sam on the back porch, scratching the cat behind its ear. It had brought him a dead mouse as some kind of token, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that so he settled on petting it until it got overstimulated and swatted at him. 

Talk to him, had been the advice both Sam and Natasha gave him and he figured it wasn’t completely unsound. But Steve was struggling with talking to somebody who refused to talk back; his sanity being called into question.

Steve eventually made his way inside and started on dinner, eyes scanning for any sign of Bucky with no luck. He made his way downstairs when Steve called for him, eyes shifting and body language tense like it had been all week. 

“I had a nightmare two nights ago,” Steve said before Bucky could shovel his meal away and disappear. “This one wasn’t about the war, or the ice. Though, I’m not going to pretend I don’t have nightmares about those because I do.” 

Bucky’s movements slowed, his eyes flicking up to Steve’s face before looking away. 

“This one was about the highway. I see you fall a lot. Not just from the train, but sometimes it’s the road or sometimes it doesn’t make any geographic sense. But the feeling is there, you know? I woke up panicked, even though I knew you were here safe.” 

He paused, trying to gauge Bucky’s reaction. 

“My point is,” he continued, “I know what it’s like to wake up somewhere else, to not be sure of what’s real or what your head put together from what it’s got. And what you did.. You were protecting yourself from something that felt real. That’s not something I’m going to be angry about, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about it either. I’m a lot harder to damage than I look, Buck. Especially when it’s coming from you.”

Bucky looked up, tilting his head just slightly in that way Steve didn’t know how to read.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Bucky didn’t move for a long minute before he eventually nodded his head once. 

Steve released an exhale, nodding in response. They finished their meal in silence and that night Bucky crawled into bed with him. 

**

The jogs started because Steve needed them and Bucky followed without being asked. He announced it to the room one morning and when he’d opened the front door Bucky was already behind him. By the second week, it was a given and by the third week Bucky was at the door before Steve with his ballcap already on. Steve felt something lift in chest every time and he kept it off his face. 

The card games started around the same time. Steve had found a deck in the kitchen drawer and was playing solitaire at the table one evening, just to have something to do with his hands. Bucky had drifted into the kitchen from wherever he’d been, watching. 

“Do you want to play something?” 

Bucky didn’t answer, his gaze flicking between Steve and the deck of cards.

Steve shuffled and dealt two hands of rummy, gesturing for Bucky to sit. 

Bucky sat across from him and picked up his cards, his eyes assessing each of them with interest. Then, he rearranged them before glancing back up at Steve. He waited, because Steve had dealt and should go first because that's the way they'd always played, and the simple logic that Bucky remembered that made Steve’s chest do something complicated. 

He lost.. Badly. He was fairly sure Bucky wasn’t trying to beat him and was just playing, but there was something about the way Bucky laid down the winning hand that was deeply resembling Bucky Barnes. 

“Best of three?” Steve asked.

Something moved at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he nodded. He won the next one as well. 

The puzzle was an impulse buy one afternoon during a grocery run. Steve had seen it on the shelf and put it in the cart without overthinking it. He set it up on the coffee table and worked at it intermittently for a few days, his interest in it sporadic at best. 

He came downstairs one morning to find Bucky on the floor in front of it, his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. He’d finished the border and had filled in about a third of the interior. It took Steve a second to notice that the cat from the garden had also been let inside, and had positioned itself on the couch above him, napping with its belly exposed. Steve poured himself a cup of coffee and sat on the other side of the table to help.

Another time after a grocery run, Steve stopped at a bookstore. He bought some that he thought Bucky might like, since they’d both finished the ones they brought with them, and others that he had known Bucky did like from before. He sat them in the living room without pretense and felt grateful when he noticed later that evening that one was missing. 

Steve started noticing looks, but it took a week for him to convince himself that he wasn’t imagining it. It usually happened when Steve was talking, but also when he was reading or not doing anything in particular. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him and would look over to find Bucky watching him with an expression that was poised, like a word at the edge of being spoken. 

Then Steve would make eye contact and Bucky would look back to his book, or out the window, or just away in general. It happened enough times that Steve was certain it wasn’t a coincidence; that Bucky wanted to say something. 

One morning he put his coffee down and asked, “Bucky.. Can you talk? I mean I know you did on the highway, but that was a while ago. It’s okay if you’re just not choosing not to, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just want to make sure I haven’t been assuming something I shouldn’t assume. So.. can you?”

Bucky held his gaze and then nodded once, slow and deliberate. 

“Okay,” Steve said easily, picking his coffee back up. “Good to know,” he added, and left the subject alone. 

The nightmares continued. They didn’t happen every night, but enough that Steve had developed a sense for the days that might produce them. On the bad nights Steve lay still and kept his breathing slow, not daring to reach out again and letting the nightmare run its course. He’d talk Bucky back once he knew he was awake, keeping his voice quiet and steady as he provided reassurances and saying his name. 

His own nightmare came a few weeks after Bucky had started sleeping in the same bed again. It was the train this time, which was always Steve’s least favorite. He still saw the scene so vividly, his photographic memory acting as a curse. He could feel the wind biting at his skin, hear the sound of the handle breaking, see the look on Bucky’s face as he realized what had happened before he fell a split second later. 

He woke up badly, disorientated and unable to breathe. He was still somewhere else when he felt it, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. Steve looked over and realized who it belonged to, coming the rest of the way back to the present. 

Bucky was beside him, propped on one arm and his face carrying an expression Steve hadn't seen, at least not in a very long time. 

“I’m alright,” Steve whispered, his chest still heaving. 

Bucky kept his hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“I’m okay,” he said again, sinking back into his pillow. He took a deep breath and let the dream dissolve in his mind. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Steve reached up and covered Bucky’s hand with his own, squeezing briefly to say thank you. He moved to pull away but Bucky turned his hand over, his fingers closing around Steve’s.

His grip wasn’t tight, but it was deliberate. Steve went still and Bucky was looking at him in the darkness, so Steve looked back. He turned his hand over properly, adjusting the grip to something that could be held and let out a long, slow breath. Bucky settled back down against the pillow and their hands slid between them, still intertwined. 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Steve said a few mornings later. They were sitting on the back porch, finishing their breakfast in the silence Steve had grown accustomed to. “About what comes next.”

Bucky quit eating, glancing at Steve before looking away. 

“We can’t stay here forever, but we can go somewhere else, if you want. Together. We don’t have to leave anytime soon, obviously. But I’m curious what you think. What you need. I’ll do anything you want.. But I-I guess I just don’t know.. What it is that you want. And I hate to think I’m making you do something that isn’t good for you.”

Bucky put his fork down, frowning. 

“We could move to the city, back to DC or to New York, maybe. Or we could find somewhere in the country, where it’s quiet. It’s-” He stopped. Something was happening in Bucky’s face that made him stop. 

His jaw had tightened and his eyes had gone somewhere internal, his chest moving shallowly like he was holding his breath. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-”

Bucky pushed back from the table, not angrily, but desperate. He got up and went inside, leaving Steve on the porch. 

Steve put his head in his hands and sighed. The cat weaved between his legs, meowing as its tail wrapped around his calf and contributed nothing useful. Steve fed it a few small pieces of bacon before pulling out his phone and calling Natasha. 

She showed up a few days later, arriving in the afternoon with a bag and no advanced warning. Steve was thankful he’d warned Bucky that it was possible she would be stopping by, and was unsurprised when Bucky looked unbothered by the information. She took in her surroundings as if documenting a crime scene before looking at Steve with a different expression. She smiled and winked before turning to Bucky, who was in the living room with a book. 

“You look better,” Natasha told him. 

Bucky glanced up, looking her over before looking back down at his book. 

“Eloquent as ever,” she said before making her way upstairs. 

Later she found Steve in the kitchen making tea and stood in the doorway with her arms folded. “So,” she said. 

“So.” He paused. “Let’s go outside.”

She raised an eyebrow but followed. 

“He held my hand,” Steve blurted as soon as they were settled, and then immediately wasn’t sure why he’d said it. 

Natasha said nothing, her face unmoving. 

“He initiated it,” Steve added, for reasons that were unclear. 

“I see,” Natasha said with a tone that conveyed considerably more than those two words.

“It’s not-”

“Where are you sleeping? Because I noticed nobody’s used that second room.”

He set his mug down. “We’re sharing.” Steve turned to find Natasha looking at him with a smirk. He felt the back of his neck go warm. “It’s not like that. He just, it was his decision! I-I-” He stopped. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she said, with complete and utter insincerity.

“Nat.”

“I’m just sitting here,” she protested. 

Steve rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his tea. 

“You want me to talk to him,” she said eventually, her tone more serious. 

“I was hoping you may have better luck,” he agreed. “I just.. I hate not knowing what he’s thinking. What needs or wants. I need.. Something. Anything.” 

Natasha nodded, considering. “I can try.” She set her empty mug on the table. “Go get groceries.” 

“I was going to check on him first-”

“Good,” she said. “Do that and then go.”

Steve made his way into the living room with his jacket and the keys in his hand. “I’m going to the store, I’ll be back in an hour. Natasha will be here with you, is that okay?”

Bucky looked up from his book, considering him seriously. His expression moved through something brief before he nodded and looked back down at his book. 

Steve returned exactly an hour later. The living room was empty and he found Natasha sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming mug. He looked at her as he put the groceries on the counter and she looked back, shaking her head slightly. 

“He listened,” she said. “He’s just not ready, Steve.” 

Steve nodded. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Natasha smiled, but it looked sad. “I think that’s a relative term. But yeah, as okay as he can be given the circumstances.” She got up and started to help him put the groceries away, and that was all either of them said about it. 

He made pasta for dinner, because it was one of the few things he could successfully do. Him and Natasha chatted during dinner, and Bucky looked between them with a peculiar look. Steve asked him questions occasionally and received no response. 

At one point Natasha said something in Russian across the table and Bucky looked at her and then at his plate. He shook his head and then reached across the table and took the last piece of bread. 

Natasha met Steve’s eyes briefly and looked away. 

The next morning Steve woke up at exactly six. He turned over to find Bucky’s side of the bed empty, and reached a hand out to see if it was still warm. The bed was cold and Steve sighed, listening for where Bucky may be. He closed his eyes and heard nothing except Natasha’s light breathing in the next room. 

Steve sat up slowly, taking in the room. The blanket that Bucky used every night was folded neatly at the foot of bed. Steve looked at it, his vision tunneling. His chest started to tighten as he reached out and put his hand on the blanket, like touching would help him make sense of what he was seeing. 

He was on his feet before he decided to move. He went through the house fast and quiet, checking every room and hiding spot he knew Bucky had found. His jacket and cap that were usually hung by the door were gone and Steve checked the garage to find the Jeep missing. The floor felt as though it was disappearing beneath him and he fought to keep his breathing even as he went upstair. 

Natasha was sitting up when he opened the door fully, a bit groggy but alert. 

‘He’s gone,” he said. 

She was out of bed before he could blink. 

He followed her into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on with automatic efficiency. Steve stood in the corner but couldn’t be still, shifting his weight before he began pacing in the small space. He checked the garden through the window on every turn, just in case. 

“What did you say to him?” he asked eventually. 

Natasha turned to look at him. “I just laid out his options. I explained what existed for him outside of this house, what’s available to him.” She leaned against the counter, curing her fingers around her mug. “I told him there were people who could help him. Sam, or myself, or the other Avengers. That HYDRA was mostly gone, and the people who held his leash were dead or running. That he didn’t have to be afraid of being found and taken back. That he was safe and we could protect him.” 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling. “You don’t think HY-”

“They wouldn’t have left us alive,” Natasha reasoned. “He left, Steve. It was his choice.” She paused, hesitating. “I also asked him if he was remembering anything.”

Steve looked up, eyes wide. 

“He nodded,” she said. “And then he.. Disengaged. I didn’t push. I let it go and we sat there for a while and then I changed the subject.” 

“What did you say at dinner?”

“I asked if he had anything to add. He was looking at you like he wanted to say something.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “He’s been doing that.” He collapsed in a chair at the table, putting his head in his hands. “He seemed fine during dinner. I-I thought he was doing okay.”

“He probably was in the moment, Steve. This isn’t your fault.” She moved to sit across from him and he looked up to meet her eye. “But if you’ve spent seventy years having every choice made for you and then those controls are gone.. It’s terrifying. Structure is still structure even when it’s a cage. He’s not running from you, Steve.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He wanted you to know it was a choice,” she said quietly. “You’ve been asking him to make one, and he did. It was probably just the only one that felt safe.” She set her mug down, her expression turning business. “Now, where would he go?” 

Steve sighed. "Should we go after him? If he made a choice then shouldn't we respect it-"

Natasha smiled, sad. "Just because running felt like his only choice, doesn't mean it's what he actually wants. Believe me, Steve."

**

They called Sam from the car when they were halfway to New York. 

“If he shows up at your place,” Steve started after he explained.

“I’ll call you,” Sam assured. “What do you need?”

“Just.. Tell him to stay and that I’ll come for him.” Steve paused. “Don’t crowd him, just-”

“Steve.” Sam’s voice was even. “I know.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I know you do.”

“I’m asking what you need.”

“I just need to find him,” Steve said, glancing over to Natasha. “I’ll call you when I have an update."

Natasha was driving, weaving through traffic in a way he would find terrifying in any other setting. 

Steve looked out the window, watching the city emerge from the grey as they crossed into it. “He might not even be here,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. 

“No,” she agreed.

“I might be wrong.”

“You might be.”

“I just-” He stopped.

“You might be right, Steve,” she reasoned. “We won’t know until we look. One thing at a time.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “I should have seen this coming.”

“Maybe,” Natasha said easily. “Or maybe not.”

He looked back out the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. 

They found him on the sixth pass. Steve had been navigating from something he couldn’t name, not logic or a plan, but just the weight of weeks of watching Bucky move through the world and some instinct underneath that he’d stopped questioning. They’d driven past the old apartment building first that they had both grown up in, and then where he and Bucky moved in together when they were older that was closer to the docks and was no longer standing. They went by the park where they’d wasted entire summer afternoons doing nothing in particular with the easy extravagance of kids who didn’t know yet that time was finite. 

Each of them was empty, and each one did something to Steve’s chest that he refused to examine yet.

They’d found the old bar they used to frequent, which was a smoke shop now, with no sign of Bucky. Steve checked the alley behind the old club they’d gone to back when Bucky could charm their way past any door and found it empty. 

Steve was running out of places and starting to run out of the particular composure that had been holding everything together. He turned to the Brooklyn Bridge and his heart stopped. “There,” he said. 

Natasha followed his gaze and nodded, starting the car. She drove silently and then pulled over in the middle of the bridge, flicking on her hazards. 

Steve got out of the car with a meaningful look and Nat nodded before pulling away. 

Bucky was sitting on top of the middle pillar, his legs hanging over the edge. Steve began to climb without thinking, moving as fast as possible to get to him. He made his way to the top of the pillar and sat beside him, breathing heavily for no reason that had anything to do with exertion. 

He looked at Bucky for just long enough to assess that he was uninjured before looking out over the water. Steve didn’t say anything, letting his heart slow down and his breathing even out. Eventually a noise came from beside him that hadn't come from Bucky and he turned his head to see a white head poke out the top of Bucky’s jacket. 

Steve laughed, the sound loud and genuine. “Did you steal the neighbor’s cat?”

Bucky turned to look at him, acknowledging his presence for the first time. He tilted his head and one side of mouth turned up. 

Steve laughed again, shaking his head as he looked away. 

“She’s not the neighbors, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice even. “She’s a stray.”

Steve froze and then snapped his head. 

Bucky was smiling softly, looking down at the cat purring against his chest. 

“Buck,” he whispered in awe. 

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky looked over at him, shrugging. 

Steve laughed again, his vision blurring as tears slipped down his cheeks. He looked away, wiping his face. 

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize,” Steve said, shaking his head. 

Bucky was quiet. 

Steve couldn’t help but turn and look at him again, unable to peel his eyes away. 

“I don’t know who.. Or what.. I am,” Bucky said softly. “I don’t know what’s left or what’s worth.. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now.”

“You’re not supposed to be anyone,” Steve insisted. “You’re allowed to just be.” 

Bucky nodded, turning away. “I figured you’d say something like that. But sometimes there’s just so much.” He gestured to his head. “Too much going on. And I'm not sure when it happened but I kept wanting to say something to you, but I didn’t know what to say. The longer I waited the more I felt like I couldn’t. It’s like everything just piled up and I couldn’t let any of it out. And I knew you were growing desperate.”

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t go apologizin’ either.”

It sounded so much like Bucky that Steve cried some more. 

“I know I scared you,” Bucky continued. “Leavin’ like that.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I know.” Bucky smirked, knocking their shoulders together. “I know.” 

The sun was hitting his face and it was the most open Steve had seen it. He wanted to capture that look forever, bottle it up and never let it go. 

“I want to stay somewhere with you,” Bucky said softly. “Somewhere.. Permanent. I don’t care where, Stevie. I just want to be with you.” 

Steve nodded. “I want that, too.”

Bucky looked at him, his expression settling into something resolved. He glanced down at Steve’s lips before leaning in, their mouths meeting. 

Steve relaxed into the kiss, like coming up for air. Eventually they pulled apart, resting their foreheads together. “Let’s go home.”

The cat headbutted their chins, demanding attention. 

Bucky laughed, and the sound went straight through Steve’s heart. Bucky rubbed her head before looking back at Steve. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Let’s go home.”