Chapter Text
Steve was back within a few minutes, Bucky was still standing pressed against the back wall of the cell. He closed the door behind him. "Hey," he said, stepping forward. Bucky's eyes were closed and his breathing was faster than usual. "You okay?"
Bucky stepped forward and threw himself at Steve. Stevie would catch him. Stevie would always catch him. Stevie made things better. Right now he was so confused. What was he anymore? Was he still a monster, forced to be forever linked to his past and the atrocities he'd committed? Or was he a person? An actual human being who had made mistakes but could still be forgiven?
"C'mere," Steve said, leading them to the bed. He sat Bucky down and squatted in front of him. "I'm not going to make you talk to me. But I'm here if you need to."
He shook his head. He couldn't talk, not without being told to. Or even asked, at this point. There were still things that he struggled to do on his own. He was shaking now, he couldn't deal with the whole being treated like a human thing. It wasn't what he was used to, it wasn't what he expected, and it wasn't something he could handle yet.
"Alright. Talk. What's going on?" Steve hated making Bucky do anything. The whole point of leaving him here, in an abandoned prison built over a century ago, was that he had the choice to leave. He could always break out of here without even exerting himself. The point was to give him the choice, to not force him into anything.
"Why'd you bring him?"
Steve considered. He was a good musician, a good man. Everything he'd ever read about the man had given him hope that he was a good choice. "You deserved to see someone else. I don't want to keep you locked here away from the world forever. Patrick's a good guy. I knew he'd see it in you that you were too. I knew he'd treat you like any other person, even if you were chained to the wall."
Bucky shook his head and buried it in his hands. "'M not. Don't deserve a damn thing. What've I done for it?" He was muttering more to himself than anything else. If it had been Sam in here there would be no response. If it had been Sam here, he wouldn't have been led so easily to the bed, he wouldn't have been asked to speak. It wasn't Sam here, though, it was Steve. Steve who wouldn't accept the fact that Bucky was just a bad person and leave it alone. Steve, who heard everything and would always correct him when he was being particularly idiotic. Then again, that was particularly idiotic according to Steve's definition, which left a lot to be desired.
"You've stayed. You've eaten. You've taken care of yourself. You've talked to me. You've let Sam in to make sure you're still healthy. You've started to listen to him, even if you don't talk to him. You're making progress, Buck. You're doing better, I swear it. Even when you can't see it, I can." Mornings were now few and far between where Steve came back and things were broken. He had taken to coming less often, taking more time with his team, because he could afford to. He still made it back as often as he could, but whenever he did come back things were better. "I'm so proud of you."
That broke him. How could anyone be proud of him? After everything he'd done, after everything he'd become, pride was among the least of what he deserved. "But I-"
"Broke free of their control," Steve interrupted. "Let yourself get found. Stayed here when you've had every option to leave. Haven't hurt a single person since coming here. Are working with Sam and me to get better. And you even talked to an absolute stranger today. You smiled. You gave him a hug." He paused to let all of this sink in. "Look, I don't care what you did when you had no control of your actions. What I care about is what decisions you make."
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Tony wasn't exactly sure why Steve had asked for a bunch of resources. The jet, nondisclosure agreements, a few cars, but he didn't mind letting him use them. Steve had his own special projects going on, he was more than happy to help out.
He didn't expect to find a hat on his bed. A fedora, to be specific. Black, with a very distinct set of silver squiggles along the rim. A fedora. Autographed by Patrick Stump. He picked it up and smelled it. Definitely worn. A used fedora. Autographed. On his bed. He put it on his head and was surprised to find that it actually fit pretty well. Underneath it was a note.
"Thanks for the hospitality and transportation. Maybe we'll meet up next time."
It was official. Steve got to use whatever he wanted from now on.