Chapter Text
It was a small house, neat, tidy, with a little garden out front, the front door painted bright blue, and Bucky stopped in the road. Steve had to pull him out of the way of a snorting cart horse and its exasperated driver. "Bucky. Breathe."
"What if she hates me because of what I was doing? What if she hates me because I never wrote her back? What if—"
"Bucky." Steve squeezed his hands. "She's not going to hate you. She loves you."
"But—"
Steve slid his hands up Bucky's arms to the back of his neck, gently pulled him close, and kissed his forehead. Bucky sighed and leaned into him. "It's going to be okay."
Bucky nodded. After a minute, maybe two, maybe five, he straightened, caught Steve's hand, and walked to the blue front door. Knocked. Waited. His mother answered and she looked the same. A few more grey hairs, maybe a few more laugh lines, but the same.
She glanced between him and Steve, perplexed, and Bucky had a flash of how he must look to her. How different he was from the Bucky who'd pressed the money into her hands and run before she could ask questions. His skin was tanned, his hair long, and he was carrying more muscle, even if it was nothing compared to Steve, big, broad, beautiful Steve, standing behind him, fingers curled above his hip.
Her eyes went wide. "Bucky?"
"Hi, Ma."
"Bucky!" He couldn't breathe, she was hugging him so tight, crying into his shoulder, and he wrapped her in his arms and held on. "Bucky."
She let him go eventually, but not entirely, clutching his shirt with one hand, like if she didn't he might disappear. "And who's this?"
"This is Steve. Steve Rogers. He's my—" He stopped, stumped, and looked over his shoulder. Steve started to smile, eyes sparkling amusement, and raised both eyebrows. Bucky huffed and his mother laughed.
"Never mind, I see who he is. Are you the one who brought him back to me?"
"No, he brought himself." Steve settled a hand on Bucky's shoulder, thumb brushing Bucky's neck. "I'm just lucky enough to be the one he brought with him."