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Steve’s being watched.
He can feel the familiar weight of eyes on him as he jogs around Manhattan, as he pauses for photos with kids who call out to him with laughter, as he stops for a coffee at the little cafe tucked into the corner of a side street.
He might be concerned, except he knows these eyes, knows who they belong to, and remembers how it feels to have them watching his back in the War. It’s not all that different to how it feels now, really. It’s as though Steve’s hidden advantage is ready to spring out at any second and save the day.
Where are you hiding? He glances around as he makes his way back toward the Tower, Steve tries to catch sight of a shadowed figure on a rooftop or around the corner of an alley. He’s been feeling like he’s been watched off and on since after the helicarriers in D.C., and though he and Sam spent a few months travelling around the States and parts of Europe searching for Bucky--and busting up a shit-ton of Hydra bases--after a while he’d started to feel those familiar eyes on him and realized that Bucky was following them , instead of the other way around.
Steve had figured that they could waste time chasing each other in circles around half the planet, or he could return to New York and wait for Bucky to find his way home.
So he and Sam had come back to the States, and Steve went to Avengers Tower at Tony’s insistence--plus all the post-fall-of-Hydra bullshit, which left the Tower as the best option for some kind of headquarters. Tony extended the same invitation to Sam, but for now Sam preferred to go home to his ma’s for a long overdue visit. And Steve, well, he could understand that.
Steve’s been back in New York nearly a month, now, and since about halfway through his first full day back he’s had that feeling...that’s he’s being followed, that he’s being watched. A few times it was paparazzi or journalists trying to get photos, and one mildly-notable occasion involved some ex-Hydra grunts who thought they were being stealthy.
(They were not stealthy.)
But most of the time, those minutes or hours he feels eyes on him it’s comfortably familiar, and recognizably Bucky.
Steve winds down his run as he nears the Tower, and stops at one of the ever-present food trucks to buy a triple-order of his favourites--pastrami sandwiches, meatball subs, and a box of fries, it’s enough for about five people--and makes a show of obviously juggling the bags so it’s clear that he bought more than even Steve’s serum-influenced appetite could handle. Taking his time walking the last few blocks to the Tower, he swings one of the bags heavily at his side. He’s been buying extra whenever he goes out lately, hoping that Bucky might show up, but obviously so far he hasn’t had any luck.
But he still brings double servings home every time, just in case.
He spends the evening alone, watching more movies off his list, and asking JARVIS questions whenever he comes across some modern reference or intriguing fact because JARVIS will answer without teasing, thank you very much, Tony .
Steve glances toward the expanse of windows across the outside wall of his apartment. The lights of the city glitter against the dark sky, and he marvels for a second at the view, one he never would have experienced in his previous life.
He doesn’t mind the evening spent alone, because every time he passes those windows, he can feel those eyes on him again.
***
It’s a week later when Steve wakes up in the middle of the night. He isn’t sure what pulled him from sleep--
A shuffling noise from the front of his apartment breaks the quiet.
Rolling out of bed, Steve spares a moment to pull on jeans and grab the shield from where it leans against the foot of the bed. He isn’t really expecting a threat since JARVIS hadn’t sounded the alarm, but none of his teammates would bother to try and be quiet if they were showing up in the middle of the night.
Moving silently down the hallway, Steve peers around the corner into the main room, shield poised in case he has to go on the defensive. He can barely make out a figure standing in the shadows by the entryway, but before he can move he hears the only voice he’s been waiting for.
“Hey Stevie. I’m havin’ a bit of a rough time.”
“ Bucky ,” Steve breathes out, relieved and so glad. Lowering the shield, he sets it against the wall and strides forward. The lights come on as he moves into the main room, and now he can see Bucky is slumped against the doorframe and disheveled, long hair hanging in front of his face. He’s hunched over his metal arm where he’s holding it awkwardly against his chest.
Steve reaches out to--well, he isn’t sure what he intends to do, really--but stops just shy of touching when Bucky flinches back a little. Bucky smiles a little, though, just a tilt of the lips and it’s strained, but it’s still a smile. Steve’ll take it, since Bucky’s finally home.
“C’mon,” Steve steps back and points to the couch. Practicalities first. “Sit down, tell me what you need.”
Bucky groans as he settles into the couch cushions. He’s pale and a bit underweight, like he hasn’t been eating well, but overall he looks better than Steve expected.
“You don’t look surprised to see me,” Bucky says, closing his eyes.
Steve laughs a little. “Pretty hard to be surprised when I’ve felt you following me for going on three months now.”
“So you’ve just been waiting on me.”
“Figured you’d come home when you were ready,” Steve replies.
Bucky just nods. After a moment he opens his eyes enough to glance toward Steve. “I wasn’t ready for awhile, yeah. But...I remember a lot of stuff now, stuff about you, and about…” he trails off.
Steve wants to press him, but Bucky’s injuries take precedence. “What do you need?” he asks again. “Are you injured, or…?
Bucky gives a tired smile. “Nah, just a little busted up.” He gestures toward the metal hand where it rests in his lap. “I don’t remember everything, at least as far as I can tell, but I knew...something part of me was sure that you would help me.”
“Some part of you?” Steve asks softly, because he knows what Bucky’s referring to but isn’t sure whether Bucky knows. With everything he knew Hydra had done, and how Bucky had acted on the bridge and the helicarrier, it was possible they had made him forget even such an integral part of himself.
Shifting to sit closer beside Bucky, Steve waits until Bucky’s watching, then slowly lifts his hand until it hovers close to Bucky’s hair. When Bucky doesn’t tense or move away--in fact, he tilts his head closer, just a little--Steve gently pushes the strands of Bucky’s hair away from his face. Tucking the hair behind Bucky’s ear, he follows it with his fingers to scratch lightly at Bucky’s scalp. For a good ten minutes, Steve slowly runs his hand over and through Bucky’s hair, as Bucky relaxes into the cushions and leans closer to Steve.
A low, rumbling noise almost like a purr rises into the quiet, and Steve’s heart clenches a little at the sound. It’s been so, so long since he heard it.
“Did they make you forget?” Steve asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Yeah, for a long time,” Bucky says. His smile is tired. “In the early days, I still knew because they thought it would be useful...and it was, for awhile. But later...I knew it was there, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”
Steve presses his fingers a little harder against Bucky’s head, more like a massage as he tries to rub away some of the tension. Bucky curls a little closer, until he’s nearly leaning against Steve’s shoulder. This close, Steve can feel the minute vibrations of the purring in Bucky’s chest. “What do you need, Bucky?”
Bucky sighs. “The arm, it’s gotta come off. It’s been damaged too much, from the helicarriers--you really did a number on it, by the way--but a dunk in the river and me busting up a bunch of Hydra bases afterwards sure as shit didn’t help. It’s more than I can fix on my own, and they built it so I can’t detach it myself.”
Steve’s hand had stopped it’s movements while he listened, and Bucky rolls his head until Steve resumes his massage. But Steve’s got a bad feeling, now. “Bucky, how long’s it been since… Hydra built that and put it on you, it ain’t natural, so how are you able--”
“Ain’t able. The arm’s been broken in a lot of ways for so much longer, I’ve just been...stuck. For a long time. But now that I’ve remembered what lives inside me, I can’t stand it anymore, but I can’t get the arm off by myself.”
Steve frowns, because shit. “All right, well, I don’t think either of us want me to mess around with that thing, but if you’ll let me get Tony and Bruce, I’m sure they’ll help. They’re good guys.”
“Yeah, you always manage to find yourself the good ones,” Bucky sighs.
“You wait here and I’ll go get--” Steve stands, careful not to jostle Bucky too much.
Bucky flails a little with his flesh hand, grabbing at Steve’s wrist and making an unhappy noise at losing the gentle massage. “Sit down, punk. It’s the middle of the night, I’m not gonna implode or anything if we wait until morning. Don’t go waking people up.”
Reluctantly, and only because he’s not willing to outright go against Bucky’s request right now, Steve nods. “Fine. If you’re sure you’re okay to wait for a few hours. You hungry, though?”
Bucky grins a little. “You got one of those pastrami sandwiches left?”
“Yeah, I got one of those,” Steve replies. He runs his hand over Bucky’s hair again before heading to the kitchen. When he comes back with the warmed-up sandwich and a bottle of water, Steve sits down leaving a bit of space between them, but Bucky shuffles right over to lean into Steve’s shoulder again. As soon as he finishes eating he closes his eyes. When it seems like Bucky’s falling asleep, Steve smiles and settles deeper into the couch cushions. Bucky’s home, finally, and tomorrow will take care of itself.
***
Bucky wakes the next morning curled into Steve’s side, with Steve’s hand tangled in his hair. Steve’s still asleep, snoring a little, and Bucky lets himself stay close for a few minutes before he sits up. The movement wakes Steve, who snorts and tightens his grip on Bucky for a moment.
“Mmm...mornin’,” Steve mumbles, rubbing his free hand across his face. He turns his sleepy blue eyes on Bucky. “Thanks for stayin’.”
“Not going anywhere, punk,” Bucky says, and it’s true. He’s done with running, done with being apart from Steve. Even if he hadn’t needed help with the arm, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to hold out much longer before finally coming home.
Steve’s got his goofy smile on, so Bucky turns to rub his cheek against Steve’s shoulder for a moment to hide from it.
“You want breakfast?” Steve asks, petting Bucky’s hair.
“Nah, I just want to get the arm dealt with. We can eat later,” he replies, because he knows the next part isn’t going to be fun. If he eats now he’ll probably just get sick, so there’s no point. Plus, now that Bucky knows that a solution is close, it’s about a hundred times harder to resist the itch beneath his skin, to change, to shift ...
Nodding, Steve stands and helps Bucky up from the couch. “All right, let’s go get you fixed up.”
They head down to Stark’s lab, Bucky leaning against Steve in the elevator. He feels himself tensing up in anticipation of what’s probably going to be a pretty shitty time. But fuck, he can’t stand this anymore, doesn’t want to be stuck like this anymore.
They step out of the elevator into a wall of noise, so loud it takes a full minute before Bucky’s hearing adjusts to compensate and he realizes it’s some kind of music. He can see Stark in the middle of a disassembled Iron Man suit, welder’s helmet on and blowtorch sparking against metal.
The whole lab smells like metal and oil and sulfur, an assault on his nose that brings to mind faint memories -- echoes, really -- of another short, noisy man with silly facial hair who smelled like machinery. After a moment the name Howard flots to the surface, and Bucky realizes he’s thinking of Howard Stark.
A box on wheels with a mechanical gripper rolls over to them, beeping and wagging its arm back and forth. Bemused, Bucky wiggles his metal fingers back. One of Stark’s robots, he has to assume.
Steve shouts Stark’s name, but it isn’t enough to be heard above the music. The bot rolls over to Stark, then, making more beeping noises until Stark finally looks up from what he’s doing. The music lowers at the same time, and Stark flips his face shield up in confusion, spinning around on his workstool. “J, what have I told you about my music when I’m working?” He looks at the robot next to him. “You again, what do you want, I don’t help with this, go away.”
The robot spins its gripper and extends it’s arm -- pointing at them, Bucky realizes, where they stand just outside of Stark’s line of sight.
Spinning the rest of the way around to face them, Stark looks surprised, then wary. Bucky can see the caution even as Stark tries to hide it behind his usual facade of sarcasm and bluster. “Capsicle! And this must be our esteemed midnight visitor.”
Steve tenses a little at Bucky’s side, shrugging awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. I guess JARVIS told you?”
“That a former assassin infiltrated my Tower and went straight to Captain America’s apartment? You bet your patriotic ass he told me.” Stark scowls in Bucky’s general direction, though he doesn’t quite make eye contact.
“Sorry, Tony. We didn’t mean to cause a problem,” Steve says. “I should’ve called myself or something, to let you know.”
Stark spins around in his chair again, two full revolutions -- god, how does the guy not get dizzy, Bucky wonders -- before sliding to a halt and pointing a screwdriver at Bucky. “I am not a fan of my Tower being broken into. Don’t do that, JARVIS doesn’t like it. You’re just lucky I already had protocols in place to let J know to only sound the alarm or incapacitate you if you looked like you were a threat to the good Captain here.”
Bucky nods, appreciative. He’s done his homework; he doesn’t doubt that Stark’s building with it’s AI system could indeed stop him if what Bucky knows of Stark’s genius and tech capabilities are correct. Steve, however, gets all mushy-faced, saying, “Thanks, Tony,” in his grateful voice.
“Shut up,” is all Stark says in response, but Bucky can tell he’s pleased with himself and with Steve’s appreciation. He watches Stark start waving his hands around, swiping a bunch of holographic displays off to the side and back onto the various computer screens around the lab.
“Now, not that I don’t love it when people appreciate me, I’m going to assume you’re not just here to say ‘hi, I’m in your building,’” Stark says. His attention has shifted to Bucky’s arm where he’s still holding it braced against his torso. Now that he has Stark’s attention, and not just his chatter, Bucky can feel himself tensing up again.
Uneasiness swells up, knowing he’s in a science lab and knowing what he’s here for. Just because Bucky knows he’s got to get the arm dealt with, it isn’t any easier.
He starts pacing to try and burn off the anxiety, prowling around the lab looking at all the shit Stark has spread across worktables and the floor and in corners, occasionally poking at something or picking things up. It’s also partly to see if Stark stops him, Bucky will admit, but he doesn’t say anything, though he keeps a close watch on Bucky’s movements. Every minute or so, however, Bucky gets the urge to be close to Steve and detours around until he can pass close by and brush his shoulder or hand against Steve’s before stalking away again.
A corner of his mind, the part that he tries not to listen to these days, points out that the random movements aren’t casual, but a calculated tactic to maintain unpredictability. To make it hard to predict his actions. Thankfully, the other part of him is louder, and mostly just saying, ‘ Steve… ’
So he loops around a table again, comes back to Steve and presses his shoulder to the middle of Steve’s back, warm and strong, before moving away again.
Eventually Steve gets his brain back online -- Bucky can practically see it happen, it’s pretty funny -- and starts explaining the situation to Stark now that it’s apparent Bucky isn’t going to.
“Yeah, it’s not just a social visit. Bucky said the arm is damaged and he can’t fix it himself. Plus, uh, apparently it’s designed so that it won’t allow Bucky to detach it himself. He says it’s gotta come off, though. Can you do that?”
Stark’s eyes follow Bucky from across the room; he can feel it even as he pretends to study one of the suits in a glass case by the far wall. “I’m gonna say yes, because I’m awesome and can do anything, but I’ll be honest with you, Cap, with what I saw in those files getting the arm off isn’t going to be easy on him. Plus for the surgery it’s going to involve, we’re better off getting Bruce or Cho in here--”
“ No surgery ,” Bucky snarls, panic and fear in equal measure making him react harshly. He’s across the room before he’s aware of moving, standing right up against Steve’s back and glaring over Steve’s shoulder at Stark. Steve makes reassuring noises, reaching back to pat Bucky’s arm and side, and it’s enough to calm him down so he can speak in a more normal tone. “No surgery. I just need the arm detached. The shoulder plate doesn’t need to come out, that ain’t where the problem is.”
Tony holds his hands up placatingly, though Bucky notices he doesn’t put down the screwdriver in his hand. “Okay, whatever. Get over here so JARVIS can scan you, so I can see what I’m working with here.”
Bucky pulls himself away from Steve and moves to the middle of the room, standing still while blue-green light beams pass across him and focus on the arm specifically. He watches the wireframe reconstruction building itself in the hologram hovering in the air between himself and Stark. The wires, plates, actuators, and other parts show up in different colours, with different little label notations. He does his best to lift and straighten the arm, but it’s stiff and he can’t extend the elbow joint more than halfway. He can see areas of the hologram light up in bright red, in the bicep and the elbow joint, indicating the malfunctions.
There’s also an oddly shaped bright spot in the shoulder plate, with tendrils extending into the shoulder along the metal framework where it follows his ribs and spine. Bucky can see the little notation pointing to it, which says UNKNOWN MATERIAL .
Stark is looking at it too, Bucky can see the attention across his expression. “What’s that? What is that? JARVIS, what’ve you got?.”
“ It appears to be a material of unknown origin and composition, Sir. Unfortunately, my scans do not appear able to accurately measure its properties, ” JARVIS said, the AI’s voice coming through the room’s speakers. Bucky resists the urge to look up at the ceiling, since he knows the AI isn’t actually there. Steve’s looking upward, though, and Bucky stifles the urge to laugh.
“What the hell?” Stark says, poking at the hologram to highlight the bright spot.
“It’s fine, Stark,” Bucky interrupts. “That isn’t where the problem is.” He points to a series of plates around the top of the ball of his shoulder, and around under his arm. “There are detachment mechanisms under here, but they’re set where I can’t reach them from this angle. Plus they’re biometrically coded, so I can’t open them myself.”
“How can the problem not be the mysterious glowy thing?” Stark mutters, but he still reaches out to start spinning the holographic arm image around, poking and pulling it apart to look at the components.
Bucky resists the urge to point out Tony’s own ‘mysterious glowy thing’ -- his memory supplies him with enough information from a Hydra briefing at some point to know that the blue-white glow he can see through the material of Stark’s shirt is the arc reactor, and that it wasn’t a voluntary addition.
He sits on one of Stark’s work stools, and Steve comes to stand beside him and gently squeezes the back of Bucky’s neck, underneath his hair. He’s too tense to relax, though, despite how nice it feels with Steve’s warm touch. But now that he’s so close to freeing himself from the arm, he’s restless, can feel the need to change pressing at him ever more strongly.
Tony rolls over on his own stool. “Okay, I’m taking a wild guess here that you won’t want to be restrained while we do this--” Bucky growls warningly, and Tony raises both hands placatingly. “Yeah, yeah, like I just said. Point out the release catches, then let Cap here hold you steady while I reach in there.”
Reaching out, Bucky finds he can move the hologram around by himself, so he manoeuvers it until he can identify the right parts and pokes at them. They change to a bright yellow. “You gotta disconnect the wires in three places, then the physical releases are here, under these plates,” Bucky says. When he’s done with the hologram, he leans back against Steve. With a bit of adjustment, they arrange themselves so that Bucky can extend his metal arm and Steve can hold it steady for Stark to work. Some of the plates and actuators make unfortunate grinding sounds as the arm moves, and Stark flinches with the expression of mechanics everywhere having to listen to damaged machinery.
The actual removal is surprisingly fast, though Bucky figures he should’ve expected no less from Howard Stark’s kid. Stark pulls plates off around the shoulder joint and underarm, disconnects a couple dozen wires and actuators, then sticks his fingers into the workings of the bicep to pop the release catches. Less than ten minutes of Bucky tense and hiding his face against his opposite shoulder, braced for the snap of pain that always accompanies work on the arm, and the arm releases with a hiss of hydraulics and the clacking sound of plates and parts moving, falling away into Steve’s grip.
Bucky grunts and hisses at the spark of pain followed by numbness. He slumps to the right, off-balance at the loss of the heavy metal; it’s been decades, as far as he can figure, since he’s been completely free of its weight.
“Bucky? You okay?” Steve’s voice is soothing, but Bucky can’t reply, panting now with the effort to hold back the need to shift. He can feel the other part of himself raging inside, clawing for the change now that the arm is gone. Steve’s still talking, the rumble of his voice in his chest comforting against Bucky’s back, but he can barely hear Steve’s and Stark’s words over the roar building inside.
He turns his face into Steve’s arm where it’s holding him upright, but he can’t stop the shift anymore, can feel it coming and he just wants to get out of the lab and into someplace private. He bites at Steve’s bicep, a little harder than he means to, then in a burst of movement leaps away and is across the room and into the ventilation duct halfway up the wall. Instinct taking over, all he can think of is safety and privacy and home.
***
Given everything he’s seen and done in his life, it’s not often Tony is thrown off-balance, but this was...moving up on the list. He still had his hands hovering where only a second before they’d been inside an assassin’s metal cyborg arm, said cyborg assassin having just bolted out of the room via the wall vent.
Steve’s standing frozen next to Tony, both of them staring at the vent cover where it landed on the floor. The metal arm still dangles from Steve’s fist.
“Yeah, okay. Sure,” Tony says. Dum-E rolls over to the grate, making little bwoop-bwoop noises, and tries to pick it up but mostly just ends up pushing it around on the floor.
Steve blinks and gestures vaguely toward the door, only noticing then that he’s still holding the metal arm. “Um...I’m gonna go…” He stares at the metal arm for a moment, then holds it out towards Tony. “Maybe see if you can...I dunno, fix what’s wrong with it?”
And Tony, well Tony is still feeling a little shocked, so he just defaults to standard responses. “I don’t like being handed things.”
Steve doesn’t miss a beat, just gently sets the arm down on the stool and jogs out of the lab.
Dum-E’s beeping and the scrape of the metal grate against the floor break Tony out of his stupor. “You, over there, stop that. You’ll never get it, just leave it alone and go make me a smoothie.”
He tosses his screwdriver back on the work table. “J, where did Barnes and Cap run off to?”
“ Sergeant Barnes has returned to the Captain’s residence, as has Captain Rogers. ”
Tony nods. “Yeah, okay.” As long as they aren’t running wild through his building, he’s prepared to give them a pass and let them sort their shit out uninterrupted.
***
Steve enters his apartment slowly, closing and locking the door behind him. He doesn’t see Bucky right away, can’t hear any movement. JARVIS said he came back here, though, so Steve’s sure he’s in the apartment somewhere.
There’s a vent grate on the floor in the entryway, knocked out of the frame. He checks inside the vent shaft, but it’s empty, so he snaps it back into the frame and moves slowly further into the living room.
Steve reaches the living room. At first nothing looks out of place, but then he notices that the fuzzy couch blanket is missing from its usual place folded along the back. Stepping to the center of the room, he sees a corner of the blanket sticking out from behind the big armchair in the corner.
“Buck?” he calls out softly. He hears a little growl, low and rough, and smiles a little. It’s another sound he’s missed hearing.
Stepping around the chair, Steve finds Bucky exactly how he expected to -- a large black cat looking like a cross between a jaguar and a cougar, with a broad muzzle, soft-looking rounded ears, and unusual gray eyes -- rolled up in the blanket like a burrito and glaring out at the room.
Steve breathes out, relieved, as he kneels down at Bucky’s side. “Yeah, that’s gotta feel better, hey?” he says softly, reaching out slowly to rub his hand across Bucky’s head and between his ears, smoothing the thick fur.
Bucky chuffs and closes his eyes under Steve’s touch, rolling his head deeper into Steve’s palm. When Bucky doesn’t look inclined to move, Steve just settles against the wall, his fingers buried in Bucky’s fur.
***
Bucky feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in a century -- which is fair, really, since it’s nearly been that long. It’s such a relief to finally shift again, stretch long-unused muscles and senses, that’s he’s practically limp with it.
When he’d run out of Tony’s lab, he’d managed to reach Steve’s apartment through the vents before fully shifting, so he’d been able to do it unobserved -- and he was glad for that, because the transformation hadn’t come easy after being stuck for so long without being able to shift into his feline form. Steve had seen him shift before, back in Brooklyn and during the war, but Bucky had known this time would hurt, and he hadn’t wanted Steve to have to see that.
Bucky got through the shift, though it was exhausting, and he pulled the blanket off the couch because it smelled like Steve and home and safety, and dragged it behind the squishy armchair in the corner. He rolled himself up in it, surrounding himself with Steve’s scent, and finally, finally felt like he could relax.
He hears Steve come into the apartment a few minutes later, but doesn’t move from his nest behind the chair. He does give a little growl, though, to let Steve know where he is. Sure enough, Steve appears a second later, leaning around the arm of the chair and then sitting down at Bucky’s side.
Bucky’s not sure what reaction he expected, really, but all he sees on Steve’s face is a combination of pleased and relieved.
He lets the reassuring rumble of Steve’s voice roll over him and follows the movement of Steve’s hand with his eyes until Steve digs strong fingers into the fur of Bucky’s head and neck, rubbing and petting, and god how Bucky’s missed this. Missed the feel of Steve’s big hands, the warmth of his best guy close against him.
It’s been decades since Bucky’d been able to shift and enjoy the feeling of freedom and strength that came with his feline shape. He can remember the last time; 1963, during his last mission under the Russians before he’d been sold to the American arm of Hydra. The Americans, surprising no one, fucked everything up after that.
Bucky wishes he’d had time to explain to Steve, to tell him the whole story. He knows Steve is concerned about Bucky’s state and the arm, and now thanks to Stark and his scans, probably about that damn “unknown material” and yeah, that’s not great, but Bucky meant it when he said it isn’t the problem.
But apparently Hydra left a few things out of the original Winter Soldier files, since it’s pretty clear that neither Steve nor Stark have any idea that when Bucky was in Azzano, Zola figured out that he was a shifter. Though he doesn’t really remember, Bucky figures he must have shifted unintentionally while insensible from pain. Or maybe it was just Hydra’s pursuit of mystical powers and artefacts that meant Zola was able to recognize something supernatural.
Whatever the case, Zola knew, and Bucky has no idea how any of the stored Tesseract energy escaped the destruction of Azzano, but somehow when Zola got his hands on Bucky again in Russia, he was able to turn some of the Tesseract energy toward building the original metal arm and shoulder socket in such a way that it could shift with Bucky -- changing from a human-shaped arm to a feline foreleg and back again.
Hydra made good use of an assassin that could hide in the skin of an animal, those first couple decades -- until they realized that his memories and his disobedience returned much faster the more frequently and longer they let him shift into his other self. So they stopped using the cat unless they planned to wipe him immediately afterwards.
They’d kept the cat secret from any files or records, so there was nowhere that specifically noted that the Winter Soldier was a shifter. However, that meant that all it took was one unfortunately timed death and a change of leadership, and suddenly the information was lost.
Then, of course, the Soldier was sold to the Americans, and the Americans were idiots . None of them thought to examine the arm properly, to learn exactly how it worked; they just started upgrading it -- improving it , they insisted -- without any understanding of how it had been designed or attached to Bucky in the first place. It hadn’t been long before their lack of knowledge -- and the lack of any more Tesseract energy -- meant that those American scientists had changed and damaged the arm to the point where everything from the ball of his shoulder to the tips of his fingers was different, and the arm no longer changed when Bucky did.
All of which meant he’d been trapped for decades, able in his more lucid moments to tell that something was wrong, but never having enough time between missions and mindwipes for the feline part of himself to make itself known in any way he could identify.
HIs stomach grumbling pulls Bucky out of his thoughts and back to the present. He realizes he’s ravenous, since he hadn’t eaten breakfast before they headed down to Stark’s lab. He wiggles around a bit to loosen the blanket.
“What’s up, Buck?” Steve asks when he sees Bucky moving around. “How’re you feeling?”
Bucky shuffles part way out of his blanket cocoon and rolls over onto his back until he can hook his paw around Steve’s hand and play-bite at Steve’s fingers.
It seems like even the better part of a century hasn’t dimmed Steve’s ability to read Bucky like a book, even when he’s a cat, because Steve smiles down at him. “Hungry? You didn’t eat anything this morning.”
Bucky rolls over again and sits up to stare at Steve approvingly, because hell yes he’s hungry. Steve’s face gets that sad look, though, and Bucky realizes Steve’s looking at his missing left foreleg and the metal glinting from beneath the edges of his fur. The metal shoulder plates and the supports that run across his spine and ribs can change with him, thanks to whatever Zola did to make them, but they don’t disappear. Even though his fur covers and softens the edges, the metal is still visible.
Steve reaches out slowly, a questioning look on his face. Bucky can tell Steve wants to touch, to reassure himself that despite the missing foreleg Bucky is okay, so he leans enough to put his left side close to Steve. And of course Steve is careful, so careful, as he traces his fingers around the metal. Bucky feels the slight pressure against the sensors; but it’s a weird feeling in his cat form, and after another moment he flattens his ears and moves closer to Steve so that his hand slides away from Bucky’s shoulder and around to his spine instead.
“Shit, Bucky. I’m so glad you’re home,” Steve says on a heavy sigh. He leans forward until his forehead touches Bucky’s, and his arms encircle Bucky to hold him close for a few long, quiet minutes. When Steve eventually pulls back, his eyes took a little damp, but he’s smiling as he rubs gently at Bucky’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”
Bucky figures his next actions can be forgiven, since he’s had a hard fucking time since D.C., but as soon as Steve tries to stand Bucky doesn’t want to be not-touching Steve even for the time it takes to go to the kitchen. He immediately flops across Steve’s lap, rolling until he’s half covering Steve, and tries to look pathetic, blinking slowly and waving his one paw in the air above his face.
Steve grunts a little at the hundred and fifty pounds of cat suddenly on top of him, but his arms immediately go around Bucky to keep him in place. Bucky twists and rubs his face against Steve’s chest and sort of bats at him with his paw, making low grumbling sounds. Steve just rolls his eyes a little, though Bucky can see his pleasure through the mock-frown.
“I know you ain’t as pathetic as you’re trying to look,” he says, then gives in and laughs when Bucky gives him a squinty look and a grumpy hiss; just because it’s true doesn’t mean he should let Steve get all uppity about reading Bucky like a proverbial book. Bucky’s gotta keep his guy in line, after all, so he reaches his paw out to gently bop Steve in the face..
Shaking his head and blowing a bit of fur off his lips, Steve laughs. “Jerk. Lucky you’re cute, so I’ll let that slide.” Moving to stand, Steve changes his hold to scoop Bucky up as he gets to his feet, with his left arm under Bucky’s haunches. Bucky presses closer to Steve’s chest so they don’t overbalance. Once he’s upright, Steve guides Bucky’s foreleg up over his shoulder and around the back of his neck, tucking Bucky’s head under his chin. Bucky purrs quietly, snuffling a bit at Steve’s skin and loving the way Steve smells just a little sweaty and feels so warm.
Bucky pulls himself a little further up over Steve’s shoulder and starts kneading his paw against the muscles of Steve’s back.
“You’re also lucky I’m a supersoldier,” Steve teases, the rumble of his voice vibrating from his chest and into Bucky’s. “I forgot how big you are like this, you’re fucking heavy.”
If Bucky could laugh, he would. Maybe he’d pretend to be offended, even. But right now, held close in Steve’s arms, he’s just happy . So he just purrs, loud and gravelly, because he’s with Steve, and about to get dinner, and for the first time in a long time he feels pretty fucking good.
***
The kitchen smells heavenly as Steve finishes cooking half a dozen chicken breasts with some basil and sage that the internet tells him is safe for cats. Bucky keeps sniffing deep, amused and impressed by Steve’s ability to do it all one-handed since Bucky refuses to abandon his perch in Steve’s embrace, thank you very much. He might never let go of Steve again.
He is hungry, though. More so now that he’s been smelling chicken for the last half hour. Tightening his foreleg over Steve’s shoulder, he growls and extends his claws the tiniest bit to prick Steve through the fabric of his shirt. Feed me, Steve .
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, Buck. It’s almost done,” Steve laughs, flipping the chicken.
Bucky’s ears twitched at the sound of a two-tone electric bell, which was followed almost immediately by JARVIS’ voice. “Pardon the interruption, Captain Rogers. Miss Romanoff, Mr. Wilson, and Sir are in the elevator. It appears Sir has informed the others of the Sergeant’s presence and they wish to visit. ”
Well, no doubt ‘visit’ means ‘check on Steve’s safety and wellbeing,’ but Bucky can’t find it in himself to be upset about that, given everything that went down the last time he saw Romanova and Wilson. It’s good that Steve has the kind of friends who will come check on him in the presence of an international assassin.
Steve sets his spatula down so he can stroke his hand along Bucky’s spine. “Sorry, Buck. They’ve been pretty worried about me. I can ask them to leave, but they’ll probably just keep trying.”
He wants to refuse, but Bucky figures Steve’s right, and his friends will just keep interrupting them until they get to see Steve. Bucky makes a few grumpy growls but heaves a deep sigh and nods his head.
Steve smiles. “Thanks. Once they see we’re fine, I’m sure they’ll leave. You gonna let me put you down?”
Bucky yowls, tail thrashing where it hangs by Steve’s thighs, because hell no . He’s gonna stay here in Steve’s arms forever, other Avengers be damned. Because Steve is great, he doesn’t even argue, just snickers and rubs his free hand against Bucky’s spine again.
“Okay, fine. JARVIS, it’s okay, you can let them in,” Steve says, reaching out to turn the heat down on the chicken and cover the pan.
“ Yes, Captain, ” JARVIS replies, and a few seconds later the elevator doors open to reveal Stark, Romanova, and Wilson peering into Steve’s apartment -- hesitant, on the part of Stark and Wilson, and inscrutable on the part of Romanova.
Steve, because he might be halfway to a giant now but is still a little shit, half turns and throws a casual, “Hey, guys,” over his shoulder, as though standing in his kitchen holding a giant cat draped over his shoulder is a daily occurance. Bucky, because he is definitely also a shit regardless of the shape he takes, enjoys the hell out of the absolutely flabbergasted expressions of Wilson and Stark, and the slightly raised brow on Romanova that was as good as shouting, What the fuck?
“That is one big-ass cat,” Wilson manages, stepping from the elevator.
Stark seems frozen in shock for a moment before he shudders to life and springs into the apartment, waving his hands at Bucky. “First you bring an assassin home, now you have, what, a whatever kind of giant feline this is? Where did you even get that? Why is it in my Tower? JARVIS, how could you keep this from me, I’m hurt.”
“ Apologies, Sir. I did not deem the Sergeant’s change to be a threat, so as per my protocols for the private residences I endeavoured to respect the Sergeant’s privacy.”
Romanova, of course, saunters in slow and cool as a glacier, the tilt of her lips and a tiny glitter in her eyes the only signs of her amusement. “Steve. Who’s your friend?” She blinks slowly, eyes on Bucky’s, and he blinks slowly back. Yeah, he can tell that she’s already figured it out, and is clearly entertained by watching the other two struggle.
“It’s Bucky,” Steve says, straight-faced. “Don’t you guys recognize him?”
“ What? ” Stark exclaims, “Your assassin boy toy is a giant cat?”
Wilson just shakes his head. “Man, sure, why not. This isn’t even the strangest thing I’ve seen this week.” He approaches the kitchen. “Good to meet you, Bucky. Properly, this time.”
Bucky growls and glares at Wilson when the guy gets too close to his chicken dinner and his Steve, and Wilson steps back a bit.
Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t mind him, Sam. He just gets possessive when he’s like this; it’s an instinct thing.” He digs his fingers into Bucky’s fur and rubs at his neck muscles until Bucky goes limp and starts purring. Natasha smirks at them and goes to lounge in one of the living room chairs.
Tony flops down onto the couch. “I don’t understand, and I hate it when I don’t understand.”
“Short answer, Bucky’s a shapeshifter,” Steve says, coming to stand in the living room. He gives them the highlights -- that the ability runs in Bucky’s family, that Steve’s known about it since before the war, that Bucky was stuck until the arm came off because it was damaged and inhibiting the shift -- and ends with his big, stupid grin, the one that Bucky loves so much. “He finally remembered enough to come home.”
“I still have so many questions,” Stark begins, but Wilson interrupts.
“Questions that can wait until tomorrow,” he says. “It looks like you two were about to have lunch, so we’ll let you get back to that.” Stark complains, but between Romanova and Wilson they manage to get him up off the couch and moving in the direction of the elevator.
Romanova detours over to Steve and Bucky. “I’m happy for you, Steve.” She smiles, a real smile this time. “For you, too, Barnes.”
Bucky chuffs at her, but he’s pleased. He’s seen how close Steve and Romanova have been, and Wilson too if he’s honest, so he wants them to like him since he’s back in Steve’s life to stay. Romanova just smiles, before saying a casual, “See you around,” on her way into the elevator behind Wilson and Stark.
Once the doors close, Steve sighs. It’s a happy sigh, though, Bucky thinks.
“Well, that should buy us a couple days, at least,” Steve says, turning back to the kitchen. “I’m sure the rest of the team will descend on us soon enough.” He adjusts Bucky’s weight a bit, then reaches to pull the chicken off the stove. “Come on, let’s get you fed.”
***
By the end of the afternoon, Bucky hasn’t done anything besides eat and sleep on top of Steve on the couch, and it’s so good. Finally feeling safe enough to relax, knowing he’s safe with Steve, is everything he’s been craving for the last several years--even when he didn’t know what was missing.
Bucky stretches a little where he’s currently sandwiched between the back of the couch and Steve’s broad chest, like Steve’s put himself between Bucky and the whole rest of the world. Steve alternately strokes Bucky’s ears, or rubs his hands through Bucky’s fur, or strokes down his spine. Bucky’s been purring non-stop.
“I missed you, Buck,” Steve says, voice soft. “The twenty-first century was damn lonely without you.”
Bucky rubs his face against Steve’s. I missed you, too, punk. Ain’t going anywhere, now that I’m home.
Steve smiles like hears the words Bucky’s thinking, and scritches behind Bucky’s left ear. “You know I’ll have you any way I can keep you, and I’ve missed this version of you. However long you need to stay the cat, you take all the time you need. You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”
Bucky purrs louder, and wiggles until he can tuck his face right up under Steve’s chin.
He’s home.