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He does not remember his name.
All he remembers are blurry images spanning a period of many years, almost frantically skipping between vague reference points in time; and the feeling of being on the hunt -and on the run- at the same time.
All he remembers is that he’s looking for shelter.
He knows he won’t forget the address because it’s smudgedly written on the back of his hand.
But it’s dark outside, it’s cold, and it’s pouring rain.
Consciousness of the cold, clammy feeling on his scalp, dripping down the back of his neck, slams in with full force as soon as he stops walking.
Everything hurts. It feels familiar.
He closes his eyes.
Bucky briefly considers just staying out here, on this street.
He can’t fathom ever opening his eyes again in his life.
Gravity is too heavy and thoughts are losing composition.
Time melts out of shape like a drop of ink in water; an unforgiving shade of navy blue, blotting out aimlessly.
It doesn’t pass.
-
After what seems like a small eternity, he opens his eyes again. He scans the street anew.
The name of the road written on the sign seems like he’s seen it before; he just can’t remember where.
Is this what he’s been looking for?
He automatically lifts his hand and reads the address on it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky gathers his thoughts as far as he can; taking in his surroundings.
Then, one step after the other.
With newfound awareness, limping through the street, he notices the lights people have put up on their lawns and hung on their houses.
They feel inviting and friendly- it’s absurd, really, because Bucky has never felt this close yet so estranged from domesticity as far as he can remember.
But he can…
He tries to banish gruesome memories from his thoughts; this isn’t yours to take, he thinks-
and still, these memories are all he has left.
Not unlike the rain, they always find a way of seeping into his skin, settling into his bones and his brain like a parasite, malicious, ready to take him out and apart from the inside-
Bucky stumbles.
Why was he walking in the first place…?
He raises his hand again, then puts it down as soon as he notices the motion.
Right.
He must be close?
Foggy thoughts carry him to the front door.
It feels wrong to walk up the steps, almost invasive, but this is the only shot he has.
His field of view starts to fizzle out on the edges, and he catches himself thinking, if this is his last mission, so be it…
He reaches the door just in time and knocks.
The wood is hard and solid under his knuckles, but his vision melts into a blur, unconsciousness creeping in on him.
He struggles to stay upright, staring at one spot on the door until he’s not.
It opens, and Bucky falls in with it.
-
“Oh, shit”, he hears Steve say while his knees buckle, attempting to break the fall with his hands.
As soon as he regains some sort of stability on the floor, he feels delayed vertigo slam into him; Steve’s hand on his shoulder now.
“Hey, breathe.”
Bucky coughs, trying and failing to fill his lungs with air.
He blinks away the remaining dark spots in his vision and slowly sits up, guided by -and heavily leaning onto- Steve.
Suddenly, he feels how drained he is of energy, and just how tired. He drops his head.
The sudden sense of comfort and warmth, the overwhelming stillness of things, finally getting the protection he craved all along – it all leaves him trembling like a leaf on the floor in Steve’s house.
Steve.
“Steve”, he gasps, still trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah Buck, it’s me”.
“Steve…”
“What- “, Steve cuts himself off.
“Buck, look at me”.
Bucky looks him straight in the eyes, panting shallowly.
Steve, brows furrowed with worry, attempts a smile.
It’s pitiful.
“I- “, Bucky starts, still having a hard time adjusting to the situation.
It’s all too much.
“You gotta breathe, bud.”
The two of them sit in swirling silence for drawn out minutes, until Bucky isn’t fighting for every inhale anymore.
Eventually, Steve asks: “I’m sorry, but can I leave you alone for a few seconds?”
Bucky flinches.
“I know”, he reassures, voice low and empathetic. “I just gotta get you some water, Buck.”
Without warning, Bucky’s world turns again, unhinged, and a wave of nausea forces him down.
Gracelessly, he lowers himself onto the hardwood floor and squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain.
Steve’s hand isn’t there to hold him steady anymore, and the lack of grounding touch is disorienting.
“Buck?”, he hears Steve’s voice, alarmed, from what seems to be the wrong direction.
He groans in response.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Pain blossoms in the back of his skull, a new wave crashes around him, and the ringing in his ears gets violent.
A high- pitched whine escapes his throat.
“…Bucky”, he hears, somewhat distantly.
“Buck, can you hear me.”
Writhing in pain, he manages a small nod after a while.
“Okay, Buck. I know it hurts a lot. I’ll get you some help, okay?”
Seconds pass; precious in agony. Then.
“Buck. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you”, he whimpers, and Steve gently swipes strands of hair away from over his face.
“Okay, it’s gonna be alright, I promise. I’ll be gone only for a moment. Just… don’t fall asleep. I trust you, too.”
Bucky can’t even attempt to process any of this.
His brain is ringing; the world a blur of painful pitches.
Creaking floorboards seep into the mix- Steve is stepping away.
And Bucky is lost in the whirl of time again.
-
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Hey, listen, Sam”, Steve half- whispers into his phone, “I know it’s late, but we have a problem.”
“A Problem? Why do I have the feeling that you’re underselling this to me, Rogers?”
Steve sighs.
“It’s Bucky. He’s back.”
Silence on the other end. Then:
“Shit.”
And:
“What do you need?”