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    Summary

    Steve’s knees nearly went out from under him, but he grabbed onto the table to stay upright. He whined – he couldn’t help it. His chest cracked open, breaking him down until he was sixteen years old again, thin and sickly.
    The pale grey of those eyes was so familiar, but Steve hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even thought to look for it. How? A voice screamed inside. How did I not see?
    His entire being trembled as he whispered, “Bucky?”
    The Soldier’s usually cold eyes changed then, something flashed in them as his nostrils flared, harshly inhaling Steve’s scent before he said the words that finally made his buckling knees give out, forcing Steve to the ground.
    “Who the hell is Bucky?”

     

    A ghost found his way to the Avengers, asking for help - a ghost of a man long thought dead.

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