Archive of Our Own

1.

Steve woke up with throbbing pain all over his body.

He was alive. How?

When he fell from the helicarrier he thought for sure he was going to die, he’d lost consciousness perhaps seconds after he hit the water, there was no way he could’ve survived long enough for his team to find him. Unless he wasn’t rescued by his team.

Who else but Bucky could’ve done it?

He smiled a little just at the thought of it. Bucky saved him.

His eyes hurt, the right one outright refused to open when he tried, he could only crack open a split on his left one, his vision was unclear and narrow, but it was enough. He wasn’t in a hospital, the room was dingy yet cozy, it looked like a regular apartment - a safe house, maybe? On the nightstand there were clean gauze, sutures and some pills. An electronic clock’s there as well, it took Steve a long time to read the numbers as his vision kept blurring - it’s 5pm, it doesn’t show dates so he’s either been out for days or several hours. He was covered in a soft blanket, but the uncomfortable graze of gauze against tender skin told him he had received enough medical attention to avoid any complications. He was also naked, he realized belatedly.

Steve closed his eyes again, the air smelt like nothing but disinfectants, which further proved his theory about this being a safe house. How could it be safe when Hydra had infiltrated the biggest, most formidable agency in the world? He’d learned his lesson, Hydra was still operating despite the colossal loss, he had to get himself and Bucky to safety.

Every single one of his muscles protested as he tried to get out of the bed. Steve groaned in pain and slumped back to bed.

Easy there, slugger, he could almost hear Bucky’s voice, bad guys ain’t going anywhere.

Yeah, didn’t that suck?

The door was suddenly swung open, Steve tried and failed again to sit up, his instinct demanded preparation for defense and offense, reason caught up only a second later, analyzing the possibilities: Bucky saved him, he was attended and in a safe house, how could it be anyone else?

In his blurred vision, the dark figure that was Bucky moved to his bedside.

“Bucky...”

“you need to rest.” Bucky sounded hoarse, devoid of any emotion. His right hand rested on Steve’s shoulder, a voiceless command for him to lay back down.

“Bucky...”

“rest, Steve.” Bucky said again, this time his voice was softer, nothing more than a whisper, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Steve believed him. He was too tired, too weak, he slipped back under, Bucky’s hand was warm on his skin.

-

When he woke up again, pain was still the first thing he registered though not nearly as bad as last time, he could actually see now which was a big plus. The room was dimly lit, only smudges of sun filtered through the closed curtains, clock on the nightstand indicated it was 6 in the morning. Bucky was not in the room, much to his disappointment. It made sense that Bucky wasn’t, he must’ve slept in another room. It never occurred to him that Bucky’d leave, run off to somewhere he’d never find. Bucky gave him his word and Steve trusted him.

he pushed himself up to get out of bed, with somewhat of an embarrassment to find he was still naked sans the gauze that wrapped up most of his upper body and his left thigh. His uniform was scattered on the floor, bloody and tattered, his undershirts were in no better condition. He fished out something from the closet in the room, they were a bit small but enough to keep him decent.

He was starched and starving, his body was screaming for nutrition as it needed a large amount of calories just to function, not to mention all the blood loss and wounds it’s working so hard to recover. His head was dizzy and he needed to hold on to the wall as he stumbled to the door, hoping there was something to eat in the kitchen - or there was a kitchen at all.

Steve almost tripped over when he stepped outside of the room. He tripped on Bucky’s leg. Bucky jumped to his feet quicker than Steve could steady himself, placing enough distance between them, a pistol trained on Steve’s chest before it was lowered just as quickly.

“Bucky, did you sleep here?” words ground his throat like sandpaper. Bucky was still wearing full tac gear, not the one from before, a new one, black material covered him from head to toe, with his left arm the only exception, shining dangerously. Where did he get this?

Bucky blinked, instead of answering, he tucked his gun away, his gaze dropped to the floor, and then to the front door. “had to.” he muttered eventually, so quickly and quietly it resembled more of a grumble than words. Then, moving to Steve’s left side, Bucky draped Steve’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Steve’s torso, helping him move to the kitchen table.

Steve watched Bucky pulling stacks of food out of the fridge, mostly pre-made meal packages and drinks, suddenly it all felt unreal and too real at the same time. Because Bucky was right here. Bucky. Was here.

After his world got thrown into the blender named Hydra, things were spinning so fast that even his enhanced brain couldn’t always catch up. People came and went and died and un-died, he stood in the center of it all, like a tree leaves anticipating a tornado, waiting to be swept away, to lose himself in the chaos. But Bucky’s here. Like a ray of sunshine slit through the whirlwind, grounding him, pouring life into him, and for the first time after the Alps, there was a reason to keep going.

“drink this.” Bucky tossed him a bottle of energy drink, which Steve gulped down in seconds. Another was tossed his way. “I’ll make something. You can get cleaned in the meantime. Shower after food. I’ll check your wounds then.” 

Bucky’s orders were terse, tone bland. Nevertheless, Steve beamed at Bucky’s back in the kitchen as a familiar sense of warmth washed through him. Even when he was a tree twig of a boy Steve was never a fan of coddling. He didn’t so much as dislike as afraid of being seen as weak and helpless, a sentiment carried over to this day. No one coddled Captain America because they thought he was invincible, they patched him up and sent him home or back to the field. Steve was attuned to that brand of confidence in the serum and negligence to Steve Rogers as a human being, eventually. At times it felt right, he was made to be a weapon, a weapon needn’t emotional support.

Bucky, on the other hand, had stopped fussing over him within weeks of their newly budded friendship, he would patch him up, then simply tell Steve what to do to make sure he took care of himself, and to make sure that he, Bucky, knew Steve was taking care of himself. Steve never realized how much he’d missed it until now. It made him feel like a person, like Steve Rogers.

When he saw his own reflection in the mirror Steve almost gasped. His face, no, his whole body was ashy grey from blood loss. The image in the mirror resembled more of a corpse than a living man. Random cuts and bruises were mostly gone, but his right eye socket was still a mess of blue and yellow, hurt like hell whenever he blinked. Rolling up his shirt, he could see the blood-stained gauze, the muscles and fibers were knitting back together, making his skin tight and itchy. He struggled to wash his face when his right shoulder was still stiff and painful.

He could’ve actually died. If weren’t for Bucky he’d have been dead.

It struck him, entirely too late that it was a stupid move to let Bucky kill him.  Militantly stupid. He was gonna left Bucky alone, again, let whatever bad guys out there use him, torture him, kill him. He’d done that once, he’s not doing it again. He owed them both that much.

He got out of the bathroom just in time for Bucky to put plates on the kitchen table.

Bucky glanced at him, his face unreadable. “eat.” 

Steve flashed him a smile and sat down across from him. The smell of the food woke up all his dulled senses, Steve shoved food into his mouth and swallowed without much chewing in fast paces, energy travelling through his body like electricity.

“slow down.” said Bucky, staring at him.

Steve’s face flushed. “sorry.”

“your stomach can’t handle it if you keep it up.”

“yeah, I know.” in fact, his stomach was already aching. So Steve took his time with the bite in his mouth, chewing, and wishing the pain away.

Bucky ate slowly, uninterested, as if it was an unpleasant mission to be fulfilled.

“so...” Steve began, “you remember me?”

“no.” the answer was cut. Bucky lifted his eyes to see Steve then something in his demeanor changed, hesitantly he added, “I knew you.”

Steve’s lips curled up in a sad smile, “you’ve known me since you were 11, Bucky.” 

“I don’t remember.” Bucky said again, more stern this time, like he was trying to make Steve understand, “but I knew you.”

Confused, Steve asked, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just...I know I knew you. From back then.” Bucky licked his lips nervously, “I went to the museum yesterday.” Steve didn’t know what to respond so he sat quietly, listening to whatever Bucky had to say. “I don’t remember them. The howling commandos, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark. They say I had three siblings. I don’t remember them.”

“it’ll come back.”

Bucky was looking at him again, his eyes a near-translucent blue. “why do I remember you?”

For all the things he might’ve said, it was nothing Steve had anticipated.

“I don’t know.” he answered, helplessly.

“were we close?”

“yes, we were best friends.”

Bucky considered for a second and then went back to finishing his meal.

The discomfort in Steve’s stomach grew.

-

Bucky checked his wounds as promised. They did it in the bathroom where the lighting was better - Bucky’d closed all the curtains just in case.

Steve sat on the toilet while Bucky crouched down in front of him. Bucky cleaned the gunshot wounds first, and then the knife cut on his shoulder and other bigger cuts on his back that hadn’t closed properly, all with clinical precision and efficiency.

Bucky told him that his body prioritized internal injuries, and that’s why these wounds weren’t healed when they usually should have. Steve wondered if he got that from experience but he decided it was better not to dwell on the thought. Not now. Instead, he focused on the Bucky in front of him. He smelled of shampoo and shower gel, stubble longer than it’d been yesterday, his face had tiredness written all over. He was stronger than before, his shoulder wider, chest broader, his hand was much thicker and rougher. Gosh his hand. Hands. A literal weapon. What have they done to him?

“I remember you trying to catch me.” said Bucky, surprising Steve out of his emotional spiral.

Steve felt like he was shot in the heart. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him either.

“I...they sent people to look for you. For days. They found nothing. I’m sorry.”

Still no answer from Bucky, Steve had the sudden urge to cry, to raise some reaction out of him. Instead, he took a deep breath and steadied himself. “that why you saved me?”

“I wanted answers. Hydra refuses to give me.” Bucky fetched for the gauze and tapes, covering the wounds on his abdomen.

Of all people, why do I know you? That’s Bucky’s question. It was him, Steve Rogers that he remembered, even though it was only a fleeting flash of a memory, the beginning of his 70-year-long journey through hell. It was him that broke 70 years of brainwashing. Why?

There were answers Steve could give as Bucky’s best friend, and answers he could give as an agent with all the knowledge he learned about psychological conditioning, but none of that would be true. There were answers Steve could guess, or hope that were true, but they wouldn’t be true for Bucky. Bucky didn’t deserve to have stuff forced into his head, especially not from a well-intended yet wishful ally.

“and I’m sorry that I can’t provide you one.” he said, quietly.

Bucky’s human finger poked his side and Steve hissed in pain. Bucky poked his sternum, where the pain was sharper, causing Steve to physically flinch. “your 3^rd left rib broke completely but it was clean, it should heal in a week or so.” Bucky announced, “pulmonary inflation, bruised air pipe, I punctured your intestines too, you bled a lot. it’s stopped, but you should avoid any big movements.”

“I don’t think I can if I tried.” there was something in Bucky’s face that made Steve regret saying that.

“how’s your head?”

“dizzy, but manageable.”

“disorientation? Memory loss? Nausea?”

“no, I’m not concussed.” Steve attempted a joke, “I have a pretty hard head.”

Bucky stared at him, didn’t quite roll his eyes but it was close. “that you do.” he mumbled. Steve pressed his lips together and smiled sheepishly.

“how about you? ” he asked.

“’m ok.” Bucky didn’t elaborate. When he stood up though, he had to brace his hand on the sink, wincing ever so slightly.

“Bucky.” Steve wanted to reach out, to help him, only aborted last second. Bucky wouldn’t have appreciated it. And in the end, it was Bucky who held out his hand - his flesh one - to help Steve stand up.

It’d been so long since he’d touched Bucky at all, and like this. The winter soldier was ruthless, deadly, this, however, was everything but. His hand was warmer since Steve was still recovering from the blood loss, sturdy, unlike the tender skin before the war, unlike the eternally cold ones during.

“Bucky?”

“hm?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at him, “I’m glad you are here.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a brief moment, surprised. He nodded, the silence between them flew like warm steam, something pleasant.

-

The safe house was located on the outskirts of the city. Far away enough to avoid the mess, close enough they could keep an eye out on the situation.

It had been one of SHIELDS safe houses - the real one. Steve didn’t ask how Bucky was sure, but he figured if it was hydra’s they could still manage.

Bucky was mostly silent, sitting in the corner, polishing his impressive collection of weapons. Steve’s never seen someone who could fit so many weapons on them, not even Natasha. With a pang of guilt, Steve found it fascinating. The winter soldier was easily the most dangerous and competent opponent he’d ever faced. It put them on equal footing, in the same category that used to be Steve-exclusive.  

Steve sat on the couch next to Bucky, keeping an arm’s length between them. “you should change into something more comfortable.”

Bucky didn’t pause his movements. “it’s bulletproof. Safer.”

“I don’t think even hydra can regroup this fast.” Steve tried again, “I should get in touch with my friends.” 

“can’t. too dangerous.”

“they are good at this. You know the black widow, right? She’s the best spy in the world, she knows how to be discrete.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the mention of Natasha’s code name. “Black widow is red room. Soviet.”

“She’s a friend. I trust her. ”

“you really shouldn’t.”

The funny thing was, Natasha would probably say the Same thing. But Steve was never meant to be a spy, he was a soldier, a very trusting one. “I trust people, and it pays off more often than not.” Steve admitted.

Bucky contemplated for a second, then he stood up, his strong figure towering over him, both his hands clenched into fists, as if it was a physical struggle. “I’ll leave her something. If she’s good she’ll know what to do.” with that, Bucky went to the bedroom to grab a coat, put it over his tac gear, zipped it all the way up to the chin, his hands shoved into the pockets, a dark blue baseball cap hid half of his face. “don’t leave.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

And Bucky’s gone.

-

It took Bucky 2 hours and 40 minutes to return. During which time period Steve ate and drank more, flipped open a novel stashed in the house, dozed off before he hit 20 pages, woke up, and started to read again.

Something was wrong - the way Bucky held himself, it was tighter, tenser, he looked...scared.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” standing up to his feet, Steve moved slowly to where Bucky was standing by the door, halting at a feet distance.

“I...” Bucky’s eyes darted around the place before settling on Steve, eagerness in his eyes, “Did I like ice cream?”

That was another question Steve never would have anticipated, but luckily this one he could answer with certainty. “Yeah. You used to live off them during summer.”

“I walked past an ice cream truck and I could smell it and I just...wanted it.” Bucky looked at him, both terrified and exhilarated, “I wanted it.” 

Steve figured Bucky was too disoriented by the sudden desire, something undoubtedly had been denied, deprived of, eradicated from his being, to act on it. Tentatively he reached one hand out and placed it over his right upper arm, firmer when Bucky didn’t shy away. “we can buy some when this’s over.”

“okay.” Bucky muttered, “okay.” 

-

“you can’t sleep on the floor outside my room!”

“it’s safer.”

“no, it’s draining your energy. How can it be safe if you’re exhausted?”

“’m not exhausted.”

“not yet!”

Steve glared at Bucky, Bucky glared back with matching stubbornness.

“I need to keep us safe.” Bucky said again. The even, matter-of-fact tone made Steve even more frustrated.

“so your plan to keep us safe is to stay awake until you drop dead? It’s not a sustainable plan.” Steve sighed, regaining control of his volume, “at least rotate, like we did during the war. You can have the first shift.”

“you’re too weak.”

“oh fuck you Bucky, I’m as fine as you are.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed dangerously, clearly pissed, if his expression was calm and bland up till this point, what Steve said really upset him. He all but growled, “you were barely breathing just 20 hours ago. Cut the self-sacrificing crap before it actually kills you.” 

“the hell do you care, you don’t even know me.” ok that was wrong, Steve winced at himself. “sorry, I don’t mean...”

Bucky clad his mouth shut, teeth grinding, he looked hurt and furious at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I was being a jerk...”

“I know you. I knew you.” the words were forced out of him, gruff and surly, “I knew you.”

“I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking, I was mad, I’m so sorry.” Steve was a big man, right now, with his hunched back and small voice, he was trying to make him smaller, shrinking back to that 5’4 skinny kid who could be pushed over by a butterfly. Steve wanted to touch Bucky again, but Bucky backed away before he could so much as raise one finger. “Bucky, please, I know how much you sacrificed for me just in the past day. Hell, you risked your life for me. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so sorry. Bucky, please...”

For a full minute Bucky didn’t react despite Steve’s profuse and desperate apologies. Steve’d grovel if he wasn’t already. Such an idiot. Steve always knew Bucky was too good for him, Bucky who was so charming and full of life, who could’ve had a perfect peaceful life but decided to stick with his troublesome ass anyway, who’d gone through hell and back because of him, for him, and his idiot brain decided to lash out for nothing.

Tears rose in his eyes, blurring his vision. Bucky was still untouched, unmoving, just a dark figure in front of him, from his dreams, slipping away.

“you can’t die.”

Bucky’s voice was so muffled Steve wasn’t sure if he’d heard it. “what?”

“you can’t die. Not you.” Bucky repeated. Steve realized Bucky was scared, of Steve dying, of losing what might be the last and only thing that held the answer to who Bucky Barens was.

“nor you.” Steve stepped forward to grab his hands, this time Bucky didn’t deflect. They were so incredibly close Steve could feel the heat radiating off Bucky, his hands, one cold, one warm. “I can’t lose you again.” he whispered, eyes closed, not daring looking. The truth he never dared acknowledge until now poured out of him, it was the truth when he crushed the Valkyrie, when he gave up fighting in the helicarrier: “I don’t want to - I can not live if it means you are here not with me. You should know that by now, remember or not.” 

Bucky swallowed. “you are an idiot.” 

“I am.” Steve huffed out a chuckle, “so you hafta keep an eye on me. Don’t leave, don’t endanger yourself. Sleep.”

“alright.” Bucky croaked out, “I will.”

2.

Bucky was shoving sand over his body. Steve looked down, realizing almost all of him was buried under, only his head and hands were still out. The sun was so bright it hurt his eyes.

“Bucky?”  he wanted to see his best friend, he wanted to go home because it was getting uncomfortable. He couldn’t see, only the weight of sand over his body - it was heavy, solid, and he was buried.

“Bucky, quit playin’.”  but no answer came. “ Bucky, let’s go home. I wanna go home now.”

There was a moment of nothing, then a figure loomed over Steve, short and with a bold head.

“Captain Rogers.”  the accent. Steve recognized the accent. He recognized the strange intonation in the Swiss scientist’s speech. When he looked up, Zola was smiling at him, “there’s no home.”

No. No no no. Steve struggled against the weight over him but nothing moved. He was shackled. He was buried.

With a sharp inhale, Steve jostled awake. His limbs were spread out and pinned down to bed like he was in the dream, although there was nothing constraining him. His heart beat fast in his chest, breath ragged, Zola’s smirking face still behind his eyelids. He stared at the vaguely visible ceiling and counted, one, two, three, inhale, one, two, three, exhale.

It was 2 in the morning, Steve was no stranger to ungodly hours like this. Usually, he got up and went for a stroll in the city until dawn broke out, or exhausted himself in the gym. Neither were viable now so he stayed in bed, like he did the first couple of months after waking from in the new century. At the time he was completely lost, utterly alone in his suffering with no outlet.

He survived. Only he. He often wished that he hadn’t.

But that wasn’t true, not anymore. Steve’s heart rate picked up again as his muddled brain remembered that Bucky not only had survived but was right here, right next to him.

Steve rolled over to his side and braced his arm on the bed. Lying there on the floor was Bucky, sleeping quietly and soundly, the physical strain was finally catching up to him.

In the darkness Bucky was on his left side, legs curled up, his flesh arm held close to his body like a defense.

Steve’s chest tightened.

Bucky always slept on his sides while Steve tended to sleep however. They’ve shared a bed since they were kids, something they did even more often during the war, when beds were scarce, they’ve shared a frayed sleeping bag, even the square foot of mud in the trenches. Sleeping during the war was difficult, if not for the intermittent bombings then their regular night shifts left them only several hours of sleep one night. During the war there were rarely nightmares though, too exhausted and too numb for that.

The blood, the gore, the horror, the guilt, they all came hunting them down when you thought the war was over. It was never over. For as long as you were alive, the talons of it would always hang over your head, strapping you down, mauling you, piercing you, dragging you back.

There was a way out. Steve had to take another deep breath to suppress that thought. Bucky was here, everything was gonna be alright.

Slowly and quietly, Steve pushed off the cover and made his way onto the floor, his body barely an inch apart from Bucky. There wasn’t enough space for two super soldiers to be comfortable, Steve had to hug himself tightly to avoid sprawling all over Bucky like a human octopus. From here, he could hear Bucky’s slow, even breaths, heartbeat if he concentrated enough, feel the heat radiated off him, smell the soap they shared.

Steve closed his eyes and drifted off again.

-

On a scale of one to super creepy, the sight Steve woke up to was a seven, and only because he’s shared a bed - or whatever sleeping arrangement they could afford - with Bucky since forever.

Light slunk its way past the curtains and spilled over them. Steve’s body felt lighter than yesterday as the pain in his sternum had lessened, and he could still sense Bucky right next to him, a sensation he could only describe as ‘home.’

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by Bucky staring at him, so close to him that his face was all contorted.  

Steve shot up in surprise, hitting his head at the frame of the bed in the process, making a loud bang that echoed comically in the room.

“what the hell?” complained Steve, rubbing the back of his head, “that’s weird, pal.”

Bucky was sitting down on the floor now too, facing Steve. He was still staring at him with a pinch of curiosity.

“I remember.” he licked his lips, “I remember this. Sleeping with you.”

The phrasing was questionable but “yes, we used to do this a lot.”

“why?”

Steve shrugged. “because we were close, we liked to spend all day and all night together.”

“what did we do?”

“talk. We talked about a lotta things. Sometimes we played games, simple stupid games like word domino.” Steve chuckled at the memory, “one of us would get to words like, thought or pulp, you know the ones that start and end with the same letter, and we’d just repeat the word until we both couldn’t help but laugh. Your mom had to scream at us.”

Bucky went quiet for a moment before he said, “I remember you leaving after you thought I was asleep. During the war.”

“oh.” Steve didn’t know Bucky had known the whole time. “I thought I could take more night shifts so you guys could sleep more.”

“that’s stupid.”

“kettle. Pot.”

Bucky pouted and Steve grinned.

-

Steve convinced Bucky into a set of shirts and sweat pants, other than that their morning went not so different from yesterday. The news was still dominated by the mess they left in their wake, search teams were still scavenging the Potomac, searching for Steve. Steve almost felt bad for them.

One particular scathing Senator went on TV and started spewing conspiracy theories about Captain America being a secret foreign agent working against the World Security Council and Project Insight for some unknown reason. Bucky had switched channels after the guy said ‘Steve Rogers, for all we know, could be the true Hydra.”

They spent the next 40 minutes watching a documentary about a donkey fair in Germany.

“Alemania.” Bucky suddenly said, “Alemanha.”

“what?”

“Germany in Spanish and Portuguese.” he explained, “words that start and end with the same letter.” 

Steve laughed so hard he could cry, “gee, am I playing with Duolingo?”

“what’s Duolingo?”

“an evil owl.”

Bucky just looked at Steve like he was crazy.

-

Steve dozed off again after lunch.

Bucky was writing aggressively in a notebook, Steve didn’t want to prey so he sat on the other side of the couch, reading a romance novel that was NYT best seller. Steve didn’t get it at all. Perhaps it was due to his lack of experience, or perhaps it was because he didn’t pay as much attention to the text as Bucky.

Bucky tied his hair up into a messy bun, one strand of hair was loose and dropping down onto his face. Bucky didn’t seem to mind that, his focus was on his notebook, writing and scratching, sometimes he wrote for pages, sometimes he stopped, pen hovering over the page like his train of thought didn’t derail instead the whole train was gone. Bucky had the same expression on when he was deep in his thoughts as before. Knitting the brows together, biting the bottom lip...

Steve could draw him, like he’d done hundreds of times before. He could ask Bucky to buy him some pencils and sketchbooks next time he bought supplies, he might even tell Bucky about the time he followed him to art class and the teacher legit laughed at his ‘masterpiece’. Maybe Bucky’d remember that himself.

Steve had his sketchbooks in his apartment, a couple of them were antiques salvaged by the army after his ‘death’ and were donated to the Smithsonian and then returned to him. They contained portraits of the Howling Commandos, of Peggy, and pages after pages of Bucky Barens. Bucky in military uniform, Bucky in casual clothing, Bucky smiling, Bucky lying on the ground with a rifle and so many more of Bucky in every small moment in the eyes of Steve Rogers. Would Bucky want to see them? Would he be able to see the love through his drawings?

The words on the pages became blurrier and morphed into black dots and lines that eerily resembled Bucky. Steve fell asleep seeing Bucky’s gentle, unscarred face with his mind’s eyes.

-

“back in 3.”   

Steve woke up to an empty apartment and this note. The letters were all in caps, something spies did to hide their handwriting.

There were many questions that needed answers, for the moment, Steve focused on one - was Bucky going to be safe? He wasn’t supposed to go out today, if he had felt the need to risk potentially exposing himself, it must’ve been something dire, significant. And Steve had no way of knowing where he was and no way of communicating.

He checked the time, Bucky probably left 20 minutes ago, so he had to sit tight for another 2 hours and 40 minutes before he called in the cavalry.

Steve picked a movie - Lord of the Rings - he and Bucky had read the books religiously when it came out, both of them had been fascinated by the idea of magic. That was one of the topics that accompanied them through the nights when they were under the Same cover. Magic had, since the Tessaract, lost its appeal to Steve, but when it was associated with Bucky, it became a sort of nostalgia. Besides, the movie was long. Bucky’d be back when it was over.  

It was impossible to concentrate on the film when his brain constantly circled back to Bucky, to all the ways things could go wrong. Bucky could handle himself, Steve kept reminding himself, Bucky was one of the best fighters and spies the world had seen in the past 50 years, he’d be fine. He tried to avoid thinking about how Bucky came to be the winter soldier.

The credit came to an end when the door opened and Bucky walked in.

He was in a loose jacket and a pair of black cargo pants - no, those weren’t cargo pants. Dread washed over Steve when he realized Bucky was in full tac gear.

“Bucky, where have you been? Are you hurt?” he rushed over to Bucky at the hallway, sizing him up and down. There was dust hanging off his hair, his boots were dirty, other than that he looked completely normal. But that wasn’t enough to deceive Steve and his superhuman senses: Bucky reeked of gunpowder and blood.

“protocol, 48 hours to regroup.” Bucky said blankly, but he kept his head low, “had to take care of that.”

“jesus, Bucky. You don’t go and take out Hydra by yourself.” 

“I can handle it.”

Steve hated to admit it but this conversation sounded painfully familiar, though he was usually the one being chastised. “I just wish you had taken me with you.”

“you are still hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Bucky didn’t respond to that, instead, he said, “they knew who I was.”

“of course they did.”

“they sent me after you anyway.” finally, he looked up, straight into Steve’s eyes, “they didn’t think I’d remember you.”

Steve felt like he’d been punched in the gut by the Hulk. “but you did.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted again, like he was trying to remember something, so Steve waited. Bucky reached to the inside of his jacket and fished out something. “you should take this.”

In his palm, it was his dog tags, rusty on the edges. James B Barnes, 32557038.

Hydra had kept it. Those bastards kept it while they tortured him, brainwashed him and made him their weapon, turned against his own country, sent him after Steve. Rage boiled inside Steve like lava, ready to scorch earth.

“Steve?” 

Steve saw Bucky’s face, his hand still holding out the dog tags, and Steve’s heart broke all over again. “no, you should keep it. It’s yours.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not him.”

“Bucky...”

“Steve.” Bucky interrupted in an assertive tone, “I don’t remember being him. Even if I do, I can’t be him again, not after all I’ve done. He is more yours than mine.”

Hearing Bucky referring to himself in their person ripped a whole new wound in Steve. It sounded to Steve like Bucky was giving up on himself, on them. Steve couldn’t have that. He couldn’t.

“Bucky...” he pleaded, not knowing exactly what he wanted from Bucky.

Then Bucky grabbed his hand and stuffed the dog tags into his palm. The metal was hard and warm. “I don’t need this, you do.”

Did he? Was he only here trying to hold on to a man who no longer existed, like a wake that came 70 years too late? Did he not care about the man in front of him? What if Bucky never remembered him beyond insignificant fragments?

Steve didn’t know the answers. Not yet.

Bucky saved him because he wanted to know who Steve Rogers was to Bucky Barens. Only two days later, Steve was confounded by the Same question only the roles were reversed. Who the old Bucky Barens was to the Steve Rogers now?

But Bucky was right. For now, Steve needed it more than Bucky did.

Steve stared down at the twin plaques in his hand. They never recovered Bucky’s body, this was the first time Steve had concrete proof that Bucky was dead. His best friend, his second in command, his mind and soul, was dead on that windy, icy day in the Alps. Tears poured out his eyes, the void inside of him that had the shape of Bucky Barens was reopened and filled with bone-crushing grief, it swelled up until he couldn’t breathe, until he collapsed on the floor, and down, down, down he fell. Heavy metal clunked in a fast rhyme, tiny sharps of frost wrapped in the wind slashed his body, the scream ricocheted like a bullet, wrecking and ravaging and rendering the remnant of Steve Rogers asunder.

Then Bucky had his arms around him, pulling him close, his body solid and warm and real.

The two Buckys in Steve’s life collided at that moment. He was simultaneously mourning one’s death while rejoicing the return of the other. The two feelings that seemed incongruous existed side by side each other, amplified each other. Steve didn’t know what that meant. That’s a question for later.

Right now, he let himself break, right now, he had Bucky, one in his hand, one in his life.

3.

They decided to get rid of the bed altogether since neither was keen on sleeping on it. Steve knew Bucky was indulging him, because he had, without Bucky’s permission, moved onto the floor to sleep close to him earlier today, Bucky had always indulged him.

They lay close to each other, not yet touching but close enough Steve could listen to Bucky’s breath - slow, even, like patters of raindrops on the window or bells of churches, something that was calming and soothing. Events from this afternoon continued to make forays at him if he weren’t careful, so Steve closed his eyes and tried to match his breath with Bucky’s, like they were of one person, sharing a breath, a state of being. He existed with Bucky.

Finally, he was able to sleep.

There were movements next to him. Bucky, he thought, Bucky was awake. In the darkness, Bucky sat with his back against the wall, his knees drawn close to his body, curling up to a tiny ball. His breath was hitched, heavy and short like he’d just gone off a fight. Other than that Bucky was quiet, so static he could disappear into the night.

Steve pushed himself up, reaching one hand out before dropping it onto his lap. “bad dream?”

It took Bucky several seconds to respond, “yeah.”

“wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shook his head.

“ok.” Steve moved closer to him, pressing his back against the wall as well, his right shoulder only centimeters apart from Bucky’s left one. Even though there was no light, the metallic color still stood out.

“you should sleep. You are recovering.” Bucky said into his knees.

“I feel fine. You saved my life.”

“only because I beat you half to death.”

“I did tell you to finish your mission, didn’t I?” Steve managed a small slanted smile. “you’ve saved me more times than I can remember. It’s not the serum that made Captain America invincible, no. It’s always been you.” They both quieted for a moment before Steve mumbled an apology.

“why?”

“you...the old you. Him.” whichever word he chose, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. In the end, he chose the only one that made sense to him, “you could’ve gone home after you were captured by Zola in ‘43. I made you stay.” beside him, Bucky made no sound. Steve clutched the dog tags around his neck, to both of them he said, “I failed you.”

There was a long period of silence. Steve almost didn’t expect a response from Bucky, that would’ve been fine too, it was unfair to Bucky, to be dumped the weight of the past, a past that he didn’t even remember. Steve wanted desperately to reconnect with Bucky, with a life that had escaped him while he was lying under ice that he forgot maybe that wasn’t what Bucky wanted or needed.

Yet Bucky spoke, eventually, “he must’ve loved you deeply.” It was an analysis, a statement.

The words were like a mountain landed on his chest and was about to crush him to granules, joining the dust and dirt of the earth. “he did.” Steve closed his eyes to try to chase away the burn, “he did.”

-

Since neither wanted to go back to sleep, Steve suggested they could go out, which earned him a side-eye.

“it’s dead of the night, no one’d recognize us.”

Bucky kept staring.

“c’mon, Bucky, I need fresh air if you want my lungs to recover properly.”

Bucky stared at him harder. Steve gave him a cheeky smile. Bucky relented.

It was chilly outside, interspersed stars shined brightly in the dark sky above them. Under the black dome, the two men walked side by side each other on the quiet street, they walked slowly like they were trying to prolong the concrete road, like they wasn’t quite ready to face whatever was at the end of the journey.  

But there was none. It was an old neighborhood in the south of DC, adjacent to the state of Virginia. The streets were empty, and the two of them walked, hiding under baseball caps and coats that didn’t fit their stature. They walked, the street lights stretched out their shadows before they caught up to the humans, and were thrown far away again.

But it always followed them. The shadows, the darkness.

Steve kept stealing glances at Bucky every couple of seconds, afraid if Bucky was outside of his sight for too long he might disappear. It was something out of his dreams for so long he’d often experience a spike of panic, suspecting that all this would evaporate as soon as he woke up. Occasionally Bucky would catch him looking, and Steve would give him a bashful smile.

Despite everything, Steve was enjoying himself. He was enjoying the fresh air, the serenity of the night, and Bucky, Bucky was here. Bucky, on the other hand, was tense, always expecting a fight. Steve couldn’t fault him, not when literally every intelligence agency, every law enforcement was looking for him.

Car engines tore apart the quietness, raw and closing in. Before he could fully process it, Steve had instinctively reached an arm out to place himself in between the potential danger and Bucky. It wasn't until his arm bumped into Bucky’s that he realized Bucky was doing the exact Same thing. Something swelled in his chest.

It turned out to be some rich kids car racing in the city, modified sports cars rushing past them with engines screeching and music blaring.

“kids, huh?”   

Beside Steve, Bucky stopped in his tracks. “I blew up Nick Fury’s car.”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

“there’s one. Before.” Bucky frowned, trying to remember, “I was told to make it an accident. Extraction mission, two targets, level 4.” he stopped himself abruptly.

“do you want to remember?” Steve asked, when it became apparent that Bucky had nothing more to add to that piece of memory.

Bucky nodded.

It’s gonna be tough. Steve wanted to say, but Bucky didn’t have a choice, did he? Either he remained a ghost story, a man with no past and no self, or he’s going to have to face what he’s been forced to do. If Steve was honest with himself, he was probably more scared of the truth than Bucky, scared of facing the consequences of his failure.

Or maybe, just maybe, neither of them had to be scared. After all, they still had each other.

“just remember you’ve always got me, ok?” Steve pulled his lips to a reassuring smile. “til the end of the line.”

The line made Bucky stare. Eventually he nodded once, ducking his head, and started to walk again.

They walked in silence until the sun rose.

-

Super soldiers needed large quantities of food to keep up with their metabolism, and the fridge in the safe house was small, that’s why Bucky made plans to restock every three days and never in the Same store for two consecutive times. Given they were already outside, there was no reason they shouldn’t do this together. So here they were.

Target in the early morning was almost safe for two wanted men - albeit for opposite reasons. Almost. They just needed to avoid attention from customers and staff, hide their faces from all-seeing cameras, and try not to lose each other in the process. The last bit was easier said than done.

Steve found the pencils and a sketchbook he wanted only to lose Bucky in the maze that was the modern supermarket. Lowering his cap hat, Steve made a beeline to the food section. Or he planned to.

He walked past the section for house electronics, a dozen tv screens of various sizes were hooked up with cable and all streaming the same news channel. A shaky footage of a SEAL diver emerging from the water with the shield, Steve’s shield, was rolling on all the screens, screaming at him, daring him.

“they found Cap’s shield half a mile away from the triskelion, but there’s still no sign of captain himself anywhere.” the anchor reported. “it’s been three and half days, the search and rescue for Captain America is still underway.”

Steve didn’t know how long he stood there, he guessed it must’ve been a minute or two because Bucky was suddenly next to him, shopping cart half full with all sorts of food.

“we should go.” Ducking his head, Steve was already turning his body towards the checkout. Bucky lingered for a second before catching up to Steve.

Behind them, the anchors started to speculate about whether Captain America could pull a miracle again. “Maybe this time, Captain America could really be gone.” they said.

The cashier was a petite brunette girl, couldn’t be more than 16, a high school student doing part-time job. It was probably her first days as well, if her nervousness after being handed the credit card by Bucky was anything to go by, her mouth was moving, silently mumbling something to herself. It took her two tries to make the payment, a triumph, judging by her smile at the end, wishing them a nice day as they gathered their stuff and left.

Steve replied with a ‘you too’ and a smile, catching a glimpse of Bucky, who had been quiet the whole time and seeing that little frown Steve’s gotten familiar with.

“what is it?” Steve asked once they were back on the street.

“Rebecca.” words came out slowly as his memories pieced back together, “she had brown hair too. Lizzie was blonde when she was little. Blue eyes.” he chuckled a bit, “we always say she’s the girl version of you.”

Steve swallowed hard, suppressing the suffocating emotion building up in his chest. Rebecca was still alive. Steve had paid her a few visits, but the guilt and the absolute agony of seeing someone so close and so similar to Bucky were unbearable. Steve wondered if the brother and sister would have the chance to see each other again.

“...what’s her name again?” Steve heard Bucky asking.

“sorry, who?”

“the youngest one. I always call...called her birdie, I forgot her actual name.”

“Robin.”

“right.”

The light smile disappeared from Bucky’s face too quickly, returning was that unfocused, glazed eyes. Steve abandoned the thought of telling Bucky about Rebecca after that.

Would it be mercy sparing Rebecca from ever having to see her sweet, gentle big brother like this, or was Steve only sparing himself? He didn’t know.

-

Later that morning, Steve made them Japanese potato salad. The amazement sparkled in the eyes and the satisfactory groan that escaped his lips made Steve’s whole day lighter and brighter.

-

One of the things the Smithsonian failed to mention about Steve Rogers was that he loved arts. He didn’t just dabble in sketch, he was freaking devoted, at one point going to art school was all he could think about, until that bubble burst the day his ma died. He loved beautiful things and the soothing effect they brought him, for a couple of hours the world was free of poverty, ailments, violence, depression and loneliness. It was also a way of remembering, Steve always leaned into realism because he liked to think that there were beautiful things in real life, when life got tough, he drew: the cat in the ally that stopped running away from him, sunset over Brooklyn bridge, the beach, the flowers his neighbor kept on the windowsill, Bucky, Bucky’s little sisters, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky...

That’s alright, Steve supposed, it was like a piece of him that he got to keep from the public eye.

He knew, before the tip of the pencil touched the paper, he was going to draw Bucky. He peeked over the sketchbook, Bucky was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room with his own notebook. Bucky wasn’t writing anything at the moment, instead, he stared at it like none of the writings were remotely recognizable. Steve wanted to know what he wrote. He didn’t ask. He couldn’t. So he drew.

Steve drew the Bucky in front of him, face half obscured by hair, brows knitted together, jaw clenched tight. Steve drew Sergeant Barens in his Howling Commandos suit, the one that Steve designed, the one that had the team’s symbol on the left sleeve. Steve drew the Bucky from his memory, the light-hearted Brooklyn golden boy who was always smiling, charming every breathing being he came across, including that traitorous cat that took Steve months to warm up to.

Steve kept drawing and part of him reached a state of peaceful flow, however, there was a buzz in the back of his conscious, nagging him about an anomaly that Steve didn’t pick up until he finally stopped - Bucky looked so different in all of them.

Sure, the war changed them all, but Bucky had gone through all the worst of it, all, including death. It tore apart the innocence and carefree Nature from the old Bucky, then Hydra burned the remaining sheds to ashes and from there the Winter Soldier was molded. Bucky, much like Steve himself, had shed his skin and put on something else, had died and reborn, had given pieces of himself for the greater good and later had people taking away more than he could offer until nothing was left.

Yet, here they were, Bucky and Steve, fighting nazis and buying groceries.

And Steve thought, no, Steve realized, the answer was never elusive because of the philosophical implications, it was never elusive at all. Much like how Alexander the Great cut the knot, Steve gave a simple answer to a complicated question.

He loved Bucky. Nothing else mattered.

He turned a page and drew a fully blossomed sunflower. Tearing the piece of paper off the sketchbook, he called, “Bucky?”

Sometime during the past - 4 hours, Steve was surprised to find - Bucky had moved on to the novel Steve read yesterday. There was no indications of whether he enjoyed the plot or not, but his body was notably less tense than before.

“this’s for you.” Steve scooped closer to Bucky, handing the drawing to him, and stayed there, close to Bucky. Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

“why?” there were surprise and incredulity in his voice, yet threaded in between was an unmistakable fondness.  

“cuz I like sunflowers and I want you to have it.” Steve asked after a pause, “do you like it?”

Bucky stared at the drawing in hand for a long time before he shifted his gaze to Steve, something shimmered in his pale blue eyes. “yes. Yes, I do.”

4.

Nights usually started off fine. They’d go to sleep and succeed in that task, the problem was to stay asleep for more than a couple of hours.

Memories and flashbacks appeared much more often and in a sharper cruder manner than they did during waking hours. They smelt vulnerability and they attacked without reservation.

Steve wasn’t sure what he dreamed, it was short and nebulous, but the dark cloud didn’t dissipate afterwards, it followed him into the land of reality, encircling him, shadowing every bit of consciousness. He couldn’t escape.

His laboured breath was so loud in his own ears, and it pained to force air into his lungs, his head was pounding, and everything hurt. It hurt so fucking much. The pain was not entirely physical, but rather more akin to fathom pain amputees experienced, as if your brain couldn’t forget such extreme trauma it reoccurred over and over. Steve wasn’t hurting because of his lung inflammation, it wasn’t the broken bones or bruised air pipe, no, it was asthma, it was scarlet fever, it was pneumonia, it was every big and small illness that clung to him before the serum, it was drowning in ice, it was alien laser to the stomach, it was mud and dirt in his nostrils and blood in the mouth, it was every battle that almost killed him but failed to.  

So many times had death brushed his face yet each time Steve woke up. It was almost like a curse.

“Steve...wake up...”

No. No. He didn’t want to. Let him go.

“Steve? Please, wake up.”

Bucky?

“Stevie, can you hear me?”

“Bucky...”

“you alright?”

Steve pushed himself to a sitting position, head still heavy, he pressed the heel of the palm to his temple, it took him a while to refocus. “fuck...fuck, sorry, I woke you.”

“wasn’t sleeping.” answered Bucky. “you were in pain.”

“still am, kind of. What do you mean you weren’t sleeping?”

“hey, one thing at a time. Where does it hurt?”

Steve huffed out a breath that almost counted as a chuckle. “migraine. I can multitask. Did you have a bad dream again?”

“No, no I didn’t. Never fell asleep. Pain killers?”

“nah, it’ll fade. It’s fading. Why was that? Did you, uh, remember more?”

There was a brief hesitation before Bucky answered with a curt no and nothing more. Guess they were done multitasking and back to no communicating.

It was another minute or two before the headache abided completely, Steve took in a deep breath, and let out slowly through his mouth, feeling the strain in his body slipping away with it just a little. He repeated the process several times until finally the floor was not tilting and air traveled more smoothly in and out. Steve was no stranger to this experience, he had experienced all the responses and reactions and episodes and behaviour listed on DSM-V under PTSD and mood disorders and then some, he’s learned to cope - not always the healthiest way but he was trying, ok? The point was, as sad as it might sound, Steve was coping. Bucky wasn’t.

“you realize you only tell me the things you remember that you think I’d want to hear?” he said quietly, by not looking at the man, he was giving Bucky some space.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

“I know you still barely know me, but, damn it Bucky, I was ready to die for you, you should know I won’t hold anything against you. Never.” still only receiving silence, Steve added, as an attempt to lighten the mood, “I might go pistol and chase down hydra to Antarctica though.”

Bucky snickered. “they don’t have bases there.”

“good to know.” Steve turned around in time to catch Bucky’s eyes on him. He smiled encouragingly at him. “you can tell me. If you want.”

Bucky rejected as usual and he moved away from Steve, pressed his back against the wall, and drew knees close to his body, fending himself from the world.

Steve was hurt by Bucky’s apparent distrust, they used to be able to talk about everything...Steve closed his eyes for a moment. There was no point dwelling on the ‘used to’s, neither of them was what they used to be and he had to stop comparing no matter how much it pained him to do so. He spoke, softly so he didn’t push Bucky further away. “that’s ok.”

“you want him back, don’t you?” 

He shook his head. “I want you to be free. Of hydra.”

“liar.”

Steve bristled. “what do you want me to say? Yes, Bucky, I want my best friend back so please magically undo 70 years of brainwashing and torment? It’s not your fault, Bucky, and I’m not asking you to be anyone but yourself. You not remembering me is not nearly as horrifying as the possibility that hydra might get their hands on you again. I want you to be safe.”

Bucky buried his face a little deeper into his knees. “I’m not worried about you using it against me.”

“then why?”

A sigh. “I did horrible things.”

“that wasn’t you.”

“I did it.” Bucky said more strongly. 

Frustrated and angered, Steve snapped, “so what? Are you worried that I’m gonna hate you? Abandon you? Then why don’t you just leave?” Bucky was stunned by his words, hurt, his eyes so big and vulnerable Steve wanted to hold Bucky in his arms the rest of the world be damned. But he couldn’t. not yet. So he continued, “you’re not doing it for my sake, you’re doing it for your own. You don’t want to lose me even though you don’t know why. Guess what, I can’t either. I can’t lose you again. I won’t. I swear, Bucky, I won’t.” he was edging closer to shouting towards the end with tears swelling up in his eyes. Migraine crept up the side of his head again, his vision swung like a tumbler. Steve pushed one hand on the floor to steady himself and the other into his temple so hard he might pop his fucking eye out.

“shit. Steve, anything I can do? Anything that helps?”

He forced out a trembling no, his teeth clattered. No ordinary painkillers worked on him, he’d learned to endure pain since he was born, it was nothing. Migraine came and went, he just needed to wait it out. It was only physical.

When the worst of it passed, Steve felt warmth against his cheeks, something solid yet soft at the same time, he felt Bucky’s hand on the back of his head.

He’s being cuddled by Bucky.

Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s body, latched onto him with all the strength he could muster, and buried tears into his shirt. Steve hadn’t been properly hugged for so, so long. And it was Bucky. God it was Bucky. All he had to do was hold him and then maybe neither of them would’ve been here, he just had to hold Bucky and everything was gonna be alright.

In the end, it was Bucky who reached out, caught him when he fell, held him together when he was all apart. It was always Bucky, when the world cheered for Captain America, Bucky saved that scrawny kid from Brooklyn, only Bucky.

Steve cried and cried until he got dizzy from lack of oxygen, Bucky’s shirt was all wet and dirty, stained with tears and snorts.

“sorry.” he pulled away from Bucky reluctantly.

“looks we’re back to your problem, huh?”

Steve snorted. “we are so fucked up.” Bucky tilted his head a little, but didn’t object. “come on, let’s play a game.”

“what?”

“bedtime game, like we used to do.” Steve patted the spot next to him, signaling Bucky to move closer to him as he himself laid down and tucked the blanket all the way up to the chin. Bucky’s face said this was stupid and childish but he changed into a new shirt before slipping under the cover eventually.

They lay on their sides, face to face, their knees bumped together, neither thought of moving.

“so it’s like truth or dare but only truth. We take turns asking each other one question and we have to answer honestly.” Steve said, “you first.”

“does this happen often, the headache?”

“not as often. It’s usually gone within minutes, nothing of worry.” said Steve, “what do you think about what I said before the migraine interrupted us?”

“that you are stupid.”

“hey!”

“you shouldn’t want me.”

Steve stopped whatever Bucky was going to say with a slight shake of his head, “you can’t change my mind about this, move on for now, shall we?”

Bucky growled. “How are your injuries? Be honest.”

“I might have overstated my recovery before but I’m truly feeling a lot better now, it doesn’t hurt when I breathe, all the muscles and tendons are healed, no bleeding anywhere, I can finish a triathlon by the end of the week. Does it hurt, your left arm?”

“not anymore. Do you want your shield back?”

“no, not really. I ditched it for a reason. When I crashed Valkyrie I was ready to die, I guess I did, in some way, ‘cus in this world, this future, no one knows Steve Rogers, hell even I didn’t. I only held on to the shield so at least I could be someone, have an identity instead of a poster in a modern world museum. None of that matters anymore, I have friends, you, I know who I am now. My question: not that I doubt you, but you went from being brainwashed into obeying hydra’s orders to killing them after 48 hours, why?”

“it’s them or us, not exactly a tough choice. Why sunflowers?”

“they are, were, your favorites, actually, then they just grow on me. They have bright colors and they always face the sun. They are the floral equivalent of the north star, there’s something incredibly romantic about sunflowers.” and just because he was curious and hopeful, “are you any closer to figuring the question?”

“I think so. What happens if I never remember?” 

Bucky asked like he was expecting a rejection, of course Steve was not going to give him that. Not ever. “then we make new memories. How are you feeling right now?”

Bucky thought about his answer for a while, “right. I feel right. You?”

“home.” Steve dared to lay his hand on Bucky’s bare arm, Bucky didn’t react beyond a slightly sharper-than-usual intake of breath. The reaction was the bare minimum, but considering Steve just cried into his shoulder mere minutes ago, it made Steve wonder if Bucky knew what he was doing, or was he acting on instinct, like muscle memory. In the end, Steve decided that didn’t matter, whatever level of physical intimacy Bucky was willing to offer and/or accept, Steve’s content with it.“one last question. Do you want French toast for breakfast?”

Bucky grinned. “yes.”

-

The modern world had many problems but food was not one of them. Even something as French toast was different and immensely better than the version they had.

When he was a kid he hung around the kitchen a lot to offer some help to ma and Mrs. Barens: peeling potatoes, chopping potatoes, keeping an eye on the pot to make sure water didn’t spill over...well, cooking back in the day was nothing like now. Food was nothing like now. Food nowadays had flavors that went beyond salt and pepper, authentic shawarma involved a dozen spices and herbs, and it tasted like heaven.

When he tried it the first time with the Avengers, his thoughts immediately went to Bucky. Bucky would have loved shawarma.

Natasha had caught his vacillating emotion, asking innocently if Steve’d liked it.

He did. He just thought maybe someone might’ve appreciated it more and that he wished desperately he was there with another team. Steve didn’t say the latter part out loud though.

Bucky’s cooking was only salvaged by modern-day ready-made food, hydra definitely didn’t include cooking as one of the essential skills the winter soldier must posses. Meanwhile Steve not only learned how to cook, he learned how to cook well. So as soon as Steve was physically able, he took over cooking and was determined to introduce one of the best things about the modern world. Food was not scarce nor a means to survival anymore, it was an enjoyment, something Bucky deserved.

He made both sweet and savory versions, it was telling from the way Bucky’s face lit up he preferred the sweet kind. Bucky’s always had a sweet tooth.

For lunch, Steve made them a beef stew and pasta salad. Bucky helped him prep, cutting the meat and vegetables using a kitchen knife with precision. A couple of times when they moved into the tiny space, their bodies would bump together, and nothing had felt as grounding since waking up in the new century. Doing chores with Bucky again, like when they went out and but groceries yesterday, it was human. Steve has been a superhero for so long that he almost forgot how nice it was to just be a normal person doing normal stuff with the man he loved.

Steve scooped out a spoonful of stew and asked Bucky to have a taste to decide if it was ready to serve. Bucky leaned over and took a little sip, his eyes flickered up to Steve, all sparkly and smile.

“it’s really nice.” he said.

And Steve thought, he could do this for the rest of his life. And he wanted to kiss Bucky. God he wanted to kiss Bucky. He wanted to kiss him and mumble ‘I love you’ to his ears until Bucky’s had enough and pushed him away, he wanted to love him, openly, unapologetically, he wanted to be able to make Bucky smile everyday, if they have had bad days that’d be fine too because he’d be there for Bucky and Bucky’d be there for him.

I love you. He wanted to say.

“I learned it from Youtube.” Steve said, fully aware there was no way Bucky knew what it was.

Predictably, Bucky asked, “what’s Youtube?”

Steve grinned.

5.

On the fifth day when Bucky came back from the grocery store he handed Steve a burner phone. It had one number in it.

“she gave it to me.” whatever ‘gave’ meant. “you have a maximum 45 seconds before someone might catch on.”

Steve nodded. His breath caught as the ringing sound began.

“Steve...?”

“Nat.”

“gosh, Steve...when I found the message he left I thought I was going crazy.”

“I’m fine. We are fine. You? Sam?”

“yeah we are all ok. Pierce’s dead, many people are. I released all the files like planned which means the whole world knows about the Winter Soldier now.” a pause, “Stay safe, you and Barens both. A lotta people want his head, literally.”

“You too, Nat. Tell Sam that I’m grateful, and sorry.”

“will do.”

Disconnected.

-

Steve actually had no idea what hydra did to Bucky. Not just their effort in turning Bucky into their killing machine, but also when Zola had his hands on Bucky the first time in Italy. He assumed that’s when Bucky was injected with super soldier serum, thinking back, Steve couldn’t recall any particular event that supported that theory. Bucky didn’t demonstrate superhuman speed or strength, he even got a bit sick during the harshest winter, and he would snuggle up to Steve a bit tighter because Steve’s core temperature was higher than regular people.

How many times did hydra experiment the imperfect serum on him until they got to the right combination? If so, were there any more hydra super soldiers? SHIELD ones?

Their afternoon was quiet as usual as each of them perched on either side of the sofa and invested in their respective notebooks. Steve wanted desperately to talk, to learn about what happened, to get to know this Bucky, to be close to him again.

When he woke up in the new century, it took 3 shrinks and 7 sessions to make him talk truthfully about his nightmares and moving to another city to stop seeing ghosts at every corner, so Steve understood Bucky’s silence, on the other hand, he also knew he couldn’t just leave Bucky alone with his demons. Steve learned at a young age that when a door didn’t open, bang harder until either someone opened it or it was knocked down.

“you remember Zola?” Steve prompted in a casual tone, watching Bucky carefully.

The man’s body tensed, raising his eyes, he locked his gaze with Steve’s, cold and vicious. Even though Bucky didn’t answer verbally, his reaction was answer enough.

“so Nat - Natasha and I found out that he’s been working for SHIELD since ‘45, and then before he died, he turned himself into a computer in one of the earliest SHIELD bases in Camp Lehigh. Do you remember Camp Lehigh, where I was trained?” Bucky nodded after a second. “I’m pretty sure Zola’s as dead as Mammoth now.”

Bucky didn’t even blink, “good.”

Steve couldn’t help but let out a huff of a chuckle. “Pierce is dead too.”

“Pierce is dead?”

“yes. He’s dead, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped for a second, he licked his lips, as if mustering up the courage to voice what he’s about to say. “he...” he stopped, when he lifted his eyes again, there was fear, uncertainty. Steve realized Bucky’s fear of Pierce if so ingrained in him, even after his death Bucky couldn’t bring himself to say bad things about the man.

Steve wished he had killed Pierce himself. Slowly, even.

He repeated. “he’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Bucky took in a breath and tried again. “he was in charge. He...” another pause. Steve moved to sit right next to Bucky, taking both of Bucky’s hands in his own, silently encouraging him. “he ordered to, prep me.” he drew a shaky breath, “and they’d put me in that chair and wipe me.”

“oh Bucky...”

“it hurt. A lot.”

Broken bones hurt a lot. A bullet wound hurt a lot. Memory wipe? Steve didn’t even know what hydra used to achieve that but Steve knew it didn’t ‘hurt,’ it fucking torn apart a human being, it must’ve been literal hell.

“it won’t happen to you again.” Steve squeezed his hands, his own voice broke, “I won’t let them touch you ever again.”

“I don’t want to forget.” 

“You won’t, no one will hurt you ever again.” 

They remained there for a while, Bucky resolutely staring at their joint hands while Steve looked at his half-obscured face, trying to hold back tears and rage.

“can you do something for me?” Bucky asked softly.

“anything.”

Then Bucky carefully extracted his hands from Steve’s - the loss of contact made Steve twitch - and retrieved a knife before settling back to the spot next to Steve. Bucky held the blade so the handle was held towards Steve. “mark me.”

“what?” Steve exclaimed in horror, “no!”

Bucky shook his head, the face he wore was the Same whenever Steve did something stupid. He grabbed Steve’s right hand and pressed the handle into his palm, “on the left arm, you dummy.”

Steve drew in a breath. Ok, that was doable. “what do you want?”

“anything. Anything from you.”

The dagger was the one he used when they fought on the highway, it was well preserved, the handle designed to fit the grip of a super soldier, Steve could tell from the weight and the special curve of it. The blade was sharp enough to cut through glass without breaking it, if anything was able to leave a mark on the arm, it was this dagger.

Bucky stretched out his left arm in front of Steve, giving him a tiny nod when Steve looked at him again seeking reassurance.

So Steve started to carve out lines on the inside of his forearm.

“your name is Bucky. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line - Steve”   

Bucky snickered. “not very original.”

Steve’s face burned a little. “you remember?”

“I buried her, too, on that day, Steve.”

Perhaps it was the way Bucky said it, with such tenderness - something neither of them allowed themselves to display on that day - Steve felt like he’d been sucker punched by the Hulk, busting the black box that kept decades of bottled-up emotions, causing them all to flood out.

He didn’t even cry at her funeral.

Steve didn’t have anything to remember her by but his memory, the Smithsonian didn’t even mention her name for Christ’s sake! It was laughable to have left Sarah Rogers out of the story of Steve Rogers. What a nightmare, the exhibition had been.

Steve couldn't care less about that travesty now, because someone else remembered her, there was someone else to keep her alive. And that person was Bucky. Bucky was right here.

So Steve let the tears flow, for the second time today. He seemed to be crying in the past week more than he had his entire life. It was fine, really. Because for once in his life, he didn’t need to fight just to make it to the next day, he didn’t need to be unbreakable, he could be emotional and vulnerable and not worry about consequences. He had mourned for Bucky, for his ma, for himself, maybe he could finally move on now.

-

If Fury was right then SHIELD had never had Steve’s DNA, Peggy destroyed the last sample back in the late 40s. But Zola successfully recreated the serum in Bucky, it wouldn’t make sense if Hydra didn’t replicate the serum on other hydra operatives. However, if they did why didn’t they deploy them? Wouldn’t they want their most deadly killers to secure Insight’s launch?

Bucky wasn’t aware of any experiment done on or to him, of course not, although he did remember training KGB and Hydra agents.

“Department X.” said Bucky, “KGB’s program during the Cold War era to produce the most deadly weapons.”

“human experiment?”

“not that kind, not that I know of.” he admitted, “the black widow is one of them.”

Steve frowned. “do you mean...you knew Nat?”

Bucky blinked a couple of times, his eyes moved rapidly as he tried to remember, “I’m not sure. I trained the widows and wolf spiders, girls and boys.”

“there are more of them? How many?”

“They were either killed or sent to gulag after the fall.” he said, “I made sure of that.”

“but not Nat.”

Bucky didn’t have an answer to that.

Steve didn’t want to think why Nat didn’t tell him about Bucky, instead, he touched his knee to comfort him. “maybe after this, we can talk to Nat.”

“they messed with their heads too.”    

Of course they did. Maybe Nat didn’t remember Bucky either. “can you remember anything about the serum?”

“hydra didn’t have it. It didn’t have the resources back then.”

“but SHIELD did.” Steve suddenly had a chill running up his back. Where was the line between SHIELD and Hydra? Was there one at all?

Something crossed Bucky’s face. “extraction mission, 1991, two targets level 4.”

Steve’s heard those words before when they were having a late night/early morning stroll down the street. Bucky stopped himself then. “what is it?”

Steve could see the sudden realization that was followed by terror in Bucky’s eyes, and the fastened breaths, and braced himself for the worst-case scenario.

“the blue bags. They were serums. I was there to take them from SHIELD scientists.”

“who were they?”

Bucky stood up abruptly, pacing in the tiny space they had before pressing his back against the wall, chest heaving and body shaking, his breath was loud and short, both his hands gripped the front of his shirt as he struggled to breathe.

He was having a panic attack.

Steve lurched off the sofa, grabbing both of Bucky’s wrists in case he hurt himself, and instructed him to breathe slowly and rhythmically, like Bucky had done for him a thousand times before when he had asthma attacks. It took them a while but Bucky eventually calmed down. Bucky’s face turned so pale Steve was afraid he might pass out. He fetched Bucky a bottle of drink, asking gently as Bucky took a sip, “I’m not gonna like the answer, am I?”

Bucky shook his head.

“it’s ok.”

“it’s not, Steve. I killed them!”

“hydra killed them.”

“I was Hydra!”

“you were brainwashed. You were never one of them.” 

“I killed your friend, Steve!” Bucky shouted, tears bursting out of his eyes. He struggled at first, but relented eventually, curling himself up in Steve’s arms and damping his shoulder.

Steve closes his eyes, whispering, “it was Howard, wasn’t it?” 

“you should kill me.”

“You are not responsible for any of those, Bucky. Don’t you dare think otherwise. And don’t you even think about killing yourself.” 

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about this information. There were pieces missing, for example how the serum was developed, who was involved, and where was Howard  transporting them to. The bottom line was he replicated the serum even though America was not at war - at least, not at war with an enemy who had super soldiers on their side. However, on the other hand, he was a friend whom Hydra murdered through the hands of Bucky.

“it’s ok.” he murmurs, “it’s ok. It’s not your fault.”

“five.”

“five what?”

Bucky extracted himself from Steve’s embrace. He’d stopped sobbing, his face all red and puffy, hair ruffled, like a wet house cat. He barely flinched when Steve gently smoothed out the strands of hair that got stuck on his cheeks. “there were five of them. They were Hydra’s best agents even before the serum. But they grew too volatile, too dangerous, Hydra couldn’t control them so they put them in cryostasis.”

“do you know where they are kept?”

“In Russia. I was kept there too, but I can’t recall the exact coordinates.”

“don’t worry, it’s probably somewhere in the SHIELD files. Guess we have a mission.”

“we have a mission.”

“we do?”

“your recovery. And safety.” Bucky stared at him as if disappointed that Steve hadn’t known it.

Steve almost snorted. “that mission is going well, Buck.”

“but not finished.”

“it will, and soon. But given the circumstances, Hydra may take the risk and send out those agents. We need to either beat them to it or be prepared for a disaster.” said Steve, “Bucky, I know it’s still all very confusing to you, but if there are Hydra supersoldiers out there, I can’t just sit by.”

Bucky’s face was hard. “it’s not confusing to me.” then he said, “I can’t stop you.”

It hit Steve that Bucky was afraid that he was going to leave him after he just confessed to the murder of Howard Stark, he was waiting for an excuse so that he could leave Bucky. “no. It’s not that.” Steve explained, “I’m not leaving you, ok?”

“what if I don’t want to fight them?”

“then I’ll come back.”

Bucky stared at him with a distant sadness that reminded Steve of the helplessness he felt after Bucky fell. Bucky was so close yet just far enough so that he couldn’t save him, and Bucky was falling.

Maybe he was wrong. He didn’t have to fight the super soldiers. There were other capable people who could do that, people who could actually locate them. Maybe what he should do was stay here long enough until they were both emotionally stable. Life in hiding wasn’t too bad anyway.

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll come with you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Steve couldn’t know if Bucky was doing it for him or to get revenge on Hydra or just good old heroism of Bucky Barens. Whichever it was, it meant the old Bucky was still there, and Steve could live with that.

6

“Bucky! Grab my hand!”

So close. He was so close, just a little bit farther...there! He grabs Bucky’s hand, then hauls both of them back to the carriage.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”  he held Bucky so tightly his ribs might break. But Bucky was silent - he was catatonic. “Bucky? ”

“who the hell is Bucky?”  Bucky replied, eyes so horribly devoid of life.

No. No this wasn't true. Bucky didn’t fall off the train, he couldn't be losing his memory.

“ Bucky, it's me, it’s Steve, we are best friends... ”

“soldier.”  Pierce’s voice came from the speaker, “finish your mission.”

Bucky’s eyes came to life in a brief second, but only to locate his target. Steve wanted to stop him but they are standing too close, Bucky was too fast, he already had a knife driving into his abdomen...

Another night, another nightmare. Things were all mixed up, but it was always the same in the end: he’s failed Bucky.

When Steve pushed himself off the floor, he found himself alone in the room. He scrambled up and burst out of the door. The bathroom didn’t have the light on, no movement in the kitchen or living room. Where was Bucky? Did he run away? Did he finally push Bucky away with his stupidity?

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of light between the seams of the drapes. The light came from outside, but Bucky made sure it was fully closed always. Steve silently moved over, hooking one finger over the edge, Steve opened a space big enough to peek - there Bucky was, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, facing the night city. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but that thousand-mile stare, Steve was too familiar with that.

Wordlessly, he invited himself to the balcony, sitting on the floor by Bucky’s side. From this angle they could only see a small patch of sky, the rest was blocked by the building in front of them. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest, reminded him of New York.

“it’s all fucked up, Steve.”

“what is?”

“the feelings...emotions. There are so many and so, intense. I don’t know how to deal with them.” 

“I know, to be honest I have the same problem.”

“you do?”

“yeah. Being around you, SHIELD...it’s a lot. You make me feel so immensely happy it makes me scared. At the same time I’m so angry at Hydra I have these horrible thoughts, which scares me in a different way.” he confessed, “it’s like taking an emotional Cyclone.”

Bucky made a huffing sound. “it is.”   

“so what are you feeling?”

Just like that, Bucky was tense again. However, Steve’s apology was cut off before it was formed.

“anger, fear, depression, relief, all at once. That’s not the main issue. The main issue is that I feel a memory before I remember it, does that make sense?”

“like muscle memory?”

“kinda. Like, earlier I was reading this book, the man was on a trip in Japan, and I just suddenly felt...nauseous. And guilt, a lot of it. I wasn’t shipped there during the war, I know that, I don’t remember ever going to that part of the earth. Later it came to me that I...” he fell silent. Dipping his head, Bucky’s voice was barely over a whisper, “I killed a pregnant woman. She was the wife of the target. She didn’t do anything.”

It was the first time Bucky opened up about the winter soldier missions, the ugly truth he was so scared of Steve finding out. Yes, it was a heinous crime, but Steve didn’t blame Bucky one bit. Bucky was as much the victim as the winter soldier’s targets. Steve was also glad that Bucky was willing to share this with him. It was progress.

Bucky spoke again, “and you. You made me feel all sorts of things that I didn’t understand.” 

Steve didn’t miss the past tense. Truth to be told, he was afraid of what Bucky might say if he had pressed, that was why he didn’t respond, leaving that decision to Bucky.

For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of breathing that normal humans wouldn’t be able to catch and the humming of engines coming from a distance. It had rained earlier today, the air still carried the distinct smell. Bucky’s silhouette in the darkness had become a sight so familiar Steve swore he’d be able to recognize Bucky with his shadow alone.

“when you said that line to me on the helicarrier,” Bucky began, and Steve forgot how to breathe, “it was like opening the floodgate. I didn’t know - I still don’t know how to describe all the things that were going around in my head, but I knew that this was someone important to me, and I had to protect him. It was the opposite of my mission, and I never, I’ve never disobeyed because if I did Hydra would torture me until I did. But that feeling was so strong it overrode my mission mandate, it overrode my fear, so I had to find out why.”

Steve remembered the question Bucky asked him on their first day here at the safe house. Why you?

“in the past few days, I’ve had a lot of these emotional memories, it’s either good or bad, but you make me feel both and so intensely it’s disorienting. The things I remember about you, about us, are happy, intimate, but they always come with an underlying sadness that doesn’t belong to me - they belong to your Bucky.” Steve had to literally bite back the ‘you are my Bucky’ knee-jerk response. “and I just figured out what that means.”

“what does that mean?” Steve could barely hear himself.

Bucky turned over to look at him. “he loved you. Since he was a kid, he loved you.”

“I know.”

“no.” Bucky shook his head, “no, Steve. He was in love with you.”

Steve’s eyes burnt. That was it. That was all he ever wanted to hear but he hated it. What good was it? That Bucky was gone. Bucky was right in front of him but he was using the third person. Bucky was. Right. There. And it meant nothing.

Steve clutched his hand around Bucky’s dog tags, willing back the tears threatening to burst out. He felt Bucky’s fingertips creep up on his, Bucky took his other hand in his as their eyes met.

“you can still have him back.”

“I already have you.”

“I’m not...”

“I told you I just want you to be you, whoever you want to be is the Bucky I love.” the word he once couldn’t bring himself to utter came out as natural as the produce at Wholefoods.

Bucky blinked confusingly, “you love...me?”

“all of you.” this Bucky, that Bucky, your smile, your wit, your darkness. All.

“oh.” that’s his response.

They sat there with their hands intertwined. The moon moved out behind the building, and slowly faded into the daylight.

“I think,” said Bucky, his fingers twitching a little nervously, his voice melted into the gentle light of dawn, “I want to be him. Your Bucky, I mean.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, his insides threatening to burst with ecstasy. “I know someone who can help with that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes a little. “I wouldn’t be the same though.”

“I wasn’t the same Steve Rogers either.”

“I wouldn’t know, but,” Bucky lolled his head to lean on Steve, whispering, “this one kind of grows on me.”

-

Bucky went out to buy groceries while Steve stayed to cook them something that was not directly out of a box or can. When Bucky returned, he carried two laptops with him.

“you know how to use them?” Bucky asked.

“uh. No?”

Bucky’s face told him that he wasn’t surprised at all. “fine. I’ll be the brain, you the brawn.”

“you are data mining SHIELD files.” Steve felt dumb. “for what?”

“the location of the hydra super soldiers.” Bucky gave him a look, “unless it pops up in my head first.”

“oh.” he answered, like a total idiot. “I made carbonara and salad.”

Bucky perked up behind the computer screen. “potato salad?”

“carrot, spinach and kale with Italian black vinegar.”

Bucky pouted.

SHIELD offered Steve hacker courses but the computer just wasn’t Steve’s forte. To this day Steve couldn’t set up a wifi, data mining was definitely out of his league. He used to spend hours going down Wikipedia rabbit holes, YouTube was tremendously helpful too, he occasionally lurked around the comment section but quickly learned his mistake. Clint helped him set up a Hinge profile that he used only once. That’s about the full extent of his internet knowledge.

Bucky was working on two screens, Steve felt useless and bored so he sat on the dining table and started drawing. He primarily drew realistic things, a portrait or landscapes, but since he was cooped up in the apartment, he tried something different, like redesigning Cheeto’s costume. He’s had a lot of experience with that. After that, he added Snoic because he thought they might get along.

“you didn’t tell me her real name is Natalia Romanova.” Bucky said out of blue.

“sorry?”

“the Widow.”

“she American-ized her name.”

“of course she did.” not taking a pause from his work at hand, he continued, “I remember her. Just a little bit, you know. They were the last ones before the program was shut down. They were only 13, 14 at the time. I supervised her first mission too.” he said, keeping his tone blank, “she almost collapsed after the adrenaline faded. All I did was tell her to stand up straight.” he paused again, as if waiting for judgement, when that didn’t come, Bucky added, “probably why she didn’t tell you that she knew me.”

“she had no reason to protect my feelings.” Steve contended then swiftly changed the subject, “40 minutes on that thing and you learned Nat’s real name? I could’ve told you that.”

“shut up. She didn’t exactly make decoding this easy.”

“maybe we should just ask her to do it.” he suggested.

Bucky cranked his neck, staring at him with an indescribable expression. Steve shrugged, “why not?”

“she is under congressional investigation, Steve.”

“and a world-class spy.” 

Bucky squinted. “why do you keep trying to get her involved?”

“what? No. I just think she can help without compromising our situation. She’s the best equipped to help us.” said Steve, “I’m not trying to snitch you out.”

“or maybe you just want to see her.”

Oh. That was what it was about. “for the love of god, Bucky!” he feigned exacerbation, “she’s like a little sister to me!”

Bucky returned to his laptops. “you were in pretty hard for Agent Carter, no reason why you can’t have feelings for Natalia.”

“I wasn’t...” Steve felt the need to clarify it, and he couldn’t have that conversation when Bucky was dodging him by busying himself with a task he probably wasn’t able to complete anytime soon, not by himself anyway. He moved over to sit by Bucky’s side, silently stared at him until Bucky gave in, slumping back, arms crossed over his torso.

“I do believe you.” Bucky spoke first.

“but you also believe I’m in love with other people.”

“I was at the museum, I saw the clip, the photo you had of her, and how she talked about you.”

Steve grimaced. The museum, some speculative articles, hell even news reporters in the 40s, they all made it seem like Steve and Peggy were some star-crossed lovers. His story has long ceased to be his. Not that Steve blamed them, after all, he had been exploiting the narrative too, to excuse his lack of love life, to hide the fact that he was gay, and to escape from himself. Not anymore, not when he’s finally had Bucky back. “Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since I was a teenager and never told you until today. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“what does that mean?”

“it meant I thought I could never have you. It was not accepted back then. I tried to find someone else - a woman to fall in love with. And Peggy was... she was a good person, she liked me so I thought why the hell not?” Steve laughed to himself, “I couldn’t. I can’t. I can’t fall in love with other people because I don’t have the capacity left.”  

“but you thought I was dead.”

Steve shrugged.

Bucky kept staring for a moment, then his face softened, a furrow formed between his brows, but not out of confusion. It was guilt. “Steve, I might never remember.” I might never be the Bucky you knew.

“that’s ok.”

Bucky’s stammered, struggling to get the words out, “I might not love you the way he did.”

“Buck.” Steve stopped his rambling, “I’d hate for you to feel the need to reciprocate the feelings. It’s ok if you don’t love me back or if you can’t remember everything, truly. As long as you are part of my life I don’t care, and that’s the only thing I ask of you.”

Bucky contemplated Steve’s words for a long time, he looked conflicted, confused - anyone would be in that position. Steve could relate in the sense that he too was in the spot of wondering where he ended and Captain America began. Bucky’s self was brutally severed from him and was now colliding with the new one. Bucky was doing a whole lot better than Steve was despite being in a much tougher situation.

So Steve decided to help him out, “you don’t have to figure everything out now. I’ve been Captain America since 1943 and I still wonder how much of my behavior is myself or his. We have time.” 

The computer dinged.

“maybe not.” Bucky mumbled, but his tone was light, relieved at the timely distraction.

“what is it?”

“I sent the Widow a message, used our old encryption system back in the Red Room so no one else would pick up. Didn’t expect to hear back so soon.”

Steve stood up so fast the chair made a screeching sound as it slided across the floor. Peering over Bucky’s shoulder, he looked at the screen full of gibberish and asked, “How did you contact her?”

“it’s an old SHIELD/Hydra’s encrypted communication line she gave me when she dropped the phone for you. She has quite a foresight.”

“what are you talking about?”

“hydra super soldiers. You were right, she could help us.” Bucky typed a string of something as he spoke, “I told her about the serum, and to trace the Winter Soldier mission on December 16, 1991. She’s on it now.”

“can you ask her if she can get my shield back if we are going against 5 crazy super soldiers?”

Bucky typed again, this time Steve was able to tell where the message was being typed, and the characters were Cyrillic. After a moment, a similarly composed message popped up.

“she said you were insulting her by asking.” Bucky smirked, “atta girl.” then another message from Nat. And another. “Sam is working with Hill and Fury to locate all SHIELD agents on duty at the moment to figure out which side they are on, either sending them home or to jail. She said, um...”

“if it’s about you two, you don’t have to tell me.”

“no, it’s about you. She wants to apologize for not telling you. She thought I was dead too, until a week ago. After that, she thought telling you would make you emotionally compromised to carry out the mission.” Bucky gave him a side eye, “you were, by the way.”

Steve shrugged. To him, saving Bucky was the mission.

Another message came, causing Bucky to mumble a curse in Russian, one that wasn’t fueled with anger, but something akin to a fond tease.

“what is it?”

“nothing. She gotta work now, will hit us back if she finds anything.”

Steve knew better than to push. Bucky and Natasha shared a part of themselves that they probably would never disclose to him - or anyone - and that was something Steve had to accept.

-

The evening news was dominated by the chair of the Senate intelligence committee who fled the country to Russia after the latest revelation that he’d been working for Hydra all along. Steve vaguely remembered seeing his face in the past days, Bucky reminded him that the guy was the one accusing Steve of being a Hydra agent just days ago.

“how many of them are Hydra?” Steve groans under his breath.

“not many, Hydra doesn’t believe in loyalty that can be bought. Most of these people were recruited when they were kids. Most politicians support Hydra’s causes anyway.”

Steve remembered Fury and felt a tight knot in his stomach. At least Fury had the decency to reconsider Project Insight, most people didn’t. The project wouldn’t have gone so far without approval from the US Congress and the World Security Council. Just thinking about how many people never understood or cared about the consequences of Insight was enough to make Steve felel a little less optimistic about this world.

Silence settled between them. The news anchors again started to speculate about Steve’s current whereabouts, the SEAL is reportedly ready to stop the S&R.

“do you think they’d announce me KIA or MIA if I never show up?” Steve asks casually.

“MIA. They’ve learned their lesson.”

“they didn’t seem to have learned from WW2.”

“fair.”

Steve considered for a second. “ravenous.”

That earned a strange look from Bucky, who caught on immediately, “saccharine.”

“with e or without it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“egregious.” he deadpanned.

Bucky chuckled. “stupid.”

“devil.”

For a split second Steve regretted that word because all he could think of, all that he wanted to hear, was a word Bucky wasn’t ready to utter.

But Bucky said, “Lidl.”

And Steve burst out laughing. Bucky began to laugh too. They laughed, until there were tears in the eyes, and broken hearts healing.

7.

By some miracle both of them slept through the night. When Steve woke up, he found himself and Bucky tangled up together like some Chinese knot and he had Bucky’s hair in his mouth and on his face. Which, to be honest, ew.

Steve carefully extracted his limbs, disentangling the two of them without waking Bucky up. He headed to the toilet first, then the kitchen to make them some breakfast. The laptops were still on the dining table. Bucky didn’t find the information they needed to locate the other hydra super soldiers, he did, however, uncover an active alias used by the head technician of the Winter Soldier program, who was also SHIELD’s chief designer of the helicarriers. Said engineer extraordinaire fled to Russia the day the ships fell from the sky as predicted. What were the chances that he knew exactly where the other Winter Soldiers were? High. Or was he there to release them?

Steve hoped Nat had better news.

“how come you were so bad at cooking before?” Bucky’s voice jostled Steve a little. Bucky waded into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, leaning his hip on the counter, studying Steve’s cooking with mild interest.

“hard to make Michelin dishes if all you had were potatoes and salt.”

“you couldn’t even boil water without it spilling over.”

“of all the things you remember.” Steve shook his head fondly.

“hard not to when you almost got us gassed.”  

“jerk.” the familiar word slipped out.

There was a pause. “punk.”

Bucky resumed his data mining after breakfast, Steve read for a while, then did some drawing. Now that he’s mostly healed up, the energy in his body was looking for an outlet. Sitting in a room all day was making him restless.

“has Nat found anything yet?”

“no.”

“oh.”

After another 20 minutes. “any idea for lunch?” 

“dunno. Surprise me.”

Steve practically jumped off the sofa and started to examine the ingredients they had, considering their options. It took Steve a moment to notice that Bucky was staring.

“you are getting bored.”

“’m not bored. I just have a lot of energy and no way to use them.”

“that’s what bored means.”

“it’s not.” Steve insisted.

“remind me to never do surveillance with you.”

“We have different specialties.”

“yeah. I’m good with everything, you are good at keeping us fed.”

“ha. Ha.”

Steve took the flour and started working even though they just had breakfast less than 3 hours ago. By the time Steve started to mix something in a giant bowl, Bucky shouted for him.

Natasha had sent them a message. Well, not Natasha exactly.

“she sent the information to Tony Stark who ran it through JARVIS. What is a JARVIS?”

“Tony’s AI.”

“alright. So basically Tony Stark has a lead and he wants us in New York.” 

“great. He can send a jet here, we don’t have to risk getting exposed.” Steve’s excitement died down at the sight of Bucky’s expression. Bucky was weirdly upset given the breakthrough.

Oh. Right. Howard.

“Tony is his son, isn’t he?”

“he is.” Steve croaked out. He and Tony didn’t have the best relationship, and since the trail began with the Starks’ murder, Steve couldn’t say for certain how things would went with Tony.

“she says Clint and Sam will be there too.”

Steve’s face scrunched up, already too clear what he would do should anyone even think about hurting Bucky. Part of him was horrified by his own lack of commitment, part of him only wanted to keep Bucky safe. “we don’t have to go.”  

“we do. You do.”

“I don’t.”

“They are your friends.”

Steve wanted so badly to grab Bucky’s hands and place them over his heart so that Bucky could feel the heartbeat, and he’d know every one of them was for him. But his hands were still covered in flour and pieces of celery and other kitchen dust and liquid, and Bucky was resolutely not facing him. So he said, “I choose you. I always choose you.”

Bucky huffed and said, “stop being dramatic.”

“Buck...”

“she just told me that Stark junior promised he wouldn’t kill me or turn me in, and Clint would shoot him in the balls if he did.” Bucky finally turned around in his chair, a half-hearted smile hanging on his lips, “can you stop being dramatic now?”

Steve conceded. Tony had every reason to resent Bucky because he didn’t know the whole truth. Once they explained everything maybe Tony would know Bucky was a victim of Hydra just like his parents. If not, well, Steve wasn’t going to let anyone touch Bucky.

“when are we leaving?”

“in three hours. We can still have lunch here.” Bucky closed the laptop, “what are you making?”

“fried dumplings with beef and celery filling, and tomato soup. Do you know how to make dumplings?” 

Bucky gave him a look.

“it’s simple. I’ll teach you when I’m done with the filling.”

Holding the palm-sized, thin, round dough on his left palm, Bucky followed Steve’s lead, scooping a generous amount of fillings and placing it at the center. The next was to simply enclose the thing. But the fillings kept spilling out and the liquid was making the dough impossible to stick and when he closed on the side another side got stretched too thin and broke.

It was not simple at all.

“I give up.” he announced, leaving the failed dumpling on the counter. His failed project looked even more pathetic next to Steve’s beautiful half-moon-shaped dumplings.

Steve picked it up, starting to fix it while said to Bucky, “you should put less fillings, that’ll be easier. Just try again. And have more flour on your hand to keep the dough dry.” by the time he stopped talking, the dumpling was already remedied. It still looked miserable, but at least it was a full enclosure of dough over fillings now.

“I can’t do this.” Bucky was already rubbing flour between his palms like chalk.

“I’ll go slow. Just look.”

Bucky tries again, taking Steve’s advice, less filling, more flour. He still had some problem with closing it up because apparently, you shouldn’t have too much excessive flour either. The end result wasn’t as bad as the last one though. Bucky looked proud of himself.

After a while, Bucky moved to cooking duty - still under Steve’s instruction of course - while Steve made more dumplings. When the first batch of dumplings was cooked, Bucky took the first bite and hummed an approval. He picked one up with the fork and lifted it to Steve’s lips.

Steve took a bite before taking the whole dumpling.

“it’s good.” he said.

Bucky frowned at him, taking in Steve’s strange reaction. “what?”

“we don’t have any dipping.”

“what dipping?”

“soy sauce, vinegar, chili sauce.” he said hopefully, “when we have time, I’ll show you my favorite dipping recipe.” 

“I’d love that.”

-

It felt weird packing up and be ready to leave. It was only a week but the safe house already felt more like home than his apartment. It even smelled like them.

They didn’t really have anything to pack aside from Bucky’s notebooks and Steve’s sketch pad. Their suits were stuffed in a trash bag. Steve’s was no longer wearable, while Bucky’s were mostly intact but they couldn’t afford the world finding traces of their whereabouts, so all of their suits were going to New York with them and would be disposed of there.

Steve decided he didn’t want to reappear in the public eye for now. Or ever, to be honest. He did just find out that the organization he worked for, one that was funded in his name, was actually his arch-enemy. He wasn’t sure he wanted to carry the tarnished symbol again.

But that was a question for later deliberation. Both of them picked up the unique engine noise made by Qunjet approaching. It was time to leave.

“ready?” Steve asked.

Bucky inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

“yeah.”