Chapter Text
Bucky wakes up in a panic, his hair sticking to his forehead and his sleepwear chafing from sweat. His eyes dart around the room, looking for something to tell him this isn’t real, that it’s all one big hallucination. Did he really escape? It seems too good to be true yet there he is; alone in his room at Stark Tower on a soft mattress; chain free, bar free, and with a sigh of relief he realizes people free too.
He grabs the glass of water off the bed side table and downs it. It goes down the wrong way at first, but he keeps going. His breathing is still heavy, the water doesn't fix anything besides his dry mouth, and he feels a bit light headed.
"It's okay. You're okay." He says to himself, imaging the words coming out of his friend's mouth like it's done so often over the last few weeks.
He wants to believe those words with every fiber of his being but it seems like whenever he gets close to believing the reasons why he isn't pull him back.
He runs his hands over his face, leaving them there for a moment as he tries to regain his composure.
Through the cream colored wall, he hears someone get a notification on their phone, something that he still can’t quite understand despite Tony explaining it to him multiple times along with various diagrams of the inner-workings.
He doesn't really understand why the phones with the weird, touchable screens are needed; they just do the same thing that radio does.
There's a soft sound of sheets ruffling followed by the thuds of uneven footsteps affected by post-sleep haze.
Bucky glances at the window, the sun filters through the blinds casting stripes of light over his white sheets and pale legs.
“…Jarvis?” He asks warily, still not sure how the whole AI thing works yet. He won't tell Tony about that though. He's had enough diagrams.
“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” The AI responds.
Success. He gives himself a mental pat on the back. “What time is it?” He’s a bit more confident when he asks this time. It's not like the AI would call him out of he made any mistakes with the commands, or at least he hopes that it won't.
“It is currently 7:54 AM." A pause. “I’ve already alerted the tower’s inhabitants that you have waken up. Will you be needing assistance this morning?”
“No,” He says as he starts to get up from the bed, “I’ll be fine.”
"I see. If you do end up needing it just ask and I'll send someone."
The carpet feels foreign under his feet. He's been here for a week and a half and yet he still expects it to be the familiar grey concrete that he's grown used to over to past 80 years.
His lightheadedness is better compared to when he first woke up, but he still stumbles slightly.
He grabs a pair of trousers along with a grey t-shirt from the closet, being ever so careful not to mess up the bandages and gauze covering his right side.
Steve said he was shot; that he had walked into the lobby covered in blood and then collapsed.
Bucky doesn't doubt it. After all, Steve doesn't really have any reason to lie to him, but all he remembers is waking up in the basement of Stark Tower and being handcuffed to a bed with an IV stuck in him. Not to mention being shirtless and wearing someone else's pants too.
He later found out that doctor named Helen Cho had removed his clothes since they where covered in blood and was in the process of getting him a shirt (or as he later found out, stealing it from a guy called Clint) when he woke up.
She had thrown out the bloody clothes he had arrived in. They were made of a rough, thin fabric and he'd only wear them when waiting for the next mission or to be put in cryo so it wasn't a big loss anyways.
The clothes he has now are better. Much better. The shirts even come in different colors (though he prefers the darker colors since they are easier on the eyes.)
There's an abrupt knock at the door and Bucky freezes instinctively.
"Buck? You alright in there?" Says a familiar voice though the door.
He relaxes, "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. The door's unlocked..."
“Hey,” Steve says as he comes in the room and his cheeks turn a rosy shade of red when he realizes that Bucky is still pulling his pants up.
Bucky doesn't reply as he finishes getting dressed and grabs his shoes off the closet floor.
Steve hesitates before speaking, trying his best to indirectly ask the question that’s on the top of his tongue, "How did you sleep?" His bloodshot eyes tell him everything, and yet he still feels the need to have him confirm it.
He doesn't respond and Steve shifts his weight from foot awkwardly. "Brought you some pain meds..." He says, lifting up the small ziplock bag containing the orange pills.
Bucky looks up at him, then at the bag. "My back isn't hurting today." That's all he says.
"Well," He licks his bottom lip nervously and puts the small bag on the bedside table, "it's right here if you need it."
He nods his head.
Steve hesitantly sits down next to him as he finishes tying his shoes. Bucky admires how much he trusts him. Giving him pills, letting him be in a room by himself; if the roles were reversed he can't say he'd do the same. Steve does realize what he's done, right? He should be in a cell, not a furnished bedroom.
"Given any thought to Tony's offer?" He asks.
Bucky glances at his arm. After escaping he realized how much the weight of it strained his back, before then he'd been too busy with missions and the like to notice. "A little."
"And?"
He hesitates, "I want the prosthetic. I just don't the pain that comes with it."
Steve raises an eyebrow.
"You and Natasha had to hold me down when the memory of getting this one came back. I'm not sure if I want to go through that again." Bucky looks at the ground, "I'm sorry."
He'd had no idea how he ended up with the arm prior to that thanks to routine wipes of his memory over the last 80 years. After all, if they had let him remember about all of the bad things they did to him he would've tried to escape sooner.
Steve opens his mouth the say something then shuts it as he tries to figure out how to respond. Bucky looks almost embarrassed to him. "It-It's okay Buck. No need to apologize." He looks up at him. "When you want do have it done just tell me; if that's never then that's okay too." He licks his lip nervously, not sure if he said the right thing.
Bucky seems to think so and nods his head, "Thank you."
He stutters then decides to just not say anything.
The silence is awkward and uncomfortable for Steve. He wants to say something but it's as if he's forgotten how to speak. His friend however, seems to be more relaxed now then when Steve was talking to him.
There's a buzz from the intercom.
"Yes?" Steve says, still sitting on the bed.
"You boys better hurry up here before Sam eats your food." Says a female voice. There's a shout of protest behind her, probably from Sam, but it's playful. "I didn't know that being able to eat everything was a superpower of his." There's another shout, this time followed by laughter.
"Steve, I need you to save me from these people. They are harassing me!" Says Sam who's apparently taken over the intercom in the dining room.
"Don't worry, we'll be down in a minute." Steve chuckles.
Bucky stands up before he does and opens the door.
Steve gets up slowly and walks through the door way, his friend following close behind.
Once inside the elevator, Bucky presses himself into the corner.
Steve presses the button for the 19th floor, pretending not to notice as Bucky grabs onto the railing when they start to rise.
He doesn't seem too interested in what Steve's doing, instead watching the digital floor number rise, and he takes it as an opportunity to pull out his phone and text Natasha.
[8:10:15] STEVE: Bucky’s tense.
[8:10:17] NAT PHONE #1: any idea why?
[8:10:18] STEVE: Might’ve remembered something. Not really sure though.
[8:10:18] STEVE: The elevator isn't helping.
[8:10:19] NAT PHONE #1: ok
[8:10:20] NAT PHONE #1: I’ll talk to him
[8:10:20] NAT PHONE #1: ask him if he wants to take the stairs next time. it's a haul but if he hates the elevator this much...
He’s about to text back that she doesn’t need to, that they shouldn't push him to answer their questions, but there’s the familiar “ding” of the elevator as it stops and Bucky glances at him.
The doors open and he sweet scent of fruit and coffee flood the cramped box. Bucky's grip on the railing loosens and his noticeably relax. He always did have a thing for food.
"Well, look who finally arrived!" Sam says as he looks up from his plate. He lowers his voice so only Steve can hear it, "Your friends are crazy!" There's a fondness to his voice which makes Steve smile.
Natasha gestures towards two plates next to her, each with a stack of waffles and fruit on them, "These are yours. If they aren't enough for your super-soldier sized appetites we can make more."
Bucky quietly takes his seat next to her and Steve sits in the seat next to him, looking at Natasha out of the corner of his eye.
Bucky trusts her. Maybe even more than he trusts him, but Steve doesn't really care. He's just glad that he isn't the only one he trusts.
"Стив беспокоится о вас . (Steve is worried about you.)" She says after a minute.
Steve doesn't know what she said but whatever it was seems to grab Bucky's attention.
"Я в порядке. (I'm fine.)"
"Вы уверены, что? (Are you sure about that?)”
He doesn’t respond and instead takes a bite of a waffle.
She looks down at her phone for a moment but doesn't read any of the text, instead trying to keep Bucky from thinking that she's pressuring him for answers, which she technically is. "Как спалось? (How did you sleep?)"
He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes; he's already been asked that today. How did you sleep? How are you feeling? What do you remember? Can everyone just stop asking questions for once? He rarely knows how to answer them anyways. He takes another bite of his food as if she had never said anything.
Natasha looks at Steve and sighs, not wanting to push it and ruin the trust he’s put in her.
He nods. He didn't expect much anyways.
It's uncomfortably quiet for a minute and Bucky is noticeably tense, which changes the atmosphere of the room completely. The playful banter from the other end of the table has stopped. It's been replaced by held breaths and nervous glances. Even Steve has to admit that when Bucky becomes quiet he feels a bit uneasy.
Natasha doesn't seem too affected by his silence however, she even grabs a grape from the bowl beside her plate.
She's been watching Bucky since he first arrived. Studying him; analyzing him. Trying to find the weaknesses that many don't believe exist. But, if her calm demeanor means anything, she found some.
Clint glances at him every few seconds, one hand holding a fork and the other resting on his thigh where, unbeknownst to Bucky, he's hiding a small gun in case something happens. Clint's not used to a gun, he's only used one a few times before, but he can't be inconspicuous with a giant bow and arrow slung onto his back.
Sam pushes around a piece of melon with his fork.
"So," Steve says, wanting to break the silence before it suffocated him, "Has anyone seen Tony today?"
It isn't uncommon for Tony to skip out on breakfast but it was the first thing he could think of.
"He came out here a few minutes before you did and grabbed a waffle."
Steve looks around to see where the voice came from and spots Bruce leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee, "He left right after that."
"He just grabbed it with his bare hands." Clint says under his breath, looking at his own hand in disbelief, "He didn't even take a napkin or anything."
"Yeah," Sam nods, "'came out here looking like he was hit by a truck."
"More like 10 trucks." Bruce puts his coffee down, "I wonder what he's up too."
"Blowing up something probably." Says Clint.
Everyone laughs except for Bucky who, to Steve's dismay, just takes a bite of a melon piece.
"Steve," Sam says, glancing at Bucky, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He's smiling but Steve can see right through it.
He looks at Bucky, debating whether or not he should leave him alone with the others, but Natasha assures him with a nod that she'll look after him.
Steve gets up, prompting Bucky to look up at him curiously; he must've been too lost in thought to hear what Sam said.
"Don't worry, I'll be right back." Steve says almost apologetically, and Bucky turns back to his plate.
He follows Sam out into the hallways, going past what must've been 20 doors before Sam stops and turns to him.
"What the hell is going on?" He asks, one hand gesturing down the hallway towards the dining room and the other across his chest.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb, you know exactly what I'm talking about."
Steve leans against the wall and sighs, "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean he's not telling me anything."
Sam's quiet for a moment, thinking about something.
"Do you think he remembered something?" He asks. There's concern in Sam's voice, but Steve can't tell if it's for himself or Bucky.
"Yeah; probably," He rubs the bridge of his nose, "but whenever I ask he adverts the question."
“Maybe you should have Nat talk to him; let them bond over their traumas some more. She might be able to get him to open up to her about this type of stuff.”
“Already tried. She wasn’t able to get anything out of him. I’ll see if she can try again later though.”
“I could try to talk to him…” Sam pauses, thinking about what he just said, “But he doesn’t really like me."
“When he gets a bit better we’ll work on his relationship with you.” Steve laughs, but he’s completely serious. “I think he might feel guilty for ripping your wings off.”
“As he should be.” Sam says half-jokingly, following Steve back to the dining hall, “That was an expensive piece of equipment.”
Steve grabs his arm, then immediately lets go of it, "I might've already told you this, but thank you for trying to make him feel comfortable here despite what he did."
"Yeah, no problem man..." He rubs the spot where Steve had grabbed him, "Damn, you're strong."
"Sorry." He puts his hands in his pocket. Will he ever grow used to his strength? "I just needed to tell you before I forgot."
They start walking again and Steve freezes when he re-enters the room. Something has changed. His eyes dart around for a moment, trying to find the source of his unease, then he sees Bucky’s chair. It’s empty.
Despite that, everyone seems fine. It’s like they never even knew Bucky left, which strikes Steve as strange. People should be getting their gear on and Jarvis is supposed to lock the building down if Bucky makes a break for it.
Sam taps his shoulder and he almost punches him. He should know better than to touch him when he’s tense.
“No need to get all worked up,” Sam says, “He's right over there.”
Steve’s eyes follow to where Sam is pointing. It was the last thing he’d expect Bucky to be doing and yet there he was, his hands submerged in sudsy water as he tried his best to wash the dishes.
He lets out an embarrassed "Oh." He trusts Bucky, and yet whenever he isn’t in is direct view he gets scared that he’s run away. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s afraid deep down there’s a part of him that still doesn’t trust Bucky. But that’s ridiculous… right?
There are only two plates left on the table, Steve and Sam's, but all the cups have been left since the others are still taking sips off of them.
Sam sits down and pours himself another cup of juice from the jug on the table, passing it Steve afterwards so he can do the same.
He looks at his stack of waffles, the slice of butter he had put on them has long since melted into them, creating a soggy patch in the otherwise perfect waffles. Gross.
Glancing back at Bucky, whose hands are covered in water, he cuts into his waffles which are surprisingly warm despite being left out.
Natasha is still at the table, occasionally taking sips off of the strawberry smoothie she makes every morning and checking her phone.
"So, Mr. America, what are your plans for today?" She puts her phone down, the screen reads "Natasha Romanoff: Friend or Foe?" in bold letters at the top.
"I'm not really sure yet. I was going to take Bucky out into the city but I'm reconsidering it since he seems a bit..." Steve doesn't know what word to describe Bucky's mood today but Natasha nods her head in understanding.
"I'm taking Clint shooting today; you could come along." She says, "Don't tell Tony, but we're going to take one of his cars, probably the Maserati but if you come with I'll let you choose."
"That's a very generous offer, but..." He glanced over at Bucky who's started to stack the plates, his metal arm shining more than usual from the water that's still on it. Steve can't help but be concerned about it rusting despite Tony assuring him that that type of metal doesn't.
"He'll be fine for a few hours; Bruce, Sam, and Tony are all keeping a steady eye on him. Plus, it would be good for you to get out of the tower, you haven't left here at all for the last week and a half."
"I know but," he sighs, "I can't leave him... not again."
She puts a hand on his arm, "What happened to him wasn't your fault. You need to learn that."
She's been telling him that ever since Steve told about the man behind the mask of the Winter Soldier but he still doesn't believe it, he won't let himself believe it.
It is his fault. It is all his fault. He feels guilty for every drop of blood that Bucky's shed and every life he's ended. It could've all been prevented had he had reached a little farther; been a little stronger.
He's never ever going to let himself live this down; no matter how many times Natasha might tell him too.
"I know that." He lies, "I think I'm going to stay here. If I went I would just be worrying about him and I'd ruin the outing."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I'll make sure that Tony doesn't notice one of his cars are missing while you're gone. The last thing you need is to be chased down the highway by Iron-Man."
She laughs, "Well, if you ever want to go shooting just ask." Glancing over at Bucky she adds, "And when he's all better he can come too."
Steve can't help but feel a bit upset when she says that and she smiles sympathetically, they both know he won't be "all better" for a long time, if ever.
"I have a Netflix account you can use if you want." She glances at him, "Netflix is a-"
"I know what Netflix is." He's been here long enough to be able to understand this type of stuff, but everyone still feels the need to explain, just in case he forgot.
"I'm sure today's movies are a lot better than the ones you guys saw back in the 40's."
"Only the effects are better, the plots are the same." Maybe it would be good for Bucky to see a modern day movie, but he's afraid that he might see something that will trigger some not-so-pretty memories. "Any recommendations? Preferably something easy to process and doesn't have anything too-"
She cuts him off, "Got it. You should look into some children's movies. There's one called "Bambi" which is good." A pause, "You might want to skip the beginning though."
"I think we've might've already seen that one. It was released in 1942, right?" He swears he can remember seeing a movie with the same name. Bucky had taken a girl to see it for a date and Steve came along at his friend's request; Bucky never did like to leave him out of his sight.
She shrugs, "Not sure. Just browse through the movies and text me when you find one you like. If I've seen it before, I'll tell you if there are any parts you should skip, alright?"
"Good with me."
He hears a clatter behind him and he twists around so fast his torso hurts.
Bucky is fine, much to Steve's relief, and there's a plate on the ground. It's not broken, but with the way Bucky is staring at it it might as well be.
He looks around the table, all eyes are switching between looking at him and Bucky, waiting for him to do something.
He gets up slowly, leaving his half-eaten waffles behind, and makes his way towards his friend. "Buck?"
Silence.
Steve grabs the plate and puts it back onto the counter but Bucky's eyes don't move from where it used to be.
He says his name again and glances back at everyone. Bruce is still leaning against the wall having stopped mid-sip and Clint's hand hovers over where is gun is; ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.
He reaches his hand out towards him, stopping before it makes contact with his shoulder.
Is touching him really the best idea?
Steve inhales. It's not the best but it's the only one he has.
He puts his hand on his shoulder and feels Bucky jolt under his touch.
I'm a blur he shrugs off his hand and steps back, eyes as big as saucers.
"Wha-" He can't form the words and his chest rises and falls rapidly.
"Buck," Steve says. Panicked eyes meet his and stay like that for what seems like an eternity. He can practically see the damaged gears inside Bucky's head start turning again.
"Steve?" He says as his breathing slows to a somewhat normal speed.
"It's me." There's a sigh of relief from both of them, "Are you okay?"
Bucky hesitates before answering, "I think so..."
"Let me take you back up to your room, you should lay-"
"No!"
Steve is taken aback by the sudden hardness and demand in his voice. Bucky seems to notice it too.
"I'm fine. Really." He gives him a small smile but it doesn't ease Steve's worries. He's been around him long enough to know when he's forcing a smile. "I was putting the dishes away, right?" He asks, as if nothing happened.
Steve doesn't know what to do but nod his head.
"I'll go lay down when I finish with them." Bucky pauses and gestures towards Sam, "Are you and him done with your plates?"
Sam pushes his empty plate across the table so it's closer to Bucky, not wanting to cause any unnecessary problems. He starts to do the same with Steve's before he realizes it still has food on it.
"It's okay," Steve says, "I'm done." He's still hungry, but he doesn't feel like eating. Not right now.
Sam stacks the plates on top of each other and Bucky retrieves them silently.
Steve doesn't move as he starts to wash the two extra dishes, wondering why Bucky feels the need to hide his problems from them, from him. He does trust him, right? They haven't given him a reason not to; well, at least he doesn't think they have.
He sits back down next to Natasha and sighs as he rubs his temples. He can practically sense that a headache is coming.
Natasha pats his back, wordlessly trying to tell him that everything’s going to turn out okay in the end, but the message doesn't reach him. His head sinks.
No one says anything. The only sound he hears is the occasional screech of metal against glass.
"I'm going to use the restroom," he says getting up.
She gives him a sympathetic look but leaves him be; understanding what he’s really about to do. She can’t blame him; he’s under a lot of stress. If she was in his position she’d cry too, but she’s not. All she is is a witness to a man trying to fix his friend while unknowingly breaking himself in the process.
Plus, her affection doesn’t really extend to people who shoot at her; no matter the circumstances.