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The first thing Steve notices when he sees Bucky in that tiny apartment in Bucharest is how small he looks. He is positively swimming in his red Henley and black jeans, and his lopsided stance tells Steve that his right side is no longer heavy enough to balance the weight of his metal arm.
“Buck,” Steve chokes out. “What happened to you?”
Bucky curls in on himself self-consciously. “What do you mean?” he asks in a clipped tone.
“I – you’re just – so skinny.” Steve sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.
Bucky bristles. “I’m not. Whatever I am, I am not that.”
“Have you not been eating? Did you…did you forget how?” Steve asks cautiously, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“No!” Bucky snaps. “Of course not, Steve. I’m not stupid.”
Steve’s inner monologue sighs contentedly at the sound of his name on Bucky’s lips. “Then what?” he asks incredulously.
Bucky lets out an exasperated huff of breath. “I just don’t need to eat very much, ok?” Then, quieter, “I don’t deserve it.”
Steve chokes on a sob lodged in his throat and he stumbles forward, reaching out for Bucky.
“Don’t touch me!” screams Bucky, tripping backwards and crashing onto the mattress on the floor in his haste to escape Steve’s touch. He scoots back until he’s pressed against the wall, eyes wild and hair all over the place.
“Okay, okay,” Steve assures thickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “I won’t touch you. But please, Buck. Just tell me why you would think that.”
Bucky’s heart hammers against his bony chest and he struggles to take deep, calming breaths. “They never used to feed me,” he spits viciously. “They just jabbed a needle in my arm and called it good. Obviously killers don’t deserve to eat. They kept me fat enough to carry out their missions, but I bet if they could have, they would have let me starve.” Tears are running down Bucky’s cheeks now and he looks about ready to shake himself apart.
“Oh Buck,” Steve says softly, reaching out for Bucky again, this time going so far as to sit down next to him on the ratty old mattress and lay a warm palm on his skinny thigh.
Bucky hisses in pain but doesn’t shy away from Steve’s touch. He appears to be getting drowsy, resting his head against the wall behind them and allowing those blue blue eyes to slide shut.
“Bucky what’s wrong?” Steve asks in response to Bucky’s noise of discomfort. “Are you hurt?”
“Nah,” Bucky slurs sleepily. “’s just the cuts.”
Steve takes a moment to process what he just heard before his eyes widen in horror. “The – the what? Buck, please tell me you haven’t been cutting yourself.”
“’s not a big deal,” says Bucky nonchalantly, eyes still closed. “It’s not like I tried to kill myself. I’m fine. Besides, the serum heals them all so quickly that they never last more than a few hours.”
Steve chokes down a sob before saying thickly, “But why didn’t you? Try to kill yourself, I mean. You clearly don’t have much will to live.”
Bucky opens his blue blue eyes and stares directly at Steve, appearing slightly taken aback. “You,” he says simply. “You’re the only reason I haven’t tried to kill myself. I couldn’t bear to see you after the helicarriers, I was so disgusted with what I had done. So I went into hiding because I knew that if you cared about me half as much as I care about you, you would come looking for me. I might not remember much about the forties, but I do remember that we loved each over. And I still do. Love you.”
Bucky gazes at Steve with child-like hope.
Steve somehow manages to sigh through his tears and admit, “I love you too Bucky. Fuck, I love you so much.” And he leans into Bucky until their foreheads are pressed together and their lips are inches apart.
“Just kiss me already, punk.”
And Bucky is slamming their lips together – tears making the kiss salty and desperate. Steve pulls Bucky onto his lap and it is so easy because Bucky is so light that he cries even harder as he tangles his fingers in Bucky’s unwashed hair. “Buck,” Steve whines against his mouth. “Buck please.”
“What is it Stevie?” Bucky breaks away to look Steve in the eyes once more with those blue blue eyes.
Steve wipes impatiently at the moisture leaking from his eyes. “I can’t have you starving yourself. Or cutting yourself. Just because it heals doesn’t make it okay. I’ll get you help, I promise.”
“Help from who Steve?” Bucky spits, suddenly angry. “Who would want to help me? I have killed over two dozen people. Why would anyone want to help me? I bet they would all be better off if I just starved to dea-”
“Hey, hey, none of that,” Steve cuts him off, attempting to adopt a soothing tone of voice despite his distress regarding Bucky’s mental state. “None of that was your fault. I’ll ask Sam if he knows anyone at the VA who can help.”
“Sam?” Bucky questions, his eyebrows furrowing adorably. “Bird guy?”
“Yeah,” Steve says chuckling softly. “Bird guy.”
Bucky nods once as if this clears everything up and scoots down so that his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap. “Sleep now,” he mumbles.
“Now?” Steve frowns. “But it’s the middle of the day and Sam is waiting for us.”
Bucky huffs and pulls a blanket over the both of them. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly in over seventy years but you’re here now so I can and I’m damn well going to take advantage of it. We can see bird guy tomorrow.”
Steve’s heart throbs with the weight of what Bucky’s just said, but he stays silent. Instead opting to shimmy his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and open to his text conversation with Sam.
Steve: Found Bucky. Both of us safe.
Sam: How did it go?????
Steve: Pretty well considering. He’s asleep now. But Sam, he’s been starving and cutting himself. He told me he doesn’t deserve to eat. He’s so skinny that he can barely balance the weight of the metal arm.
Sam: Fuck. Do you think he’ll agree to come with us back to New York?
Steve: Yeah I think so. We’re going to need help though. I don’t think he’s eaten anything since he was under Hydra’s control. It’s probably mostly the serum that’s keeping him alive now.
Sam: Shit okay. I think I know a therapist that would be good for him if he agrees to go. In the meantime, we should just try to get him to eat at least a little. I’ll meet you guys at the airport at 1900. Make sure he’s disguised somewhat.
Steve: Roger.
Steve sets an alarm on his phone for 1700 and leans back against the wall to catch a few hours of shut-eye, his right hand lazily carding through Bucky’s hair.
-
When the alarm goes off Bucky is up like a shot, assuming a defensive stance at the foot of the mattress.
“Woah, Bucky, Bucky, it’s okay! It’s just my alarm! You’re okay. You’re fine,” Steve assures in as soothing a tone as he can manage.
“Right,” Bucky muttered. “Sorry.” The sudden way in which he had stood up had caused black spots to appear across Bucky’s vision, so he slowly lowers himself to the mattress, clutching his head.
“Are you alright?” asks Steve, concern evident in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah, totally. Just a bit dizzy is all.”
Steve frowns at him but reaches over to rub soothing circles into Bucky’s bony back. “Sam and I are headed back to New York tonight. I’d like for you to come with us. But only if you want to. Don’t be afraid to say no.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Of course I’ll come, idiot.”
Steve grins. “Good. Now, we need to get you into some sort of disguise. What do you usually wear when you go out?”
Bucky gestures to the large jacket folded up in the corner and the baseball cap sitting on top of it.
“Perfect,” Steve says. “You get dressed while I make sure our route is clear.”
“Steve wait,” Bucky says desperately as Steve goes to leave. “Don’t leave me alone, please. I’ll come with you.”
Steve’s eyes soften. “Okay, Buck. I’ll wait.”
Relieved, Bucky throws on the jacket that is absolutely enormous on him, and pulls the baseball cap low over his eyes. Then he grabs a backpack from beneath a broken floorboard and slings it over his shoulder.
-
Three blocks from the airport, black spots dance across Bucky’s vision, mocking him.
Two blocks from the airport, Bucky blacks out completely.
Steve catches him.
-
Bucky wakes up groggy and confused, a pinching sensation present in the underside of his elbow. An IV. Bucky begins to thrash around violently. He starts to sob as he tries to yank the needle from his arm only to realize that he is secured to the cot he is lying on.
Suddenly Steve’s face is hovering over him. “Bucky! Bucky! Shh, it’s okay. You’re fine, I’m here.”
“Where am I?” wails Bucky, trying desperately to free his arms from the restraints.
“You’re on a quinjet going to New York,” says Steve as he works to undo Bucky’s restraints. “Sam is flying it. You, me, and him are the only three people on board. I promise.”
“Steve, they fed me intravenously. I thought…” Bucky trails off, feeling foolish.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry Bucky. I should have known. I should have been here when you woke up. Sam said we needed to get some nutrients into you as soon as possible though, and this is the only way we could do it with you being unconscious. I couldn’t -” Steve drops his head onto Bucky’s arm. “I couldn’t let you die again on my watch.”
Bucky lifts a stick-thin arm to card through Steve’s hair. “It’s okay now Stevie. I’m not going anywhere.”
-
The second time Bucky wakes up he’s in a room in the Avengers Tower.
“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes. Shall I let Captain Rogers know you are awake?”
Startled, Bucky sits up and glances around frantically for a body to attach the voice to. “Who are you? Show yourself.”
“Forgive me, Sergeant Barnes, but I do not have a self to show. My name is Jarvis. I am Mr. Stark’s artificially intelligent computer.” Jarvis pauses as if to allow Bucky time to process this new information, then repeats his previous question. “Shall I let Captain Rogers know you are awake?”
Bucky frowns. Tony Stark. Iron Man. Works with Captain America. That’s Steve. Steve is Captain America. “Um, sure. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky takes this opportunity to observe his surroundings. He’s sitting in the middle of an enormous bed covered in what looks to be quite expensive sheets and blankets. There are some clothes hung neatly in the open closet and Steve’s shield is propped up in the corner but other than that the room looks virtually unlived in. Steve’s room, Bucky reminds himself. This is Steve’s room. And this is Steve’s bed. Bucky barely has time to blush at that thought before Steve himself is throwing open the door and striding towards Bucky, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He leans forward hesitantly and gently presses his lips to the skin above Bucky’s left eyebrow.
“Buck,” Steve begins softly. “How are you feeling?” A melancholy smile flits across his lips.
Bucky squirms uncomfortably, not used to being the object of Steve’s concern. It had always been the other way around, before the war. And after? Well. Bucky hadn’t really been the object of anyone’s concern, much less Steve’s.
“I’m okay,” Bucky replies, matching the soft tone of Steve’s voice. “Not really used to people worrying about me.” The other things Bucky wasn’t used to remained unvoiced and hanging suspended in the stagnant air between them. Not used to people caring. Not used to eating. Not used to going a day without cutting himself open. Not used to warm beds and expensive sheets. Not used to artificially intelligent computers. Not used to soft forehead kisses. Not used to Steve. Not used to love.
Steve sits down on the edge of the oversized bed and strokes a thumb along Bucky’s protruding cheekbone. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We could always go stay at Sam’s if you want to get away from the craziness of the tower, it’s entirely up to you. And uh,” Steve coughs awkwardly. “We can get our own place, too, after you’ve healed up a bit. Maybe in Brooklyn? Only if you want to, though. Again, entirely up to you.”
Bucky feels a blush creeping up his neck at the thought of Steve actually wanting to live with him on a permanent basis. “Is this your way of asking me to move in with you, Rogers?” He lets a small smirk leak onto his face, a shadow of what it used to be.
Steve blushes furiously and rakes a hand through his short blond hair. “Only if you want to. I’d completely understand if you’d prefer to live by yourself or here at the -”
Bucky cuts him off. “Stevie, you are so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that right? I have been yours since I first saw your punk ass getting beaten to a pulp in that back alley in Brooklyn, and I’ll be yours until I die for real. Hell, I bet I’ll be yours well into the afterlife, and throughout whatever comes after that. I am so deeply sorry that we were separated for so long, but I promise that I will be by your side for as long as you want me. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line pal, you know that.”
Steve groans. “Fuck, I love you.”
And then Bucky is being gently but firmly pressed into the mattress beneath him, as Steve straddles Bucky’s skinny hips and uses his right hand to cup the back of Bucky’s neck and pull him up to meet Steve’s lips.
Steve is in the process of sucking bites into the skin of Bucky’s neck when the crisp voice of Jarvis brakes through the relative silence.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers, but Mr. Wilson has just arrived. He is on his way up to your floor now.”
“Shit,” Steve curses. “I lost track of time. Thanks for the heads up, Jarvis.”
“Anytime, Captain Rogers.”
Steve must have sensed (or felt) Bucky’s sudden spike in heart rate, because he turns back to him and says, “Sorry, darling. I forgot to mention that Sam was coming for dinner.”
At the mention of ‘dinner’ Bucky’s heart rate picks up even more. “I thought you guys had been feeding me through the IV,” he asks warily, the tone of his voice just a touch bitter.
Steve flashes him a sympathetic look. “We have been, Buck. But you still need to eat solid food. Plus, we stopped feeding you when we landed in New York, and that was almost five hours ago. If you won’t eat for yourself, at least do it for me. You need to get your strength back; I don’t know if I could handle you passing out again.”
Bucky eyes him warily, but grudgingly agrees to eat dinner with Steve and Sam. It ends up not being as bad as he had anticipated. Steve and Sam talk nonstop for nearly the entire meal, occasionally pausing to ask Bucky what he thinks about a certain topic, or “Bucky, just a few more bites, please. I know you can do it.” It’s a bit patronizing but Bucky reluctantly admits to himself that it might be exactly what he needs. Steve and Sam are nothing but sweet and soft and encouraging, and Bucky feels as though he might cry or swell up and burst from all the affection he’s absorbing.
After a while they say goodnight to Sam and retreat to Steve’s rooms. Steve helps Bucky shower, which isn’t strictly necessary but makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside all the same, and afterwards they both climb into the ridiculously large bed to sleep. Steve puts on some overly dramatic reality television show about girls picking out their wedding dresses, and Bucky snuggles down to pillow his head on Steve’s chest, feeling warmer and safer than he has in a long, long while.
It isn’t until Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for Steve (he was in the bathroom) that Bucky realizes he hasn’t had the urge to cut himself even once since leaving Bucharest.
-
The weeks that follow are filled with three balanced meals a day and therapy sessions with Dr. Thomas, whom Bucky reluctantly finds himself liking. The sessions uncover lots of things about Bucky, some obvious (starving and self-harm were his ways of coping with the PTSD that came with years of torture) and some less so (Bucky is less likely to engage in ‘destructive behavior’ and more likely to talk through his emotions when Steve is around). Dr. Thomas helps Bucky to accept Steve’s love despite the fact that he might not understand where it’s coming from, and to not freak the fuck out when some of the other Avengers attempt to befriend him.
Bucky eats (he’s always uncomfortably full nowadays) and Steve helps him to ignore the burning desire to bring a blade to his skin as a result of this. It’s far from easy, but Bucky thinks he’s starting to feel less like a broken piece of machinery and more like a person. A person with flaws and deep-seated issues, but a person who is worthy of love and affection all the same.
Bucky is no longer the Winter Soldier, undeserving of all that is good in this world. He is someone who loves dogs and stargazing and science fiction. He is someone with friends and a boyfriend who all love him dearly. He has a place in this breathtakingly unpredictable world, and for the first time in over seventy years he wants that place.
He is thawing.