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Some days are better than others, but he still has dark days. There’s still a flash of something, a mission his mind quietly reminds him, that had been wiped from his memory. There’s a diplomat, a family— people he had been ordered to destroy. Those days, after furiously scribbling down everything in one of his now dozens of notebooks, he withdraws further into himself and seeks out solace in the spare bedroom. Steve knows not to bother him there, at least not for a few hours. Sam had made the mistake of bursting in once, only to be pinned face first against the wall with Bucky heaving behind him. On those days when he’s wallowing in the memories, it takes him a few moments to remember where he is, who he is. That he’s no longer on the run by himself, waiting for fate to catch up with him and bring him back under Hydra’s thumb. That he’s no longer alone in the world.
Sam had received a bag of plums and a bare bones apology. Bucky still had trouble with words, with being comfortable voicing his thoughts. Sometimes he still felt the sting of electricity lighting up his veins, the phantom sting of a blade that encouraged him to be silent and comply. Always comply.
Somedays, he felt that the darkness that had become a cloud around his heart got bigger, that it encompassed everything in his life. Sometimes it felt cloying, suffocating. That was when he felt the thrum in his veins, the urge to run run run. Those days, even if he was hiding in the apartment, he had to remind himself that he was safe, that he was here with friends. That most of the people who had turned him into the Winter Soldier were gone. But there was always the whisper in the back of his mind that cruelly reminded him that if they just uttered those words, that he would comply. That he would be rendered to have no choice.
That scared the ever living shit out of him. He never wanted to have to be that person— no, that thing ever again.
But, then there was Steve. Steve who could always coax him out of these moods, remind him of the good old days with a cup of hot cocoa with a dash of cinnamon (made on the stove, not in the microwave. No matter what anyone said, it did not taste the same). Even with the brainwashing, part of him still knew Steve. Jesus, was Bucky glad for that. Not even Hydra could completely erase every last part of him. Even if he couldn’t come back to himself right away, even if he would never completely be his old self, he still had Steve. And for some fucking reason, Steve would lay down everything for him. Idiot. That was why he loved him. Part of why, anyway.
Today, well, today was a particularly bad day. A car outside backfired spectacularly and Bucky instantly went on high alert.
And that’s how Steve found him, crouched in the corner by the window, metal arm twitching to punch through something. He had thought the worst for hours, adrenaline pumping through his veins waiting for them to break down the doors, crash through the windows and attempt to take him in again. He would fight to the death before he allowed himself to get taken again. Not after all he had gained, all the memories that had resurfaced.
“Buck?” Steve called out quietly as he closed the door behind him, placing the two paper bags down beside the door. He gave the room a cursory glance before walking over toward Bucky, his hands splayed out before him in a seemingly non-threatening way. “You’re okay, Buck.”
Bucky closed his eyes and let the words wash over him, trying to calm himself down. This was why Steve should have taken Pepper up on the offer to soundproof the apartment, Steve thought that he should assimilate to the sounds of life not seclude himself from it. He knew Steve made sense, he knew that if he ever wanted to get back to whatever form of normal he could obtain, that he couldn’t just lock himself away. But, still, in these moments, he found it hard to really give a shit about that.
He hadn’t realized Steve had crouched down in front of him until he felt a hand rest against his cheek, another gently coming to rest upon his chest above his heart. Bucky turned his face into the hand, soaking in the warmth that it offered him. Even though he had not been put under in over two years he still felt a cold set deep in his bones that he could never really shake. Somedays he wore extra wool socks and two sweaters, hardly feeling like he could rid himself of the chill. “Stevie.”
“I know this is a stupid question,” The blonde said quietly as his thumb caressed his cheek, barely brushing against the corner of his lips, “Everything okay?”
Bucky wanted to laugh, to say ‘No Steve, it’s not alright if you find your best friend and a formerly brainwashed assassin crouched in a corner of the apartment that you currently share.’ But… He knew that was unfair. Steve had been walking on eggshells around him whenever he seemed to slip into these moments. He didn’t deserve the kindness from Steve after everything; hell, he had even tried to kill him a couple times. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment, didn’t trust himself to attempt to deflect. Instead, he settled for a nod, opening his eyes to settle on the man before him, gaze tracking the lines of his face that softened in concern.
There was a pause, Steve shifting his weight to sit down cross legged on the floor, not once removing his hands from Bucky. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right? You—” He drew in a deep breath, eyes closing for a brief moment as he shook his head before his blue eyes gazed back into Bucky’s and a small smile graced his lips. “You’re safe now. You’re safe here.”
Objectively, yes, he knew that at least Steve believed he was safe. That didn’t mean that there wound’t be some Hydra nut job that might come across any old data and think that it was a good idea to try and get the Winter Soldier under their command. Hell, or even someone who might have figured out that it was Bucky who took out a loved one came looking for revenge. Steve couldn’t protect him from all of that. Not from every possible variable that could resurface at any given time. They were still on rocky terrain with a number of the Avengers, that was a very small group that was split, let alone the entire population.
“Hell,” Steve continued, his hand sliding back to tangle in Bucky’s hair nails scratching against his scalp comfortingly. “You damn well know that if it wasn’t, I’d sure as heck take a bullet for you. I’m with you Buck.”
“’Til the end of the line,” He murmured, feeling some of the muscles in his back relax, the stress of the previous hours draining from him. Bucky pursed his lips, not readily able to let the dark cloud of the bad mood leave him quite yet. Even with his…advancements, he didn’t want Steve to be hurt because of him. Sure, in the war they had each other’s backs, Bucky nearly died working with the Howling Commandos. But, if everything caught up with him, he didn’t want Steve to lay down his life for him. Not like that. The world needed Steve Rogers in it; it would be less without him. Fuck. Bucky was glad that he didn’t really have to attempt to wrap his world perception around that reality. Steve had been his best friend growing up, and that grew into more, more complicated feelings that they had been exploring over the past two years. It was more than Bucky thought he deserved and yet here it was. With Steve offering to step in the line of fire for him yet again.
“Yeah, I know, But,” Bucky swallowed audibly, barely controlling the grimace that contorted his features. “In our experience, sometimes the person you're taking the bullet for is behind the trigger.”
He knew, he knew this was old news. Water under the bridge. They had talked in length over this, dissuading the guilt, the harsh truths that couldn’t be left unspoken if they were ever to come to terms with each other and the lives that had taken place when they had been apart and then came back with a class of violence. Bucky wasn’t sure if he would ever really forgive himself for nearly killing Steve. Even though, when it mattered the most, he dragged him from that river without fully knowing why. Just the instinct that he couldn’t leave him to die in that river. That he had to save him. Those words that Steve uttered to him while he was bruised, beaten and broken. That he would not leave him.
“Buck,” Steve sounded pained, the hand that previously rested against his chest moved to tilt Bucky’s face toward him so he couldn’t look away. “We talked about this. You know that wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. The things that they made you do—“
Before he knew it, a harsh laugh bubbled out from his lips and it sounded a touch hysterical even to his own ears. “ Their blood is still on my hands, no matter who pulled the strings.”
Steve leaned forward until his forehead rested against his own. They stayed there for a moment, breathing in each others air. Bucky thought that this argument was old, but there were constant reminders (for instance, Tony) who would still blame him for what happened despite everything. “You weren’t you. I need you to hear me every single time I say it, and I will say it until you get it through that thick skull of yours, you weren’t you when you did any of that. When you shot me or when we fought. The things they made you do… Christ, making you forget yourself time and time again…I need to to remember. That guilt should be reserved to anyone who used you for their own agenda.”
He leaned forward a pressed a chaste kiss on Steve’s lips, “I did miss missing you. Even if I didn’t know it.” Bucky reached out a hand and placed it on the top of the other man’s thigh, grounding him in the way that Steve’s presence always did. Even if they were already touching, Bucky sometimes had to confirm that he was real with touching the man with his own flesh and blood hand. He cleared his throat, broaching a topic that he hadn’t really strayed upon before. Bucky knew that he had to try to keep opening up to Steve, to regain those pieces of himself that had previously caused the distance between them. “The first couple of months, it didn’t stick. I still remembered. Everything at first, but with each experiment, it became only bits and pieces… But I held onto them. I thought that they’d never figure it out, I hoped they wouldn’t. I couldn’t forget my family, you—“
Steve pressed a hand to his lips, stopping the surge of words that were still threatening to spill. “When it mattered, you remembered. you came back to me. that’s what matters.”