Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

These days, things were… They were good. Great, actually! They hadn’t been, in the beginning… No, not in the early days. Those had been… difficult.

It took a while for Bucky to come back – even when Steve had his physical body in view.

The man sitting on the other side of the one-way mirror had an empty gaze, looking at nothing in particular. He didn’t mind the shaggy hair in his eyes, the enhanced cuffs binding his hands like a criminal. He just sat there, passively waiting in a frail plastic chair.

“This might not be the man you remember, Captain.” Fury, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looked at him. “He might be gone for good.”

Steve schooled his face. Made it impassive. “That’s no reason to treat him like a criminal.”

“He’s killed a lot of people, Cap.”

“Has he seen a medic yet?”

“Wouldn’t trust anyone near him.”

Steve grinded his teeth. “Has he been offered food? Water? A change of clothes?”

Bucky had been stripped of the tactical gear he’d been wearing when taken in, his body vetted for weapons. Tony had put a magnet-thingie on his arm. It had killed it instantly, making Bucky stagger with the new deadweight on his left.

He was sitting in his thinnest layers, black fabric to keep his gear from chafing. Was he cold? He didn’t look cold. But to be honest, he barely looked alive.

He only moved when his left shoulder flinched. Phantom pains, perhaps…

“This ain’t no hotel,” Fury said.

Steve glared at him. “He’s a human, isn’t he?”

The scoff of the director made him itch for a punch. “Depends on who you’re asking.”

Steve took a deep breath before opening the door, making sure not to look until he’d sat down and centered himself. He’d tried to move as gently as possible, projecting calm and safe.

They’d been at this for hours. If Bucky wanted a break, he’d have to show a little progress.

Or severe distress.

Steve would prefer the former. He was the third person sitting here, asking questions. Bucky deserved a break…

“Do you know who I am?” He tried not to choke up when he finally raised his gaze. Those empty, grey eyes didn’t even look at him. Just at something a little to the side of his arm.

“Affirmative,” a rusty voice he hardly recognized said. “Rogers, Steven Grant. Codename: Captain America. Born 1918 in Brooklyn, New York.”

He took a deep breath, then almost choked on the smell. When’d Bucky last had a shower? The longer Steve looked at him, the more a gnawing feeling told him this was nothing better than where Bucky’d been before being “rescued”… “How do you know me?”

“I was sent to eliminate you. I failed.”

“So what happens now?”

“I get punished.”

Steve leaned back, slowly. “You won’t get punished.”

If he’d thought Bucky would react, he would be disappointed. The man just blinked slowly, once. “Noted.”

“Do you know your name?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but let it hang. The first sign of emotion showed on his face, a vague confusion in the wrinkle of his brow. “I…” His eyes grew distant, foggy. He was swaying, just a little – Steve imagined he could only see it because of their close proximity.

His flesh shoulder flinched, and he blinked himself back to the room. As much back as he could. “I don’t have a name.”

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said calmly. “Your friends call you Bucky.”

Bucky’s shoulder jumped again. “Understood. Codename: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes.”

Steve shook his head. “No, Bucky… That’s your real name. Not a codename.”

His head shook – a small tremor. “Assets don’t have names.” His shoulder spasmed.

“You’re more than an asset.” Steve offered him a quiet smile. “I’m here to help. To the end of the line, alright pal? Even if you don’t remember.” He reached out and let their fingertips touch, the faintest connection of flesh against flesh.

Bucky started shaking. A word escaped him, choked out and hoarse: “Stevie?”

Steve straightened as the other man’s breathing turned shallow. His eyes lit up, fear and panic flaring, before they rolled back into his head. When he collapsed, his hands were still bound, keeping him to the table.

“Help!” Steve yelled, banging on the window before getting to Bucky’s side. “Call for a medic! Now!”

He watched the medic rush in and push him aside. He heard yelling, words he didn’t understand, saw equipment whose purpose he didn’t know. Sam pulled him to the wall when a gurney was brought in. Bucky was taken away.

Steve followed him.

Hours later, he looked through the observation window into the cell. Because it wasn’t more than that. A white, sterile room with medical equipment beeping all around a lifeless body, no windows or other exits than a thick metal door.

 A seizure, they’d called it. And Steve wanted to argue.

Bucky was healthy. Healthy people didn’t have seizures.

But they did. And Bucky wasn’t healthy.

Bucky was young. Young people didn’t have seizures.

But they did. And Bucky wasn’t young.

“You okay?” Natasha asked and bumped his shoulder with hers, offering him a cup of coffee.

He didn’t take it. “Not really.”

She nodded towards the man resting on the cot. He’d been out since the interrogation room. He hadn’t woken up when the medics had hooked him up to stuff, moved him around. His eyes had been open. But he hadn’t been present. “He’s not your old pal. You need to understand that.”

“He called me Stevie.”

“He tried to choke a doctor.”

“Can you blame him?”

They’d finally gotten the report of everything in his system – or, what was left of it in his bloodstream. Methamphetamine, anti-convulsants, which had, clearly, been dissolved to almost nothing, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants of an ungodly strength, and blood thinner were among the worst offenders. The latter had been the culprit of his recent episode: His blood had been thickening too quickly, his body not able to keep up, even with his serum.

There’d be complications. He’d have to stay in the observation suite, kept on a low dose of sedatives so the withdrawals would be somewhat bearable. But he’d be loopy. No interrogation for the foreseeable future.

Steve was sitting next to Bucky’s bed. Bucky was awake – or, his eyes were open. The machines said he was awake. But he just stared at the ceiling.

The observation window was tinted on this side, but Steve still glanced towards it. No one knew… No one could know… But Bucky needed some comfort. Needed to know he were there…

Slowly, he turned his back on the window and let his hand find Bucky’s. “I –“

He’d barely touched him before Bucky flinched and threw himself off the bed. The machines went haywire, chords and drops dragged along with him as he crawled to a corner and honest to God growled at Steve, teeth bared and everything.

Steve crouched down low, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm. “It’s alright, bud. You don’t have to worry, I – I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.”

If Bucky had bristles, they’d be raised. The skin pulled around his eyes, an animalistic snarl seeping from his throat. When Steve tried to come closer, he bit out.

The room hummed. Bucky yelped when the magnetism kicked in and his limp arm was forcefully glued to the wall. The door flung open, and before Steve could say anything, he was being pulled out, and doctors were rushing in, greeting the frightened man on the ground.

“No!” he screamed at them. “Leave him alone, I scared him! It wasn’t his fault, let me –“

“Not now, Steve!” It was Sam. Dragging him out, literally benching him outside the room. “Take a breather. Drink some water. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Chapter Text

Tony wasn’t exactly a fan of the whole ordeal. But that was just who he was: A nice guy. He was such a nice guy that he was totally cool playing host for the Winter Solider. The man who’d murdered his parents. He had it on tape – neat, right?

He was just a swell guy.

It had taken him a little while to gather his courage and go see the guy, but he was here now, so it was all good! This was normal!

“I don’t see why he can’t have a more comfortable suite!”

Rogers, as always, had decided to be thick-headed and not see how gracious Tony was being. He was flailing his arms around like a kid. Tony tried to look casual, which he usually excelled at. It was a little difficult with beforementioned murderer on the other side of an observation window.

This was so totally normal.

“The scans showed a pump in his arm,” Tony sneered. “If his pulse gets too low, he gets a shot of meth, if it gets too high, he gets a sedative. Can’t exactly set him up at the Ritz.”

“Okay, but then…” Rogers’ puppy-doge yes might’ve worked on others, but right now, Tony was about ready to throw a good ol’ class A-billionaire tantrum. “Can we at least get the arm off? Get him comfortable?”

“Oh!” Tony straightened. “Oh, yes, of course! Let’s get him some throw pillows – and how ‘bout this, I’ll knit him a blanket before I remove the cybernetic arm attached to his bones?”

“Tony…”

“No, yeah, it’s a great idea! We set him up with a mini-fridge, chocolate milk, mini-hotdogs, maybe some froyo. That sound good, Rogers?”

Rogers’ lips were a thin line, and Tony would really like to smack him. He had people for that. But those people were usually the man currently on the receiving end of the smacking-desire, so…

“You’re being an asshole,” Rogers finally said.

He was being an asshole?!

Tony stepped up, ignoring the obvious height difference, and sneered in his face: “He murdered my parents. Forgive me for being sour.” With a sniff, he stepped back. “At least I’m here.”

“Not sure it’s helping.”

The two glared at each other. There were other people in the observation room, Dr. Cho, Bruce, Clint. The air was tense, but Tony’d be damned if he took a bow first. He was being a pretty great guy, actually!

“It wasn’t him,” Rogers said.

Tony scoffed and crossed his arms, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. “It was him, Steve. His hands. His body.”

Clint piped up, not even looking away from the chart he was going through: “Not his mind, Tony.”

Tony tried not to visibly cringe. He had an image to uphold. But he wasn’t as oblivious as some people may’ve thought. He’d reinforced the vents when Clint had started going there for comfort after Loki’d messed with his head. He’d walked in on Nat comforting him in the common room, in the middle of the night, in the throes of a panic attack Tony himself had lived through so many times…

He didn’t answer, and Clint didn’t say more. So Tony just turned his back on Rogers and looked through the observation window, letting the Captain speak with Dr. Cho.

Tony looked at the man through the one-way window – the monster who’d killed his parents. He was sitting there, on the bed. Empty eyes were locked on nothing, greasy hair falling in strands over his face.

And as if he could see Tony on the other side, their eyes locked.

Sudden rage welled up in the engineer. No remorse. No regret. He hadn’t shown any of it, and here was Tony, giving him access to all the help in the world in the hopes that it would make him better, as if that was ever be possible!

After casting a quick look around, making sure no one could stop him, he ripped open the door and locked it behind him.

The soldier’ head whipped up to look at him, eyes wide and body open, unguarded.

Good.

“Hi.” The voice was small, inquisitive. Hoarse.

That manipulative son of a bitch!

With heavy footsteps, ignoring the pounding on the door behind him, he stalked towards the man. “I'm going to fucking kill you!”

The wide eyes turned fearful. The body tensed – but instead of fighting, defending himself, killing Tony, which he was more than capable of, he scurried backwards, fell onto the floor and backed into a corner, working arm thrown over his head.

“‘owwee!” he howled, hiding beneath his arm. The metal one was hanging limply at his side. Didn’t stop him from trying to use it. The shrillness of his voice made Tony stop in his tracks, staring at the pathetic display. “P-p-p’se don’!” He was trembling. “Be good! Be nice! Me! ‘s-o-owee!”

The tension in Tony’s body finally broke when he noticed the dark patch growing on the inseams of the man’s pants.

This… this pathetic creature…

Tony clenched his jaw.

He looked so much like he had. When he’d finally come home. Scared. Shaking.

Though Tony’d never pissed himself.

How used to abuse was he, that he didn’t even try to fight a man in a suit? Tony was unarmed. Barnes could snap him in two without breaking a sweat, why didn’t he –

A dull THUNK woke him from his train of thoughts.

Barnes was still shaking, covering most of his head, save for the place he’d hit against the wall.

“’m ‘owee,” he gasped.

THUNK.

“’m ‘owee.”

THUNK.

It was getting harder. A drop of blood ran down his forehead and got caught in his eyebrow.

“Sir.” Jarvis’ voice came through the intercom. Barnes whined and curled up tighter. The hits were getting faster, but less forceful. Tony was frozen in place. “Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner are trying to enter to aid Sergeant Barnes. He’s showing a lot of distress –“

No shit, Sherlock. “Yeah, uh.” He huffed, shaking his head and turning away from the smelly, sobbing mess in front of him. “Let them in.”

Dr. Cho and Banner rushed past him as Tony made his way out of the holding cell. Once on the other side, he slammed the door and walked directly to Rogers, who looked about ready to blow. Before the man could say anything, Tony whipped out his cell. “I’m sending you the number for my old therapist. Dr. Greene has experience with abnormal psychology and POWs. She helped me after I… got home.”

“Tony,” Steve breathed. “Thank you so –“

“No. Nuh-uh.” Tony sent off the contact information and looked at the blonde man, eyes narrow and face hard. “You better make him better. Because when he’s tried, I don’t want to be known as the billionaire who sentenced a mentally ill prisoner of war to the death penalty. And I will. But you make him better first so I can look him in the eyes and see the monster he is when I do it!”

He was in a – shower. It was a shower. A stall. Cage. Not cage. Shower.

He was in a shower stall.

Man. Yellow hair. Nice smile. ‘til the end of the line. Smells… upset. Sweat.

“We know him.”

Who said that?! Not yellow-hair man, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Woah, --, it’s alright, easy… We need to get – cleaned –“

Cleanup. He did cleanup. Gun, cocked, aim, shoot, dead, no loose ends, good job soldier, blood, good job. The walls were melting.

No, wet.

He tilted his head, trying to follow the drops.

Almost tilted over.

Fell.

Hands, on him, caught him, scream, run, go away –

“Hey, no, --, sor-, I’m -ry, I’ll, I’ll ask -- I touch --?” No no no no no no no don’t touch please please don’t don’t –

Water. Wet. Screams. His. Tears. Don’t cry. Brace for punishment. No punishment. Self-inflict. Hit, one, yes, good, two, good, thr- no, someone stopped, why, not good, why?

“Pl- don’t hurt -self.”

Words, no sense. Cold. Wet. Sticky.

Shut up.

Bite.

Kill.

Fight.

Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry.

Shut up!

Scream.

Bite. Bite.

Fight.

Bite. Bite.

Cry cry cry st- cry cry cry st- cry -v- cry cry -tev cry cry cry cry

Scream. Who screamed? He screamed. Don’t scream, keep screaming, assets don’t, don’t feel, don’t scream, don’t cry, hurt, no pain, don’t feel, orders, follow orders, good asset, not broken, whole, operational, listen, obey –

Cry. Cry. Cry.

Steve was still shaking. It’d been almost an hour since he’d helped Bucky shower. It’d been a disaster. The crying, the absolute frightened crying. He’d lashed out, and when he’d hit Steve, he tried to bash his head in against the wall.

Again.

He’d been talking to himself, slurred at incomprehensible.

Something cold against his shoulder broke him out of his stupor. “You okay?” Sam asked, handing him a soda.

Steve gulped. “Not really.”

Since the first episode about a week ago, Jarvis had caught 12 seizures. Only one had required medical attention, but 12 were 13 too many.

Taking the seat next to him, Sam sighed. They were in the room connected to Bucky’s holding cell slash recovery room, on a bench from which they could keep an eye on him. “Being here probably isn’t helping.”

“I have to be here,” Steve whispered.

Sam nodded. “I know…” He placed a hand on Steve’s neck. “You’re doing the best you can, Steve…”

“It’s not enough…” His eyes felt heavy when he watched Bucky move for the first time since they came back from the shower he’d been permitted to escort him to. He raised his hand, his flesh hand, held it in front of his face – and burst out in tears. His head wound had been cleaned. Jarvis was monitoring his healing factor. “It’ll never be enough.”

“These things take time. The body remembers pain.”

“He was cowering in fear, Sam…” Steve leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “In the showers. He acted as if I was gonna hurt him…”

“It’s probably all he’s known for a really long time…” Sam shook him gentlt. “One day at the time, Steve. That’s all we can do…”

Taking a deep breath, Steve tried to steady himself. On the other side of the glass, Bucky was rocking back and forth. He’d stopped crying. His lips were moving.

“I can’t lose him.” His voice broke, and he hid his face again. “Sam… I can’t lose him again.”

“I know, Steve. It’ll be alright. He’ll make it through.”

Would he?

A heaviness had taken root in Steve’s chest. Encasing his heart, the inverse of a pearl around a grain of sand.

Sam didn’t know. He didn’t know half of it – no one did. It was one of the first things Steve had checked when he’d woken up. History books, internet, museums.

No one knew.

No one knew how here, in an observation room in the 21^st century, Steve Rogers’ heart wept in pain.

Chapter Text

After Bucky had tried to, first flee, then attack him, Steve’s visits became supervised. He would sit and read to Bucky while a soft magnetism held him in place. Steve hated it. Bucky would whine and claw at the arm, try to pull away, cry when he couldn’t, and all in all being so far gone he couldn’t listen to a word Steve was saying.

The only upside was that, while fighting the pull on the arm, Bucky didn’t seem to notice how the withdrawals affected him. At least not while Steve was there… He sweated through his shirts, swayed on his bed, smacked his lips and looked longingly at the water he was free to drink but never reached for without encouragement, and shook all over. But he didn’t complain. Didn’t comment.

Actually, he barely said a word.

“He’s dealing with aphasia,” Bruce said one day, after Steve’d gone to the Tower’s cafeteria to get some lunch for them.

A kernel of dread lodged in the pit of his belly. “A-what?”

“Aphasia.” Bruce smiled that smile that meant nothing was really wrong, just a little wrong. It wasn’t very reassuring. A lot was wrong at the moment… But Bruce looked worse for wear. Steve wasn’t sure how much he’d slept since taking on Bucky. He’d been in the same room as the scientist when they’d read the Hydra-files on the Winter Soldier, and Bruce’d seemed a little green around the gills – quite literally. “It’s an impairment to the brain – it affects his ability to comprehend language, talking and understanding and that.”

“So he…” Steve shook his head. “He can talk, but he can’t talk?”

“He can talk,” Bruce said, ever patient. “But not the way you’d expect. It explains why he hasn’t been answering questions or reacting to what’s being said around him.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Just keep it to short, direct sentences. Not too many questions.”

Steve took a breath and steadied himself, shoulders sagging. “Thank you, Bruce. You’ve been more of a help than I’ve given you credit for.”

Bruce chuckled weakly. “Just doing my job…”

“But you’re not. This isn’t your job, and that, that’s why I’m grateful.” Steve swallowed around everything that had lumped in his throat. “Thank you.”

Bruce looked incongruously at him before smiling and bowing his head. “Short sentences. Keep it clear. Not too many or too hard questions.”

“Can we turn off the magnetism?”

Bruce shook his head. “Sorry Steve. Not until he’s either completely drug-free or Tony figures out a way of removing the arm.”

Steve laughed, but it held no humor. “You think Buck’d let us remove it, even if Stark found a way?”

“It’s not just for our safety,” Bruce reminded him. “Dr. Cho and the other doctors that are helping aren’t enhanced. And he is potentially dangerous.”

The potentially was very important.

That’s how the weeks went on. Pepper and Natasha were dealing with the press and the world governments demanding Bucky being passed on to them, while Steve observed the baby-steps towards healing.

When Bucky’s withdrawals started dialing down, a previous army therapist was vetted by Shield and sent in with Steve as a guard, as Bucky seemed more comfortable with him around – not that Steve would know how Dr. Cho could tell.

Her hair was brown, but unnaturally so. She was probably in her 60s, dressed exactly as Steve would expect an army therapist to be dressed; dull greens and greys, with very little pattern and a conservative undertone. She’d greeted him as Captain Rogers, which he’d expected, but not enjoyed, and listened to Bruce’s instructions with a blank expression.

Now, she sat down in the chair Steve usually sat in, moved a bit further away from the bed, and pulled out a clipboard. She didn’t smile, and Bucky’s eyes flickered from her face to Steve’s. “So,” she started, clicking a pen. Bucky shrunk. “Sergeant Barnes… I am Doctor Raynor, I’ll be seeing you for the next few days to make sure you’re mentally stable enough to move around the premises.”

Bucky blinked and looked at Steve. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, the illness still coursing through him. This wasn’t the time, but Bruce had said his vitals were looking better, and Steve wanted him to get the help he needed as soon as he could.

But maybe this was pushing it?

“Are you willing to cooperate?” Dr. Raynor asked.

Bucky’s lips had cracked and bled from lack of hydration. He licked them and squinted at her, nodding slowly.

“Good…” She looked down at her papers. “Have you had any thoughts of violence recently?” He nodded. With a sigh she probably didn’t expect either of them to be able to hear, she scribbled something down. Bucky’s biological fingers started fidgeting with the sheet. “Please elaborate.”

Steve cleared his throat and leaned down a little. “Uh, Doctor Raynor… Bucky’s experiencing aphasia.” He was pretty sure that was the word Bruce’d used. “He’s not ready for long answers or questions yet. Maybe ask him if he’s wanted to act on the thoughts instead, or –“

“Thank you, Captain Rogers,” she said while studying the list in front of her, “but I am fully capable of getting the information I need.” She hummed. “Sergeant Barnes, whether or not you cooperate with me will determine a lot in your inevitable trial.” Bucky wasn’t looking at either of them anymore. His hand was clenched in the sheet, and he’d bowed forward a bit. “It could determine a lot in case of a potential pardon, and –“

“Okay, stop.” Steve straightened and put himself the two. “Dr. Raynor, I appreciate that you’re here, but this isn’t helping. He’s ill. Just ask your questions. Keep them short.”

She glared at him. “Captain Rogers –“

“Please listen to him, Dr. Raynor.” Bruce’s voice from the speakers made Bucky flinch and curl even tighter in on himself.

But it made the therapist sigh and lean back. “Alright… Captain Rogers.” She raised a brow and waited until he moved out of her line of sight. Looking at her board again, the annoyance was thick in her voice when she spoke: “Have you had any urges to hurt other people?”

Staring into the sheets, eyes wide and haunted, he nodded.

Dr. Raynor kept her eyes on the paper as she scratched down an X. “Have you had these urges within the past week?”

The muscles in Bucky’s face made an intricate dance. He started rocking back and forth, shaking and nodding his head.

“With all due respect,” which was very little by now, Steve thought, “Bucky has no way of knowing how long he’s been here.” She should know that. Jarvis told Bucky the time and date every time he woke up, but his mind was slipping, and Steve wouldn’t blame him for barely even hearing the AI.

“Captain Rogers, will you please just let me do your job?”

“If you’ll do it properly, yeah.”

She glared at him. “Do you regret your previous alignment with Hydra?”

Bucky whimpered. His free hand grabbed the back of his neck, and the shoulder with the metal arm flinched. The pumps in the arm were empty by now, according to Jarvis’ scans, so it must’ve been Bucky trying to raise it.

“Throwing a tantrum won’t help, Sergeant Barnes. Please answer the question.”

Tears were flowing now. Steve could hear the raspy gasps, see the lips move, trying to push out words, trying to understand, trying so desperately to cooperate, everything trapped in a head where nothing made sense.

And then: “Sh’up.”

Doctor Raynor looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Sh’up.” Bucky’s voice came out in a broken whisper. He closed his eyes and shook his head, a hiccup escaping. “Sh’up. Sh’up, sh’up, sh’up.”

“You will not speak to me like that, do you under-“

“I think that’s enough for today.”

“Captain Rogers, we’re not done –“

“Yes, we are.” Once again, he put himself between the two. “You’re causing him distress, and you’re not helping. This was too early, and you’re too hard on him.” He nodded towards the door. “Please leave, so I can make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or think we’re trying to –“ He stopped himself before saying something that would trigger Bucky further. “Please leave.”

Doctor Raynor looked at him in disbelief. Then, without another word, she scribbled down a few notes, got up, and left.

Steve went to the bed and crouched so he was lower than Bucky’s head, unthreatening and small. “Hey bud,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, she was really mean, huh?”

“Sh’up,” Bucky kept whispering in between sobs, not even acknowledging Steve. “Sh’up.” He was covering his right ear, shaking his head like he was shaking out water.

“Hey… It’s okay. I’m here, I’m Steve. Remember me?”

Bucky stilled mid-movement. Blinked. “’vvve.”

“Yeah, it’s Steve. I’m here.”

“’vvve. ‘vvve…”

He didn’t say more. He sat still, every now and then mumbling “sh’up” or “’vvve” to himself. Steve sat with him until exhaustion carried Bucky to sleep.

Steve didn’t usually sleep well, but it’d gotten worse lately. His dreams were plagued by nightmares, more graphic or violent than before – and much more vivid. Even after Bucky had been back for a whole month, they only seemed to be getting worse.

At least he’d started calling him “’eve”. Sometimes even “St’v’”, on good days. His language was returning. But his mind wasn’t…

It was a blessing when, in the middle of the night, Steve was woken by Jarvis. “Pardon me, Captain Rogers.”

Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked towards the ceiling, a habit he couldn’t shake, despite knowing Jarvis wasn’t actually there. “Yeah?” he said, voice rough.

“The last test came back negative. Sergeant Barnes is officially drug-free.” Steve’s heart skipped a beat. “He’s asking for you, Captain.”

Steve was up and out of bed in a heartbeat, pulling on whatever clothes were closest. The elevator doors opened as he approached, and he could’ve sworn it moved a little quicker than usual.

When he was finally let into the room, Bucky was sitting up in the hospital bed – little more than a cot, less than a comfortable place to sleep. He looked at him through the curtain of oily, brown hair, mouth open just a little. The dark circles around his eyes seemed permanently etched into his features, but those steel-grey eyes were fixed on Steve.

“Hi,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to the floor before looking up again, landing somewhere just next to his face.

“I’m, uh… I’m coming in.” Keeping his eyes on Bucky, he sat down, narrating his movements in a quiet, calm voice. “How’re you feeling?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He exhaled and slowly, very slowly, started rocking back and forth. He shook his head, once, breathing shallowly. Then, he stilled. His eyes went vacant for a moment, and Steve feared another stroke.

But a calm took over his features. He seemed to sink into the cot as his demeanor shifted, and Steve was reminded of the Winter Soldier he’d been fighting just a month earlier. His lips moved, shaping words. “рабочем состоянии.” The Russian accent was thick, and the words were slurred. Steve was pretty sure some of the letters got strangled on the tongue or mauled while passing by the teeth. Bucky made a choked-out sound in frustration.

“I don’t understand. Can you speak English, please?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Steve again. His breathing was heavy. “Y’s.”

Steve smiled. “That’s good. You’re safe. I’m here to help. Do you know who I am?”

It took a long time before Bucky managed to shape an answer. Steve almost wished he hadn’t: “Ta’g’t. No?”

“I’m not your target anymore, no.”

Bucky wet his lips, thinking hard. “Why?”

“We fought. Remember?” Bucky squinted. “I took you back to Avengers Tower. You’re safe here. Healing. I’m Steve.” He gulped. “Steve Rogers.”

“St’v’…” Blinking slow, Bucky’s eyes dotted across the room. “No. No s’fe.”

“Yeah. You’re safe.”

“No. No s’fe.”

With a sigh, Steve leaned back in his chair. “How’re you feeling?”

That vacant stare returned, and for a while, Steve was just sitting, waiting. An exasperated sigh momentarily reminded him so much of the old Bucky it was almost painful. The Bucky in front of his had his hand in his lap, the metal one still useless by his side. He was tilting slightly, compensating for the weight. “Don’… kno’.” He sank, mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to snatch words out of the air. “Sleep. Now?”

Steve granted himself a small smile. “You can sleep, yeah… If you’d like.”

Bucky nodded, head heavy. “Sleep. Pl’s’.”

“Okay. Get some sleep.”

Steve stayed outside of the observation room, refusing to move away from the bench, napping when he could, eating and drinking whatever people put in front of him, until Bucky woke up again and he could go back in. This time, he was handed a white plastic pouch with a straw.

“Get some nutrition in him,” Bruce said with a friendly clap to his shoulder.

“Good morning,” Steve said as he entered the room. He narrated his way to Bucky’s bedside and handed him the drink. “This is for you. It’s good for your body.” Bucky had eaten a little since his arrival, but most of it had come right back up. His stomach couldn’t handle most foods, and he’d been fed through a thin tube burrowing under his skin.

Bucky took the pouch and sniffed it. And Steve could’ve cried. He wasn’t just blindly consuming whatever was handed him, but glanced at Steve before contemplatively sipping it.

“How’re you feeling?”

Bucky pulled a face. “Don’… kno’. Too big.”

“What? What’s too big?”

“Ask. Ask, too big. Hard.” He laid a hand on his head. “Hurt.”

“Ah… Okay… Would yes and no questions be better?”

Bucky sipped his food for a little while, and Seve started wondering whether he’d heard him at all. Then, he nodded.

“Good… Do you know who I am?” Bucky nodded. “Do you trust me?” He shot him a glance. Steve hadn’t expected him to answer anyways. “Are you scared?” No answer. Just staring. Okay, something safer… “Do you like the food?”

Bucky nodded. The plastic had crinkled, its contents almost gone. He shuffled a little, dropping the now empty container. It fell on the floor, and neither of them made a move to pick it up. “Why?”

“Why what?”

It took a few second for Bucky to push the word past his lips. “H-help?”

“Ah… Because we want you to get better.”

“Fight?”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not to fight. Just because we want to help you.”

Bucky was playing with his metal fingers, lifting then up with his flesh ones and letting them fall back on the mattress. His eyes were growing foggy, and he had to squint every time he looked at Steve. He’d only been awake for a little less than half an hour, and he was already exhausted.

“Get some rest,” Steve said with a smile he hoped wasn’t too sad.

“Why?”

“Because you’re tired. Your brain and your body are healing.”

“Why?”

“Uh… Because Hydra –“

“No.” Bucky shook his head in little moves, as if it was too heavy for his neck. “No. Why… why no mad why?”

Steve licked his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Bucky huffed in frustration, his hand balling up to fist the blanket covering his lap. “Why… no… p-… p-… pnisment? Why why ok?”

“Oh…” Steve straightened. He tried hiding how his blood chilled and the hair on his arms stood on end. “Why am I not angry at you asking why?” Bucky nodded, looking down at his lap. “You’re allowed to ask questions. That’s good. I want you to ask questions.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Steve took a deep breath, trying to think. “Because you’re my friend. And I want you back.”

Bucky’s lip wobbled, just for a second, but Steve caught it. The next “why?” was so quiet, he barely heard it.

And Steve looked at him. He looked at the tired eyes, the greyish pale skin, the nose that had broken and healed time and time again when he wasn’t there, and the baggy clothes he’d been supplied with, hanging off a body deflating from chemicals and abuse.

And he was as in love as he’d been almost a century ago.

“Because…” He leaned forward. They were listening. Bruce. Dr. Cho. Whoever else had joined them in the dead of night. This wasn’t for them to hear – only for Bucky. “I love you, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t as much as blink. Just stared down at his hands. He’d made a hole in the blanket, and Steve made a mental note to get him a new one. A fuzzy one. One from his own apartment, so it smelled just a little familiar. Maybe Bucky’d like that…

“Buck?” Steve wanted to reach out, take his hand and stroke it in his. He kept still. “Are you okay?”

Only the distant hum of the ventilation filled the silence. Steve saw tears well up in Bucky’s eyes well before they overflowed.

Heartbroken sobs shook Bucky’s body. Neither of them did anything to stop it. Bucky sat in his misery, clutching his hair with shaking hand, probably trying to remember why nothing made sense. And Steve stayed seated. If he reached out, it would end badly. If he stood, it would end badly.

Any movement of his would have consequences.

So he just stayed.

Chapter Text

As days passed, Bucky got better and better. Steve visited as often as he was allowed. He read or told stories, or just spoke with Bucky like everything was normal.

It wasn’t. But pretending was nice…

He was sitting in the Avengers common room – Bruce had banished him from the front room that had become his more or less permanent residence, and Sam was trying to get some food in him.

Steve wasn’t hungry. The food tasted wrong, of too much and too little at the same time. He wouldn’t dare to insinuate he didn’t like Sam’s cooking thought. He’d find a special ingredient in one of his dishes, then.

“Knock knock.” Tony sauntered in, looking about as awful as Steve felt. Had he been sleeping lately? Eating?

Steve rubbed his face. “What do you want, Tony?” It didn’t go over Steve’s head how much the man had had to stretch; how much he was actually doing while fighting his own demons. If he could just stop assaulting Bucky and stop being an ass, Steve would have a much easier time acknowledging that.

“’mornin’ to you too, sunshine.” Without asking, Tony grabbed the mug of coffee Sam had just poured.

“Hey man!”

“It’s my coffee maker and my mug, Wilson.”

“Don’t mean you get to steal my caffeine.”

Tony ignored him and looked at Steve. “Capsicle. Go get cleaned up. I’ve got someone downstairs for Krueger.”

Steve’s current idea of cleaning up was running a comb through his hair and changing to a clean shirt. Tony didn’t talk to him in the elevator, and when they entered the empty conference room, he nodded at the woman standing and admiring he view. “Greene, Rogers, Rogers, Greene. Goodbye.” He walked out without another word.

Steve looked after him. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry about him,” the woman, Greene, said, coming over and holding out a dainty hand. “I’m Dr. Amelia Greene. Mr. Stark had me vetted and cleared to help you and Sergeant Barnes.”

“Oh! Uhm…” He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you…”

“Do you prefer Captain Rogers? Mr. Rogers?”

“Just, uhm…” He rubbed his neck, a little taken aback. Dr. Raynor hadn’t asked – she’d just called him Captain Rogers, just like everyone else usually did. “Just Steve would be nice…”

Dr. Greene smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you, Steve. Come, let’s sit down and discuss.”

A pot of tea and two mugs had been placed on the table, and Steve and Dr. Greene sat on the same side. Dr. Greene was a small woman, but her presence was soothing. She was wearing a tan pencil skirt and a mossy green cardigan that looked home knit, her short, black curls hugging her face.

She didn’t look at Steve but turned back to the view and blew on her drink. “I understand the last therapist didn’t work out?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, not really…”

“Not every therapist is a fit for everyone. You are Sergeant Barnes’ closest kin, correct?”

“Mhm… He has some blood relatives around the city, but, uh… Well, you know our story.”

She nodded. “I do, but I try not to let it color my perception.” A she lowered her mug and looked at him. “I’ll get right to the point. Mr. Stark told me about his limited experience with Sergeant Barnes: I have experience with complex PTSD, specifically POWs, and a specialty in abnormal psychology. I’ve worked with everything from past child soldiers to people who’ve escaped North Korea, and for the past 7 years I’ve been running a clinic for people experiencing various personality disorders as a result of trauma.” Steve must’ve looked baffled, because she smiled, the light catching on her golden earrings and making them glint. “I’m telling you this because I know you probably don’t trust me. And I don’t expect you to, don’t worry. The only downside is that I don’t have any experience working directly with employed soldiers or the US military. But on paper, I have every qualification needed to help Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” Steve said hoarsely, thinking to himself that a lack of association with the US military probably wasn’t a bad thing. “He… He prefers Bucky.”

Dr. Greene leaned back, examining him. “Does he? Even after everything he’s been through?”

Steve clenched his jaw. “He’s still Bucky. He reacts when I call him Bucky.”

“Okay.” She nodded, looking calm, as if a super soldier wasn’t getting agitated in front of her. “But Steve… You’re aware he probably won’t act like you remember him, right? When he gets better?”

“If he gets better,” Steve said automatically, rubbing his face.

“When.” Dr. Greene punctuated her single word with a decisive nod. “I haven’t seen him yet, but from what I’ve been told, he’s a survivor. Even if he’ll never fully recover.”

Steve stared at her. She was looking back patiently, smiling as if she hadn’t just basically bottled up Steve’s hope and given it back to him just as he’d been feeling it start to float away.

“Do you have a therapist of your own, Steve?”

He sniffled. “I’m startin’ to think I should get one.”

“These are the areas that were damaged before,” Bruce said, pointing to the white spots on the brain scan. Dr. Greene observed quietly and nodded. “And this is a scan from yesterday.” He pulled up another image, and a knot loosened in Steve’s stomach. The amount of white was significantly less. “It’s looking good. All thanks to the serum.”

“Would I be able to speak with him directly?” Dr. Greene asked.

Bruce nodded. “He’s been quiet for most of the day, which could go one of two ways. If Steve escorts you in, it should be fine.”

“It isn’t possible to go in alone at all?” she asked. “Patient-therapist confidentiality?”

Dr. Cho shook her head from her chair next to Bruce. “Right now, we can’t comfortable let you in on your own. Barnes is still too unstable, and his aphasia is still limiting his speech, so you won’t get to the deep stuff anyways.”

“Alright… But I can go introduce myself? See if he’s more comfortable with me?”

There was no doubt in Steve that Bucky would like Dr. Greene more than Dr. Raynor, but he couldn’t make that decision. That was Bucky’s to make.

With a green light from Bruce, the doors to Bucky’s cell opened, and the two of them entered.

“You didn’t bring a note pad?” Steve mumbled as they walked in.

Dr. Greene shook her head. “He’ll just meet me today. Any notes I need, I’ll write down afterwards.”

Steve nodded slowly, not sure if he liked that approach or not, when he had to speak up. “Hi, Buck. I’m here with a friend.” Bucky’s eyes had been following them from the moment the doors opened. He was hugging his knees with the flesh arm, the other limp next to him. “This is Amelia Greene. She’s a therapist.” Bucky scrunched his nose, and Steve couldn’t help a fond little laugh. “Yeah, I know bud… But she’s nicer than Dr. Raynor.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Dr. Greene smiled and walked closer to Bucky than Steve thought Bruce and Dr. Cho were comfortable with. “It’s very nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m just here so we can get to know each other, okay?” She kept looking at him, smiling patiently, when she sat down in the chair. “I’m here to help you talk about all the things going on in your head.”

Bucky squinted at her. He glanced at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. “Lot… noise.”

Dr. Greene nodded empathically. “A lot of thoughts?” Bucky nodded. “Mhm… Can you make any sense of them? You don’t have to explain it, just… Do you know where they’re all from?”

Bucky looked as tired as Steve knew he was when he shook his head, defeat etched into his body.

“That’s one of the things we’ll talk about when you feel better,” Dr. Greene said. “Are you feeling up for speaking?”

Bucky rocked a little back and forth, but after a quick look at Steve, ended up nodding.

“That’s good – that makes me really happy!” And she sounded like she meant it. “Could you tell me if I say something that makes you happy?”

Bucky nodded. Then, to Steve’s surprise: “H’ppy.”

Dr. Greene chuckled. “Is it nice being asked how you feel?”

Bucky nodded again, fidgeting with the dead metal fingers.

“If I say or do something that makes you angry, can you tell me angry?”

“Yeh,” Bucky mumbled. Then: “H’ppy.”

Bucky’s words were slowly returning to him, one at a time. Dr. Greene came to visit every other day, short sessions of about 10 to 15 minutes. They didn’t talk about anything big. Bucky was learning to identify his feelings.

“How do you feel about this room?” Dr. Greene asked. They had worked their way up to about 15 words for different feelings, and most of the time was spent on Bucky trying to figure out which one fit with her questions.

He looked around with a scowl. “A-“ He wet his lips and tried again: “Ang’y. Cold. Empfy.”

Looking at the sterile, white walls, Dr. Greene sighed and nodded. “It’s not very cozy, no…” She caught Bucky’s eye and looked towards Steve, who felt his cheeks heat up with the sudden attention. “What do you feel when Steve’s here?”

A light made Bucky grow from within. He sat straighter and looked at Steve with the closest he could get to bliss at the moment. “S’fe. Stttt’v’uh. Warm. H’ppy.”

That’s how the days went. Bucky started stringing together longer sentences before the grammar started coming back, but before his full vocabulary had been reinstated, other matters had to be addressed.

“He’s in pain,” Natasha noted one day when Steve came back from a quick nap.

“I know,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.

“He listens to you. Get him to do some physiotherapy. Bruce already made a plan.”

Jarvis was scanning Bucky’s body whenever he could get proper access. The withdrawals and the treatment at Hydra had left his body a mess: Some of his bones had been reinforced with metal to keep the arm from tearing off the body, muscle tissue had knitted itself together all wrong, and he had multiple broken bones from that final fight with Steve that hadn’t healed right under the conditions he’d been kept in.

Bucky wasn’t cleared to be around civilians yet, so he would train with Bruce and Steve first. Bruce was vetting physiotherapists to take over when his mind was better.

They started with a little walk. Steve was sitting next to Bucky, explaining what they were doing, while Bruce stood at a safe distance and smiled awkwardly. He wasn’t sure Bucky was listening. This time, his eyes were following Bruce, vigilant and calculating.

“Okay,” Steve said. “All we have to do is have you walkin’, okay?”

Bucky looked at him and blinked, once. The magnet had been deactivated, and he was rubbing the wrist of his metal arm as if it had any feeling, slowly moving the fingers. It was almost completely soundless, the quiet whirring probably only hearable to super soldier ears.

Steve worried his lip. “We’ll walk around the bed. You can grab onto it if you feel like you’re about to fall, or me, if you’d prefer.”

“Why?”

“We just need to see where your pain is located,” Bruce said. Bucky’s eyes shot back to him, steely grey staring. Bruce cleared his throat and looked down.

Bucky let his feet meet the ground. He hadn’t been walking around the room much, only when others had encouraged him or Steve had taken him to the showers.

It was a painful sight: Bucky stood tall, but every step made him cringe. He’d lost mass, the clothes were hanging off his frame. His legs moved unnaturally, stiff and calculated. Steve kept close to him, and it proved necessary when Bucky stifled a gasp and his left knee gave out. Steve grabbed him, but Bucky pushed him away, tumbling to the floor.

Steve knelt to help him up. “Bucky, I’m sorry –“

“Don’t!” Bucky smacked his arm away. Through strands of greasy hair, Steve could see the specks of grey glare at the floor. His jaw was tightly set, teeth probably grinding.

“It’s okay to need help, Buck –“

“Not! Don’t!” A frustrated hiss whistled past his teeth, and Bucky fisted his hands in his hair. “I don’t need help.” The words were perfectly pronounced. Too perfectly.

Steve stayed in his kneeling position, waiting. After a few minutes of sharp breathing, Bucky got back on his feet. He supported himself on the cot, not looking anyone in the eye.

For better or worse, it was nice to see the fight return to him.

“This ‘s stupid.”

“We need to know where –“

“- pain is,” Bucky interrupted Bruce, scowling at him. “I… don’t need doctor. Go ‘way.”

Steve looked from one to the other. “Bruce, you don’t –“

“Go ‘way!” It took a while before Steve looked at Bucky, only to see him looking back at him. “Go ‘way. Both of you.”

“Bucky –“

“Now. Go ‘way! Don’t want help!”

“Steve.” Bruce, valiantly trying to deflate the situation, had already backed away, respecting Bucky’s wishes.

Steve wasn’t feeling very respectful. Respectfully so. “You might not want it, Buck, but you need help.”

Bucky’s nose scrunched up. He wasn’t looking Steve in the eye. Just shook his head. “Go ‘way. Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve retorted instinctually, and Bucky’s head whipped up.

Steve held his breath. Recognition, deeper than before, flared up on his friend’s face. There and gone again in a moment. The door closed after Bruce. Steve hadn’t even noticed him go.

Bucky sank down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. “Weak,” he mumbled, voice dripping with repulsion.

Steve sighed. He moved closer, kneeling in front of his best guy, but making sure not to touch him. “You’re not weak, Bucky. You’re confused and in pain, and I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend. ‘til the end of the line, pal. You and me.”

Bucky blinked. He frowned, shook his head, and shivered. “Steve…” Looking him up and down, the shadow of something scandalous bloomed on his face. “You did do s’m’thing stupid…”

Steve barked out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, Buck,” he grinned. “I joined the army.”

“Used’o be… smaller?”

He nodded, unable to keep his smile down. “Yeah…”

“Newspaper in… Y’used to p’t newspaper in your shoes.” A chuckle pulled itself from Bucky’s chest, seemingly startling him as much as Steve. It was a rusty sound, like the sound of a tab being opened for the first time after years of neglect. It was wonderful.

“You remember that, huh?” Steve laughed, grinning at Bucky, who nodded jaggedly. He wasn’t laughing anymore, but he was smiling. It had been decades since Steve saw that smile. “Well, Buck – it’s not the 30s anymore, but I think that’s a good thing.”

He cast a glance towards the one-way window. The others were no doubt watching them.

But it wasn’t the 30s anymore… And in many ways… that really, truly was a good thing.

Steve held out his hand to Bucky. Bucky took it pensively, feeling Steve’s skin under his fingertips, moving the limbs as if trying to figure out how they were working. “Jarvis,” Steve called, not looking away from that beautiful, beautiful man. “Can you play Everywhere at the End of Time, please?”

“Which section, Captain Rogers?”

“B6.”

A few seconds later, a somber tune started filling the room. But Steve found beauty in it. It was of a different time, just like them.

Standing, he gentlemanly bowed to Bucky. “Dance with me, doll?”

Bucky blinked. And there, before his eyes, the years melted away. The war disappeared. There was his Bucky, sitting in front of him and smiling coyly. “Careful Rogers,” he said, a nick of that Brooklyn drawl finding its way back to him. “Pe’ple might th’nk you sweet on me.”

Steve shrugged. “Let ‘em.”

He helped Bucky stand. If walking was too painful for Bruce to properly observe, a dance it would be.

He held Bucky by his waist, Bucky’s arms finding their way around his neck. The metal one was heavy, but the feeling was welcome.

This wasn’t how they’d danced back then, when Steve was 110 pounds soaking wet, and Bucky had towered over him. Now, Steve had a few inched on him, and these roles took some of the weight off Bucky’s aching body.

It was a slow dance. A gentle sway, where Bucky could feel the pain before it truly started to hurt, and where Steve could look at his face and read him. The focus disappeared from Bucky. Steve guided him, allowed him to relax in movements once familiar. His head fell heavy on Steve’s shoulder, his nose nuzzled into his neck, his breath caressed his skin.

“I love you,” Steve whispered into his hair.

Bucky didn’t answer him. When Jarvis tuned out the music, Steve helped Bucky back to his bed. The guy looked tired, but still, he didn’t take his eyes off of Steve. A sleepy smile curved his lips, comfort showing for the first time in… For the first time.

When Steve made to say farewell for now, Bucky leaned in and kissed him. It was a poor imitation of a faded memory, chapped lips scratching at chapped lips, a touch without intent or proper feeling. An old habit, lost in time and found in a dance, remade to something new.

It was the best kiss Steve had ever had.

Chapter Text

Food… Sustenance – no, food. Eat. Nutrients, necessary for proper function.

Don’t want to function… Quiet. Please.

Eat. Now.

Don’t want to. Please. Just, quiet. All time, please.

Obtain sustenance. Required for optimal conditions in the field. Handler said: eat. Eat. Be grateful. Human food for a dog. Treat. Good stuff, no poison maybe. Be grateful to Handler.

Not Handler, Steve –

Yes Handler. Handler Steve. Handler Rogers. Old target, now Handler. Confusing… Yes. Not to be confused. Follow orders – eat.

Eating. Hurts. Still eating.

Handler Rogers, happy.

Not happy.

Doesn’t matter. Handler Rogers is smiling. Good. Mission: Eating. Success.

Can stop now?

“Can stop now?”

“Yeah, Buck. You can stop eating.”

Utensil, falling. No clatter – wood. Thing. Fragile. On the floor. No stabbing. S… spork. Harmless.

Dangerous. Therefore, harmless.

Utensil dropped. Punishment required.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid –

“Bucky, stop – stop hurting yourself!”

Hands, arms, held down, scream.

Don’t scream!

Screaming. Crying. Head hurts.

Stomach hurts.

Don’t be hurt, deep breath, deep –

Fire, burning, throat and tongue, sour, stomach cramping, hurts, hurts, hurts, dizzy, too dizzy, deep breath, just, deep breath –

Then –

Quiet.

Blissful, wonderful quiet…

Steve was no stranger to discomfort. But that day, after he’d left Bucky’s cell, had opened up a whole new variety.

Bruce and Nat were sitting very still. He wasn’t looking at them. Dr. Cho was occupied with a computer. Seemingly occupied, at least…

Steve’s legs had decided not to move.

This was better than the 30s. And the 40s. And so many other times…

They didn’t say anything. At some point, Steve’s legs started working again, and he walked out of the door, into the elevator, through his front door, and collapsed on his bed.

He was woken by Sam, making pancakes in his kitchen. The clock said it was well past midnight.

“Nat told me,” he said when Steve emerged. His face was blank, but not unfriendly. Steve sat down in a bar stool by the kitchen island, feeling an empty hollow spreading from his core. “Hey, man… Look at me.” Steve looked up without moving his face. Sam placed a pancake in front of him, drizzled with sirup. “Was that a first?”

“Not exactly…”

Sam didn’t look surprised. “Were you two, like… a thing?”

Steve gulped. Might as well rip off the band aid. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely, the pancake holding no appeal.

But Sam just leaned against the counter with a thoughtful look on his face and a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He nodded. “Okay. Eat up. Let’s get your man back.”

Was it… was it that easy? That easy for Sam to accept him as a fairy? No questions, no intrusion, just… okay?

Like breaking a dam, weakened by shock and exhaustion, Sam’s easy demeanor broke down Steve’s last barrier. Caution to the wind, he started talking, unable to stop himself. Of two boys stealing kisses when their families were out, of young men sneaking whiskey from a father, of the apartment with a single room and a broken radio that couldn’t change the station. Quiet nights spent in breathless fear, wonderful dances danced in darkness, love that dragged across an ocean and into enemy fire.

Sam just sipped his coffee and listened, not saying a word. By the end of it, Steve was spent, but oh, so happy.

And just like that, the hollow started filling – warm and sweet like the syrup on his tongue, it chased the emptiness away.

But where Steve ate his pancake, tasting little but keeping it down, Bucky threw up the first solid food he’d been given.

That was a week ago. Now, he was eating plain toast and drinking protein shakes.

Somehow, the awfulness started dulling. Bucky was eating. His aphasia was getting better – it shouldn’t be possible, but Bruce predicted that it would be completely gone by the end of the month. The serum worked in his favor, knitting together the broken brain, the beautiful, wonderful brain.

A Shield-approved psychiatrist came to evaluate him, with Dr. Greene and Steve by his side.

“What is your full name?” the psychiatrist asked.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” In a cruel twist of fate, he was still struggling with B’s, stuttering and stumbling when trying to pronounce his own name.

“When and where were you born?”

“1917, Br’klyn, New York.”

“Would you be willing to testify against the people accused in the Hydra-trials?”

Bucky seized up. Steve kept a watchful eye on him, but he’d learned his lesson and didn’t reach out. “Yes,” he croaked. “I-I won’t have to – pl’se don’t make me t-talk to – I don’t – c-can’t –“

“You will not have to speak to any of the accused, Mr. Barnes. In return for your testimony, Shield will aid in you own hearing, which will depend on the outcome of the Hydra-trials.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t answer the next question, either, and when the psychiatrist tried to get his attention, nothing happened. She called it dissociation, a way for the brain to shut down a little when things got too stressful or difficult to process.

Because of this, it took another few days before Bucky’s evaluation was complete. It wasn’t meant to make sure he was better, after all – just to make sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Steve felt like a little kid when he got to walk Bucky out of the cell. Bucky kept his eyes down while Steve talked, keeping close to him without actually touching. “You’ll be coming back here a few more times,” Steve explained as they exited the front room and walked into the empty hallway. Bruce, Sam and Natasha had made sure no one was around so Bucky wouldn’t get overwhelmed on his first walk. His feet and legs were better, but he was still walking slow, a little stiffer than was probably good. “But you can move in with me in a few weeks – if you’d like, of course. I’ll take you up to the apartment first, so you can see it. It’s real fancy, tell you that, but that’s Stark for ya.” With a wide smile, he turned to Bucky. “So? Whaddaya think, Buck?”

Bucky was slouching, looking up at him and squinting. He was wearing one of Steve’s old shirts and a plain pair of jogging pants, both standing out glaringly so in the blank hallway. “Don’t call me that… pl’se.”

They kept walking while Steve tried to make sense of that. “Call you what? Buck?”

“Mhm…” Bucky frowned, hands hidden in his pockets. Their pace was slow, but faster than what they’d been practicing in the cell for the past week. “Don’t you… ’m not… Bucky, y’know?”

“Uh…” Steve shook his head. “No, uh – I’m not sure I do. What do you mean?”

Bucky stopped by the wall, leaning against it and rummaging through his pockets like he’d once done for cigarettes when he got stressed. “It’s like… You pr’ly know, jus’ like how Steve Rogers and Cab-b-btain America are two different things. You’re not Cap. You’re just… Stevie.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah… but they’re not different people. It’s me, just different titles.”

“Right…” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A quick glance down the hallway told Steve they’d only walked about 20 meters. “B’t… But it’s different. Sometimes, you’re Captain… And other times, you’re Steve. Right?”

“Mhm…” Steve scratched his neck. He wasn’t really following, but this seemed important to Bucky – important enough for him to reach for old bad habits. “I guess… But if you don’t want to be called Bucky, what do you want?”

Want was a word Dr. Greene was still working on. Bucky squinted, and he looked like he was thinking really hard for a few seconds. “James,” he puffed out then.

“James?” Steve couldn’t hold back his surprise. “But… you hate being called James?”

Bucky – James – shrugged. “Used to, I guess… Pl’se, Steve…” His words were coming harder now, and he looked about ready to shut down. “Just… James.”

It wasn’t unexpected – but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Steve nodded, trying to accept Bucky – James’ wishes, even if it felt a little like defeat. Like mourning him all over again. “Okay… James.”

James smiled, an honest to God smile, tired as it was. “Can we go back?” he sighed, tilting slightly. The metal arm was dragging him down, and without the muscle he’d lost over the course of his stay in the Tower, it must’ve weighed a ton.

“Of course, B-uh, James.”

There wasn’t much in the room, just the bed, the chair, and what little entertainment James had been allowed. Mostly magazines that couldn’t hurt anyone if thrown and a few short stories.

James had just sat down on the bed when Jarvis spoke up: “Excuse the interruption, Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, but Sir is asking for you in his workshop.”

Steve sighed and looked at James. “Sorry, I better go – I’ll be back la-“

“Oh no, Captain Rogers, pardon me. Sir asked for the both of you.”

And to that, Steve could only say one thing: “Well fuck.”

The rhythmic beats of music both too old and too young for Steve shook the walls near the workshop. Dark, deep tones, slow and fast at the same time. Voices, both guttural and shrill.

Steve would never understand Tony Stark’s taste in music.

The volume lowered as the doors opened, most likely curtesy of Jarvis.

“Jarv, turn it back up,” Tony said, body half buried in the guts of some mechanical monstrosity.

“I’m sorry Sir, but the volume might disturb the sensitive hearing of your guests. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes has arrived, as per your request.”

Tony didn’t as much straighten as slouch up. His shirt and arms were covered in grease and motor oil, his hair was poking to every corner of the earth. First, he looked at Steve, then, at James, eyes roaming over him like he was assessing a threat. He probably was…

Pointing a wrench towards James, he nodded. “Ready to pop that sucker off?”

James, who was barely standing as it was, leaning heavily on Steve, frowned. “I don’t… understand.”

Tony rolled his eyes and wiped his hands in a rag that’d probably been white once upon a time. “Your arm. I looked over the scans, think I know how to get it off – better before the hearings and all that.”

“Are you still on about that?” Steve asked, unable to hide his disdain. “He agreed to testify against Hydra, he won’t be –“

“With all due respect, Capsicle.” Tony dumped himself on a chair and rolled to his workstation. “Shut it.” He gestured to the table. “Terminator, here, now.”

James was swaying and glanced sideways at Steve, who quickly shook his head. “Tony, would you cool it –“

Tony scoffed. “You two would be the ones to give advice on that…”

“You can’t just pull him into surgery,” Steve went on. “You need his consent, you need to inform him, us, of what’s happening, you –“

“I got him a five-star luxury stay at the Wakandan palace.” Tony rolled his chair around and leaned back casually, looking at the two. “They have technology even I don’t – their princess is some sort of genius, I don’t know…” The fact that he sounded cross appeased the urge to fight in Steve’s stomach, just a little. “They’ll untangle some of the mess in his brain, he’ll be fit to, well, not fight, but testify, and then I can press charges and get him thrown in a prison cell where he won’t harm anyone ever again.” Clicking a pen, Tony looked at the arm. “But that thing needs to come off before they’ll have him.”

James’ legs gave in under him, and Steve just caught him before he tumbled to the floor.

He was pale as the walls in the hallway, almost ashy, eyes wide and haunted. His head was shaking, almost more of a tremor than a conscious thing. “I can’t,” he rasped. “No cell. Pl’se, Steve, pl’se, I can’t, cold, I can’t, pl’se –“

“You won’t,” Steve promised quietly, shooting Tony evil eyes while carrying James to a chair – one with armrests and no wheels. Once he’d sat his friend down, he stood up in his full height and glared at Tony. “You won’t touch a hair on his head before you follow proper procedures, do you understand? He will be consulted on what’ll happen, he will be given choices, and his autonomy will be respected. There will be no more talk of throwing people in jail, or so God help me, Tony, I will –“

“What, Cap?” Tony lolled his head, looking unimpressed. “Tell me what you’ll do.”

With an eerie calm, Steve stepped closer, leaning down to be on eye-level with Tony. “I may’ve been born in the 1910’s, but of lived years, I’m almost 20 younger than you, old man, plus a super serum that allows me to go days without food or sleep. I will make it look like an accident, and I will not get caught, because I’ve seen the way Natasha looks at him, and you know as well as I that she will help me flee any government I’d need to. Do I make myself clear?”

He didn’t blink – neither of them did. After a few seconds, Tony looked away. “Jeez… Dramatic much, Rogers?” Pushing off with his feet, he sighed and shook his head. “Fine, whatever. Jarvis, call Bruce, I need to consult him on some boring medical stuff.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Coming down from his adrenaline, Steve straightened and turned back to James. He’d gotten a little color back in his cheeks and was looking around the room, exhaustion bleeding away in favor of curiosity. He had always loved science…

“Hey,” Steve said, crouching in front of him. “How’re you feeling?”

James blinked and rubbed his eye. “’m okay…” He sounded okay. A little off, but nothing bad…

“Dum-E,” Tony said. “Light a little – oh, damn it. Hey U –“

“What?” Steve barked.

Tony glared at him. “Not you. U.” An arm-like robot raised a little and waved at Steve. “Don’t wave at him,” Tony hissed. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t program you to be polite.”

When Bruce arrived half an hour later, James was seemingly back on top, swinging his legs from the chair, although he had to sit at an awkward angle to do so.

“Bruce, thank you.” Steve immediately walked towards him. “Tony is –“

“Being an ass?” With a tired grin, Bruce nodded. “Jarvis filled me in.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said in mock-pity, “I wasn’t aware my severe trauma affected you this much, Rogers. That must be really hard on you, having to constantly defend my parents’ murderer?”

Steve was ready to retort, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. With a sigh, Bruce glanced towards Tony. “If I take Steve out into the hallway, will you promise not to be too… you?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, whatever… I’ll deprive the world of my wonderful self for a few minutes. Be on my best behavior, scout’s honor and cross my heart and hope to die, yadda yadda…”

“Hard to believe you have a heart,” Steve bit.

Without looking away from his work, Tony pointed towards his desk behind the bulletproof glass wall. An old arc reactor was slightly glowing, faint letters spelling out PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART.

Tony did not like it. Not one bit. While Rogers was out in the hallway, venting to his good pal, Brucie, Tony was stuck with the Winter Soldier.

The guy was kicking his feet like a kid. Innocence act, huh? Well, probably wouldn’t hold up in court. It would probably creep the jury out. Good.

Tony glared at the super soldier sitting quietly in a chair across from him, eyes following along with everything he was doing. “What?” he asked, wishing Barnes were anywhere else than here.

“What’re you doin’?”

Rolling his eyes, he went back to work. “The circuit on Dum-E is fried,” he mumbled. “I’m fixing it.”

“Why?”

“So the machine works.”

“What machine?”

Tony sat up straight and threw up his hands towards Dum-e, standing limply at the end of the table. “That one!”

“Wha’s it do?”

“It’s a helping hand – it does whatever I tell it to do.”

“You made that?”

“Yes I – of course I did!”

He looked at Barnes, ready for – well, he wasn’t sure what.

Certainly not a mouth open in awe, eyes twinkling with admiration. “Woah…” He looked at Tony, all keen attention. “Can you make other things?”

“Uh… Yeah, of course I can – I’m Tony Stark!”

Barnes nodded, looking around the room absentmindedly. “Are you Howard and Maria’s son?”

A chill ran through him, and he put down his tools. He’d promised Bruce… But Bruce wasn’t here. He was outside. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes on the assassin now. Deep breaths, just like Dr. Greene had taught him. In… Out… “Why?”

Barnes shrugged. When he stood, Tony tensed. He walked a little tilted, weighed by the arm, but went for a poster in the corner. Tony cringed. He kept it up as a reminder, to remember what he’d sworn against. Now, metallic fingers caressed the pictures of guns and weapons, all with the SI-logo. Relics, now, but still causing harm around the world… His family’s greatest shame, the graves they’d built their mansions on.

“I think Howard was my friend, once… I dunno…” The hand stopped.

In… Out…

Then, like the drums of an execution, Barnes tapped on an image. “I killed them,” he said, voice sounding distant. “With this.” He frowned. “The silencer didn’t work…”

Tony couldn’t breathe. He tried, but he couldn’t. Because Barnes was right. On that particular model, the silencer hadn’t worked until he took over the family business. He’d fixed it. It’d been defect, and old model pulled from the market, and he’d fixed it.

And Barnes had used it to –

His vision swam. Blurred at the edges.

Barnes hadn’t been able to afford SI-weapons. Someone had purchased it, handed it to him.

His skin was too tight and too loose at the same time.

It would’ve been an old model already, back then. It would’ve been in circulation in Russia, Tony had led many missions to destroy the weapons still left over from the Soviet Union, what they’d acquired.

He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes said from far away. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, Tony? You okay?”

Tony blinked, pulling in a deep breath. He looked at Bruce, his whole body shaky like he’d been doused in icy water.

He looked… concerned. Tony didn’t like that. There was nothing to worry about. Just a little panic attack, a mild one, really, no biggie!

“Yeah,” he whispered, clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Boy Wonder marched over to his Super Soldier Sweetheart. “Hey James, c’mon. I’ll take you back to your room – Tony and Bruce’ll make plans for a proper procedure and fill us in when it’s ready.”

Tony rubbed his face. “Just bring ‘im to your apartment,” he sighed.

Steve and Bruce froze and stared at him – Barnes was holding Steve’s hand and looking around all the machines, completely unaware of the turmoil he’d just ignited in Tony, who could kick him out whenever he so God damn pleased!

Tony pulled a face. “What?”

“Did you – am I –“ Steve frowned at Bruce. “Are we allowed to do that?”

Bruce shrugged. “I dunno man, he owns the building.”

“Yeah, but Shield –“

“Can go suck an egg.” Tony leaned back and covered his face with his arms, exhausted from the barely twenty minutes in Super Soldier company. “Jarvis’ll keep an eye on you, so don’t do anything that’ll make him short circuit. Don’t leave the apartment. You have the streaming passwords, Rogers.”

“So, James, I was thinking –“

“Why’re you calling me James?”

Steve blinked, looking up from the takeout menus. James had been in his apartment for about an hour, their apartment, he’d shown him around, offered him the guest bedroom, and then they’d sat in silence on the couch. “What? Uh…” He shook his head. “You, uh, you asked me to call you James?”

James scrunched his nose. “I hate being called that. You know that.” A wrinkle appeared between his brows, and he got that contemplative look that Steve had started connecting with him trying to catch a fleeting memory or recall something. “Don’t… you?”

Baffled, Steve nodded. “Yes… But you said –“

“Don’t call me James.” He shuffled on the couch, pulling his legs up and avoiding eye contact. “I’m just Bucky…”

“Okay… Okay.” Not knowing what else to say, Steve sat down with a proper distance. They were quiet for a while, Steve trying to think but not knowing of what, Bucky just looking out into space. “It’s okay to be confused.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just curled up tighter.

“We’re all here to help.”

“I’m not… sure I deserve it…”

Steve reached out and placed his hand on the couch cushion between them, an offer, in case Bucky needed comfort. “Of course, you do.”

But Bucky just curled up tighter, hugging his knees in a very human manner.

Okay… Time for human talk.

“Bucky…” Steve took a deep breath, bracing himself. “I have missed you more than you’ll ever know. And I am over the moon that you’re back.” He leaned forward a little, going for non-threatening, but aware of how his size could come off. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I will go to every meeting, every hearing, every trial. I will hold your hand through every single examination. I promise you… I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky’s jaw tensed. Then, he eased up. His body unfolded, and he let himself fall towards Steve, who wrapped him up and held him close.

Bucky didn’t cry. He just leaned against Steve, shaking a little, until sleep took him. Steve held him in his arms, stroked his hair and kissed the crown of his head.

And he kept his word. Through examinations and meetings with Bruce and Tony, who eased up with every session of Bucky trembling when faced with a needl,e and emergency call to Dr. Greene when he started begging Steve to lock him up in the small hours of the night, he held his hand.

When the King of Wakanda arrived with his sister, Steve greeted them. Despite what some people thought, it was the first time he’d ever dined with royalty, but once Princess Shuri had hacked into the Tower and made one of Tony’s suits do the cancan, the formal atmosphere kind of broke.

Steve and Bucky had seen Casablanca before Bucky had shipped out. They’d held hands in the dark theater, too afraid to sneak a kiss where they could’ve been caught, saving it for the relative safety of their four rented walls.

Now, in this new century, this alien world, with an aircraft ready to leave, they could hold each other without fear. “I’m scared,” Bucky whispered brokenly.

“Don’t be.” Steve kissed his temple. With a coy smile, he said: “If that plane leaves and you’re not with ‘em, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.”

Bucky snorted. It was the closest to a laugh Steve had gotten so far. “You sap. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“No, you’re supposed to say, but what about us?” Steve grinned.

Bucky sighed, his arms tightening. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

And if Steve’s eyes got a little wet at that, at Bucky remembering that little line from a movie they’d shared just yesterday decades ago, and if he choked up a little, well, that would be none of anybody’s business.

He let him go and watched Bucky walk towards the hovercraft, King T’Challa and Princess Shuri waiting. Natasha, Sam, Tony and Bruce stood by the doors to the Tower.

Someone, Steve couldn’t remember who, though probably Tony, had once used the phrase “hate to see you go, but love to see you leave”. He hadn’t understood it until now.

Bucky was getting help. Even if it was without him, it wouldn’t be forever, even if it felt like losing him all over again. He was in good hands. He was –

He was turning around.

Bucky turned and ran towards Steve. Steve opened his arms and let him leap into them, holding him tight and kissing him deeply, the wind from the heights whipping around them. “Wait for me,” Bucky breathed, only a breath apart.

“Always,” Steve whispered, kissing him again. “I’ll come see you. Two months. Then I’m there, I promise!”

He held Bucky’s hand until he was too far away – their touch lasting to the very fingertips. He looked after the aircraft until it was a mere spec in the distance, the blue darkness of a budding night swallowing it.

With a hand on his shoulder, Sam came up next to him. “Ready to go back in, Steve?”

And Steve nodded. While his heart was carried further and further east, he allowed himself time to rest. If not for himself, then for the man he loved.